We were devastated when told our houses in The Crescent would be demolished. So we naively thought that if we buried a metal box crammed full of our names and addresses by a tree near the village hall, people in the future would know about us. Even back then we thought our village was something special. Of course, we didn't realise at the time the whole area on that side of the London Road would be bulldozed beyond recognition. The box, the tree and The Crescent have been lost forever. So I hope this post will jog a few memories and lift the lid on life in that unique place.
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My mother Joyce told me that on the November night I was born, stormy winds blew some windows of the West Kent General Hospital wide open. Nurses, tangled up in the billowing curtains, frantically tried to shut the windows on the maternity ward.
Was this an omen of things to come?
My birth on that Saturday seemed to pacify the legendary Sister Toomey, who made a huge fuss of me and called me her 'little toad'. But my mother later witnessed that ward sister's fearsome reputation. One morning, after reading a congratulatory letter from my nan, she picked me up to feed me. Sister Toomey without hesitation slapped my mother's hand. 'In future,' she shouted, 'after touching paper, wash your hands before handling your baby!'
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| My out-patient card. Behind is the tree we later buried the box under |
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| The British Legion Stores and phone box |
Cousins, Sleigh Bells and Ice Cream
Some of my earliest memories of life in The Crescent are just fleeting images and soundbites. The cheery whistle of 'big Jim' the boiler-man, the sea-like sound of the leaves in the trees outside my bedroom window, the siren before another explosion in the quarry and hearing Santa's sleigh bells on our roof one Christmas Eve!
Then there are the faint recollections of my brother David playing in the thick snow in his Red Indian outfit, the annual robins' nest in our shed and the old shepherd walking his dog along the London Road. Also the coloured light-patterns made by the glittering dress rings of my cousins Sandra and Thelma on our living room wall.
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| David being held by my cousin Thelma and Sandra holding me |
My Mum missed her family in London. So a Sunday visit by my uncles, aunts and cousins was always exciting. Often Uncle John would bring Nan the 41 miles to see us. Sometimes it would be Auntie Jean and Uncle Ed with my cousins Paul, Wendy and Janet. Or Uncle Reg and Auntie Audrey with their sons Colin and Trevor. Also Auntie 'Dolly' and Uncle Allen came from Croydon with their two daughters Sandra and Thelma. After a roast dinner with my relatives, there was always tinned fruit and a block of Lyons Maid ice-cream for pudding!
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| Uncle John and Nan |
When we knew our cousins were on their way, David, Susan and I would run upstairs and peer out of a bedroom window, eagerly waiting for a first glimpse of their car on the London Road.
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| Mum's brothers and sisters |
Nan worked at Maynard's sweet factory in Haringey, so on every visit she brought bags of wine gums and pastilles along with an assortment of toys and books. But it was the books I enjoyed the most.
I loved reading and drawing and Mum and Dad did all they could to encourage me. Dad worked as a compositor at the British Legion Press and sometimes would set in lead type some of my short stories. He would also bring home off-cuts of paper that I transformed into weekly comics. These I would post through our letter box - eager for someone to read.
My Uncle Ed was a talented artist and one warm Sunday afternoon he sat with me in our back-garden and began sketching our house. He explained to me the various techniques of perspective and shading and gradualy brought the building to life. From that moment on I was hooked.
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| Uncle Ed's drawing of the back of 235 The Crescent |
Nan, Rentaset and Ivanhoe
Occasionally we visited London. At that time we didn't have a car, so the hour long trip to see our relatives was a thrilling adventure. Perched on Uncle John's thick leather seats we witnessed the transformation from the pastel greens of the Kentish countryside through the dark grime of the Blackwall Tunnel to the endless grey streets and the towering buildings of the sprawling metropolis.
We stayed at Nan's house in North Grove, Tottenham, London, on several occasions. It was a wonderful experience. Especially at Christmas when all the family somehow managed to cram themselves into her tiny back room. The ceiling was always covered with balloons and paper chains of every conceivable colour. Nan would stand in the steamy kitchen with Mum and Auntie Dolly frantically buttering bread and making pot after pot of tea. Meanwhile my cousins and I weaved our way through the legs of our aunties and uncles huddled together around the cake filled table.
