At 15, I was caught between two worlds: half-white, half-black; half-British, half-Caribbean. In 2008, my father took me to see Pentangle at the Royal Festival Hall. I stood out among the bearded men in sandals, with my hoop earrings and scraped-back hair. Reluctant at first, I left the concert forever changed.
Pentangle, who rose to fame in the late 1960s, fused British folk melodies with blues and jazz. Their rendition of 'The Cuckoo', an 18th-century ballad, felt haunting yet comforting. It sparked an obsession with British folklore: standing stones, druids, pagans, and seasonal customs like wassailing and morris dancing. These traditions offered an alternative history of Britain, far from monarchy or empire.
I kept my folk fixation private, but later saw connections to Caribbean traditions: Carriacou's Shakespeare Mas, Jamaican maypole dancing, and sea shanties shaped by slave trade routes. Even Notting Hill carnival began as an old English fayre. These fused customs spoke to my mixed heritage, blending creativity and resistance from colonial history.
Over time, I met others drawn to folklore's power to unite. Parading in homemade costumes, telling ancestral stories, and celebrating solstices connect us across cultures. Pentangle's fusion of English folk and jazz rhythms mirrored the cuckoo's journey between my ancestral lands. That gig was a gateway to belonging.
