Ch.1 A Trip to the Country
Posted: Fri Apr 12, 2019 12:04 am
Saturday, 13 March 1937 10.30am
Blaine Manor, Brueton Park, Solihull, Warks.
The summons had come in the form of a telegram, delivered late on the Friday afternoon by a young telegram boy. Charles Fortesque Esq. requesting his presence at his home, Blaine Manor, a large country house that overlooked Brueton Park on the outskirts of Solihull.
Relishing the thought of seeing his uncle again but lacking transport as his own car was in the garage, Tarquin had corralled Walt into driving him over to Blaine Manor in a borrowed Bedford van. Walt had done a few odd jobs for Tarquin and Tarquin knew he would be at a loose end that weekend. The promise of a bit of extra spending money had been enough to secure the deal.
Charles had met them on crutches, with his right leg in plaster. He greeted Tarquin warmly - “My dear boy! How lovely to see you!” - and he and Walt had been ushered into Charles’ study, where a tall, waist-coated man of similar age to Tarquin and Walt, was stood browsing Charles’ book collection.
“You remember Mathew?” said Charles breezily. “He’s my second wife’s younger brother, or something like that, anyway. He’s an engineer; I thought that might come in handy!” He waved his hand vaguely as if the reason for that statement now alluded him. The two men studied each other - one or two shared chats over the years at parties and family get-togethers - so not strangers, but not well known to each other, either.
“Anyway, to business,” said Charles briskly, lowering himself carefully into a well-upholstered chair and indicating that the others should do the same. “If you’ve read the newspapers, you’ll know that things aren’t great in Germany. Herr Hitler may have got the trains running on time and the Olympics last year were absolutely whizz bang, but he’s being beastly to the Jews. They’re having a torrid time and many of them are voting with their feet!”
“I’ve had a letter from an old pal of mine asking for help. Here, it’s probably easier if you read it for yourselves...” He picked up the letter from a occasional table next to his chair and passes it over to read.
“My dear Charles,
You will be aware, I am sure, of recent developments in Germany under Herr Hitler and his National Socialist Party. Jews in that country are no longer entitled to work in many professions and as a result, many families are living in a state of extreme poverty.
The Prime Minister has (reluctantly!) agreed that as a country we should do something to help those who are being persecuted. I have spoken to the Right Honourable Mr Eden, the Foreign Secretary who has stressed to me that we can accept a limited number of refugees, although the expense of doing so should not be borne by the State if at all possible.
Our members are raising as much as they can, but much of that money is being used to pay the DM1000 ransom being demanded by the German government for each person they allow to leave. Regrettably, that leaves very little in the coffers for accommodation and provisions when they land here.
If I remember correctly, you have a house in Warwickshire which you told me is unoccupied. Would we be able to use it for a while, to help these poor unfortunates with a roof over their heads until they get back on their feet? I cannot, I fear, offer more than a token recompense for its use, but I would be happy to convey news of your philanthropy to Mr Eden and Mr Baldwin, which can only be of assistance in your political ambitions.
I would be grateful for a prompt reply. We have a ship arriving on 20 March so the sooner I can make preparations, the better.
Please convey my warmest regards to Marjorie.
With my very best wishes, sincerely yours,
Neville.
Capt. (retd) Neville J. Laski QC
President, London Committee of Deputies of British Jews.”
Charles continued, “The house that Neville’s referring to is a little place in Chadwick End - that’s a village about 20 miles or so from here. It’s not had the most fortunate of history and it’s currently stood empty. Obviously, my leg means I’m confined to barracks so would you mind popping down to take a look at the place for me?”
Blaine Manor, Brueton Park, Solihull, Warks.
The summons had come in the form of a telegram, delivered late on the Friday afternoon by a young telegram boy. Charles Fortesque Esq. requesting his presence at his home, Blaine Manor, a large country house that overlooked Brueton Park on the outskirts of Solihull.
Relishing the thought of seeing his uncle again but lacking transport as his own car was in the garage, Tarquin had corralled Walt into driving him over to Blaine Manor in a borrowed Bedford van. Walt had done a few odd jobs for Tarquin and Tarquin knew he would be at a loose end that weekend. The promise of a bit of extra spending money had been enough to secure the deal.
Charles had met them on crutches, with his right leg in plaster. He greeted Tarquin warmly - “My dear boy! How lovely to see you!” - and he and Walt had been ushered into Charles’ study, where a tall, waist-coated man of similar age to Tarquin and Walt, was stood browsing Charles’ book collection.
“You remember Mathew?” said Charles breezily. “He’s my second wife’s younger brother, or something like that, anyway. He’s an engineer; I thought that might come in handy!” He waved his hand vaguely as if the reason for that statement now alluded him. The two men studied each other - one or two shared chats over the years at parties and family get-togethers - so not strangers, but not well known to each other, either.
“Anyway, to business,” said Charles briskly, lowering himself carefully into a well-upholstered chair and indicating that the others should do the same. “If you’ve read the newspapers, you’ll know that things aren’t great in Germany. Herr Hitler may have got the trains running on time and the Olympics last year were absolutely whizz bang, but he’s being beastly to the Jews. They’re having a torrid time and many of them are voting with their feet!”
“I’ve had a letter from an old pal of mine asking for help. Here, it’s probably easier if you read it for yourselves...” He picked up the letter from a occasional table next to his chair and passes it over to read.
“My dear Charles,
You will be aware, I am sure, of recent developments in Germany under Herr Hitler and his National Socialist Party. Jews in that country are no longer entitled to work in many professions and as a result, many families are living in a state of extreme poverty.
The Prime Minister has (reluctantly!) agreed that as a country we should do something to help those who are being persecuted. I have spoken to the Right Honourable Mr Eden, the Foreign Secretary who has stressed to me that we can accept a limited number of refugees, although the expense of doing so should not be borne by the State if at all possible.
Our members are raising as much as they can, but much of that money is being used to pay the DM1000 ransom being demanded by the German government for each person they allow to leave. Regrettably, that leaves very little in the coffers for accommodation and provisions when they land here.
If I remember correctly, you have a house in Warwickshire which you told me is unoccupied. Would we be able to use it for a while, to help these poor unfortunates with a roof over their heads until they get back on their feet? I cannot, I fear, offer more than a token recompense for its use, but I would be happy to convey news of your philanthropy to Mr Eden and Mr Baldwin, which can only be of assistance in your political ambitions.
I would be grateful for a prompt reply. We have a ship arriving on 20 March so the sooner I can make preparations, the better.
Please convey my warmest regards to Marjorie.
With my very best wishes, sincerely yours,
Neville.
Capt. (retd) Neville J. Laski QC
President, London Committee of Deputies of British Jews.”
Charles continued, “The house that Neville’s referring to is a little place in Chadwick End - that’s a village about 20 miles or so from here. It’s not had the most fortunate of history and it’s currently stood empty. Obviously, my leg means I’m confined to barracks so would you mind popping down to take a look at the place for me?”