"I'd never thought of Darkie Day as being offensive—just because it was part of something that had always gone on in Padstow," says former mayor Keltie Seaber.
"If it would've gone on in London, we would've said, 'Ooh, isn't that terrible?'"
And she would have been among the first to protest: after all, Keltie had the kind of credentials that wannabe liberals only dreamed about.
Her parents had been Communists throughout the Cold War, when there were possibly fewer "Reds" than blacks in Cornwall. The locals gossiped that her family spent Christmas in Russia, and the neighbourhood kids would bang on their door and shout "Commies!" through the letterbox.
Whereas most Cornish Communists tried to keep their politics secret, Keltie's mother was very open about her radical tendencies. She used to order two copies of The Daily Worker from the newsagents, so that one could be kept on display.
"But they said, no, it had to be under the counter, with the dirty magazines—dirty Communist rag," Keltie chuckles.
Her family's B&B, as advertised in The Daily Worker, served as a dacha-by-the-sea for party members, trade unionists and various urban lefties, including some black families.
However, the locals never gave them any trouble for having blacks in the house. "They always thought we were rather eccentric, I think."
Keltie was never a Communist in the strict sense of the term, but when she moved to London to become a teacher, she threw herself into the protests of Seventies, such as the Free Mandela marches in the capital (she still has the badge she used to wear).
"I was dead keen to help anybody who was a slight underdog. I wanted to get out and change the world."
Even so, it wasn't until outsiders objected to Darkie Day that her eyes were opened.
"I had this discussion with mum, when we both decided that—'God how thick were we,'" she laughs. "There we were, liberal, educated people, we thought, politically very correct—not a racist bone in our bodies. And I said to mum, 'Why didn't it occur to us that wandering around, y'know blacking your faces up and dressing as negresses, why didn't it even cross our consciousness that it might be considered racist?'"
Keltie reckoned it was because Darkie Day had always been there.
Although she'd never taken part in it, she knew most of the people who did. And none of them ever went out with the idea of "Oh, I hope I'll see a black person, because it'll really insult them." And knowing Padstow people, they were very… non-racist somehow. They were very inclusive towards people who were down on their luck.
"Down here, race isn't really an issue because we don't have black families," she emphasises. "If you had a black area in the town, with 20 black families, and went round their streets singing these songs, I think it would have dawned on me that yes, it could be construed as perhaps insensitive and intolerant and racist. But they were singing these Darkie Day songs—when there was no race issue in Padstow. It wasn't done to wind anybody up, because there was nobody to wind up. Darkie Day has never ever been malicious, or had any motive, apart from the fact of just going out and having a sing. They do it because they do it."
"If it would've gone on in London, we would've said, 'Ooh, isn't that terrible?'"
And she would have been among the first to protest: after all, Keltie had the kind of credentials that wannabe liberals only dreamed about.
Her parents had been Communists throughout the Cold War, when there were possibly fewer "Reds" than blacks in Cornwall. The locals gossiped that her family spent Christmas in Russia, and the neighbourhood kids would bang on their door and shout "Commies!" through the letterbox.
Whereas most Cornish Communists tried to keep their politics secret, Keltie's mother was very open about her radical tendencies. She used to order two copies of The Daily Worker from the newsagents, so that one could be kept on display.
"But they said, no, it had to be under the counter, with the dirty magazines—dirty Communist rag," Keltie chuckles.
Her family's B&B, as advertised in The Daily Worker, served as a dacha-by-the-sea for party members, trade unionists and various urban lefties, including some black families.
However, the locals never gave them any trouble for having blacks in the house. "They always thought we were rather eccentric, I think."
Keltie was never a Communist in the strict sense of the term, but when she moved to London to become a teacher, she threw herself into the protests of Seventies, such as the Free Mandela marches in the capital (she still has the badge she used to wear).
"I was dead keen to help anybody who was a slight underdog. I wanted to get out and change the world."
Even so, it wasn't until outsiders objected to Darkie Day that her eyes were opened.
"I had this discussion with mum, when we both decided that—'God how thick were we,'" she laughs. "There we were, liberal, educated people, we thought, politically very correct—not a racist bone in our bodies. And I said to mum, 'Why didn't it occur to us that wandering around, y'know blacking your faces up and dressing as negresses, why didn't it even cross our consciousness that it might be considered racist?'"
Keltie reckoned it was because Darkie Day had always been there.
Although she'd never taken part in it, she knew most of the people who did. And none of them ever went out with the idea of "Oh, I hope I'll see a black person, because it'll really insult them." And knowing Padstow people, they were very… non-racist somehow. They were very inclusive towards people who were down on their luck.
"Down here, race isn't really an issue because we don't have black families," she emphasises. "If you had a black area in the town, with 20 black families, and went round their streets singing these songs, I think it would have dawned on me that yes, it could be construed as perhaps insensitive and intolerant and racist. But they were singing these Darkie Day songs—when there was no race issue in Padstow. It wasn't done to wind anybody up, because there was nobody to wind up. Darkie Day has never ever been malicious, or had any motive, apart from the fact of just going out and having a sing. They do it because they do it."
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