Deaf Women's Lives: Three Self-Portraits

Making Sense of It All: The Battle of Britain Through a Jewish Deaf Girl’s Eyes

Making Sense of It All The Battle of Britain Through a Jewish Deaf Girl’s Eyes Eileen Katz and Celeste Cheyney The first timethat something seemed different was one morning in September 1938, when I was six years old. We had been back only a few days from our summer holiday and were in our little red brick house, 46 Wormholt Road, Shepherds Bush, London W2, having breakfast at our square wooden table by the window. Outside, it was gloomy and damp, but as always, our dinette with the flowered wallpaper felt cozy and warm. On the mantel, next to a photograph of my Uncle Jacob and his family, who lived in Paris, was one of Leslie and me taken recently on Leslie’s third birthday. In that photograph, we were dressed up for his party in outfits Daddy had made in his shop—Leslie in a cute little sailor suit and I in a lovely frock embroidered with small, bright blue flowers that matched my eyes. Mummy had carefully combed Leslie’s silky brown hair, and she had brushed my blonde curls until they were perfect. She loved dressing us up in fancy clothes and always beamed when the neighbours pointed at us and smiled. On the mantel next to the photographs were our brass menorah and a clock that Daddy had to wind up every night. On the table, were stainless cutlery, white cloth 99 K servettes, and my mother’s maroon and white dishes with the Chinese design. I could smell soft-cooked eggs in their egg cups, toasted bread with sweet orange marmalade, and English Breakfast Tea brewing in our potbellied teapot. The day had begun in its normal way, with Daddy giving me a goodmorning hug and loving pat on the face. Now that he, Leslie, and I were seated at the table, we could see, through the sheer white curtains, 100 Eileen Katz and Celeste Cheyney Leslie and I in the back garden at our home in London. that the lights were on next door, where my Auntie Hewitt lived. She was a tall, thin woman who was a spinster, which is what you called an unmarried woman in those days, and she wasn’t really my aunt, but my mother’s close friend. As always, Daddy was hiding behind his Daily Express, trying to avoid Leslie and me. Whenever Mummy ran back into the kitchen, we stuffed ourselves with toast smothered with marmalade , banged our spoons on the table, giggled, and kicked each other. Nobody noticed when we broke off pieces of toast and hid them in our pockets for the birds. Later, we would sneak out to the garden through the kitchen door and scatter the crumbs behind the coal shed. It was my idea, but Leslie was always happy to follow along. That morning in September 1938, my father was somehow different. He was usually a warm, easygoing man, although these days, whenever he glanced at the photograph of Uncle Jacob and his family, he frowned. That morning, when he closed his Daily Express and placed it on the table, my father looked ready to cry. He was dressed for work, in his grey wool suit with the two rows of buttons, carefully pressed white shirt, and wide tie with stripes. Now Daddy was staring at something on the front page of the newspaper. It was a large photograph of an angry man with a dark moustache and wild eyes. Around him were lots of smiling people, and every one of them had an arm raised. Something about that photo made me feel afraid. My mother, who had never been easygoing, looked ready to cry, too. As always, she was smartly dressed, a white apron over her pale green frock with the matching lace collar and her lisle stockings and polished black-and-white shoes with little heels. Mummy was rushing back and forth through the open door between the dinette and the kitchen, which she closed only when she was frying fish. She hurried past the gas stove to the larder, the small storage room where we kept tinned foods. Like most British families, we had no refrigerator, so we stored butter, milk, fish, and meat in enamel bowls on the floor of the larder. Mummy dashed in with some milk for our porridge, then saw that we had finished the marmalade and ran back to the...