Anna Corbett's Blog
September 28, 2023
Catch up
Apologies for not catching up for such a long time! However, my latest novel 'I Hear a Melody' was published earlier this month. The whole process took much longer than was anticipated. It could be seen as a sequel for Masquerade or stand-alone story. It also has a musical background as did Masquerade. We had a very successful book launch at The Word Bookshop, South London on September 19th. It was a pleasure to see so many of my lovely friends as they arrived to join the evening. It will come as no surprise that we welcomed them with a quiet jazz background. The launch was hosted by my daughters, Natalie and Annette; two of my writer friends: Allison Parkinson and Jo Bedingfield led the questions and discussions while I responded and enjoyed sharing my work with a few short readings. We followed this up with a Zoom launch on September 26th, which was also a fun evening, chaired and hosted by Annette. It was another fabulous event, including stimulating and thoughtful discussions with those who attended. I have many beautiful memories of my eldest brother Victor, who taught me everything I know and love about jazz. 'I Hear a Melody' is dedicated to him. Best wishes to you all! Anna
August 22, 2022
FAMILY
August 22nd is a special day for me.
FAMILY
Every family, large or small have their memories. It’s so comforting to recall happy times as the years progress. As I’ve probably mentioned before, I come from a large family and an even larger extended family on both sides.
My parents have both passed away. They had six children, two girls and four boys. The cycle of birth, life and death continues for us all and two of my brothers have also ‘gone home’. My eldest brother Victor, who died in 2014 would have been celebrating his eighty-third birthday today. As I’ve no doubt mentioned before, his influence played a huge part in my love of the music. I remember writing about him on August 22nd last year, so I won’t repeat myself, but instead will tell you a little about my own experiences.
During the mid-eighties, my trumpeter ex-husband and I promoted many of the young jazz musicians who came from all parts of London. Many of them have become internationally known for their talent. Juggling my teaching career and bringing up our children along with many other demands was not easy. Say no more.
When I lived in Cardiff for a couple of years I was absolutely delighted to co-host a weekly jazz show every Saturday morning on Radio Cardiff alongside Rhys Phillips. I would write a short essay about a different musician each week to highlight her/his career and play some of their work. We also interviewed lots of musicians. I was so thrilled and loved every minute of our two-hour show, even though it sometimes meant driving gingerly along the frosty dual carriageway in the early morning. Do check out my website: www.eulipionpublishing.com to hear my live interview with Jeremy Rees, another good friend from Radio Cardiff.
To return to links with my brother Victor, I recently had the privilege to spend some time with the extremely talented and lovely Norma Winstone, MBE. We had a wonderful day talking about old times enjoying jazz soirees at Vic’s house and talking about all things jazz. She very kindly let me interview her about her work. Norma has won several awards during her amazing career as one of the greatest jazz singers in the UK. She is a very active eighty -year old, still singing and performing across Europe and elsewhere.
A few months ago, my daughter Annette and I went to see the American jazz saxophonist Archie Shepp at The Barbican. He is eighty-five years old, looked rather frail and had to be led onstage. You could sense everyone in the audience holding their breath; that’s until he started playing and then nothing else seemed to matter. What a joyful evening it was.
I’m going to see American bass player Ron Carter, when he performs at Cadogan Hall in November as part of the annual EFG London Jazz Festival. He is also eighty-five years old and still going strong.
This time I will be going to the gig on my own, but that won’t matter because I know that dear Victor will be sitting right there beside me, digging the music. Thanks Bro.
Laters
Anna xx
Take care everyone x
FAMILY
Every family, large or small have their memories. It’s so comforting to recall happy times as the years progress. As I’ve probably mentioned before, I come from a large family and an even larger extended family on both sides.
My parents have both passed away. They had six children, two girls and four boys. The cycle of birth, life and death continues for us all and two of my brothers have also ‘gone home’. My eldest brother Victor, who died in 2014 would have been celebrating his eighty-third birthday today. As I’ve no doubt mentioned before, his influence played a huge part in my love of the music. I remember writing about him on August 22nd last year, so I won’t repeat myself, but instead will tell you a little about my own experiences.
During the mid-eighties, my trumpeter ex-husband and I promoted many of the young jazz musicians who came from all parts of London. Many of them have become internationally known for their talent. Juggling my teaching career and bringing up our children along with many other demands was not easy. Say no more.
When I lived in Cardiff for a couple of years I was absolutely delighted to co-host a weekly jazz show every Saturday morning on Radio Cardiff alongside Rhys Phillips. I would write a short essay about a different musician each week to highlight her/his career and play some of their work. We also interviewed lots of musicians. I was so thrilled and loved every minute of our two-hour show, even though it sometimes meant driving gingerly along the frosty dual carriageway in the early morning. Do check out my website: www.eulipionpublishing.com to hear my live interview with Jeremy Rees, another good friend from Radio Cardiff.
To return to links with my brother Victor, I recently had the privilege to spend some time with the extremely talented and lovely Norma Winstone, MBE. We had a wonderful day talking about old times enjoying jazz soirees at Vic’s house and talking about all things jazz. She very kindly let me interview her about her work. Norma has won several awards during her amazing career as one of the greatest jazz singers in the UK. She is a very active eighty -year old, still singing and performing across Europe and elsewhere.
A few months ago, my daughter Annette and I went to see the American jazz saxophonist Archie Shepp at The Barbican. He is eighty-five years old, looked rather frail and had to be led onstage. You could sense everyone in the audience holding their breath; that’s until he started playing and then nothing else seemed to matter. What a joyful evening it was.
I’m going to see American bass player Ron Carter, when he performs at Cadogan Hall in November as part of the annual EFG London Jazz Festival. He is also eighty-five years old and still going strong.
This time I will be going to the gig on my own, but that won’t matter because I know that dear Victor will be sitting right there beside me, digging the music. Thanks Bro.
Laters
Anna xx
Take care everyone x
July 30, 2022
On a clear day
Hither Green Festival on Saturday 28th May, was and will always be one of my highlights of 2022. The event brought joy to so many people, young and old, visitors, performers, stall holders and even the dogs who came along looking suitably happy, wagging their tails, gazing around and enjoying the ambience of the day.
We were privileged to witness the talent and variety of so many performers and musicians. It was remarkable: there was classical music, a choir, a drumming group, jazz group, the concert band, DJ, singers and dancers. From where I was on my stall, I was able to catch a glimpse of it all. The various dancers went from the popular ‘Electric Slide’ and the ‘Zumba’, encouraging people to take part. It was interesting to see that lots of those who weren’t actually dancing, couldn’t help themselves from doing little moves from side to side or tap their feet.
