The carousel of smells that wafted through my parents’ home was one of the things that made my childhood and older years so precious, even though I took being the child of Caribbean parents for granted. 

I thought everyone had family gatherings and Christmas dinners littered with sweet drinks from back home, such as Sorrel, a dark red beverage made with petals from the sorrel plant, or homemade ginger beer. My dad could often be found in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, making salt fish for breakfast. My mum was always the one preparing the feasts before Christmas and Easter, when we would see other culinary delights hit our tables, including curry goat, chicken and roti. My upbringing was great.

But, until recently, I didn’t fully grasp the effort it had taken my parents, and those of their generation, to bring this amazing culture to the UK.

My parents came to the UK from the West Indies during the 60s; they were part of the Windrush generation, who came in response to post-war labour shortages in the UK, and were named after the MV Empire Windrush, the first ship from the Caribbean to arrive at Tilbury Docks in Essex on 22 June 1948.

My dad, one of eight children, and the life and soul of the party, came from the island of St Kitts. In those days, people would send for their family one by one, so as my Kittitian granny got more money, she was able to send for each of her children. She worked several jobs in the UK, and all of her children obtained a good education and went to university.

My aunts and uncles often tell stories of life growing up in the UK during the 60s and 70s, when you had to struggle to make ends meet financially. But as a family unit, they made it; they managed to enjoy the fruits of their labour, purchase a home and create generational wealth that will far outweigh what they came to the UK with.

My mum came from Trinidad and Tobago and was the eldest of five children. She studied nursing and forged a life for herself in the UK that I have come to admire greatly. She left Trinidad and Tobago because she couldn’t wait to see what the world had to offer. My Trinidadian gran and granddad travelled to America with my aunts and settled in New York.

Growing up in the West Indies, my family pledged allegiance to the Mother Country on a weekly basis by singing the national anthem. My mum recalls the time the Queen came to visit Trinidad and Tobago; Mum was made to wait in the midday sun for hours for her to pass by and wave.

The idea that the UK was paved with gold was often joked about, and while my parents were not naive enough to believe it, they still felt that the UK offered them a better way of living. Time, however, would end up telling a different story.

My family’s arrival in the UK was seen as monumental, not just for them and their generation, but also for the UK government and the future of the UK. After the second world war, the UK was in desperate need of help to rebuild the country. So, as they had during the conflict itself, the Caribbean nations offered their services willingly. The Motherland needed them yet again and they obliged. 

Some people think that the hostility towards the Windrush generation came about during Theresa May’s time as home secretary (2010–2016), but in truth it began long before that. Black people in the UK had a very difficult time from the moment they arrived; they had the chance to prosper, but were constantly reminded that they were not wanted: nurses faced abuse in hospitals, others were verbally and physically harassed, and general day-to-day living was not easy. West Indians were told to “go back home” on a regular basis.

In 1968, Conservative MP Enoch Powell delivered his infamous Rivers of Blood speech, describing what he saw as the impending danger of mass immigration. The type of divisive rhetoric he peddled continued well into the new millennium. 

In 2012, May, then home secretary, introduced a cruel new approach to immigration – a system designed to make life difficult for people in the UK who do not have the correct documents. This hostile environment denies people their basic needs, such as housing and healthcare, in the apparent hope that by doing so they would be deterred from coming to the UK. If they were already here, it seems that the hope was that they would leave. (Last year, a leaked Home Office document concluded that “during the period 1950-1981, every single piece of immigration or citizenship legislation was designed at least in part to reduce the number of people with Black or brown skin who were permitted to live and work in the UK”.) Once May became prime minister, stories started to emerge that members of the Windrush generation were being forced back to the Caribbean. Many had arrived as children; they owned properties and had jobs – their life was in the UK.

My parents had arrived on the passports of their respective countries. Like so many others during that time, they were told that this allowed them to remain in the UK.

In 1973, the UK government passed the Immigration Act, which put the onus on the individual to prove they were a legal resident of the country. In 1999, a clause was added that provided longstanding Commonwealth residents protection from enforced removal. This addition, however, was deleted from the Immigration Act in 2014. No announcements were made that this clause would be removed.

It was for this reason that the Home Office was then able to start removing people forcibly from the UK. 

A member of my family fell victim to the Windrush scandal. They had no British passport and hadn’t left the UK since first arriving. We had to prove, using years of payslips, bank documents, mortgage deeds and more, that they had the right to remain in the UK.

The cruelty of this treatment is indescribable.

It was after this that I began to understand that all those years of servitude by my family seemed to count for nothing. I remember sitting in the waiting room of Lunar House, the HQ of UK Visas and Immigration, looking around at all the other Windrush survivors who had fallen victim to this divisive system. Not one person made a show. Nobody protested, screamed or shouted. No one got angry or stormed off. They all waited patiently to be called. This, to me, summed up the nature of the Windrush generation.

My family are very close, and most summers my dad would take us away on a day trip to Margate or Ramsgate. My parents would take a few weeks off during the summer and spend time with us during our long six-week holiday, and we always had so much fun. I remember long drives to see other friends and family members, and we would sit and watch the West Indian barber shop comedy Desmond’s on a weekly basis.

The communication I had with my parents also illustrated our closeness. I told my mum everything, from the moment I started my period to when I was bullied in school because I didn’t know my seven-times tables; I was never a maths genius – English was always my stronger subject. I felt I could be open with my parents about most things. Every day we would joke, laugh and engage in banter that centred around none of us taking ourselves that seriously. We had an upbringing of honesty and love. As children, we respected our parents and elders, but we also knew what we could and could not discuss, so there were some conversations between my parents that were for their ears only.

In 2006 my father passed away, followed by my grandparents some years later. The death of this older generation of West Indians in my family was a hard one to deal with, but in some ways, I am grateful they missed what came next.

In 2023, the effects of the Windrush scandal are still being felt. The Windrush Compensation Scheme is theoretically available to anyone who has suffered due to being unable to prove their legal right to live in the UK, but as of January 2023, just 12.8% of the estimated 11,500 eligible claimants had been compensated, with some claimants saying the system is so difficult to navigate that they’ve given up on pursuing payment. Just this month, it was reported that Suella Braverman, the home secretary, has disbanded the unit responsible for reforming the Home Office in order to prevent a repeat of the scandal. Not only that, but Braverman has admitted dropping key commitments made in the wake of the scandal, something described by Windrush campaigners as “a slap in the face”.

Since the scandal emerged in 2018, I have visited the countries of my parents’ birth several times and plan to continue to ‘go back home’. I enjoy the Caribbean, and although I was born in the UK and have travelled to many countries around the world, the West Indies feels more like home than anywhere I have ever been before. Through the ups and downs of life, being closely knitted with those you love has been one of the most important parts of both my childhood and adulthood.

Had it not been for my family’s faith and the strength of togetherness, surviving the UK’s hostile environment may have been impossible.

This essay was originally published in 2020 and has been updated. 

Images: Getty; courtesy of author