In a much earlier blog posting, The Barlby Road and Ladbroke Grove Junction , J.G recalled the tenement dwellings at the northern end of Ladbroke Grove between the railway bridge and Kensal Road. Last year I was sent some much more detailed memories and photos from a family who lived there over three generations. Donna’s grandfather had worked at the gasworks and her grandmother lived there from 1948. Donna and her mother supplied the following information.
At the end of Ladbroke Grove between the steps to Southern Row in the south and Kensal Road in the north, there were a series of large tenement type flats. On this 1950 map the first, going north is Western Dwellings, followed by Victoria House, then Ladbroke Dwellings and lastly, just to confuse us, a Victoria Mansions. However this naming does not match with Donna’s description below!
Unfortunately the best photos that exist are in the London Picture Archive and I cannot reproduce them here without a fee so to see them you will have to use this link
Memories of Ladbroke Dwellings (from Donna and her mother)
The Ladbroke Dwellings from 1948 had a double doored front entrance opening into a Hallway which led to the ground floor flats and a staircase going upstairs. To the left were more stairs leading down to basement numbered 1 and 2 and also to a door to the coalsheds. The front door of the flat led into the living room, where the walls were painted with a gloss brown at the bottom and cream at top. There was a black iron fire place. There were gaslights on the walls which had mantles in them made of a cobweb material. You lit those with a long wax taper.
There were 2 bedrooms and a tiny kitchen. In the kitchen was a copper. The women would do their weekly wash in it and also the kids had a stand up bath. Near that was a black iron range which had hot plates and plenty of mice!!! Then a little sink with a curtain underneath it.
At the Kitchen table, Ladbroke Dwellings.
A backdoor led to a tiny porch/balcony, where the toilet was, also the dustbin, and a cold cupboard for milk and butter (pre fridge days). There was also a bungalow bath (tin bath) that used to hang on a hook.
After the Ladbroke Dwellings was the Victoria Dwellings about 4 or 5 blocks. My mum said that even though they looked the same they were quite different inside.
Sheila Tipper, Mum’s sister and my great grandmother Alice Yearwood outside Ladbroke Dwellings, 1960s.
Alice and Bill Tipper, with girls Linda and Sheila Tipper
Nearby-towards the bridge
There were steps which led down to Southern Row and Octavia House. Then right next to that was a confectionery shop (affectionately known as Maggie Wilson’s) run by two sisters who wore hair nets, lyle stockings & aprons and with an elderly mum who always dressed in black. They had the best jars of sweets in the neighbourhood, tipped out of a jar onto a piece of paper and then made into a cone. Strangely they also sold Dr Whites sanitary towels. The shop was always painted green, which ended up to be a washed out dark green.
Photo from 2010 (Ernest Godin). Former sweet shop next to the steps
Near here was a working man’s cafe. Alice Tipper worked here at one time as a waitress in the early 50’s. They had a dumb waiter (a lift) with a manual rope pully, that dinners came up on and dirty dishes went down on. Most of the customers were from the gasworks on dinner break. Then a barber’s (affectionately known as Ben the barber’s) Then another confectionary shop, after that Hamrax the motor bike shop, then the iron bridge. Important to the locals, a telephone box at the end of the bridge. A dairy, next to the Mosley’s confectionery shop (mum had a paper round with them). Then came the bend around to Wornington Road along past a greengrocer – Rita Webb’s grandfather shop. She lived in a flat above. They sold slices of pineapple for a penny, served on a white enamel plate. Then next to that was a ladies haidresser’s. Later on there was a betting shop called Bill Cane’s.
Johns Grocers, which was beside Ladbroke Dwellings after the alley. In the photo is my uncle Steven Tipper and Jackie Murphy around 1960, both from Ladbroke Dwellings.
Toward Kensal Road
Beteeen the steps and Ladbroke Dwellings was John’s Grocers run brothers Bill and John If you was to continue right on Ladbroke Grove past the grocers, you would come to Victoria Mansions and then a cafe right on the corner of Ladbroke Grove and Kensal Road. In the 50’s it was run by a couple, a black fella and white lady with little boy called Michael. Then around the bend on Kensal Road was a pub and then Ainsworth nursery. And the canal with gates, used only by the workman who worked. Horses used to pull the barges along which were usually delivering coal etc and people were not allowed in there.
Kensal Road near junction with Ladbroke Grove, 1969. Western Arms pub on right and the gates to the canal on the left, (Photo RBKC)
With thanks to Donna Bannerman and her mother Linda Patrickson nee Tipper and apologies from myself (Sue) for taking so long to put this post up on to the blog.
Running off the northern end of Latimer Road is Snarsgate Street, a short cul de sac of formerly two up, two down terraced cottages. David Walker has sent has sent in some photos and memories of the street in the post war years and its relationship with Hytex a rubber factory, close by on Latimer Road.
OS map 1914
David Walker
My old Dad used to say the houses, were £100 each just before the War so you could have bought the whole street for £2100 back then.
All the houses numbers 1- 10 on our side of the Street were rented out by Mr Parr who owned Hytex Rubber Factory that ran along the back of the properties. He was highly regarded both as landlord and provider of fairly well paid jobs for the local lads in the area. I did a stint there in my teens but that lasted about a month. The 100 degree heat was bad enough. Worse was the stench on my clothes from the molten rubber that did little for my street cred so I left. Mr Parr also ran a system of homework, a much welcome source of extra income for local women (cutting and trimming the rubber tyres for Dinky toys and Silver Cross prams). My Mum did it and was paid by the gross . She would never miss the chance to ‘press gang’ any us to help if we stood around too long. There was always a Christmas party funded by Mr Parr for us kids and a hot water bottle (another product of the factory) plus a week’s free rent for the grown ups.
The background of this picture shows the dividing wall between our cul de sac and the gardens of the ‘big’ houses Highlever Road. The door in the wall was usually locked but always of great interest to us as kids as it seemed to be like peering into a magic garden when it was occasionally opened for tradesmen to use. The faded white wicket cricket stumps on the wall painted by my elder brother Pete were still there in the 70’s and highlights the longevity of the nice drop of (probably lead) paint pinched from my Dads box in our backyard. The dilapidated corrugated iron construction on the right was Hytex distribution shed which has since been developed into an additional property, 10A. Another sign of the times?
The end of the war photo above shows most of the families of the Street that I remember when growing up (four of the families who lived in the Street were from my Dad’s extended family). Some of the others were from across the top of Snarsgate Street where it connects to Latimer Road. My Mum is far right outside the old family home with my sister on her lap. I am in my Mums tummy.
More recollections from Kenneth Saunders (from comments sent into the blog)
I remember Snarsgate Street especially for the bonfires in November, they were easily the best in the area, although they did no no favours for the road surface We really tried, storing up all the bits of wood and furniture from summer onwards. I’ll let you into a little secret. The reason they were the best is that we dug up most of the original old wooden tar blocks from under the tarmac road surface so the fire burned bright and so long that even the Fire Brigade had trouble putting them out. It’s a wonder over the passing years that the whole street entrance didn’t turn into a sinkhole. I am still unsure to this day whether it was the difference between a better equipped Fire Service or our ever depleting tar stocks that saved this event from actually happening.
Snarsgate Street used to be the play street for most of us boys who lived local to it in Latimer Road especially during the school holidays when we would meet up most days and organise ball games, home made cart and scooter races etc much to the annoyannce of a few of those residents without kids. It probably became a games area as it was a cul de sac and had a very smooth road surface ideal for the ball bearings being used for scooter wheels. We used to get the ball bearings from the Rootes workers who visited the Cafe on the corner of Snarsgate Street . The owner of the Cafe was Maurice and it was known as Mo’s Cafe.
There have been several comments about doing homework for Hytex, as many of the local families were involved.
James Farndale
I used to go to them (Hytex) to collect pressed rubber sheets of washers and grommets that my mum had to clean up with scissors. There were quite a lot of out workers at the time. There was always a container at home filled with the soap she used to make the scissor blades cut through the thin rubber. I don’t know how much she earned for this task, but I had to visit the factory several times a week. I must have been 12 /13 years old at the time.
Sharon Aldridge
My late mum Elsie Stanbridge worked there for many years, as a manageress. Her sister Doris Ellis used to distribute the rubber homework. In the 1960s there was an entrance for her homework room, at the end of Snarsgate street. And in later years her room was at the front of the building. The factory was owned by Mr and Mrs Parr.
I also remember the soap in a bowel to cut the rubber sheets, my mum Elsie did homework herself. I remember as a teenager being out of work and I used to do the rubber homework packing rubber bottle stoppers, and finger cones six in strip. and boxing them up. Happy times!
Michael Butler below sent in some photos
Michael Butler
We moved to Wallingford Avenue in April 1949 when I was 16 months old. My father worked in Alperton for Amplivox Hearing Aids and to make ends meet my mother started working part- time in the evenings at White City Greyhound Stadium. Dog nights were on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, many local men and women worked part- time at the stadium then. Mum worked for the tote upstairs.
When I started school in 1953, my mother, Marjorie Butler got a job at Hytex Rubber working in the office on a part-time basis. Mr. Parr the owner and his wife (Dodi) were brilliant employers and not only did they pay decent wages they looked after their workers in many other ways. They paid for Beano’s (coach trips) to the seaside for the workers, normally Southend or Margate and for the office workers and customers a Christmas do at the Café Royal in Regent Street.
On the Beano’s the women in the factory had their own song they sang on the journey to the coast “We’re the Hytex Girls”.
I remember seeing loads of old prams and pushchairs coming and going from the factory picking up and returning the outwork. We occasionally did some to help pay for a holiday.
Mum stayed there until 1959 eventually working there full time
Mr Parr, the owner of Hytex and his wife Dodi in the back row with the office staff and their partners.
Hytex Beano with the coach. Mr. Parr far right. My mum in the camel coat talking to the lady with the handbag.
Mr Parr at the Café Royal shaking the hand of a woman who worked with my mum (name now forgotten).
If anyone wants to add more information about the history of Hytex and also about the ‘finishing’ factory on Gayford Road which is mentioned in various comments, please add to the comments below or send in an email direct to the blog northkenstories@yahoo.co.uk and they can be added to this entry.
Prince Philip was a lifelong staunch and steadfast supporter of young people with whom he could effortlessly empathise and was an active patron of his ‘Duke of Edinburgh Outward Bound’ organisation for over 65 years. He had devised the idea for it after attending Scotland’s Gordonstoun School under German refugee Kurt Hahn who believed in a tough outdoor based regime.
In 1959 he visited W10’s Harrow Club at their premises on Latimer Road, an area long designated as among the country’s most deprived. He was warmly welcomed by the boys who sensed his sincerity and their warm, enthusiastic reception was reciprocated by the Duke who seemed thoroughly at home in their company in the welcoming though austere surroundings of the club. The photos shown here capture perfectly the convivial atmosphere.
He was feted by the boys during his visit and was shown around the club by my friend Billy Kirkham who looks suitably smartly turned out!
Throughout his life Philip exemplified loyalty, integrity, intellect and an impeccable sense of duty all allied to an indefatigable work ethic. In his early nineties in support of his Outward Bound Trust and driving himself, he arrived at the appointed evening hour at a big London hotel to give a speech which charmed the audience.. It was his seventh public event that day. He touched a lot of people, particularly those Harrow Club boys fortunate to witness his visit, and while he will be sadly missed his legacy will endure.
This postcard of the Pavilion was sent to the blog a while ago by Michael Butler and I am ashamed to say I forgot that I had it, so I failed to post it in the previous chapter on North Pole Road. So it now has its own posting.
It was originally called the Rifle Pavilion Hotel because of its proximity to the rifle ranges of Wormwood Scrubs and is clearly marked on the Ordnance Survey map of 1871
OS 1871
I found another photo (below)from a different angle that I will show as well. Interesting because it shows the trolleybuses going along Scrubs Lane or Scrubbs Lane as it says on the old postcard. When I wonder did the spelling change?
Early 20th Century
Michael Butler has now corrected me as what we can see in the postcard are trams not trolleybuses so I will put his detailed transport notes here…………..
The postcard of the Pavilion Hotel page early 20th century shows trams and not trolleybuses, if you look closely the tram tracks are visible and there is only single overhead wiring, trolleybuses are trackless and require double wire current collection.Scrubs Lane was served by two tram routes prior to Saturday 11th September 1937 these were number 28 and 30
The 28 ran from Victoria Station to College Arms via Vauxhall Bridge, Vauxhall, Clapham Junction, Wandsworth, Putney, Putney Bridge, Hammersmith, Shepherds Bush and Harlesden Craven Park.
The 30 tram ran from West Croydon to Willesden Junction which was a bit misleading as it was quite away from the station and actually finished by the Craven Arms adjoining the Harrow Road. It went via Mitcham, Tooting Junction, Tooting, Wandsworth, Putney, Putney Bridge, Hammersmith, Shepherds Bush and Harrow road by the College Arms at the top of Scrubs lane.
