Mounts Stories

"We are all made of stories, they define who we are" Stormzy

The Music of Belonging

Mark Ski's Memories of Northampton's Creative Heart

Mark Ski glanced out over the rooftops of the Mounts, the Northampton neighbourhood he had called home since the early 1990s. There was a distant echo of a bassline, a faint reminder of the nights spent weaving music and memories into the very fabric of the streets. In those days, the Mounts was not just a place, it was the "epicentre" of something bright and uncontainable.

Back then, The Soundhaus, The Racehorse, and The Bradlaugh stood as a proud triangle of energy. These venues were magnets, drawing in all who hungered for music and artistic expression beyond the ordinary. The mainstream had no claim here. It was a realm where people passionate about music found a home, a stage, and, most importantly, a community. Mark could still recall the way the dancefloor pulsed with possibility, every beat a chance for someone new to step forward.

"Anything that wasn’t mainstream, and people were passionate about music, they would do it there," Mark liked to say. And it was true. He watched as artists, DJs, and promoters, himself included, tested new ideas in front of real audiences. The Mounts was fertile ground for grassroots creativity, each event a patchwork stitched together by do-it-yourself ambition and shared dreams.

But it was more than just the music. The Soundhaus, especially, became the anchor of Mark’s world. It was "more than just a venue", it was a meeting point, a place where strangers became collaborators, and collaborators became friends. "Most of the people I know, I met through music," he’d tell newcomers who marvelled at the closeness of the scene. "That’s what it’s about. Bringing people together, not dividing them."

There, among the tangle of cables and the thump of speakers, Mark made it his mission to open doors for others. He remembered stacking the line-ups with local DJs, giving first-timers their shot on stage. "We’d always stack it with local DJs, it wasn’t just the Ski show. It gave people their first gigs." He knew that with every opportunity extended, the Mounts grew richer, a place where creative potential was not just noticed but nurtured through mentorship and chance.

Of course, time moved on. The Soundhaus and other beloved venues eventually closed their doors, leaving behind a quiet ache, a sense of loss that hung in the air like the final note of a favourite song. Yet, Mark recognised the signs of regeneration. The Garibaldi, The Lab, The Black Prince, new venues, new faces, but the same fierce spirit. "The Garibaldi and The Lab are definitely part of that legacy, they’re where people earn their chops now," he’d say with a knowing smile. The Mounts, ever adaptable, continued to be a crucible for underground culture, surviving on resilience and memory.

Years later, as Mark wandered through the neighbourhood, he saw more than bricks and mortar. He saw a living, breathing heritage, where every memory, every collective cheer, every shared dance, had left a trace. To him, these stories mattered as much as any grand building or monument. "Everyone who went there, no matter what the event was, looks back on it fondly," he would insist. The Mounts was not just a place, but a tapestry woven from the lives of those who passed through it.

As the sun dipped below the rooftops, Mark felt a quiet pride knowing that the Mounts’ legacy endured, not only in venues and music but in the hearts and histories of its people. His story, and those of many others, became part of the area’s living archive, a celebration of creativity, connection, and change. In Northampton, the Mounts would always be more than a neighbourhood. It was, and would remain, a home for anyone seeking to belong.

A Childhood in The Mounts

Cathy Nicholas; Growing up on Overstone Road

Cathy Nicholas was born in 1954, in a small, terraced house on Overstone Road. The world she knew was shaped by the echo of factory whistles and the steady routine of the shoe trade. Her father, a skilled ‘clicker’ at Manfield’s, and her mother, who knew every step of shoemaking, were part of a community bound by pride in hard work.

When midday came, the sound of the factory whistle sent hundreds of workers into the streets. “It was like a meal break for the whole town,” Cathy remembered. The Mounts was alive with the shuffle of boots, laughter, and the bustle of its people, all sharing the same rhythm. Even the annual ‘factory fortnight’ when all production stopped for two weeks, became a festival of togetherness, families heading off for rare holidays or gathering in the parks, cherishing the break from the grind of daily labour.

