Break A Leg & Cafe Universal

 

BREAK A LEG & CAFE UNIVERSAL

.... And then I fell !

This was the pivotal incidence that has coloured my life since the age of 10. Mum had always warned me never to slide down the banister.  I obeyed her…….. until one fateful day in the Hebrew Primary School. I saw a friend of mine, Alan Benady, slide down the banister with so much ease, not to say grace, that I could not help myself.
I leaned over the banister which started at approximately a first floor height, ready to be my own "Evel Knievel" stunt….. but I was a novice!
l lost my balance and fell flat on my face on the hard-stone floor far below.
When I came to, my face was covered of blood. My glasses had broken on my face and cut deep into my eyebrow. This was rather alarming for a 10-year-old let alone for the teacher who had to pick me up and explain to my parents why their stupid little boy had done a stupid thing like that.

I was more afraid of the bollocking I would get when I got home than the blood or the pain in my leg.

How could I explain to Mum what had happened?

Quick as a flash I invented a lie. As the marbles I had in my pocket had tumbled out with the fall, I told my teacher, Mr Benyunes, that I had slipped on a marble. Not a word about banister!

I was not going to retract that not for all the tortures of the KGB! No way was I going to admit to Mum that I had disobeyed that cardinal rule about sliding on banisters!

Some of you may remember when we were told as children that those white marks on our fingernails were signs of the lies we has told. I looked at my fingers and perhaps it was there already, (perhaps not?) but by the next week on my left thumbnail appeared one big white "lie mark"!

To cut a long story short ……as well as the cut above my eye l also has a fractured femur. This last was only discovered rather late, in subsequent x-rays. I ended up in a plaster cast all the way from my chest down to the toe of my right leg. I do not remember it being painful anymore after that, but I do remember it being very itchy. When they did finally take the cast away almost two months later, there were about 7 long knitting needles stuck inside!
I had used them to scratch inside the cast and sometimes could not retrieve them. After that I needed another month on a sort of pulley to replace my kneecap or knee joints back into place and between one thing and another, I spent six months in bed.

What I most remember about that time is the wonderful visits from my school friends. They would come around once school was over and have tea with me and we would play games and have fun talking to each other……a lost art these days?  Other than the fact that I could not move much. It really was a very cheerful time.

Obviously, Mum & Dad were very distressed seeing what had happened to their little boy. Mum, ever the practical one, immediately contacted my teachers. Just a matter of months after this incident was the time when Primary School pupils had to face the dreaded “11 Plus Test”. This was a test that would stream 11-year-old pupils into secondary schools and it was done according to the results of those tests. Mum wanted me to have private lessons every day at home in bed so as not to miss out on school lessons  but both Mr Benyunes and my ex-kindergarten teacher Miss Benabu  (later married and so Mrs Hassan) told my mother that the best thing she could do for me was  to give me books to read. Better books, not just the comics Topper, Dandy, Beano and the Beezer, but good books and to let me read and read and read. This was a time when there was no TV, no computer, no internet and in fact GBC radio had only just started.

"But what about arithmetic?" asked my mother.

"2 + 2 makes 4 and that will never change now or ever” replied Mr Benyunes
 "He can learn that later, but make him read now!"

And so I read….. and I read….. and I read…. and I read. I had many hours to read and I enjoyed doing so. In fact, to this day I am a bookworm and I have learnt much more from reading good books than I have learnt from any school teachers ever.

Yes, I did have religious lessons throughout. Mum was a very devout lady, if discrete in her level of faith. Rabbi Abraham Benhamu would give me one-hour lessons three times a week on Torah and practicing reading with fluency the many prayers in Hebrew we say daily.

 Incidentally, it was during this time that we as children learnt about a secret game.

Obviously, we kept this game secret from the adults, who l was certain knew the game backwards, forwards, on the side and with as many combinations as possible. It was called "Truth, Dare, Kiss or Promise" and we had to choose one of the four. Once one of the choices was made the games-master (most often a girl!) would decide what to ask the chooser to do. One had to either say the Truth about some deep-seated secret which 10 and 11 year olds would prefer not to say. Or.... Dare to do some incredibly brave or stupid action. If choosing Kiss, he or she had to kiss the boyfriend or girlfriend one was supposed to secretly like. Lastly, Promise to do some other silly thing the games-master decided on the spur of the moment.