On Sunday 12th September the trams were replaced by trolleybuses and became route numbers 628 and 630. The 628 trolleybus ran from Clapham Junction to Craven Park but on Sundays only ran as far the College Arms at the top of Scrubs Lane and the Harrow road. The new trolleybus split the existing 28 tram route service in two with the tram continuing to run from Clapham Junction to Victoria.
Monday 13th September 1937 saw the introduction of the 626 trolleybus route which also ran along Wood and Scrubs Lane. White City Stadium was served by three trolleybus routes 626, 628 and 630. When major events were taking place at White City they occasionally laid on an extra 25 trolleybuses to take the crowds away until as late as 1.30am. Wimbledon Greyhound Stadium could also be reached by the 630 as well as Wandsworth Dog Track.
The service intervals between the trolley buses was normally about 5 minutes. I shall never forget the singing and swishing sound of the wires when a fast moving trolleybus was approaching
Pavilion Shops Parade with overhead tram wiring
After finishing school at Oxford Gardens in the summer of 1959 I went to Latymer Foundation secondary school in Hammersmith Road in September that year. I used the trolleybuses in Scrubs Lane and the Metropolitan tube line from Laitmer Road to journey from home to school and back. On Tuesday 19th July 1960 as part of London Transports stage seven conversion scheme the 626, 628 and 630 trolleybuses were withdrawn from service and were replaced by diesel Routemaster buses. The new bus route numbers were 220 and 268.I use to go to Loftus road to see Q.P.R and I was told from a chap who worked at the BBC that when they were planning the scenery for Eastender’s that they based the design of the Queen Vic on the College Arms.
In the 1950s and early 60s, North Pole Road and surrounding area was a café-free zone. Teenagers could buy a bottle of pop from Kent’s and drink it hanging around a shop doorway, or venture into the North Pole pub or the Pavilion, feeling uncomfortably youthful amongst the regulars. But for a taste of sophistication or simply to spend a relaxed evening drinking coffee or tea, teenagers had to go as far as Scrubs Lane or beyond.
Location of the cafes in 1959 (Author). Not to scale
Harry’s was a large green shed with a paved floor on a cinder patch on Wormwood Scrubs near to the North Pole Road junction. The patch was used as a parking area for cars and trucks. It was close to the football pitches used by the Saturday League teams and their spectators. There were rudimentary changing rooms and cold taps in a building beside the cafe.
The Scrubs had a long association with football: Queens Park Rangers used the Gun Club area for home games in the 1890s and it’s likely that for some time after QPR moved on, players and supporters from other teams would gather at the North Pole Dining Rooms at 22 North Pole Road. A 1911 photograph of the Dining Rooms shows a large sign across the window: ‘Good Convenience for Footballers.’
North Pole Dining Rooms, 1911.
Harry’s was the obvious successor to the North Pole Dining Rooms, cavernous enough for cycle speedway riders and spectators as well as the football crowd. It was open seven days a week, daytime only, and on weekdays, when the sporting crowds were absent, it was popular with truck drivers who had space to park on the cinder patch.
Inside there was the constant chatter of groups of men sitting around tables, shouting to newly-arriving mates to join them, the clatter of football boots and the clacks and dings of the pinball machine.
Harry’s was a self-service caff. You collected your large white mug of dark brown tea, moved along the counter to help yourself to milk and sugar and paid at the till at the end of the counter. You could have a cooked breakfast and/or a pie. There were sandwiches and cakes, too. I loved the squashy moist bread pudding and the cheesecake. Harry’s version of cheesecake was a pastry case, topped with a layer of jam and an iced frangipane filling finished with shredded coconut on top. So, no, there was no cheese in this cheesecake, but then in the 50s, how many of Harry’s customers would have seen what we now know as cheesecake? Remembering this speciality recently, I began to wonder if memory played me false. But a quick Google search reassured me: the cheese-less cheesecake still exists, now known as London Cheesecake. (Sadly, it is not available in Lancashire)
Outside Harry’s was a grass covered hill on the otherwise perfectly flat Scrubs. It had deep tracks worn into the surface by cyclists who got a thrill from racing down the steep sides. Its history was a mystery to us, but we heard rumours that inside the hill was an abandoned air raid shelter.
The cinder area around the café was used as a truck park for drivers calling in for their breakfast fry-ups or mugs of tea. Some nights the whole area was bathed in lights so bright it could have been daytime, illuminating trucks and hordes of people milling around, to the background noise of thrumming generators. This was when films and TV crews were filming night-time scenes on the Scrubs, popular shows such as Z cars, for example. I remember seeing the white Ford Zephyrs and the actors from the Z cars parked there on several evenings.
At the end of the 1950s a taste of West End sophistication arrived in the area. Rosa’s Café opened in Caverswall Street close to the Pavilion pub at the junction with North Pole Road. To the teenagers of the area the steaming chrome plated coffee machine hissing and burbling on the counter was exotic but welcoming.
A small corner café, it was run Rosa and her Italian family. Rosa was short, dark haired and motherly. She ran the place with a firm hand – no swearing, no sitting too close to girls – calling out in strongly-accented English to anyone breaking the rules. She knew us all by name, knew how we liked our coffee, and knew who was most likely to need shouting at. We made one glass cup of frothy coffee (price 9d) last as long as we could. We listened to the juke box – a three-penny bit for each play or one shilling for five plays, mostly hit parade pop: Cliff Richard, Bobby Vee, Bobby Darin, Marty Wilde etc. The juke box played 45rpm discs with the centre pushed out. We could buy old records cheap and buy a plastic disc to fill the centre so that they could be played on a Dansette record player at home.
Rosa’s was a good meeting place for boys and girls. We could chat and flirt until Rosa decided that we had outstayed our welcome and demanding that we bought more coffee, which was fair enough really. The café was always busy, cool in the summer evenings with the doors open, warm and steamy in the winter. We all knew each other and it was a happy, homely place to be on winter evenings, much nicer than huddling in Ellington’s door way in North Pole Road.
Along Scrubs Lane towards Shepherd’s Bush and up a short hill was the A40 Westway, in those days a relatively quiet road. Jack’s café was on Westway where it joined Scrubs Lane at the end of a short parade of shops. Jack’s was modern with large windows, a long counter and a large coffee and espresso machine. There was a juke box but if you wanted the Top Twenty hits, you’d be disappointed. The records at Jack’s were more edgy and less mainstream pop than Rosa’s – Ray Charles ‘What I’d Say’ or Bobby Darin ‘Mack the Knife’ for example. The cafe also had two pin tables, another drain on our pocket money. The café wasn’t as relaxing as Rosa’s partly due to the layout which wasn’t conducive to talking across tables and also, perhaps, because we never saw Jack himself – if he ever existed. Nevertheless, it was busy with lots of chatter and a good place to spend a couple of hours.
Jack’s was between North Kensington and White City which gave us an opportunity to mix with kids from the White City estate. There was no tension between groups of lads on neutral ground like Jack’s, but it would probably have been a different story if we’d chatted up one of ‘their’ girls. Life was a bit edgier in the White City estate itself – it was best not to walk through there at night as part of a group – but it didn’t usually result in anything rough. We did witness a punch-up between two groups of Teds, about 30 lads engaged in some serious aggro. We stayed well out of any trouble.
We usually went to Harry’s at weekends during the day and Rosa’s in the evenings. We went to Jack’s to listen to different music or to check out a different set of young ladies. We didn’t see adults at Rosa’s or Jack’s, both cafes were far too modern for Mums and Dads, with this strange stuff called espresso and loud modern music. They were good places to escape parental supervision and to exchange views on music and fashion, although sport didn’t seem to enter into our chat.
Lyon’s Corner House and the Kardomah chain were operating nearer to the West End, they were too far away and too formal. This was long before Starbucks, Costa and Café Nero made the coffee shop ubiquitous in all shopping streets. The local cafés were places we could walk to and feel comfortable. Harry’s gave us a laddish haven at the weekends, but Rosa’s and Jacks provided something a bit more sophisticated in the evenings.
The cafés were a vital part of growing up around North Pole Road, a far more pleasant atmosphere than the pubs, and probably cheaper. They were a good place for boys and girls to mix and to sit down, rather than standing up in the pub. Cafés like Rosa’s and Jack’s were local independent places and provided a stepping stone on the route towards adulthood, showing off our recently purchased Italian style suits ‘made to measure’ at Burton’s tailors (usually on tick). In these cafés we learned to mix and to chat and how to drink coffee without pulling a face at the new fangled taste, the taste of things to come.
Allan Seabridge, 2020
P.S.
”This recent photo by Sue Snyder shows the site where Rosa’s café was located in the 50s and 60s. Michael Cavilla commented that he remembered the café being on the corner of Caverswall Street and Scrubs Lane – and he was right. It still brings back memories today, I can still see the brightly lit windows and the condensation on a cold winter’s evening, hear the juke box and smell the coffee.”
I spent my entire school life living in North Kensington and went to two schools. One was in Latimer Road, and the other in Du Cane Road, strictly speaking in Hammersmith. However, a number of pupils in the grammar school lived in various parts of North Kensington so I have described life at St Clement Danes Grammar School as it was part of my North Pole Road up-bringing.
Thomas Jones Primary School
Formerly Thomas Jones School/Latimer Road School in 2008, then used by the Pupil Support Service. The building is still in use now in 2020 standing at the end of what is now Freston Road. The other side of the building facing east had also been used during the 1980s as an annexe for St Ann’s Nursery School on St Ann’s Villas. Photo: Sue Snyder
I started my school life at Thomas Jones Primary School. The school was built in 1879 by the London School Board in what was then a densely populated and impoverished area. Its original name was Latimer Road Board School and it was one of approximately 400 schools built to provide education for working class children between 8 and 13 following Forster’s Education Act of 1870. It was an imposing, three-storey building hidden behind a high brick wall.
By 1947, when my mother walked me to school on my first day, it had been renamed Thomas Jones Primary School. I stepped through the gate marked BOYS and had my first view of the school itself. It seemed HUGE. Inside, I was overawed by the echoing stairwells, the high ceilings of the classrooms and the sound of children’s plimsolls squeaking on the parquet floors.
After that first day, I walked to school on my own, rain or shine. It was a long walk down Latimer Road, but there was very little traffic compared with today with no major roads to cross other than Oxford Gardens and Walmer Road. I only ever had one mishap: I ran across the entrance to the laundry works and got knocked down by a delivery truck. I got up, brushed myself down and continued walking to school.
Thomas Jones and Oxford Gardens seemed to be the primary schools for our part of North Kensington. The Head Mistress was Mrs Southcombe, and the only teacher I can remember was Mrs Warboys. The interior of the school was light and airy with plenty of windows and, I think, painted a light green or light blue.
We were in mixed classes of up to 30 or so in each class. A large brass bell, stored on top of the hall piano, was rung by a teacher at the end of each class time and at lunch time. Boys and girls shared a playground where I remember the chalked-out hopscotch squares. We played a variety of games: ‘jacks’, slide puzzles, a game played with ‘chippers’ – bottle tops which we slid against the wall, the nearest to the wall being the winner, and marbles, usually glass, but occasionally a steel ball bearing (much coveted).
In the first year we used slates to learn to write, later using steel nibbed dip pens and paper. The teachers wrote with chalk on blackboards perched on easels, I remember the chalk dust dancing in the sun shining through the windows.
I was so good at reading that I soon read all the school’s stock of books. Extra books were brought in from the local library for me to read. With hindsight, it shows the school as quite enlightened. I can clearly remember reading Jason and the Argonauts.
I was chosen to sit at the front of the class to help other pupils with their reading problems. My early excellence in English Literature came back to haunt me at my next school where I failed English Literature O Level.
One year, probably 1948 or 1949, I remember being given a ‘food parcel’ to take home. I think it was a gift from Australia, or maybe New Zealand or Canada. The parcels were handed out to each pupil as we left the building at home time. It was like an early Christmas. My Mum was surprised when I struggled in with a cardboard box and a paper bag. There were two tins of meat stew and red and green apples in the bag. There may have been more things, I simply can’t remember.
Later I became a milk monitor, which meant collecting milk crates from the playground and carrying them into school and distributing the 1/3 pint glass bottles to all the classrooms. The boys who were milk monitors all loved milk and a perk of the job was being allowed to keep the milk that was rejected by some pupils. We stored the extra bottles in our desks to drink later.
In winter the milk froze and pushed the caps off the bottles, so they had to be handled with care to avoid spills as the milk thawed. It never tasted quite the same after thawing. It was a great job, but horribly cold in winter, especially after a frost when the metal crates stuck to your fingers.
A messier job, which I didn’t do, was ink monitor. The ink monitor filled the ceramic ink wells in the desk tops with an enamel jug of blue/black ink. We wrote with steel nibbed, wooden handled pens. Later we were taught calligraphy using Osmiroid dip pens with italic nibs. I enjoyed the precision of that exercise – selecting the right nib and the right angle and producing straight lines of neat writing – an opportunity to discipline my usual scrawl, a skill I can still see in a Physics exercise book that survives from my secondary school.
