Through the fogs and damps of London drift thousands of Africans, a long way from the sunlit ease of their homelands. They live in bleak, crowded rooming houses in Netting Hill and Paddington, find their entertainment in smoky cellar nightclubs that are loud with West Indian steel bands, bongo drums and maracas. They are genuinely puzzled when the Jumbles (a corruption of John Bulls) object to the noise and the dawn revelry. "What harm do we do?" asked an African last week. "We like to dance and sing, and we've worked hard all day and...
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