16.35 03.07.2007 there are only a few minutes begin writing my experience last Friday evening after arriving and registering at the Innkeepers Lodge within a few minutes walk of Purley Oaks station
I had intended to read Le Carre's The Mission Song on the train to London but only after a few pages I wanted to write my book of books and wrote for over three hours with little hesitation and one minor interruption. I had awoken sufficiently early, before the alarm, to ensure that everything was packed and to prepare two rolls of salmon from a tin, and two rolls with Milano Salami filing. Having decided against taking the laptop, I then forgot to unpack the heavy power unit. I eat the salmon as breakfast on the way into Newcastle, enjoying a cup of coffee on arrival at the station and purchasing a bottle of still water from the new style buffet kiosk on the train to eat with salami filled rolls.
Within ten minutes of arrival at Victoria from Kings Cross I was able to catch a train to my destination which I had fixed in my mind as South Croydon. At Kings Cross I had to queue for at least fifteen minutes to get the day pass, having inquired if the weekend specials were still available. They were not.
The weather had cleared to cloudy with breaks of sunshine and was warm, so wearing only a shirt with a sleeveless jacket and a small rolled umbrella, I decided to walk into town, for a meal and the pictures, a noble feat as the journey was the distance of two stops on the average suburban line, a walk which even in my youth, I had avoided. There was no intention at the time to repeat the walk on the return. Purley Oaks is known for its proximity to one of the most interesting office blocks built between the first and second Wold Wars. The Office sits between two roadways and resembles a several decked cruise liner. The main road which continues to Brighton in the south and central London to the north follows the bed of a riverless valley and it is not until reaching the Swan and Sugar Loaf pub restaurant entertainment centre that you know you have reached the area known as South Croydon and where some fifty or more pubs, restaurants and take ways create the special night life atmosphere of the city. It is similar to my own Ocean Road but without the accommodations on one side, and in Croydon the restaurants are much grander. There are several Tapas Spanish including one major. I was interested to find a Chinese Eastern buffet and there was one on the scale of that found in Sunderland but only open evenings and therefore with London prices at £14 instead of £6.50 to £8.50. It was empty. I did find a more reasonable priced buffet but with limited choice, and I decided I was not in the mood, and continued the exploration to the Vue cinema which was once the posh Grants Department stored. Now just part of the front remains and the rest was gutted for the cinema, a health club, a Wetherspoons on two floors and a Nachos. Earlier I had read a positive review about a new film and on checking the London version of the same Metro paper, it was listed as having an 8.50 showing so I booked a ticket surprised that there was an open seating plan for an evening. The over 60 concession was £2 less.
I then decided on a KFC Zinger meal, cheap and not as nasty as the popular conception. The only available table was for six and nearby were two young children about five years of age eating on their own, and who at first I thought were part of the family at the adjacent table but when they left, the children remained on their own until their mother returned, with her own meal and moved the family onto my table, with the youngest, a girl, attempting to sit opposite me until moved to the next seat to sit with her mother. Both children had a soft toy, a Shrek which made Shrek noises, continuously, and which the mother attempted to curb by warning of limited battery life. I guessed they had been to see the film after school and she had been to a shop while they eat. The little girl began to move the Shrek as close as she could towards my tray. She was being very seductive and I guessed this was a fatherless child, or an absent father family. When they got up to leave the girl presented me the Shrek. Mother said you are giving him the Shrek, and she said yes. I smiled and pressed her look after the creature carefully for me. I got a nice smile from the mother. I wanted to know about them and their situation. They were strongly black, direct Africans, or West Indian slave descendents or first generation born, when families moved out of Brixton to begin the colonization of Croydon into what is now a microcosm of the world.
It was time to continue my walk into memory Lane. I have been along Surrey Street, Croydon's open air market street throughout ,my and I remember the location of the store which only sold turkey's at Christmas. Now empty the street appeared smaller and lacking the mystery brought to my childhood and at the far end there was a multi level bar where the bouncers had began to make their appearance. I retraced my steps to stand for a short while outside Croydon library and Town Hall. My former office, the Croydon Local Taxation office (Motor Vehicle Licences and registrations) had been located in what are now gardens behind the Town Hall, I think, with the main offices of the Finance department, to which we were a part, across main thoroughfare which runs parallel to the main shopping street.
