Haberdashers’ Crayford Academy Head Girl, Favour, shares her spoken word poem about the Windrush generation.
They say pride comes before the fall
but for us,
pride came after the storm.
After the ships. After the chains.
After our names were scattered like waste across oceans
that were never meant to hold us.
And yet
from soil not our own
we grew.
Long before maps carved Africa into pieces
our stories were already written in the earth.
We built kingdoms that whispered to the stars.
Our gold lit up the sun,
our tongues carried wisdom older than empires.
Then came hands that reached into our soil,
pulling out diamonds that would sparkle in their crowns
but stain our rivers red – with blood
Still
our rhythm remained.
Drums hidden in heartbeats,
songs stitched into sorrow.
Even in silence, we still spoke.
Pride remembers.
It remembers the Windrush decks
cutting through Atlantic winds
men in pressed suits,
women with hope folded into their suitcases.
They came to rebuild a nation
that had once broken theirs.
But came with willing hands
Fire in their belly
believing that in this new soil they could bloom.
But when the welcome was cold
and the doors were half closed,
they made homes anyway.
Church halls became community,
front rooms became dancehalls.
The streets of Nottingham painted with the carnival culture
Pride is not just celebration.
It is the quiet strength passed from hand to hand,
the fire that outlives oppression.
It’s in the way our elders walked
with dignity wrapped around them like Sunday best
even when the world around looked around like they didn’t belong
There’s a verse hidden in our survival
not shouted from pulpits,
but hummed beneath breath
*We were made to endure*
Like Israelites with no map but faith,
we kept walking.
Pride is the bridge between what was stolen
and what we reclaimed.
It’s the drumbeat that links Accra to Brixton,
Kingston to Harlem,
Lagos to Peckham
past to future.
It’s blood and brilliance.
Loss and legacy.
It’s knowing our story starts with glory
not grief even if the world may think it does
And so we stand.
Not as broken echoes
but as living testaments.
With every breath, every step,
we carry history forward.
And for all that was
all that is,
and all that will be
for the hands that built, the hearts that carried hope,
and the faith that moved mountains within us,
we lift our heads, steady our hearts
and say together
Amen.
