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NOTE: This was previously published as a separate page on this site, it has now been turned into a post. If you have previously read the page then nothing has been changed, if you haven’t read the page then welcome to the story of a great uncle who was a pioneering Methodist minister on Barbados.

John Rowland Gleave was neither black nor mixed heritage but he was the great, great uncle (I think that’s the right number of ‘greats’) of a member of the Historycal Roots team and so we have bent the ‘rules’ to include him. He lived in Barbados as a young Methodist Minister, married on the island and had his first two children there. His most significant contribution to black history was to help re-establish the Methodist Church in Barbados less than 40 years after one of his predecessors, Reverend William Shrewsbury, was forced to flee the island when his Church was torn down by a rowdy mob. The mob’s aim was to “eradicate from this soil the germ of Methodism, which was spreading its baneful influence over a certain class, and which ultimately would have injured both church and state.” The mob’s proclamation ended with a warning to any of Reverend Shrewsbury’s potential successors that “all Methodist preachers are warned not to approach our shores as, if they do, it will be at their own peril.”

The mob’s real issue was that they considered the Methodist Church as “enemies of slavery” and when they talked of “a certain class” they meant black people, in particular, enslaved black people.

After Reverend Shrewsbury left Barbados, incredibly brave people such as Sarah Ann Gill defied all threats and violence to ensure all were free to worship. There is little doubt that Gleave would have been a contemporary of Sarah who is now commemorated as one of the 10 National Heroes of Barbados. This is the story of John Rowland Gleave.

On 15th December 1910, after a lifetime of service to the Church, Reverend Gleave entered the Liscard Wesleyan Methodist Church. After getting his breath back he hung up the heavy coat which had protected him from the cold winter air outside. It was exactly 10 days to Christmas Day and, like all clergymen at that time of year, he was facing a busy couple of weeks.

This was his first Christmas back in the Liscard area which forms part of Wallasey in Cheshire. He had retired as resident Minister at Epsom and Ewell in Surrey earlier that year. Sadly, his replacement, Reverend John Wesley Howells, was destined to die in World War 1 in 1917.

Today he was here to give a religious instruction class to children from the adjoining school. He took his Bible from his briefcase, said good afternoon to the children and took his seat. He felt dizzy, then saw only blackness before slumping forward and hitting the floor with a thud. A Doctor was called but it was futile. In truth, Reverend Gleave was probably dead before he struck the ground. A couple of days later an inquest attributed his death to heart disease.

As a man of God, Reverend Gleave would have been content to draw his last breath in a place of worship. But the Liscard Chapel held even more special memories for him. As a former Superintendent of the Seacombe Circuit of which Liscard was part, he was instrumental in the building of the Church which had opened as recently as 12 July 1904.

John Rowland Gleave had been born in Warrington on 21 August 1837. Throughout his adult life he referred to himself as J Rowland Gleave but for the purposes of telling his story as well as for brevity, we will refer to him as Reverend Gleave.

Reverend Gleave’s life had been of sufficient importance for his death to attract interest. A syndicated article appeared in newspapers right across Britain and Ireland the following day. The article was short and to the point. The Dublin Daily Express of 16 December reported that “Reverend J Rowland Gleave, a supernumerary Wesleyan Minister, 70 years of age, died suddenly at Liscard, Cheshire yesterday afternoon.”

As might be expected, the local newspaper, the Liverpool Echo went into greater detail explaining that Reverend Gleave was; “About to give religious instruction to a class. He suddenly collapsed and when medical aid was summoned the Doctor pronounced life extinct and the body was conveyed to the mortuary.”

In summarising Reverend Gleave’s life the article recalled that he had been born in Warrington and went on to become a scholar at one of the great Wesleyan Colleges (the exact location is not quoted). He had worked in Liverpool, London and parts of Kent and also had a lengthy spell as Superintendent of the Seacombe circuit. He became a supernumerary Minister only 12 months previously and at the time of his death was living at Withens Lane, Liscard. He was said to have been 74 years of age when he died. He was, of course, having been born in August 1837, 73 years old when he died but at least the Liverpool Echo got it a lot closer than the syndicated article which had knocked 3 years off his age.

Given that Reverend Gleave had been a Minister since approximately 1861 and Wesleyan Ministers normally changed locations every 3 years, it is clear that the Liverpool Echo article omitted many of his previous posts. In addition to those towns quoted he had served as a Minister in places such as Hull, Huddersfield, Preston, Nelson, Bingley, Colwyn Bay, Rawtenstall and the north-east of England.

