the norrice leader first world war supplement september 2014
1
The Norrice Leader
World War One
Memorial Supplement
September 2014
A
t this time, when the country is recalling World War One, on the 100th
anniversary of the outbreak of hostilities, we look back on the considerable
Jewish contribution and how it affected the families of some of our members.
In 1920, The British Jewry Book of Honour listed all Jews from Great Britain and the
Empire who took part, those who won honours and those who died. It carries the
following letter of endorsement which says it all:
Brothers-in-Arms
On the right in this photograph is Isadore
Julius Levy,
Levy grandfather of Louise Felder.
On the left is his brother, Bertram Levy.
Isadore came across a German soldier in
the trenches. He took aim and was about
to fire when he heard him recite the Shema
– so he shot him in the foot!
Right Hon. Winston Churchill M.P.
Secretary of State for War
War Office
Whitehall, S.W.1.
6th March 1920
It is with great pleasure that I acceded to your request to contribute a message
to the British Jewry Book of Honour. I feel, however, that any such message from
me is unnecessary in view of the facts, which speak for themselves.
Although Jews form but a small proportion of the population of the British
Empire, some 60,000 fought for the War in Europe, Africa and Asia. Of these, 2,324
gave their lives for the Cause and a further 6,350 became casualties. Five Jewish
soldiers won the highest honour it is possible to obtain in our country, namely the
Victoria Cross, while a further 1,533 obtained other honours.
I can truthfully say that this record is a great one, and British Jews can look
back with pride on the honourable part they played in winning the Great War.
(Signed) WINSTON S. CHURCHILL
Probably the most distinguished Jewish soldier of the First World War was LieutenantGeneral Sir John Monash, G.C.M.G., K.C.B., G.O.C. Australian Corps. He says:
“ . . . The fortune of war, in my case a happy one, placed me in command of that
splendid fighting instrument – the Australian Army Corps – and to the men of that
Corps I owe all that has come to me. But not to them alone, for I owe much, also, to the
many thousands of Jewish Soldiers, scattered throughout all His Majesty’s Armies,
who by their valour, their fortitude, and their devoted sacrifice have combined to
achieve a story of Jewish service to our Country, which will still further enhance the
prestige of every British Citizen of the Jewish faith, as second to no other in patriotism
or in readiness and ability to bear his full share of all the burdens of the State. . . .”
I would like to dedicate this feature to the memory of my husband, Lionel Halter  whose
passion for the study of this conflict sparked the idea of putting it together. My sincerest
thanks to all those who sent in the stories and photographs. HRH
On the Battlefields
by Ben Harris, aged 14
A
s part of Activities’ Week at my school, UCS in
Hampstead, my year, Year 9, went to visit various
battlefields and cemeteries from the First World
War, in both Belgium and France.
Our first stop was at the largest French military
cemetery in the world, Notre Dame de Lorette. There are
more than 40,000 fallen buried here, mostly from World
War I, and I saw several Jewish graves.
We also visited the Arras Memorial in the Faubourg
d’Amiens British Cemetery which commemorates 34,785
soldiers from the UK and the Commonwealth with no The boys laid stones on a
known grave, who died between the spring of 1916 and the
Jewish headstone
summer of 1918. I feel that this must have been horrendous
for families not knowing where their loved ones were buried.
On the second day we went into Belgium, to Ypres which the British soldiers
called “Wipers”. As well as the Flanders Fields Museum, we visited both an Allied
and German cemetery and heard the Last Post at the Menin Gate which is sounded
every evening at 8 pm.
We visited trenches but as it was a nice summer’s day it was hard to imagine the
appalling conditions that the soldiers fought in. With very little sleep and mortars
going off all the time around them they would have been permanently exhausted.
Many of them suffered from Trench Foot which caused a fungal infection and they
would lose their toes. There were rats, often the size of cats running through the
trenches feeding on the dead bodies.
I also saw the grave of a young soldier executed for desertion. At 17 he was 3 years
older than me and most probably suffering from terrible shell shock.
It made me appreciate the comforts of home more than ever.
Lost at 20
Private Raymond (Reuben) Claff,
uncle of Leila Wynbourne, was born in
1897, in Prestwich, the son of Russianborn parents Samuel Aaron and Rose
Claff (née Kaufman). At the time of the
1911 census, the Claff family were living
at 24b Alexandra Road, Southport. His
father had remarried (to Bertha Jacobs)
in 1906.
