1932 1973

A Memory of Morden.

I feel a bit of a gatecrasher here, as I've been living in Suffolk since 1973!  Basically though, even though I'm a wrinkly/pensioner, I'm a South Suburban Surrey Boy, through and through! Born 1932 in 144 Garendon Road, our postal address was Morden but we were in the parish of Carshalton.  My confused identity doesn't end there. Our milk was from Sutton Creameries, our gas from the Croydon Gas Company, our electricity from the County of London Electric Supply Company (CLESCO), water from Sutton & District Water Company. We paid our rent in the Green Lane Estate Office- to London County Council, but our school exercise books had the Surrey Education Committee's badge on them! In 1939, at the outbreak of the war we moved round the corner to 24 Reigate Avenue- we were now in Sutton! Our epicentre was the Rosehill roundabout and shops. Waste ground was on both corners of Green Lane.  Allotments, and and orchard were on the intersection of Rose Hill and the Bypass. The Rose pub stood on the corner of Wrythe Lane and, at the far end of the roundabout, at the junction of Bishopsford Road and St Helier Avenue, resplendant in its 1930's modernity (and nicknamed the "Queen Mary"), was the ultra-modern shops and flats complex, leading up to the Gaumont. One Sunday morning in September 1939, big brother Ted and his pal Donald took me on a walk throught the back doubles, to "The White Bridge" to watch and wave to the tube trains passing beneath, into their sheds.  I'd wandered on my own to the London Road side and was out of sight of the others.  There was a sudden, ear-splitting sound, which vibrated through my body, causing immediate panic.  It was coming from the bottom of the slope in London Road. In terror, I rushed up the slope and saw Ted and Donald beckoning me frantically.  I couldn't keep up with their longer legs, so they lifted me clear of the ground and ran with me.  My heart was beating fast, as I asked, "What is it..?"  "An air raid warning!" they said, and yanked me faster.  We were halfway through Middleton Road Rec when more sirens started-up.  It was the "All Clear" signal.  Britain had declared war on Germany that very morning and it had been a friendly, civilian aircraft that had prompted the "false alarm."  In the months following, we had gasmask drills at school, our school fields were desicrated by large, semi-underground shelters. Local playing fields were dug up for tank traps, old vehicles and carts were scattered in other fields to stop enemy planes and gliders from landing, barbed wire and a machine gun post appeared on the edge of waste ground by Rosehill shops and Rose Hill House became an Auxilliary Fire Station.  Between the red and white telephone kiosk and the blue "Tardis" Police Box, there sprung-up that hidious banshee- our local air raid siren!  Just 80 yards away the other side of the road, it never failed to scare us each time it started-up, causing vibrations up through the ground, and in our bodies.  We'd be left half deaf, with our ears ringing, for another ten minutes afterwards.  After a lull of a year, things began to hot-up big time...the Blitz was on its way!