Cathy’s Mounts was more than bricks and mortar; it was a network of neighbours who watched out for each other. Respect and care were woven into every day. When there was a death in the street, women collected for a funeral wreath and every house closed its curtains during the procession. On Sundays, families scrubbed their front steps and children played safely under the watchful eyes of the whole community. “We didn’t have much money,” Cathy said, “but we had respect and we looked after our own.” This was “the Mounts way”: an unspoken contract to take pride in their homes, their streets, and each other.

As Cathy grew older, the Mounts began to shift. The arrival of new housing and the construction of a “new road” changed the landscape, and the spirit, of the area. Streets like Lady’s Lane, once familiar and beloved, disappeared, replaced by modern developments that felt alien to long-term residents. “People weren’t happy when the new houses came, they said they were bringing all these London people in.” For Cathy and her neighbours, these changes brought loss and disorientation, as the close-knit world they knew slowly faded, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Through it all, Cathy’s sense of herself was anchored in the stories of her grandmother and her mother, Jesse McCready. Her mother’s wartime years were full of hope but also disappointment: “She was excited when the war came because she thought she might get away, but they told her she had to stay and make army boots.” The family’s tiny house, narrow and cold, was a symbol of resilience; every improvement made by hand, every hardship met with determination.

One particularly powerful memory stood out. During the Second World War, Canadian pilots were stationed nearby. Cathy’s mother recalled how polite and friendly the young airmen were, how they danced with local women at the Corn Exchange and brought a sense of excitement to the town. Yet tragedy struck when many of the pilots were killed in action. Cathy’s mother, deeply moved, volunteered to write letters to their families back in Canada, sharing stories and memories of their lost sons. “It broke her heart,” Cathy said, “they were just boys.” In this simple act, the Mounts’ sense of kindness and compassion reached across the world, bringing a fragment of solace to distant mothers in a time of grief.

The Mounts of Cathy’s childhood was not untouched by change. In the 1960s, West Indian families began arriving. At first, there was uncertainty among some older residents, but Cathy’s experience was positive. She babysat for the children of neighbours from the Caribbean, recalling with affection the warmth and generosity of the families who became part of their street. These first multicultural encounters, she realised later, were the beginnings of the Mounts’ journey to becoming one of Northampton’s most diverse communities. “They were probably the first Black people I’d met, and what a good introduction they were.”

Overstone Road in Cathy’s day was lined with corner shops, barbers, pubs like The Racehorse and The Bantam Cock, and the working men’s club. Every business had its own story, every family its own patch of local history. Time hasn’t always been kind to these places. “It looks a bit rundown now,” Cathy admitted, “but they’re trying to renovate the old factory on the corner… it does need some money spent on it.”

Through her stories, Cathy keeps alive the spirit of the Mounts, a place where heritage lives not just in buildings or street names but in the memories and values of ordinary people. Her tale is one of resilience, kindness, and community, echoing through the decades and reminding future generations of what it means to belong.

Cathy’s memories are a vital thread in the tapestry of the Mounts. Her life spans an era of immense change: from the solidarity of the shoe trade to the sadness of post-war decline, to the first stirrings of multicultural Britain. In her recollections, the Mounts is not just a place on the map, but a living testament to the strength and compassion of its people—past, present, and still to come.

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The Ives Family

The first family to live at 97 Charles Street by Margaret Phillips

The 1881 census states that on the north side of Charles Street there are house numbers up until 53, 97 is one of 12 newly built houses that year.

In 1885, the electoral register had Christopher Ives living at 97. Deeds for the

house show it was bought in 1881. From childhood, Christopher (1847-1905) had lived in the St Sepulchre Parish of Northampton, surrounded by shoemakers. At 7 years old, living in Scarletwell Street, his mother, father and six older siblings were involved in the shoe trade (1851 Census) as were most of their neighbours.

By the 1861 census, Christopher is a “Closer” and earning his own living, so he

can afford to marry into another shoe trade family in 1866.

Harriett Flack (1846-1911) in 1861 is also a shoemaker and her family live in

Grafton Street. Her father, mother and elder brother all work in the trade.

