39londonroad

A Memory of Hackbridge.

I was born in Hackbridge in 1944. I lived there until 1953 when my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins put me on a plane on May 2 to join my father who had emigrated to Canada the year before. My mother, who had lived in Hackbridge at 39 London Rd. before her marriage, with her parents, Frances and Nick McRae, had died of TB c. 1948.
My earliest memories are of living at 44 Longfield Rd. Next door, at 46, lived my Aunt and Uncle Iris and Jack Gower and my cousins Keith and Wendy. Aunt Iris kept chickens in the back garden and I helped her feed them and collect eggs.Rationing was still in force so everyone made do. One day I climbed up their fence which had a large rusty nail in it. I still bear the scar of this ill conceived escapade on my left arm. I remember that it snowed one Christmas and that this was such a magnificent event that we rushed out to build a snowman and throw snowballs around. A short time later, living in Niagara Falls, Canada, I would ceased to be very impressed by an inch of snow!
Just down the road and around the corner from Longfield was the Red Lion. My cousins and I spent many happy hours playing in the garden, enjoying crisps and lemonade, while our parents drank something obviously more interesting than lemonade and played






shove ha'penny.
Across from the railway station was the Kelvin Works. My grandfather, Nick McRae, worked there for forty years, 1915-55. I was fortunate enough to inherit his retirement watch. It doesn't run at present but if any traditional watchmakers do it will soon.
The triangle was the centre of the village. Half way down the road,toward the Red Lion,was the school. The head was a Mr. Moor(e) who I recall as a very gentle man who once called me in to present me with a fabulous picture book of British trains that he said had been sent by my grandfather. The fact that both of my grandfathers lived within a quarter mile of the school escaped the notice of both of us and I happily took it home. The next day my grandmother explained to me that there had been a mistake and I had to return it. It had been intended for a different Paul. Sic transit gloria mundi. The activies at the school were quite segregated. The girls on this side, us on the other. During recess we boys played football and rounders. The rounders experience came very handy when baseball was played at school in Canada; the cricket my father tried to teach me before he left somewhat less so.
Away fom the triangle and past the Red Lion was a bridge over the river whose name escapes me. My cousins and I would dare each other by walking over the arches. Luckily, no one lost by falling in. To the right was a path that had a sign with the stern admonition that bicycle riding was strictly prohibited on fine of 20 (?) shillings. My father, who as a member of the RAF had been shot down and hospilatized in WW11, tended to view such peace-time interferences as petty and bureaucratic, and was consequently charged by a Bobby of whom he said had lain in wait for him. They certainly were simply times then.
Up that path and across from the river lived my other grandparents, Alex and E.E. Strong. Grandfather Strong had served in WWI, on horseback according to his pictures, but like so many who had been there spoke nothing of it to my ears. Granny Strong was a dear old soul who took me to the ice capades in London every year, and after I had spent an afternoon of netting tadpoles and sticklebacks from her river would send me off into the garden to pick gooseberries while she surruptiously returned my catches to their rightlful haunts.
For me memories of Hackbridge are quite distant. I have returned but once in the intervening 55 years, but hope to come back one last time. Is it too much to ask if the Red Lion has a shove ha'penny board on hand?
P S If anyone who reads this ,has or can find knowledge of, the burial place of Georgina Mary Strong (nee McRae) 1924 (?)-1948(?) a contact at
apstrong@tbtel.net would be greatly appreciated. Thank you . Paul Strong

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