Educating the Newcomers

Work is now well advanced on recreating and improving the website St Albans' Own East End; delivering it on a new, more modern, platform.  There are many limitations to the present website platform, the most important that it is no longer being serviced.  So, as they say, the time has come ...  and we will hopefully see the new site in all its east end splendour later in the summer.

One small new feature on the collection of photo pages devoted to the schools will be a brief history of each one.  We take them for granted, but they came into existence for many different reasons.  Yes, each one opened to provide more places for children living in the district, but the more we explore how their beginnings the more we understand how flimsy was the planning in each case, and how little the various education authorities took account of the data which was available to them.

Today, of course, there is so much data available – and even more can be commissioned by virtually anyone and for any purpose. Even basic facts and numbers available to authorities in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, such as census returns and movement of households into districts, did not appear to convince planners that crunching this limited information could possibly assist in making provision for school places.

For example,  from the 1890s almost thousands of homes were emerging from the fields on both sides of Hatfield Road and for a decade the education authority chose not to commit itself to building a school in the district; not even to negotiate with the developers to reserve a plot of land on which a future school might be built.

Shortly before the emergence of county authorities the St Albans Rural Education Board constructed a school, Camp, specifically for children living in the villages and hamlets on the east side of the city.  This  became urgent because the St Albans (city) Education Board had reviewed its existing policy and denied future access by rural children to city schools, mainly Alma Road, St Peter's and Priory Park, and Hatfield Road.  

Children in all of the homes in the Cavendish, Fleetville and Castle areas were expected to attend Camp School.  It wasn't only a question of numbers either.  A child living in Brampton Road had no straight-line access to Camp School as the only rights of way across the railway line were in Sutton Road and Camp Road.

The first part of Fleetville School opened in 1908, although strangely, the authority had no expectation that many children would attend on the first day, only employing the head teacher and deputy until proof could be shown!  Between them, Camp and Fleetville carried the burden of education the east end's children – all of them up to leaving age – until the opening of Ss Alban & Stephen in 1934.  The removal of senior children into senior schools at Hatfield Road, Priory Park and, eventually Beaumont, occurred from 1930, and relieved some pressure on space. Incredibly, it was not until 1955 and 1958 respectively that new schools were opened at Windermere and Oakwood, the latter being known at the planning stage as the Fleetville Extension School.

We now have nine (10 if Samuel Ryder is included) centres educating primary-aged children, and during the post-war period the education authority was finally able to do what the 1944 Education Act envisioned: to enable primary children to attend a local school within a short walking distance of their homes.  Of course, the open enrolment concept of recent years has partly negated that aspiration, with many children being ferried by car to a school further away on the basis that it is a good school.  Yes, there's a debate to be had here.  Good schools everywhere, more open air and exercise for all, fewer cars, less stress around the school gates, cleaner air ...

Next time we will discover how bad it became for children over the age of eleven.

Spies in Glenlyn Avenue

A rather small and narrow field bordering Camp Road – which everyone had then known as Daniel's Field – was purchased by the enterprising partners of building firm Goodwin and Hart in 1930.  The two had become friends during the First World War while being sent on heavy labouring assignments as a result of their refusal to join the military.  On their release they pitched up at St Albans, thinking there were useful work opportunities.

Daniel's Field was thought to be the firm's first development purchase, as opposed to single plots; the result became the three delightful roads of Lynton, Windermere and Glenlyn avenues, developed as culs de sac mini-communities.  Windermere was different in that it had no turning circle, providing a later opportunity to build on the allotment field behind.

Homes in Lynton Avenue were occupied first, in 1931.  Owners of the £750 Glenlyn Avenue new-builds were able to take possession  by 1934.  A recent blog titled Just Dropping In reminded a reader of an event which had occurred to the parents of the writer shortly after moving into their new home.

Glenlyn Avenue today.

Many attempts were made in the decade or so after the First War, to heal divisions created by the conflict.  Government, local authorities, communities, church groups all made attempts to offer the hand of friendship.  While at the community and individual level the contacts were clearly well intended and positive, as we all realised the future at national and international level was seen by many with some suspicion. 