The couple move to Grafton Street, where they start another shoe making

brood! By the 1881 census, still living in Grafton Street, and having 6 children to

support, Christopher is now the bread winner and working as a Shoe Top Closer.

Shortly after this we find the family at the newly built house at 97 Charles Street,

which must have been a great boon for Harriett, looking after such a large

family. By 1886, they had three more children!

Using sites that are available publicly online, such as Ancestry, Findmypast, or

Google, I continue trying to piece together the history of 97 Charles Street before

it was bought by the shoemakers’ union, NUBSO and then by the Labour Party.

In the “WANTEDS” column of The Daily Reporter, Thursday, May 18, 1882, there were many advertisements for the Boot and Shoe Trade. On the above date we find

C. Ives of 97 Charles Street wanting good Fitters on Men’s Best work.

So this article gives us another hint as to when ‘97’ was first inhabited. It appears

the Ives family moved in between 3 April 1881 (Date of the census) and May

1882. Daughters Florence and Norah were born at No. 97 along with the

youngest child in 1886, Alfred. Was Christopher working from home in the upstairs room, which is perfect for its brightness and number of windows on both sides? Is this why he advertised for fitters to help him at home, until his children were old enough to join him?

In 2004, “Built to Last” was published by English Heritage based on a survey

directed by Adam Menuge on the buildings of the Northamptonshire Boot and

Shoe Industry, written by Kathryn A Morrison with Ann Bond. It is a fascinating

book, with many photos of local shoe industry buildings, but sadly not one of 97

Charles Street. It does explain that when the terraced houses were built for the

workers some corner plots were taken advantage of and made with large

workshops upstairs at the back and with a separate entrance. (I would like to

investigate the building of 97 in order to discover if it was originally built with the

large extension at the back.)

Mr Christopher Ives is registered in the 1890 Kelly’s directory as a Machine

Closer. By 1891, the census shows us that the Ives family totalled 11. It is fortunate that number 97 is quite roomy as the 9 children were still living at home. Christopher is a Boot Closer and an employer and his four eldest children are all employed in the Boot and Shoe industry - Harriet (21), a shoe trade machinist; Christopher (2) Henry (19), a Clicker; Frank (17), a Laster; and Ellen (15), a machinist. It is not clear whether they all worked for their father or in nearby factories.

Living at 56 Grafton Street in 1871, the Ives had one child. Mrs Ives gave her

employment as "Fitter", rather than home duties, but this seems to be the last

time we have a record of her doing paid work. Her children stay at school until

they are 14 years old, when they choose their career.

By 1901, the census clearly states that Christopher works from home, along with

5 of his children, 4 of whom are in the shoe trade with him and one of his

daughters, Norah, is a dressmaker. His youngest son, Alfred, is apprenticed to an

Upholsterer.

Sadly, Christopher died on 10 September 1905, leaving his widow effects of £834

14s 2d., which would be worth over £100,000 in the present day (September

2020). It would seem that the family stayed on at No. 97. On 2 April 1911, Mrs Ives still had 5 adult single children living at home, aged 27 to 41! Harriet, Ellen and

Florence were all boot closers and worked from home.

From the 1911 census, we can see that Ellen is named as an employer, whereas

her two sisters are workers. You can imagine them receiving the work from

another workshop and doing their part to make a pair of shoes, in that lovely

bright workshop upstairs at No.97. The eldest son, Christopher, was a Gas Inspector and the youngest daughter, Norah, was still dressmaking. The census states that they had 7 rooms in the house.

Sadly, a few weeks later, Mrs Harriett Ives died, on 20 April 1911. She left £476

13s 5d to her son, Christopher. Later that same year, her eldest daughter,

Harriett died on 22 October at only 42 years old, leaving £82 5s 11d to her

brother, Christopher. After that year, we find marriages for some of the family and so it looks like they went their separate ways without their mother and eldest sister to keep them together.

In the 1913 Electoral Roll there is still a Christopher Ives at No. 97. This must be

Christopher Junior, and it states that No 97 is Freehold Land.

