Transition to Bordeaux-Marseille

In Egypt, I was quite young and could not appreciate what life was like, but listening to family stories and anecdotes confirmed for me the richness and beauty of this beautiful country we left behind. Our journey would eventually take us to Marseille, which for me was an important steppingstone, and a particular culminating time in my life where I spent the earlier years of my childhood and adolescence. Much happened over the course of my time in Marseille. I forged close friendships and discovered what it was like to live in this beautiful part of the Mediterranean Sea with all its beauty and charm. I did not realize we would eventually change course with yet another transition to the U.S in the late 60s.

Marseille was our port of entry when we arrived in France. I described the temporary stays in and around the Var and Provence regions before settling in Bordeaux. After our short stay in Bordeaux, we returned to live in Marseille for better opportunities. Just as we experienced in Bordeaux, we still had struggles to overcome until establishing some sense of normalcy.

I have a lot of fond memories growing up as a young child in Marseille. Aside from adopting to an environment which at times had its challenges, such as navigating through the French education system, I am thankful for the close relationships and friendships our family developed. It was an important chapter in my life.

This beautiful coastal city located in the Provence Cote d’Azur region in the department of the Bouches du Rhône (where the Rhône River empties into the Mediterranean Sea) is also known as the gate to the orient. There is so much to do and to see and it is no surprise that Marseille is a prominent city for tourists, including surrounding communities along the coast, and the nearby islands of the Frioul and the chateau d’If to name a few. Within driving distance, you can reach many quaint towns and communities such as Aix-en-Provence, Avignon, Cassis or Bandol, and there are so many more areas along the coast and the Provence region. The area is also known for its long stretches of attractive calanques lining the coast under the rocky cliffs where the water is crystal clear, and you can see the bottom of the ocean. The views are breathtaking so is listening to the sound of the ocean and watching the waves. There are times when the ocean can get quite turbulent when the high wind known as Le Vent du Mistral (the wind of the Mistral) can reach up to ninety kilometers an hour (60 mph). It is quite familiar to the Marseillais, (natives of Marseille), but a bit of a nuisance.

Park Bellevue

We first lived in a large apartment complex which had recently been built, the Park Bellevue and we eventually moved closer to the seashore in the Pharo quarter, home of the Palais du Pharo which is in the 7th arrondissement, or the 7th district of Marseille on Avenue Louis Pasteur. This is a short walk from the Marseille vieux port, (old ort).

The building complex we lived in at first was a conglomeration of many buildings. It was exciting to move into a brand-new apartment in Batiment A8, (Building A8) at Rue Felix Pyatt. Next to our building was a taller high rise called Batiment B, (Building B). This is where my best friend Albert Benayoun lived and with whom I cultivated a long-lasting friendship, full of adventurous moments which at times got us in trouble. We, (my friend Albert and I) often reminisce on the great memories, of our escapades and our time in school together. He came from a large family, four brothers and four sisters. Grandpa and Grandma became very close with his parents, and they had a very memorable closeness and friendship. Relationships grew even further as we met the Benayoun's extended family; Uncles, Aunts and Cousins, the Danan and Danino families. They came from Fez, Morocco. We had so much in common in culture and customs. We became accustomed to their famous Moroccan dishes, and they equally enjoyed our Egyptian style and middle eastern cooking. Friendships grew stronger and our families became inseparable.

Park Bellevue was a central place where many families who had been displaced from Middle Eastern countries were living. It was not unusual to discover familiar names, or to find out who knew someone and discover each other’s story in terms of when they left their country. It was a very stressful time for those who were expelled from Middle Eastern territories which were French protected. The French government was very supportive providing accommodations to families who were forced to leave their birth countries. International agencies such as HIAS (Hebrew Immigration Aid Society) and the COJASOR Committe Juif Action Sociale & Reconstruction (Jewish Social Committe & Reconstruction) which I have mentioned in previous writings worked in conjunction with the French government to coordinate resources to help families get on their feet. They would help with support for employment and monetary applications for aid called Allocations Familiales (Family Allocations) such as a government funded monetary stipend provided for each child living in a household, much like a child tax credit. There were other forms of aid, such as rent subsidy and help with moving costs. Demands were high because of the large influx of immigrants/refugees with similar stories as ours. Bureaucracy was cumbersome, as would be expected with government agencies. It was not uncommon to wait for a response which often took longer than expected. This was before computers, so filling out paperwork was elaborate and when inquiring on the status of a form or an application, it was not unusual to discover that a piece of information was missing. The only way to rectify the situation was to physically set up an in-person appointment which created more delays.