Although I have not yet discovered any examples I understand that advertisements were placed in the press during the course of the 1930s in which families were encouraged to offer extended vacations or 'friendship visits' to young people from Germany and maybe other European countries.   I will research these advertisements and update the blog later.

One family from Glenlyn Avenue responded positively and invited Herr and Frau Khol to stay for a while, as they spent their days exploring the district – no doubt including the Cathedral, the newly completed lakes and the curiosities of the city's narrow streets and its countryside.  The guests were expected to contribute towards the cost of their accommodation, and I have no doubt the hosts were expected to engage with their guests, and overcome any language barriers as best they could.

In this case, probably in 1935 or 1936, before the extra rooms were needed for a growing family, the contributor assures us that her or his father, having fought in the First War, bore his opponents "no ill will ... letting bygones be bygones."  No doubt there were hundreds of similar hands of friendship taking place around the country during the early and mid Thirties.

Lynton Avenue in 1931.

The Glenlyn Avenue couple clearly felt the experience of hosting a German couple had been successful and agreed to repeat the offer the following year.  A young man had brought his bicycle with him.  Perhaps he did not think that cycles might be available for hire in the UK, but nevertheless he spend much of his time cycling around the district.  This could have revealed one difference in approach between the guests.  One could imagine, though this might not have happened, hosts and guests sharing some time walking and travelling by bus together.  Unless all owned a bicycle the process of exploration would be more of an individual exercise.

And exercise might be an appropriate term since the young man from Wuppertal began quizzing his hosts about the Ballito factory in Fleetville [for those whose recollections do not extend back that far, Ballito, on today's Morrison's site, manufactured silk stockings].  They are reported to have been searching questions, which his hosts thought suspicious.  They possibly confided in friends before asking the young man to leave, no doubt contacting the sponsors of the visits, which today would be considered part of the tourism industry.

That was that; no more friendship visits, and the country was within three years of another international conflict.

The two recent stories have concerned spies, or collectors of data, who were discovered on the east side of St Albans.  During the 1930s and 40s how many more arrived and successfully collected their data and returned to pass it on?

My thanks to the contributor of the earlier post for adding her family's experience to the wider story.

Pothole Alley

With a title such as this you could be preparing to read a thoroughly modern story about the state of our roads and the inadequate amount of funding available to do a proper job in maintaining  thoroughfares and residential streets.

The state of our roads debate is probably as old as the proverbial hills.  Hatfield Road is in a variable condition at present, with entire slabs of macadam broken away like giant broken biscuit, and a few jolts here and there sufficient to wake a dozing passenger.

In the years leading to 1881 there were reports of a similar neglect of the road's condition, complaints at the authority responsible for receiving funds through the turnpike tolls, and then not spending it on repairing the road.  

The Reading & Hatfield Turnpike Trust was not considered to be very effective body at the best of times, but it did its best, at least until its final few years when closure was inevitable and take-over by a public authority.  Neglect set in, and it's anyone's guess where the income was spent.  The pictorial evidence?  The 1870s and 1880s are within the realm of early photography, though not with the popularising of techniques thirty years later.  Nevertheless, no identifiable early plates appear to have survived, if they were ever produced.  We might otherwise be able to publish spot the difference images in the newspapers!

There are many residents who will recall other potholes, although at the time of their experiences the route was on private land along a permissive way.  Who remembers The Ashpath, aka The Cinder Track?  A cart driver originally beginning at Hatfield Road, opposite Beaumont Avenue, would be pitched and jolted on his vehicle all the way to a bend close to the present Cambridge Road.  The only relief came when the horse pulled the load up the steeper gradient to pass a humped railway bridge (its modern version still takes traffic across the former railway across Ashley Road).  

When the homes on the Willow estate were built in the early 1930s the first section of the Ashpath was made up.  Our memories remain, however, of the next section.  It was wide, but there was a fearsome collection of variable holes along the whole length of the road.  After rainfall it was not possible to walk in a straight line for more than a few yards.  

Modern factories replace old Nissen huts near Hedley Road; the
former brush factory to the right, behind the hedge.

The owner, Thomas Kinder, had died in 1881 (coincidentally the year the nearby Turnpike was taken over), and from then until the 1960s when the City Council created a road out of the mess, it appeared to be no-one's responsibility.  Holes were occasionally filled with ash from the brick ovens on the east side.  Which brings us neatly to the same question posed above.

