DEATH ANNOUNCEMENT
MERLE PEARLINE GRANT
“Sister Grant”
18 June 1934 – 23 November 2019
Windrush-generation nurse, ward sister and alto in the front row of Brixton Hill Methodist
Merle Grant kept her landing papers in a Huntley & Palmers biscuit tin on top of the wardrobe for sixty-three years, and she never once had to open it for anyone who doubted she belonged. She knew how lucky that made her, and she spent a good part of her later life making sure others were not left to prove it alone.
Born in Mandeville, Jamaica, the third of seven children of a schoolmaster and a seamstress, Merle sailed to Southampton in 1956 at the age of twenty-two with a letter offering her a place as a student nurse. She trained at St Thomas' Hospital, across the river from Parliament, and in 1964 became a ward sister at Lewisham Hospital, where she stayed until she retired in 1996. Colleagues remember a woman who could silence a busy ward with one raised eyebrow, then sit for an hour with a frightened patient at three in the morning. She trained generations of junior nurses, many of them as newly arrived and homesick as she had once been, and kept a flask of ginger tea in the sluice room for anyone who needed it.
She married Cecil Grant, a London Transport fitter, at Brixton Hill Methodist Church in 1960, and they raised three children in a terraced house off Acre Lane, where Sunday meant church, rice and peas, and a front room full of neighbours. Merle sang alto in the choir for fifty-seven years and was never, her family insists, quite on the note, only quite magnificent. She loved Test match cricket on the radio, Sam Cooke on the record player, and arguing happily with her grandchildren about whose patois was the more authentic.
When the Windrush scandal broke in 2018, she wrote letters, accompanied two neighbours to their appointments and refused to call it politics. 'It's people,' she said. 'It's only ever people.'
Merle died peacefully at home in Brixton on 23 November 2019, her children beside her and the cricket highlights murmuring on the radio. She leaves her son Delroy, her daughters Pauline and Claudette, six grandchildren, and a Nine Night that one neighbour predicted 'the whole road will talk about for years'.
“Wash your face. Tomorrow you start being good at this.”