by Alex Wheatle
Biscuit’s eyes moistened. It was worth it, he thought, well worth it. The root is now strong.
He heard the door opening and recognised the stride pattern. Standing at the foot of the bed, dressed in a camel coat, her face smudged with tears, was Carol. Hortense went over to her, acknowledged her with her eyes and squeezed her hand.
Indicating to Royston with her head and tapping her daughter on her shoulder, Hortense led them out of the hospital room. Carol stood motionless for a few seconds, looking at Biscuit’s legs and neck-brace. He tried to raise a smile, but failed. Carol dropped slowly to her haunches, gripping the metal railings at the end of the bed. Then she dropped her head and wept.
Biscuit cleared his throat, preparing to speak. ‘Come ’ere, Carol,’ he said in a whisper.
She stood up and walked slowly to his bedside. She knelt down, gently wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his face.
‘T’ings gonna be alright, man,’ Biscuit said in a weak voice, warming to her touch. ‘De worst is over an’ I will walk again. An’ when I get up ’pon my feet, der will be no more juggling an’ no more tribulation. I’m gonna forward to college an’ t’ing … I’ve loved you since de first day me sight you, an’ I wanna marry you badly – if your paps will let me.’
Carol’s face broke into a delicious smile but her tears were free-falling. She closed her eyes and placed her left palm upon Biscuit’s right cheek. ‘D’you t’ink our pickney will look like you or me?’
Biscuit’s heart almost sang.
25
The Blessing of Jah Nelson
1 June 1981
Jah Nelson was listening to the Gong’s ‘Redemption Song’ when he heard his front door being gently knocked. He got up from his armchair, switched on a light and went to open his entrance. Standing in the warm twilight were Coffin Head and Denise, looking circumspect.
‘Come in,’ Jah Nelson ushered, extending a friendly arm. ‘Lincoln phoned me an’ I’ve been expecting you.’
The pair stepped warily inside, taking in the story of black history that was all around them. Nelson led them to the lounge and cleared some books so that his guests could be seated. Before relaxing into his armchair himself, he lit an incense stick and turned down the music a notch. ‘Do you waan ah drink?’ he offered.
‘No t’anks,’ Denise stuttered, not sure of what to expect.
‘’Ave you got any beer?’ Coffin Head asked.
Nelson smiled and indicated no with his eyes. ‘l’ave some juices if you prefer – apple or orange?’
‘Nah,’ Coffin Head declined. ‘Too sweet.’
Nelson sensed his visitors’ unease, so he displayed his palms while keeping up his friendly gaze. ‘So you is Denise, an’ your brudder sen’ you to me. How’s he keeping?’
‘He seems to ’ave adjusted to his situation better dan any of us,’ she answered. ‘Especially my mum – she’s completely devastated. But de doctors say he will walk again an’ he’ll ’ave to go t’rough one of dose rehab programs when dey tek off de plaster. He seems ’appy enough t’ough, chatting ’bout forwarding to college when he gets better.’
‘Dat is good to ’ear. ’Alf de battle is de determination fe walk again … He asked me to ’ave ah talk wid you,’ explained Nelson.
‘Yes,’ Denise answered hesitantly. ‘Biscuit feels so you can do some good.’
‘It’s not me dat cyan do some good. Dat is up to you.’
‘Wha’ you mean?’
‘Well, your brudder ’as told me de full story, an’ it seem dat you need ah boost. Need to feel better widin yourself.’
‘An’ you’re gonna give it,’ interrupted a sceptical Coffin Head.
‘I ’ope so … You see, in life everyone needs to know dat sometimes we tek de wrong options in life, mek bad choices. An’ I’m not an exception to dat rule. Not ah single man or ah woman ’as learnt anyt’ing widout meking mistakes. Y’understand? An’ everyone ’as de resources to rise up from any tribulation.’
Denise found herself nodding her head. Nelson continued, satisfied he had at least one attentive listener. ‘So, me say to you, sistren, dat you might feel bad an’ blame yourself for recent t’ings. But let me tell you dis. You are ah strong African woman, first an’ foremost, let no one tek dat ’way from you.’
Denise managed a half smile. Jah Nelson resumed. ‘An’ when you realise dat, you will rise from your pit of low esteem.’ The dread’s features changed from a smile to the countenance of a historian. ‘Fe dat reason alone you should walk proud. Great men an’ women ’ave come fort’ from your loins an’ history is blessed wid dem. De great Isis herself was born in Africa. Shaka Zulu was once a babe who suckled from his African mudder’s breast. Toussaint L’Ouverture, de great slave leader, could nuh ’ave lived if it wasn’t fe ’im African mudder an’ de mudders before her. Yaa Asante of Ghana, de woman who led de fight ’gainst de British, was proud of her African heritage. Nanny, national hero of Jamaica, ’ad African blood flowing t’rough her veins. Frederick Douglas, once a slave but became part of de implement dat wiped out slavery from America, recognised his African roots. Marcus Garvey was suckled in de rural parish of St Anne’s, Jamaica, by an African mudder. Nina Simone, Maya Angelou, Angela Davis, Martin Luther King, Malcolm X, Richard Wright, Nelson Mandela, Muhammad Ali … I could go on an’ on.’ He never let on that he had been rehearsing this speech for the last few days. ‘An’ even de Tuff Gong ’imself, may Jah bless ’is soul, all came from de same source, from African seed.’
