Happy Christmas!

Click on the image for a closer look at Laurie & McConnal's Christmas 1922 goodies.

All good wishes for Christmas and the New Year.

Look out for more updates here in January and February when we delve into 1980s fashion in Cambridge and take a look at King Street in 1921.

1980s: Sara Payne - Down Your Street

Kimberley from Chesterton has written to say:

I remember reading (I thought) in the early 1980s a very popular series of articles in the Cambridge Evening News called "Down Your Street" by Sara Payne, which she turned into books. I really liked them, and would like to find them again. I thought 1980s, but a local historian's website states "1970s". I'm not very good at searching things out on the internet, in fact I'm not very good with computers full stop (my nephew is sending you this e-mail for me), so if you can help I'd be very grateful.

Hello, Kimberley. Thanks for getting in touch.

The first of Ms Payne's books, covering central Cambridge, was published in late 1983. The second, East Cambridge, followed in 1984.

This was not the Cambridge News's first foray into the history of Cambridge's streets - Erica Dimock wrote a similar series in the 1960s.

But yes, certainly Sara Payne's books were published in the 1980s, and I have several copies of individual Down Your Street newspaper articles here, also from the 1980s.

If you want more details, the Cambridgeshire Collection will have them. Remember, they are still based at Milton Road Library at present.

I was particularly interested in Down Your Street's visit to Campkin Road, which happened around 1983, as it tied in with some local history research I was doing at that time, and put me in touch with several useful contacts.

I may look into this further myself as thoughts of the series stirs some happy memories for me!

Thanks again for the e-mail.

The Orchard Tea Garden, Grantchester

Tea drinking is a serious business in my family and has been for generations. The photograph above shows my great aunts, Lizzie and Lou, and Aunt Lizzie's daughter-in-law, Ruby (far left) - about to sample the heavenly brew at The Orchard Tea Garden, Grantchester. The photograph was taken by Aunt Lou's daughter, Muriel, circa 1953, and is one of my favourite old family photographs.

The Orchard Tea Garden began in 1897 - the idea was brought about when some students staying at Mrs Stevenson's lodging house requested morning tea in the apple orchard as a change from the front lawn. And so began a great tradition. Famous frequenters of The Orchard Tea Garden have included Rupert Brooke, Bertrand Russell, Maynard Keynes and Virginia Woolfe.

The Orchard was a favourite haunt of mine during the 1980s - and it was during this tumultuous decade that trouble brewed and the last cup of tea was almost poured there as property developers set their eyes on it for residential development. The Orchard was closed from 1987-1992.

Fortunately, absolute tragedy for lovers of that grand old English tradition, afternoon tea (or morning tea or tea at any time of the day if my own family is anything to go by), was averted as The Orchard revealed itself to have some very influential friends - like Prince Charles and the Midland Bank!

Stands the Church clock at ten to three? Well, no, the clock on my computer is showing 21:37. It's a cold, wet November evening and sunny afternoons at The Orchard in the 1980s seem not only like another time but another planet.

Never mind. Think I'll put the kettle on...

19th of August 1929 - The "Talkies" Arrive In Cambridge...

The first talking film (or "talkie") in Cambridge was shown at the Central Cinema, Hobson Street, on 19/8/1929.

"... and people said 'have you seen it yet? You must go and see it' - it was really exciting. And the actors had American accents - which seemed odd, because although Cambridge was pretty cosmopolitan, we were poor and didn't get to meet Americans in our daily rounds. I didn't mind because I was young and adaptable, but some older people found it difficult. There was quite a lot of talk about having films in the future with English accents! Nowadays we hear all sorts of accents and take it as natural, but the world seemed a much bigger place back then.

"I was excited to see the film and it was lovely... and now when I see a silent clip on the telly it seems strange, but really nostalgic...

"One of my favourite [silent] film stars was Tom Mix - he was a real adventurer, a real hero. Whatever happened to Tom Mix?!"

Mrs Hinchcliffe, May, 1987

I have been collecting material on Cambridge cinemas for some years and would like to organise a book on the subject. If anybody has any Cambridge picture house memories to share - perhaps you were employed at one of the cinemas, or have some interesting or amusing anecdotes to relate as a visitor to the "flicks" up to the 1950s - please drop me a line - actual80s@btinternet.com

Thank you!

1985: Stunning New 1980s Technology At The Garden House Hotel

The real 1984 was far more exciting than the Orwellian version.

The blurb...

Introducing Macintosh


In the olden days, before 1984, not very many people used computers - for a very good reason.

Not very many people knew how.

And not very many people wanted to learn.

After all, in those days it meant listening to your stomach growl in computer seminars. Falling asleep over computer manuals. And staying awake nights to memorize commands so complicated you'd have to be a computer to understand them.

Then, on a particularly bright day in California, some particularly bright engineers had a brilliant idea: since computers are so smart, wouldn't it make sense to teach computers about people, instead of teaching people about computers?

So it was that those very engineers worked long days and late nights - teaching tiny silicon chips all about people. How they make mistakes and change their minds. How they label their file folders and save old telephone numbers. How they labor for their livelihoods. And doodle in their spare time.

For the first time in recorded computer history, hardware engineers actually talked to software engineers in a moderate tone of voice. And both became united by a common goal to build the most powerful, most transportable, most flexible, most versatile computer not-very-much-money could buy.

And when the engineers were finally finished, they introduced us to a personal computer so personable it can practically shake hands.

And so easy to use, most people already know how.

They didn't call it the QZ190, or the Zpchip 5000.

They called it Macintosh.

The first commercially available computer mouse came with the Apple Mac!

From the "Cambridge Evening News", May, 1985 - the latest technology at the Garden House Hotel.

1925: High Winds In Smash And Grab Raid At Mitcham's Corner

The original Mitcham's Corner c. 1940s - now the Two Seasons sports shop.

Extract from a Cambridge Chronicle & University Journal article, 11/2/1925.

STORM HAVOC - TERRIFIC GALE VISITS CAMBRIDGE

Following a day of moderate winter temperature, a severe gale swept over most parts of England and Wales on Monday night. Cambridge experienced the full force of this. The wind at one time attained a velocity of between 60 and 70 miles an hour.

There had been fairly strong breezes during the day, and soon after 7 o’ clock the wind began to rise. It increased in force and by 8 0’ clock a hurricane was blowing. Trees were uprooted, shop windows were broken, and chimney pots, hoardings and slates crashed to earth. Cyclists were blown from their machines, and the hood of more than one motor car gave way before the force of the gale.

DESTRUCTION IN THE BOROUGH

An electric sign outside Rycroft Rubber Company’s shop in Regent Street was blown away from its fastenings, with the result that it crashed into the window. The sign was smashed and one pane broken, whilst some mackintoshes were cut by the glass and others were blown into the street, but these articles were retrieved.

Standing at the corner of Victoria Avenue and Chesterton Road, Mr. C.N. Mitcham’s shop felt the full force of the gale. A curved window was smashed, apparently by the canvas awning being blown into it. Through the hole, hats, handkerchiefs, blouses, and other articles were whirled down the road…

Number 44 Chesterton Road in 1923

From the family album:

1923, and the scene is No. 44 Chesterton Road. Elizabeth Jones, my grandmother's aunt, and her eldest son, Harry, are pictured. Elizabeth and her husband, Albert Richardson Jones, with Harry's help, ran a decorating and hardware business. Albert went out painting and decorating whilst Elizabeth and Harry ran the hardware shop. At one time Albert had the contract to paint Victoria Avenue bridge and the railings by Midsummer Common and Jesus Green.

Details from the photograph reveal that the pillars of the bay window at No. 44 were decorated with a snake-like scroll announcing that Albert did painting, plumbing, glazing and paper hanging. The front room was given over to displays of wallpaper. A notice beside the front door announced 25% reductions and that there were over 200 patterns to select from.

Elizabeth is standing behind a coal scuttle and piles of enamelled basins and pans. On the table to the left are piles of scrubbing brushes and a carton of "New Pin" soap. Underneath, is a box of firewood.

A year or so later, the Jones family moved to George Street where Albert built a bay window on to the new family home.

How things change - No. 44 Chesterton Road in 2007. This branch of Cambridge Building Society opened in 1980.

A view from the traffic island of No. 44 and the neighbouring premises.

School For Arbury Children In The 1890s

The old St Andrew's School in High Street, Chesterton, photographed by Ted Mott, c. 1928.

My great-grandfather was born in 1886 at King's Hedges Farm on King's Hedges Road, and he grew up at the Manor Farm on Arbury Road - then known locally as Arbury "Meadow" Road.

Great-grandfather Brett was one of eleven children. The following is an extract from a forthcoming book and looks at school for the Manor Farm children in the 1890s...

School for the Brett children was St Andrew’s in Chesterton. There was no provision for a midday school meal then, and the children had to walk home for it, ravenous, and plucking what they called “bread and cheese” from the hedgerows along the way.

In the winter months, the Manor Farm children were allowed to leave school ten minutes earlier than the others. This was so they could complete their journey home before it got dark. The children attended Sunday school at their mother’s place of worship, the Wesley Chapel.

Louisa always said that care had to be taken when walking up High Street, Chesterton, on the way to or from school. Many of the houses had front doors that opened directly on to the street, and some residents were none too fussy about how they disposed of teapot dregs - or worse! Louisa always stepped smartly away when a front door opened - just in case!

-

Memories - The Great Flood Of 1879 And The Great Gale Of 1987...

Jesus Locks footbridge and the River Cam, August 1879.

Fascinating reading to be found in the Cambridge Daily News of August and September 1934, with readers recalling early memories in a series of articles. The great flood of 1879 was recalled by one reader - or rather it wasn't.

The Cambridge Daily News recounted the events beginning late on the night of 2 August 1879, and dominating the 3rd:

The storm, which preceded the floods, broke after 11pm on Saturday night, and after a brief lull returned with the greatest violence, continuing until daybreak. "The lightning and thunder," one account states, "were awful in grandeur, and the downpour of rain and hail terrible... Trees were torn up, mills wrecked, cattle were killed in the fields and more died from drowning; farms were set on fire by the electric fluid and churches were striken." And now of the flood:

During the six hours in which the tempest prevailed, there fell in Cambridge three inches and one-tenth of rain, the equivalent to 310 tons per acre. The greatest damage to property appears to have taken place in the underground warehouses, several of the town's leading traders suffering severe losses in their stores. Hundreds of dwellings were flooded in the lower apartments, some to a depth of several feet, and in a few cases "houses were in hourly peril". Parker's Piece early in the morning was one vast lake, hardly a blade of grass being visible, and in two or three hours the river rose about eight feet. "The suburb of Newnham" was entirely cut off from communication with the town except by vehicle. The main stream was "travelling with a velocity that threatened destruction to the bridges," and its effects to the residents of Merton Hall, Merton Place, etc, was particularly severe. In Merton Place the water rose to such a height that the inhabitants had to take refuge in their bedrooms and many were the families that had no Sunday dinner.

On Midsummer Common the water rose to within 50 yards of Maids Causeway. Of the Cambridge traders, the principle sufferers were the drapers, Mr W Eaden Lilley, had the whole of an extensive basement flooded and damage to his goods are estimated at £2,000. Mr Robert Sayle's loss was stated to be not less and Mr WT Palmer had 1,168 pairs of boots and shoes of the value of £270 damaged. To quote again from the report: "All along the valleys of the Cam and Ouse, as well as in every village boasting a brook, similar scenes were visible. Roads were torn up, railways stopped in places, houses were inundated, farms flooded and stock and crop destroyed."

One correspondent to the Cambridge Daily News Early Memories strand wrote:

Sir, - When I was ten years of age I got up one Sunday morning - it was August 1879 - and went to work for a milkman by the name of Miller for one and sixpence a week. We started on our round a little after seven o'clock from South Street, East Road. I was sitting beside him in the cart, and when we turned into Parkside I remember him saying: "God bless my heart, soul and body; that's the first time I've ever seen Parker's Piece flooded."

I said: "What, has it been raining hard then, master?"

He looked at me, and said: "Why, you little thick head, you never mean to say you slept through all that. I thought the world was coming to an end."

I soon found out that it must have been bad, for people were pumping water out of basements all along the route, and when we got to Silver Street bridge we could see nothing but water, which was up to the horse's stomach. The height of the flood is carved in the side of King's College bridge.

When I got home I remember asking my mother about it, and she said: "I thought the end had come.

"I came in and looked at you boys, and you were sleeping sound and I would not wake you up."

There has been nothing like it since. -
Yours, etc,

R Bainbridge

This story reminds me of my own experiences during the Great Gale of 1987. I was living in a flat at 51c Victoria Road, my bedroom was actually in the roof of the building, which was - and is - one of the tallest in the vicinity. My bedroom window commanded a fine view across Cambridge, the envy of my friends.

During the week leading up to the gale, I had been suffering from a painful ear infection and sleep had been virtually impossible. On the night of the Great Gale, the course of antibiotics I'd been put on by my GP finally started to take effect and I slept soundly, almost completely free of pain. I woke up at one point simply because I was feeling thirsty.

Aware of sounds from outside, and in a sleep-induced haze, I went to my bedroom window and saw that several small trees in Grasmere Gardens were bending backwards to a very pronounced degree in the wind and I could hear gusts, bangs and rattling sounds. My brain was absolutely thick with sleep and I remember thinking: "It's rather windy," fetching myself a glass of water, having a drink, and then dropping back into oblivion.

