Cynthia Gilbert

Cynthia Gilbert 

“So my story begins in the 1960’s with my dad Clive Gilbert, who would take us to Ridley Road in Dalston every Saturday and it was an event. He was a tall man, who would walk very fast, and me and my three sisters, Jennifer, Audrey, and Thelma would march behind with our trolley. Everybody in Dalston knew dad, because of our unusual family situation. He would go to the music shop on the road, and they would play him the latest tunes. It was his way of treating himself after doing the shopping.”

“Ridley Road was a meeting place for the Caribbean community, so we would always see people we knew. Dalston was saturated with black families back then and East Enders on the fruit and veg stall stalls and the pie and mash shops with the jellied eels. I loved the pie and mash and especially the green liquor with the vinegar they would pour over it. Dad was strict, so he didn’t let us out unaccompanied. But a lot of the Caribbean families were strict back then, law-abiding citizens.”

“When I was older, I began to realise how difficult it was for that generation to come to England and having to adjust. They were fearful to start with and then having to be met with all the animosity they faced once here. They romanticised this country and still do today. They called it the motherland and they believed it. So, to come here and be treated so badly must have been shocking. My dad never really spoke about it as he was a man of few words and could not read or write, because his family could not afford to send him to school. But he was honourable, articulate, and wise.” 

“My dad came here in 1969 from St Lucia, initially invited by his older sister and her husband. They all thought they would have better lives and all the things that were promised to the people of the Caribbean. After a while he sent for my mum, Veronica and my two older sisters to join him.”

“He would go to work every day as a labourer and would give mum his whole wage packet. Mum had a part time job and looked after us while he was at work. They did not have much but would save to buy nice things and bits of furniture for the family. His sisters were very jealous of them and told my dad that mum was bringing another man into the house whilst he was working. Dad believed them and they had a fight. We never really knew the truth, and I only remember her leaving when I was six. Dad would cry a lot after that, especially in the beginning.”

“But looking back I realise how tough it was for them and the pressures they faced daily. My mum would always carry some scissors in her bag when she worked in the hospital in London. She would do the early shift at five in the morning and all the skinheads would taunt her down the street. She would have the scissors in her bag in case she was attacked. I don’t think she ever used them but imagine doing that, just to get to work. So, she never really felt safe here. Not ever. We experienced racism first hand growing up. The woman who lived next door would shout at us ‘get away from my son you black bastards’. I was just a child, and we were polite, well-behaved children in the street.”

“We all knew that if you did got arrested back then and taken into that police station in a meat wagon, you were coming out beaten to a pulp or not coming out at all, dead in a box. That’s what I grew up with. There were black house parties and police would come in and smash up people and their equipment. There was no one to go and tell. Hackney was different back then, a very poor borough with corrugated iron and still full of bombs from the war. Most of the toilets were still outside and there were a lot of derelict houses and spaces. Even the houses were often in bad shape and poor condition, but they would still rent them out to black families in the worst and sometimes unliveable conditions.”

“When I was 14, dad met my stepmother Jean and he let us out a bit more. She told him ‘you can’t keep these girls in the house anymore’. I liked her because she calmed my dad down and he was happier after so many years of raising us alone. But my sisters felt like she had taken him away from them and done them an injustice. All the women on our estate fancied dad because he was so good looking, dressed impeccably and brought up four girls, but this was the first girlfriend since mum had left. Some of the family were offended by his new relationship, especially his sisters. Mainly because Jean was white. But I never felt away that about Jean, and I liked her and befriended her. She used to make me the most intricate dolls clothes.”

“Dad and Jean met at bingo when her friend didn’t turn up and she offered my dad her seat. Jean looked like Olive from ‘On The Buses’ but it didn’t matter because she loved my dad and dad fell in love with her. After all the rumours about dad beating mum up, it became clear that dad never put a hand on Jean, and Jean wasn’t easy…. And they were together for over 40 years, until he died. But when he got dementia he would call for my mum.. but Jean was always there for him, whatever he said. Anyway, as we grew up, it was all in the open and Jeans family and our family were close. Nothing was in the shadows, and we all knew what was happening.”  

“I left home at 15 and went to stay with mum and sister but that did not last long. Then I squatted in Hackney. So, you would have the squat for a while and then they would serve you notice. It all depended on whether the council got to know and sometimes they didn’t. It was the neighbours who would complain, especially if you had parties, so you had to be careful. But it could take six weeks to six months to get you out. When they did get you out you would get all your belongings and furniture and find another squat and move into it – it was a midnight flip, that was fun or madness.”

“People never wanted to live here back then, and they would have a negative view of the borough even though they had never been here. But I always thought the borough was like a magnet and then of course later people found out about the goodness of Hackney. The media painted Hackney as so black, so if you were outside, you would think, god that place is like a war zone. But it wasn’t like that. It was like a tiny village. Of course, there were problems but often you would not know about them until the media hyped them up. Many of the other London boroughs were far worse with regards to crime and gun crime. But if anything happened in Hackney it was in the news. Not just local news but national news. This made Hackney a no-go area. But this meant it was cheap so artists and people who wanted to start a life in London would be able to afford it. They would come from weird and wonderful places, and I would always think I am living here in London but the whole world comes to me. You could get friendly with these new people and learn about their culture, faith and food. And everybody was cool to go, getting on. Yeah I love it here and think that this is the place to be.”