But far and away the most notable omission was the spell, almost 50 years before his death, that Reverend Gleave had spent in Barbados. We don’t know the precise year Gleave left for Barbados but it was quite probably his first posting as a newly-ordained Minister. He married on the island and his first two children were born and baptised there. He was living in Liverpool by 1871 which suggests he lived in Barbados for a number of years, certainly no less than three, between 1861 and 1870.

The Methodist, or Wesleyan, Church was introduced to Barbados in 1788 by the first ever Methodist Bishop, Thomas Coke. Methodists were detested by slave owners as one of the Methodists’ objectives was to introduce enslaved people to the Christian faith. The upper class saw Methodists as anti-slavery agitators but even more than that, feared their teaching would upset the ‘natural balance’ where black people identified themselves as inferior to the white population. Every effort was made to disrupt gatherings of Methodists, they were pelted with stones and there were even efforts to make Methodism illegal. In 1823 the Methodist Chapel in James Street (which was to later play a significant part in Reverend Gleave’s life) was torn down.

Coke died in 1814 well before Gleave was born. But Reverend Gleave would certainly have met one of the 10 National Heroes of Barbados – Sarah Ann Gill. Sarah was born in 1795 as a ‘Free Coloured’ of mixed heritage.

Sarah became a Methodist and even in the face of violence and threats, refused to renounce her religious beliefs. She joined the Methodist Church in her early 20s at a time when the establishment in Barbados was most fervently opposed to the principles of Methodism. She was a relatively wealthy person and in 1819 donated £10 towards the building of the first Methodist Chapel in Bridgetown.

In October 1823 that Chapel was destroyed by white rioters. The Methodist Minister William Shrewsbury and his pregnant wife were forced to flee the island in fear of their lives.

Sarah and her sister Christiana continued to defy all threats and hosted worship in Sarah’s home. In April 1825 one of Reverend Gleave’s predecessors, Reverend Moses Rayner wrote to Sarah asking for advice on taking the post in Barbados. She replied that “I don’t advise you to come, but if it was me, I should come.”

Partly due to the abolition of slavery, conditions had improved by the time Reverend Gleave arrived on the island in the early 1860s but nevertheless some of the hatred directed at the Methodist Church only 40 or so years earlier cannot have disappeared entirely. No doubt Reverend Gleave thought and prayed long and hard before deciding to take up the post.

Before leaving England Reverend Gleave had met Louisa Hitchcock a young dressmaker from Liverpool. This must have made the decision to leave England even harder for him. Reverend Gleave resolved the matter by asking Louisa to marry him and move to Barbados. She said ‘yes’ and sailed for Barbados where she joined her husband-to-be in October 1865.

The couple married on 10 October 1865 at the Wesleyan Chapel, James Street, Bridgetown. Reverend Henry Hurd, who was the Chairman of the District as well as the General Superintendent, officiated. Reverend Gleave’s address was shown as Speightstown which is about 10 miles north of Bridgetown.

It would seem highly probable that, as a leading member of the Methodist faith in Bridgetown, Sarah Ann Gill would have greeted Reverend Gleave shortly after his arrival on the island. Indeed she may even have been involved in his selection for the post. Sarah worshipped at the James Street Church so she would almost certainly have been in the congregation on that day in October 1865 to help celebrate the marriage.

Reverend Gleave had been appointed to the Bethel Church which opened as the Bay Street Chapel on 28 March 1844 and became the main church of the Bethel circuit in 1848. It is a beautiful church and has changed little since Reverend Gleave’s days.

A son, Henry Hurd Gleave, was born in 1866 and was baptised at Bethel by Reverend Henry Hurd on 8 August 1866. At this stage the family’s address is shown as Bethel. Reverends Gleave and Hurd obviously had a good relationship and respect for one another as young Henry was named after the Reverend.

A daughter, Florence Louisa, was born on 1 November 1867. We know she was baptised on Christmas Day 1868 but careful checking by officials of the Church and this author has failed to find an entry in the Bethel register of baptisms. This is a mystery that remains to be solved another day.