The next day I awoke to tales of absolute chaos and devastation on the radio and television and found myself going quite pale with fright: had I not been so completely dead to the world after my several sleepless nights in the run-up to the gale, there is absolutely no way I would have spent the night in the roof of that tall building!

1980s St Luke's Area Fun

Exploring the long undisturbed boxes and suitcases in my attic recently, I found some copies of Neighbourhood News - which was the newsletter of St Luke's area, Arbury Ward, back in the mid-1980s. The newsletter's circulation area included Garden Walk, Bateson Road, Stretten Avenue, Akeman Street and Darwin Drive.

The newsletter was produced by the City Council's Community House at 92, Stretten Avenue, with council employees working alongside interested local people on each edition. As an interested local, I was quite heavily involved in the newsletter's production and it seems bizarre now to look back at those days, around twenty years ago, when Prit Sticks and Letraset lettering were still essential equipment for newsletter production.

The Spring Fair of 1985 - the new City Council Community House was the force behind this and many other initiatives in the neighbourhood.

The House was enthusiastically greeted by most local residents, a splendid facility for an area which was thought by some to have been rather neglected by the Council in earlier decades. A popular component of the Spring Fair of 1985 was a parade - the "Procession of the Universe".

From the Neighbourhood News, May, 1985...

Approximately a hundred people took part in Procession of the Universe, which featured a giant moon, sun and universe, with dozens of attendant comets and stars. It was very colourful and attractive, and drew a good audience on the route.

Heavy rain forced the fair to move indoors to St Luke’s school. Nevertheless, there was an estimated attendance of three to four hundred during the afternoon. Afternoon teas were on offer, and about a dozen different stalls and competitions. Entertainment was provided by members of the Savoy Jazz Band, and later in the afternoon by a steel band, Steel Connections. A children’s theatre performance was given by Satellites Theatre Company. An-almost-under-water tug o’ war took place despite the rain, and an Easter bonnet competition.

Although the 1985 parade was marred by rain, the elements did even worse in 1986 - sending a freezing snow storm! I was acting as a steward for that year's parade, themed "Fantasy On Wheels" (that's me on the right, in the fetching snorkel parka), and wrote in my diary:

Faces painted, costumes on, decorated trollies, bikes, go-karts, etc., well to the fore, the Fantasy on Wheels Procession set off along Bateson Road, flutes tooting, tambourines clashing...

It began to snow. Huge, freezing cold flakes from a lead-grey sky. Everybody tried to stay jolly. A few were quite manic. I huddled in my parka and rather neglected my stewardly duties in favour of keeping warm...

The Procession was cut short, missing Darwin Drive and Akeman Street, but as the May 1986 edition of Neighbourhood News tells us, the day held other opportunities for enjoyment...

April the 5th was the day local children were rewarded for many hours of hard work spent on the workshop, under the watchful eyes of Jerry, Sue, Neil and Jackie. Much praise must also go to countless others whose much appreciated help was undoubtedly also rewarded at the end of the day.

The workshops were both pleasant and friendly and nothing could fault Ms. Mourarity in her ability to keep children and adults alike occupied and in good humour, which we regretfully needed in he sudden downpour of snow, but this did not deter anyone from having a good time and later going on to the fete held in the United Reform church hall, where the very versatile Neil and Sue entertained the children with a Punch and Judy show.

While music was played on stage we enjoyed the stalls and the lovely spread of tea and sandwiches. It was finished off with prizes being given for the best dressed bikes and trollies.

The day itself was rounded off with an evening’s entertainment at Chesterton School, music being supplied by the Paragon Quadrille Ceilidh Band. The evening started with two clowns, who kept the children amused, and many adults, while others chose the opportunity to use the bar supplied by the Portland Arms.

Lively dancing was only interrupted by Jerry and Helen’s singing, and Jerry again with Jackie, doing a double act as a ventriloquist and her dummy.

The evening was nicely finished off with supper followed by a sing-a-long and one last dance…

Who cares about the weather? 1980s fun in the St Luke's area...
-

The Ashmans Of Springfield Terrace

Louisa Ashman with her daughter Muriel in the back garden of their home in Springfield Terrace, c. 1917.

Over the years, I have recorded the memories of many relatives, friends and acquaintances for various local history projects. Some of them, including both of the ladies whose recollections are featured in this article, much-loved relatives of mine, are no longer with us. But their stories remain a source of fascination and delight.

Muriel Wiles, née Ashman, a cousin of my maternal grandmother, was born in Newmarket in 1909. When she was seven, her parents brought her to live in Cambridge. Her mother was a local woman. The Ashmans lived briefly on Milton Road, before moving into Springfield Terrace. Muriel told me:

“I preferred the house in Milton Road and Mum and Dad wanted a bit more space and a bit more garden, so the Terrace was only going to be temporary. We talked about it like that for years.”

And then Muriel chuckled. She was speaking in 1986 and was still living there!

My grandmother recalled visiting Muriel's house as a child in the 1910s and early 1920s:

“We’d often play in Muriel’s back garden. It was long and narrow. Aunt Lou [Muriel's mother] would bring us out half a bloater each for lunch. We’d sit on the ground, leaning against the privy wall, and wolf it down. Aunt Lou always gave us a nice big jug of lemonade to wash it down with!”

-

“Dad had an allotment at one time,” Muriel recalled. “It was around where some of the Stretten Avenue council houses now stand - at the Gilbert Road end, though Gilbert Road wasn’t there then of course! I’d go up to the allotment with Dad sometimes. I used to love listening to the wind coming across there - it whistled just like trains!

"When Gilbert Road was being built, my mother and I used to walk down there, planning which house we'd have. 'Look at this one, it's beautiful!' I'd say, and Mum would say: 'Oh, it is, but look at this one over here - it's perfect!' It was all make-believe of course - just a bit of fun. We could never have afforded a house there!"

Muriel's father, Walter Ashman, installed a new front door at their home. It was actually a discarded sturdy interior door he'd acquired whilst doing some work at Springfield, the large (and now demolished) house next to Springfield Terrace.

Walter died in the mid-1950s, but the front door was still keeping out the elements when I visited Springfield Terrace this month (January, 2007).

-

“Grace and I scratched our initials into the privy wall, and into the wall of the passageway leading into Springfield Terrace!” Muriel smiled.

"I remember high winds causing mischief in Arbury 'Meadow' Road, as we then called it; it plucked the hats from the heads of the young ladies as they cycled home from Chivers’. The next day, the road was dotted with hats and hat pins!"

-

Information to be included in Grace & Co, a forthcoming book.

The Monkey Walk

Bustling Petty Cury, c. 1910. All the buildings on the right are no more - the site now being occupied by the Lion Yard shopping centre.

I recall my gran's stories of working in the kitchen at the Mecca Cafe in Petty Cury, during periods when she was "stood off" from her regular job at Pye's, and tales of her youth in the 1920s, when Petty Cury formed part of a route that she always called "The Monkey Walk" - a weekly peacock parade (every Sunday) for young local people:

"We’d walk round and round Sidney Street, Petty Cury, Market Hill and Market Street. We’d walk one way and the boys the other - all in our best clothes.

"It was all innocent, great fun. Something similar happened when they used to have a band at the bandstand on Christ's Pieces on Sundays. Once again, boys walked one way, girls the other. Whether it was 'Monkey Walk' or bandstand, we'd all be in twos or threes - I used to go with cousin Muriel.

"There was always the hope that you might meet the love of your life on 'The Monkey Walk'. But I never heard of anybody that did. Still, if you had a new dress or hat it was lovely to show it off!"

Cherry's Corner

“Cherry’s Corner”, the corner of Arbury Road and Milton Road, was named after Ernest Cherry’s grocer’s shop and is pictured here c. late 1920s. The shop's slogan at that time was "Ripe For Value".

Cherry’s is not as well known as Mitcham’s Corner, but it was a postal address for a few years after a new row of shops was built in Arbury Road in the early 1930s.

2004...

An advertisement from the "Cambridge Daily News", 1937 - a relic of the days when Cherry's Corner was a postal address.

1911: An Aeroplane On Parker's Piece

I remember as a small child being told by my great-grandmother the story of an aeroplane landing on Parker's Piece - back in the days when air travel was a new and exciting concept.

"Thousands went to see it," said my great-gran.

A few weeks ago, whilst searching the local newspaper archives for something else entirely, I happened upon the Cambridge Daily News account of the aircraft's landing on Parker's Piece. Great-Gran had never been specific about the year, but the archive reveals that it was 1911, and the story appeared on 11 October, the day after the landing.

"One seemed to be looking on at the birth of some strange new thing of wondrous possibilities - the dawn of a new era in the history of mankind," wrote the Cambridge Daily News representative at the scene.

The full Cambridge Daily News account of the sudden (and unexpected) appearance of the aircraft on Parker's Piece is below...

Aeroplane on the Piece - First Descent In Cambridge - Airman’s Mistake - Town Taken For Huntingdon - Interesting Interview.

For the first time in the annals of Cambridge a flying machine descended on Parker’s Piece on Tuesday night, and a not unimportant addition was made to local history. There have been in years gone by several balloon ascents from the Piece and other parts of the town, but never before has a man dropped from the clouds in or around Cambridge.

The descent came with almost startling suddenness, and was quite unexpected. About 5.30 pm PC Naylor, who was on duty near Sheep’s Green, heard a droning sound in the air, which rapidly increased in volume, and on looking up beheld a large monoplane of the Bleriot type flying towards the town from the direction of Trumpington. It was travelling at a rapid pace, but very low, and the constable fancied from the sound of the engine that it was misfiring, and feared that disaster might overtake the intrepid aviator.

The machine came over Lensfield Road, passing at what looked to be a perilously short distance above the house-tops, and well below the top of the spire of the Roman Catholic Church. It was feared that the airman would not be able to clear the house-tops in Regent Street, but he just did it, and, passing over that thoroughfare near Hyde Park corner, effected a beautiful descent upon Parker’s Piece, landing in the north-east corner of the Piece, not far from the large electric lamp standard in the centre. The machine came down quite gently, like a huge bird, and came to rest after running about 20 yards or so. A large crowd gathered as if by magic, and the monoplane was quickly surrounded.

A young man, with keen, clear-cut features, wearing one of the now familiar airman’s helmets, with ear-flaps, and a short, khaki-coloured, woolly overcoat, cycling knickers and shoes, stepped out of the well of the machine just behind the wings, and climbed down to terra firma. Here he was quickly recognised as Mr W. B. R. Moorhouse, formerly of Trinity Hall, and now of the firm of Radley and Moorhouse, Portholme Meadows, Huntingdon, where Mr. Radley and himself have established an aeroplane factory.

AIRMAN AND MR PAGET, M.P.

The crowd around the machine rapidly increased, and the services of a number of policemen under Supt. Hargreaves proved invaluable in keeping the gaping throng back. After he had seen the machine safe under the charge of the guardians of the peace, the airman sought a little much-needed warmth and refreshment within the hospitable portals of the University Arms. Here he was interviewed by a representative of the “Cambridge Daily News” and gave a very interesting account of the adventure. While he was doing this Mr Almeric Paget, M.P., entered the room, and Mr Moorhouse was presently introduced to him. The pair shook hands and chatted together for some little time, after which Mr Moorhouse completed his narrative to our representative.

MR MOORHOUSE’S STORY

In reply to questions, Mr Moorhouse said: “I left Brooklands at six minutes to four, and I arrived at Cambridge at 25 minutes to six. It was very foggy round London, and I had a head wind, blowing about 35 miles an hour against me, all the way. I suppose I covered about 80 miles in an hour and 40 minutes. I reached Harrow in 15 minutes from Brooklands, and came down a little and made three circles of the town, and then went on to Bushey, where I made two or three circles of the town. Then I cut across to the G.N.R., and followed the line as far as Hatfield and Biggleswade, where I lost my way entirely. Eventually, I struck what I suppose was the G.E.R., and followed it to Cambridge, which I thought was Huntingdon, until I got quite close. I came over Trumpington at about 2,600ft. high. It was so dark by this time that I could hardly see my way. When I got over the town I saw that I was at Cambridge, and, recognising the Piece, came down. I don’t think I could have gone a mile further. I could not have got across the town, for my petrol supply had run out. The engine began to fail soon after I passed Trumpington, and I gradually came down, until when I passed the Roman Catholic Church I was below the level of the spire. I was not sorry to see the Piece, I can tell you. I thought I was at Huntingdon until I saw the mills that are always smoking (the cement works at Cherry Hinton) , and then I knew that I had made a mistake, and was coming to Cambridge. When I got down I found that the petrol tank was absolutely dry, and she would not have carried me another mile.”

“How long have you been flying, Mr Moorhouse?” asked our representative.

“Well, I have been flying regularly for about a fortnight. Of course I had practice trips before that.”

“How long have you been flying with this machine?” was the next query.

“About a week,” replied Mr Moorhouse.

“When did you got to Brooklands?” asked the “Cambridge Daily News” man.

“Last Friday,” replied Mr Moorhouse. “I went from Huntingdon to Spratton, Northamptonshire, my home, for lunch, and then flew to Brooklands. Two days previously I flew from Huntingdon to Spratton for lunch and back.”

“How far was that?” was the next question.

