Naturally, I have been thinking about things, and mulling over the ‘You wouldn’t understand unless you were a person of colour. That is probably too. But for those who are POC, can I share a moment in time that I had with my aunt, in the fifties when Marlene’s parents arrived in this country.
My aunt was the youngest in a family of seven children, living in a dockside tenement in Glasgow. She was the last to leave home, and her parents both became bedridden, she had to care for them for quite a number of years. She didn’t have much experience of the world. . In those days, there were some people who lived in Scotland who were not British. Glasgow had Chinese people, but they were rarely seen in the wider community. There were Italians, they owned the cafes and the fish and chip shops. There would occasionally be a visit from an onion Johnny. None, or very few from Africa, India or Pakistani. As a child, I had never seen a black person in real life, only on television, perhaps Harry Belafonte for example. My aunt had no television.
When her parents died, she moved to London and made her home with her sister who had married a Londoner, they ran a boarding house in Paddington. My aunt was the sweetest, kindest, most gentle person I had ever met, even her voice was gentle. My family went to visit her a couple of times a year, but one time, things were different. Nothing was said, but we knew. She asked if I would go shopping with her, I was born in 1949, so I was young. As we neared the shops, my aunt became very subdued and she told me that she was frightened, she felt she was in a foreign country, that she didn’t belong. That was when the West Indian immigrants were arriving in shiploads. She told me that the shops no longer had the vegetables she knew, she didn’t recognise anything. Everyone stared at her, no-one spoke to her. She could be the only white person walking down the street. Music she had never heard was being played. But from then on, she had to learn to adjust and and live with the changes. And she did, she married and moved to Wembley. Her neighbours were African, they were friends. But how many immigrants gave a thought to how British white people felt then. How many felt they no longer belonged in their own area ? There was only one generation between my aunt and myself, but I have grandchildren now, so let’s say three generations since the fifties. In the integration of all the nationalities we have living here now, that we have, on the whole welcomed and befriended, I don’t think we have done too bad. So for my country to be accused of racism really makes me angry. Black or white, we have the same fears and worries.