Chelwood
I must tell you about Chelwood.[31] It was the name of the house in Whetstone, North London, where my aunts Maud and Lucy, Uncle Fred and Bobby lived during the war years.
Prior to that, and before I was born, Maud and Fred had lived at No. 3 Goldsmith Road, later deciding on a whim to move so that Maud could take the job as a householder and live-in caretaker at Chelwood. Set back against towering cedar trees at the end of a long sweeping drive within two large wooden five bar gates, Maud had the task of managing what looked like something from a fairytale.
We loved it. We’d take the bus up Friern Barnet Lane, get off, walk along Myddelton Park and finally reach Oakleigh Road where the house was. From the moment we arrived, opening the heavy gate and entering the grounds, walking down the gravel drive with the tall trees either side, there was a feeling of something wonderful and mysterious.
The gardens had been mostly left to nature. There were toadstools, strangling periwinkles, roses, holly, rhododendrons and wild grasses growing everywhere. Around the back of the house was a big garden—lovely to hide and play games in.
The upper part of the building was used for the training of Air Force cadets. In the huge garden there was a light aircraft for their instructional drills, which I used to tell the children at school about. I’d say, ‘There’s an aeroplane in my garden’, but they didn’t believe me.
If we were invited to Chelwood for tea, Barbara and I became particularly excited. One of our visits was on my birthday, so Mum had got out our best dresses. We looked very smart with our white cuffs and Peter Pan collars, polished shoes and new hair ribbons.
We always knocked on the side door, which was the entrance to the part of the house Aunt Maud lived in. As soon as we entered, we were greeted not only by the wonderful smell of baking, but by cousin Bob whispering, telling me to come and look in the larder where I spied a sponge birthday cake, obviously meant for me. We all laughed, but I think aunt Maud was furious, as she had wanted to light the candles and bring it in without me knowing as a surprise. There was salad with ham and trifle for tea, then the lovely cake. I had a lot of cards too; it had been a very special day.
One night, after we had stayed for tea and had left it a bit late going home, Mum and Dad (on leave at the time) said that we would walk down Oakleigh Road to Whetstone High Road where we would get the bus. Moments before the bus arrived, there began the familiar dreaded wailing sound we’d come to fear so much: an air raid alert. How we hated it. What should we do?
Just then the bus came and we were soon back at North Finchley making our way to our street on foot. But it was dangerous to be out, not only because of the enemy bombs but also because of falling metal shrapnel from shells fired by the local guns. It meant danger, especially if you weren’t wearing a tin hat. Dad sat Barbara on his shoulders so that we could hurry along, the stars twinkling brightly in the night sky while the streets around us were under one of the many blackouts. We were glad to get home.
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