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Author Grindrod shares fond reminiscences of 10 brutal years

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KEN TOWL was in the audience as one of Croydon’s pre-eminent living writers gave a talk about the decade since his first book was published

Ten years ago, Catherine Croft, the director of the 20th Century Society, wrote of John Grindrod’s debut book Concretopia that never had “a trip to Croydon and back again been so fascinating”.

Grindrod was speaking about the book last night at the excellent independent Bookseller Crow on Westow Street, up on the Crystal Palace Triangle, to mark the 10th anniversary of its publication, celebrating, as he put it, “10 brutal years”.

I had heard Grindrod speak before – at an event organised by Inside Croydon to mark the publication of his third work, Iconicon, on landmark contemporary buildings. He is an affable, interesting guy, rooted in and moulded by his upbringing in New Addington and Croydon generally.

Concretopia was Grindrod’s “journey around the rebuilding of postwar Britain”, and the buildings, some of them Brutalist, all of them modern, that, thanks to the Luftwaffe, had had to replace the bombsites that covered so much of urban Britain.

Grindod’s books are about more than buildings, though, and that is what makes him such a good writer. He makes no claims to architectural expertise but he has an infectious interest in the stories behind the buildings and the way people react to them. As he himself suggested, much of Concretopia was a series of interviews documenting attitudes to the great concrete blocks that began to appear in towns like Croydon up and down the country in the 1950s and ’60s.

Concrete platform: John Grindrod at his talk last night

Grindrod introduced his talk as a sort of DVD extras, the stories that didn’t make it into the book or happened after it went to print.

A natural and self-effacing raconteur, Gridrod recounted his early, disastrous attempts at interviews. He started with a meeting with the architect James A Roberts, a hero of Grindrod’s and the designer of the Rotunda building in Birmingham’s Bull Ring.

After a lot of effort, he managed to get an interview and was ushered into the great man’s presence where he chatted excitedly about his book and how it would track the creation of a modern Britain through its buildings. The old architect listened. And then he said, “This sounds like an absolutely terrible idea”, and went on to explain to Grindrod what sounded like a conspiracy theory about the widespread corruption of architects, planners and local authorities.

Later, under questioning from his mostly Croydon-based audience, Grindrod reflected that what Roberts told him may well have been substantially true. Perhaps the concept of corruption at local authority level is not such an outlandish idea these days…

Grindrod’s next interview was little better. Someone contacted him and claimed he could tell Grindrod “all about the development of Croydon”. They met on Wellesley Road, just near the underpass, in the shadows of just the sort of buildings that Grindrod wanted to hear about. The man spent interminable minutes describing how he watched a flatbed lorry reversing along Wellesley Road in 1958, until finally Grindrod indicated the buildings and asked him, “Yes, but what do you remember about this?”

“This?” the man said. “Nothing. It’s awful.”

Gradually, though, Grindrod collected many more useful recollections and interesting stories from a wide variety of engaging interviewees, and in the process learnt to deal with other hazards. Several times he was chased by over-zealous security guards because of his “suspicious” interest in buildings.

In Cwmbran, the Welsh new town of 1950s vintage, he was arrested for taking photographs and held in custody. His local guide, Jim, told him not to worry. “This happens all the time.”

When he was finally interrogated, Grindrod explained that he was writing a book. The officer told him that he should be carrying a certificate to prove it.

Grindrod reflected that conducting interviews had got easier, that times had changed: “Nowadays everyone knows how to use Zoom. In those days, most people didn’t know how to use a cafetiere.”

Latest offering: Christmas In Croydon

As for reactions to Concretopia over the years, Grindrod felt that these were often driven by people’s attitudes to modernist and Brutalist buildings. His book had been described by one critic as a “savage critique of modern Britain”, and by another as a “wonderful celebration of modern Britain”.

Not a great salesman, Grindrod had to be prompted to end his presentation with a reference to his latest publication, a pamphlet entitled A Child’s Christmas in Croydon.

It is a nostalgic look at Christmas in the 1970s, before the Marks and Spencers’ heritage Christmasses of the ’90s when everyone started “pretending they had always had wooden tree decorations, back when Christmasses were more Noddy Holder than Nigella”.

It was there, of course, on display on the counter, looking like an ideal Christmas present, so I bought a copy and he signed it and I thanked him for a pleasant evening and, after a quick pint in the Craft and Courage round the corner on Westow Hill, I caught the 157 back into town.

Never has a trip to the Crystal Palace Triangle and back again been so fascinating.

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