My Mother As we know, my mother was a holocaust survivor. In her case, being a survivor didn’t just mean living through the horrors of the war and remaining alive, but it also meant not allowing her experiences to destroy her. It meant living life to the full in the way which her younger brother, her parents and more than 40 other relatives who lost their lives were not able to. I believe that mum’s vitality and zest for life, which infused all of us, were not just elements of her personality, but a conscious response to her circumstances. She told me that she would often lie awake thinking of her brother and her parents – they were always in her heart. The war took away my mother’s belief in God – she became an atheist, though she would say to believers that she was an agnostic so as not to offend them. And she often called herself a humanist. She never lost her faith in humanity. My mother’s love for me and devotion has been the greatest gift of my own life and I’m sure will continue to nurture and inspire me for the rest of my days – her concern for all aspects of my life, her acceptance of who I chose to be and what I chose to do, and her pride in my achievements, real or imaginary. I am so fortunate. My mother’s devotion and concern didn’t stop at me. It extended to family members, some of whom are here, to her friends, to my friends, and to so many people whom she encountered and engaged with. She adored my late partner, Helen, who died so prematurely 15 years ago, and she continued to be in contact with Helen’s mother, Audrey. She embraced Samira as her own daughter and loved to engage with her. When Naser, Samira’s son, joined us from Palestine in 2010, my mother treated him as her first grandchild, and sometimes referred to him as such, though by then he was more of a grandadult. Mum’s eyes would light up whenever she saw him. My mother’s gregariousness seemed boundless. She would make friends and take an interest in the lives of people she met by chance, such as in cafés at Brent Cross, which was a home from home to her. She knew more about some of my friends than I did, storing their phone numbers in her address book, and threatening to invite them around if I didn’t. Her heart warmed to them. She would often talk about her encounters and conversations with people, because so many of these were meaningful to her. She responded to people’s kindness and greatly appreciated the friendship of her Bridge partners and of the residents at Edinburgh House who would look out for her and take an interest in her life. My mother revelled in social occasions and liked to be at the centre of them. Her repository of personal experiences and connections was limitless, as was her eagerness to share these. She was in her element on Xmas day, when there were 16 of us to engage with, including two babies. She greatly enjoyed the family reunion that took place 15 months ago, bringing together relatives from the US and here. And the wonderful photo of her on the invitation to this ceremony was from a family wedding in Bristol. Mum seemed to go against the grain of ageing. The older she became, the more her horizons expanded. She learned to play Bridge in her 60s, undertook courses at the University of the Third Age in her seventies, and formed new friendships right up until the last weeks of her life. She had a natural curiosity and thirst for knowledge. She didn’t have access to the Internet, but she didn’t really need to. She had a dictionary by her side at home and carried a little notebook around with her of new words and expressions that she had learned, and of facts worth remembering. If the anti-terrorist squad was here, they would take a close interest in her, because of references to ‘nitro-glycerine’ and the ‘Peshmerga’ in her notebook. I shouldn’t imagine many of you know when Babylon fell, or the dates of the Mesopotamian era – mum did. Last week I returned six of her books to the library – ranging from Dickens to Attwood. She was an avid reader. Mum had a lot of life left in her before a severe infection – BronchoPneumonia – took hold of her. She didn’t go gently. My last images of her are at the A&E Department of the Royal Free during the final hours of her life, with various tubes and drains attached, unable to speak but fully conscious. All her emotions, all her feelings, everything she wanted to communicate was being expressed through her loving and adoring eyes, fastening on to me and Samira in turn, pleading with us, gesticulating with her hands and grabbing hold of us. She knew what she wanted from us and for us. Even during her last conscious moments – she couldn’t let go of her love and concern for us. That was my mother.

