henry j. nicholls - holloway road
Henry J. Nicholls, Holloway Road
Barry Page
I'm certain that many of us peered longingly into H.J. Nicholls' shop window at 308 Holloway Road. I know I bought all of my 'Airfix' plastic models there, and later when I experimented with rocket propulsion, Nicholls was the source for 'Jetex' solid fuel pellets and fuses. Nice to know the shop continues as usual, as featured in this Islington Gazette article.
Frank Tepper
I remember it well. I used to buy balsa wood kits there for something like 2 shillings and sixpence and always looked in awe at the models in the window and shop.
Tam Joseph
Yeah… I made plane in the woodwork class at Eden Grove and proudly took it on its first flight at Highbury fields, launched my plane into the air and watched as it looped and dived finally gliding to the uppermost branches of a plane tree, hopelessly out of my reach!
I was fascinated by 308 and spent ages looking through the window at the aircraft carriers and Spitfire planes. One day I bought a kit to assemble a boat of some kind but despite the fact I was skilled at making things even then, working out the order of the many bits and pieces was beyond me and I gave up.
Occasionally I use enamel paints in my work but at the time I found the little tubs of Humbrol enamel paints a bit of nuisance.
Paul Kenealy
That part of Holloway Road was a place I loved, not only Henry J Nichols, but also Berry Pianos a couple of doors down. I never spent any time inside or outside of the handbag shop ‘cos my Dad warned me about Joe Meek, so H.J. Nichols was a fave. I wasn’t really interested in model planes, but I did have the ambition to build a model similar to The Bluebird.
I decided that a hydrofoil would be the most stable design. I had been into H.J. Nichols and rummaged around in their ‘reduced’ box. I found a small diesel engine (about 5cc I believe) with a propeller of about 3” diameter. I was quite friendly with Mr Bean, and he allowed me and Billy P-J to spend time in the metalwork shop when we should have been in Maths. I came up with a design of a single hull with twin outrigged mini hulls. I made this in the woodwork shop, but the engine mounting needed to be metal. I made a dual pantograph designed at an angle of about 15 degrees to allow for the mounting of the engine, similar to the way that the swamp boats work in the Southern states USA.
I was very proud of my new design and took it home and painted it Blue, like the bluebird with white lightning flashes down either side of the pantograph. My mum didn’t know what to say except ‘get that noisy smelly thing out of my kitchen, and put it on the balcony’. My dad on the other hand was impressed and offered to help me launch it.
The obvious place to go was Whitestone Pond, as the water was easily accessible from both sides, and wasn’t deep. So it was that I proudly got on the 210 bus from Finsbury park to Hampstead, with my dad and my new invention, which would ‘I thought’ change sea travel for ever. I had not given a great deal of thought to ‘steering’. There was no way I could afford remote control, that would have to come in later versions, once my invention had been taken up by industry. So without plotting a course, I stood at the Eastern end of Whitestone pond, and my Dad stood at the Western. I primed the engine, put a battery lead on the glow plug and swung the propeller. It STARTED. Waved to Dad standing at the other end, pulled the venturi lever to ‘Full Speed’ and set the thing down on the calm surface. It started off, the front of the hydrofoil lifting very slightly as planned, the two smaller foils taking the weight.
Wow what a success, Dad stood waiting at the other end of the pond in his usual summer attire. No Raincoat, fair isle sleeveless jumper and the long sleeves of his everyday work shirt rolled up with gay abandon. I had thought through all the permutations, except one. If your three hydrofoils are not perfectly aligned, the thing will not go straight. I was therefore inevitable that although Dad and I were standing perfectly in line (the shortest distance between two points is a straight line), it was obvious that my invention’s guidance system had never heard of Euclid. The thing veered this way and that at such speed that neither Dad nor I could predict where it would stop. That final stopping point was somewhere on the north side of the pond where the unstoppable force was finally and fatally stopped by the immovable object.
I threw what was left of the wooden structure in the bin, and retrieved the engine and pantographs. Dad bought me a consolation ice cream from the Marine Ices van and we went home.
The conclusion of the story is that I sold the engine and with some birthday money that I’d saved up I bought an old acoustic guitar in a shop down Camden Passage.
