Original subtitles

ALEX WHEATLE

Follow.

To the right. Stop there.

To the right.

And right.

Stop there.

In.

It stinks in here...

Come in, my youth. Come here, man.

Cha. Me name's Simeon. It's Alex, innit?

You want a tea, or something fe drink?

The bottom bunk is mine, yeah? For the proximity to the shitter.

Boy, me 'dep on hunger strike and my belly bad.

I'm sorry about the smell still, but them things soon pass, man.

I'll give you a little space, yeah.

Anything you want just... just help yourself.

Do you want to end up in hell? Is that what you want?

Cos that's precisely what's going to happen if you carry on playing up.

Now, I know you've been fighting.

You get up them stairs and wash them dirty little hands before dinner.

And you go straight to bed.

I don't want to hear a word from you tonight, you understand?

Yes, Aunty.

Alec Alphonso Wheatle, born on the 3rd of January 1963.

Alphonso, an illegitimate child,

was received into care under section one of the Children's Act 1948

on the 17th of April 1964,

as the private foster mother with whom he was placed by his putative father,

was unable to continue caring for him.

His mother, Mrs. G, a married woman, deserted him at birth.

He was placed in a council nursery and transferred in February '66

to the children's home where he is now living.

On admission he was suffering from severe eczema,

but this has improved and he is making good progress.

Alphonso's mother has had no contact with him since birth.

- Wheatle's wet his bed again. Aunty! - Shut up!

You dirty little bastard.

As if I don't do enough for you.

I am sick to death of your disgusting behaviour.

What have I done to deserve you? You are a horrible, nasty little boy.

How many fucking times, dread?

You can't use the shitter in the yard instead of stinking out this place.

Me not proud, you know, youth. I say sorry once and I say it again.

Dirty fucking rasta. You're lucky I don't fuck you up.

Fuck me up? You'd better fuck me up good, you know.

Anyhow you left me standing, I finish your life.

Joker dread. As if you could do me.

Listen...

Calm yourself, youth. Calm yourself.

What me say? Listen, listen. Calm yourself.

Alright, alright. Alright, my youth.

Alright, man. Alright, alright.

Listen, man. I want to hear. What is your story?

My story? I ain't got no fricking story.

Alright. Alright. Alright.

Listen.

All night, me have. And my ears is fully open.

So just start at the beginning.

- What do you call it? - Reggae music.

- What, the song? - Nah, not the song. Why, you like it?

I love it.

Turn that coon, wog crap off.

- We ain't in Africa now. - What you gonna do, fool?

Don't worry about him. Listen to the lyrics, man. Cool down your temper.

I'm not scared of that dickface.

Shut your mouth, before I fill it for you.

- Wheates, back down. - Fight! Fight!

Wheates have him. Fucking have him! Go on. He's stuck man.

- Oi, get off him. Get off him. - Teachers, teachers, teachers.

Get off me.

Fuck's sake. Fucking kill you.

Fuck off and take that shit music with you.

Get him out of here.

Don't make it worse for yourself. Shut up!

Come here. Come here, come on.

Stay there, monkey!

Our castaway this week is a writer of short stories, of children's books

and of screenplays: Roald Dahl.

Could you adjust yourself to isolation, on an island?

Very easily, yes. I look for it more and more in my life today.

I hate to say it, but I would love it.

How much does music mean to you?

It means a great deal, but not in a professional way.

In the old days, before I was married I never started writing in the morning

before putting on some very great music.

Like a Beethoven quartet and sit and listen to it in,

in the hopes that some of this greatness would rub off on me

and that I would write...

As a matter of fact it helps quite a lot because it is impossible...

Shut the gate.

These are your keys. Don't lose them. These are the rules. Learn them.

Any questions? Good.

Fuck my frigging days.

Man seen bwai fall from outer space looking less like him claffy.

A blowoh. No tomfoolery.

- Are you cuckoo or are you the beast? - Dennis, behave yourself.

The man is only ramping with you. Don't listen to his chats.

I'm Dawn. My room's just over there.

It's Alex, innit?

You seriously busting P.V.C.?

Frig my days. He is. He's wearing P.V.C.

- From where on the earth did you land? - Shirley Oaks. In Surrey.

Surrey? And they dress you there with garms made by the farm animals?

You got any corn?

You got any corn?

I've got some Pot Noodle they sent me off with.

Oh, God. Oh, Lord.

