To commemorate Black History Month UK (www.blackhistorymonth.org.uk ) we decided that it is of the utmost importance that we continue to amplify the voices of some of our Black British members. This week Maleeza Korley takes us on a trip down (her) memory lane…
1970, Edinburgh: Weary of the demands and expectations of marriage to an appropriate bachelor, mum was a free spirit. Blessed with a strong will, a statuesque physique, a blonde beehive of crowning glory and a passion for all things creative arts. A show-stopping personality which arrived ten minutes before she did, renowned for being a natural leader, doing things the right way, aka her way. Dad dreamed of whimsical cobbled British streets paved with gold. Ghana was his place of birth yet his family’s desire for him to marry a local merchant’s daughter filled him with dread, so he sought his fortune in lands afar. Departing the shores of the Atlantic Ocean Daddy stowed away on a ship set sail for pastures anew. Oblivious to the actual destination of the ship, fate was his compass. My grandfather was a Sergeant Major in World War Two. At 6’2″ his height and mere presence commanded attention; a natural leader replete with a commanding Scottish brogue his indifference to mum’s penchant for the arts cast a shadow over their already strained relationship. His evident derision at her choice of career and a desperate desire to ensure she was at the least married into a good Scottish family before he passed over was significant. Granddad was in failing health – ever the protector he had neglected to share this time-sensitive information with his family.
Suffocated by conservative familial expectations, mum dreamed of becoming an actress. The desire to spread her wings evolved into a clandestine adventure departing Edinburgh, the only home she had known. Invisible under the shroud of nightfall and the guidance of a full moon. An hourglass figure with sparkling blue eyes, patent leather winkle-picker shoes and her signature beehive encapsulated in her favourite Mulberry silk scarf mum was a runaway, she departed on the night train. It was the last time she would on stand on Scottish soil. Arriving at a smog-laden Paddington station naive to an imminent crash course in racial awareness. Her ignorance was bliss. Unbeknownst to her, the timing of arrival coincided with a rising time of activism against racial discrimination. Overjoyed at the freedom and splendour London had to offer, within a fortnight a life-changing metamorphosis was about to encapsulate her entire identity.
Days after settling into her new flat a chance meeting with a charismatic stranger with an indomitable sense of self ensured their initial friendship fast-tracked into a taboo love affair. Intoxicated by his dulcet tones an added bonus was that he treated her like a queen as she swiftly found herself falling head over heels. Forbidden love with the epitome of the very likeness of a man whom her family would disapprove. Vicariously living through the daily experiences of a Ghanaian immigrant mum’s alabaster skin to dad’s blue black-hue, they stood out like sore thumbs. They took necessary precautions however the verbal assaults were unrelenting. Mum and dad eloped. Withstanding the backdrop of Enoch Powell’s divisive “Rivers of Blood” speech. Oblivious of naysayers their tenacious love was impenetrable.
We moved to Cornwall, UK. I was raised on a farm and became an avid equestrian. To this day when I drive past The Equestrian Centre, I receive looks of disdain from my children as I open all of the car windows and inhale as my olfactory glands delight in the fragrance of mother nature’s manna. Moving to Los Angeles revealed every aspect of life was different, from the juxtaposition of the NHS (National Health Service) to the peculiarities of the US healthcare system. Craving a break from the British winters and access to the creative arts Los Angeles was a veritable onslaught of colloquialisms with the expectation of familiarity with African American ebonics of which took me many years to decipher. Mum is my guardian angel and with hindsight as I type I realise in the abstract I am vicariously living her creative arts dream.
Maleeza Korley