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Neelam’s Story

Neelam Aggarwal-Singh

I came to the UK in 1981, February to be precise and my husband at the time lived on Military Road. It was the end house and opposite that was a clothing factory.
Lots of Asian women and probably men were working there and I could see them from my bedroom window. It was, I guess, very pleasing to see more familiar faces, and that they were Indians.

I was referred to a government programme which was also based on Military Rd. It used to be an Adult Education Centre for government programmes, including educating newcomers in learning English, just to get by in life. Originally it was just the adult education English course I was referred to, through a government visitor who came to see me at my home.

Now at this stage, although I'm graduate from home, I didn't speak a single word of English, but I could read and write it if you gave me a topic. I could write an essay, but I could not speak it. So, I remember going to that adult education centre. I don't know if you're familiar with the building, I‘m referring to the Adult Education Centre on Military Road. It was a beautiful old building which I ended up working in. It's just full of houses and flats now. I don't understand how somebody, somewhere in the system, managed to manipulate it to change the covenant because the deeds were that the building should remain for the Community benefit. It was, I think, a listed building as well. We’re talking about 2004 approximately when they changed everything and it became houses.

I remember going to the first English session in a room full of Bangladeshi women who came from Sylhet and who weren't even literate in their own language. And I remember them teaching us ABCD and then teaching us how to dial 999 in case of emergency. So they were very basic kind of skills.

I remember going home and crying because, as I said earlier, I was literate in English, had done English up to A level standard and in my English O level had the highest mark in the whole college. But it's the speaking of English which was the problem. Then there was another course, for nine months, which my ex-husband engaged me on, which benefited me enormously. That took place at the John Clare Centre. I remember the Chronicle and Echo building, where now you've got ALDI, and I remember visiting that to do a cookery demo. I’d started teaching for adult education and at Northampton College, some vegetarian cookery, because I'm a vegetarian. People were saying, “Oh well, how do you survive? It's so cold here. You can't be alive, being a vegetarian.” And I said, “well, the variety is so much”. I remember it was such a moment when I walked in, they're expecting a traditional Indian woman. And I walked in with my Western clothes, and they were looking out for this Indian woman who was going to come and show them how to make Indian food. And I said, “Well, that's me. I'm here. I've arrived” because by then I was able to speak English.

I did that nine-month English speaking course and then I worked in Marks and Spencer. I used to walk from my Military Road house to Marks and Spencer in Abington Street. It just makes me think how much this town has changed because there is no Marks and Spencer, there is no Chronicle and Echo building, there is no BHS. That area has changed significantly. One thing which does remain, which is a good thing, is the swimming pool. I think that has been there forever. The police station has been there forever. The fire station. So, you know, there are some good things there. I was on the working group when the new Northampton College was being planned. I was still working for Northampton College at the time and, you know, it was such a small space. I used to walk through that space many times and, being such a small space, was redundant really. And now two huge buildings provide education for the local area, and I think that was a positive move, if I'm honest.

The Racial Equality Council office was a bit further up from the Labour Club, the next street or the street after on the corner building. I was the vice-chair; it was a very prominent place for people. The Asian Advisory Council was based in Harold Street and Mr Akram Zaman was the Chair/President in charge of that. What that did was to bring all the minority ethnic communities together under one roof. Maybe that was the beginning of, you know, collaboration between the different groups, coming together and finding solutions for the challenges. I was referred to it because I was having difficulty in my marriage and I remember going to see Mr Akram Zaman. Sadly, he's passed away, but he was quite a prominent member of the Asian community of Bangladeshi heritage and was awarded the MBE later in his life.

