The G on Her Suitcase

By Carla J. Silver

When World War I breaks out, as a woman, a Jew, wife of a German Jew, a suffragist and a mother of three, it seems Milbourne Goldschmidt's life just lurches from one obstacle to another. When her husband is interned as an enemy alien, it is difficult to support one's children when no one wants to hire Jews, or Germans. Perhaps life would be easier with a different last name, perhaps the name Graham.

PRAISE for A Teygl in His Pocket

It's a page turner, a love story, and an adventure story, that takes us from the town of Stefaneshti in Botosani Province, Rumania, near the Russian border; to Manhattan's Lower East Side and Brooklyn, New York; and to Toronto, Canada, with stops along the way . . . in the early 20th century. It's a story of Jewish bakers and tailors, who leave the Old World for the New, and what they find there. This is a story that was written with love.

Bruce-Michael Gelbert
Editor - Fire Island Q News

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9780228883333

Carla J. Silver

This is Carla J. Silver's second novel, after A Teygl in His Pocket. She is a mostly retired music, English and art teacher. When not writing, she can be found reading, conducting, singing, playing oboe and piano and studying harp. She is the married mother of cellist Beth Silver and animator Adam Y. Silver.

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Copyright © 2022 by Carla J. Silver

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-8332-6 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-8333-3 (eBook)

For Beth and Adam,

and for Milbourne’s other great-great-grandchildren across the pond,

Ethan, Rachel, Emma, Adam O., Leah and Enea.

May you always value your right to vote.

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy;

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What’s Montague? It is nor hand, nor foot,

Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet.

(Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet)

Where are you going, my Suffragette?

I’m going to Washington, sir; she said.

What will you do there, my Suffragette?

Ask for the Ballot, sir; she said.

What will you do next, my Suffragette?

See to your country, sir; she said.

What will the men do, my Suffragette?

Stand ‘round—tell us how, sir; she said.

But, for the poor men, what will you do?

Oh, marry them still, and love them too.

Just as our mothers used to do?

If like our fathers, you’re good and true.

Then we’ll give three cheers, my Suffragette.

Also the ballot? sir; she said.

(Emma J. Hughes, 1914)

Table of Contents

Prologue

Rotterdam to Hull 1862

St. Pancras, London, England

The Convent School 1899

An Unexpected Ally

Not Just Any Shabbat Dinner

Introducing Mr. and Mrs. Hermann Goldschmidt

In Which Milbourne Follows Hugh’s Lead

The Jewish League for Woman Suffrage

The Cause’s First Martyr

The Looming Clouds of War

In Which Milbourne Learns to Cope

Creating a New Life in Hull

In Which Milbourne Becomes a Factory Worker … or Not

The Kitchen Toronto,

Canada 1978

The Gas Mask Factory

Letters … Finally!

Shell Shock

Hildy’s Trials

In Which More Than One Cat Comes Out of the Bag

In Which Milbourne Receives Bad News

In Which the Government Proposes a Recommendation

Fly Boy

Good Luck, Peta

An Unwelcome Guest

In Which Milbourne Makes Some Changes … Again

Jenjackleen

What is a Liberal Jew?

In Which Milbourne Gets a Chanukah Present

A Historic Day!

Epilogue

Historical Notes and Glossary

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Toronto, Canada 1978

It was … undesirable to have a German name in England, during both the wars. And having a Jewish name was never … Grandmama paused, looking for the right word. … comfortable. In fact, you didn’t tell anyone you were Jewish. You didn’t lie, exactly, but you did not volunteer the information. It wasn’t too difficult. It was considered very bad manners to discuss religion or politics, so it rarely came up.

Grandmama had come to stay for three months, and she would have my bedroom. When my father brought her home from the airport, he had me take her suitcase to my—now her—room. It was an old, deep suitcase, no wheels of course, but it had golden latches that were still in perfect condition. What I found most interesting about the suitcase were the gold letters embossed on the side.

