East of Acre Lane
Page 27
Which book do you wish you’d written?
Absolute Beginners by Colin MacInnes. It perfectly captures the London of the streets, something that I try to do in my writing as well. It was the book that showed me that you have to write about what you know and see, rather than trying to write in someone else’s voice or trying to fit into a specific genre.
About the Book
Brixton Hot!
by Alex Wheatle
10 April 1981
THE SUN HAD set over a balmy evening and the battle for Railton Road was raging. About fifty yards down the road, scores of police were employing dustbin lids as makeshift shields to protect them from missiles that rained towards them. They were trying to advance in an ordered line. As we hacked down low brick walls that fronted terraced housing for more ammunition, we heard the screams, yells and curses, backdropped by sirens, coming from every direction. We noticed some rioters preparing Molotov cocktails ready to launch into the massed police ranks. As I peered upward, everything seemed to be orange. The street was a carpet of broken glass, petrol, burning cars and fractured bricks and as I looked around, the determination to ‘hold’ this slice of Brixton was evident on the sweat-encased faces of the people around me.
From constant throwing, my arms were almost spent but someone told me that the police were attempting to catch us by surprise from behind. They were moving down the Herne Hill end of Mayall Road, a route that ran parallel to Railton Road. About sixty of us, armed with all the bricks and missiles we could carry, ran to meet them. We turned left into Shakespeare Road and we quickly decided to employ a tactic that had proved successful for us earlier in the day: fifty or so would remain hidden in back gardens or ‘friendly’ houses and about a dozen of us would engage the police, throwing our missiles into their positions and then luring them into an ambush. I was one of those that formed part of the ‘carrot’ for I was a swift runner.
Thirteen of us marched up Mayall Road, knowing that the rest of our group were lying low in two terraced houses. All lights were switched off. We saw the police about a hundred yards away and all that lay between us was a number of busted, smoking cars. As soon as they were in range we hurled all and sundry into the air. They immediately charged at us. Feeling great fear and excitement, we turned on our heels and ran for our lives. We were only too aware of what might lie in wait in a police cell.
As we sprinted by the junction of Chaucer Road and Mayall Road, the police were caught in our trap. Some rioters had even climbed on top of the community centre to better launch their missiles. But a few of the police carried on chasing. With panic coursing through my veins, I ran left into Chaucer Road while the rest of my guerrilla group hurtled down Mayall Road. To my alarm, five policemen were still in pursuit. As I approached the perimeter fence of Brockwell Park, I considered trying to clamber over the fence and into the darkness of the park. But my arms were too tired. I had to rely on my speed of foot. I carried on running into Brixton Water Lane, almost tripping over myself. They were still hunting me.
Turning left into Tulse Hill, I made for the nearest council estate I could find. My heart was racing ferociously and as I glanced behind, the police had yet to turn the corner from Brixton Water Lane. Upon entering the estate, without thought or hesitation, I leaped into one of those grey metal council rubbish bins. I was exhausted and just had to rest so the stench emitting from the black garbage bags meant little to me. There I remained for half an hour, not daring to peep over the bin wall. Perspiration was dripping down my face.
Fearful of police snatch squads driving up and down Tulse Hill and Brixton Hill, I made my way to my hostel off Brixton Hill via the back streets. Once inside I drank greedily from the cold tap in the kitchen. Then I took a quick cold bath. Getting dressed, I noticed that my hostel mates had been busy looting. New clothes were everywhere, alongside boxes of cigarettes and untold bottles and cans of liquor. Downing a Special Brew, I tried on a new pair of Farah trousers. They fitted perfectly.
Being a sound-system DJ, known by the moniker of Yardman Irie, I wanted to write a new lyric. My small notepad was full so, on the back of a Dennis Brown 12-inch record sleeve, I wrote the lyrics for ‘Uprising’. Little did I know that 20 years later the same lyrics would appear in my novel, East of Acre Lane.
* * *
‘The street was a carpet of broken glass, petrol, burning cars and fractured bricks’
* * *
Wanting to recapture that adrenaline rush, I made my way to central Brixton again, via the back streets. I noticed that in the council estates, people were peering over balconies. Militant reggae music was booming out of every street and, despite the police cordoning off Brixton from Streatham Hill and Kennington, packs of youngsters were pouring in from all avenues, all wanting to be involved in the uprising. There seemed to be a thousand alarms ringing out in the night. I smiled as I realised that the looters were now targeting the off-licences, preparing for the parties.
Returning to Railton Road via Brockwell Park, I noticed that the police had gained relative control of the front line. They were housed in numerous green coaches, sipping hot drinks from polystyrene cups. Fear was written over their faces. It was an empowering sight to behold. Sudden movements of police on the ground informed me that rioters were still throwing their missiles at the fringes of the police presence.
Tumper, the proprietor of a 24-hour West Indian food store on Railton Road (his premises were untouched by rioters), was gaining a roaring trade selling fried dumplings, cheese and bun sandwiches, carrot cake and fish fritters. Queuing up to buy a snack, I bumped into a friend of mine. ‘Dey took a raas beating, innit,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘They did.’
Read On
Have You Read?
Other titles by Alex Wheatle
Brixton Rock
Alex Wheatle’s first novel is the story of 16-year-old Brenton Brown who’s spent most of his childhood in children’s homes. Being reunited with his mother brings the promise of a better future, but the discovery of a half-sister he never knew he had threatens to change that.
The Seven Sisters
Brought together by a tough childhood in children’s homes, Glenroy, Bullett, Curvis and Carlton have a plan of escape – they’ll run away together and finally be able to feel ‘normal’ – but their freedom comes at a price.
