ENVIRONS: HAROLD HILL, COLLIER ROW
BARLEY LANE 'LOONEY BIN'
Ah! The insensitiveness of those words today. I read that
this venerable institution is now known as the Goodmayes Mental Health Facility.
However, back in the late 40's and early '50's its official title was the
Barley Lane Lunatic Asylum, or to young pre-teen boys,The Looney Bin.
Barley Lane, for the uninitiated, was a meandering road that ran from somewhere
south beyond Goodmayes Railway Station all the way down to the Eastern Avenue
at the Hawbush. I recall Barley Lane one morning
in what I believe was '48 or '49 when (the then) Princess Elizabeth rode
down it on her way to open something or the other. That was the only time
I ever saw her in person. I recall we were ushered from
Chadwell Primary School and I believe we walked to Goodmayes in a long line
and stood for hours to see a couple of Daimlers go flashing by in a couple
of seconds. We cheered and waved our Woolworths Union
Jacks and then it was all over and we had another mile to walk back to school.
But enough of this, theis tale is about the Looney Bin.
As a youngster I heard that the Looney Bin had some wonderful conker trees
inside the high walls. One would have to scale these walls to get inside
but once on the premises, the rewards would be great!
Consequently one fair Saturday afternoon somewhere between the summer and
Christmas holidays I set out with two accomplices to gather the fruits of
the 'Bin. We mounted the wall at the northern end of the grounds and carefully
looked around from the heights so get our bearings. There was no one to
be seen and the beautiful gardens were dotted with large horsechestnut trees
bearing lots of spiky green balls. On this first visit we saw no one and
managed to collect a couple of dozen conkers between us. Subsequently we
hid from people wandering the grounds who we told each other were dangerous
looneys of various persuasions. One day we did meet and talk to an inmate,
a nice old boy who I remember had a wonderful fair isle cardigan with one
cuff almost gnawed away. He seemed harmless and there were three of us so
we asked him if he was one of the looneys and he said he wasn't a looney
and was only there until his mum got better from her accident (we asked
not what kind of accident she had suffered) but that he didn't like the
food. He showed us a particuarly nice tree which we attacked with hurled
branches and
which provided us with several large conkers which we gathered up and ran
off with. We never spoke to anyone else there but we were chased off the
grounds on several occasions by staff members who were far to slow to catch
us nine and ten year olds.
I learned more of the Looney Bin later. Chadwell Heath had its fair share
of mentally disturbed people at the time. Stories about these various characters
were bandied about amongst parents and children and most characters were
well known. On my way to St. Bedes Catholic Church each Sunday morning,
in Jarrow Road, we would pass the house of "Colly". This was a
young boy about my own age who would sit for hours at a piano in the front
room, curtains wide open, and bash the keys at random while wearning a collander
on his head. My mother swore he actually could play a few tunes but I personally
couldn't recognize any of them. Colly was a regular visitor to Barley Lane
for treatment. Then there was "Peanut", a gentlemen who had a
strangely shaped head and who rode a mo-ped. He also lived in Jarrow Road
and the game with him was to shout "Peanut!!!" as loud as you
could as he rode by on his way home from work. He would brake violently
and go after the shouter with what appeared to very bad intentiones. I don't
believe he actually ever caught anyone but he caused some serious fear to
be struck into little boys. Later I actually met him at a local football
match and found out his name was Norman and all he really had was a bad
facial tick as far as I could see. Perhaps Barley Lane knew better!
When we moved from Chadwell Heath Lane to the more sophisticated Blackbush
Avenue we found another Barley Lane regular. This was Raymond who lived
opposite us and who I had known most of my life. He always seemed normal
to me but when I returned on vacation after my first Latin American stint,
my mum told me that Raymond went to Barley five days a week. He left in
the morning, came home at midday and went back again at 2 pm. My mum told
me "He's not barmy, he knows enough to come 'ome for his lunch don't
he?"
Later, my brother joined the fire brigade and became a second officer. He
told me that they got called to the Looney Bin one day and put out a fire
in the grounds. Once they had cleared things up he had to question the inmates
to find out what happened. One of them told him he was assigned to do some
weeding in the vegtable gardens and it was taking far to long. He found
a container of gasoline in the garages and sprinkeled this over the gardens
and set light so it would burn up the weeds and let him finish quicker.
Now that's quite a sensible idea when you come to think of it, however,
his enthusiasm got the better of him and the resulting fire did some serious
damage to the windows and door of a nearby building.