I always love watching how small children respond to music: swaying, shaking their limbs about without any inhibition. I envy their unfettered pleasure; if only we as adults could move so freely without worrying about what people will think. They also had a lot of fun climbing onto the fire engines and being shown around by the patient firemen.
There were lots of stalls which included plants, arts and crafts, cakes, food, poetry and books, a testament to the skill and creativity of our community. I was delighted to sell quite a few copies of my novel, ‘Masquerade’ and spent a long time chatting to people about the main theme and narrative which led into some interesting conversations as you can imagine.
‘On a clear day’, the title of this piece is a favourite song of mine: ( Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner, 1965). As a highly regarded jazz standard, it is fairly recent, many of the others having been written decades ago and still playing a vital part in jazz music. I was so pleased to hear the concert band and the jazz group playing some of my other favourites too.
We first moved to Catford back in 1974. I’ve been here ever since except for a couple of years spent in Cardiff recently but after a while I was yearning to return to London.
The final performers at the end of such a wonderful day were the elegant belly dancers accompanied by music symbolic of a culture thousands of miles away, its minor sounding melodies soaring into the air. I finished packing up my stall and strolled back to my flat as the music faded.
The whole world is represented in our borough. That’s what is so special about dear old Lewisham.
‘On a clear day, rise and look around you.’
Take care everyone.
Laters. Anna x
We were privileged to witness the talent and variety of so many performers and musicians. It was remarkable: there was classical music, a choir, a drumming group, jazz group, the concert band, DJ, singers and dancers. From where I was on my stall, I was able to catch a glimpse of it all. The various dancers went from the popular ‘Electric Slide’ and the ‘Zumba’, encouraging people to take part. It was interesting to see that lots of those who weren’t actually dancing, couldn’t help themselves from doing little moves from side to side or tap their feet.
I always love watching how small children respond to music: swaying, shaking their limbs about without any inhibition. I envy their unfettered pleasure; if only we as adults could move so freely without worrying about what people will think. They also had a lot of fun climbing onto the fire engines and being shown around by the patient firemen.
There were lots of stalls which included plants, arts and crafts, cakes, food, poetry and books, a testament to the skill and creativity of our community. I was delighted to sell quite a few copies of my novel, ‘Masquerade’ and spent a long time chatting to people about the main theme and narrative which led into some interesting conversations as you can imagine.
‘On a clear day’, the title of this piece is a favourite song of mine: ( Burton Lane and Alan Jay Lerner, 1965). As a highly regarded jazz standard, it is fairly recent, many of the others having been written decades ago and still playing a vital part in jazz music. I was so pleased to hear the concert band and the jazz group playing some of my other favourites too.
We first moved to Catford back in 1974. I’ve been here ever since except for a couple of years spent in Cardiff recently but after a while I was yearning to return to London.
The final performers at the end of such a wonderful day were the elegant belly dancers accompanied by music symbolic of a culture thousands of miles away, its minor sounding melodies soaring into the air. I finished packing up my stall and strolled back to my flat as the music faded.
The whole world is represented in our borough. That’s what is so special about dear old Lewisham.
‘On a clear day, rise and look around you.’
Take care everyone.
Laters. Anna x
April 22, 2022
Shakespeare and Remembrance
Some thoughts about one of the greatest playwrights of the past.
William Shakespeare: April 23rd, 1564-April 23rd, 1616
Tomorrow I’m going to meet up with my very good friend Eve. We first met at Goldsmiths University at a lecture about William Shakespeare. I have always loved his work and learned about some of his most well known plays and sonnets at school, but having the opportunity to study more about the huge expanse of his work was an absolute delight. One of the lecturers I will always remember is an American, called Russ McDonald, who sadly died within days in the summer of 2016.
We all knew that when Russ was leading the session we would be in for a treat. He would talk so enthusiastically about the play we were studying that week, walking up and down, analysing the language and history of the text and reciting whole speeches from memory with love and ingenuity. He could be both witty and serious within minutes. Eve and I would glance at one another with a smile, both looking forward to the seminar discussions afterwards.
Shakespeare was a master of the study of human nature. His work portrayed so many varied issues, written in language which has to be heard to fully appreciated. If I am going to see one of his plays that I am less familiar with, I read it first, or even just the synopsis beforehand in case there are phrases that I might find more difficult to understand. While sitting in the dark auditorium, I bask in the beauty of the words onstage.
In his book, ‘Shakespeare and the Arts of Language’, (Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2001), Russ McDonald writes of Shakespeare’s work that it: ‘[ …] assumes the power of words to beguile by the means of their sounds; of their weight, both semantic and aural; their connotative colours and nuances; the effects of sounds when combined with others like them, or different from them; the pleasures and the affective possibilities of patterned language [ …]’
Eve and I are planning to meet at Southwark Cathedral to stand and reflect at the memorial tomb of the great man himself, where he lies in splendour. I remember being told some years ago that sprigs of rosemary are often left at his feet and nobody knows who it is that comes in unseen and lays them there. We are both going to bring a couple of copies of our favourite speeches, maybe typed or recorded, which we will share over lunch. Afterwards we will walk along the South Bank, and we will probably sit on a bench outside The Globe, overlooking the Thames.
I am aware, that not far from us, lots of people will be standing quietly to reflect on the Albert Embankment, where the wall is covered with red hearts, each one painted in memory of a friend or family member who has died from Covid. The last couple of years have been a gruelling time in our world; a world which sadly often fails to remember what humanity really means, how we treat one another and the world we live in. Just imagine how many legacies there are represented on that wall. Thousands of people who will never be forgotten for the memories: the acts of love, kindness and humanity that they left behind.
I began by talking about one of my heroes, a man who left millions of wonderful words, stories and histories which will never be forgotten. Another of my heroes, Mr Russ McDonald enhanced the lives of thousands of students and people across the world for helping us to learn and relish Shakespeare’s wisdom and talent. Thankyou Sir.
Oh, hang on a moment … my phone’s ringing ………….Ok, it was Eve, thought it might be. She has promised to ‘borrow’ a couple of sprigs of rosemary from her neighbour’s garden for us to take tomorrow.
Take care everyone,
Anna x
William Shakespeare: April 23rd, 1564-April 23rd, 1616
Tomorrow I’m going to meet up with my very good friend Eve. We first met at Goldsmiths University at a lecture about William Shakespeare. I have always loved his work and learned about some of his most well known plays and sonnets at school, but having the opportunity to study more about the huge expanse of his work was an absolute delight. One of the lecturers I will always remember is an American, called Russ McDonald, who sadly died within days in the summer of 2016.