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| Christmas at Nan's in London with all the family |
In a corner of our living room, looking like a highly polished piece of furniture, stood our Rentaset television. Apart from the tiny transistor radio on the mantlepiece and the occasional music floating in from the opened windows of the village hall, this was our only entertainment. Once the valves were glowing and the horizontal and vertical holds were adjusted, it was ready. Although we were sternly warned not to sit too close: 'It will ruin your eyes!'
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| My sister Susan with our Rentaset tv behind her |
These were the days of heady tv shows like Fireball XL5, Popeye, Thunderbirds and Batman. We also witnessed the grainy images of the shooting of JFK, the Aberfan and Torrey Canyon disasters and the broadcast of Winston Churchill's funeral. I will never forget seeing the lowering of those cranes in London's dockland as a sign of respect to that great statesman.
Saturday evenings were spent eating re-heated chips from Maidstone and watching the wrestling just before the pools results. Afterwards Dad, David and I would try and copy the holds of stars like Mick McManus and Les Kellet. Soon the living room carpet would be covered with sweaty entangled bodies, while Mum tried to calm us all down.
The movie Ivanhoe was often shown on the tele. David and I were inspired by it and as the end credits rolled we would run down the garden path and past the old cooking apple tree to re-enact a tournament. Grabbing an old dustbin lid and lumps of metal we would begin hacking mercilessly at each other like medieval knights.
Another classic we enjoyed was The Great Escape. But we never expected David to dig tunnels at the bottom of our garden. They were so deep none of us could find him. He terrified poor mum.
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| With David and Susan in our back garden. The hall and club is behind. |
A Lazy Eye, Jacko Monkey and Dr Bentley
I was born with a squint, or lazy eye as they sometimes call it, so it meant many bus trips with my mother to the Ophthalmic Hospital in Church Street, Maidstone for examinations. These included looking down into a huge brown machine, turning chrome wheels and attempting to put a cartoon tiger into a cage.
Finally in 1968 I had an eye operation, performed by the top Kent specialist of the time, John Ormerod. This involved 'tightening' a muscle attached to my eyeball (this operation is apparently not performed anymore). For being so brave I was promised a 'Jacko Monkey' from Woolworths that had gripping hands. Dad picked me up from hospital several days later and rewarded me with a Timex watch - which was nice, although a bit of an anticlimax. I really wanted that monkey. But Woolworths had sold out!
My right eye was heavily bandaged so Dad carefully guided me up the steps of the dark green 109 Maidstone & District Routemaster bus and we journeyed back to the British Legion Village. Once indoors I was horrified to see that one of my mates, Robert Hughes, had been playing with my bag of cars and had left them scattered all over the carpet!
Robert's father Ian, had been in the Navy and suffered with tuberculosis. He, like so many others, was sent for treatment to Preston Hall from North Wales and later worked in the Industries as a carpenter. Ian's wife Edith, was originally from Yorkshire and had come to the village when her father needed treatment. Along with their son Robert, Ian and Edith also had a daughter, Lynda.
In the grounds of Preston Hall there are various roads named after prominent people who, down the years, were connected to the Royal British Legion Village. One in particular is Bentley Close. Dr. Arnold Philip Bentley MBE, MB, BS was not only the Industrial Medical Officer at Preston Hall and a member of the Honorary Staff of the British Legion, but our village doctor. My father Sam had suffered terribly with tuberculosis and been transferred from London to Preston Hall during the early 1950s. He knew Dr Bentley very well. His clinic was situated in the Jacobean building to the left of Preston Hall's main door. I can vaguely remember this eminent doctor standing up from behind his desk and shaking my hand in greeting.
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| The Crescent is shown in the left hand corner |
The Rocking Horse, May Pole and Haunted House
Looking back, I now realise what lucky children we were. A time of adventure in a place we will never visit again. Most of our early days were spent in two large playing fields opposite the houses in The Crescent and in the strand of woodland behind. Swings, a slide, May pole, see-saw, rocking horse and even a sand pit, supplied by the Hornsey British Legion, entertained us for many years. The local cats loved the sandpit!
