Manfred Kaufmann moved from place to place during the final eight years of his life. From Freiburg im Bresgau in Germany he went to Mulhouse in France. From Mulhouse he went to Vichy near Paris, and from Vichy he went to Marseille on the Mediterranean. In Marseille, Manfred was able to earn enough money to support his parents, Louis and Yvonne, neither of whom were able to secure work. Marseille was at that time (August 1941) … … More Manfred Kaufmann
Noam Sagi, the son of one of the Israeli hostages, Ada Saga (aged 75), says that he hopes his mother is doing something that no politician is able to do: looking her captors in the eye and talking to them in their mother tongue, Arabic. Ada was born in Israel to Polish-Jewish parents who had … More “2023, not 1939”
Monday’s weather forecast for the UK, synopsised by a radio presenter, was mixed: “Sunshine and showers in the North and South. Cloudy with smells of rain in between.” An almost poetic mistake which the presenter excused with: “Well, rain smells wonderful!” True – especially after a heatwave. Although what our olfactory receptors pick up is … More Cloudy with smells of rain
Simone is probably long dead. It’s possible that he lived to his nineties – which would have been in the 2010s. It’s possible that he got married and had a family. But all we know is from a glimpse of his life at 5pm on 14 May 1942, when he sat down to write a … More Simone and Linuccia
A day in my home town with my friend from my old town. Walking and talking through the streets of Cambridge. Over its bridges and down its back lanes. A nose in The Eagle, a pause to taste fudge, a pit stop at the Old Bicycle Shop to drink tea and coffee. A spell in … More Punters and cows
The least Italian-like Italian city I have ever been to. A run along the sea to the Lanterna Bagno Marino ‘La Lanterna‘ lido, also known as ‘El Pedocìn’ (meaning little louse or mussels), but not for a swim. Spring has only just arrived, and this segregated swimming place can wait for the summer. Still, I … More Notes from Trieste
The grave of three men: Jobo, Cabo, Baco. They all look alike. Two could be brothers, the third could be the son of one, or a nephew, or a much younger brother. This youngest man (Cabo) died in 1943 at the age of 23. The 23-year-old man of a different family looks thoughtful and resolute. … More Montenegro Lives
I had all of Saturday to travel from Swansea in the West to Cambridge in the East, so I decided to stop mid-way. A refuge from the fast lane which promised to peel back the centuries. All the way to the sacred oaks of Awsty Wood, the marching feet of Roman legionnaires, and the group … More A Sanctuary
Some hours ago I went for a walk to find the solution to a problem. I put on a podcast about pilgrimage (a subject pertinent to the project I was avoiding) and played a childish game: if I took the long route to the two-shelved mini library three roads away, I might discover a book … More Miracles and games
A year ago, I wrote that the curators of the Mass Observation Archive were making their annual appeal for our 12th May diaries. Here we are again, twelve long yet quick months later, and the Project is keen to know how we have fared. Its aim remains to collect glimpses of our lives on one … More 12th May
Have Paprika, Will Travel 