Memories of a Pakistani St Ivian

Memories of a Pakistani St Ivian

Naseer Ahmed's family came from the Punjab in the north of Pakistan. His father, Inayat Khan, struggled to meet the needs of his large family, working for a meagre wage in an army school.

One day in March 1963, a voucher arrived from the British Government Ministry of Labour. He served for 5 years in the British Army in WW2. The voucher entitled him to apply for a Pakistani passport, and thus entry to the UK. He had 6 months to decide. The voucher expired in September 1963.

Inayat had little money. Certainly not enough for the passport application and airfare to England. He borrowed from a relative. On 14 July 1963, Inayat landed at London Airport. In a foreign land, he spoke no English. From that uncertain beginning, Inayat changed the direction of his family's prospects. But not without difficulties. Read about the experiences of his eldest son, Naseer, who arrived in England in 1966.

Chapter 1. My Journey to the Green and Pleasant Land

My father came to England in Bedford in 1963 on a special concession from the British Government, as he was a soldier in the British army during WW2 for 5 years. He fought in North Africa and was based at the Suez Canal and Alexandria, in Egypt.

He told us a lot of stories about his time in the War. My father was lucky to have been to Cairo and visited the great pyramids at Giza, describing them as “Pharaoh’s Hills.” He told us the Germans had sunk the ship in which he went to Africa when it was on its way back to pick up more troops from India. At that time, India was a British colony and Pakistan came into existence after the war in 1947.

Usually, when a Pakistani male immigrant had settled down, he would try to get his eldest son to join him in England so that he too would soon start work and help his father in financially supporting the family.

In 1966, at the age of 12, I set off to join my dad. On a sunny November morning I got on a tanga with my cousin, who was slightly older than me, his married sister and her toddler son. I said farewell to my mother, sisters and brothers, not thinking twice about separating from them. We travelled to the city of Jhelum a couple of miles away to catch a train to Karachi. Several male family members came along to look after us during the journey and see us off at the airport.

The train journey was over 24 hours as the distance was quite considerable, being at least 900 miles. Compared with my cousin, I was the adventurous type and wanted to see all the areas the train was passing through. I sat by the window, feeling cold air on my face and dust in my eyes. When it was time to sleep, the grit in my eyes was so uncomfortable that I regretted what I had done.

It transpired that although we had our passports, none of us had visas. There had been people before us from our village who had gone to England without visas. I know another cousin of mine came after me without a visa. For the visas, we had to go to the British Embassy. We ended up staying in Kashmir Hotel in Karachi for four days. In terms of star ratings, you would probably give it a half star if you were feeling generous! The beds just had sheets, and we ate street food, including breakfast, which I must add was delicious. My cousin was not too keen to explore Karachi on foot, so I would go out on my own and walk to a road called Bandar Road every day to see the trams go by. I found them fascinating.

I often get picked on at airports wherever I go somewhere, and it was no different in the Embassy. The immigration officer asked me through an interpreter, “Why isn’t your mother going with you?” The first thing that came to my mind was to say, “She’s too old”! She would have been only 36 then. We got our visas and the following day we boarded a Pakistan International Airlines plane to Heathrow, London, stopping at Cairo and Rome. The plane journey was very unpleasant for me. The stewardesses were using a spray, possibly air-freshener, which made me vomit. I arrived at Heathrow Airport on 23 November 1966.

At the airport, my father and uncle came with two cars and their drivers. My married cousin's husband was also there to take his family with him. I remember we stopped somewhere on the way where my uncle bought us fish and chips, the smell of which almost made me puke as I wasn’t used to these new smells. Along the journey to Bedford, I was told about the M1 motorway. We arrived in Bedford at 36 St. Leonards Avenue, opposite St John's Railway Station, in the late evening.

The first couple of years spent in Bedford, I lived at 36 St. Leonard’s Avenue with my dad, 31 Honey Hill Road, 3 Iddesleigh Road, 68 Ford End Road with my uncle and English aunt and their children, and 3 St. Leonard’s Street with a friend’s family.

Chapter 2 - First Day at Westfield School

I left Pakistan with the very pleasant thought that there would be no more school and I would have a great time in England. The school life in Pakistan was very oppressive, caning being just one form of oppression. Because it would have been an escape for me from the harsh environment there, I did not think twice about even separating from my mother and brothers and sisters. How wrong I was! Within a few days I was enrolled at the school and thus began my (and other immigrant children’s) turmoil.

Very early on, my father had moved to St. Ives in search of work, leaving me with his cousin and his cousin's wife, who was an English lady, a blessing in disguise. A Scottish girl who lived at the same house as I did walked with me to school and handed me over to an Asian boy who was a prefect. He took me to an office where an elderly stout Englishman, Mr Carter, was seated. He completed the registration process, which was very swift. I was then taken to a big hall where there were chairs arranged in rows, with a small book placed on every chair. There were some adults sitting on a stage facing the rows of chairs.

Not knowing any English, I sat anxiously waiting to see what was going to happen. Soon, a man dressed in Batman clothes walked past us and everyone stood up, including the people who were sitting on the stage, who I thought must be teachers. I realised this man would be the headmaster. He got on the stage and said something. Everyone began flicking through the pages of their book. I too flicked through my book but didn’t know which page we were supposed to be looking at. I said to myself (in Punjabi), “Bloody Hell! This is only my first English lesson but this book is so difficult!”

A stout lady whom I later found to be Mrs Chambers, started playing the piano. Not only was my lesson begun with the most difficult English book I could imagine, but you also had to sing your lesson!! Later I found out that the book was a hymn book and as my English improved, I began enjoying these hymns amongst which were “O Jesus I have promised” and “Did those feet in ancient time”.

Chapter 3 - Unpleasant Memories of Westfield School and Bedford

As far as Pakistani immigrants were concerned, most of them were men who had come on their own, followed later by their eldest sons. My situation was no different. You can well imagine our plight. No English, no mothers and no brothers or sisters. I often cried in bed thinking, “What have I got myself into?”

In extremely cold winters, we were doing cross-country in the snow when we had never seen snow before and playing rugby in the cold and wet. Added to that was bullying from English and Italian, yes even Italian boys, not forgetting the caning. Because we spoke no English, sticking with people who spoke the same language and safety in numbers was the only means of survival. Unfortunately, the English boys and girls did not interact with us.

The school was a huge building. I had a blue raincoat that I used to hang on a hook in one of the cloakrooms. As all the cloakrooms appeared identical to me, I was in the habit of losing my coat regularly as I couldn’t find the cloakroom where I had hung it! This was very stressful. On the way back home, I remember getting lost frequently.

I can think of only three teachers who made serious efforts to make our lives bearable. These were Mrs Gentle, Miss Huckle and Mrs Joyeux. In 2B, when I attended my first history lesson, Mrs. Chambers asked me to point to the country I was from on the map hanging on the wall. The wall map was quite high up but fortunately there was a table under it. I struggled to climb onto the table, but managed and pointed to Pakistan.

