My Jewish Legacy

By Pauline Clarke

I had always been struck by the large portrait of a man, that hung over my grandmother’s sitting room. I visited Gran several times in her apartment in 350, Edgeware Road but never had the occasion to live with her and never got around to ask who the man in the frame was. What seemed unusual was his hooked nose that made him look somewhat different, or so I thought when I was young. My memories of Gran are of a very kind and generous person. I knew that she was from a Jewish family.

I was born in 1931 in Lambeth and shortly after was sent off to a foster home with my older half brother (from my father’s first marriage), Ken. We were raised by Mrs. Richardson, who was a lovely kind parent to both of us. In 1941, two years after the war broke out, we were asked to evacuate. I was 8 when I left Mrs. Richardson and moved with my maternal grandmother, Elizabeth Louisa Gibson to live in Devon. We stayed there for some time before returning closer to London. My grandmother took up a house at 62, Clarence Avenue, Gants Hill in Ilford Essex and I was to stay with her. I was 13 when we moved again. This time to Bedford where my parents acquired a pub at Riseley, George and Dragon with rooms on the floor above. It was the first time I had come to live close to my parents. At 13, I guess, I was quite handy at cleaning and scrubbing floors. My grandmother and I lived above the pub till she found herself a cottage and took me along, to be with her. 

Ray Clarke lived in the next village called Swineshead, and often came to the George and Dragon for his pints. We met, fell in love and married at the Bedford Registry office in 1948 when I was barely 17.                        

                      

Ray and I 

I was happy to be married

I was very glad to be married and have a place of my own. Our first home was at 2, Brook Side, Kimbolton. We used oil lamps and had to fetch water in buckets from the tap outside. There was no electricity and no running water.

As I grew older I became curious to learn a little more about Gran and put together with the help of my niece, Teresa, few known facts. My grandmother, Pauline Azulay was born in 1877 in London to Isaac Henry Azulay and Clara Isaacs who had married in the city of London in 1866. Pauline trained as a dancer and performed at the Metropolitan Theatre, (which has since been pulled down) on Edgeware Road. She met her future husband, my grandfather, George Marshall who was an electrician working at the Metropolitan Theatre. George was born in Great Yarmouth in Norfolk in 1873. Pauline and George married in 1904, the same year their son, my father, Albert Earnest Marshall was born. If his sudden and unexpected arrival hastened the marriage, one is not sure. Grandfather George soon left the theatre and joined a coach firm and took care of electricals on buses. My father grew up in London where he married Mabel Lillian Gibson, my mother.

We tried tracing the Azulay family as far back as we could from the internet sites. The oldest member of the Azulay family that we had any information on, was Hayyim Joseph David Azulay who born in 1724 in Palestine and married Sarah, four years his junior in 1749 and lived till 1806. Sarah died young in 1773. One of their children was Isaac Zerahiah Azulay. It is difficult to establish how they were related to Raphael Isaiah Azulay,

my great, great, great grandfather who is the farthest we have been able to reach in Pauline’s family tree. Raphael Isaiah was born in 1743 and married Shimoha Leonini. We have no knowledge of where they were born or where they lived and died.

Raphael lived to be an old man and died in 1830. His son Isaac Leonini Azulay was born in 1787 either in Italy or in Jerusalem. It is not unlikely that some members of the family migrated to the Mediterranean country. But what we know for certain is that Isaac Leonini Azulay died in September 1840 in Middlesex England. There appears to have been a community of Jews in Middlesex because granny Pauline’s mother Clara Isaacs was born in 1841 in Middlesex[1] too. She married Isaac Henry Azulay in 1866 in the City of London.

I would love to have more conclusive evidence for putting together the story of my grandmother’s side of the Azulay family. I have no legacy of her apart from her name. But when I look at myself in the mirror I find my nose somewhat longer than a usual English one and reminiscent of the mysterious Hayyim Joseph David. Now, that is a legacy indeed. 

Pauline Clarke lives in Cambourne

[1] ‘During the 18th century a few wealthy families, mainly Sephardim, had country houses in Middlesex, where they sometimes held religious meetings,’ British History Online The Jews, pages 149-151

'Warm as the wind, soft as the kiss of snow' - The Indian Romance

By Irina Lebedeva

Radio Moscow, which has now been renamed Voice of Russia, ran several interesting programmes, even if some involved propaganda. Programmes were conducted in 12 regional Indian languages. We had to translate Russian literature and broadcast them to Indian listeners. We often did play reading and I played the heroine of Russian classics. It was a job to love.

