User-friendly Swindon
Gerda Cohen
Speeding by train to Swindon through the raw expectant mist of early March, you know the odour: a brisk triumphant smell of burnt toast on little plastic trays, manoeuvred down the aisle by youngish men drenched in the confident tang of Eau Sauvage body lotion. It's all happening here: upturn Britain, computer people on the go, going mainly and rapidly along the Slough-Bristol axis which holds our bright future. From the train window, admittedly, it might seem drab: trading estates, picket lines of dwarf conifers, neo-rural housing flashing a denture grin of clapboard through Berkshire, Wiltshire — but a grin of success. Here in the First Class fug, how buoyant it felt. Young computer managers bent forward in conversation. Except it was hardly conversation. Rather a curious, throttled exchange of micro-speak: 'How are your JC85s?"Oh great, repeat orders from Hull. How 's your semi-custom video circuit?' Oh great, sort of gone without trace into the QL micro.'
Both men opposite me worked in Swin- don. They seemed such nice, ordinary peo- ple despite their palpable technical superiority that I ventured to ask if they liked Swindon. `Great.' Oh great, we relo- cated from Luton, and Tim here — Tim, isn't it? — relocated from Slough. Bit iffy in Slough.' They laugh agreeably. 'No ethnic situation in Swindon' — they laugh again — 'but further from the airport.' Tim said his only problem was driving to the air- port. 'You see they've got this roundabout, actually it's a cluster of mini-roundabouts, about the largest cluster in Britain, leading to the M4 ....' But hope was at hand. A youthful company named Clean Acres Aviation plan a commuter airline for Swin- don. 'It's the fastest-growing town in Europe,' they told me as we slid alongside the platform. 'Enjoy your day!'
A quite astonishing number of purpose- ful youngish men poured into the raw mist at Swindon. Above and opposite the station rose the offices of Hambro Life Assurance. In fact the railway seemed embedded inside Hambro Life. 'That don't worry me,' remarked the station supervisor, parading his platform in a kindly, rotund way, 'they keep the wind off.' Mr Roberts blew a long blast to send the InterCity off, and took me through his station. 'Come along my lovely, up them stairs. Never been here before?' He couldn't credit it. 'Well my lovely, better get started.'
Beyond Hambro Life swung cranes at work on office blocks, many complete, sleek, glazed as impenetrably as anti-glare monitor screens in nightmare black or cyan green. I wondered who would rent all that office space. 'Computer firms,' said Mr Roberts, impassive, 'lots moving in.' He wasn't sure why. 'Cheaper than London, and people behave theirselves. You had to, see, or you'd be out of a job in Swindon.
'Before I sell you the Observer I want you to promise to abide by a set of rules.' Western. Swindon was the Great 'Western. They had 15,000 men in the loco works, and on the carriage side, that's where the Oasis Leisure Centre is now. They built a nice pool when the carriage side shut down. Well, go for a swim, my duck, and there's good shops.' Affable Mr Roberts pointed me past the desolate wind-bitten shrubs with their labels still on. Neat signs led awaY, from the silent loco sheds to the Wit' Plaza. One couldn't get lost. Everyone vt helpful, trotting along in the bitter coin, rather porky, friendly, their kind, lard colour faces lifted to the glitter beyond. It's all happening here: upturn Britain, even new bus station planned. Meanwhile, admittedly, the old and poor were queuing for buses in the cold mist. Bnt once inside the Brunel shopping Plaza, it perpetual shock-price summer, petpettlo: shiny acres of bonanza buy, leafed around by foliage varnished so green you think I! must be plastic. 'Marks and Spencer ivy' said a kind plump cleaner dusting the leaves, 'you can't go wrong with M an Except for her slow Wiltshire approval ry had I heard her before in a :Ap a commercial?) it's like being trapped into perpetual TV commercial, an infinity cat food in a pedigree yawn. Yet oddly t", whole place felt hushed, dead. There wa; hardly a sound beyond the disirl,,u mechanical hum of travelators, taking y'''a up to a vast glade of frozen elliPshe hecatomb of freezer fun. No denying'. Brunel Centre is big, 'bigger than )31''fc ingham' said a comfortable old bodY
