commuters would go out of their way for a haircut after a day up in London and the train journey back down to Bookham. Then came the day when we inherited
our grandfather’s Jowett car. It was already in the vintage class but my father swore it would go up the side of a house. I had my doubts when it overheated going up Leith Hill. But… it had running boards and my brother and I would hop on and ride down the drive to the garage, pretending to be Chicago gangsters.
The new second-hand car was almost a sports car to us, as it had a grey canvas hood. I don’t think we ever took the hood down, and our hefty cat Fluffy slept on it as if in a hammock, until he fell through and we had to mend it with iron-on canvas tape. It looked awful. My mother had trained as a mechanic in the army and was a very resourceful person. In the mornings while our toast was under the grill, the spark plugs would be drying out in the oven, but even so, the school run was quite an obstacle race. Luckily we lived at the top of Crabtree Lane, and so, with its nose facing downhill and spark plugs re-installed, Chris and I would push the car furiously forward while our mother jump-started it and we scrambled on board. Once at school, our trials were over but as the battery was always flat, our mother was left fighting with the crank handle to get back up Crabtree Lane and position the car for the next descent.
To advertise your business in LookLocal call Ros on 01372 457431
In the ‘60s, my brother and friends were frequent visitors to an ex- Isle of Man TT motorcycle racer, Mick
Miller, who lived on the top road where the small holding used to be, opposite the field of horses and/or pigs just down from the Mill House on the corner of Crabtree Lane. The password was ‘motor-bikes’; no scooters and skinheads for them: Nortons, Velocettes and Triumphs were lovingly dismantled,
Velocette- Viper Motorbike
mixed and matched, then reconstructed under Mick’s expert eye. One could say that it kept them off the streets, as the motor bikes were more often than not laid out in pieces on the garage floor.
On my last visit home, I was confronted with driving my mother’s little Mazda around Bookham. How times have changed since I cycled down to my piano lessons with Miss Rumgary on the Lower Road. The roads are sooo narrow and the cars are sooo wide and the pot holes are sooo deep! I have navigated the Bermuda Triangle but I am totally bewildered by the Bookham Crossroads Square. I do realise that shouting ‘age before beauty!’ as I approach doesn’t win me right of way, but who goes next seems to be pot luck for someone who’s driven a left hand drive on the other side of the road for the last 43 years. I must have missed a chapter or two of the Highway Code during this time, but I’m busy swotting it up for the next visit. Look out Bookham, here I come!
Lorelly Chevet.
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