Tag: Raynes Park

Roundabouts

Jackie and I had another drive into the Surrey countryside today, this time to Ockley for lunch at The King’s Arms where we had honeymooned in 1968.

Whilst passing the roundabout just outside Dorking which bears a sculpture of a giant chicken, I was reminded of the roundabouts in France.  Certainly in the area I am familiar with, around Bergerac in the Dordogne, there are numerous roundabouts carrying structures reflecting something of significance to the area.  One of those in Bergerac (the decision makers presumably having resisted the temptation to erect yet another statue of Cyrano),  contains seafaring figures pulling on ropes, an artificial beach, and running water.  This is situated on the riverside and speaks of the ancient barge-going traffic.  One in Les Landes has a huge chair which, upon investigation, turns out to be celebrating furniture makers of centuries ago.  A few more of these on our overcrowded roads would brighten up traffic queues.  (Except for The Chicken Roundabout on the A143).

And so to The King’s Arms, where this Knight eagerly opened his arms in 1968.  Surprisingly neither the pub nor the village seems to have changed much in 44 years.  It is a beautiful area with fond memories.  As we were keen not to leave the four year old Michael we only had a break of 4 days whilst Jackie’s mother Vonnie cared for him.  The excitement engendered by a shed fire, which seemed to bring out the whole village to watch the firemen do their stuff, was nothing compared to that of being alone together for the first time.

This Sunday the food was excellent and the beer acceptable.  Jackie had first-rate roast pork and I had fish in tempura batter and chips which were very good.  As far as I can tell, having consulted Chambers on our return home, tempura simply means deep-fried.  It certainly was deep-fried.  We each had very tasty and spicy butternut squash soup and sticky toffee pudding.

I am indebted to my then elderly friend, Kenneth Lovell, for the discovery of Ockley.  As a teenager I had spent a short holiday one summer with Ken and his friend George at Ken’s house there.  Ken and I used to draw and paint alongside each other at his house in Raynes Park when I was a teenager.  Ken, an artist and illustrator, would be working on his illustrations for S. G. Hulme Beaman’s Toytown series of books (on one of which Ken gave me the honour of a minor collaborative role) , and I would be receiving the benefit of his observations on my juvenile efforts.

The Railway Path

Yesterday I wrote of Kevin Lydon’s observation about the pretentiousness of my choice of cinema.  This needs a little clarification.  He thought I should be satisfied with the films on offer at the three circuit cinemas and one fleapit in Wimbledon, or the independent one in Raynes Park.  He had a point.

Today was a very pleasant day for a walk, being warm yet cloudy with a cool breeze.  Perhaps reflective of the change in the weather there was a great deal of scaffolding going up en route.  My walk was to Wimbledon then on to Raynes Park along the railway path which links the two towns.

The railway path is much better surfaced than in my youth; snickets have been opened up to the various turnings off the parallel Worple Road, offering access to their residents and a path through to Worple Road itself; and a high stout metal fence is now in position preventing access to the railway embankment.  The area fenced off from the public has been widened and the wasteland consequently reduced.  Throughout the two mile stretch every available wall or fence is covered in graffiti, the materials for which were not available in the 40s and 50s.

A crowd of lads from a local school shambled along listening to music downloaded on various items of equipment at which my teenage mind would have boggled.

I paused for a while outside the back of my childhood home in Stanton Road, reflecting on the fact that the upstairs maisonette for which my parents cannot have paid any more than perhaps £2 per week, now fetches £1,400 per month in rent.  The railway land at the back having been narrowed and more securely fenced, it is no longer possible there to build dens; light bonfires; weed and flatten areas to make sports fields; or scale the traditional iron railings to mess about on the embankment.  Because Stanton Road is on the ‘right’ side of the railway it is, according to Estate agents, now in West Wimbledon.

On my way back through Wimbledon Chase I was hooted and waved at by a car driver who turned out to be my old friend Dominic Birtwistle.  I had just bought some of the ingredients for the sausage casserole I will make this evening.