‘Tweet-Tweet   is anyone   there ?’

 

To most of you on ‘Social Media,’ this is the norm. What is your following. No this ‘Tweet-Tweet,’ has nothing to do with ‘Twitter.’ It is when a bird makes his special sound, he waits to hear a similar sound, which tells him, there is a ‘friend,’ from his  ‘tribe,’ not far away, so he does not feel lonely. Here it is the same.

On Saturday the 24^{th of} February 1968, all four of us  Averill, Trevor, dad, and I, left Kenya with an overnight stop-over in Cairo. On Sunday afternoon, touched down smoothly at London’s Heathrow airport. That was the ‘only smooth landing’ we had.

The interrogation at Passport-Control, where they tried every trick in the book, to stem the flow of the Asian refugees from Kenya. In duty free area before Immigration  control at the newsagent we laid our eyes on the what the British Daily Press  had to say.

We had made the ‘Headlines.’ Not individually, but as ‘The Asian Exodus from Kenya which had to be stopped.’ Another headline carried the famous ‘Rivers of Blood Speech,’ made by the late M.P Enoch Powell.’

For what had we let ourselves in? Should we not catch the next plane back?

This was not the welcome we expected. This was the first of the many other problems to come, most of which were still in  our ‘backpacks.’  Something we could have done without.

We were still at the Airport. The human brain has an effective way where horrible things are quickly put to the back of the mind and then  forgotten. However, this exercise of writing, had resurrected them, and the pain returned.

The worries we had on our departure from Kenya, were now real. They seemed insurmountable! Mum, Laura was left behind to clear the mess that our sudden departure had left behind.

The previous Saturday, I was in tears saying goodbye to my best friend Leslie,  at Nairobi airport, the very same airport we had  now left earlier, ironically.

The following Wednesday, on return from  school my parents broke the terrible news to us at the ‘dinner table.’ The three of us and dad were flying off to London on the weekend. My mother would stay behind.

The way the last two weeks  played out in Nairobi, indicated that this was not a planned but a chaotic departure.

We all four were flying blind. It was a warm Saturday afternoon in Nairobi on take-off. In  London our ultimate destination it was mid-winter. Where can you get warm clothes for the winter in Kenya? Thermal underwear, gloves, warm scarves  were not in our ‘Proverbial suitcase.’ They were on our to-do shopping list whilst in London.

 The plan was written on a ‘fag packet’ in dad’s top pocket. It read London, winter clothes, accommodation, schools and finally a job. The irony was that he did not smoke, so the ‘fag packet ‘  did not exist. The only part of the plan that made sense  was  that mum would support us with her teaching job and give us mouth-to mouth financial resuscitation remotely.

Remember we all were ‘flying blind’ to London. Had done no preparation, had never been to England. We could have been going to the ‘moon,’ or the ‘North Pole.’ Our own objective was to get out of ‘Kenya’ as fast as possible. The only difference was that we were not ‘refugees,’ not starving, poor, or in ‘Small Boats.’ There was no famine, or war. This was for us our only escape-hatch. The narrow window of opportunity was shutting quickly. This for us  Averill, Trevor, and me, way-over our heads. Only now looking back over fifty years later and writing, did the gravity of our position then became obvious.

Accommodation for all of us. Easier said than done. Where in London? We all had absolutely no idea. It was like a lottery, the stakes however were exceedingly high, and there was no one apart from the family we were planning to stay with, to ask. The enormous differences in size between Nairobi and London makes any comparisons meaningless.

The sequence of events that need to take place soon, became obvious. Accommodation, schools for us, and finally a job for dad. Who could help us. We only had two close bachelor cousins who lived at the other end of London. They were in their mid or late twenties.

We had left suddenly after Independence in Kenya, with absolutely no idea what to expect. The only connection with Britain was our passports, nationality, the English language. Only one friendly family! Was that not a recipe for disaster!

Our welcome party at the airport, were some old family friends, who were now living in London. They had visited us on holiday a few years earlier. The friendship had developed earlier in Mumbai, where Mum and Jessie were studying at the same college.

One week with them was enough. Four of us and seven of them packed in a small, terraced house in Forest Hill. It was like living in a closed ‘sardine can,’ without a tin opener.

The four of us moved into two scantly furnished adjoining bedsits in a large house in Forest Hill. A few days later Trevor and Averill were able to go to the same Catholic school which our friend’s children attended. One less problem to solve!