In the chemistry class, an English boy said to me, “Why don’t you use soap?” He thought soap would wash off my brown colour! I believe he was not being malicious, but was just naive. An Italian boy, who was friendly towards me, came first at the end of year exams in 2B and I came second. There was an Indian boy who came from a well to do home. He was always dressed very smartly and spoke very good English. Unfortunately, he would have nothing to do with me and I was left practically on my own.

In Technical Drawing, there was a key which was used to open the desks. It was passed on from one boy to the next. I didn’t know how to use the key to open my desk. Not one boy helped me. The teacher, Mr Clarke, had no time for people like me, neither in his technical drawing nor his metalwork class.

In Metalwork, we Asian boys rarely got the chance to go on the lathe because the bullies kept us away and Mr. Clarke was blind to these events. He was too busy trying to ignite his love life with Miss Huckle, who I don’t think was too keen on him. If she was, she deserved a much better man, as she was a beautiful blonde and a lovely, kind lady. Mr Clark wasn’t anyone special to write home about.

We Asian boys did not want to take showers after physical education, as we were embarrassed to be naked. Great big fat Italian and English boys pushed us around in the showers. When we were doing cross-country by the River Ouse, some of the English boys would deliberately try to push us in the river. I thought, “I’ve survived my attempts at swimming with my buffalo in the river Jhelum in Pakistan. Now I am going to be drowned by these xxxxxxxx thousands of miles away in England!”

My dad bought me a small bicycle from an auction. On one occasion, I was on my way to St. Leonard’s Street, crossing over a bridge, when I got pushed off my bike by an English boy. A car coming behind almost ran me over. An old English lady shouted at the boy and checked up on me to see if I was alright.

I don’t remember ever having school dinners or bringing any sandwiches with me. So after breakfast, the next meal would be supper in the evening!

Chapter 4 - Pleasant Memories of Westfield School and Bedford

I don’t wish to be thought of as a person spreading doom and gloom, so I thought I would attempt to bring a few smiles.

When we Asian boys were sent to do cross-country with the rest of the group, we had no clue where we had to go as the route was not familiar to us. None of us therefore stood a chance of being among the first five or ten boys getting back to school. This was fraught with danger as some of these people didn’t want us to complete the run, but rather to take a dip in the river Ouse. We had nothing against the river but we didn’t fancy taking a dip in the freezing cold water and subsequently drowning, when we could have drowned in our local rivers in Pakistan!

In order to escape the “attempted murders”, we came up with a strategy. We would run with the group and then gradually drift away from them, with no one noticing. We would then get together and take it easy, do a bit of apple and pear scrumping and stealthily join up with the idiots on their return journey.

When I lived at 31 Honey Hill Road, my aunt sometimes used to send me to the shop on the other side of the road a few yards away to get something. There was also a shop on the same side as us on the corner with Short Street. I used to go to these shops and spend my pocket money, on guess what? On apple pies! I loved eating apple pies. That was my treat. On one occasion in town, I came across a fruit and vegetable shop and fancied buying some pears. I didn’t know how much they were going to cost, so I just asked for a pound (in weight). The lady serving me said to me, “Where is your mother”. I replied, “In Pakistan”. She put some pears in a paper bag, definitely much more than a pound, and gestured to me she didn’t want any payment. I left with a smile of gratitude on my face.

I began living with my Pakistani uncle and English aunt and three very young cousins, all boys, at 31 Honey Hill Road. My uncle was a motor mechanic and I think he worked in Ampthill or Luton with Vauxhall. This meant that I had more contact with my aunt and my cousins than my uncle, apart from on his days off. This was a blessing in disguise. I had to learn English as my aunt didn’t speak Punjabi or Urdu. My aunt was everything a mother could be. She fed me, ironed my grey school shirts and taught me English. Within six to nine months, I had picked up quite a bit of English through my aunt, my eldest cousin, Miss Huckle, Mrs. Gentle and, of course, buying apple pies and pears!

I remember watching Batman, Peyton Place and The Invaders, but I don’t think I learnt much English by watching these programmes. I caused some damage to my uncle’s reputation, though. When I had gained a smattering of English, I grassed up on my uncle (innocently, of course) that he was already married in Pakistan and had five children, four boys and a girl. To my uncle’s credit, he never questioned me on my indiscretion, but I did feel guilty about this for a while.

Mrs. Rosemary Joyeux, my 2D form teacher, displayed a lot of care and kindness towards me. Mrs Gentle was one of our English teachers and she too was not only a very good teacher, but also a loving and caring person. I don’t know how Miss Huckle is these days but I remember her as a beautiful young blonde lady who taught us lost souls English. With both Mrs Gentle and Miss Huckle, we used to have our class in a room on the ground floor with a grey sliding door. Mr Clarke would stick his long nose through the door now and again and even at that tender age, we knew what his intentions were towards Miss Huckle.

My classmate Balwinder Singh wore a turban and once challenged me to a milk drinking contest. At some point, Miss Huckle said that she was going to get some scissors and cut his hair. Balwinder reported this to his dad, who was a magistrate. The headmaster received a letter of complaint. It seems Miss Huckle was in some bother! She called me over and asked me to go with Balwinder Singh to Mr Carter’s office and when asked what happened, say “She was only joking!” The problem was, Balwinder Singh’s English was much better than mine, the so-called interpreter. Mr Carter asked what happened. Balwinder told me in Punjabi, “The so and so has said she would get some scissors and cut my hair!” I translated this as “He says she was only joking.” Mr. Carter asked a couple of more questions and whatever Balwinder said, I had learned to say just one thing, “He says she was only joking!” Fortunately, Balwinder did not break into English and Miss Huckle kept her job.

I sincerely believe she would have said this in gest, not knowing of the possible outcome. On one occasion, we were all in the gym when Mr. Davies, the PE teacher, tried to find out who was in which house. When it came to Michael John’s turn (a Pakistani boy from a Christian background), he said, “Michael, which house are you in?” Michael replied, “132 Coventry Road, Sir!” The whole group burst out laughing apart from us Pakistani boys. We had no clue why this was so funny. Only later on we discovered about sports houses, which in Westfield School were named after famous people like Howard.

Before coming to England, I had taken swimming lessons from my water buffalo but had never been to a cinema, even though there were three cinemas in the town near us. In Bedford, I had the pleasure of being taken to the Empire, Plaza and Granada cinemas where I saw films like Hercules, Dr No, Thunderball, and a few others that I can’t remember. Ursula Andress most definitely brought some joy to my sad life! Jokes apart, what these school teacher ladies, my aunt, the old lady who shouted at the boy who pushed me off the bike and the fruit shop lady did for me was more than enough to wipe clean all my sorrows that had been inflicted upon me by others. God bless them all!

Chapter 5 - School Caning

At Westfield School in Bedford I was put in the lowest class in terms of ability. Most of the children in my class were Indians, Pakistanis, West Indians, Italians and a few English. Most of the immigrant children were in the class because they didn't speak any English and I was one of those poor souls. The choice of 1D for us was not really based on our ability.

