Have just finished reading
Greetings from Bury Park by Sarfraz Manzoor.
After my parents moved out of London they briefly lived in Buckinghamshire (in Chesham!) and then took the family to Luton where my father worked as a welder in the Vauxhall Motors until he had a stroke (they gave him an easy job for about a year and then he took redundancy when it was offered). We lived in one of the streets off Connaught Road, not all that far from Bury Park. Three years of my secondary education was at one of the Luton comprehensives.
Therefore I had been hoping in this book to relive the Luton of my childhood.
What a disappointment! Sarfraz Manzoor hardly mentions the town. An occasional reference to the Central Library, a few mentions of the Arndale Centre, but otherwise nothing. He lived his life entirely in a Pakistani bubble, as if the outside world did not exist.
It is a sobering thought that he and I must have frequently passed each other in the street, and yet the chances of our actually meeting were zero. I faintly remember a store called Mr Doors (with front doors just leaned up against the front facade). And he mentions Selbourne Road where my mother worked as a kitchen assistant in the Salisbury Arms.
But otherwise we could have been living on different planets.
What more graphic illustration of the failure of post-war immigration.
One of the themes of the book is "race" but Sarfraz Manzoor seems to be rather anodyne on this topic. For instance, he talks about "the National Front winning local elections" but to the best of my knowledge the National Front did not win any elections in Luton in the 1970s, 80s or 90s (perhaps this is a little lie he has slipped in to exaggerate the racism his family experienced). He also mentions being a Labour sympathiser, which in Luton is odd as it was the Labour Party that most resented the influx of Asians into the residential areas where mainly Labour supporters lived (one anecdote, told and retold, was that Asian leader Councillor Thakoordin was holding a meeting of a Labour Asian caucus in the Town Hall when a white Labour councillor came into the room, said "Here's Thakki with his Pakis" and threw a banana on the table).
The nearest comprehensive to where we lived was Beech Hill school, which was almost entirely Asian. My parents would not consider Beech Hill and my brother and myself had to walk two and a half miles to Icknield High School each day (we were too poor to have a car, and there were no buses unless we went into town and out again). Surprisingly our "white flight" from Beech Hill was matched in the Manzoor household by a brown flight as Sarfraz commutes, at the insistence of his father, to white comprehensive Lealands.
Mention the name "Luton" to people and they will react with a kind of fascinated horror, usually relating to "them".
However Luton is in fact a beautiful town - if you take the trouble to look. It was mostly built in the 1920s and 1930s, and in its way has as many
art deco gems as Miami. The parish church is one of the greatest medieval buildings in the country (famous for the Wenlock Chapel). Luton Hoo was, until recently, a great treasure house and still has some fabulous interiors. Wardown Park with its Museum used to be a lovely place (no idea what it is like now). The Central Library was able to offer my teenage self every book I could wish for, in a quiet and restful and studious environment.
So why does the image of Luton as a "dump" persist? (an image frequently underlined by Sarfraz Manzoor himself).
It's a question you can't answer without an immediate and intimidating chorus telling you how "bad" you are to even suggest such a reason.
But as a former Luton resident I do feel entitled to at least point out that 18% of the town's population ruined it for everybody else.