Nature's Glory, Fancy's Child

A perspective on Ignatius Sancho

Corey Mwamba & The Symbiosis Ensemble:
George Grignon - drum kit
Shabaka Hutchings - clarinet
Andrew Maclean – soprano and tenor saxophones
Mark Miller – trombone
John Morris – piano, synthesisers
Corey Mwamba – vibraphone, narrative design,
composition and arrangements
Zigashane Ntalemwa – Congolese drums, percussion
Kirstin Oliver – concert, bass and alto flutes
Walt Shaw – gongs, cymbals, trashophone, percussion
Lucy Smith – bass guitar
Beatrice Udeh – narrative design
Charles Umney – tenor saxophone
Janelle Xavier – violin

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Contents
Notes on the text.............................................................................. 3
The journey here.............................................................................. 4
The arrival: naming and shaming..................................................... 5
Salvation/education/distraction........................................................ 6
The move to London: excesses and indulgences.............................. 7
The Letters....................................................................................... 9
Feast of Gratitude – Sept. 20, 1768................................................................ 9
Riots – Charles Street, June 6, 1780. ........................................................... 10
The last letter – Dec. 7, 1780. ...................................................................... 12

Death.............................................................................................. 14
Meaning.......................................................................................... 15
Further Searching.......................................................................... 17
Books.............................................................................................................17
Internet resources.........................................................................................17

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Notes on the text
The text that you read here is, to all intents and purposes, exactly
the same text that you would at a performance of the work. There
is only one difference; in The Journey Here, the delivery from the
words “this baby...” is stated in full once, then repeated but with
certain words either not said or moved from their original
sequence. How the text is scrambled varies between
performances.
The narrative contains many threads, and at present it has not
been possible to annotate the text and explain all of the references.
However, the resources mentioned in the Further Searching
section should give you enough information. If you have any
questions at all on the text, please let us know at
symbiosis@coreymwamba.co.uk
or
send.missive@coreymwamba.co.uk

The legal stuff:

The text is released under a Share Alike Creative Commons
licence; it may be copied and shared but not sold. The authors of
this work must receive credit for creating it if used as part of any
other work. Any work created from this document must be licenced
with the same Share Alike licence. For more information, please
visit http://www.creativecommons.org/.

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The journey here
It doesn't matter how: whether taken forcibly from their lands the
spoils of a one–sided war; or traded like commodities for perceived
betterment of an empire – but whose? – and strengthening global
relations with an unseen master; they came here anyway.
Stolen from one “darkness” to live, die and work in another.
One child, like many, was unfortunate enough to have a real sense
of theft; his mother died on the trip, and, perhaps having weighed
up the situation, his father killed himself.
His parents having helped his captors with any insurance claim
they may have; and surrounded by death, pain, and misery for the
foreseeable future; this baby – who looked like all the others – took
what warmth there was from the rest of the boat's precious – yet
disposable – cargo, stayed alive, and joined the chorus of the
weeping and the lost.

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The arrival: naming and shaming
He arrived with clothes on his back, and no name.
He arrived as a free boy – how so if born into slavery – because the
slave seller donated him to a family home of three maiden ladies in
Greenwich.
But wait – was not this child initially baptised Ignatius on the
transatlantic triangular journey? Yet ‘twas he who stood before the
three ladies – fair in status, unfair in truth – as they named him
after their favourite character – if a fool can have a character – in
the Don Quixote tale. Making him a laughing stock in the only
place he could call home. So the jester, Master Sancho, settled into
domestic life in the three fools' paradise.
What’s in a name? It is the label on your being; a familial noun that
gives you a sense of identity and belonging. Who out there could
save this young wretch from the acid tongues of the three unfair
ladies? Was it too politically couth – in the days when talks on the
subject of slavery abolition was rife – to have this donated young
boy – with skin the colour of dark rum – thrust upon them to look
after, to feed, to clothe, to admire – to display their maternal
instincts?

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Salvation/education/distraction
Under his wing is where the second Duke of Montagu kept young
Ignatius Sancho. Warm with paternal caring – combined with
intrigue – he took nourishment a plenty. Fed – with words that
were written in books; spoken on the operatic stage; mingling with
the upper classes of the day. Ignatius lapped this all up, thriving on
the juices of such a unique education for the boy whose skin was as
dark as the rum that he would come to sell in his own grocery.
The flight of Ignatius – the man – from the unfair ladies of
Greenwich – came when
his noble patron the second Duke of Montagu, was
recently dead. Seeking protection from the widowed
Duchess, who dismissed him with reproof.––He retired
from her presence in a state of despondency and
stupefaction.

