This was the eighth and last article that Abe Max wrote for the Liverpool Jewish Gazette that was printed on February 13, 1970
In the early 1900s the very nature of Jewish communal life for our East European immigrant parents kept most of them within an enclosed area adjacent to the shool, the cheder, the butcher and the grocer. Moreover, in those days there was a real need for the protection afforded by a preponderance of our own in the street and district. In the poorer quarters where our parents and grandparents lived, the stranger within the gates lived a somewhat hunted life and both adults and children had to tread warily.
Naphtha flares
But there were offshoots, especially in the Everton, Walton and Scotland Road. The overcrowded houses occupied by the large families provided the ‘connection’ for many Jewish travellers selling to the households clothing, drapery, linen and bedding on credit. In time a number opened shops selling furniture, footwear and drapery in the main, especially in Great Homer Street and eventually spilling over into Fox Street, Soho Street and Scotland Road. Great Homer Street in particular pulsated with life, and the teeming side streets provided crowds of shoppers at the weekend. Butchers cried their wares late at night by the light of naphtha lamp flares and sold out about midnight on Saturday by means of a Dutch auction. Barrow hawkers displayed greengrocery at every side street corner. Fishmongers opened their windows and traded form the marble slabbed tops with little regard for hygiene. The Jewish traders in this street numbered more than the traditional minyan and included the following. Harris Goldstein (later in Wavertree road), Michaelson, Barney Lewis and Rothstein, all licensed brokers and furniture dealers; Max Davidson, the lino shop; Mannheim, ladies ware; Shiffman, the auctioneer; Moyse Myers, the non-kosher butcher; Rosenshine, grocer; Goldsmith’s bazaar and all drapers, Priceman, Sidney Green, Lisman, Yankel Jacobs, Rogansky, Abram Yaffe, Packman and Nathan. In nearby Scotland Road Shimon Halpern, Danny Ginsburg, Isaac Gorfunkle, D Goldring and Yankel Young all sold furniture and bedding (the sole survivor today is the establishment of the last named trader, albeit at another address number); and Messers Kron and Silverman sold clothing.
William Henry Street
Richmond row contained the watchmaker’s business of Michael Isaacs and Mr Richmond the glazier, while in Fox Street was to be found Alexander, the upholsterer, and Claitman’s boot shop. Shoes were not worn in those neighbourhoods. A lone character was Mr Brummer, the glazier in Athol Street, surrounded entirely by non-Jewish neighbours, but this black bearded, dark eyed, upright, sturdy and totally frum person enjoyed the respect of the Catholics around him and sold them religious pictures with which they adorned their walls. Until its closure he attended Islington School regularly providing a loud voice accompaniment to the chazzan and the responses. They don’t breed them like that today. In William Henry Street were to be found Claimant and Davis, drapers; Myerson, grocer; and Goldberg, the upholsterer. In the adjoining Soho Street was the drapery store of Hylter’s later Stein’s. No talk of Soho Street could be complete without mention of Caplan’s still trading there, and nearby was the greengrocery shop of Mr. Davis, to whom my mother went on a Saturday night for her requirements – though a long distance from our home – out of a long-standing friendship between the families. In the same block, at a later period, was the timber yard of Mr. Radan and later still, that of Mark Blankstone. Higher up was the upholstery works of Cantor’s, run by Mosey and his brother. Many of those traders attended Shaw Street Synagogue, which closed in 1939. It played a not inconsiderable role in the communal affairs of the day and its elders wielded some influence on the community, passing on to their children a tradition of public service still being maintained. Some of the worthies I remember were L. Ramm, a busy communal worker in several spheres, and – a rarity in those days – a convinced and very active Zionist. A. Price of Elizabeth Street, Messers Glassman, Kauffman, Heshel Cantor, Israels, Davidson, Appleson, Spiro, Yaffe (they were Abram and his brother known as ‘deer Lange Gaffe’), Marcus, Newman, Dolomite, (The public mill owner in Shaw Street) and Packman. The shamas was Baranovitch and the chazzan Gershon Boyars. The Rev. S. Hovsha was the minister and also a teacher in the Yeshiva held in the basement.