We all knew that when Russ was leading the session we would be in for a treat. He would talk so enthusiastically about the play we were studying that week, walking up and down, analysing the language and history of the text and reciting whole speeches from memory with love and ingenuity. He could be both witty and serious within minutes. Eve and I would glance at one another with a smile, both looking forward to the seminar discussions afterwards.
Shakespeare was a master of the study of human nature. His work portrayed so many varied issues, written in language which has to be heard to fully appreciated. If I am going to see one of his plays that I am less familiar with, I read it first, or even just the synopsis beforehand in case there are phrases that I might find more difficult to understand. While sitting in the dark auditorium, I bask in the beauty of the words onstage.
In his book, ‘Shakespeare and the Arts of Language’, (Oxford University Press, Oxford, 2001), Russ McDonald writes of Shakespeare’s work that it: ‘[ …] assumes the power of words to beguile by the means of their sounds; of their weight, both semantic and aural; their connotative colours and nuances; the effects of sounds when combined with others like them, or different from them; the pleasures and the affective possibilities of patterned language [ …]’
Eve and I are planning to meet at Southwark Cathedral to stand and reflect at the memorial tomb of the great man himself, where he lies in splendour. I remember being told some years ago that sprigs of rosemary are often left at his feet and nobody knows who it is that comes in unseen and lays them there. We are both going to bring a couple of copies of our favourite speeches, maybe typed or recorded, which we will share over lunch. Afterwards we will walk along the South Bank, and we will probably sit on a bench outside The Globe, overlooking the Thames.
I am aware, that not far from us, lots of people will be standing quietly to reflect on the Albert Embankment, where the wall is covered with red hearts, each one painted in memory of a friend or family member who has died from Covid. The last couple of years have been a gruelling time in our world; a world which sadly often fails to remember what humanity really means, how we treat one another and the world we live in. Just imagine how many legacies there are represented on that wall. Thousands of people who will never be forgotten for the memories: the acts of love, kindness and humanity that they left behind.
I began by talking about one of my heroes, a man who left millions of wonderful words, stories and histories which will never be forgotten. Another of my heroes, Mr Russ McDonald enhanced the lives of thousands of students and people across the world for helping us to learn and relish Shakespeare’s wisdom and talent. Thankyou Sir.
Oh, hang on a moment … my phone’s ringing ………….Ok, it was Eve, thought it might be. She has promised to ‘borrow’ a couple of sprigs of rosemary from her neighbour’s garden for us to take tomorrow.
Take care everyone,
Anna x
March 20, 2022
But what about my hair?
Bad hair days, relatable to us all, men as well as women.
A personal piece about memories, family .... and hair!
As little girl from the only black family in our rural community at the time, my hair was ‘a problem’. But of course my mum knew how to care for it, keeping it plaited and dressed with olive oil. Specific products for black hair had not reached where we lived because there would have been no market for it. The plaits either tickled my neck or were drawn together on top of my head and decorated with a colourful ribbon bow.
I recall being chosen to take part in a pantomime in the town when I was about five years old. Part of the show featured a group of small girls in ballet pumps, white tutus and glittery bodices, who performed their steps to the great delight of the audience. My role was to appear at a certain spot during their dance; I tiptoed out from behind a large shell, carrying a doll wrapped in a blanket. I was barefoot, dressed in a grass skirt, a red bodice, with flowers draped around my head arms and ankles. I did a little twirl before sitting on a stool and sang a lullaby as I rocked my baby bundle. Looking suitably ‘exotic’ and no doubt very cute, I smiled shyly to the applause accompanied by many ‘aaahhs and oohhs.’
Afterwards, we were lined up onstage to be photographed for the local newspaper. I noticed that the other girls had their hair draped over one shoulder for the camera; I insisted that my mum unplaited my hair. She wasn’t happy, insisting that it was important for me to look tidy. I made a fuss and probably started to cry as well - I was pretty good at playing the drama queen at that age. She gave in, untied the plaits and painfully combed through my tight curls until my hair stood out on both sides of a middle parting. I was of course placed in the middle of the group photo and felt like a star.
Little did know at that age that within a few short years, I would begin the long journey in doing everything I could to straighten my hair, so that I could flick it over my shoulders like all the other girls I knew. I was about twelve years old when first attempts began, using a metal dog comb bought from the pet-shop, heated up on the stove, before being pulled through handfuls of hair, prepared with Vaseline. It was a laborious, meticulous struggle, the danger being that it was very easy to burn the tops of your ears with the comb.
Over the years I moved on to heated rollers, hair straighteners and wore large hair rollers to bed. Having achieved the satisfactory look, stepping outside on wet weather days was a challenge. Heaven forbid, that it should rain if I was on my way out to meet my friends or go to the shops. After all the arduous preparation, a few mild raindrops was all it would take to ruin my day.
‘Don’t Touch My Hair’, by Emma Dabiri, ( published 2019: Allen Lane, Penguin Books), is a fascinating, comprehensive and powerful book about Afro hair and its history. She comments very directly about the way that hair is still often described and considered as a symbol of feminine beauty.
To quote: ‘The world around us fuels a powerful narrative about hair and femininity. From fairy tales to advertisements, movies and music videos, our icons tend to be lusciously locked. […] For a long time, long, flowing hair remained one of the most powerful markers of being a woman.’
Having said that, TV jingles do tend to be more inclusive than they were even a few recent years ago. Large companies appear to have taken on the importance of demonstrating their commitment to diversity and inclusion; probably more so since the unforgettable incident in summer 2020.
I learned so much from Emma’s book, namely that the history of cornrows has a very interesting African history. To quote: ‘For centuries, cornrowing […] was an everyday feature of Yoruba and more generally African life. Hairstyles existed as makers of social status and distinction: your occupation, your marital status, membership of a royal lineage […] A lot could be told about a person, as well as the value, ethics and priorities of their culture, by their hairstyle.’
I have two photographs of my daughters having bad hair days when they were younger. The younger one was about five years old. I had undone her plaits and was about to comb it out prior to washing it. I always tried not to pull it too much when combing, but she knew it was hair washing night and clearly didn’t welcome what was to come. The elder daughter was about fourteen. She had spent a long time struggling to keep her hair acceptable to her standards, but it started to rain when she went out, so she had to spend the rest of the day in a baseball cap, including of course the mandatory sulking as befits any young teenager.
It's been years since I’ve applied any chemicals to my own hair, but I still make sure that I use the products available to my type of Afro hair. I have taken the drastic step of letting it go grey over the last year or so. I had been dyeing it for some time, but thought I should try to grow old gracefully, although my daughters both agree that it might take more than that for me to achieve such lofty heights …
The advantage is, that when I go into my local black hair shop I am now addressed as ‘Aunty’ when I reach the till as a mark of respect. So, that’s not bad eh?