Who the, who the fuck is this boy.

Money, man. Money. Corn is money.

- You got money? - Why?

Leave him money alone.

I just want to take the poor sap shopping, innit.

Otherwise next man will jump on him and mash up his claat.

Don't worry about the corn, Mr. P.V.C.

And just meet me outside in two. And just lose the jacket.

You understand? You see that?

- He's hearing, but he's not listening. - Just get out.

Now, crook ya ear, Mr. P.V.C. Whatever man say,

never trod into Dunn & Co. That's where them dirty greybacks shop.

I ain't ramping, you understand? This is serious.

You see that? That's Farah. Like what I is modelling.

Anything Farah is on target.

Cha! You're not ready yet. And we have a priority more pressing than slacks.

Come, come. Let's trod.

Soon come, brethren. Soon come.

- A blowout Afro, him want. A blowout. - Him speak?

Of course him speak. Just give him a blowout now.

Man have to ask if he want a blowout.

Alright. Alex, tell him you want a blowout.

I want one. A blowout, yes. Absolutely. I want one.

So wha' you say.

Don't start 'pon me, dread. So many youth get bust up in a cell.

Something gonna snap, man. Y' hear what happened to Coffin Head?

Beastman arrest him outside the Kentucky, throw him in a cell,

bruk up him nose and boot up him ribcage.

For what? Man and man want life for life.

That's what them Brixton Panther man say, innit. Things are gonna blow up.

You hear what blow up? Filthy Rocker's valve amplifier in the dance.

People was vexed. Girl on the street cussing up the boxboys

but they can't get no cab to take them to the next dance.

- You follow any of the sound system? - But I do love reggae music.

See, all the African man love reggae. Wha' is in our blood.

- I'm not African. - Come again?

- I'm not African, I'm... - Ah dread, you is African.

I'm not. I might be Black, but I'm from Surrey.

Oh, God.

Him cuss cuss in here. Babylon have you washed.

Babylon have your brain in the Fairy Liquid.

Who's Babylon?

Where'd you get this youth from? And what this youth chatting about?

Who's Babylon? Babylon not a person.

It's de politrickster and the system that oppresses all black people.

So where is it on the map?

Man just arrive in Brixton today. Or just planet Earth, I dunno.

Bwai, you have to find your roots. Alexander the Great Jokerman.

Boy you have to find out who the fuck you is.

Yes, I. You alright? Hail Selassi-I. Alright.

- What's wrong? - Beast. Get ready to bolt.

What, why?

What you doing, man?

You seriously are frigging cuckoo. You can't do that.

- Do what? - Fuck with the beast around here.

They'll mash you up worser than any badman.

No, they won't. They're here to help you.

What? Yes, they will. They will too, Wheats.

Them truncheon butt de sufferer.

On this I really ain't ramping, man. About to chip. For my life.

About to run, man.

Oh. I can't run in these shoes. I've got really bad blisters.

Floyd call it correct. You is a jokerman.

Come, come, let's trod.

- You like them shoes there? - Yeah.

- Try it on, man. - You'll look cool in those, mate.

- That's it. How do they feel? - Yeah. Good but...

- Comfortable? - Yeah, but...

Yeah, alright, alright...

- Alright, blow man. - What? What did you say?

- Fucking leg it, Wheatie! - But I haven't tied my laces yet.

Where you going? Oi! Come here!

Cup your hand. Cup your hand.

It mek your mouth dry, but give you a nice, slow buzz.

I have smoked before, you know.

So give me three quid and the rest of the collie's yours.

Come, come. Let's trod.

Wa-gwan?

Can I give you seventy p tomorrow when I get my giro?

Nah, youth. How many time me have to tell you. Return tomorrow.

It'll be gone by then. Come on, Lincoln.

I spend all my money in here every week. Please.

Dennis! Hey, Dennis. Hi, man.

What happen to you, man. Don't use me name, dread.

Who's selling the weed then?

Why have you made the announcement, man? What's wrong with you?

Come. Come, let's trod, man.

- Careful of the car, Dennis. - Shut up, man. Come.

- Alright me-dog. - You good?

- Me cool. - Yeah man, yeah man, yeah man.

Can I have a draw, please?

- Where the fuck this youth come from? - Him cool, man. Him safe.

- I have some corn. - Yo, yo, yo, yo. Listen.

You know how many get jook up on this road for little more than nothing?

Yo, remove you. Me said remove you.

