Colour Bar (4 page)

Just months before Seretse's arrival in the UK, Kwame Nkrumah – later the first President of Ghana – registered for a PhD at London University and was admitted as a student by Gray's Inn. Now in his mid-thirties, he had studied for many years in the USA, where he had been heavily involved in African-American politics. Once in London, he joined WASU and, along with Amy Garvey and W. E. B. Du Bois, the African-American political activist, worked to organize the Fifth Pan-African Congress in Manchester in October 1945. This Congress passed resolutions demanding the end of the colour bar in Britain and independence for colonial nations: ‘We affirm the right of all colonial peoples to control their own destiny. All colonies must be free from foreign imperialist control, whether political or economic.'
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At a meeting of the Congress addressed by the Lord Mayor of Manchester, the hall was decorated with the flags of Haiti, Liberia
and Ethiopia and a map of Africa.
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Among the delegates at the Congress were Hastings Banda and Jomo Kenyatta. ‘One thing we must do,' asserted Kenyatta at the end of his speech,

is to get political independence. If we achieve that we shall be free to achieve other things we want. We feel that racial discrimination must go, and then people can perhaps enjoy the right of citizenship, which is the desire of every East African. Self-government must be our aim.
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Nkrumah later commented that the Pan-African Congress marked the turning point in Pan-Africanism from a passive to an active stage and ‘brought about the awakening of African political consciousness. It became, in fact, a mass movement of Africa for the Africans.'
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Although Seretse Khama was in Oxford during the Pan-African Congress, it is likely that he knew of its existence and, indeed, of its importance. But even if the Congress in Manchester in 1945
had
passed him by, he would have been exposed to its aims and ideas when he moved to London, through his friendships with African students at Nutford House and the Inns of Court, and with men like Dr Banda. ‘By this time,' wrote Nkrumah in his autobiography, ‘the political conscience of African students was aroused, particularly in London, and whenever they met they talked of little else but nationalist politics and the colonial liberation movements.'
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Seretse belonged to a unique generation of young Africans, who were destined to lead their countries to freedom from imperialism and the prejudice of race. Some of these future leaders had been his fellow students and friends at Fort Hare and Wits – and some of them were his new friends in London.

One evening in June 1947, after a dinner dance at Nutford House in London, Seretse rushed off to find Charles Njonjo. In great excitement, he announced to his friend that he had fallen in love – ‘I met a girl, and I think you should meet her!' Then he added, ‘Somebody I should like to be my wife.' Charles was astonished. As he recalled years later, it was not like Seretse to make dramatic remarks for the sake of effect: clearly, this was serious.
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The young woman Seretse had met was called Ruth Williams. She had been a guest at an event arranged for the students – a reception by the warden, followed by a formal dinner and then a dance. She had been brought by her elder sister Muriel, who was a Congregationalist associated with the London Missionary Society, which helped to organize social activities for African students. Muriel had been looking forward to introducing Ruth to Seretse, because she expected them to have a lot in common: they both had a lively sense of humour and liked listening to jazz.
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However, Ruth did not take any particular notice of Seretse. ‘I saw a tall, well-built, smiling African with wonderful teeth, broad shoulders, and perfect manners,' she said later. ‘I must confess that at this first meeting he seemed as alike to me as half a dozen other African students my sister introduced me to that night.'
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But Seretse was immediately attracted to Ruth.
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Twenty-three years old, Ruth Williams was not so much beautiful, as attractive and elegant: when she walked down the street, heads turned. Slim and fit, she had a slight, almost bony, frame. Her strawberry-blonde hair highlighted her clear complexion, which was pale and freckled. Her eyes were unusual: although both eyes looked green at first glance, one of them was half green and half brown. Brought up in London,
she worked as a confidential clerk in the City, in the foreign claims department of a big firm of Lloyd's underwriters. Although she came from an ordinary middle-class family, she belonged to a new generation of capable young women, who had seen active service during the war and had modern, fresh ideas.