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| The village hall, see-saw and rocking horse. Our house was two doors down from the hall |
Of course even all that was never enough. Sometimes we ventured into Preston Hall grounds or wandered up Hermitage Lane to pick blackberries and climb the huge old trees behind the bungalows. We had incredible freedom and were soon exploring the ancient Bluebell Woods, the orchards of East Malling Research Station and further on up to the 'haunted house' and Deadman's Wood. This was an old derelict house near an area where a Polish Soldier had been accidentally killed during WWII.
Down the years our gang consisted of Paul and Mary Spencer, Joan, Susan and Sarah Bell, Graham Smart, Robert Hughes, Hugh Keon, Linda, John and Richard Burnap. Also Tony and 'Edwin' Collins and Jeff, Jenny and Jeremy Inkpen. We would play football, climb and scrape our knees, build tree houses, light bonfires and fearlessly run and run until dusk.
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| Mum holding David and Dad holding me. |
Mrs Hogan, Woodbines and the Cafe
My mother was one of the youngest in The Crescent and when neighbours realised how much she was missing her family, they would often call-in for a chat. Regularly in the afternoon, after David was born, there would be a tap on the back door by Mrs Hogan from number 245. She would sit with mum until it was time for her husband Paddy's tea.
Three doors down from us lived Molly and Charles Bates. Molly came from Aire in Scotland and had been in the WAAF. During my early childhood she would often babysit while mum and dad did their weekly shopping in Maidstone. Her nicotine stained fingers held me up to the window to wave goodbye to my parents as they walked along The Crescent to the bus stop.
Molly Bates often told mum that I had an aristocratic manner and stood out from the other children in the playing field. I later learned that she was an alcoholic and had been banned from the club on several occasions. So that could explain her opinion of me.
Years later I would hear 'Auntie' Molly calling me from her rickety garden gate at 241. It was usually to get her a packet of Woodbine cigarettes from the cafe. Reluctantly putting my football down I would apprehensively approach this wizened old lady in her yellow coat and take coins from her matching fingers.
Built in 1933 the dark timbered cafe stood alongside the London Road between the two playing fields. The cafe was designed to be an industrial canteen for workers in the hospital and industries, but had the added bonus of being open every day. The village stores was closed on a Sunday so the cafe proved a useful alternative. For adults it was handy to get cigarettes and tobacco - for us, ideal to buy ice cream and sweets, especially Penny Arrows and Frother Bars.
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| Inside the Cafe |
In a tiny room at the back of the cafe, an old lady often sat, hunched over a sink surrounded by pots of peeled potatoes.We would dare each other to peer through the small smeary window and pull faces at her. Sooner or later this poor woman would jump to her feet and shoo us all away brandishing her lethal potato peeler. As we ran off we would shout, 'She's a witch! She's a witch!'
We could be very cruel at times.
Unfortunately this little wooden cafe was a fire risk and one summer afternoon while we sitting on the swings, one of our gang noticed acrid smoke wafting from its roof. Soon a crowd of bucket wielding villagers encircled the blaze. But just as the fire brigade began bringing it under control the cafe's cat was spotted padding the warm roofing felt! Luckily the fat old moggy was soon safe in a fireman's arms and brought back down to terra firma.
It was later revealed that the fire had started because of an unattended chip pan. At sometime during this period, the manageress was Sally Gully and one of the cafe's claims to fame was a visit by a famous celebrity, Harry H. Corbett, star of the1960's tv series Steptoe and Son.
Crescent Rangers, War Medals and theVillage Stores
In the early summer of 1967 a group of us were cycling back from scrumping when we noticed a removal van outside number 229. We parked our bikes and watched from the swings as a new family moved into 'our' village. It was Connie and Bill Spencer with their two children, Mary and Paul. Paul was immediately signed up to our Crescent Rangers Football team and became a lifelong friend of mine. Ask him about the day I smashed a newly repaired window in the village hall!
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(Back Row, left to right) Robert Hughes, Tony Collins, Me
(Front) David Wait, Paul Spencer, John Burnap
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Many of our parents had served during WWII and worked at either Preston Hall Hospital or in the British Legion Industries. Most evenings many of the old soldiers and their wives would make their way slowly along The Crescent to the British Legion Club (Capel Morris). They were often dressed in their ties and blazers, proudly revealing their colourful regimental badges and gleaming medals. Of course it was impossible for us as children to imagine the horrors those brave men and woman had seen. They would stop for a 'breather' and smile as they watched us playing in the parks.
