Ruth Regan
I lived in the Gardens from 1975 until 1997. My father was the Gardens Manager, Bob Pudney. We lived in The Lodge at the top of the Gardens, which is now demolished and replaced by the Butterfly House. When there was a drought during the summer, you could see the outline of the foundations of the grand Horniman house. My sister Kaye and I had many happy times growing up there. The gardeners and park keepers were all like extended family.
Dad’s style of planting was very traditional, as had been his training. Formal beds always created gorgeous displays of colour. Freshly clipped grass and park keepers sweeping the paths meant the Gardens always looked smart. He often gave horticultural talks and ran gardening evening classes in the old canteen of the Museum.
Whilst we lived in the Gardens, the Museum was also like a second home to us. In the 1980s, Saturday Morning Club was well attended, and we went with friends who lived on Horniman Drive. The club met in one of the upstairs studios and we did creative things for a few hours on a Saturday morning. I remember doing pottery. We also used to take clipboards, paper and pencils into the Museum and draw the famous masks on display. We did printing too – using braddles to carve decorative patterns or pictures onto leather tiles. It wasn’t until years later, in a conversation with my now husband, that we realised we had attended the same club and had probably met each other many years before we started ‘going out’.
One year we attended the Christmas party. The loos were down a long corridor and I needed to go. Mum was happy for me to go on my own. Off I trotted, if a bit apprehensive, to use the toilet. As a good girl who had been brought up paying attention to hygiene, I duly washed my hands after but there wasn’t any paper towel available to dry them. The handles of the big heavy doors were smooth, round and brass and my little wet hands could not turn it for love nor money. The increasing sense of panic at not being able to get out of the Museum, and the wild thoughts of being locked in a Museum overnight by myself, resulted in a full on panic attack. It felt like I’d been there hours, when in reality Mum came to find me five minutes later only to find me in a crumpled, sweaty heap. The relief of seeing her face! No harm done though. I just live with the fear of wet hands and brass doorknobs. I also struggle to watch the movie ‘Night at the Museum’.
I recall another day when we were playing and there was a bit of a kerfuffle from the gallery area. A young lad had put his head through the railings to look down, but then got thoroughly stuck. Some strong members of staff managed to pull the railings back enough to release him, but not for a good ten minutes or so. When I look back now it seems very comical. Luckily no lasting damage to the boy’s head or the ornate railings.
The Gardens were open all year round apart from Christmas Day when Dad and the staff had a well-earned day off. The only other day we closed to the public was in the aftermath of the ‘Great Storm’ in October 1987. There were several big trees down in the gardens and large boughs too. The tree outside our house lost its centre and the pathway was blocked. We all sheltered in the lounge, but luckily the house remained unscathed. We got the day off school and helped Dad and the staff clear the debris. Some of the neighbours in Horniman Drive helped too. It was a team effort.
When the totem pole at the front of the Museum was unveiled, I was the flower girl. I had to wear my best dress and a pink hat. I presented a posy of flowers to the person unveiling the pole.
Staff were in two different groups – Gardeners and Park Keepers. They were all a friendly bunch. When we were very little the Park Keepers all wore very smart brown uniforms with shirts, ties and peaked caps. They would stroll through the park keeping order and making sure people were safe, not climbing trees or running through flower beds. Dennis Hefer and Eric Rendell were my favourite ‘Parkies’. Both lovely men who would come back to our house after the annual Carol Concert and help count up the takings from the jumble sale in the Dutch Barn.
Frank Ruston looked after the animals in the Animal Walk. He loved the animals like his own and was a big softy. He even made friends with the rat that took up residence in the feed shed. Valerie Britton was another Park Keeper who could often be seen walking round with her colleague Edie Cowlard. We nicknamed them Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, because they had a knack for catching us doing something we probably shouldn’t have been doing!
The gardeners were good fun. They were more casual and always stopped to have a chat. Kevin Murray, Jimmy Knott and Bob Gregson were cheeky chaps and probably caused Dad a few headaches over the years. I remember mum getting them to write Valentines cards to us so that we wouldn’t recognise the handwriting. So embarrassing!
Dad had a few Deputies over the years. First Peter Smith and his wife Rene. Followed by Arthur Martin and his wife Vera, who used to give us choc ices every time we went past the flat to Dad’s office.
Dad retired in 1997. He and my Mum moved to Abbey Wood near Bexleyheath. Dad got himself an allotment and spent lots of time getting back to gardening. He enjoyed getting his hands dirty more than the managerial side of the job. He enjoyed being a hands-on Grandad during this time as well, and he built a fort for my boys in his own back garden. Sadly, he passed away in 2011.
The Horniman always felt peaceful and safe. We knew the park like the back on our hands and felt like it was ours. We were very protective over it.
If you have Horniman stories or memories of your own, please get in touch with the team web@horniman.ac.uk.