J. C. G.

I had always known Grandmama as Jennie Ospalak, but, of course, she must have had a maiden name.

What does the ‘G’ on your suitcase stand for, Grandmama? I asked, feeling a little foolish. Fancy being nineteen years old and not knowing such a simple thing.

Graham, she replied. I was Jennie Claire Graham, but I was born Jennie Goldschmidt.

Two names? And Graham? A surprising name for a Jewish woman. Had she been married twice? Was Grandmama a convert? Surely not, because Hebrew names had patronymics, like Daughter of Hillel, which was Grandmama’s name. All converts were given the name Daughter of Avraham.

It’s a long story, she said. And it’s actually more my mama’s story than mine.

Grandmama always accented the second syllable of mama.

I have time, I said, sitting down.

Grandmama took a sip of her tea, rattling her teacup as she always did but never spilling a drop, swallowed and began.

My mama was born Isabel Milbourne Druiffe …

Rotterdam to Hull 1862

It had been a strange coincidence, a Dutch Jewish man meeting a Scots Quaker girl in Hull of all places, a small Yorkshire port city. It was only chance that brought Simon Druiffe to meet Rebecca Graham. In fact, Simon had encountered Rebecca on his very first day in England in 1862. His ship had landed in Hull, and he planned to make his way to London where he had relatives living in Whitechapel. There were several hours to go before his train, so he decided to explore this port city in his new chosen country.

He was wandering the streets of Hull when his eyes were caught by a set of women’s hats in a store window. Some of the hats in this window were like all the fashionable hats he had seen lately. In an age when hats were considered mandatory attire for a woman, they were getting taller and more elaborate. The flowerpot, decorated with large plumes and worn with hair piled in elaborate styles, had become fashionable. Simon preferred a look that was understated and more modest. Most of the hats in this window were just as large, overstated and elaborate, but there was one small area that had smaller, more modest hats that were pretty and original. Instead of being tall with gawdy silk flowers or plumes, these were shorter and less extravagant. The milliner had sewn small shells in flower-like patterns onto the side of the hat or chosen small feathers as a colour accent rather than a giant plume. A little veil on the front of the hats lent them an air of mystique. Simon was fascinated. He wanted to meet the woman who had designed these hats, so he stepped inside.

A woman with a Scots accent greeted him.

Good afternoon, sir. Are you looking for a hat for your wife? Or your mother? she asked.

No, thank you, Simon replied in his Dutch accent. His English was good because his family had traded with Londoners all his life. I was curious to meet the designer of the smaller hats in the window. They are unique, and I wanted to meet the talented woman who has created her own style.

Ah, those are not mine but my daughter’s, she said with a smile. She is the designer. Me, I am not so ambitious. I design what I am asked for; I do not try to influence my clients but let them tell me what they want. My daughter is the talented one. She paused. Rebecca, come out here. There is a gentleman who is curious to meet you.

A young girl dressed in a pinafore with her hair up in pins stepped out of the back room. No, she could not be as young as she looks, for her hair is up, Simon thought. No self-respecting girl of more than sixteen wore her hair down. She stood behind the counter but bobbed a little curtsey.

Good afternoon, sir.

Simon was suddenly unsure what to say. He had thought of himself as a mature and worldly young man at the wise age of twenty-one, but now he was tongue-tied. He cleared his throat.

I, er … that is … I wanted to tell you that I am impressed with your talent for design, mademoiselle. You have a flair for it.

Thank you, sir, Rebecca answered while her mother looked on. And may I ask what it is you do that you know about such things?

My family is in textiles and ladies’ fashions. At least, they were in Holland and now I am meeting the rest of my family in London because my father is setting up a business there where I shall help him with buying, Simon answered.

Suddenly he felt hopeful. If his father approved of the hats, perhaps he could visit again to purchase some for the London store. It would give him an excuse to see this lovely girl again. The difficulty was that she was obviously not Jewish, and it would not do for him to marry out. His heart sank as he realised he must resist the temptation to see her again.

