Leave the Morden Tavern alone!

As far as I am concerned, if they destroy The Morden Tavern, yet another piece of England closes. You may ask why!

In 1937, I was lucky enough to be born in a house on the sparkling new St. Helier estate in Morden: a gem of a place, built on the model village ‘Arts of Crafts’ era architecture.

Well planned and laid out, with trees and greens and plenty of space to ensure the health of the people who inhabited it, with its own schools run by Surrey County Council, and purpose-built public houses: namely, the ‘St Helier Arms’ on the Carshalton side, including ‘The Rose’, Rosehill and the ‘Morden Tavern’, Central Road, and ‘The Crown’.

Together with the Odeon cinema, Morden, all large establishments, now all ripped down by developers – except this beautiful arts and craft Modern Tavern, the last and very important amenity for the people of this place called Morden and surrounding area.

Seven years later, in June 1944, my family and I were bombed out or lovely home by a Second Word War ‘V1 flying bomb’ and had to leave Morden for the summer.

When we returned, the Morden Tavern was always open as usual and parents remained inside, defiantly singing various raucous choruses of typically English popular songs of the days.

Their dulcet melodies and the strains of their poignant voices still echo in my mind, at eight-ears-old and onwards.

These pubs like the Morden Tavern were stalwart posts on the estate, offering strength and fortitude in those terrible wartime years. They sang sand their hearts out until closing time around a beer-soaked piano in the club at the back of the tavern, it’s rich songs echoing into the dark nights.

At the front of the Morden Tavern was the lounge and the smoky public bar, giving succour to the working man’s instable thirst: crowded, loud and dusty.

Next bar along the front was the Private Bar: very mysterious, known in some circles and ‘The Snug’, frequented by women only and sometimes strange, furtive-looking couples up in the corners...

Money, food and clothes were very scarce and one wonders how people managed to grab a few pleasures: many pawned possessions, just to be among their friends in the pubs!

Many other places like the Morden Tavern, all over the country, kept the morale of the English soul together.

These pubs were akin to the churches in offering companionship and solace to the families, many torn apart with their own war-soaked grief.

These place should all remain, together with the other fine establishments that bonded our people together.

No man should rip down that which the people deem sacred to their hearts. Without these meeting places, we will be doomed to a lonely and barren existence.

People cannot be confined in houses all alone, staring at screens!

Leave the Morden Tavern alone! We have enough developments in Morden. There is land enough elsewhere gasping for houses! We habe enough houses and flats, especially in Central Road, Morden.

As a nation, the people have been cleverly forced out of public houses by stealth, rising prices, drugs, crime and, of course, the controversial smoking ban.

This has got to stop before it’s too late.

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