We owe those veterans so much.
The village was unique in many ways and we would often witness visiting groups from other British Legions around the country completing their guided tour. Curious faces would peer out the windows of coaches into our living room. It was like being in a zoo. We hated it and often stuck our tongues out at them as they passed by.
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| The Crescent showing some of the house numbers and the subway |
In 1960 a subway was built under the London Road from the gates of Preston Hall to just behind the phone box outside the British Legion Village stores. This provided safe access for patients, doctors and villagers alike. But the subway was also another ideal place for us kids to play. We would climb along its railings, ride bikes and go-carts through it's huge puddles and shout to hear the echoes of our young voices bounce off the walls of the dimly lit passageway.
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| The British Legion Village Stores |
Maidstone was a bus journey away and Ditton and Larkfield were several miles in the opposite direction. A small supermarket later existed in the middle of the Greenacres estate, but that was quite a trek without a car. So for us, the British Legion Village Stores, or Empress Stores as it was sometimes known, was an essential resource. It's construction in the 1920s was paid for by The Empress Club of London. It sold everything from cereals, sweets, newspapers, meat, vegetables, cheese, stationery and tinned goods. In the centre of the shop stood shelving displays which led down to a small post office managed by Leonard Watson. For many years a vintage poster showing a parrot advertising 'Sharp's Toffees of Maidstone,' hung from the ceiling.
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| Inside the British Legion Village Stores |
Snow, Midwives and Joan and Fred Smith
Both my brother and sister were born in The Crescent. On the freezing January night David was delivered, Nurse Reece (the midwife), cycled the two miles from Ditton. A few days later there was very heavy snow fall, so this conscientious nurse had to walk all the way to The Crescent to give my baby brother his post natal check up.
Nurse Kinnear brought my sister into the world. That night I believed God has sent us one of his little angels. A few days after her birth, new neighbours moved into 232 - Joan and Fred Smith with their whippet Lassie. They had come down from Yorkshire and we were now blessed with living next door to two of the kindest people I have ever met. They seemed like part of our family and treated my sister like their own. Bonfire nights and Christmases with them became brim full of wonderful memories.
Like my father and many others in the village, Fred had also suffered with tuberculosis. But Fred's treatment consisted of a surgical procedure known as 'thoracoplasty' which involved removing ribs to collapse the underlying diseased lung. Unfortunately Fred's procedure involved a double 'thora' and losing so many of his ribs meant him having to wear a special corset to support his upper body for the rest of his life.
Fred was a skilled carpenter and for my birthday one year he built a beautiful toy theatre. Those talents were soon used at the British Legion Industries. One day in the carpentry department, Fred noticed a machine operator having difficulties and offered to help. He told him to switch the machine off while he inspected underneath to see what the problem was. But the operator noticed a manager approaching and in blind panic switched it back on again. It tore off three of Fred's fingers and he never worked for the British Legion again.
After midnight on New Years Day, Joan Smith's brother Gerald, would knock on our back door and carry a shovel full of coal over our threshold. This was an old Yorkshire custom (known as First Footer) and was said to bring the family luck through the coming year.
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| Me with my Jolly Jim Ventriloquist puppet with David at Christmas c.1965 |
Coal Fires, Esso Blue and Teapot Lane
The twenty five houses in The Crescent were built in the 1920's. Between 1947 and 1950 the British Legion had carried out 'major improvements' to them. We had a coal fire in the living room and our warm water came from an old Coalight fired boiler in the kitchen. Mum laid our clothes to air on its bubbling grey water tank and rattling pipes.
There were two wooden coal bunkers in the garden which were regularly filled by the soot smeared coal men of Brooker Brothers of Aylesford. We had fire-places in other rooms of the house, but they were very small and impractical. So if we were cold in our bedroom, we used a hot water bottle or laid a couple of coats over the bedspread.
On those grey chilly mornings it was not unusual to see ice on the inside of our windows and the milk bottles delivered by Primrose and Len standing frozen on our doorstep. Dad always lit the fire. First there was the rattle of the coal scuttle as he cleared out the piles of ash from the night before. Then outside, he chopped up wood to put on top of the loosely rolled paper, ready for lighting. Occasionally he would place a whole sheet of newspaper across the fireplace to quickly draw up the flames. But one day the centre of his newspaper caught fire. It was like watching the opening titles of the TV western Bonanza!
