Finchley Road Memories
I could not sleep. It was still dark when I came downstairs. I drew back the curtains, anticipating the beginning of dawn. As I sat at the kitchen table, sipping my cup of tea, gradually the skies lightened. The sun gradually rose and tinged the sky to a rosy glowing hue. It was stunning! It was magical! I do not know why my mind, at that moment, traveled back to the teenager that I used to be. I pictured myself disembarking from the Underground at Swiss Cottage and walking up Finchley Road that lifetime ago, that chilly evening as I walked along Finchley Road. I could not resist stopping at Boots, the chemist. As I entered the store, I felt its welcoming warmth envelope me. I loved that store. It tempted me with its various creams, unguents, talcum powders, eau de toilette, and so much more. Just their perfumes made me feel heady with pleasure. I walked toward the toiletry section and lingered there. What should I buy today? Would it be a hand cream, a scent, or a talcum powder? I lingered and lingered until I glanced at my watch. My goodness! They would be waiting for me for supper! I was truly late! I quickly purchased whatever I chose and hurried along my way.
Finchley Road holds many memories for me. On Thursdays, sometimes I would accompany Auntie Moselle to the shops. She needed to prepare for the Sabbath. The stores were situated at the opposite end of Finchley Road from where Boots was located. There were various stores. From the bakery, she would buy challah; next, she would perhaps go to the liquor store where she bought wine to bless the Sabbath with. I loved that wine then. I love it now. It is sweet and syrupy. I loved to dip my challah in it, put it in my mouth, gently massaged it with my tongue. Then I waited for it to slowly disintegrate and slide down my throat! What a delicious sensation! Auntie Moselle was equipped with several old-fashioned string shopping bags which were common then. She neatly folded them into her handbag. As we casually sauntered along Finchley Road, these bags were produced one by one as she purchased the various items she required. We stopped at the fruit and vegetable store; sometimes we stopped at the fishmonger or the butcher. The one place I was truly fascinated with was the poultry store. The shops all had little stalls outside their stores which were lined with large trays of ice. On top of the ice were the displays of their produce. One of the poultry man’s displays, the one thing that made me drool, was the tiny unhatched eggs that they drew out of the cavities of the hen. I eyed them with longing. At home, they were cooked in the chicken soup during the winter in the cold season. I remembered the tureen of chicken soup that was placed in front of Mama. Standing there, looking at those unhatched tiny eggs, I remembered how she carefully ladled them out into each of our soup bowls. I imagined the aroma of that soup as the steam rose from the tureen. My nose wrinkled longingly. I looked at Auntie Moselle hoping she would buy them, but she was indifferent to them and I was too shy to say anything! Our load was getting heavier and heavier. At last, we headed towards the car and drove back towards the house.
Auntie Moselle and Uncle Bertie were not observant. They kept kosher at home out of respect for their mother. Sometimes when she was tired, they would take us out to a restaurant. Once they took us to an Italian restaurant. Upon seeing Uncle Bertie, the owner graciously bowed to him and Auntie Moselle. Uncle Bertie introduced us to him. A big smile spread across the face of the owner. He led us to a table and proceeded to make such a great fuss over the school girls that we were. I still remember that occasion fondly. He made us feel like very welcomed guests.
Years passed. I got married and had my children. My children and I frequently went to London. Of course, the first place I went was to see them. By then Auntie Hannah had passed away. At that time, fast-food chain stores were the latest trend. They sprung up everywhere. They were the latest fad. I cannot remember if it was Wimpy or another hamburger joint that had opened up somewhere along Finchley Road. Uncle Bertie and Auntie Moselle steered the children and me into the car and drove us there. The children were completely won over with the hamburgers, the fries, the toys that came along with them. They were sold! From then on, they adored Uncle Bertie and Auntie Moselle.
Years passed. Many years later, on one of my trips to London, I decided to revisit the house where they had lived and of which I had such fond memories. Everyone was gone, they were gone, my mother and my father were gone, they were all gone. Timidly I walked up to the house. I stood on tiptoes and peeked in through the window. A wave of disappointment flowed through me. The house had changed. It looked very modern inside. It was not their house any longer. I imagined that special smell and feel of the house which identified it as their home and knew that was gone as well. I felt a wave of sadness. I realized one cannot grasp at time, it is fleeting. I can only cherish my sweet memories. That was all that I have left.
I return to the present. I glance out of the window. The edges of the leaves on the trees are tinged with autumnal colors. The skies have turned sunny and bright. The day is approaching the noon hour. I had been sitting there for such a long time. I smile at my fond memories as I rise and go about my day.