A short walk along main street and I reach the main junction road with Eastward the road to East Croydon Station, which is in fact the main station and should be called Croydon Main. This station is second to Clapham in the frequency of trains passing through to the South Coast and the London and coastal suburbs. The road West is down hill and leads to Kennard's, the original people's London store with a mini zoo in the basement level, and also leads to Surrey Street, and then continuing down the hill the indoor market further on the right hand side, and ends with one of the la
st reminders of my childhood, the furniture stores whose name remains at the tip of my tongue, 12.40 am. I remember, I remember Reeve's Corner.
Along the road from East to West Croydon runs the latest two carriage trams, with one route following a former railway line to Wimbledon of the Tennis fame, the former football club now moved to Stevenage new town, and the Wombles.
Almost nothing remains of the central Croydon shopping district of my childhood when the real trams used to jang and clang, were then followed by the electrical trolley buses. First the east district was gutted to build the Whitgift Shopping centre and since my previous visit the second Shopping centre has been created from the gutted and rebuilt west district, with both shopping centres now containing major departmental stores. The pedestrianised central area ends at West Croydon station which is in fact Croydon Central, Trains go to Victoria and London Bridge from this station joining the same routes from East Croydon in the northern direction and to Epsom Downs where the Derby horse race is held and to Wimbledon, in the southern direction, By West Croydon is the main bus station and it is also a tram route. It is from West Croydon that there is the feel of international Croydon, with half a dozen stores open every day and all day and night with one proudly boasting supplies for customers wishing to produce Greek and Turkish dishes, those from India and Pakistan and those from Africa and the West Indies.
From the open window of small cars young men blast out the music of the Indian sub continent, and black America, and the West Indies, Several black men in expensive looking white suits stood down one side road with local wino's at their feet, within a short crawl to a different kind of Wetherpoons. A collection of young people meet up outside another side street pub dressed down to remind of weekend nights at South Shields and Newcastle, Further along there is the surprise of the night when seeing the Lidl, the front building was not a supermarket but a multi story health centre. I begin to tire and make my way back to the cinema. The shopping centre district is now closed with only revellers making their way for meals and fun.
Two skimpy dressed girls announce their arrival and intentions to any passing male, but I am overlooked.
The area around Grants is now buzzing but it is still early at eight pm an there are no seats in any of the nearby pubs; I pray there will be seats somewhere in the cinema. Fortunately there are on the top floor and I chat to the small sweet, pop corn, ice cream and drinks area assistant about olden days when my family were the only asylum seeking foreign speaking refugees in town, I treat myself to an expensive tub of American ice cream although the taste is a good one. I need the toilet which means surrendering the ticket although the screen is outside the main screen area. I can enter the theatre on return where I find three couples already waiting. We are joined by other couples and one party of noisy girls. I still did not realise the kind of mistake I had made. There is one trailer and then the lights return and there is a further wait before there are other trailers. Then the film commences and I still have not grasped what I am to experience.
I then witness a succession of the most horrific, nauseating violence, torture and humiliation which makes the Marquis De Sade into a cuddly teddy bear. Girls scream and one goes into hysterics, although this is what they have come for. Other girls bury their heads into their partners which is what their partners have come for. It extraordinary, sickening, horrendous, clever and believable. I am too tired to admit my mistake and leave. Anyway I want to know if two crucial judgements about the role of one character and the likely end of the film are justified. I am right in both instances, but this is poor consolation.
I am still tired when I make the rash decision to walk back through the night life district just to see what it is like at 11 pm. The pubs and clubs are lively and many of the restaurants are more than half full with diners, and most are at least a quarter full. There are queues outside several places.
A group of inebriated young men outside a pub try to interest a group of passing girls. The girls issue the boys a challenge, suggesting that they are unlikely to possess the manhood's and the bottle to match their mouths. The girls pass on and the young men decide to tell me what they think of the young women, and how desirable they appear to be. I tell them not to tell me, but to tell the girls because life is not a rehearsal. The young men insist on shaking my hand. I think the girls were right in their assessment as the boys continue their drinking and wishfulness. I know youth is wasted on the young.
Buoyed up I make the rash decision to continue walking, knowing there are still occasional buses travelling in my direction. I struggle the last mile or so, remembering those late night journeys of my youth when staying on until the last number at Cy Laurie or Humph's having always got through the door without needing to queue, those were the days, I would miss the last train to Wallington and had to walk from East Croydon. Tonight I was going to show them and myself by walking twice that distance. I did. I crawl into bed after making a drink of coffee, there was no tea. I say hee hee to myself. Not bad for 68 year old. And then I sleep.