My poor dad, how to get a job. He had to start out from scratch. He had the three of us round his neck, had to cook. I cannot remember him in Nairobi even boiling an egg. Cleaning, ironing , and shopping for food was also for us  new experiences. This for dad was a disaster, and our only redeeming item was our ‘tin opener.’ Our diet consisted of baked beans on toast or noodles.

In Nairobi, we had an extended family and  live in servants to cook and  wash. My Grandfather Rosario  took over the apron strings on special occasions. The other man in the house, affectionately called Uncle Sanu, worked for Mercedes in Nairobi. Even though he was in middle management, he often returned home with grease under his fingernails.

 I went to the nearby laundrette twice a week. The bath/shower facilities in our bed-sits were not clean, so we had public baths twice a week which we hated.

 We had no idea of the education structure in Britain. I was in the middle of my ‘A’  levels. It was March, and in Britain the school year begins after the summer holidays. With no one to advice my poor dad. I went to a ‘Secondary Modern School.’ These are at the bottom of the Educational Ladder.’  They exist as ‘education institutions’ , as attending school until one is sixteen years old is mandatory.

With my ‘O’ levels, this was the last type of establishment I should have been sent to for doing my ‘A’ levels.

From March to the summer break, I had three hours of supervised teaching at Secondary Modern school.

After the summer holidays, I went to a Comprehensive School in Forest Hill, to redo my ‘A’ levels.

For my dad and I , this period was very emotional, stressful. We were also isolated. The  extent of his suffering  became obvious when writing for this book, fifty odd years later. We both had nowhere to turn for help and advice. The matter then for me was very depressing as I am a gregarious person, was only on the fringes in school. This disturbed me, as there were a few other non-white boys in the school.

Even though I was in the Sixth form, they did not want to include me socially. I was sent to Coventry. At that time, I could find no  reasonable answer. I felt ashamed  and did not inform my father , siblings, mother, or the teachers  at the school. I assumed that I was the cause for some reason .I subsequently concluded that that the reason for our sudden departure from Kenya, as part of the ‘Asian Exodus’  was the cause. From high flying at the school in Nairobi, I was now a chump.

The British Government were reneging on their promises to the Kenyan Asians. When they wanted, they brought us to Kenya  to build the railway there,  took what  they wanted from Kenya, and then left us high and  dry. They were playing ‘Cricket.’

The, then Labour Government was passing legislation to make it exceedingly difficult if not impossible for us to stay in Kenya, and we not wanted in Britain. By taking British Citizenship, we had burnt our boats to stay and work in Kenya. The Conservative M.P raised the ‘Racial Crescendo’ to an incredible level with his repeat dosage of variations of his famous ‘Rivers of Blood’   speech. There were demonstrations in Trafalgar Square against the ‘Kenya Asians.’ Racial tensions rose. While at that time I could feel this, the reason for this happening, and the attitudes of my classmates, only became clear to me a lot later. Not only were we not prepared for the winter, but my dad and I had to overcome challenges of isolation, depression, a different culture, and when would this nightmare end?

My siblings were unaware. Not having friends at school and coming home to our two bedsits had a serious toll on me. My mother having tidied the mess we had left behind with our sudden departure joined us seven months later, when by then we had moved into an unfurnished house in Sydenham, London. Things then improved, as my mum was a good cook.

After doing my ‘A’ levels, I applied to go to university.

The negative experience I had at Doctor Ribeiro’s school in Nairobi, where I was my ‘Mother’s son,’ and not ‘Simon.’ returned. She was a teacher there,  my class teacher for two years. There  was covert talk of me knowing in advance what was on the examination papers and was being favoured.

I mention this, as this isolation in an unusual way returned to me at Dacres Road School. After completing my ’A’ levels, I wanted to go far away from home to try and get my life back on the rails.

There was no one who could help me as to what University/ what subjects would suit me. Without much thought, I chose the wrong subjects. Aberystwyth University in Wales was a good eight-hour train journey with two changes. My motto was to get far away as possible where  no one knew me.

Economics and Pure Mathematics were right but not Applied Mathematics. Science was not my strong point. It was however too late to change course. I used this rightly or wrongly to improve my other skills which were dormant previously.

 While at Delamere School in Nairobi my horizon had been broadened. However, the time I was there was too short. The University, living in ‘Halls of residence,’ had other benefits, which previously were unknown to me.

Looking back at the clear waste of two years there and then dropping out could in normal sense be construed as ‘failure.’   However, coming out of both a ‘Cultural and Religious Straight Jacket,’ I wanted more! This included looking after myself, managing my own finances and many other aspects of life I will now touch on, and as a result made me the person I now am.

