Cambridge University Press Memories by Elizabeth Toller-Brown,
I started work at Cambridge University Press (C.U.P.) in August 1968, in the ‘Assessors’ office; a section of the accounts department. I was just seventeen years old. This was the start of a big adventure for me and it continued for the next three and a half years.
During this time, I grew up, had great fun, in so many ways and made more mistakes than I care to mention, but all in all, it was generally a happy time. I left before big changes took place there and I am glad I did! I had enjoyed some of the best years C.U.P. had to offer.
In my time there, I worked just a few offices from my beloved father, Eddie Toller. He had worked at the old C.U.P. building, in Trumpington Street, from the age of fifteen and had worked his way up to become one of the managers and ‘Production Liaison Officer.’
In my father’s previous office, in the front corner of the second floor of the old Pitt Building, he had a huge wooden desk; full of interesting things like putty rubbers, that a child like me could squeeze and squash and a swivel chair, which I could spin around on, when I went into ‘town’ and called in to see Dad.
Across the road from this lovely old building was a hairdresser’s shop; Reid’s. One day, for fun, the employees lifted the cover off the man hole in the path and kept popping a hairdresser’s dummy head out, much to the surprise of passers by! This was one of the amusing tales Dad told us, when he cycled home, had his dinner (including a dessert), a lie down on the bed and then cycled several miles back to work! We lived in Netherhall Way and I don’t know how he did this, but he was very fit! He had done the same when we lived in Oxford Road, until 1954. It was much easier for Dad to cycle to and from work when the new building opened in Shaftesbury Road, in 1962.
I had not been able to take the eleven plus exam, as I was in hospital at the time (another story!) and I felt cheated, as they had said I was “university material” and going to college had been my childhood dream. From my later years at secondary school, I determined to work at the new ‘Press’ with my father and my brother-in-law, Mick Brown. Several of my mother’s Hatchman cousins also worked there, but at that time, I did not know them.
When I eventually got a job at the Press, after doing two other mundane jobs, to pass the time of waiting, I found that my office was on the second floor, near my Dad’s. I was to be surrounded by a number of other ladies, mostly around my own age and our poor male boss, Jack Whybrow, had his desk at the back of our office. What goings on he had to endure each day! He was such a quiet, gentle man, nearing retiring age.
All of the offices and workrooms were built around a square of gardens, with other workrooms leading off on one side. This meant that we could look out of our office window and see people across the way; great fun for them and us; we fun-loving, giggly girls!
One day, I was about to go on one of my walk-arounds, to take papers to other work departments like ‘Compositors’, ‘Readers’, ‘University’, etc. when my friend, Tina Leland, put her black cardigan over her head and a white band across her forehead and sat in my chair near the window, telling me to tell those in the opposite room that we now had a nun working in ‘Assessors’ and of course, they then looked up to see if they could see her! Tina sat there singing ‘Ave Maria’ and saying she was ‘Mother Inferior’! That was just one fun time I remember.
We were paid on the 28th of each month and my friend, Carol Hurst, and I would go to town in the lunchtime, on pay day, get some cash out and go shopping in the ‘Alley’ boutique in Falcon Yard, to ‘Primavera’ gift shop on King’s Parade and on the market. I sometimes bought gifts for my Mum and maybe pear drops or sherbet wafer rounds for my Dad, which he enjoyed eating from his desk drawer. Of course, we also bought L.P. (long-playing) records, too.
The other lunch-times were usually spent in the large staff canteen, eating cheese rolls, or we might go for a walk to nearby Finches Walk or somewhere local.
On Friday evenings, Carol and I would go to the Press discos in the Pavilion, which was then a very small building in the grounds. The disco was run by three of the apprentices, whose work I mainly dealt with; Barry Reynolds, Graham Cherry and Roy Fabb. It was, of course, called the R.C.F. Disco!
‘My’ apprentices included Barry Reynolds, Roy Randall, Graham Cherry, Roy Fabb, David Pearson, Alan Pell-Coggins, Graham Pegg, Noel Woodgate and Roger Thwaites. I also had to assess how long jobs would take for those in ‘Comps’ (Compositors), ‘University’ and ‘Journals’ departments. The men often tried to get me to give them longer time to do jobs, so that they could get more bonus minutes! I enjoyed working out the times for jobs and I could spot mistakes on proofs easily.
