1921: The King Street Tragedy - Part 1

Miss Alice Maud Lawn and her King Street shop. Photographs: Cambridgeshire Collection.

"We were all really frightened when Miss Lawn got murdered..."

The tales of old Cambridge my grandmother used to tell me were often funny, sometimes sad, often simply mundane yet somehow charming, but this one was different. Gran would lower her voice, and an atmosphere of unease would creep into her cosy sitting room...

Gran's father used to rent a smallholding of five acres from Cambridgeshire County Council at the Manor Farm on Arbury Road. Each week, he would go to the poultry and greengrocery marts, held at No 71 King Street - the premises of J Winship, auctioneer and valuer. The poultry marts took place on Wednesdays, and Fridays were the day for greengrocery.

In the school holidays, my gran often accompanied her father to the King Street Mart, whatever the day, and a much looked forward to highlight of these visits was a walk across the road to the small general shop just opposite, where Gran's father would buy her some sweets.

"It was a little shop," Gran told me. "Even though I was only little myself, I remember it being small. But it sold all sorts of things. Dad would sit me on the counter and I'd choose some sweets."

The shopkeeper, Miss Alice Maud Lawn, was remembered by Gran as being "a dear little woman." She lived alone at the shop, with only her cat as a companion, but her brother and sister-in-law lived just across the road, and a cousin ran the nearby Belmont Garage.

On July 27th, 1921, Miss Lawn was murdered in the tiny hallway at the back of her shop.

Gran told me: "It was terrible. A man called Clanwaring was arrested, but he wasn't guilty. "

The murder had taken place just a few days before my gran's eleventh birthday, and she, an impressionable and highly imaginative child, had been absolutely terrified.

"I think it was so much worse because we knew Miss Lawn, she was part of our routine whenever we were at the Mart, and, although we never socialised with her, we saw her regularly at the shop and we were on friendly terms with her through being customers.

"And to think that Dad had been at the Mart on the day of the murder, just across the road... it all made it seem very close to home."

Gran lived with her parents in a small terraced house on Milton Road, and although it was some way from King Street, the fear was still strong.

"I'd lay awake every night, listening to every creak... It was only a two-up, two-down, tiny little place, if anybody had tried to break in we'd have heard them... But I'd still lay there listening... I was really frightened.

"Mum used the front room of our house as a shop to sell toffee apples and Dad's produce from Manor Farm, and she started keeping a sharp eye out for strangers or anybody behaving suspiciously. People couldn't wait for the paper to come out - you'd see them standing around talking about the murder, on Milton Road, Chesterton Road, outside Mitcham's, anywhere...

"Of course, we kiddies weren't supposed to hear, but we picked up on a lot more than the grown-ups gave us credit for.

"The neighbourhood had always felt safe to me, I had aunts, uncles and cousins living round about, and you took it for granted you were safe - it wasn't like nowadays. But suddenly you were looking at people, sizing them up... didn't that man on Victoria Avenue seem a bit strange? Didn't that man on Chesterton Road look... well... sort of... haunted?

"My Dad was a very steady man, and he never revealed to me that he was frightened. Looking back, I think he was just extra loving and reassuring to me at that time. He was always lovely anyway - I was a proper 'daddy's girl' - but I knew my Mum was frightened, and that made things so much worse..."

"Before that, I didn't even think Mum could be frightened! It never crossed my mind!

"Me and Mum used to cut across Midsummer Common from Victoria Avenue to Fair Street if we were going to the pictures in the evening, but although it was summer and broad daylight we stopped doing that and stuck to the road. You couldn't be too careful!

"Then the police discovered two young louts had done it. They'd pushed Miss Lawn down the stairs..."

Gran never forgot the "King Street Tragedy", but once the "two young louts" guilty of the murder had been caught, her initial terror faded.

But the memory still caused her to lower her voice and use a solemn tone whenever she mentioned the subject in later years.

