I had a very privileged upbringing, DH grew up on a London council estate. When we were first dating his Dad still lived there and we used to visit. It was hideous. We couldn’t drive there because it wasn’t wise to leave a car parked there so we caught the tube and then a cab, even though you could walk from the tube station you wouldn’t want to, it wasn’t pleasant or safe.
There was no lift and the stairwell constantly stunk of urine and marijuana. To access the flats you had to walk down a long external balcony corridor which was used by the residents for social gatherings. Which meant that you had to step over people camped outside their flats smoking, drinking, smoking weed, swearing, playing loud music with explicit lyrics, just to get to the front door. These people could be friendly, they could also be hostile, rude, obtrusive, even violent. It depended on their mood of that day.
The flat itself was small and dark, the view from the windows was of other blocks of flats. In the summer it was hot and in the winter it was cold and damp. There was a community but there was friction within the community. No one called the police, it wasn’t the community thing no matter which side you were on, so crime was high. DH’s Dad was robbed numerous times.
He died in his early 60s of natural causes, DH said he simply gave up on life.
To leave was to better yourself. DH is proud of having “bettered himself”, he leads a much better life than he would have had he stayed there. But it was not easy.
Council estates vary vastly, perhaps the “better yourself” label is unfair to apply to all.