He died on the Western Front, on
14 June 1918, while serving with the 1st
Battalion, Prince Albert’s (Somerset Light Infantry). He is buried in
Pernes British Cemetery in France.
The Good German
Fritz Kirsch, father of Steven, studied
for a Business Diploma in his native
Germany. As part of the training, he
had to spend two years in a foreign
country and chose England – he loved
it and came to speak perfect English.
However, this was 1914 and when war
was imminent he took a boat back to
Germany in order to volunteer for the
army. Although he served in the front
line, he survived the conflict, winning
the Iron Cross (pro rata, more Jews
volunteered for the German army than any
other ethnic group. They wanted to show
Steven’s father is on the left in this
that they were
photo of 1914
good Germans).
The Iron Cross helped when he tried to
leave Germany in 1933 but, now a successful
businessman, he was under contract to his
company and had to stay. A few years later,
his employer acquired a factory in Hitchin,
Hertfordshire, and appointed him as manager.
The family came to this country, Kirsch Senior
changed his name to Frederick and they settled
Steven (r) and his brother
served in the British Army in Letchworth Garden City.
in WW2
2
the norrice leader first world war supplement september 2014
With the Jewish
Brigade in Egypt
The following article, written by Renee Lauffer (née Wolfson),
mother of Jonathan Lauffer, only came to light after she
died. It can also be found in the Jewish Archive Museum in
Glasgow
M
y Grandfather, Samuel (William) Wolfson, arrived in Glasgow in 1895
by accident. As so many others before him, he thought he had a ticket
to New York, but it only took him as far as Glasgow! The ship stopped
there and he had to get off. He had left his pregnant wife behind in
Russia and she followed him to Glasgow as soon as her baby was born and fit to
travel. That baby was my father who, all his life, considered himself a Glaswegian
(almost) born and bred.
At the outbreak of the First World War, my father enlisted into the Royal Scots
Fusiliers and spent many months in the trenches in Belgium and France. A religious
Jew by upbringing, his experiences in the trenches seem to have made him more,
rather than less, devout. He prayed three times a day and ate only bread and tins of
sardines. He did, however, accept his daily ration of rum in a rather futile effort to
keep himself warm. He laid tefillin every morning in his trench and his fellow trenchmates remained quiet throughout this time saying “Sh! The Jew boy’s praying.” In
no way was this a derogatory remark; the Scots, at least in those days, had more
respect for religion than the English and theirs was a respectful silence.
After some horrendous months about which he rarely spoke, my father suffered
shrapnel wounds and was shipped back to hospital in England. These injuries,
although quite serious, certainly saved his life, as few of his colleagues of the Royal
Fusiliers survived much longer across the Channel.
Whilst my father was in hospital recuperating, his commanding officer paid him
a visit, and, in the course of conversation, mentioned that he understood a Jewish
regiment was to be set up. He was very aware of my father’s religious convictions
and suggested that he might like to transfer. My father was delighted with the idea
and that’s how he became a sergeant in the Jewish Brigade, the 38th Battalion Royal
Fusiliers.
The Jewish Battalion was a motley crew at its inception, but not for long. First
of all, many of the volunteers had been tailors in their previous lives and now ran a
profitable sideline altering army uniforms to make them look as if they were tailormade! Secondly, their commander was Lieutenant Colonel J H Patterson who had
already led the Zion Mule Corps through the Gallipoli campaign with Vladimir
Jabotinsky, who knew very well how to deal with unruly and eccentric Jewish
characters and was happy to have the job of training this new lot.
Colonel Patterson was a strict disciplinarian, but a charismatic and just leader.
He was also a devout Christian and had no patience with lukewarm Jews. Although
my father was only a sergeant, he was well known to Colonel Patterson as being the
most learned man in the Battalion and the Colonel always called him in for advice on
religious matters. On one occasion there had been mumbling dissatisfaction among
the men about their limited choices of breakfast and Colonel Patterson called my
father in to find out about Jewish dietary laws. Having been fully briefed, he ordered
the men to the parade ground and made a speech along these lines:
“It has come to my notice that some of you are complaining that your breakfasts are not as
good as in the regular army. I want you to know that as long as I am in charge of the Battalion
you will receive only kosher food. Consequently there will be no bacon for breakfast here.”