 

The Cage door was opened.

Religion, I still went to mass every Sunday, as  I wanted to do so, not because my parents said so. In my first year I played hockey for the University’s second eleven,  an achievement.

We played hockey on a Wednesday and Saturday afternoon. Why was this important? We not only played friendlies against other Welsh Universities/ Welsh teams but  also played in competitions. We qualified as the Welsh university champions to play in the Knock-Out British Universities cup. Next opponent was Durham University away. A top university in hockey terms, boasting at that time two full English Internationals away. We beat them and got to the quarter finals of the British Universities Hockey competition. What was exceptionally good was the comradeship, team spirit, motivation of all the members of first and second eleven and  competing at an elevated level.

We played Durham on a Wednesday afternoon. Durham is a good two hundred and fifty-seven miles away. A  journey of around seven hours without traffic jams. We left Aberystwyth at  ten a.m. on Tuesday morning. It is a beautiful historic university town. On arrival we had a late lunch in one of the quaint pubs ‘The Market Tavern.’  An historic Greene King  pub in the city centre. It has a lovely atmosphere, and even though we were there  after lunch time, we got a bite to eat. As we had an important game to play the next day the liquid refreshments were kept down to only one pint. A small guest house, prize-worthy, outside the city, was where we stayed. It was the furthest north I had been in England. To crown matters, we beat Durham 1-0 .

You should have been on the coach on the return journey, with thirty-five, players and supporters. We stopped just out of Durham to fill up with petrol, and a variety of liquid refreshments for our homeward journey. We had not only the players, but their wives and girlfriends. I had never seen such a noisy group singing, drinking all the way. We were not only drinking water, but beer.

Every Wednesday after a home game, following  a meal in the ‘Hockey Local pub,’ we then took  turns as it was customary, to buy a large Jug of beer. Each one was given a beer mug, which was often topped up by both the home team and the away team. This was followed by a couple of games of darts. This was the tradition I soon learnt. When we played away, the favour was returned. There was a singsong and after a few weeks, I soon learnt the words. The ’Songbird’ could now sing in unison with the others.

The song that I still remember even to this day was ‘ On Ilkley Moor Baht 'at ‘.

 Lyrics

This is a love song set in West Yorkshire, on Ilkley Moor, where the man forgets to wear his hat, when courting Mary Jane.

It is humorous so you should see the words to get the full appreciation.

 

Back to the return journey, you can well imagine the atmosphere on the coach when all our favourite songs were repeated, of course fuelled with alcohol. We arrived at Aberystwyth just after midnight. It was not summer, but winter, even though the winter there was mild, as Aberystwyth is on the coast. No snow, normally, but often stormy weather. It was January, so it was cold. I remember this well, as I was wearing   a large Green Warm Army second hand overcoat. On arrival at my communal shared flat, realised that I had left my bedroom key inside the flat, it was too late to get the spare key, so I had to sleep on a plastic chair in the communal kitchen until the morning. It was uncomfortable, but my ‘Army coat’ was like a blanket and kept me warm. In the morning, I was able to get the spare key and enter my bedroom.

 

Why do you ask now? And why does he mention this?

It was the first time in my life that I had non-Indian, or non-African friends. Here in Aberystwyth, in Wales, for the first time I was accepted as myself. I really had Welsh, English, Scottish, Irish, and American friends. This was a ‘Milestone,’ in my character development, even though I was twenty years old. I felt comfortable, no longer alone. I with the singing, and acceptance had found ‘My-Flock.’ Colour here was not an issue. I could Twitter and get a reply. Tweeting also worked.

I have more to share with you here. You will say,

‘Simon, your education is complete. You can now cast away both your religious, cultural, straight-jacket and can face the world.’

The other aspect of the ‘Cage Door’ being opened is the following. On my arrival at the University at the beginning of September, there was ‘A Freshers Weekend.’ This is the weekend before the college officially begins. It is to celebrate the new influx of students to the college. There are several cultural events planned, and this extended weekend starts on the previous Wednesday. For me this was a revelation. Apart from the formalities of enrolling, it is ‘Getting to know the Ropes.’  There was joining of different clubs, I joined the Hockey, Indian and Badminton clubs. The club events usually if they were of a sporting nature took place on Wednesday afternoons. The joining of clubs was completed by mid-day.

Then the fun started in the evenings with discos, dances, and   parties. Here I went to a dance, where a group was playing. There were some students who were in the same hall of residence where I was, and I quickly joined up with them, as among the first year’s students we are all in the same boat not knowing anyone, making it easy to get to know people both boys and girls. This was the first ‘Dance’ that I had been to in my life, and it was great. I was so happy, that I had tried something different. However, the choice of subjects I had selected to study would later be my downfall.

