WHEN METROLAND CAME TO WORCESTER PARK
by Roy Buchanan
Before I retired, I thought staff meetings were too frequent. At one meeting, a colleague made the comment that he did not want to be responsible for the Worcester Park area as he was depressed by its “1930s kitsch” (tastelessness). I didn’t take it personally. Opinion must always be allowed if not always accepted, after all, they are usually subjective because they are biased. For example, I grew up on a council housing estate in the north-east. My house was a strange design with the kitchen at the front. It was unattractive. The homes I admired were privately owned with a traditional quality appearance; bay windows, garages and drives, well maintained fences, trimmed privet hedges and gates that closed properly. The experience of youth lingers into maturity continuing to influence.
What happened in Worcester Park, like other areas of London during the Inter-War years, has become an area of fascination. It is used by authors as settings for their novels, by film directors as locations for productions and analysed in numerous TV documentaries. The question that is so often asked is where did the expression, Metroland, come from? This is where population growth, railways and affluence come together in an absorbing way. From 1863 to 1933 the Metropolitan Railway Company provided a train service that initially ran through Central London and into the City, the financial heart of the capital. Later it extended in the opposite direction into Middlesex and Buckinghamshire. Much of the adjoining land was owned by the railway company and it soon became obvious that here was a business opportunity. Greater London was expanding whilst the attractive employment remained in Central London. Why not build desirable homes that many could afford, in pleasant surroundings, and with excellent transport links to the inner-city?
In the late 19th century the Metropolitan Railway had wooden gas-lit carriages pulled by steam locomotives that travelled through tunnels from Paddington, linking Euston and King’s Cross before passing Farringdon Road, to Smithfield becoming the world’s first underground railway. The continental term Metro comes from this period. In 1905 electrical multiple units were tried leading to the introduction of electric locomotives in 1908 to reduce the smoke and steam in the tunnels. However, it was not until 1915 that the company’s marketing department coined the term Metroland. It was inspirational, capturing the imagination of the public, helping to promoting the housing boom we now associate with the name. Although not ubiquitous, the level of affluence lubricated the desire for what was being offered by this new venture. By the 1930s mortgages became available at 4.25%. bringing privately owned homes within the reach not only of the middle class but also the better-off working-class sector. The fashion was not corralled in Metroland, it spread with remarkable vigour and reached Worcester Park.
The area had similarities. It had a good railway service that took commuters into Central London and there was an abundance of land ripe for selling in order to build housing estates. Much of this land had been used for farming and some argued that it should have stay that way. However, the population growth generated a demand, encouraged by an understandable ambition, for home ownership. This desire appealed to entrepreneurs who saw the value of investing in speculative development and so Worcester Park flourished. Not everyone shared this enthusiasm. For some, the appeal was low and attracted comments such as “ribbons of housing” and, like my colleague’s remark, areas that are tasteless. Taste is a moot point but popularity is less so. In the 21st century, the 1930s style houses in Worcester Park are still much sought-after.
Juxtaposed with the optimistic housing market of the ‘30s comes sadness, Worcester Park Station was “replaced”, in other words, it was demolished and a new one built. Thankfully, its twin-brother escaped this misfortune and still exists today, protected by Listing as a good example of 19th century railway architecture. You can see it by visiting Ewell West Station. I am sure I would have admired The Square opposite Worcester Park Station, a charming corner with a gas-lit street lamp. Its three-storey terrace with a parade of small shops had a small post office separating it from a pub called The Railway Inn (not the Worcester Park Tavern). This spot was “modernised” for reasons I am unaware. Its loss is a shame because, even in photographs, I get the feeling The Square was atmospheric. Close-by, Worcester Park House was another attractive property that was lost after the Second World War. It was an elegant neo-classic building that fell into disrepair and eventually razed.
It is interesting to compare my experience of house buying when I moved into the area in 1996. The estate agency’s premises were very smart with subdued lighting and a floor-to-ceiling glass front. Images of the houses for sale were on back-lit pedestals and I was welcomed by a polite young man in a blue suit, collar and tie. My house was built in 1937. The first owner was the works manager of an engineering firm in Rotherhithe. I wonder if he went to any of the estate agents selling houses in Worcester Park in the 1930s? Their offices resembled garden sheds but the house prices are quite remarkable. For £750 to £1000 you could buy a freehold property with a monthly repayment of 18/4d. That’s less than a pound.
