August 18th 2009 - around Luton South in an afternoon

August 18th 2009 - around Luton South in an afternoon

Each visit so far has been separate and distinct, focused on a particular purpose.
Opening a school fete, which, like all the best fetes was jolly, messy and crammed with delicious home-made cakes, and good-natured teachers getting wet sponges flung at them. Meeting dedicated staff in the Luton and Dunstable Hospital, seeing tiny babies inside complex machines, clinging valiantly to life, no wonder Obama envies our NHS. Watching the IBC white van production line, each gleaming van preordered, the machinery almost as surgical and germ-free as the hospital. Buying hats in High Town with little factories disguised as Edwardian homes, filled with the implements of the hatters' craft, steam machines, moulds, boxes of feathers and huge silk roses. Taking coffee in Bury Park, exotic and vibrant.

Each visit had taught me more, but in my head Luton had become a patchwork I could not quite sew together. In the nick of time today a kind new friend agreed to show me her Luton. She is a Lutonian born, bred and with a distinguished career entirely carved out in Luton, so I had found the best possible guide to drive me around for an afternoon.

What contrasts! We drove through sleepy, sunny fields, along dusty country roads, to Caddington. A village with its own green, “And the voters here are all true Blue” said my guide. Would there be no chance, then, for a would-be prospective Independent?
Would the show-business connections make me altogether suspect?

Plunging back into the town, we navigated long curving streets of identical tudor semi's (exactly like the ones I grew up in in North West London). I love the fact that Luton, like Florence, nestles in a circle of hills.

Unlike Florence I saw the site of the new "Olympic" swimming pool high on one of the hillsl. On another I admired High Town village, once the buzzing shopping heart of old Luton town before the advent of the Arndale shopping mall. Could it once again become the cafe culture of Luton South? On another of Luton's hills I saw the impressively successful Airport, where Easyjet, Monarch and Thomson have lift-off. And then in a wild wonderful gulch , Napier Park, where 35,000 Lutonians used to build convoys of Vauxhall cars and Churchill tanks.

I wondered where they manufactured the houses in Tin Town, much derided, but far more attractive than concrete car parks, and far longer-lasting, it seems, (I think the tin houses should be listed. They are so much more attractive than the rabbit hutch flats developers pile up into tower blocks. Unless of course the tin walls are so hot in summer and cold in winter that the owners think they have no right to immortality).

Driving past the University and on through the student areas, we passed Mr Moon's the newsagent's shop. Standing by the door I recognized Mrs Patel, whose husband Jashbhai, one of the town's most popular figures, was brutally stabbed to death there, on a Sunday morning in June. We stopped and I ran to meet her, a steady, clever, courageous woman, determined to carry on, because as she told me her late husband had so much faith in her. I saw her grandchildren with their huge lustrous dark eyes taking in her grief, but not understanding it. I took her hand. So much to say to her, of admiration, and sorrow, but I couldn't find adequate words. She needs help to fit out the shop, I'm sure Luton will rush to support her.

The tour was almost at an end. We circled, as everyone does, there is no escape from it, the notorious concrete car park, which has become a desparing symbol of the mistakes in the past, now condemned, an eye-sore. My guide explained that The Hat Factory nestling next to the station has a tiny theatre inside it. Surely we need a bigger theatre in Luton South, don't we? And a concert hall? Wouldn't the site of that horrible dead car park be ideal? After all, the popularity of the yearly Luton Carnival, and the bright, shiny Carnival Arts Centre shows that creativity is alive and well in the heart of the town.

My guide admitted that although she loves Luton, when she wants to shop for quality she always goes to Milton Keynes. And when she wants a good night out, she goes to London. I wonder why? Why has nobody has capitalized on Luton's superb geography accessible from North and South, by road, rail and air to create a destination town?

We finished the tour with strong cups of tea in Luton Hoo hotel, admiring the brilliance of the August herbaceous borders. Another contrast, another world. But where once the Queen and Philip had their honeymoon, Lutonians now filled every armchair and sofa, sitting beneath vast tapestries and high windows, enjoying a mammoth tea, scones, sandwiches, home-made cakes, and a doggy box to take home the delicious left-overs.

So what kind of patchwork did my kind guide piece together for me? She showed me a whole new pattern, with bright colours, vastly different textures, exciting, warm. Yes, there is tragedy here, and hardship. But so much vitality, and endurance, and potential. I can't wait for my next visit.