“It’s about forty miles from Huntingdon to Spratton,” said Mr Moorhouse, “and I did it in about half an hour.”

“Are you building any machines at Huntingdon?”

“Yes, we have turned out six or seven already. We are now building a passenger machine, a two-seater, which will be out in about a fortnight.”

“How long ago is it since you left Trinity Hall?”

“About 18 months.”

Mr Moorhouse, whilst an undergraduate, was well-known as an intrepid motor car driver, so our representative asked him if he liked flying a well as motor driving.

“I would sooner drive an aeroplane than a motor car,” he replied. “Once you get up it is much easier. You simply sit still and look out for gusts.”

“What then?” asked our representative.

“Well, you have to right her,” was the reply. “You often drop 100 feet after a gust. That is a very nasty sensation. It often leaves you standing up. You see the aeroplane drops faster than you do, and the seat seems to drop from under you. You drop until you come into a current of air again, it may be after dropping 200 feet, and then the seat seems to come up and hit you. Of course you are dropping forward all the time - not absolutely straight. If you fly high you are fairly safe. I fly across country at from 2,000 to 3,000 feet high. I like to have plenty of room under me so that I can clear anything in case I get a drop.”

“How is it the machine drops like that?” asked the interviewer.

“Well,” replied the airman, “you get a gust of air that bears you up and then it dies away and leaves you in a pocket of air - leaves you in calm air - and then you drop till you come to another current. Now, I must be getting out to look after my machine.”

So saying, Mr Moorhouse took his departure and went out to give directions for the safe housing of the machine for the night.

THE AEROPLANE

The aeroplane, which was described by Mr Moorhouse as being of the Bleriot type, remained poised lightly on its pneumatic-tyred wheels with its tail pointing towards Regent Street. With its graceful white wings extended, and its long frail-looking, slender tapering body of light, thin woodwork braced together by a network of steel wires, it looked for all the world like a huge dragon-fly. At the extremity of the body was the rudder, and a short distance in front of this were the small elevating planes. Immediately behind the wings was the well, protected by canvas, in which was the aviator’s seat and his control levers. At the head of the machine was the engine, a seven-cylindered “Gnome” of 50 horse-power, which when going revolves and so helps to keep all the cylinders cool. Behind the engine were the petrol and oil tanks, and in front was the double-bladed propeller, or, to give it its proper name, tractor. It remained the centre of attention to thousands of people until a late hour.

SAID TO BE A FAMOUS MACHINE

It is stated, with what truth our representative was unable to ascertain, that the machine is the identical Bleriot on which M. Bleriot made his famous passage of the Channel, but this does not quite tally with Mr Moorhouse’s description of it as a “Bleriot-pattern” machine. It was not very light when the machine descended, and it was difficult to take in details in the gathering gloom, but to the casual glance the machine looked as if it had not had much use.

VISIT FROM THE MAYOR

Shortly after the descent the Mayor (Ald. George Stace), who had distinctly heard the roar of the engine as the machine passed over his house in Lensfield Road, visited the Piece and inspected the machine and had a short chat with the airman. Later in the evening the aeroplane was wheeled across to the south-west corner of the Piece, near the University Arms, where it remained during the night, covered over with a tarpaulin and guarded by policemen.

ASCENT THIS MORNING

In order to avoid being hampered by a crowd, Mr Moorhouse made an early start from Cambridge this morning, leaving the Piece about ten minutes past six. Even at that early hour, however, there was a surprisingly large attendance of curious sightseers, and had it not been for the presence of a force of upwards of 20 policemen, who kept the ground clear, it would have been almost impossible for the airman to have made a start. There must have been several hundred persons present when the machine went up, and a good many workmen must have “lost a quarter” through stopping to see the unusual sight. Crowds are proverbially stupid, obstinate and thoughtless of danger. Few seemed to consider the possibility of a serious accident if they hampered the airman in starting. Everybody wanted to crowd round, and it was with the utmost reluctance that they made way before the police who, very properly, completely cleared the Piece before the start, having previously obtained the Mayor’s authority for so doing. They had considerable difficulty in persuading the people that it was for their own safety as well as that of the airman that they were required to “keep off the grass”. Supt. Hargreaves was in charge of the police, with him being Insp. Baker, Sergts Lilley and Fuller and about 20 constables.

THE START

While Mr Moorhouse was preparing for the start a number of photographers were busy taking snapshots of the scene. Mr Moorhouse was assisted by three mechanics, two of whom he had telegraphed for, and who came over from Huntingdon overnight in a motor car. These wheeled the machine round so that it pointing in a north-easterly direction across the Piece. Mr Moorhouse took his seat, and two men hung on to the rear of the machine while the third started the engine. One or two pulls round of the propellor and the engine started to bark, slowly at first, but rapidly increasing, until the explosions seemed to merge into a continuous roar, and the engine and propellor were spinning round at terrific speed. The whole machine trembled violently, and tugged and strained to get free. The blast of air flung backwards by the whirling blades was like a miniature tornado. Leaves, straws, pieces of paper, were sent flying far to the rear, and the men hanging on behind had all their work cut out to hold her.

“LET GO”

At last Mr Moorhouse gave the word “Let go,” and the machine darted forward across the turf at a great pace, heading slightly to the left of the electric light standard in the centre of the Piece. After running about 120 yards the machine was seen to be rising. The wheels were lifting off the grass, and the whole structure was inclining gently upwards. A few yards and she was wholly clear of the ground, and soaring gracefully upwards. It was a beautiful and a wonderful sight to see how the slender fabric seemed to be converted from a thing of earth, struggling as it were to free itself from the invisible bonds that held it down, into a thing of grace and beauty, fairy-like, almost ethereal, freed from grosser things, that seemed to glide through the air as if it were in its native element and to exalt in its freedom from the trammels of earth. There was something awesome in the sight. One seemed to be looking on at the birth of some strange new thing of wondrous possibilities - the dawn of a new era in the history of mankind.

HEADING FOR HOME

By the time the central electric light standard was reached the aeroplane was several yards above the lamp-top, and slightly to the left of it. She rose rapidly, and by the time the trees surrounding the Piece were reached she was a great height above them.

“I want 200 yards starting room, and 200 feet of air-space under me when I reach the trees and houses,” Mr Moorhouse had told our representative overnight when asked when he proposed to start in the morning, “and therefore I don’t want the time to be known as a crowd would collect and hamper me, and I might not have enough room under me when I reach the houses, and a sudden gust might mean disaster.” Thus the precautions of the police were explained.

The morning was slightly misty and the great mechanical bird was soon lost to view; but long after it was out of sight the buzzing of the engine could be plainly heard.

After attaining a sufficient height, the aviator made a sweep round, and headed for Huntingdon, and the sound of the engine rapidly died away. The aero was making swiftly for home.

Mr Moorhouse during the evening visited the New Theatre, and stayed the night at the rooms of a college chum.

This photograph was taken later in 1911, and shows Mr Moorhouse about to land his Bleriot monoplane on Jesus Green.

1981: Manor And Chesterton Schools - The Great Rubik's Cube Challenge

Cambridge Evening News, July 15, 1981 - our moment of shame!

It was one of the first major crazes of the 1980s and, along with synth pop, Space Invaders, Pac-Man, deelyboppers, and the ZX Spectrum, gave youngsters hours of enjoyment.

What was it?

Rubik’s Cube, of course.

Invented in Hungary in 1974 by one Erno Rubik, the original name of this puzzle was “Magic Cube”.

Magic Cube hit Budapest toyshops just before Christmas 1977.

In January and February 1980, Magic Cube made its international debut at the toy fairs of London, Paris, Nuremberg and New York. But there were problems. The Cube did not conform to Western World safety and packaging standards.

Magic Cube was remanufactured - and a lighter and easier to manipulate version produced. I have an old Hungarian Magic Cube which I bought on eBay, and it is much heavier than the 1980 version.

The new lighter cube was renamed “Rubik’s Cube” by Ideal Toys and the trade mark was registered in Britain on 7/5/1980. However, a tremendous shortage ensured that supplies did not start arriving until just before Christmas, and even then the country was not fully stocked until the spring of 1981.

From then on the Cube was everywhere. It winked and smirked at us wherever we looked. Brightly coloured, so friendly-looking, like a tiny tot’s toy - surely it was a doddle to solve? But hours grimly twisting away at it convinced us otherwise.

I was a pupil at the Manor School (now Manor Community College) in 1981, when the school was beaten in the Rubik’s Cube contest with Chesterton School (now Chesterton Community College) detailed in the CEN article above.

We wanted to be "good sports", but there was some anguished wailing and gnashing of teeth around the Manor. It was not a good end to the school year for us!

Still, the Rubik's Cube craze continued...

In December 1981, the CEN reported:

For toy shops and some lucky manufacturers 1981 has undoubtedly been the Year of the Cube.

Appropriately enough, the last day of the year is the date for a lecture on the subject by Dr Frank H King as part of the Cambridge Holiday Lectures Association’s programme for 11-19 year olds at the Engineering Department in Trumpington Street.

“So you know how a Rubic [sic] Cube is made; you can unbundled it in a minute or two and you can produce a host of pretty patterns…” run the programme’s notes, which are plainly not addressed to the likes of me.

Such has been the demand for Dr King’s lecture that there have been two extra printing runs of tickets. By the beginning of the week 422 young people had applied.

To me, it now seems amazing to recall that back then just about everybody you met was absolutely fascinated by, absolutely mad to solve, a small plastic puzzle.

Whilst the trademark was registered in the UK in May 1980, Rubik's Cube did not actually hit our toyshops until just before Christmas. Aware of the tremendous amount of interest from consumers, the British Association of Toy Retailers named it Toy of the Year 1980 - a title it won again when the country was fully stocked in 1981.

2005 - a 25th anniversary Rubik's Cube.

1934: "Quality Homes - Natal Road (Off Perne Road)"

From the Cambridge Independent Press and Chronicle, 9/11/1934.

Back then, £495 would have bought you one of these highly desirable properties.

Milton Road: The (Monkey) Puzzle Continues...

A row of terraced cottages in Milton Road, near Springfield Terrace, in the early 20th century. Note the monkey puzzle tree.

Milton Road in the early 21st century - the terraced cottages have long gone, but the monkey puzzle tree remains.

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1933: The Corner House, Newmarket Road - "Reconstructed And Completely Modernised".

From the Cambridge Chronicle and University Journal, 1 March, 1933.

The Corner House, Newmarket Road, has been "entirely rebuilt" by Johnson and Bailey, builders and contractors, of Norfolk Street. The new building contains: Cosy lounges, Saloon Bars and SPECIAL LADIES ROOM

Victoria Road: The Search For Bitterne House..

Victoria Road, 1929.

In April 1987, I moved into a shared flat in Victoria Road. My grandmother was too frail to come and visit, but when I described the flat’s location to her, just opposite the corner of Primrose Street, she became very excited: “It’s just a few doors away from Bitterne House, my old school! You must go and have a look at it! You can’t miss it - just walk towards Croftholme Lane. The name’s over the front door.”

I looked, I didn’t see. Gran became a little frustrated: “The name’s over the front door - you’ll see it if you look hard enough!” I looked again. I enlisted the help of friends when they called for me before evenings out. They looked at me slightly askance, but indulged me. We must have made a curious sight - a group of young men, all "done up" in our Miami Vice style finery, shoulder-padded jackets with pushed-up sleeves and gelled, spiky hair - subjecting each house frontage to a microscopic survey!

In the end, I gave it up as a bad job. Gran didn’t say anything, but I’m sure she put my failure down to my powers of observation!

I had often used the street directories at the Cambridgeshire Collection during family and local history research in the early 1980s. Somehow or other it did not occur to me until a few years ago to use them to solve the mystery of the location of Bitterne House.

Sadly, it was too late to share the information with my gran, but I finally discovered the location of Bitterne House - just as she had said, a few doors away from my flat - and why it had been impossible to trace during my 1987 street surveys.

I also discovered that the house had previously been listed in the directories under two other names - "No. 2 Brightwell Buildings" and "Brightwell Cottage".

Having worked out that the modern-day address I sought was No. 41 Victoria Road, I sped over there, eager to find out why I hadn’t spotted it was Bitterne House before. I had assumed that the name was engraved in stonework over the front door. There was no stonework, and the brickwork above the door was partly obscured by a shop sign but, on studying the premises, another possibility sprang to mind. Above the front door was a glass panel. Bearing in mind my grandmother's insistence that the name had been above the door, it occurred to me that perhaps each of the house names had been painted on the glass panel in turn. This was a popular trend years ago, and would have made changing the name very easy.

The last entry for Bitterne House in the street directories at the Cambridgeshire Collection is listed in the 1939-1940 edition. By 1948, the time of the Collection’s next directory, the house name was no longer listed. This is not indicative of anything as the new trend was simply to list houses under their numbers only. It seems probable that, at some unknown point between 1939 and 1987, the old glass panel above the front door had been replaced and the Bitterne House name had gone with it!

Bitterne House was thus named in the 1880s.

In 1887, William Humphreys (recorded as “Humphries” in the street directory) Williams and his wife Betsy were living at the house. The couple hailed from Essex, Harlow and Felstead respectively. I do not know if they had any other links to the locality, but several of their children had been born at Bitterne, Hampshire. Mr and Mrs Williams renamed their new home Bitterne House.

Harry Williams, one of William and Betsy's sons, founded a local firm of funeral directors which is still in existence, and still bears his name, today.

