Nothe Cheam in The Thirties

My parents moved to North Cheam from Balham in, I think. 1936. My father lived there until his death in 1970. After I left school in 1949, I used to travel up to London, via Morden underground station which was a twopenny-halfpenny bus ride on a 156 or 93 bus from the top of Staines Avenue. I have no fond memories of that journey - particularly the part from Morden station to Waterloo. Coming home was even worse. My father used to call in at the Victoria ('the Vic') for a pint on Sundays although his preferred pub during the war years was the Lord Nelson, a little futher down the London Road towards Morden. As a youngster, I attended the Saturday morning pictures at the Granada and this was also a favourite family venue on Thursday evenings when my mother and I would meet my father on his way from work, outside the cinema. It didn't seem to matter what time the programme started. We just went in in the middle of whatever film was showing, watched the next film in its entirity, caught the Movietone News, listened to the mighty Worlizer and then saw the film we came in at right round to its end. Afterwards we'd collect some fish and chips from the shop near the corner of Lloyd Road. I went to school there too. First as a five-year old to Cheam Park Farm Infants School which was just at the top of the road where we lived. One day a week, my mother would send me off with sixpence to buy a National Savings stamp, bearing, if I remember correctly, the image of a squirrel. When the book of stamps was filled this would be sent off and replaced by a National Savings Certificate. I had few of these and cashed even fewer and still have the book somewhere... The Head mistress was a Miss Paterson, who I fancy must have paid a visit, or at least had some connection with my adopted country, Australia as having heard the song "Advance Australia Fair" she announced that henceforth it would be the School Song. This proved to be a significant advantage to me, when I emigrated to Australia in 1981 as shortly thereafer it was adopted as the National Anthem and I, a poor immigrant 'pom', knew the words better than any of the locals. We stuck it out throughout the Blitz - although truth to tell we didn't cop it too badly. The flying bombs were worse and I have vivid memories of those that fell in Hamilton Avenue - a great pall of oily smoke billowing up into the sky - and in (I think) Glyn Road. My mother and I were cowering in our indoor Anderson shelter and I heard the whistle of its wings as it passed over our rooftop.