Incidentally the army cook was Mr Bonn (later of Bonn’s Biscuits and Bonn’s Matzo
fame) and my father frequently used to recall with nostalgia the wonderful roly-poly
puddings and kugels he had during his time in the Battalion. In fact, when I was a
teenager, my first experimental cakes, which were always as heavy as clay and considered
disasters by the rest of the family, were genuinely enjoyed by my father who used to say,
“Mmm, very good, just like we used to have in the army!”
When the 38th Battalion was well and truly whipped into shape, it went overseas
to Egypt and my father, like all the regular tourists, had his photograph taken sitting
on a camel in front of the Sphinx at Giza. This photograph is quite historic and I
hope it reproduces well enough to include in the magazine. My father is the one in
the middle of the group hunched over his camel. He used to tell us that he had eaten
rotten eggs the evening before and was suffering from stomach cramp! However, I
suspect it was just that he was not a very experienced camel rider, never having had
the opportunity to learn to ride one during his childhood in Glasgow! (I am sure you
will agree that the only soldier looking really comfortable is the lance-corporal in the
front on the little white donkey.)
After some months in Egypt, the Jewish Battalion went on to spend the rest of the
war in Palestine. Thus began my father’s long love affair with the Land of Israel.
All his experiences were new and exciting, as his letters home and his letters to
his brother, also in the army, reveal. He visited Kibbutzim where the girls worked
alongside the men, strong and fearless, with “thighs like tree-trunks and arm muscles
the size of grapefruits.” He went to the wineries in Rishon LeZion and watched grapes
being trampled. He went to Jerusalem and with great awe approached the Wailing
Samuel Wolfson on his camel (fourth from right) with his comrades
in front of the Sphynx at Giza
Wall, both envying and pitying the destitute old Jerusalemites praying and crying
there. Of course, not all his experiences were good ones. Like many people living in
Palestine in those days he contracted malaria which was to plague him for many, many
years back in civilian life.
One special occasion my father recalled with great pleasure was the laying of the
foundation stones of the Hebrew University. This took place on 24 July 1918. My father
was chosen as one of the representatives from the Jewish Battalion and was present at
the ceremony when Chaim Weizmann and General Allenby laid 12 foundation stones
(representing the 12 Tribes of Israel) on the beautiful Mount Scopus. Most people know
of the impressive, prestigious ceremony, on 1 April 1925, when the University was
officially opened in the presence of all the important personalities of the time: Lord
Balfour, Sir Herbert Samuel, General Allenby, Chaim Weizmann, Chief Rabbi Kook, H
N Bialik and Ahad Ha-Am. Not so many know of its modest beginning in 1918.
At the end of the war my father was torn between his desire to remain in Palestine
and his responsibilities to his family back in Glasgow – he was the eldest of eleven
children and was expected to do his bit towards supporting them. Always a man with
a strong social conscience, duty finally prevailed and he returned to Britain, settled
down, married, and got on with his life as a devout Jew, loyal to the country which
had nurtured him. The only occasions I can ever recollect my father removing his hat
or kippah was during the playing of God Save the King which, between the wars, was
performed with remarkable frequency at the end of cinemas shows and every other
sort of happening. At these times army training came to the fore and he stood upright,
hatless and motionless until the very last chords had faded away, whilst all around him
would be rushing to the exits; then he would replace his hat and relax.
Two things in later life gave my father pleasure. One was that Colonel Patterson
kept in touch with him. We have a letter from him which reads:
“I am at home at last and am now busy writing the history of the Battalion. I want you to be
so kind as to send me a copy of the address made to the Battalion by General Chaytor at Rafa.
This will prove most interesting reading for those anti-Semites who say the Bn was no good!
With good wishes and trusting you are quite fit,
Yours sincerely
J H Patterson”
The history to which he refers to appeared in 1922 under the title “With the Judeans in
the Palestine Campaign.” When it was published, Colonel Patterson sent my father a
signed copy. The address, by General Chaytor at Rafa, may have been something my
father took down in shorthand at which he was very proficient.
