Saturday, April 18, 2020


The days are not so bad, the evenings of this enforced isolation, are beginning to take their toll. Talking heads on television; I don’t want to watch but my curiosity, my desire to know, my fears for my family in New York and other doomed areas of this land get the better of me. This is a war against a previously unknown enemy. As a child in London, I knew who the enemy was; in retrospect it was awful, but now, all those years later, this pandemic seems worse. The numbers of those infected, the rising lists of deaths, the race to find a vaccine in the hands of scientists – not mine, not the politicians, but those who we trust to save us in the future.
I know I am fortunate to be able to look out my window onto a lake where ducks glide and the occasional cormorant dives. To see a turtle ease it’s way on to a rock to bathe in the sun. A crow sits on the branch of a pine tree – even he stays quiet. I’m told just a few feet away a goose sits on her eggs while her mate occasionally leaves to find sustenance for his wife. Soon those eggs will hatch and the family will come to visit me, just outside my window, the window that keeps me calm during the day, but stays far too dark at night.
                                                   Patricia Friedberg

Monday, March 16, 2020

Image courtesy of

Apply this to the Corona19 virus.

This is what my grandparents and parents managed to achieve
during six years of war chronicled in 21 Aldgate.
Only now can I appreciate how well they concealed from me
and my cousins, their inward panic. They kept us calm during
nightly Luftwaffe attacks, when, even more, and unimaginably,                          they knew the very real possibility of imminent invasion.

They knew what could happen to us because we are Jews.

Saturday, July 20, 2019


Patricia Friedberg


Friday, June 22, 2018

I TOO AM AN IMMIGRANT by Patricia Friedberg

Why do I write every day about the situation on the border? Because it has brought back memories of my childhood in London.  When war broke out parents were urged to evacuate their children.  My mother took me to the main station where hundreds, maybe thousands, of parents stood in line waiting to place their child on a train that would take them, well they didn't know where, for safety.  I had an air raid mask in a box and a Teddy Bear - I think my mother had a small suit case packed with my clothes.  Parents were crying, children hanging on to them, guards with green flags urging us ever forward.  Train after train left and then we reached the platform, that train, that train coming in, puffing white smelly smoke slowly arrived and stopped.  That was my train. We followed the guard with the green flag - we reached the intended carriage - and then something happened.  My mother lifted me into her arms, turned round and pushed her way back, through the crowds, through the police line, through the gate and into the open air.  Years later I asked her why she wouldnt let me go.  She answered - 'you were my child, you belonged with your family whatever the circumstances, you were too young to be separated from me and I could not go with you.' 

And so I spent six years of that war in London - it wasn't pleasant and often I was scared, but I had my family, my grandparents, my mother and most of my cousins. My mother made that decision and now I know why.

Tuesday, December 19, 2017

Wishing You the Joy of the Season and ...

                                                                  Every Wish
                                 Love, Peace, Health, Happiness 
                                       Fulfillment in 2018

Sunday, November 26, 2017

A TIME TO CELEBRATE ZIMBABWE... 37 Years under the Dictator Robert Mugabe comes to an end

Upcoming book JOURNEY FROM THE JACARANDAS by Patricia Friedberg tells the story of those early years and its impact on the then Rhodesians as the country sought its independence to become Zimbabwe and its decline under the rule of dictator Robert Mugabe.