I had intended to read Le Carre's The Mission Song on the train to London but only after a few pages I wanted to write my book of books and wrote for over three hours with little hesitation and one minor interruption. I had awoken sufficiently early, before the alarm, to ensure that everything was packed and to prepare two rolls of salmon from a tin, and two rolls with Milano Salami filing. Having decided against taking the laptop, I then forgot to unpack the heavy power unit. I eat the salmon as breakfast on the way into Newcastle, enjoying a cup of coffee on arrival at the station and purchasing a bottle of still water from the new style buffet kiosk on the train to eat with salami filled rolls.
Within ten minutes of arrival at Victoria from Kings Cross I was able to catch a train to my destination which I had fixed in my mind as South Croydon. At Kings Cross I had to queue for at least fifteen minutes to get the day pass, having inquired if the weekend specials were still available. They were not.
The weather had cleared to cloudy with breaks of sunshine and was warm, so wearing only a shirt with a sleeveless jacket and a small rolled umbrella, I decided to walk into town, for a meal and the pictures, a noble feat as the journey was the distance of two stops on the average suburban line, a walk which even in my youth, I had avoided. There was no intention at the time to repeat the walk on the return. Purley Oaks is known for its proximity to one of the most interesting office blocks built between the first and second Wold Wars. The Office sits between two roadways and resembles a several decked cruise liner. The main road which continues to Brighton in the south and central London to the north follows the bed of a riverless valley and it is not until reaching the Swan and Sugar Loaf pub restaurant entertainment centre that you know you have reached the area known as South Croydon and where some fifty or more pubs, restaurants and take ways create the special night life atmosphere of the city. It is similar to my own Ocean Road but without the accommodations on one side, and in Croydon the restaurants are much grander. There are several Tapas Spanish including one major. I was interested to find a Chinese Eastern buffet and there was one on the scale of that found in Sunderland but only open evenings and therefore with London prices at £14 instead of £6.50 to £8.50. It was empty. I did find a more reasonable priced buffet but with limited choice, and I decided I was not in the mood, and continued the exploration to the Vue cinema which was once the posh Grants Department stored. Now just part of the front remains and the rest was gutted for the cinema, a health club, a Wetherspoons on two floors and a Nachos. Earlier I had read a positive review about a new film and on checking the London version of the same Metro paper, it was listed as having an 8.50 showing so I booked a ticket surprised that there was an open seating plan for an evening. The over 60 concession was £2 less.
I then decided on a KFC Zinger meal, cheap and not as nasty as the popular conception. The only available table was for six and nearby were two young children about five years of age eating on their own, and who at first I thought were part of the family at the adjacent table but when they left, the children remained on their own until their mother returned, with her own meal and moved the family onto my table, with the youngest, a girl, attempting to sit opposite me until moved to the next seat to sit with her mother. Both children had a soft toy, a Shrek which made Shrek noises, continuously, and which the mother attempted to curb by warning of limited battery life. I guessed they had been to see the film after school and she had been to a shop while they eat. The little girl began to move the Shrek as close as she could towards my tray. She was being very seductive and I guessed this was a fatherless child, or an absent father family. When they got up to leave the girl presented me the Shrek. Mother said you are giving him the Shrek, and she said yes. I smiled and pressed her look after the creature carefully for me. I got a nice smile from the mother. I wanted to know about them and their situation. They were strongly black, direct Africans, or West Indian slave descendents or first generation born, when families moved out of Brixton to begin the colonization of Croydon into what is now a microcosm of the world.
It was time to continue my walk into memory Lane. I have been along Surrey Street, Croydon's open air market street throughout ,my and I remember the location of the store which only sold turkey's at Christmas. Now empty the street appeared smaller and lacking the mystery brought to my childhood and at the far end there was a multi level bar where the bouncers had began to make their appearance. I retraced my steps to stand for a short while outside Croydon library and Town Hall. My former office, the Croydon Local Taxation office (Motor Vehicle Licences and registrations) had been located in what are now gardens behind the Town Hall, I think, with the main offices of the Finance department, to which we were a part, across main thoroughfare which runs parallel to the main shopping street.