In 1973, shortly after I joined the radio, an Indian playwright who was visiting USSR to attend a literary conference was invited by Radio Moscow for an interview. A tall dignified man, I was introduced to Vijay Tendulkar, the iconic Marathi author. My association with him began and continued till the end of his life. Two years later, when I went to Pune to study Marathi, I got in touch with Vijay in Mumbai where he lived. He kindly invited me to visit Mumbai[1], stay with him and his family which included his wife and four children. Knowing Vijay turned out to be my passport to the world of culture and arts in western India.

In my room in the hostel of Pune University 

In Pune, I lived on campus in one of the University hostels. One evening, I had a visitor. A young man on a scooter walked up to me and introduced himself as Mohan Agashe. He said he had been asked by Vijay to take me to the theatre where one his plays was being staged and in which Mohan had an important role. I was pleasantly surprised. But the suggestion that I would have to ride pillion on a two wheeler mortified me. I had never ridden on a scooter and the first thought was of my mother and what she would have to say to me riding with an unknown Indian. Mohan assured me that it would be fine and so, with trepidation, I sat behind hoping I would survive. Survive I did and loved the ride. Thereafter, Mohan would often come and take me to different places in Pune and I loved every outing with him. We were, after all, both very young!

One of the several cups of tea Mohan and I had together

I watched the play Ghasiram Kotwal[2] and later read all of Vijay’s plays, enjoying them immensely. One day, Mohan took me to watch a film shooting. I was introduced to a dusky beautiful lady who was playing the lead role in a film on Shivaji[3]. Her name was Smitha Patil, who I later learnt was one of the finest actors of Indian films. 

Meenal and I in 2016

My thoughts of India are all to do with friendship and warmth that I received and continue to do, from a range of people, many of whom I am in touch with and visit every time I visit. I returned to Moscow in 1975-76 after 10 months and till 1984 had no contact with my Indian friends. We were not allowed to exchange letters in Soviet times. In that year, I was again sent to India for 10 months to work with Radio Bombay, called Akashvani, to practice and improve my Marathi. I had met Suhas Joshi, a practising architect (now turned a flutist) in 1975-76. He and his wife Sunita kindly offered to put me up and I stayed with them in 1984. The Soviet authorities, however, were not aware of this. During this visit, I got to know Vimal Joshi who worked for the radio in Bombay. Her two daughters, Meenal Paranjape and Nivedita Saraf are my life-long friends. I visit them every time I travel to India. 

Satvasheela and I met in 1984

In her residence, Pratibha Patil, President of India

Of the many Indians who I was introduced to by Mohan Agashe, Satvasheela Chavan remains my dear friend to this day. I met her in Delhi for the first time in 1984. In all my subsequent visits, I have tried to meet her. I particularly recall the trip with her to Almorah where her sister worked. It was among the most memorable experiences apart from meeting with the President of the India Mrs. Pratibha Patil. That was truly overwhelming.

 There are far too many memories of India to recount. But I would like to remember a few. In the summer of 1987, the Festival of India organized in different cities of the Soviet Union brought many theatre personalities including Mohan. In Moscow, he asked for a Marathi interpreter, knowing well that I would be recommended. In the process, I got to be with him for two months and we travelled to St. Petersburg and Tashkent together. 

Lata Mangeshkar on my left, Asha Bhonsle on my right

On the sets of TV serial, with Nivedita

Later in the same year, over the months of November and December, the Festival of Soviet Union travelled to India and I was fortunate enough to be with the large troupe that performed in several places in the country. In Bombay, I met the legendary singers, sisters Lata Mangeshkar and Asha Bhonsle. 

The most moving episode in this trip was when on my way to Bangalore from Bombay, the train stopped at Pune at 2 am and some of my friends came to see me at the station even at that unearthly hour. 

The entire cast in our home

In 1988, to my great pleasure, the Theatre Academy Group that Mohan was a part of and that was made famous by the success of the play Ghasiram Kotwal came on a tour of USSR in October. It was one of the years when the winter had set in early and rather severely in Russia. Much to our shock we found the cast and crew members from Bombay getting off the plane, clad in clothes they normally wore in western India (which is usually very warm), including sandals. It was quite a challenge arranging for warm jackets, heavy coats, caps and appropriate shoes for all of them. My mother and I invited them to our apartment for tea and they were very grateful and happy to be in a typical Russian home. 

