This article was written by Keith Julier and was originally published by Oxhey Village Environment Group in September 2001. His words remain unedited.
Footnotes with additional information are available after Keith’s article.
My family moved to 35 Oxhey Steet, (now 70 Oxhey Avenue), in 1935 when I was five years old and, like most of the local lads, I first attended Oxhey School until the ago of seven, moved up to London Road then, at fourteen, on to the Technical and Art Institute in Queens Road, Watford where I studied engineering.
Most of my memories of Oxhey Avenue are similar to those of others who have contributed to OVEG’s History Sheets so my efforts here are in many ways an extension, amplification or an addition to those recollections.
Oxhey Street, at that time was a continuation of Oxhey Avenue and started just about where Lime Close is today, at the alley that led to the allotments between the Avenue and the railway. It carried on down to the junction with Pinner Road at the Co-op stores. At that point, adjacent to the request stop for the number 302 bus, was a public fire alarm. ‘Break Glass In Case Of Fire’ it said. I don’t for the life of me remember what you had to do then. You don’t see them today, like local policemen on the beat, which I suppose is why I can’t recall it ever being vandalised. Ron Fordham may remember different of course, he lived a mere stones’ throw of it (no pun intended).
No.35 Oxhey Street was in that row of terrace houses that faced the bottom end of Mary Bromet’s home, Lime Lodge, bounded as it was the adjacent side by Heath Road. The fence to the property was about six feet high and was ideal against which to play ball games. Fortunately, the Lodge was at the top end of Heath Road, thus the noise we must have created was not a nuisance. I remember well the garden fetes that were held in the grounds amidst the sculptures that Mary Bromet had created over her long career. All the ladies took the opportunity to wear their best hats as I recall.
Oxhey Street was also one of the places where the man with what we called a barrel organ used to stop and play a few tunes. In actual fact, I believe the instrument was a hurdy-gurdy. I remember us kids used to reckon he wasn’t a proper barrel organ man because he didn’t have a monkey. Then there was the man with his pedal operated grindstone who would sharpen your scissors, shears or knives. More popular was the Walls ice cream man with a similarly pedal powered tricycle icebox. His triangular shaped ice lollies and Sno-Fruits were indeed a treat, but dripped out of the bottom of the chequered wrap if you didn’t eat them quickly.
Don and Letty Bennell mentioned the horse-drawn wagons taking coal from the station yard to the gas works. Hauling their loads up and down the cobbled hill was a hazardous business at the best of times, particularly going down when, in icy weather, the cart would truly try to go before the horse. I recall some sort of additional braking device slung on chains beneath the cart for such conditions, something like a metal, wedged shoe for the wagon wheels. On the way back to the station yard, a sign on the left-hand side of the arch by the King William pub would advise drivers to ‘Slacken The Bearing Rein When Going Uphilll.’ Is it just possible that the metal sign is still there?
I don’t remember much about my time at Oxhey School, except getting a woven iron holder in a terrible tangle that Miss. Hammond thought rather amusing, which was rather fortunate, it could have been one of the four that made up the “Strike Force,” Misses. Oven, Morley, Sewell and Racket; perhaps that is why the Germans didn’t invade! I have a photograph taken there during the Empire Day festivities of 1936. Edna Rickard (now my wife), was dressed in a sari representing India and I wore an old scout hat with the brim turned up on one side to represent Australia. I seem to remember Miss. Oven lurking menacingly in the background. Paul Hooker from Haydon Road and Tony Shuffle from Carpenders Park also feature.
The class sizes at London Road Boys’ School must be considered a feather in the cap of the teaching staff and the educational system of the day. Mr. Martin’s class comprised 48 boys when I was there in 1944. We were all literate and numerate to a standard that certainly was as good as today’s – in spite of the disadvantage of having to stop to take shelter during air raids and ‘Dig for Victory’ in the garden of a local house. Now it seems there has to be a maximum of 30 in a class to attain such heights. Mmmmm.
Watford Heath was about the nearest open space to those of us living at our end of the village and was the mecca for a kick-about or a game of cricket. Only a full set of stumps at one end, mind, and certainly not a proper cricket ball. After the war, I occasionally flew control line model aircraft there until local residents complained about the noise and we were told to go away – or something like that.
History Sheet No.22, ‘Memories of Old Watford Heath,’ brought back treasured recollections of a friend, Dick Brennan, now unfortunately no longer with us. Dick was one of the several children of Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Brennan who lived at one of the two cottages known as Little Goblins. Theirs was the one whose garden was on the corner of Oxhey Avenue. I had tea there on Dick’s birthday on one occasion, a simple affair but a huge welcome. Dick was an excellent student and made a successful career for himself as an officer in the R.A.F. but sadly died at an early age.