Whether it was rain or shine, snow or storm we often did cross-country in our physical education lesson. This was a disaster for people like us who had never seen snow before, let alone run in 6 inches of it wearing just vest, shorts and trainers. After finishing the run, the children stripped naked and would run into the shower room. This is where the problem began for the Asian children. We were not used to being stark naked in front of others. To overcome this embarrassment, we came up with a strategy. The idea was to just wet our hair and pretend we have had a shower. This did not last too long as someone grassed us up and we were made to line up outside the headmaster's office and duly received the cane. I thought I had left the oppressive school environment in Pakistan behind me, where I had been caned on many an occasion without having done anything wrong. This was just a part of the collective punishment that was carried out if some individuals in the class, for example, were talking, or making a noise.

The second caning came when, after spending 3 months or so in 2D, I was promoted to 2B because I was good at maths. In 2B, one of the subjects was religious education. The teacher, who could not control the class anyway, told a story (The Good Samaritan, if my memory serves me right) and we had to write an essay for homework for the following day. Of course I neither understood the story nor knew that I had to do some homework. The next day, I was summoned to the headmaster’s office. I just stood in his office not knowing why I was there. He then pulled out a drawer from which he took a long cane. I knew what I was expected to do. I put forward my hand and he gave me two strikes of the cane as hard as he could. I was used to it. So, no flinching or tears! Thus began (in 1966) Tom Brown's, no, Naseer Ahmed’s School Days!

Chapter 6 - St. Ives and St. Ivo School

In 1966 my father was made redundant from a brickworks in Bedford and in search of work he moved to St. Ives. He lived at 11 St. John’s Road, and I came to visit him there. When I moved from Bedford to St. Ives in 1968, he lived at 6 The Quadrant. When my mother and brothers and sisters came to England in 1970, we had a dire need of more room. In that year my dad bought his own house at 13 West Street.

I joined the third year at St Ivo School in September 1968. I can’t remember when and where I purchased my St Ivo School uniform. More than likely it was from a shop called Foster Brothers. I think it was close to the chemist.

My first day was a sunny autumn morning. I walked on my own from home to the front office of St Ivo School. There were two young ladies in the office and a gentleman wearing a white lab coat. I later found out the male teacher was Henry Berman. The ladies were Miss Gitters and Christine. The former married Mr Searle, one of the physical education teachers. I was called into the office and asked to sit down on a chair. Miss Gitters asked me to read from a printed book, which I read with ease. Then she got hold of another book and asked me to read a certain passage. It was a more difficult piece of writing but I read it making no mistakes. Mr Berman shouted, “He did it. He did it!” This was the beginning of my contact with Mr Berman, and it continued till the day he passed away and continues to this day with his family.

The reading test was to gauge my literacy level, to work out whether they should place me in X or Y class. I could not have gone into Y since you did another language in that class. As I was still learning English, X was possibly the best placement for me. In Bedford, I had come second in the end of year exam. So, had I stayed there, I would have got into 3A, and A was the top grade at that school.

When I got to school, it was after the school assembly and therefore the corridors were empty and quiet. Christine escorted me to a prefab classroom, which was one before the last prefab. The last prefab I later found out was our classroom and our class teacher was a Mr Roberts, who also taught the boys technical drawing. He was a very nice teacher, indeed. The 3X class I had become part of was in its science lesson with Mr Farron, whom I never liked. There were wooden tables chairs. I sat on a chair at a table on my own. I was very conscious that everyone was looking at me. This was quite expected, I suppose. I was the new boy in the class and the only Asian one at that.

There were two girls in the class, both friends, always sat together, who showed warmth and friendship towards me as time went along. In the years to come, I gelled with one or two boys too, but that was about it. The rest of my classmates weren't in any way antagonistic towards me. Just that I remember little warmth and friendship from them. Perhaps the same was true between the English boys and girls. There were one or two unsavoury characters who taunted me that I was an illegal immigrant. In fact, my passport had a lovely, embossed visa certificate dated 22 November 1966 with handwritten words “To join father”. But despite some bullying issues, coming to St Ivo School was a breath of fresh air.

Most of the Pakistani boys at St Ivo School lived with their fathers, without the presence of their mothers, brothers and sisters. My father had taught me how to make various meat and vegetable curries and how to make chapatis. In case dad and I fancied a sweet dish, I had learnt to make halwa from semolina. After school, I would make a curry and prepare dough for the chapatis. On one occasion, I thought I would save time by putting the pot on the cooker for the curry. Unfortunately, I forgot to turn the gas off before I went to school. When I returned, there was a huge hole in the metal pan and the contents were burnt to powder.

There was no such thing as hoovers, and carpet was only on the stairs. So cleaning took place using a broom, brush and pan and a mop and bucket to clean the lino. I washed our clothes in the bath and put them out in the garden to dry. We didn’t bother ironing any of the clothes. I don’t remember having an iron. I took a bath once a week, on a Saturday.

I wrote letters in Urdu to Pakistan for my dad and other men. I took my dad and other men to the doctor’s and to the tax and social security offices at Chequer’s Court in Huntingdon.

Chapter 7 - Learning English

When I arrived at Heathrow Airport in November 1966, I knew next to no English. Fortunately, my aunt was English. I had the good fortune of living with her, with my uncle and their three very young children for most of the time I was in Bedford. I had no choice but to try to speak English while my uncle, who would normally speak to me in Punjabi, was at work. On one occasion, I remember my aunt running a hot bath for me and she asked me, “Is this enough?” I understood this to mean, “Do you want the bath to be half full?” I said, “Yes”. This was the beginning of my getting to terms with the complexities of the English language.

At St Ivo School, as I could eat only halal meat, not available in those days. I had school dinners mainly on Fridays because fish was served on these days. I had to buy a 12 (old) pence plastic token from the office and hand it to a dinner lady. One such Friday, standing in the queue, I noticed there was no fried fish, only fish fingers. I asked the dinner lady, “How many can I have?” She replied, “A couple”. I asked, “How many is a couple?” She looked at me, with the words “Stupid boy!” written all over her face and replied, “Two!” I looked at her, thinking, “Why didn’t you say this in the first place?” The good thing is that I learnt a couple meant two.

In my first year at school, there were two girls who showed affection and warmth and were friendly towards me. I had come from a very hostile and bullying atmosphere in Westfield School, Bedford and although there was still some bullying, St.Ivo School was a breath of fresh air. On the whole, the teachers there were more amiable. The two girls, Lorraine Walker and Stephanie Thorpe, provided friendly support for me to settle in. I shall forever be grateful to them. Lorraine helped me with my English too, especially the pronunciation. I remember saying the word “thousand” in a manner somewhat like the Irish pronounce this word. She taught me how to pronounce the “th” sound correctly as in “thousand”, “thanks” etc. A thousand thanks, Lorraine!

