Migrants

There's a party going on in the next room for the church. I have slipped away to write my blog.
Many of the older people came from britain in the fifties and sixties. It's interesting for me to hear their stories because their stories are remarkably like the one I used to hear amongst the afrocaribbean community in manchester when I worked there in the eighties. Stories of extreme poverty and prejudice, stories of inadequate accomodation and broken promises. As we received the commonwealth so we also sent to that commonwealth.
It makes me think that in telling the story of the immigrants to britain we have forgotten the story of the emigrants. Those whom we spread across the world. Maybe we would think differently about those who came if we remembered those who went.