Take care everyone.
Anna x
A personal piece about memories, family .... and hair!
As little girl from the only black family in our rural community at the time, my hair was ‘a problem’. But of course my mum knew how to care for it, keeping it plaited and dressed with olive oil. Specific products for black hair had not reached where we lived because there would have been no market for it. The plaits either tickled my neck or were drawn together on top of my head and decorated with a colourful ribbon bow.
I recall being chosen to take part in a pantomime in the town when I was about five years old. Part of the show featured a group of small girls in ballet pumps, white tutus and glittery bodices, who performed their steps to the great delight of the audience. My role was to appear at a certain spot during their dance; I tiptoed out from behind a large shell, carrying a doll wrapped in a blanket. I was barefoot, dressed in a grass skirt, a red bodice, with flowers draped around my head arms and ankles. I did a little twirl before sitting on a stool and sang a lullaby as I rocked my baby bundle. Looking suitably ‘exotic’ and no doubt very cute, I smiled shyly to the applause accompanied by many ‘aaahhs and oohhs.’
Afterwards, we were lined up onstage to be photographed for the local newspaper. I noticed that the other girls had their hair draped over one shoulder for the camera; I insisted that my mum unplaited my hair. She wasn’t happy, insisting that it was important for me to look tidy. I made a fuss and probably started to cry as well - I was pretty good at playing the drama queen at that age. She gave in, untied the plaits and painfully combed through my tight curls until my hair stood out on both sides of a middle parting. I was of course placed in the middle of the group photo and felt like a star.
Little did know at that age that within a few short years, I would begin the long journey in doing everything I could to straighten my hair, so that I could flick it over my shoulders like all the other girls I knew. I was about twelve years old when first attempts began, using a metal dog comb bought from the pet-shop, heated up on the stove, before being pulled through handfuls of hair, prepared with Vaseline. It was a laborious, meticulous struggle, the danger being that it was very easy to burn the tops of your ears with the comb.
Over the years I moved on to heated rollers, hair straighteners and wore large hair rollers to bed. Having achieved the satisfactory look, stepping outside on wet weather days was a challenge. Heaven forbid, that it should rain if I was on my way out to meet my friends or go to the shops. After all the arduous preparation, a few mild raindrops was all it would take to ruin my day.
‘Don’t Touch My Hair’, by Emma Dabiri, ( published 2019: Allen Lane, Penguin Books), is a fascinating, comprehensive and powerful book about Afro hair and its history. She comments very directly about the way that hair is still often described and considered as a symbol of feminine beauty.
To quote: ‘The world around us fuels a powerful narrative about hair and femininity. From fairy tales to advertisements, movies and music videos, our icons tend to be lusciously locked. […] For a long time, long, flowing hair remained one of the most powerful markers of being a woman.’
Having said that, TV jingles do tend to be more inclusive than they were even a few recent years ago. Large companies appear to have taken on the importance of demonstrating their commitment to diversity and inclusion; probably more so since the unforgettable incident in summer 2020.
I learned so much from Emma’s book, namely that the history of cornrows has a very interesting African history. To quote: ‘For centuries, cornrowing […] was an everyday feature of Yoruba and more generally African life. Hairstyles existed as makers of social status and distinction: your occupation, your marital status, membership of a royal lineage […] A lot could be told about a person, as well as the value, ethics and priorities of their culture, by their hairstyle.’
I have two photographs of my daughters having bad hair days when they were younger. The younger one was about five years old. I had undone her plaits and was about to comb it out prior to washing it. I always tried not to pull it too much when combing, but she knew it was hair washing night and clearly didn’t welcome what was to come. The elder daughter was about fourteen. She had spent a long time struggling to keep her hair acceptable to her standards, but it started to rain when she went out, so she had to spend the rest of the day in a baseball cap, including of course the mandatory sulking as befits any young teenager.
It's been years since I’ve applied any chemicals to my own hair, but I still make sure that I use the products available to my type of Afro hair. I have taken the drastic step of letting it go grey over the last year or so. I had been dyeing it for some time, but thought I should try to grow old gracefully, although my daughters both agree that it might take more than that for me to achieve such lofty heights …
The advantage is, that when I go into my local black hair shop I am now addressed as ‘Aunty’ when I reach the till as a mark of respect. So, that’s not bad eh?
Take care everyone.
Anna x
February 20, 2022
'The poetry of the Earth is never dead.'
'The Poetry of the Earth is never dead.'
This is a line from the poem: ‘On the Grasshopper and the Cricket’, written by poet John Keats in 1884.
Over the last couple of years in particular, many thousands of people have acknowledged the beauty of the natural world to bring them solace, peace and joy.
My local park is less than ten minutes walk from my front door. It has all the usual things, including sports facilities, a community garden, a café and beautifully groomed grass and flower beds. Some of my favourite areas are those which have been allowed to grow wild in order to support the wildlife and provide spaces for quiet reflection, as we live through the pandemic and the changing weather patterns across the world, often brought about by our own carelessness.
In the park a few days ago, I took some photos of the signs of spring: miniscule budding crocuses hugging the earth, glossy celandines huddled beside the path and early blooming May blossom on trees which had been bare only a week or two previously. For me the trees are the best of all. I tried counting them one day and got tired after reaching about a hundred plus: trees of varying sizes and ages, many having been there for decades, even hundreds of years. After my walk, I like to stand at the topmost path and gaze across at them before going out through the gate.
Walking there yesterday, to see what havoc had been left by storm Eunice, I came across a huge fallen tree. One can only imagine the pain and the noise it made as its broad trunk and generous branches were wrenched from the earth, an old man who had witnessed so much across the years. I think he deserves a name but can’t think of one suitable for such a grand old fellow. Perhaps you can suggest a name for him?
I took a photo of a little branch covered in catkins and stuck in a jar which had been broken from a fallen tree on the bank of the lake in another local park. Of course, I did a bit of googling when I got home. Apparently, it’s a branch from a Grey Willow tree. ‘Its foliage is eaten by caterpillars and […] moths. […] Catkins provide an early source of pollen and nectar for bees and other insects, and birds use grey willow to forage for caterpillars and insects.’
‘All willows were trees of celebration in biblical times, but this has changed over time and today willows are more associated with sadness and mourning.’ Regardless of its mythology and symbolism, I’m going to name this little branch HOPE, because if you plant it in soil it might grow. When transferred to a garden or open space it could thrive for many, many years, so even if you’re not still around to see it in all its glory, you will have left some HOPE for others.