Improving handwriting from an inscription in the Coronation booklet of 1953 and to my physics book of 1957
We were also taught how to use a jig saw to cut out animal shapes in plywood. My Dad had to buy me a jig saw and spare blades.
In 1953 we learned about the coronation of Queen Elizabeth and drew pictures of the coronation coach and horses. We were introduced to another use for ‘chippers’. They were sorted into different colours and nailed to a large piece of wood to make messages and pictures which were hung across the street on Coronation day. We all received a Coronation mug and a booklet in which I wrote my name and address in extremely poor hand writing.
Coronation mug and booklet presented to pupils, 1953
In 1954 a competition was set for pupils to design and build a miniature house using our own choice of materials. My friend Roger had a building kit of house plans, small scale bricks, windows, roofs and a weak mortar. I had collaborated with him in building balsa wood and doped paper aeroplanes, most notably a rubber band driven Chipmunk and a jet powered Sabre which we set light to before its launching. He agreed that I could use his kit to make my model house and I built a two-storey house. I struggled into school carrying my precious house, opened the cardboard box and found only a pile of bricks. I had misjudged the weight of the final house and the strength of the mortar.
One year I won a prize for Best Boy, a hard-back book of colour plates with interleaved tissue paper to protect the plates. I kept that book for many years but it has now disappeared. I do, however, still have the prize given to me in 1954 for First Boy in Class, signed by R.J. Southcombe, Head Mistress – The Modern Encyclopaedia for Children, much read judging by its broken binding.
The Modern Encyclopedia for Children, school prize in 1954
I took my 11-plus in 1954 with all candidates for that year sitting at individual desks in the hall. Everyone was nervous as this was our first formal test. I passed the exam along with three other boys and one girl. I remember the names of those who passed: Alan Jewell, known as Jim, Alan Twydell, Ken Puxley and Barbara Mills. The whole school was assembled to hear the results and we were each told to stand so that the other pupils could stare – or was it glare? – at us. The boys all went to St Clement Danes Grammar School for Boys and Barbara went to Burlington Grammar School for Girls.
St Clement Danes Grammar School
St Clement Danes Grammar School was in Du Cane Road, close to North Pole Road, but just outside the North Kensington boundary. Burlington Girls School was opposite the junction of North Pole Road and Scrubs Lane. Much later the schools combined to form Burlington-Danes Mixed Grammar School. The playing fields were adjacent to each other and also next to Upper Latymer School playing fields. Thus we had a huge green area backing on to Wormwood Scrubs between Scrubs Lane and Hammersmith Hospitals.
I joined St Clement Danes in Form 2A in autumn 1954 and went through the progression of 3A, 4A, 5P, Upper 5P.
In 2A and 3A I found myself milk monitor again, no doubt due to my previous experience at Thomas Jones. It was good to see the same rules applied – the milk monitors had first dibs of left-over milk.
New pupils at St Clement Danes were known as ’Weeds’ and kept that status for the whole of their first year. Weeds were subject to certain ritual activities by the older pupils, mainly the Second Years and it was tough for a few weeks – unless you fought back. Rituals included walking through an avenue of older boys to the chant of “Weed, Weed, Weed” on the first day in the playground known as The Cage (see below), having your cap stolen and hidden, being tripped up in the playground, having balls pinched, chess sets knocked over etc. Sometimes, if you were brave enough, a threatening response including two words, ‘…. off’, meant you were likely to be left alone, though it could also mean a punch in the nose. This was much more of a risk if you were picked on by the upper form boys, but they got bored with Weed baiting quite quickly.
Our uniform was a bright green blazer and grey trousers, available from DH Evans in Oxford Street – the only approved supplier of blazer, badge, trousers, cap, tie, football shirt and socks. The school badge was a gold anchor on a blue ground, the school motto was Loyaute M’Oblige (Loyalty Binds Me), and the tie was diagonal stripes of blue, green and gold. I was placed in Temple house which had a navy blue bar as part of the badge. The other houses were: Dane (yellow), Clement (red), Clare (orange), Burleigh (maroon), Essex (purple), Exeter (light blue) and Lincoln (green). The houses were named after individuals associated with St Clement Danes’ Church in London and the Inns of Court.
In typical schoolboy tradition, basic uniform style was tweaked to be made more fashionable. In my time the cap came with a choice of short or long peak: short peak was the choice for the first year, but I soon learned that a long peak was fashionable for older boys, with the peak deliberate broken and bent down at the front. The prefects used to monitor boys walking to school and were quick to spot pupils without hats or with broken peaks – detention for repeat offenders.
The standard white shirt could be made more fashionable by buying one with a cutaway collar. My Dad wouldn’t buy these for me as he didn’t approve of this ‘new’ style. Boys could adapt a standard shirt by bending the collar points under and smoothing them with a hot iron. By the end of the day the collar was grubby from continuous fingering to make sure it kept its shape. The cutaway style led to the adoption of the Windsor knot, a double loop tie knot forming an equilateral triangle fitting closely to the cutaway collar. Much later, as I adopted Mod styles, I went back to the more traditional knot and about this time the Windsor became derided as a “cad’s knot” because it was favoured by that well-known cad the Duke of Windsor.
Trousers had a standard 18 inch width with turn-ups. Any attempt to reduce this to 16 or 14 inches wide and to have trousers without turn-ups was vigorously policed by prefects. It didn’t matter that most boys outside school hours wore drain-pipes or mod style trousers – in school the rule had to be enforced. Another trouser variation was the wearing of a colour-striped elastic belt with a snake fastening which was reluctantly accepted because the rules didn’t specify a belt colour.
I usually walked to school, until the fifth form when I started riding my bike. I’d leave North Pole Road at eight o’clock, then along Scrubs Lane and up Du Cane Road. From the bottom of Du Cane road I walked past the playing field of Latymer Upper and then Burlington. A hedge behind iron railings lined the pavement up to the school gates. The school itself was a long two-story building. Pupils usually walked around the back, past the bicycle sheds to enter the main building, the front door being reserved for important visitors only.
On the ground floor were the Hall, Dining Room, kitchens, the Headmaster’s office and a number of form and class-rooms as well as the gym. A long corridor ran the length of the building in front of the form rooms. This long straight echoing throughway would have been perfect for boys to run along before sliding to a halt in a loud squeaking of shoes, but unfortunately, in the centre of the corridor was the Headmaster’s office precinct which we were not permitted to cross either running or walking.
Also on the ground floor were the metal and wood workshops, run by the aptly named Mr Cleaver. Upstairs were more class-rooms and the library and science labs. Third and Fourth year form rooms were outside the main school building in large wooden cabins.
We were allocated to forms based on our expected career paths: science, commercial, languages etc, and we had our own form room and form master each year. We went through school life in the same form group with some minor alterations as people changed subjects between terms, but with a different room and form master each year. Within the form, we gathered into small groups: those who liked sport and worked hard in class, those who liked chess and probably worked even harder, those who preferred a smoke in the bike sheds and a few lost souls who seemed to do nothing much.
The teachers mostly seemed quite young and were enthusiastic but strict. They were supposed to wear an academic robe, but usually carried it in a bundle under their arm between classes, throwing it onto a cupboard for the duration of a lesson. One English master known as ‘Chopper’ carried a slipper for occasional light punishment, more to inflict indignity rather than pain. He was a good aim with a piece of chalk if he noticed concentration slipping. Most had a nickname – Plum, Crippin, Tadge, Frankenstein, Chopper, Cherry, Stalin etc.
Mr Barnes, known as Wally after the Arsenal footballer Wally Barnes, taught French. He had an easy and open teaching style and left me with a feel for the structure of languages which has been useful to me throughout my life. He also taught me enough conversational French for me to shine when a group of mates and I went on a day trip to Calais. Mr Cook taught maths, a more mature man, he knew a lot of shortcuts in algebra, again I found these useful later in life. Mr Cleaver ruled the workshops, Mr Kumatsu taught Physics and led the fencing class. Mr Allen taught Engineering Drawing and also sports, Mr Fogwill taught Geography and he was our form master in Form 4A. The other names have slipped my memory.
I enjoyed all the lessons, except religious instruction during which I caught up on my homework. I remember French, Maths and Chemistry especially as being well taught and filled with revelations – completely new topics.
Form 4A in 1957 outside the main entrance to the school Back row : Hewson, Hill, Barratt, Hudson, Rice, Jackson, Ray, Collett, Clark, Trood, Seabridge, Reeves. Middle row: Rudge, Bowen, Clarke, McGregor, Denton, Piper, Regis, King, Trowell, Yates, Ibbott, Napper Front row: Henry, Wilkins, Pritchard, Bonehill, Mr Fogwill (form master), Durban, Jewell, Hounsome, Key, Nunn
We were kept busy with school work but found time for other activities. We made bombs from mercury fulminate, which, wrapped into a brown paper parcel, made a satisfying bang when thrown at the walls. We managed to acquire copious amounts of mercury to play with which we stored in our desks. Health and safety had not been invented then.
There were school sanctioned activities such as the Debating Society, the Fencing Club and the school orchestra. The orchestra gave periodic recitals which we were forced to enjoy. One of the lads in our form, Regis played the piano in the orchestra. He was auditioned by the Bel Airs group who played at the Youth Club in the Sutton Dwellings, but his style was too jazzy for them. The school magazine ‘The Dane’ was produced by a group of boys using the library. It was printed as a small booklet and looked very professional, perhaps a local printer was involved.
The cadet group drilled in the playground after school and were able to strip and re-assemble old Lee-Enfield rifles, Sten guns and Bren guns. They used blanks to test them and were allowed to live-fire them on an indoor range near White City. Rounds were handed out and signed for and were counted back in, including the spent shell cases, to ensure that no live rounds found their way into the outside world.
Sport helped us to keep busy throughout the year. The playground was enclosed in a 3 metre high chain link fence known as The Cage. The height was not so much to keep the kids in, but to reduce the number of escaping balls. This was actually very helpful since we could play without the need to chase after the ball when it missed the goal. The Cage had handball courts marked out with painted lines and provided with nets. We played tennis at playtimes, using bare hands to hit a tennis ball. This was self-taught, mainly using the knowledge boys acquired from their older sisters.
We played cricket in the summer using portable stumps on a wooden base, hinged to fall back if hit by the ball. Football was played all year round, often using a tennis ball which was good for improving ball skills. The goal was marked out by jackets piled up against the fence. There was a craze for full size balls made of bright orange plastic. I remember going to Hammersmith to buy one from a sports shop owned by Wally Barnes. The balls punctured easily, especially when hit with force against the fence, but they could be repaired with a tool heated up on the gas cooker and pressed onto the hole, a faintly pleasant smell of melting plastic accompanied this repair (Quick someone – invent Health and Safety). When the hole was sealed the ball was pumped up again using a high-pressure bicycle pump. Hit hard and cleanly with the foot it made a pleasing “Booiiiiing” noise. A select group of more intellectual pupils played chess in a quiet corner using pocket chess boards.
In winter, The Cage was ideal for making slides on the frosty and icy surface – our form of winter sports. The corners were good for trapping the poor suffering Weeds and peppering them with snowballs.
The playing fields were used for games between form teams, house teams and other schools. The school preferred whites to be worn for cricket, but not everybody could afford them so a white shirt with grey trousers was an accepted alternative. As well as marked-out and manicured pitches there were nets and cradles for cricket practice.
For football we wore green and gold shirts with a slip-on tabard in House colours. Boots were big clunky leather with nailed-in studs, and the ball was also leather. Both boots and ball became heavy and caked in mud in wet weather. Cleaning the boots was a horrible job, a toothbrush was needed to get the soles clean. They had to be coated with ‘Dubbin’ to stop them drying out and cracking. The smell of Dubbin in winter and linseed oil in summer was constantly with us.
The annual sports day was held before school broke up for the summer holidays. Competitions were held between House teams. A running track was prepared on the grass and other field activities were laid out in the middle. I was good at the 100 yards and 220 yards, but not the longer races. A small group of boys whose parents could afford spiked shoes won most of the races, the rest of us puffed along in plimsolls. The cross country, which was mandatory, started and finished at the school but included a long section on Wormwood Scrubs reached by the lane running beside the prison.
The annual swimming gala was held at Godolphin Road open air baths in Shepherd’s Bush, near to Lime Grove studios. Because I had a ‘poorly’ chest I was excused swimming, so I went as a spectator, enjoying the sunshine.
On 19 October 1958 we visited St Clement Danes church for its re-consecration. The church had been badly damaged in May 1941 during the last air raid of the Blitz. Following an appeal for money by the Royal Air Force the church was completely rebuilt. We went by coach to the City of London and the trip was combined with a visit to the Guild Hall.