Our English teacher was Miss Thompson, a very likeable, beautiful young lady. She read out to us The Day of the Triffids by John Wyndham. At the back of the class, she would leave out on tables books for us to select and read and get us into the habit of reading English literature. We had to read 10 books for our CSE exam and then write about these books or write about a character in the book, a character study. I remember going for the thinnest books I could find, like Of Mice and Men and The Pearl, both by John Steinbeck. Whilst in her class, I remember translating a one act play called Comfort and Peace from Urdu to English, which Lorraine typed for me. We performed this play in the class. I'm sorry to say it was not a great success!

After Miss Thompson, we had Mr. Copeland, Mr. Macdonald and Mr. O’Callaghan as English teachers. We read together with Mr. Macdonald The Pied Piper by Nevil Shute. We did Macbeth, Lord of the Flies (William Golding) and Ten Twentieth Century Poets for CSE (I think) and Julius Caesar, Animal Farm (George Orwell) and A Prologue to the Canterbury Tales (Geoffrey Chaucer) for “O” level.

Chapter 8 - Memories of Warner's Park

On 8th June 2021 I went to St.Ives, unfortunately, to attend a family funeral. After attending the burial at the St.Ives Cemetery, I parked my car outside my brother’s house and from there decided to walk to the local mosque, cutting through Warner's Park. As soon as I entered the park, I was gobsmacked! The grass had just been mowed. On my left was a very modern looking children’s play area. Nothing like the couple of swings and something else that I cannot remember. Walking a bit further I noticed there were benches placed for spectators to watch a game of football. Still on the left was a building which is perhaps changing rooms/toilets. I decided to take a few pictures as the whole park was a spectacular sight, looking towards Crown Walk, Park Avenue and Park Road.

In my school days in the late 60s, we Asian boys visited this park regularly. We almost always played football there, not in winter mind you! It was too cold to be running around in that sort of cold and wet weather. We used to enter the park via Crown Walk end, via Park Avenue or Park Road. Coming via Crown Walk, as one entered the park there was a water hand pump. It was a good source of fresh cold water to put out our thirst, after chasing a silly ball for such a long time.

On one occasion two or three older English boys were there, while four or five of us were under a tree. One of these boys started talking about “All Blacks”. Now thinking about it, they could have been talking about the New Zealand rugby team, but at that time all of us thought they were talking about us and taking the Micky. An argument ensued between us. I got slapped on the cheek by the biggest English boy there and then it all went berserk. So, that tree under which I was assaulted, is still there!

Chapter 9 - An English Lady, Kashmir & Afternoon Tea

For school children, there is also life outside school, first and foremost in their homes and then in their town or village. Sometimes certain kind, angelic folk cross their paths whose interaction remains embedded in their minds for ever. For me, in Bedford there were such people whom I won’t mention here, but I would like to mention one such person from St. Ives whose kindness to this date does not fail to touch my soul.

While very young and at the Ivo, we Pakistani boys were playing in Warner Park when an English girl who was younger than us came and said her grandmother wanted to speak to us. I would say there were half a dozen of us there in the park at the time. We had no idea what this was all about. We thought she was going to tell us off for something we had done, may be stealing her apples or pears. We will admit this much. We did do some apple and pear scrumping.

Then the girl went on to say, “She wants you to come over to her house to have tea and biscuits with her.” What had we done to deserve this honour? No one had ever invited us around for a cup of tea before and here we were going to get biscuits too! My word, what was the world coming to? 

We were led away by her to a house in Park Avenue or Park Road, I can’t remember for sure. It was an grand old house, with a wooden polished floor (ours had lino in all the rooms, no carpets except the stairs). There were two or three other children in the house who were probably all her grandchildren. She welcomed us and told us she had lived in our part of the world many years back and had spent time in Kashmir too. Well, Kashmir was not too far from our hometowns.

We were a bit shy and not knowing much English didn’t help either, but we got along fine. When the tea was served, there were not only biscuits but slices of cake too. Oh, we had a wonderful time! It was not so much the tea and biscuits or cakes but the host’s company and the love and affection she afforded us. I still remember her with a great longing and gratitude. If any of her children or grandchildren are reading this, please let me know. I would love to see you and talk about this great event in our lives.

The following quote from Henry James' Portrait of a Lady always reminds me of this incident.

There are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.

I have recently found out that this lady was Hilda Mary Grove who died on 4th April 1998 at the ripe age of 94! She was very active in local politics and served both as a mayor and a magistrate.

Chapter 10 - Henry Berman, A Teacher Extraordinaire

Amongst excellent teachers at St Ivo School, Mr Berman clearly was a towering figure, much loved by both his pupils and colleagues. Mr Berman was a great teacher and he knew his subjects, biology and human biology. He never had to shout and scream to control his classes. He had great sense of humour which came very handy during his lessons. On his front door at 104 Ramsey Road was written, “Ples ring if an rnser is reqird. Plez cnoke if an rnsr is not reqid.” These days children who do not know English get help in the form of bilingual assistants. This wasn’t the case in our days. For those Asian children whose English was from non-existent to weak, he ordered bilingual books for them from Bradford.

He seemed to be able to talk about many topics with authority as I found out when I used to have chats with him on history, politics, religion and others. He taught me some wisdom when he advised me, “Naseer, if you want to keep friends, do not discuss religion and politics with them.” His creation of the Entomological Society was more than just insects. There were all kinds of animals in his lab. This developed an interest and love for wildlife and life in general in children’s minds. At his house, the kitchen area was full of stick insects and his living room was full of dolls from all over the world. Joan, his wife, had an interest in dolls.

Because of him I went to the Natural History Museum and the adjoining Science Museum on a couple of occasions. I can’t imagine ever going there if it weren’t for Mr. Berman. Same applies when we were taken to London Zoo. My understanding is that he took children to various locations, home and abroad, as part of his Entomological Society activities, staying at Youth Hostels. He helped me to complete my university UCCA form. One or two things he told me about form filling could have made the difference between getting an admission or not. He was involved with St. John’s Ambulance Brigade and he encouraged me to attend, where we learnt first aid. On one occasion, the two of us attended the A&E of Huntingdon County Hospital. We spent the night there and walked back to St. Ives the next day. These extracurricular activities were a useful addition to add onto my UCCA form.

He cared about local, national and international issues. He would write letters to individuals or organisations regarding various matters that he felt strongly about. He supported Amnesty International and was actively involved with their cause. Joan was also very active, as far as I know, with various women’s groups.

He had three children, two boys and a girl. Peter was the eldest who went to University College London to study medicine. I too had an interview at that university, and he met me there and showed me around the Medical School. He then became a specialist and practiced his craft in a Nottingham hospital. Sadly, he got cancer and died of that. A ward in that hospital was named after him. I know both Mr and Mrs Berman were extremely proud of him.

Mr Berman and his wife did a lot of hiking in the south of France. I think the two of them must have known every inch of that region! I believe both of them spoke sufficient French to communicate. I remember he showed me a book on insects in French on one of my visits to his house.

