A Fondly Remembered Childhood

I was born in 1942 and and spent my childhood in Walthamstow, which up to the time I left in 1967 was predominantly a white working class area in north-east London; I went to Chapel End Infants and Junior Schools and then to William Morris Technical School. My wife Sandra was similarly born and brought up in Walthamstow and we married at St John's Church in October 1965. My earliest memories and experiences were of post-war austerity and general thriftyness. It was, during the late 1940s and throughout the 1950s and into the early 1960s, a truly wonderful place to grow up in. We kids were spoilt for choice in the availability of adventure locations and had the real freedom that allowed us to enjoy them to the full without our parents worrying about paedaphiles and the like. Opposite our house in Kitchener Road was the London Transport Sports Ground. Although 'out of bounds' to us local kids, we used to sneak in anyway. London Transport buses, mostly RT's but sometimes an RTL or a RTW, would bring the LT staff from garages all over London to play tennis, football and cricket on the expansive playing fields. The buses would be parked in the car park in front of the old, 1920's-style wooden pavilion and we would roam all over them, and even sit in the driver's seat. Many of the buses which visited were fresh from an overhaul at London Transport's Aldenham Works near Watford and I can still remember the heady aromatic smell of diesel and fresh paint on a hot summers day as we played hide and seek or kingy. A 15-minute walk up Wadham Road brought you to one of the few remaining parts of Epping Forest. From here, it was possible to travel (or so it seemed to us kids) great distances without using any roads. Depending upon which direction you took when you entered the Forest, you could reach Highams Park Lake (for fishing or boating), Napier Arms (terminus of the route 625 trolley-bus which went to Wood Green) or Woodford Green (terminus of the route no 20 bus from Aldgate). By crossing Woodford New Road at this point, you could venture even further through the Forest and end up in Roding Valley or even Buckhurst Hill where we used go pick blackberries in the autumn. The third mecca for us kids was Lloyds Park. This was situated behind Walthamstow trolley-bus depot off Chingford Road. It was both a recreational park - ie swings, slides etc, and an ornamental park with flowers and shrubs and a large playing field area. In the 1950s, Park Attendants - Parkies - patrolled the Park, constantly on the lookout for bad behaviour. The favourite wind-up was to cycle along the pathways until a Parkie saw you and told you to dismount. Instead of doing so, you would instead turn around and cycle away. This would inevitably lead to the Parkie giving chase whilst shouting at you. The knack was to know the layout of the paths by heart so that you were able to get away and leave the park without being caught. It was usual then to lie up for half an hour, if possible with a bottle of Tizer, before venturing back into the park for another go at the Parkie. Ahhh - happy days! Saturday afternoons were invariably spent walking down the High Streetfor a bag of roasted peanuts from a stall opposite Clare's Fish shop; fresh kippers from Clare's for Saturday tea; ice cream cones from Rossi's; a browse in the window of Batemans Model shop nearby; a rummage through the records on sale at Al's Records on the corner of Willow Walk; pie and mash at Manzies where my cousin Teddy Nolan worked, selling live eels outside - I'd watch him cut the heads off before selling them!; another ice-cream from the Como Cafe and finally hot roasted chestnuts from the old man with the brazier near Woolworths. Phew. What a feast. The High Street was magical as it got dark. Paraffin-powered Hurricane lamps hung from most stalls during the 1950s; I would often walk down the bottom half the High Street after school in the winter and the memory of their distinctive hissing sound and the yellowy light they gave out is still fresh in my mind. Isn't nostalgia a wonderful indulgence for us crumblies!