Carol and I loved these wonderful times. We dressed in the latest fashions and wore quite a bit of make-up, which we took great care applying!
We loved dancing at the discos and were pleased when reggae and bubblegum music came along, enjoying these, as well as the usual soul and pop music. In those days of the late sixties to early seventies, bands were always called ‘groups’ and bands were a larger company, playing ballroom, jazz, classical music, or whatever
Another use for the Pavilion was as a rehearsal room for the C.U.P. Singers. I had a small group of my own among this group of people, called ‘The Press Gang.’ As a larger group, we sang songs from the musicals, a medley of London songs and many others and my little group sang things like ‘Morningtown Ride’, ‘Michael Rowed The Boat Ashore’ and other folksy songs. I played a 12-string and other electric guitars, which I frequently changed at Ken Stevens, in Petty Cury! We did many gigs all around Cambridgeshire and nearby Suffolk.
In my office, among others who came and went, were: Carol Hurst, Gill Hurst, Julie King, Tina Leland, Teresa Georgi, Boosha something, Iris Squires (a lovely older lady), Helen Sweet, Yvonne Pope, Margaret, (who later married ‘Pressite’ Dave Allen), Janet Ayers, Paula McKnight.
In Dad’s outer office were Mick Brown, Brian Allen, Tony Littlechild, Colin Walsh, Carmen Raghaven.
I knew everyone at the Press and I loved my job and work colleagues. I think it’s sad that all girls do not enjoy that camaraderie with work colleagues and the chance to enjoy the dances, discos and parties that were connected with work, in those golden days; along with the socialising and fun experiences galore, including swimming together at Parkside, which went well until my bikini top came undone in the pool once and the Compositors manager, Gerry Haslop, told everyone about it the next day!
All Press employees were photographed by one of the ‘Readers’ named John Bowman; a quiet, reserved person usually, but a keen photographer.
Ah, happy days!
Elizabeth Toller-Brown. April 2021
c.1935 - Back garden of Oxford Road, Cambridge. Bottom left to right - Connie Toller (nee Broom), Ada Hatchman (prev. Broom/Cruden), Marie Cruden, Violet Cruden. Top left to right - half seen probably Bill, Ed Toller, George Cruden, Arthur Cruden.
These letters were given to me by my aunt Joan Punter ( nee Toller ) she now owns these letters which were written by her grandmother- my great grandmother- Ada Hatchman (formally Broom/Cruden), Living in Oxford Road, Cambridge.
95 Oxford Road
June 20th - 1940
My Dear George and Marie
Thankyou for letters, trust you are both well and had a good holiday. You will no doubt be coming back sat. if you come to Cambridge for week end. We shall be pleased to see you both. Eddie [Alexander Edmund Toller] has only just got your letter, he is staying at
7356452 P.. E Toller
C/o Mr F Bowling
30 Sandhill Oval
we had a very terrible experience Tuesday night- 9 killed 14 injured our window nearly shook out and houses fell to the grounds St Mathews Church Vicarage Terrace, East Road way.
your loving mother
love to all.
As written by my aunt Val Burroughs, March 2005.
Living with the horrors of war
Very early on in the war my father [Ed Toller] nearly lost his life. He was running across the battlefield with German planes overhead. Apparantly he could see a pilot shaking his fist. He dropped his mouth-organ and his prayer book, but, prayed "Lord, let me get home to my wife and children." He did.
I remember my mother [Connie Toller] and auntie watching the distant sky to the south of my back bedroom window. My auntie was crying as she dreaded the bombs were hitting Linton ( her home village ) as the sky was lit up in that direction. During night-time air raids the wardens would tell my mother to get inside my granny's house as she would look out of the front door to look out for planes. During day time raids, I remember my gran and mum heaping furniture as a shelter over me e.g. the settee tipped back to reach the piano with me underneath. At night we sometimes slept under the " shelter table" a heavy duty metal table in the living room, with caged sides. Sometimes we would shelter in the cuboard under the stairs where my toys were kept, I don't recall being frightened.
