I still remember my mum, Julia Abbott, coming home night after night and hanging up her uniform after long shifts in hospital. She started working in the UK as a pupil nurse and dedicated her life to the NHS until her retirement. She arrived in this country by boat, docking in Bristol in 1950, after a perilous, lonely journey from the Caribbean. She was in her twenties when she stepped off that ship, legs probably shaking, but over the next four decades she went on to do remarkable things. People wouldn’t think that a middle-aged Black woman could achieve all she did, but she left her controlling husband – my dad – at a time when this was incredibly difficult and she forged a career despite battling brutal racism.
Like many Caribbean people, she came to the UK in the ’50s as part of the Windrush generation. Back then, racist preconceptions meant people thought migrants like her were lazy or even criminal, when this was a group desperate to make valuable contributions. My mum was used to racist thugs terrorising her streets and estate agents would refuse to show my parents around when they were trying to buy a house. A whole generation of Caribbean migrants was marginalised and so some of their stories have never been told or celebrated. But they were brave people who worked hard. It’s important to reclaim their narrative, not just for my mother, but for a generation who were largely taken for granted.
[L-R Hugh, Uncle Mackie, Julia, Diane]
My mother was born in rural Jamaica and left school at 14. She later came to the UK, enticed by the prospect of better job opportunities. My father grew up in the same village but arrived in the UK separately, by plane. He tracked her down once he arrived here and they married in 1951.
One of the earliest stories she told me was about my birth in 1953. I was one of the first Black babies to be born in St Mary’s Hospital, which has since closed. Doctors would sidle up to my cot to peek at me under the blanket. My mother had to shoo them away saying, ‘She’s not a doll.’
She did everything she could to nurture my brother and me. She moved us from Paddington to Harrow, because she thought the schools were better. Every morning, she plaited my hair in front of the 8 o’clock news. I was only nine, but I remember saying, ‘If I were Prime Minister, I’d do this.’ My mother and father always came to parents’ evenings, even though it would have been intimidating for them as the only Black parents.
In-between nursing, her jobs in London included sewing, selling Avon cosmetics and a part-time role in Sainsbury’s. This caused friction with my father, who was very authoritarian and didn’t like her working, but she defied him anyway. Once, she went to a wedding without his approval and he was furious. He didn’t want her to have that level of independence but she was strong- willed and ambitious.
One day, she decided to strike out on her own, away from my domineering father. She didn’t want to live under his controlling reign a moment longer, so she packed up and left to go it alone where she didn’t know anyone. She moved to Huddersfield, which had a large Caribbean community, and picked up her nursing career again. Nursing was always her true calling and she dedicated the rest of her life to it.
My mum wasn’t the only strong woman I had in my life. I remember meeting my grand- mother for the first time on a trip to Jamaica with my mother in my twenties. She was completely amazed by me because I had this perfect British accent. ‘How did she become so refined?’ she’d say. But she didn’t realise that I was completely amazed by her. We had two enormous suitcases and, when it was time for us to leave, my grandmother carried them miles for us all the way from her house to the bus station. I was astonished and never forgot how dignified, graceful and proud she looked doing this for her family.
In my toughest moments later in life, I drew on their strength. If my grandmother could be so dignified and my mother so courageous, I ought to be too. I recalled these traits after two failed attempts to become an MP, when I was close to giving up. Remembering the women in my family’s resilience, I gave it one more shot in Hackney North in 1987, and I won – this year marks 37 years that I’ve been that constituency’s MP.
My mother was there to witness me being sworn in at the Houses of Parliament. It was an emotional day and confirmed for her it had all been worth it. That perilous trip she’d taken from Jamaica all those years ago was made because she had wanted to give the family she knew she wanted a better chance.
‘A Woman Like Me’ by Diane Abbott (Viking) is out now