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Avril Coleridge-Taylor constantly bore the burden of her parent’s reputation. Being the child of the celebrated composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, a leading the most famous UK artists of the 1900s, her identity was enveloped in the lingering obscurity of the past.

A World Premiere

Earlier this year, I sat with these legacies as I made arrangements to make the inaugural album of Avril’s concerto for piano composed in 1936. Boasting impassioned harmonies, expressive melodies, and bold rhythms, Avril’s work will grant audiences fascinating insight into how she – a wartime composer who entered the world in 1903 – imagined her world as a woman of colour.

Past and Present

However about legacies. It requires time to acclimate, to perceive forms as they truly exist, to separate fact from misrepresentation, and I felt hesitant to confront her history for a while.

I earnestly desired Avril to be following in her father’s footsteps. Partially, she was. The rustic British sounds of Samuel’s influence can be observed in many of her works, including From the Hills (1934) and Sussex Landscape (1940). However, one need only review the names of her parent’s works to realize how he viewed himself as not only a flag bearer of UK romantic tradition but a voice of the African diaspora.

It was here that father and daughter began to differ.

The United States evaluated Samuel by the brilliance of his compositions rather than the colour of his skin.

Family Background

As a student at the prestigious music college, her father – the child of a Sierra Leonean father and a British mother – turned toward his heritage. At the time the African American poet the renowned Dunbar arrived in England in 1897, the aspiring artist was keen to meet him. He composed the poet’s African Romances as a composition and the subsequent year used the poet’s words for a stage piece, Dream Lovers. Then came the choral piece that put Samuel on the map: Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast.

Based on Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s The Song of Hiawatha, the piece was an international hit, notably for African Americans who felt shared pride as white America evaluated the composer by the excellence of his music instead of the colour of his skin.

Activism and Politics

Fame did not temper his activism. At the turn of the century, he participated in the initial Pan African gathering in London where he made the acquaintance of the prominent scholar WEB Du Bois and witnessed a series of speeches, covering the mistreatment of the Black community there. He remained an advocate until the end. He maintained ties with trailblazers for equality like Du Bois and this leader, gave addresses on racial equality, and even discussed issues of racism with President Theodore Roosevelt while visiting to the presidential residence in 1904. In terms of his art, the scholar reflected, “he made his mark so notably as a composer that it will endure.” He died in the early 20th century, in his thirties. But what would Samuel have thought of his daughter’s decision to work in this country in the that decade?

Conflict and Policy

“Child of Celebrated Artist shows support to South African policy,” appeared as a heading in the community journal Jet magazine. This policy “seems to me the appropriate course”, Avril told Jet. Upon further questioning, she backtracked: she didn’t agree with apartheid “as a concept” and it “ought to be permitted to resolve itself, guided by benevolent South Africans of all races”. Had Avril been more attuned to her family’s principles, or from the US under segregation, she might have thought twice about apartheid. But life had protected her.

Background and Inexperience

“I have a UK passport,” she said, “and the officials did not inquire me about my background.” Thus, with her “light” skin (as described), she moved among the Europeans, lifted by their admiration for her deceased parent. She gave a talk about her parent’s compositions at the Cape Town university and directed the South African Broadcasting Corporation Orchestra in that location, programming the bold final section of her composition, titled: “In memory of my Father.” Although a accomplished player herself, she never played as the soloist in her work. On the contrary, she invariably directed as the leader; and so the apartheid orchestra followed her lead.

She desired, as she stated, she “might bring a shift”. But by 1954, things fell apart. Once officials discovered her mixed background, she had to depart the country. Her British passport didn’t protect her, the British high commissioner urged her to go or risk imprisonment. She returned to England, embarrassed as the magnitude of her inexperience became clear. “The realization was a painful one,” she expressed. Compounding her humiliation was the release in 1955 of her ill-fated Jet interview, a year after her sudden departure from that nation.

A Familiar Story

As I sat with these legacies, I sensed a familiar story. The narrative of identifying as British until you’re not – one that calls to mind African-descended soldiers who defended the British in the World War II and survived only to be denied their due compensation. Including those from Windrush,