Charlotte, one of the Williams' daughters, was a “teacher of music and painting”. In 1887 the “Misses Williams” were running a preparatory school at Bitterne House, using part of the ground floor. Charlotte had started the school with her sister, Mary Ann.

Mary Ann died in 1890, aged thirty-one, and Charlotte ran Bitterne House alone from then onwards. After Charlotte's death in 1916, Miss Dorothea Augusta Fish, of Magrath Avenue, took over.

"Cambridge Daily News", 21 December 1917.

My grandmother went to Bitterne House simply because the sixpence a week charge to attend Milton Road School was dropped:

“Mum wasn’t pleased,” said Gran. “She saw free schooling as charity and thought standards were bound to suffer… It certainly wasn’t good enough for her daughter - I was being brought up like a young lady. I wasn’t even allowed to wash-up a spoon! When we stopped paying our sixpence a week at Milton Road, Mum looked round for another school - and she found one!”

Bitterne House was a mixed school, with a small number of pupils.

"There were about eleven of us. I remember there was a lovely garden at the back where we had our ‘play times’. The teachers were nice: Miss Bales gave most of the lessons and Miss Carol taught music, part time. The school belonged to Miss Fish and she was headmistress."

Around early 1920, Miss Fish became ill. My grandmother recalled that Miss Fish died and Bitterne House then closed down, but this appears to have been a slightly jumbled recollection. The Cambridge street directory listings indicate that Bitterne House closed down c. early 1920, over a year before Miss Fish died in October 1921.

After Bitterne House closed, my grandmother returned to Milton Road - there being no other convenient or affordable fee-paying schools in the area.

"Mum got used to the idea of free schooling," Gran told me in 1988. "Now of course nothing's thought of it. But to my mother's generation you had to pay your own way. People were very suspicious of what they called 'charity'. It was because of that I went to Bitterne House."

No. 41 Victoria Road in 2007...

2004: for many years part of the house was used as commercial premises.

Information to be included in "Grace & Co", a forthcoming book.

E-mail: actual80s@btinternet.com

1962: "BRITISH RELAY - THE WORLD'S FINEST TELEVISION AND RADIO IS COMING TO CAMBRIDGE"

Whilst taking photographs in Milton Road the other day, I happened upon the maintenance cover pictured above, the sight of which sent my mind lurching back into the past.

When I was a child in the 1970s, the television service in this country consisted of three television channels - BBC's 1 and 2 and ITV (Anglia in Cambridge, of course). Domestic video recorders arrived on the scene during the decade, but these were expensive and not widespread (only 5% of UK households had them in 1980) and the multi-channel world of satellite television would have had us boggle-eyed with amazement back then.

An option available to Cambridge people that did give a little more choice of TV entertainment was an early form of cable or "wired" television called British Relay, which had arrived here in 1962.

"Cambridge Daily News", 31 August, 1962.

British Relay TV sets provided a clear, "electronically perfected" reception, the chance to view the London ITV service (which often provided a "regional variation" in programmes and news) and a built-in radio.

Black British Relay cables stretched between houses and small round adaptor boxes soon became a familiar sight to Cambridge residents.

According to the 1962 advertisement above, the benefits of British Relay included:

BBC [pre-BBC 2, which arrived in 1964], LONDON ITV and ANGLIA television programmes with tuning knob for other channels.

625 line TV and the new programmes - the minute they become available. No extra cost.

Colour TV as soon as it comes.

BBC Home, Light and Third radio programme, plus overseas programmes, including popular Radio Luxembourg.

A luxury push-button combined TV and radio set.

Complete free maintenance. "Never-without-a-set" service.

The world's best television reception that never varies.

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By the time my parents first rented a British Relay TV set in the 1970s, the choice of radio stations had altered (as indeed had the radio stations on offer) and included the reorganised BBC stations and Capital Radio, an independent local radio station serving London. As a child, I enjoyed listening to this - there seemed to be something terribly sophisticated and wonderful about listening to radio aimed at a London audience! In Cambridge, there were no local radio stations until the 1980s.

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As a youngster, I was fascinated by the tall aerial mast on King's Hedges Road, with various aerials attached to it at different heights, which provided the signal for our "wired" television service.

British Relay was taken over by a company called Visionhire c. the late 1970s. You could rent British Relay radio and television sets from this company at least until the early 1980s (I'm not absolutely sure when the service ceased), although the TV/radio combination sets were being phased out. We were still renting a combination set in 1981.

Of course, the world of TV entertainment has changed beyond recognition since those days, with the video recorder becoming widespread and the advent of breakfast, all-night and satellite TV in the 1980s, and other developments since.

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But there was a time, in the fairly recent past, when British Relay was absolutely cutting edge.

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I wonder what the next few decades hold?
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E-mail: actual80s@btinternet.com

Mitcham's Corner: A Brief History...

The original Mitcham's Corner c. 1940s...
Photograph by Charles Mitcham, copy supplied by Norah Wolfe

The original Mitcham's Corner today.

The Two Seasons Sports Shop occupies the original Mitcham's Corner premises at 34, Chesterton Road. The shop was built in 1909 in the garden of "Bridge House", the Mitcham family home. The idea came from Charles Mitcham's father, James, who ran a butcher's shop in Victoria Avenue. Charles began his Chesterton Drapery Stores in the new premises.

The business expanded over the years, occupying the ground floor of Bridge House and several premises in Victoria Avenue.

Mitcham's Modern Men's Store traded for some years in the 1930s and 40s at 24c Chesterton Road.

For many years, a sign proclaiming "MITCHAM'S CORNER" was slung above the corner premises at 34, Chesterton Road. As time went on, the original junction was dubbed the "Mitcham's Corner roundabout", "Mitcham's roundabout", "Mitcham's Corner junction" or simply "Mitcham's Corner" by motorists, and the names were then applied by many to the 1967 gyratory traffic system, which incorporated Croftholme Lane into the scheme of things.

The name was often seen in print as "Mitchams Corner" (note missing apostrophe), following a change in the lettering style of Mitcham's newspaper advertisements in the 1930s. This has influenced the names of several bus stops near the Corner today - "Mitchams Corner", and the two recently re-named stops - "Mitchams towards city centre" and "Mitchams outbound".

A recent study - The Mitchams Corner Area Strategic Planning and Development Brief draft, produced by Faber Maunsell of Bristol and Andrew Martin Associates of Chelmsford for Cambridge City Council also drops the apostrophe, and suggests that the site of the original Corner premises are a major development opportunity.

Their significance as the original Mitcham's Corner are not alluded to, although the study attaches great importance to the name throughout.

The authors conclude that the original Mitcham's Chesterton Drapery Stores building is "a relatively weak feature on such an important junction".

To return to the more distant history of the Corner, Charles Mitcham sold his Chesterton Drapery Stores in 1944 to Dupont Brothers of London, but the shop continued to trade as Mitcham's until its closure in December 1977.

I recall, as recently as the early 1990s, arranging to meet friends at the original Mitcham's Corner - it was quite a landmark years after the shop had closed. Many local people still remember the original Mitcham's Corner fondly...

"A lot of us didn't have cars in those days and there weren't all those traffic islands like there is now. Mitcham's Corner was Mitcham's Corner to me - it was where the shop was. We're talking late '30s... before the war. I used to meet my husband-to-be there when we were courting. My mother didn't approve of him, she had very strict ideas, so I'd meet him on Mitcham's Corner because he couldn't come to our house. He was always there waiting for me. When we announced our engagement, Mum was disgusted at first but she and Bob got on like a house on fire after that. So, Mitcham's Corner, the real Mitcham's Corner, is a bit romantic to me!"

Mrs E Wright, June 2005

"You'd get over to Mitcham's Corner when they had a sale, because they had lovely bargains. The things you'd buy there, coats, dresses, material, would last a long time. It wasn't like now - things fall apart a year or so after you buy them. In those days things were made to last, and they had to last because we didn't have a lot of money to fork out. Mitcham's was lovely, it was our shop - all the people that lived in that bit of Chesterton. We were lucky to have such a lovely shop on the doorstep."

Mrs V Williams, July 2005

The history of Mitcham's and its Corner can be found in my Cambridge Town Histories volumes When Mitcham's had a Corner (which includes Norah Wolfe's memories of Charles Mitcham) and More from Mitcham's Corner.

Newmarket Road - A Vanished Shop...

Ernest and Marguerite Prevett celebrating their fiftieth wedding anniversary.

Having been interested in family history for many years, I have found it a never-ending source of fascination and delight. My family has been in Cambridge for several generations, and over the years I have met a number of distant relatives living in the city, previously completely unknown to me, and good friendships have been forged.

These distant kinfolk have also provided me with a great deal of information on family members past, where they lived and how they lived, and so various locations in Cambridge have taken on fresh significance to me with the knowledge that Auntie/Uncle/Grandma/Grandad/cousin so-and-so lived there…

One of the most unusual locations to suddenly loom large and important in my life has to be the car park for Cambridge Tiles & Bathrooms Ltd in Newmarket Road.

I met Mrs Marian Stearn, whose grandfather, Ernest Prevett, was also my great-great uncle, about two years ago. Ernest had died a few years before I was born, but I had grown up with tales of him from my maternal grandmother, Grace Hinchcliffe.

“Uncle Ern”, as Gran always referred to him, seemed very familiar to me - as did other deceased members of her family. My grandmother had a wonderful way of recounting her past - she seemed to bring it all to life, and I would listen, agog.

Meeting Marian Stearn, after an appeal for information and photographs relating to the Prevett family in the Cambridge Evening News, was a tremendous stroke of good fortune for me. Marian, her sister, Sue, and brother, Thomas, happily shared their recollections with me and added many photographs to my family history collection. I filled several notebooks with information and my computer scanner worked overtime.

Ernest Prevett was born in Cambridge in 1886. As a young man, he went to France where he worked at a stables and was, for a time, a jockey. In 1910, he married Marguerite Tribe.

In 1920, Ernest and Marguerite came to England with their three children, Suzanne, Lucie and Ernest junior.

The family lived at No. 29, Occupation Road, where Ernest went into business as a cobbler. The Prevetts then lived (briefly) in Ross Street, and then rented a small shop at 183 Newmarket Road.

A page from Spalding's Cambridge street directory - the 1937-38 edition. Ernest William Prevett, boot repairer, is listed at 183 Newmarket Road.

The house was on three floors - cellar, shop and kitchen, and two bedrooms. The family ate their meals in the kitchen, which was behind the shop. There was no plumbed-in bath - a tin bath placed in front of the fire was used.

From the kitchen, stairs led down into an indoor passage and if you made your way down that you would come to the backyard - a tiny square of concrete with a few flowers and outdoor conveniences. Beyond the Prevetts' yard was Coopers' yard, where the firm’s various motor vehicles were parked.

There was a passage at the side of the shop between the Prevetts' and the Coopers'.

There were said to be old underground passageways beneath the Prevetts' shop, leading from the cellar - going to the priory and the Leper Chapel, either way. These were apparently blocked off and not visible at all. It was said that another passage led to Abbey House.

Said Marian: “I was only a child of course, but I used to get a funny feeling in the cellar - creepy! We had to go down there to get to the backyard.”

The house was said to be haunted - and several sightings of ghostly monks were reported by people not noted for vivid imaginings.

A 1950s view of the corner of Godesdone Road and Newmarket Road, showing the long-established business of J.H. Cooper & Son, furniture dealer, and an advertising hoarding where the Prevetts' shop had stood. Photograph: Cambridgeshire Collection.

Alongside his work as a general cobbler, Ernest Prevett also made shoes for Addenbrooke’s - for deformed/club-footed people. Marguerite would collect large sheets of leather for shoes and mending from Burleigh Street and wheel them home on her bike. The shoes were hand sewn.

"Grandad used to have a special implement called an awl to push through the leather and make a hole," said Marian. "All the shoes were hand-stitched and he had special needles to do the stitching."

Ernest used to skin rabbits and cure the skins for slippers and gloves. Cured skins were hung on various doors, including the coal hole.

Marguerite bred mice for some local labs.

There was a large, long window at the front of the shop, with a board at the bottom which had a hole in it. The Prevetts’ dog, Dimps, used to poke his head through the hole and watch people coming and going outside. “He was well known in Newmarket Road!” Marian smiled.

Marian’s brother, Thomas Matthews, recalled an advertisement on display in the shop for Phillips’ Soles, which featured a picture of Ernest Prevett at work.

There would be free trips to the cinema and circus, etc. These would be in return for advertising bills posted in the shop window.

Ernest is remembered as being a marvellous cook.

The family would go to the shop on Newmarket Road for Christmas, especially during the war. Ernest would have made a Christmas cake and, on the day, he cooked a big goose for Christmas dinner. Marian has strong memories of the war time King’s speeches:

“Everybody would listen to the King on the wireless and then cry!”

Several family members were away on active service.

Ernest was chief air raid warden for his part of Newmarket Road. He had a stirrup pump in the shop, which interested Marian. “I played with it once, and got told off!”

Of other local businesses, Marian particularly remembered WH Vellam’s supply stores at 171 and 173 Newmarket Road: “Every morning I’d go and choose an egg at Vellam’s. They used to have big sackfuls of raisins and sugar and old fashioned pats of butter…

“I remember John Alsop. He had a dairy off Newmarket Road and used to deliver the milk. Grandma used to have it poured into three jugs. I remember the milk was brought round at first in a big churn on a little handcart, a very nicely decorated handcart, and later Mr Alsop had a horse and cart.”