One day my mother was taking us out for a walk, pushing the pram along Madingly Road, when a truck driver asked her the way to the American cemetery, he told us he had a "load of guys on board."
One of my friends, who lived at the back of our house, in Richmond Road, Eileen, lost her father when he became ill with beriberi through deficiencies in his diet out in a foreign country where he was in active service.
Uncle Bill was in the fire service, so was in the front line when it came to dealing withbombing raids. Once, when driving fast he was convicted of speeding! Even fire engines had restrictions put upon them.
Of course, it was damaging to family life to have husbands and fathers away for six years. We hardly knew our fathers when they came back. I remember my mother cleaning and polishing the house and making herself look pretty when my father was coming home on leave. Then when his leave came to an end, there was always the sadness of parting. I would stand at the door with my nanna, my fathers mother, and watch mum and dad walk up Oxford Road. We never knew if he would return, of course. The telegraph boy, on his motorbike, was an unwelcome visitor to our road. He might be delivering a telegram of congratulation or good wishes, on the other hand, he might be on a sinister errand with the news that a loved one had died in active service.
I remember the day men arrived to remove our house railings from the front garden. I watched them at their devastating work of taking every bit of iron to build tanks or amunition. Those railings were never replaced.
Val Burroughs ( nee Toller )
Toller Family Tree notes by Joan Punter [nee Toller] (my aunt – transcribed by Michelle Bullivant Dec 2010)
John (1727-1807) probably born at Everton, grew up and married Elizabeth. They moved to Upper Caldecote around 1759, to Tempsford in 1779, died and was buried in Tempsford in 1807.
James (1762- 1826) born in Upper Caldecote, married Mary Swanell in 1786, took over the farm at U.C., moved to Kings Ripton in 1788, and farmed Rectory Fram. Moved to Southill, farmed Old Rowney 1803-26, and was buried there.
John (1791-1872) born at Kings Ripton, married Anna Maria Swanell in 1811, farmed Recotory Farm for his father , until 1813, moved to Sapley (Sapley Park Farm) in 1831, farmed at Fenstanton in 1851 at Tollers Farm in Hemingford Grey, at Anstey Hall Farm in Trumpington in 1842, also Moor Barns farm in Madingley, later bought s…Farm at Streatley, also land at Dunstable.
In 1871 John came back to Anstey Hall, and is buried in Trumpington Church. He seems to have been the most successful and rich farmer.
Frederick Swanell – born in 1813 at Sapley Park Farm – farmed his fathers land at Fenstanton in 1840. He married the ‘house-keeper’, Betsy Brown, an Irish woman, in 1852. They farmed at Hemingford Grey until the lease expired, when his father refused to sign it so that he lost his livelihood. Cut off by his father he worked as a bailiff in Hardwick until 1860. Then moved to Cambridge (67, Newmarket Road) where 5 of their seven children died in overcrowded, unsanitary housing, so different to the healthy life in the country they were used to. Frederick died of TB in 1874. Betsy moved to Harston and married Josiah Pestell, who ran a bootmakers shop.
Richard 1864-1937, born in Newmarket Road, and moved with his mother to Harston at 10 years old. He came back to Cambridge (1892) where he met his second wife, Florence Clifton, married and lived at 29 Perowne Street, Mill Road. He died there in 1936. He spent his later life as a painter and decorator.
Alexander Edmund (Ed, Eddie) 1915-1987 born at Perowne Street, his only sibling, sister Peggy , died of pheumonia aged 5. Eddie worked at Cambridge University Press in Trumpington Street from the age of 15. He married Constance Beatric Broom in 1934, they had four children and he served in the Royal Army Medical Corps 1939-45, fought in France, retired at 65. They lived at 110 Oxford Road until 1954, when they moved to 59 Netherhall Way. Eddie died of cancer of pancreas aged 69.
