The years 1982 -1990 were years spent by my wife Jackie and me in a frenzy and haze. This was because in 1982 our daughter, Shelley, was diagnosed with Tay Sachs Disease, the inherited Jewish disorder that’s a curse on our brethren.

Jackie and I had set up the Tay Sachs and Allied Diseases Association to spread word of it and to ensure that screening for it was freely available on the NHS despite the disapproval of the then Chief Rabbi, Immanuel Jacobovitz .

By 1990 we had both had enough organising screenings and fundraising countrywide, and we needed a rest.

The day I closed the Tay Sachs charity shop in Gants Hill, Ilford, I had a telephone call from World Jewish Relief.

I was told that there was a need for medical aid in Bosnia and the country was out of control. Could I help them? There was no-one else they could trust with the high value of the medicines and other equipment they had obtained. So I was sent on a ‘plane to Otepei airport in Bucharest. This airport was in a high military state and security was very high. However after I gave the man at Passport Control forty cigarettes, my passport was stamped to allow my entry. I was met by my minder from the community; a five foot tall man of over 60 years of age waving large gun like a cowboy. He made Danny De Vito look tall!

However, we then took a huge container lorry to Constanta docks to collect the 40ft container with 19 and half ton of medicines for the Jewish community of Bosnia. Despite an offer of 500,000 dollars for access to the container by the dock supervisor, we loaded the container on the truck and off to Bucharest we went. There we were met by Jewish doctors who were dumbfounded by the size of container. It was the only time I had seen doctors cry when they saw so many items that they needed and were being given. No-one had ever brought in so much which had not been tampered with.

Whilst staying in Bucharest with Chief Rabbi Rosen and living among the community, I found them to be a wonderful crowd. Security was very tight as I was followed everywhere by the Securitata (government Police). They did get annoyed when I avoided them at times when I had other work to do for the community. The best way to travel at that time was in a black leather jacket. All the security police wore them so that way no-one could tell who was who. It gave me chances to go off on my own and meet people and see the work that Jewish charities were doing for the community, many of whom were survivors from the concentration camps.

After returning to London I was approached again. This time it was to be a trip to war-torn Bosnia, more of which I shall write shortly.

Alan Harris
January 2015