Exerpt from the first chapter of “The Tomato Dip”, a novel written by…
…me
Its the story of a plumber who buys a cafe hoping for it to turn into his gold mine, only to find that one day it does, quite literally. Set in 1968 this tranche discusses the thorny issue of immigration and the new “I’m Backing Britain” campaign that seemed only to encourage the racism that was unashamedly present in all tiers of society…
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“… Home Secretary James Callaghan today announced that a quota system of work vouchers will be introduced shortly to stem the influx of Kenyan Asians arriving in the UK. Mr Callaghan intends to limit the vouchers to 1,500 per year, and in addition the voucher holders will be allowed to bring their families with them. Mr Callaghan said today that we have a responsibility to our own people at home as well as to a million passport holders abroad. Up to 2,500 Kenyan Asians holding British passports have arrived in Britain in the last three weeks. Jean-Claude Killy the French Alpine skier today completed a clean sweep of medals at the Grenoble Winter Olympics …”
“I don’t know where we’ll put them all”
Maureen halted her scrubbing of the shelf under the counter and looked up at the old lady sat in the corner at table five wearing a brown winter coat that had seen winters right through the last war, she’d been sat there so long with her glass of milk that Maureen had forgotten all about her, “don’t know where we’ll put what love ?”
“These blackies love, ah don’t know where they’re going, they’re not coming in my street that for sure, my Bert says he’ll be straight around the council if any of them move in our street, and he will an ‘all”
“They’re not really blackies though are they ? I mean they’re Asians aren’t they, from India and Pakistan and those sort of places”
“No love, they’re proper blackies, from Kenya, thats Africa love, where the blackies come from, we don’t want ’em see, where are they going to live eh ? Not in my street anyway, straight round to t’council my Bert’ll be”
“No, but they’re from India originally, then they just went to live in Kenya, they’re British see, from our empire, they’ve got British passports haven’t they?”
“Ah don’t care love, if they went to Kenya then thats where they should stay, they can’t just wander all over the place ’till they find somewhere they like, they won’t like it ‘ere anyway, its too cold, its too bloody cold for me for a start, just think how cold it’ll be for them poor buggers used to Africa weather, poor buggers’ll catch they’re death a’cold afore they’ve chance to pinch our houses and jobs, no love its not right, they should stay in their own country these blackies, its only fair love, only fair.”
“Well there’s a nice Indian man works on t’number 5 sometimes, he’s very nice, talks to all the ladies he does, helps you on the platform with your bags and everything, he once told driver to wait for me when I wor running after t’bus on a sat’day night a few weeks ago, a real gent he is”
“Has he got a turban”
“Yes”
“Aye well they’re alright, they speak English, they fought with my Bert in Burma you know, they’re our empire lads, they’re alright if they’ve got a turban on, its the blackies we don’t want”
“oh ah see” although Maureen didn’t really see at all, it was all politics to her and her mother had always said that politics were for men with nothing better to do with their minds, politics caused trouble she said and this immigrant thing was certainly causing a lot of trouble a lately, everyone was talking about it, even the nice bus conductor with the turban on had said that he didn’t want the Kenyan Asians coming here and spoiling his country for hard working people like him, but what Maureen couldn’t understand was the numbers involved, 1,500 families a year, surely a country like England could find room for 1,500 families a year, I mean there was that empty house on Woodkirk Road that had been empty for years, one family could go there for a start, no it was all a bit too serious for Maureen, all politics was a bit too serious she’d rather listen to her Radio One, serve sandwiches and tea and then dance the weekend away in the Mecca.
All of these thoughts were kept in Maureens head, these thoughts weren’t for sharing with customers, that old Mr Barlow had shared everything in his head with customers and he’d got into some right barny’s sometimes especially about football and politics and if there were two subjects about which Maureen knew very little it was football and politics.
“Do you think this “I’m backing Britain” campaign will do any good then”, Maureen heard herself asking the question of the old lady but at the same time was suprised, she didn’t normally discuss politics and didn’t want to get into a long debate with this fractious old lady in the even older coat.
“Aye love, we should all do that, we should just buy British stuff, I mean its not right sending our money to other countries is it, not when we need it here, my Bert says once you’ve bought a Japanese television set then that moneys gone for ever, they don’t come back here and spend it do they ?”
“Well what do they do with it then love ?” this was a question that had often puzzled Maureen.
“I’m beggered if I know love” the old lady in the older coat obviously didn’t have all the answers, or at least her Bert didn’t have all the answers, “I’m beggered if I know but I do know this much, once your British pounds have gone to Japan to pay for this Japanese rubbish thats coming in, then your pound nivver comes back again, we’ll have no pounds left in this country if we carry on like this, its not right is it ?”
“No I don’t suppose it is” Maureen leaned on the counter, chin cupped in hands and wished she’d never asked a political question, her mother was right, politics was for men with nothing better to do with their time.
“And Hong Kong, thats another thing” the old lady in the older coat was obviously getting into her stride now, “All that plastic rubbish coming from Hong Kong, its rubbish you know, I bought a draining board drainer thing, you know, for standing plates in to dry, not that I like to do that of course, you can’t beat drying dishes with a cloth, its not hygene to let them stand wet is it love ?”
“No, I don’t suppose it is” mumbled Maureen through cupped hands whilst glancing at the enormous pile of dirty dishes and cups standing by the sink in the corner near the window.
“Anyway, this draining board drainer thing had “Made in Hong Kong” stamped underneath it, my Bert spotted it, he always looks for where something is made now, bloody Hong Kong it wor, eeeeeh said my Bert, its not right, how hard is it to mek one of these in this country eh ? And he’s right isn’t he ? Why should we pay for bloody Hong Kong-ees, bloody chinamen or whatever they are to make our draining board drainers eh ? Its not bloody right, I bet theres a draining board company in this country going bust right now, eeeeh its awful”
Maureen pushed herself back from the counter and stood upright with a puzzled look on her face, “So you buying a plastic draining board drainer from Hong Kong has made a factory close in this country then ?”
“Well no, not in so many words love, I mean its not my fault is it, I didn’t see it was made in Hong Kong until I got it home did I, but I wouldn’t have bought it if I’d have known would I ?”
“So did they have any British ones then”
“I don’t know love, I nivver looked”
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Jerrychicken - The Diary 