Some days later, Ruth returned to Nutford House with Muriel. Seretse had been longing to see her again and he was delighted when she stopped to chat with him. Then she started to visit on a regular basis. There were very strict rules at Nutford House about women visitors, who were only allowed to enter a few of the public rooms, much to the annoyance of some students.
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But Seretse and Ruth were perfectly happy sitting together in the lounge or garden, getting to know each other better. It was at least three months, recalled Seretse later, ‘before I dared ask Ruth for a date, but even then I did not know how she would react to my suggestion'. He had bought two tickets for a concert in London's West End, to see the Ink Spots, a jazz and blues group of black Americans.
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But he felt very nervous about asking her out. One day in August 1947, said Ruth,

Seretse phoned me in my office. ‘Would you do me a great honour tonight?' he asked.

‘Certainly if I can,' I replied gaily – by this time I had really got to like him – ‘and what is this great honour, sir?'

Seretse answered quickly – ‘I have two tickets for the Inkspots… I'll…

I'll get three if you'd like your sister to come along with us.'

‘I'd love to come – without my sister,' I said.

So we went to the Inkspots. That was our first outing.
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After this first date, Seretse and Ruth found themselves spending more and more time together. He told her about life in Bechuanaland and she talked about the years of war. Gradually, their friendship blossomed and they became a couple. Ruth watched Seretse play football, but drew the line at boxing matches, which she thought were brutal; he came with her to the ice-rink, though found it impossible to like skating. They soon had their own favourite coffee shop, and when Seretse passed an exam he immediately called Ruth to tell her.
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He was working hard at his studies for the Bar and she was proud of his success: by the end of 1947, he had passed the Law of Torts, the
Law of Contracts, Roman-Dutch Law and Roman Law and was planning to take his final examinations the following year in Constitutional Law and Criminal Law.
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But their growing pleasure in each other was marred by anxiety, because Ruth was concealing from her parents the fact that she was going out with an African. Her father, she knew, took a dim view of black and white people mixing together; when Muriel had started her work with African students, he said he would not object, but only so long as she didn't bring any of them home with her.
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When Ruth did finally tell her parents about Seretse, it was a disaster: her father told her to stop seeing him or to get out of the house.
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The atmosphere of the home became tense and her mother, ‘always lively, anxious and affectionate, was uneasy whenever she knew I was going out with Seretse – though she was not as antagonistic as my father'.
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By now, Seretse had no doubts at all that Ruth was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He decided that he must tell Ruth how he felt – that he loved her and wanted her to be his wife.
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One evening, when they were sitting together in the lounge at Nutford House, he turned to her and asked, ‘Ruth, do you think you could love me?' – but she didn't answer. ‘She didn't have to,' said Seretse later. ‘The light in her sky-blue eyes and the smile on her face told me what I wanted to know.' He asked her to marry him and she said yes. They went out to celebrate in a little Soho restaurant and then Seretse kissed Ruth for the first time – ‘We had reached an understanding at last, after nearly a year of secret meetings and outings.'
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But a mixed-race couple, they quickly discovered, were faced with enormous obstacles. One of these was looking for a flat to live in once they were married. In war-damaged London, it was hard for any couple to find accommodation to rent. But if one of them was black, it was almost impossible:

We were plagued by landlords and landladies who, though they had flats to let, slammed the door in our faces when we asked to see them. We'd write down a list of flats advertised vacant in the morning, jump into a taxi, and do the rounds. In every case, the places had ‘just been let' a few minutes before we came along.

But if they telephoned the landlord immediately afterwards, pretending to be somebody else, they were told that the accommodation was still available.
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They had been turned down simply because of Seretse's colour. Eventually, they found a tiny flat in Notting Hill Gate: a room with an alcove kitchen at 10 Campden Hill Gardens, on the top floor of a tall grey Victorian building. Seretse moved in straightaway.

