I think my father might have quite liked to live in Israel. In late 1946 he was encamped in Palestine with the Polish free army. He was 16 years old, he’d already lived in five countries, nearly starved to death in freezing exile, and for the first time in a long time he felt settled. But my grandfather, Dolu, was enrolled in the Polish Resettlement Corps and had the chance to move to Britain. After his experience in the Gulag and the army he was sick, he was tired, he was broke and he hadn’t the heart for more struggle.