My search did however reveal the existence of a William Gleave Thomas of Bay Street, born on 17 February 1868 to William and Sarah Thomas. Reverend Gleave had carried out the baptism and the parents had paid him the honour of giving their son his name. Gleave isn’t a traditional Bajan surname but this discovery led me to wonder if there was a small enclave of people on the island who had inherited the unusual moniker. Alas, this wasn’t to be. William Gleave Thomas married his wife Annie on 9 September 1893. The couple moved to New York in 1905 where they had a daughter Kathleen in 1908. William took American citizenship on 16 April 1940, Annie having pre-deceased him. Thus the surname would seem to have disappeared from Bajan ancestry.

The pulpit where Reverend Gleave preached is still there:

Although the Liverpool Echo had failed to mention Reverend Gleave’s spell in Barbados we are fortunate in having a record of his views of the island and its people. On 19 October 1881 he gave a speech at the Annual Public Missionary Meeting and this was recorded by the Jarrow Express two days later.

What he said might seem patronising now but he was trying to argue against the widely held perception that prevailed in those days that black people were lazy, unintelligent and disruptive. He (or perhaps the reporter) avoids using the term ‘black’ or ‘white’ but instead contrasts ‘upper’ and ‘lower’ classes. However, he betrays what he really means by referring to Dr Davies, who, although black, was very wealthy and upper class, as an example of one of the ‘many’ who had an English outlook on life as well as a high level of intelligence.

“At one time the upper classes were callous and immoral, the lower sunk in ignorance and superstitions, whereas the immoral men were shunned and the lower classes were intelligent, religious, law abiding and industrious”. Of the Wesleyan churches on the island he said, “the people were conscientious, liberal and regular in all that pertained to their religion and had the respect of all classes of the community.” He also referred to the “people being imbued with English ideas, and many were endowed with the highest intelligence” and instanced several bright examples, including Dr Davies, at one time well known in this country. The ‘Doctor’ in question is surely James Pinson Labulo Davies the wealthy African who married Sarah Bonetta Forbes, the goddaughter of Queen Victoria, in Brighton in 1862.

By 1871 Reverend Gleave had returned to England and was living in Warrington with his young family. Shortly afterwards he took up a post in Lambeth, London. The rest of his career would see no more foreign postings but he did cover many other locations in England and Wales.

In the late 1890s Reverend Gleave was Minister at the Wesleyan Church in Carr Road, Nelson. The Home Reading Union, part of the Church, had organised a trip to the Lake District. On Friday 12 August 1898 eight members of the trip had set out on a boat on Derwentwater. The wind suddenly got up and the boat began to rock and take in water. Panic set in and the boat capsized. Five young girls drowned. They were all cotton weavers from Nelson. Four were aged 21 and the other was 20.

The girls were buried together. A monument in memory of them was unveiled in Nelson on 12 May 1889. At this ceremony Reverend Gleave, as reported in the Burnley Express of 17 May 1899, expressed his feelings at having to break the news to the devastated families. He said he “would never forget the testimony which was borne by those who had passed through great sorrow. The families bereft lost precious treasures, but they were cheering themselves with the thought that one day they would see their loved girls in the Father’s house on high.”

Reverend Gleave continued to serve the Church diligently until his death in 1910. If he was to now return to Barbados, he’d find that there are still people who believe black people have many of the negative traits touched upon in his speech at the Missionary Meeting in 1881 but his spirits would be raised to the rafters by his old Church in Bridgetown. It remains a beautiful, light and airy building. The congregation is thriving and enthusiastic. It is the most welcoming of churches and the young people that attend are truly inspirational. It also provides support for the less advantaged in the local community.

The inside will have changed very little since he last stood in the pulpit about 150 years ago and he would recognise the font (if not the dodgy wiring behind it!) where his first two children were christened:

and he would no doubt experience with joy the shaking of the floor when the famously loud Bethel organ gets into full flow.

Here at Historycal Roots we take a pretty broad view of what counts as ‘history’, if something happened earlier than yesterday then perhaps it could be classed as ‘historical’? And, although much of the history you read in books is about ‘great’ men (and perhaps, occasionally, great women), we believe that the actions of more ‘ordinary’ people help to shape events at least as much. So, is it OK to celebrate the life of a pioneering Black footballer? Absolutely!

Friday 28^th September marks the anniversary of the passing of one such footballer, Albert Johanneson. Many people think Albert was the first ever Black footballer to ply his trade in English professional football, he was far from that. However, he was arguably the very first high profile Black player of the modern age – if the advent of ‘Match of the Day’ can be said to mark the birth of modern football. As such he faced challenges not experienced by any of his predecessors.

