TONY PARKES AND HIS LEGENDARY AFRO
If there was one good thing about the Shirley Oaks children’s home village, it was the grounds. We had orchards, playing fields, berry bushes, football pitches, stinging nettles, acorns, horse chestnuts, fir trees to climb, children’s play areas, a small swimming pool, streams with connecting tunnels, a dump where we could rummage for spare bike parts, and even an area where pigs could graze.
A new friend of mine, Tony Parkes, took advantage of all this open land and ran like he was in training for the Olympics. Tony owned the best Afro in Shirley Oaks. I’m sure the barber never came within a mile of his hair. It could well have been Tony’s main motivation to take up running. He very rarely stood still, and one of the few times he did, I spotted him holding close to his chest a brand-spanking-new Bob Marley and the Wailers album. The gold cover and dramatic red lettering were tempting enough. Exodus.
Tony may as well have been clutching the Holy Grail. Not many of us bought full albums in Shirley Oaks. I desperately wanted to listen to it. I wanted to hear it on a proper stereo system too, so I invited him up to Violet House where Dwight Grant lived.
I could barely contain my excitement as Tony pulled the vinyl out of its sleeve. The Island logo printed on the vinyl gleamed under the lights.
Tony handed the record over to Dwight, and Dwight very carefully placed it on the record deck. The tension was like the closing seconds before a heavyweight title fight. The organ kicked in. Exodus! Movement of Jah people …
It was one of those moments that I can recall vividly. I closed my eyes and just breathed in the sound. The lyrics seemed to address me directly: Open your eyes and look within, are you satisfied with the life you’re living?
Dwight had to replace that needle at least ten times.
I soon heard the song on mainstream radio. It was everywhere––apart from the East Croydon YMCA DJ’s record box.
The entire album was magical, especially “The Heathen” and “Guiltiness.” I wanted to serenade every girl I fancied with “Waiting in Vain.”
Many a Sunday afternoon, we’d trek up to the Addington Hills. On a clear day, the viewing platform offered a spectacular view of South London. I imagined what my life would be like if I resided in South Norwood, Norbury, Penge, Anerley, Elmers End, Crystal Palace, Sydenham, Streatham, Brixton, or Peckham. Bob Marley’s “Natural Mystic” played from my cassette player. I wondered what my future could hold.
We’d encroach on the greens of the nearby golf course and steal golf balls that were close to the flag. We’d escape through the Shirley Hills and woods. We’d climb pine trees and watch pissed-off golfers searching for us. As darkness fell, we’d climb over the perimeter fence and trespass into the Pinewoods scouting complex in the hills. Here, cubs and scouts camped over the weekend and learned life-saving skills. We’d loosen the ropes and let down their tents, raid their food stores, and kick holes in their canoes. We were spotted twice but they could never catch us. I played out these scenes in my novel Home Boys, a narrative about kids running away from a desperate situation.
Movement of Jah people … Even in Shirley Oaks, I could relate to the lyrics of “Exodus.”
When I hear any of the tracks today, I cannot help but think of Tony Parkes with his perfect Afro running around Shirley Oaks.