School dinners were excellent, cooked on site and served by a cheery crowd of dinner ladies. We found that if we went to The Cage to play football as soon as the dinner bell went, and didn’t go to the dining room until we judged that most pupils were finishing, we could help ourselves to all the left-over food. Puddings included stodgy jam sponge, spotted dick, fruit crumble – all with lots of custard, or such delights as rice, semolina and tapioca. Two helpings of these was our standard. We didn’t give a thought to the dinner ladies who may well have wanted the left-overs for their own lunch
In December there was an end of year concert in the hall. The school orchestra provided most of the music and there were games, singing (Ten Green Bottles, Clementine and other traditional tunes) and attempts by the staff to act out funny sketches.
I enjoyed my time at St Clement Danes – we had good access to scientific and engineering subjects and I in 1959 I gained 6 O Levels: Maths, Chemistry, Engineering Drawing, Woodwork, French and English, failing at English Literature and, regrettably, not even being good enough to enter the Physics exam, failing the mock O level. My friends at home were amazed and I became a local celebrity for such prowess, as O level results were announced in the local paper. It was clear that my family would not be able to afford for me to do A levels and go to University, instead I was going to have to find a job.
I was born in 1943 and I lived in North Kensington from 1947 until October 1964. I lived at 4 Calderon Place, a cul-de-sac off North Pole Road. These memories mainly come from the years of my youth when I spent a lot of time roaming the streets with a number of friends the same age, particularly in my primary school and early teenage years. When I went to work I spent l spent more time at the youth club in the Sutton Dwellings estate where there was music and a lively social scene, so I spent less time in North Pole Road. The memories of the shops are therefore recalled from the period 1952 to 1962 when I can claim to have walked and played in the streets around and to have used some of the shops. I left the area in October 1964, returning only for very brief periods, mainly for the funerals of my Dad and sister.
I had sketched out the street plan and filled in the names from memory when Sue Snyder sent me a plan showing a comparison of the shops between 1950 and 2005. I used the street numbers from this plan in my own description. It is clear that my memories and the plan do not exactly agree. I have also included some shops in Latimer Road as they were so close and sold essential services.
STREET PLAN
North Pole Road was a lively shopping area where most of the locals did their daily shop. Anything more exotic could be purchased in one of the many larger shopping areas such as:
Shepherds Bush Green and the markets in Goldhawk Road
King’s Street, Hammersmith
Acton High Street
Willesden High Street
High Street Kensington
Oxford Street – where my school uniform was stocked by DH Evans.
In the North Pole Road shops it was possible to buy most items for daily use. They are shown on the plan by street number. The shops and my experience and impressions of them of them are described below:
There was private housing, 3-story buildings with bay windows at Nos 1 to 11. There was residential accommodation above most of the shops for use by the shop owners, or used sometimes as rental flats, except the small row from 2 to 4 which were single story shops
At Nos 13 to 15 was the North Pole public house, a Watney’s house, I recall. Inside it was brightly lit, cosy and just the right side of scruffy. Although a couple of years too young to drink legally, my friends and I decided to try our luck and buy our first pint in the Public Bar. The room was full of lads standing at the bar and old folk sitting at tables, scowling into their glasses of barley wine or Mackeson stout. A piano clunked away, background to the muted conversations around the room. As confidently as I could, I asked the barman for a pint of Brown Ale. He quietly put me right: You mean a pint of Bitter, son.’ Er, yes, course I did. Silently, he poured our pints and we congratulated ourselves on getting away with drinking underage.
At times a stall parked outside the pub. It sold cockles, winkles and shrimps in small dishes to eat at the stall or take home.
Our preferred pub was the College Park Hotel in Harlesden, a trolley bus ride away. The College Park had a livelier atmosphere than the North Pole, perhaps because of the large Irish community in the area. The other advantage to us was that it was less likely we’d be recognised as under age.
Tony’s at no 24 was a barber’s shop, tagged on to the main terrace of shops. Tony was Italian and wore a pale blue nylon jacket and modelled a slick, modern hair-style. The shop had a row of sinks with mirrors above where customers sat to be transformed his into the Elvis look-a-likes whose images were displayed in photographs on the walls. Tony could cut and style hair while chatting to the reflections of waiting customers in the chairs behind him. Tit Bits, Picture Post, Daily Mirror and Sporting Post were stacked in an untidy pile on a small table. Tony once asked me if I required ‘something for the weekend, sir.’ I had no idea what he meant. I still wonder if he was trying to embarrass me in front of other customers or if he thought I was old enough to require the ‘something’ he was offering.
Across the road at no 17 was a ladies’ hairdressers which also cut and styled men’s hair. I can’t remember the name of this shop, but I often used it. It had a less frenetic atmosphere than Tony’s and the magazines for waiting customers included Lilliput, My Home, Punch and Reader’s Digest. Punch was a challenge at my age, but I enjoyed Reader’s Digest. At both hairdressers the finished hair style would be finished off with the application of copious amounts of a cut-price version of Brylcreem, and at Tony’s there was the alternative of a spray of blue stuff that turned you hair into a stiff crust. If you didn’t want these products, it was important to watch for the moment when the hairdresser was about to grab the grease and quickly say ‘No, thanks’.
There were two greengrocer’s shops. Bolt’s, at No 21, was small with open shelving displaying produce. The entrance was opened and closed with a large shutter. We occasionally bought penny apples with our pocket money. I remember it as a single storey building attached to the end of a terrace, close to the railway embankment. There was an earthy smell, probably from the open sacks of potatoes, along with the sweet smell of fresh fruit. It was very cold in winter. In 1983 I had a short script used on Playschool on BBC TV featuring a goat. The fictional family who owned him, the Bolt family was inspired by my memory of Bolt’s.
Silverton’s greengrocer’s shop was at No 2. The lads who served customers and humped sacks of vegetables around were older and tougher than us. They drove white Ford Zephyrs, fancy motors that cost more money than a shop assistant would be expected to earn. Their mysterious wealth caused us to treat them with respect. Silverton’s was more sophisticated than Bolt’s, a ‘proper’ shop, although penny apples were also on sale there. At one stage both shops were owned by the same family although I can’t remember whether that was Bolt or Silverton.
Hawkin’sgrocers at No 4 was a large, well-stocked shop with a long wooden counter running the length of the shop on each side and an elevated cash desk at the end. It had bare floorboards. As you went into the shop you could buy bacon, cooked meats, cheese and eggs at the left hand counter. I remember being sent to buy green back bacon cut to my family’s preferred thickness. The right hand counter was for dry goods – flour, dried fruit and cereals, for example. I can’t remember how the bills from each side were managed by the cashier. It was a very orderly shop that smelled of a mixture of meat, spices, bread – the sort of smell only found in small shops in France and Italy today. The queue started at the door and two or three customers moved along the counter and were served with a lot of chat and gossip. There was no hurry in those days.
I think the manager was a Mr Bates with his wife as cashier. He parked his beige Ford Prefect every morning in Calderon Place. In the summer holidays this was very inconvenient as the car was parked in front of a tree that we used as a wicket for our games of cricket. We had to move up towards the end of the street where there were more windows in danger of being broken. We had to replace our wicket-tree with a wooden fruit box begged from Bolt’s.
Kent’s sweet shop at No 4a was a large shop that sold sweets in glass jars, for example Sharps’ Assorted Toffees, Murray Mints and Riley’s Chocolate Toffee Rolls. For a special occasion there were boxes of Cadbury’s Milk Tray, Black Magic or Terry’s All Gold. Chocolate bars I remember included Fry’s Peppermint Cream, Fry’s Chocolate Cream with a white or mixed colour filling, Fry’s Five Boys and Macintosh’s bone-shaped caramel filled chocolate bar in a red foil wrapper.
You could also buy assorted loose sweets by the quarter pound or by the pennyworth: fruit or banana split chews, flying saucers, sherbet dabs, Spanish wood, winter mixture, aniseed balls, sherbet lemons and assorted boiled sweets including large, multi-layered gob stoppers. My favourites were aniseed balls and Fry’s Peppermint Cream. Kent’s smelled of chocolate and sugar. We took our time deciding on our sweets and were never told to hurry up.
Kent’s also sold soft drinks. My favourites were Tizer, Dandelion and Burdock, and R. White’s American Cream Soda. A summer special was a glass of ice cream topped up with American Cream Soda. They sold Wall’s and Lyons Ice Cream. You could buy small bars that fitted into a wafer cone or sandwiched between two flat wafers. There were also larger blocks which, with a packet of Askey’s wafers, could be carried home wrapped in newspaper to keep them frozen. There were choc ices and home-made lollies that rapidly lost their taste. The shop sold cigarettes and tobacco. I didn’t smoke but I remember some of the brands: Woodbines, Senior Service, Players and Three Nuns. As summer came to an end fireworks arrived in the shop: boxes for families and a pick-and-mix selection including penny bangers, Catherine wheels, jumping crackers and rockets.
I think Kent’s had another small shop in a row of shops on Dalgarno Gardens near to the road that led to Sutton Dwellings. I recollect the Post Office moved into Kent’s in North Pole Road from its original location at No 8, which then became the launderette.
Barratt’s Off Licence was at No 6. Br Barratt was a tall, dark suave gentleman with a dark five o’clock shadow. My friend, Mario, from Bracewell Road, used to be sent to Barratt’s to buy a bottle of Beaujolais for his dad. He was about twelve years old, but the wine was always handed over with no question. My family very seldom drank wine, the usual drink was a quart bottle of brown ale with a screw cap. Special occasions were celebrated with a bottle of sherry.
The Launderette at No 8 was certainly there in 1964 and had been open for several years before that. It was busy as few families had washing machines and it was probably cheaper than the dry cleaners. On cold winter evenings we would linger in the warm, steamy atmosphere with the smell of soap and clean, washed clothes – if the shop assistant could be persuaded to let us stay.
Bowen and Williams Chemist was at No 10. It was a traditional chemist’s shop with a deep porch and the name of the shop picked out in dark tiles on a white-tiled background. I remember getting large cans of blackcurrant preserve there, probably as a source of Vitamin C.
It was where older lads bought condoms as there were no female assistants to cause embarrassment. Bob, a friend of mine, worked there part-time and he occasionally slipped us a packet of Durex or Ono (which came in a tin). They were no practical use to us at the time, but just like having our first pint in the North Pole pub, it was a rite of passage to have a packet of Durex in a trouser pocket.
My friend Martin went out with Gloria, a daughter of one of the owners of Bowen and Williams. ‘Going out’ meant walking the streets with her as she took her corgi out in the evening, while I accompanied her friend Valerie. The shop entrance was our pitch of choice for ‘penny for the guy’. It was sheltered from the cold but we could be seen by passers-by on the pavement.
Davies’s Dairy was at No 14. I had a milk round using their heavy, three-wheeled delivery bike. My mother worked here cleaning the premises. I had to load the bike with bottles from the crates stacked up outside the shop and add extra bottles as people would often stop me to buy a bottle. This early morning job was followed by my paper round at Ellington’s, delivering papers on my own bike. Only then did I set off for school.
No 14, much earlier, in the 1920s. Photo: Eddie Adams Collection
Davies’s was one of the many Welsh-run dairies in London. At the top of the hill in Harlesden was Jones’s dairy. The family came for the same village in Wales as my mother. I knew their daughter Haulwen, who tried to shake off her Welsh roots by calling herself Ann.
At no 16 was Miller’s Bakers (previously Glanville’s). Miller’s had another shop in Portobello Road. My mother worked in both shops. They sold the usual bread, rolls and cakes, along with penny buns which were either currant buns or bread rolls. A school friend, Alan, who was at school with me at Thomas Jones Primary, lived over the North Pole Road shop although their house door was in Bracewell Road. I spent many evening hours chatting to his sister on their doorstep. She was probably only a year older than me but seemed much more mature than I was. She taught me to recognise Orion in the winter night sky and told me about books she had read. Under the shop was a large basement which was possibly where bread had been baked in the past. Alan and I played there using candles for light.
Ellington’s Stationers was at No 18. It was a well-stocked shop, clean and orderly. I had a paper round there and clearly remember the freezing February morning when all the paperboys were devastated to see the headlines telling us that Buddy Holly had died in an air crash. We all loved Buddy but the local rock groups, like the Bel-Airs, loved his red Fender Stratocaster more, an American guitar that they could only dream of playing. Ours was a black and white world and Buddy, with his new, truly rock and roll style, made life more colourful for us.
Ellington’s stocked greeting cards, Basildon writing paper and Conway Stewart pens. They had a good selection of board games and books. I used to buy my Biggles books there. The covered entrance was a favourite hangout for us kids on cold, windy days.
I distinctly remember a radio and electrical shop at No 20 (contradicting the street plan). The window was filled with large, dark wooden cabinets that housed radiograms, wireless sets and televisions. I’m sure my parents bought a Peto Scott radiogram from this shop. My dad was very protective of it and I was forbidden to use it in case I broke it. Towards the end of my time in North Pole Road, large plastic radios began to appear in the windows.