At the ripe age of almost 14, I enrolled myself in St. Ivo School in September 1968. A very friendly face who greeted me was a man whom I later found to be an angel called Henry Berman. I had come from a bullying environment in Westfield School, Bedford and although some bullying continued in my new environment, it was a breath of fresh air compared with the old school. I did human biology (CSE and O Level) with Mr. Berman and he was like a father figure to me, becoming my guide and mentor. My lifetime association with Mr. Henry Berman continued until I attended his funeral in 2017. I could write page after page about him, about Joan, his dear wife and his children and how his mere existence helped me in my school life and beyond! We, as a family, visited him at his house in Ramsey Road on many occasions and he and Joan visited us in at least three of our addresses. They helped us to put up curtains at our very first council house at 21 All Saints Green in St. Ives and gave us some rugs and crockery as we had next to nothing then.

Towards the end of his life, before Joan's death, I visited the couple on a few occasions and after Joan’s death, he had an accident while getting off a bus and was in hospital for a while. After that I met him in his house on a couple of more occasions. His death came very suddenly in December 2017. My brother informed me that he had passed away. I had lost a lifetime friend and a father figure! RIP Mr. Henry James Berman (04/07/1935 - 27/12/2017).

Chapter 11 - Mr. Maurice Clapham, Head Teacher at St Ivo

I remember Mr. Clapham to be a tall, lean and well-dressed, soft spoken English gentleman. He always wore a bow-tie as far as I can recall. He and his wife lived in a house on the school grounds. This was past the bicycle sheds and two prefabs, off a path that went to the golf course, situated on the left-hand side before one reached the golf course.

What I know about his background comes from what Mr. Henry Berman told me. Mr. Clapham worked for the British Intelligence Services during the Second World War and to put it more bluntly, in the words of Mr. Berman, “He was a spy!” Apparently, he did this for 9 years and the implication of this is that he must have been part of the Intelligence Community prior to the start of the war. It goes without saying that he was fluent in the German language. I know this because we had children from the West German town twinned with St.Ives (Stadtallendorf) come to St.Ivo School. At that time England played West Germany and unfortunately lost the match. Whilst welcoming the children to the school during the assembly, Mr. Clapham also congratulated their team on this feat in fluent German. At least I couldn’t find any grammatical errors in his speech!

On a couple of occasions our Religious Education teacher (Mr. Leyton) was absent and Mr. Clapham took us for these two lessons. I remember he taught us the etiquette of table manners and where knives and forks are placed in relation to your plate and which knife and fork is for your main course and what fork and spoon is for your sweet dish and the like. How to eat soup with a spoon without it falling out of the spoon and/or mouth on to your nice shirt or blouse. He also taught us the art of letter writing, when to write, “Yours Sincerely” and when to write “Yours Faithfully”. In one of these lessons he produced a book designed by a Japanese professor. The book had circles on each page with much smaller coloured circles. He asked us to read the number formed by the combination of various colours. I recall thinking, “This is easy!” but after the first three pages I could n’t get any of the numbers. It was through this exercise that I realised that I was colour blind. This perhaps explains why I am not prejudiced against any skin colour!

Now for my one and only interaction with this dear man. When Mrs Biram, our form teacher and geography teacher, selected me to be a prefect, I had to go and meet Mr. Clapham in his office. Somewhere in the conversation he said words to the effect of, “You are an intelligent young man”, to which I replied, “Yes!” I don’t know what made me say this but this comment has to go into my list of idiotic things that I have done in my life.

He passed away after I left school. I believe he had a hole in his heart. May he Rest in Peace!

Chapter 12 - English Coursework and Oral Exam

In my time, apart from GCE (General Certificate of Education) “O” level exams, we also had CSE (Certificate of Secondary Education) exams. The former had grades 1-6 for a pass and the latter grades 1-5 and CSE grade 1 was equivalent to a GCE pass.

For CSE English we studied Macbeth (Shakespeare), Lord of the Flies (William Golding) and ten Twentieth Century Poets. Apart from the CSE examination about which I can’t remember anything, we had to do “coursework”. We had to read 10 books and either write an essay about one of the characters in the book or a résumé of the book itself. To get us in the mood, Miss Thompson, our first English teacher, read to us “The Prisoner of Zenda” (Anthony Hope) and “The Day of the Triffids” (John Wyndham). I chose the thinnest books that I could find to write about for my course work. I am not stupid. Time is of the essence and I didn’t want to waste mine reading books the size of “War and Peace”!

Along with the written course work, for our oral exam we were expected to stand in front of our teacher and some of the class and talk about a subject of our choice for a few minutes (can’t remember the timespan of this). At universities I know this is called a “viva” but as far as I can remember this part of the CSE exam was simply called an “oral” exam. On hindsight I could have talked about a variety of subjects but for some strange reason I chose to speak on the topic of “The Eye”. I think I lacked confidence to talk about something funny or exciting, like, “My love affair with my Swimming Instructor – My Water Buffalo”.

I remember one of the lads in my class (David Parker) put me in a spot of bother by asking a question I hadn’t the slightest clue about. Fortunately, the teacher (Mr Copeland) rephrased it for me and I was able to come up with something half convincing.

Chapter 13 - St Ivo School Assemblies

My memory of school assemblies is somewhat hazy. I remember we would gather in rows in the school hall, boys on the left, girls on the right, all standing. The teachers would make their way onto the stage from a separate entrance on the left side of the stage and take their seats, the upper hierarchy being at the front and the rest at the back. Mr. Simmonds, the music teacher, would be seated at his piano located in the right-hand corner of the hall floor, in front of the young ladies. Mr. Clapham would walk in (can’t remember if he would walk in between the boys and the girls and then use steps to go on the stage or would walk onto the stage using the staff entrance). Upon his appearance the teachers would stand up, he would give us the hymn number, Mr Simmonds would begin to play the piano and we would start singing.

Afterwards, and this gets even hazier now, sometimes the Head Boy (Charles Curtis) would have something to say, but normally one of the teachers from the back seats would talk on some topic, or quite often Mr. Fawcett from the front row would bore us to tears. I think the Lord's Prayer would be the last item on the daily assembly agenda and we would then leave the hall in an orderly fashion, starting from the back and go to our first lessons.

I enjoyed singing hymns and had a few favourites too. But Mr. Fawcett’s readings of St. Paul’s Letters meant nothing to me. I am pretty certain they would not have had much significance for most of the pupils. I believe we were too young to appreciate the themes of his (Mr Fawcett’s) message through the medium of St. Paul’s Letters.

I remember on one occasion our English teacher Mr Copeland did us the honour of his presentation. When he opened his mouth, he said, “There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man!” I thought, “Bloody hell, what is he doing?” Recently, I looked it up and now know that this is the opening line of Edwin Brock’s famous poem, “Five Ways to Kill a Man”. I don’t think I understood at that time what the poet’s message was.

My earliest schools were in Pakistan, both primary and secondary being next to each other. We didn’t have a school hall and the assemblies were in the open air when it wasn’t raining. We didn’t sing anything resembling hymns but there were two poems sung on a regular basis in our primary school, one by a very famous poet Mohammed Iqbal (1877-1938) and the other by a little-known poet named Roshan Laal. Iqbal’s poem is called “A Child’s Prayer” (based on a poem by Matilda B. Edwards by the same name) and I translate the first few lines from the original Urdu. I am afraid I can’t maintain the rhyme.