Coffin Head acknowledged Nelson’s citing of the Gong.
Bob Marley had passed away on the eleventh of May, and although the concrete jungle dwellers declined to talk about the loss of their spiritual leader, there was a disheartened acknowledgement in everybody’s eyes that was all too clear. Pirate radio stations were still playing the Gong’s music 24 hours a day. Devout rastas wept openly in the streets, and recent sound system sessions had a mournful vibe.
Nelson paused as the Gong’s ‘Time Will Tell’ played from his stereo, and even his face yielded to a grievous bane. He went on, ‘An’ you Denise, come from de same source, an’ de same blood courses t’rough your veins. You should walk tall wid de knowledge of de Nubian heritage you ah carry. Jah know … You can achieve anyt’ing an’ rise over any stumbling block.’
Denise looked upon the dread with fascination and then offered a stunned glance to Coffin Head. Nobody had ever called her a great African woman before, and she found it hard to avoid Nelson’s determined gaze.
‘You’re young an’ in need to know of de resolve inside you,’ he continued. ‘Education will bring dat out, an’ also de knowledge of your great history. Don’t blame yourself fe nutten, cah sometimes de most High mek Him plans fe us. An’ Babylon put ’pon de pressure so much dat sometimes we lose ourselves. But believe me, sistren, de seed dat runneth t’rough you has given you great capabilities. All you affe do is recognise it an’ use it wisely. Education is de key.’
‘Dat’s all an’ good, Nelson, but I still feel responsible, an’ my brudder might not walk again. I know de doctors are saying different but I dunno wha’ I would do if de worse comes to de worse.’
‘Wid time, dat burden will pass … Ah builder began to buil’ his ’ome wid nuff stone all around ’im. He decided to reject a particular stone dat was rough an’ looked like it wouldn’t quite fit. But, later, de ’ouse came crumbling down. So de builder start again, dis time using de stone ’im reject. Before ’im set de stone he once rejected in place, ’im polish an’ shape de stone so it could be good. An’ de ’ouse was strong an’ sturdy wid de rejected stone being used as de cornerstone. Jah know!’
Denise, fully understanding the parable, smiled and nodded.
P.S. Ideas, Interviews & Features …
About the Author
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Unfinished Stories: Joanne Finney talks to Alex Wheatle
Life at a Glance
Top Ten Books
About the Book
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Brixton Hot! by Alex Wheatle
Read On
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About the Author
Unfinished Stories
Joanne Finney talks to Alex Wheatle
How did you start writing?
I never thought about being a writer when I was growing up. In my misspent youth I was a DJ, a member of a sound system called Crucial Rocker. Somehow I became the one who wrote jingles and rhymes to chant over the music. That’s when I first started thinking about words. I ended up with notebooks stuffed full of lyrics. When performance poetry exploded in Brixton in the early nineties, I got into that. There was a venue on Acre Lane called the Brixton Brasserie (now the Z Bar) and on one Friday every month, they’d have a Poetry Jam. They’d have established poets, and then a free hour for anyone to get up and do their stuff. First I just watched and then, after a while, I made that step and got up and read my stuff. That’s how I learnt my craft. It was a bit of a culture shock to perform to people who were there to listen to me rather than the music, but I loved it. When that time in my life was over, I still had the desire to put what I was thinking and feeling down on paper.
Why did you write your first novel Brixton Rock?
I was inspired by the experiences I’d been through as a child and a teenager, growing up in children’s homes, and by what was happening in my life and my friends’ lives. These were stories that were worth telling and I had to get my story out. I didn’t feel there were many books out there which spoke to me or of my experiences. At the time I was reading a lot of Harlem Renaissance writers, like James Weldon Johnson, because I couldn’t find any modern British writers I could relate to and that seemed wrong. When I first started writing I didn’t really have publication in mind. It was only when friends said I was on to something that I even considered it.
Several of the characters in your previous novels reappear in East of Acre Lane. Is the book meant as a continuation?
It’s not, but I felt I had unfinished business with several of them. In the earlier novels, you might only see one aspect of a character or they might only play a minor role so I wanted to develop them further. The book is part of a trilogy, though. My latest book, Island Songs, is actually a prequel to East of Acre Lane – it’s Hortense and Jenny’s turn to tell their stories. The trilogy isn’t in a chronological order but I don’t think I was mature enough to write Island Songs when I first started writing. I think readers like to find out what happens to characters.