Island Songs
The prequel to East of Acre Lane tells the story of sisters, Jenny and Hortense, from their childhood in Jamaica to their twilight years.
If You Loved This,
You Might Like …
Small Island
Andrea Levy
Small Island is the story of the first wave of Jamaican immigrants who arrived in Britain after the Second World War.
A Lazy Eye
Donna Daley-Clarke
Geoffhurst’s life is going well until he is forced to relive what happened eight years earlier in the long, hot summer of 1976. Everything was OK – his dad was one of the first black footballers to be signed, his mum was the most glamorous woman in the neighbourhood and Geoffhurst felt invincible – but all good things must come to an end.
Saturday Night and Sunday Morning
Alan Sillitoe
A lathe worker by day, a womaniser by night, Arthur Seaton is a young rebel without a cause. An insightful look at working-class life in 1950s Britain.
Down and Out in Paris and London
George Orwell
In this, his first book and the one which found him fame as a writer, Orwell documents his life on the breadline.
Nickel and Dimed: Undercover in Low-wage America
Barbara Ehrenreich
Journalist Barbara Ehrenreich spent six months seeing if it was possible to survive on the minimum wage. Her humorous, politicised findings make interesting reading.
Find Out More
READ …
Scarman and After: Essays Reflecting on Lord Scarman’s Report, the Riots and Their Aftermath
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John Benyon
The Scarman Report: The Brixton Disorders, 10–12 April, 1981
George Scarman
Harlem Stomp!: A Cultural History of the Harlem Renaissance
Laban Carrick Hill
SURF …
www.arvonfoundation.org
The Arvon foundation for writing offers courses for songwriters, poets, novelists, script- and screenwriters, playwrights and journalists. They also do work in schools and youth groups, encouraging young people to think creatively.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the Hon. Lord Scarman, who conducted and published an honest and creditable inquiry into the 1981 Brixton riots that proved to be a valuable source for this work. Thanks to all my friends of that era who swapped memories with me of the uprising.
A big thank you to my childhood brethren, David Miller, for allowing me to use the lyrics of his Brixtonian anthem Swing and Dine. (Yardman Irie, Pancho Dread and Prester John lyrics by Alex Wheatle.)
Sincere gratitude to Mrs Carmen Tipling, my PR in Jamaica, Franklyn McKnight of Radio Jamaica and Ian Boyle of Television Jamaica.
Shouts out to Mikey Hibbert of Pure Jam, Jackie and Debbie Timol, Sharon Wheatle, Mrs Lilleth Clarke, Mrs Hermine Timol, Mr Alfred Wheatle.
Respect to my ‘producer’, Leo Hollis, my agent Laura Susijn, Steven Thompson, Courttia Newland, Vanessa Walters, Linton Kwesi Johnson, Gaverne Bennett, Raymond Stevenson, Jerry Cole, Shane Donnely, Clyde Minott, Mikey Maha, Marby Brah, Clive Banton, Floyd Windett, Errol Findlay and the Tupper King sound system crew.
A revolution will find a solution.
Bob Marley
About the Author
ALEX WHEATLE is the award-winning author of Brixton Rock which was published in 1999. A former part-owner and DJ of a South London sound system, he still lives in South London with his wife and three children. East of Acre Lane won the 1999 London Arts Board New Writers Award.
Praise
From the reviews of East of Acre Lane:
‘Gripping … You simply will not want to put this book down until you have finished reading it’
The Voice
‘Treading a Dubliners-esque terrain which swallows up the Brixton landscape, the novel spits out the simmering frustrations of being young, black and British during the Thatcher years … Wheatle retells a shaping episode in recent British history and tellingly captures as much of today’s mood as he does of an unforgettable 1981’
Pride Magazine
‘I rarely listen to reggae, I have never been to Brixton. My only taste of West Indian culture is fried plantain at the Notting Hill Carnival. It is a testament then to Alex Wheatle’s new novel that I heard every bassline, saw every ramshackle estate and now feel confident speaking fluent Brixtonian … Read it and marvel’
Calabash Magazine
‘Funny, fast-moving and heady with the atmosphere of the district, it’s a spot-on sound and vision ride through the shared memories of the early 1980s. Twenty years on, the book is a poignant anniversary reminder and a powerful comment on perhaps how little has really changed in the quality of local lives’
Untold Magazine
‘A rhythmic, fast-talking tour of the tower blocks of South London … It is this blend of frantic action and thoughtful writing that ranks Alex Wheatle … as one of the most exciting writers of the black urban experience’
The Times
‘Action-packed, funny and filled with cocky banter between its teenage male characters, references to reggae music and street style, it’s a cool, credible read … Wheatle has written a hard-hitting novel which is an incendiary reminder of one of the most explosive events in London’s post-war history’
Big Issue
‘A vibrant book pulsing with the reggae beats of the era. The dialogue … has rhythm and inventiveness’
Independent on Sunday
‘Sassy, streetwise … A vibrant and highly evocative insight into one of the most explosive periods in London’s history’
Scotland on Sunday
Copyright
Harper Perennial
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This edition published by Harper Perennial 2006
1
Previously published in paperback by Fourth Estate 2002
First published in Great Britain by Fourth Estate 2001
Copyright © Alex Wheatle 2001
PS Section copyright © Joanne Finney 2006, except ‘Brixton Hot!’
by Alex Wheatle © Alex Wheatle 2006
PS™ is a trademark of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Alex Wheatle asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names and characters portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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