The large house covered with ivy which has quite recently been pulled
down, was at one time the Manor House of Pembrokes, and called The
Parsonage, or Rectory House. I remember when it was called the Moated
House. It was built in 1636, and was surrounded by a moat, over which
was a drawbridge. In 1797 Henry Piper Sperling, Esq., purchased the
Mansion House of Pembrokes, with forty-nine acres of land adjoining, and
the whole of the great or rectorial tithes. Soon after he had the moat
filled up. The staircase of this house was very fine. There used to be
a cheerful air of activity about the old Rectory Farm, with its
well-stocked farmyard, and the ducks and the geese swimming on the pond.
The pretty little plantation by the side of the road, which a little
farther on branched right and left, the road to the right leading to Clay
Hill. At the second bend of the lane, on the left stood a pretty, long,
low house, with a creeper-covered verandah; this was called Turner’s
Farm; the yard and outbuildings of this adjoined those belonging to River
House. The New River Company owned the next farm, and here the road
ended in a beautiful cornfield, across which was a footpath leading to
Tile Kiln-lane. There used to be plenty of water in the river, but it
has been gradually getting less and less. There was an echo in one of
the fields leading to Beet-lane, White Hart-lane; it was so quiet all
round this spot we often amused ourselves with raising it. A little
farther on came Snakes-lane, leading to Lordship-lane, and Wolves-lane,
leading to Tile Kiln-lane. These lanes were all very lonely, and a
practical joker created a scare by roaming round in the evening. He was
covered with a white sheet, and walked on high stilts; he was called
Spring-heel Jack, but who he was or where he came from was never
discovered; everyone was glad when he got tired of this form of
amusement. I knew one old inhabitant who was one evening walking along
Lordship-lane with his daughters when they saw a white object in the
distance. The girls immediately jumped to the conclusion that it was
Spring-heel Jack, and were so terrified they screamed so loudly that they
were heard in Wood Green; but it was a false alarm, it was someone
carrying home a basket of washing. Speaking of the loneliness of the few
houses in this lane, Mr. Thomas Fox, who lived there, made it a practice
to go into the garden and fire off a gun every evening before retiring to
rest in order to let people know he could defend himself against
burglars.