A short walk along main street and I reach the main junction road with Eastward the road to East Croydon Station, which is in fact the main station and should be called Croydon Main. This station is second to Clapham in the frequency of trains passing through to the South Coast and the London and coastal suburbs. The road West is down hill and leads to Kennard's, the original people's London store with a mini zoo in the basement level, and also leads to Surrey Street, and then continuing down the hill the indoor market further on the right hand side, and ends with one of the la
st reminders of my childhood, the furniture stores whose name remains at the tip of my tongue, 12.40 am. I remember, I remember Reeve's Corner.
Along the road from East to West Croydon runs the latest two carriage trams, with one route following a former railway line to Wimbledon of the Tennis fame, the former football club now moved to Stevenage new town, and the Wombles.
Almost nothing remains of the central Croydon shopping district of my childhood when the real trams used to jang and clang, were then followed by the electrical trolley buses. First the east district was gutted to build the Whitgift Shopping centre and since my previous visit the second Shopping centre has been created from the gutted and rebuilt west district, with both shopping centres now containing major departmental stores. The pedestrianised central area ends at West Croydon station which is in fact Croydon Central, Trains go to Victoria and London Bridge from this station joining the same routes from East Croydon in the northern direction and to Epsom Downs where the Derby horse race is held and to Wimbledon, in the southern direction, By West Croydon is the main bus station and it is also a tram route. It is from West Croydon that there is the feel of international Croydon, with half a dozen stores open every day and all day and night with one proudly boasting supplies for customers wishing to produce Greek and Turkish dishes, those from India and Pakistan and those from Africa and the West Indies.
From the open window of small cars young men blast out the music of the Indian sub continent, and black America, and the West Indies, Several black men in expensive looking white suits stood down one side road with local wino's at their feet, within a short crawl to a different kind of Wetherpoons. A collection of young people meet up outside another side street pub dressed down to remind of weekend nights at South Shields and Newcastle, Further along there is the surprise of the night when seeing the Lidl, the front building was not a supermarket but a multi story health centre. I begin to tire and make my way back to the cinema. The shopping centre district is now closed with only revellers making their way for meals and fun.
Two skimpy dressed girls announce their arrival and intentions to any passing male, but I am overlooked.
The area around Grants is now buzzing but it is still early at eight pm an there are no seats in any of the nearby pubs; I pray there will be seats somewhere in the cinema. Fortunately there are on the top floor and I chat to the small sweet, pop corn, ice cream and drinks area assistant about olden days when my family were the only asylum seeking foreign speaking refugees in town, I treat myself to an expensive tub of American ice cream although the taste is a good one. I need the toilet which means surrendering the ticket although the screen is outside the main screen area. I can enter the theatre on return where I find three couples already waiting. We are joined by other couples and one party of noisy girls. I still did not realise the kind of mistake I had made. There is one trailer and then the lights return and there is a further wait before there are other trailers. Then the film commences and I still have not grasped what I am to experience.
I then witness a succession of the most horrific, nauseating violence, torture and humiliation which makes the Marquis De Sade into a cuddly teddy bear. Girls scream and one goes into hysterics, although this is what they have come for. Other girls bury their heads into their partners which is what their partners have come for. It extraordinary, sickening, horrendous, clever and believable. I am too tired to admit my mistake and leave. Anyway I want to know if two crucial judgements about the role of one character and the likely end of the film are justified. I am right in both instances, but this is poor consolation.
I am still tired when I make the rash decision to walk back through the night life district just to see what it is like at 11 pm. The pubs and clubs are lively and many of the restaurants are more than half full with diners, and most are at least a quarter full. There are queues outside several places.
A group of inebriated young men outside a pub try to interest a group of passing girls. The girls issue the boys a challenge, suggesting that they are unlikely to possess the manhood's and the bottle to match their mouths. The girls pass on and the young men decide to tell me what they think of the young women, and how desirable they appear to be. I tell them not to tell me, but to tell the girls because life is not a rehearsal. The young men insist on shaking my hand. I think the girls were right in their assessment as the boys continue their drinking and wishfulness. I know youth is wasted on the young.
Buoyed up I make the rash decision to continue walking, knowing there are still occasional buses travelling in my direction. I struggle the last mile or so, remembering those late night journeys of my youth when staying on until the last number at Cy Laurie or Humph's having always got through the door without needing to queue, those were the days, I would miss the last train to Wallington and had to walk from East Croydon. Tonight I was going to show them and myself by walking twice that distance. I did. I crawl into bed after making a drink of coffee, there was no tea. I say hee hee to myself. Not bad for 68 year old. And then I sleep.
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