The Language of Colour

THE LANGUAGE OF COLOR

Cecil strode briskly towards "The Church of Our Lady" school, he had
charge of his two grandchildren after school until their mother
finished work and was able to collect them. He approached his
destination and proceeded to the front gate, there reflecting for a
brief moment he scanned the "plays area". He had made this journey so
many times before, his mind flashed to 20 years earlier when he was
dropping of his daughter, shy and retiring she had clung to his hand
tightly as he made his way to deposit her with her new teacher.

The only real change he discerned was the array of multi-coloured
children playing together, laughing and shrieking without a care in the
world. His mind ambled back, his child's apprehension he fully
understood, her olive skin and dark plaited hair made his little
treasure different and for that he worried. He sighed, Bonny had
accelerated at school despite the torment she endured at the hands of
her classmates and bigoted teachers. His son Trevor, had not been
fortunate, he recalled a child returning home blooded, shirt torn and
knees scuffed. This was to become the pattern over the next few years.
His thoughts intruded again "How could Children be so cruel"?
His trail of thought was interrupted by the shrieks of two little
excited voices,

"It's Granddad, Hi Gramps" he heard as both children spoke in
unison.

"Hello, my little ones" he retorted, "Did you have a good day"?

"Yea" came back the eager response, his five your old grandson handed
him a painting, "Look Grampi I've done a drawing, it's everyone in my
class!"

"That's wonderful darling," he replied with a big smile that extended
from his lips and incorporated the joy his eyes spoke. Cecil still
grinning took hold of both children's hands, "Let's go home, I can have
a proper look there. He glanced back once more and proceeded home.
Bonny would be collecting them shortly.

Evening crept its way slowly into Cecil's existence, it was Friday and
he new another journey beckoned. Cecil, in his early seventies was a
tall very quietly spoken black man, the years had been kind to his
physical appearance not ageing him, he looked about 50. He still missed
his "Sissy" - his sweetheart had passed a couple of years earlier, he
was relieved that she had not live to witness the unfortunate
circumstances which had presented themselves to him and his
family.

Cecil took a moment to reminisce. He had come to England in the early
'50's when the "Mother Country" had cried out for workers from the
Islands. A qualified teacher from Barbados, he had arrived to face a
cold damp dreary place. The stories told about the streets of London
being paved with Gold were still being told at home, but he had arrived
to face a different kind of reality. The writing was literary on the
walls
Daubed in large print he remembered reading.

- No Blacks
- No Dogs &;
- No Gipsies
- Niggers Go Home!

An indication of things to come. He had raised his two English born
children in this environment. Cecil's respect for authority and the law
remained undiminished.

He recollected being turned way time and time when looking for
somewhere to live, it was an old Jewish lady that had welcomed him and
his wife into the rented accommodation that he later bought. As with
other immigrants arriving at that time he was ushered towards "The
Mill" large factory reproducing cotton. This had become his new career,
he gritted his teeth, worked very hard and said very little. He took
the racial and verbal abuse with a smile, after all he was an educated
man surrounded by a bunch of Indigenous feeble-minded fools. He had a
purpose and no one would distract him.

He raised his children to have respect for all people, he taught them
to value difference and most importantly he taught them to have respect
for the law. At the same time his advice had been to avoid the police
as if they were carrying the plague. "If the Police get a hold of you,
he said You're Done! A very stark warning, which Bonny had heeded. A
tear gently slipped slowly down his cheek as he remembered. It was
Friday night and he hand an appointment with destiny.

Donning his grey suit Cecil straightened his tie and heaved an extended
sighed which spoke volumes. It was time. He opened the garage door and
jumped into his car, he drove the thirty mile journey in silence with
only the quick beating of his heart for company, with stomach tied up
and knotted, Cecil arriving at his destination parked his vehicle and
ambled across the forecourt, stopping briefly to hand his slip of paper
to the guard at the door. He raised both arms head height as he was
searched, he placed his bag on the counter and watched as it underwent
the same rigorous search to which he had been subjected. "Ok Mr
Williams you can go in now" a voice bellowed.

Striding with pride Cecil crossed the reception area and proceeded into
the meeting room. Within minutes Trevor appeared. "Hi Dad, did you have
a good trip"

"Not bad" Cecil replied, "and how are you"?

"Just coping, you know how it is, I'm just surviving"

He wanted to hug his child but was conscious of the prying eyes that
were on him. The two men sat in silence for a while and just enjoyed
each other's presence. "It won't be long now Trev", Cecil said speaking
with renewed hope, just six months and we can get back to normal.

"Yes, and I can't wait to be home came back the eagerly anticipated
response from Trevor. Cecil handed the bag of "goodies" which he had
brought for his son, aftershave, and toothpaste and of course
cigarettes. Trevor smiled but said nothing, his dad could see the
sorrow in his eyes, words could not express the shame that Trevor had
felt, and the disappointment he was feeling, after all he had let his
father down. Time seemed to gallop by at a speed only reserved for
visiting days, and it was soon time for Cecil to leave. He watched his
only son being escorted back to his cell he presumed, he paused for
thought took a deep breath and left his heart heavy with guilt.