I have returned to India practically every year. I am grateful to God that I was given the opportunity to meet such wonderful people who made me their friends. I remember fondly Ayesha Kagal in Delhi, Vidyadhar and Sujal Watve, Sujit and Vidya Patwardhan, Sadhana Joshi, Pravashini Patvardhan and actors of the Theatre Academy in Pune. I hope to meet and greet them here in Moscow again.

My grandchildren, Ivan and Maria

In 1996, my daughter, Alyona, accompanied me and we travelled for two months doing the usual tourist circuit. I was able to pass on my love of India to Alyona and she has made several visits herself with her family. I read the Indian epics, Mahabharata and Ramayana to my grandchildren, Maria and Ivan. When someone asked them who created the world, Ivan answered without hesitation, ‘Brahma.’ That is my tribute to India, the country of my love. 

[1] 149 kms south east of Mumbai. 

[2] A very famous play which was a satire written as a historical drama. It is based in the local court of the late 18th century. 

[3] Ruler of Maharashtra in the 17th century, idolised by the people of western India.

‘Warm as the wind, soft as the kiss of snow’: Life with family and friends

By Irina Lebedeva

In a two part story, Irina recounts her growing up in Moscow and travels to India

I was born to Elena and Peter Gumenjuk in Moscow after the end of the Patriotic War, as the Second World War is referred to in Russia. 

My father, Peter, was born in a small village in western Ukraine in 1919. He joined the Soviet army about the time that the Patriotic War was beginning. He trained as a battle tank driver. Peter was transferred to Stalingrad where he was part of the well-known Battle of Stalingrad in 1942-43.

My father was honoured after the war. 

Personally, the victory cost him dear though the outcome was not without benefits. The tank he was commandeering burst into flames and he was badly burned, an injury that he bore till the end of his life. But for the time being, he recovered and was duly honoured by the Soviet state. He was awarded a scholarship to the Military Academy in Moscow. He moved to the Russian capital where he made his home.

Peter met Elena Palytov, a young dentist and they married soon after the war ended in 1945. Those were difficult times and the young couple did not find accommodation in Moscow and had to share a single room with Elena’s mother, Maria. 

My grandmother, Maria Palytov’s birth and life reflected in interesting ways the unfolding of the political process that transformed the Russian state. She belonged to the Kalmykov family which in Tsarist Russia was fairly well-to-do without being lavishly rich. The family owned few properties in central Moscow. She was provided with a good education and attended the gymnasium where she learnt German and French. Maria’s education and linguistic skills stood her in good stead later in life. 

Maria Kalmykov married Nikolya Palytov who was born in Arkhangelsk in the north of Russia. Nikolya’s father was the Governor of Arkhangelsk and clearly a man of importance. He was also a man of arts and letters as family memories record. Maria and Nikolya Palytov must have begun life with dreams that their privileged background permitted. They had two daughters who they named Elena and Ludmilla. But life took a different turn. 

The Kalmykovs lost their properties which were expropriated by the newly emergent Soviet state in Russia. In lieu, Maria was granted one room in an apartment that she and her family had to share with others. But real tragedy struck her when Nikolya died very young leaving Maria to raise her little daughters. She did a marvellous job of it, as Elena trained to be a dentist and Ludmilla became a well-known architect. During the war, Maria worked for the telegraph office where her knowledge of German must have been invaluable. 

With my parents, Elena and Peter

My parents, Elena and Peter Gumenjuk were able move out of their modest lodging very soon as their careers took off under the Soviet regime and they rose by the dint of their professional expertise to positions of privilege. That did not mean a lot of money. My mother as a dentist was rather poorly paid. When I see how well dentists do now, I regret that she was truly deprived. That, however, did not cast any shadows over their lives. My brother, Igor, was born 5 years after me. 

After his full training in the Academy, my father Peter went up the military rungs. Given the political situation in Soviet Union and abroad, a military career meant transfers to places across the large and growing nation. Elena missed Moscow sorely and pined to return to the capital, reminiscent of the Three Sisters in Chekov’s play. Peter eventually moved back to Moscow. He was now a senior officer in the Soviet army and entitled to have a large apartment of his own. My parents, particularly my father, were very sociable and active in the cultural circuits. They had a large circle of friends who they entertained and together with them attended music concerts, ballets and theatre, as Moscow has always been celebrated for.