Study marathon
My first acquaintanceship with the synagogue came about as a student of the Yeshiva, which occupied rooms in the lower part of the building. Here, under the kindly tutelage of Mr. Horshva and later Mr. Yaffe, we studied Talmud in the dim light of a below-ground room from 5 to 9.30pm on weekdays and often, on Thursdays, till much later as was the custom in Russia. For this marathon it was the custom to take a ‘stendeh’ – a kind of portable desk – a candle or two, and retire to some dim corner, with a difficult problem of the Law that could only be elucidated with the aid of Rashi and other commentaries on the bare text.
Cooklin family
Some years later this establishment surfaced above ground to 124 Islington, later occupied by Mrs. Mandel, the professional caterer of this city for our community, of which some words later. The atmosphere in Shaw Street shool was haymishe, and a member on a yahrzeit usually provided the worshippers with herring, kichel, bronfen (whisky) and fruit. The fare was set out in the long-stemmed glass dishes of the day and the venue was usually the basement so we Yeshiva students often had an unexpected treat. Those very careful arranged pyramids of Apples, pears, bananas and black grapes that appeared at simchas – what finally happened to them? For no body dared to eat and disturb their careful symmetry. Were they finally embalmed and doomed to go on an endless round of ‘affairs’ forever and ever? Towards the end of the First World War the membership of Shaw Street was increased by the advent of the Cooklin family from London, probably due to fear of Zeppelin raids on that city. The three brothers and their families played a role in those days now taken over by another family whose surname begins with the next letter in the Hebrew alphabet. (note: Huglin?) To continue the similarity, the brother living in Islington at the Moss Street end, knew his Talmud ‘hot gekent lernen der baltt’. They provided a community of themselves and the identification was “y’know, he married a Cooklin”. Enlisted by the shamas to help set up the chupah beforehand, I well remember one of their weddings in Shaw Street. having stayed on to watch it. The crushing of the glass was the signal for a surge en masse to the canopy area, the women to kiss each other, the men to shake hands, while clapping each other on the shoulder, and overall the joyous buzz and sound of an uninhibited and very integrated family.
Cried for joy
After the repeated salutations of brothers, cousins and kinsmen, the head-dresses of the black eyed, rosy-cheeked, demure bridesmaids were now askew, the velvet straps of the two pages to one side and their carefully arranged bows well out of line. One of the two smaller brides-maids, bewildered and weepy eyed, was vainly seeking her mother in the hubbub and crush, while the other, swinging her posy of flowers from one hand, was disdainfully eyeing the tweo lads from the superior height and lofty womanhood of eight years of age. The respective mothers cried – for joy let me hasten to add - A chasseneh! A simcha! Mazel and brocheh! Hot nachass fun zey! There’s something about ‘unzere’ weddings that’s different. Perhaps it is the centuries old instinctive desire of our people for survival and continuity. Nowhere else is there that warmth and glow, enriched by the trappings and finery of the chuppah and its old associations with the East whence we came and the nomadic life we once led. I have vivid recollection of a stage wedding seen in the David Lewis Theatre enacted by one of those troupes of Yiddishe actors from the Whitechapel Road, London, who periodically toured the provinces in the nineteen twenties. Their acting ability was of the smallest but our parents flocked to hear them and to see a ‘drammah’ in Yiddish.
No communal halls
There were no communal halls for weddings in those days and many were just family celebrations at home with everyone sharing the chores of the baking and cooking. Many of my older readers will remember the venues of weddings at the following small halls, either as actual participants or guests: Lundie Hall, in Fairfield; Arkley’s dancing Academy, in Oxford Street; The Assembly Rooms, in Hardman Street; Acacia house, in Shaw Street; Daulby Hall, in Daulby Street; the Princes Park Assembly rooms and Alexandra Hall. The guests arrived in horse drawn cabs of the day while the bride rode in a sati lined two-horse drawn vehicle, the leather reins being increased by an extra pair of white silken material. The circumstances of the people concerned were easily gauged by the interested onlookers according to the number of cabs and the number of horses involved. And so to the day of the professional caterer of whom, in this city, Mrs. Mandel was the first of any importance. Dear Mrs. Mandel, with here twinkling eyes and snowy white apron, gave a new dimension to weddings and functions for she took away the struggle about the kugel and the aching out of the baking to the eternal relief of all our womenfolk.