When I told my father I was going to marry Jake, he was horrified. He told me, “If you marry that man, you will never set foot in this house again.” My decision to marry a black man was met with widespread disapproval, and the early years of our marriage in Birmingham were incredibly difficult. We faced rejection everywhere—no one would speak to us, we couldn’t find a place to live, and no one would rent to Jake because of his race. The isolation and discrimination were overwhelming, and I spent those first years in tears, barely eating.
Despite the struggles, Jake and I remained committed to each other. We met while attending the same technical college—me taking typing and shorthand lessons, and him there for training with the Air Force. It was there that we first started talking, and I was taken by his love for Shakespeare. After Jake returned to Trinidad, we kept in touch through letters, and a few years later, he came back to the UK to find better work. When he proposed to me out of the blue at just 19, I left home with nothing but a small suitcase. Our wedding was small and lonely—no family attended, and my father never fully accepted Jake, though we reconciled before his death.
Over time, life became more manageable. I found teaching jobs, eventually becoming a deputy head teacher, and Jake worked in various jobs, including a factory and the Post Office. Slowly, we made friends, but it wasn’t easy. I always felt the need to warn new friends about Jake’s race before inviting them into our home. Despite the hardship, our love never wavered, and 63 years later, we are still deeply in love. I have no regrets about marrying Jake, despite all the pain we endured along the way.
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