Golliwog debacle
I worked with a lady who was quite old (so I bet she was a grandmother) she was continually casually racist. eg she heard a car alarm going off she would say "oh the darkies are at it again". She was a horrible hateful old bag

One day she was holding forth in the coffee room about the fact there was a load of old fuss and nonsense about the golliwog. She was maintaining there was nothing offensive about it.

I tried to explain that because she didn't find it offensive didn't mean it wasn't offensive and perhaps she didn't find it offensive because she was white. She didn't agree so I told her every single sexist joke I could remember. With every joke she got more and more upset, it's okay I told her I don't have a cunt so it doesn't upset me. Which she really took offence at. But somehow she still didn't get the point.

That's the problem with racists they're thick
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 13:54, Reply)

I'm nearly 40 and German...

... I think I got this covered.
( bierbelly, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 13:43, 2 replies)

Just south of the border
My great aunt, Irish born and bred, came from a little town just south of the border, where a non-white face was just about never seen in her 80+ years there. She didn't trust black people. But on her last trip to the UK, she saw a mixed race man.

"Oh, he's not as bad," she said.

I cringed once again.
(Hei Poro "Hello Reindeer" in Finnish, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 13:35, Reply)

So how many of you would be as upset as you are if the question had come from somewhere other than /talk?
I ask because that is a form of racism, right there.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 13:35, 19 replies)

My mom told me this anecdote ..
She grew up in a small town in the westernmost part of Denmark, a windy and sandy place far away from any major cities. This was the 1950s and I doubt if the concept of multiculturalism was even known in Denmark at the time.

Anyway, one day circus came to town. With acts, animals, clowns, and two authentic negroes. This is a word that you can't use these days but I'm using it without prejudice since this was the word that was used at the time and place. I don't even think it was derogatory, it was just the commonly used word. And this was the first time that the town was visited by such mythical creatures.

It was all very fascinating, not least the two dark skinned gentlemen. When they strolled trough the main street on the day of the show, they would make the hearts of many a young lady beat a little faster. The lads, on the other hand, were skeptical.

Then one of the lads made a discovery that would let the air out of the balloon. Soon the rumour was all over town and the magic was gone. He made this anazing discovery, with his very own eyes, when one of the negroes paid for something in a local shop.

The palms of his hand were not black!

Knowing this, it was all obvious to the townspeople. The so-called negroes were fake; they were just covered in black paint. And when they were painted, they must have rested on their hands and feet!
(spinoza, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 13:15, 3 replies)

My wife's colleague's Indian family lives in a village close to the border of Pakistan..
She told my wife about the tradition of the town elders from both sides of the border gathering at the fence and spending a good few hours each week hurling racial abuse at their neighbours.

They will then offer individual farewells to their adversaries, who they have previously greeted by name, and will then arrange a suitable date to continue their ritual abuse of eachothers countries.

I rather like the idea of that tradition.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 12:17, 7 replies)

Deputy Head
My Grandma once came to see me receive a prize at school. She had worked at the school as a dinner lady about 30 years before and recognised some of the staff. On seeing an unfamiliar face, she turned to me and said quite loudly in a packed hall, "He int a teacher here is he?"

"Who Mr. Hermit?" I replied, "yes he is Deputy Head."

She said, with an air of incredulity, "What, a BLACKY?"

"You can't say that grandma," says I, trying to placate the turned and shocked faces.

She, clearly put out responded, "What? I could've said coon."
(Gavhuds, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 12:13, 2 replies)

Cosmopolitan Devon
Not so much a grandparent as my lovely Mum. We've driven to Dawlish for the afternoon but, quelle surprise, it was cunting it down so it was more of a car based event than anything else.

However, being at the seaside we had to have an ice cream so we dutifully parked up outside one of the parlours where she and my other half went in to buy a cone each. In the window was a stuffed mascot from Robinsons Marmalade. I admired the shopkeepers audacity/stupidity but thought nothing else of it.

Upon their return my Mum opens the door to the car and screeches (in your broadest Devon accent) "Ohmygod look! They got a Golliwog in the window. Mind you can't call 'em that now. You gotta call 'em Wogs".

Genius.
(garetha, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 11:54, 1 reply)

Not actually racist, really
After my grandad died, one of my uncles decided to get my nan a dog to keep her company. He got her a lovely, soft chocolate lab. Lovely dog, it was.