The second thing to give him pleasure was a letter he received from the Israeli
Ambassador on 4 December 1969. It reads:
“It gives me great pleasure to enclose the certificate and pin of the Israel Fighters’
Decoration which my Government awarded you in recognition of your service in the Jewish
Legions of the 1st World War.
May you enjoy wearing the pin in good health for many years to come in the knowledge
that you helped lay the foundation of modern Israel’s proud Defence Forces.
Yours sincerely
Aharon Remez.”
My father did wear that pin with great pride for the rest of his life.
There is a moshav in Israel called Avichail, which was established by members
of the Jewish Brigade who chose to remain in Palestine at the end of the war or
returned there during the 30s. They were mainly Americans and Canadians from
the 39th and 40th Battalions, and with tender loving care, some of the elders there
set up a museum of the Zion Mule Corps and the Jewish Legion. Avichail is a few
kilometres north of Netanya and the museum is called Bet HaGedudim. Whilst
my father was still alive, we had a family outing to Avichail and gave the museum
all the things of interest which he had retained and, as far as I know, they are still
there with many other exhibits.
the norrice leader first world war supplement september 2014
A Proud Soldier
Marcus Segal
Robert Hurst writes:
by Julian Pollard
S
3
ome 20 years ago while winding up the estate of a client, aged in
her mid nineties I discovered a dusty cache of fading, handwritten
letters hidden at the back of a desk drawer lovingly bound with
silk ribbon. Carefully unwrapping the contents it soon became
clear that these were over 100 letters sent during 1916-1917 from her
brother from the trenches in France. Now, the Jewish Military Museum is
custodian to a collection of over 150 of his letters.
Marcus Segal was born on 5 December 1896 in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne,
later moving to Kilburn with his family. He attended the University College
School, after which he went straight into the London Regiment. He was 17
years 10 months at the time of enlistment and stood at just 5 ft 2 ¾ inches.
On 29 October 1915, he was commissioned as a temporary Second Lieutenant in the 16th Battalion, King’s
Liverpool Regiment (he later became part of the 13th Battalion). By September 1916, he had joined the British
Expeditionary Force in France and it is from here that he wrote the letters.
Despite his youth, Marcus saw himself as a Jewish man and asked his parents to “let Grandma know I have
carrying (sic) on my work as a Good Jew”. He tried to arrange Jewish Services in the trenches with Chaplains, Rev Jacob
Phillips and Reverend Adler, and to participate in Jewish festivals such as Succot;”I had my last dug-out full of leaves
on top in honour of Succot but I dare not put any fruit hanging as fruit would not hang long here…life out here makes one very
religious and it makes one think what the Almighty can do…we get issued with biscuits just like Matza.
Trench life was not all fighting and loss. Soldiers had a lot of time on their hands and were able to play sports
and poker, listen to music and write home. He was very popular with his fellow officers and men and made many
friends, “I have met men galore I know out here and it makes matters very much jollier…naturally I am somewhat popular as
I am jack of all trades.”
I believe he was so popular because he had a great sense of humour, and he liked to tell stories about his life in
the trenches and home. He joked about catching his brother’s measles “I patted his sweet letter against my face hoping
to catch a few germs, but up to the present, no luck”. Then “A strange thing happened, one of the Scots took a prisoner
who had a tefillin in his pockets and he rushed to Hdquts (sic) thinking he had found some new signalling device.
I did laugh’’
Segal was a loyal son and brother – he loved his family very much. He wrote to his parents, his siblings,
grandparents, aunts and uncles. He was always asking after his family’s health and sending them prayers. “I am
sure there is no man in the world could be blessed with better parents than you are to me. I think all day of you just as you must
think of me. I…only pray to God that I might be returned safely to you and make myself worthy of your tender care.”
Heartbreakingly, Marcus Segal was killed by a shell at Arras on 19 June 1917 and, reading what I knew to be
his last letter home, was deeply moving. He was still full of hope and optimism the day before he was killed, ‘I am
keeping quite well despite pretty rough times. We expect to be relieved in a few days’ time and then hope to go out
for a week or two’s rest’.
To read the letters, visit (see www.thejmm.org.uk)
M
y
grandfather,
P e r e z
Mosbacher (on the far
right in photograph)
was an Orthodox Jew,
an active member of
the Jewish community
in Frankfurt, and a
proud soldier in the
German Army.
