We were recently sent these happy memories from a former resident, Alex Turner:

We grew up in Cotswold Gardens – that is my elder brother Leslie, younger brother Norman and me, Alex(andra).

We moved to No. 48 in 1949, next door to probably the best neighbours in the entire universe, who lived next door at No. 46: Mr & Mrs Thomas, with their 3 boys. I remember the youngest, Keith in a playpen in their garden the day we moved in. Mr Thomas was a scoutmaster and Mrs Thomas was a piano teacher. The adults never ever used Christian names, always referring to each other by their surnames even though living next door to one another for years without a single argument.

We went to Wessex Gardens school along the Hendon Way; mum never took us to school but she always ensured we went with the slightly older children. Everyone in those days walked as very few people had cars.

Hendon Way wasn’t a dual carriageway then, so it didn’t have any underpass for crossing the road. Instead there was a policeman (nowadays a lollipop man) who was on duty not only at the beginning and end of the school day but also at lunchtimes, as many of us came home for lunch.

Cotswold Gardens itself was a very quiet road so ‘our gang’ — us, next door’s 3 boys, Janet Brooks who lived 2 doors down from the Thomas boys plus one or two other children all from our same road — could always play in the middle of the road riding bikes, roller skating, and making slides when it snowed in the winter (before some motorists told us off for making it ‘skiddy’). We also played in the park throughout the ever long school holidays: football, cricket, cowboys and indians but also climbing the various trees in the park — until a park keeper might tell us off. Once we also tried to light a fire with a box of matches that one of the Thomas boys (Colin) had managed to remove from his mum’s kitchen. The leaves and twigs were too wet though; probably just as well.

We also very enterprisingly tried to make money for sweets according to the time of year; e.g. “penny for the guy”: we would dress up little Keith as a guy and stick him on a home made soap box contraption. His face was covered with a mask (bought for tuppence in old money from the sweet shop in Pennine Drive). Once we gave rather a fright to an elderly lady when she opened the door and Keith had to sneeze; she thought it really was a homemade guy and not a live little boy.

When it snowed, we knocked on doors to offer to clear driveways; but being very enterprising we only called on those with a car parked outside and then put our prices up according to what car they had. Similarly we carol sang and were actually quite successful until one homeowner asked which church we were raising money for!

We also searched for old pop bottles to take back to the shop as in those days when anyone bought lemonade or fizz there was a 3d deposit on the bottle and most people just flung them into hedges.

Lots of people walked their dogs in the park — they no doubt still do. We made friends with a lovely Scottish lady who had a well trained Alsatian called Bruce, a dead ringer for Rin Tin Tin.

Our mother’s best friend (auntie Eddy) lived a few doors down the road. They had a cocker spaniel called Rusty (because of his colour). Her husband (uncle Eddy) wasn’t too keen on having a dog, especially as he used to do most of the walking. One day when Rusty had apparently pushed him a bit too far, he took him on the No. 28 bus from Golders Green which in those days I think was the longest bus route in London. It went to Wandsworth. Uncle Eddy got off the bus and set Rusty free on the common then legged it back on the bus to go home. The journey time in those days was about 45 minutes or so. When he got home Rusty was already there fast asleep. Not sure his owner ever confessed, but Rusty lived for very many years after that.

There were lots of traders visiting our road. There were rag and bone men (very much like Steptoe and Son) and a daily milkman, both horsedrawn. We used to feed the milkman’s horse — with either a sugar lump or crust of bread (obviously by then rationing had finished) every morning on our way to school and John/Peter (there were two as one retired) used to start pulling the cart when he saw us leave our house, much to the disgust of our milkman.  A fruiterer called a couple of times a week, though mum was loyal to ‘Guests’ on Pennine Drive. On Sundays there was an ice cream man but only on a bike with a fridge beneath the handlebars — no electricity so not quite sure how it all stayed cold and fresh. We used to buy something called a brick of ice cream, and slice it up between wafers.

I don’t remember anyone ever quarrelling or falling out with one another. We children shared everything. We borrowed or ‘had a go’ on each other’s bikes/scooters. We played five stones sitting on the floor or jacks with a little bouncy rubber ball. We chalked out hopscotch circles on the pavement. We played cowboys and Indians, and goodies and baddies. I once tried to shoot an apple off my brother Norman’s head as I had just been reading William Tell. My gorgeous little brother trusted me entirely but when it came to it I just got closer and closer until I was only about a foot away so couldn’t really miss, plus of course the arrow I used was only a bit of old bamboo without any point. Birthday parties were low key, just bread and jam sandwiches with a bit of cake but lots of robust games. 

Oh such happy times! A marvellous place to grow up, especially having that lovely park to play in — all so different now what with all the hi tech stuff around, even for babies in pushchairs!

Do you have memories to share about living on the Golders Green Estate? We’d love to hear from you