The first modern building along the Ashpath replaced the
former Owen's brickworks.

What visual evidence remains of the Ashpath as it used to be between the early 1900s until the 1960s?  The brickworks and subsequent quarry holes, eventually used for tipping rubbish?  The brush factory spewing out wood shavings and sawdust beside the track?  The large Nissen huts between Hedley Road and Cambridge Road, both of which joined the Ashpath in an uninviting way?  The ancient oak tree, only recently removed?  The bend where the path continued to the entrance of Hill End Hospital?  The latter remains as a much narrower way than in its earlier days.  Or the temporary pedestrian bridge slung over the cutting while the old bridge was being replaced?  Finally, where is a photograph of the brickworkers' cottages opposite near the end of Cambridge Road?

Photos of modern industrial estates are all very well.  But those irritating obstructions along pothole alley and the activity which grew up around them, are now limited to descriptions on the page.

Just Dropping In

While in London recently I took the opportunity of calling in at the refreshed IWM London.  Not familiar with the name?  We all used to know it as the Imperial War Museum; IWM also has a new museum in Manchester.

Museums can be explored with a broad brush, of course, but if you have sufficient time, or simply come across some little detail you can come away feeling very satisfied.  One gallery, Secret War, is devoted to the undercover world of espionage and covert operations.  One display lists the locations of spies who were subsequently picked up during World War Two.  I didn't need to read through the entire list, as the names Tyttenhanger and London Colney stood out clearly from familiarity.  So, let's spell out the details of the event and then return to that information I had previously acquired.

Karel Richard Richter
German from Czechoslovakia
Landed by parachute at
Tyttenhanger Park
London Colney, 13 May 1941
Arrested at Tess Road police station
Hanged 10 December 1941

What, then, was the story?

We start with the police station in Tess Road.  The road is now Woodstock Road south, and the station, in a pair of former houses now demolished was on the site of the present nursery car park.  This was a base for Hertfordshire County Police (the city police station was in Victoria Street).

Now demolished Wireless Station in Smallford
COURTESY S AMES

A war reserve constable, Alec Scott who lived at Colney Street, had the regular duty of keeping guard outside the wireless station in Oaklands Lane, Smallford, now replaced by the Radio housing estate.  When cycling home from duty late one evening he came to London Colney roundabout.  A lorry driver asking which road would take him to London, from a stranger waiting to use a phone kiosk, became suspicious about the man's accent.

The roundabout was more of a square-about in those days, had no dual carriageway, or bypass around London Colney.  The phone box was immediately to the south of the roundabout, alongside High Street.

The stranger had been dropped on the previous day and had hidden in woodland near Tyttenhanger Park, just in case his parachute had been spotted.  He had his essential gear, including wireless set, in two suitcases!  The parachute wasn't noticed, but his presence at the roundabout was.  The lorry driver passed on his suspicion to Constable Alec Scott, who questioned the stranger outside of the box, there being a caller inside – at 11.45pm.  Apparently the stranger, who was later revealed as a spy, stated he was waiting to call a hospital about his injured leg.  Constable Scott took the matter into his own hands and said he would notify the hospital on behalf of the injured party.  Good policing!  Once inside the kiosk, though, he called the Fleetville police station for back-up instead.

Much enlarged London Colney roundabout. The phone box was located at the
entrance to High Street off the picture to the right.

Karel Richard Richter was formally arrested and searched at the station, then questioned.  He was sent for trial and removed to Wandsworth Prison, from where he was later hanged.

The full story wasn't made public until 1958 when an article appeared in the Herts Advertiser (August 8th).  

Revealing a story can happen when, 77 years later, an inquisitive visitor to a museum spots a familiar landmark in a list.

Decidedly Dodgy

There are unusual stories behind many facets of life, if only we knew where to look.  And in this case we need to look upwards.  Even then it would be difficult to notice any mismatch after nearly eighty years.

So, what might we be looking at, and where?  In this case we are looking at a group of semi-detached homes in Woodland Drive, which were constructed by the building firm of Arthur Welch.  As they were completed between 1938 and 1940, their first occupants will have felt proud to finally own their own castle.

