Part 68: Sunday 20th November 1960, 6pm

Dedication of stained-glass windows at New Synagogue this morning 12.30. Mum had a window put in in memory of my father זצ״ל. [Israel Witriol – who died when dad was twelve] Service very well done, with sherry and refreshments afterwards. Read Roots; entertaining, which in my terminology is complimentary. The theme is of Norfolk farm workers. The heroine is awakened by her Jew-boy lover in London. She tries to communicate to her family the zest which he has communicated to her. Her family is keyed up to meet him; he fails to turn up, but she feels it has been worth it, he has enabled her to see what life could really be. It is amazing that an East-End Jewish boy could have caught so well the Norfolk country milieu.

The children flourishing, Mum too. Keep fingers crossed.

Also read The Crossing Point by Gerda Charles. Again, a thoroughly entertaining Anglo-Jewish novel.


Joseph Witriol’s Journal – Part 18: Causyth relief

Wednesday, 30th April 1958, 10.15 pm

Since previous entry have developed boil on eyebrow with ensuing bunged-up eye. Usual fears – would the eye ever de-bung, or bung down. It did, following penicillin (oral) treatment prescribed by Dr Haber, to whom I paid two visits. These visits passed off without any incident, probably because the weather was good, and I did not have to wait very long – ½ hr., say – and the waiting room was not crowded. About three years ago, when I went to my panel doctor one evening, there was an unseemly fracas between the doctor and myself, as a result of which I asked to be taken off that doctor’s list. The incident is not worth describing in detail; I may have been initially a little irritating, but at one stage in the proceedings the doctor said: “I haven’t had a penny out of you yet” (or words to that effect) which sparked off an explosion from me. On that occasion it was winter, it was raining, the waiting room was crowded, and it was over an hour before I was called in. – Dr. Haber is Polish-Jewish ( I transferred to him because Richard [Stern] had told me he was his (Richard’s) doctor), youngish, pleasant. He leaves his surgery and pops his head into the waiting room each time to call in the next patient. If he does this as a matter of policy – may his strength increase! – he’s the only doctor I know of who does. Perhaps if his list was twice as long he wouldn’t do it.

[intimate material omitted]

It’s about a fortnight since I sent the typewritten translations to Harold E Temple, and I have received no acknowledgement from him. However, I have his written order to me to do the translations and I have the receipt for the registration of the postal packet containing the translations which I sent to him. Anyway, he’s probably out of town. I shan’t consider chivvying him till Whitsun, if necessary, when I shall be on holiday.

Am writing this in almost perfect quiet. No noise from next door – no sound of washing or ironing or cooking or frying from Edith. The temperature is just right. Although primary activity prevented me from getting to sleep till about 1am this morning and at one stage this afternoon I had difficulty in keeping my eyes open in the classroom, I do not feel particularly tired now. Laus Deo.

Saw, with Edith, Berlin boys beat London boys 3-0. First rate football. To-night with E. to Islington Schools Music Festival. Innovation – boys’ brass band. They played with what seemed to me to be complete assurance.

Saw film Farewell to Arms. Pleasant ramble, Dorking – Ranmore Common – Polesden Lacey – Leatherhead. Weather kept right. Pleased by gentle tempo of leader, Rose Dubinsky.

After the boils, on the eyebrow and chin – the itchy tookhes. Again the fear – was one condemned to a lifetime of pruritis ani? I don’t know if I have recorded in this journal that from 1936 to 1939 I worked for a Polish Jew who had a large pharmaceutical factory in Cracow and was trying to plant an “ethical medical product” in Britain. Later on he acquired the agency for “Calmitol,” manufactured by a Swiss firm, which was indicated in pruritis ani (and now I come to think of it – or is this only my fancy, influenced by my close association with the subject recently?) and pruritis vulvae. It was genuinely good too, I believe – I remember Sam telling me that while he endeavoured to keep “Causyth” and “Calmitol” going when I was in the forces, he received an enquiry for the latter preparation from someone who said it had given him great relief. I wonder what happened to Joseph Sperling. I last heard of him, just after the war I think, from Brazil (or was it Uruguay?). And to his brother, Dr Harold, whom I met in Tel-Aviv looking like a seedy anarchist waiting his chance to throw a bomb.

Joseph Witriol and Hugh Stubbs

As well as typescripts of his articles, translations, reviews, his autobiography, Also Lived, and the volumes of his Journal, my father, Joseph Witriol, also kept many letters from (and also some copies of letters to) family and friends.

