My friend Earl Cameron broke the British colour bar in TV and film --[Reported by Umva mag]

On a beautiful summer’s day in August 2017, I felt excited and honoured to be among the family and friends celebrating the 100th birthday of the acting legend, Earl Cameron.

It was the first of a number of large celebrations. This event, for about 40 friends and family members, was held outdoors in a large back garden.

Earl and I had been good friends for several decades despite our 50 year age difference, and on that special day, I was delighted to find Earl – who was essentially a shy person – as charming and ‘with it’ as ever, just a little overwhelmed to be the recipient of such attention and affection.

I took a photo of him that day surrounded by helium balloons proclaiming his venerable age. During the afternoon I took the opportunity to take Earl aside to record an interview with him, when he asked me if I knew of any upcoming productions for which he could audition! 

Because even at the age of 100, Earl wanted to continue acting.

By then he was an icon, particularly admired by enthusiasts of James Bond (Earl appeared in Thunderball), Doctor Who and The Prisoner. His film career had begun with 1951’s Pool of London, in which his character was involved in the first interracial romance in British cinema.

For that alone, we should celebrate Earl today during Black History Month. But, even more than this, he was arguably the first actor to break the colour bar in British film and television, becoming a familiar face and a household name from the 1950s through to the 1970s.

Into the 21st century, he was still acting, with a small part in Inception (2010).

But his career was far from an easy ride, as I have been finding out in the last few weeks, while helping Earl’s daughter edit his memoirs, which he dictated to her when he was a mere 96 years old.

Born in Bermuda in 1917, Earl describes how he had railed against racial injustice from his earliest years.

When he went to see silent movies as a boy, all the best seats were reserved for the white audience; the 10 rows closest to the screen were for the Black cinema-goers.

During his travels with the British Merchant Navy, he was appalled by the racism he witnessed in Cape Town and by the poverty of Kolkata. 

He arrived in London in 1939. Penniless and hungry, he laboured long hours in hotel kitchens during the Second World War – as much for the leftovers as for the paltry few shillings he earned – before a friend managed to get him a part in the stage musical Chu Chin Chow. 

Despite never having studied acting – or having any acting experience at all – Earl was just in the right place at the right time. Depictions of a more multicultural Britain – and often its racial tensions – were beginning to make their way into plays, films and television.

A steady stream of theatre roles led Earl to audition for the film of Cry, the Beloved Country. The part was given to Sidney Poitier – but Earl would go on to take leading roles in films including Sapphire (1959) and Flame in the Streets (1961) and in TV films such as The Dark Man (1960), in which he played a London cabbie facing racial prejudice. 

There was no doubt that bigger and better roles might have come Earl’s way had he been white, and he often gave the impression of seeing himself as just being a jobbing actor – not drawing attention to the historic significance of, for example, reportedly being the first Black actor to play an astronaut on screen, in Doctor Who.

And yet, as he details in his memoirs: When he later heard through colleagues that both the first Doctor Who, William Hartnell, and The Prisoner’s Patrick McGoohan, had reservations about a Black actor appearing in their episodes, Earl was not hurt – always saying that he never got bitter from racism.

He may not have been bitter – but he was aware of the issue, and actively campaigned to change things for the better.

He met many times with Equity to try to prevent Americans being given parts in British films that he and other Black actors might have played.

He also made a rule for himself early on that he would only accept roles that portrayed Black characters with dignity and sensitivity, and turned down jobs if they were demeaning to Black people.   

In 1963, Earl embraced the Bahá’í Faith, which promotes the unity of humanity – and it was at the wedding of some Bahá’í friends of my parents that I first met Earl.

I was around 10 years old and he would have been in his late 50s. I remember my dad pointing him out to me, saying he was a famous actor, and then negotiating my way through a crowded reception to ask him for his autograph. He kindly obliged and I still have his signature in my childhood autograph book.

Black History Month

October marks Black History Month, which reflects on the achievements, cultures and contributions of Black people in the UK and across the globe, as well as educating others about the diverse history of those from African and Caribbean descent.

For more information about the events and celebrations that are taking place this year, visit the official Black History Month website.

Our paths would cross again many times for the next 50 years. I saw Earl at various Bahá’í gatherings and, because I was also involved in the arts and media, called upon him to lend his talents – especially his beautiful voice – to various projects.

On one occasion at a residential summer arts event in the 1990s, I interviewed Earl in front of an audience of about 300 about his life and work. He was especially proud of The Message, about the Prophet Muhammad, in which he played the Ethiopian King who offered sanctuary to persecuted Muslims. It chimed with his strong sense of justice and compassionate nature.    

He was also thrilled when he was asked, aged 87, to star alongside Nicole Kidman in The Interpreter. It was the first film to be shot inside the United Nations building in New York. 

‘Seeing the names of all the countries on the desks in front of me, I got a real sense of the importance of the UN’, he would often say. ‘The world is desperate for peace and there’s no other way it can go but towards greater cooperation at a global level.’    

Despite his natural shyness, Earl possessed the unusual combination of determination and genuine self-effacement – when he was awarded a CBE in the 2009 New Years Honours list, he thought it was a mistake.

He spent his final years quietly in Kenilworth, taking a daily walk with his wife Barbara to favourite coffee shops where he became known as a local celebrity. 

I maybe only saw him a couple of times after his 100th birthday. He was tired – who wouldn’t be? – but still alert and pleased to see me.

Naturally I was saddened when he passed on in 2020, just one month short of his 103rd birthday. 

But he died peacefully, and the body of work he left feels like he’s not gone far away.

It has been illuminating editing his memoirs. Anyone expecting salacious backstage gossip about some of the biggest stars of the last century might be disappointed; Earl was always courteous and generous about everyone he worked with. 

His sonorous voice and hearty laugh resonate through his fascinating life journey, and I’ve also been enjoying revisiting his performances to get a better sense of his remarkable achievements. 

It never dawned on Earl that he was a pioneer. ‘It was only later, looking back,’ he said in an interview, ‘that it occurred to me that I was.’

I will be continuing to remember his life and achievements particularly now during Black History Month; and, indeed, until I, myself, reach 102. 

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