Ernest rented a large allotment on the corner of Henley Road. “He grew everything,” Marian recalled. “I would sit with him in his shed and we’d have a flask of tea! It was from going to Grandad’s allotment that I learnt my love of gardening."

After the shop was demolished (c. the mid-1950s) and an advertising hoarding erected in the space, Mr Cooper (of J.H. Cooper & Son) remembers his family, who lived in Godesdone Road, rented the ground behind the hoarding for a garden. But the garden subsided into the cellar of the vanished shop - taking the plants and concrete path with it!

The corner of Godesdone Road and Newmarket Road in 2007. Note that the advertising hoarding has now gone.

The site of 183 Newmarket Road - now the car park of Cambridge Tiles and Bathrooms Ltd.

Above and below: two views of the shop site and adjacent premises in 2007.

Did YOU Passe Partout?

My old school dictionary, published in 1979, defines passe-partout as:

The means of passing anywhere; a master key: a kind of simple picture frame, usually of pasteboard; a method of framing, or a picture framed, with glass front and pasteboard back, the picture being fixed by strips of paper pasted over the edges: strong paper, gummed on one side, used for this and other purposes. [Fr., - passer, to pass, par - over, tout - all.]

The name "passe-partout" (not to be confused with Passepartout, who, of course, went around the world in eighty days!) is still used by picture framers today, but for many years was particularly associated with the method of picture framing which required using a special paper tape pasted over the edges to hold glass and pastboard together. The tape itself was labelled "passe-partout" on its packaging.

Passe-partout picture framing tape was extremely popular in the days before cheap, mass-produced picture frames - an affordable method of framing pictures for the less well off, and a pleasant hobby for others.

Once wet, the gummed side of the passe-partout tape became highly sticky and when applied to a surface would harden and be stuck for good. I have an old passe-partout text which was framed in the early 1920s - and it is still holding fast.

Turner & Sons, Trinity Street and Regent Street, a Cambridge newspaper advertisement from 1927.

My grandmother, Grace Hinchcliffe, attended Sunday school at the Wesley Methodist Church in King Street with her cousin, Muriel Ashman, from c. 1915 to 1924.

“We both liked Sunday school,” Gran told me in 1989. “It was a good job really because playing truant would’ve been impossible! Attendance was mornings and afternoons and we were given a small text at the end of each day - usually of the ‘Thou Shalt Not…’ variety - to take home to our parents to prove we’d been! When we’d collected twelve of these, we could hand them in and get a bigger text for Mum to frame in passe-partout and hang at home.”

Religious texts were often framed with passe partout.

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Passe-partout was manufactured in Cambridgeshire by the Samuel Jones company at St Neots (formerly in the old county of Huntingdonshire). In its heyday, there were several manufacturers in England, but I have been told that Samuel Jones was the last to cease production. Were there other manufacturers elsewhere in the UK?

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Passe-partout picture framing tape began to decline in popularity c. the early 1960s and, by the mid-1970s, was looked on as decidedly old fashioned.

An in-depth history of the sticky art of passe-partout is yet to be written but, from what I have been able to piece together, it seems that production ceased c. 1989 and the final reels were sold in the early 1990s.

The last reel I bought was from Heffers, in Sidney Street, Cambridge, in 1986. Heffers had no passe-partout in stock, but was able to obtain some for me within a few days.

An attempt to obtain another reel for the restoration of an old religious text in the late 1990s (I was not, at that time, aware that the manufacture of passe-partout had ceased) was met with an incredulous "That hasn't been sold for years!!" from one young female shop assistant. Although I was only in my early thirties, this had the effect of making me feel very old indeed!

If readers have any further information about the history of passe-partout, I would be most interested to hear from them.

Some sealed reels of Samuel Jones' Butterfly Brand passe-partout. The tape came in many attractive colours and finishes.

From the "Our Home Corner" feature in the "Cambridge Chronicle and University Journal", December 1926.

1918 - Armistice Signed, "Undergraduate Rejoicings"...

SCENES IN THE STREETS

"Cambridge Magazine" Offices Raided

UNDERGRADUATE REJOICINGS

From the Cambridge Daily News, 11/11/1918...

The glad tidings were received at the office and as soon as they could be printed bills were posted in the office windows announcing that Peace had come at last. A special edition of the paper followed, and was on sale in the streets before lunch.

The news was received with great enthusiasm, and soon the streets were filled with cheering crowds. Flags appeared like magic from the upper windows of shops and private houses, in the hands of pedestrians, and tied on bicycles, taxicabs and other vehicles.

Enterprising hawkers bought out sheaves of small Union Jacks, which sold like wildfire, and the shops were besieged with customers eager to secure a piece of bunting of some sort. Flags were hoisted on the flagstaffs of the colleges, churches, and public buildings.

Notices announcing the signing of the armistice were posted at the Guildhall and the various Post Offices in the town.

The undergraduate element quickly got wind of the event, and proceeded to celebrate the joyous occasion in their own peculiar fashion. A score of young fellows commandeered a small motor car and proceeded to pile in as many of their number upon it as it would hold, until the machine was almost completely hidden by a mass of cheering humanity. The remainder surrounded the vehicle and shoved it at a run through the principle streets, cheering, waving flags and blowing horns and tri-colour paper trumpets. Others boarded taxicabs, climbed the roofs, and careered about the town in similar fashion.

A party of about a hundred cadets, in uniform, wearing khaki mackintosh capes, and mounted on cycles, rode in file through the town, cheering as they went; others climbed on the motor-buses waving flags and cheering. The employees of the Cambridge Scientific Instrument Company were given a half-day's holiday, and a party of munition girls, gaily decked with bunting, boarded a motor-car and rode through the streets adding shrill whoops and screams to the joyful clamour. A wounded soldier in Petty Cury begged a battered biscuit tin from one of the shops and banged it for all he was worth; troops of children, brandishing small flags, paraded the streets and cheered tumultuously.

A small motor car was peacefully standing in the centre of the town. Upon it hurled themselves a mob of undergraduates, sitting, lying, hanging on three deep. Away it sped to Leavis' musical shop where the rejoicers swarmed into the shop, seized bugles, whistles, anything in fact with which they could make a noise, thrusting excessive sums upon the bewildered assistants. Out into the street rushed the undergraduates, on the protesting car, and away down St Andrew's Street and through Petty Cury, bugles blowing, whistles shrieking, the onlookers shouting, crowds of small boys following.

At the market place the motor was deserted. The occupants, panting and red-faced, ran to the roof of one of the houses facing the Guildhall. The market place by this time was crowded. On the roof the "undergrads" blew and shouted. "Hip!" shrieked one. "Hurrah!" yelled the crowd, what time the whistles sounded and the "clackers" clacked.

However, this grew wearisome after a time. More "undergrads" arrived, and enticed the roof dwellers to descend. Cadets joined in. Suddenly an idea struck one of them. "The Cambridge Magazine," he shouted. "Yah," said the crowd, and rushed through into King's Parade. At the Cambridge Magazine's shop the door was shut. All was peace and quiet. After a moment's hesitation the ringleaders of the mob charged at the door and burst their way inside. Alas for the peace and quiet! Tables were overturned, books thrown about with terrific force. Smash went a window, the signal for a general onslaught. Smash went more windows. Books flew through the windows on to the road. The crowd outside danced with joy; the crowd inside destroyed everything with grim enthusiasm. All was excitement.

Then it occurred to the destroyers that the time had come to fade away, lest a worse thing befall them. Out once more into the street, down King's Parade, past the Senate House, racing along Trinity Street, and to the end of St John's Street, where stands - or stood - the charmingly (?) painted Cambridge Magazine shop. Here the crowds gathered thick. The door was locked.

"Away!" yelled the celebrators of peace; "Make room!" The "undergrads" joined hands, formed into a solid phalanx, and charged at the door. Boom! and the glass was splintered. Another charge. Boom! and the door flew open, and in rushed the crowd. The books lining the windows were seized and hurled through the plate glass. Glass covered the path. Girl college students flung themselves upon the books and threw them back into the shop. So the merry game went on.

Then the merry makers deserted the shop. Back they ran, panting but happy, to the Senate House. Here stood an unfortunate bus. Up the sides, over the front, everywhere and anywhere swarmed the "young gentlemen of the University". The top was packed. Undergraduates hung over the side of the bus, clinging to the top rails. The bonnet of the car was covered thick as leaves of autumn.

"Wind her up, Johnnie!" shrieked the undergraduates. "Johnnie" wound, but the engine was lacking in the sentiment suitable to the occasion. The engine refused to start. "Push, my laddies, push!" The crowd gathered thick around the bus. "Heave!" The car moved slowly forward amid scenes of wild enthusiasm for about 30 yards. Then the driver said "Kismet" and signed his own armistice. He started the engine and away went the bus, stopping now and again along King's Parade. An aged and dignified professor at the gate of King's bowed gracefully. "Hurrah!" said the crowd.

At the Cambridge Magazine shop stood Inspector Baker and a constable. The officers of the law advanced into the centre of the street and stopped the bus. The constable argued with the undergraduates sitting on the bonnet of the car, and said he would allow the bus to proceed if the driver were given free play to drive. "Three cheers for Robert!" shouted a voice from the top of the bus. Nobly the crowd responded. Inspector Baker's hat mysteriously vanished, leaving him rubbing his head in a somewhat bewildered fashion.

Away went the bus once more, and in a few yards the bonnet was crowded as thick as ever. A daring enthusiast clung to the side in a position where a moment's faltering or cramp would have sent him to a terrible death. The driver was induced after some persuasion to take the rejoicers out into the country.

The crowd, left behind, turned back. Suddenly the cry was raised. The Trumpington bus was coming up behind. The merry crowd swarmed up the sides and back, but the driver was a hardy man. Putting on speed, he tore round into Bene't Street, where he was finally captured and stopped. The undergraduates descended and tried to persuade the driver to drive them out further - into the country. The driver, as we have said, was a hardy man and resisted long. "My dear gentlemen," he said. The crowd grew vociferous. They patted the driver on the head and back. He attempted to ascend to the top - for what earthly reason we cannot imagine - but was gently but firmly pushed back. At this moment a military motor car came along King's Parade, and was forced to stop by the density of the crowd. A dignified sergeant major sat next to the lady driver, and to him the unfortunate bus driver appealed for help. Out came the sergeant major. "Get orf it there!" he commanded.

"May I ask who you are talking to?" quietly but grimly inquired the ringleader of the undergraduates, with the light of battle in his eye.

"Yes!" shrieked the crowd. The sergeant major subsided, climbed into his car, and drove crest-fallen away. The [bus] driver capitulated. Amid cheers he drove away along Peas Hill, through Market Street, up along Magdalene Street, up part of Castle Hill, and the bus protesting against its load, the driver avoided the stiffest part by driving along St Peter's Street and Shelley Row.

The bus vanished out of sight at an ever-increasing pace along Huntingdon Road. The undergraduates, half delirious though they were with excitement, sank into a silence as the bus passed a funeral procession, only to break out with renewed noise further along the road...

All The Fun Of The (Midsummer) Fair And The Diabolical Engine...

The scene at an early 20th century Midsummer Fair.

When my gran was a child, she always looked forward to the Midsummer Fair. She often recalled the journey to Midsummer Common from her family's home in Milton Road:

"As we crossed Victoria Avenue bridge, I’d be really excited, jumping about. You could hear the steam engines tooting on the common, and Dad would always smile and say, ‘They’re calling to you, my dear!’ ”

This account of a Midsummer Fair, from the Cambridge Daily News, 22/6/1922, makes a fascinating insight into what constituted "all the fun of the fair" in those days, and reveals a very noisy presence...

MIDSUMMER FAIR

Some Novel Features And "Still Growing Bigger."

Midsummer Fair was proclaimed this morning by the mayor (Councillor GP Hawkins) when crowds of people attended to witness the time-honoured ceremony. The old cry of "Biggest fair I've seen for years," suggests that the Fair is still growing. It certainly seems to cover a larger space than ever this year. The Fair covers practically the whole of Midsummer Common between Fort St George, Brunswick Walk and Victoria Avenue, including the greater part of Butt's Green. There are stalls, cocoanut shies, cake-walks, shooting galleries, hoop la's and roundabouts, with caravans of all possible varieties, including motor caravans. The roundabouts included some new arrivals, which took the name of "chair-o-planes". These are fitted with chairs hanging from long chains, and as the roundabout gathers speed, the passengers are swung outwards until they nearly attain a horizontal position. Another novelty is the "Mountain Slide", a sort of combination of toboggan ride and mat chute, with a fearsome "hump" about half-way down.

Thurston's roundabouts are again present, and number about six in all. They include their famous golden dragons, gondolas and motor scenic railways. Barker and Thurston's scenic railway, patronised by HRH Princess Victoria at King's Lynn on February 14th, 1920, is again present as are the galloping horses and many smaller ones. The Mysterious Castle has some interesting placards advertising "The Sinners Paradise" and "Laughing Gas For All": what really happens inside is a mystery that the curious must solve for themselves. Three circuses and numerous "laugh and grow fat" shows make up a good square mile of pleasure ground. There are the usual crockery and sweet stalls, rock kings, cheap jacks, fortune tellers and the like in unusual profusion. An objectionable feature this year is a diabolical engine that emits a banshee-like wail at frequent intervals. It ought to be smothered.