Badger. You known me from time, man.

Give my spar a two pound draw and be happy for the business.

Him safe, man.

- Only cos true you is my brethren. - Respect.

Come.

Here's the money.

- Respect. - Now the two of you. Fuck off.

You got to be more Brixton, Wheats.

You been here six month and you not learn nothing.

Like blurting out my name for every undercover beast to take note.

What am I supposed to call you then?

Maybe dread, or brethren or spa. Or I don't fucking know.

And you want to let go of that frigging bumpkin walk too.

- You walk like that scarecrow on TV. - Shut up.

Nah, you have to strut as a black man strut.

Any dread can spot you from a mile.

Now we have to chat about the money side, but I can learn you a few things.

I just spent all my corn.

If me a teach you, me have to have compensation for my time.

You understand.

- I've got thirty pence. - Thirty pence?

That is satisfactory for a few pointers. Now walk.

Lift up your head, man, and slow it down, Wheats.

You is marching like you the Stormtrooper hunting the Jedi.

You got to be the Jedi doing the hunting of the Stormtrooper.

What are you blinking talking about?

You sound like the rarse baldhead, man. 'What are you blinking talking about?'

Well fuck you, Dennis. I ain't had no-one teach me jack shit in my life.

A mum or dad, brother or sister, no-one my whole life. I ain't had nobody.

I is only ramping with you brethren.

The truth? I can't know how deep your pain.

You're the real thing, man. No hyping.

But I always kept eyes out for you, innit Wheats?

Listen to me. Christmas soon pon us and my mother puts on a serious spread.

You want to come sample the Jamaican jam on the day?

- I don't like Christmas. - What?

Nuff boiled chicken, rice and peas, roast potatoes, stuffing, hot corn...

Alright, alright. As long as you quiet your beak about it.

- You'll come? Yeah? - Yeah.

I'm warning you. All my family are a bit... mad up.

It'll be good for you.

Now me reckon me owe you ten p off this lesson.

You was proving be a faster learner too, Wheats.

But I'll hold onto that because that's gonna be twenty p for your next lesson.

It's like a little deposit, yeah?

Head high. Chest out.

Jah would never give power to a bald head.

Run come crucify the dread.

Hurry up, man.

Happy Christmas, Mummy.

You just come. Where you been? Food cook long time.

Hi, Sylvia. This is my spar, Alex. Fix him up a drink first eh.

Is me for fix it? Char.

Come. Sit down. Everybody, this is Alex.

Can you hold the baby?

- So, your parents Jamaican? - I don't think so, no.

What do you mean, you don't think so? Where they from then?

Anyway... give me the baby.

- Very cold start. - Tell me how the garage is going.

The garage is going good family. I got a Cortina I just picked up last week.

I need you to come round, help me do some work on it.

Yes... How's the football going?

- I heard. Four-nil, you lot lose. - I was in goal as well.

Hold that. Secret family recipe, you know.

Hi, Uncles. What's going on Uncle, you good?

- Yeah. Can't wait to have some yam. - Who want food, come now.

- Guys, come get your food. - Coming, Aunty.

Coming, Mum.

My mother give me one piece of chicken, man.

- How many pieces chicken did you get? - Got a nice piece there, two piece.

- You got two piece? - Yeah, man.

Come out of my seat, man. Come out of my seat, boy. Move.

- You want more gravy? - Is it spicy?

You nuh like spice? It's alright, me can get you some drink from the tray.

No. No, thank you. It looks delicious.

What happen to you? Take your time. The food no have no legs.

- Your mother not cook for you? - Sometimes.

Sometime? Sometime me no know why me bother.

Me 'dep on hunger strike. Ten days now, you know.

If they can serve halal and kosher, they must can serve ital.

Me believe fighting for that is worth all sufferation.

But bwai, it wreak havoc with my belly, you know.

And for that, me sorry til me can't sorry no more, my youth.

Why are you even here, dread?

I was arrested at the gates of Westminster Abbey,

with a pickaxe, big so. Me tell the judge

me intent upon destroying the tomb of Edward the Confessor.

In retaliation for the desecration of all of the Egyptian king

by the European man. Me gonna brok it up.

He give me six months.

So, you're serious about your stuff, then, innit?

Rasta is not, is not a religion, is my life.

- What are you writing? - Why you ask me that?

- No reason. - Me write some...

Just notes, man. I don't really have the talent.