As soon as the living room was warmed-up, David, Susan and I would creep downstairs and dress for school in front of the glowing red coals of the fire.
One cold January night Dad placed an old paraffin heater in our bedroom. To begin with he had trouble lighting it, then it began sputtering and fizzing and suddenly to our horror the heater became engulfed in blue flames. Within minutes Dad miraculously managed to lower the blazing heater by rope out the window into the back garden, where it eventually burnt itself out. We had a very lucky escape. The advert for the paraffin used to be Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom, Esso Blue! And our heater certainly did!
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| An early picture of The Crescent |
It was after the freezing Christmas of 1962 that I first started school. With David in a pushchair, my poor mother took me through deep icy snow drifts, across the busy London Road, down Teapot Lane to Aylesford County Primary School.
Upon my arrival at the school a tug-of-war ensued between my mother, teacher, and myself. This culminated with me kicking poor Mrs Sturdy in the ankle. Mum was very embarrassed and apologised for my actions. Mrs Sturdy calmed the situation down and reassured both of us that everything would be fine. I just wanted to go back home! But in the end it was Mrs Sturdy who went home. A year later she returned to her family in America.
Later, a bridge was built over the London Road near the junction between Teapot Lane and Holtwood. This was prompted after a boy from the British Legion Village - Garry Southern, was knocked over by an oil tanker. Luckily he only received a broken arm.
Aylesford County Primary School was officially re-opened by the Dean of Rochester on May 7th 1963 at the grand cost of £64,000. A photograph appeared in The Gazette of the children in the new hall during the grand ceremony. I can be seen sitting bemused in the front row wearing my national health glasses.
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| The official opening of Aylesford County Primary School |
Every morning our Head Mistress, Miss E H Smiles held assembly in that hall, which also doubled-up as the school canteen. Huge hymn sheets would hang down from its ceiling and with the residual odour of school dinners wafting under our noses we would sing hymns like, 'All things bright and beautiful...'
As a gift to their headmistress, parents and children of the school collected a huge amount of milk tops - raising enough money to get Miss Smiles a beagle puppy. The pupils voted to name the dog Penny.
Because this fund-raiser proved so successful the next project was even more challenging - an outside swimming pool. This was eventually constructed together with a pair of heavily creosoted wooden changing rooms. Of course the boys soon began drilling peep holes with sharp implements through its dividing wall.
One morning I stood on the side of that bright blue pool, beat my chest, did a Tarzan call and dived in. But unlike the Lord of the Jungle I landed unceremoniously on my head. After swallowing what seemed like gallons of chlorinated water, I thrashed my arms about and scrambled back up to daylight. As I stood knee deep, my ears popped and buzzed. Shaking and coughing I opened my stinging eyes and noticed several dead flies,wasps and a soggy brown carpet of leaves float past. This experience put me off swimming for life.
Bazooka Joe, Mr Mellor and the Scouts
Adjacent to our primary school in Teapot Lane stood a small corner shop. Every weekday, heaving queues of children would wave their pocket money under the nose of the agitated shopkeeper. Sometimes they wanted a bag of marbles, but often it was for Bazooka Joe chewing gum, Spangles or a packets of sweet cigarettes.
In the playground girls would skip, jump and sing, while the boys would hold British Bulldog competitions or chant 'Join Up For War!' Flying footballs would ricochet off high fencing behind groups of boys clutching handfuls of conkers, marbles and bubblegum cards.
A few teachers of that school still remain in my memory. Mrs. Corbett, Mrs Seymour, Miss Hardy and Mr Dyson. But it was Mr Mellor's lessons in one of the mobile wooden classrooms that stand out. Looking back now he seemed way ahead of his time. His wonderful storytelling was enhanced by his wife's beautiful illustrations. One week, just before our summer holidays, our class made a short ghost movie. Every pupil appeared in the film and operated the 8mm cine camera. Mr Mellor even showed us all how to create special effects. One technique was filming through the ripples of heat given off by the classroom's old oil heater. This gave the scene a dream-like quality. If that film still exists, I would love to see it again.
In 1966 there was much excitement at school when the opening sequence of the movie 'Half A Sixpence' was filmed in Aylesford Village. Aerials were taken off the roofs of many of the old houses near the church and many children took the day off school to watch Tommy Steele dancing over Aylesford Bridge.
