In the north-western corner of London lies the sleepy town of Harlesden NW10. Cradled by the A406 and two tube lines, its oft- overlooked by most who can avoid it, especially after dark.
In recent years it has improved; for example, in late 2015 we got a Costa Coffee (small win, I know) and in 2020, Brent — the borough beholden to Harlesden — became London’s Borough of Culture. Unfortunately COVID-19 saw that this was also a small win, but it’s still a noteworthy accolade considering the long list of creatives to emerge from the constituency: Dev Patel, Twiggy, General Levy, Zadie Smith, George the Poet, Keith Moon plus many more.
Harlesden is distinctly sleepier now than it was in say, the 1970’s when reggae record shops like Trojan, Hawkeye and Jetstar meant NW10 was right at the heart of a global reggae music scene. Or in the 1990’s when a string of shootings cemented a bad reputation for the area which still proceeds it.
I navigated my formative years in the 90’s, in arguably the worst part of Harlesden: Church Road estate.
This meant that I had major postcode envy and did my best to be anywhere else. Living just as close to Neasden tube station as i was to the one named Harlesden (which is actually in Stonebridge) or Willesden Junction (which is actually in Harlesden) meant my answer to “where are you from?” varied depending on how upwardly mobile I felt that day and who was asking.
As a very awkward teenager with severe social anxiety, I always chose the most secluded route home over the fastest. Harlesden’s high roads were a hive of activity that brought me attention I wasn’t yet equipped to deal with and so it wasn’t until I moved away from the area that I began to understand just how lucky I was to grow up in such a vibrant and richly-diverse part of London.
According to the most recent UK census, just 46.1% of people living in Harlesden were born in England.
I went to a local school with kids from The Philippines to Kosovo, so along with Maths and Science, i learnt acceptance for the tastes and nuances of other cultures very early on.
Harlesden is still relatively close to Central London (20 minutes on the Jubilee or Bakerloo) but because the majority of its locals are from elsewhere — it’s void of that distinctly British tendency to ignore your neighbours. Bartering still takes place, people congregate and communicate openly.
It possesses that rawness which “they” try desperately to inject back into areas like Shoreditch after sucking it out, but never can.
Harlesden is its own microcosm, true common ground.
On the buses which wind their way down Harlesden high street, good honest, hard-working strangers still speak to each other in the broken bits of English they both know and Polish supermarkets sit next to Ethiopian churches, Irish butchers and Bangladeshi-owned hardware shops.
Admittedly, there has been recent changes to the community, and certainly a noticeable rise in the amount of semi’s surrounding Roundwood Park being coated in Farrow&Ball.
Every now and then, between the hours of 10am and half 1 in the afternoon you’re likely to spot one of the new arrivals, out of their semi and weaving up Park Parade with a kid or a Cock-a-poodle in tow- sometimes both. At first glance you’d mistake them for a long-time local, but their trainers will quickly give them away — Veja, always.
These brave young explorers are however still a rarity; and despite periodic features in the Home section of The Sunday Times, Harlesden has yet to experience that influx of developers which so often extinguishes the soul of a community. In fact, since the Caribbean’s joined the Irish; and the West Africans, Somali’s and Poles were joined by Latin American’s, the town has existed, rather peacefully, as a quaintly working class, immigrant-run patch of London. Which, in 2020 is really quite unique.
Unlike the other London areas which became home to Caribbean migrants during their arrival in the UK between 1948 and 1971, Harlesden has retained much of its tropical lilt.
Peckham, Brixton and Notting Hill have all had several facelifts since, but Harlesden has persisted unchanged, with a heavy Caribbean influence still visible. In summer, snow cones are sold by the roadside and Impromptu outdoor “limes” are still a common sight.
Plastic cups and a bottle of Courvoisier can appear out of nowhere when two or more friends meet on particularly warm day. Once deep basslines begin to emanate from their cars, you know they’ll be there for hours. Some leave but many more friends join. Just joyful and completely indifferent to the hustle and bustle happening across the rest of London.
If it isn’t real it doesn’t survive in Harlesden very long.
You’ll notice this by how many of the shops along its roads are independent and there strictly for purpose and practicality: Butchers, Mobile Phone repair, Hair and Beauty supplies. Any bar that opens without first building foundations in the local community, usually closes pretty shortly afterwards. A wine bar once tried its luck. Securing a prime location, right in the heart of Harlesden next to its main bus stops. It had a pretty outdoor patio and quite inviting interiors, but despite enlisting the help of local club promoters, it sat empty on most days and eventually closed before its 5th year; the smaller but locally-owned spots watched it come and go.
This sense of anchorage, means that when you go “out, out” in Harlesden it’s an authentic experience that’s unique to the area and actually a pretty good night. There’s commandry inside its small nightspots. The music(dancehall, reggae or even bachata) is always good and drinks are pretty cheap in comparison to surrounding areas.
In Harlesden, when a brick wall is left exposed it’s not to achieve a faux-industrial aesthetic, its simply old.
No visit to Harlesden is complete without sampling its food. You could try Esfihas and a Caipirinha in the cosy Brazilian restaurants just a short walk from Willesden Junction station, or some truly Jerk Chicken from one of its many Caribbean takeaway’s
you’re unlikely to get a warm welcome in a Caribbean takeaway, but don’t worry, the less love they show you, the more that goes into the food.
One Stop is the biggest and best presented of the Caribbean takeaway’s, but remember in Harlesden outward appearance means nothing, and the most delicious saltfish dumplings are in fact cosied behind a tiny counter of a purveyor just a few shops down from the Costa Coffee.
Or, of course there’s Sam’s Chicken, which holds iconic status and is to North West London what Morley’s is to South (if you need a laugh type ‘Dedicated Sams Chicken’ into YouTube). Lloyds grocer is another institution. Black owned and one of the few places in London which sells SourSop (or Graviola); a much-hallowed super-fruit which, because of its unique set of phyto-chemicals, is known for boosting the immune system, easing insomnia, maintaining healthy blood pressure levels, reducing water retention— oh and being 10,000 times more effective than chemotherapy in stopping the growth and formation of cancer cells.
As the “luxury flats” and artisan coffee shops slowly seep in, northward from Willesden Green and westward from the fervid Wembley “Village”, you can’t help but wonder how long is left until Harlesden is forcefully shaken from its slumber.
It’s almost inevitable that its demographic will shift. That it will welcome new Londoners, just like it did in the past, and they will want to make it their own too. Just as the Caribbean’s joined the Irish; and the West African’s, Somali’s, Poles and Latin American’s joined them, more new arrivals will join too; hopefully just adding to the diverse list rather than ripping it up.
Before I go, ill leave you with this fanciful little fact that should secure Harlesden a place in your heart: McVities have produced their iconic digestive biscuits from a huge factory in the area since 1902. It supplies hundreds of locals with jobs, has its own railway and churns out 180 tonnes of chocolate digestives daily. Soon after your arrival in Harlesden, you’ll hear the faint basslines in the distance, and you’ll notice how the sun shines exactly as its described in a Zadie Smith novel. You’ll look up and smile, then realise the best part, the whole town smells like freshly baked biscuits.
