I took the chance to visit my hometown when I was in London, a new town (although not so new now!) called Basildon in Essex. It was built in the 1950s as a spillover from the East End of London after the WWII bombings.
It was a Housing Corporation town, where all the homes were built, and owned by, the local council until Margaret Thatcher decreed that the tenants could buy them – forever diminishing the supply of social housing in Britain.
I wrote to the current owners of the house where I was born and where my parents lived for 50 years before they joined me in Australia. They who turned out to be a beautiful couple who’d recently come over from Bangladesh and they welcomed me with open arms.
It was such a strange feeling to be back there. The house seemed so small these days; it was amazing to think a family of five had lived there so happily for so many years. But there were still the shelves where my parents kept so many of their trinkets and my dad’s vice still sat on the worktop in the shed at the bottom of the garden. It was probably too heavy to ever be moved by all those that have come since.
The house still looked and felt the same, and it was such a strange feeling to visit the past and reflect on everything that has happened in the intervening years. Thanks a million Hasan and Tania! I will treasure those memories.