One of these friends was Hugh Stubbs whom he met while doing Army training at Blackdown during the war. His lengthy letters to him frequently have the verve and erudition found in his published work. Hugh Stubbs lectured for many years at Exeter University where one of his students, JK Rowling, said he provided the inspiration for Professor Binns, who sends students to sleep with his long-winded lessons. Joseph Witriol wrote in Also Lived:

His closely typed letters, with their wealth of historical and biblical allusion – he never quotes a biblical verse, just gives the chapter-and-verse reference – show up my puny attempts in reply. I suppose it helps if your grandfather was a bishop, even more if your granddad was Bishop Stubbs, author of the Constitutional History of England.

In the wartime letters [large PDF file] my father certainly musters an impressive range of foreign language quotes and expressions while maintaining the role of a junior in what he clearly saw as a battle of wits. What struck me was how this brilliant descendant of bishops employed his mastery of language, history and theology to make what I felt were derogatory observations about Jews and Judaism – their being written during the war only heightening the distaste I felt on reading them.

For Joseph Witriol, however, such barbs were legitimate challenges to be rebutted intellectually. In 1945, however, he wrote:

…does not this remark [“To my mind, the avoidance of pogroms and the smuggling of valuta probably plays as vital a role in Jewish life as do the seedtime and harvest which form the basis of religious life among other communities”]…strike you as overstepping the bounds of good taste?

…it would be idle to deny that it has made the continuation of what had hitherto been an enjoyable correspondence, and in fact the continuance of social relations of any kind between us, other than extremely difficult.

The heartfelt response that came back from Hugh Stubbs was enough to mollify “My Dear Johnny” who replied, in an equally heartfelt letter, still constructed with the precision and eloquence that was the hallmark of this correspondence, that he was:

…prepared to regard [the remark] as one of those Entgleisungen that may occur even in the best regulated families. 

The rest of the letter consists of the justification as to why he was entitled to object to the original remark, but ends with another scholarly reference to indicate that it was now my father who felt he should apologise:

If you suspect me of attempting to put over a Canossagang, then believe me, I am no longer,

Your sincere friend

The letters continued for another forty years or so, the frequency diminishing (at least based on the ones that I have), their scholarly and urbane nature remaining.

Joseph Witriol, the (Young) Zionist

My father, Joseph Witriol, “became” a Zionist when he was about nineteen. He recalls his early days as a member of the Brixton Young Zionist Society (He-Atid) in chapter 15 of his autobiography (scroll about halfway down) where he also name drops several prominent Anglo-Jewish personalities,  mentions a monthly column of his in the Young Zionist magazine under the nom-de-plume of Peloni Almoni and, perhaps most significantly, became a “slave for life to Hebrew”.

I have a few copies of the magazine, but none with articles by either Joseph Witriol or Peloni. I found one short letter of his in the Young Zionist and the file also has an anonymous piece of doggerel about the Annual Summer School of the Association of Young Zionist Societies which he went to in 1931 and 1932. These pictures from an old photo album of his capture the exuberance of these otherwise intense young Zionists at the Summer Schools.

The content of the magazine ranged from serious analysis of the situation in Palestine to the minutiae of organisational matters. This from the April 1932 issue is painful reading:

Eighteen million voters demonstrated that Germany disapproves of Jew-baiting…

Still, the Jews of Germany are not yet delivered from the fear of persecution. Hitler has a month of grace before the second ballot gives his hopes of election their quietus….An armed rising is not out of the question. Though it would have no chance against the …Army, no doubt Jewish heads would be broken and Jewish shops plundered – to anticipate nothing worse – before the outbreak could be suppressed….

At this stage, before Hitler’s career closes in the ignominy that awaits it…

Gunner Witriol and the Colonel’s Braces

On leave in Tel Aviv in December 1941, my father, Joseph Witriol, bought a humorous Hebrew periodical called Tesha Ba’ Erev (Hebrew: תשע בערב, Nine in the Evening). He read a piece in it that he thought would be worth translating into English for publication in Parade, the Army’s Middle East weekly magazine.  He assumed (naively perhaps) that this was an original Hebrew story and his (i.e Joseph Witriol’s) translation was indeed published  in Parade in due course . But what Joseph Witriol had innocently translated from Hebrew into English was actually an unacknowledged translation of an original English story, published in Lilliput in August 1941.

He related this tale in Also Lived, his autobiography (handwritten, pages 143-145) and in more detail in a short story competition organised by the Anglo-Palestinian Club in about 1951, Maurice Edelman being the judge. My dad had kept the original Lilliput article, so it only remains for me to track down the copy of Parade featuring Joseph Witriol’s translation in order to compare the two versions.

January 1 2015 update: Following my first visit to the British Library with a Reader Pass, I ordered and scanned my father’s original article from Parade, the Middle East Weekly for MEF in WWII.