Below some recollections of a former vicar of St Thomas's. I don't know if or where it was previously published, if any reader can shed any light it would be welcome

RECOLLECTIONS OF THE FORTIES:
NOAK HILL AND THE COMING OF
HAROLD HILL

by Canon A. P. A. GAZE

Memory is subject to pressures of many kinds. Are we recalling actual experiences, claiming as our own something that we happen to have been told, perhaps allowing what might or ought to have been to replace the incident which actually occurred? What I recollect from the 'Forties may well be inaccurate in detail, though true enough in the impression it has left with me.
I can state with some assurance that 1 began my work as an assistant curate in the Parish of Romford on 9th June 1941. In those days the parish extended beyond Gidea Park and Squirrels Heath to include the area between Eastern Avenue and the main Brentwood road, beyond Gallows Corner, including the Straight Road district (mainly Council houses) and the hamlet of Noak Hill. To reach it we had to bus, drive or cycle through the parish of St. Michael, Gidea Park. In 1944, three years after the coming to Romford, the then Vicar, the Rev'd E. C Blaxland, asked me to take over the Straight Road/Noak Hill area of the parish, while still remaining an assistant at the Parish Church of St. Edward the Confessor. My father had just retired, and he bought a house (Thornhill Cottage) on the Mount, about 4!/2 miles from St. Edward's and half way between St. George's, Straight Road and St. Thomas's, Noak Hill. So I was able to share my parents' home, and live "on the job" rather than be a non-resident parson.
To speak of Noak Hill as a hamlet was to classify it, in my understanding, as a community which enjoyed some, but not all, of the usual amenities of a village. There was a school, and a school house; there had been, since 1842, a church (dedicated to St. Thomas). There was Dagnams - the Big House or the Mansion; there was the Dower House, the Priory; there had been a blacksmiths shop but (and this was the damning omission) there was no pub. When I protested that the Bear, standing between the Mount and the village proper, must surely be counted, I was firmly told that it stood outside the boundary proper. There had been, so I learned, another inn in the fields beyond the church, but that had lost its licence by becoming involved in sheep stealing. So, no pub, therefore only a hamlet.
The brick Church of St. Thomas had some of the qualities of a real village church. It was lit by oil lamps; it had in the east window, and in panels hung against the clear glass of other windows, stained glass older than the buildings. According to one tradition, some of this glass had been "acquired" from the Continent after the Napoleonic Wars by a member of the Neave family. It was slightly cruciform in shape, with North and South Transepts just deep enough for each to contain a long pew behind the choir stalls. The southern was for the Neave family from Dagnams, the northern for members of the staff. It must have been very obvious if any of them were missing from Sunday worship. The organ in the west end gallery was supposed to have been a one-manual instrument, converted - within the original frame - into a three-manual one. Being placed with its unprotected pipes against the clear west window (open to the extremes of cold and heat) it was not surprising that it encountered problems. Another tradition had it that, should any of these pipes develop a "cypher" the blacksmith would be called to remove it, and then plug the hole. During the 'Forties only the choir manual was usable, and Leonard Jupp (the organist) had to know which keys to "flick up" after playing them. Later on enough money was found to effect a reasonable restoration. How old does a building have to be to acquire a ghost? I wouldn't know, but one Sunday morning I had just begun the 8 a.m. service when I heard the door close, and footsteps coming up the aisle. When I looked down the length of the church there was no sign of any addition to the tiny congregation, nor had that tiny number been depleted. The explanation is probably quite simple -1 haven't been able to think of it. During most of my time the "mansion" was empty. It was the home of the Neave family. Originally the home of Edward Carteret, it had passed from his family to a Henry Muilman, and then in 1772 to the Neaves. The original house had been pulled down and replaced by one built on a different site. At one time it was known as Dagenhams or Dagnams, and it was to that house that Samuel Pepys came on 15th July 1665 to teach young Mr. Carteret how to approach "Lady Jem", daughter of Lord Sandwich. The marriage had been "arranged" by their parents, but the bridegroom was apparently a very diffident young man. The nearest church in those days would have been at South Weald, but there is no trace there of the consequent wedding.
At my coming to Noak Hill the house, as I have said, was empty. Sir Thomas Neave had recently died; his son Arundel had succeeded to the baronetcy, but the War had taken him away, and his mother, Lady Neave, spent most of her time in London. It was only for a brief while, later on, that she opened up a few rooms and tried to make the place habitable. The Priory, on the other hand, was inhabited by George and Mary Marriott until they moved down to Devon some time after 1948. George would be seen every day cycling down to the nearest railway station on his way to work in London, while Mary, frequently in an old white (off-white?) milking coat, with a cigarette drooping from her lips, was a familiar figure about the house and grounds, and in the village. She took a deep interest in the place and its people, in the work of the school and the church, and was even persuaded to play the part of Olivia when a local drama group performed Twelfth Night in the Priory grounds.