Longing I feel this longing Do you understand that word? Maybe not, so I’ll tell you. It means ...... suffering. I feel it all too well In each cell of my body, I feel it as I would feel, The pain in my head, arm or leg. I may persuade myself That the pain is not in my body To no avail, nothing helps It continues to hurt I see you in my mind But that is so little I know you’re far away Your road fades into the distance Will you return? When will you return? Ever the same question Arising again and again In the daytime, at night, in the morning I am with you in my thoughts I offer them up to you So that no harm comes to you For this I sincerely pray to God In my thoughts I follow the road Borne towards you by the wind, To lighten your suffering And take some of it upon myself

My memories of Marysia On 25th December Marysia was celebrating Christmas with Peter and Samira and their friends. Today 25th January we are saying goodbye to this very special person. Marysia was a popular, well loved lady who lived life to the full. She was a colourful character with an elegant demeanour and a vivacious personality. She had a charming persona and an engaging manner. Marysia was really a socialite. She made an immediate impression on anyone she met. She relished going to parties, she enjoyed meeting new people and mixed well with all age groups. Peter and Samira included her in so much of their life. She went with them to concerts, films, plays, ballets and restaurants. She liked to recall what she had been doing and her Joie de Vivre attitude was a delight. She was an experienced bridge player and an avid reader. In earlier years she had been an accomplished dressmaker and artist. She was a very stylish, chic person. She was strong minded, decisive, resolute, determined to keep fit and healthy for as long as she could. She walked daily, exercised at home and was proud to be able to look after herself with minimal help. Marysia experienced very difficult tragic early years in Nazi occupied Poland resulting in much suffering for her and her family, times that she could never ever forget, times which stayed with her forever as an underlying sadness to her outer exuberant self. Marysia was a survivor. She arrived all on her own in England seventy years ago and succeeded in creating a successful life for herself in spite of everything. She will always be remembered. She will be close to my heart together with my parents who were the only other members of our family in England when she arrived here. Dear Marysia, Rest in Peace

My Polish Aunt I am Marysia’s nephew once removed. That is my mother and Marysia were first cousins. My mother’s father Julius Feuerstein was the brother of Marysia’s mother Anna. There was another sister Eugenie who was the mother of Irving and Renee who got out of Vienna before the war and moved to the USA. Peter, myself, my sister Barbara and Eugene and Jeannie in America are all second cousins. I am not making this speech on account of deep knowledge of Marysia’s life story but on the other hand I knew her or rather she knew me for practically all of my 70 years. She arrived in England either just before or just after my birth, she told me which but I can’t remember. My early memories of the Frankentals are inevitably coloured by how my mother regarded Marysia. I know they were close and met up regularly which was probably no more than two or three times a year, although they talked more often on the phone. Marysia and Janic lived in a flat in Belsize Park which was Peter’s first home and then moved to their house in Hurstwood Road. Janic imported clothes from Italy so Marysia was always very well dressed and sometimes gave some clothes to my mother. I think my mother was slightly ambivalent about Marysia’s largesse but as my mother died so long ago these memories are uncertain. It wasn’t envy and their relationship was genuinely close but I can see how Marysia’s gushing personality might have evoked a few comments in one of her contemporaries. There were occasional parties that Marysia threw always with lots of people, and I remember enjoying myself there. There was an odd coincidence in that Dr Burrows my school doctor had also become a friend of Marysia and Janic and came to these parties. Marysia was an accomplished painter, doing many very good portraits. Inevitably perhaps they knew Felix Topolski a very successful Polish artist and had one of his paintings on the wall. They went on holidays to the Lido di Jessolo a fashionable resort outside Venice. So altogether there was definitely an air of glamour and high society about the Frankentals. In the years since all that we didn’t see Marysia that much but when we did it was as if we had never been apart. She was always delighted to meet up with Pat and I and the children and we really loved these occasions. If I can put it in a few words she was amusing and funny, interested and interesting. The facts of the Nazi genocide were never kept from me so I knew that Marysia’s family were victims like my mother’s but there was always a slight confusion with Marysia somehow being Catholic as well as Jewish which I eventually realised was due to her being sheltered by a Catholic family in Warsaw during the war and therefore adopting their identity. In recent years we heard the story of how she survived and how she was helped by various people, including at least one Count and the Polish prime minister’s son. With her dramatic way of telling and especially with the retelling this story was always amusing but also true. So my Polish aunt is finally no more and we will never again enjoy her magically expressive way of talking, her beautiful Polish accent, the way her face communicated as well as her words. Some of you may have seen the Antiques Road Show a week ago- it was a Holocaust Memorial day edition with a series of survivors and families of victims talking about their experiences as well as showing some of the artefacts they had managed to save. The survivors and refugees were all in their 80s and 90s and I was struck by how these people were so articulate and cultured, all well turned out, all talking without undue bitterness. Middle class and educated no doubt. Even metropolitan elite perhaps. Marysia would have fitted perfectly. Let me take you back to the family tree and the descendents of the Feuersteins. My mother died too young, too soon to experience and perhaps contribute to some of the evolving history of the holocaust. But she was a thoughtful woman, not academic but interested in human relations. Irving in New York would have called himself a simple guy which he was but the most decent and amusing little guy I ever met whilst his sister Renee who only died a couple of years ago was again a woman with a deep interest in society. Together with Marysia these four had more in common than I realised. From Warsaw and Vienna to London, and from Vienna to New York, they had to restart their lives. Despite what they had lived through one could say that they all had what today one would call liberal social attitudes. Thinking about this now I can understand where my own social attitudes come from. Farewell then to the last of a notable generation.

