FOREWORD
WHENthe first copy of this book arrived in my hands just a few weeks ago and people filed into our small town centre office to buy it, filled incoupons or ordered it online, I confess to experiencing serious levels oftrepidation. I girded my loins for the predictable backlash from the massedforces of the liberal establishment. Not from mullahs or muftis, mind you, butmanagers and Marxists mostly, but not exclusively white. Theyre theones who take offence for a living, on an industrial scale.
Themen running the mosques, the madressahs, the sweatshops staffed by cheapmigrant labour and the crime gangs controlling our booming drugs trade they just want leaving alone thanks. Theirs is a collective prosperity that cando with as little media limelight as possible, so making a fuss really isnt intheir best interests.
Ifthe book title alone wasnt controversial enough, its subject matter hadalready managed to send more than a few mainstream publishers scuttling forcover behind their desks. No one wanted to know which Id naturallyhalf expected. You see, people on the outside of towns like Dewsbury haventmuch of a clue about our realities. They were scared stiff of SalmanRushdie-like repercussions. And as usual, theyd completely missed the point.
Imin the newspaper business so I was well versed in the romantic (andoccasionally idiotic) concept of publish and be damned. But I did anyway.After all, how difficult or different can it be to publish a book from anewspaper or magazine? In for a penny, in for a pound and all that...
Thefirst print run has now completely sold out and all is still as quiet as itgets on the western (Yorkshire) front. No fatwas, no public demonstrations, nolaw-suits, no boycotts of my business, no threats to my personal safety touch wood, of course. Ive had my ration of that little lot over the years though,by virtue of my occasionally colourful weekly newspaper musings. Maybe theyvefinally tired of trying to shut me up!
Asthis second edition goes into print, orders are starting to come in from aroundthe United Kingdom just this morning from places as far flung asBelfast, Hampshire and Liverpool. This book may feature Dewsbury in its title,but I strongly believe its themes resonate far, far beyond this towns modestboundaries.
Imaware that its not a comfortable read for locals who remember the town I grewup in; people who reach the last page, look around at whats becoming of thistown, this district, and worry about what the future holds for their childrenand grandchildren.
Isuspect their reality, their dawning realisation that a cultural revolution hastransformed their lifestyles and landscapes with hardly a dissenting murmurbeing spoken, is far more common than middle England suspects. Middle Englandis in for a big surprise of its own, one day soon.
Fortoo many of those wonderful folk, who did me the honour of validating this workwith their hard-earned money and their heartening messages, some of theoccasionally mortal consequences of what is described in these pages are a veryreal part of their everyday lives.
Idlike to dedicate this book to them in gratitude for their incredibly importantmoral support. For the rest of you on the outside looking in enjoy! Ifyou can...
INTRODUCTION
Flying the white flag
DEWSBURYTOWN HALL, its magnificent 19th century edifice a forlorn testamentto the former glories of this once-proud Yorkshire mill town, spent most of2010 under a massive shroud.
Thetown was (and is) on its knees in so many ways economically, socially,politically and criminally but the local authority decided that acouple of million quids-worth of sandblasting and pointing was the bestrestorative for the place. Or was that all they were up to?
Thatall-encompassing shroud a familiar look round these parts, althoughadmittedly not in the jet black cloth thats de rigeur on the streets of thetown centre.
Wouldthe council just cut a narrow slit across the front of the garb from which thetown hall could peer out suspiciously upon the world? Was this an attempt toset a world record for the biggest niqab (Muslim face veil) ever made? Was thatto be Dewsburys regenerative path back to fame and fortune? To entice evenmore Islamic pilgrims they travel here from all over the planet to come witness this curiosity? Or was it simply the final slap in the face foran indigenous population already beaten to its knees by the failed mantra ofmulti-culturalism?
Inmy weekly newspaper column, I wondered whether perhaps when the great unveilingcame, the town hall clock tower might have been replaced by a minaret. Itwasnt, and indeed the grand old faade looked as good as new (although thoseventilation units on the roof look decidedly eastern in architecturalinfluence; probably my paranoia).
Notthat it was going to make a blind bit of difference to Dewsburys widerfortunes, however reinvigorated the building appeared. No meaningful decisionsaffecting the towns precarious prospects are made inside those walls. The townhall was and remains little more than a handsome, Victorian folly. A reminderof what once was.
Mostsurprisingly, to me at least, was the ragged presence of the Union flag, stillhanging limply there on its stanchion. Hope springs eternal, eh? Because inDewsbury, weve been flying the white flag for years now.
DURINGthe final editing of this book I was visited by an esteemed journalist andauthor, Matthew Engel, the much-admired long-time writer for The Guardian, nowoccasional columnist for the Financial Times, former editor of the cricketbible Wisden and the News International Visiting Professor of Media at OxfordUniversity for 2010/11. He was passing through while researching a book on thevarious counties of England and was curious to see our little town.