Just to put this into perspective, my poor brother would not have experienced any of this in his life. My sister went to university in London; however, she stayed as a guest in Mrs. Finking’s house, and every Friday went back home to Forest Hill, which was now our family home. On Sunday evening make her return journey to her digs. After finishing college, she returned home, joined the local Catholic Church group, where she met Cliff, a Cockney, and they married about a year later. Still today 2023, they still live in the same house they bought in 1979 in Bromley. My brother lived at home till 1986, when he bought his own flat in Beckenham six miles from my parents.

 Averill and Cliff only three miles in their new house. However, the ‘Apron Strings ‘were still rigidly attached to him, as he was an only son !

I on the other hand was a good four hundred miles away and only went home at the end of term. It was also here that after a few weeks at college, I had a girlfriend. My first, her name was Gwen, she was Welsh, her father was an Anglican Pastor, and she came from Colwyn Bay. My first girlfriend, and she was not Goan, African, Indian but British. Can you see what I had achieved in the short pace of a few months of leaving home. I had truly broken free from my cultural and religious straight jacket, all by myself.

I still stayed in contact with her writing her letters, and she replied. However, the relationship was going nowhere, not because we did not want it, but I was so shocked to learn from her, it was because of her father! I had never met him, and I am not sure that she had told her parents the whole truth. I say this as at the end of the 1st term, her dad came to pick her up and take her back with her belongings. She was adamant, that I did not help her load her dad ‘s car, or in fact meet her dad. I then insisted on knowing why her reluctance, and then she cried and said, ‘He was a Pastor in The Calvinistic Methodist Welsh Church and was colour prejudiced ‘. I was shocked, and did not know what to say, as previously we had spoken about both sets of our families, and she never hinted at this problem.

The choice of ‘Applied Mathematics’, came back to haunt me , and after two years , I had to leave that establishment,  academically a failure, but in everything else, not only had I grown up, manage my finances, for the  first time in my life I had to budget, even though at the beginning I had to ask my Parents for some assistance.

 I had learnt to ‘Cook,’ within my circle of close friends we often cooked together. I was in hall of residence for the first year, and in a communal environment in my second year. Two years later I returned to London to live with my parents, who by then had bought a corner house in Forest Hill.

In the two years in Wales, I had made a few friends, had my first girlfriend, and then another, and my ‘Education not in the Academic sphere,’ but in everything else had taken off. I was no longer ‘Mrs XXX Son,’ but Simon. ( XXX  is for my surname)

That was quite a shock, not because of any problem at home, but because, I now appreciated being alone, with still a good relationship with my family, but I think, I was selfish or spoilt and valued the ability to be my own person, with responsibilities to the family, but the cultural and religious bonds were broken. The rest of my family, while still  living in London, had adjusted by now to living in London. They however were still part of the same culture that moved with them from Kenya. The British both by their rule in India and Kenya, had resulted in different ethnic groups sticking together, and not mixing or only mixing when it was necessary.

My two years in Wales, playing hockey all over Wales initially, broadened not only my geography, but also introduced me to the ‘Welsh Culture’  of course to the ‘Red Devils’,   as the Welsh national Rugby  team is known.

Over to Dad

 

The six months on arrival in London were the worst six months in my entire life. Laura, my wife, and I had no alternative. Considering the future of our children, we spoke  English, so we accepted the offer of  British Citizenship.

We had planned to come to England in stages. First Simon, then the rest of us. Laura, a teacher  would have no problem of getting a job in London. This complete process was manageable.

We were overtaken by a rapidly changing situation at Westminster. Legislation going through meant that in March, we would find it exceedingly difficult to come to Britain and we had already burnt our ‘Kenyan-boats.’   

The arrival at Heathrow, on that cold February day was the start of the worst six months in my life. No, accommodation/job, in the middle of winter, and three children round my neck. I was alone in a country I had never visited! The only friends we had were the family we stayed with on our arrival, however they had other problems themselves, so their help was minimal.

Where could I get help or advice on the numerous problems that confronted me and had to be resolved quickly.

Clothes, February in England is  winter, Kenya has no winter, so  you cannot buy any winter clothes there, and we left only with one small suitcase each. Nairobi is tiny with regard to  London. Where you settle initially determines where you work, live go to school.

The accommodation with Stan and Jessie with their five children , and the four of us was only bearable for a few days. In London when you look for rental accommodation, you need  references. We had just arrived so where could we get these.