On my lips, comes my desire, in the form of a prayer

May my life be the embodiment of a candle, my Lord

May my presence remove the gloom from this world

And may my brilliant shimmer light up every place

May my being add to the decoration of my homeland

In the way that a flower is a part of a garden’s beauty

I can remember only two lines from Roshan Laal's poem

O Creator, the light of your splendour is spread in the universe

Your abode is every settlement, you reside in every wilderness

If it’s any consolation, I don’t think we would have been aware of what the poets are saying in these poems either!

Chapter 14 - St. Ivo School, A Good Education?

In my days, there were four secondary schools in the area, namely St. Peter’s School, Huntingdon, Hinchingbrooke School also in Huntingdon, Ramsey Grammar School and St. Ivo School in St. Ives. I have no idea how good the other schools were, but I have a feeling St. Ivo School must have been at the top of any comparative rankings. Why do I say this?

1. First, the diversity of subjects taught and many really good teachers. The subjects that I can list are: English language, English literature, Mathematics, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Rural Science, History, Geography, Religious Education, Pottery, Metalwork, Woodwork, Art, Needlework, Domestic Science, Home Economics, Music, French, German, and Spanish. I believe once Latin and Greek were also offered. (Would you believe Mr. Berman arranged for me to take an Urdu “O” level exam, without following any course and I got grade 1 for it!) 
   
   
2. Different “societies”, e.g. The Entomological Society (Mr Berman), Photographic Society (Mr King?) and perhaps more.
   
   
3. The school had its own printing press4.
   
   
4. Some very good plays, including Shakespeare, were performed at the school. I remember Macbeth being performed on stage and we visited Huntingdon (A Midsummer Night’s Dream), Ramsey Grammar School and London (A Prologue to the Canterbury Tales)
   
   
5. We were taken to the Regal Cinema to see – Lord of the Flies, Far from the Madding Crowd and A Man for all Seasons.
   
   
6. We went with Mr. Berman to the Natural History Museum and London Zoo.
   
   
7. Visits abroad, for example school exchange visits to Stadtallendorf.

Chapter 15 - The Regal Cinema

Before I came to England at the age of 12, I had never been to a cinema to see a film. In Pakistan, the nearest town with three cinemas, Regent, Paradise and Naaz, was only a couple of miles away across the river Jhelum. My cousins of my age, and some older boys that I knew, regularly used to go to these cinemas and talk about the films they had seen, but for one reason or another I never got an opportunity to join them. Perhaps deep down, even at that tender age, I was acutely aware that our home circumstances were not conducive to spending money on a cinema ticket, which could be used to buy something useful for the household.

Within days of arriving in Bedford, I was at The Plaza, on The Embankment (by the river Ouse), The Empire or The Granada cinema seeing films like “Hercules”, “Dr. No” “From Russia with Love” and others whose names I do not remember. It’s not surprising as I didn’t know any English then. At one point Hercules was going to be executed. I thought this was all for real and there were tears in my eyes! Fortunately, he escaped his death.

In St. Ives (by the same river Ouse) was of course The Regal Cinema, otherwise called The Flea Pit (by our English teacher, Mr. Peter Copeland). I recall seeing many a film at the Regal as most of us Asian boys lived not too far from there. Especially popular with us were the matinee shows, I think on Tuesday afternoons. So, during our school holidays, we would get a ticket for half a crown and see films such as Winnie the Pooh, The Jungle Book and many more. I remember going with our class to see “A Man for All Seasons” on one occasion.

Chapter 16 - Memories of Swimming Experiences

Swimming is deemed to be one of the best exercises you can do. It is said to make one’s heart very strong and a good exercise for those of us who suffer from joint pains.

You probably learnt to swim in one of your local pools. When I came to England, I went to Westfield School, Bedford and remember being taken on a coach to a local pool, in Newnham Avenue if my memory serves me right. I remember swallowing some cold chlorinated water. Not very pleasant! I also remember wearing arm bands. I most definitely needed them.

St.Ivo Swimming Pool was built while I was still at school. I can’t remember swimming there, although on the odd occasion I might have done so, but do remember sitting in the gallery observing others taking part. I know that before this pool was built, the nearest pool was in Primrose Lane, Hartford, Huntingdon.

Originally, I come from an area of Pakistan in the Punjab, on the south bank of the River Jhelum (450 miles long), near the city of Jhelum which is on the north bank of the river. We are very close to the location where Alexander the Great crossed this great river in 326 BC (the old bridge built in 1872 by the British, a length of 1 mile and 2 furlongs, still stands despite neglect). 

In my village, a lot of people had their own cows or water buffalos for the supply of milk and most people also kept chickens, goats, and the like. We too had our own buffalo, and on Sundays, when I was off school, it was my job to take the buffalo to the river meadow for grazing and a nice cold dip. My cousins also had their buffaloes and on one eventful Sunday we went together, walking with our buffaloes to the meadow about a mile away from our village. When we got there, there must have been dozens and dozens of buffaloes, but I could recognise mine even if there had been a thousand of them there. Our animals grazed on the lush grass for a while and then they headed to the river for a cold bath. This is middle of the Pakistani summer, but as the water is from the melting snows of the Himalayan mountains, it is freezing cold. So one has a sharp contrast of burning ground/sand on the bank of the river and freezing cold water!

As soon as we approached the river, my cousins stripped off their main clothing and jumped into the river and began to swim. The river had quite a swift flow and they told me to jump in. I told them I couldn’t swim. One of them said, “Just get hold of your buffalo’s tail and move your feet up and down and you’ll be alright!” Being a gullible kind of young fellow (no more than 9-10 years old at that time), I got hold of my buffalo’s tail as it slid down the riverbank and began to swim. I followed it into the water holding its tail firmly. As my body went into the water, the most sensitive part of my body nearly froze and it sent a freezing shiver up my spine! I started moving my feet up and down and thought to myself, “Ah, I am swimming. It’s not that difficult after all!” A few seconds later, my buffalo decided to take a dive and as it did so, it took me with it. Hanging on for dear life, or my dear buffalo’s tail, I started choking on freezing cold water. A thought came to my mind that this was going to be the last day of my life. As I was thinking about this, the buffalo surfaced, swam out and dragged me onto the riverbank.

I began coughing and started throwing up water. When I came to my senses, I said in Punjab “You bloody xxxxx! Why didn’t you tell me the buffalo is going to take a plunge?” The reply came, “Didn’t you know buffaloes dive?”

Chapter 17 - A Town Like St Ives, A Tribute

The title of this chapter is inspired by Nevil Shute’s novel, “A Town Like Alice” but here is where the comparison ends. There may be many towns like Alice in the vast outback of Australia but as for our St. Ives, situated on the banks of the river Ouse in the south-east of England, there is no place like it.