Albert joined Leeds United on 5^th April 1961, signing from Germiston Colliers in South Africa. He was a shy young man who, because of the evil impact of apartheid, lacked confidence about his place in a white dominated society.

He made his debut at Elland Road in a 2-2 draw with Swansea on 8^th April 1961and went on to play a total of 197 games (plus three appearances as a substitute) for the club, scoring 67 goals – a prolific return for a winger. He was the first Black player to play in a European match for an English club and, on 1^st May 1965, he famously became the first Black player to appear in an FA Cup Final.

Albert suffered horrendous racism in his native South Africa and, when he moved to England, he continued to be racially abused by fans and opposition players. Monkey chants and the throwing of bananas were common place. We won’t ever know how all of this affected his confidence as a man or his performance as a footballer. We do know that both his parents were alcoholics and at some stage Albert sadly followed suit. This had inevitable negative consequences on his finances, marriage and his family.

Despite treatment, Albert died in relative poverty in 1995. His funeral was attended by his old teammates who remembered him with fondness and respect as did the many thousands of football fans who had been thrilled by his goals and skilful wing play.

George Best, who famously wrestled with demons of his own, once commented: ‘Albert was quite a brave man to actually go on the pitch in the first place wasn’t he? And he went out and did it. He had a lot of skill. A nice man as well – which is, I suppose, the more important thing, isn’t it? More important than anything.’

Through his courage, Albert Johanneson transcended the mere game of football and achieved more than many of us from far more privileged backgrounds can ever hope to claim.

Rest In Peace, Albert.

You will be able to read more about Albert and many other pioneering Black footballers in a book we are working on, keep your eyes open for it.

Whilst not quite ‘forgotten history’, Sarah Bonetta Forbes-Davies’ remarkable story is not as widely known as it deserves to be. Here, Bill Hern of Historycal Roots, re-tells her story and describes his visit to her final resting place, metaphorically and literally opening the gates to remind us of a sadly neglected figure.

Although not as well-known as Dido Elizabeth Belle (subject of the film ‘Belle’) who died in 1804, the story of the life of Sarah Bonetta Forbes-Davies has gained greater exposure in recent years. There is no doubt that Sarah is a significant figure in Black British History and yet she lies in an unmarked grave on the island of Madeira.

I visit Sarah’s grave each year in the beautiful British Cemetery in Funchal:

On each visit I feel a sadness that it does not even have a headstone. If it were not for a marker planted in the ground over her burial plot we would have no way of recognising where Sarah was laid to rest.

I understand that Sarah’s husband erected a granite monument more than 8 feet high in Ijon in Western Lagos but whether, 138 years later, that memorial still stands I do not know.

This year I was heartened to see that others must remember Sarah too. A figure had been placed on her grave. But surely one of the most prominent Black women in Victorian Britain warrants at the very least a headstone?

For those of you that aren’t conversant with Sarah’s amazing life here is a short summary:

Sarah was born in Oke-Odan, West Africa in 1843. She was the equivalent to a Princess and her birth name was Aina. She was orphaned when only 5 years old after enemies ransacked her village killing her parents and taking her into slavery.

She was being held by King Ghezo of Dahomey when a Royal Navy Captain, Frederick E Forbes, visited Dahomey on a mission to dissuade the King from continuing to deal in slavery. Captain Forbes allegedly persuaded King Ghezo to give the now 8-year old Aina to Queen Victoria. Other versions of this story claim that King Ghezo offered the girl as a gift to Queen Victoria. Whatever the truth, the little girl joined Captain Forbes on his ship, HMS Bonetta, to make the journey back to England.

Captain Forbes named the girl Sarah Bonetta Forbes after his ship and his own surname. On arrival in England Sarah was taken to see Queen Victoria. She enchanted the Queen just as she captivated many people over her short life. The Queen treated Sarah as a goddaughter.

Sarah was hugely intelligent and musically gifted. She was educated in Africa (Sierra Leone) and England.

In 1862, when still only 18 years old, Sarah married Captain James Pinson Labulo Davies, a wealthy Nigerian merchant, 13 years her senior. The wedding was a lavish affair at the Church of St Nicholas in Brighton.

As an indication of the status Sarah had reached with the Royal family she had attended, only one month prior to her own marriage, the wedding of Queen Victoria’s daughter Princess Alice. This was a private affair taking place only months after the death of Victoria’s beloved husband Prince Albert, yet Sarah was invited and attended.

