Harold Hill: A People's History
Guestbook

Barry North

I was born in 1955 and have lived in Harold Hill all my life.

It was whilst visiting your site that it occurred to me that I must have seen many changes over the years. I have many happy memories of growing up here and wondered if some of them may be of interest to you. I am also hoping that I have some photos to share with you. My dad was always taking photos whether it be just outside the front door of our house in Wigton Road or whilst following the annual carnival on its route from Painsbrook Way to Romford. (But please don’t hold me to that as I’m not even sure they are still around.) I can recall a time when the Central Park swimming pool was just a muddy pond visited by we scruffy kids and a few ducks. At school (Dycourts Juniors) I actually learned to swim at the old Romford baths, a very tiny affair by todays standards. Of course, it didn’t look so tiny to me at the time, especially as I was only four feet two inches or so in height and the depth at the shallow end was, I believe, three feet six inches. I was terrified of the water when the lessons began but by the time I left the junior school I had managed to acquire a stripe for swimming one whole length, which was twenty five yards, I think.

Then, I went on to senior school – Quarles Secondary Modern. (Still mixed at the time.) The Central Park mud puddle had recently been transformed into an Olympic sized swimming pool with diving boards. My new school took me for swimming lessons in this new pool and I was amazed, not to mention a little scared, of the size. But, despite the size, I found the shallow end to be just three feet deep. This was wonderful as I could now stand up in it without fear of drowning. Also, I could swim at least a width of this new pool as it was the same distance as the length of the old pool.

So, from then on in, it was plain sailing and I soon lost my fear of the water completely. I learned to jump, belly flop and, finally, to dive into the water. Then came the diving boards and I soon mastered my fear of those too. My formative years, from eleven to at least eighteen, revolved around that swimming pool. All my friends would meet there and we would swim at least once a night, sometimes twice, and at weekends, whole days were spent there, swimming, eating, then swimming again later. I remember well, the uncomfortable feeling of squeezing into still wet trunks from the earlier swim. Between swims we would congregate in the spectators gallery and pass the time till the water called to us again. The new swimming pool was probably the biggest focal point for the youth at that time.

When the pool closed at around 9.30pm we would walk to Hilldene shops, a large crowd of friends, a little rowdy but mostly harmless. We’d sometimes meet other gangs and occasionally a little trouble flared but there was never anything too violent going on. We passed the evening walking round the shops, just chatting and being together. The shops were different back then. Along the front where the Natwest Bank is there was a Doris Day (ladies underwear), Brownings (newsagents), Times Furnishings graced the corner position. In Farnham Road there were the three Williams Bros shops, a Home and Colonial, a small Tesco store, Froggett and Burton, which was a toy shop. Harry Fenton was the place for all the latest fashions for men. At the top, in Chippenham Road, was the Record Chest where I spent all my hard earned cash when I eventually left school and started work. (My first job was in Romford, a store called Stones which was eventually taken over by a little know company called Debenhams. My first wage packet – around seven pounds, a king’s ransom!)

But, back to the swimming pool, where my tale began. I’m now fifty one years old and could definitely benefit from a little exercise. I used to jog and I also played badminton and squash but these days, after twenty eight years of walking the streets of Harold Hill as a postman, my knees are not in the best condition. So, in a last ditch attempt to get fit I thought I’d visit the new Harold Hill Leisure Centre that has replaced the old swimming pool. What a let down. The price to enter was extortionate and when I dived in the water I was told off as diving is not allowed. The size of the pool has been educed drastically and, of course, no diving boards. It was a disappointment to say the least but I managed to stay and swim a few lengths for forty minutes or so before I was ready to drown myself from the sheer boredom.

Although I was disappointed with the pool I was interested to see that there were badminton courts available and I have since taken up the sport again with renewed relish. It isn’t as easy on my knees as the swimming may have been but it sure is a lot more fun.

I grew up in simpler times when we made up our own games and life wasn’t ruled by what was on the tv. We were always out playing and I remember times when there had to have been fifty or so kids all running around the streets playing cowboys and Indians. We played runouts in the woods and tin can Tommy, we went scrumping in South Weald. We camped in the Manor and did some all night fishing. We enjoyed the simple game of stream jumping and followed the stream through Central Park all the way to Amy’s adventure playground. My dad took us to watch football at the Harold Hill grounds (St Neots Rd/Retford Rd) and we would always sneak under the fence to play in the Adventure playground. We went conkering and tree climbing in the Manor. I remember one time when an infant school friend (Dycourts infants) had his dad build him a tree house just at the edge of the Duck wood entrance at the bottom of Tring Gardens. I managed to get into the tree house but couldn’t get down and the fire brigade had to come and rescue me.

We walked through those woods four times a day to get to and from school and we knew every inch of them. We were often late for school as we picked bluebells for the teachers. We collected newts from around the ponds and took them home. We had little ‘camps’ tucked away amongst the brambles that nobody knew about. We climbed tall trees and picked our way through the topmost branches, making our way to the next tree and so on. So dangerous to think of it now but back then we didn’t have a care. It was all just one long adventure.

Back at Central Park once more and we used to play in the park when the paddling pool was still in use and the café was up and running. In those days they also had a park keeper and the gates were locked at night on a regular basis. It didn’t matter as we could always find a way in when we had to. There was a putting green too that we used when we were a little older and in the seventies, I seem to recall they held a small pop concert there.

In the Summer months when my gran was alive we used to take her to the park and play cricket. These were the days when policemen walked the beat and as we played we would often see a bobby walking past the park perimeter. We used to launch into a chorus of Bobby’s girl every time until one of them came over and gave my nan a telling off for our cheek. Happy days, simpler times.

I hope these memories will be of some interest to you but if not I’ve had a wonderful time recounting them. So thank you for that and thanks for the website. Long may you prosper.