So yes, I have lots of memories of being part of that community and that area. I remember it being identified in the media as the most poverty-stricken area. I remember reading things about the area, how some houses not even having curtains. But it's always been quite an interactive kind of community. There was a pub which was the hub; I think that the pub still exists next to the racecourse on the corner of Bailiff Street, the Bat and Wickets, I think. I remember my very first visit to that pub, it was quite the heart of the community in the 80s. I remember there was a phone box there because, you know, having a telephone was such a luxury at that time. In 1981 we had a black and white TV. There was no remote, you had to get up to change the channel and there were only three; BBC One, BBC Two and ITV. I remember Channel 4 being launched, which felt like “Oh wow”. That was a big thing, you know?
What kind of challenges or barriers were people in the community facing at that time? I think for me personally, language was my biggest challenge, and barrier. I remember one particular day because life was very lonely. I come from a big family and then moving to England, the only person from my family of seven siblings. Back home, Mum, Dad, Grandpa, auntie, uncle and cousins lived just on the doorsteps. Then, to find myself on my own, that in itself was a huge challenge. On one particular day, I remember looking out of the window and there was a lady in a Sari. So I came out of the house, ran across the road just to speak to her, to have a conversation, in my own language. And what was shocking, for me, and a very huge learning curve was that, although she was Asian and wore the outfit which was familiar to me, she didn't speak my language because she was a Bangladeshi woman. Now I'm a graduate in Sanskrit, so I understand various native languages of India and she very quickly, said Bhalobasi Bhalobasi. And I knew that she's a Bangladeshi lady.
Well, it’s still, you know, such a memory which will stay with me forever.

You know, having corner shops, big shopping trips were only done maybe once a week, once a fortnight. People relied on local corner shops for the milk, for the bread going to Adam's bakery. I remember milk being stolen from your doorstep, you know things like that. They were small challenges, but I think there was a bigger community spirit I seem to recall.Personal challenges? Yes, because of, you know, cultural challenges coming to a new country. And I remember going on holidays where there were signs, No Blacks, No Dogs, No Irish. But locally I have much better memories. What we see now, I don't think we had that kind of hatred, lack of patience towards each other at that time. Because I didn't speak English, my husband used to write me a note, which I took with me to show to the shop whenever he wanted me to go and deal with something. And people were just very helpful in that way.

My husband bought me a diary and at the end of March it said summertime begins. I remember the shock; I’m waiting for the summer to begin and then it snowed in April! I remember one day coming home, I didn't have shoes, I had these flip flops. On the way home it snowed. And do you remember those fireplaces with ceramic tiles - they took their time to heat up. On this particular day in April, I remember coming home crying with the pain of feeling cold. And I'm saying, “But I thought the diary said end of March summertime begins, where is that summer” And this is, you know, in the 80s. Winter was winter - you could have one foot of deep snow. When it snowed, it snowed. I mean now, because of the global warming, snow is not snow anymore. It snows and it's gone the next day. In those days it stayed.

So this is where my journey started, where I was learning English and then I moved to a nine-month course. Again, this was a government initiative at the John Clare Centre. 10 or 12 years later I started volunteering at Military Road and within 10 days of volunteering, I was offered a job. And then, before I knew it, I was in charge of that facility, which was implementing multicultural education within adult education. So then I think people saw more in me than I saw in myself, which is the case in many cases, isn't it, that we don't realise our own potential a lot of the time. So before I knew it I was on the management committee of DOSTIO, which is the Asian women and Girls Organisation, and they had an office next door to where my office was, so I started learning about this voluntary organisation. And my very first interaction with voluntary organisation was through the Volunteer Bureau.

So I've gone through separation, I am a single parent with two daughters and no money. And somebody said to me that the Volunteer Bureau is looking for a Hindi speaking volunteer. It took me two months to make that call and then, to cut a long story short, they were trying to set up a cafe for a disabled project, to benefit from any money raised through that. I was asked would I be interested? I said yes. Anything to get out of the house and do something. So I joined and I remember saying to the person in charge “Can I make this vegetarian chilli and see how it goes? Don't give me any money for it because you know, if it doesn't work, it's for a charity. I don't need you to pay”. And he was reluctant saying “Well, I'm not sure”. In those days, there were all kinds of environmental health rules and barriers as I called them. So reluctantly, he said, “OK, Neelam, let's try”. And it was gone, all of it. And then I made more and that went. They saw how popular that was and asked me to volunteer for Dostiyo, their luncheon club, and were going to pay me £10 for doing it. Such cheap labour when I look back now at stuff like that, but it was for a good cause. They used to have the luncheon club on two days and one day I said “OK, I'll do it”. And that created some animosity, I'm sure, with the people who were running it- that I'd taken over their role or something. But I love cooking. The luncheon club was so popular we had queues going up to the reception and no matter how much two of us cooked, we had no food left for us