Crikey, that last bit is very sombre!
Some good news, now that rules have been eased, (maybe too soon I hear you say), we will hopefully be celebrating Eid in our big local park, having missed the last couple of years. Also, we will have Lewisham Peoples’ Day on July 16th, which is always brilliant! More to come nearer the time.
Take care everyone.
Laters
Anna x
This is a line from the poem: ‘On the Grasshopper and the Cricket’, written by poet John Keats in 1884.
Over the last couple of years in particular, many thousands of people have acknowledged the beauty of the natural world to bring them solace, peace and joy.
My local park is less than ten minutes walk from my front door. It has all the usual things, including sports facilities, a community garden, a café and beautifully groomed grass and flower beds. Some of my favourite areas are those which have been allowed to grow wild in order to support the wildlife and provide spaces for quiet reflection, as we live through the pandemic and the changing weather patterns across the world, often brought about by our own carelessness.
In the park a few days ago, I took some photos of the signs of spring: miniscule budding crocuses hugging the earth, glossy celandines huddled beside the path and early blooming May blossom on trees which had been bare only a week or two previously. For me the trees are the best of all. I tried counting them one day and got tired after reaching about a hundred plus: trees of varying sizes and ages, many having been there for decades, even hundreds of years. After my walk, I like to stand at the topmost path and gaze across at them before going out through the gate.
Walking there yesterday, to see what havoc had been left by storm Eunice, I came across a huge fallen tree. One can only imagine the pain and the noise it made as its broad trunk and generous branches were wrenched from the earth, an old man who had witnessed so much across the years. I think he deserves a name but can’t think of one suitable for such a grand old fellow. Perhaps you can suggest a name for him?
I took a photo of a little branch covered in catkins and stuck in a jar which had been broken from a fallen tree on the bank of the lake in another local park. Of course, I did a bit of googling when I got home. Apparently, it’s a branch from a Grey Willow tree. ‘Its foliage is eaten by caterpillars and […] moths. […] Catkins provide an early source of pollen and nectar for bees and other insects, and birds use grey willow to forage for caterpillars and insects.’
‘All willows were trees of celebration in biblical times, but this has changed over time and today willows are more associated with sadness and mourning.’ Regardless of its mythology and symbolism, I’m going to name this little branch HOPE, because if you plant it in soil it might grow. When transferred to a garden or open space it could thrive for many, many years, so even if you’re not still around to see it in all its glory, you will have left some HOPE for others.
Crikey, that last bit is very sombre!
Some good news, now that rules have been eased, (maybe too soon I hear you say), we will hopefully be celebrating Eid in our big local park, having missed the last couple of years. Also, we will have Lewisham Peoples’ Day on July 16th, which is always brilliant! More to come nearer the time.
Take care everyone.
Laters
Anna x
January 25, 2022
The value of cultural enrichment
Cultural Enrichment 24/01/22
The cultural enrichment of diversity is reflected throughout varying art forms in different communities and indeed across the world.
My love of music is pretty obvious by now: not just jazz music, but many different activities which I have been fortunate enough to witness and enjoy. I was a member of the Lewisham Choral Society for a few years and was so thrilled to have taken part in a wide selection of choral pieces. I think my two favourites were ‘Faure’s Requiem’ and Elgar’s ‘Dream of Gerontius’. The soaring mass of wonderfully blended voices and the poignant, painful beauty of the solos make me shiver every time. I’m not as familiar with opera productions. When I took my Mum to see Madame Butterfly, she spent half the evening dabbing at her eyes behind her glasses at the beauty of it all.
Even though we were brought up against a background of jazz at home, we were also encouraged to appreciate other styles of music and other cultural art forms on TV. We watched the Bolshoi Ballet and a lot of performances on the BBC Proms. Although I must admit to feeling rather uncomfortable watching the last night of the Proms: that’s a discussion for another day.
I have not seen much live ballet but enjoyed seeing Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake on one occasion as a Christmas treat as well as a few other much loved productions. Years ago my sister and I saw the Dance Theater of Harlem at Sadlers Wells. We wore our best clothes for the occasion, in the hope that other audience members might think that we were two dancers having a night off! I have enjoyed some very talented modern dance companies based in London, namely: ‘Samsakara’, led and choregraphed by Lanre Maleolu and another group called ‘Boy Blue’ among others.
Urban music which has arisen in London over the years exemplifies the mix of myriad cultures represented here, one instance being Bhangra music. Bhangra is a mix of Punjabi beats, music and lyrics, fused with UK Pop, Reggae, RnB and Soul, which developed and emerged over decades of immigration.
Classical music and jazz have often worked together over many years: a huge subject worthy of research. The African -American singer Nina Simone was initially trained in classical music. During those times, it was unheard of that she would ever be admitted into the classical music world as a professional. If you listen carefully to her song: ‘Love Me or Leave Me’, her improvised piano solo in distinctly similar mode to some of Bach’s music. The way she incorporates it into the song is natural, her classical background as part of her being and her musicianship. Jazz improvisation is a wonderfully skilled example of instant creativity.
Incidentally, talking of musicianship I must tell you that my daughter’s first Pop single came out today on various platforms, including Spotify. Her professional name is Natalee Corbett, the song: ‘Hold You Tight.’ In the past she has sung with various bands: jazz and otherwise and written loads of songs, but this is her first effort at Pop music. Fingers crossed.
As you probably know, Day One of Lewisham as London’s Borough of Culture 2022 kicks off this Friday, 28th January. I put out a request on Facebook last year for someone to teach me Stormzy’s ‘Vossi Bop’ dance moves but nobody responded. The IRIE Dance Theatre have kindly choreographed a special dance for Lewisham, which will be accompanied by the Midi Music Company and will be taking place in schools across the borough. It’s called the LBoC BOP. One can learn the dance steps on YouTube and be ready to join in any of the events at midday on Friday. I think I might have a go…
Leaving you now, guys and gals, it’s time to start practising! Anna x
The cultural enrichment of diversity is reflected throughout varying art forms in different communities and indeed across the world.
My love of music is pretty obvious by now: not just jazz music, but many different activities which I have been fortunate enough to witness and enjoy. I was a member of the Lewisham Choral Society for a few years and was so thrilled to have taken part in a wide selection of choral pieces. I think my two favourites were ‘Faure’s Requiem’ and Elgar’s ‘Dream of Gerontius’. The soaring mass of wonderfully blended voices and the poignant, painful beauty of the solos make me shiver every time. I’m not as familiar with opera productions. When I took my Mum to see Madame Butterfly, she spent half the evening dabbing at her eyes behind her glasses at the beauty of it all.
