“Windrushing”: time waits for no man or woman, but the emotions linger

I just had a few thoughts today – it’s Sunday, so it’s quieter and I can “hear myself think.” I have been quietly thinking about the life of my mother-in-law, who passed away recently. It became even more poignant when I wrote a short eulogy for the funeral, which was beautifully read by our cousin. I realised that my husband and I only knew fragments of her life. Parts of it were quite hidden. In a sense, it is our family’s “Windrush story,” and I find it really moving, when I think about her life.

In my own little tribute, I shared memories of her sitting by the gas fire on cold, dark winter evenings at her home in London, trying to keep warm; and then later on, when she joined us in Jamaica, sitting on the verandah on sunny afternoons, day-dreaming and looking at the flowers in her front garden. I felt she had come full circle, from Jamaica to England, and back again. Here is what I wrote for her eulogy:

During her 96 years on this Earth, Kathleen Croskery faced some challenges. She overcame many of them, and lived her life with dignity and humour.

She was born Kathleen Eugenie Parkinson on January 29, 1927, into a large family. Her mother Mabel was a farm worker, and her father Walter was a truck driver. She grew up with her two brothers and four sisters in the small town of Sheffield in western Westmoreland. The farming community, close to the Negril Morass, was much less developed than it is now, and life was not easy.

Eventually, Kathleen left the country to travel to Kingston. It took three days to reach the capital city in those days, by horse and buggy. When the transportation reached the bottom of Spur Tree Hill, the passengers had to get out and walk up that long hill road.

Kathleen Croskery was one of the “Windrush Generation.” These Caribbean immigrants to England during the 1950s and 60s endured challenges, and often faced hardship, as they were not welcomed with open arms by the so-called “Mother Country.” Nevertheless, they adjusted to the cold weather and the chilly reception, acquired property, and worked very hard, often in tough conditions. Kathleen and her family were among this very special group, who traveled to England in search of a better life.

Kathleen married Henry Hugh Croskery at St. Pancras, London, on February 9, 1957. She was 30 years old, and Henry was 33. “Unc” (or “Son” as Kathleen called him) was stepfather to her son Neville and daughter Pat.

Jamaica celebrated Independence on August 6, 1962. Almost exactly four years later, in 1966, Mrs. K.E. Croskery was registered and endorsed as a citizen of the United Kingdom and Colonies. At the time, she was living at 15 Weedington Road (now Talacre Road), London NW5, in Kentish Town. This was where her children, who were both Kingston-born, grew up as teenagers. It was a tall house with many rooms, and after arriving in England, Kathleen welcomed many Jamaicans who had just arrived to seek a better life. There would often be a knock on the door at different hours of the day and night, with a Jamaican on the doorstep seeking a temporary home. She was very supportive of the Jamaican community in London.

After some forty years living in England, Kathleen returned to Jamaica a few years after Neville came “home” with his wife Emma and their son Sam. Since then, she lived a quiet and comfortable life in suburban Kingston. Well – it was not altogether quiet – she enjoyed a very good social life with the “Happy Club,” a group of mostly returning residents; they went on day trips to the beach and often stayed out socialising until the early hours of the morning! Her husband died in 2005, and she missed him dearly.

She enjoyed traveling, and was proud to attend the graduation of her grandson Sam in the United States, in 2010. She would also visit family members in the U.S. and England quite regularly. She was very fond of her church sisters at the St. Mary the Virgin, and looked forward to the special events and services at the church.

Kathleen was a woman of remarkable resilience, with an independent mind. She will be deeply missed, as she goes to rest alongside “Son,” her beloved husband.
Eulogy, June 10, 2023 at the St. Mary the Virgin Anglican Church, Kingston, Jamaica

We have been observing the Windrush “celebrations” – the 75th anniversary of the arrival of the ship carrying over 1,000 eager, hopeful young Caribbean immigrants, about half of whom were Jamaicans. They wanted to start a new life.

Then, I received today a note from my stepson, who has lived in the UK for many years but spent a few years of his childhood in Jamaica – in our present home. He was here for his grandmother’s funeral recently. Today, he took his young family (her two great-grandsons) to a Windrush celebration – on the very street where my mother-in-law lived and took in strangers, Jamaicans arriving off the ship, and where my husband and his sister grew up. There is a small park right opposite her gate.

I have been reading about the Windrush 75th anniversary (on June 22) with mixed emotions. The British Government has been going all out to “celebrate,” and the Windrush generation (now elderly) and its descendants have been gamely joining in. I wrote about the terrible injustices meted out to that generation for Global Voices in 2018 and then again, earlier this year, I asked: What is there to celebrate? Is “celebrate” even the right word?

The National Library of Jamaica, back in 2018 (forging a partnership with the Windrush Foundation in the UK), also began raising awareness of the history of the Windrush and its passengers, and its traveling exhibition has just completed an island-wide tour of Jamaican public libraries. This was alongside the British Library, which mounted an insightful exhibition. There is more to follow.

Anyway, our bright and engaging State Minister in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Foreign Trade, Alando Terrelonge, went to England for the “Windrush 75” commemoration. Minister Terrelonge is new to the portfolio and has been tasked with “diaspora duties.” He has a good grasp of human rights issues, it seems to me, and he did a good interview with the UK television station Channel Four, which is worth watching.

Minister Terrelonge seems to have hit the right note during his visit to the UK for the Windrush anniversary – actually, rather a tricky assignment, I would say.

Now, what will happen when the celebrations are over? Will it be back to business as usual for the descendants of the Windrush generation in England? And how are they doing? What really was the legacy of Jamaican immigrants like my mother-in-law? In a social media post, our son described it as a personal sacrifice by his grandmother – but it was also one that I think was infused with hope for the future, and love of family. So, it’s complex, and every story is personal and every one different. Caribbean families are all about separation, and misunderstandings, and reconciliations – one example of this is the story of Brian Samuels, who is now resettling on the island of Grenada, but who also fell afoul of Britain’s appalling immigration policies. I met and interviewed him recently and I recommend his memoir. I am also about to read the story of Keith Walker, Trench Town born, who also migrated to Britain during the post-Windrush era (he went on a plane, not on a boat). The book is called “Goodbye, Mango Sergeant.”

Jamaica’s Minister of State for Diaspora Affairs Alando Terrelonge surrounded by MPs Dawn Butler and Marsha De Cordova (both of Jamaican descent) and Florence Eshalomi (of Nigerian descent) in London. (Photo: Twitter)

The stories of immigrants and their families are complex, overlapping, interwoven in curious and unexpected ways. But still, what pains me the most is the thought of Jamaicans and others of Caribbean descent, about my mother-in-law’s age, having worked hard and built families in England, being treated like nobodies, not useful any more as they once were, growing old and dying while fighting for their right to stay there in a “hostile environment.”

I think the feelings expressed in a UK Guardian editorial on June 23 sum it up perfectly for me. The soul band Maze had a song called “Joy and Pain.” Those emotions linger.

As the Guardian notes: