大象传媒

This story has been added by CSV volunteer Linda Clark on behalf of Bernard E Peters who provided it for the People's War website. They both fully understand the site's terms and conditions.

I was born during the 2nd World War, the result of an affair my mother had when her husband was away in the army. I'm not proud of what my mother did and I'm not ashamded of it either. Thousands of people had affairs during wartime living through good times and bad. My mother got involved with a Black GI marine stationed near where we lived. From what I know now, he left Cornwall for France before I was born, so he never saw me, but he knew I was on the way. I know my mother sent him a photograph of me but there was no reply. Who knows, he might have been killed. I don't know. Abortions in those days weren't common. Whatever happened after my mother's husband came home I never knew, but I had a dad, two brothers and one sister, all older than me. We all grew up together in a small village where everybody knew everybody else. My brothers looked out for me, they often had a scrap or two because someone had called me names. I was too young to understand what half casts or black girl meant but I realised I was different. Mother would sweep it under the carpet and dad would cuddle me. I was surrounded by love at home.

At school I remember the kids liked to touch my hair and call me Golliwog, a word you don't hear now, but it didn't really bother me, my sister stuck up for me and it was soon forgotten.

Mother would send us all off to school to do our best. I always felt special at home within the family, being different just wasn't an issue.

I remember running home from school crying. I really wanted to be in the school nativity play and one girl had said to me, "You can't be an angel, God didn't have black angels". Mother didn't explain she just dismissed it.

I wasn't the most academic child in the class, but I enjoyed school. What I really loved was the sports day, games and winning at all sorts. I got chosen for tea games. I always tried my best; I was cheered when I won. being half cast didn't come into it then, I did not notice that.

When the time came to leave the relative comfort of the village school I had to go to the big comprehensive school which was awesome for me. Mother bought me a uniform so I looked like everyone else. I was told to mind my manners and do the best I could. This was my very first encounter with prejudice. I felt different, I looked different and I was different. I had no older brothers or sister, now I was on my own. I made one special friend and I knew a few other kids but it was hard to begin with. I decided to keep my head down and get on with things. I had a lot of name calling which I tried to ignore and there were quite a few teases in the lobby toilets but I got stuck into sports, which I loved and I enjoyed the competitiveness of it all.

School came to an end all too soon for me. My dad died suddenly and my world changed. I had to get a job so I could help my mother, as the widow's pension was only about 10/6 a week, I think. I did two jobs to help mum in a town where no one really knew me. By this time I was meeting boys, I was always second choice which hurt and I was always asked where did I come from. Mother would keep saying, "Take no notice".

I did meet a boy, a real boy friend: we talked about all the silly things boys and girls talk about and I said when I got married I wanted two kids. He said "I don,t want to marry you, our children might be black". I was horrified. There was that word Black again.

By now I knew about the birds and the bees but I could not buck up courage to ask my mother, it was something you didn't ever mention. I knew, but I didn't know why.

The soldiers were all gone now, Black faces were quite rare here in Cornwall, except for the port of Falmouth but they were all foreign sailors. One or two you met in Truro but they were nearly all sailors. I did meet some very nice people and I enjoyed my teenage years: the swinging sixties was a great time. It was a new era for all kinds of music and we saw and heard a lot of different people - T.V. was here to stay!

I met my husband and he treated me like a princess and somehow half cast seemed a long time ago. Then I met his mother and my face really did not fit, I had returned to being Black again and that time was very difficult with many more tears before we eventually got married. Again it was difficult and it took a long time before I was sort of accepted, if ever. But our marriage was concrete hard and that's all I needed. I spoke to my mother on the 50th anniversary of the war, just her and I together. I summed up enough courage to ask her to tell me the truth about who my real father was. She lied at first and said she could not remember as it was so long ago, (50 years). I said, "Mother, I don't mind if you had an affair, please tell me the truth".. She told me his name and what she could remember. She said that I was confirmed but even to this day I never felt worthy of taking the bread and wine in church. Yet another thing, even today in church that singles me out to be the only one. I feel isolated when all the others go up, I sit alone, a little embarrassed: it singles me out once again as different.

I thought I could get married in church but the vicar said we couldn't as my husband to be was a divorced man. I accepted it but I felt it was another rejection. I have been married 38 years, quite an achievement, but I have never felt married in the eyes of God. I still have lots of doubts and just occasionally I wonder where I really belong, brought up white but looked at as black.

It posed a bit of an embarrassment even to the hospital records as I can only relate my mothers history. I know nothing of my fathers, so even there you get one of those looks that speaks volumes.

I have a good husband and a son who, according to my mother, is the spitting image of my GI Dad, as a US marine. My mum lived long enough to see my son when he was 10 and she said, "Thats your Dad all over again". One of the rare occasions when she would talk to me about the past.

THE PAIN REMAINS.

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