An Idyll Of A Place To Be Young.

A Memory of Elstree.

I could not think of a better place to spend my early years than overlooking the old reservoir. My grandmother's timber cottage was one of eight built long ago, probably to house estate workers. Each cottage appeared to be occupied by a relative, an uncle or an auntie, everyone seemed to marry someone who lived just two doors away.
Before the war, water came from a communal well out the back but by the time I was old enough to remember we had the luxury of running water, only cold of course. In the corner of the scullery we had a built in "copper" which Grandma filled with water, then lit a fire underneath to warm it up. Monday was wash day, lots of Reckitt Blue, Sunlight Soap and starch, all stirred around with a dolly stick. After the washing had been boiled, put through the mangle, then hung out on the line, it was bathtime in a big zinc bath that was kept hung behind the door. Placed in the middle of the scullery floor it was filled with buckets of hot water then the family would one by one have their weekly dip. As I was a mere kid I was always the last in line by which time the water was cold and murky. The luxury was an outside loo, so cold in winter, and so large that I feared falling in.
From the parlour window we could see the reservoir only yards away across the lane, the swans nesting, the swallows flying. I recall one year it was so cold that the water froze over and we all went skating. In those days there was no country park, no boat club, just us kids and the whole area to call our own.
Out back of the cottages there was an absolute maze of old sheds and anderson shelters to play in, and so much junk we could build our imaginary space ship or airplane. For real adventure Mum would walk us up to Elstree village, or grandad take us to the airdrome to watch the planes land and take off.
Grandma had been the cook at Aldenham Lodge, and Grandpa had been head gardener, so we always had fresh vegetables and everything cooked superbly. Grandpa was only permitted to smoke his pipe up at his allotment, hence much time was spent tending each crop. He also had a plum tree and Grandma spent the autumn making jam, jam and more jam, in between salting the beans in giant jars, and preserving eggs in Isinglass. Whatever happened to those giant blocks of salt we used to buy.
We had an ancient radio and each week Grandma had to walk to the garage in the village to recharge the accumulator to make it work, and occasionally to buy a new 90 volt battery. Great excitement when one of the neighbours bought an old ex army radar set and a kit to turn it into a televison, but there was not much to watch, just a fuzzy green picture of cows grazing in a field.
At the end of the cottages was the Fishery Inn, an old wooden building occupied by the Soames family, and it was my treat on a Sunday to call over the fence to buy a bottle of pop.
When not having adventures around the reservoir or camping in the anderson shelters, we could always go and see "the mad lady" who lived in a cottage out the back. She spend most of her time at her front door shouting curses and waving her arms about at some imaginery demon, or sometimes at us young kids who peered over the fence before running away in squealing horror.
Alas the cottages are now gone, and the old pub burned to the ground. Where I spent my early life is the car park of the new Fishery Inn. They say never go back but I had to just to remind me of those days - but with the new Inn now all glass and chrome, the quiet lane now a noisy main road, and the reservoir now a country park with crowds of visitors who dare to trample the place which was my adventure island, maybe I wish I hadn't.