Who's not a foreigner anyway

How easy it is to speak disparagingly about those foreigners that invade our country looking to re-locate and pinch our jobs. Well I am the offspring of one of those invaders.

My Grandfather was sent to this country and more specifically Maidstone, when he was twelve years old, alone, could not speak a word of English, not a family member or friend to call on. Sounds pretty hard doesn’t it, well that is the truth, and believe me he didn’t do too bad for himself.

The reason I mention this is because in my early years I befriended a young lad under similar circumstances. His name was Matteo, and he was sent to live with his much older sister and her husband and family just up the road in Jeffrey Street. Just imagine at the age of twelve being sent away from your family to live in a foreign land without the benefit of speaking the language. That is just how it was. Times were not easy here, but in other countries in the fifties it was very difficult.

I remember my mother passing on our old clothes to this family to help their budget and I can only ever remember Matteo with a smile on his face. I remember cycling home from school one day, me on my full size bike and poor old Matteo on his tiny bicycle. We were stopped by the police because Matteo’s coat, which was probably three sizes to big for him was draped down over the back wheel. The policeman obviously thought he was a danger on the roads, I had to explain to the policeman who didn’t believe me that this boy couldn’t speak any English. After that Matteo had to have his coat tied back when he rode his bike to school with string and he still never stopped smiling.

Some tens years ago I went to a school re-union and was amazed that we had had so many different nationalities in our classes, Indians, Czechs, Poles, Americans, and more Irish than you could shake a stick at,surprise, surprise we never thought anything about it, thank goodness.