Life In Oxshott In The 1940s And 50s The Ridgeway

A Memory of Oxshott.

I lived in Oxshott from 1943 to 1957. I was actually born in a nursing home at 1 Avenue Elmers, Surbiton, a building which has been converted to luxury flats now. My maiden name was Huitt and I had two younger sisters – Carolyn (born 1946) and Alison (born 1948). We lived at Sylvadale in the Ridgeway, which is a cul-de-sac at the bottom of Oakshade Road. The house was quite small for the five of us – only two bedrooms – but we had a lovely big garden. The house is still there, much extended. Unfortunately one of the later owners changed the name to Silverdale, not realising that 'Sylva' means wood, and referred to the copse at the bottom of the garden.

In those days we had no 'mod cons' – no fridge, no washing machine, no television, no central heating – frost inside the bedroom windows in the winter. I don't think we were particularly poor, but somehow all those things weren't considered necessities then. Also, it was just after World War 2 and everything was in very short supply. Rationing of food, clothes and so on didn't finally end till 1953. We did have a telephone, but not everyone did. You could only dial numbers in the Oxshott area; for other calls you had to ask the operator in the telephone exchange to connect the number for you.

The Ridgeway was a very friendly place and many of the neighbours knew each other quite well. Perhaps this was because there were few cars so you always met people walking about. Many of the Ridgeway residents were young families with children, so we had plenty of friends to play with. Many names come to mind: the Bartons' three girls (Elizabeth, Jo and Hilary) who lived nearly opposite, Jennifer Agnew from Woodfield (whose Frith postings prompted me to write this!), the Francis-Smith family (Lesley, Pamela and Helen) from Ridgeway Close, Angela Channell and several others.

The Brooks family lived next door at Westdene with two girls: Margaret (Margie) who was about my age and her older sister Susan. I went to play with Margie quite often. They had a Scottie dog called Tavvy short for McTavish. He seemed to be a very disobedient little dog – you could often hear Mrs Brooks calling 'Tavvy, Tavvy...' when he had escaped into the field yet again. The Brooks family also kept chickens in a large run between their house and ours. It was lovely to watch the hens through our hedge as they scuttled about pecking up their corn.

The neighbour on the other side, Pikes, was a Mrs Mannin. She was very old and we didn't see her about much. Her daughter was the famous author Ethel Mannin. Later the house was bought by the Taylor family. In June 1953 they very kindly invited us to watch the Coronation on their television. Sadly, a few years later their six-year-old son Peter was killed by a coal lorry while riding his trike in the road. The Taylors moved away soon afterwards – they couldn't bear to live there anymore.

Hardly anyone in the Ridgeway had a car. Stuart and Sandy Copland who lived opposite us had a small green Ford. They didn't seem to use it much; there were always bits of it scattered on the drive. The most distinctive car was Mr Hutchinson's, an old Mercedes tourer. The Hutchinson family (son Matthew, daughter Katharine) lived at Belas Knap, at the top of Ridgeway Close. Mr Hutchinson always drove with the car roof folded down, even in the rain. The engine made a very loud hollow booming noise so you could always tell when he was coming home. I had a ride in it once when I went to Polesden Lacey with Katharine. It was really fun but I was glad I'd brought my cardigan.

My father bought a car in 1948. It was a dark blue Morris Oxford, second-hand but I thought the leather seats were the height of luxury. With two small children then under five and a baby it certainly made travelling easier. There was room on the back seat for Alison's carry-cot, I sat on the proper seat next to her, and Carolyn had a small child's seat hooked over one of the front seats. No such thing as seat belts! but we hardly ever did more than about 40 miles per hour.

My father was Borough Engineer for Battersea Borough Council and went to London on the train every day. In the 1950s there was a lot of work to be done repairing roads and bridges damaged during the war, also replacing thousands of destroyed homes. Initially the bomb sites were cleared and filled with temporary prefabs, but there was also a massive house-building programme, resulting in the tower blocks you can still see today. I was very proud of my father being in charge of all that, especially the fact of his name being displayed on the Battersea dustcarts: WJ Huitt, Borough Engineer.