At No 22 there was a mysterious shop that sold surgical appliances. The window display included plastic scale models of male torsos wearing pink corset-like undergarments. Why would anyone wear these items? The local name for the shop was ‘the truss shop’ but I didn’t make the link between the nickname and the window display. It may of course been an ordinary haberdasher’s
In 1911, there was a Coffee House at no 22 run by Herbert Owen with his family living and working on the premises.
There were two butchers’ shops on North Pole Road: at No 2 and No 12. These were of no interest to me as a young boy so I don’t remember which shop my mother used. Both shops sold liver, kidneys and heart, meat that’s not often sold in modern shops. Occasionally, I feel nostalgic for the offal I used to enjoy.
The Shoe Repair shop at No 19 was where school shoes were re-soled with Philips rubber soles.
The tailor and dressmaker’s shop has no number marked on the plan. I think it was probably at the invisible junction between North Pole Road and Barlby Road. My mother went there sometimes to have my school uniform altered.
In winter the Muffin Man trudged up Latimer Road selling muffins and crumpets, crying his wares as he went. In summer Mancini’s ice cream van served Italian Ice-cream cooled by dry ice at the Wormwood Scrubs gates in Dalgarno Gardens. Sometimes, ‘Johnny Onions’ arrived from France on his bike to sell onions and a knife grinder also set up in the street, pedalling his trike on its stand to power the grinding wheel.
In 2020, as shops close, others open. No 20 North Pole Road is the newest on the block.
Latimer Road.
Some shops at the top of Latimer Road formed part of the North Pole Road shopping experience.
On the corner of North Pole Road, opposite the pub, at No 193 Latimer Road was a laundry, bag wash and dry cleaners.
There was a fishmonger, wet fish displayed on a marble slab. He also sold penny bags of crisps. These were broken bits from the Smiths Crisps factory on Great Western Road. They came complete with a blue twist of salt and we thought they tasted much better than the ‘proper’ bags of full price crisps.
There was an ironmonger’s shop sold screws, nails, hinges and a host of other items which today would be used for DIY. It also sold paraffin for room heaters: Aladdin Pink and Esso Blue – an evocative smell. Paraffin was advertised on Associated TV, the commercial station for the area. The Esso advert experimented with colour by ‘strobing’ the signal on the black and white TV to provide a weak blue, green and pink colour effect. It also featured a cartoon character famously called ‘Your Esso Blee Dooler.’ This shop also sold paint and wallpaper. The wallpaper had an edge which had to be removed on a manually-wound roller cutter to remove a strip of paper.
There was also an electrical shop selling plugs, fuse wire and light bulbs. This was a busy shop. In those days, before the standard 13 Amp flat pin plugs, houses had 3 pin 5 Amp plugs for most domestic equipment, 3 pin 15 Amp for three bar electric fires, some 2 pin sockets with no earth and even bayonet light sockets on the skirting boards. At my cousin’s house at 2 Calderon Place, I poked my fingers into a light socket on the shirting board and got my first electric shock.
Further down Latimer Road, next to the Royal Volunteer pub, was a fish and chip shop. As the only one in the area, there was always a queue. The frying oil was sieved regularly and crispy batter bits deposited in a tray so be added to customers’ orders on request. There were jars of pickled eggs and pickled onions on the counter.
St Quintin’s Avenue
The GP Surgery was in a large house at the junction of North Pole Road and St Quintin’s Avenue. My doctor was Dr Sweeney.
This post is very much a ‘work in progress’ and is by no means comprehensive. Readers are actively encouraged to contribute their memories and we eagerly anticipate these. In particular any further factual information would be most gratefully received and can be added to the post.
Before the late 1960s, Latimer Road took you all the way from North Pole Road, southwards until it joined with Norland Road and then Shepherd’s Bush. The building of the Westway and A3220 combined with slum clearance led to wholesale redelopment of much of the area with old road patterns disappearing as well. Latimer Road was truncated under Westway and then reappeared renamed as Freston Road. From the fourteen public houses along the route, only one remains as a functioning, working pub with the others demolished, used as flats, offices, and a supermarket.
Latimer Road starting in the top left of the mapheading south to become Norland Road before ending at Shepherds Bush just west of Royal Crescent. 1891 map.
1.THE NORTH POLE
North Pole, early 1900s.
13-15 North Pole Road, sited on the South east corner of Latimer Road was originally known as ‘The Globe’ when it was built in 1839 as a single storey inn. It was close to the north western edge of the Hippodrome racecourse and fronted Counters Creek which had yet to be culverted. With the Hippodrome closing in 1842, North Pole Road began to be developed. The pub was rebuilt c1872 as a three storey building forming the end of a short terrace on the south side between Latimer Road and Calderon Mews and renamed ‘The North Pole Hotel’. The first recorded reference to the new name appears in 1874 when James and Elizabeth Rutter are named as licensees. In 1844 the railway appeared running from Willesden to Kensington Olympia following the line of Counters Creek which in 1867 was incorporated into Bazalgette’s sewage system. The name change seems to have come about in a curious way; the original pub sign depicting a globe had weathered away leaving only the North Pole visible! For reasons currently unclear, the pub was rebuilt in 1892, confirmed by a date on the chimney and at this time it was referred to as the ‘New North Pole’. In the 1920’s a few doors along at 298/300 Latimer road the ‘Globe House Laundry’ was established, a clear reference to the original name.
In 1888/89 QPR had begun to play at the nearby gun club ground situated behind where Burlington Danes School now stands. Anecdotal evidence suggests that their opponents changed in the North Pole with the home team changing at the Latimer Arms further along Latimer Road. In the summer of 2012 it was bought by Riding House Properties who quickly closed it, leasing the ground floor to Tesco and converting the upper floors to residential flats.
The North Pole now Tesco’s, 2020
2. THE BRITISH VOLUNTEER
The Volunteer,1960s. Photo Hammersmith & Fulham Archives.Ariadne’s Nektar, 2020. Photo John Henwood.
274 Latimer Road, sited on the North east corner of the junction with Latimer Place.
First referred to in 1881 when the ‘beer retailer’ (landlord) was Joel Brown. It’s status as a ‘beer only’ pub, as dictated by it’s restricted license, remained until the 1950’s when a full license was granted. This restricted license was common among London pubs in the 19th century as pubs sprang up everywhere that new areas were developed. It was owned originally by Whitbread who at that time were the biggest brewery in the world, but was sold off in the 1990’s to Enterprise Inns. Between 1996 and ’98 it was occupied by squatters. It then became a pub/restaurant styled as ‘Latimer Place’ with the restaurant on the first floor, a venture which though reasonably popular ultimately failed after a few years. In July 2012 an application was made for conversion to a five bedroom family dwelling. In support of their application the owners cited the fact that the next door property, which had been a popular fried fish shop since the 1920s, had been granted residential planning on 3rd Nov. 2009, having been closed since 1987 due to diminishing turnover precipitated by the degeneration of the area in the 1960’s.
The pub appeared in the 1976 TV thriller, ‘Kill Two Birds’ starring Dudley Sutton.
It now cannot be accurately described as a pub and enjoys a ‘mixed’ reputation operating as a ‘Greek restaurant/bar’, opening spasmodically at the whim of leaseholder, Dimitri Kotsakis and is known as ‘Ariadne’s Nektar’ which I think it’s safe to say is unique among ‘pub’ names. It is currently the subject of an enforcement order relating to an exterior structure extending onto the Latimer rd pavement and it’s day’s as a pub look numbered.
3.THE LATIMER ARMS
Latimer Arms, 1990s. photo from North Kensington Community Archive at RBK&C Archives
1 Walmer Road, changed in 1966 to 198 Latimer Road.
The pub is sited on the north westerly tip of what was previously the Hippodrome Racecourse and the entire curve of Walmer road follows the line of the Racecourse palisade.
Built c1869 as a single storey inn and rebuilt later toward the end of the 19thcentury, it served as the match day H.Q of QPR in 1888/89, when they played at the Gun Club and again in 1901/2 when they played on a pitch where St. Marks Memorial Park now stands, before moving back to Kensal Rise prior to their eventual move to Loftus Road in 1917. The first recorded landlord is John Henry LeFevre whose tenancy was registered in July 1870. Unsurprisingly given the criminal nature of Notting Dale generally, The Latimer is connected with nefarious activity throughout it’s 100 odd years history, none more so than when it was centre stage for a succession of altercations that led ultimately to the murder of regular customer Billy Smith (real name James Hannington) on May 9th 1960 in Evesham street close to the pub. The feud between the victim and his assailants, Georgie Baker and members of the notorious Bell family, had been running for some time but matters started to become really serious following an incident on Friday April 22nd in the saloon bar between aged Irish barman Mick O’Donovan and Billy Smith and his friends resulting in Mick being floored by a punch to the jaw. Georgie Baker and Markie Bell who had been present, sided with the barman (who was sacked because of the incident) and the violence escalated on Sunday May 1st when in a packed saloon bar with the band playing, Ernie Bell held a handgun to Billy’s neck. As drinkers ducked or dived for the door Bell pulled the trigger but the gun failed whereupon Billy produced an ivory handled blade lashing out at Bell cutting his shoulder and groin, narrowly missing Georgie Baker and finally sinking the knife into the arm of Bell’s younger brother, Markie. Both victims wounds were stitched at St. Charles Hospital. When interviewed there by police Markie declined to give details of the attack but advised the officer that he would be returning the knife to it’s owner without his arm in it! Eight days later in Evesham street Ernie Bell fatally shot Billy Smith with a rifle receiving 7 years for manslaughter, the charge reduced from murder as Bell’s defence claimed Smith had attempted to throw a sledgehammer at Bell prior to the fatal shot being fired… though of course Smith was unable to refute this.
Whilst being a regular haunt of the criminal fraternity things were usually more convivial and in the 1950’s/60’s and music featured regularly. This consisted mostly of a two piece makeshift band with George on piano and Danny McDermott on even more makeshift drums (hard seat chair and two beer bottles), with the duo accompanying various singers drawn from the crowd. Danny was quite the musical virtuoso as he was famed for playing the spoons (same hard chair) when he wasn’t ‘drumming’. Rumour has it that a customer took a horse into the pub on one occasion in the 60’s/70’s.
In 1966 the whole of the western end of Walmer Road, except for the pub and adjoining building, was demolished to accommodate the West Cross Route and A40 extension. (see separate post ‘1966 and all that – The demolition of Walmer Road’) The original address was 1a Walmer Road, No1 being occupied by the adjoining Bible mission house which held two services a week; see extract from Post Office directory: file:///C:/Users/J%20Henwood/Downloads/p16445coll4_30257.pdf
Scenes from an episode of ‘Steptoe and Son’ were filmed here for which it was styled ‘The Skinners Arms’ and an advert for ‘Courage Best’ was filmed here in the 1980’s with Chas n’Dave playing over it, though ironically by the time it was screened the pub has ceased to sell cask ale. In common with most pubs in the area, the Westway demolition program (which obliterated most of the surrounding streets) precipitated a exodus of customers signalling their inevitable terminal decline.
It closed in the mid 1990’s when it was initially used as offices before being converted by Thames Reach, an organisation providing accommodation for the homeless.
Fomer Latimer Arms, 2020
4. THE FORESTERS ARMS,
Originally 1 Hatfield Terrace, later (c.1880) redesignated as 271 Latimer Road when Hatfield Terrace was absorbed into Latimer Road. Believed to be built in the 1850’s and by 1892 it was closed.
5. THE BRITANNIA
Slum clearance. All that was left of the Britannia, in 1967- a hanging sign that can just be seen in the top right hand corner. Photo: Hammersmith & Fulham Archives.
217 Latimer road, north west corner of junction with Bard (formerly Wharfe) road. Built 1859/60 closed c.1966/7 and demolished as part of the general ‘slum clearance’ making way for the Westway/West Cross Route. Remarkably, at one time Kensington boasted four ‘Britannia’ pubs, the others sited at Golborne Rd, Clarendon Rd and Allen St.
Site of the Britannia pub, 2020
6. THE SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN
191 Latimer Road, used by Ceres Bakery, 2003 photo North Kensington Community Archive at RBK&C
191 Latimer Road, opened c.1862 around the same time as the nearby Latymer Mission Hall was built (opened 1863). It was short lived and in the late 1890’s it was acquired by the next door Harrow Mission (Harrow Boys Club) and converted into an associated ‘Mens Club’. For many years after it’s closure it was referred to by Harrow club regulars as ‘Chris’s building’. In 1951 the premises were sold by the club. The building remains to this day largely preserved in it’s original state.