Ron Fordham’s Walk Around Oxhey Village was an absolute joy to read and stirred up no end of memories for my wife and I. Edna (Rickard) was actually born in Oxhey in 1930 at The Rifle Volunteer public house. At that time it was run by James Webb, who was Edna’s grandfather. Her parents, Annie and Len Rickard were also resident there, although they later moved to 16 Capel Road. Annie served behind the bar right up until the time of Mr. Webb’s death in the mid ‘50s and also found time to work during the day for Cutchee and Riches, the builders in Capel Road. Len was a victim of Parkinson’s disease and could often be seen standing in the doorway of No.16 watching the world go by, or shuffling down to the little hairdressers at the bottom of the road for a shave or a haircut. If my memory serves me correctly, that would be Mr. Sweeting’s at No.4 who carried on his business in the front room of the house amid a collection of stuffed birds and animals. Len was formerly a member of the Paddington Fire Brigade in the 1920s where, on standby he learnt to play solo whist. Even with his serious disability he was a formidable player as I found to my cost on numerous occasions.
To return to Ron Fordham’s walk, the little shop opposite the Co-op in Pinner Road was Ingram’s at that period just before, and during, the war. He used to save me the largest banana in the shop for one penny to take to school each morning. Miss Bush, at the drapers on the corner of Grover Road, didn’t like farthings and would give such small change in the form of packets of pins.
Mr. Rutt owned the chemist shop in Aldenham Road opposite Oxhey School. I believe that his daughter played the organ at the Methodist church during the late ‘40s when I guess she would be in her late teens.
Most people living in Oxhey during the period, say, 1935 to 1950, would have had their chimneys swept by Mr. Atkins of Chalk Hill who lived opposite Dr. Aveling’s surgery. That was quite a thriving practice too, even by modem standards, with doctors, Aveling Ramsey, Young and Lees-Low and subsequently, Dr. John Aveling, the old man’s son and Dr. Carreras. The labelling on the prescriptions made up on the premises would not, of course, meet today’s requirements. It was usually The Mixture, The Tincture, The Tablets or The Ointment and, unless you were clever enough to be able to interpret the prescription before you handed it in, you wouldn’t have a clue as to what it was. I think many people subscribed to the old adage that if it tasted pretty horrible it was bound to do you good!
Ron Fordham mentioned a big house and garden on the corner of Vale Road and London Road. This was probably Purbeck (House), where the gardens were cultivated during the war by the pupils of London Road School. As I recall, the gardens were mainly on a slope and weren’t the easiest areas to dig. I spent many an afternoon in there with my school mates Digging for Victory but, strangely, cannot remember whether or not our efforts were ever successful.
Across the London Road, just into Haydon Road, was Toombs’ sweet shop. In my time, this was the only place in the village that sold gob stoppers that changed colour as you sucked on them. It was always a toss up as to whether to buy a gob stopper or a pack of sherbet with a liquorice tube to suck it up with. This was infinitely more fun than a sherbet dab, even though the tube usually got clogged up.
Benton’s was the sweet shop that my wife and I knew best. George Benton was in the Tank Corps during the war and Edna would help his wife Gladys look after their then only daughter Gina, Gillian being born later. When I finished my national service, the Bentons reintroduced Edna and I to each other and, in fact, George gave Edna away at our wedding at St Matthews in October 1952, her father, Len, being unable to do so because of his disability. Our reception was held at the Keyser Hall in Lower Paddock Road where James Webb of the Rifle Volunteer was treasurer of the Bowls Club. We were privileged to have our wedding photographs taken by the side of the green, the photographer being allowed to actually stand on the hallowed turf, albeit provided with the appropriate foot-ware and wooden panel to perch his tripod on.
While writing these notes, faces and names inevitably have come back to mind and one particular fact has dawned on me after all these years. I can clearly remember three or four ladies who I had never seen without their hat on! Knock on their front door at any time and there they wore in pinafore or apron, sometimes with broom in hand, but always wearing a hat and, in one case, seemingly always the same hat.
It is only when we looked back at our time in Oxhey that we realised just how lucky we really were to spend our formative years in such an environment. It is so sad that the community spirit that we enjoyed is rarely seen today. It is true that some of our childhood was spent in wartime conditions which tended to make for a harder life which we could have all done without, but it did seem to generate in most of us a self-discipline, an aptitude for happiness and a respect for others that some of those later generations don’t have or, in many cases, do not even want to know about. As I have said, not bad time to grow up and certainly a great place to grow up in.
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