Max Abraham

My father was a plumber and he worked at Siemens in Berlin in Jungfernheide, as a Rohrleger, or as a plumber as they say here. And he earned his money, and he worked there for 25 years. And they released him as a Jew. They chucked him out really, you know, and, more or less a year later, I left. So I really only had very, very few communications. We wrote letters, but only from the Red Cross really. We could only write… In the beginning it was all right. We had some letters; we could, during the war. But, later on, we could only write Red Cross letters. And I got quite a lot of letters, as it happens, from my parents because they sent letters to Christian people from Theresienstadt to them. And one of my boys [his I call them boys, you know - they are grandparents now, mostly - they collected them, and I got them here. I gave them out to the Wiener Library, and they made copies of it. I didn’t read them all. I read some of them, but not all of them. That is roughly the background. And then, unfortunately, in 1943 was the last I heard. They vanished, you know; they had been killed.

Well we went to Hertz all the time obviously. You know Hertz, the cabaret, the Jewish cabaret. Hertz, he had a cabaret in Finchley Road, by refugees, mostly. And that was the only entertainment we had really during the war. It was in Finchley Road. He was Viennese; he was a producer, or owner or God knows what. And he made a very good job there, yes. It was always quite interesting and quite lively and quite nice and pleasant, you know. It was the only entertainment we really had. But we went to Dorice quite a lot, the coffee shop, and the Cosmo, more the Dorice than the Cosmo.