Formerly the Sir Christopher Wren pub. 2020. Photo John Henwood
7. THE BRAMLEY ARMS
The Bramley Arms building 1996 photo Sue Snyder
Formerly ‘The Robin Hood’ sited at 1 Bramley (formerly Bromley) Road and fronting Latimer road. The present building was constructed c.1870, the first recorded tenants in 1871 being John and Rose Empson licensed victuallers, however it is marked on Wylde’s 1846 map as ‘The Robin Hood’ strongly suggesting a tavern or inn existed at that date. It would almost certainly at that time have been a single storey inn
Featured in more films than any pub in the UK, including The Lavender Hill Mob, The Blue Lamp, Betrayal, Leo the Last, and more recently Quadrophenia and in 1986, Sid and Nancy – possibly it’s last film appearance as a pub. It closed in late 1988 and was converted to a mix of residential and office use.
8. THE TRAFALGAR
The Trafalgar 1970s. Photo from Hammersmith & Fulham archives.
In 1977 at the time of Frestonia the pub building was a Law Centre. Photo Brian Assiter.
At 2, Bramley road, formerly ‘The Victory’ and known universally locally as ‘The Flag’. Situated diagonally opposite the ‘Bramley’ and fronting Latimer Road.
The first recorded landlord in Nov. 1854 was William Rogers however it existed in 1846 as it appears on Wyldes 1846 map of the area as ‘The Victory’. It seems logical that it opened sometime after the battle of Trafalgar (1805) and before Wyldes 1846 map was made however this may be a dangerous assumption as it could have existed prior to the 1805 battle and subsequently been renamed in honour of the flagship ‘Victory’. A glorious beginning maybe…but a somewhat inglorious end as sometime soon after closing in 1977 it became ‘The Notting Dale Community Law Centre’ when taken over by squatters and was finally boarded up in 1979 prior to demolition to make way for the ‘Frestonia’ rebuilding program.
Former Bramley Arms on left, site of the Trafalgar on right, 2020
9. THE VICTORIA
The Victoria, 61 Latimer Road. Photo Hammersmith & Fulham Archives
At 61 Latimer Road, sited on the south west corner of the junction with Hunt Street. The Victoria was first recorded in the 1871 census naming Joseph Bethell as the landlord. Probably built c.1870 to serve the Victorian cottages being constructed at the time along that part of Latimer rd. It featured in the 1968 film ‘Secret Ceremony’, starring Elizabeth Taylor. In 1979 it was demolished when it was absorbed into the ‘Frestonia’ rebuilding programme marking the southern end of that development with the rebuilt Hunt Street becoming Hunt Close which stands broadly on the same site but not occupying precisely the same footprint.
Hunt Close, site of the Victoria pub, 2020. Photo John Henwood
10. THE DUKE OF SUSSEX
Duke of Sussex, 1965. Photo Hammersmith & Fulham Archives
27 Latimer Road, sited on the north west corner of the junction with Poynter Street (formerly Clifton St. changed c.1945)
Believed to have been built c.1854, a substantial and rather handsome white stucco building, the first recorded landlord in 1855 is S. Williams when it was owned by The Isleworth Brewery (St. Johns rd Isleworth est.1726) When in November 1923 this company was liquidated it was acquired by Watney Mann in whose ownership it remained until it’s closure. It was a very popular hostelry in the period before WW1, a fact highlighted in evidence given by the pub manager at an Old Bailey trial of a customer (William Frederick Jones of nearby Bomore road) on charges of fraud and deception involving jewellery:
HENRY DAWSON . I am a clerk, of 20, Bomore Road, North Kensington—I first met Jones on December 23rd, 1905, when he came to my room—he was living in the same house—I had seen him a month or six weeks before that, but had not known him—I have not seen him with Wilson before December 23rd; I have since—the day Jones came to my room he was brought by a woman who lived in the back room, whose husband is in the asylum, and who is living with another man—Jones then told me he had pawned a chain for £3 10s.—he showed me the pawn-ticket in the name of De Vere—he showed me another chain in tissue paper—I went out with him that evening—he had the chain then—he was wearing it the latter part of the evening—we went to the ‘Bush Hotel’, ‘The Telegraph’, and several houses in the neighbourhood of Shepherd’s Bush—at the Telegraph I saw Wilson and two others—Jones and Wilson talked together—on Christmas Day Jones and I went out—we had no money—Jones asked if I had got enough money to pay for a drink, and he would pay me back if he could sell this chain—we went into the Duke of Sussex, but the house was too full—Jones said he could not see the man he wanted to—he asked if we could get two dinners from the landlady, and he would pay me when he got money on the chain—between 1 and 3 o’clock we came out and went again to the Duke of Sussex about 6.30 or 7 p.m.—Jones handed the chain over the bar—we came out and walked up Latimer Road and came back, and I waited outside……..
On 27th Aug. 1963 the pub was ‘registered’ by H. M. Land registry and soon after was subject to a compulsory purchase order leading to it’s later closure and demolition in 1964 when the site was absorbed into the ‘Edward Woods Estate’. The original site of the pub is c.20 meters north west of the western flank of Stebbing House. RBKC recognised that with the necessary closure of two other local pubs (The ‘little’ Latimer and The Queens Arms) for the same reason, incoming residents of the new development would be without a ‘local’ so an alternative site for The Duke of Sussex was found at 27 St Annes Road. The new pub opened in 1965 and immediately became very popular with a young crowd however soon it’s customer base rapidly diminished due to the demolition (from 1966 onward) of large swathes of nearby housing to make way for the Westway. With it’s star firmly in the descendancy it was renamed ‘The Favourite’ but it’s brief period of renaissance had passed and it closed in 2011 and was listed for sale for £1.8m by Enterprise Inns (who had acquired Watney Reid Mann) with AG&G, (a specialist agents for licensed premises) in an endeavour to find someone willing to continue with it as a pub. Unsurprisingly this failed to attract a buyer and it’s demise was completed in May 2012 when it was marketed by Goldcrest Land for £2.2m-£2.4m with full detailed planning application for a six storey building comprising 84 student housing studios with one retail unit on the ground floor. It is currently owned by ‘Yara Central, Holland Park’ with rents ranging from £14.2k to £15.3k p.a.
11. THE LATIMER ARMSOR THE LITTLE LATIMER
Latimer Arms in 1934
Formerly the Latymer Arms, also known as ‘The ‘Little’ Latimer’, at 79 Norland Road, sited on south west corner of the junction with Swanscombe Road (formerly Boundary Lane, then Boundary Road).
It is probably the oldest pub in Latimer Road and is one of three pubs marked on J. Wyld’s map of 1846 (The Globe and The Duke of Sussex are the others). A single storey inn on the corner of Boundary Lane is mentioned by ‘The Old Inhabitant’ (whose identity is sadly unknown) in his earliest history of the area (1882 Kensington, Notting Hill & Paddington). In the mid 1830’s the West London Railway was under construction at the western end of Boundary Lane and maybe this inn served the men engaged in the works. When the inn was transformed into a typical Victorian three storey pub the quartered arms of Latymer and Wolverton feature in a prominent high position on the facade above the main entrance. This is in clear deference to Edward Latymer, after whom Latimer Road is named, who before his death in 1626, bequeathed 35 acres of field land north of Shepherds Bush ‘for the support of six poor men and the education of eight poor boys’ in the Charity school he founded in 1624. The precise location of the school remains unknown but the evidence points to it being sited broadly in the area of the Latymer Arms. There further remains the possibility that the Inn existed in the 18th or even 17th century. It is known that in the mid 19th century a large gipsy encampment of some 40 or 50 families occupied a nearby site where later St Clements Church was built, so the demand for an inn was obvious and it may be that this encampment was established even earlier. The first recorded landlord (in1881) is Henry Barwell, possibly a relation of Sid Barwell the owner of the large cafe on Wormwood Scrubs in the 1950’s/60’s. In 1965 the pub closed and was demolished to make way for the ‘Edward Woods’ Estate’. The site where it stood is a few yards north of the western flank of Boxmoor House.
Site of the Little Latimer 2020. photo John Henwood
12. QUEENS ARMS
Norland Road shops with the Queens Arms on right. Photo Hammersmith & Fulham Archives.
Originally 26 then 49, Norland Road (the numbers changed in the 1940’s). On the south west corner of the junction with Hume Road. The first recorded landlord in 1854 was John Greaves Nicholson with the entry describing Mary Thornton Steele as the ‘outgoing tenant’ thus giving rise to the belief that the pub existed before 1854. Beyond that very little information exists regarding this pub. It is believed to have been demolished c1964/5 when it became part of the Edward Woods estate, namely Hume House which stands squarely on the site of the former pub.
Site of the Queen’s Arms, 2020. photo John Henwood.
13. STEWART ARMS
Originally at 11, then 26 Norland Road. (numbers on Norland Road changed in the 1940’s)
Sited on the east side of Norland Road, the first recorded mention of a landlord occurs in Feb 1867 when the late Thomas Verry is described as the outgoing tenant and Thomas Smith the incoming thus indicating it existed pre-1867. It is named after Charles Stewart, a wealthy barrister and M.P. who between 1841-45 was the principle developer of the entire Norland estate along with a solicitor, Charles Richardson who in Jan 1839 had purchased the 52 acres of land for £19,990. On New Years Eve,1888 it witnessed a violent robbery when three local young men followed a customer, Edward Savage from the pub into the street where they attacked him, beating him with a stick and robbing him of 5 shillings. At the Old Bailey on Feb 4th 1889, William Green, William Blake and Robert Wilkinson were found guilty and all sentenced to 18 months hard labour with 20 strokes of the cat.
The present attractive building dates from the late 1930’s built in typical style of the period though unusually for London it is constructed of red brick rather than yellow stocks or stucco finish. Originally owned by Courage and now owned by Enterprise Inns, it stands alone as the sole survivor of the fourteen pubs of Latimer road and as such assumes almost the status of an historical monument. It doubtless draws its current customer base largely from the nearby 746 homes of the Edward Woods estate. Recent customer views are positive and it was described by one as: “This not a restaurant but an amazing pub located a stones throw from the Hilton Kensington, it is a great escape from the Hilton world at a fraction of the cost. Happy hour goes on for hours.
The staff and patronage totally welcoming and I cannot recommend this pub highly enough for its atmosphere.”
Unusually for modern times the pub is still a three room pub albeit with openings in place of doors between rooms. Sadly it does not sell cask ale but we live in hope…..
1 Norland Road, sited on the far south western corner of Norland Road and built in the late1840’s as part of the 52 acre Norland Estate development (1841-46). It is worth mentioning that up to the 1960’s Norland Road was home to a thriving market, a fact that doubtless helped support the five pubs within a few hundred yards. It was in fact the original ‘Shepherds Bush Market’ pre-dating the current market (established in 1914) by over fifty years and even pre-dating the arrival of the railway by ten. It was referred to as such by policeman John Searle giving evidence on 24th Oct 1853 at the Old Bailey trial of James Haynes for the murder of his wife (oh no, here we go again!). P.C Searle told the court: ”My beat is at Shepherd’s Bush, in the parish of Hammersmith. On Sunday evening, 11th September, I was on duty at the top of Shepherd’s Bush Market, near the Royal Hotel”. Sparing readers the grim details, Haynes was found guilty of manslaughter (on account of the evidence being circumstantial) and sentenced to transportation for life. The first recorded entry of a landlord appears in 1854 when Francis Edward Steele is named as the outgoing tenant, replaced by John Nesmith. The hotel was demolished in 1966 to accommodate the West Cross route though in the event the land upon which it stood was not used and later in the 1980’s the plot was subject of residential development into a house bearing the original address, 1 Norland Road.
1 Norland Road, site of the Royal Hotel. 2020 Photo John Henwood.
PUBS – AN OVERVIEW: A VERY BRITISH INSTITUTION, WOVEN DEEP INTO THE SOCIAL FABRIC OF BRITAIN ….ETCHED INDELIBLY INTO OUR DNA…..SOME WOULD SAY THE VERITABLE LIFE BLOOD OF SOCIETY …..AS SOON AS ANY AREA BEGINS TO BE DEVELOPED WE SEE PUBS APPEAR…IT WOULD BE HARD TO FIND A TRUE BRITON WHO HAS NOT BEEN IN A PUB…. SOME OF US HAVE BEEN IN SEVERAL….PUBS – AN OVERVIEW: A VERY BRITISH INSTITUTION, WOVEN DEEP INTO THE SOCIAL FABRIC OF BRITAIN ….ETCHED INDELIBLY INTO OUR DNA…..SOME WOULD SAY THE VERITABLE LIFE BLOOD OF SOCIETY …..AS SOON AS ANY AREA BEGINS TO BE DEVELOPED WE SEE PUBS APPEAR…IT WOULD BE HARD TO FIND A TRUE BRITON WHO HAS NOT BEEN IN A PUB…. SOME OF US HAVE BEEN IN SEVERAL….