Historians call the 1930s the “Glamourous Decade” using words like sophistication, streamlining and Noel Coward but it was also a decade of division. Those in work benefitted from zero inflation and stable prices. Those out of work struggled dreadfully with sub-standard accommodation and an oppressive feeling of hopelessness. Yet surprisingly these years had a gaiety about them. It came to an end in 1939. Now, we can only imagine what Worcester Park was like in the days of Metroland. I would love those old black and white photographs to come aliv
by Roy Buchanan
Before I retired, I thought staff meetings were too frequent. At one meeting, a colleague made the comment that he did not want to be responsible for the Worcester Park area as he was depressed by its “1930s kitsch” (tastelessness). I didn’t take it personally. Opinion must always be allowed if not always accepted, after all, they are usually subjective because they are biased. For example, I grew up on a council housing estate in the north-east. My house was a strange design with the kitchen at the front. It was unattractive. The homes I admired were privately owned with a traditional quality appearance; bay windows, garages and drives, well maintained fences, trimmed privet hedges and gates that closed properly. The experience of youth lingers into maturity continuing to influence.
What happened in Worcester Park, like other areas of London during the Inter-War years, has become an area of fascination. It is used by authors as settings for their novels, by film directors as locations for productions and analysed in numerous TV documentaries. The question that is so often asked is where did the expression, Metroland, come from? This is where population growth, railways and affluence come together in an absorbing way. From 1863 to 1933 the Metropolitan Railway Company provided a train service that initially ran through Central London and into the City, the financial heart of the capital. Later it extended in the opposite direction into Middlesex and Buckinghamshire. Much of the adjoining land was owned by the railway company and it soon became obvious that here was a business opportunity. Greater London was expanding whilst the attractive employment remained in Central London. Why not build desirable homes that many could afford, in pleasant surroundings, and with excellent transport links to the inner-city?
In the late 19th century the Metropolitan Railway had wooden gas-lit carriages pulled by steam locomotives that travelled through tunnels from Paddington, linking Euston and King’s Cross before passing Farringdon Road, to Smithfield becoming the world’s first underground railway. The continental term Metro comes from this period. In 1905 electrical multiple units were tried leading to the introduction of electric locomotives in 1908 to reduce the smoke and steam in the tunnels. However, it was not until 1915 that the company’s marketing department coined the term Metroland. It was inspirational, capturing the imagination of the public, helping to promoting the housing boom we now associate with the name. Although not ubiquitous, the level of affluence lubricated the desire for what was being offered by this new venture. By the 1930s mortgages became available at 4.25%. bringing privately owned homes within the reach not only of the middle class but also the better-off working-class sector. The fashion was not corralled in Metroland, it spread with remarkable vigour and reached Worcester Park.
The area had similarities. It had a good railway service that took commuters into Central London and there was an abundance of land ripe for selling in order to build housing estates. Much of this land had been used for farming and some argued that it should have stay that way. However, the population growth generated a demand, encouraged by an understandable ambition, for home ownership. This desire appealed to entrepreneurs who saw the value of investing in speculative development and so Worcester Park flourished. Not everyone shared this enthusiasm. For some, the appeal was low and attracted comments such as “ribbons of housing” and, like my colleague’s remark, areas that are tasteless. Taste is a moot point but popularity is less so. In the 21st century, the 1930s style houses in Worcester Park are still much sought-after.
Juxtaposed with the optimistic housing market of the ‘30s comes sadness, Worcester Park Station was “replaced”, in other words, it was demolished and a new one built. Thankfully, its twin-brother escaped this misfortune and still exists today, protected by Listing as a good example of 19th century railway architecture. You can see it by visiting Ewell West Station. I am sure I would have admired The Square opposite Worcester Park Station, a charming corner with a gas-lit street lamp. Its three-storey terrace with a parade of small shops had a small post office separating it from a pub called The Railway Inn (not the Worcester Park Tavern). This spot was “modernised” for reasons I am unaware. Its loss is a shame because, even in photographs, I get the feeling The Square was atmospheric. Close-by, Worcester Park House was another attractive property that was lost after the Second World War. It was an elegant neo-classic building that fell into disrepair and eventually razed.
It is interesting to compare my experience of house buying when I moved into the area in 1996. The estate agency’s premises were very smart with subdued lighting and a floor-to-ceiling glass front. Images of the houses for sale were on back-lit pedestals and I was welcomed by a polite young man in a blue suit, collar and tie. My house was built in 1937. The first owner was the works manager of an engineering firm in Rotherhithe. I wonder if he went to any of the estate agents selling houses in Worcester Park in the 1930s? Their offices resembled garden sheds but the house prices are quite remarkable. For £750 to £1000 you could buy a freehold property with a monthly repayment of 18/4d. That’s less than a pound.
