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A Memory of Kingsbury.

I lived in Woodland Close throughout my childhood and started at Kingsbury Green Primary School in 1959. The classrooms were brightly painted, and the smells of plasticine, paints, crayons, pink (carbolic) soap and school dinners pervaded everything. The pathways via Old Kenton lane and Slough Lane seemed endless, and I used to pick up acorn cups on my way into the classroom. Mrs. Wren was the Head Teacher at that time, and I remember Mr. Heasman and Miss Lambert. Mrs. Thomas, the most beautiful and patient teacher in the world, had a brother who owned the tobacconist at the top of the alleyway leading down into Woodland Close, and I used to go there for my dad's Player's cigarettes and for my sherbet pips, shrimps, blackjacks and a myriad of other sweets, often four for a penny. Mrs. Thomas had no children of her own, but we all adored her and her stories of Bala Lake in Wales, the country dancing and the folk ballads we learned with her, our voices accompanied by Miss La Bean on the piano. I see her in memory as a sort of pantomime dame, large, overblown and rouged as she sat at her piano - perhaps I have embellished the memory but she was certainly colourful.

I loved going to Sunday school at the Baptist church in Slough Lane, I loved the endless summer days and the heavy snow of the ferocious winter when I was about eight; I loved playing rounders and winning the high jump at sports day. It was an idyllic childhood.

Across the road in Uphill Drive lived my Nan and her lodger, my aunties and uncles and my cousin, who shared my childhood, as we were both only children. Under her flat were more exciting shops: Lederman's the delicatessen, Dorothy's toy and sweet shop, the chemist and cobbler's, and across the road to the left was Bysher's, the Post Office and the place to buy Jamboree Bags, everlasting strips and comics.

I spent most of my summer holidays in the swimming pool, queueing for hours whatever the weather and pushing myself to achieve more lengths, waiting for the second wind to spur me on. There was a little fountain and footbath and an overwhelming smell of chlorine, but it was so exciting getting into my costume and swimming cap in the changing rooms, and entering the usually cold water for the first time. We used to play in the park, manhunt in the bushes, or wandering around the fair which came every summer.

My family had allotments in Old Kenton Lane and I used to lie with a book, watching planes leaving trails in the sky, hearing the cricketers whooping from the neighbouring pitch and picking fruit. The fields were full of cows and away in the distance was Barn Hill, where we went with little fishing nets to catch sticklebacks and tadpoles. It was a country childhood on the outskirts of London, complete with a riding stables and a massive, beautiful swathe of green belt.

My mum worked in the Green Man pub and I used to meet her from school every day. We often walked to Kingsbury shops, with its Woolworths and Neighbours, a hardware emporium where my dad worked. Catching a train for the West End was an annual treat, going to see Father Christmas at Selfridges, and you could hop on a bus to visit Harrow or Wembley. Kingsbury was the centre of my world, with Harrow on the Hill visible in the distance like Camelot, and every adventure story I read being relocated in my mind to the place I lived in.

I loved Saturday morning pictures, going to get Spanish Gold tobacco and other treats first, and sitting through a bill which often included Gene Autrey, the Singing Cowboy and Old Mother Riley with her daughter Kitty. I used to see the same Disney film over and over again, often alone, walking past the shops which at Christmas were full of lights and glitter, the haberdasher's having a moving Noddy and Big Ears which made the task of buying my Cherub brand vests and my Nan's heavyweight stockings tolerable. Edgar Hawes was the place to buy Christmas gifts for men: socks and ties, handkerchiefs and the hats which a lot of men wore. Upmarket was Burton's, as you approached The Mall, and I used to go with my uncle who was so tall he had to be measured for his suits; he chose his fabrics from samples whilst I was given a cup of tea and biscuits, and I felt like a princess. The suit would be ready some weeks later - going back to try it on was a really special occasion.

When I had my first baby, I used to take him for long walks through Salmon Street and Fryent Way, and autumn has never smelled as good as those days with a baby in a pram, and the new experience of being a mother. I was at Barn Hill when I went into labour with him, and we walked back to our flat above the jeweller's in Kingsbury High Street, just up the road from Woolworths, thinking I would never make it. Our flat was tiny and damp but we had a happy few years there before moving to Hastings in 1981. My son used to ride on Lenny Lion, outside the toy shop, and by then there were many Asian shops where I used to buy herbs and nuts, and exotic foods that are still hard to find in other places.

I don't think my memories are coloured by nostalgia - I simply think that Kingsbury was a magical unique place for a child to grow up in, and it remains in my heart as a place of love and safety, not too far away in actual years but light years from many children's experience now.