PUBS – AN OVERVIEW: A VERY BRITISH INSTITUTION, WOVEN DEEP INTO THE SOCIAL FABRIC OF BRITAIN ….ETCHED INDELIBLY INTO OUR DNA…..SOME WOULD SAY THE VERITABLE LIFE BLOOD OF SOCIETY …..AS SOON AS ANY AREA BEGINS TO BE DEVELOPED WE SEE PUBS APPEAR…IT WOULD BE HARD TO FIND A TRUE BRITON WHO HAS NOT BEEN IN A PUB…. SOME OF US HAVE BEEN IN SEVERAL….
Earls Court is not exactly North Kensington but the memories of a former resident of Portland Road are too good not to include. If you were into Folk Music at that time, the names will all be familiar to you. Please add a comment if you have memories of either the Troubadour or of Portland Road at that time.
The Troubadour, as recalled by Jenny Barton
The Troubadour in Brompton Road, Earls Court had been founded by Michael and Sheila Van Bloemen in 1954 and became a prime venue for musicians from the British Folk Revival.
In late February 1958, Shirley Collins was running Wednesday night and an American, Sandy Paton had the Saturday night. Then Sandy went back to the States and Shirley took over Saturday. At the end of the summer Shirley went off to America to do a collecting trip with Alan Lomax. So Mike Van Bloeman asked me to organise Saturday nights. He said he was getting sick of finding singers who would run the evening and how about it if I found a singer and instead of Mike paying them seven and six and a plate of spaghetti, I would take some money on the door and pay them? At this stage we were a small club with a small audience. Robin Hall and others dropped in now and again. I remember him bringing Martin Carthy along just before Christmas.That was a great night.
We had a bit of a thin time at first as I hadn’t enough money to get really good singers and then in the summer of 1959 Jack Elliot (Rambling Jack) came over and said to Mike Van Bloeman who owned the lease, that he was looking for somewhere to sing for two or three months. Mike said to me “How about it if we have Jack here?” Wonderful! That saved me from having to look for people. We didn’t have much of an audience when he started but by the time he left we were packed. He was there every Saturday night and he played the same material every bloody time, but the audience simply loved it. His wife sat in the audience keeping a beady eye on him.
When Jack went back to the States I got in touch with Martin again and other singers started to appear – Bob Davenport, the Liverpool Spinners, Shirley Collins was back, John Pearce, Frank Purslow, Jimmie Macgregor, Shirley Bland, Seamus Ennis at least once. By 1961 I had added Enoch Kent, Alex Campbell, the Thameside Four, Louis Killen, Cyril Tawney and the Ian Campbell Group. By 1962 we were booking the odd trad singer – the McPeake Family, Jeanie Robertson, Belle and Alex Stewart, Rory McEwan and the odd American such as Carolyn Hester and Dick Farina.
Pete Seeger was in political trouble in the States and he came over for a visit. To raise funds for him, twenty clubs booked the Albert Hall and put him on. We didn’t sell out but we did make a sizeable contribution. Afterwards he worked his way round all the clubs in turn doing a thank-you appearance. When he came to the Troubadour we crammed in about 130, God knows how we did it. I remember feeling rather disappointed that he sounded just like he did on record! It wasn’t like a live performance.
Photo of the Troubadour above is by Alison Chapman McLean.
The basement room was probably no more than 16′ by 16′ and it had an area at the back where the coffee machine and other people would be. We started at 10 and if you got there by 8 you might get a seat. We didn’t have that many seats because they took up room. If you didn’t get there early enough for a seat you sat on the floor or on top of someone else or you didn’t sit at all. I’m sure it contravened every health and safety regulation going.
It ended when the singers were too tired to go on. Towards the end we were stopping at about 2 or 3 am but in the early days some of us were kipping on the floor and going home at 6 am!
Martin Carthy
In theory we didn’t have a resident but in actual fact Martin was usually there because he’d come on from somewhere else or because he’d been booked which was a bit more frequent than other people because he was the best singer we had by miles, and the best at handling an audience. I was lucky to have Martin as a frequent and paid singer, often at very short notice. He helped me out of many and various holes, and as an unpaid singer when he just turned up. He acted as a magnet to other singers and musicians and his cheerfulness was infectious. He was a godsend to a club organiser.
By the end of the night Diz Disley would show up and he would always do a bit of an instrumental if there was someone to do it with. He’d do one of his monologues and the audience knew every word of it and absolutely loved it. Diz, Martin and Swarb (Dave Swarbrick) were a terrific impromptu threesome.
Only the people we booked were paid. We had some very reliable floor singers – Gerry Tobia comes to mind. We had a way-out group called the Southampton Balladeers, Ray and Archie Fisher the odd time, Dave Brady quite often, the Watersons once or twice in their early days, Nigel Denver, Paul McNeill and Isobel Sutherland.
Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan turned up with his manager Grossman. At the end of the evening my younger sister, who I was desperately trying to keep an eye on, disappeared on the arm of that toad Grossman. No taste that girl, absolutely none. Dylan was all right as a singer but he didn’t like people talking when he sang and then talked non-stop when other people sang. And he locked himself into the loo to smoke pot so I had people dancing up and down in the corridors so you can imagine he wasn’t my favourite visitor – far from! I do know that some of the singers thought he was wonderful.
Drugs.
I spent a lot of time trying to keep drugs out of my night. We didn’t get raided, unlike our chums, mostly because we had three keen folkie policemen in the audience. The deal was that we kept drugs out and they kept their chums out.
Last days
I finished at the Troubador at the beginning of October 1964. Martin Winsor and Redd Sullivan took over with Seamus Ewans in charge of bookings, paperwork and organising the door. I was expecting my first baby and the doctor told me I’d got to spend all day in bed. My husband said that’s it! I didn’t go to the Troubadour much after that, maybe just a couple of times later on. I was up to my ears with a child and a husband.
Meanwhile. while working at the Troubadour, Jenny had bought a house in what was then a very rundown Portland Road, near Clarendon Cross.
Moving to Portland Road
Portland Road 141-145, 1971. RBKC Local Studies
Back in 1959, I was living in a cramped bedsitter. I wondered if I would ever manage to find a house I could afford. My boyfriend thought he might have heard of one in Notting Hill. It proved to be a run-down slum, previously a brothel! My solicitor said it was pretty awful but added, if I was you I would buy it. It was £2,000 freehold, which I could just afford, on Portland Road, and probably due for slum clearance unless several of us could get half the road renovated.
There were three brothels opposite me and several families of totters with horses and carts – a perfect Steptoe district. Just down the road Mr Osborne would come home on a Saturday night somewhat worse for wear. His daughter-in-law waited at an upper window with a pail of cold water. When sufficiently sober she would let him in.
We had a few shops at Clarendon Cross There was the Welsh Dairy that offered to lend us their milk float to get home armchairs from Portobello Road but it proved easier to push the armchairs on their castors. There was a shop called Maureen’s where you could find tables for £2.50 to a fiver, chairs for ten shillings and even beds. But we could usually find discarded bed frames on bomb sites. With folded army blankets laid over the springs it was not a luxury. I offered such a bed to a friend from Glasgow, homeless. He laughed himself silly but accepted the offer. We were a nice, quiet working class area, bar the odd drunk weaving their way home. Mr Seall, our greengrocer, said he hadn’t heard language as ripe as that since he was in Egypt during the war. I spasmodically fed soup and bread to two poverty stricken art students. Now, fifty years later, Ian Logan makes all sorts of tin boxes for soap etc for stately homes and Harrods etc. He is still cheerful but no longer poverty stricken.
Portland Road 133-135 1971. RBKC Local Studies
Eventually, Julie’s opened as a bistro. Nightly peace was shattered. The green welly brigade don’t understand peace and quiet. My husband, the kids and myself put the house up for sale, got £20,000 a few days later and departed to rural Kent. The house was ancient and delightful, but the district not so. We now live peacefully in west Ulster and the new house is also delightful.
My mother and I moved into 5 Moreland House, Lancaster Road, just in time for the Coronation in 1953. For about 6 months I attended the Infants School of St Clements. In the Autumn I moved to Oxford Gardens Primary School for boys where I learned to play cricket, indeed became a bowler, under the guidance of Mr Lusby. In 1958 I joined Isaac Newton Comprehensive School in its inaugural year and left in 1965, aged eighteen. Although I enjoyed and benefited from attending both schools there was no choice available to me. Having failed the 11-plus, pupils, and parents followed the dictates of the London County Council.
However, at the age of eleven I made the wisest decision of my young life; I joined the Harrow Boys Club. This was one of many such institutions set up by public schools in the late-Victorian era to help the poor, most established in areas of poverty, like Notting Hill. In fact, I had another choice available: the Rugby Club. Not only was it closer to my home but it had just re-opened in a new building with excellent facilities. But there was no contest. In my judgment the more civilized boys attended the Harrow Boys Club, and the main reason for that was the man who was in charge. A man who was to have an incalculable influence on my life.
The Harrow Club
The Club building still stands, but now functions as a community centre offering a range of valuable services to a still-impoverished community. The centre has received large sums from charitable bodies that have provided it with a range of extensive facilities and refurbishing. Back in the 1950’s the entrances were on the other side of the building, that which now faces the elevated motorway that stretches from Shepherds Bush to the Marylebone Road. The construction of this fly-over in the 1960’s was to have a devastating effect on the immediate community. It was to sever the link between the Club members of my generation.
The stairs at the back of the building that used to be the entrance to the Club
The main entrance to the Club led up a short flight of stairs from the street level. The door opened onto a hallway at the end of which was the manager’s office. The desk inside was lost under a sea of papers. The office belonged to Lewis Ashman or ‘Lew’ as he was commonly called. On the left-hand side of the hallway was a door into the main hall. This housed a full-size snooker table, and then three table tennis tables of variable quality. The best was always at the far-end of the hall and was therefore the property of the better players. Just beyond this table, at the end farthest from the door, was a stage on which stood a small snooker table and two dartboards. On a busy night movement on the stage could become extremely complicated for everyone, unless carefully choreographed.
At the front edge of the stage was one of the key features of Club life: the Dansette record player. This was in use most nights, and my memory insists that it was the same small collection of LPs that were always played during those eight years. This was Lew’s music, and shaped the taste for good or ill, of my generation at the club. The collection included Oklahoma! and Oliver, but the overwhelming favourite was the stage version of West Side Story. Night after night, year after year, I absorbed the same melodies. It shaped the repertoire of songs sung in the Club van on our ways to matches or holidays. Even now, when I hear the opening notes of the Prologue, I am immediately pitched back to the age of 14; table tennis bat in hand, dancing around the floor developing my backhand drive, “ a Jet all the way from my first cigarette to my last dying day”.
There was a small mezzanine floor above the hall and Lew’s office. The room situated here was only ever used for the construction of kayak canoes. Canoeing was a strong feature of Club life, and some of the keener members would pay for, and build, their own canoes. Although I started to canoe in my later years at the Club, I only visited this room about three times. I had no desire to master the skills required to build a canoe. Largely, because my attendance at both wood and metal work classes at school had demonstrated that these skills were as elusive as my patience.
The second entrance from the street led down to the basement. The external door led straight into our ‘sports hall’, in which we practised 5-a-side football. The hall was tiny and made worse by having a low ceiling and a set of wall-bars down one of the long walls. The skills required to simply run and turn without dashing your brains against the fixtures and fittings was demanding enough. To have to also practise passing, shooting and tackling, required acute survival skills. When we had to practise heading skills a ball was suspended from one of the metal girders of the roof, and the height was varied by the trainer, Albert Whelan, tugging on the rope, every time we jumped. As this took place no more than 4 feet away from the back wall it was a miracle that we all managed to avoid being embedded in the masonry.
The very sight of this facility would have bought a Health and Safety inspector out in a cold sweat, and the club would have been condemned on the spot. But for us, the room had the allure of Wembley.
Just off the hall was a small room with three showers. My memories of this room are anchored by a discarded jock strap. I would swear that it remained on a wall hook, unclaimed, for the whole eight years of my membership. In some way it symbolised, for me at least, a memorial to the Unknown Sportsman.
On the other side of the hall was a coffee bar, which housed the television. This was only ever used for watching mid-week football matches, or, events of great importance, like the General Election of 1964 or the assassination of President Kennedy. Generally, the club was for doing things rather than watching others do them.
This room connected with the table tennis room above by a long dark staircase, which had the effect of muffling sound. Lew would occupy this room later in the evening. When the Club opened on a Friday his place would be by the large snooker table on the first floor. He would stand next to the ‘Forthcoming Events’ board, welcoming each member as they arrived, collecting weekly subscriptions, and seeking to enrol members into some representative activity for the Club. “Ah, Dear Boy”, he would say, “We are trying to get up a cross-country team for Saturday. Can I put your name down?” He always called me “Sunshine”. I was probably the least sunny adolescent in West London, but I would always smile in response. If Lew was being ironic, I chose to miss it completely.
The building was merely a shell: for Lew was the Harrow Boys Club. He was the force of nature that gave it life, shape and value. He devoted most of his waking hours to the Club and the boys, and we knew what it cost him. His commitment to us was never discussed or acknowledged publicly, but we returned it with a respect that was no less binding. When he asked you if you were free this weekend for a canoe race, you said “Yes”, and thought about it after. It was only usually on the Saturday that I started to question what I had let myself in for. We volunteered because Lew asked us, and because we were members of the ’Arrer.
