Life in the fast lane

I grew up in a suburb of a suburb of London. Three miles away from the southern end of the tube system and three miles away from once was a free standing market town but which now (and then) was fast becoming agglomerated into the massive sprawl of the largest – and most expensive- city in Europe. One of my childhood neighbours, a Mr. Cunningham, wrought miracles with his garden, tuning the claggy Thames Valley clay into a fertile vegetable and flower garden- he probably dug for victory in the war – but that gave him knowledge for the rest of his life. Leaning over the garden fence – probably asking for a ball back that had crushed his prize chrysanthemums- I remember him telling me that he could remember when this area was all fields. I couldn’t believe him – these miles and miles of houses stretching beyond my imagination were once not there?? What would Mr. C., now long pushing up daisies, make of the New Malden that exists today? I find it bewildering on my occasional return visits. I’m sure that those a generation ahead (or behind?) of me find it triply so.

Let’s take an example. When I went to school there wasn’t a single coloured person in the whole school. Last time I was in town two thirds of the boys dressed in the distinctive Tiffin uniform were of Asian (or occasionally African/ Caribbean) origin. This is not just a question of demographics (Tiffin’s is a grammar school -the equivalent of a gymnasium) it’s more about aspirations. The new immigrant communities want their children to do well.

Another example: the small town where I grew up has been the focus of a wave of Korean immigration (for reasons I have yet to fathom). Something like one third of the shops in the high street are now Korean owned. Take out the couple of supermarkets and the pharmacists and the rest are evenly divided between estate or travel agents, banks, mobile phone outlets and charity shops (of varying degrees of quality). The one shop I value the most is the traditional hardware store where you can still buy glue, nails and adapters for every kind of connection imaginable (and that is run by a Kashmiri).

When I travel on public transport my ears are pricked to try to capture the cultural zeitgeist of what is happening in the hood. People tend to talk more on buses particularly the older folk who know each other as neighbours or maybe have some history. When I listen to them I sometimes hear what sounds like racism but is actually I think fear and resistance to change. They simply resent the fact that there are no fish and chip shops anymore –just curry and kebab houses and noodle bars. Technological change plays a role too in this process too - these older people are dealing with the internet, mobile telephony, digital broadcasting and the 24/7 culture that just didn’t exist twenty years ago. But basically I feel that the old people in London – or New York, Dublin or Paris don’t feel that they have a stake in their society anymore. The pace of change in most of the developed world’s mega cities is running too fast for the older inhabitants to keep pace with. Their discontent is not going to make the news like the youth of Brixton or the Bronx taking to the streets and burning cars- but it is a question that those who embrace these changes – either because of ideological commitments to free exchange or to multi-culturalism should give some thought to.