Sidney was born in 1923. He attended the Foundling Hospital school at Redhill and Berkhamsted. He played the clarinet and the cornet in the school band and on leaving the school joined an army band where he played the trombone, and travelled to India and the Middle East. He eventually became a glider pilot in England and met his wife Marjorie who he married in 1948. He continued in his military career, with further postings abroad and eventually became a quartermaster.
Into the World
‘The practice was that, that bandmasters from regular Army units would come and visit the School with a view to selecting and getting hold of boys for their bands. So bandmasters would turn up by appointment, go down to the Band School, have a word with our School bandmaster and see which boys were- they thought were appropriate for their band. You had no choice. You didn’t speak to the bandmaster visiting. Our School bandmaster would presumably say, you know, “He’s suitable”, “He’s not” and “He…” I don’t know whether there’s any backhanders passed between the two or not, we don’t know. But you then were earmarked for that band. You didn’t know which band, which regiment, you didn’t know anything. And so, that was it. You, you, you’ve been nominated, you’ve been earmarked, you’ve been despatched to the- to the- to the regiment that- that had selected you. I didn’t mind. I’d think “Oh! I’m leaving school, I’m going somewhere new, I’d be in India, adventure. Oh!” I thought that was a good thing, you know- after all I’d come to the end of my school days I knew and I knew- you knew about the Army a bit because a number of old boys used to come and visit the School from- in their uniform. From them, you learned one or two things about the Army and how good it was and how adventurous it was and it was- and we were conditioned for it. So, be that as it may. The only thing I was given was by the Padre who gave me a Holy Communion book, which I’ve still got, which I carried all through the War and have still got to this day. And that was my leaving present and that was the only thing I took away from the School. No money. Just that book. And off we went.’
Reflections
‘One’s got to be a bit thankful in a way haven’t we because, after all, we were, we were fed, albeit with the cheapest and simplest food; we were educated, albeit to a basic standard; we were clothed, albeit to a- with a uniform dating back to the eighteenth century. So we’ve got to be thankful for that and when you think what might have become of us otherwise. I remember people telling me the story of a- the site in Bloomsbury where they had gates along Guil- Guildborn Road- Guildford Road. Local children standing at these gates- looking through the gates- the, the, the fenc- the iron railings to the children inside who looked happy, clothed, fed and then saying to themselves, “Oh wow, look at them! Look at them kids! What have you got to do to get in there, then?” So, what might have happened to us otherwise? So we’ve got that to be thankful for.’
School Life
‘It was an existence really that we were, we- we were, we were devoid of any knowledge of what the outside world was like. There we were in this cocooned set-up, lacking adventure because we- we did the same things every day, day in and day out, therefore there was nothing to talk about. We had diff- we had no different experiences of each other so we had no real conversation. You couldn’t say, “I did this,” or, “I did that,” and, “What did you do?” We all were doing exactly the same things day in and day out, all dressed the same, all getting up at the same time, all going to bed at the same time. Nothing to really fire the imagination for conversation or for whatever.’
Search for Birth Families
‘I did get to know my mother– well, get to know her– did get to meet my mother once. She was living a mile and a half down the road from me here. I’d passed it numerous times going to work without knowing it but, eventually, through Marjorie’s help and the records office and all these big volumes of stuff that we looked through, we traced her to a flat overlooking the sea at Hove. I was absolutely stumped now as to what to do. This is really a moment that I needed help. So, I wrote to Lorna Zumpe who was then the social worker and she said, “Write a letter to your mother. Don’t mention the Foundling Hospital. Just say the facts as you know them and if you want any help, or if she wants any help from me, I’m here.” So, we wro– I wrote a letter. I motored along the road and delivered it through her door of– through– it was one of these entry– special entry doors but I managed to get somebody to open the door for me so that he could deliver it, I hadn’t got back to this house – a mile and a half – before the telephone rang because I had put my telephone number and Marjorie was here and answered the phone and she said first of all, “I think you’ve got the wrong person dear.” So Marjorie was in a bit of a quandry what to do. But eventually, she had to let on that it was through the Foundling Hospital. So there was a deep intake of breath and an absolute silence and you could hear, from here. And she then said…
[Marjorie, Sidney’s wife speaking] Lorna said “don’t mention the Foundling Hospital unless you have to” and I thought she was going to put the phone down and when she said, “That’s nothing to do with me,” you know, and I said– then I had to say about the Foundling Hospital in 1923 and she said “That part of my life is closed.” And then she said “Are you Jewish?” and when I said “No,” that was it. She didn’t want to know.
[Sidney] And I wrote to her again and said that, you know, “I’m not seeking anything. I’ve got– I’ve got my own house, I’m– I’m well established in this world. I’m quite happy. All I want to do is, is, is see that you’re all right, take you out to tea and have a chat. I would like to know a little bit of family history if you’d like to give it to me.” No response at all.
But, but what happened next was that she was taken into hospital in Brighton because she’d been trapped in the bath for a few days– she was ninety odd. She got into a bath, presumably a fairly steep bath, and couldn’t get out. So, her cries were heard by the caretaker who got an ambulance and they took her into hospital. Now, luckily, we had some bowling friends who lived in the same block of flats who knew her. So, they told us she’d been taken into hospital. We didn’t know. So, so I– we thought, “Oh, now it’s our big chance”. So, I bought a big bouquet of flowers and I– we trundled up to the hospital, asked for her and were shown to her bedside and there she was lying in bed with big brown eyes, no wrinkles on her face at all at ninety odd, very forthright. “Who are you? What do you want? What do you– what…?” Ooh… My heart sank. I, I, I told another white lie and said that we are… friends of the block of flats. You know, “They do things and look after people and I bought you these flowers.” So, she was very grateful for that.
On her bedside table at the hospital she had the address of, and telephone number of her sister. So, being nosey, I got hold of this, unbeknown to her and wrote to the– them, who lived in Hendon in London, and I merely said again, as I said to mother, “These are the facts as I know them, are they true? I am not after– not seeking anything from you at all, just a little bit of background information if you care to give it me.” No response from the letter that I sent. So I took up courage and, and, and phoned and the– her– my aunt, as she is, husband answered the phone and his… he, he… he chatted for a bit and nothing much but then at the end he said, “Have you got a family?” And I said “Yes, I’m married and I’ve got a daughter and I’ve got two grandchildren”. And he said “I’ll tell you what. You look after your family and we’ll look after ours.” Down went the telephone and that was the end of that.
In regard to rejection, it was– yes, it was sad at the time and– but I very soon thought, “Well, that’s it, be that as it may; it’s no different from what it used to be. I– I’ll go along with life as it was.” It’s no good banging your head against a brick wall if you’re not going to get any response. So, that’s how I felt about it. And, and, and I was quite happy with life. I had a good marriage. A lovely daughter. Lovely grandchildren. I was, you know, financially very sound. What problems had I? Only the problems of family background, which there’s no point in pursuing if you’re not going to get anywhere.‘