My mother stayed at home and looked after us children and the house. After leaving school she had worked for ten years as a secretary in Lloyd George's political office, a job which she loved but, as a female civil servant, had to give up when she got married. She certainly worked hard at home – cleaning, cooking, sewing, knitting, gardening – but was always rather resentful at having had to give up her interesting job. She made most of our clothes on an old Frister and Rossman sewing machine, often by cutting down adult garments or unpicking the best parts of worn-out knitting. She always dressed us three girls the same, which I hated although couldn't say so after all the effort that had gone into the making. In later years I never dressed my two girls the same, even when they wanted to!

If it wasn't a school day we were sent outside to play after breakfast, there was no question of lazing around in the house. As I said, we had a big garden so we were hardly ever allowed to play in the road, even though it wasn't busy. And there was plenty to do in the garden. There was a big cherry tree to climb and my father had made a swing on the apple tree. We had a pedal car, then a red trike, then bikes. One afternoon when some cousins visited we all spent the whole time riding round and round the lawn, making a bare track in the grass. My father was not best pleased.

We had skipping ropes, bowled hoops, chalked squares on the drive for hopscotch. We played hide-and-seek, French cricket, quoits, five-stones. And we each had a small flowerbed where we planted spare seeds and plants from my father's vegetable patch – spring onions, radishes, marigolds, snapdragons. Whatever we were doing, we never failed to wave to the milkman. The milk was delivered daily by horse-drawn cart from Prewett's farm in Stoke D'Abernon. On the outward journey, the milkman used to walk the horse up the Ridgeway and round to Ridgeway Close delivering the milk – always to people's back doorsteps. Mid-morning, on the return journey he sat on the cart and the horse would trot back at speed – clop clop, clop clop. We always heard him coming and from wherever we were, indoors or out, we would rush to the front garden, climb on the gate and wave.

On rainy days we were allowed to stay inside. We had colouring books and wax crayons, and painting with my pride and joy – a Winsor & Newton paint box, with its 12 little square blocks of colour. The best fun was making potato prints, when we could persuade my mother to give us a precious potato. We made model shops and theatres from old cereal boxes, with little plasticene figures in them. To my mother's exasperation we had untidy collections of stamps, bus tickets and sea shells. And there were always plenty of books to read: Peter Rabbit, Alison Uttley's Little Grey Rabbit series, Enid Blyton's Famous Five, Ladybird books about animals, nature, history and so on.

When it snowed we couldn't wait to go outside. First task was to build a big snowman. Then we'd take our sledge round to Ridgeway Close – the downhill end of the cul-de-sac so there were no cars to worry about. It made a fantastic run and at the end you just crashed into the bushes at the bottom to stop. All the Ridgeway children would be there, the older ones organising an orderly queue and looking after the little ones if they fell off. This was the only time we three girls were allowed to play in the road – we'd stay there sledging the whole afternoon.

All three of us attended the Royal Kent School which was in the old building then, at the Steels Lane end of the High Street. There were only three classrooms: infants, middle class and top class. The infants had a separate room at the back. The other two rooms were separated by a glass partition which could be folded back for whole-school activities. When I started school, the headmistress Miss Brown took the infants. She was rather frightening in her tweed suits and horn-rimmed glasses. After she retired Miss Mayo took over. The other teachers were then Miss Foxall – infants, Mr Skinner – middle class, and Miss Walker – top class. I can't remember Miss Mayo being in charge of a particular class; she took us for various lessons at different times.

In 1954 the field behind our house was compulsorily purchased as the site for the new school in Oakshade Road, which opened in 1958. I had left to go to Guildford County School before the new school was finished, but Alison spent her last primary school year there. As well as a new building, the school also brought in school uniform which we didn't have previously. My father designed the school badge which the school still uses today, including on their website.

[I have lots more memories of Oxshott – more details of the school, shops, doctors and so on – to be continued in future instalments.]

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