Historians call the 1930s the “Glamourous Decade” using words like sophistication, streamlining and Noel Coward but it was also a decade of division. Those in work benefitted from zero inflation and stable prices. Those out of work struggled dreadfully with sub-standard accommodation and an oppressive feeling of hopelessness. Yet surprisingly these years had a gaiety about them. It came to an end in 1939. Now, we can only imagine what Worcester Park was like in the days of Metroland. I would love those old black and white photographs to come aliv
THE INTER-WAR YEARS
By Roy Buchanan
For a variety of reasons, we latch on to periods of history and clothe them in a rosy hue of romanticism. I have the justification that in my last year as a student I studied stability and conflict in the development of modern Europe. The course was encompassing and included the 1920s and ‘30s, decades that I had not enthused about until then. I became smitten and the love affair remains on-going still. Sadly, we have lost most eye-witnesses, my siblings, born in 1928 and 1930, died many years ago. The Inter-War Years were filled with major events, some are still affecting us in 2020. After the Great War the elation of peace fuelled the desire that such a conflict should never happen again. A buoyancy inspired the belief that the working man, who had given so much, should now have a home, a job, a living wage, heating, adequate food and clothing in “a land fit for heroes”, a reward for what he had suffered in the trenches fighting for king and country.
Did this concept deliver its promise? In 1926 Britain was plunged in to a General Strike, the largest industrial dispute our country has ever known. The cause was a protest against wage reduction and the deteriorating conditions of the miners. It failed when the union leaders gave up. On Tuesday 29th October 1929 America felt the chill wind of Wall Street when the Stock Market collapsed in spectacular style causing the rich to lose their investments and the poor to lose their jobs. The cause was an unsustainable boom in share prices which perhaps was a euphemism for greed. But the 1920s was not all gloomy. A new musical style born in New Orleans accompanied by a racy dance craze helped to sweeten the misery, at least for some. Following an exhibition in Paris in 1925 we had a new idea with which to play. It influenced art, architecture, design, fashion and furniture. These activities gave society names to pin on the decade; the Jazz Age, the Charleston Era and the still much-admired Art-Deco period.
As has happened in the past literature reflected history and these times were captured by the contemporary author, F Scott Fitzgerald. Now regarded as a writer of modern classics, most people will have heard of the Great Gatsby, a story highlighting the sadness brought by prioritising wealth, and Tender Is The Night, where a bright aspiring young doctor sacrifices his career in a Swiss sanatorium for a life-style on the French riviera supported by a woman of wealth.
Oral history provided by my family gave me a different facet of the times. It tells of struggles, hardship and sometimes misery. Married in 1925, my parents never lived in a house until 1949. They lived in the rented parts of other peoples’ houses called living “in rooms.” My Dad moved frequently during the Depression to find work and earn money for the family. Often, he left the family at home in Falkirk, Scotland, whilst he lived “in digs.” Some joy came when a longer term of employment allowed the family to join him. This happened when the work was in Stockport near Manchester but still the Depression was rampant. Between 1932 and 1936 unemployed workers marched in protest to the Government about the lack of work and poverty. They became known as The Hunger Marches. Return to the question if you will; was this a land fit for heroes? The Prime Minister was Ramsay MacDonald later replaced by Stanley Baldwin. Yet resilience shone through in remarkable ways. Mothers still managed to put bread on the table and modest holidays were taken in places like Blackpool, the break from the drudgery of every day living being all the holiday was intended to offer. The walk along a sunlit promenade was euphoric.
However, Mr Baldwin soon had a bigger problem. Edward was stepping out with Mrs Simpson. Sane thinkers said, “So what?” The constitutionalists went into a state of apoplexy. Edward, the bachelor King had formed a deep and meaningful relationship with a divorced American commoner. She was declared “unsuitable.” Edward responded by declaring he was in love with her so he abdicated. His younger brother George, with a speech impediment, became the reluctant replacement monarch resulting in Edward’s great nephew, now a 71-year-old man, patiently waiting for the job he was trained for since birth. It matters not that he has married a divorced commoner. It’s all a little absurd isn’t it?
But let’s go local. When I came to live in the area in 1996, I registered with a family doctor in Shadbolt Park Surgery. I fell in love with the house wondering why it had no chimneys. My vivid imagination longed to know its history. I discovered it was once called Darkfield because that was the name of the piece of land bought by Ernest Shadbolt in 1920. Going deeper, why Darkfield? There was a small wood close to the parcel of land where the trees cast dark shadows on the field that Shadbolt had bought. Ernest’s life was unconventional. He never married, never had children and spent most of his life in India where he was engaged in engineering and was particularly drawn to railways, a subject he found absorbing. He retired in 1906 and, as gardening was one of his hobbies, there is a photograph showing him chatting with his gardener outside the house in 1930. After 30 years in retirement Shadbolt died and the house was bought by the Council for half its market value! And by the way, there were no chimneys because there were no fires, the house had central heating. A domestic comfort ahead of its time.
A welcome by-product of research is finding detail for which you were not looking. When Ernest Shadbolt bought Darkfield, the surrounding farm land was about to be sold to developers to build houses. Metroland was coming to Worcester Park. More next month.