What me blessed with is for the love of reading.

Reading's what shaped my life.

Is that your family?

Yeah. The woman in the white dress are me mother. The minister's sister.

Keep in touch?

Not for a long while now, no.

Cha. Enough about me now. Me never suffer like you, you know.

You know how me end up in the prison, right?

So come on, youth man, what happened to you?

- I took a wrong turn. - No man. Listen up, now.

Not one man, woman or a child ever learnt anything in life

without making a mistake.

For me it was always about the music.

That was it, dread.

One good thing about the music...

When it hits you you feel no pain, yeah.

Me say one good thing about the music

When it hits you you feel no pain

Come and say hit me with music Come and say hit me with music now

Cos dis a Trenchtown rock Don't watch that

Trenchtown rock Big fish or sprat

Trenchtown rock You reap what you sow

Trenchtown rock, only Jah-Jah know.

Jah know the gong speak. Yeah, my youth. Come here, man.

- Yes, my youth. - Have corn for this, but not this one.

Can you keep it for me, just for a couple of days?

Irie. You have until Friday. Safe.

- Respect, Lincoln. - Respect.

You is too fat. You can't see how you need church?

You is a scrawny little rat boy, you know that?

You not see how your trouser, them a burst out?

Look how your head big like bread fruit, dog. Eh?

You know what, you look like some sewer rat. You know that?

Dog, you is the fattest man in Brixton.

And guess what? Me still take your girl, you know.

- You can't take my girl. - I can't? Ask her.

You can only take my girl McDonald, dog.

- Listen you is a sausage dog. - Brethren, you see your nose?

You're like Blackwall Tunnel or something, you know what me say?

- You is a dumpling. - And I'll squash you, brethren.

- You is a Jamaican panda. - A Jamaican panda?

Shut the fuck up, man before me chop off your two lip them

and make two imitation sausage out of them - to rart!

- Me? You must be mad, you know. - I'm not mad, you is just fat.

- Frig my days. Valentine Golding. - Come find you, innit.

- Welcome, sir. - What, you did all this?

Check my new suitcase. Philips 423.

Dread, how you lay your hands on this record?

Spent every penny of my G-cheques. Me sometimes keep a look out

for the bad men up on the line to make a little extra corn.

Can still run fast, innit. And the beast never seem to bother me.

Check this. Corn is money.

- That's the skills man have to have. - Yes, man.

- I knew it. You ain't changed. - I have.

A little bit.

- You're mad, you know that, right? - Ah, shut up.

- ...the leg-back's mine, brethren. - Where's mine, man.

I keep telling you. You're not ready.

Today's gonna be the best night, I swear to god.

Mind yourself, dog.

Dat's Festus, Coxone's operator.

Look at that speaker, man. You telling me, brethren.

Careful, man. Careful.

That's how much leg-back are going to be in there, brethren with that bass.

Man, there's gonna be every type of girl here. Girl from North London.

South London. West London. South-east London.

Me gone. Yo baby yo...

- Hold on. One-fifty for coming in. - What you mean?

Give me one-fifty to come in, otherwise fuck off. Move from the door.

Man, fuck this.

All the criss girls are with the soundman.

To get dem leg-back is simple.

Yeah. We need our own sound.

That's it.

That's right, man. But we have to make it proper. That's crucial.

Of course, dread.

To rarted.

We can call our sound Crucial Rocker Sound System.

Crucial Rocker...

- Crucial Rocker to rarted, yeah. - To rarted.

- But we haven't got any equipment. - Ah, don't worry. Know where.

Thank you, Dawn.

In tune to the great boss sound of Crucial Rocker. Flash up your lighter.

Easy.

We want to have at least a hundred watts a channel in the amp.

Then we can be nuff match for Tupper King and all them dread heads.

We thiefed enough ply for at least three boxes.

But you haven't got nothing to put in them.

What a blowoh. We never had nothing to start with.

Watch, this sound is gonna be wicked and wild. Trust me.

Wicked and wild. That's the sound of the underground.

See me there in a Brixton town. Give the beastman a crucial pound.

Crucial. Crucial.

Wicked and wild. That's the sound of the underground.

Give the beastman a crucial pound.

Fuck... my days!

Get in! Get in, twelve, twelve...

Frig man! There's a dog. There's a dog.

Hurry up! Move, man.

Move. Move.

Hurry up, man!

Fuck it!

I'm here to see Cutlass.