With members of the Komsomol. 

My brother and I were fortunate enough to be exposed to the best of Moscow. We had an elitist upbringing within the Soviet system. In school, I was an active member of the Komsomol[1] and deeply involved in the activities of the youth wing of the Communist party. After completing school, I joined the Moscow State University in the Institute of Oriental Languages. I wanted to learn a foreign language and chose Hindi, the largest spoken language of India with whom Soviet Union had a special relationship. 

Our marriage

While at school, I became friends with Vitali Lebedev, 4 years my senior. His parents were friends of my parents and we often met in family gatherings. Friendship blossomed to something more delicate and serious. We fell in love and decided to get married. I was in the second year of the Institute when we married in 1966.

After graduating, I joined Radio Moscow in 1972. There was no vacancy in the Hindi department and I was instead asked to join the Marathi department. I began learning Marathi, the regional language spoken in western India, in Moscow, which didn’t seem too difficult since it shared a common script with Hindi. Three years later in 1975, the Soviet state sponsored me to travel to India and study Marathi for 10 months at the Pune University. In India, I first encountered democracy and realised the difference between my homeland and this country that was to become my adopted motherland. It was the beginning of another long love affair.

Irina Lebedeva lives in Moscow

Part II to follow

[1] Youth organization of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.

Life in a mine: how a disaster was averted

By Subrata Kumar De

I joined Eastern Coalfields Ltd (a subsidiary of Coal India Ltd, a government of India enterprise)[1] on February 16th, 1976 as a Personnel Officer[2]. I was posted at Kumardihi Colliery in the Bankola Area[3]. My knowledge of coal fields was limited to the recent mining disaster at Chasnala coal mine[4] a few months before my joining, an incident that alarmed my parents who tried to persuade me to turn the offer down. I dared to go against the will of my family and joined ECL.

The experience that I recount was something of an initiation by fire.

It was a scorching summer day on the 6th of June, 1976. The coal mines under ECL were observing 'Production Fortnight'[5]. Within this fortnight, the management made every effort on ‘Raising’ as much coal as possible. Promotions and production bonuses were linked to the volume of ‘Raising’. The spot from where coal was picked was called 'Face'. The coal was produced mainly by the technique called, 'blast through explosive.’ The spot on the surface of the mine from where the lift went down to the mine was referred to as the 'Pit Top.' From there it reached the lanes beneath leading to the Face. The lanes were provided with rails allowing manual movement of coal carts. The height of the underground lanes could be that of a person, or lower. The roofs of the lanes were supported by wooden sticks  called 'Rola'. They prevented the roofs from falling. 

The Kumardihi coal mine

For some time, a few labourers, who were old and experienced, had been complaining of sounds coming from the Rolas indicating that they were possibly strained. As a preventive measure, the management stopped operations and had the entire labour force withdrawn from the Face. The manager together with a group of underground officers inspected the Face and confirmed fears that the roof may collapse soon.

Around 1.30 pm on the 6th, I was engrossed in reading old files in order to try and understand the affairs of the mine. The manager along with a group of experts were on a routine visit to the Face of the mine since 11.00 in the morning. Suddenly the phone inside the chamber of the manager rang. My office was just next to his. I ran but before I could reach, it stopped ringing. After a few moments, the phone rang again and this time I was in time to answer it. The person on the other side, sounding serious and rather solemn, said, ‘I am the manager of Gurugopinathpur colliery[6]. Please connect me to your manager.’ I replied, ‘The manager has gone underground to the mine; you may leave a message.’ He hurriedly said, ‘Our officers have felt some vibrations which are serious in nature. They fear there may be something wrong in the underground mines of Kumardihi Colliery. Please send some men down immediately.’ I told him that all officers together with the manager were already there. He responded, ’Then our apprehensions appear correct. Please wait for instructions from the General Manager. I am trying to contact him.’

