Finding Joy in the Archive

Finding Joy in the Archive

The opportunity to delve into the Historic England Archive of the built environment was intriguing. Different Voices, Different Stories invited new responses and reflections on this varied archive.

With no restrictions or expectations, I wondered what it would mean to look for South Asian stories.

South Asian histories in the UK tend to follow a similar narrative: migration, labour, racism, and community building.

In recent years, social media comment sections have become thick with vitriol and division. On an average evening, one post might label a South Asian country as 'dirty', the next uncovers toxic chemicals tested on South Asian women in the UK in the 1970s. 

In these algorithmic times that attempt to dictate the stories and information we have, how could we actively refuse to structure our histories, cultures and stories in this way? How could refusal become generative? Could we instead imagine embodied, affective and joyous histories?

For an archive of over 15 million objects across England and a subject matter expansive and yet personal, it was clear that this project needed input from across the country.

So, I put out an open call.

The stories trickled in, entangled, messy and generous. They spoke of warmth, community, exclusivity, and judgement. 

Their stories directed my searches of the archive; hooks with which to pierce open stacks of files and papers, teasing out more.

Sometimes the stories began to stream and pour out of the material, sometimes just a glimmer or a fragment, and often, there was nothing.

A fragment

Focused mostly on documenting places of architectural significance, the Historic England Archive often only contains fragments of significant social histories. 

One survey response described the Tooting Muththumari Amman Temple as a place of joy and community. This was a temple in a rented space on the upper floors of a historic building in South London. 

Turning to the Historic England Archive, there was no documentation of the temple, but there was an image of the building over a century ago, in 1923.

The photograph had been taken for Shaws Glazed Brick Company, who were most likely documenting their work for their own records.

The respondent explained that they grew up going to this temple and that it closed down in 2012 as they couldn't afford the lease. She wrote that

This was a recurring theme that emerged from the survey - places of joy were often transient and for communities who might not be able to afford permanent spaces or places notable enough to be documented.

Their stories were hard to find. This respondent was a friend. We spoke on the phone, with our laptops open, on Google Maps, we were in Tooting, in 2025, 2012, and 2008.

By the time we got to 2008, I could see a glitch, a grainy image of a person walking into the back of the temple wearing a pink sari and a black cardigan. 

We found another website online, archived and barely functioning, videos unavailable all bar two. One video from 2011, the camera scans around the interior of the temple at a New Year celebration. There's my uncle! And then we sate together in silence on the phone in 2026 and 2011. 

Had we captured it? Was that joy?

Tooting Muththumari Temple was one of many places of worship that were mentioned in the open call. 

Many survey responses reflected on these places as spaces of joy and contemplation; a place to receive "nuggets of wisdom" but they "cant always agree with the views that get preached all the time".

So, these places were also complicated, always nuanced by the beliefs wrapped up in them.

A ritual

Perhaps a less complicated space of joy was found in the overwhelming number of responses related to food: restaurants, grocery shops and homes.

Food was a conduit of joy, a way to move between and through places together.

One referred to a grocery shop they liked as they could "get the same spices and vegetables that I could get back home [Sri Lanka]".

Food evidently transforms spaces; it appears to become an active method, through cooking, shopping and eating, to connect to an ancestral home, to another place.

The Historic England Archive captures the connection between food and space - being eaten at community festivals in parks to high streets in Leicester.

Another response explained that whether it was a

After every event, they would "pack up the leftover food, wash the pots, pack the chairs away and sweep the floor".

The rituals of eating, serving and cleaning together came with every community event, especially evident in this image of the langar (community kitchen) of a Sikh Gurdwara in the Historic England Archive.

These spaces speak to how South Asian communities have actively centred their own joy, making space for themselves to connect and celebrate with their heritage and traditions.

Joyous refusal

Practising refusal and carving out new spaces for joy has a long history.

In the Midlands, where many South Asians immigrated to work in foundries and factories following World War II, many pub owners would only allow South Asian workers into separate rooms, if they were allowed in at all.

South Asian communities did not simply seek integration into these structures; they also sought to create their own.

Eventually, some pubs were taken over by landlords of South Asian heritage. These pubs, known as Desi pubs, might serve Indian - often Punjabi - food, play cultural music, and become a 'third space' for workers to socialise.

Some of the most well-known Desi pubs are The Red Lion and The Red Cow. Many Desi pubs are not yet documented in the Historic England Archive, although this is a gap the Archive is looking to fill.

A glimmer

In the 1970s and 1980s, as South Asian families expanded, a younger generation were beginning to carve out their own unique British South Asian identities.

For many young people, 'secret' South Asian daytime raves were an opportunity to dance, listen to cultural music and meet with others from their communities.

Many of the establishments where these secret daytime raves took place in the '70s and '80s, like the Maestro in Manningham, Bradford, or The Dome in Tufnell Park, London (which hosted Club Kali, a queer clubnight for British South Asians) are difficult to find in the Historic England Archive.

Piecing together Google Maps records and personal archives are the only ways to tell these stories of escapism, joy, transcendence and identity making.

By the 1990s these 'Daytimer' events started to peter out, though in the open call for this project, culturally specific club nights were still recognised as places of joy and community.

While clubbing is on the decline in England, with a third of nightclubs closing since 2020, different spaces are emerging.

One survey participant spoke of riotous viewings of Tamil films across South London. They described these screenings as "a place where people came together to let loose, going on to describe how the audience all began to sing and dance to the film.

Another respondent noted that sometimes these viewings could get "too chaotic". 

As with the 'Daytimer' venues, most of these cinemas are not in the Historic England Archive, which generally only includes documentation of cinemas in listed buildings.

Occasionally, glimmers of the music and joy persist in the Archive, including Hammersmith Palais, a major 'Daytimer' venue which shut in 2007, or in chance photographs of the Boleyn Cinema in Newham which happened to be showing a Bollywood film.

Reflection

So, this is the coincidental nature of the Historic England Archive - the occasional story buried deep within the Archive.

It's no surprise that an archive of the built environment holds these gems, but it also raises questions:

How can we make it easier to find joy, or to find South Asian heritage?

Maybe with better keyword searches, informative glossaries, digitised images, and greater context. 

Above all, it's clear that communities need to be invited to lead the creation of their own archives.