Is Cutlass there?

- Mr. Rankin, I mean. - And what if him is?

Him might want chat a likkle business.

Wholesale business.

Youth.

- I've come to talk business. - Take off your clothes.

What?

Take off your clothes.

Take off your brief.

I ain't carrying no wire, dread.

I ain't no undercover beast.

- Who control Moa Ambessa sound? - Beres.

Who are the mic men for Front Line International?

Welton Youth and Silver Fox.

- Who run tings down Villa Road? - Soferno B.

Who operate the sound?

Big Youth.

But some man call him Chabba.

Alright. Still me question your dialect. Your accent sound too English.

But alright, my youth. How much collie you want?

Half ounce, dread. But the brethens I sell to smoke top ranking bush.

You know the runnings. What name them call you my youth.

My friends call me Wheats. My sound is gonna be called Crucial Rocker.

Irie a'ight Crucial Rocker.

Next time you want to make your order don't forward here.

Call this number.

Pull up your brief now.

Youth.

I like your jacket.

Crucial Rocker.

Big Wheats, me no have no weed left so me need three ounces, alright?

Three ounces and just come link me back next week, I deal with you proper.

- I give you something nice, alright? - I don't know about that one, Badger.

You see the road, big man, you have to know everything about everybody.

If I give you them three ounces how do I know you'll give them back to me?

Oh, you know me, I give it back.

Boy, me look like criminal to you? You think that me ever rob big Wheats?

Yeah, yeah. Whatever Badger. I need to go pee, alright? Wait there, yeah?

Go piss, come back and we talk some real business, yeah?

- Yeah, yeah, yeah. - Go on, man.

- You got any gear? - What ya talk about, big man?

Yo, yo, move from me, man. What the fuck you all doing boy?

- Come here. - Yo, get the fuck off me.

Come here, you.

In the van.

Get the fuck off me.

Get in the van. Get him in.

- That's a nice jacket, nig-nog. - Fuck off, bacon.

Something to say?

Fucking black bastard, he's got a long walk home.

They never learn, do they? They never learn.

Me walk pon Acre Lane inna freezing rain

Watch out behind you Watch out

Me sight two beastmen, swear they were insane

Watch out behind me, watch out.

Just chill now, brethren. Tell her hair look nice, that kind of thing.

The needle's stuck, dread.

School finish, and I don't want you have to teach me so many things,

when I know so many rarted things about you.

If I were to blab, you'd have to walk with a bag over your head

and a serious muff covering them ears,

cos the laughter all around would drown out even Shaka speaker box.

- Come on. Let's trod. - Look at this likkle ras youth.

Hi, come on in! You alright?

- How are you? - I'm good. Thank you for coming.

And this is Alex's sound. Crucial Rocker.

And Val's as well, innit?

- Innit a ting? - Yeah, they t'iefed every bit of it.

Not the vinyl, man. Not thiefed any of the gold.

But they make it all themselves.

Innit, Alex? With like, a big saw and that.

You got to hear hm MC.

Katrina know one of them girl who dead in the fire.

The thing in New Cross last week?

Yeah. Everyone was chatting about it at the dance last night.

Maybe thinking one of them National Front boy would come

and fling a petrol bomb inna the dance or something.

How many dead now?

Thirteen.

Thirteen youth dead.

And nothing being said.

And thirty more injured or in hospital.

- Them all kids, man. - And they made no arrests.

That's why the people, them so vex.

There's talk of some kind of march if the beast don't do nothing.

A march if they're lucky.

- We're in the middle of a war. - And nobody sight who did it.

Nobody? It was dark and one minute everybody wining and dining...

And the next? The next the yard just catch alight from a petrol bomb.

It's a serious business. Something ah snap.

That's what them Brixton Panther man say, innit? Something ah snap.

Me love this tune. Come on.

Yeah, man!

Boy, her leg-back demanding a stroke. Now your chance, Wheats.

Well, do your thing man, come on. Don't let me down, brethren, do your thing.

Come on, you're embarrassing me, man. Do your thing, man.

Brethren. Come on look at that leg-back man. Do your thing.

- Thank you so much for coming. - Oh, no, it's been so nice.

- Have you had a good time? - Lovely, I'll see you soon.

You let me down, brethren. You let us all down.

We bring you to meet a fit girl and you don't even say two words to her?

Whatever the matter with you?

She was never going to be interested ina nobody like me.

Cha! That's what I'm talking about.