I had barely completed four months at my work in the colliery and wasn’t even aware of the spatial locations of the mines. I was more than a little nervous, trying to figure out how if anything was indeed wrong with the mine at Kumardihi, the officers at Gurugopinathpur anticipated it. The phone rang again. It was the private secretary to the general manager asking me to hold the line. Within moments, I heard the GM say, ‘Gentleman, there is something wrong in the mine. Who else is there in the office?’ I said, ‘No one’. GM responded urgently, ‘Please stay there. The rescue team has already left and will reach soon. Wait for the team and keep the matter under wraps.’ He disconnected.

I was totally perplexed being ignorant about the affairs of coalfields. I anxiously waited for the rescue team to arrive. The team reached soon enough to be followed by the GM. They rushed to the Pit Top with all the necessary equipment. The news that there may have been something wrong in the mine, however, spread very quickly to the officers' residential complex, the staff quarters and the labour colony. The family members of all employees irrespective of rank, assembled in front of the office. Some tried to get to the Pit Top. Everybody was extremely anxious to know what had happened and more importantly who were underground. The security personnel had a tough time tackling the people anxious to have a look at the 'Pit Top Register' which recorded daily  entry to the mine. The Register was found missing. The 'Cap Lamp Register,' another document that backed underground entry record was also missing. Unable to overcome the security blockade, people made a beeline for the office, with some palpably overcome with grief and anxiety. The wife and daughter of Mohammed Saqib, a mining sardar[7] collapsed on the floor of the verandah. I was at my wits end, desperately trying to console and control all the people gathered. 

I had an earlier experience of working with the evacuees of East Pakistan during the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971. I had to serve them round the clock. I spent hours with several elderly persons who had lost their family members, their home and properties and who shared with me instances of their own sufferings, those of little children and of the physical abuse of women. I made use of my experience, trying to help the family members remain patient and confident in a different situation.

The news soon reached that the rescue team that had gone underground was ready to come up. In an instant, the verandah was clear, as all flocked to the Pit Top, apprehensive about casualties if any. The GM did his best to keep them calm. The rescue team, however, returned empty handed but said that a large quantity of coal dust was rolling down to the mouth of the lift underground and that they had not been able to reach the Face. The GM immediately called upon a larger team with more powerful equipment to go underground. After about half an hour, there were indications that the lift was ready to come up. Everyone waiting were familiar with the sound that signaled the movement of the lift. Their restlessness increased. The rescue team emerged with one person fully covered with coal dusts and unidentifiable. Ambulances were on standby. He was immediately transferred to the hospital at a neighbouring town. The rescue team repeated this operation. All the six persons who had gone underground were rescued and sent to hospital. Though wounded severely, all survived this near calamity.

I visited the hospital often. Mr. A K Datta, the assistant manager was among the six injured officers. He told me that during one of the routine inspections, they had identified the problem and feared that the part of a roof would collapse soon. The sound coming out from the wooden Rolas was the indication. On the fateful day, officers led by the manager had gone down to the mine on another routine visit. After the inspection was done, they were on the way back. When they were almost near the lift, suddenly with a huge noise the roof collapsed close to the Face. The officers who were safety trained immediately lay down on the ground and tried to inch their way to the lift, crawling on their fours. The force of the air was so high that they lost control and were dragged through the lane towards the lift mouth. They were severely injured. The coal dusts were rolling through the lanes. The body and face of the officers were covered with dust; their eyes were shut, nose blocked and they were extremely parched and soon fainted. Mr. Datta said, he felt severe pain in his chest and his knees hurt as if the ribs and bones were broken. He did not expect to come up alive.

Timely intervention and immediate rescue operations saved thousands of lives in what could have been one of the biggest mining disasters

Subrata Kumar De lives in Mumbai.


[1] The coal mines in India were nationalised in 1973 and were placed under the Coal Mines Authority of India. In 1975, Eastern Coalfields Ltd (ECL) was formed which took over all the earlier private coal fields in the neighbouring regions in the east included in the provinces of Bengal Bihar and Jharkhand. 

[2] A rank in the Human Resource Department.

[3]  Colliery refers to the mines and the offices. This was in the district of Durgapur in West Bengal in the east of India.

[4] In the district of Dhanbad, in the province of Jharkhand. On December 27, 1975 following an explosion and flooding more than 350 miners were killed.

[5] A fortnight dedicated to production, while other fortnights focussed on maintenance and safety. This was a new reform introduced since the coal mines were brought under government control. It was a good measure though difficult to implement since the people engaged to implement were the same.

[6] An adjoining coal mine, separated from his by a wall.

[7] Head