As reported in the Kent Messenger, Mr Mellor bravely took 27 of our class on a week long field study trip to Doddington Youth Hostel in April 1968. This was the first time it had been done and was successful - although I was very homesick. During the trip some of the girls played a netball match, we went to a waterworks, visited a church and explored the beautiful countryside.
About this time I joined Aylesford Scouts and was put into the Eagles group. Several camping trips followed, including the Malling District Scout Camp at Plaxtol, near Sevenoaks. This was also reported in the Kent Messenger and showed a picture of me looking tired and bewildered.
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| Camping with Aylesford Scouts. Barry Clark is to the right of me |
Ghosts, Bluebell Woods and Raw Eggs
It wasn't long before this eagerness for the great outdoors inspired camping in our back garden in the Crescent. So David and I borrowed Mum's pegs and some of her old towels and sheets and created a tent. Eventually Dad managed to obtain a real canvas one with pegs, guy ropes and groundsheet from a colleague in the print. Now we could sleep through the night and this experience became popular with both our cousins and friends.
On those balmy Friday evenings during the summer we were allowed to stay up and watch the Hammer Horror film after News At Ten. Paul and I became fascinated by those old movies. Afterwards we would take our torch and clamber in to our tent to retell spooky stories about the Blue Bell Hill Ghost and the legend of the White Lady of Preston Hall.
Of course as time went by, camping in the garden was not enough. One day Paul, David and I loaded up our go-cart with the tent, sleeping bags and a few pots and pans and decided to camp near the 'haunted house'. How our parents allowed this remains a mystery.We pitched the tent in a dried-out pond under a tree next to an apple orchard and lit a huge fire. It wasn't long before the farmer appeared on his tractor. He was furious that we hadn't asked permission and ordered us off his land immediately. So we sheepishly extinguished the fire and pulled our re-loaded go-cart out of the orchard and back down towards Bluebell Woods.
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| The area we camped near the orchard |
Once again we lit a fire. Unfortunately I had not gained many badges during my short period in the scouts and we had not come prepared to cook over an open fire. Our baked beans and eggs remained raw and jacket potatoes were incinerated. Luckily we had some Custard Creams.
The only torch we owned had barely enough power. As night approached we were soon shrouded in complete darkness. The three of us climbed into our sleeping bags and listened. Around our tent were some very strange sounds. All three of us were terrified. After a sleepless night we clambered out to find mole-hills all around us. The Robin Hood films were never like this! Tired, dirty and hungry we decided to drag our go-cart homeward.
Secondary School, The Pond and St. Francis of Assisi
I do not remember taking the Eleven-Plus; it seemed that everyone was destined to go next door to Aylesford Secondary School anyway. I was worried about going there as all the first years were thrown in a pond: it was the tradition. As I peered through the wooden fence between the two schools my heart sank. It looked humungous with its endless floors of corridors, pupils and classrooms. Still I could run reasonably fast and there were plenty of places to hide.
On our first day, all the new pupils put on a brave face. Apparently only one poor lad was nearly thrown in the pond. He had foolishly worn a school cap and was an easy target. But the school bullies eyed us all up from their reserved benches in the playground.
After covering our school books with old wallpaper and writing out our timetable of lessons, we soon had to get used to carrying a satchel stuffed full of books along the bewildering layout of the new building. Not only that but at the sound of the 'pips' we also had to trudge along the narrow paths to the wooden chalets and out-buildings of the old section of the school.
Below is a video journey around Aylesford Secondary School by John Bayliss, a class-mate of mine. It shows the old part of the school just before the old buildings were demolished.
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| Near the pond in my first year at Aylesford Secondary |
Some of the teachers were scary. In particular the Deputy Head, Mr Skelton, Mr Hitchcock ('Scratch it') and the Headmaster Mr Rawlinson.They thought nothing of administering the cane or slipper!
There were also colourful characters like Mr Phoebe (English), Mr Elliot (music), Mr Brown (science), Mr Cook (sport) and Miss (Flo) Nightingale (French). Oh! And poor Mr Cribb the young agency teacher who suffered terribly at the hands of various classes.