The environment was quite dynamic, with the sound of various tunes and vocalists which could be noticeably heard. There was the aroma of multiethnic cooked foods permeating in hallways. When the weather was warm, people gathered on balconies, and on Sunday mornings, the sound of the accordion playing on radios was very typical of French music of that time.

Music was a very prominent part of life, and we were just beginning to hear of a new vocalist, Enrico Macias of Sephardic/Jewish origin who had been expelled from Constantine, Algeria under horrific circumstances. His story was like that of many who fled their North African native lands. His tunes grew steadily in popularity. He emerged as a very influential, talented gifted guitarist and writer/composer whose lyrics captured the emotional stories of refugees who had emigrated to France. He drew on the tradition of his North African heritage with early songs such as J’ai quitter mon pays (I left my country) and enfants de tout pays (children of all countries) which reminded people of their middle eastern roots and depicted the dreadful conditions under which people left their countries. Enrico Macias was a true inspiration to many.

Getting settled

When we moved into our apartment, we barely had our personal belongings which consisted mainly of that which we were allowed to take when we left Egypt. Unlike in Bordeaux where we had the chance to have some furniture, we had to rebuild again. The remainder of our suitcases and trunks finally arrived in Marseille by sea after several months in transit.

Beginnings are always challenging, bringing a lot of apprehension. We were not stranger to that. We had to make the best of our situation and start a new life which for our parents was very difficult. Our apartment had a couple of chairs, and aside from beds, the rest of our apartment lacked full furnishings. Initially, we improvised with what was available until we could get acclimated. Our situation was just like any other family in the same predicament.

Commodity items such as TVs, refrigerators or telephones were not common, and certainly out of reach for many of us settling in. It was very unusual to find these items in most refugee's households. There was only one family in our complex that had a TV. They would invite all the kids from the neighborhood on Thursdays, our day off from school. It was always a treat to see old English western movies. Their living room was always packed with kids.

We had to integrate with our neighbors who each had their own story. It was a closed-knit community where people relied on one another. I remember when Grandma was short on an ingredient such as flour or eggs, it was not unusual to reach out to a neighbor to borrow what she needed, and same was true vice versa. It was always customary to return the empty container which was often filled with baked goods or any other sweets. The spirit of closeness was present and felt in this multiethnic community.

There were no playgrounds, so we improvised to do fun things. My cousins, Allegrine, Benny and Rebecca lived in the same complex. Near their apartment building was a nice garden with park benches which was a regular gathering place for other kids of similar age whose family also came from Egypt.

Occasionally, someone from the neighborhood would appear with toys. It was great to have the chance to play or to ride another kid’s bike.

On the grounds of the complex, there was a small variety store, and in the window stood a tall, bright red motorized toy crane. Each day, I passed by to take a glance and admire it. I was always quite impressed watching the working gears which I found fascinating. The store owner eventually put it up on lottery. It stood in that same spot in the window for many months, and one day, it was no longer there. I found out that someone had won it and discovered It was a young child who lived in the neighborhood. He knew I was very excited about the crane and offered to give it to me. We both went off to the store where I found it had been set aside. I headed home proud of finally having the possibility to play with it and even invited my school friends over to share. It was a wonderful time to finally have the chance to experience this firsthand. In conversation that afternoon while playing with my school friends, the child admitted he had taken money from his mom to buy the toy unbeknownst to her. This short escapade came to an end when Grandpa and Grandma became aware. It was hard giving it up, but the only choice was to be honest and return it to his mom. It was a hard lesson to learn.

Getting Around

Public transportation was mainly by city buses. There was no rapid transit system then, such as a metro, except for one short trolley line contained within the city center then. Today, Marseille has two main metro lines. As is the case in many large metropolitan cities, the network of bus lines was not lacking. When we lived there in the early 60s, we relied heavily on public transportation, and it was not uncommon to take several connecting bus lines to reach the suburbs on the outskirts of the city. Neither Grandpa nor Grandma took driving lessons or ever learned to drive. They took buses, occasionally a taxi or caught a ride with family or friends. On occasions, our Uncle Isaac who had a motor scooter, an Italian brand called Lambreta would give Grandpa a ride to pick up groceries or to meet up with friends for coffee. They had their special café au vieux port, (old port). Sundays was a very popular day for getting together as a group for conversations and to reminisce. A sort of tradition which existed way back when they lived in Egypt and continued in France and even when we moved to the U.S.