Shortly after her marriage Sarah became pregnant. She gave birth to a daughter in 1863. After seeking permission from Queen Victoria, the proud parents named the child Victoria Matilda. Victoria went on to become a goddaughter of Queen Victoria.

The family then moved to Lagos, Nigeria and two further children Arthur (1871) and Stella (1873) were born.

Sarah never enjoyed perfect health and while in Lagos she was diagnosed with Tuberculosis (TB). For poor people TB meant almost certain death but people of Sarah’s standing and wealth were advised to go to a country with a more favourable climate in order to recover. Her doctor recommended she go to the island of Madeira in the Atlantic Ocean. Sadly, the remedy was not a success and Sarah passed away on 15 August 1880.

Such was the affection in which Sarah was held, news of her death was quickly relayed to Queen Victoria who recounted seeing how distraught Victoria Davies was upon hearing of her mother’s death.

Victoria Davies would go on to marry a Nigerian physician Dr John Randle who was himself an important but much under-rated figure in Black British History and definitely a candidate for a further article on Historycal Roots.

 

We can thoroughly recommend the ‘Black Salt’ exhibition at the Maritime Museum in Liverpool.

We had the pleasure of visiting it recently with Ray Costello who gave us a guided tour round the exhibits. As Ray curated the exhibition, we really couldn’t have asked for a more knowledgeable guide. In the picture below, Ray is seen standing next to a photo of his great grandfather, Albert James, a sailor from Bermuda who settled in Liverpool in the 1850s and married a local girl in 1873.

The exhibition presents the contribution Black British seafarers have made to some of the most significant maritime events of the past 500 years and the many thought-provoking exhibits and personal stories offer a unique insight into the overlooked history of Britain’s Black sailors.

One of the last exhibits, featuring Belinda Bennett, brings us bang to date as, in 2016, she became the first Black female captain working in the cruise industry.

If you can’t get to Liverpool (the exhibition is on at least until September) then Ray’s book ‘Black Salt – Seafarers of African Descent on British Ships’ is an excellent alternative.

Before going any further we should explain that ‘Why Are West Indians Here?’ is the name of a Birmingham-based project (WAWI) who have been doing good work for a number of years. You can visit their site here: https://www.whyarewestindians.co.uk/node/1

Bill Hern attended the Walter Tull remembrance event recently, an event that WAWI were instrumental in organising.

Actually, the question posed by the name of the project is one that we’ve been considering ourselves in the context of Windrush 70. The answer, of course, is that there is no single answer, people have been coming to the UK from the Caribbean for a whole host of reasons and for a very long time.

There is a lot of focus on the arrival of the Empire Windush in June 1948 and it has come to symbolise the start of a period of mass migtration that continued at least until the 1960s. But ‘symbolise’ is an important word in that sentence. The Windrush shouldn’t prevent us remembering people who came to the UK long before 1948.

Lionel Turpin, to name just one, came to England from British Guiana in time to enlist and serve in France during World War One. He lies in an unmarked grave in Leamington. His son, Randolph was to become a boxing world champion.

We don’t know when Eddie Parris came to the UK from his birthplace of Barbados but in 1909 he married a local girl and they lived together in Chepstow. Like Turpin, Eddie served his country during World War One and, also like Lionel, he fathered someone who went on to make a name for themselves in the world of sport (Eddie Parris Junior was Wales’ first Black international footballer).

But, returning to the Windrush, why did the people on board come to the UK and why did so many follow them in the next two decades?

One reason, certainly, was that there were few prospects in the Caribbean. It wasn’t just that Jamaica’s economy had been flattened, literally, by a devastating hurricane in 1944, the whole region was blighted by the dead hand of British imperialism. The young journalist, Peter Fryer, reporting on the arrival of the Windrush for the ‘Daily Worker’, wrote: ‘when I went on board I asked scores of men why they had come to Britain. Practically every one gave the same answer – unemployment and low wages “back home” and the prospect of a good job in Britain.’ [‘The Daily Worker’ 23rd June 1948]

Cy Grant, originally from British Guiana (who served with Bomber Command during the 2nd World War), commented on: ‘the unbroken flatness of the physical landscape, along with a pervading sense of colonial stagnation seemed to impose limits on my future horizons. I had to escape.’ [‘Caribbean Volunteers at War’ by Mark Johnson, page 2]