Arbury Life In The 1880s...

An aerial view of part of the Manor Farm, on Arbury Road (often referred to by locals as "Arbury Meadow Road"), c. 1950s. The larger house, to the left of the picture, was the Manor Farmhouse - often referred to locally as the "manor house". To the right is the house occupied by my great-great grandparents from the mid-1880s to the early 1920s. The track running across the photograph was known as the "drive" and formed the basis for the route of Campkin Road.

Several local people have described the modern road as being "slightly over" from the route of the old farm drive, which is quite right - Campkin Road is much wider than the drive, which lies buried under front gardens and concrete.

The land at the bottom of the picture is now occupied by the Manor Community College.

Here is an edited extract from Grace & Co, a forthcoming book...

My great-great grandparents, Richard and Amelia Brett, moved from King's Hedges Farm to the Manor Farm c. 1886.

Richard and Amelia’s days soon fell into a set routine. Richard would go out to work on the farm early each morning. The 1891 census reveals that he was then employed as an agricultural labourer.
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The 1901 census lists him as horse keeper, one of two employed at Manor Farm at that time.

Richard’s break would come at around midday and he would then have his “docky” - a meal consisting of a piece of pork, a piece of bread and a jug of tea or beer. Richard always loved a nice big chunk of cake to go with his docky if any was available. He adored cake! The docky would usually be taken to him by Amelia or one of his children, and eaten out in the fields.

Amelia’s days would be devoted to the house and children.

Amelia attended the Wesleyan Chapel in High Street, Chesterton, and also joined the Mothers’ Union at the village’s St Andrew’s Church. Her favourite hymn was "When I survey the Wondrous Cross".

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To Amelia, "The Great Plan" was simple enough: you lived, you were good, you went to Heaven. She would often gaze up at the blue skies over Manor Farm and imagine the wonderful Golden Gates of Heaven just beyond. A very firm rule of hers was “never pick up a needle on a Sunday”.

When storm clouds gathered and the Golden Gates seemed far away, Amelia would bid her children to hide under the big kitchen table. She would then go around covering up all the mirrors and cutlery before joining them. She was terribly afraid of thunder and lightning.

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Richard was, like many countrymen, something of an expert at predicting the weather. On a bright, sunny morning he might advise: “Take your coat with you, it’s going to rain!” If the person to whom the advice had been directed did not heed it, they usually regretted it!

The Bretts kept chickens, and these were Amelia’s responsibility. She grew very fond of them, and would never allow any to be killed for meat. Amelia’s chickens’ eggs were remembered as being particularly nice. Perhaps the chickens made a special effort to repay their soft-hearted mistress for a safe billet!

There was no gas or electricity at the Bretts’ house. The only lighting was provided by oil lamps.

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Water had to be drawn from a pump in the big, brown stone kitchen sink.

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In 1980, Reginald Jones, one of Richard and Amelia’s grandchildren, recalled the pump at the Bretts’ house:

“A bucket of water had to be put by because, to get the pump going after it hadn’t been used for an hour or two, you had to ‘prime’ it. You had to pour water into the top of the pump where it goes up and down, and you’d hear it gradually suck and gradually water came out of the spout. ‘Water fetching water,’ that was the old saying. That was the only water they had, which was a pipe sunk into the ground to quite a depth.”

If hot water was required, it was boiled in the kettle or a saucepan. Larger amounts for clothes washing, etc., were supplied by the copper, which was heated by a wood fire. There was no drainage and used water was poured away over the grass in the back garden.

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Baths were taken in a tub in front of the fire.

Amelia’s whitewashed brick kitchen was dominated by a large range, on which she did all her cooking. A great family favourite was roly-poly pudding. The only trouble was that preferences about fillings differed!

Clever Amelia managed to please all. Once she had rolled the pudding out, she would spread one section with jam, another with treacle and another with dates, and leave the final section plain, to be eaten with brown sugar. The pudding was then rolled up and each section securely tied with string so that the contents would not mingle. The result? Happy faces all around the dinner table!

Amelia’s spacious pantry was always kept well stocked. As well as freshly baked loaves, which she kept in a large stone pot near the pantry doorway, the shelves were always full of good things such as jams, peas and cooked new potatoes. Her children often crept in for a munch!

Many years later, several of Amelia’s grandchildren told me that, at meal times, she would always sit with her chair sideways on to the table. This was a habit that she had fallen into over the years so as to be ready to leave the table quickly to fetch things from the range, attend to her babies, etc.

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As the years went on, Richard built up a large piggery. He took pigs to Mr George Rooke, who ran a butcher’s shop at No. 62 Chesterton Road. The pigs would be slaughtered in a yard at the back of the shop. Richard would sell some of the pork to Mr Rooke, but always brought plenty home with him. Amelia hung some from the beam in her kitchen for ham and also salted some. She enjoyed salted pork for her breakfast...

When Storms Got Stuck In Coton Hole And Puddings Crawled...

From the family album...

Aunt Lou, Aunt Lizzie and Ruby awaiting a nice pot of tea at Grantchester, c. 1950s. The tea was remembered as rather a long time coming - service was slow!

On the subject of old sayings, my grandmother told me in 1987:

"If there was something you’d never do, you’d say, ‘I couldn’t do that - not for all the tea in China!’ If somebody was getting excited about something - you know, something that hadn’t happened yet, we’d chip in with: ‘There’s many a slip twixt cup and lip!’ "

Can you recall any others?

I enjoy recalling the sayings of my grandparents' generation. Some of them were said so often, they have become part of my own phraseology. Others were rarer but often funny or fascinating...

It seems there was a saying to describe anything or anybody. For instance, an habitually miserable person might have said of them: "Every time he/she smiles, a donkey dies!" Donkeys are apparently known for their longevity.

Somebody of steady temperament, but not particularly lively or quick was, "Slow but sure - like the donkey’s gallop!"

A forgetful person might say: “I’d forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on!”

A workaholic might be reminded: “You work to live, not live to work!”

An inquisitive person would sooner or later be told: “Your nose will never rust!”

According to some cynics, one should: “Cry at a wedding, laugh at a funeral!” The logic here was that a funeral a person’s suffering was over, whilst at the wedding their woes were just beginning!

When worries weighed heavily, people would say: “Ah well, you die if you worry, die if you don’t!”

When things looked dismal, you may be reminded that, “You should live in hope if you die in despair!” When confronted by a difficult problem: “If you can’t get over it, you should try getting under it!” In other words, look at the problem from all sides.

A bereaved person who was finding it difficult to resume their life might be gently reminded: “Life’s for the living - you can’t live with the dead.”

Somebody going out for a drink might promise a stay-at-home: "I’ll bring you one back in my hollow tooth!"

A flash show off might be described as, “All fancy net curtains and half a bloater for dinner!”

One of the oddest sayings I have ever heard, often used by my maternal grandmother, was directed at those who laughed at inappropriate times - particularly at the misfortunes of others. “You’d laugh to see a pudding [pronounced “pudden”] crawl!”

And then there was "Coton Hole"...

“If there was a storm in the night, Dad often used to sleep through it or just stay in bed,” Gran told me. “He wasn’t a man to get in a flap. But Mum and I would always get up and make tea! Sometimes a storm would rumble about, fade a bit, then come back overhead. Of course, Cambridge lies very low, like in a basin, and the storms would get trapped and keep coming back! We always thought that was terrible - frightened us to death! We’d say the storm had ‘got stuck in Coton Hole’!”

If Gran had a visitor on an overcast day and there was the slightest hint of sunshine after they arrived, she would always say: “Look at that - you brought the sun with you!”

A visitor leaving Gran’s house on a rainy day would be instructed to “run between the spots”!

Somebody who had over-eaten would probably be told, “Your eyes are bigger than your belly!”

"A creaking gate hangs on the longest", was often said of a person who suffered many minor ailments.

An old saying still in use today makes me smile. Somebody who has been on a long and rambling journey, perhaps in search of a particular location, might comment: "I've been all round Will's mother's!" My mother once commented: "We've been all round Will's mother's way, his wife's and his great-grandad's, and we still couldn't find it!"

My wife, who hails from Letchworth, pointed out a local verbal idiosyncrasy I am guilty of but was not previously aware of: around these 'ere parts, "several" might actually mean quite a large number. It's all in the intonation!

Similarly, she was highly amused to hear somebody described as "a young old boy" - but it made perfect sense to me! Ever since my earliest years, I have been used to this. When I was at school, we were all "good old boys" - "good old boy, ain't yer, Bretty?" my mates would say and I'd often return the compliment. You don't have to be old to be an "old boy" round this way - there are lots of "young old boys" too!

And middle aged ones - like me!

1989 - The Year Of The Satellite Television Revolution...

Whilst the golden era of British TV in the 1980s will always be remembered for the anarchic alternative humour of the Young Ones and The Comic Strip Presents, the brilliance of dramas like the Beiderbecke Trilogy and Inspector Morse, and children's programming like Dangermouse and No. 73, in 1989 it was "time for something completely different" (as the saying goes).

The first rumblings of the satellite TV revolution had been felt by a fortunate few earlier in the decade, but February 1989 saw the launch of Rupert Murdoch's Sky TV, with the promise of the launch of competitor British Satellite Broadcasting in the near future.

Whilst the launch of Channel Four in 1982, and breakfast TV in 1983, had been seen as huge events, Sky beckoned us towards a multi-channel future, sports, films, documentaries, soaps, comedies, quiz shows - all on tap, twenty four hours a day. For many of us, undreamt of choice.

The start was a little shaky, but within a few years the nation's viewing habits had changed for ever. No longer could you assume that the chap next to you at the bus stop had seen the same big drama you'd watched on TV the night before and use it as a conversation-opener.

So, how was Cambridge gearing up for the revolution in 1989?

From the Cambridge Evening News, 6/1/1989

Satellite TV fans are making sure they are tuned into the right wavelength when the viewing revolution hits the screens next month, say city centre stores in Cambridge.

Scores of people have been popping into shops to find out more - and be first in their street to have a dish on their roof.

The first satellite station, Sky, owned by newspaper tycoon Mr Rupert Murdoch, will start broadcasting on February 5.

And most of Cambridge's stores expect to get their first stocks of dishes within the next few weeks to cash in on the revolution.

The manageress of Rumbelows in Petty Cury, Christine Nickson, said: "We have had a lot of inquiries and requests for brochures, but relatively few firm orders so far."

A spokesman for Dixon's in Lion Yard painted a similar picture. He said: "We are taking a few deposits at the moment, but we hope to install a working dish on the roof in two weeks and expect orders to really take off then."

The manageress of Radio Rentals in Lion Yard, Mrs Debbie Jamieson, also reported strong customer interest. She said: "A lot of people have been quite surprised at how small the dishes are."

The first of the new satellite stations comes onstream next month, when Rupert Murdoch launches his four-channel Sky TV. Sky programmes will be relayed from the European Astra satellite.

Three of Sky's channels will be specialist services, one each for news, films and sport. A fourth channel will offer a mixed bill of drama, quiz shows and comedy. Sky will be paid for by advertising and will be entirely free to the viewer.

Sky's main competitor is likely to be British Satellite Broadcasting (BSB), a consortium including Richard Branson's Virgin Group and Anglia TV, which will launch a rival service in the autumn.

Another group, headed by publisher Robert Maxwell, plans to launch six channels later in the year.

Experts predict four million British homes will be tuning into up to 50 satellite channels within five years.

Sky TV listings, 1/5/1989.

Some mocked (comedian Alexei Sayle wondered if a dustbin lid and a couple of jump leads might work just as well as a satellite dish!), but by the end of 1989 the dishes were popping up everywhere.

And "the telly" has never been the same since.

1960: A Crash At The Original Mitcham's Corner

Cambridge Daily News, April 6, 1960:

LORRY CRASHES, LOAD CATAPULTS INTO SHOP WINDOW

An articulated lorry carrying 10 tons of paper cartons for a frozen food firm overturned at Mitcham's Corner at dawn today. The load was catapulted through three plate-glass windows of Mitcham's shop, but the lorry driver was unhurt...

It [the lorry] overturned when negotiating the corner and tipped on its side on the pavement.

The manager of Mitcham's, Mr Edward Pull, who lives in a flat above the shop, told a 'Cambridge Daily News' reporter: "I was awakened by a terrific crash. I thought the whole shop had fallen down.

"It was exactly 5.30 when it happened. I put on a dressing gown and dashed down into the shop. Two of the three windows that went were recently put in and on display were carpets and soft furnishings.

"We don't know how much damage was caused or how much it will cost to repair because we don't know yet whether there is any structural damage."

The original Mitcham's Corner in 1959, the year before the accident.

Above and below: a busy day at the original Mitcham's Corner in the 1930s.

The original Mitcham's Corner in 2007.

Cambridge Fashion Through The Decades - The 1960s, Part 1...

From the Cambridge Evening News of 1969 - flared trousers had become trendy during the hippie second half of the 1960s - and were at the height of "cutting edge cool" during the "Summer of Love" of 1967-68. They then entered the mainstream and rather outstayed their welcome, becoming a grim militant uniform in the financially hard hit 1970s. When I was a child on the Arbury Estate back in the '70s, not to wear flared trousers was to risk getting severely picked on!

