Election Day Eve Musings

In 1979, I was living in Wandsworth -'the Brighter Borough', the signposts said. Brighter, only if you weren't in receipt of any form of public service, all of which immediately were on the receiving end of an 'Impress Thatcher' hatchet job. It worked well- the then council leader ended up with a peerage, if I remember rightly. At the time I was working in public libraries, and we went through all sorts of cuts to try to meet the spending cuts imposed. Reduced hours, lunchtime closing, staff cuts and redistribution. Eventually I transferred to a small library which had only 4 members of Staff. Housed in an old teacher training college (haunted by one student who hung herself in the student dormitory), the Library was in the most deprived part of the Borough. Slap bang in the middle of high rise estates, not far from the river, hopeless and helplessly we watched Southlands' slow decline until it was closed for good.

What upset me was not so much the schools groups who came for visits- they could be accommodated at the next closest library, albeit at some inconvenience to the little legs of the readers- but the fact that we had a group of regular readers; many of these people were elderly and lived alone and had no other social contact than they found in the library. I remember one dear sweet little old man, who must have been 80. He got up every day, dressed smartly in suit and tie, made his way slowly to the library, sat and read all the newspapers, then made sure to talk to each member of staff in turn, offering us each a pear drop from the bag he bought from the sweetie shop en route. If someone was off sick, he enquired as to their wellbeing; and every day about 11am he left the library, doffing his peaked cloth cap, to go home for the rest of the day. I felt so badly for him, and others like him, when that lifeline to social contact was closed.

With the advent of the Tory council in Wandsworth, rates fell as public spending was cut; suddenly we were subjected to an influx of Chelsea folk, forced across the river by the high rates in Westminster and Chelsea, enticed by the new Tory council, which influx in turn inflated house prices to ridiculous amounts, changing the demographic of the area for good. Many of we Battersea exiles will never be able to return.

I thought of all this today as I read Johann Hari's excellent piece in the Independent. It brought back horrendous memories, because as it was in Wandsworth in 1979, it has been in Hammersmith since 2006, and may well be throughout the country from 2010. Should the voters thus dictate, history will repeat itself.

I pray not.