My heritage no 2
by Jilliana
Ranicar-Breese
My mother
Brenda Margaret Lyons, known as Peggy, came from
a more interesting cultured background. She was
the youngest of 5 children all born in Swansea,
south Wales. Her parents Augusta and Abraham
Lyons were antique dealers specialising in
Georgian silver, porcelain and small pieces of
furniture. Abraham began as a pawnbroker but
successfully became a silver dealer. His devoted
wife Augusta, known as Gus, had the other shop
and sold small pieces of furniture and porcelain.
Abraham was a Master Mason and an intellectual
who would meet a group of men in a traditional
coffee lounge and philosophise. They died at a
good age within 6 months of each other. The large
house was sold and Peggy at 17 went to live with
her older brother Lewis and his wife Tillie Rubin
in Liverpool.
With his brother Claude in London, Lewis set up
an electrical component business while Claude set
up the factory, which today is still thriving in
Hertfordshire. Gladys, my maiden aunt, lost her
fiancé in World War One. At one stage she worked
as a chemist in York, but later moved to
Liverpool and came every Friday night for dinner.
In her later years she lived with auntie Tillie
who was widowed, unhappily in the bungalow in
Menlove Avenue, next door to John Lennon’s
auntie Mimi at 251.
Peggy also trained as a chemist but owned her own
pharmacy in Lark lane which was most unusual for
a woman to have and run her own business in the
1940’s.
Sister Dorothy, known as Doll, became a PA cum
secretary in London. Eventually she married
Bertie Jackson from Liverpool and emigrated to
Cape Town, South Africa. Auntie Doll wrote to me
on blue aero grams throughout my childhood.
Writing me illustrated poems and bringing me
Zulu beads and black dolls. She would come
with Bertie to Liverpool every other year. I
imagine I was the daughter she never had. She
spoiled me with her gifts which were all Zulu as
she was into the Zulu culture.
No one in the family kept the traditional Jewish
religion. They were all Anglicised with the
exception of my father who became the secretary
and treasurer of the beautiful historic Princes
Road Synagogue. My father lit the candles every
Friday night and recited the blessings in Hebrew.
Now at 80 I miss the tradition of my traditional
background and community of my childhood. Gone
forever.
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