James Berry, a poet who arrived in October 1948 aboard the SS Orbita, had something similar to say: ‘what I needed was opportunity, in my village there was no opportunity. People were never going to make it.’  [‘Keep on Moving’ by Tony Sewell]

Others were clear they were only staying in UK long enough to earn some money before returning home to the Caribbean (or so they thought). Euton Christian, who had served in the RAF during the war, said of the first wave of migrants: ‘they expected to come here, to find a job, to find a home. And in about four or five years, they earn enough money to go back … they’re not coming here into this cold country to live indefinitely, a short period , get some money, go back home. But it never happened.’ [‘Windrush’ by Mike and Trevor Phillips, page 71]

As Stuart Hall, who came to England in 1951 to study at Oxford as a Rhodes scholar, commented: ‘they began to put down roots very, very quickly, of course. And, you know, the more roots you put down, the harder they are to pull up. You don’t quite know when that tip over point arrives when you are on this side.’ [‘Windrush’ by Mike and Trevor Phillips, page 139]. I know that my own in-laws still spoke fondly of ‘returning home’ when I first met them in 1979, probably some twenty or so years after they came to England – it was just a dream and I think by then, with two children born here, they knew it.

For others perhaps it was just the universal wanderlust felt by young men (and women)  everywhere: ‘one of the reasons for my desire to travel was that I didn’t want to be under my parents’ footsteps’ [Edwin Ho, British Guiana, quoted in ‘Keep on Moving’ by Tony Sewell]. The fact that he had been ‘about to get married and in a heavy night of gambling I lost all our savings of around 35,000 dollars’ may have given his departure aboard the Windrush an added urgency!

Others on board, a group of boxers brought to the UK by a promoter and various musicians, may have traveled because travel between fights or gigs was a natural part of the industry they worked in. In future work we intend to look at the boxers and musicians in more detail to see how their careers progressed and whether they put down roots in the UK.

Hopefully as the Windrush 70 project develops we will learn more of the pioneers’ motivation as well as what happened to them when they arrived – at least two, Allan Wilmot and Alford Gardner, are still alive and kicking (see our earlier post: ‘Two Windrush Pioneers – Still Going Strong After 70 Years’). They certainly seem happy with the decision to come.

 

I wonder how many times in its history Westminster Abbey has hosted live calypso?!

As part of this year’s celebrations leading up to Commonwealth Day Alexander D’Great did a session at the Abbey. He sang two really powerful songs: one about remembering our heroes, the troops from the Caribbean, who fought in World War One; and the second which started off as Lord Kitchener’s famous ‘London is the Place For Me’ but segued into Alexander’s own, undeniably less optimistic, song about the Windrush generation and their experiences following their arrival in the ‘Mother Country’.

After his songs he invited the audience to join him in writing a calypso on the spot. It was remarkable how many timid souls got up and left at this point. Those who stayed, mostly families with young children came up with a call and response song with the refrain ‘here we are in Westminster Abbey’. The result was creditable given the very limited time available and it just shows what a versatile medium calypso is.

I would have included a recording of Alex’ performance but unfortunately there was building work going on in another part of the Abbey and the noise of hammering and drilling was a bit intrusive. A pity, but it was obvious that the children (and their grown ups) who participated really enjoyed the experience.

Alex really is tireless in his efforts to promote calypso. You can find examples of his work on YouTube but also in the post just below this one (on the ‘News’ page) where you can see him singing ‘Heroes’.

 

You know what it’s like, Christmas is over for another year and the cold, dark days of January loom ahead like a tunnel with no light at the end. Your credit card is in intensive care and you’ve promised to give it a month-long period of rest and recuperation. Then a book catalogue drops through the letter box. You know you should throw it straight into the box for recycling paper but you can’t / don’t and you find yourself flicking through its pages.

Postscript books specialise in ‘high quality overstocks and out of print books’. I’ve bought books from them before, but not for a while, you have to admire their persistance.

I’m irritated to see that the catalogue includes ‘The World’s War’ by David Olusoga. Irritated because this book shouldn’t be appearing in a pile of ‘remaindered’ titles, every last copy should have been sold, but also because this handsome hardback can now be had for £4.99 and we paid, an already heavily reduced, £10 for our copy two years ago. Resisting the urge to hurl the catalogue into the bin, I identify a dozen or more titles that look really interesting.