The little story which follows is recalled as a result of old documents which have been retrieved; the kind which include letters, copies of forms, orders and receipts, from people who never threw anything away!

There wasn't an extensive aerial bombardment in St Albans during the Second World War, so those events which did exist definitely stood out, and one in November 1940 obliterated one house and severely damaged three others in Beaumont Avenue.  Four people lost their lives, either at the scene or later in hospital.

"For taking down and rebuilding dangerous chimney."

During the months which followed the householders in nearby Woodland Drive north began to notice something awry with the chimney stacks connecting the kitchen solid fuel boilers at the side of the properties.  A number of cracks began to appear; although in a few cases these cracks failed to materialise until later in the war or afterwards, even though there were no further bomb drops in the area.

Was this a weakness in the workmanship of the building company?  Or was it the Beaumont Avenue bomb blast which weakened the structures?  Of course, the builder blamed the war, and the local representative from the War Damage Department claimed a construction fault that today might have been rectified under the NHBC ten-year guarantee.

£13 in 1947.

Each householder was responsible for making his own damage claim, and inevitably not all did, partly because of the complexity of everyday bureaucracy during wartime and partly because damage, which relied on ground-level observation, did not become evident until many years later.

Once started, an inspection took place, followed by an application for permission to undertake remedial work – materials and manpower were in short supply even in the early years of Peace.  If approved, the householder then engaged a builder to provide an estimate of cost.  The War Damage Department then spent some time deciding whether the cost was within the approved limits; if so, giving its authority to proceed with the repair.  However, the bill, paid for initially by the householder, was sent to the approved insurance company.

Sorry, you're too late!

However, the householders who applied later discovered one expensive truth, no doubt contained in small print somewhere: there was a time limit on applications for war damage.  As the official letter, dated exactly seven years after the bomb, stated, the householder at number 57 was too late.  He had to bear the £13 cost of re-constructing the chimney himself.  Of the fourteen homes it is not known how many householders made applications, but most of the chimneys had been renewed by 1960 and only two or three original chimneys remained.  They seem to have survived!

Today, of course, it is likely that none of the chimneys are still in place, gone when extensions were added or modern heating systems made the chimneys unnecessary.  But if they had survived, and you looked upwards, it is just possible that you might notice a more modern piece of brickwork than the age of the house might suggest.  Ah well!

On Your Bike

Council houses appeared in St Albans following the First World War – the much famed Homes for Heroes.  Council houses were also built after the Second World War, though not before the city's allocation of the innovative prefabs, a few of which still remain.  The council homes built by St Albans City Council in the late 1940s and throughout the fifties, had to serve many purposes: the post-war settlers, new families enabled by returning soldiers, sailors and airmen; and of course to enable occupiers of unfit dwellings to upgrade so that old streets could be redeveloped.

Proud father at the new Drakes Drive home.
COURTESY JOHN WATHEN

A significant opportunity for the council came with its 1930s acquisition of Little Cell Barnes Farm and land on the former Cunningham Hill Farm.  It is not clear what instructions it may have received from the Government, but the result was a formal communication to six London boroughs to identify suitable of their  tenants on the infamous housing waiting lists to relocate to units  on the London Road estate in St Albans.  Not all of the selected boroughs participated, and most of the rest found it difficult to fill their quotas, mainly because of householders' commitments to their local workplaces. Nevertheless sufficient homes were let under the scheme for St Albans Council to deem it a success.

Hard work pays off for dad in the best kept garden
competition.  COURTESY JOHN WATHEN

Until recently I had met no family with any connection to this scheme, but have recently been in contact with the son of one former north London family who recalls the migration to Hertfordshire very well, and with the aid of a few great pictures.

John's father had already committed to work in St Albans, cycling 20 miles each day to work at the Salvation Army Musical Instrument Works in Campfield Road – and then of course, 20 miles home again.  That is some commitment!  Later he then upgraded his transport to a BSA Bantam, and then discovered the relocation scheme.  Of course, there was no problem in applying for a house in the newly laid Drakes Drive.

