The Suburbs London on Film

# Neasden

# You won't be sorry that you breezed in

# The traffics lights and yellow lines

# The illuminated signs

# All say "Welcome to the borough

# "That everybody's pleased in"

# Neasden

# Where the birds sing in the 'trees-den'

# You can hear the blackbirds coo! So why not take the Bakerloo?

# It'll work out that much cheaper if you buy a "seas-den"! #

The healthy air of Harrow, in the 1920s and '30s,

when these villas were built.

One after another, pretty townships have been grabbed.

Some have been murdered or obliterated.

Although we had a garden, and indoor toilet and bathroom,

it was so boring!

Over a million people wash in and out of Central London each day,

and pass through the great grey ordinariness

that separates work from home.

No longer need you travel far afield to see your favourite stars,

because, here on your doorstep,

is a theatre equal to any in the West End. Indeed, the world.

It is the true twilight zone of London,

neither city or country, village nor town -

coming briefly alive when the commuters flock to Central London,

or flock back to their illusions of gracious living.

Chelsea to Chigwell, Windsor to Wapping,

High Beach to High Barnet.

The far reaches of the city stretch out to each other,

and all London is linked together.

The great influx into the city is starting.

This is the greatest daily movement of people in the world,

from their homes, into the city.

Preparing the rolling stock for this great tide of people,

8,000 workmen have been working in the repair and maintenance depots.

Metal brake blocks must be relined,

power units overhauled,

and coaches washed by power jets and mechanical scrubbers.

In tram and bus depots, similar work is in hand.

Engines have been to be tuned.

Punctures have to be avoided in 50,000 pneumatic tyres.

Finally, the refuelling.

When these and a thousand other jobs are done,

everything is ready to carry Londoners to their work.

The drivers are ready.

246 stations throw open their gates.

Every weekday morning,

almost two million scramble for buses,

or sprint the last 100 yards up the station approach,

to pack themselves into trains that leave the outposts of suburbia.

Forever on the move over its vast surface,

11 million journeys made every day by London Transport vehicles.

I would hate to sever my links entirely with London.

Commuting every day. And I enjoy that.

I don't think I would go back to live in London,

but I like to be near London.

I don't spend any time in London,

apart from the time I spend at work, that is.

The driver keeps a steady speed.

He knows when he should reach the next stop,

and drives so he that will be there right on time.

People rely on his correct time-keeping

at the stopping places.

The roads begin to look busier. London is getting nearer.

It's been a crowded journey.

We arrive at our work, tired before we begin,

and we sometimes wonder if that suburban home is really worth it.

It was bad enough getting to work.

It's even worse when we try to get home.

Hurry up!

Not only do the buses bring people into London,

they also carry passengers out, through less crowded streets

to the surrounding countryside.

There is a regular service, to or from the town.

Over here, near Croydon, you can see a batch of houses

going up in a hurry.

That's strange enough in itself, but go in closer,

and you notice why this building site is different.

Everybody working there is under 16 years of age.

It's part of a new plan to train the master builders of tomorrow

on most modern lines possible.

You start at 14,

work six months on probation, to see if you're going to like the life,

and then experienced craftsmen take the class over

for a five-year apprenticeship.

When our cameraman caught them,

they had two finished houses to their credit,

and work on others was well under way.

Wages run upon a sliding scale.

A quarter of craftsmen's rate for boys up to 15,

one third up to 16, and so on, until they get full pay at 21.

Foremen and instructors report the scheme a great success.

According to them, the houses are sound, workmanlike jobs,

and the only waste is the mortar

the new recruits take home on their clothes.

The spacious hall has a wide staircase, well set back.

And leads to the dining room,

which, with its tiled surround and hearth,

and French casement doors,

is a fitting neighbour to the lofty drawing room.

There are three bedrooms on the first floor,

and they all overlook the rolling countryside.

For 20 years, London raged like a forest fire,

or like some new craze -

unstoppable, out of all proper control.

Suburbs are a gigantic piece of folk art,

as amazing in their way as Stonehenge or the great cathedrals.

We've been travelling out through London's ribbon development -

long, narrow corridors of suburbia

that stretch far out into the fields.

London's shaped like an octopus, and we've broken free from it.

Londoners have been forced to live further and further away,

and now we get rid of them in places like Wimbledon and Blackheath.

Tens of thousands of more modest houses

have been built on these great new roads constructed since the war...

on the Barnet Bypass...

..on the Westwick...

..on the North Circular Road,

actually part of the famous Hampstead garden suburb.

This is Highgate Village.

Until 100 years ago, it really was a separate community

outside London.

Now the city has enveloped it.

But it still retains the title

and character of "village".

Ten minutes away is the hustle of the city.

The shops here are small, family businesses -

no supermarkets or chromium-plated emporiums.

The railway was one great cause of London's growth.

All along these railway lines,

we built our homes.

Year by year, we've spread further and further out,

always looking for cheaper land and cheaper rents,

and fresh air and light and space -

a bit of England we can call our own...

..a place where the wife can be mistress in her own house,

a place where the kids can run about in safety,

a quiet, peaceful place,

where a man can rest and forget his worries for a while.

