Last Friday, we buried my father. It was like a mighty oak that stood resilient for decades against the forces of nature had finally been felled. After one almighty thud, the forest was still and we gathered to pay our respects. It was the end of a turbulent era—one that saw remarkable achievements in the face of a myriad of obstacles and witnessed complex relationships filled with highs and lows.

As I stood to deliver his eulogy, I glanced at the casket that held his prostrate body and suddenly realised that this was the first time he would be unable to respond to what I was about to say. Never one to mince his words or hide his emotions, I hope he would have been appreciative of every word.

Derrick Ernest Williams, 1936-2024

Derrick Williams left us on Wednesday 13th March 2024, after 87 years on earth. It was a great run.

A few hours before he took his last breath, Dad was surrounded by close family, just as he wanted to be. He was himself to the end—raising his voice with instructions for anyone who would listen, oblivious to the sensibilities of his fellow patients, and still very much in charge. That was the only way he knew how to be.

Anyone who knew him, understood that Derrick didn’t do anything halfheartedly—he was always all-the-way-in. Passion was infused into everything—his love for sports, music, wine, women (of course) and his family; as well as his hatred for hypocrisy, racism and all forms of oppression.

In recent years, he assumed the role of patriarch, even as he mourned the loss of the relatives and friends who predeceased him, especially his dear wife Jan, his favourite cousins Aston and Barry Spence, and his friend affectionately known as “Longas”. He became more interested in having his children and grandchildren around him, even though we are scattered around the world. For that reason, most of my trips abroad were routed through London, just so that he could see me for a day or two.

He was quite remorseful about his absence in the lives of his older children—Patrick, Marcia (who’s no longer with us), Paul, Ethel and I—and he sought to make up for it with a zeal and determination that was overwhelming at times. That’s why he tried to groom Miles and Robert into world-class musicians or professional cricketers, or both—he just wanted the best for them. At times it was painful, but that was the only way he knew how to express his love and his desire for them to make a mark in this world. Sometimes, it was funny. Once, they played cricket for Hackney schools at Lords and won the London Schools Under-11 Cup. He told everyone he knew that his sons had played at Lord’s, even though it was at the Nursery Ground, not the main field. He was so proud.

Sports was a big thing in his life: Arsenal matches on the weekend, Jamaica at the Olympics, the West Indies against England, Lewis Hamilton in F1. As a proud Jamaican, he was thrilled to be at the stadium to watch Usain Bolt live in London in 2016 and he was delighted to be at The Oval in the heyday of West Indies test cricket. Thanks to dad, Robert and Miles collected the autographs of many top players. He liked the fact that Black excellence always had a chance in sports where the playing field, unlike much of life, is usually level.

If you were at dad’s house on a weekend, you would know he liked to cook. Whether it was summer barbecues or winter roasts, he really thought he could cook—albeit with a mixture of ketchup and hot pepper sauce—and no one dared tell him any different. We knew it made him happy, if we were enjoying anything he prepared, and he could enjoy a glass or three of fine Italian wine, guzzled from his beloved, battered silver goblet. Later, he would switch to Bacardi and his voice would become louder and more intense, and so would the music.

Dad was a huge music fan with an extensive collection of LPs and CDs, and the house was rarely quiet. From Miles to Marley, Coltrane to Clapton, Stevie to Sinatra, Dennis Brown to Diana Ross, his tastes were eclectic but mostly rooted in reggae, jazz, blues and soul. He could play the congas and other African drums, and was friends with many musicians.

One of my last outings with him was to the famous jazz club Ronnie Scott’s, where we enjoyed dinner, a great show, and countless bottles of Chianti. Or was it Montepulciano? He loved to speak Italian at any opportunity. Once we had lunch at an Italian restaurant in Islington and it was hilarious. He ordered everything in fluent Italian and the waiter didn’t understand a word.

Dad had stories like no one you ever met. Did you hear the one about his stint in the German version of the musical Hair, in Munich in 1968? How he got to scrub the back of a young Donna Summer in the communal shower? Yes, her song “Love to Love You Baby” had a special meaning for him. How about when Sophia Loren told him how handsome he was –“Bello”. Sophia wasn’t the only Italian woman to find him attractive, but those are stories for another day. Of course, his tales from the set of James Bond: Octopussy were always fun.

But the real story is about how fearless he was, daring to believe he could be a model, a stuntman and an actor in 1960s Britain, when men of his background were only supposed to be bus conductors and factory workers. He had no role models in Jamaica or the UK to follow, so he made it up as he went along. Exercising in a London park, he was discovered as a potential stunt double for the American actor Jim Brown, and he took his chance. Between gigs, he would drive, do welding jobs, or be a bouncer or even a bodyguard for the likes of Prince (now King) Charles when he visited a Black community project. Stage work in Germany, Spaghetti westerns in Italy, and small parts in British TV series and movies—the struggle was real, but he was equal to it.

As a professional driver, he took great pride in his knowledge of London’s streets and would insist on giving you directions even if you knew the way. As a veteran of street battles with Teddy Boys in Notting Hill and various encounters with racist police officers, he would always caution us on where not to go, for fear we would be victimised. In fact, he would advise everyone on everything. Why should you learn from your mistakes, when you could learn from his?

Dad had a volcanic temper and could be rude to anyone, anywhere, and at any time. He would let you know if he didn’t approve of something you said or did, which often led to him falling out with friends and family members. His passion was like a double-edged sword, fighting for love, destroying his enemies but also scattering his loved ones into exile. Some of us stayed away for many years. But we were never far away, and we all found different ways to return and reconcile, giving him a chance to make amends.

Derrick Williams was full of life. He was kind and he was funny. He was also incredibly charming, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He was a blessing to many. He was a legend. He was loved by all of us and he will be missed by his family: his niece Ruth, grandchildren Ricky, Christopher, Tricia, Lauren, Kensie, Samuel, Kaelin, Jayden, Azara, Ziah; great grandchildren Anthony, Elijah, Cheyenne, Rixten, Giovanni and Rylan; grandnieces and nephews Leon, Jermaine, Fabian, Mya, Daniel and Adina; great grandnieces and nephews Tia, Nala and Kobe.

He was one of a kind and will never be forgotten, as long as we keep retelling his amazing stories.

When the oak is felled the whole forest echoes with its fall, but a hundred acorns are sown in silence by an unnoticed breeze. ~ Thomas Carlyle

When great trees fall, rocks on distant hills shudder, lions hunker down in tall grasses, and even elephants lumber after safety. ~ Maya Angelou

WRITTEN BY MICHAEL D WILLIAMS

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