It's my second Steem anniversary today.
I joined to learn about the blockchain and, well, that's happened :)
On the way, I discovered lots of interesting communities and I'm pleased to share my anniversary with #needleworkmonday - we're both celebrating two years today - and now, here's #reggaesteem.
Long ago, though, in another time, I grew up in South London. It was different then. I lived on a quiet road in Tooting Bec, opposite the vast farm acres of Springfield Hospital. My mother worked in the office there for a while when I was a baby. There was traffic, but not much, and far more horse-drawn vehicles, especially the rag and bone folk with their strange calls and people running after them with buckets to pick up horse droppings. The streets had gas lamps and I remember watching the lamplighter out the window, morning and evening, lighting and extinguishing the lamps.
Before my time, a few miles down the road and round the corner from where I went to school, was the underground camp where people arriving on the MV Empire Windrush had stayed during their first few weeks here. It was in tunnels, built in war time for the civilian population, underneath Clapham South station, filled with bunk beds. There were washing facilities and a canteen and it cost 6s 6d a week in old money.
Source The tunnels at Clapham South were 180 steps underneath the ground and had 8,000 beds. Trains ran overhead.
One of the subterranean suburbanites was John Richards, now 92. He lived underground for three weeks when he first arrived in London after the Windrush docked at Tilbury.
"The trains that ran overhead in the morning woke me up. There were beds all around with crisp white sheets.
"They had a tea cart at the station. We had pie in the evenings," said Mr Richards, who soon moved into a hostel and found work with British Rail.
Within four weeks of arriving, all the Windrush migrants had secured jobs and moved out of the site.
I don't remember when I heard my first reggae record or what it was. It was just all around. By the time I was fourteen, I was a little skinhead girl and was dancing in youth clubs nearly every night of the week.
The followng year I went to the monthly Motown and Reggae night at the Croydon Suite, held on a Tuesday night. The way the calender fell that year, school didn't start back after the long summer holidays until the following week, so I was allowed to go. I met a Black boy who lived in West Norwood, and for the next three years we traipsed across South London to reggae parties in dimly-lit cellars. We didn't drink, I didn't smoke, we never had any money and walked everywhere - Tooting to Peckham and back, 
Peter Tosh: Stepping Razor. Hard to say what my favourite reggae song is, so many, it changes everyday. But I woke up singing this song the day I was thinking about writing this post.
Patrick, now, he's a different kettle of fish, a much more romantic soul. When I asked him his favourite record, he chose Money in My Pocket:
Dennis Brown on Top of the Pops, Money in My Pocket at No. 26 in 1979.
It's true, it's easier listening in the car :)
Here's reggaesteem's introductory post. Enjoy!
There are many more photographs about the camp at Clapham South in this BBC article.
Haha, I put the wrong tag in the title! Corrected now :)