So oppressive are the memories that nowadays I wouldn't be seen dead in a pair!

But in the 1960s they were exciting and new...

More flares and also "trouser outfits" and mini and maxi skirts from 1969.

Unisex fashions at Stylebest, Regent Street, 1969.

Trends for kids - toys at Peake's Furnishers, Fitzroy Street and Bradwells Court, November 1969 - the spacehopper was a trend, and hands up all those who remember Tippy Tumbles?

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The famous hopper came with its own "inflating adaptor".

More from 1969 - Jentri of Regent Street - Ben Sherman shirts and Afghan coats... some of the latter gave off quite a nasty high pong...

The History Of The Tivoli Cinema, Chesterton Road, Part One

The Tivoli building as it is today.

A new venture, The Olympia Tea and Concert Rooms, was proposed for the site which would become the Tivoli Cinema in 1920. By March 1921, the plans had evolved and an application for a provisional licence was made by Mr GA Wooten, on behalf of Tom Oakey "in respect of the proposed new cinema for Chesterton Road." The provisional licence was sought before work began on the building - and was granted, under the condition that a wall between the cinema and the Spring Hotel was erected down to the River Cam at a height of six feet.

In the autumn of 1923, an advertisement appeared in the Cambridge Daily News:

SPECIAL NOTICE

An opportunity occurs for a very limited number of SHARES in a Cinema Proposition in Cambridge (Chesterton District). Would those interested communicate, stating amount prepared to invest in satisfactory proposition to -

BOX X.Y.Z., "Daily News" Office, Cambridge.

The management of the Rendezvous Cinema in Magrath Avenue placed an announcement in the CDN the following day:

The Management of the Rendezvous Cinema wish to state that the advertisement appearing in this column last night, with reference to SHARES in "CINEMA PROPOSITION," in no way refers to The Rendezvous Cinema, or any undertaking of the management.

A few days later, a final announcement appeared:

LAST OPPORTUNITY

Occurs for Investment in Sound Cinema Proposition (Chesterton District, Main Road). If interested, apply, stating amount (if considered satisfactory) you are prepared to invest to -

BOX X.Y.Z., "Daily News" Office, Cambridge.

N.B. - This is positively the last advertisement to appear. Replies will be sent to all letters received in due course.

In June 1924, work began on the cinema for the newly formed Chesterton Cinema Company. The work was delayed by a prolonged strike, and the building was completed in early March 1925. It was estimated that the actual time spent erecting the building had only been twenty weeks.

The architect was Geoffrey P Banyard, of 4a, Market Street, Cambridge.

The Cambridge Chronicle & University Journal reported:

The site has a frontage of 52 feet to Chesterton Road, with a depth of 116 feet, the back extending to the edge of the River Cam; the height of the building is 35 feet above the level of the pavement. The front and ends are faced with red bricks with stone dressings; there is a portico extending the full width of the front at pavement level, with a balcony at first floor level spanned by a bold semi-circular arch, which in turn is surmounted by a pediment in stone, carrying an electric torch bracket and flagstaff; this constitutes the central feature of the front. The balcony is flanked on either side by wings, wherein are situate the manager's office, motor generator room, staircases, etc.; these are also faced with red bricks with stone dressings and stone pediments at top, the whole making a very imposing elevation.

From the entrance vestibule are the two entrances to the auditorium, also the two staircases leading to the balcony. The gentlemen's cloak room is located off the entrance hall and the ladies' cloak room off one of the staircases leading to the balcony. The operator's box and re-winding room are situate over the entrance vestibule, and are approached from the outside by means of the front balcony.

The auditorium is 80 feet long x 36 feet wide, and the projection is 90 feet to the screen. The seating accommodation in the auditorium is 450, and the slope in the floor from the entrance vestibule to the screen is 7 feet. There are five exit doors on the ground floor in addition to the entrance doors. The screen is 20 feet by 19 feet, and is covered by electrically operated curtains, with special lighting effects.

The balcony on the first floor has a span of 36 feet, and has accommodation for 150 seats; the rake of the auditorium and also the balcony floor is such as to give an uninterrupted view of the screen from every seat, and a private box for about ten people is placed centrally at the back of the balcony. The ventilation of the building is carried out by an electric fan which extracts the air through trunks arranged in the roof from the ceiling grids, and the system is such as to give a complete change of air in the hall in the space of a few minutes. The electric installation has been made a special feature, the lamps being hidden in six large domes placed in the main ceiling and two smaller domes under the balcony; each dome is fitted with 120 lamps, giving a reflected light with coloured tint effects, and dimmer operation. The lighting during the showing of the picture is so arranged that the gangways and access to all seats can be distinctly seen, and the necessity for the attendants to carry hand torches is obviated. The architect has also made a special feature of the interior decoration and ornament, and the general colour scheme consists of blue at floor level, which graduates through brown and orange tints to a pale blue ceiling.

On Monday, March 16th, 1925, local magistrates granted the licences necessary for the Tivoli to open. The application was made in the name of "George Wheatley, 34, St Barnabas Road, manager". The hours for the exhibition of films were to be from 2pm to 11pm, with some slight allowances made for films over running. A dancing licence was also granted, not for public dancing, but for "turns" booked to appear between films.

On the 19th of March, the Tivoli, billed as "Chesterton's Super Cinema", made its debut. It was the sixth cinema in what was then the town of Cambridge, and the second purpose built structure.

COMING NEXT: THE GRAND OPENING AND THE TIVOLI UP AND RUNNING.

Dennis Of Grunty Fen

Whilst exploring the hall cupboard today, I came across a couple of audio cassettes I hadn't listened to for some years - both featuring the enjoyable chunterings of Dennis of Grunty Fen, Cambridgeshire's very own local vocal yokel.

Singer songwriter Pete Sayers began to give Dennis voice and style (!) on stage in the 1980s.

Dennis found a wider audience from c. 1988 onwards, when Mr Sayers liased with local journalist and broadcaster Christopher South. The two set to work together and their BBC Radio Cambridgeshire shows, featuring tales of an ever-expanding band of characters, earned much acclaim over a period of seventeen years.

Pete Sayers died in 2005.

Having discovered my old cassettes - The Bomb Photo and Dennis - Tiger Tales, I searched the internet for Dennis information and was delighted to discover that the character lives on with his own website - see it here.

Dennis resides with his 92-year-old grandmother in the LNER, a converted railway carriage. You'll find it facing the Great Puddle which is deeper at the edges than in the middle.

Wonderful.

But look out for the Nastiness behind the bus shelter.

I really must explore the hall cupboard more often...

The Tivoli Cinema, Chesterton Road - Introduction

The Tivoli in 1925, its opening year.

Photograph: Cambridgeshire Collection.

When I was a child in the 1970s, my grandmother often used to reminisce about her younger days in the Chesterton Road district. As I was living there too, I was fascinated and grew up well versed in the knowledge that Mitcham's Corner was originally simply the corner of Chesterton Road and Victoria Avenue - where Mitcham's shop stood, that the terrace of houses marooned on the traffic island had once stood on the corner of Chesterton Road and Milton Road, that a ferry service had operated across the Cam from the end of Ferry Path to the Fort St George and back, and that the area had played host to two wonderful cinemas: one of these was the Rendezvous/Rex in Magrath Avenue, the other the Tivoli on Chesterton Road.

Whilst I well remember the old Rex building in Magrath Avenue, for some reason, although the Tivoli featured in many of Gran's tales of the past, I never actually located where it was. Somewhere near Mitcham's shop was as far as I got. Gran was elderly and didn't get out much, so there were no "historic" site seeing tours with her, the area had changed a great deal since her youth, and she'd somewhat lost touch with the current status of her old haunts. I assumed that the Tivoli had simply been demolished.

Never in my wildest dreams did the idea enter my head that Flinders, the wholesale electrical warehouse next to the Rob Roy/Boathouse public house in Chesterton Road, was actually the Tivoli Cinema building. I was quite interested in local architecture and street furniture, but the frontage of Flinders did not excite my attention. In fact, I don't recall it exciting anybody's attention!

Then, one day c. 1986, I spied activity at the warehouse... the Flinders frontage had disappeared, workmen were scurrying to and fro, the sound of hammering and sawing echoed above the usual Chesterton Road traffic noise, and some old lettering, emblazoned above the front entrance to the building, had been revealed... "TIVOLI". I was very excited by this sudden revelation (I was twenty-one-years-old at the time, an absolute bundle of youthful enthusiasm), and dashed over to my gran's cousin's house in Springfield Terrace: "Muriel! I never realised that the Tivoli was Flinders!!"

"But of course," said Muriel, calmly.

"I knew it became a warehouse," said Gran later, equally calm, "but I couldn't have told you the name."

It was at this point that the idea of me writing a history of the Tivoli was born, and I began collecting material.

Twenty-one years later (how time flies!), I began to use the accumulated material to put together a series of articles about the Tivoli for this blog, and was just about to contact the Graduate public house, the current business occupying the old Tivoli premises, to request a look around the place, when Simon Baker contacted me. Simon is head promoter at the Graduate - which is a popular venue for live bands. He wrote:

I was wondering whether you had much information or pics on the Tivoli cinema, which is now the Graduate pub? I work there and it's a fascinating building with a warren of old stair cases from its cinema days and I'm itching to find out more.

I met up with Simon at the Graduate, he gave me a tour of the building, we talked about its history and I took some photographs of the premises as they are today. By this time I had managed to bring some semblance of order to the mass of material I had collected on the Tivoli, and had finally begun work on a potted history.

The first instalment, telling the story from the first indications of a cinema being built on the site to the debut of the Tivoli in 1925, will appear on this blog in January.

If you have any memories and/or photographs of the Tivoli and would like to share them, please e-mail - actual80s@btinternet.com .

The Tivoli building as it is today - now the Graduate public house.

A view from the roof of the Graduate, December 2007.

Cambridge Fashion Through The Decades - The 1970s, Part 1...

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LAST YEAR'S STYLES ARE GOOD FOR 1970.

From the Cambridge Evening News, January 1970:

Soon spring clothes will be flooding the shops and filling the spaces left after the sales.

Thankfully, there appears to be little drastic change in design to out-date last year's wardrobe. The emphasis is again on the waist, with a general feeling towards flattering, pretty clothes and soft fabrics.

For many years fashion has been so diverse it has offered unlimited ways of dressing, and this holds good for the spring of 1970.

Jackets either to go with the conventional skirt or trousers are now at all lengths. Coats frequently favour the A-line with a gentle flare towards the hem and have collected belts.

Insets of contrasting materials continue to be a popular feature on dresses and this spring will see a continuation of the dress and coat and dress and jacket partnership.

While there are enough attractive clothes to make spring shopping a pleasure, there still isn't a dramatic swing in the fashion pendulum to make anyone seriously consider re-planning their wardrobe.

The 1970s were a time of recession, and the decade played host to many revivals. The 1950s were huge, 1940s boutiques flourished, platform shoes were dragged out of the 1930s and the 1960s look - flared trousers and all - stuck around and stagnated.

Here is a newspaper article from the Cambridge Evening News, 1971, detailing the blossoming 1950s revival ('70s music leant heavily on the '50s - from Roy Wood and Abba to the Sex Pistols).

Later in the '70s, the '60s began to shine again (and we were only just beginning to shake off the '60s flares!) with a revival of interest in the Mods/Rockers and Ska scenes.

Being a child in the 70s has given me a lasting love of 1950s and '60s music!
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Barneys, Mill Road, Cambridge, was a popular fashion outlet for many years and is still missed to this day. In this newspaper ad from March 1973, we discover that 1960s flared trousers are being joined by 1920s Oxford Bags and that puffed sleeves are back in style! A Grandad sweater would set you back 99p!

I find the way that the 1970s have been rewritten during the last ten-to-fifteen years very interesting. Many of the things we attributed to the '60s in the '70s and beyond are now wrongly celebrated as "'70s innovations" and the 1980s are also raided for pop culture and fashion to call "'70s". However, material from the 1970s fortunately reveals the true facts.

Reliving the '70s through the newspapers of the decade brings back many memories of just how grim and stagnant the decade really was style-wise. Flared trousers, the hippie uniform of the late 1960s, had begun to enter the mainstream before that decade ended, but in the '70s, in the absence of new ideas, flares got rather stuck. Still, it's nice to note from the clipping above, taken from the Sunday People, 1975, that efforts were being made to move away from the 1960s.

My older cousin went to see The Jam when they appeared at the Cambridge Corn Exchange in June 1977.

The Cambridge Evening News reviewer got very excited about the event - mainly, it seemed, because of the band's '60s retro influences.

Jammy Treat In Store

Cambridge pop fans are getting a rare treat this Friday with the opportunity to see one of the best “new wave” groups yet spawned by the black generation - The Jam. They are appearing at the Corn Exchange, which is guaranteed to be jam-packed for the occasion.

The concert coincides with the release of their first album, “In The City”, and comes at a time when the single of the same name is making rapid chart progress.

The Jam are, to say the least, an unusual group. While they are very definitely “new wave”, they are not, never have been, and say they never will be “punk” rockers. No safety pins for these lads, they can actually play good music.

They sound so much like The Who of 1965 - and dress in a similar fashion with Mod black mohair suits and spiky hair-dos - they may well achieve the same impact as Pete Townshend’s gang have.