Below is the photograph of my grandparents’ engagement
in 1917/1918, where
my grandfather poses
in his German army
A Question of Remembrance
S
ince I can remember, my father has furnished
me with stories of Uncle George, the younger
brother of my grandfather who took himself off
to war in 1916, against the wishes of his parents.
Unbeknown to us, Uncle George’s real name was Joseph
Nossek, but he assumed the pseudonym George Norris,
a more English rather than Jewish name, in order perhaps
to aid enlistment. In any event Uncle George travelled
north to Scotland where he joined the army and became a
Corporal in the 2nd Bn, the Royal Scots.
As I was led to understand, my Zeida used to
regale my dad (born Geoffrey Nossek, later Norton) and
his sister, Peggy Gosen (former member of Norrice Lea),
with stories of how his younger brother was sent to France
and that he died at the infamous battle of the Somme
in 1916. Somehow I seem to recall that my dad always
insisted that Uncle George was the bugler, having been the
regular Baal Shofar at shul, and that he took a bullet when
raising his head above the trench to sound the advance. As
Blackadder might say, ‘cannon fodder’. Either way, Uncle
George didn’t last long and he died in the service of his
country. Memorial lists at both Willesden and Waltham
Abbey US cemeteries show a George Norris listed and for dad this was always a testament to the
underlying truth of the story.
Occasionally, Dad would talk about making a pilgrimage to Gommecourt Cemetery in
France to find Uncle George’s grave and final resting place but, in truth, I don’t think I ever really
believed he existed and in reality we certainly never made the trip.
For no particular reason, other than curiosity, my Aunt Peggy recently decided to search the
UK census for information on her parents’ background. In the process, she discovered that, while
no one by the name of George was registered, one Joseph Nossek was. This was actually the
first time we had learned of his true identity. Imagine then our shock when, just a few months
later, my eldest son, Clark, read, in The Jewish Chronicle, an article by Josh Jackman about some
research, by Martin Sugarman of AJEX, that unearthed a discovery that two Jewish servicemen
who were killed in action during World War I had been buried beneath a cross, and that the
name of one of those soldiers was one Corporal Joseph Nossek! To add to this, it seemed that the
Commonwealth War Graves Commission (CWGC) had already been approached by a member
of the Nossek family to enquire as to why this was so, yet, to our knowledge, no one from
our relatively small family had made such an approach. As it turned out, it was a distant and
relatively unknown cousin of my father whose relationship to Uncle George was, to some extent,
more peripheral. Nonetheless, the CWGC had responded to the enquiry advising as follows…
“In replying to your letter about the commemoration of Corporal Nossek….the
Commission’s over-arching policy is to respect the wishes of the next-of-kin as expressed when
the headstone was originally engraved. In Corporal Nossek’s case we can be sure that the
uniform.
Their wedding took place on Lag
B’Omer in 1918. My grandmother was
called Fridl. She came from Fuerth.
After
Kristallnacht,
my
grandfather spent two weeks in
Buchenwald Concentration Camp.
Both my grandparents came to
London in the summer of 1939, where
they became active members of the
Golders Green Beth Hamedrash
(Munk’s). My grandfather passed
away in 1974, and my grandmother
in 1982.
by Michael Norton
family was contacted because the next-of-kin’s details were published in the cemetery register.
Unfortunately we do not have a copy of the Final Verification Form that would have proved
what their wishes were.
“In such cases our position is that it would not be right to second guess such decisions. It
is possible that a mistake was made either by the family misunderstanding the form, or by the
Commission, but there is no evidence for this and therefore we cannot act on that assumption.
What we do know from experience is that sometimes people made surprising choices.
“I know this is unlikely to be a satisfactory answer from your point of view, but I hope you
can understand the reasons for the Commission’s policy on this subject.”
It was at this point that my father, aunt and I took up the cause, variously contacting
the CWGC, the JC, AJEX, the Chief Rabbi’s Office and even my local MP, Mike Freer, who
immediately forwarded the story to a colleague of his who serves on the CWGC. At the same
time, Marcus Dysch at the JC discovered something of immeasurable value from the paper’s
archives. In the Social and Personal column of the edition dated 25 August 1916, two obituaries
were recorded as follows:
NOSSEK. – On Monday 21st August, Israel, aged 59, dearly beloved husband of Leah Nossek.