I was not of driving age, but both my brothers eventually got their driver's license. Albert also bought a Lambretta, which I enjoyed occasionally taking rides on. He rode it to school as it was more conducive than taking the bus. This also gave him more independence.

There were many ways to entertain each other by exploring surrounding areas. Park Bellevue bordered a highway but was not far from the seashore. To get to places, we relied on hitch hiking, called Auto Stop in French, and we did a lot of walking until by luck someone stopped to give us a ride. There were many times my friend Albert and I did this. We did not have any specific destination but there were so many areas to explore. We would walk and hike for hours and when the weather was conducive, we would take a swim as Marseille has so many prominent spots along the seashore to jump in the water for a quick swim, which was quite common.

Warm weather begins quite early in Marseille, and it is not unusual to be swimming starting in late Spring, in May until well into the end of September. One of our favorite parts preparing for beach weather was to visit garages for auto or truck repair shops hoping to grab the largest inner tube we could get. It was customary for kids to compete in this regard to see who could secure theirs first. Each had their regular trucking companies looking for that extra-large inner tube which worked perfectly to venture out on the water and explore the surrounding seacoast. The cars inner tubes worked just as well.

Moving to the Seashore

These adventures became even more prominent when we moved to the Pharo quarter at Avenue Louis Pasteur near La Corniche, the road running along the seashore. This residential neighborhood was a short walk to the beach. We were fortunate this apartment where the Danan family (relatives of the Benayouns) lived became available and with their connection, we were able to secure it. The Danans had applied through a government program for an HLM, Habitation à Loyer Modéré, (housing for moderate income), and were given the green light. To our surprise, their new apartment was within a short walking distance in the same neighborhood. Our friendship grew close with our families getting together often, for a shabbat meal, or impromptu aperitif, and of course many outings at the beach. Their kids were close to our age. Same was true of the Benayouns. We became like family and did so much together.

Without a telephone to get in touch, the families found ways to stay connected, and planned many flawless get together. A knock on the door was never unusual, and you were always welcomed. It was very common for the host to pull together a few snacks and of course an aperitif was always part for the course when you showed up unexpectedly. At the Benayouns, mint tea with pastries was a treat which they always had on hand. The custom was if you came into someone’s home, you had to eat something. They never took no for an answer, and the moms were the pushy ones in this regard.

Grandpa and Grandma were like brother and sister. We, my brothers and I were always called “Mon Fils” (My Son). This is how they felt about us and our family. We always felt warmly greeted.

Attending School

While living at Park Bellevue, I attended public elementary school. It was called Ecole (school) Rue Felix Pyatt. It was within walking distance from our apartment. A very typical French school building made of heavy stones and quite large windows which overlooked the city street. There was a center courtyard where students gathered for recess. The classrooms had wooden desks with a built-in ink well which was our only choice for writing. We used a variety of dip pens or quills to load with ink. There were no ballpoint pens, but eventually what became very popular, especially in the upper classes, were fountain pens. The Parker brand was a popular gift which was often offered on becoming a Bar Mitzvah. It was quite an improvement and less messy, and I loved the fact that it had an ink cartridge with a good amount of ink that lasted.

Penmanship was taught from early years, and there was an expectation that our notebooks called cahiers in French be kept neat and orderly. There were special lined cahiers (notebooks) which we were required to buy with specific lined formats to meet school requirements. Every student was expected to write legibly and neatly. Students in France at least in the lower classes are graded based on how their notebooks are kept as they are inspected periodically throughout the year.

We attended school on Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays and half a day on Saturdays. Thursdays were our day of play when we gathered with all the kids in the neighborhood. Our school day started early in the morning at 0800 to 12 noon with a 2-hour break for lunch. In the afternoon, we resumed classes at 14:00 until 17:00. There was an additional hour from 17:00 to 18:00 which was considered after school time to do our homework, and the time utilized to complete assigned chores, such as refilling the ink wells, erasing the blackboard, organizing books and papers and emptying wastepaper baskets.

Books provided to each student at the beginning of the year on behalf of the government were expected to be well maintained. Each student was responsible for ensuring proper handling with the expectation that they all be returned in good condition at the end of the school year. It was required that each book be protected by a specific heavy blue paper that each family had to purchase on their own. Each pupil was responsible for properly handling their books and a label was required to be affixed with the student’s name, including the subject of the book.

There were no yellow school buses in France. They just do not exist. Students usually get to school by walking, or parents drive their children to school. Older students such as those in secondary studies may leave school during free periods, and for lunch if given the permission from their parents. Lunch is usually an hour or more. When I lived there, lunch was 2-hours, and we were free to leave school and go home if we wished.

