From an early age, I had known that Sweden was a land of Vikings. Later, I was disappointed to be told that Swedish Vikings went only east to Russia and beyond, and did not venture to Britain. It is to Denmark and Norway, they said, that we owe our Viking raids and subsequent settlements. But later still, when finding myself actually living in Sweden for a considerable period of time, there was so much that was familiar – in the mannerisms and the looks of the people, the place-names, the songs and dances, and many everyday words – that I began to wonder if the experts on Viking history really knew the whole story.

I am firmly convinced of a lost connection with Britain and Sweden, and feel that it is time to bring the strands together. I am not a specialist, merely an observer, but I hope that what I have observed will be of interest to the specialist and the general reader alike.

"To honest men politics is a corrupter - To crooked men it is an opportunity."

Human nature is predictable and reliable. The East Enders I know were all in agreement that violence and muggings, robberies and unemployment could be placed at the door of the ethnic minorities. This simplistic viewpoint brought a wry smile to my lips, but this was their biography.

I hope this tale will have the heart beat of a novel, with love and loss, friendships and memories, humour and pathos, good and not-so-good times, death and survival. Yet there is no fiction. Just the history of a small group of people and their experiences, some of which are etched in my mind with unusual clarity even thought they are events that occurred a lifetime ago. Some are as vivid today as if they were yesterday’s events.

Everyone I met came from an area that was the habitat of the under-privileged, where there was no work, and opportunities were limited. For the vast majority of East Enders of sixty years ago the daily diet consisted of bread and soup, sometimes fish and, once a week, a small helping of meat. Many children were under-nourished, pale and hollow-cheeked. This created a bond of togetherness and the dreams that some were lucky enough to achieve.

So come with me on a journey from the old East End to the new, from Canning Town to Basildon and back to the East End, via war-blasted London and post-war Berlin. Come with me through landscapes of memory and be prepared for the shock of the unimaginable of Auschwitz. Expect the re-drawing of boundaries.