I saw this post from Caterel this morning. It is very apt at present with all the wars and fights over religion, colour, ethnicity.
I was brought up in a home in a small enclave of Christians in a mostly Jewish neighbourhood. And in our home, Mother was from a Jewish family, Father was a Methodist and we three girls were brought up in the Church of England.
In our school, there were no people of a different colour and it wasn’t until the late 1950s when we had an influx of Jamaicans into Britain, that I saw people of a different colour.
To this day, it matters not to me what your religion is, your ethnicity or colour. Are you a good person is what matters to me.
I grew up in a white working-class area of the English Midlands in the middle of the twentieth century, and didn’t meet anyone who wasn’t white till I went to university in Liverpool in 1959. In my hall of residence, among others, there was a jolly Jamaican making delicious dishes in our shared kitchen, a sweet Chinese girl who played the piano like a professional, and a beautiful Indian girl with long hair down to her ankles. We also had a black Jamaican President of the Students’ Union in the early sixties. So my primary reaction was Wow! Awe and admiration! These were amazing, talented and exotic people, interesting to talk to and be with.
My first personal encounter with racism came a couple of years later in France, where my landlady was most upset because her niece was set on marrying an Algerian. I was studying in an international…
View original post 563 more words