This is the kind of thing

we Londoners have saved and scraped for -

a house in the suburbs, a home of our own.

STEAM TRAIN WHISTLES

Metroland, the creation of the Metropolitan Railway,

which, as you know,

was the first steam underground in the world.

When I was a boy, "Live in Metroland" was the slogan.

It meant getting out of the tunnels into the country.

The Metropolitan had a very good idea.

Look at these fields.

They were photographed in 1910, from the train.

"Why not..." said a clever member of the board.

"Why not buy these orchards and farms as we go along,

"turn out the cattle, and fill the meadow land with houses?"

Bucks, Herts and Middlesex

yielded to Metroland.

When this estate was built, it was just three streets in the country.

They ended precisely here,

where the Tarmac stops,

then there was a pond and a rolling landscape of open farmland.

Then the pond was filled in and concreted over,

and the whole rolling landscape became a vast, rolling streetscape,

and we were living in the country no longer.

Where earlier expansion had taken place around the nucleus

provided by an existing village,

after London had captured it,

around a place with social and human attributes,

the new housing was dumped

in the undifferentiated spaces between villages,

and all it had for social focus was usually a traffic roundabout.

It happened in Hendon,

it happened across the other side of London at Morden -

places once as different as being 20 miles apart

on opposite sides of the Thames could make them,

but now reduced to equality as vassals of Metroland,

the great suburban empire of the underground.

The houses of Metroland never got as far as Verney Junction.

Grass triumphs.

And I must say, I'm rather glad.

Wimbledon and Putney Commons -

1,100 acres of green and open country,

which by an act of Parliament, a century ago this year,

became the first open space

to be preserved forever for the enjoyment of Londoners.

The same act established that the Commons

should be administered by a board called the "Conservators",

three to be chosen by the Government,

and the remaining five to be elected every three years

from people who live close to the Commons.

This used to mean the inhabitants

of Wimbledon's gracious, large houses,

but today it includes the residents of huge council estates,

such as Roehampton and Akroydon.

that now fringe the Commons.

We would like to see more sports facilities on the Wimbledon Common,

and we have asked the Commons Conservators

to set aside certain areas on the Commons,

so that ball-playing can be carried out.

There are plenty of places in and around London

where there are parks with paddling pools and swings

and children's playgrounds,

where people can go if they want that sort of thing.

The whole aim of the Conservators of Wimbledon Common

is to keep it open and unenclosed, and in its natural state.

Big wall of seven foot high, it was across this very road,

and with glass on the top, and not able to be climbed over.

These people provided it.

They all clubbed together,

and had it put up against these people,

who they thought were the poorer people, a new council estate.

They didn't wish to mix with them,

but the children were able to climb over the wall.

The buses were up this way, and the trams at the top.

If not, there was a detour for children going to school.

They had to walk right the way round,

a mile-and-a-half that way, or a mile-and-a-half this way,

to get to school, or to the buses or trams, whichever they preferred.

The waiting list at Hammersmith is about the 6,000 mark.

The problem is it's not going down. It's going up all the time.

The answer is to use the land which is in Outer London

for either housing, or for the relocation of offices,

so that the pressures on land in Inner London is released,

and we can use it for housing.

We would love to share it with people,

but it is all a question of degree.

Surely nobody would be so selfish to say,

"We've got a nice place here, we don't want anybody to come into it."

But if you have such a nice place

that everybody wants to come into it,

then the place itself becomes no longer a nice place.

We're not rich men. We've worked to buy these houses,

and we are the true working class, really.

-Really?

-Yes, really working class,

in as much as I have worked all my life,

from the time I left school,

and I bought my house with my earnings,

and I don't want to see the character

of this neighbourhood change.

BELLS RING

Yes! Lovely. Rounder! Rounder! Rounder!

CHILDREN SHOUT

TRAIN HORN BLARES

RADIO: We'll make it exciting for you now

by playing a sparkling record.

DOG BARKS

MAN SHOUTS TO DEER

ICE CREAM VAN CHIMES

BIRDS SQUAWK

Why, in this street, everybody who isn't washing their car,

seems to be snipping their hedge, or mowing their lawn,

or doing something like this family.

Are you ambitious? Do you try to do anything fancy with your garden,

or just keep it tidy?

Nothing at all. Just keep it tidy.

Are you a keen gardener?

No, I just do it because I have to do it.

-To keep it tidy?

-Yes.

Did you know there was stuff you could spray on privet hedges

to stop them growing?

No, I've never heard about it.

-This might save you a bit of labour.

-Yes, it would.

From the window,

I can see my neighbours' gardens divided by a privet hedge.

The other Sunday, I noticed they came out together to cut the hedge.

Incidentally, they are both much the same build,

and use the same type of shears.

This one is an eager beaver, and it shows up in his gardening.

Our friend here, on the other hand, is the more easy-going type.

They both started at ten o'clock, and by eight minutes past,

one was well on the way, while the other had still only just started.

Well, he never stopped talking.

By quarter past, he was still talking - this time, to his dog.

Then he noticed a few weeds in the flowerbed,

so he had to put that right before getting on with the hedge.