Just aabout the entire clan was round to play with this thing, when my uncle said "what you gonna call him?"
My nan said "Nigger"
The room went silent until someone said "erm... I'm not sure you can call him that, it's a bit racist"
"No, it's not" says my nan "that's what colour he is"

This arguement went back and forth for a few minutes until my nan shouted "right, I'll prove to you that that's the colour he is"

She dug out my garndad's paints (he was an absolutely fantastic painter) and produced a nearly-new tube of paint that was, in fact, called "Nigger Brown" and was the same colour as the dog. The was the early-90's and the paint was by one of the big manufacturers (Daler-Rowney, I think)

The dog got called "Jess" in the end.
(ScousersPet, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 11:24, 3 replies)

I remember being told that I couldn't understand racism because I was white.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 11:18, 15 replies)

Neighbours, everybody need good neighbours
I grew up in a little cul-de-sac in a nice-ish area of Liverpool. There were only 12 houses in the close and it was quite a close little community. i.e. everyone knew everyone's business.

About 25 years ago, a black familly moved in two doors down from us. When this happened, our elderly neighbours said "we're going to have to move, we can't live next to a black familly, we have grandkids!" And, lo and behold, they sold the house a few months later.

Three or so years ago, a pakistani familly moved in opposite the black familly. The old black fella said to my dad "we're going to have to move, we can't live opposite pakis, we've got grandkids!"

Does that count as irony, then?
(ScousersPet, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 11:06, 11 replies)

I'm bored of "Not my Nan, but Racist" so here's...
Not racist, but my Nan,

She was ace. She got on with everyone.

GL
(GoodLord doesn't have time for sigs., Fri 28 Oct 2011, 11:00, 4 replies)

My uncle (well, he's a great-grandad, just not mine)
He's 80 and refuses to accept that he's deaf, so tend to shout a lot.

we were sat in the pub, watching Liverpool play when he came out with the following corker:
"I hate that nignog, he's so lazy"
I coughed a little and said "I think it's pronounced N'Gog"
And he replied "Not him, I mean Glen Johnston, he's shite!"

I wish I was joking.
(ScousersPet, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 10:55, 1 reply)

Deaf as a doorknob
My grandpa, recently departed, was a great old fella. A proper gentleman, had time for everyone, and taught us a good few things as we grew up.

Despite this, owing to a combination of bomb damage in the war, and falling off a ladder a few years back, he was pretty much deaf. No amount of 'revolutionary digital' non-NHS hearing aids from rip-off door to door salesmen helped, and so communicating with him was never easy. As a result, when he spoke to you, he'd often be shouting - in a deep voice that brought silence to any doctor's waiting room or restaurant.

Memorable moments included:

- in A&E where he was being well cared for, announcing 'there's a lot of black people working here - some of them are even doctors, they're not all cleaners'

- in Prezzo, 'I don't think our waitress is really Italian, I think she's Polish. They're cheaper to employ, cos there's just so many of them' - as the very nice waitress was standing next to the table opening the wine.

- waiting in the doctor's surgery 'One - two - three - four - FIVE black people waiting. That's a lot. They must get ill a lot'

- at an old friend's wake, standing in line for the buffet, talking about a very nice afro-caribbean couple who lived next door to the deceased, who'd been great neighbours to him until his dying days & had come along to the funeral to pay their respects like the rest of us 'Hmm - I wonder who that black man and his wife are - I wouldn't have thought that Peter had any black friends - I hope they got the right funeral!'. The couple in question heard, put down their plate of iceland sausage rolls and walked away :-((

- in the local Indian restaurant where we were the only table in there, 'That waiter's long beard looks really daft - why's it so long - he's a 20yr old that looks 50! (didn't bother trying to explain religious observence - just looked apologetically towards the waiter, and hoped that he didn't spit in MY lamb rogan josh...

- not racist, but probably the best - just before I got married, at a family meal, shouted out 'You know, I didn't really like MrsPitta at first - wasn't much to her - but these days, I think she's quite nice' - just as my fiance walked back to the table from the ladies. He said it so loud that the whole restaurant turned round and looked at her'

Deep down, he wasn't racist - he supported all parts of the community and did a lot of good in his time. I guess he just came from an era where people had these thoughts. He really could have done with keeping them to himself, or being a bit quieter.

Miss him loads. Funeral a week today :-(

RIP gpa

x
(harrypitta friends with the chilli saucerer, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 10:32, 8 replies)

My dad is not unlike the Brigadier in Fawlty Towers
He's not really racist, he is just of a different generation and growing up in the sticks he didn't really know any non white people. In fact when I went to school in the 80s there was not one single non white person in the whole school of 600 children.

Anyways, back in the 80s I was watching Fresh Prince of Bel Air and father came into the room and started watching too.

"Bloody hell" he exclaimed over his single malt, "those niggers are so rich they've got their own nigger"


BTW, I apologise for the use of the n-word there. I will only use nig-nog from here on in like my mother taught me.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 28 Oct 2011, 10:23, 2 replies)

I went to visit the in-laws in Ireland recently, and went into town on a mission for Mrs V's mum.
I was getting hostile looks left, right and centre, openly hostile looks.

