For me, growing up in the 1970s in inner-city London, in Tottenham, there were a few black American global figures that entered your life and just brought so much colour and vibrancy. And I only really now understand this as an adult, of course, but my parents came alive, too. Our whole parochial existence suddenly became so much bigger at these moments. And there were only a handful of people who could do that. Sidney Poitier was one; the Jackson Five and Diana Ross were others. And then there was the singer and actor Harry Belafonte.
My introduction to Harry was in the words: “Daylight come and me wan’ go home” from his 1956 version of Day-O (The Banana Boat Song). It was on vinyl, playing in our terraced house. I remember my parents – who would have been working so hard, struggling to make ends meet in London – walking around rather lightly. His music would have taken them back to village life in the Caribbean. It was a backdrop to that Windrush era.