Taking part in a canoe race from Hampton Court to Tower Bridge on a freezing wet Sunday in December requires commitment. Trying to light and smoke a Players Weight cigarette while paddling the canoe in a snow demands a level of personal creativity that only the desperate can manage. When I was eventually hauled out of the canoe by the river police suffering what felt like hypothermia, I saw this as my failing. None of the other boys or Lew had to be rescued. I just felt sorry that I had let the team down. It was simply another example that would have sent a Safety Officer into a state of apoplexy.
When I first met Lew he was about 35 years old. He was around 5ft 10 inches tall, well built, with dark curly hair that was always immaculately groomed. He had a well-muscled body which he enjoyed showing off. Periodically he would grow a full-set beard, reduce it then to a moustache, or return to being clean-shaven. These changes were as frequent as his attempts to give up smoking. Lew was a heavy smoker who despised the habit. He therefore gave himself the worst of both worlds. He also gave us hell about our smoking, particularly when he was smoking himself. He would use his own addiction as a moral example of why we should not smoke. He would stop us smoking until we reached the magic age of fifteen. But he never stopped nagging us about the habit whatever our age. This was the only kind of explicit censure that he offered. Apart from when he officiated as a referee or umpire when his “Oh, Dear Boy” would greet a bad pass or a stroke. Such remarks would penetrate me like sling shot.
He was very handsome in a square-jawed English hero fashion. In certain lights he looked like Ronald Coleman, other times like Errol Flynn. What really distinguished him in our company was his accent and language. He sounded and spoke like David Niven. He would address me as “Dear Boy”, as a variant of “Sunshine”.
I, like the other boys, simply accepted this old-world charm because it was Lew. Other adults would not have dreamed of speaking in this way to us. Nor would we have accepted such liberties. But we accepted Lew for who he was. It was the least we could do. Such acceptance was a rare experience. Like most adolescents we lacked tolerance for others who happened to be different. Our ability to tolerate such a well-spoken and well-mannered person was remarkable. The amazing thing about Lew was how accepting he was of each of us, and through this, helped me, and I suspect others, to value people for who they were and what they did rather than for their colour, sexual orientation, or religion. His toleration was remarkable. Without spelling out his expectations we respected and honoured his standards of good behaviour. In all my time at the Club I knew of only one fist fight between members. Whereas, both schools I attended, with many of the same boys attending, fighting was a daily occurrence.
Isle of Wight Camp 1962. Lew in the centre in shorts, next to Mrs Pithers
Isle of Wight Camp 1958/9. Lew is seated next to Mrs Pithers.
Lew did have his moments, however. When disappointed by others he could sulk. And if he felt ‘abused’, he would seek revenge. For example, once at the annual camp on the Isle of Wight, six or seven of us pinned him to the ground and splashed some cold water in his face as a joke. He avoided the perpetrators for the rest of the day. The next morning, he awoke each of us in turn with a wet sponge in the face. Having evened the score, he could then return to normal.
It was hard to let him down. One Saturday afternoon we played a cup match in North London. It must have rained one whole week before the match because the ground was like the Somme. Although we had an excellent team that year and the opposition was obviously inferior we were unable to score. No matter how hard we kicked the ball it hardly moved. At half-time Lew explained that a replay would cause havoc with our schedule and that we must win today. The half-time talk made matters worse. Our performance was risible. At the end an infuriated Lew insisted that we did not have time for a shower because he needed to get back to the Club. We collected our clothes from the dressing-room, and we returned in silence. He allowed us to shower at the Club but that was also undertaken in silence.
Junior Football team 1962.
Similarly, one year on a holiday in Sitges I, and another boy, managed to lose the teapot while we were doing the washing up. The loss was not discovered until next evening at a campsite some miles away. On this occasion he treated the pair of us like criminals for two days, taking every opportunity to complain about his loss. Given Lew’s need for tea this was a serious privation. We should have been more careful to a man who drive the van from North Kensington to Sitges.
Near the end of his life I asked him where his commitment to the Club came from. He said that his values derived from his experiences in the Air Force, and that his aim was to help each boy achieve his full potential whether it was physical, mental, or spiritual. Generally, he was reticent about talking about himself and his history. I knew that he had a sister in Wales, and I would eventually meet his nephew and niece when they joined us on the second trip I attended in Spain in 1966.
It is now impossible for me to think about Lou without also thinking about music. Not only did he love song, but he had a beautiful voice and took great delight in sharing his gift with us.
His voice had the pitch and timbre of Gordon McRae or Howard Keel. He would sing all the time. But for me, best of all, were journeys in the van. Then we would hear his repertoire: The Surrey with the Fringe on Top, Maria, Tonight, and, The Foggy, Foggy Dew among others. Every time he would start to sing the boys would ritually groan “Oh, turn it in, Lew!” But, within minutes the protests would stop and some of the braver – more musical – boys, like Alan Eames, would join in with the song. As I got older and more confident, I would ask him to sing two of my favourites, Oh What a Beautiful Morning, or, The Soliloquy from ‘Carousel’. To listen to those tunes being sung by a man was to receive a precious gift. The gift was not just the song but also his delight.
He is the only person I have ever met who could take such obvious delight in all around him. The object may have been a song, or sunlight on the river, but when he felt it, he wanted you to share the experience. Not only did his face shine with joy, but he would invite you in with his characteristic, “My stars and garters, look at that!”
One of his declared aims was to bring the worlds of Harrow School and Harrow Boys Club together. Each year members from the School would attend summer camp on the Isle of Wight. At the two camps I attended there was no problem with the integration. Within a couple of days new social groupings quickly formed which crossed the boundaries of School and Club. It was clear that both sides enjoyed and learned from this experience.
Waiting for the Sandown to Ryde train returning from camp 1962
In return a selected few would attend various activities at the School or use their facilities. During the summer, small groups of us would go up in the evening and use their swimming pool, ‘The Ducker’. This had a curved kidney-shape that had the deep-end in the middle. It also had changing rooms like bike sheds, open to all the elements. The tradition was to swim nude in the pool.
I was also fortunate enough to play a cricket match at the School. My memory of the match was over-awed by the Pavilion in which we took tea. Even the watercress in the sandwiches seemed doused in history. I look on this afternoon as my Rupert Brooke period.
I was also invited, with Lew, to attend a performance of ‘The Tempest’ by the Old Harrovians in their Elizabethan-style theatre. I even visited the tomb on which Byron supposedly lay when composing his poems.
During my last two years at school Lew proved to be my lifeline to some degree of normality. During this time the boys I had grown up with had left school or moved away from the area. My immediate family were either indifferent or actively hostile to the fact that I stayed on at school. Lew was the only person who spoke to me about my new interests – classical music, literature, history, philosophy and religion. We shared records and books. Without that relationship I would have been lost in the empty space between two worlds.
It would be 30 years before I saw Lou again. A local historian was commissioned to put together an exhibition to re-launch the Club after a major development programme was funded by the Prince’s Trust. She contacted me and I offered pictures as well as stories about Lew and the Club. Near the end of our meeting she said that she was visiting Lew the following week to collect his memories. Astonished, I petitioned her to ask Lew whether he would be happy to see me. The reason for this formality is that I knew that Lew was extraordinarily private. However, my concern proved ill-judged, and we agreed to meet at his flat in Windsor. I was delighted beyond belief. For years I had bored my wife, Sylvia, and the children with my stories of Lew, and now I was going to meet him again. On the journey over from Horsham, where we then lived, my delight was beginning to fracture into fear. Would it/he/me be OK? Can you pick up after all that time?
Within 15 minutes of meeting all the years dropped away and we could have been bridging a gap of two weeks. Lew was now living in a one-bedroom flat and at the age of 76 was suffering major health problems. Having lived always such an active life being housebound was a great trial. Amazingly, he still had a kayak canoe in his bedroom which he had used on the Thames before his problems started.
I was now able to return a fraction of the favours that I had received. I would drive him out to his favourite places along the Thames, and he could recount stories of outings with Club boys. Over the next three years we took him out to Bourne End, a Community Centre he became Warden of after his time at the Harrow Club. We also took him on visits to Brighton sea front, West Wittering, and Henley, among other places. We also visited some great restaurants. He came to our house for dinner and met the family. And I am especially grateful that he spent the last three Christmas days of his life with my family. Sylvia and the children fell under his spell and he became fascinated by their lives and interests. I took a photo of him in our garden and with his white hair and beard he actually looks like a benevolent Father Christmas.
Apart from recalling joint memories of times and the boys we had known, Lew mentioned some of the things that had happened to him since leaving the Club. Not only was he very happy as a Warden at Bourne End, but he had also been able to develop his interest in singing. Having written to John Hanson, the popular West End star, he was encouraged enough by the reply to join amateur groups who put on operettas. Later he became part of a trio who performed recitals of songs and poems.
He also spoke briefly of his war experiences as a bomber in Bomber Command. He spoke of his deep regret about his part in the war. However, he spoke with great affection about being trained in Oklahoma by the USAF. Many years later he attended a reunion at the air base and chose to serenade them with, what else, but “Oklahoma!”.
Unfortunately, his health continued to decline. He was already suffering from deep vein thrombosis, he believed a legacy of his flight to Oklahoma, and then suffered a heart attack. He survived until major intestine problems led to his bowel being removed. This was just too much. When I visited him after surgery he simply said, “Now, I want to die”. All I could say was, “I understand”. He accomplished his mission within three weeks. The last time I saw him was at the hospital in Reading
Lew died on 18th June 2002 having been born on 9th November 1923. The funeral took place At Holy Trinity Parish and Garrison Church, Windsor. His executors asked me to speak for no more than 3 minutes as there would also be other speakers covering different parts of his life. An impossible task: not least because I felt that I should represent all the Club boys. This was the best that I could do:
“I want to tell you about a gifted man called Lew Ashman. I met him at the Harrow Boys Club in 1958 when I was 11. 44 years later I am still a member of that Club. Lew was very handsome, with dark curly hair and beard. Recently I told Lew that he used to look like Errol Flynn and speak like David Niven. He dismissed the comparison, but then told me that it used to be said by others that he looked like Laurence Olivier. Only Lew could combine modesty and vanity in the same sentence. Lew made absolutely no concession to the difference in class and background between himself and most of us. He had the gift of treating with respect a group of teenagers who believed that they were out to change the world. Of course, he changed our worlds. In addition to the vast range of sporting activities, Lew made possible so many new experiences. In my case, this included many first visits:
to a West End theatre to the Proms Covent Garden opera abroad
Perhaps Lew’s greatest gift was that of sharing his delight and wonder in all around him. He found delight in everything. Sunlight on the river. A glass of wine. Tiramasu or ginger ice cream.
He would stop suddenly, his face alight, a smile of pleasure on his lips, and then invite you with, “My stars and garters, did you ever see, taste, hear…?” And you stopped what you were doing to enjoy not just the experience but Lew’s delight in the experience.
He disappeared from my life for 30 years…1969-1999. Then through a third party we met once more, and he took me to his favourite Pizza restaurant in Windsor, and, it was the Lew of old. He met my family and they all fell under his charm.
For, as we know, music has charm. When driving the Club van to events Lew used to sing. And I particularly enjoyed, “O, what a beautiful morning”. And it always was a beautiful morning, even when it was raining, even when it was afternoon, because we were with Lew. And weused to sing a Club song back to him. I would like you to imagine a van full of boys, in muddy football kit, returning from a match, and singing,
We are the ‘Arrer boys We know our manners We fight with spanners We are respected Wherever we go. Doors and winders open wide. Ever seen a monkey eat brown bread Ever seen Lew-Lew’s curly head We are the ‘Arrer Boys
We sang it with love and respect. Thank you, Lew from us all. There were a couple of other boys from the Club at the event. Afterwards they told me that they would have said the same. I felt so privileged.On Saturday 9th November I attended a Memorial Evensong for Lew at St George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, in recognition of his service as a Voluntary Steward of the Chapel. To sum up what Lew still means for me, and I suspect hundreds of other boys, I can only offer the following. When I die, and if I am lucky enough to get to heaven, the gate may well be opened by St Peter or some other dignitary. For me that is not important. What I do know, however, is that Lew will be standing just on the inside of the gate, next to a large notice board covered with details of forthcoming events.
Lew on left with Neil on the steps of the Harrrow Club, 2000
Although my journey to heaven may have been taxing and I enter tired and weary he will smile and say, “Good evening, Sunshine! Let me draw your attention to some key events. There is a cross-country race this Saturday on Dartmoor; and I am also looking for a team, the following day, to take part in a canoe race down the Wye Valley. Can I put your name down for both events?”
And I will smile and say, “I’ll be delighted”. And I will be. Because I always was.”
North Kensington Histories 