I know I'm a twat but this day there was an unusually high level of hatred being aimed at me.

It was only when I got home that I realised I had gone in wearing a t-shirt with my favourite band's name emblazoned across it:

NEW MODEL ARMY.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 10:15, 4 replies)

Are trolls a race?
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 10:13, 8 replies)

PC granddad
My old employee was not a nice man (when clearing through his stuff a BNP pin badge was found).
One day, he was holding court at the bar about a young black family that had moved into his village.
"I didn't move to the country to be surrounded by blacks. If I wanted that I'd live in the city. My granddad didn't fight in the war so this would happen. He fought for white, anglo-saxon protestants like the rest of them"
After hearing this tirade, a little old man turned round to him, put his drink on the bar and announced loudly "My dad was a Scottish Catholic who fought in the war, and if he'd heard you talk like that he would have thumped you"
Cue much laughing as the boss tries to climb down from his previous stance.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:53, 2 replies)

I work in an Aged Care Facility (old funglies home for the uninitiated) that specialises in dementia.
We have a respite room that is regularly filled.
A few months ago we had an elderly lady stay whom I shall call F-ee (as that wasn't her name) who had lived in India for the 1st 3rd of her life.
She loudly told anyone in hearing range how she was part of the Upper Caste, had servants of her own during her young married life & only eventually had to move to Australia so her kids could have a good education & a safe up-bringing!!!
I grew up on a farm in Africa living with a Sikh family. The only servant I ever had was Mrs. Palmer and her 5 daughters (that wasn't really till much later tho but she still lends a hand every now and then).
F-ee treated all of the staff as her personal servants. Including a young girl from Somalia doing her work-experience having completed a Cert. III in Aged Care - I'll call her F-d (as that wasn't her real name either). Now F-ee treated the very dark-skinned F-d as tho she wasn't worthy of scraping the dog-shit off her shoes after going for a shamble thru the local doggy exercise area. None of us liked very much the way F-ee treated us but a lot of us were particularly incensed at the way she treated F-d as we all tended to have fairly thick skins (being Irish, Burmese, African, Scots, English and Australian) and F-d was just young & impressionable. So being good workmates we hatched a plan.
F-ee tended to be most belligerent during the day. So we got F-d to deal with her most of the day. I went in to run interference, changing some tap washers, mounting a tv on her wall & fixing her door. All of the other staff made sure they were in the room or nearby whenever F-d was in the room with F-ee. & then we got her on the second-last day of her stay. F-ee was frustrated with how F-d was making her bed and she loudly proclaimed that F-d was "a useless black bitch".
We had her.
It was reported to the manager (officially).
No more F-ee for respite and certainly not as a permanent resident according to the Equal Rights setup of our workplace & F-d got vindicated by earning a position of employment within our organisation later down the track. Which she very much deserved.
God F-ee was a horrible, old brown bitch.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:32, 10 replies)

Take my Mother-in-Law
Got told this last night by the wife.

When her Mother's neighbours sold their house to an Asian family, she put her house up for sale. The reasoning being that "it was only a matter of time before the whole street would be full of them"

She lives in Italy now.

Poor Italy.
( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:28, 7 replies)

Didn't know my Gran was racist until
one day while I was walking down the street and I see the old dear smashing the shit out of some black dude while screaming insults like "fucking nig nog" and "The ain't no black in the union jack" at him.

The guys screams for help slowly died down as my Gran gave a couple more stamps on his head, she gave me a cheery wink and smile and shuffled off to Tesco's.


Oh how we laugh when I remind her of this moment at family occasions.
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:28, 4 replies)

A uni friend of mine came from a remote village where Welsh is the first language.
She met a nice black bloke here with a good job and they eventually started settling down together.

Although her family liked him, they put off introducing him to her fierce little old Welsh Gran, for Gran spoke only Welsh and her first question about anyone's new relationship was 'Welsh or English?'
(In Welsh, of course.)

I'd like to have been a fly on the wall when they eventually met up.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:26, 7 replies)

There's always one...
Second hand tale. Mate of mine at Uni did languages. They had a lecturer who was a proper dodderer, come out of retirement or something but clearly way past it, with an over-the-top Rowley Birkin style posh voice, shaky hands etc. Meanwhile, one of the girls on his course was the most militant, most feminist, most anti-racist, and above and beyond all the very very blackest woman anyone had ever seen, the type to take loud offence at the slightest thing which could in way be interpreted as having any possible connection to race or colour.

So one day doddery old geezer is saying something about some technical point of translation, and my mate who's happy to be considered a bit of a smartarse sticks his hand up and picks him up on some technical point of grammar.

