Born in 1910, Anne was the third child of my grandparents, Sam & Sarah. Looking at the dates of birth, it now seems odd that a child was born every 3 years.

Brina (Bertha)	Jan 30th 1906
Anne	Nov 5th 1910
Reuben	1909
Lew	April 18th, 1915
Eta (Hilda)	June 7th, 1918
Harry	July 11th, 1921

The table of birthdays was put together by my uncle Harry. Eta was my mum. Her name was anglicized to Hilda before World War II.

Samuel and Sarah immigrated from Odessa in the late 1890’s. Both had been exposed to the hatred of anti-Semitism in their hometown.

It’s not surprising that they maintained their fears of anything not Jewish and passed this fear on to their children. My mum would always ask me if the girl I was dating was Jewish. Of course, I always said yes. As you read the following passages from my Uncle Harry’s book, keep in mind that Harry was the youngest. I have pretty much copied the following in full from his book. I’ve left in the spelling errors on purpose. Harry never finished school and had a speech problem. The fact that he wrote his book on a computer while in his 80’s is a tribute to his tenacity.

Harry was probably around 10 years old at the time of this anecdote and Anne would have been 21. It would appear from the text that Anne had been living elsewhere.

Chapter 8 (copied from Harry’s book) Harry is the narrator.

I came home one day to hear Hilda and Lew fighting in the flat. As I got near the gate, I suddenly saw Lew’s bum being pushed through the window. I quickly opened the door and rushed upstairs to try to stop my sister doing more damage to my brother’s posterior.

Hilda had a terrible temper which sometimes she couldn’t control. We also had my sister Ann staying with us for a short while. These two sisters hated each other. Ann was very pretty whilst Hilda was not. Being the youngest of the family I was friendly with everyone. If Ann wanted anything from the shops, I would run a mile for her and when I came back, she would give me a wonderful smile, a hug and perhaps a half penny. I didn’t need any money from her but just to be in her good favour was my only reward I needed. At my age I was very easily impressed, I knew she was stunning and very beautiful. One day to my surprise, she asked,

“Harry, would you like to come for a walk with me to Victoria Park?”

I couldn’t believe my good fortune.

“Yes! Yes!”, I replied. She clutched my little hand and off we went towards Victoria Park.

After walking for a short while we sat on a park bench talking about the different subjects she was studying at St.Martin’s School of Art. She was a brilliant artist and won a Scholarship to that school. She was very artistic in her ways and her dress. In fact, she was fabulous in every way. We both noticed a motorcyclist driving his motorbike very slowly on the perimeter road. He went round once, twice and on the third time he stopped at the kerb. To my surprise Ann asked me to stay on the park bench while she went to talk to him as she thought he was lost.

She got up and slowly walked towards him to the kerb as a fashion model would on a catwalk. After about fifteen minutes talking to him, she came back to me and we carried on talking as before. I don’t know to this very day If she had pre-arranged the meeting or not. We never did discuss what happened that afternoon in Victoria Park or whatever happened to the motorcyclist ever again.

A few months later Ann came home with a man in an open top car. We all immediately thought he was very rich. What confirmed our belief was that when he came out of the house after seeing my Mother, he gave us half a crown to share between us. I managed to get six pence whilst my brother and sister got a shilling each. That’s what I call democracy, as the youngest in the family I wasn’t in the position to argue and actually was only too pleased to get a sixpence. Lew’s generosity never changed as the years went by.

As we went back into the house, the sound of voices came through the bedroom door, dampened by the sound of clapping from the radio where the audience of the weekly football game was showing their support for the last goal won by their team.

“Mum I want you to sit down as I’ve got something to tell you”.

We stopped in the corridor to listen, trying not to make a sound. My sister Ann immediately carried on by saying.

“I know it’s wrong but there’s nothing I can do. “William and I LOVE each other and want to get married”.

“For goodness sake, what do you mean you want to get married?” We heard Mum cry out,

“Only that, we both love each other and I want to marry him”.

Ann was beginning to sob by now.

“How can you ever think of bringing a NON-JEW into the house?”. Mum was getting very upset by the minute.