Dearly mourned by his sorrowing wife, sons, daughters, daughters-in-law, sons-in-law, and
grandchildren. May his dear soul rest in peace. Shiva at 10 Fairclough Street. E.
NOSSEK. – Killed in action in France, on the 23rd July, Joseph (Corporal George Norris, Royal
Scots) dearly beloved son of Mrs. and the late Israel Nossek, in his 21st year. Deeply mourned
by his broken-hearted mother, brothers, sisters and relatives. May his dear young soul rest in
peace. Shiva as above.
It seems to add to the tragedy of the story. It was
also true that my great grandfather, Israel Nossek, had
died of a broken heart soon after he discovered that
his beloved youngest son had died on the battlefield.
How tragic for my great grandmother.
What more proof was needed? Was it really likely
that an orthodox Jewish family would sit shiva for a
husband and son, a brother and father, while at the
same time requesting that same soldier be buried
beneath a cross?
Fortunately the CWGC saw it very much the same
way. A new Final Verification Form was completed by
my father last November and a new stone was engraved
to the satisfaction of both the family and AJEX.
As I pen this story, the family is planning a trip to
France to see the new headstone which has been set.
There will be a dedication ceremony for my late Uncle
George who I had always thought was just a tale!
the norrice leader first world war supplement september 2014
4
Phillip Bloom – an
incredible coincidence Where There’s a Will
by Michael Fishman
M
y father-in-law, Phillip Bloom , had a
very eventful life – from, when a baby,
his mother hiding him in a drawer
during a pogrom to being a WWI prisoner of war
– in error as it turns out. Because he spoke good
German, he had been seconded to the American
army and his uniform was taken to be German.
Later in life, his car was stopped by a policeman –
because he was so short, the policeman could not
see a face behind the wheel! These are just a few
of the stories he loved telling and, once he had an
audience, he was in full flow.
Some years ago, he went on his annual
Phillip Bloom stands on the right of holiday to Israel, staying at a relatively small seafront hotel that no longer exists. In the evening, he
this photograph
had his audience and told them of his experience
in the Great War. During his talk, he produced this
photograph of himself (the short man on the right) and two colleagues dressed in
German uniform. Suddenly, one of his audience interrupted and said, “Hold on !”
He rushed up to his bedroom, and produced the same photograph – one of the other
men was his father!
Wow! We can all tell stories of coincidences, but this one takes some beating. What
are the odds of the two old photographs travelling separately from Manchester and
London to Israel, and ending up not only in the same hotel, but in the same small
group of people, meeting for the first time!
S
tella Sternberg’s grandfather,
Julius Solomon Rosenthal,
born 1893 in Liverpool, joined
the Royal Irish Cavalry, Lancashire
Division. At first he was a Sapper
(Engineer) and then a Signals Boy.
From 18 March 1917 until 10 January
1919, he was a wireless operator. A
teacher of French and German, his
translation skills were highly valued.
His papers describe him as a metal
dealer but actually he was a tyre
manufacturer. This family company is
still run by Stella’s brother.
Every man was required to write his will
before entering the trenches, the senior officer
acting as witness (see left). There also seems to
have been a hospital visit in 1917.
War in the Air
Angela Landau recalls her grandfather, David Meyer Rosen, who served with the
number 95034 in the Royal Flying Corps which later became the Royal Air Force. He
was stationed in Northern France at Ram des Fleurs.
One can only marvel at the courage it must have needed to take to the air in those
ramshackle craft that we can now see in museums.
Stella still treasures her grandfather’s
shaving mirror kept in its original
leatherette case – something he would
have handled every day. Made from
stainless steel, it is showing signs of
age.
War on
Horseback
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J
on’s grandfather, Joseph Reece, born 1876 in
Riga, served in Royal Cavalry with the rank of
Sergeant.
He would lead the troop of horses carrying
artillery to the front line.
The Germans dug pits covered by sticks and
straw and, one day, his horse fell into one. He sustained multiple fractures and
received a medal from King George V for services rendered
After the war he became a road haulier and married in 1921. One of his four
children was my mother, Mrs Faye Barnett.
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