So now Frank [Bruno} is up at Barley Lane. I wish him luck. He wont see
Colly and Raymond of course and the firestarter is long gone. However Barley
Lane never had a bad reputation and he will probably be taken good care
of. He can probably get some conkers also. These days I find it sad to hear
of mentally disturbed people. I've known a few and it matters not how much
one tries to help them, they go their own way and rarely get better without
professional help. What a shame. (Mike Merry)
Hon Mem Mike Merry shared some thoughts on the Goodmayes Mental
Health Facility, formerly known as the Barley Lane Lunatic Asylum. This
reminds me of an RLS connection with the South Ockenden (Mental)
Hospital. One afternoon a week in the sixth form was for official extra-curricular
activities, e.g. car maintenance, a soccer refereeing course, photography,
etc. One of the options was to spend those afternoons at the Hospital taking
part in helpful activities to support the patients, or be company for them
or whatever.
I didn't take that option as it happens, but I do remember that for a few
days one summer holiday, presumably circa 1971, 2 or 3 of us went there
as voluntary workers. I am not sure who the others were,
possibly Rob Grover and Rob Brightmore (I don't think either are members
of this group).Is the hospital still there, or has it been closed down?
(Tim Knights)
Tim Knights reminded me of the South Ockenden hospital. So
memory lane (Hugh) beckons:
During my lower sixth year, 1971-1972, I attended South Ockenden hospital
on Monday afternoons, I think it was, travelling up to carry out voluntary
work in a minibus. I can't recall whether I did this in my upper sixth year
too. I certainly was accompanied by non-members Overstall and Hennessey,
but must
confess that I can't remember whether any other HMs attended. (E15 - did
you go with us? Memory underdrive here.) South Ockenden differs from Barley
Lane and Warley in that these last two are for the stereotypical "insane",
whereas Ockenden catered for the mentally deficient, so the degree of
institutionalisation tended to be far more widespread. I worked in the Industrial
Therapy area and also in the children's wards, with Downs syndrome kids
(lovely) and the severely mentally and physically handicapped.
I also worked there for the entire summer break of '72 on a voluntary basis
(and met a charming Scottish nurse who'd actually seen Hendrix play at Green's
Playhouse, Glasgow).
Whether Ockenden hospital still exists I don't know - although the pub on
the green still does (name escapes me). In 1974-1975, disillusioned with
the lure of academia, I worked full-time at Warley for a year, and returning
to that venerable institution about 8 years ago was dismayed to find it
only
about 20% populated, the remaining buildings standing empty and derelict,
and (forgive poetic tendency here) occupied only by my memories.
I also recall, vaguely, that the South Ockenden trips were engineered by
Rog Hammond, and that he also tutored me in Psychology for a brief spell
in the lower sixth, just a couple of hours a week, and not geared up to
any formal qualification. What a Chemistry master was doing dabbling in
this now escapes me. Any ideas out there? (ash howe, 66-73)
Tim Knights asked re South Ockendon mental hospital "Is
the hospital still there, or has it been closed down?"
It's now a housing estate (aren't they all - for S Ockendon read Warley,
Claybury et al)called Brandon Heights. Which is why all the local "oddballs"
now live alongside other "normal" residents (e.g. my ma in law)
and go around threatening them. So much for care in the community eh? (Steve
Byrne 63-70)
During my time in the 6th I spent one afternoon at an 'Adult
Traing Centre' at the bottom of Harold Hill. I think South Ockendon visits
happened later. We spent time just chatting to downes syndrome adults who
were able to do a limited amount of paid work. During the time of my visits
they were re-cycling time expired film for Ilford Films and making wooden
garden furniture by the use of jigs. I found the whole thing very rewarding
but took my hat of to the staff who had to supervise full time.
When I was younger, living in Goodmayes, I too was thrown out of the 'Loony
Bin' whilst looking for conkers. (Robin Hackshall)
It is still there, Tim, and as I understand it, still operational, but a shadow of its former self. Tim modestly forgets to mention that he and I selflessly gave up a lot of our spare time to run the hospital radio station, which mostly involved being cooped up in the basement with some very gory medical records describing in great detail the amount of limb contraction as rigor mortis set in, a huge collection of prosthetics, and several young ladies from the local youth club. It was in that basement that I had a very bad near-death experiance involving some very antiquated electronics, but fortunately lived to tell the tale. (Vince Leatt)
HAROLD HILL
Roger reminisced: "Living on Harold Hill, wearing any
sort of school uniform made going to & from the RLS a daily walk on the
wild side"
I agree 100%. Walking against the flow to catch the 66A was like running the
gauntlet (although if one left early it was sometimes possible to chat up the
birds). This was particularly true on Mondays when CCF uniform was the dress
code. We had to endure a lot of abuse from the other unknowledgeables’,
but we persevered. (Peter Cowling)
I may have mentioned this before, but I did learn to swim at
RLS in spite of the cold. Pete Benson took be under his wing and, towards the
end of the year, taught me how to swim outside of normal gym classes.