The Jam are: 18-year-old Paul Weller, lead guitarist, vocalist and song writer; 21-year-old Rick Buckler, drummer, and 21-year-old Bruce Foxton, bass guitar.

That first album, incidentally, is excellent. If The Jam go along the same path as The Who, purchasing a copy now would be an exceedingly good investment.

The main difference between The Jam and The Who is that The Jam don’t have a front man to belt out the songs in the way Roger Daltrey leads The Who. But The Jam put their music over with such ferocious energy that it doesn’t seem to matter…

So what did I make of the Mods and Rockers revival thingy? I liked The Jam a lot, but I was not terribly impressed with the retro scene. Said my mate Pete at school one day:

"'Ere, Andy, wot are you - a Mod or a Rocker?"

"Neither!" I snapped. "This is supposed to be the 1970s, not the 1960s!"

Throughout the '70s, we'd had the '50s Teddy Boy thing, which I'd liked. And the decade had been rather overshadowed by the '60s in many ways. And there had also been other revivals, too. But surely a '60s revival wasn't due yet?!

But sadly the '70s was so short on ideas that soon Mods and Rockers were all the rage.

Again.

This is a snippet from the Cambridge Evening News, dated 10/12/1977.

Do you mourn for the days when the pop charts were full of mind-blowingly innovative, totally new, totally THRILLING stuff?

Er... just when exactly was that?

Crawford Gillian, the CEN's TV reviewer back in 1977, appeared to have something of a hate/hate relationship with TOTP. I've copied the review below, as the original is a little on the faint side in parts.

Ten-year toppers

About 10 years ago, "Top of the Pops" was a Thursday night "must" for me.

It was an easy way to keep an eye on the pop end of the music scene. And for good measure, if you will excuse such a tasteless pun, there were always Pan's People - suitably undressed.

In those days, you could expect to see such giants of the pop world as Paul McCartney, Manfred Mann or the Bee Gees.

On Thursday last week I tuned into "Top of the Pops" for the first time in ages and on the show were... Paul McCartney, Manfred Mann and the Bee Gees! Pan's People were still there, or at least their younger sisters. But now they're called Legs and Co.

Even the camera angles looked the same. There is still the lingering close-up of the pianist's fingers, the shots in negative, melting into others aimed directly into coloured spotlights. Of course, in 1967, we didn't know they were coloured.

The performers respond with the same mock-petulant postures and still don't bother to maintain the pretence of playing their instruments.

Women's Lib doesn't seem to have penetrated the pop world. There was the statutory girl draped round each of Tony Blackburn's shoulders as he introduced the groups, purely decorative.

One exception was a gravel-throated girl singer who looked and sounded like Rod Stewart - another reminder of the sixties influence.

Even the Number One spot looked decidedly dated with Paul McCartney and his jingoistic tribute to the Mull of Kintrye.

It featured a Scottish pipe band marching up and down a beach. Being of the appropriate nationality, I suppose the blood should have been leaping in my veins at such a sight. All it reminded me of was the "Monty Python" sketch with the kamikazee Highlanders throwing themselves one after the other from castle battlements.

If Messrs Cleese and Chapman had got hold of this one, the sequence would have ended with the pipe band marching out to sea.

But that's one of the troubles with "Top of the Pops". It never has had any sense of humour.

Next week Elton John takes on the job of handling the introductions. Another sixties superstar. Need I say more?

The "gravel-throated" singer was none other than Bonnie Tyler with It's A Heartache.

The top ten for the week ending 10/12/1977 was:

1) Mull of Kintyre/Girls' School - Wings

2) Floral Dance - Brighouse and Rastrick Brass Band

3) How Deep Is Your Love - Bee Gees

4) Dancin' Party - Showaddywaddy

5) I Will - Ruby Winters

6) Daddy Cool - Darts

7) We Are The Champions - Queen

8) Rockin' All Over The World - Status Quo

9) Egyptian Raggae - Jonathan Richmond and the Modern Lovers

10) Belfast - Boney M

We Wish You A Merry Christmas And A Happy New Year!

Each year we set off to buy Christmas presents for friends and loved ones...

Shopping is changing in Cambridge - with the Grand Arcade development well on its way and the new shops on the Bradwell's Court site opening for business. In this article you will find a touch of Cambridge Christmas shopping past. Pictured above is the fondly remembered Joshua Taylor's department store on the corner of Market Street and Sidney Street, looking very picturesque with its lighted Christmas trees in the 1960s.

Cambridge Daily News, December 7 1921 - Joshua Taylor has some ideas for gifts for men and, also on the Christmas present theme, Robert Sayle And Co Ltd ask: "Why Not Give Handkerchiefs?" Founded in 1840 by Robert Sayle, the son of a Norfolk farmer, the store became part of the John Lewis Group in 1940, although it continued to trade as Robert Sayle. Following brief relocation to Burleigh Street, the store moved into its new premises on the corner of Downing Street and St Andrew's Street in November this year and is now trading as John Lewis.

W. Eaden Lilley - another fondly remembered Cambridge department store - advertises its Children's Bazaar in November 1927. The store disappeared from Cambridge in 1999 - a great pity - it was a lovely place to browse around and a good source of quality products. Eaden Lilley is still a thriving concern with department stores at Saffron Walden, Great Shelford and St Ives and a photographic service in Green Street, Cambridge.

Our Home Corner - a popular feature in the Cambridge Chronicle and University Journal. This particular Corner is dated November 12 1924 and contains a traditional recipe for Christmas pud, tips on Christmas shopping and advice concerning young women and affectations. Click on image for readable view.

Laurie and McConnal's was another Cambridge department store, this one based in Fitzroy Street. Known around Cambridge as "Laurie's" or "Laurie-McConnal's" (the "and" being dropped!) this store was founded in 1883 and rebuilt after a fire in 1903. A victim of the difficult financial climate of the time and the uncertainty surrounding the Kite redevelopment, Laurie's finally closed down in 1977.

Charles Mitcham's famous department store - the original Mitcham's Corner and now the Two Seasons Sports Shop. The store was founded in these specially built premises in 1909, and expanded into neighbouring buildings.

First prize in the Mitcham's Christmas 1927 competition (a boys' cycle) went to Miss E Hobson of 16, Humberstone Road.

And so back to 2007.

To all those celebrating I wish you a very merry (and not too commercialised!) Christmas and a happy and peaceful New Year!

Mr Don Halls

Vicarage Terrace, 2006.

Cambridge-born Mr Don Halls has been in touch from America, with memories of Vicarage Terrace and Cambridge in years gone by. He has written several e-mails. Some extracts follow...

I was born next door to the Prevett family at #20 Vicarage Terrace, in 1927. I was one of seven children... I have vivid memories of those far off days and would just love to discuss them with you.

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When we we were small children, Professor Prevett would put on a practice [Punch & Judy] show for us kids, my memories of those shows are a bit fuzzy.

My father was a stone mason, as were almost all of his ancestors. My grandfather and family lived in Walnut Tree Avenue, right where the Brunswick School is, in a house called Primrose Cottage. This was demolished to build the school.

My Uncle, Harvey Halls, kept the Wheelwrights Arms on East Rd, where a Dancing Bear was kept in the stables. Later, it was kept in another stable in Staffordshire Place. Uncle Harvey owned most of the property in Staffordshire Street. When he retired he had a house called Clyde House in Milford St.

At the foot of our and the Prevetts' garden was a coal yard owned by a man named Palmer in Edward St. We could not it see as we were separated by a high wall.

Mr Halls well remembers the houses in Vicarage Terrace...

Two up two down, a toilet and a scullery were added about 1927, and most of them were owned by a college professor named Guest. His wife would collect the rents, which were 5s and 9d a week. I kid you not, we had no electricity. Gaslight was the norm with a meter that took 1d a time...

Fascinating! Many thanks, Mr Halls. It is a very small world. When I wrote the "coming soon" article, mentioning the forthcoming feature on the Prevetts of Vicarage Terrace, I had no idea that one of their former next door neighbours, now residing in America, would read it and get in touch. The wonders of the World Wide Web!

When DID The Spacehopper Arrive?

Stuart Thomas writes...

I was interested to read your "Decades Past" post. Are you sure about the spacehopper featured in your 1960s illustration? According to the BBC's "I Love 1970s" site and the British Association of Toy Retailers (BATR) site, the hopper was released in Britain in 1971.

Thanks for your e-mail, Mr Thomas.

My information comes from the Cambridge Evening News, 14 November, 1969. The full advertisement, complete with space hopper, is featured above. As the advertisement actually dates from 1969, I would suggest that the BBC and the Toy Retailers Association (TRA - the new name for the British Association of Toy Retailers) are in error on this occasion.

Decades Past 1

The first of an occasional series - snatching a look at various 20th Century decades from a Cambridgeshire perspective. Beginning with the 1920s and 1960s...

The '20s apparently roared - but started off in recession and ended in a stock market crash!

The "King Street Tragedy" headline seen in the illustation above refers to the mysterious murder of Miss Alice Maud Lawn, who was discovered battered to death at the foot of the stairs behind her little general shop in King Street.

My grandmother, who was just a week short of her eleventh birthday at the time of Miss Lawn's death in July 1921, always talked of it in a hushed, fearful whisper: "We were all really frightened when Miss Lawn got murdered."

Gran was acquainted with Miss Lawn - she was often taken to the shop by her father. The murder so played on her impressionable young mind that when the man accused of the crime, Thomas Clanwaring, was acquitted, she became increasingly fearful of the "murderer at large".

Finally, her parents told her that "two young louts" had been caught, charged with and convicted of the crime.

In reality, the murderer was never caught, but my gran, who died at the age of 87, was never made aware of that fact.

On a much lighter note, the pogo stick and talking cinema films appeared, hemlines went up and the Charleston was all the rage...

The '60s - a time of sexual freedom, hippies, flared trousers and space hoppers! Here we see the Cambridge News (as it was then called) reporting the first man on the moon, the Beatles "invading" the Independent Television listings magazine, the TV Times (ITV had arrived in 1955) and an ad for a spacehopper - the 1960s answer to the 1920s pogo stick?

The hoppers were a huge hit and were on sale at Peake's Furnishers Ltd, of Fitzroy Street and Bradwell's Court in 1969.

Coming soon - the 1950s and 1980s...

1908: Milton Road School - The Opening...

Details of the opening of the Milton Road Council Schools on July 20th 1908.
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My grandmother, mother and I all attended Milton Road. Gran began at the school c. 1915 - when a weekly fee of sixpence was charged to attend.
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Gran's cousin, Muriel Wiles, who attended the school at the same time, recalled herself and other pupils sitting in class with their arms folded behind their backs, thus encouraging an upright sitting posture - thought to be highly important in those days!
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"Arbury Is Where We Live!" - 25 Years On...

It really doesn't seem possible, but it is now twenty-five years since the Arbury Is Where We Live! book was published. It all began as a project called "Arbury 1980", which the Arbury primary schools worked on cooperatively during the Spring Term of 1980.

The project was designed to help build an identity for the area and culminated in an exhibition held at the Manor School in March 1980. The book followed in 1981.

I was a pupil at the Manor School in 1980, and so too old to take part, but I found the project fascinating as my great-great grandparents had lived at the Manor Farm on Arbury Road. My grandmother's cousin, Reg Jones, spoke to children at the Grove School about his youth as part of the project, and some of his memories were featured in the book.

I particularly enjoyed his account of long summer days spent in the company of his friends and cousins, including my grandmother...

When we had our six weeks holiday in the summer, we used to go over the railway line and turn into what we called the Mere Way - all trees. We used to spend our time up there with a little bonfire. We used to take our sandwiches and always managed to scrounge an egg off mother and we'd take it up there and boil it in an old salmon tin we used to find.

As you can imagine, I was very interested in the project and the resulting book.

Children wrote about the various eras of life in the area - stretching back to the Iron Age at Arbury Camp...

... through to the days of the area's three farms - Hall, Manor and King's Hedges. The "Campkin Road in snow" photograph on the page above shows what was known as the Manor Farm "drive" and the Manor Farmhouse (often referred to as "the manor house") c. late 1950s.

The book moved on to the building of the estate and then to life in Arbury in 1980.
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We keep the bisuits and all the tea-pots in the kitchen cupboard. I put some toy sharks in my Mummy's cup of tea and when she picked it up the sharks opened their mouths and closed them. Mummy nearly fainted but Daddy laughed. There is a bird's nest inside my loft. The bird chewed the inside of my scaletrix.
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Arbury Adventure Playground in 1980. Look at those flared trousers! Despite rosy coloured (and often inaccurate) programmes like the BBC's I Love The 1970s, I have no fond memories of flares, which haunted us from the late 1960s until c. 1981 - although they weren't high fashion by then.

In the Arbury of the 1970s, the wearing of flares did not indicate hippie idealism in my experience. Hippies were a 1960s thing as far as the people I knew were concerned. Flares were worn simply because they were fashion and, as fashion was strict and regimented back then, to go against the trend was to risk getting picked on!

To return to 1981, the publication year of Arbury Is Where We Live!, I find it fascinating to consider how different life was for children back then. No mobile phones. No personal computers. No compact discs. No satellite television.

A national survey conducted by Walls, the ice cream company, showed that the most popular kids' games of 1981 were hide and seek, chase, and cops and robbers and the most popular toy was Rubik's Cube.

It really was a different world!