Just a few minutes' walk away was the Anglican Church of St George's, Campden Hill. Seretse went to see the elderly vicar, the Reverend Leonard Patterson. He asked him to marry them and the wedding day was set for Saturday 2 October. But when Ruth told her parents the news, they were appalled and her father said he wanted nothing more to do with her.
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Her mother, in great distress, implored her daughter to think again, but Ruth had no intention of giving up Seretse. Now, though, she had to keep out of her father's way. When she finished work, she went to the flat in Notting Hill Gate; then, at 11 o'clock at night, she went to her parents' flat, to sleep.
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At work, too, news of her imminent marriage was met with hostility. The head of her department said he was transferring her to the firm's New York office: if she didn't accept this transfer, she would be sacked. She refused, announcing that she would leave her job at the end of the week.
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‘It began to look as though we wouldn't have a friend in the world on our wedding day,' said Ruth, unhappily.
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Hanging over Seretse was the need to tell his uncle, the Regent Tshekedi, about his plan to marry Ruth. Seretse was aware that according to Bangwato law and custom, the wife of the Kgosi should be selected by his people; usually, the wife would be from a royal family. He was afraid, too, that his uncle would not like the idea of him marrying a white woman. Forty-three years of age, Tshekedi had been Regent of the Bangwato for twenty-three years and was a formidable man. Seretse wrote Tshekedi a long letter. Addressing him as ‘Father', he announced his plan to marry Ruth on 2 October and asked him to accept her as his wife:

I assure you, father, that there has been nothing improper between the girl and myself. I have known her now for a year and two months. She knows very well what she is doing and we are aware of the difficulties that await us. These difficulties have already begun.

‘I am not marrying her out of pity,' he added. ‘I love her, moreover she is a suitable person father. You will agree that this is so when you meet her.' He asked Tshekedi to send some money:

I cannot do this without financial assistance from you father. Therefore Sir no matter how you feel please send me the necessary funds as soon as possible to enable us to start at least without financial worries.

He concluded:

Please do not try to stop me father, I want to go through with it. I hope you will appreciate the urgency of my request. I do need help.

Ke le ngwana wa-gago
[‘I am your son']

Seretse.
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But when the blue airmail letter arrived in Africa, it provoked a crisis. It was ‘so unexpected', observed a friend of Tshekedi, ‘that it had the effect of going off like a bomb… The news of the marriage almost made Tshekedi mad.'
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The Resident Commissioner described the Regent's reaction in his memoirs. ‘Tshekedi came to me with a face like a fiddle,' he recorded. ‘That Seretse should marry at all without going through the usual forms of consultation was bad enough. That he should marry a European was the end.' The Resident Commissioner argued that such a development was hardly surprising. After all, it was Tshekedi who had insisted that Seretse go to England – ‘and then raised the roof at the not unpredictable consequences'.
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Tshekedi was used to having his own way and now he resolved to stop Seretse's marriage. He sent a cable to his lawyer, Douglas Buchanan, in Cape Town:

Have just received most disturbing letter from Seretse. He is engaged to English girl banns published intends marry second October. Please take immediate possible steps possibly assisted by your brother Jack, Professor Coupland and others to stop this marriage by arranging immediate air transport for Seretse return South Africa.

‘Please contact Sir Evelyn Baring immediately,' he added, ‘and ask for his immediate support to get London office [to] arrange departure of Seretse.'
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Sir Evelyn Baring, who was the High Commissioner of Bechuanaland,
was horrified by the news. Tall and patrician – some said cold and aloof – Baring was in his mid-40s, two years older than Tshekedi. He was a graduate of Winchester School and New College, Oxford, where he had gained a First in History; now he was following in the footsteps of his father, Lord Cromer, who had been consul-general in Egypt, as an imperial mandarin. He immediately cabled the permanent secretary at the Commonwealth Relations Office in London. ‘Most grateful,' he urged, ‘for any help you can give since marriage would be disastrous for Bamangwato Tribe and Seretse personally.'
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