It’s amazing how much of my life has been shaped by Crumpsall when I think about it. Which I hadn’t until last Thursday, and the horrific attack on the Heaton Park synagogue. Crumpsall is a small area of north Manchester, 1.2 sq miles with a population of 18,000. When I became seriously ill at the age of nine I was initially taken to Crumpsall hospital. When I finally went back to a special school two years later, it was Crumpsall Open Air; when I went to synagogue, it was Higher Crumpsall.
For many years, I took Crumpsall for granted at best, or dismissed it. It was associated with some of the most painful parts of my life (illness) and my least favourite (religion). I preferred to talk about Cheetham Hill, less than two miles away, because it seemed cooler and more secular, though in reality it was often impossible to separate the two neighbouring areas. Ironically, and stupidly, I also preferred Cheetham Hill because it seemed more street; more dangerous.