With his last five shillings, he procured an old

pistol for purposes which his father's example had
suggested as familiar, and had sanctified as
hereditary. The duchess seeing his resolve and
warming to his character took him in under her wing.

The duchess also passed, and ensured Sancho's comfort.

But this young man – who looked like nobody else – took his new-
found wealth to the city, played around, and lost big.

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The move to London: excesses and indulgences
He walks through the streets, heavy frame obscuring the lightness
of his pockets.
All around, he sees unseeing faces; directionless glares at the
middle distance, presented by history and comment in tabloid form
– “black sensation sells out!” – our peripheral vision narrowed by a
need for straightforward drama; men and women of our fairest city
looking at the impoverished connoisseur and missing the spark in
the eyes, seeing only the subhuman instinct, the slave, the true–to–
formness of the man – aping their ways, but returning inevitably –
“and quite right too!” – to the Orang clan. As was written;
Freedom, riches, and leisure, naturally led a
disposition of African texture into indulgences; and
that which dissipated the mind of Ignatius completely
drained the purse. In his attachment to women, he
displayed a profuseness which not unusually
characterizes the excess of the passion.——Cards had
formerly seduced him, but an unsuccessful contest at
cribbage with a Jew, who won his cloaths, had
determined him to abjure the propensity which appears
to be innate among his countrymen.——A French writer
relates, that in the kingdoms of Ardrah, Whydah, and
Benin, a Negro will stake at play his fortune, his
children, and his liberty.
The black sensation “sold out” – indulgence treated here as a
characteristic of race – but wasn't that supposed to stop when we
told them to see us differently? Either way, Sancho was labelled,
here and then.
Never mind that he pulled himself back together, knew that the
only thing he could do to get back was to work, butlering – not
slaving – again at the Montagu house in Blackheath; his love was
found in Anne Osbourne from Jamaica, with whom he not only
maintained a lifelong relationship, but – if these things really
bother you – he maintained racial purity (how cold, how bitter, how
white-sheeted that sounds).

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His love was found in Anne Osbourne from Jamaica: she came with
him to Westminster. Intelligent, well-read, Ignatius' rock, she bore
his divine spark and wit and seven children in the bargain, whilst
helping Sancho, a black sensation with the literati of the day, in
selling out wares in their grocery. They sold among other things
tobacco, tea, sugar, rum, all products of the dark human business;
but think before decrying: what else could they sell?

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The Letters
But, of course, there was something else to sell. He was articulate
and literate; he was black and he was respected. The combination
of these attracted, confused. His artifice with words and the dark
art on his face presented our country with a most unusual package:
black raconteur, African commentator, light-hearted critic, English
celebrity.
He may not have been alone with these attributes, but our
telescope is only fixed on one star... and we have made that star
bright indeed.

Feast of Gratitude – Sept. 20, 1768

OH! my Mr M, what a feast! to a mind fashioned as

thine is to gentle deeds! could'st thou have beheld
the woe–worn object of thy charitable care receive
the noble donation of thy blest house!

[...] the lip quivering, the tongue refusing its

office, thro' joyful surprize––the heart gratefully
throbbing––overswelled with thankful sensations [...]

Tell your girls that I will kiss them twice in the

same place – troth, a poor reward;–– but more than
that – I will respect them in my heart, amidst the
casual foibles of worldly prejudice and common
usage.– I shall look to their charitable hearts, and
that shall spread a crown of glory over every
transient defect.––.

The poor woman brings this in her hand;–– she means

to thank you––your noble, your good girls – her
benefactors – her saviours. I too would thank––but
that I know the opportunity I have afforded you of
doing what you best love, makes you the obliged
party––the obliger,

Your faithful friend, I. Sancho

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Casual missives sent steadily to friends become vital documents of
an underground heritage – non–linear sensibilities in writing
transform from President Jefferson's proof of the African
irrationality to ante–Joyce–like streams of consciousness spilling
forth onto the ego of black power – making the small steps giant –
but the little ones are the most interesting: his genteel steps to the
voting booth – and we can't say we took that on board when we
voted for him! – the patient, intelligent path to getting on with his
life, his family, and his neighbours as best as he could. The quiet
shout – large life – trapped here from birth but liberated through
his mind, his divergent sense of freedom unparalleled then – and
perhaps not converging to the now.

