The Return to Camden Town

A West London Childhood: Irish Roots Beneath the Motorway

I grew up in a small enclave of Irish families in Brentford, West London. It was modest compared to the larger, more famous Irish communities in North London—Kilburn didn’t earn the nickname “County Kilburn” for nothing. Our local parish was St. John’s on the Great West Road, a tiny church by comparison to the grand ones here in Ireland, where I write this now. After Sunday Mass, gathering on the steps felt like stepping back into rural Ireland. 

In those years, the UK government had launched an ambitious motorway-building programme. The M4 was pushed right through West London—past our front door, quite literally. What had been the six-lane Great West Road became twelve, as the new motorway loomed above us on elevated concrete supports. It was built by the hands of countless Irish navvies, digging and pouring concrete just metres from where we lived.

My father was a fluent Irish speaker, and he always hoped we’d follow suit. I made some effort, but to this day, I can barely hold a conversation. Whenever he overheard lads speaking Irish, he’d strike up a chat—it must have seemed unusual back then, hearing the language in the middle of suburban London.

Many Irishmen who came to Britain struggled to find their footing. Some drifted into hardship, far from home and support. I think that’s what this painting speaks to: being out of place. A fish out of water.

Medium: Acrylic on Fabriano watercolour paper
Dimensions: 11″ x 14″