English | Sri Lankan

Photo credit: provided by subject

I identify as being a ‘child of the world’, more English and British than anything else, but my other heritage is very much part of who I am too.

My Mother’s family in more recent generations identified as English but going back a couple of generations included French Huguenots and Southern Irish and Welsh as well as English. My Dad’s side of the family lived in Sri Lanka but were very mixed with Dutch, German, French/Swiss, Indian, Irish and Sri Lankan roots. He came to England in the 1960s.

I was born and grew up in England. In the1970s and 1980s my family was often the only one, or one of only a very few including a person of colour in the villages where we lived, and in the classes at the schools I attended. I have almost all of my life, in almost every situation, been the only person of my mixed racial background in the room even if there are other people there from Black or Asian backgrounds. And even if they’ve been Asian, there’s almost never been anyone from Sri Lanka there let alone from my Dad’s ethnic heritage groups.

I had realised I was ‘different’ by the time I was about 4 years old, because of the persistent questioning ‘WHAT are you?’, ‘Where are you from REALLY?’. By the time I was catching the bus from school every day in a local town, that total strangers would quiz me, and would correct me if I answered the ‘where are you from?’ question with where I lived, or where I used to live. They would only be satisfied once I had told them where my Dad had come from. After my Mum started tracing our family history, my answers got longer. Reciting with confidence my proudly mixed ancestry, which took people aback as they were looking for a one-word answer to put me into a single national group as where I was from REALLY. By the time I was 18, I had grown so tired of keep being asked the question, that I often no longer bothered to answer, so instead turned the question around ‘ where do you think I am from really?’ and then agreed with whatever they came up with. Often Malaysian, sometimes South American, never Sri Lankan unless they were too.

Knowing my family history was vitally important to me. Because of all that relentless questioning, I picked up a clear message that I could not assume that I was accepted as part of British Society in the same way my White peers were; however I tried to dress or style my hair (and my Mum and I did try over and over, and over, again). I had almost no contact with people from Dad’s side of the family until my teens, when I went to his old boys school reunion meetings in London. Where, I was instantly ‘recognised’ by total strangers to me as ‘an Ambrose’ and ‘AppleJohn’s Grand-Daughter’ by students of my Grandfather who I had never met (he had that nickname because he was very strict and on one occasion he confiscated a child’s apple but ate it, and just knowing that one little story about him as a person meant so much). Receiving photos from around the world showing my relatives back through time, meant a huge amount. This one, for example, shows my Great-Grandparents Theodore ‘Tiddy’ Ambrose who identified as ‘Cetti’, a group who had moved from India to Sri Lanka in previous centuries before the family took a Christian surname that I inherited, and Clara Florence whose Dad was Irish and Mum was of mixed European and Asian ancestry.

Today I count myself so lucky to have photos of so many mixed faces of the past; my Grandparents and their parents, as well as photos back to Victorian times on my Mum’s side of the family too. 

Negative experiences included White English friends not being allowed to be friends with me once people found out my Dad was not White, being refused service in shops when I went on holiday to Germany and offensive racist comments from colleagues in one workplace where I stood up for another person of Asian ancestry who was experiencing racist abuse from them.

In shops people would often accuse my Mum of being racist towards me if she joined in conversations I was having with the staff, because they didn’t realise we were related. At home we had a village post office where my Mum was the postmistress. In the week my Dad was often working away. He would often help out in the shop and post office on the weekends or when Mum was unwell. That would lead to people who did not know my parents were married asking my Mum or me to ‘get rid of the Black man’ not because he had done anything wrong but just because they didn’t want him working there. We would decide whether to bother to tell them or just to let them find out for themselves. It was often more impactful for them to realise they were married and we were family; their shame and embarrassment and knowing we were their only nearby post office so they were going to have to come back and face us again. That said, while we were the only family of colour around for many years, my Dad also won people over because he was so kind, caring and happy to help people with their problems.

We didn’t have many White English friends and had almost no living English family. Our family friends came from all over the world, and I had no idea that was unusual. I was taught they were all my Aunties and Uncles so I never thought of them in terms of race or national heritage. I just thought of them as grown-ups who make the rules in their own homes, who all think they are normal and don’t realise they’re all doing things a bit differently to each other. So I just learned each of their rules for how they liked to do things.

Using some services was more of a challenge; hairdressers would often say that they didn’t know how to cut my hair as it was ‘different’ and in my 20s a makeover day wasn’t quite the same as for my White English friends as the lady said she didn’t have some make up for my skin because I was ‘different’, while doctors would ask me ‘have you always been that colour?’ and tell me that health issues might be due to being either too English or too Asian in how we lived (depending on the doctor’s identity).

I often felt that I was living two lives ‘English’ at school,  more ‘Asian’ at home, partly because of Dad’s values about things like ‘covering up’, ‘duty’ and ‘helping others’ (we were always sending things overseas to help people in Sri Lanka especially to get an education and have a chance to have better lives there), partly because while our White English neighbours could do things in their front gardens and have their friends over, if Dad ever did, we’d often get complaints or the Police would be called.  Even though Dad was a banker and his friends were often doctors, accountants and other professionals. I remember times when I would answer the door and the Police would apologise ‘Oh sorry to disturb you ma’am, we were told there was a Black man at this house’. I would sometimes make mistakes too; like accepting presents from White English friends and putting them away. I was brought up to focus on the person not the material gain of the present by my Dad and my Asian Aunties and Uncles, but my White English friends might have given me a box of chocolates and be hoping I would rip off the wrapping paper excitedly and then open the sweets and offer to share them.

I survived being caught up in the start of the civil war on a family holiday to Sri Lanka because I looked like a Burgher; one of the ethnic groups my Dad’s family had been part of (a mixed heritage ethnic group linked to the way the Dutch Empire populated the island).

Most of my adult life I have worked or volunteered with local and diverse communities from all over the world. I have found a lot of shared experience with the minority ethnic communities, but I have often felt guilty and questioning as to where to place myself because being mixed heritage, I don’t have a single ‘ethnic group’ and my colouring is so fair.  But I cannot ‘feel’ White English. Even when I dress English and style English, I can be reminded that I am not accepted as a White English person when an older person will make a comment such as ‘I don’t mind that you people are over here’ or I get asked ‘is that your traditional costume?’ when I’m just wearing clothes sold in the main supermarkets rather than ethnic clothing. I have learned what ‘White privilege’ is too, by experiencing the contrasting life experiences of my Dad and my Mum, and I’ve learned my own privilege compared to my Black friends.

I have learned to be proud of who I am, in all its complexity; a mixed-race face, from generations of mixed-race faces in ethnic groups that no longer exist or are close to extinction, and to use my insights to work with people of any and all racial backgrounds to builds stronger and more inclusive communities. I dress how I want. I put blue in my hair because I like it. I am free to be me.

If I were to be born again, I’d be me, but I would like children in schools, and society generally, to teach everyone about the Black and Asian, as well as the White histories about Britain, so that systemic racism would be revealed, understood and people of all backgrounds would feel more able to address tackling racism with open minds that want to learn and do better for everyone.