Charles Hyatt, ContributorIN ENGLAND, one of the many sad legacies of the Second World War (1939-1945) was space. Space for the building of new houses, that is.
In the ones left standing after the 'blitz' bombing by German aircraft of the cities there was space, as many household members were killed.
This was the situation that Jamaicans encountered a decade afterwards at the beginning of migration to that country. Considering that they were British subjects coming from a British colony to the 'Motherland', the Jamaicans were astonished to find that in all that space they were unable to acquire any accommodation and the only reason for this was the fact that they were 'coloured' people the term that was in common usage in those times moving into a white society.
Signs were posted on every front door, 'Room to Let. No Coloureds. No Pets.' This was illegal, of course, according to the laws of the country, but there was little or no enforcement.
By the time I arrived there in the spring of 1961, the word had got around that in order to survive successfully in that society where the laws are there to protect you but in order to have them enforced requires an expense which you are unable to afford, you had to bend the rules a little.
LIVING BY YOUR WITS
Thus, living by your wits was the order of the day for black people in Britain. Instances? They were innumerable! Not necessarily unlawful or illegal, but by Christian standards a little immoral. O.K. Let's look at some.
I arrived in that country with 90 American cents on my person. The British Council here informed me that on my arrival in London I would be met by an officer from the British Council there, who would give me my bursary for the first month.
So I left Jamaica with time and money to spare to enable me to be with my friends and mentor musician Baba Motto in New York. That time spent there is another story. My first time in America.
What my British Council informant never told me was that I was to be met in Victoria, some 14 miles from London's Heathrow airport. When we landed there was an announcement that passengers needing transportation to Victoria could board the bus which was parked outside the exit of the terminal building and the fare would be five shillings.
Uh oh!
In them days, the American dollar was worth seven shillings sterling. Well, I had 90 cents so I was OK. The only thing was as was my experience in Jamaica, coins of foreign currency were not accepted, only notes. This, I thought, could be a problem.
Anyway if, as in Jamaica, the conductor collected fares while we were on the journey and didn't want my coins he would have to wait until we got to Victoria. If however, he collected before we started out I would have to think of something else.
Well don't you know that was what the man decided to do? Those conductors on that route don't travel on the buses, because there was only one stop from the airport that was Victoria. It was an express service.
The upstairs bus was far from full and I was the only black passenger. I was sitting downstairs alone in a seat, as no one was prepared to sit beside me if they could help it. In the forward seats was a group of Japanese to whom the conductor first went, with his ticket machine strapped to his chest, and ordered: "Fares please."
Apparently the gentlemen, like myself, had coins which they tendered, only to be told in a loud voice as people are wont to use when talking to foreigners "I'm sorry, I can't accept coins. If you have a one dollar note I'll take that and give you two shillings change".
Whereupon the Japanese conferred among themselves and came up with some US dollars. With that he gave them the change in sterling and reeled off their paper tickets from the machine with what I came to recognise as the customary "thank you" and proceeded down the aisle calling "any more fares please?".
"Please" and "thank you" go a far way in that country.
JAMAICAN GINNALSHIP
By the time he got to me I was gazing attentively out the window with all my coins in the palm of my outstretched right hand.
He said slowly and loudly: "I am sorry sir but we are not allowed to accept coins, if you have a dollar note I'll give you two shillings change". Well, you know I couldn't understand a word he was saying. I kept stretching my hand higher toward his face, accompanied by some gibberish in the best bass voice I could muster, concluding with "nuh, nuh".
As I intended, he accepted my noises to be some form of African tongue that naturally he did not understand. He looked around with a cherry pink face to see if there was anyone in the bus who would intervene and translate for us.
There was no one. Apart from the Japanese everyone else was not only white but British, and the British were renowned for pretending to mind their own business. Mind you, they always gave themselves away while doing so by blushing very red.
Eventually realising that he was onto a loser the conductor wound off a ticket, placed it in my hand and left me with "thank you" and my coins.
Finishing his collecting he came off the bus and we departed for Victoria. If he had travelled with us when we got to the terminus and heard the conversation between his British Council officer and myself he would have realised that he was the victim of a Jamaican ginnalship.
Next time: 'How we got
housing'.
