Childhood in Dover

Mum and Dad were entrepreneurs and became the first people in Dover to obtain a hotelier's license after the war. With that, they opened Clare House, a guesthouse at 138 Folkestone Road.

The war had ended, and at last our family was reunited. My brothers had returned home after years of separation, and although rationing was still part of everyday life, there was a wonderful feeling of happiness simply because we were together again.

Dad's new business entitled him to receive fuel coupons, enabling him to buy a large Vauxhall, a spacious car that may once have served the military. To us boys, it seemed enormous. Mum, my brothers, and I would pile into it for family outings through the Kent countryside.

Sometimes Dad would stop at a country pub. We were treated to lemonade while Mum and Dad enjoyed something a little stronger. Those simple outings became some of my happiest childhood memories.

One particular trip to Eastbourne introduced me to Jewish cuisine for the very first time. I can still remember tasting smoked salmon, rollmops, matzos, anchovies, and potato salad. I was only seven years old, but from that day onwards I developed a lifelong appreciation for good food—something that would later influence much of my working life.

With the reopening of the English Channel after the war, Dover once again became a bustling ferry port. Visitors arrived in increasing numbers, and Clare House quickly became a thriving business.

About a year later, Mum and Dad moved us across the road to a much larger property at 167 Folkestone Road. It gave our growing family more space and allowed the guesthouse business to expand.

During those years I became especially close to my father.

Whenever he went shopping, I would accompany him. We visited butchers, greengrocers, fruiterers, fishmongers, and local farms where fresh chickens could be bought. Dad seemed to know everyone. Shopkeepers greeted him warmly by name, and I followed proudly behind him like a little shadow, completely in awe of the man he was.

Looking back, I realise I was learning far more than shopping. Without knowing it, Dad was teaching me about people, business, courtesy, and the importance of building relationships—lessons that would remain with me throughout my life.

We also had a small dog called Rex.

He travelled everywhere with us in the Vauxhall and fiercely guarded the car whenever Dad left it. Anyone who came too close was greeted by an enthusiastic chorus of barking. Rex was small, fearless, and utterly devoted to our family.

Clare House was a lively home.

Mum and Dad regularly entertained friends, business associates, and neighbors. The house would fill with laughter, music, conversation, and the wonderful aromas of Mum's cooking. Although my brothers and I were sent upstairs to bed long before the evenings ended, I can still remember listening to the sounds of happy people enjoying themselves below.

Dad possessed a remarkable gift for entertaining.

He often answered the front door wearing a huge white apron, instantly recognizing a visitor's accent and mimicking it perfectly. His impressions never offended anyone because they were delivered with warmth and humor. People simply loved him. Looking back, I often think he could have sold ice to the Eskimos.

My education began at several primary schools: Belgrave Primary School, St Mary's School at Stembrock, and later St Martin's School in Elms Vale.

Of the three, I enjoyed St Martin's the most. It was modern, welcoming, and I settled in well. There was, however, one unfortunate incident. During an English lesson, the sun shone directly onto the blackboard, making it impossible for me to read what had been written. When I made mistakes, the teacher accused me of copying another pupil's work.

I knew I hadn't cheated, and thankfully my father believed me completely.

Meanwhile, my older brothers joined HMS Mercury, the Royal Navy's communications training establishment.

My younger brother David and I were sent to Horam Boarding School near Hailsham in Sussex.

The headmaster had an unusual passion for butterflies, and through his enthusiasm I developed an interest in entomology that stayed with me for many years.

Life at boarding school was not always easy.

I contracted a severe case of ringworm and spent several months receiving treatment at the Middlesex Hospital. Because the disease was highly contagious, I was not allowed to return home.

Instead, I stayed with relatives while recovering. Although they cared for me, they imposed very strict rules, and I found the experience lonely and difficult.

Looking back now, those early years were filled with a mixture of happiness, adventure, disappointment, and valuable life lessons. Even then, life was quietly preparing me for the challenges that lay ahead.

In December 1950, our family welcomed another addition with the birth of my youngest brother, Phillip.

I quickly found myself helping to look after him, a responsibility that I accepted with pride. At the time, I had no idea that Phillip and I would remain close throughout our lives, sharing not only our family history but also many treasured memories.

As I look back today, I realise that my childhood in Dover gave me something far more valuable than I appreciated at the time. It gave me a loving family, a strong work ethic, an appreciation of good food, and memories that have stayed with me for more than eighty years.

Little did I know that my carefree childhood was about to change forever.