But during my time at secondary school it was only English and art that I enjoyed. Throughout my childhood I had been inspired by the work of Walt Disney and I was now sure that it was illustrating and cartooning that I wanted to do.
One day my R.E. teacher asked me to complete a comic strip of the life of St Francis of Assisi. It took me ages to complete but he was impressed enough to pin it up around the classroom and I gained a merit mark for my school house - Culpepper.
Jack Russell, Shakespeare and Extra Art
During my last few years at Aylesford Secondary a couple of new teachers started. One was a watery eyed maths teacher with a limp called Mr Hobson. The other was Mr Russell. 'Jack' Russell was a 'larger than life' character. He pinned up a baby's dummy for those who chewed the end of their pencils and thought nothing of throwing chalk or board rubbers at inattentive pupils. Those he taught, never forgot him.
Mr Russell soon became my form teacher. He mainly specialised in technical drawing and was involved in finding many pupils a career. One afternoon I had an interview with him and showed him some of my artwork. He was impressed and encouraged me to go to college. I would need to get at least a couple of 'O' levels and to help me, my timetable would be adjusted so I could take extra art lessons. Result!
I later found out that Sharon File, a girl in my year at school was also intending to go to art college. We both later applied for Medway College of Design.
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| C.S.E. Timetable for Aylesford School in 1974 |
Miss Friend was my art teacher at this time and did all she could to motivate and encourage me. Mrs Duval, my English teacher was also an inspiration. For our literature studies we tackled Cider With Rosie by Laurie Lee and two Shakespeare plays, Romeo and Juliet and Julius Caesar. She even found time to embark on teaching us the basics of Latin!
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| My Entrance Test dates for Medway College |
A Prospectus, Dark Days and Demolition
About the same time that the Medway College of Design prospectus dropped onto our door mat, news began to circulate that The Crescent was to be demolished. It was said that a survey by the Royal British Legion had shown it would cost too much for the houses to be renovated. We would be offered accommodation on the new estate being built in the grounds of Preston Hall.
Dad could not believe that the Legion would do that to us.
These were dark unsettling times. In 1972 a new industrial warehouse complex had been constructed over the site of the old pig farm. The old British Legion Industries including The British Legion Press were demolished and once the area was clear a combination of flats and houses began to appear. These would later become William Baker House and Clive House along with Howick and McKenzie Close.
Meanwhile the printing process was rapidly changing and the days of setting type by hand were fading. Dad was extremely unsettled. Mum wanted us to move nearer to her family in London and they considered moving to Essex, Hertfordshire or Walton-on-Thames. Amongst all this stress and turmoil I tried to study for my exams and find other art colleges that might take me.
Sharon File and I both passed the entrance test for Medway College of Design and pending our exam results were both accepted in September.
In the end Mum and Dad decided to try the new house we were offered. It was number 4 McKenzie Close. At the time the design was considered innovative. Downstairs it boasted underfloor heating, a small fitted kitchen and a large open-plan living space. Upstairs were two small bedrooms, a 'box' room and bathroom. Outside, along the path, hung a washing line that, although was considered to be at the back of the property, faced the road and main thoroughfare. There was no garden apart from a small square and a shared lawn. Dad hated living there.
Meanwhile the houses in The Crescent gradually emptied. If he passed the area on a bus, Dad would turn away. He couldn't bear to see the hollow, vandalised shells of the buildings that held so many memories. After a painfully long time, The Crescent was finally razed to the ground. Meanwhile the Village Hall and Club continued until the early 1980s. Now at least they both had more car parking room. The subway was filled in during the expansion of the London Road in 1989.
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| My picture of the Village Hall after The Crescent was demolished |
For a few years the Village Stores was used by an animal charity known as Pro-Dogs. Afterwards it stood pitifully alone, the only remnant of what had once been on that side of the A20. The outside of the building was renovated in the 1990s much to the bemusement of many people, but the inside was left to rot away. It was finally demolished in July 2015.
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| Demolition of the Village Stores July 2015 |
In 1991 a Sainsbury's superstore opened on the site of The Crescent. It was bizarrely named Sainsbury's Larkfield, which is a village more than a mile away. But by then the whole area had changed and The Crescent forgotten. I wonder if during the construction work the builders discovered a small metal box buried in the ground, filled with the names of some village children?