The French education system is sturdy and focusses on academia with less emphasis on sports. Although, there is physical education as part of the school curriculum, there are only a few extracurricular activities offered during the week, and there are ample opportunities to excel in sports outside the schools. France does not lack talented athletes, and Marseille has one of the most popular soccer team; Olympique de Marseille, or OM which is one of the oldest teams. As with any sports, Marseille is no exception and totally goes wild for their team OM. Soccer and Rugby are very popular.

Grading is based on a scale from 0 the lowest to 20 the highest. The grading process is structured and rigorous, and students are evaluated by taking written exams. We needed to keep up to maintain a passing grade in all subject matters. At the end of elementary primary education, students had to pass the Certificat d’Etudes Primaires (CEP), Certificate of Primary Studies, which was typically between the ages of 11 and 13. To obtain this certificate, you needed to sit through two days of intense written tests and oral presentations on all subject matters, including basic skills in reading, writing, comprehension, mathematics, history, geography and applied sciences. This diploma is no longer awarded as it was officially eliminated in 1989. This is a picture of my CEP awarded in June 1964.

To pass to the next grade, at the end of the school year, you are ranked according to your final aggregate grade such as in a class of 30 students, if you had the lowest grade, you ranked 30, second to last would rank 29, then 28 and so on. There was an official process whereby the Director or member of the board of the school would have every student report bulletin gathered by ranking order to begin the distribution process. There was no graduation ceremony, and each student’s name was announced by order of hierarchal ranking. If you were fortunate to have a grade that landed you in a fair ranking, you were considered saved to move to the next class. I was fortunate to succeed for a few grades, and did relatively well from Bordeaux to Marseille, but it became extraneously difficult to keep up. Eventually, moving from one school district to another caught up with me as we moved from one community to another at times in the middle of a school year.

After moving to Avenue Louis Pasteur, I attended part of the year at an elementary school, Arenc Bachas which was a public school. When the end of the school arrived, there were limited options for me to continue. There was limited and little time over the course of the summer to find suitable schooling in time for the start of the new school year, luckily for me the option for parochial school opened, but was not without its difficulties.

Transitioning into the next grades was not without its challenges. Luckily for me, I had been given the green light in Bordeaux to move on to the next class. But it became increasingly difficult in the public school system. Parochial schools were even more structured. There were barriers to overcome, in terms of acceptance into the system and meeting the academic expectations. Negotiating the financial implications took much persuading work that was done behind the scenes with the school leadership to get me admitted into each school, as it was harder coming from a foreign country. The parochial system is private unlike the public system, which is government funded. Both systems presented challenges to succeed, and to meet the requirements to advance to the next grade.

Navigating the bureaucracy in France is no small feat. Whether it is government agencies or the education system, it was a daunting process. From the standpoint of the education system, you fell into a ranking as described, and the choice for a second chance was limited. At least then, it may be different today. So, you would be left at the mercy of the system, soliciting different avenues to get into a school, or forced to start work at a young age. It was not the case for me, so we embarked on a journey through a multitude of channels, and connections in our community, eventually leading to the path of parochial schools.

I would enter the first parochial school after much hard work, deliberation and missing the mark on entrance scores to continue into the public system. I attended Ecole Saint Victor, located across the street from the Abbey of Saint Victor, one of the oldest churches in Marseille. The school was a 2-story building overlooking the vieux port, (old harbor). Upstairs were the living quarters for the principal and his family. The only classroom was on the first floor. It was a small older house as many in this part of Marseille were. The house had a quaint front foyer or parlor with an upright piano. Our principal would often play the piano, especially after hours. The atmosphere was very homy and welcoming, and we felt the warm friendship from the principal and his family.

I was attending Saint Victor in November 1963 when we heard the tragic news about President John F Kennedy’s assassination. I was in my early teens, and it was very difficult to process all which had unfolded. In observance of this horrific loss, flags in France were lowered at half-mast and schools were immediately dismissed. It was very difficult to watch this event as it was being felt around the globe.

After attending Saint Victor, it was the next struggle to find acceptance into the next school, as space is limited. Following several stringent interviews, and battling the financial expectations, I was granted a spot in the Lycée at l’Ecole Jean Baptiste Fouque, located in the Castellane quarter of Marseille, near the busy downtown shops. This is where I completed my CEP. This is also the school where I made lots of friends, among those was my best friend, Albert. It was wonderful to be classmates which added even further to our friendship. There are so many memories of our days in school and other activities of my childhood in France which I will leave for my next writing.

Thank you for your interest.