I’m Sandra Downes, author of the newly released book Going Home To “Mother.” 

It’s a book about Barbadian migration, where each chapter features someone who went to the United Kingdom, some as early as the 1950s. The collection makes for an authentic, interesting, easy read.   

Historical? Yes!

Educational? Yes!

Boring! Absolutely not!

So enjoy these few excerpts as you take a sneak peek.

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Chapter 23

“… when my fiancé was coming over and I was looking for a flat − because I didn’t want her to live the way I was living − she was going to want regular baths. I called ahead to this house and spoke to a lady in my best English. We arranged a time for me to come and view the place. I put on my best Sunday-go-to-meeting and as I approached the house, I saw a curtain twitch. I knew straight off that wasn’t a good sign. By the time I knocked, the lady said ‘the room has gone. Sorry.’ I said thanks and left, went around the corner to the nearest phone booth and called the number again. I said ‘Excuse me mam. Do you have a room to let, and is it still empty? She said ‘oh yes, you can come and view it. I chupsed and hung up the phone.  Peter Small, Reading.

Chapter 7

… “there were only two other black families and they were Jamaican.  I was the only boy up there my age and I was opened up to racism every day – in that backward place, as far as I was concerned.” His brother, who had a lighter complexion, was not harassed as much “but they used to pick on me and I used to be in fights every day. It took weeks and weeks to try and find friends to play with,” he continued, “because I never experienced racism before.  And I was this little black boy and they’re scorning me. Along with that, they used to call me names – tar baby and Elsie Tanner”. The white boys also likened Henson to a zebra crossing: “Now you see me, now you don’t,” they used to say. “Sometimes they would throw water or drink on me, or spit at me, and then I used to boun’ pon dem.” Henson Morris, London

Chapter 24

“She never gave me a key to lock my door. I catch a basin of water and when I came back up, she was in the kitchen, so she saw when I come through with the basin. I in my room, naked, and I see the bedroom door opening. It was night and I couldn’t see who the person was, but somebody was coming in. So I run behind the bedhead and stoop down to hide. She come inside the room shouting ‘Rosalena, Rosalena − what are you doing?’ I don’t know what the hell she expect I could be doing but washing myself?   Ursalene Ifill, Bath