Riots – Charles Street, June 6, 1780.

Dear and most respected sir,

In the midst of the most cruel and ridiculous

confusion, I am now set down to give you a very
imperfect sketch of the maddest people that the
maddest times were ever plagued with. – The public
prints have informed you (without doubt) of last
Friday's transactions – the insanity of Lord George
Gordon and the worse than Negro barbarity of the
populace – the burnings and devastations of each
night you will also see in the prints: [...]

There is at this present moment – at least a hundred

thousand poor, miserable, ragged rabble – from twelve
to sixty years of age, with blue cockades in their
hats – besides half as many women and children – all
parading the streets – the bridge – the park – ready
for any and every mischief. – Gracious God! what's
the matter now? I was obliged to leave off – the
shouts of the mob – the horrid clashing of swords –
and the clutter of a multitude in swiftest motion –
drew me to the door – when every one in the street
was employed in shutting up shop. – [...]

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 It is now just five o'clock – the ballad-singers are
exhausting their musical talents – with the downfall
of Popery, Sandwich, and North. – Lord Sandwich
narrowly escaped with life about an hour since; – the
mob seized his chariot going to the house, broke his
glasses, and, in struggling to get his lordship out,
they somehow have cut his face; – the guards flew to
his assistance – the light-horse scowered the road,
got his chariot, escorted him from the coffee-house,
and guarded him bleeding very fast home.

This – this – is liberty! Genuine British liberty! –

Thank heaven, it rains; may it increase, so as to
send these deluded wretches safe to their homes,
their families, and wives!

About two this afternoon, a large party took it into

their heads to visit the King and Queen, entered the
Park for that purpose – but found the guard too
numerous to be forced, and after some useless
attempts gave it up. – It is reported, the house will
either be prorogued, or parliament dissolved, this
evening – as it is in vain to think of attending any
business while this anarchy lasts.

I cannot but felicitate you, my good friend, upon the

happy distance you are placed from our scene of
confusion

I am, dear Sir, Yours ever by inclination,

Ignatius Sancho

Postscript
Eight o'clock. Lord Gordon has this moment announced
to my Lords the mob – that the act shall be repealed
this evening: upon this, they gave a hundred cheers –
took the horses from his hackney–coach – and rolled
him full jollily away: they are huzzaing now ready to
crack their throats
HUZZAH!

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The portrait is gilt-edged, yet the picture within shows us – what
exactly? Do we examine the man, or the caricature? Was he an
abolitionist, or a man who quite simply thought that slavery was
wrong and said something? What talents had he as a composer
that have propelled him to some height of musical scholarship?
Sancho's countenance is now constructed not from his mind, but
from the significance we give to his hue: his delicate orthographic
timing obscured by an overbearing semantic pendulum, shifting all
statements to the left,
made right,
bereft
of white-black interaction, just disruption, separation, enmity.
But our enemies are not his; Sancho's play was full of colour; the
outer tissues of life used as montage – his thoughts shine through,
light burning to the page; the stained glass appears, vibrant,
permanent.

The last letter – Dec. 7, 1780.

Dear Sir,

I am doubly, trebly happy I can in some measure

remove the anxiety of the best couple in the
universe.

In good truth, I have been exceeding ill [...] my

breath grew worse [...] the dropsy made large
strides.

I left off medicine by consent for four or five days,

swelled immoderately: [...]

the good Dr. N, eighty miles distant, and Dr. J, be

heartily puzzled through the darkness of his patient.

[...] I began to feel alarm––when, looking into your

letter, I found a Dr. S recommended by yourself. I
enquired––his character is great––but for lungs and
dropsy Sir John E, physician extraordinary, and
ordinary to his Majesty, is reckoned the first. I
applied to him on Sunday morning––he received me like
Dr. N;––I have faith in him.

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 [...]My poor belly is so distended, that I write with
pain––I hope next week to write with more ease.

Your most grateful friend,

Sancho

Ignatius died seven days later, on December 14, 1780.