At that venture, there was a gentleman, Gerald Porter, who was the key person for adult education. He said to me, “Would you like to teach cookery courses for us”? And I said “Oh, no, no, no. I know nothing about teaching “and he said, “Well, we can work together.” And I said, “Well, I don't measure anything. I just bung things together and, you know, off you go, you've got a dish” and so he mentored me in how to write these recipes and I used to help in that kitchen. And through that I started volunteering in the multicultural library, using cuttings about anything to do with the minority ethnic community and creating folders of things where people from the minority and ethnic community were in the news. There were some good and there were some bad, but nothing like today, what you see in the news today. I

started doing 12 hours a week because for me it was all about occupying my time while my children were at school and being useful. So, within 10 or 12 days the manager offered me a job, and I thought either she's mad or I'm mad because I'm doing 12 hours for her free. Why would she want to pay me, you know, for 10 hours? So, I very quickly signed the contract before she changed her mind. I asked her, “Can I ask what was that about? You know, why do you want to pay me?” And she explained to me there were other people after me. Because as I said, it was the adult education hub, so there were lots of groups existing within that building. And her boss said to her, don't lose her. She's a diamond. I, of course, didn't perceive myself as anything like that. Suddenly I am beginning to have job employment. Suddenly I'm being paid for different things. I've been recognised, I've been asked to be on a committee and then slowly, I'm chair of the Indian Hindu welfare organisation and a co-founder. The inception happened when I was based at Military Road when I was approached by Malcolm Pollard, a well-known local artist. He was working on a Millennium Project and he visited a number of people and they all said, oh, go and see Neelam. So he decided to come and see me and, you know, one thing led to another and he's asking me to be on the board of directors for the Millennium Project, which was to happen on Bedford Rd, by the skate park. And so before I know it I'm on the board of directors, I'm vice chair of Dostiyo and I'm vice chair of the Racial Equality Council. And I was like, I don't know what's going on here.
But I was enjoying doing all this and then I started getting a lot of pressure from the Management Committee, from REC, saying you need to take the chair now. I knew nothing about being the chair. All I saw was that this was a huge responsibility. And I remember saying, but I know somebody who can. So that's when I brought in Anjona Roy. She's still there as chair of Dostiyo. There was a chief executive equivalent of adult education at Military Road college. He was called Michael, Tony Michael. So I said, well, he can take the chair of Racial Equality Council and so brought him in as chair. When I look back, I think I had this enabling kind of attitude, which is quite healthy; not having a mindset of not allowing others to have those opportunities when they are suitable. I feel quite proud of being able to do that at that time although I didn't see it that way then. The other thing we started from my office at Military Rd was the Diwali Light, this is going way back. This was done in partnership with IHWO, Northampton College and the Borough Council as a partner. And I am searching for that flyer which will have those three partners. So as I said, I worked in the multicultural library. I was asked by my community, “do you think we can do Diwali light in Northampton?” And I'm always the believer of if you don't ask, you don't get. I made one phone call from my office to Liz Carrol-Wheat, who was the event organiser for the Borough Council and she was like, “Yeah, I think we can do that” and it's just going on from there. And 10 days ago, we celebrated the 25th anniversary of the most amazing, the biggest integration in this town. How big it has grown, you know? So a lot has embryonically grown to be what it is from that area.

I was offered a non-executive director role within the NHS world when I was based there. You know, my life basically transformed from that building. It branched out into lots of areas after being based in that building and it's been an amazing journey.

Sadly, I have to say, makes me feel very sad that that building is no longer there.

