Going back to my roots: Croxley Green, Herts
my family, 1930s-1990s
All of which ancestral wandering brings me back to the village where I grew up. OK, so it's a bit of a cheat pretending that a commuter town with a population of eleven thousand is a village, but in comparison to neighbouring Watford the place is positively rural. Croxley Green lies in the southwest corner of Hertfordshire on the edge of Metroland, so you may have seen the place lovingly revered in John Betjeman's definitive 1973 documentary.
"Child of the first war, forgotten by the second, we called you Metroland. We laid our schemes, lured by the lush brochure, down by-ways beckoned, to build at last the cottage of our dreams, a city clerk turned countryman again, and linked to the metropolis by train."
My music teacher appeared in Metroland, conducting the school orchestra at Croxley's annual "let's pretend to be a village" village fair. I'm relieved that John and his BBC camera crew didn't turn up three years later because that was the year I was selected as one of the 24 maypole dancers, and wearing short trousers on television isn't good for one's street cred. I did wonder whether my maypoling had been immortalised on the new village sign, but closer inspection revealed that all of the twirling silhouettes are female - damn.
I could write at least a month's worth of posts about CroxleyGreen but I won't (I'll save that for some year in the distant future when I'm determined to haemorrhage readership). Today I'll just content myself with a report from the site of the village's most famous export. Right opposite the house where my dad grew up.
This is Common Moor Lock on the Grand Union Canal. Just over 70 years ago my newlywed grandparents moved into a Metroland semi on the banks of the canal here (hidden behind the trees to the left at the rear of the photo). Their lovingly-tended garden sloped down to the canal towpath at a gradient of 1 in 5, so it was all the more impressive that I chose their lawn to take my very first toddling steps. I wouldn't risk it today because the latest owners appear to have abandoned a car at the bottom of the garden, next to a pile of bricks and some rusty wire fencing. Looking out across the canal there used to be a fine view of the John Dickinson Paper Mill, home of world-famous CroxleyScript paper. Bet you've used it. DH Lawrence swore by it. I remember the huge mill buildings well, standing sheer above the canal like an industrial cliff face, but alas they no longer stand. 150 years of paper production ceased in 1980 and the site (right of photo) is now covered by a swathe of modern housing - with tiny flat uninspiring lawns.
Going back to my roots: Croxley Green, Herts
My music teacher appeared in Metroland, conducting the school orchestra at Croxley's annual "let's pretend to be a village" village fair. I'm relieved that John and his BBC camera crew didn't turn up three years later because that was the year I was selected as one of the 24 maypole dancers, and wearing short trousers on television isn't good for one's street cred. I did wonder whether my maypoling had been immortalised on the new village sign, but closer inspection revealed that all of the twirling silhouettes are female - damn.
This is Common Moor Lock on the Grand Union Canal. Just over 70 years ago my newlywed grandparents moved into a Metroland semi on the banks of the canal here (hidden behind the trees to the left at the rear of the photo). Their lovingly-tended garden sloped down to the canal towpath at a gradient of 1 in 5, so it was all the more impressive that I chose their lawn to take my very first toddling steps. I wouldn't risk it today because the latest owners appear to have abandoned a car at the bottom of the garden, next to a pile of bricks and some rusty wire fencing. Looking out across the canal there used to be a fine view of the John Dickinson Paper Mill, home of world-famous Croxley Script paper. Bet you've used it. DH Lawrence swore by it. I remember the huge mill buildings well, standing sheer above the canal like an industrial cliff face, but alas they no longer stand. 150 years of paper production ceased in 1980 and the site (right of photo) is now covered by a swathe of modern housing - with tiny flat uninspiring lawns.