Even though we were brought up against a background of jazz at home, we were also encouraged to appreciate other styles of music and other cultural art forms on TV. We watched the Bolshoi Ballet and a lot of performances on the BBC Proms. Although I must admit to feeling rather uncomfortable watching the last night of the Proms: that’s a discussion for another day.
I have not seen much live ballet but enjoyed seeing Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake on one occasion as a Christmas treat as well as a few other much loved productions. Years ago my sister and I saw the Dance Theater of Harlem at Sadlers Wells. We wore our best clothes for the occasion, in the hope that other audience members might think that we were two dancers having a night off! I have enjoyed some very talented modern dance companies based in London, namely: ‘Samsakara’, led and choregraphed by Lanre Maleolu and another group called ‘Boy Blue’ among others.
Urban music which has arisen in London over the years exemplifies the mix of myriad cultures represented here, one instance being Bhangra music. Bhangra is a mix of Punjabi beats, music and lyrics, fused with UK Pop, Reggae, RnB and Soul, which developed and emerged over decades of immigration.
Classical music and jazz have often worked together over many years: a huge subject worthy of research. The African -American singer Nina Simone was initially trained in classical music. During those times, it was unheard of that she would ever be admitted into the classical music world as a professional. If you listen carefully to her song: ‘Love Me or Leave Me’, her improvised piano solo in distinctly similar mode to some of Bach’s music. The way she incorporates it into the song is natural, her classical background as part of her being and her musicianship. Jazz improvisation is a wonderfully skilled example of instant creativity.
Incidentally, talking of musicianship I must tell you that my daughter’s first Pop single came out today on various platforms, including Spotify. Her professional name is Natalee Corbett, the song: ‘Hold You Tight.’ In the past she has sung with various bands: jazz and otherwise and written loads of songs, but this is her first effort at Pop music. Fingers crossed.
As you probably know, Day One of Lewisham as London’s Borough of Culture 2022 kicks off this Friday, 28th January. I put out a request on Facebook last year for someone to teach me Stormzy’s ‘Vossi Bop’ dance moves but nobody responded. The IRIE Dance Theatre have kindly choreographed a special dance for Lewisham, which will be accompanied by the Midi Music Company and will be taking place in schools across the borough. It’s called the LBoC BOP. One can learn the dance steps on YouTube and be ready to join in any of the events at midday on Friday. I think I might have a go…
Leaving you now, guys and gals, it’s time to start practising! Anna x
January 17, 2022
A smiling face is an Earthlike star
The music to the one and only Stevie Wonder has often been a background to our family life, during happy times and sad. The title of this piece is the first line of a beautiful song on the album entitled ‘Fulfillingness’ First Finale’ (Tamla Records, 1974). Over the years I must have bought most of his albums, and despite having played them so often, they never fail to reach the spot. The melodies are always engaging; sometimes I just have to dance and at other times the thoughtful poetic lyrics make me want to relax and reflect on the power of his words.
In those far off days when I was a young teacher the whole class was expected to practise their handwriting skills once a week. I talked through each word as I wrote on the blackboard and waited for them to laboriously copy each line, before moving onto the next. I would often include a verse from one of my favourite songs and sing it to them afterwards. I chose a special phrase to put up on the wall near the door every week, in the hope of engendering positivity, not just for the children but for myself too. Some of the children enjoyed reading: ‘A smiling face is an Earthlike star’ aloud as they went outside to play. I like to think it brought some joy.
A few days ago, I went to The National Gallery to see an exhibition of work by the African -American artist, Kehinde Wiley. ‘Like past artists […] Wiley came to understand the power of […] images to shape and even define historical moments […] how the language of the old masters could assign status and fame. […] He decided to ‘help redress the imbalance of power […] and the involuntary inclusion of Black people as peripheral figures – servants, enslaved people [ …] in many historical paintings.’ (Kehinde Wiley at The National Gallery: The Prelude, (The National Gallery Company Ltd: distributed by Yale University Press)
It would take me far too long to write about the paintings and his short film on show, set in Norway and featuring a group of young Black people who went with him to make it. Seeing them in the snow, among the huge white mountains in an environment which was different to what one would expect conveyed many thoughts and references. Suffice to say it was a tenderly emotional experience, showing three of the performers smiling for many, many minutes, their mouths and eyes sometimes twitching as their smiles seemingly turning slowly into pain. That particular scene reminded me very much of ‘Maya Angelou: We Wear The Mask’, on YouTube. Do watch it if you’re not already familiar with it.
As an adult, I have realized over time that sometimes we smile when in fact our inner feelings are telling us something different. It can appear when we are embarrassed, or shy, or nervous: not knowing how to deal with a particular situation. It’s often said that those with the biggest smiles could be hiding inner pain. I have come across that a couple of times among people I have worked with.
Anyway on a more cheerful note, to quote Stevie, ‘Love within, you’ll begin smiling, There are brighter days ahead.’
Look after yourselves, everyone,
Anna x
In those far off days when I was a young teacher the whole class was expected to practise their handwriting skills once a week. I talked through each word as I wrote on the blackboard and waited for them to laboriously copy each line, before moving onto the next. I would often include a verse from one of my favourite songs and sing it to them afterwards. I chose a special phrase to put up on the wall near the door every week, in the hope of engendering positivity, not just for the children but for myself too. Some of the children enjoyed reading: ‘A smiling face is an Earthlike star’ aloud as they went outside to play. I like to think it brought some joy.
A few days ago, I went to The National Gallery to see an exhibition of work by the African -American artist, Kehinde Wiley. ‘Like past artists […] Wiley came to understand the power of […] images to shape and even define historical moments […] how the language of the old masters could assign status and fame. […] He decided to ‘help redress the imbalance of power […] and the involuntary inclusion of Black people as peripheral figures – servants, enslaved people [ …] in many historical paintings.’ (Kehinde Wiley at The National Gallery: The Prelude, (The National Gallery Company Ltd: distributed by Yale University Press)
It would take me far too long to write about the paintings and his short film on show, set in Norway and featuring a group of young Black people who went with him to make it. Seeing them in the snow, among the huge white mountains in an environment which was different to what one would expect conveyed many thoughts and references. Suffice to say it was a tenderly emotional experience, showing three of the performers smiling for many, many minutes, their mouths and eyes sometimes twitching as their smiles seemingly turning slowly into pain. That particular scene reminded me very much of ‘Maya Angelou: We Wear The Mask’, on YouTube. Do watch it if you’re not already familiar with it.
