Oh for legs that long! :-)
The Big Gay Story Slam was a nightly event where folk went on stage and told a five-minute story about either being part of the LGBTQ community or about their guardianship or interaction with it.
I was thrilled to be invited to take part when I attended Fringe Central's Media Day. Conor, one of the organisers, came over, having spotted the now legendary rainbow clerical shirt and asked me to come along. Try as I might, I couldn't think of a funny story to tell but fortunately, they weren't necessarily looking for humour.
So this is the story I told. But before I tell it, I will add that I started my five minutes with hand on heart, apologising for the treatment LGBTQ folk have had from right-wing religion. I told the audience I took responsibility for what had been said and done in the name of Jesus and that I was so very, very sorry.
My story was about my childhood friend, Pete McKay. Pete was a kind of adopted brother of my school friend, Sara Tompkins. He was gay, as was she. When we were 17 and over, Pete used to take us to Nightingale's, the gay nightclub in Birmingham where we mingled with folk who looked more like Village People than Village People and we got the best physical work-outs ever, dancing to twelve-inch disco remixes which, in the 1970s usually lasted about fifteen minutes each.
I always felt totally safe and protected at Nightingales. The first time, I was a bit scared about going to the Ladies because that was the place I ususally went to get away from people who might fancy me! However, no one ever did fancy me in the Ladies or, just as likely, they weren't mad predators who were about to leap on any undefended female (something that people have often believed about gay men, for some reason).
Pete was a darling. But he was also a bit of a trollop and, after one particularly outrageous trip to New York, he contracted HIV. This was the early 1980s when those terrifying advertisements voiced by John Hurt were starting to feature on our screens.
He's the guy on the far left in this picture, taken at my 18th birhtday party. I'm the rosy-cheeked one in the white and Sara is the fair girl next to Pete.
No one in the medical profession in the Midlands of the UK back then knew very much about AIDS and everyone was afraid that it was contagious like the flu. Once Pete was diagnosed, none of the people he loved were allowed to come within two metres of him, let alone hold his hand or give him a cuddle.
I will always remember, sitting in a chair away from his bed (he was still at home then) and discussing what I should do after he died. You see, the thing is, I was breakfast presenter on BBC Radio WM and Pete's death was going to be the very first known AIDS-related death in the Midlands. I wanted to know what Pete wanted me to do about that. He asked me not to report it, so I didn't.
On the day Pete died, Sara called me at work and I told my producer, Tim Manning and went home. Tim, bless him, who was also gay, kept schtum. However, BRMB, the local independent station did get the story on the day of Pete's funeral and I nearly lost my job when my news editor found out that he was a friend of mine. It was probably the first time I'd ever stood up to a news editor and I told him, quivering with both rage and fear that personal loyalty was more important than such a news story. Pete had never willingly harmed a person in his life so supressing the story was not an act of injustice.
So far, it's a sad story but I'm glad I had the courage to tell this room ful of strangers at The Gilded Balloon what happened at Pete's funeral. Now, I'm not psychic but there are times when I sense things and I had a real problem at that funeral. Why? Because everyone else was so unhappy and hurt and miserable but I was simply filled with joy and could hardly stop my face from beaming all the way through. It was utterly clear to me that Pete was there; he was dancing above the coffin in a party of angels and laughing with delight.
I've never forgotten that funeral; I suspect that in some way it was part of my journey to ministry and it is certainly why I can never subscribe to any theory that God isn't fond of the gay folk. Pete was in heaven.
At the end of my story, and the stories of the other speakers, The Duchess took a vote. I was that night's winner and, afterwards, a dozen or more people came up to say 'thank you.'
There was no need to thank me. I'm just so grateful that I know what I know...
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