Elsie Joan born 1940, during World War II at Oxford Road. Attended Richmond Road Infants School, then Park Street Primary School. Went to Cambs High School for Girls in 1951, left in 1956 and went to work at University of Cambridge Exams Syndicate, Mill Lane (opposite C.U.P., where her father worked). Joan married Michael Euyene Brown in 1959, and lived at 10 Church Street Chesterton. She had Christopher david, then moved to 116 Fishers Lane Cherry Hinton, where she had Jacqueline Susan. They moved to 57 Glebe Road, and she had Andrew Paul. In 1976 they moved to 15 Shaftesbury Road near the University Press buildings. After the break-up of her marriage Joan married Richard Douglas Punter and they lived at 7 Drayton Road [Cherry Hinton] where she had Mia Jane in 1979 and Eleanor Claire in 1983.
2nd Letter from my great grandmother Ada Broom (formally Cruden, nee Hatchman) to her son George Cruden.
95 Oxford Road
Feb. 28th 1941
My dear son,
Thank you for your nice welcome letter, thought I was never going to hear again from you, Arthur [Cruden] said once you start that you would not be able to get away from it. It’s a shame you have to work so many hours and others are walking about doing nothing but God knows best you are safer there I should say. George and Louie? Was at Pheobe they said London had had a lot of bombs; we have had a lot here lately and a lot of deaths, poor Mr Britton was killed with a bomb and Mrs Peck’s shop down to the ground and also Louies boot shop so that is down for now. 52 bombs they dropped in the night. This last 2 nights they have been quieter. There is no sign of a house anywhere only a sumphj shop and I’m afraid your clothes will be spoilt. You ought to of sent them home because they can’t look after them in a stone place like they have got. did you get back alright it must have took all your time to write letters the few hours you got off but it was a change to get away from the work a bit. I had a letter from Marie [Cruden] she seems to be getting on all right. What time do you get to bed? Connie [Connie Toller- George’s sister] and the baby are well.
Eddie [Ed Toller] is supposed to come home 12th March if leave are not stopped we are expecting anything these days. We can only trust to God that things will soon be settled. It’s dreadful the suffering; these days and dear people being killed daily and everywhere take care of yourself George and I do hope you will soon get some more leave. How do you keep in health? Has your cold quite gone. I am beginning to feel better now, 2 months of ups and downs in bad health.
I expect you have plenty of snow drops about and crocuses this time in the year if you have more time to enjoy the country ..to the.. and send love and down your handkerchiefs I sent them off with this letter I have done the woolies and will send them on Monday
Love from us all
your loving Mother xxx
P.S So sorry were all broke this week George but mum and I will send you some fags in a few days Con. [Connie Toller]
Written by Joan Punter (nee Toller) – my aunt – transcribed by Michelle Bullivant Dec 2010
When I was born on 16th April 1940 my father, Eddie, was away in the War. He came home on leave from time to time but I didn’t really have time to get to know him and I apparently got really cross if he and mum danced to the radio together, or kissed and cuddled. We had Russ and Ivy [Russ Broom & his wife – Joan’s uncle, my great uncle] living with us at 100, Oxford Road, so Val [Joan’s sister, my aunt] and I had a lot of attention, games played with them, books read to us and plenty of fun in spite of hours spent under the metal air-raid table, in the cupboard under the stairs (taking turns to sit on the gas meter of all places), and under the piano across the road at No.95.
No.95 [Oxford Road] was of great importance in our childhood. Gran, [Ada Broom, formerly Cruden, nee Hatchman, my great grandmother] was there, cooking wonderful old fashioned meals, cakes and pies as did all of her generation. She had also been a kitchen maid, then cook, in service in London as a young woman. It was there she had met her first husband, Cruden. They had George, Arthur and Elsie, then when her husband died of pneumonia in his 30’s, she had to come back to Cambridge where she had support from her mother and sisters, especially Laura and Phoebe.
Things were tough and she was very poor. Finally her milkman [Arthur Broom], giving her extra milk and butter for the children, courted her and they married. They had William Hardwick (Bill Broom) in Hardwick Street, then Russell in Russell Street, followed by my mother [my granny] Constance Beatrice. Ada was never one to live a quite life, and she always worked when she could fit it in with her children. I think what caused the most upheaval in the marriage was where she worked at the Globe [pub], Hills Road and started socialising, leaving Arthur minding the children (remember they were not his, and the other three were still very young).