I was alone, with no help. With great difficulty, I managed to find two bed-sits in the same house. The facilities were extremely basic. they were our home for the next few months.

Simon’s education was the next  problem. I had no idea of the education structure in Britain, so the poor lad was sent initially to  a secondary modern school, which was a disaster.

Communication with Laura was only possible by letter.

Every day was becoming a nightmare, being alone within the four walls. My cooking was basic to say the least. I had never had to cook for myself at all. Now I had to cook for the three mites! In the bed-sits we had to feed the electricity and gas meters to keep warm or cook. Throw in shopping, job/flat hunting, alone during the day. It was a living nightmare with no help in sight.

I discovered a library nearby where I could daily spend a few hours scouring through  the local papers, looking at  job ads. It was also warm, and I was not alone. I got to know one or two people there, and through our chat told them I was looking for a job and shared with them my dilemma. My loneliness must have also come through, and then I had my first English friend Paul King.

I remember this clearly, the first day we met. He was a retired teacher, who lived a few doors away from us. He was quite shocked at my story, and this was the turning point in my severe depression. I had now a friend, ‘Tweet-Tweet.’ We as a family went to service every Sunday, and ‘He’ , above must have heard my prayer. Paul was  God-sent. I was no longer alone and had someone to help me. We often had a coffee and a roll in the nearby café, where we got to know each other better. I wrote a letter to Laura, in the warmth of the library.

 

 

 

“Laura Darling,

God has answered our prayers. ‘Saint’ Paul King  has helped me, I have now a good school for Simon and have  a good chance of a job not too far away.

Wait for this, Paul had a good estate agent friend who got us a furnished flat in Forest Hill, and in mid-July we can move into it. We are all looking forward to your arrival in August, to take over my ‘Apron Strings.’ The world now is a better place since our arrival.

Love Alex.”

Simon, the floor is yours.

                

 

What other accomplishments were left for me to achieve?

I was twenty-two years, in the brief time since my setting foot in Britain, I had I think made great progress, not on my ‘Career Development Plan,’ but my ‘Own Personal Development plan.’

What mountains were there still to climb. Let us look at my achievements up to this point.

I had to get new suits, as my ‘Cultural and Religious’ suites did not fit me anymore. My two years in Wales made me appreciate ‘Wales’ far more over ‘England.’ Even though I had lived in London for over two years, I had, or should I say, our family was busy trying to get all our lives on the ‘Rails’ again, we had no or truly little time to discover or do what most Tourists do/see/eat in this Multikulti city. We were just trying to keep our heads above water and try and get a bearing on our new home, which compared to Nairobi, was Chalk and Cheese. Holidays, which in Kenya we took for granted every time the school broke up, were for us a ‘Pipe Dream,’ for the first five years.

This was true for the rest of my family. But Simon, being Simon, had other plans. What I will now tell you made me realise, that there was life on the other side of the ‘Channel.’   While today many poor people try and make the crossing in ‘Small Boats,’ I was more interested in going the other way. This could explain why since then, I have spent most of my life across the Channel.

 I was still on the upward curve, still extremely ambitious, not in the ‘Monetary Sense,’ but my ‘personal development plan.’ 

My ambition was to be the first ESTXXXXX to cross the English Channel and set foot in mainland Europe.

I had climbed up Mount Kilimanjaro a few years   earlier, and up to now with some degree of difficulty managed somehow to overcome the hurdles put before me after arriving in London. I must say, as you have seen, it has not been perfectly ‘plain sailing,’ it was often downright hard, especially my fall from grace after dropping out of university.

My parents were desolate, as they had financed a large part of my ‘Welsh Escapade’ , I was the eldest, and  probably in their eyes it was money down the drain! I must give them credit, they did not scold me, or lecture to me. I had one last adventure I wanted to do before I resumed life and faced reality. This is ‘Simon,’ I am impetuous, a ‘Leo,’ and a ‘Chinese Tiger,’ on my birth signs! I am glad that I have led all of you ‘Up the garden path.’ The distance as the crow flies between Dover and Calais is just over twenty-nine miles. You must train extremely hard to get there.

Even though I was not planning to swim, you think, it is easy. No, to be perfectly true, I was going to do something less adventurous than swimming, but more interesting.

I had time on my hands. A holiday to clear my mind, recharge my batteries.

In conclusion, I am not bitter rediscovering those painful feelings many moons ago. It has also helped me develop and make me the person I now am.

 

Thank you for reading my story!