Errol

I was born in Jamaica and stayed there until I was 11, mainly with my grandmother in St Mary’s. I loved my grandmother very much and I still have that love for her. I remember playing back then and running through the sand in my bare feet, as the beach was at the back of our house. When the mango season came, the smell was like heaven and downtown in the market, the smell of all the flavours used to hit me. Behind the market, I could hear the ‘woosh’ and smell of the sea. I used to walk by the riverside, and I could hear the breeze blowing through the bamboos.

My parents Cynthia and Alphonso came to London from Jamaica in the early 60’s to find work. My father was named after Roland Alphonso the Jamaican tenor saxophonist, and one of the founding members of the Skatalites. My parents visited me as often as they could and I joined them here when I was eleven. We lived in Fulham, on Wandsworth Bridge Road, in a high rise on the twelve floor. I was the only child. One day when I going to school, I put my foot in my shoe and noticed my sock was hanging out. Shoes had leather soles back in those days and the sole had come away from the shoe completely. So that was how I went to school in the snow that day. Things were much tougher back then, though I had fun. My school was very mixed, and some big people went there also like Linford Christie, a couple of the guys from Aswad and The Wisdom band. I used to bunk off school, seriously, because what they were teaching me at school I already knew, so I used to bunk off and watch ‘Albert and Costello’, ‘Laurel and Hardy’ and ‘The Galloping Gourmet’ - a very early morning show, where they would cook and get someone out of the show to try the food. As I got older the housing estate, we lived on got more and more run down. People became strangers. That’s how they tricked the Black community, by making them think they were going into a new build, a stylish place and people did not realise how these places ghettoised us.

The two most difficult things about this country are the weather, dealing with the cold and the racism. Once when I was fourteen, I was coming home with two old ladies who lived on my road and two white guys jumped out of a van and beat me. It all happened so fast I did not see them clearly, but they could have been police. The old ladies were shocked and kept saying “He’s only a kid, leave him alone.”I was into football when I was young and that’s where I discovered the National Front. Sometimes I would be frightened of coming out when it was late because there were NF in the police, and they would give you a beating if they saw you coming.

Me and my friends would meet up and listen to music and drink Babycham or Canei wine. There would be one phone call and we would all get together and have a session. Our get togethers used to finish around ten or at midnight. It was faith back then. The black boys I mixed with were my friends, but It was difficult because I spoke differently to them. But they grew to accept me and growing up we went clubbing together. Tiffany’s or Scamps in Hemel Hampstead, the Lyceum ballroom and Ronnie Scott’s. Some of those boys that I was with, I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t dislike any people, but I like my boundaries and some men would want to come and say hello darling and try and kiss me, on the lips and it just wasn’t for me.

All my girlfriends were European back then, blonde hair and blue eyes. I was quite scared as they were putting it on me and chasing me so much. I used to meet them when I used to go clubbing when I was fourteen or fifteen. I was meant to be eighteen but there were platforms. It was a good thing those platform shoes, but the bouncers did look at me funny.

Growing up in this city as a young person, I felt like a king. Put it this way… the disco was not good here, until we arrived.

My parents would buy records from Shepherds Bush Market. When my dad got his wages, he would go straight out and buy records, like ‘Boogie on Reggae Woman’ by Stevie Wonder. Music was my pride and joy… The music I remember from those days was Elton John’s ‘Daniel’, and Kiki Dee’s, ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Around the Old Oak Tree’, and you know, that tune with the lyrics ‘Clown to the left of me jokers to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with you’. These were I tunes I used to hear on the radio and on Top of The Pops. Johnny Nash and that tune ‘I can see clearly now the rain has gone’. There was some black music in the charts back then, funk, Brass Construction and Glady’s Night and the Pips, Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes. Not so much reggae though. The biggest reggae I heard growing up was Ken Boothe and ‘I would give everything I own’, that was in the charts for about sixteen weeks….. those were the days. I also listened and loved black artists like John Holt, the Heptones, Dobby Dobson, Max Romeo, Marcia Griffiths, Sanchez and later, Denis Brown and the Bushman. I got more into funk and soul as I went through life rather than the reggae and soca. Singers I admired would be Morgan Heritage and Rash Shiloh. I also Like George Michael’s Careless Whisper which is a classic of classics alongside Maggie May by Rod Stuart. Two of my best artists now in Jamaica both DJs is one called Movado and the other is Vybz Kartel. Music is the backdrop to my life story.

When I was eighteen my parents got divorced. They were both hard working, but they had their personal differences and split up. By that time now I would have accepted it. I was still living with them, but I had a girlfriend Linda Algaban from Iraq and she had a small boy. I worked in the Virgin Record Shop in Marble Arch. Them times there, Oxford Street, Kings Road, Covent Garden, Richmond, Chiswick, Fulham Broadway, all these places were coming up a little bit. It was the 80’s and things were really bubbling, work was good, wages were going up and weekend work was available. It was laid back and summer was real summer - long and hot in the city and me in my brand Clarkes shoes. Carnival was a big memory. The panorama just used to be Black people and Londoners they used to meet on Kensal Rise. They would paint themselves up, throw their dust and dance. I remember the riots. But we never met there to fight. We would dress up in proper clothes, to see the girls, their friends and we might be going somewhere else later… it was just fun. My mum said to me “all you’re interested in is cars and music so I think you should come to Jamaica.” I was taxi driving at the weekends at the time and gave her the money for my fare and we went back to visit home.

Ridley Road was like a landmark for the Caribbean Community, like Brixton and Ladbroke Grove. It was an iconic space, where you could get your food, see your friends, and feel safe. I have sold music in Ridley’s Harmer market since 2009 and I thought this would be my last stop. Some of us are being displaced here and all over London and it feels a bit oppressive right now. When are we planning to stand up for the people that live in this city? The road is going down and will probably be gentrified at some point. The mother of two of my children passed away recently and I have just had to take it on the chin. I had to for the children who are both now qualified and have given me two lovely grandchildren. My daughter has the two children, she is university educated and currently teaching and doing her Master’s degree. The images you see here in my record shop are Selassie when he was a child. He is King of the earth. She represents the queen of all woman Empress Menen who represented women’s rights and was queen of queens. The mural stands for Lion Power and the strength to continue. So, with them around me it gives me that kingship and helps me to identify myself, to relate. The man over in that corner is my father, them man they used to get persecution, kill and lame. All Rastas dead on the spot. Those were the times my dad had to go to the hills and live. I’m naturally born to Rastafari, I did not join it. It’s not just fashion, it’s a real thing and it’s our history.