Equal.  It wasn’t always like this.  I remember having to stand up on a bus for a white person, their disapproving stare burning into my back.  I remember having to use a different entrance in most public places; like the time I almost went into the wrong toilets – I didn’t do that again.  I remember the Mandela protests.  Mother hid my eyes from the news footage but the sounds still reached deep into my heart.   Also, the Rosa Parks story – it was the big talk back then. I didn’t understand all about racial segregation. I was only young. I didn’t really notice, I suppose that’s how life was. But now everything is different.

Just walking to work, it makes me remember how bad it was; but now, well I’m just living my own life and enjoying it while I can.  My boyfriend is white, and I’m black, back then that wouldn’t have been tolerated. It was bad back then, really bad.  It doesn’t matter now – I’m happy it’s stopped.  I used to feel that the world was like that for a reason.  But it wasn’t.  Sometimes I wonder if there was a reason and what that reason could be.

And then it happened…

*                   *                   *

I was just a child. We were walking down by the river the day they took him away. Sunlight reflected off the cool, clear water and the warm rays scorched my back. I glanced enviously at the ones who were allowed to walk on the other side, where great sycamore trees blocked the sun’s burning anger. Father took my hand gently and stared into my eyes. A feeling of warmth filled me with joy and, for once, I forgot about everything in the world. If only it could remain that way forever.

We both knew of the uneasy glances surrounding our footsteps, their stone cold glares telling us they were better. That we didn’t belong. Father had never minded. He would proudly stare past them as if they were never there; I wish they weren’t. Whatever we did, the white people’s snakelike eyes never looked away. They took small backwards steps every time we moved near. A young girl, about my age, approached me fearlessly and asked if I wanted to play with her. Her mother hurried to her side. No. They are different. As they left, the woman turned as if to say, never.

Continuing to walk, father told me not to be afraid. He told me that whatever happened, he would never forget how much he loves me. Ever. And that was when it happened.

They seemed to appear out of nowhere. Grasping him and pulling him to his knees. His hands were tied behind his back and as they forced him away from me our eyes met for the last time. He shouted. Freedom.

*                   *                   *

You wouldn’t think I would remember him now that so many years have passed. But I will never forget the desperate glare in his eyes when they took him. That one word he screamed told me everything he wanted to say. At that moment everything changed, I could no longer be the helpless child with no father. I knew what I had to do. And today was the day I was finally going to do it. I would do it in my father’s memory.

It was the 22^nd August. The sun was high in the sky and the temperature was soaring. Without the shade of the great sycamore trees walking was becoming ever more strenuous.  I laboured on with the edge of the town in my sight.  It was here that I used to come with my father to sit amongst the shady trees by the riverside.  It was so peaceful; long grasses swayed in the dusty air and shards of light reflected off the rippling water.  I found the spot where we used to sit and talk and sat down.  It was then that I spotted what I had come for – it was still there after all these years.

I smiled ignoring the sticky sweat rolling against the side of my face, dripping off my chin. The small grubby flag, thrust into the soil surrounded by the trees, was hardly recognisable after all this time. It was covered in a thin layer of cracking mud and the right corner had been completely torn away. But there it was standing tall and proud swaying just slightly with the warm summer breeze, dancing in the occasional beam of sunlight which penetrated the tall trees around it.

I raised my hand gently feeling my wet palms quivering with anticipation. My arm outstretched towards the metallic pole supporting the old piece of cloth which held so many memories of mine. I clutched at it feeling its cool touch run through my arm sending shivers down my spine even though the heat of the midday sun was overwhelmingly powerful. My hair matted down in viscous clumps of sweat and dirt from a hard day work fell towards my face covering my hazel eyes which began to hold back tears.

The memories hit me in strong waves one after the other, leaving no time to even take a short breath. I remembered his muscular arm holding my small hand stabbing the flag into the ground.

“This is our spot now, Patsy. And ain’t anybody going to take it from us. I promise.” My father had grinned telling me.

And he was correct. Here it stood majestic and regal, its fifty stars in the left corner shining just as bright as ever before. He was right. Nobody had taken our spot away from us instead they had taken him. I stared at the flag which was trembling in my white knuckle grip. I pulled at it, loosening it from the ground. It shook slightly, uprooting the earth around it and I raised it higher into the air. Rays of sun shone over the tops of the sycamores surrounding the secret spot illuminating the flag; empowering me – giving me new hopes for the future.

I rolled the flag gently around the silver beam feeling the thin layer of mud flaking off and floating angelically towards the ground below. Tucking it under my arm I stepped out of the grove of trees where it had been hidden all these years and set off back towards town to do what I had planned to do. The sun had begun to cool and a small breeze was picking up, but on the inside a fiery passion was building up which threatened to engulf me in a rage of anger. Now was the beginning of the end…

Taking slow steps back into town from the place my father was made no more, I increased my stride, taking my steps to a steady pace and continued thinking, thinking about him and her.

My parents; their love so strong but their colour so wrong. Not only guilty of kissing but marrying and having me, a mixed race child born into a world divided by colour. Poor father, I cannot believe masked men did that to you, how your heart was sent to heaven by hatred when all you were guilty of was love.

The word ‘lynching’ is hardly ever mentioned these days. People say these “mean acts” only happened in other places; never round here and not to people like us but they are so wrong. The men who took my father hid their identity with white hoods draped over their faces leaving only beady eyes that pierced straight through the heart, every one of them too ashamed to reveal their true selves. Just the thought of lynching sends an image of my father dangling like a lifeless puppet, who not so long ago was laughing alongside me. But not for long. I hear the song my mother used to sing,

“Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.”

Only here though they were not Poplar but Sycamore. Those wretched Sycamores. They had to spoil my happy childhood memories, those hooded men who took my father. I’ve always pondered who was under those masks, Mr Lennon from the Hardware Store? Mr Harrison, the local sheriff? None were caught that’s for sure…

The songs refrain echoes in my head as I stomp back into town, every step now full of new determination. I look up to the vast sky and send a prayer up to my father, feel the power of his spirit strong amongst the clouds speaking back to me, sending me strength. Clutching the flag ferociously tight in my hand I make my way back into town.

Crowds of black and white faced me, some glaring maliciously, some cheering but all gathered together in the Town Square. Banners bearing my campaign slogans of equal rights, harmony and a new way forward for all, whatever their colour hung everywhere reclaiming the Sycamore trees. With pride in my step I rise up to the newly built stage to greet my supporters. Applause takes over the square, drowning out all the negativity and surrounding me with deep joy and purpose.

As I look back up to the sky, my father’s sky, I feel our cherished flag rising in my hand.

Today I make my father proud, today I wake my country up to a new challenge, today I declare my candidacy for President of the United States.

“FREEDOM!” I shout…

Written by Year 6 pupils from Stanley Primary School, Sheen Mount, Heathfield Junior, Kew Riverside and The Russell primary schools.