The bus station was looked down upon but was very central, very accessible, and I was a regular user of that bus station to maintain my independence, you know, as a woman in a new country. I think that it should have never been demolished. If I'm honest, it was 100 times better than what we have now. It kept the town moving. The place was much bigger than what we have. It didn't create problems, and that site has remained an eyesore since. What purpose to demolish that? What gains have been made? I mean, if people spent money to revitalise it, that would have been much better use of money than what has happened now. And I know we need houses, I know we need things, but I think to do away with major landmarks, I don't agree with that. I mean, what's happening with the Guildhall, I don't agree with it. I don't agree with losing our heritage, the legacy for our future, for our children. I don't speak as minority ethnic Neelam here because I have lived more of my life in Northampton than in my birth country. So I am a well and truly Northamptonian. You know, this is where my growth, my development, my progress has happened and I'm proud of this town. No matter where I am, I'm always defending this town because through various platforms we are very fortunate. How peaceful, how harmonious Northampton is compared to other town and cities. Now, some people, when I say this, think I'm deluded. I'm not. Because what you see up and down in the country, we don't have that in Northampton, touch wood because we enjoy good community relations.
And I think, you know, with Diwali light, we've come such a long way in building those strong partnerships in bringing diverse groups together. But that's not just the Hindu community who has done it You know, I'd be foolish. I'd be absolutely deluded to say that it's the Hindu community worked on its own. Without that partnership, those key players sitting around the table giving up their whole year in planning and executing on the day, so many jigsaw pieces coming together on the day in a very seamless kind of way. If we didn't have those passionate, committed individuals wanting to make it happen, there is no way this can happen.

And like-minded people. You know it's amazing, the journey of Diwali Light with Northampton College has gone full circle because Northampton College, although they only got involved last year, this year they were a fully-fledged partner.I can't believe how, for such a big milestone of 25 years, the life has gone full circle that Northampton College is back on the table and being a significant partner because what students did in the Diwali Light parade was amazing. And they are hosting a thank you dinner tomorrow, to celebrate the 25-year anniversary at the college at Booth Lane. So I'm over the moon about it all. Feel very blessed.

First experiences of worship in Northampton
Well, there was nothing for Hindus and, you know, according to the 1991 census, the Hindu population were the second largest religious group. I'll clarify; there was the native Christian, then Irish and then Hindus. So we were a significant community, but had no place of our own for a very, very long time. In 1984, I was living in Adams Ave, and I remember reading in the newspaper about a group which had started to organise events and activities and they applied for planning permission and people came out with placards to oppose the development. Then I remember the Hindu community was offered a place near Crow Lane and there is no way that would have been suitable for a place of worship. It was almost like a slap on the face of the Hindus, the smell, you know, the sewage smell. No way.

So, the nearest place was Wellingborough. I remember when the temple in Wellingborough opened. It would have been 1982, perhaps, when the Wellingborough Temple opened. That was the nearest place one could go to. But, being born and brought up in India, I would create a small pray area in my house and we'd utilise that because I didn't drive. I had a very difficult life with my ex so life was full of challenges coming to the UK. But you know, through the journey, I've learnt.

There was a heritage exhibition, created about the Jewish community, led by Lindsay Ambrose when she worked for Northampton Borough Council. And there was one done about the Hindu community. The one she did about the Hindu community, I still have those panels in my cellar. And I was thinking of having them on display in in the Royal and Derngate, perhaps at some stage because I think it should be out, but I need to check what exactly it says and what it is. But I think you know if you know about this then it will be good. There was an exhibition which took place at the museum, (in 1996 Councillor Baines, the Sikh guy, was the first Asian mayor) about newcomers to Northampton or UK.And they highlighted Councillor Baines and my profile in that and that was on display in 94/95.

At Military Rd I used to organise faith celebrations to highlight different faiths, Eid UL Adha, ID UL Fitr, Christmas, Easter, Vaisakhi, Diwali, Hanukkah, Baha'i faith, Nav Ruse. I did lots of those festivals at Military Rd, where I was based.