Stories in a Suitcase: Siraj Valli reflects on his arrival in Dewsbury on a cold and snowy night in 1962

He was part of a large group of Indian and Pakistani nationals who were encouraged to come and work in our local mills throughout the post-war decades of the 1960s and 1970s.

These men came to Britain because of a severe labour shortage existing during that period across the whole country.

Having now retired from mill work, Siraj currently tends to divide his time at the house on Lemon Street in Bradford where he lives, while also regularly visiting his parental home on Scout Hill in Dewsbury (situated on the boundary between Ravensthorpe and Dewsbury Moor).

​As someone who belongs to a dwindling generation, "Haji Siraj" agreed to be interviewed for the Kirklees Faith Network's "Ravensthorpe Stories In A Suitcase Project". He describes his long journey in this interview.

​​Speaking to the Reporter Series, Siraj Valli began his story by saying: "I came to Dewsbury with my older brother Ismail (‘Ishmael’) Valli in December 1962 at the tender age of only 12 years.

"The long journey for both of us started as soon as we left our ancestral village home in the Baruch area of Gujarat. Gujarat is one of 36 diverse geographical states that make up the huge country of India.

"We travelled all the way by train to the famous port city of Bombay (known today as 'Mumbai') and boarded a commercial P&O ferry for England. I had a mere £3.50 with me given by my mother. But it was a lot of money in that era!

"Besides the 'travel' currency, there were three suitcases to carry.

"One had a set of Indian steel cooking pots inside. These utensils would be needed by my father to cook traditional Gujarati rice and curry for all of us at the place where we were going to stay called 'Scout Hill' in England.

"The other baggage had some clothes for me and my brother to wear.

"Our journey by sea lasted 13 days until the ship reached Tewkesbury in Gloucestershire and docked there on a cold misty December afternoon. All the passengers disembarked along with me and my brother.

"I immediately realised the weather was very different to what I had been used to back 'home' in India. I hardly saw any rain in our part of India’s Gujarat state except for a few weeks during the August monsoons.

"Yet, I can remember the very first impressions of England for me and my brother was getting drenched from head to foot while walking down the ferry's steps holding our luggage.

"We had come totally unprepared for the cold British winter. It was snowing heavily non-stop and neither of us had anything warm to protect us from the elements.

"The clothing we wore was cotton trousers and half sleeve shirts suitable only for the sub-continent's humid climate. The icy snow not surprisingly soaked our garments to the bones.

"Luckily my father had bought two anoraks. Shivering with cold, my brother and I gratefully put on these hooded coats as soon as he had affectionately hugged us.

"My father had arrived into Tewkesbury in an old Bedford haulage van owned by one of his friends. I soon found myself sat in the back seat as his mate manoeuvred it with skill through heavy snow across some desolate country roads.

"The lengthy journey ‘up North’ towards Dewsbury was a rather uncomfortable one. The M1 was still under construction at that time so reaching the Heavy Woollen District within the usual four-hour timeframe (as is the average motorway duration these days) seemed out of the question.

"The long drive appeared endless and it was getting dark. I saw treacherous blizzards through the cold van's condensation dripping windows.

​"The vehicle though eventually began to slow down after several hours. Being a newcomer to the country, I obviously had no idea where we were at that moment.

"But I can remember it must have been shortly before midnight when the van stopped outside what my father explained to me was our new home.

"I came out of the van with my suitcase and stepped onto a cobbled surface. The whole street was quiet and desolate. There was not even the sound of a dog barking anywhere, a noise my ears had been so familiar with at night in the village life of India.

​"Because of some lampposts, I could just about see a line of terraced houses disappearing into a smog of thick mist. All the curtains in the windows of these homes must have been drawn as no light seemed visible.

​"My eyes then suddenly gazed upon a small house in front of me with bricks covered in what looked like soot.

"The dwelling had only three windows and one door. Two paved steps led to a small garden with overgrown hedgerows covered in thick snowflakes.

"More snow was falling everywhere around us. But at least the van had safely reached its destination after a long seven-hour drive.

​"I now found myself standing outside what would be my childhood home at Scout Hill in Dewsbury.

"It was the same house where my father Adam Valli Ugrdar had been living in for the past four years ever since he himself came to settle in the local area during the month of July 1958.”