It would be an embarrassment, now, to have to tell him now that on two
occasions I have had to cry for help to get assistance, both within 100 yards
of the shore. Once whilst swimming towards a raft in a lake and another time
while floating down a river with a lifejacket on and not being able to get to
shore. In the latter case my son, who was a qualified life-saver was with me
but didn't appear to know what was going on. (Peter Cowling)
Working in Harold Hill sure as hell was an eye-opener! For
two or three summer holidays I worked as a Parks Play Leader in
But I also met the Harold Hill Teds (no, I wasn't
paranoid! I'd been to RLS and I'd encountered Del Monte, McGregor and (dare I
say who...?) Harold Hill Teds were pussy-cats by
comparison and I was seven years older!).
The Harold Hill bunch were captained by the self-styled King of the Teds (Eddy, I think he was called) who liked to play
draughts with a rounders bat in his non-piece-moving
hand.
Try explaining the huffing rule to a bat-wielding Ted!!! Try jumping one of his
pieces! If you REALLY feel like living dangerously, try setting up a sacrifice
that nets you THREE of his pieces! I learned a lot about tact and diplomacy
that year! (DGM)
I might have known it! The word "Ted's" is like a
red cape to a bull for DGM! Caught him this time though! Michael McGregor was
from Dagenham (The Dagenham Ted's were the real McCoy!) and George Delmonte was from
The story I remember him for has been told before. He came to school with no socks one day and Taffy Thomas asked him why. He told Taffy that his mum had washed them the night before and put them outside to dry. When he went to get them in the morning they were frozen stiff and he couldn't get them on! For those of you who are interested, there had been debate about Harold Hill before. See messages around #1988 etc. (MJM)
At the risk of being accused of getting on my Teddy Horse
again... I first saw Ed the Ted in action on a wet Saturday afternoon when they
were bored, drenched and saw our pavilion as a dry haven that might offer them
some "sport".
There were no kids around so I was having a quiet game of draughts with the
other play-leader, a lad from Hornchurch GS.
Ed announced that he was "ace" at draughts and challenged his
Neanderthal ramrod to a game. The mis-match was
immediately obvious, like Bamber Gascoigne and
Trigger from Fools and Horses competing to complete the Times crossword - but
STILL Eddy held his bat!
Eventually Trigger accidentally moved a piece into a bridge that Eddy had left
and, after Eddy's move, suddenly realised he had a cast-iron jump! His face
contorted in primitive delight and he yelled, "Take DET!" as he jumped
Eddy's piece. "And you take DET, you c***!" replied Eddy as the rounders bat made serious contact with his henchman's
cranium!
Later Eddy challenged me. "No thanks, Eddy" "Why not, scared
I'll beat you?" "No Eddy, what scares me is the almost certain knowledge
that I'll win and collect 14 thumps with the rounders
bat."
"Fourteen? You c***,"
(Eddy's VERY favourite word!) "There's only twelve pieces." "Yep! One for each piece, one for
winning and one for luck. I just don't play draughts that way!"
No, on reflection, I'm not at all sure that I felt I'd made the grade but I
avoided the rounders bat! (DGM)
MJM wrote: "During my years at the school we only had one Harold Hill bloke. Terry Schofield." Not wholly correct. From 1947 to 1953 there was a Leslie from Harold Hill who tried to instruct me in the noble art of smoking Woodbines and in another doubtful pursuit... misappropriating my own dinner money to use for coconut ice, a harmonica and more Woodbines. (Robert Priddy)
I believe that, in the 1951 intake, Mick Skinner, Stan Pound, Mick Hughes, and Dave Petley also came from Harold Hill. (JAS)
I recall a ceremonial parade from Harold Wood station goods yard in the late 50s to the circus site in the now Central Park, Harold Hill. Whilst there, the elephants also visited an opening promotion for one of the new shops in the recently completed Harold Hill central shopping centre. (John Hawkins)
COLLIER ROW
Collier Row: Born in April 1940, I lived in
I did my first milk round with the Co-Op man and his horse
in 1950. The horse knew his way round
and when the last pint had been delivered he was off at the gallop (literally)
for the depot in
Drive/Close,
Stapleford Tawney
had lots of Tiger Moths and
Teddy Boys used Bonny’s CORNER
CAFE as a meeting place and showground. Bobbys was
the only toy shop. Dr Sidhanta was at
There used to be PIG BINS in very street where household food waste was collected for the pig farms - They were emptied from time to time, but they didn't arf stink. Traders used to come round the streets at week ends selling all sorts, Vinegar, Shellfish, Horse Manure, "Old Rags for Goldfish", Knife Sharpeners, Horsemeat, Firewood. The Baker delivered with a handcart six days a week. The milkman every day - 6d per pint.