There is a true story, told to us by Ada’s sister, Ethel, that one evening when she called at the house, Ada was late coming back from the pub. When she eventually turned up my grandfather said “See, she told me one hour, and it has been three”. With that Ada hit him over the head with a bottle of beer! My grandmother was all heart. She would give her last shilling to a tramp in the street and she loved her children and grandchildren with a deep and protective love; but she had a temper that sometimes frightened people to death. She had had a very hard life and had no time for anyone who was lazy or useless. The stormy marriage ended when our mother [my granny] was 3, so she never had a father figure after that, apart from older brothers of course. The one blessing, I think, that all of my mother’s family had was closeness and support for one another. Ada was always outspoken, even critical, to everyone, though, our mother had to make sure the house was clean when Gran popped over as she might say “What’s that stink in here? You will get the fever!” if something smelly had been left in the kitchen. She had suffered Typhoid Fever and Rheumatic Fever when a young woman so she was very health conscious.
Mum remembers, when they lived up Russell Street, if any of them had an accident, Gran would say “Quick, up the “orspidal”, as fast as your legs will carry you!” As Addenbrookes was in Trumpington Street then, it wasn’t far to run. Gran had worked for Turner the magistrate (who officiated at her divorce from ‘Broomy’ as they affectionately labelled him) so on the break up of her marriage Mr. Turner kindly housed them at no.95 Oxford Road “for as long as she lived”! (On her death the house was bought (very reduced in price) by Bill.)
So at last, when I was five and starting Richmond Road Infants School, the war ended and my father came home a hero, with his medals and stick with the silver knob on top. We used to play with gas masks on our faces, pretending we were Mickey Mouse, now that they had no use for gas attacks.
I don’t want to just record facts and dates in this essay but I would prefer to write a piece with the portrayal of the memories and atmosphere about this time. I sometimes drive down Oxford Road, Windsor and Richmond Roads. I immediately feel the security of the happy years of my childhood. Our house at 110 [Oxford Road] , called ‘Fredaville’, was a usual bay-windowed one, with the ‘front room’ kept tidy and the best furniture in it. We sat there in the sunshine and never messed it up. Our play area was the ‘back room’. It had no bright sunlight streaming in the windows; old chairs, brown worn lino on the floor, and a big old radio by the window in a cupboard. This was our only means of keeping in touch with news, music and comedy and I remember the feeling of dread shown by the grown-ups listening for news on how the war was going. We could be taken over, (with the rest of the world) by the evil dictator, Hitler, our fathers killed , our houses bombed and all of us blown to pieces.
However the spirit of our people was always victorious; our father, with his men, would destroy the Nazis forever and we would be safe. Mum was terrified, though, of the planes going over nightly, and the doodlebugs droning over, then exploding. She would drag us shaking, in the stairs cupboard, pitch-black everywhere of course in the black-out, or over to 95 [Oxford Road], making us a fortress under furniture while Gran made cups of tea. You would think Val and I would grow up afraid to leave the house, but it seems to have done us no harm in the long run, for we are both outgoing and confident mothers; so perhaps all our fears were finally put to rest with the jubilation of victory celebrations and seeing our menfolk return, marching proudly and in step along the streets of Cambridge, Union Jacks flying like mad from every house. We seemed to always have a little flag to wave in those happy days. Daddy put away his big kit-bag for good, with his khaki uniform and sergeants badges; Uncle George [Cruden] would no longer be seen in the air force blue uniform, nor Uncle Bill in his firemans one.
Everyone was now in ‘civvy street’ and Bill was a grocer again, George was in Mackintosh’s shop in town and our daddy went off every morning on his bike to the Cambridge University Press as a clerk.
We now had a baby brother, David, to add to the excitement too, so mummy was always happy and busy, the frequent visits across to Gran’s were now peaceful and jolly, laughter, singing and drinking by the adults at weekends, when Charlie from the Dolamore’s Role on his three-wheeled cycle, puffing and blowing up Castle Hill to bring bottles of booze and lemonade clinking in the enormous metal basket on the front, poor man!
We became good friends with Edgar Fletcher, the milkman and his daughter. She always seemed to have interesting pets. He had glass tanks in the garden containing butterflies, I think, also snakes. His daughter told us to come over and see her new baby golden bears. They were actually hamsters, but we had never seen any before, nobody had.
Part 2 to follow........
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