Talk like that and you are never even catch them leg-backs who are troggs.

Shut your fricking beak man, before I shut it for you.

You know nothing about me, dread. Now get the fuck out.

We didn't know ourselves could have happened...

Anytime. Anywhere.

Fire don't it happen to we and the nations them are ready

But in spite a all that everybody was still shocked

When we get the cold facts about that brutal attack

When we find out about the fire over New Cross.

About the innocent life 'dem were lost

About the physically scarred, the mentally marred

And them relatives who take it so hard

And you know, although plenty people were surprised,

They no say them kind of thing could there could of happened to we.

Ina this here Great Britain, ina London today

And a few get frightened and a few get subdued

Almost everybody had to sympathise

with the loved ones of the injured and the dead

For this here massacre, that we come to realise

it could have been me It could have been you

Or one of few pickney dem

Who fell victims to the terror by night.

BABYLON WILL FALL

But wait.

You not remember how the whole of black Britain did wrack with grief

How the whole of black Britain did turn a melancholy blue

Not the passable blue of the murderer's eyes

But like the smoke of gloom on that cold Sunday morning.

But stop.

You no remember how the whole of black Britain turned a fiery red

Not the callous red of the killer's eyes

But red with rage like the flames of the fire

It's a hell of a something fe true, you know

What a terrible price we have to pay tho man,

just fe live a little life Just fe struggle to survive.

Every day is just worries and struggle and strife

Imagine so much young people cut off ina dem prime,

before the twilight of them time Without no reason nor rhyme

Cast in the shadow of gloom over our life.

Look how the police and the press try dem desperate best

to put a stop to a quest for the truth

You remember? First them say it could be arson,

Then them say it could be not.

First them say a firebomb, Then them say it was not

Them implied coulda white Them implied coulda black

Who response for the attack against those innocent young blacks

Instead of raising the alarm, let the public know wagyan

Plenty paper print pure lie for blind your public eye

And the police, them plot and scheme confuse and conceal.

Me hear seh even the poor parents of the dead, them tried fe use

But you know, in spite of them wicked propaganda

we refuse to surrender to them ugly innuendo.

For up til now not one of them,

neither Stockwell, neither Wilson, nor Bell

Not one of them can tell we why.

Not one of them can tell we who

Who turned that night of joy

Into a morning of sorrow?

Who turned the jollity Into an ugly tragedy?

Yo, Brixton on fire!

Babylon... Go on then! Go on you bastards!

Go on you fucking pigs!

Dutty babylon!

Come on, let's go. Let's go.

Fucking leggit!

You mother cunt, get off me.

Yardman Irie fresh from the war-zone. Man a man. What dat friggin' smell?

Me a smell some rarse foulness in the air.

Yo, Yardman Irie need to discover deodorant. Me feel sick.

Him stink like cabbage water.

And you're put politetities upon it. Man, you reek like rancid baby nappies.

- Shut the fuck up, dread. - You say what?

It was either that or to get mash up in a beast cell, to rarted.

You come here reeking like Ghetto sewage.

Remove from this yard with speed.

Let man take some collie. Please, man.

Next time me see you. Me want my money. Now remove.

Come here and stink up my yard.

What me tell you about that youth, you know.

What you think about this one?

Uprising, there's an uprising. There ain't no work and we have...

Uprising, there's an uprising. There ain't no work and we have... shilling.

We can't take no more of this suffering, so we're riot ina Brixton.

Uprising, there's an uprising. There ain't no work and we have no shilling.

We can't take no more of this suffering, so we riot ina Brixton.

Uprising, there's an uprising. There ain't no work and we have no shilling.

We can't take no more of this suffering, so we riot ina Brixton.

Uprising, there's an uprising. There ain't no work and we have no shilling.

We can't take no more of this suffering, so we riot ina Brixton.

So we riot in Brixton.

In tune to the great boss sounds of Crucial Rocker.

This one goes out to all the revolutionary foot soldier.

Flash up your lighter if you there in the uprising.

To the murder of Blair Peach. The New Cross fire.

And then today, the 11th of April 1989...

Where Babylon took a rarseclaat beating.

If you were there so bawl forward.

Forward! Forward!

Uprising, there's an uprising

There ain't no work and we have no shilling

We can't take no more of this suffering,

So we riot inna Brixton

Get... Oi. Get him up, get him up. Get out of it. Check that room.

Check that room over there. Take him down.

