Taken from Google Maps
To see him stood like a sentinel beside his suitcase, a photo clutched to his chest, brought unstoppable tears to Maureen’s eyes.
‘That, my boy,’ his father had said, ‘is where we’re to live.’
‘Now you remember,’ Maureen told him. ‘You’re James Harris now.’
His father had officially adopted him. Maureen hadn’t realised it would remove her rights as his mother. ‘I can’t take him to Selma without it,’ he’d said.
And she was white and couldn’t go with them. She cursed that night they met at a dance on Mildenhall Air Base.
But this was best for the boy. Maureen Applegate’s black bastard—what else to expect from that family, the whole lot of them no-gooders, that’s what they said. No, James would do better there, amongst his own kind.
Wordcount: 131
Written for What Pegman Saw
Based on a true story. Maureen never again saw her boy. She died of cancer five years later.
crispina kemp 
Sad story, especially when I found out it was true. It seems weird that racial segregation still exists to the extent it does in the south as well as other areas, I guess i feel that as a society we are so far removed from it.
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Don’t know what happened, but your comment suddenly disappeared. And I swear I didn’t touch the delete, yet that’s where I found it.
Anyway, to reply: I should have tagged on the end that this was way back in early 1970s. In those days my part of East Anglia was washday white. The father in the story was the first black I’d seen.
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Man, that is a sad tale. I’m sure it happens all the time, too.
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I’m sure it does, though as I’ve just replied to Violet, this was way back in early 1970s, when my part of East Anglia was washday white … except for airmen coming into the city from Mildenhall and Lakenheath.
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It’s terrible to think of that kind of racism. How tragic for all parties. Great storytelling though.
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I thank you. Though I really should have made clear that this was early 1970s. The racism in this country is now much reduced. A child of mixed parents would not cause comment. Though those so inclined still find reasons to voice what amounts to xenophobia, as seen when this town received refugees and asylum seekers back at the turn of the Milliennium.
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This is indeed such a sad tale, but beautifully told.
Brava.
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Many thanks, Dale. I knew that boy; he was so sweet. His mother caught him out in the back yard scrubbing himself with bleach. So he could be like the boy next-door.
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Oh my God. The poor soul.
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This was in Norwich. So few blacks …
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We forget racism is all over. Not just in the States.
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Yea. But in areas with so few blacks, it’s barely noticeable. In fact, I remember a young cousin coming to stay with us for a few weeks while his mother was in hospital. We took him to Yarmouth (on coast, where I live now) and along the prom we passed a group of blacks here for the day. My God! I was embarrassed to be with him. The mouthful he came out with. He came from London where racism was rife. When was this? Mid to late 70’s. It was before I moved to Yarmouth in ’83.
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Racism has caused such tragedy for so many people; I can only guess how many sad stories like this there have been, of families torn apart by it, and children taking the brunt of it.
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Always the children.
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Thank God I’ve never witnessed something like this. As a child my school was mixed, the neighbourhood was mixed,and obviously my friends were from many races and colours. My parents friends were as well. I was born in 1951. It is a very good write Crispina, It really touched my heart.
❤
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I thank you, Jen. Yea, it really tugs. It tugged at the time. For a brief while she was a friend, but I moved away. And the father was a well-educated chap. Pill wasn’t easily available back then, which goes some way to explain. I know she was gutted that she couldn’t go home with him.
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Yes. I can’t imagine the heartache.
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No. And it was one of those situations. She couldn’t go one way, the father was posted back to the States. The boy was already suffering. What best to do. The mother decided best was to let go.
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Letting go is a hard task. I guess sometimes it’s the only way. I wonder if he ever tried to find her.
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Don’t know. As I said, I moved away. And she died. But I only know that because of the press.
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Hm. End of story I guess.
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Guess so
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😏
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A rough situation. Hopefully everything turned out ok, but knowing how things go… 😦
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Yea, that’s how they go. We might wish for the best, but we know the chances of that wish coming true.
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That’s a very sad story, and you tell it with great art and skill. Poor Maureen – what a loss for her.
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Yea, very sad. But easuly written because I was, in a way, involved with the family.
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His own kind. Sigh. As if the colour of our skin makes us inhuman. Good story telling. And I read all the comments above and your responses with interest. Nicely told, crimsonprose.
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My thanks for your interest. And I agree … on the matter of colour or anything else. Far-far-far too much prejudice still stalks this world. But, eraticate one cause, another appears. The human condition is to divide into Us and Them.
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