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Death
In death we leave a legacy
A trace
… essential juices from our soul
feeding the earth with fuel
fuel for thought
Thoughts to be harvested by future generations
Firing one’s passion – sow the seeds of education – reap rich
contemporary history
Just a trace of a legacy we leave
In death
On the one hand in death
Ignatius left us no legacy
Just a shop, some debts and offspring
However, his letters of humour, concern and observation
Fed the intrigue of a learned society
Who wanted a piece of his life for a moment
To understand the ways of a primitive who regarded himself as
equal –
That cannot be allowed!? – But it was the reality for society –
And yet two centuries later – we force ourselves to forget
By closing the pages of the double volume
By eradicating his living memory
By shutting up shop

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Meaning
When exactly does the circle of Ignatius’ history begin?
Does it embark with the arrival of Ignatius at two years upon a
ship?
Surely it begins at the list of one hundred great black Britons?
What made Ignatius so great? Ignatius the Great?
The greater the fall?
Has the great list made a difference to you or me?
Was it because he could read? Or was it his penchant for fine
things like wine, music and drama? Was it because he could write
letters in a manner that was most advanced for his time?
Let the circle be broken and twirled
Can we create a spiral kaleidoscope?
A chaotic broken circle of historical blame upon denial upon
ignorance upon chipped shoulder
How exactly is Mr Sancho like any other black man, who
squanders his legacy on the temptations carved into biblical
stones?
Are there any lessons to be learned from a black man who aped the
ways of his local community?
Is acceptance of such a normal man, not what the black man
strives for in Britain today?
To be accepted as a human? To be an equal to your human self?
To your British self?
Who exactly has a problem with multicoloured faces?
Not you guv, but your social group cannot get your head around
communal races?
If there was no problem with racial acceptance by society then,
how did we squash our (positive) impressions to become
oppressive chips embedded on shoulders broad?
What on earth has caused us to follow the degenerative spiral path
– the vicious circle
of the non-acceptance
of diverse, migrating human beings anyway?

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And what is it that made an ordinary Sancho, one of Britain’s
greatest lapsed idols of our day?

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Further Searching
Listed below is a range of material about the life of Ignatius
Sancho, views and opinions about his presence, as well as a clearer
history of the times in which he lived.
If you can't find them in a bookshop, why not try your local library?
It'll most likely be free; and you could probably use the computers
there, too!

Books

• Ignatius Sancho, Vincent Carretta (Editor): The Letters

of the Late Ignatius Sancho, an African (Penguin
Classics). ISBN: 0140436375
• Caryl Phillips (Foreword), Reyahn King, Sukhdev

Sandhu, Jane Girdham, James Walvin: Ignatius Sancho:

An African Man of Letters. ISBN: 1855141922
• Vincent Carretta (Editor), Philip Gould (Editor): Genius
in Bondage: Literature of the Early Black Atlantic.
ISBN: 0813122031
• Sukhdev Sandhu: London Calling: How Black and
Asian Writers Imagined a City. ISBN: 000257182X
• Edward Scobie: Black Britannia: A History of Blacks in
Britain. ISBN: 0874850568

Internet resources

• http://www.brycchancarey.com/sancho/ – Brycchan

Carey's highly informative site contains a good

synopsis and several other links.

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 • http://www.blacknet.co.uk/history/Sancho.html –

extremely brief biography; perhaps a good beginning

point for school work.
• http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/SLAsancho.

htm – slightly more informative than the above site,

and with extracts from letters.
• http://docsouth.unc.edu/neh/sancho1/menu.html –

an on-line version of Ignatius Sancho's book. In this

age, this is an invaluable resource, as it also maintains
the original spellings.
• http://www.100greatblackbritons.com/bios/ignatio

us_sancho.html – as can be seen from the link,

Sancho's first name was spelled incorrectly for quite a
while on this page. The information on it is at a slightly
higher level as the Blacknet.co.uk site.
• http://odur.let.rug.nl/~usa/P/tj3/writings/slavery.h

tm – an on-line transcription of U. S. President Thomas

Jefferson's letter justifying slavery. It is displayed as a
block and therefore is difficult to read; but persevere,
as a fascinating view of what some people thought
about Africans and their very nature becomes
apparent.
• http://www.coreymwamba.co.uk/nature/ – the web

site for Nature's Glory, Fancy's Child.

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