CCHT - Cobham Conservation & Heritage Trust

Street Cobham

Mr C Van-den-Steen of Coveham Crescent writes:

'I am writing about Street Cobham. I have lived there for over 50 years of my life ...... we had our own shopping centre, three pubs, a restaurant, a snack bar and also tearooms.

We had our own grocery store and ironmongers and we did not need to go up to the High Street for anything.

When I look at it now it is more over-developed than any part of Cobham ...... I remember the United Dairies with the horses at the back of our house. Also Lynns, the butcher opposite.

I also remember Dobson the shoe repairer, with a mouthful of nails; two of his daughters still live in Cobham. My Gran used to work for Matthew Amold ...

I worked in Cobham Mill until I went into the Army during the War and again for a little while after I came out.'

Mr A Roberts Reminisces

Mr A Roberts of Winston Drive, Stoke D'Abernon reminisces:

• In the 1930's Tilt Road from the cemetery gates to Ashford Farmhouse was all mud until the Canadian troops improved it.
• Until 1923/4 cricket was played on The Tilt over what is now Stoke Road. The cottages on The Tilt were protected with chicken wire!
• A Hurricane test pilot (Captain Hindmarsh) crashed a hurricane in St.George's Hill in 1938.

A Surrey Tragedy from 'The Motor'

A Surrey Tragedy from 'The Motor' - March 29, 1932 

Contributed by Mr. Maurice Mager of Stoke D'Abernon

Many know the centuries old Cobham Mill but few have heard of the tragic tale with which it is associated. It is related - with what truth I cannot say - that two brothers, members of the Vincent family of Stoke D 'Abernon were out on a shooting expedition. They had put up several birds, without getting a single shot, when the eldest swore with a great oath that he would kill whatever next they met with. They had gone but little farther when the Miller of Cobham Mill met them and bade them good day.

When he had passed, the younger brother jokingly reminded the elder of his oath, whereupon the latter immediately fired at the Miller, who fell dead upon the spot. ...... The scene of the shooting, so the story goes, was the gorse clad expanse of Fairmile Common, but few of the thousands who hurry across it along the Portsmouth Road ever give a thought to the Miller of long ago.

The Night the Skies Opened

Were the famous floods really 40 years ago?

I had just got married and bought a house in Winston Drive, Stoke d'Abernon. It had been raining since dawn on that Sunday, 15th September, 1968. (I remember the date well because it was my Mother's birthday). Leaving my usual lunchtime watering hole (The Plough at Downside) I drove home along roads awash with surface water and, thankfully, settled into a comfortable armchair for the afternoon. Shortly after 3 pm there was a knock on the door. A friend.

"You're needed."

"What?"

"Look!"

I looked. Half of the road had disappeared. The river bank at that end of the village had given way and, half an hour later, up to our waists in water, we were alerting local residents and towing them to safety in a boat (where did we get that from?).

Two or three hours later, everyone safe, home for a bath and change of sodden clothing. Crisis averted.

After visiting my Mother in Cedar Road that evening, my wife and I retired as usual to The Plough to discuss the continual downpour with the regular bunch of acquaintances. Rather unusually, we left about ten minutes before closing time – in those days 10.30 pm – and crossed the old humpbacked bridge shown on the front of the last issue. The River Mole was in torrents and water was piling up against the arches of that high bridge and, in fact, pouring over the top to the extent that we hesitated before crossing. I believe that we must have been the last vehicle to cross that bridge because, within a few minutes, the central span had gone, as the picture so vividly shows.

Colleagues who left the pub at closing time found the bridge gone and the road under water. Forced to find their ways home via Effingham, one friend stopped short of a flooded road in Fetcham to debate the sense of trying to negotiate the rapids and watched in bemusement as an angry Mini hooted, swept past, charged into the water, stalled – and floated sideways into a field.

On the Monday the extent of the disaster became apparent. The rain had stopped but travel to Cobham village was impossible and egress from the area only achieved by the most circuitous routes. After three hours trying to find a bridge over the River Thames to get to my office in London, I gave up and finally found a working telephone in Esher (there were no working appliances anywhere in Cobham) from which I could advise my company of my predicament. Later that morning I finally reached Cobham, following a long detour, and watched the residents of Church Gate House and the adjoining cottages being rescued from their upstairs rooms standing on an elevated platform on some huge farm tractor accompanied by cheers from the massed onlookers.

St. Andrew's Church Youth Group, the '61 Fellowship, in those days met on Sunday evenings in Church Gate House. When they left as usual at 10 pm, the Verger who lived in the flat above went down to check that the building was secure and, just before turning out the lights, noticed that water was seeping under the garden door. Even as he watched he could see the flood rising and, ringing both Churchwardens for emergency assistance, started to move the furniture and carpets up the slope to the sanctuary of the Church – a vital rescue mission as the waters eventually reached the first floor (and nearly the Church itself). Had I been writing this then, my feet would have been rather wet.

The floods moved downstream creating havoc along its banks for the next two or three days. One of my work colleagues living in East Molesey needed me to collect and return him each day for the next week or so – when he finally got to his car in its garage, he opened the bonnet to inspect his ruined engine and a dead fish floated out!

As a result of the local inundation, the lock gates along the river were changed to ensure such a calamity could not reoccur. Every winter (and during a few miserable summers) I watch the River Mole immerse the garden and car park of Church Gate House secure in the knowledge that this little enclave in Cobham does not experience more than a temporary inconvenience. But, looking at the devastation in the road outside shown in one of the photographs (taken when the water level had dropped considerably – the windows and door of Church Gate House had been submerged), I recall that exciting weekend so well.

Alan Wiseman of Cobham

(Supplement to David Taylor's article in November Issue 12 of Cobham Conservation and Heritage Trust Newsletter)