He cites two reasons for disqualifying himself as a "true East Ender": he was away from London during the war years and he was the son of a doctor who, at that time and in that predominantly working-class area, was a figure of special status. The history of the East End caught the young boy's imagination, and here Gross recalls the dying days of what is now a vanished world: the old woman in an apron selling bagels on a corner of Petticoat Lane, tailors' workshops, synagogues, the poultry market, Yiddish newspapers and theatre, Yiddish writers and poets ... he resurrects them all with affection but never with schmaltz.