Charles Hyatt, Contributor
WHAT I found ama-zing was how quickly the early Jamaican immigrants to Britain got into the rhythm of that country. The reason, as I came to realise, was that Britain had a way of growing on people. As long as you wore the right clothing warm in the cold times and cold in the summer heat and always carried an umbrella, you could be comfortable.
There were days in the dark winter times, though, when you could experience the four seasons of the year in one day. You could wake up on a dark wintry morning and it was raining but by the time the sun rose over the horizon, somewhere around 11 o'clock, the rain would have stopped and the temperature might have risen to near 26-28 degrees Celsius in bright, warm sunlight. By three o'clock in the afternoon, when the sun set, the temperature could fall to near freezing with a wind that felt as if it would cut right through you and then the day might end with a flurry of sleet or snow.
On such days colds are caught, because you would have been tricked by the weather gods and on leaving home in the sunlight you are never prepared yourself for what was to come.
NO SURPRISE
It was no surprise to me that a sentence like "What weather we are having?" was the easiest and most popular way of easing into getting acquainted.
At that time in the late 50s and early 60s the British public transport system was rated the best and most reliable in the world. Well, that was not difficult to understand as it was almost fully manned by West Indians. The buses, trains and underground were punctual to the minute, so getting to and from work was no problem and outside of work one could always get public transportation to take you to or pretty near to wherever you would need to go. There was even an all-night bus in London one could get every hour on the hour.
Nevertheless, I had been independent of public transportation for years in Jamaica, having graduated from the bicycle to my first car. That kind of independence dies hard. Plus after hearing the story of the bus conductor standing at the bus stop on a freezing morning awaiting his ride to the depot to report for work who froze to death in an upright position, I decided to get me my own car. In my line of work I thought it was essential; moreover I was 'carryin', meaning in Caribbean theatre parlance that I had some cash. Not much, but enough.
Nearby where I lived, in Brockley in the South East of London, I was on the bus as it passed a conservative looking used car lot. My eyes caught sight of a highly polished black and green vintage. It was a 1938 Morris Ten.
I never finished that ride.
When I entered the lot and indicated that I was interested in the car, the English salesman became quite animated and very polite. I thought "Oh, oh, maybe this one is a lemon", but when he opened the bonnet and I looked at the engine I fell in love. It was spotless and had no oil drips underneath. His sales spiel informed me that it had had just one owner and was kept in a garage all its life. No wonder it was so beautifully polished.
GENUINE LEATHER
The seats were still well upholstered in genuine leather, with green fabric dustcovers. The dashboard instruments were set in bakelite plastic and the doors were inlaid in wood to match. The clutch, brake and gas pedals were thick with rubber. The body of the car had not a scratch on it and was a deep green with black fenders. The things that really caught my eye from the bus were the two big chrome headlights. The bumpers and door handles were also chrome.
By the time the salesman got around to inviting me to listen to the engine I was already convinced that I had to have that car. He borrowed a battery out of another car, installed it, turned the key and pressed the starter button. The engine was alive instantly and what a sweet sound it had. It had no heater or air conditioning unit.
When those cars were built in 1938 such items were not yet invented.
I need to mention that the main reason why that car caught my fancy was at that time some Jamaicans in Britain were fairly well established, being home owners with little lucrative businesses on the side and could afford to and did buy new cars. This did not go down well with the local people, who were for many years still waiting on the Housing Council to provide them with new houses or flats and they considered buying a car the prerogative of the "well to do". The result was that the police never seemed to miss a chance to harass a black motorist, who was expected to prove that he did not acquire the vehicle through ill-gotten gains.
With a car like this 1938 Morris Ten, maybe I would be overlooked.
Well, like I said, I was in love with the Green Line the name I had already dubbed the car; the only thing left was if I could afford it, being such a well kept vintage.
The salesman must have noticed my enthusiasm. He told me that if I bought the car he would throw in an insurance policy which would be included in the price so that I could drive it away and that would work out to be £65.
NEARLY PASSED OUT
Sixty-five pounds sterling for an insured car? I nearly passed out! He said that the reason that the price was so low was because of the condition of a couple of the tyres. Looking at them I could see that there was sufficient tread on them to be legal, but one of them had a swelling on the inside. As if that was not enough, the man was willing to accept my Barclay's Bank cheque! That was the bank in which Jamaicans kept their accounts. We left it in Jamaica and we found it in Britain.
Stick to the evils you know of.
The tax on the windscreen still had a few months to run before expiring, so I was able to drive my new car out of the lot. And I was a motorist in England.
I went straight away to find my friends and five of us piled in and took the 'Green Line' for a test run to Brighton, 71 miles away on the south coast. I was able to get to a top speed of 70 mph and when we returned that night the car was good as new.
For years that car and I were known all over England as the 'Green Line ESM 398" Even the police knew it in London.