What is it about St. Ives that it has built a nest in my heart? Well, first and foremost because it provided employment for Asian men (there were hardly any Asian women in the 60s in St. Ives) and secondly, some of my happiest memories are linked to St. Ivo School. Every time I visit this town, it’s like I am performing a pilgrimage to a holy place.

I lived in the old part of St. Ives at three addresses, namely St. John’s Road, The Quadrant and West Street. I used to visit St. Ives when I lived in Bedford in 1967-1968 and moved here in the summer holidays of 1968. The old part of town appeared, at least to me, rather run down, nothing like today. The last road on Ramsey Road was Wheatfields where one of my friends, Andrew Guntrip lived. The house at the quadrant had a knob on the door which was connected by a string to a bell. I believe at that time there were pit toilets in houses in Needingworth Road.

St. Ives was a market town. The Corn Exchange in The Pavement, and sheep and cattle pens further down the road, pointed to this fact. Holt Island was the location for willow basket production in the late 19th century. Although Oliver Cromwell was born in Huntingdon, we have the “honour” of having his statue standing proudly in Market Place. His original residence was in “Slepe Hall” at the site of Cromwell Place and Cromwell Terrace. The Norris Museum in Broadway, which I visited often, had some very interesting collections. The bridge over the river built in 1107 was originally wooden. The stone bridge came into existence in 1425. It is only one of four bridges in the country that has a chapel. From this very chapel, the programme called “Down Your Way” was broadcast by Radio 4 in which Hilda Mary Grove, once a mayor of St. Ives, a magistrate and an active politician, defended the claim that the famous nursery rhyme “As I was going to St. Ives” is linked to our St. Ives and not the one in Cornwall.

Apart from the indigenous population of St. Ives, there was the Asian community (mainly Pakistani but also Indian), the Italian community (not all of whom were from the mainland but also from Sicily) and the American community most of whom lived in the Hill Rise estate. One of my school friends was Cosimo Caserta and another was Bill Roth (his family were originally from Fresno in California). There was an American lady (who is now remarried and still lives in St. Ives) called (Mrs) Caroline Alan who was very active within the Pakistani community and helped a number of people, especially the ladies, with various issues. I believe her field was education.

Bus number 141 went every two hours from St. Ives to Huntingdon, St. Neots, Bedford and on to Aylesbury. Up until 1970, one could travel by train from St. Ives to Cambridge which I often did, as I used to visit Heffers Bookshop. There was a coach depot (Kiddle's) in East Street and Whippets had their depot in Hilton.

St. Ives Sand & Gravel, St. Ives Garden Produce Ltd and Permanex Engineering Ltd were the main sources of manual labour employment. Most of the Asian men worked in St. Ives Garden Produce (Somersham Road) and St. Ives Sand & Gravel (Meadow Lane). The Italian men mainly worked at the latter and Italian women at the former. Sir Clive Sinclair, in his factory across the river in the Old Mill (originally a corn mill, later to become a printing mill) made the first pocket calculator in 1972.

There was Westfield Junior School (1964) and Eastfield Infant and Nursery School (1969). St. Ivo School began its life on 7th September 1955 with 323 pupils and 16 teachers. Slepe Hall, now a hotel, was once a girl’s school (from 1870s to 1966).

Close to where I lived was Cromwell Surgery in Cromwell Place (now Grove Surgery – named after Miss Hilda Mary Grove's father, Dr. William Reginald Grove. Dr Weston and Dr Harris were the main doctors there. Also The Spinney in Ramsey Road, where Dr Oubridge had his surgery. The nearest hospital was County Hospital in Huntingdon. Next to Cromwell Surgery was a dental surgery. Another dental surgery was on the same side as the cinema towards town.

In the town centre close to the starting point of Bridge Street was the main post office. As one goes along Bridge Street towards the bridge, on the right-hand side was Bryants clothing store and on the far left a food store and Woolworths. There was a fruit shop in The Pavement as well Turner’s Chemist. There was also a fruit shop close to The Free Church. The clothing store, Foster Brothers, was further up the road on the left-hand side and Lipton's food store was on the other side.

I was involved with my dad in buying our house, so I know who the solicitors were. They were Copleys, Winters and Day & Sons. Ian Langworthy was a solicitor in Copleys firm.

There were two fish & chips shops in The Broadway and a café in The Pavement. I can’t remember any restaurants as we couldn’t afford to go to any. There was The Seven Wives, The Greyhound (Carlisle Terrace), The Red Lion, The White Hart and Robin Hood.

For us Asian boys, Warner's Park was our main recreational place where we played football and cricket. We used to ride along the Thicket to Houghton and back. St. Ivo Recreation Centre was built later. The Regal Cinema was great fun for us too where the ticket used to be half a crown. What was the golf course is now Berman's Park, named after Mr Henry Berman for his services to the school and the community at large.

Main places of worship were the Free Church in the town centre, All Saints Church in Church Street, the Sacred Heart Catholic Church in Needingworth Road and St. Ives Methodist Church in The Waits. There was no mosque in St. Ives during my time there.

Chapter 18 - Pakistani Men, Pioneers in St. Ives

Medals awarded to Inayat Khan after service in the British Army 1941-1946.
Defence Medal, 1939-45 Star, 1939-45 War Medal.

Within these chapters I have touched upon Pakistani men of my father’s generation who first came to England to bring about an improvement for their families back in Pakistan. It would be unfair of me not to say a little bit more about these pioneers who came to a vastly different land and lived under the harshest of circumstances. These included the weather, accommodation, work environment, lack of knowledge of English, the English way of life and being homesick. I shall concentrate on the Pakistani men since those from India were, relatively speaking, a much smaller minority and most of them were accompanied by their wives and children.

The Pakistani men who came to St. Ives in the 60s were mainly from the districts of Jhelum and Gujrat, in Pakistan, but they hadn’t come to St. Ives directly. In fact, in search for work, they had moved from High Wycombe, Oxford, Bedford, Bradford and Manchester. A smaller number of these men settled in Huntingdon working mainly for a rubber company called Silent Channel.

Prior to coming to England, these men pursued a variety of occupations. My father was a soldier in WW2 and after that he was a shop keeper, a cinema contract holder (with his younger brother) and finally a machine operator in a army school for officers’ children. My uncle was a milk man. A couple of men were in the Pakistan army, one of them worked in an ice making factory (for cold drinks). There were also craftsmen and small-time farmers.

The majority of these men, accompanied by their eldest sons, had gone past their prime and were getting on in years. Their wives and remaining children were still in Pakistan. Some, if not all, not only sent money home to feed their families, but also had the extra burden to repay the debts they had accumulated to travel to England. Some had daughters of marriageable age and were anxious to pay for their marriages. Worst still, they were separated from their wives, children and their family and friends for as long as 5 years or even more before they made their first return journey.