By then, his neighbour had almost finished.

In all, it had taken him roughly 20 minutes

to cut his half of the hedge.

What with the dog, the flower border,

and then half-an-hour-after elevenses,

this one wasn't finished when the pub opened.

So how long does it take to cut a hedge?

For the benefit of motorists who haven't got a garage at home,

we pay a visit to the home in Hampstead

of Colonel Westland Wright,

for an original and down-to-earth idea for housing a car -

a garage in the front garden that disappears when it's not wanted.

With houses like this,

an ordinary garage would not only be an eyesore,

but blot out the daylight, leaving front rooms in semi-darkness.

In this case, the garage is operated from inside the house

by a switch gear that controls a one-horsepower electric motor,

which in turn drives a shaft with four sprocket wheels,

over which chains lift or lower the garage.

The whole operation takes only a few minutes,

and once underground, the car is safe from the elements -

a simple but ingenious idea at a time when space is so limited.

BRAKES SCREECH

SIRENS BLARE

On December 6th, 1978,

police burst into this discreet Victorian house

in Ambleside Avenue, Streatham.

Inside, they found 13 prostitutes, some of them naked,

and 53 men.

Some of them were clutching £25 luncheon vouchers -

their tickets for sex.

It was originally claimed in court

that a member of the House of Lords, an Irish MP, solicitors,

accountants, and barristers were present.

Yesterday, at the appeal, this was said to be untrue.

No barristers or peers were at the house, at least when it was raided.

But what did the neighbours think?

Did they know what went on next door?

Well, absolutely nothing at all,

until the day of the raid and I just picked up the children from school.

We used to see, er...

a lot of cars parked here

fairly late at night,

but my idea was that somebody

was holding a bridge party,

or something like that.

Never associated it

with anything like

what was going on, at all.

Cynthia Payne was breaking the law -

a law that has come under close scrutiny

with all the publicity the case has received.

I have no regrets really of anything I've done in my life,

and the only regret I have now is I'm not younger

so I can start it all over again,

because, though I was acquitted on my last trial,

you just mustn't allow that sort of thing to go on in your house.

That goes for everybody, not just for me.

Of course, if your name is Cynthia Payne, then you're in trouble.

Do you remember this scene? A corn field not so long ago.

No longer need you travel far afield to see your favourite stars.

No more discomforts of travelling on wet and wintry nights,

fighting for buses and strap-hanging in the tubes, and why?

Because, here on your doorstep,

is a theatre equal to any in the West End.

Tenpin bowling is a sport with a fast-growing following.

Naturally, when they heard there was over £1,100 to be won

in the British Masters Championships,

bowlers from all over the country

flocked to the popular centre at North Harrow.

Britain's bowlers are now amongst the best in the world.

You may well be proud of this magnificent cinema,

the latest landmark for Ealing.

Although the job of work had been getting on pretty quickly,

this wasn't even fast enough, so the order was given -

"Speed things up."

This must be ready in time.

Ealing must not be kept waiting for their super cinema".

They know how to work.

HE LAUGHS

This sort of thing is catching.

Ealing may soon be known as a "fast town".

One thing is certain, we will do everything in our power

to make the Forum your favourite cinema.

All the glitter and glamour of a West End premiere comes to Brixton.

The guests of honour are not connected with show business.

The mayor of Lambeth, Councillor Mrs Wood, JP,

and mayoress, Mrs Robinson.

Like on so many big occasions, it's raining outside,

but the crowds cheerfully wait to see the stars arriving.

Here's Hollywood actor, Forrest Tucker,

filming in this country.

Here we are, all complete, and ready to receive you.

And now, let's on with the show.

Dagenham was an opportunity for us to leave a flat,

and go to live in a house, which I thought was a wonderful idea.

We all did, until we got there.

Then we found, although we had a garden

and indoor toilet and bathroom -

all the amenities we hadn't had before,

it was so boring.

It was miles from the nearest shops.

My husband seemed to get home much later at night than he did before,

and I found myself travelling back to the marketplaces,

where I was used to going, to see my mother and friends, twice a week.

Finally I felt, "Oh, God, let's get away from this wonderful house".

Mind you, I would have liked to taken the house with me

back to Canning Town,

and get back to civilisation, which is what we did.

We thought that Bromley was some place you could go for an holiday,

but we never dreamt that we'd be able to move there, you know.

So, when we did eventually move here, we thought we was somebody.

I was looking for something we could go and sit there in the summer,

and entertain our friends with it, and have a barbecue,

like we've seen on the telly - like what they do in Dallas, really.

We'd come from a flat, and we could never entertain anybody.

We could on the little balcony,

you know, but now

we think to ourselves...

and we was quite chuffed

when it started taking shape.

Nobody down in Rotherhithe or Bermondsey had nice, big gardens.

We used to take our chairs out, even have our tea in the garden.

Everywhere was clean and open.

Such a different life for us, altogether. It was lovely.

We have said how lucky we are,

lucky to be pensioners,

and move in a nice house, which is nice.

We've got it how we want it, and we sit in the garden.

He'll say to me, "Cath, we're so lucky."

Subtitles by Red Bee Media Ltd