Marysia’s Great Age I am very glad to have the opportunity to speak a little bit about Marysia. My daughter, Eliza, recently watched a cartoon in which she learned that “the dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago”. When she heard this, she asked me “65 million years ago. Is that when Marysia was a baby?!” At the age of 94, Marysia was probably the oldest person I’ve know personally, but even she was not quite old enough to remember the dinosaurs! Another image, a comforting one, has also been provided by Eliza, who suggested that perhaps, after we leave this world, we go to live with the cloud babies. The cloud babies feature in another cartoon and they are sweet creatures who spend their days painting rainbows, polishing the moon and whizzing around the sky. We all have our own personal narratives about what may happen after we leave this life and, personally, I do like the idea that we paint rainbows, polish the moon, and whizz around the sky. Indeed, I can imagine Marysia, who had such a zest for life, embracing an energetic and fun-filled afterlife. I am an anthropologist and, as well as studying cross-cultural beliefs in the afterlife, we also study kinship. In the UK, if I mention that Marysia was “my grandmother’s cousin”, people may regard that relationship as being rather distant. Of course, we all know that kinship ties are not based on the nearness of the blood relation, but also on the social relationships that we have with each other. In many cultures and in many languages, the siblings and cousins of one’s grandparents are also considered to be grandparents, and the same terms are used to address them. Sadly, I was only eight by the time I had lost all my grandparents on my mother’s and father’s side. So, I do regard Marysia as the closest that I had to a grandmother for most of my life. Along with my mother, Barbara, and uncle Robert’s parents, she was the only person from our family of their generation to settle in the UK after leaving central Europe. Marysia did frequently talk about the experiences of the early part of her life and I always felt that it was very important to her that the younger generation in our family understood what had happened. I think many people found her remarkable because, despite those experiences, she had an incredible zest for life. I have many lovely memories of her – it seemed to me that she found everything “wonderful” or “interesting”. She was interested in painting, in reading, in history, in education, in people from all around the world. She loved my children a lot and, for this Christmas, she asked us for a recent photograph of them, which we took to her just before Christmas. I was very anxious that they would break all the delicate things in her very elegant flat, but she was not concerned at all and was just delighted to see them, and to listen to Eliza singing songs to her. As well as being very loving towards her family and friends, she took great interest in the people and the world around her. Indeed, during the last conversation that I had with her on the telephone, she told me a story about how she had befriended an Indian couple in a café in Brent Cross and how they had paid for her lunch. And she said “it is because I am extraordinary”. So I said, “yes, Marysia, it is because you are extraordinary”. And she said “yes, I am” (and laughed!). So, let’s remember an extraordinary person. I am very proud of Marysia and I am very proud to be related to her.

