The actor and campaigner came to Britain from Trinidad and Tobago in 1954 and rose to join Laurence Olivier’s National Theatre company. Clint Dyer and others explain why we should remember her
Sun 11 Apr 2021 10.00 EDT
Last modified on Mon 12 Apr 2021 10.58 EDT
Itâs been 40 years since Ros Griffiths watched her neighbourhood burn to the ground. Then 15, she wandered the streets through one of the most devastating civil disturbances England has seen, in a state of shock. âAs I got into the area, you could see the fighting. It looked like war.â
But even amid the smoke, fire and police cars that tore through the streets, Griffiths still remembers the reggae music that played softly into the night.
Brixton was then the centre of the UKâs black community, Griffiths said, with young people from across the country coming down for the weekend to enjoy its cultural vibrance. From the protests and literature to the sound systems, the street corners reverberated a simple yet powerful political message: black is beautiful.
For the Caribbean diaspora living in London, there may never have been a quieter weekend than the one in August 2020 that normally would have seen the Notting Hill Carnival.
England has no shortage of full-sensory festival experiences, from music in Glastonbury to Diwali celebrations in Leicester. But there’s nothing quite like visiting the Notting Hill Carnival. You exit the tube station, get off the bus or dismount your bike, and enter the irresistible hum of the celebrations, stepping off the pavement and onto the road.
That hum you hear is the combined sound of hundreds of steel pans hammering out calypso; of the decadently decorated band floats; the sweet whisperings of the girl with the Afro kissing the boy with the fade; the soca-infused bass of your favorite sound system; the rustle of the proudest feathers of a peacocking performer; the pinging of a bikini strap; the clangs of the jerk drums; the slosh of sweet punch; the back-clapping of elders who still treat Carn