Mr Emms was the head master at
I cannot remember the names of all the roads, because I left
in 1958. But the army
used to camp in tents in "
Thank you Robert, for the whole account. I found it very
interesting. I didn't know Collier Row at all well but the horse and tip bit
brought back many happy memories. My
first Saturday job (1956?) was a horse-based greengrocery round starting at the
top of Shepherds Hill, Harold Wood. This
group already knows of the lady at
Our horse was 'Molly' and she knew exactly where to stop and started by a 'click' from the boss - she wouldn't respond to any noises I made. She would negotiate the Bridge Garage traffic lights while we counted money. Occasionally I would give her a beetroot which she could not get past the bit. She would try to dissolve it with her saliva. It looked a bit like her mouth was bleeding profusely. For that, we were often rewarded with a fart or worse. We were two lads and the boss, Bob. The other lad preceded me and knew most of the tipping customers and had them as 'his own'. He got greedy and started to pocket the takings as well and was fired. Bob asked if I could do both jobs and I agreed, of course - always have been a yes-man. It came with a raise from 4/- to 7/6d for the whole Saturday. I quickly realised the value of 'his' tips. I found that by being pleasant to the customers my tip level would rise significantly. I would have gladly paid Bob 7/6 for the job, it was an insignificant income compared to the tips. Christmas was truly amazing, I was rich.
The round closed and I had many others. I only took those with tips except one in Fine Fare, Romford market. I soon realised how hard it was to work for a wage alone. I also had a job in a hardware shop in Ardleigh Green run by a couple of very attractive ladies who didn't want to soil their hands on the nasty paraffin in the winter (it was sold in five gallon jerry cans which were supplied by the customer) and I was to draw i using a leaky one-gallon optic. After a short while, I realised the job was going nowhere so I started asking customers if they would like the filled can taken to their car. The tip trade opened again. Then came the summer and I realised I would soon be out of a job, so while the ladies were occupied with customers, I would serve those waiting. I was soon discovered handling money (I was always honest) and boss lady was horrified. I asked her to calm down, watch me serve and use the till and asked her to check it at the end of the day. Later, there were times when I ran the shop alone, both ladies being at lunch. I wonder if the jobs with a significant tip content still exist. I couldn't persuade my daughters to look for such jobs. (David Silverside)
Collier Row: My wife, then Grace Sparks, lived at
Collier Row: In 1973, celebrating the A-levels finishing and the concomitant feeling of relief that that brought, a select band of us "men" decided to pubcrawl from The Crown up past Roneo Corner to finish up in The Charcoal Burner in Collier Row, via all pubs in Romford, Parkside, Mawney Road, Bell and Gate, etc. A laudable goal, I think you must agree. This when we were young and foolish, of course, and the self-mutilation involved in such a pastime was welcomed with open arms rather than groans of disbelief. So about 8 of us longhairs started out with the necessary two quid in our pocket (or whatever ludicrously small sum could buy a couple of gallons of ale in those days) and convened at The Crown at opening time. 4 hours and much imbibing later, the aforementioned White Hart was in receipt of our hard-earned cash, and we knew we only had one more pub to go until we could all lay in gutters, replete and happy in the thought that for the next 3 months until university beckoned we had no more academic pressures and could purely and simply revel in the pleasures of the flesh and the hop.
Alas, such idyllic musings were to be cast from our minds. The White Hart's resident thuggery element decided that young long-hairs were there to be kicked and punched rather than discuss philosophy with, despite the fact that fully half of our number was West Ham supporters. There followed some practical demonstrations of the advantages of Doc Martens over plimsolls (trainers hadn't been invented) in the sport of person-maiming. So rather than end the night in the final pub with a toast to things to come, we ended round my girlfriend's house in varying states of disarray. My own catalogue was a broken nose, broken wrist, cuts and bruises. And I wasn't the worst off.
So a word of caution to those who wax lyrical regarding Collier Row. Just because we have fond memories of those places we grew up in, not everybody in this world has the same viewpoint regarding common bonds of geographical ancestry. And although such an experience has not diluted my affection for Collier Row, I must confess that it has somewhat tainted my view of some of the residents over the years. I have drunk in some of the roughest places in
Chris Stratford said: "Having mentioned the start of
the 66A route in
The park opposite the White hart was always referred to
among my friends as simply "The Rec" and I
never heard it called any other name; so perhaps the search of collective grey
cells for a formal name, is doomed to failure? I recall a tractor in this park
with a metal bucket seat with holes in it. Believe it was red with a green
sprung support bracket (If too many beers have not fogged the memory).
The later park on
Peter Moulds is right about 'Collier Row Recreation Ground'
(that was its name!) and
The "park" opposite the White Hart in
The "park" in
On the adjacent corner by Goodman’s newsagents a street
vendor used to sell horsemeat from a converted