Harpenden people who grew up around the time of World War Two have been the most fortunate generation, according to a book of reminiscences compiled by former resident John Seabrook.

“That’s the conclusion I got simply from the way they talk about that time,“ explains John, 80.

“Our theory was that our parents were the generation who suffered the most during the Depression between the wars, they had extremely poor conditions and then World War Two. After that, there was a long period of prosperity and health and we were the generation who benefitted from that – we could afford to buy a house, our children were mostly healthy and well looked after, but then they had it much harder than we did and subsequently it’s been more difficult for younger generations. We’re a little bit guilty about it.“

John started compiling The Best of Times from the comments, stories and recollections he was sent and told by local people who had read his two previous autobiographical books, Bowling Alley Boyhood and The View from Church Green.

“It was clear that many people had stories to tell and that they were both proud and grateful for the era in which they had grown up,“ says John. “The book is a compilation of what they have remembered. It’s not history, but the actual recollections they still have in their memories. It reflects the happy times they had 50-plus years ago.“

Being a former newspaper reporter, John had many contacts in Harpenden to approach. He was a junior reporter for the Luton News and, from the age of 17, a reporter at the now defunct Harpenden Free Press, which closed in the 1970s.

Memories that John has collected include paddling in the Silver Cup Pond on Harpenden Common, playing in the sand pit under the Baa Lamb trees, also on the common, travelling to school on the ‘Nickey’ line that linked Harpenden to Hemel Hempstead (spot Liz, John’s wife, as a 12-year-old in glasses peeking out of the train door in the picture below), the carving of the Harpenden Coronation sign, and the march of the diggers to start work on the outdoor swimming pool in Rothamsted Park.

“Nostalgia is always seen through rose-tinted glasses,“ says John, who now lives in Poole, “but in this case I think it’s true. My wife and I have two children in their 50s and there’s no doubt that they’ve had it tougher – houses are more expensive, they also faced problems of redundancy which our generation didn’t, if you wanted a job for life it was there. I think life was very good for us.“

  • The Best of Times is available from Threads, Lower High Street, Harpenden or directly from John Seabrook. Details: 01202 709872, johh.seabrook@talktalk.net

A-scrumping we will go!
By Mike Gray 

Round about the year 1946, Mrs Pickering had a big house in Crabtree Lane. The orchard at the back of the house bordered onto a track that is now Granary Lane. One sunny day, my pal Pat North and I somehow found ourselves in this orchard with apples everywhere, so naturally as small boys do, we pulled up the bottoms of our pullovers to form apple-carriers and filled them up.

Well now, that left only one thing to do so we did it, we climbed into an apple tree and sampled the fruits of our labours. What we did not see was our local policeman walking down the lane. I cannot remember his name now, but I do remember his “Hallo, hallo, what have we here?”
Well, we jumped out of that apple tree and legged it. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, our PC ran faster than us and grabbed an ear of each of us, and gave us each a cuff on the other ear.

“Right then,” he said, leading us by an ear each, “let’s see what your mums have to say about this.”

So to Overstone Road and a knock on the appropriate door.

“Mrs North? I have just caught your son scrumping.”

“Patrick, get inside!” He did, with another whack on the head.

So to Dalkeith Road.

“Mrs Gray? I just caught your son scrumping.”

“Michael, get inside!” And my whack hurt as well.

The very next day, Pat and I were sent to knock on Mrs Pickering’s door to apologise and, much to our surprise, be told to take a few apples for our trouble!

(Extract from The Best of Times)