The Umbrellas of Igra

Origin Story

Before World War I my relative Ayjzik Igra started an umbrella factory called Elegant in Sosnowiec, Poland. Sosnowiec is northwest of Krakow, which, in turn, is west and slightly north of Lviv, now in Ukraine, the area where my grandfather, Henry Grossman, was born as Heinrich Igra. They were cousins.  

There was a time when umbrellas were valued not just for protecting delicate complexions from sunlight and fine clothes from drenching rain–but as fashion items, especially for women, as much as were hats and gloves. Hand-made umbrellas such as Elegant’s were prized, and vintage versions can still be found online (see below). Apparently, the business was prized enough for a Nazi officer to take over the factory after the Germans invaded Poland in 1939. Ayjzik and his wife died in a concentration camp. Most of their children survived, and three sons who had learned the trade from their father went into the umbrella business in Canada, Sweden, and Australia, respectively. Ultimately, the brothers in Montreal and Stockholm moved to Florida and prospered in real estate. 

Today, the only thriving successor business is called Fulton, and it’s in London. It was founded by a man originally known as Arnold Frucht, who after the war immigrated to England, where he struggled as a mechanic. On a visit to Sweden, he was mentored by his brother-in-law, Jurek Igra, and started making umbrellas. Frucht himself transformed into a titled baron, Sir Arnold Fulton, who died in 2022. His company became Royal Warrant umbrella purveyor to the Royal Family. One of its more “pop” designs was the 1960s clear bubble umbrella. 

The Brisbane “Branch”

Yes, the Igra umbrella legacy survives in Brisbane, Australia, but thriving it isn’t. That said, it’s remarkable to visit the industrial park space crammed full of fabrics, handles, frames, and equipment handed down to Alicia Mor-Hyde from Michael (Marian in Poland) Igra, when he quit the business in the late 1980s. Alicia, an octogenarian native of Chile, came to Sydney as a young woman and found work as nanny to Michael’s sons, Anthony and David. As their nanny needs dwindled, she continued to manage Michael’s house and also worked in the umbrella factory. It’s unclear to me whether or not she bought, or was given, the remains of the stock, but she moved to Brisbane, married late in life, and “re-opened” the umbrella business. After finding her website, I’d written an email introducing myself as an Igra relative, and a few days later I heard from Anthony, whom she had contacted.

It was a long Uber trip from the CBD to her garage-like “headquarters.” Being there was a view back to an era when, indeed, umbrellas were part of a woman’s ensemble and a well-dressed man’s sartorial splendor. Each umbrella is still customized and handmade on the equipment Michael brought to Australia in 1949. Eli and I decided these would make unique, family-legacy gifts for Amy and Jonathan, as well as for close friends, a couple who had done us special favors. And we bought a particularly gorgeous white, laced-lined one for ourselves to hang as art in our house. OR, if I ever get invited to a Buckingham Palace garden party, it will be perfect. Maybe Wimbledon or the Ascot races, too.

“Banking” to Buy

Despite Alicia’s insistence that we could buy from her website, that wasn’t the case: there’s no link to order and pay. She offered us a bank account number in which to deposit funds, but not via an App such as Apple Pay, Venmo, or Zelle. She wouldn’t take a credit card. Finally, we agreed on cash, but we didn’t have enough Australian dollars on us. “There’s a bank in the shopping center on the main road,” she said, “only a short walk.”

It was about a half-mile or more, and the warm afternoon sky was darkening. No bank was to be found in the strip mall, but we hoped the supermarket there would have an ATM. It did. We withdrew enough, walked back, bought the umbrellas, and got into our return Uber a minute before the skies opened up in a deluge. Good thing we had umbrellas! But, by the time we got back to our hotel, the flash flood was waning, and by evening the streets were dry.

Mary Poppins Is a Fictional Character

Obviously, the umbrellas weren’t going to fly, so we had to figure out how to transport them–first from Brisbane to Sydney, then from Sydney back to Beijing. We discovered that at least the two men’s specimens wouldn’t fit into our suitcases even diagonally and considered that pointy umbrellas are not items to be carried through security and onto a plane. Eli, ever the logistical genius, said we’d ship them to our hotel in Sydney and then as luggage with our bags back to China. Our final morning in Brisbane, ahead of a late afternoon flight, we zoomed into the main post office a few blocks from the hotel and, umbrellas in hand, started measuring boxes; none were adequate. Here in the US, we consider the words “post office service” to be an oxymoron. In Australia, it’s just another opportunity for gracious assistance. A roving staff member steered us to a nearby office supply store, where, again, none of the boxes fit. Back outside on a pedestrian mall, I thought maybe we’d find a cheap luggage store with an appropriate size bag. This was the plan when we spotted Target’s familiar logo (ubiquitous in Australia) and followed it to a subterranean mall location.

Saved By An (Umbrella) Box

As we descended an escalator, Eli and I both zeroed in on a clerk unpacking a box and stocking a rack with its contents. She was totally dumfounded when we asked to buy the box. A nearby colleague, apparently up the chain in rank, also didn’t get it. After a brief consultation with a manager, they said we could have a box, without paying for it, so we stood by while the next one on the stack was gently emptied, without being ripped. What was the product it contained? Golf umbrellas. Cheap ones from China.

Back at Australia Post, our “friend” helped us pack, tape, and address the prize to our hotel in Sydney, where it arrived late the next day. Intact, it accompanied our baggage back to Beijing, where we gave Amy and Jonathan theirs. Fortunately, we kept the box, even though we expected the bigger suitcases we’d left in China to encase the remaining umbrellas. No, too short. And, as coming back to the US we each had the business class allotted two suitcases, we had to pay $200 for shipping the box. The most expensive umbrellas ever!

Mission Accomplished–and a New Writing Project?

The umbrella caper was fun and meaningful, given the family history connected to it and the new connection with Cousin Anthony Igra in Sydney. But this history complements the fact that my mother’s father, Alfred Zuckert, manufactured rainwear, including military officers’ coats and soldiers’ ponchos for American forces during World War II. I mentioned this coincidence at dinner a few years ago in Jerusalem with two women cousins who live there: Sharona Igra Komem on the “umbrella” side, and Jo Leviten on the “raincoat” side. Jo gave me a working title: When The Raincoat Maker’s Daughter Married the Umbrella Maker’s Cousin.

A bestseller in the making?