"Oh... oh... oh...", sputters our hero, realising with mild annoyance that my mate's right. "There's always one nigger in the woodpile, isn't there?" he says.

A second goes by while everyone else in the lecture theatre holds their breath, because they know Millie Tant is sitting RIGHT ON THE FRONT ROW, and they're bracing themselves. The old fella's brain updates him that it's not 1912 any more, and what comes out next as he smiles weakly and squints round the room is "I do hope we haven't got any.... Oh, I'm SO sorry." What followed was, I'm told, the worst and most drawn-out attempt at an apology in history, and everyone in the room being amazed that the normally brittle target of all this didn't say a thing, didn't complain at all in fact.
(SonofRojBlake, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:13, Reply)

Thanks, Granddad.
Attitudes that seemed acceptable in the 50's can get an innocent child into trouble when it's 1982 and they have just started a new school after moving house. I had four little Fisher Price type figures that I'd take everywhere with me. There was a white man with blonde hair, a white man with dark hair, a blonde woman and a bald black man. One day my Granddad decided they should have names, so he he pointed at them one by one and said 'He is called...', and 'She is called...' and so on. I don't know why, but the fact they now had names I'd never thought to give them made me love them even more, so much so that when we had show and tell at school, I took my prized posessions up to introduce them to the class. I wasn't really sure initially why the teacher had such a problem with me asking people to say hello to Jack, John, Mary and Chocolate Charlie.

She did seem to accept my protestations of innocence and why I didn't know what I'd done wrong. I think may have got less benefit of the doubt later in the playground though when she heard me helping decide who was going to be 'It' with the rhyme my Granddad had taught me for moments like this.

'Eeny, Meeny, Miny, Mo...'

My parents had stern words with Granddad after that got reported home.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 9:03, 2 replies)

My friend's South African mother once said
that she supposed that a hard-working black man is better than a white layabout.

I found this remark offensive to me as a white layabout.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 8:18, Reply)

Lovely Granny
Vaguely related:
Having a chat with my grandma one day, she casually mentioned that one of her daycarers was a member of a kind of funny organization. When pressed, she thought for a little while and then said "she's in the Ku Klux Klan". I was more than a bit surprised as my grandma at the time lived in Kerry, Ireland, which is not quite renowned for Klan activity. After a little pressing, she described that this group met often and made houses and the like but was a bit fishy. A minute or two later she yelled out - "oh, maybe I meant Jehovah Witness, yes that's it".
(recklessbrother, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 7:52, Reply)

A very uncomfortable meet-the-parents...
My (ex)girlfriend and I went to her parents house after six months of dating. I'd managed so far without having to meet any of them and was very pleased with myself, but the day had inevitably come. I hired a car to drive us there (in case I should need a quick escape) and on arrival on a crisp snowy morning in the Scottish Highlands we were greeted at the door by her parents. A lovely couple, who warmed to me immediately, as I did to them. Next came the first uncomfortable moment where we entered the house to find her entire family waiting to meet me. I mean ENTIRE family. Mother, father, sister, brother, cousins, uncles, aunts and grandparents. So after a four hour drive along the snowy, windy roads I was now faced with a sea of faces to meet and greet.

Somehow, I got through it. Well most of it, until I was introduced to her grandad, who was in deep conversation with her grandmother and hadn't looked up once. He turned to me and without hesitation said: "You're a darkie?!" He then turned to his granddaughter and asked "What's wrong with you? Could you not find a decent white boy?"

Now as a long-term b3ta and sickipedian, I found this outburst to be an excellent icebreaker. And replied: "What's wrong gramps? I thought everyone was here to get their shoes shined!" and chuckled heartily.

I don't know if it was just that everyone was embarrassed or offended by the exchange, but the rest of that afternoon was very stilted. We left early and headed home.

A massive argument on the drive home about my conduct, no invites at all to any family functions and the inevitable end of the relationship a few months later.
(mcgandhi doesn't like flange, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 5:56, 7 replies)

(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Fri 28 Oct 2011, 3:49, 4 replies)

He ended up as a grandparent so...
The Reverend W. Awdry. Creator of the Thomas the Tank engine books.

When I was little we had a number of the railway series books hanging around. Some of them (most probably) were at least second hand. In one story, some boys are chucking rocks at passing trains, so a plan is hatched in which Henry (the green engine) saved up a load of ashes to blast out his funnel as they went under the bridge. I remember Mum pointing out this part of the book, telling me what the word meant and telling me that I must never use it.

'The boys ran away, black as niggers.'

A few years back I bought, for nostalgic reasons, the complete railway series in one big volume. The first thing I did was turn to that page, to find that the boys now 'ran away, black as soot'.
( The Togaboy The world will end on, Fri 28 Oct 2011, 3:45, 2 replies)