‘I mean it. I’ll fetch the police!’ She moved forward. ‘I’m going right now if you don’t leave,’ she added in a threatening voice.

Obviously, she had been effective. They dropped the stones they were holding and slunk away, their tails between their legs, looking like the cowards she knew they were. Bullies, each one of them.

Emma now bent down and touched the man’s shoulder. ‘I will help you. Have they hurt you?’ She then noticed the bruises on his cheek and forehead, and pushed down her anger at the hooligans. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she thought.

‘I think I am all right,’ the man finally said, lowering his arms. ‘It is only a scratch or two, I believe.’

‘Let me help you up,’ Emma said, and managed to get him to his feet. He leaned against the wall, and said, ‘Thank you, young lady, for coming to my aid. I am grateful.’

‘I’m glad I was nearby,’ she answered, and noticed the man was looking down at the pavement. ‘I seem to have lost my spectacles,’ he muttered, sounding anxious.

‘Oh, I see them.’ Emma went and picked them up. She also noticed a brown paper bag with things in it and what looked like a twisted loaf of bread. She picked it up, saw some dirt on the loaf, blew on it and dusted it with her hands. Then she put it in the brown bag and fastened the bag tightly by rolling down the top.

The man had found his small black skull cap which he put on the back of his head. He smiled at her as he accepted his spectacles and the bag. He inclined his head and thanked her yet again.

He began to move, and said quietly, ‘I must be going … home.’

‘Goodbye,’ Emma said, and then ran to him as he staggered and almost fell. He propped himself against the wall of the building.

Emma realized he was not well at all, out of breath and trembling. ‘I will walk with you some of the way,’ she insisted, ignoring his protests.

They had not been walking very long, when Emma, filled with a mixture of anger about the cruel and brutal boys and her intense curiosity, asked, ‘Why were those horrible lads throwing stones at you? They could have really hurt you.’

There was a moment or two of silence before the middle-aged man spoke up. He said, in a quiet tone, ‘Because I am a Jew.’

Emma said swiftly, ‘Oh, I see.’ But she didn’t; she was mystified, at a loss. What was a Jew? And why would being a Jew incite such violence?

The man, intelligent and discerning, immediately knew she had no idea what he was talking about.