By this time, we couldn’t stay in the corridor any longer and as we burst into the bedroom. Mum reached for a piece of wood on her bedside table and began hitting Ann very hard. We all tried to stop her going berserk, but nothing we could do would stop her shouting, yelling, cursing, crying.

“I’ll give you! YOU WANT TO MARRY A NON-JEW! I would rather be dead first than allow you to marry a non-Jew!”.

Mother got increasingly worked-up and became more angry as she realised what her daughter wanted to do.

“YOU HAVE BROUGHT SHAME ON THE FAMILY!”. She yelled. Hitting her again and again and yelling more hysterically with every additional curse she made, and ultimately throwing Ann down the stairs and out on to the streets.

The next few months were like a death had occurred in the family. We just couldn’t talk to Mum. It was one the most terrifying experiences of my life. No laughter in the house. No singing in the house. Hardly any talking in the house. I expected the Lord-up-above to strike us all down dead. All because our sister wanted to marry someone who wasn’t Jewish.

By this time Mum was getting impossible to live with and would start an argument for no reason. We all started to escape one by one, by walking the streets for hours, or going round to friends. One day arriving home from school I caught Mum pensively looking at me in a sorrowful way.

“I know you love Ann very much but you have to forget that you ever had a sister name Ann”. “How could you ever ask me to forget that I had a sister? It’s like cutting off my right arm, I love her – I love her”, I cried out hysterically.

“Then you have to promise me that you will never try to see or speak to her again!”.

I became very emotional and frightened by my mother’s irrational behaviour insisting that she needed my promise never to try to see Ann again. I became crazy with anger and cried out at the top of my voice, “SHE’S NOT DEAD! SHE’S NOT DEAD! It doesn’t matter how hard you try to stop me from finding her, I will find her one day. I can’t give you my assurances that I won’t ever look for her, so please don’t insist!”.

What saved me from a further ordeal, was that Lew and Hilda came home, and her demands focused on them. In the end to bring peace to the household, my brother who was the eldest, agreed that we will not try to find Ann. This seemed to satisfy my Mother, and peace reigned for a further few days.

One Monday morning, July 21^st, 1969, incredible news came on the television. At 2 am man landed on the moon.

Once she got married, I had never tried to contact her or her family, nor did she try to contact her brothers or sisters. I only kept in touch by collecting scraps of information gleamed from newspapers.

I certainly missed seeing her tremendously, but it wasn’t to be. The War also separated us from becoming friendly. She lived a more Anglicised life in the country and once married had a baby boy, three years later another boy was born. They desperately wanted a girl and eventually in 1951 a baby girl was born. They named her Jayne.

William Harries, Ann’s husband, my brother-in-law, was born in Wales and bought a Television, Radio and Gramophone manufacturing Company in Essex. (Regentone Radio & Television) He built the business up to such a degree that in a few years he was able to sell it for an estimated £7 million fortune.

Jayne went to a Hertfordshire public school for girls. At sixteen she elected to go through her debutante season. Within eighteen months she eloped with a penniless hairdresser to Gibraltar. It made the papers. Soon after her romantic dash to get married her Father hired a private plane to try to stop her but was too late. He died before Jayne’s marriage broke up, and before hearing Prince Charles praise his work for Wales at a St. James’s Palace reception.

William (Bill) never made any secret of the fact that he desperately wanted a Knighthood. He thought his daughter would help to put the spotlight on him. He eventually received the letter he hoped for. But, before the honours’ list was announced he died. My sister unfortunately just missed becoming ‘Lady Harries’.

The Memorial Service for William Harries was announced in the press to be held at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, opposite the House of Commons. I decided to attend the service. As I walked into the Church, I had no idea of what to expect. At the entrance I hesitated for a few seconds, in order to get my bearings when The Usher came over and asked me “Family or Friend?”

I took a deep breath and replied, “Family”.

The ‘Usher’ then escorted me to the ‘Family Pews’ immediately in front of the Pulpit. As I took my seat, he handed me a programme of the distinguished speakers who were going to take part in the ceremony. I sat looking up as one speaker after another spoke very highly of Bill and all the good he has done for Wales.