These men, barring a few exceptions, were illiterate in their own languages and spoke very little English. Those who had come from Bedford had been working in brickyards such as London Brick Company and Ridgmont Brickworks. My father worked Monday to Friday 6am to 6pm, Saturday 6am to 1pm and on Sundays he rode from Bedford to Ridgmont to work and then rode back home.

Due to their lack of English, the only work they could do was labour intensive, and this is what they did at St. Ives Sand & Gravel, St. Ives Garden Produce and to a lesser extent Permanex Ltd. They worked not only long hours at the first two mentioned locations but at St. Ives Garden Produce, unsociable hours too. I remember my uncle (my dad’s brother) having to go to work around 2am in the middle of winter to go to some farm where they would load chickens onto lorries to bring back.

In those days very few people had their own cars (or even bicycles) and so they would walk to their workplaces. One Pakistani gentleman, while working at Permanex, had his fingers sliced clean off his hand. My father was also a victim of an industrial accident at St. Ives Sand & Gravel, when his hand got crushed between two massive concrete pipes.

As these men spoke no English and ‘phones weren’t a common commodity, the letters to their families had to be written by someone else. I had the arduous task of writing many a letter in Urdu for my dad and other men. I also went with a number of them, including my dad, to their doctors at Cromwell Place Surgery and to the social security and tax offices at Chequers Court in Huntingdon.

The houses where these men lived were in Quay Court, The Quadrant, Carlisle Terrace, Needingworth Road, St. John’s Road, St. George’s Road, North Road and The Pound. The houses at St. John’s Road, Carlisle Terrace and The Quadrant were full and bursting at their seams. The only form of heating was coal fires. Although their eldest sons had the responsibility of cooking, cleaning the house (brushing and mopping the lino floors and cleaning the carpet on the stairs) and washing the clothes, the fathers also did some cooking when they were off work. The shopping was done mainly by the boys.

In terms of entertainment, on the odd occasion some of them would go to a cinema to see an Indian or Pakistani film in Leicester or Peterborough, if someone could take them there in their car. But this was rare. Another “outing” was going to the airport in a coach to see one of them off at the airport or to receive someone there. This was also somewhat rare. Playing cards was perhaps their main past time.

Although TV was around, the main programme they would watch was on Sunday mornings called “Apna Hi Ghar Samajhiye” (Make Yourself At Home) in Urdu on BBC1 for Asian immigrants. This programme then became known as “Nayi Zindagi Naya Jeevan” (New Way, New Life). There was a BBC Radio programme too, also on Sunday mornings.

All these men, apart from one, are no more. But their hard work, along with that of their sons (and later their wives and daughters), under very trying circumstances, paved the ground for a successful and prosperous Pakistani community in St. Ives. They are the ones who have made the most sacrifices and it is their legacy that is worthy of remembrance.

I would like to thank Mohammed Akram, a fellow St. Ivian and a close friend, who has assisted me in compiling some of the information for this chapter. I have not mentioned names of other men as I have not sought consent from their families.

Chapter 19 - First Pakistani Ladies and Girls to St. Ives

As I have mentioned previously, in the early part of Pakistani men’s lives, their wives were still back in Pakistan along with their children. Only the eldest sons had been brought over, the intention being that they would soon be old enough to start work and support their families.

The wives began to arrive in St. Ives around 1968 onwards. They also were almost exclusively illiterate. One lady came with the children but didn’t stay too long as she wasn’t very happy in the new environment. When I came to England in November 1966, I was accompanied by my cousin and his married sister with her son. She was an exception rather than the rule when she came over with her first born to join her husband, who lived in Sawbridgeworth, close to Harlow at the time.

My mother came sometime in 1970 along with my two younger brothers. My two sisters, also younger than me, came a bit later. My three eldest sisters, who were already married with children, did not join us. My father and I at that time were living at my uncle’s house at The Quadrant. Shortly afterwards we bought our own house and moved to West Street.

For me, the days of cooking and washing came to an end, which was a very welcome change. No doubt the same thing happened in other Pakistani households where wives had joined their husbands and eldest sons. But the most important thing is that the houses we lived in became homes, and father and son “units” became families.

These ladies, apart from giving the brick and mortar a sense of homeliness, provided stability to the family. Contrary to the stereotypical image amongst British people of an Asian woman playing a very subservient role in the family, these ladies were very strong characters. They ran their families, even though they were not the breadwinners. They kept one or two men from performing “extracurricular activities”, such as drinking alcohol, which is not allowed within the Islamic faith.

A few of the girls who came with their mothers were of a transitional age when not much time was left for them to attend school. However, there were a few who attended both junior and secondary schools.

I can’t think of any of the Pakistani women working outside their home environment at that time. To make ends meet, some worked from home, doing needlework jobs for soft toy manufacturers. Later in life, I know one of the girls was the first female Pakistani taxi driver in St. Ives. Amongst the third-generation females, there are two teachers (one deputy head), a doctor and a lawyer.

For the ladies there wasn’t much entertainment apart from TV. They visited each other’s houses to socialise and sometimes would go to St. Ives Monday market with their friends. If there was someone’s marriage taking place and they were invited, they would dress in their Sunday best and take part in the song and dance and other wedding ceremonies at the venue as well as attending the wedding dinner. On the passing away of someone, the ladies attended and performed certain rituals expected of them.

An American lady by the name of Caroline Alan was from an education background. She was very active in helping Pakistani women with their various issues. This included learning English, help with housing and other family matters.

Chapter 20 - What Happened to the “Motherless” Boys?

You may remember my mentioning that when the Pakistani men came to England, as a matter of course, they came without their families. A short time after finding accommodation and suitable employment, they would arrange for their eldest sons to come over to start work and help their families. Their wives and remaining children would come much later.

My (male) cousin, who accompanied me on the day we came to England in November 1966, left St Ivo and found a job in a rubber company in Swavesey. He then worked at St. Ives Garden Produce at Somersham Road, otherwise known as “The Chicken Factory”. Most of the Pakistani men and boys worked here. Another cousin of mine moved to Walthamstow, London, and started work in a leather clothing company.

Mohammed Akram began his working life at Ouse Motors on Station Road, later to be joined by one of his friends. Another friend from Huntingdon then joined them. The three of them passed their motor mechanics courses (with a little help from me with their maths). This company ceased to operate in 1992 and the trio went on to open their own business under the name Ouse Valley Autos in Warboys, where they are working to this day. The main partner and brains behind this venture was Mohammed Akram, whose name has featured in a previous chapter.

One of the boys from our group went on to work at Sand & Gravel in Meadow Lane and then in a company in Cambridge.

At one stage St. Ives Garden Produce moved from slaughter of live chickens to lamb cutting and packing. This was followed by complete closure in 1985, which in a way was a blessing for the workers as they found new avenues of employment in plumbing, grocery shops, takeaways and taxis.

I went to university and obtained an honours degree in Chemical Engineering from the University of Newcastle Upon Tyne, but did not pursue my career in this field for various reasons. After qualification, I worked in an electronics company in St. Ives for nearly three years and then pursued a career for an emergency service. After that I worked for a few years in the Civil Service before saying goodbye to paid employment.