By Roy Buchanan
For a variety of reasons, we latch on to periods of history and clothe them in a rosy hue of romanticism. I have the justification that in my last year as a student I studied stability and conflict in the development of modern Europe. The course was encompassing and included the 1920s and ‘30s, decades that I had not enthused about until then. I became smitten and the love affair remains on-going still. Sadly, we have lost most eye-witnesses, my siblings, born in 1928 and 1930, died many years ago. The Inter-War Years were filled with major events, some are still affecting us in 2020. After the Great War the elation of peace fuelled the desire that such a conflict should never happen again. A buoyancy inspired the belief that the working man, who had given so much, should now have a home, a job, a living wage, heating, adequate food and clothing in “a land fit for heroes”, a reward for what he had suffered in the trenches fighting for king and country.
Did this concept deliver its promise? In 1926 Britain was plunged in to a General Strike, the largest industrial dispute our country has ever known. The cause was a protest against wage reduction and the deteriorating conditions of the miners. It failed when the union leaders gave up. On Tuesday 29th October 1929 America felt the chill wind of Wall Street when the Stock Market collapsed in spectacular style causing the rich to lose their investments and the poor to lose their jobs. The cause was an unsustainable boom in share prices which perhaps was a euphemism for greed. But the 1920s was not all gloomy. A new musical style born in New Orleans accompanied by a racy dance craze helped to sweeten the misery, at least for some. Following an exhibition in Paris in 1925 we had a new idea with which to play. It influenced art, architecture, design, fashion and furniture. These activities gave society names to pin on the decade; the Jazz Age, the Charleston Era and the still much-admired Art-Deco period.
As has happened in the past literature reflected history and these times were captured by the contemporary author, F Scott Fitzgerald. Now regarded as a writer of modern classics, most people will have heard of the Great Gatsby, a story highlighting the sadness brought by prioritising wealth, and Tender Is The Night, where a bright aspiring young doctor sacrifices his career in a Swiss sanatorium for a life-style on the French riviera supported by a woman of wealth.
Oral history provided by my family gave me a different facet of the times. It tells of struggles, hardship and sometimes misery. Married in 1925, my parents never lived in a house until 1949. They lived in the rented parts of other peoples’ houses called living “in rooms.” My Dad moved frequently during the Depression to find work and earn money for the family. Often, he left the family at home in Falkirk, Scotland, whilst he lived “in digs.” Some joy came when a longer term of employment allowed the family to join him. This happened when the work was in Stockport near Manchester but still the Depression was rampant. Between 1932 and 1936 unemployed workers marched in protest to the Government about the lack of work and poverty. They became known as The Hunger Marches. Return to the question if you will; was this a land fit for heroes? The Prime Minister was Ramsay MacDonald later replaced by Stanley Baldwin. Yet resilience shone through in remarkable ways. Mothers still managed to put bread on the table and modest holidays were taken in places like Blackpool, the break from the drudgery of every day living being all the holiday was intended to offer. The walk along a sunlit promenade was euphoric.
However, Mr Baldwin soon had a bigger problem. Edward was stepping out with Mrs Simpson. Sane thinkers said, “So what?” The constitutionalists went into a state of apoplexy. Edward, the bachelor King had formed a deep and meaningful relationship with a divorced American commoner. She was declared “unsuitable.” Edward responded by declaring he was in love with her so he abdicated. His younger brother George, with a speech impediment, became the reluctant replacement monarch resulting in Edward’s great nephew, now a 71-year-old man, patiently waiting for the job he was trained for since birth. It matters not that he has married a divorced commoner. It’s all a little absurd isn’t it?
But let’s go local. When I came to live in the area in 1996, I registered with a family doctor in Shadbolt Park Surgery. I fell in love with the house wondering why it had no chimneys. My vivid imagination longed to know its history. I discovered it was once called Darkfield because that was the name of the piece of land bought by Ernest Shadbolt in 1920. Going deeper, why Darkfield? There was a small wood close to the parcel of land where the trees cast dark shadows on the field that Shadbolt had bought. Ernest’s life was unconventional. He never married, never had children and spent most of his life in India where he was engaged in engineering and was particularly drawn to railways, a subject he found absorbing. He retired in 1906 and, as gardening was one of his hobbies, there is a photograph showing him chatting with his gardener outside the house in 1930. After 30 years in retirement Shadbolt died and the house was bought by the Council for half its market value! And by the way, there were no chimneys because there were no fires, the house had central heating. A domestic comfort ahead of its time.
A welcome by-product of research is finding detail for which you were not looking. When Ernest Shadbolt bought Darkfield, the surrounding farm land was about to be sold to developers to build houses. Metroland was coming to Worcester Park. More next month.