A couple of years after my gran's death in 1998, I was at the Cambridgeshire Collection, looking through the Cambridge Daily News archive, searching for material - births, marriages, deaths and suchlike - for my family history project when I suddenly noticed a headline in the issue dated 27 July 1921:

CAMBRIDGE TRAGEDY

Shocking Discovery in King Street Shop

And over the subsequent issues there unfolded the sad and disturbing story of that long-ago crime.

And it was rather more disturbing than the version related to me by my grandmother. Her memory of a man called Clanwaring being accused of the murder was spot on, but the "two young hooligans" later apprehended according to Gran were missing in reality, as was the notion that Miss Lawn had been "pushed downstairs".

In fact, the identity of the perpetrator/s of the "King Street tragedy" remains a mystery to this day.

I was greatly puzzled as Gran's memory was second to none, and the King Street tragedy had obviously had a great effect on her when she was at a very impressionable age. But later I discovered the reason why Gran's story of the events differed from the reality.

So, to return to the King Street of 1921, just what did happen?

No 70 was, at that time, a small general shop on the corner of Milton's Walk, with the Champion of the Thames public house just across the narrow passageway. The shop area covered about 15ft 3 inches by 12 ft 6 inches. There was a window in the shop from Miss Lawn's living room, so that she could see if customers were waiting to be served whilst she was not behind the counter. Moving through the interior door into Miss Lawn's living quarters, one would encounter a side door to the right, opening into Milton's Walk, and stairs to the upper floors beside it, facing the door from the shop.

Miss Lawn's living room, with range and cupboards, was across the tiny hall to the left, and beyond that was the scullery, with sink and tap. There were three bedrooms on the floor above, and a large attic bedroom above those. Miss Lawn slept in the attic bedroom.

At the back of the house was a small concreted yard, with a coal-place and WC. The garden gate opened onto Milton's Walk.

27 July 1921 was a hot day, and a busy one in the street - with the Mart taking place as usual. It was said that people came from "far and wide" - from as far away as London.

Miss Lawn had lived in the street for around twenty years - she had originally moved to the shop with her mother, who had died in 1908.

On 27 July, Miss Lawn opened the shop as usual. A popular product of hers at the time was bread and cheese, a boon to some of those attending the Mart.

From around 10.40 am onwards, Miss Lawn paid the delivery man for some bread, gave some change to a workman from Christ's Pieces, and served two little girls.

When Arthur Sexton, a telephonist, arrived at the shop at around five or ten past eleven to buy some cigarettes, the door was locked...

More on the King Street Tragedy next week

A New Tivoli For Chesterton Road...

A bull, a bear and a globe formed the logo for The Exchange in the late 1980s, the Tivoli building's return to the Cambridge limelight after years as a warehouse and a spell of being unoccupied.

From an advertising feature in the Cambridge Evening News, 1988:

There's no mistaking the inspiration behind The Exchange - Cambridge's new and ambitious bar and brasserie.

Quite apart from the name, there are plenty of hints in the menu which offers such delights as Opening Bids and the Big Bang while the cocktail list includes The Predator and USM (Unlisted Securities Market): the Stock Exchange cannot be far away...

An old name is about to return to Chesterton Road with the opening of a new public house: the Tivoli Cinema building has been used as a warehouse and several licenced entertainment venues since the cinema closed in 1956, and is now embarking on yet another new era as a public house - under its original name.

A spokesman for pub chain JD Wetherspoon, which is behind the initiative, and which also runs The Regal in St Andrew’s Street, said the new pub would have two floors and a large beer garden.

Local residents have voiced concerns, but here at Cambridge Back Chat we hope the new venture is a success and manages to slot happily into the district. It will be good to see the "Tivoli" name back in circulation in Cambridge, and the building again being cared for as a going concern.

The opening date for the Tivoli public house is 26 July. We'll certainly be popping in for a nice glass of lemonade!

The interior of The Tivoli in its heyday as a cinema (Cambridgeshire Collection). Note the ceiling decorations, which were "returned to their former glory" at the time of the building's revamp into The Exchange in 1988 (see below).

Read some more Cambridge Back Chat Tivoli information here.

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 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 the 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.