A view across Drakes Drive towards Little Cell Barnes Farm.
COURTESY JOHN WATHEN

When the family moved in during 1956 John's father lost no time in taking photos.  Council houses of the time had a simple elegance about them, the cost kept down by straightforward lines and absence of detail; but generally room sizes were generous, as was storage space.  But you didn't expect to walk in to fitted kitchens with appliances installed, or gardens pre-laid to lawns with soils ready to plant.  To encourage tenants to make their plots look attractive at the front and purposeful at the back, the council organised "best kept garden competitions".  Not all took an interest, but John's father needed no encouragement and produced prize-winning results.

Looking towards Hill End and a chicken field.
COURTESY JOHN WATHEN

Primary-aged John could look out across Drakes Drive to the undeveloped fields of the chicken farm at Little Cell Barnes, the cottages at the junction of Cell Barnes Lane, and, a little later and further along the road, a start on the building of Francis Bacon School, finally occupied in 1961; a school he was destined to attend.

Francis Bacon School in build 1960.
COURTESY CHRIS NEIGHBOUR

John and his family therefore joined a large number of families to put down their roots in St Albans at the same time, having become yet another family whose London origins have become welcome St Albans settlers.

Sweets and planes

While many of us are vague about where Fleetville's boundaries lie – because there never has been a defined place called Fleetville – the wider East End of St Albans IS more accurately delineated, as the author has taken it to refer to the boundary of the parish of St Peter east of the Midland railway.  St Peter, that is, before the daughter churches of St Luke and St Mark were created.  So, in the two books and on this website we are interested in parts of Hatfield too, because they were also part of St Peter's parish.

Correspondence from people having a direct family connection with the East End, or who once lived here, regularly flows in; although not all of it results in entries to the website or blog.  But one email, and then another, has created a connection between a small Fleetville sweet shop, a major wartime factory and the city of Seattle.

William and Clarice Grace at a local event.
COURTESY IAN GRACE

Let's begin with the sweet shop.  Generations of children down to the 1970s will remember their top-up point in Bycullah Terrace next to the grocer on the corner of Woodstock Road South and Hatfield Road.  These shops had various owners, and so we may have known them by different names.  Before and during World War Two the grocer was Bennington's (Leslie Bennington) and the sweet shop Blakeley's (Mrs Blakely).  When Peace returned Mr Dixon took over the grocery and William Grace became custodian of the confectionery – which also sold ice cream, tobacco products and toys.

In an earlier or later occupation we might image Mr Grace to have been a wholesaler; the local wholesaler for the trade was J B Rollings, and William Grace used this firm to supply his shop.  Or perhaps a travelling salesman.  Several of these plied a regular trade around the shops; one, whose name I now forget, lodged with us for a few days at a time in the 1950s, and could well have been the same trader who visited William Grace's shop and who delighted his children with new toys whenever he walked through the front door.

Mrs Blakeley outside the shop before Mr Grace took over.
COURTESY CHRIS WARD

William Grace and his wife Clarice had, instead, probably considered their new chosen way of life to be far more relaxed than they had experienced in the previous decade or two.  William's connection with a major wartime factory was, of course, de Havilland's.  For our younger viewers of this blog DH's was located on the present business park and university campus adjacent to Mosquito Way (a clue there!)

The junction of Woodstock Road South and Hatfield Road
in 1964. Mr Grace's shop is the second in line.
COURTESY ST ALBANS MUSEUMS

He had begun his career with the company when it was at Stag Lane, Hendon, and moved with them to Hatfield when the firm expanded.  William advanced to be a senior production manager when manufacture of the Mosquito aircraft stepped up in the early war years.  

1940 bomb damage at the de Havilland factory.
COURTESY IAN GRACE

Of course, the Hatfield buildings were a target and part of the site was bombed in 1940; William being one of many employees injured.  He continued with the Mosquito project until the extensive layoffs as Peace returned, at which point he spotted an opportunity and chose to sell sweets in Fleetville.



Aircraft, however, was in the family blood.  The youngest of William and Clarice's children, Ian, also had an aeronautical career in the RAF and in the United States and has acquired a small collection of DH Moth small aircraft.  In memory of his father Ian has created a webpage which can be seen from
www.n5490.org/Pilots/Bill%20Grace/Bill%20Grace.html

William Grace's story will be featured on the website in the early Spring.