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South Asian diaspora recall gnawing loneliness in post-war Britain

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James Y. Falcon
James Y. Falconhttps://scribbledpage.com
James Y. Falcon is a digital journalist and long-form content strategist covering global sports, entertainment, education, and trending world affairs. With a strong focus on search-driven news and audience behavior, his work blends real-time trend analysis with clear, contextual reporting. James specializes in breaking down fast-moving topics—ranging from international football and franchise cricket to exam updates and pop-culture shifts—into accurate, reader-friendly narratives. His articles are designed to help readers understand not just what is happening, but why it matters in a rapidly changing digital landscape. When not tracking global trends or analyzing search data, James focuses on refining long-form journalism for modern platforms, with an emphasis on clarity, credibility, and reader trust.

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The 1948 British Nationality Act meant people who came from the former colonies or the empire automatically became British citizens. Britain needed workers to rebuild the country after World War Two.

Many who came in the early years from the Indian subcontinent were single, young men. They mostly worked the difficult shifts in the factories, foundries, and textile mills in places like Birmingham, Bradford, and West London. These men thought they were coming for only a few years: they never imagined generations of their family would one day live here.

Gnawing loneliness, and missing family, was part of life for these pioneers, the so-called ÂŁ3 generation. Many wrote to their family on blue aerogram letters.

Gunwant Grewal came over from Ludhiana, Punjab in 1965. Life wasn’t what she had imagined. She had been a teacher in India, but could only find factory work when she arrived.

She lived in a room in Southall, west London, with her husband and daughter in a shared house, a far cry from her spacious home in India. She desperately missed her father who she wrote to regularly.

“My tears were on my letter as I was writing. My father said, ‘Why was your letter damp?’ and I said, ‘Oh I was having a cup of tea,’ when really it was tears. But slowly, slowly it got better.”

One time walking past a bus stop, she saw an elderly Sikh man who reminded her of her father. She spontaneously hugged him.

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The views held in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect those of this website.

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