The Still Good Times by Fred Harry Meyer

Author:Fred Harry Meyer [H., Meyer, Fred]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Publisher: Ibidem Press
Published: 2019-07-18T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10:

Living and Learning Abroad

Things progressed normally at the bank. The suit episode was long forgotten. In the meantime, I had met Mr. Stern, the bank's senior partner (the brother of Hugo Stern, who was the son-in-law of Moritz Salomon, my grandfather's brother). He was in his early fifties by then, at once jovial and stern—a philanthropist and one of the leaders of the large and wealthy Jewish community of the suburb where he and his family resided.

Right after we met, he invited me to his home, giving me detailed instructions on how to get there—what train to take, what station to get off at—and promising me that one of his sons would pick me up at the station. On the day of my arrival at the station, I was handed a message explaining there had been some sort of incident that kept them from picking me up, and could I please take a taxi to their home. Unfortunately, my taxi driver was new in the neighborhood and did not recognize the address I gave him. We began passing country lane after country lane, park after park, without finding the address or even a single person to show us the way.

Finally, we had to make our way back to the station to inquire there. The station master was more annoyed at our stupidity than we were: ALL the country lanes we had passed, ALL the parks and gates, were part and parcel of the Stern estate! I simply could not believe my ears, and then even less my eyes, when we returned and continued far on until reaching the “château” that Mr. Stern called home.

If I knew that Mr. Stern had red hair, I now saw that his entire family had fiery-red heads of hair (like my landlord's). If truth be told, they—the many daughters and sons—were a rather plain-looking lot, but as charming and friendly to me as anyone could hope for. They wanted to know all about the Salomons (the family of my grandfather's brother) and so forth, until finally someone announced that dinner was ready.

It was a storybook setting: not only the endlessly-long family table, but, and this I had never even heard of, the fact that a servant in silk knee-britches (white stockings, black tie and jacket) stood behind each and every occupied chair! There to see to it that our wine glasses were filled, our serviettes in place, and that everything was within our reach. With every new course, they would remove our plates, march out in unison and then march back in with the next course. I was so overwhelmed by all of this, that I truly remember little else about the evening. Before I knew it, I was being driven back to the station, taking the train back to London and the Tube to Maida Vale.

What I do remember is the fact that I was never invited back. Nor did I ever see any of them again, except for the rare occasion when I crossed paths with Mr.

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