There were still a few characters around in those days. "Lottie", who declared that "she never forgot a kindness" (nor did she) and "never forgave an injury", explaining at the same time that she usually omitted the relevant phrase from the Lord's Prayer. Young Robert from the farm opposite the church described himself as an improved type of Scot - one born in England. He had submitted at one time to being "confirmed", and was quite prepared to attend church so long as it was not "that communion". Another, whose name I forget, had been a member of the City of London Police Force in the days of the Sidney Street Siege, when Winston Churchill was Home Secretary. Fortunately for him the "siege" took place just outside the City boundary.
Noak Hill managed to escape most of the early air raids, but V2s (the rockets) were obviously misdirected at times. It remained true, however, as some of the local folk maintained, that "the Devil looks after his own" and we, on the Mount, experienced nothing more than a bit of broken glass. One V2 did a great deal of damage to the Priory. Another made it necessary to replace the village hall, but left the church untouched and the school still fit to use. The final one (as I remember it) fell below the Mount somewhere in the area bounded by that road, the Noak Hill road, and the road to Havering. It was night, and nothing had been set on fire, and no obvious signs of what damage, if any, it had done. However, there were a few houses and a shop (owned by Mr. and Mrs. Ivott) on the left-hand side of the Noak Hill road - just before the start of the climb to the Mount, and it seemed sensible to go and see if they had suffered any damage. All were unharmed, but some of the householders seemed to think the V2 had landed in their back gardens. We went to look: nothing in the gardens, so we continued into the fields behind the houses. Eventually we came across a very large and very new crater. No people, buildings or animals anywhere near. We decided to go home. In our enthusiasm we hadn't noticed that a "ground mist" had come up, and we hadn't the faintest idea in which direction to move. Quite ridiculous when you come to think of it. In the end we realised we could see a clear sky above us, and someone spotted the Pole Star, and we found our way to the nearest road.
I cannot remember, and perhaps never knew, whether the plans of the then London County Council for the development of the Harold Hill estate came into being during, or only after, the War. It was certainly not long afterwards that we were told to expect a new housing area of about 30,000 people in the area bounded by the main Brentwood road, Straight Road, and the road to Noak Hill. At that time there was a dual-purpose church hall (St. George's) on the right-hand side of Straight Road, with sufficient space for a church, separate hall, and vicarage. We were informed that the L.C.C. need that plot of ground and would provide an alternative site further into the estate. Again my detailed memory is untrustworthy, but I can recall two incidents. One was a meeting in Romford Town Hall at which the L.C.C. explained their plans for the estate. It was held on a foggy day and the representative of the Diocese, who was supposed to attend, couldn't get to the meeting. The impression which was left with us, after listening to the planners and the objectors (there were privately owned houses and farms in the area) was that the L.C.C. needed a plain, uncluttered sheet of paper on which to draw up the plans of this new development.
The second occasion was a meeting at County Hall, London, in which we tried to point out that although the L.C.C. were concerned only with the area to the north-east (right-hand side) of Straight Road, the local council already had housing property on the left, and would undoubtedly develop the area between Straight Road and Eastern Avenue. From a parish point of view it would be unreasonable to move the church further away from its present position, central to the two developments. Of course, kindly though we were received, we made no impression on the planners. Very soon the first "temporary" (aluminium) houses began to arrive. About 600 of them were placed above and behind the then church site; and we had to do something about them.
Many of the new inhabitants had been bombed out of the East End and Dockland. Some had been living in one room, with furniture piled one piece on top of another as there was no room on the floor. We had wonderful co-operation from the Romford Town Clerk, John Twinn. He provided us with the names of each family as it moved into its new home, and we were able to pay at least one visit to all of them. It was usually a very short undertaking: "Good afternoon, are you Mrs. (or Mr) So-and-So?" "Yes." "I am the local (Anglican, C. of E., or whatever) priest." "Yes?" End of interview. Unless they objected to the fact that their children had to walk two hundred yards to school - why wasn't there a bus provided? They were strangers in a strange land: no fish and chips available, and those few who had been churchgoers looked for a stone or brick neo-gothic building - like the "one on the corner that had been bombed" - not a wooden dual-purpose building where you took the children to see the visiting nurse for weighing and other necessary attentions.
We did our best. We organised a meeting for the new citizens of Romford with the Mayor, the Town Clerk, the Vicar of the Parish (there may have been one or two others). All of them turned up on time. We had put leaflets through all six hundred doors. Not a single "new" Romfordian appeared.
I was invited to attend the laying of the foundation-stone of the new St. George's Church, and asked to act as chaplain to the Bishop. It was a dull and cloudy November day, Bishop Allison was very new, as were his episcopal robes. I offered him the use of my cloak, but he wished that I should carry his umbrella - which I did for the first and only time I have carried such an object in procession. I have been back once since, to see the new building in operation. Very fine, doing fine work, But I was very fond of the old St. George's.