Revisiting My Childhood in Antwerp

November 8, 2008

by Claude Wolf

I have to start off this article by admitting something.

I’m a twerp.

To be more accurate, I’m a semi-twerp.

My parents are full twerps.

Both my mother and father were born in the city of Antwerp, a little while before the second world war broke out and destroyed part of the city, decimating the Jewish community (although not as effectively as that of Amsterdam). Tragically, 28,000 of the 35,000 Jews of Antwerp perished.

My grandfather managed to get a place aboard the last ship leaving for New York and so my father didn’t “enjoy” the war in the city of his birth. My mother meanwhile was whisked away to the resort of Spa and only came back after the war, growing up with the returnees from the camps. All this however, is another story because this article is about my Antwerp.

When I was very young, my mother used to take me from the comfortable surroundings of Golders Green, London, to the even more luxurious milieu of Antwerp. She tells me that I used to visit the city on a three monthly basis, staying with my grandmother who lived at no 16, Rubenslei - an elegant Avenue, one of the three streets that straddled the wonderfully named (but highly unofficial) Cholent Park, forming an external triangle, or maybe the dough to an Antwerpen Hamantaschen, albeit green and luscious, with nary a grain of pumpernickel.

I remember my grandparents’ apartment on the ground floor, with the large window facing onto the park. You entered the lobby, turned left, left again and you were at the front door. Once inside, you had a choice. Did you want to turn left into the aforementioned lounge, illuminated by a beautiful chandelier made of the finest rose coloured Murano glass, which had been specifically designed for my grandparents as a unique piece (and which now hangs in my parents home) or was it more exciting walking down the two or steps into a little book lined lobby, where I remember sitting on my grandmother’s lap and enjoying watching her joke and sing with me, a permanent smile sewed onto her face? She loved sitting in that little space on her comfy chair.

The lobby extended onto a hallway. On the right, you firstly had the kitchen. Not particularly large, but functional nevertheless. This in turn led into the box shaped morning room, where we ate all our meals, surrounded by mahogany sideboards - the porcelain contents gleaming in the morning light.

To the south of this room there was a small bedroom where I remember sleeping and for some reason, on one particular occasion, reading an article about the recently deceased Charlie Chaplin. I must have been about ten years old when this memory was burned into my mind.

On the other side of the corridor, between the morning and bedrooms, was an L shaped en-suite bathroom (which in turn led on)to my grandparent’s vast bedroom. If I remember well, the bedroom led back onto the hallway, through a dark recess which I found quite frightening.

This was a lovely apartment, full of light, (although mostly in the front) and to a degree encompassing very happy memories. That said, I do recall the painful tasks of having to empty it, when my grandmother became sick and we brought her and her older sister over to live with us in London. It was difficult leaving the apartment, even as a child, knowing that I would not be returning.

Then there was the park across the street. I can’t even innumerate the number of times, we crossed the road and entered the inviting greenery that lay before us. We walked past the grand statue, following the winding path that led to the duck pond, which has changed, but not excessively. At the pond, I used to meet my friends as they came out of Shul (Synagogue) on Shabbat mornings.

I write all of this because I returned to Antwerp for the first time in fifteen years, at the end of August; though this was the first time I’d revisited both the apartment and park.

I found the said apartment and even managed to get into the lobby. I stood there, memories gushing back, along with the cacophony of sounds and smells that must have entered the mini compartments in my brain. How strange to be back, accompanied by one my daughters. Bizarre yet wonderful at the same time.

I had last exited that lobby in 1979. It seemed like…..yesterday?

With regard to the park, I’m glad to say that it hasn’t changed much.

Where there used to be a green patch, there now lies a wonderful children’s play area, the type that I wished would have existed when I was young. Sand has replaced the grass, but it is the still the same skyline I remember from those bygone days. The pathway around the duck-pond (sans ducks) has been pushed back and there is more green space. In fact, it is a much nicer place than it used to be.

We made our way up the winding paths that led to the white bridge which spanned the lake. Walking across the iron structure, I was reminded of how I used to cross with my mother and grandmother, making our way back to the apartment.

Shabbat was a special time in the Cholent Park. The kids used to (and probably still do) meet by the edge of the pond, when the Shul services ended. We’d chat, run around, play games and even feed the ducks. After all, Antwerp was special, it was one of the few places I’d visited (outside Israel) that had an Eruv. The park was always there, welcoming, brimming with adventure. My childhood memories, locked in every tree, every blade of grass.

The park, the apartment, my childhood. What a lovely combination.

I hope that I’ve managed to evoke some of my memories from not so long ago. As you see, Antwerp has a very special place in my heart. Although you can’t recreate your childhood, it doesn’t hurt to return to it every now and again and re-live the innocence you once possessed. Number 16, Rubenslei and the Cholent Park are the guardians of my memory. It’s been a wonderful feeling to be able to visit them and borrow their respective keys, albeit briefly.