When I was 23, in late spring, I made my mum a cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table. I had helped my Dad paint this table when I was 15, upcycling a boring pine piece of brown furniture into a wonderful ‘spring feeling’ two-tone yellow. I was responsible for the wood grain rocker tool, an idea likely inspired by 1990’s TV show Changing Rooms - a show which saw Lawrence Llewelyn-Bowen wear flamboyant shirts, and where upcycling melamine cabinets required spray primers. It was odd to sit at the kitchen table. When I came over to mum and dad’s, we usually sat in the living room and had conversations in the front room over Miss Marple, Poirot or whatever series was repeated on Sky TV’s UK Gold (now just called Gold).
You could still make out the TV in the background as I told my mum “I had something to tell her”. I had to assure her that no-one was pregnant, and then proceeded to say that I had found the person I wanted to propose to - “His name is Craig.” There was a pause, to which she replied, “Why have you never told me before, do you want me to tell your father?”
Growing up in a working-class household, homosexuality was not talked about. The men in my family all had practical trades – engineers, mechanics that type of thing, but they were kind. When I was a kid, casual homophobic remarks often occurred at family gatherings. It was not thought of as unusual that I followed my mum’s interest in watching the figure skating or World’s Strongest Man, even though my motives were not for the sport. At 15 I was torn, for fear of rejection. Family was, and still is, my world and doing anything that would make them unhappy created a level of anxiety that, at times, almost tore me apart. But I couldn’t tell anyone.
There was no information about being homosexual at school at 15. Section 28 would be repealed two years later. I do remember eating breakfast, watching the BBC morning news and hearing that the age of sexual consent was being moved to 16 for homosexual relationships, and thinking ‘that’s only a year away’. There were two out gay boys in secondary school. One in my class who had a lot of friends, but who my friends disassociated themselves with. Not in a malicious way, but they just chose to not sit near them or include them in conversations. Nothing was ever said. At the time, all I knew about being gay was that it involved sex, and about being ostracised by others. I had also heard of AIDS, but even that, other than as a slur, was not talked about. The other out gay boy drowned not long after he came out, and I remember thinking he might have been murdered. The internet did not exist, and I could not find out. Why would I ask? It’s not like I could go all ‘Miss Marple’ on the case and besides, nobody could know…
Living, hiding who I was, was painful. I chose drama because I could express myself. Whilst the choice landed the word FAG on the back of my blazer in Year 11, it was simply put down to school bullying. Nobody knew. Nobody could know. When I was 16, I took a weekend job to earn some money. I became known as Big Gay Dave by a team leader, referencing a popular TV show. It was banter, a nickname and I laughed. I took ownership of the acronym BGD and it appeared on rotas. I used humour to shield myself as I could not question it, because they would find out.
Before I went to uni, I worked as an office assistant to save up. It was a good job. My line manager was in HR and her colleague, a male co-worker, used to joke with me and tell me that I must be gay. He asked if I liked boys. Pointed to attractive male co-workers and asked, “Do you find them attractive?”, as if to trick an outing, a confession. But whilst not bad-looking, the co-workers were certainly not strong men or figure skaters…So I laughed. Nobody could know.
I went to a Catholic uni in London, a large church donned its central square. I studied drama, and for the first time I was taught by somebody out and gay. Dr Paul Woodward was (and still is) an inspiring lecturer who was never ashamed of his sexuality. It was because he was so open, and because of an awkward yet exciting fumble with a dear friend at a drunken BBQ, that I came out to my peers in my second year. Slowly. I didn’t know what being gay was, but I do remember I was keen to find out…Dial-up modems had just changed to broadband, and I was in London…
Having taught in universities for over twelve years, how I have talked about my sexuality has changed. In the early days of work, I was still hiding my identity from my parents and so kept it as a guarded secret in university settings. Now though, I probably drop an anecdote about my husband in every conversation. I hope in doing so, people know that casual homophobic comments won’t be tolerated in my presence, and if students are learning to deal with their sexuality they can talk to someone. At Greenwich that’s led to conversations I never thought I would have - from the heartfelt to the emotional, and indeed a rather humorous debate between two gay students about whether I was a cub or an otter…The jury was out.
As for my parents, maybe it took them a while to readjust to the loss of an imagined grandchild, but they now much prefer my husband than me half of the time! My whole family have been a pillar of support. I am very lucky. Although, when I drop in a gay joke now they still don’t know how to respond, but even that makes me smile.
I can’t tell you what I think about being gay at Greenwich, or about what I think others should do to be allies to the wider community. But I can tell you that I think I have had it easy, and I have loved being at Greenwich unashamedly out. There are others who still hide their identity, who grapple with their sexuality or gender.
To those reading this, I ask you to simply recognise that we are all on a journey; so turn off the TV, sit at the kitchen table and listen, allowing people to talk without fear of judgement.
Dave Hockham, Bathway Theatre Manager
Pronouns: he/him