Most of the time I was sitting and staring, mostly at my Sister Ann, her two sons Fred and Stanley, (my nephews) and her daughter Jayne (my niece). I wondered, if they were wondering who I was sitting in the Family Pews. The Church was well attended by well-known dignities and their partners.

The service finished, the family were the first to leave the Church, which included me. We all stood in line outside the Church and shook hands with everyone as they left, each offering their personal condolences. I thought one of the family would by now ask me,

‘Which part of the family are you?’

To them I must have been a stranger lined up as one of the family. That should have aroused someone’s suspicion. But for the moment no one bothered. The last few came out of the Church, when my sister, who now looked very much like our Mother came over to me, and asked,

“Who are you?”. You couldn’t have a more direct question.

“I’m your youngest brother Harry”.

“Hmm”, she just murmured, turned, and walked away towards her children without saying another word. Not another word.

I couldn’t believe how cold she was towards me. I felt I was made of stone as she walked away from me towards her family – I would have given anything for her to have remembered me – her Brother who idolised her – her Brother who would not hear bad things about her – her Brother who really cared.

I know I have changed physically. I was roughly fifty years older. But that was no excuse for her unfriendliness. Why then, have I harboured such strong nostalgia of my Sister since childhood? A great deal must have happened in the last fifty years that turned her against her family. I suppose I cannot altogether blame her. Most of the family turned their backs on her when she most needed them – but not me.

Jayne’s marriage at age sixteen broke-up just after one year. The former debutante found herself pleading guilty four years later at the Old Bailey to unlawfully possessing a quantity of Cannabis. She appeared in dock with four others. Apparently, the police were tipped off and went to an address in St. James’s Place, Westminster where Jayne and two other girls were sharing a cannabis cigarette. She also had LSD in her possession.

The Police stated that she has an allowance from her Father’s Trust of £100 per week and has no need to work. On learning that she has to spend one night in prison she burst into tears and collapsed in the warden’s arms. My sister, Jayne’s mother, hit out angrily at the Judge’s decision, and shouted,

“Drug pushers should leave my daughter alone. Jayne’s life is made a misery by these drug pushers. When she goes out in the street the pushers swarm around her and pester her. At home the telephone continues to ring from these vermin”.

After that outburst in Court my Sister had to be admitted to Hospital suffering from a heart attack – she had three minor recurrences since. Sometime after that incident, Jayne was on the way to her dentist when she was stopped by the police. She just didn’t know why she was stopped and was taken to Bow Street. Police Station and stripped searched, the Police found nothing. However, they took her handbag for examination and said abruptly.

“We will let you know the result of the laboratory test in a few weeks “

My sister told the press, “I have been blackmailed by drug pushers at my country home. I‘ve had threats and demands for large sums of money. These pushers should go to prison for a very long time, a minimum of twenty years. I personally recommend the birch to the drug users, and that includes my daughter. If she was given the birch at the beginning of her drug taking, she would not be in the position she is in today”.

At one appearance in court a Judge told Jayne, “You worked for a short time as some sort of ‘clothes peg’, euphemistically known as a fashion model”.

Jayne was rushed to hospital after ten years on drugs and died at just twenty-five years old.

I have not seen or spoken to my Sister since that very brief reunion at the Memorial Service for her husband at St. Margaret’s Church. She didn’t realise the pain she caused me by her cold attitude in not trying to know me in my mature years. I was very hurt. My feelings and love that I had for all my Sisters including Ann, will always remain foremost in my mind.

End of the excerpt from Harry’s book.

I had known about Auntie Anne since I was a kid. I remember going to the Radio & Television show in Earls Court and seeing my cousins, Freddie and Stanley on the Regentone stand. I was probably around 9 or10 at the time.

After uncle Will sold Regentone in 1959, the family became involved in show jumping. Jayne became very involved in the sport and was reported to be a friend of Princess Anne. This put Jayne in the gossip column of many newspapers. Jayne and Anne were often in the “limelight” so to speak. Anytime Anne would make a comment about her early life, my mother, who was also very impish, would often call the newspaper and correct Anne’s statement.