And so Simon went to London and began to help his father expand the family business, trying to concentrate solely on his work. When the opportunity came up for a buying trip, he took it, intending to avoid Hull. This was difficult because Hull was a busy port city. Although he intended to walk right by the milliner’s shop, Simon’s feet took him there. And again, a couple of months later. Finally, the usually careful Simon realised he was not going to forget this pretty and talented young lady who had begun to haunt his dreams.

It took all his courage to ask permission of Mrs. Graham, the Scottish milliner, if he could walk out with her daughter. She must have seen something in the dark-haired young man because she agreed, although he had told her he was Jewish right at the start.

Mrs. Graham smiled and said, I wilna speak for my daughter. You had better ask her yourself.

Every second Friday afternoon for the next six months, Simon took the train north to Hull, returning on the last Saturday train after sundown. Though he did not know it, after his second Saturday, Rebecca approached the rabbi at Hull Hebrew Congregation on Robinson Row. She began studying Judaism with great diligence, for conversion was usually discouraged. After six months of walks, Simon could deny his love no longer and asked her to marry him. She confessed to him about her studies.

Simon laughed and said, I suspected you were learning something. Sometimes when I said something about my life, you did not question me. I wasn’t sure if you understood what I was talking about or were too shy to ask. Now I know … So, you knew I was going to ask you to marry me already?

Since our second walk in the park, replied Rebecca with confidence.

Simon laughed again.

They were married by the rabbi after she had attended the mikvah, the ritual bath, the last step before becoming a Jew. Her Hebrew name had become Rivka bat Avraham, Rivka being the Hebrew form of Rebecca. Simon called her My Rivka, and she was known thus for the rest of her life.

Simon spent a lot of time worrying about how he was going to introduce Rivka to his family. Jewish families had been known to sit shiva, the mourning period, for children who had married out of the faith. Her Hebrew name had become Rivka bat Avraham, Rivka being the Hebrew form of Rebecca. Simon had called her, My Rivka, and she was known thus for the rest of her life. Much to Simon’s relief, his family welcomed and nurtured her as though she had been born a Jew.

In 1863, they moved to St. Pancras in London, and by 1884, Simon and Rebecca had four boys and two girls, William, Herbert, Godfrey, Constance, Jack and Milbourne. Then, in 1896, Simon died suddenly. He awoke one morning with pain in his jaw and shoulder but went off to work as usual. Still in pain at teatime, he returned from work early and decided to lie down. He never woke up again. He left Rivka a widow in her forties, with five children still at home. Their eldest son, William, had taken over the family business importing fine fabric, silks and laces via Rotterdam. Now the family lived with his support and Rebecca’s millinery shop.

By 1899, their youngest child, Milbourne, was fifteen and almost ready to leave school and join her mother, Rivka, in the millinery business which she had continued in a small way after her move to London, despite having six children at home. William and Constance had already married and begun families of their own, so only Herbert, Godfrey, Jack and herself were left at home with her mother. Herbert joined William in the exporting business in London, and Godfrey was set to join them as well. They were talking of expanding to the colonies, perhaps Canada. One day, Milbourne intended to see the wilds of Canada, and if her brothers had business there, that might provide her with the perfect opportunity to do it.

St. Pancras, London, England

The Convent School 1899

Milbourne felt like St. Peter denying Jesus, just like the Christian Bible story the nuns had taught her about.

Friends with a Jew-girl? Why are you friends with a Jew-girl? Are you a Jew? the girl had taunted derisively. What kind of a name is Druiffe anyway?

My father was Dutch, and my mother is a Graham, from Hull, but her people came from Scotland. Who are you calling a Jew? Milbourne said defensively.

She had seen how the only other two Jewish girls in the school were treated, and she wasn’t going to let them treat her like that. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to stand for them bullying anyone, much less a meek and kind girl like Ruth Abramowicz.

Come on, Ruth, she said. They are mean girls, and we don’t need them.

She took Ruth by the arm, and they