But the house isn’t getting any bigger, the walls aren’t magically expanding to accommodate an ever growing trove of books and so I narrow my selection down to just two: ‘Caribbean Volunteers at War’ by David Johnson (£19.99 from Amazon but on offer from Postscript at just £7.99); and ‘Caribbean Roots’ a double CD of poetry, read by the poets themselves, from the British Library archive  (Amazon price: £15.94, Postscript price: £5.99).

I find myself apologising out loud to my credit card but, I explain, even allowing for postage, I am ‘saving’ £20. I know my card understands.

If you would like to join me in my folly, here is a link to Postscript Books eclectic, something for everyone, catalogue: https://www.psbooks.co.uk/?gclid=Cj0KCQiAyZLSBRDpARIsAH66VQKgzN6IVn-59MaEWH9fq9H1D61s2PAYsUNbAQdLnydhWC-r8euwiMMaAln2EALw_wcB

I’m sorry if I am leading you astray!

Following the commemoration event in Windrush Square on Remembrance Sunday ‘Remembered: In Memoriam’ was officially launched in Brixton library:

This is a handsome hardcover volume, described as ‘an anthology of African and Caribbean experience in WW1 & WW2’.

A number of the writers who contributed were present including Nairobi Thompson who hosted the event and did her best to keep co-editor Jak Beula’s excited enthusiasm in check (a difficult job, adroitly done).

Mind you, his enthusiasm was understandable, this is an important publication which, as he proudly pointed out, includes a message of support from Her Majesty The Queen.

In addition to Nairobi, other writers on stage included Professor Gus John, Marika Sherwood, Esther Stanford-Xosei, Dr Onyeka Nubia and Patrick Vernon. Other authors and special guests were in the audience and it was a real pleasure to meet Walter Tull’s great nephew who had traveled down from Scotland specially for the event. If I understood correctly Nairobi is herself a great, great niece of Walter so this was something of a Tull family gathering. Walter’s great nephew is definitely ‘White’ and Nairobi is equally definitely Black, seeing them together was a great visual metaphor for the joys of living in multi cultural Britain.  I was also able to shake the hand of Phil Vasili author of several books about pioneering Black footballers that grace the shelves of Historycal Roots.

The book was on sale at the event but if you want a copy now I think you will probably have to contact the Nubian Jak Community Trust: http://nubianjak.org/  It’s well worth the effort.

The sun shone on Windrush Square on Sunday 12th November for the first Remembrance Sunday since the unveiling of the War Memorial there. Unfortunately there was a cold, biting wind as well but that didn’t put off the crowd that gathered to commemorate those who died in the two world and other wars. There were several speakers, including ex-servicemen who had served in the 2nd World War:

The ceremony had a uniquely ‘Brixton’ flavour with, in addition to the traditional laying of wreaths, speeches and playing of the ‘Last Post’, the ceremony managed to incorporate African drumming, the summoning of ancient spirits and a specially written calypso. Congratulations to calypsonian, Alexander D Great, on getting his fingers to work on such a cold day!

Two thirds of the Historycal Roots team attended:

John Blanke is one of the few Black Tudors we can put a name to and this event, held at the British Library in London, was a celebration of his life. A project, the John Blanke Symposium, led by Michael Ohajuru, had invited people to re-imagine his life from a range of different perspectives.

Although facts are scarce, an image of him survives:

The author and historian, Miranda Kaufman, was there to set out the historical context. Little is known of Blanke’s life, but, from papers held at the National Archives, we know that he was paid 8d per day by Henry VII, and a surviving document records a payment of 20 shillings to “John Blanke the blacke trumpet” as wages for the month of November 1507, with payments of the same amount continuing monthly through the next year. He also successfully petitioned Henry VIII for a wage increase.

There is also a record of him having married and so, as the poet John Agard pointed out later in the evening, there is probably John Blanke DNA still out there in the populace today! In addition to two poems from John, there were contributions from artists (Holly Graham, Adelaide Damoah, Charmaine Watkiss and Ebun Culwin) a sculptor (Fawokan),  another poet (David Nieta) and a rapper (Valentine Ogbunba). We arrived a little late so apologies to anyone we missed.

This was a thoroughly enjoyable evening and an intriguing approach to bringing a little known Black Tudor to life.

The event is being repeated (perhaps with a different group of presenters) on Friday 1st December at the College of Arms (130, Queen Victoria Street, London EC4V 4BT) from 18.30 to 20.30, well worth a visit if you are in the area.