You Called, We Came*
22nd June 2024 marked the 76th Anniversary of the arrival of HMT Empire Windrush at Tilbury Dock, Essex, on 22 June 1948, carrying 493 skilled passengers from the Caribbean.
1948
The passengers came to address the chronic post-War labour shortages and rebuild the battered country/economy. They became manual workers, drivers and cleaners etc. They came to become the NHS nurses and key support/essential staff in the newly established NHS. It is no coincidence that the NHS also celebrates its 76th Anniversary also this year on 5th July.
My sister and I are children of the Windrush Generation, my parents arrived a decade after the first pioneers, not by the Empire Windrush but by plane.
It was our good fortune that my parent’s insisted on culture-driven education at home. By the age of nine I could name all the Islands in the Caribbean including when they were colonised.
As a child I was fascinated about the West Indies, the stories told by my parent’s aunts, uncles and family friends. The magical stories they told, I could not understand why they would leave the country of their birth, and why here, when their homeland sounded idyllic.
They told us they had been invited, that they were helping the mother country and that the streets were paved in gold.
They challenged us to be the best we could be, by sharing their hardships, such as when looking for rooms to rent they were greeted with door signs that read “No Irish, no Blacks, no Dogs.” I recognise the bravery and reality of what my parents came to, the streets were not covered in gold as many were led to believe. Then there was the weather, they had not even heard of snow let alone seen or experienced a really cold climate. The winter of 1963 was the coldest for more than seventy years.
My first Black experience came from the education system, starting at St Johns Primary School Ealing. Like many Black children past and present, entering the British education system it was not a pleasant experience.
I can recall few happy and positive memorable times at St John’s Primary School in Ealing, I recall my mum (bless her soul) having words with the parents of some of the children in my class, when picking me up, it started with how was your day.
As one of four black children in my year group ; my sister and made up two of the eight Black children in the whole school. The white children in my class were not kind, I never received a single birthday invitation to the numerous birthday parties, I saw white parents in the playground handing out invites to the parents of the white children in my class. On the Monday’s my classmates would talk enthusiastically about the party they had attended, and new friendships formed.
Saturday Church and Saturday School was my saviour. My sister and I was brought up Seventh Day Adventist. My mother recently passed, a non-practising Catholic. Looking around me at Saturday Church the congregation young old looked like me.
Beyond the extended family, this was my introduction to the role of communities and many community support schemes, such as ‘the Pardner’ effectively the community bank. That was the only way my parents’ generation could buy their homes, cars etc.
Saturday Church/School provided a regular community update, the modern equivalent to social media. My uncle took us to church Saturdays, when he was not available the Church parishioners would arrive at the house to take us.
I thought this was great, everyone in the church looking after each other, community spirit. I looked forward to the Saturdays when my uncle could not take us to church being driven to church in a different car – always a petrol head.
It is truly difficult to fully comprehend the overt racism the Windrush generation were ruthlessly exposed to, despite the British Nationality Act 1949 and the Race Relations Act 1968, 1975 and 2000. The legislation led to for me one of the finest examples of people power in the Bristol Bus Boycott of 1963.
Racism remains prevalent despite what we are being told, it is just more subtle and not as overt as that experienced by the Windrush generation. Their resilience and fortitude are beyond me.
Despite the legislation racism was not addressed, it made no impact to my parents daily lived experience, consequently they wanted more for their children. That
My late mother took my sister and I to Grenada in the late 70s, we travelled on our own passports, as did my mother, little did we know at the time that this would turn out to be a blessing and the pathway to proof of identity, they held on to their documentation.
2012
Theresa May, the Home Secretary at the time introduced The Hostile Environment Policy, designed to make staying in the United Kingdom as difficult as possible for people without leave to remain. However, the policy led to significant hardship and issues for the Windrush Generation and other Commonwealth citizens.
Some of the Windrush’ generation found themselves victims of The Hostile Environment Policy, those without the relevant documentation found themselves pulled into the Hostile Environment net. It was heart wrenching. They were taught a harsh lesson, “The system cannot fail those it was never designed to protect – Gary Younge, professor, author, journalist and broadcaster”.
Less than a year after the introduction of the Hostile Environment Policy, stories began circulating within various Afro-Caribbean communities, some Windrush generation were unable to provide proof of their legitimacy, their right to stay, with dire consequences. They faced deportation, lost their homes, denied work and losing their livelihood, bank accounts, driving licences.
I did not understand how the Hostile Environment would severely impact on my parents/Windrush generation. I was worried for my parents, family, friends, myself and my wife and son. I was ashamed, how we allowed this to happen on our watch. Not surprising given the lack of media coverage print or radio. Patrick Vernon OBE, a friend brought the plight of Windrush generation to the mainstream media.
I believed that these were just isolated incidents. However, one of my uncle’s a West London community leader shared many cases stories at regular family and community gatherings. This was becoming a real issue for the community, this along with other emerging reports confirmed that these were not isolated cases. It was now clear that a disturbing pattern was emerging.
Many of my parents’ generation had no plans to travel, they were settled, seeking a better life for themselves and their children. Some did not see the need to hold on the documentation that enabled them to travel to the Mother Land. Consequently, some found themselves unintended victims of the Hostile Environment, suffering in silence, embarrassment, and shame.
The Windrush generation, such as my parents did not hesitate to answer the call, to make Britain great, they shaped the culture, music, fashion, and arts. The bedrock for our public amenities and systems.
NHS staff went to work to keep us all safe, and the Black & Brown staff paid a very heavy price, their sacrifice enable many of us to survive COVID-19. Selflessly and unstintingly helping those who don’t want them and simply do not recognise or appreciate them.
22nd June Windrush Day acknowledges the significant contribution and sacrifice that the Windrush Generation made, for this country. This should be taught in our schools it is our national history. This is a positive legacy for me and the generations that follow. It is our duty to support all victims of the hostile environment, it shame that a significant number of Windrush victims have yet to receive their due compensation. Only this week on the eve of Windrush, the High Court ruled that the decision to scrap key recommendations from the independent review (below) into Windrush scandal was unlawful.
The Wendy Williams, Windrush Lessons Learned Review is essential read.
The Windrush generation must be recognised for their contribution, we walk on their shoulders, without them, there would be no us.
Written by Frank Munro
*(poem by Professor Laura Serrant https://lauraserrant.com/you-called-and-we-came).