The Mother I would like to have had I met Marisya 5 years ago when my family moved from Paris to London, to live in her building on the same floor. We met in front of the lift, on a shabbat, she understood that we were coming back from the synagogue. After 5 minutes she was already saying : « I don’t care what religion people have, I only like decent persons ». I loved her immediately for that, it was love at first sight ! For three years, every week we had tea or dinner together and we would walk and talk for hours. We often jumped from English to German or Russian, then to French and to English again, it was gréat fun. I loved her delicious sense of humor. We laughed a lot. And then suddenly we would be very serious and talk about her past. Even though I went back to Paris last year, we kept on calling each other on the phone. She was proud to be independant and would enumerate all the things she had done by herself in one day. She was the mother I would like to have had. Mine was mentally destroyed by WW2, while Marysia overcame the tragedy. My mother started hating people very early, Marysia loved them until the end of her life. She could easily express her feelings, her tenderness, her anger, her love. She had experienced what a real mother is, one who’s capable of sacrifice and she became one herself. She often said that Peter was all her life, she would give everything for him. I feel lucky I met her and have so many good moments to remember. She is a now a role model for me, as a woman and a mother.

Wonderful Presence "Some people have a wonderful presence which they carry with them wherever they go. Marysia was one of those and it's so typical that she left us as she did - in the kindest way possible. Pete's partner for many years, Helen, was our daughter and she loved Marysia right from the start, She loved her for her tolerance of other people, her musical, literary and arts appreciation, but most of all, I suppose, for their shared love of Pete. We spent a short holiday with them once at Glenthorne, the Quaker retreat in the Lake District. Marysia loved the people there straight away and fell into a quiet Quaker lifestyle so easily, joining in with the communal and literary activities. She told me how much she had enjoyed it every time we met afterwards. We shall miss her clipped English voice on the phone where we had kept in touch ever since"

Peter's Mum Maryisa was always Peter's Mum to us. However, only on Xmas day just gone, we were saying to Maryisa and Peter that since both of us had lost our mums, we wanted to start a share a mum or adopt a mum program for Maryisa. Such a great lady - one would never imagine from the outside what hardship and sadness she had encountered in her early years. Lindsay first met her over 30 years ago when Peter and I worked together and Peter’s dad came to her for homoeopathic treatment. That made Maryisa feel a special closeness because someone else knew about her past. It was a shared joy to fetch and leave Maryisa from her flat for the frequent feasts at Peter and Samira’s. She was proud of her flat and when Lindsay went into her flat she would point out pictures and tell stories of her interesting life. Then we would chat happily about her life playing bridge, driving her car, reading books on history, being independent and enjoying spending time with Peter,Samira and their friends. She was always beautifully dressed but what she wore best was that ever ready smile! She was so positive about people often repeating the word lovely (lovely! lovely!) when talking about an individual. She was very positive about her life in England, talking of lovely people and beautiful countryside. We shall sorely miss the shared laughter and kind words but what a privilege to have shared time with her!