* * *
‘Music was everywhere – on the streets, coming from people’s houses – music is what made Brixton so vibrant’
* * *
Your work comes across as working-class writing, rather than ‘black urban’ writing – would you agree?
Definitely. I write from the point of view of the average person on the street. In the book, Jah Nelson says that ‘classism and elitism in this country are much more dangerous than racism’. That’s definitely something I believe; Jah Nelson’s voice is mine. I still think there’s a big divide in the UK between those who have and those who have not.
Jah Nelson acts as a mentor to Biscuit. Who influenced you as a teenager?
I spent a lot of time with rastas when I was at an impressionable age. They gave me good advice about how life works and a real pride in my background.
Brixton in the early eighties is very much brought alive in your novel. How did you carry out research for the book?
I didn’t actually do that much research, I just drew on my own life. A lot of people I knew were selling drugs to make ends meet like Biscuit and his mates and were involved in the riots. A lot of it was still vivid in my memory. Spending time with other people who were there also helped. I had some friends from that time round one evening and I taped us all reminiscing about being teenagers in Brixton.
Like the clubs where Biscuit and his crew hang out, East of Acre Lane is heaving with music. Could you imagine writing the book without referencing songs and lyrics?
The soundtrack came to me almost as soon as I started writing the book. Not only because I love music but because music was central to my experiences in early eighties Brixton. It was everywhere – on the streets, coming from people’s houses – music is what made Brixton so vibrant. I also think certain music works as a fast connection to a period of time, and plays on people’s memories and nostalgia.
April 2006 is the 25-year anniversary of the Brixton riots – how do you think the situation has changed for Brixtonians and the area?
The area’s changed a lot. It’s much more multi-cultural than it was in the eighties and a lot of it’s been done up. Railton Road, where the riots and a large part of the book take place and which used to be really run down, is now full of wine bars! Obviously, there are still people living without much and problems like drugs and violence but that’s pretty much true anywhere. I don’t think Brixton is the ‘trouble spot’ it used to be. They’re all over London, the whole country even, now. I can’t see a repeat of the riots in Brixton but I can see parallels between what is happening now in the UK to the Asian community and how my friends and I felt we were treated at the time. We felt we weren’t being heard and it got to the point where we had to do something about it.
What advice would you give to anyone who wants to follow in your footsteps?
To keep at it. I still think it’s hard for young male black writers to get published. Especially those who are writing about the working class and life on the streets, as I do. But I still think you should write about what you know and what you believe in. Hopefully the successes in the last few years of black women writers like Andrea Levy will open up the way for the boys!
Some of the scenes in the book, particularly those that take place during the riots, read as accurate documents of history. Would you ever think of writing non-fiction?
I have considered it. I read a lot of nonfiction myself and always have. To be honest, my ideal non-fiction book would be a sports book, especially cricket. I’d love to follow a tour and write about the characters as well as the game.
What’s your next project?
I’m working on the last book of the trilogy that started with East of Acre Lane and Island Songs. It’s Biscuit’s son’s story this time … It’s still early days though. I’ve also contributed to a documentary made by Blast Films for BBC2 which is going to be broadcast in April 2006 for the anniversary of the Brixton riots.
LIFE at a Glance
Alex Wheatle was born in London to Jamaican parents on 3 January 1963. He lives in South London, near to where he grew up, with his wife Beverley and three children. He won the London Arts Board’s New Writers Award for East of Acre Lane.
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Alex Haley
Catch a Fire: The Life of Bob Marley
Timothy White
The Grapes of Wrath
John Steinbeck
The Color Purple
Alice Walker
Brighton Rock
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A Writing Life
When do you write?
Always mornings. I start the day with a quick cup of coffee and a fag while I read the papers but I like to get going as soon as possible.
Where do you write?
I’ve got a desk in my bedroom which is set up for writing.
Pen or computer?
I jot down a basic plot and a few character sketches on paper but I always write on the
computer.
Silence or music?
I have to listen to music – it can be anything from old standard R ’n’ B to reggae. I find it difficult to write in silence. I think that goes back to my DJ days.
How do you start a book?
The characters always come first. Then I plan a basic plot, and have a vague ending in mind before I start to flesh it out.
And finish?
With relief.
Which writers do you most admire?
John Steinbeck, C.L.R. James, Chester Himes, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, Paddy Clarke.
What or who inspires you?
The people I’ve come across in my life, the struggles they’ve faced and how they’ve survived. I’m also a great people-watcher.
If you weren’t a writer what would you do?
I’d like to teach creative writing. I’ve tutored a few Arvon courses and been on a few school visits to talk about creative writing but I’d like to do more.
What’s your guilty reading pleasure or favourite trashy read?
The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough and anything on the ancient civilisations.