CRAWLEY is a small and quiet town. It is not thriving and intense nor is it bustling or colossal. One thing it is however, is home.
I grew up in Bewbush where I walked to the Primary School every day and then treated myself to some well-deserved sugary sweets at the local news agents.
Quite appropriately, I moved to Southgate when I began Secondary School but my one thought was how I couldn’t wait to leave this small and tiresome town for a colourful and clamorous replacement. I got my opportunity with university and for the greater part, it was exactly what I had hoped.
Funnily enough, I still cannot help swelling with elation and excitement as the days draw nearer to my return home, because nothing beats having a drink with friends at the Jubilee Oak or killing myself by running numerous laps around the memorised paths of Goffs Park.
What Crawley is is a friendly, safe and intimate place.
Whenever anyone asks me where I am from, I always reply “from a town called Crawley. It’s small and unheard of. You probably won’t know where it is.”
It’s true; Crawley isn’t a popular place but I am glad it’s small and unheard of. Why? Because I feel quite protective and territorial over it.
Crawley remains to be an unscathed and humble town – a place where residents should be proud to stay and own.