Long life, Marysia-Style I met Marysia around 11 years ago. Pete wanted to introduce me from the very first days of our relationship. I remember how nervous I was and how keen I was to make a good impression. I knew she was a very important part of Pete’s life. I will never forget how from the very first minutes of our encounter, Marysia made me feel welcomed with her loving wide smile. I say this because in my mind I could not help thinking that she might disapprove of Pete’s choice for a partner given my Palestinian background. I could not have been further from the truth. Not only she did not mind that I was an Arab but she was very keen to hear my views, to listen to my perspective, to understand why Muslims, Palestinians or Arabs would react in a certain way to events happening every now and then. She would talk to me about her uncle …. Who lived in Beirut very happily as a way of saying “I know that you Arabs can be very nice to us Jews”. One day, I think it was October last year, she held my arm and looked at me closely, straight into my eyes and said “I really like your family, your son, your nieces, Amal… they are all so lovely, so polite, so educated”. It was the look in her eyes that told me that it was ok, my being an Arab, a Palestinian, was ok. She would frequently refer to how diverse her extended family was. With pride, she would mention people from an afro Caribbean or Muslim background. She would say “we have everything in my family, Jews of course, but also atheists, Muslims, Christians and Catholics”. Whenever there was a report of a terrorist attack on the news, Marysia would become very upset, very often she would cry. It was as if the events we are exposed to nowadays would remind her of her loss decades ago, of the ugliness of war, of the absurdity of people not accepting the other. She would say “it hurts me so much, can you please explain for me?” Despite her zest for life, as all of you would know her for, there was this inner sadness living under her skin. It was not unusual for any of us three, Naser, Pete or me, to witness her pain, her tears when remembering what happened to her family back in Poland. But as you have heard, that loss wasn’t her only loss or reason for despair. Marysia was raped in her youth, she was discriminated against for being Jewish, she felt unwelcomed in many places, she had to flee her surroundings to arrive into a strange place and engage with people with a different culture and who speak a different language from those she spoke. Although I cannot compare my life experience to anything she went through, I could relate to her suffering, to the way she felt. I would at times think, what an amazing woman, being able to endure it all, survive it and rise above it. I feel nothing less than admiration for that and I can only hope I can learn some of her ways. Despite all the wrongs, the violence, the loss…. she managed to keep her loving nature, her integrity as a human being, her desire for life and for making life worth living. I could not believe that into her 80s Marysia would go and attend classes at university. To be honest nowadays many of us find it difficult to think of continuing our education or of helping younger ones realise its importance. Marysia knew it only too well, we learn until the moment we die. She used to say, as if wanting for me to prepare myself (being her daughter in law): “I’m very particular, I’m crazy about cleanliness, it cannot be helped, that’s the way I am”. And definitely that’s the way she was. Last year, following a fault with the lift in Marysia’s block of flats, she decided she would give it a go at trying to live with us. That decision made me spend few days making sure every single corner in our house would be clean and tidy up to her standards. What else would one do when one knows that the woman coming to visit for few days would wear a glove whenever she was reading a newspaper so that the ink would not get to her fingers and then stain a table cloth! I loved seeing how happy she was that I let her make the salad for her lunch. She would go every morning for a little walk, have a coffee at one of the local places, and bring back some bread. Upon her return, she would tell me about how she knew her way to the shops and back. I tell you, when we first moved in, it took me longer than two weeks to go to the shops without getting lost in the surroundings of my own home. Marysia was a proud woman. She was proud of her husband, she was proud of Rupert her ‘gentleman friend’, of her family members –every single one of them. She was proud in the way she conducted herself and the way she dressed. But what she was most proud of was her best and largest creation: her beautiful son. Very often, she would say to me: “you have good taste”, she would say to Peter “Samira has very good taste, she has better taste than you”. Whenever I heard her saying those words, I knew she meant she felt comfortable with my choices whenever we helped her choose a carpet or anything she needed to buy, but I also knew that she believed there is no one more beautiful than Pete and that, is where my good taste really showed. In my years of knowing Marysia, I’ve learnt about the suffering of holocaust survivors, about the tangible pain that decades were unable to ease. I’ve learnt that strict mums need to be very proud and loving of their children. Of the importance of speaking out and making yourself heard. But most of all, Marysia exemplified for me, in the best way, how possible it is to rise above our troubles, our pain and make life worth living for ourselves and for those we love. I thank her for that, I thank her for loving my son as if he was her grandson, and I thank her for Pete. Long Life to you all, Marysia-Style

