Part 66: Sunday 2nd October 1960, 10.25

Perhaps things are not too bad, after all. We have coped with less friction than in the holidays. Another Yom Kippur over; I can’t say I enjoy the fasting. However, am feeling all the fitter now, probably because I didn’t cram the equivalent of the missing meals into my stomach last night. Talking of fitness – it’s amazing; a fortnight or so ago I experienced a pain in the instep of my right foot. Not severe, I attributed it at first to some fault in the shoe, but the pain persisted over several days, even when I wore other shoes.  Although I no longer flap as I did in 1949 with my left leg trouble – I know that pains do come and go – I was worried, so much so that I shlepped to my doctor in Wood Green. His deputy -he himself was on holiday – straightaway said it was nothing. I went home feeling, at least, that I had not been neglectful. Quite all right now, but why pain in instep of right foot, davke? A touch of lumbago, I can understand – in fact I did have a very mild touch recently. It’s all very strange, there you are, as the P.B. says: yadam ach yodanu she-chayenu tefachim, and in spite of one’s various “cribs” – drudgery, confinement to home (though one realises one is lucky to have one’s own home) – one realises that all that matters is reasonable health for one and one’s own.

The highlight of the period under review has been the visit of Sam Wagreich, M.D., and his wife Rosalind. He is the son of my father’s – olov hashalom – late sister. My brother sam has corresponded with him sporadically. He turned out to be quite a guy. Fairly tall – if I remember aright – iron-grey hair à la brosse. Apparently he’s President of the “Five Counties” Medical Association, an association of about 16,000 N.Y. G.P’s. He put over a convincing defence of the American Way of Life  -he’s a good talker. An English G.P. in a corresponding position would have had more gravitas, I imagine – but there again, perhaps it’s a matter of “familiarity breeding contempt.” Anyway they left Sam & me a watch each; the price tag had been left – inadvertently, presumably, it was 55 dollars. I’m afraid I’m developing mercenary tendencies; I had been sweating on a fifty-dollar cheque.

 

 

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Part 65: 3rd September 1960, 10.15 p.m.

Will it be believed if it is told? Even on “holiday” it has taken me a month, almost, to get round to an entry; once school starts al achat kama vekama [Hebrew expression – how much more so] will it be difficult to keep up the diary. However, it may work out differently in practice.

It’s been very much a save-the-mark holiday. E and I have been at it all the time coping with the kids, bless ’em; so much so, that it has been an achievement for us to get out, pram-pushing, for a couple of hours together; or for E. to get down with Philip to her mother, or for me to make a dash for freedom on a “day out.” On this day out I went to Hatfield — a 2/- or so Green Line journey from here — leaving about 10a.m. It was a drizzly day. The stately home at Hatfield was closed, it being a Monday. I tried to do a “Fieldfare” ramble, but found myself, as usual on these occasions, up against barbed wire. However, I found my way to St. Albans, where I gave the cathedral the once-over. It’s impressive inside, soaring Gothic, though unimposing outside – the external fabric is modern. I also tried to do the Roman ruins, but was too tired, and a new shoe I was wearing was pinching me. I set off earlier than I had thought I would for home and returned to feed Max about 7 p.m.

And so back to school on the Monday. Things will be pretty tough. I’m teaching two evenings a week, Southgate English for Foreigners at 42/- a time, Friern Barnet beginners’ French at 33/6. This latter came as a bit of a shock. I learned that another class I had agreed to take at Wood Green (“German for Tourists”) only rated 33/6. I had thought of turning down both lower-rate jobs, but eventually decided to take the Friern Barnet one; at least it will be within walking (though not easy walking) distance.

Financial situation is such that I will certainly take another evening at 42/- if it turns up. My bank balance is alarming. I was overdrawn for August. Only a couple of pounds, and only for a few days, but it’s annoying all the same. Last time something similar occurred the Bank charged quite heavily. Am cashing £30 worth of Philip’s National Savings Certificates, Edith’s £25 Premium Bonds. Even with this, & the £24 or so Thames & Hudson owe me, I’m pretty sure I shall have to ask Sam for £25; he’s already given me £75 of the £100 he said I could have. There you are; my gross schoolteacher salary is £1143 p.a. — £1141, I think — my extras between £100 to £200 p.a. net before tax — we have not gone away since before the children were born; I think the last time we were out together was on our anniversary, when admittedly it cost us £3-£4, I suppose; the highlight of our day is a cigarette, with coffee and ice-cream; and yet we cannot balance our budget.

I can’t see the situation ever improving, much. As soon as both children are at school E. will have to try to get a three-hour daily, 4 or 5-day weekly job, which will just about cover the extra needed for the children (their fares will have to be paid, their food bill will be substantial, etc. — these increased costs will, however, be to some extent offset by saving on nappies, cotton wool, cellulose, which comes to at least 15/- a week at present) and a very cheap, almost certainly do-it-yourself holiday. House repairs, redecorations will have to be left until the children can find their way to school and both E. & I can work full-time, with what resultant strain can be imagined. But there it is, it’s a common way-of-living pattern. E. has finished her Hoovermatic-ing, I think; she had a perm yesterday and bought herself a pair of trews to-day, which she is now wearing. I find myself positively approving. Strange to think I once found be-trousered women upsetting. I suppose I found it a usurpation of my masculinity, but since E. has demonstrated her femininity, I can afford to be “big” about the trousers. She is a very good girl really; her life consists of an unbroken round of preparing feeds, feeding babies, changing nappies. Inevitably she “lets fly” at times, but her terrific sense of humour — “terrific” is wrong, “strong” will do — comes breaking through. But is she scared of the possibility of another pregnancy! Makes me feel quite lecherous, as if I’d sired twenty-two, not two, children.

The children, ken en hora, [Yiddish –without the evil eye] are lovely; it’s unfair to think of them as simply something to be coped with. After all, Philip usually sleeps the night through. Perhaps every other night he starts screaming about 3 a.m., but even then, all he needs is a bit of a run-round and his bottle of milk and he’s off again. By day all he wants is paper and books to tear up and pots and pans to throw about and to have fun and games generally.