the family decamp to Blankenberghe, Belgium in 1935 Blankenberghe was the place to go in the 1930s. Instead of promenading at Southend or Margate, the Jewish small busiess people had moved on to Belgium.
It was August 1935 and I was eleven and a half. I had passed my scholarship and was to start at Hornsey High School for Girls in the September, so it was time for my horizons to be broadened. The "Ginsberg Girls" were going to shut their shos on the Saturday evening and catch the overnight ferry to Ostende. Dad had other ideas. He decided to take me with him during the day, find a small, cheap "pension" in Ostend for the night and then meet mum off the ferry boat in the morning it was to be our special adventure.
In those days you could catch a ferry from the end of the pier at Southend, which then called at Margate's ppier to pick up more holidaymakers before crossing the channel to Ostend. The passport check was done on board. That was dad's downfall. I as all right as I had a full British passport but dad was classed as stateless and had a special passbook. He was supposed to inform the police of his whereabouts at all times and he needed to get the passbook stamped with their permission to travel. He had no such permission. How he thought he could get away with it I do not know but he certainly tried. Perhaps he thought that in the crush of an August sailing they might not be as careful as usual. No such luck. They picked him out and told him he would be put ashore at margate.
Dad decided I should continue the journey alone as my ticket was paid for. His instructions were to wait at Ostende for him to follow by the next boat that afternoon. He was sure he could get permission quickly, but he gave me a fall-back strategy in case he did not make it by then. I was to make my way to Blankenberghe by train, find the hotal that mum had booked us into for the week, and wait there for her to arrive early the next morning. He wrote down the name of the hotel for me, gave me a little money and then stepped off the boat at Margate.
What happened his end I don't know, but I waited nervously i Ostende. My worst fears were confirmed when the afternoon boat came in and there was no dad on board. My adventure began. I managed to find the station and took the train to Blankenberghe, congratulating myself on being very grown up. But when I arrived at the huge hotel which seemed very grand, with a commissionaire guarding its doors, I could not muster up the courage to go in. instead I went down to the sands and sat there rather forlornly and very hungry. I was expecting to have to sleep there for the night.
There were still a few familis sitting on the beach even though it was evening. And as i sat there fingering the sand a young boy approached and started to talk to me in French. I managed to communicate to him that I was alone in the world and tears began to flood into my eyes. Apparently he thought I meant my parents had died and he rushed off to his mum agitatedly telling her my story. Thank goodness she had a good command of English and lived locally. When she realised my situation she took charge. She took me to her home, gave me a huge mug of chocolate and some bread and cheese before putting me to bed. in the morning early she took me to the hotel where she handed me over to my worried mother who had arrived a little earlier. It was Monday night before dad managed to join us.
Once that adventure was put behind me we managed to have an enjoyable week and I met the yong Belgian boy a couple of times down on the beach. Uncle Joe insisted we visit the First World War battlefields where he had served his country. He had been a dispatch rider taking messages up to the front from headquarters and he more than anyone else, was surprised that he had survived. Every journey he made he had thought would be his last. He had one photo of himslef with his company at HQ. Sadly all the others had been killed of had died of trench fever.
Come the time to go home, dad would not go with them bcause he had been cheated out of those couple of days. He kept me with him and we stayed an extra night in Brussels. That night was a emeorable one for me. I had my first period. Mum had told me nothing about menstruation so it was a bit of a shock. Dad coped well with the minor crisis, going hiimself to the chemist to buy me some sanitary towels and a belt. But imagine my embarrassment.
Our trials were not yet over. We were stopped and searched by the customs when we got back to England and dad was found to be trying to smuggle in an expensive gold and pearl ring without paying the duty. Dad had been in trouble before and had actually served a short prison sentence, so things did not go well for him on this occasion. Mum really let him have the rough edge of her tongue when we did finally get home.
The only other time I went abroad with the Ginsberg girls was to Paris, Christmas 1936, when I became 13 and was bought my first full length evening dress. We stayed at the George V Hotel for three nights and i was taken to the Folies Bergeres to see Josephine Baker. It was all so exciting. But that was the last time I ever went on holiday with mum and dad.
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