Even in the bright, new world of the Wheelwright Estate and Croydon Road, the shadows of the Great War still lingered as everyone, even in the mid 1920s, tried to come to terms with the appalling casualties. My brother recalled our mother’s hushed tones when she chided him for some misdemeanour with the enjoinder that he should think himself fortunate compared with those other little children "whose Daddies were killed in the War".
He also recorded his "vivid memories of those days … of disabled veterans and others who had not found employment. Long before the days of adequate social security they would try to raise a few pennies by performing as street musicians, not just in the shopping areas but in the ordinary housing estates also. We certainly had several in Croydon Road. One such itinerant brought along a street piano: this was a contraption mounted on wheels like a handcart and music came from it when the crank handle was turned. Wrongly we used to call these barrel organs but those were seen less often in our district; they made a different musical sound and often displayed a live monkey wearing a red fez hat, to draw interest and hopefully swell takings. One man used to come round with a trumpet on which he played doleful melodies. Others had no instrument at all; they just stood in the middle of the street and sang…."
Chris