not heard since Enoch Powell’s infamous ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech in 1968, which had seen him dismissed from the shadow Cabinet – a discourse that had been confined to the far-right fringe for a decade. Shortly after her comments, a National Opinion Polls survey recorded an increase in support for her party, who jumped to an eleven-point lead over Labour, whom they had previously been trailing by two points, followed by the general election victory a year later.
Between 1976 and 1981, there had been thirty-one racist murders and countless racist attacks on British citizens of black and Asian heritage. These included the murder of ten-year-old Kenneth Singh, who was stabbed to death yards from his east London home on 21 April 1978. The killers, who were never found, left eight stab wounds in the back of his head.
Even popular musicians were willing to express openly racist ideas. In 1976, Eric Clapton had praised Enoch Powell, and warned against Britain becoming a black colony, in a drunken rant during a performance in Birmingham. David Bowie had expressed his admiration for Hitler and fascism. Ironically, both artists had enthusiastically embraced black musical forms throughout their careers, but this paradox was seemingly lost on them. In addition, crude racist stereotypes and ideas were regularly evoked within British popular culture by comedians and in TV dramas.
It was in this climate – with the rise of the far right, the racist discourse in mainstream politics, increased racist attacks and murders, hostile relationships between blackcommunities and the police, the willingness of prominent public figures to align themselves with racist ideas and the widespread use of casual racism in popular culture and the press – that Brendon Batson joined Cunningham and Regis at West Bromwich Albion. The area itself was no stranger to racial tension. In May 1973, in a by-election in West Bromwich West, the National Front candidate, Martin Webster, polled 4,789 votes (16.2 per cent).
The racist abuse suffered wherever Albion played was so prevalent as to be a normal occurrence. Batson remembers the noise and volume of abuse at some grounds being deafening. Upton Park, the home of West Ham, Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge, The Den at Millwall and St James’ Park, where Newcastle United played, were amongst the most hostile and vicious places to be a black footballer. As Batson later recalled:
We’d get off the coach at away matches and the National Front would be right there in your face. In those days, we didn’t have security and we’d have to run the gauntlet. We’d get to the players’ entrance and there’d be spit on my jacket or Cyrille’s shirt. It was a sign of the times. I don’t recall making a big hue and cry about it. We coped. It wasn’t a new phenomenon to us.
The three regularly received hate mail and death threats. An Everton fan regularly wrote them abusive letters and on one occasion had urged Atkinson not to select ‘monkeys’ for an upcoming game against the Merseysiders.
Cunningham in particular received more than his fair share of hate mail. His high-profile relationship with his fiancée, whom he had known since the start of his careerat Orient, was often the subject of tabloid titillation and curiosity. It was this relationship that invoked the most opprobrium, since, in the eyes of the racists, he had broken that most solemn of taboos: he was having sex with a white woman. Death threats were sent to their home in Birmingham and on one occasion Cunningham was forced to stamp out a petrol bomb that was thrown through his front door.
During games, bananas were pelted in their direction and they were booed and abused horrendously every time they touched the ball. When they did something good, which wasn’t uncommon, the level of abuse would be cranked up several notches, particularly when they played at those hothouses of Upton Park, Stamford Bridge, Elland Road and St James’ Park.
In
Between 1976 and 1981, there had been thirty-one racist murders and countless racist attacks on British citizens of black and Asian heritage. These included the murder of ten-year-old Kenneth Singh, who was stabbed to death yards from his east London home on 21 April 1978. The killers, who were never found, left eight stab wounds in the back of his head.
Even popular musicians were willing to express openly racist ideas. In 1976, Eric Clapton had praised Enoch Powell, and warned against Britain becoming a black colony, in a drunken rant during a performance in Birmingham. David Bowie had expressed his admiration for Hitler and fascism. Ironically, both artists had enthusiastically embraced black musical forms throughout their careers, but this paradox was seemingly lost on them. In addition, crude racist stereotypes and ideas were regularly evoked within British popular culture by comedians and in TV dramas.
It was in this climate – with the rise of the far right, the racist discourse in mainstream politics, increased racist attacks and murders, hostile relationships between blackcommunities and the police, the willingness of prominent public figures to align themselves with racist ideas and the widespread use of casual racism in popular culture and the press – that Brendon Batson joined Cunningham and Regis at West Bromwich Albion. The area itself was no stranger to racial tension. In May 1973, in a by-election in West Bromwich West, the National Front candidate, Martin Webster, polled 4,789 votes (16.2 per cent).
The racist abuse suffered wherever Albion played was so prevalent as to be a normal occurrence. Batson remembers the noise and volume of abuse at some grounds being deafening. Upton Park, the home of West Ham, Chelsea’s Stamford Bridge, The Den at Millwall and St James’ Park, where Newcastle United played, were amongst the most hostile and vicious places to be a black footballer. As Batson later recalled:
We’d get off the coach at away matches and the National Front would be right there in your face. In those days, we didn’t have security and we’d have to run the gauntlet. We’d get to the players’ entrance and there’d be spit on my jacket or Cyrille’s shirt. It was a sign of the times. I don’t recall making a big hue and cry about it. We coped. It wasn’t a new phenomenon to us.
The three regularly received hate mail and death threats. An Everton fan regularly wrote them abusive letters and on one occasion had urged Atkinson not to select ‘monkeys’ for an upcoming game against the Merseysiders.
Cunningham in particular received more than his fair share of hate mail. His high-profile relationship with his fiancée, whom he had known since the start of his careerat Orient, was often the subject of tabloid titillation and curiosity. It was this relationship that invoked the most opprobrium, since, in the eyes of the racists, he had broken that most solemn of taboos: he was having sex with a white woman. Death threats were sent to their home in Birmingham and on one occasion Cunningham was forced to stamp out a petrol bomb that was thrown through his front door.
During games, bananas were pelted in their direction and they were booed and abused horrendously every time they touched the ball. When they did something good, which wasn’t uncommon, the level of abuse would be cranked up several notches, particularly when they played at those hothouses of Upton Park, Stamford Bridge, Elland Road and St James’ Park.
In
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