For example, Anne quoted that she was an orphan and had no family. My mother’s reply was swift and published. This never brought about any reconciliation.

In retrospect, I would have liked to have had older male cousins. Growing up with 4 female cousins has helped me, but, as an only child, I missed the camaraderie that I supposed male cousins could have provided.

Below is an article I recently found on Facebook. At the end of the article is a rather shocking comment from my cousin Paul.

Golden Age of Show Jumping (copied from the internet)

February 14, 2018 · Delray Beach, FL, United States · 

Jayne Harries – a life of a princess, died in a public toilet.

Jayne Harries had everything one could wish for, born into an incredibly wealthy family with an amazing estate in Ewhurst, Surrey called Coxland. This included fast cars, Mink coats, trips around the world, the best show jumping ponies and horses, Debutante balls and even the wish from her mother Anne that one day she may marry Prince Charles. However, Jayne wanted none of this and eventually became absolutely rebellious, sliding down the ivy into the arms of her lover, a London Hairdresser Gavin Hodge and they eloped.

This was in 1968 when Gavin collected sixteen-year-old Jayne from Coxland at 2:00 a.m. and they ran off to Portugal. On August 2nd, 1968 they married in Gibraltar. Time magazine described Jayne as “Britain’s runaway of the year.”, however, this union was not destined to last. This was a terrible tragedy to Jayne’s parents and it totally shocked the society of England, especially swinging London. Gavin was 23 and to run off with a sixteen-year-old was shocking indeed.

Jayne was eventually involved with many drugs and as time went by, she was tragically found in a public toilet in Cranleigh, Surrey with a hypodermic needle in her arm. She was dead from an overdose of heroin. From what I remember she was twenty-four years old. (actually she was 26)

Jayne was the daughter of a self-made millionaire William Harries who was also president of the London Welsh Society. His wife Anne eventually started the Horse of the Year Ball and I helped her with many of those invitations eventually becoming a Vice-President of the ball and committee member. In those days, we would sit in the kitchen at Coxland and every invitation was handwritten as was the envelope. We had no computers in those days and I taught myself calligraphy. I still have the lump on my middle finger from all of that writing. Anne’s secretary Dorothy was also involved and we had many a roast chicken dinner that came out of the Arga. Anne always believed that she roasted the best chicken ever, it was good.

Anne’s husband Bill had died a couple of years before and of course, so many believed that it was the many tragedies of Jayne’s life that killed him. Anne also never got over Jayne’s death and there always seemed to be the presence of her at Coxland both in the stables, in the house and even out on the tennis court.

Here are a couple of photographs of Jayne in the days before she became an addict. This was most definitely one of the tragedies of the sixties and British society. A stunningly beautiful girl with everything going for her, however, this is not what she wanted and it all caught up with her. R.I.P. beautiful lady. Even in the second photograph, one can see that Jayne was not happy. I did not know you long, however, there was a sweet side to you that I will never forget.

Paul Gurvitz Of course I have to add to this. I met Jayne in Marbella; I think around 1973. She was on the beach wearing a knitted bikini and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She was stunning. We started seeing each other and eventually we moved in together in a large rented house in Reigate Surrey. All the time not knowing that we were cousins as she never spoke of her family. She was a loose cannon and our relationship didn’t last that long. It was many years later I saw her in a club on the Kings Road and I couldn’t believe it was the same girl. She was bloated and didn’t look too well. It wasn’t until around 1976, during the recording of the 3rd Baker Gurvitz Army album, that I saw her again. This time it was in the flat of our producer for that album and she was wearing only a fur coat and lying on the floor in the bathroom and was high on heroin. She didn’t recognize me or anyone, really. A short while after that I saw her in a club on the King’s Road, in London. This time she did recognize me and came up and gave me a big hug. BUT I didn’t recognize her she was enormous and her face was very bloated and she was drunk out of her mind. And that was the last I saw of her. Not long after that she was found in a public toilet dead. R.I.P.