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The Booker-shortlisted novelist on the garrison town on the edge of London where she was first introduced to the writing of James Baldwin and Buchi Emecheta
The Woolwich of my childhood was a predominantly white, working-class garrison town on the outskirts of London, the Thames obscured by the fortress-like wall of the Woolwich Arsenal armaments factory. Today it’s an incredibly multicultural district on the verge of gentrification, boasting luxury high rises with spectacular riverside views.
My family – English mother, Nigerian father and seven siblings – lived on Eglinton Road, which wended its way to the vast expanse of Woolwich Common at one end and a parade of shops at the other. My first primary school, Notre Dame Convent, was next door to our house. My second primary school, Plumcroft, was a 10-minute walk up Eglinton Hill. My next school, Eltham Hill Girls’ Grammar, took 20 minutes on the bus. My local youth theatre was a short walk, and the only relative we visited was my maternal grandmother, a 15-minute bus journey away in Abbey Wood. The library, where I stocked up on books every week, and St Peters church, where I went for Catholic indoctrination on Sundays, were both less than a 15-minute walk away. Holidays were unaffordable and I don’t think I travelled to the centre of London, other than for a couple of school trips, until my teens. My world was small, contained and familiar. Continue reading...