Happy days.
Barry Page
I'm certain that many of us peered longingly into H.J. Nicholls' shop window at 308 Holloway Road. I know I bought all of my 'Airfix' plastic models there, and later when I experimented with rocket propulsion, Nicholls was the source for 'Jetex' solid fuel pellets and fuses. Nice to know the shop continues as usual, as featured in this Islington Gazette article.
Frank Tepper
I remember it well. I used to buy balsa wood kits there for something like 2 shillings and sixpence and always looked in awe at the models in the window and shop.
Tam Joseph
Yeah… I made plane in the woodwork class at Eden Grove and proudly took it on its first flight at Highbury fields, launched my plane into the air and watched as it looped and dived finally gliding to the uppermost branches of a plane tree, hopelessly out of my reach!
I was fascinated by 308 and spent ages looking through the window at the aircraft carriers and Spitfire planes. One day I bought a kit to assemble a boat of some kind but despite the fact I was skilled at making things even then, working out the order of the many bits and pieces was beyond me and I gave up.
Occasionally I use enamel paints in my work but at the time I found the little tubs of Humbrol enamel paints a bit of nuisance.
Paul Kenealy
That part of Holloway Road was a place I loved, not only Henry J Nichols, but also Berry Pianos a couple of doors down. I never spent any time inside or outside of the handbag shop ‘cos my Dad warned me about Joe Meek, so H.J. Nichols was a fave. I wasn’t really interested in model planes, but I did have the ambition to build a model similar to The Bluebird.
I decided that a hydrofoil would be the most stable design. I had been into H.J. Nichols and rummaged around in their ‘reduced’ box. I found a small diesel engine (about 5cc I believe) with a propeller of about 3” diameter. I was quite friendly with Mr Bean, and he allowed me and Billy P-J to spend time in the metalwork shop when we should have been in Maths. I came up with a design of a single hull with twin outrigged mini hulls. I made this in the woodwork shop, but the engine mounting needed to be metal. I made a dual pantograph designed at an angle of about 15 degrees to allow for the mounting of the engine, similar to the way that the swamp boats work in the Southern states USA.
I was very proud of my new design and took it home and painted it Blue, like the bluebird with white lightning flashes down either side of the pantograph. My mum didn’t know what to say except ‘get that noisy smelly thing out of my kitchen, and put it on the balcony’. My dad on the other hand was impressed and offered to help me launch it.
The obvious place to go was Whitestone Pond, as the water was easily accessible from both sides, and wasn’t deep. So it was that I proudly got on the 210 bus from Finsbury park to Hampstead, with my dad and my new invention, which would ‘I thought’ change sea travel for ever. I had not given a great deal of thought to ‘steering’. There was no way I could afford remote control, that would have to come in later versions, once my invention had been taken up by industry. So without plotting a course, I stood at the Eastern end of Whitestone pond, and my Dad stood at the Western. I primed the engine, put a battery lead on the glow plug and swung the propeller. It STARTED. Waved to Dad standing at the other end, pulled the venturi lever to ‘Full Speed’ and set the thing down on the calm surface. It started off, the front of the hydrofoil lifting very slightly as planned, the two smaller foils taking the weight.
Wow what a success, Dad stood waiting at the other end of the pond in his usual summer attire. No Raincoat, fair isle sleeveless jumper and the long sleeves of his everyday work shirt rolled up with gay abandon. I had thought through all the permutations, except one. If your three hydrofoils are not perfectly aligned, the thing will not go straight. I was therefore inevitable that although Dad and I were standing perfectly in line (the shortest distance between two points is a straight line), it was obvious that my invention’s guidance system had never heard of Euclid. The thing veered this way and that at such speed that neither Dad nor I could predict where it would stop. That final stopping point was somewhere on the north side of the pond where the unstoppable force was finally and fatally stopped by the immovable object.
I threw what was left of the wooden structure in the bin, and retrieved the engine and pantographs. Dad bought me a consolation ice cream from the Marine Ices van and we went home.
The conclusion of the story is that I sold the engine and with some birthday money that I’d saved up I bought an old acoustic guitar in a shop down Camden Passage.
Happy days.