As an adult, I have realized over time that sometimes we smile when in fact our inner feelings are telling us something different. It can appear when we are embarrassed, or shy, or nervous: not knowing how to deal with a particular situation. It’s often said that those with the biggest smiles could be hiding inner pain. I have come across that a couple of times among people I have worked with.
Anyway on a more cheerful note, to quote Stevie, ‘Love within, you’ll begin smiling, There are brighter days ahead.’
Look after yourselves, everyone,
Anna x
December 20, 2021
My LOCAL COMMUNITY
Hi Everyone,
A big thankyou to those of you who signed up on my email list last Sunday at the Hither Green Christmas Fair and have joined others on the list who attended the October Makers Fair. I really appreciate everyone’s support.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what the word ‘community’ means, particularly in our borough. I have lived in Lewisham since 1974, and have seen many changes over the years. The demographic has shifted a great deal; when I stroll through the market I cannot help but notice how it reflects so many different cultures, religions and traditions: a symbol of London. Hearing the stall holders calling out makes me think how the fruit and vegetables they sell represent the customers they serve. Plantains, yams, avocados, sweet potatoes, mouli and many other things were surely not on sale all those years ago when the market first opened, back in 1906.
There was an annual St Patrick’s Day parade through the town for a few years when people of all denominations joined in, whether they were of Irish descent or not. I used to shop in the local Chelsea Girl branch during the 70s and liked to think I was super cool as I came out with the fashion of the day in my shopping bag: perhaps a pair of hot-pants or a tightly waisted boiler suit … 😊
There are lots of building projects taking place in Lewisham and more planned for the future; I hope that things don’t change too much and that the spirit of our community will not be lost.
I’m not denying that things have always been hunky -dory and recall the ‘Battle of Lewisham’ in August 1977. One could feel the tension building for months as right - wing extremists became more and more visible on the street. I accepted one of their leaflets once and made a big deal of tearing it up in front of them before walking away. It didn’t occur to me at the time that I could have been putting myself in danger. The police presence was much more noticeable at the time and if groups of young people gathered together for more than a few minutes, they were quickly moved on. On the day of the riot, lots of people stayed indoors and waited; it was a terrible time indeed.
Much has changed. I’m sure you will remember the Save Lewisham Hospital campaign in 2017, when the then Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt threatened to make dramatic cuts to the hospital service, which would have meant closing down vital departments, resulting in a drastic impact on patients’ health. The case went to the High Court and people throughout the borough came together to protest in a variety of ways.
A brief selection of a few of the activities in the borough include:
• Lewisham having nominated the first Young Mayor in 2004, the first local council in the UK to have initiated such a programme.
• The Donation Hub, where volunteers work hard to support local people in need as well as helping refugees to have access to various household items as well as food and clothing.
• The Refugee Council which welcomes and supports refugees in our community.
• The Migration Museum in the shopping centre: a precious mine of information and displays, representing people from all over the world. It’s well worth spending and hour or two there to learn more about British history.
You probably know more than me regarding other initiatives across our community.
So here we are approaching the end of another year of you-know-what. I’m not going to dwell on the awfulness of it all, we all know what we need to do and plod on as we have been doing.
Thankyou to those of you who willingly give up your time to help stewarding people as they queue for their booster jabs, helping out at the Donation Hub, do shifts at Covid Test Centres and so many more who support their neighbours, friends and families in one way or another.
Let’s see what 2022 has in store for us.
Take care, stay safe and enjoy a happy, peaceful season.
Anna x
A big thankyou to those of you who signed up on my email list last Sunday at the Hither Green Christmas Fair and have joined others on the list who attended the October Makers Fair. I really appreciate everyone’s support.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what the word ‘community’ means, particularly in our borough. I have lived in Lewisham since 1974, and have seen many changes over the years. The demographic has shifted a great deal; when I stroll through the market I cannot help but notice how it reflects so many different cultures, religions and traditions: a symbol of London. Hearing the stall holders calling out makes me think how the fruit and vegetables they sell represent the customers they serve. Plantains, yams, avocados, sweet potatoes, mouli and many other things were surely not on sale all those years ago when the market first opened, back in 1906.
There was an annual St Patrick’s Day parade through the town for a few years when people of all denominations joined in, whether they were of Irish descent or not. I used to shop in the local Chelsea Girl branch during the 70s and liked to think I was super cool as I came out with the fashion of the day in my shopping bag: perhaps a pair of hot-pants or a tightly waisted boiler suit … 😊
There are lots of building projects taking place in Lewisham and more planned for the future; I hope that things don’t change too much and that the spirit of our community will not be lost.
I’m not denying that things have always been hunky -dory and recall the ‘Battle of Lewisham’ in August 1977. One could feel the tension building for months as right - wing extremists became more and more visible on the street. I accepted one of their leaflets once and made a big deal of tearing it up in front of them before walking away. It didn’t occur to me at the time that I could have been putting myself in danger. The police presence was much more noticeable at the time and if groups of young people gathered together for more than a few minutes, they were quickly moved on. On the day of the riot, lots of people stayed indoors and waited; it was a terrible time indeed.
Much has changed. I’m sure you will remember the Save Lewisham Hospital campaign in 2017, when the then Health Secretary, Jeremy Hunt threatened to make dramatic cuts to the hospital service, which would have meant closing down vital departments, resulting in a drastic impact on patients’ health. The case went to the High Court and people throughout the borough came together to protest in a variety of ways.
A brief selection of a few of the activities in the borough include:
• Lewisham having nominated the first Young Mayor in 2004, the first local council in the UK to have initiated such a programme.
• The Donation Hub, where volunteers work hard to support local people in need as well as helping refugees to have access to various household items as well as food and clothing.
• The Refugee Council which welcomes and supports refugees in our community.
• The Migration Museum in the shopping centre: a precious mine of information and displays, representing people from all over the world. It’s well worth spending and hour or two there to learn more about British history.
You probably know more than me regarding other initiatives across our community.
So here we are approaching the end of another year of you-know-what. I’m not going to dwell on the awfulness of it all, we all know what we need to do and plod on as we have been doing.
Thankyou to those of you who willingly give up your time to help stewarding people as they queue for their booster jabs, helping out at the Donation Hub, do shifts at Covid Test Centres and so many more who support their neighbours, friends and families in one way or another.
Let’s see what 2022 has in store for us.
Take care, stay safe and enjoy a happy, peaceful season.
Anna x
December 4, 2021
What is there to BRAG about?