Marysia- A legend The other day I overheard my daughter talking to a friend about Marysia. I heard the word ‘Legend’ and have learnt to understand that ‘legend’ is the highest accolade given to the older generation by the younger generation. It has come to be used to refer to an ‘Extraordinary Super Special person. Marysia was no exception. She demonstrated such agility of mind and spirit driven by passion and compassion. On a personal level I often felt that Marysia took over as the mother and grandmother figure in our life after my own mother died in 2004. I got to know Marysia over the past 20 years as increasingly she was integrated into the social events of our community of friends. Marysia, socially gregarious and socially indefatiguable demonstrated such extraordinary love of life and interest in everybody and everything at picnics, birthdays, Christmas, BBQ’S, Hampstead, visits to theatres, cinemas, restaurants-all of these we enjoyed with Marysia. These events were enriched by her stories-and there were many-always told with passion and deep emotion. Her eyes would often well up when she told stories of her family and friends. She would relive every experience. Her stories also showed her serious side-her wisdom ,her tolerance, her hatred of prejudice and her capacity to reflect and remember. I can tell a very simple story which I think demonstrates Marysia’s spirit. Two years ago I visited her when Pete and Samira were away. I had a puppy in the car and I explained to Marysia that I would have to give it a quick walk. Marysia’s eyes lit up and she announced that she was coming too. I was expecting 10 minutes round the block but in fact we trudged the streets of Hendon for almost two hours, bumped into neighbours, greeted friends went into shops-there was a story at every juncture and an insight into Hendon social history. Whenever Marysia said farewell at social gatherings, she would always, eyes shining, glistening, radiant with warmth say ‘Bye darling-go well’. So now it is with sadness and gratitude we say ‘Bye Marysia, go well.’

Hi Pete, Samira, Naser and all those who cared for Marysia Just to let you know I'm thinking of you and sending you my thoughts and sympathy. I've been thinking about Marysia a lot and I will really miss her warmth and affection. Marysia has always been so kind and interested in me and the children and so generous with her time and care, as well as in many other ways. I'm so glad I was able to see you all and keep in touch with Marysia. She was such a strong and independent minded person, who worked hard to keep herself fit and active, determined to live life her way. Marysia was a truly remarkable person, always warm and mostly optimistic, a great role model to us all of pragmatism, affection and energy, especially given her traumatic losses at such a young age. Marysia's intellectual stamina and thirst for knowledge and her positivity in the face of much personal grief, was unbelievable. Marysia's spark, principles and warmth will live on in you and all those who cared for her. Lovingly remembered.

From Celia and Jon What a joy it has been for us to be treated to Marysia’s company over the years. She was such a vibrant person with so much to share and discuss that it’s hard to fathom that she has died. It’s those lovely memories of her presence that we will cherish to keep her alive in our minds. Celia has known Marysia since getting to know Pete in the early 90s and remembers the first time she met her at one of Pete’s parties and how wonderfully welcoming and friendly she was. I, Jon, will also always remember our first encounter when I rolled up (typically unannounced) at her house to meet Pete one summer’s day in 1977 during the student holidays having made friends with Pete at Liverpool over the previous year. Even now I can vividly picture sitting at the kitchen table, with Marysia saying how pleased she was to meet me and rapidly engaging me in all manner of chat. This was to be our experience every time we met up with Marysia. We can recall so many sparkling conversations cutting across so many topics, from the books she was currently reading to anecdotes from her life. She was also always so interested in what we were up to and genuinely delighted to see us and catch up on every occasion. We also remember how stylishly she dressed, with her leather coats and tidily arranged scarves. As Marysia grew older she seemed to get younger if anything – the only slight concession to her advancing years being walking with a stick. Recently we’ve taken up playing bridge with Samira and Pete and chuckled at Marysia’s polite but passionate disapproval of our reckless disregard for the conventions of the game. She clearly loved bridge and took it seriously, so much so that we’ve been pulling Pete’s leg about whether we had Marysia’s permission to play by ourselves. Knowing from Marysia’s friendly but firm observations that she regarded us as well-meaning but utterly misguided rank amateurs, Pete has been reading up and doing his best to get us both to tighten up our act. Marysia’s warm shadow will be looking over us the next times we play and grapple with the mysteries of bidding. Long live Marysia.