up the travelator. 'Oh that's right,' confirmed
girl at Information, 'that's right,' she toot me, so glad and eager, 'it really is the largest scheme of the kind in Britain, more that, scheme hectares of traffic-free shoPPin,g,d the pretitciY sorry about the hectares — all created ;"' run by Thamesdown.' Tharnesd°w13;she thought we were in Swindon. 'Oh ncl'A corrected me forgivingly, Thamesliis, replaced Swindon in 1974.' To Pr°ve"te a she gave me a map of Thamesdown, 1015 digital green puzzle with flashing diaPas a and numbers. Underneath this Wile key, 'towns and village of Tharnesdo Digit ten on the far left turned out ,,t.illv lines Swindon. A polygonal black circuit 01,0d and dashes bounded the whole. It ,'she have been Upper Volta. 'Oh sorry! _up, cried, 'that's Thamesdown borough _,d tdhairnyg, s you onto a c computer.' mget u tfieerl.,d s and hede'
leafing
`Actually,' put in a young couple con through the brochures, 'it's lovely tryside. Unspoilt.' Whereas Liverpool hey unspoilt countryside some way oft* a had just moved here from Liverpnr in keen, good-looking couple, he microwave, she a radiotherapist. ,,, it's found a lovely bungalow in Freshbroo:t te, a new village, exclusive but not posh ;ch They burst out laughing. 'D'you Brookside? Daft! Maybe this new vn,l_a_26idea it's a housing estate really
off telly. "Freshbrook" . • •
— took t it bet theY off Channel 4. People down south expect us to ‘, sk "flipping heck" all the time.' O f c,?urse they had sold their bungalow in er Livpool (Knowsley, to be precise) and left good jobs for better — otherwise, well, they couldn't have moved away. 'Firms want ,staff with experience, cuppla years at least. ineY don't want kids out of college.' As for Moving home, 'if you're in a council flat, You're stuck.' Unemployed council tenants could forget about Thamesdown. But the right sort were spoilt for choice: executive Costa Brava type by the golf course, neo- ru stie in the western development area with Us chic Carrefour superstore and new super leisure centre rapidly nearing completion. Would you care for a view, my duck.! me duty officer in the Brunel Plaza to. ok "e 1113 in the lift, twenty storeys high. flesh air,' he breathed at the top, a big quiet man with teeth like neolithic flints. Rimes of Reeves,' said he, 'quite a few iteeves in Swindon.' He pointed far below ta cramped railway terrace: 'That's where e live, nice size garden.' His bulk looked crushed into the navy blue uniform. 'I used rio work at Pressed Steel,' he added. `.I m UIle,ItY to get another job. Air-conditioning, ... At night, I come up here and look at the stars.' We gazed out at the town, its persistent cranes creeping over the mild and undis- tinguished face of Wiltshire. 'Burmah Oil, fr,."ationWide, W. H. Smith, used to be rough 'aziug. My uncle kept pigs.' The sun came hyacinth. . hesitant through misty blue like .a N4 'They took our allotment,' said ‘..„! Reeves mildly, 'for a trading estate. pone we need work, but where's the jobs? by computer.' Down in the Brunel plaza, plastic sky filtered through plastic easure domes. Hesitant spring could not aefnter. No risk of rain spoiling that hard akek glitter. Even the indoor plants had a rubbery summer sheen. 'Aren't they lovely? rubber' a waitress bent watering them, let off 00! a lunch break from the suicide blue pool terYlene. 'Aren't they gorgeous? Not a ark on this begonia.' Her homely, piggy features were lit up, whorehouse pink, by t Ile, Crude strip lighting. y Lovely place altogether,' agree a 2ungish couple, slim, likeable as Torvill and Lean. _ eston,'We're moving here from %co a viii1augs bought a gorgeous bungalow .Lighworth, a new estate yov„ered in lovely Cotswold stone,' the 418 Wife rattled on, her husband silent sh., happy. 'English and him don't get on,' kl`, told the waitress, 'I have to do all the 873t 1C, he's a programmer for ACT, they've e, a lovely place at Highworth. And now move bought this bungalow, 80 per cent "ley — what more can you want?' "ley are so friendly, simple, the waitress atio e„d,,rhese bright migrants of new Britain, I abut Weep. Something brutal and desolate the at windon, some underlying fraud of of tellY-bred generation, defies analysis. frorturse, anI don't weep, I enjoy a giant de- Zen of Black Forest gateau at etticslvvorths' cafeteria amid waving plastic and tire-proof lingerie.
Previous page
