Stories of the Windrush generation

In June 1948, the first ships carrying Commonwealth citizens, invited over to help rebuild post-war Britain, docked in our ports. 70 years on, Bristol is celebrating their lasting legacy.

A bold mural in the heart of St Paul’s depicts the Empire Windrush ship, above it flies a banner emblazoned with the word ‘migration’.

It stands as a lasting reminder of the contribution made by people from Commonwealth countries, who were invited to Britain to help rebuild and fill vital roles in the aftermath of the Second World War.

After making the long and arduous journey, many of these people were met with broken promises, hardship and hostility – a legacy that continues to this day, with the recent scandal in which Commonwealth citizens were left fearing deportation at the hands of the Government.

Despite the obstacles they faced, the Windrush generation have enriched Bristol and other cities across the UK in numerous ways, carving out lives for themselves and their children.

Now into retirement age, it is not praise or attention these early settlers seek. No, after years of hard work, all they really want is to be left in peace – and perhaps let their hair down a little.

This leads us to the Malcolm X Centre on City Road, where Afro-fusion and reggae beats can be heard reverberating around the brick walls…..

Community elders gather in the Malcolm X Centre to socialise, dance and catch up over food

The dance class in full swing

It is Monday morning and a dance class is in full swing, as a circle of men and women sway, shuffle and shake to the music, led by new lord mayor of Bristol and dance instructor Cleo Lake.

Over a lunch of chicken, potatoes and plantain, some of these community elders share their stories.

“I used to have a maid at home and I came to Britain and the first job I had was cleaning toilets – can you imagine?” says Evadney Hartley, with a gleeful laugh.

The 84-year-old first came to Britain in 1960, living first in London and then moving to Bristol, settling in Easton, where she has been for 56 years.

“I am a country girl and at that time, Bristol was a country place and I visited my cousin here and the greenery got me so I moved here.” recalls Evadney.

“I came to England to be trained as a doctor. But when I got here, it was different from home – I could not have a maid to look after my children, so I stayed home and looked after them myself.

“It was very difficult by myself here in a strange country.

“In those days, we moved from place to place in rented houses – they did not want any kids living there. It was hell – we were treated like dirt, and if they did rent you a place, they watched your kids to see what they were doing.

“I had a good education, but I went to clean toilets because I came here to work. But, I was not going to be ‘yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’, not me.”

Her husband was a bus driver and Evadney went on to work at a homeopathic clinic in Cotham, as a bus conductor and, latterly, at a residential home – but first and foremost, she looked after her four children, whom she “gave up everything for”.

She doesn’t regret it for a second though, proudly stating that her one of her sons is a body builder and engineer, the other an electrical engineer and her two daughters both work in nursing.

With a proud beam, she fishes out her phone to show a family photo, featuring multiple grandchildren and great grandchildren. “I’m proud – I’m so proud of my children,” she says.

Lennie Sharry and Evadney Hartley

Lennie Sharry came by himself from St Christopher, Jamaica, to work in post-war Britain, landing in Birmingham, before moving to Bristol in 1962.

It didn’t take him long to realise that things were not quite as they had been promised.

“Your Queen asked us to come here and when I came here there was nowhere for me to live,” he recalls. “They would put up notices saying ‘no blacks’. Some people just went back.”

The 84-year-old stuck it out, working in factories and construction.

“I was always working, it was very hard work, with very long hours,” he says.

“When you work with white people, they get the good wages, but we did not matter.

“They did not treat me well, but I had to keep my cool because I had so much misunderstanding. I had people saying I should wash my hands and ‘why do I not go back to Africa’ – I just had to stay quiet because I did not want any trouble.

“Most of it was on the building sites. They would put something on my shoulder and then say ‘there you are with a chip on your shoulder’, but I just kept my cool.”

“There was nobody to complain to,” he adds, matter-of-factly.

“My children have done well for themselves. Many years have gone by and you do not get people calling you names anymore.

“The best thing about living here is people are respectful to me,” says Lennie, gesturing around him. “Especially in places like this group, there is always much respect.”

Lyn Pandora Collman

Lyn Pandora Collman’s brother was among the wave of migrants to arrive in Britain by boat, and she got a plane from Jamaica to join him in the early 60s, when she was just in her teens.

Reminiscing on the journey over, she recalls with a smile that “they were all walking up and down the plane and I remember thinking ‘I wish they would sit down because they will tip the plane’. I did not go to the toilet the whole time.”

“I worked up in Fishponds at the Robinson’s Box factory,” says Lyn. “Then I got married and the rest was history. I had five children and ended up working for the NHS with mentally-handicapped people.”

She adds with a wide grin, “And I’m still here, they have not sent me home yet.”

Lyn settled in Totterdown with her husband and says there were many good times to be had in what was generally a friendly community.

“It was different, because we were not used to having a fire in the house. A lot of the houses in Britain had toilets outside in those days, but when you’re young, you adapt.

“I just got on with life – you have got to. We had no mother or father there. My husband was an electrician so he came over because of his profession.

“When he got here, he went out and looked for a job. In those days, everybody had to work, nobody gave you a handout. He went up to the Manor Park Hospital to ask for a job and worked there until he retired.

“I always say I’m thankful – I had two boys and it could have been worse in those days, the 60s and 70s, growing up.”

Clinton

Clinton, who didn’t want to give his surname, travelled over from Jamaica in 1962, at the age of just 21, and spent most of his working life in Wiltshire before settling in Bristol to be near his children.

“I worked in factories. The money was not that good, but I was working and that was good,” he recalls.

“It’s different here to Jamaica, but the great thing about it here is if you want to work, you can get work. You will not get to the top, but you can get somewhere.”

Lyn Douglas

Lyn Douglas worked three jobs at a time when she first came over from Jamaica, but she said she was not always well treated.

“I used to say to white people ‘you are not better than me: I am black and you are white but we still have the same red blood’,” she recalls.

“I love it here now though. I live in Easton now and I used to be in St Paul’s. There is a nice community.”

Hyaciath Lafayette used to make peanut rings at Fry’s Chocolate factory when she first settled in Bristol in 1961.

“I came over as a family of 12 and lived in Montpelier,” she recalls.

“We would work all day at the chocolate factory. I worked there for 25 years. We were treated well at Fry’s – it was a lovely place – we could eat all that we wanted.

“Other than that, I went to church.”

As for life in Bristol, Hyaciath has no complaints, “I just take each day as it comes, each day at a time,” she says with a wise nod.

People who took part in Cleo’s dance class were among the crowds in City Hall to celebrate the inauguration of Cleo Lake as lord mayor in May

Read more: Black history in Bristol