- Right, get up! - Fucking pigs! Move man!

- Get off me. - Get inside now.

Oi, shut it!

I didn't do nothing. This is a...

Me say to you. You might feel sorry and blame yourself for them things there,

but there is plenty of tribulations and and ways for dealing with them things.

And education me can give you, that is your key.

And why would you do that?

My thoughts long been trained upon the youth, man.

I have to play my part cos me know the future is yours.

Some future, dread. For all the youth outside that window

it's the dole office and the inside of a beast cell and that's it.

Free yourself from the negativity, Alex, man.

You been lied to about our people.

Enough of that, man. Listen, I want tell you about the system in here, yes.

So listen me, and listen me carefully.

There's enough talk of ism and schism and racism.

Me no defend nobody against the charge of racism. Rasta don't discriminate.

But the main thing you have to worry about in this here country

is the system of class and classism.

When the children of Africa was dragged to the West, huh, it's cos of money.

Cos of the cheap labour benefitting the upper classes. Lining them pockets.

All know the system still,

still the poor little pickney them ina the inner city school.

Them cannot make much progress.

Otherwise who will build them house, huh? Who will drive them bus, huh?

Some of them make it through, yes. But only a few of them.

And that is why me keep going on about education. Education.

You have to supplement what them teach you by teaching yourself.

- Teaching how then, man? - Unlearn what you have learned.

And you can start by reading.

Reading the scholars of fe we people.

That will turn your life around.

You see. Look.

You saw all them book, yeah? You see them?

From this day every single one of them book now belongs to you.

And me can recommend you start by reading...

this here one here, so.

The Black Jacobins, by Cyril Lionel Robert James.

Jah know him will show you the way.

Education, Alex. Education is the key.

Hear me now. Alex.

You see if you don't know your past, then you won't know your future.

You see if you don't know your past, then you won't know your future.

Just a moment.

Excuse me one minute.

Welfare and Social Services?

27th of the 8th 1976. Report on Alphonse Wheatle.

Date of birth: third of the first 1963, Holly House, 121 Wickham Road.

House Mother, Miss Joyce Cook.

In Shirley since aged three and a half years.

Initially had severe eczema and asthma and needed intensive treatment.

Both conditions now better. He's not had an asthmatic attack for a year.

Chief problem now, daytime enuresis. None at night.

Lonely boy, but gets involved in sports and general activities.

Because of his sullen indifference,

house mother says she finds it difficult not to pick on him.

Recently he accused her of not caring,

but Martin Jones promptly stuck up for her.

Mr. Hutton, Social Worker, came fortnightly for a year,

but got no response at any time from Alphonse's relatives.

Shirley High School. He gets good reports

and appears to take an interest in a wide range of subjects.

He spoke of liking German, French, English, Maths, Science and Drama.

Alphonse, one Saturday night recently,

came down and said they did not help him at school.

The excellent German teacher interestedly asked repeatedly

about his mother and did not know about his parental situation.

Wheats.

Wheats, what happened to you? It's me, dread. It's Badger.

Yes, my spar. Jesus Christ you look good, to rarted.

Badger, it's good to see you, dread. How's tricks?

Bwai? Yeah, man. Tricks.

- You beg you some money now? - Nah, sorry, dread.

- Give me a few pounds, my man. - I haven't got anything.

It's good to see you though.

Yeah man, it's good to see you too, man.

So, what you do? What's the Wheats doing with himself?

Dunno, dread. Not much.

- I might go and find my family. - Rarted.

For real? Fuck.

Yeah. Maybe try and write a book.

Writing... Shut the fuck up.

Me have a typewriter for you, you know. Brand new.

It still work and everything. Trust me, it still work.

And you can have it for a special price.

Cos you is Yardman Irie. Ten pound. Ten pound and it's yours.

- Go on. - Come now, man.

Let's trod.

What happen to you man, dry your eye now. It's a big man hug.

- Long time me no see you. - Good to see you, man.

- Yes, brethren. You want some? - Nah, you're good.

- Brethren drink the drink. - I'm alright. Good to see you though.

If you like this typewriter me a gonna get for you.

It's a real thing. It's a proper... It's just round the corner there.

- It better be good though. - You see the girl there?

Alex was reunited with his mother, brother and sisters in America

and his father in Jamaica.

Alex Wheatle has written over 15 novels for young adults.

He has received many awards including an MBE for service to literature.