On the surface of it this appears quite a harmless game. The kisses were invariably kisses on the cheek. We are talking about a time when even Hollywood kisses happened with mouth closed! French kissing was a galaxy away from us but those kisses to our boyfriend or girlfriend were so incredibly sweet. OK, OK .... yes, maybe a kiss on the lips if we were lucky!

I do not think I admitted to my parents about having lost my balance on the banister till a couple of centuries later!!! Definitely not until after that blasted white spot on my thumb nail disappeared! Yes, yes by then even I had learnt what French kissing was all about!

Recovery was difficult only because I had not walked for 6 months I was never very good or fond of sports (other than marbles... yes and "Truth Dare Kiss or Promise" )  and naturally, this meant a good excuse not to do any of it, the sport, I was OK with the kissing. But gradually I got into even playing football in the "muralla alta" the Line Wall Boulevard where falling over was a guarantee of scraped knees elbows and hands.

One result of this banister blunder was that my right leg was shorter than my left by a couple of inches. This became very apparent as I progressed from walking with crutches or walking sticks to just on my own. To this day I remember a certain lady who saw me limping along in the street with a built-up shoe that we were still trying to get the right height at. This indiscreet and nameless lady pointed at me and said:

"Uii….. tu que eres cojo?"

I remember feeling so ashamed …..so embarrassed….. I actually ran home took the shoe off and refused to wear built up shoes ever again.

Obviously, this was very detrimental to my hip joint and something I am paying for now 60 years later. Curiously this was the same woman that a few years earlier had seen me on my first day with glasses, and splurged out:

"Mira un gafitas!"

When I think of it…. it is quite amazing how a simple remark, possibly not even with any malice, can mark a child for the rest of his life!  No her vacuous remarks did not affect me for all this time but definitely for a few years and even to the point of my never forgetting the words into my old age.

Why was this incident, no, not the big mouth lady, but the fall and the breaking of my leg, why was this so pivotal to my life?

Because it became a challenge to me.
l wanted to do everything all other boys could do and wanted to do it as best l could.

Incidentally Dad gave me my promised bicycle for passing the 11 Plus Test …. it was a second hand one he had bought and de-rusted and re-painted in British Racing Green and trimmed in white. Unbeknownst to me, our family was going through rather tough financial times then….  so a new bike was out of the question. But l was so proud to own a bike my own Dad had painted and refurbished for me…. there was nothing to be ashamed of!

I think it was before I broke my leg that the Cafe Universal one of the 4 or 5 honky-tonks that existed in Gibraltar then, was still operational. During the day it was like any other cafeteria of the time. Spanish waiters and barmen with gentlemen patrons - never ladies! - would sit there and discuss worldly matters over a coffee, a brandy and several cigarettes. But in the evenings it was a different story, and it was a different story every time a ship sailed into Port. When that happened and it happened very often, the thirsty and ship-bound sailors would flood into town. Also soldiers that had been on the ship for too long a while. These honky-tonks would be full to overflowing with soldiers and sailors drinking all the hadn't been able to drink while on high seas....... and of course enjoy the floor shows that these honky-tonk provided.

This consisted invariably of ladies called "tanguistas" who would dance flamenco and other exotic numbers to the delight of hormonally charged soldiers and sailors after a month or two on board ships. Remember the song "Honky-Tonk WOMEN" by Rolling Stones? l knew all about them years earlier!

There were other honky-tonks too, the SUlSO, the ARIZONA, the TROCADERO and the WINTER GARDEN. Evenings were when the honky-tonks and very definitely at the Cafe Universal, changed. Wooden shutters would slip into place at the windows and the swinging doors will be let loose and even these had shutter covers over the glass as well. Obviously the idea was to keep the rather risqué shows away from the public that could be offended by them, Any others who wanted to enjoy the shows would have to go inside and spend money on the coloured water the showgirls were only allowed to drink  (charged at authentic drinks prices to the unsuspecting navvies) as well as copious amounts of beer for themselves. .. and show naked legs and nylon full-size nylon knickers to be very appreciative drinkers watching.

…... and we lived just opposite!

There were obviously some male dancers, not that many, and definitely not so popular. I would sneak up to the Swinging Doors and peek through the crack at these exotic dancers. One of waiters a fat man with Brylcreem-ed swept back hair, would surreptitiously move the swinging doors slightly to leave a bigger gap for me to peer through.

I can still hear Mum shouting at me from the first-floor window of the building opposite

"David! Come up

here immediately"

Oh oh ... I was in trouble again

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