A Portrait of Paulette Reed

by John Ferguson

When Paulette Reed first arrived in Ipswich back in 1976, she and her husband were only planning to stay for a couple of years. Paulette had just graduated from university and her husband had landed his first job as a church minister. At the time, neither of them had any idea that Ipswich would become their permanent home, but as the years passed, they found themselves settling into the rhythm of the town. 

‘It reminded me of home,’ she says, thinking back to Portland, Jamaica. ‘Not as much rain, mind you, but it had that same kind of feel—a place where people knew each other.’

Paulette’s first job in Ipswich was at the East Anglian Magazine, doing clerical work. ‘I wasn't going to be one of those ministers' wives who just did church work,’ she says. ‘That wasn't me. I wanted to do something for myself, for the community.’ 

She also started to volunteer at the ICA youth club. When Paulette talks about it now, there's an unmistakable warmth in her voice. It was a lifeline not only for her, but especially for the black youth of Ipswich who often found it hard to fit in at school. ‘They could come in and be themselves,’ she reflects. ‘No need to pretend. Just a place to relax, have fun, and blow off steam.’

On some nights, up to ninety youngsters would pack into the space, but it wasn't without its challenges. Though beloved by the community, there could be friction between the youth club and the ICA management, who didn't always understand its free-spirited nature. Still, Paulette's commitment never wavered, and she still treasures the relationships she formed. 

’Just today, as I was coming here, I bumped into one of the kids from the club. I can't remember his name. But he was a real handful back then, always pushing the limits,’ she recalls with a laugh. ‘But he came up to me and thanked me for putting up with him. That means everything to me. It reminded me that all the hard work and patience was worth it.’

As much as Paulette loved those years, the challenges were undeniable. The building was far from perfect: difficult to heat, and constantly under scrutiny from neighbours who weren't thrilled with the loud music that sometimes carried on late into the night. 

‘When the ICA finally shut its doors, I wasn't sad, exactly. I knew it was coming. But it was sad that we didn't find a solution. We lost something important.’

Paulette believes Ipswich could benefit from another community hub like the ICA. ‘You never know what you've got until it's gone,’ she says. ‘But maybe, if we could build something smaller, better equipped, with the right people leading it—well, maybe we could bring some of that magic back.’