It's the black in me that makes me dirty

If only I knew then...

Bedtime stories are often told as fairy tales to comfort and help children sleep. My bedtime story consisted of a brown baby that no one wanted stuck in a baby home in Kent, waiting to be adopted. That baby was me. No one wanted this brown baby three months went past, no one wanted to take this brown baby home.
My biological grandmother came for me , she was a Romany Gipsy and had been through a war. She was not very keen on some races, black unfortunately being one. When she saw that I was coloured, she complained that's not my daughters child , my daughter is white.
The nurse said this is Cleras child , are you still interested in taking her. Reluctantly Nan tock me home. Grandad got such a shock to see I was not a white baby. He said it's not staying in this house, in fact if she does, I am of. He left for 2 weeks, before returning, he realised my Nan meant business, I was staying. He never talk to me for years, it was like he would be contaminated if he looked at me.
Growing up in Kent was quite hard , I was the only darkie in the town, in the school. There was loads of bullying I used to hate the end of the day, as when I walked down the school path. There would be a crowd of boys waiting to beat me up, I got kicked, punched spat at pull ribbons out of my mixed race hair that was in two neat plats. The names were endless chocolate drop, nig nog, Gollowog , black bastard. It would always end up the same, me crying and running home to Nan.
Because Nan was a heavy drinker, she would say it's time you started to stand up for your self. Tell them you have got a dad and his name is Cassius Clay, he will come over to that school and punch there lights out. Kids and there parents laugh at me, what a silly thing to say.
There was one day in summer that our class had the paddle pool out, I can remember being so excited,we got in a long line. We were told to take of our shoes so we could go in this paddling pool. All of a sudden the teacher shouted out my name saying,your feet are dirty, don't you dare put them in the pool. Some kids started laughing at me. I asked to be able to go to the toilet I was near to six years old. I got out the emergency door, and scuffle threw the bush to get out of the school, I ran as fast as I could home. My Nan could not believe I was at the front door in navy knickers and white vest,with no shoes on my feet, sobbing my heart out.
She tock the rest of pint drunk it, got a scrubbing brush and carbolic soap, and marched me back up the school. She shouted out my teachers name , come out here, get a bowl of water. She did sit her down on a child chair and she made her scrub my feet until they were red raw, again I was crying, feeling more inbarressed. Then what happened at the pool. My Nan said the jelly shoes I wore had given me a sun tan, it was not dirt. The head master was trying very hard to get my Nan out of the school with all this commotion going on.
She said call the police if you like. He never really wanted to do that for some reason. The next day going in to school my teacher said another sorry to me in front of the class. Explaining this is a good lesson to learn , we must all be kind, to each other and just because someone might have darker skin, they get sun bun just like white children. From that day on wards that teacher was as nice as pie. So many people were fearful of my Nan, this was the first time my Nan had stood up for me and it was the last sadly.
Party's were a regular at my home at weekends the pubs used to close in the afternoon, so a carry out would take place, and many men and some women would ascend on my house. There would be dancing, loud music, smoke filled room. I became invisible, unless one of these pretend aunties or Uncles, need me to pass another ashtray, or glass of drink. One uncle used to want me to sit on his lap, he rub my legs with his rough hands. Such soft skin you have, it's strange for brown skin.
Little did I know that this was to be the beginning of my life fuelled , with Trauma and PTSD