Back in the 80s, when I’d been teaching for a few years, I was enrolled along with four other teachers across Bermondsey and Rotherhithe schools to write a pamphlet for use in primary schools. The project was entitled ‘BRAG’, ie: Bermondsey and Rotherhithe Anti-Racism Group. We were a mixed group regarding our different cultures, race and backgrounds. The idea was to support school staff in how to deal with playground bullying and other related issues. We wrote the pamphlet over a few months, I can’t remember how long. It was also beautifully illustrated by a local artist and paid for out of the school budgets who took part. The six of us met two or three times a month while supply teachers were paid to cover our classes.
We spent a lot of time talking about our own experiences of what strategies we agreed could help staff in positive ways of dealing with it. In our discussions, it became more and more evident just how much young children are influenced by TV, images of ‘othering’ and the overheard conversations and influence of the adults in their lives. A lot of research has been done over many years about how people, adults and children, see themselves in relation to their environment, their community and the imagery presented all around them. We agreed that the perpetrators as well as the victims needed help in school. I don’t have any copies of the pamphlet left. Later in my career I was an advisor for Equal Opportunities and Religious Education in schools across Southwark and gave them away.
What I mostly remember as a child was being told: ‘just ignore them’ if anyone spoke or treated me negatively. I was one of a family of six children, the only Black family in Cornwall at that time. ‘Just ignore them’ became my mantra for many years, even as an adult on numerous occasions when I should have spoken up, a strategy described by writer Susan Cousins* as: ‘conscious conforming may be a necessary form of survival’.
The unrest across the world last year brought about by George Floyd’s murder and the disappointing comments of people I knew brought up a well of sadness which I had denied for a long time. I became cross with myself and fell into a bit of a decline. I did no writing for three months and lounged about feeling decidedly miserable, morose and yes – angry.
The first Race Relations Act in the UK was written in 1976 and has undergone several amendments and papers since then. It is now 2021.
Much has changed in regard to the attempts of large companies and businesses being at pains to show how much they welcome diversity across the workforce. To what degree those policies and procedures are actually put in place is questionable. One only has to read the vitriolic comments on social media to see that there are still large numbers of people who are only too happy to show their hate and mistrust of anyone who does not fit the ‘default’ position.
As a young teacher, one of the first books I came across featuring black children was written by Petronella Breinburg and published by Bodley Head, London in 1975. I was delighted to read ‘Sean’s Red Bike’ to my class. It’s an ordinary story about an ordinary boy from an ordinary family and his excitement at getting a new bike. I still have a copy of the book years later. Many writers today are including stories featuring different cultures and races and not before time. Petronella died two years ago, aged ninety-two; she continued writing well into her later years. Her funeral was a joyful occasion in celebration of her life and achievements. Do take a look on Google to find out more about her amazing life. I was honoured to say a few words that day, along with many others.
The only images I’d seen of black people as a child were those of starving children in Africa on TV, with swollen bellies and ragged clothes. The other occasion was when the ‘Sunny Smiles’ lady came around once a year to raise money for babies in orphanages awaiting adoption. She brought a little booklet filled with black and white photographs of babies. You could choose one or more photographs and would be given the child’s pictures in exchange for your donation. My mother always chose the black babies. After the lady had walked off down the path, Mum explained that her choice was because brown and black babies were less likely to be chosen for adoption.
The sequel to Masquerade is set in Cornwall and London. It is a complete fiction but as you can imagine there may be a few glancing references to personal recollections.
So, I’d better get my head down! Having lounged about like a wet rag last autumn I am trying to make up for lost time. I hope to be able to announce the final completion by the spring.
Take care everyone. Anna
(*Susan Cousins, MBACP (Snr Accred, Cardiff University) working in Equality, Diversity and Inclusion.)
We spent a lot of time talking about our own experiences of what strategies we agreed could help staff in positive ways of dealing with it. In our discussions, it became more and more evident just how much young children are influenced by TV, images of ‘othering’ and the overheard conversations and influence of the adults in their lives. A lot of research has been done over many years about how people, adults and children, see themselves in relation to their environment, their community and the imagery presented all around them. We agreed that the perpetrators as well as the victims needed help in school. I don’t have any copies of the pamphlet left. Later in my career I was an advisor for Equal Opportunities and Religious Education in schools across Southwark and gave them away.
What I mostly remember as a child was being told: ‘just ignore them’ if anyone spoke or treated me negatively. I was one of a family of six children, the only Black family in Cornwall at that time. ‘Just ignore them’ became my mantra for many years, even as an adult on numerous occasions when I should have spoken up, a strategy described by writer Susan Cousins* as: ‘conscious conforming may be a necessary form of survival’.
The unrest across the world last year brought about by George Floyd’s murder and the disappointing comments of people I knew brought up a well of sadness which I had denied for a long time. I became cross with myself and fell into a bit of a decline. I did no writing for three months and lounged about feeling decidedly miserable, morose and yes – angry.
The first Race Relations Act in the UK was written in 1976 and has undergone several amendments and papers since then. It is now 2021.
Much has changed in regard to the attempts of large companies and businesses being at pains to show how much they welcome diversity across the workforce. To what degree those policies and procedures are actually put in place is questionable. One only has to read the vitriolic comments on social media to see that there are still large numbers of people who are only too happy to show their hate and mistrust of anyone who does not fit the ‘default’ position.
As a young teacher, one of the first books I came across featuring black children was written by Petronella Breinburg and published by Bodley Head, London in 1975. I was delighted to read ‘Sean’s Red Bike’ to my class. It’s an ordinary story about an ordinary boy from an ordinary family and his excitement at getting a new bike. I still have a copy of the book years later. Many writers today are including stories featuring different cultures and races and not before time. Petronella died two years ago, aged ninety-two; she continued writing well into her later years. Her funeral was a joyful occasion in celebration of her life and achievements. Do take a look on Google to find out more about her amazing life. I was honoured to say a few words that day, along with many others.
The only images I’d seen of black people as a child were those of starving children in Africa on TV, with swollen bellies and ragged clothes. The other occasion was when the ‘Sunny Smiles’ lady came around once a year to raise money for babies in orphanages awaiting adoption. She brought a little booklet filled with black and white photographs of babies. You could choose one or more photographs and would be given the child’s pictures in exchange for your donation. My mother always chose the black babies. After the lady had walked off down the path, Mum explained that her choice was because brown and black babies were less likely to be chosen for adoption.
The sequel to Masquerade is set in Cornwall and London. It is a complete fiction but as you can imagine there may be a few glancing references to personal recollections.
So, I’d better get my head down! Having lounged about like a wet rag last autumn I am trying to make up for lost time. I hope to be able to announce the final completion by the spring.
Take care everyone. Anna
(*Susan Cousins, MBACP (Snr Accred, Cardiff University) working in Equality, Diversity and Inclusion.)
