Gay – Page 2 – Hugh's Views & News

“They all have moustaches, wear 501s and are called Clones.”

Those were my words to my best friend, Neville, upon my first visit to Earl’s Court, London, back in the mid-1980s.

I was like a kid in a sweet shop. Just about every man in the place had a moustache, and I was big into facial hair.

Back then, there were five gay bars in Earl’s Court. It was the centre of the universe for any gay man visiting London.

It was easy to get to Earl’s Court, via public transport, and I always felt safe there. It was as if the district had a safety bubble around it.

No surprise then that I moved into a two-bedroom flat in Earl’s Court shortly after arriving to live in London in 1986.

The most famous gay bar in Earl’s Court was called ‘The Coleherne.’ These days, it’s a trendy restaurant come wine bar which I believe serves some smashing food.

The Coleherne – now known as The Pembroke

I spent lots of time in ‘The Coleherne.’ At the time, pubs had to close their doors between 3 and 5:30pm (2 and 7pm on a Sunday). ‘The Coleherne’ was always packed out during the final hour of drinking time.

It had a jukebox in the corner that played all the latest hits as well as many ‘Hi-NRG’ (Pronounced High Energy) tunes which was a new type of music adopted by many gay men.

Evelyn Thomas – Singing some Hi-NRG music

Neville was into the same types of men who drunk in “The Coleherne’ as me. So you’d often find us in there.

There was a strict rule about going into ‘The Coleherne.’ Those wearing leather, such as a bikers’ jacket, waistcoat, or chaps, had their own side-door entrance.

Everybody else had to use the other door on the main street. If you went through what Neville and I called ‘the leather door’ you’d end up on the leather side of the bar.

The leather guys would glare at you if your attire included no leather, and they would continue to glare at you until you made your way to the non-leather side of the bar.

Scary stuff for first-time visitors or anybody who entered the pub by mistake.

What made Neville and me laugh was that some of the leather guys often arrived carrying a motorcycle helmet under their arm. You may ask, ‘what’s so funny about that?’

Well, they’d place the motorcycle helmet on the top shelf above the bar, order their drink, and then stand around looking as butch as possible.

Then, at closing time, Neville and I would watch as they made their way to the bus-stop, with motorcycle helmets under their arms. For some, carrying a motorcycle helmet seemed to be the must-have, new fashion accessory when dressed in leather.

Although ‘The Coleherne’ was probably the most shabby of all the five gay bars in Earl’s Court, it was always busy.

Just down the road, at one end of the street, was ‘The Boltons.’ This was a strict ‘no-no’ bar for Neville and I because it was known for its rent boys.

At the other end of the street was ‘Bromptons’ bar. This was the place Neville and me nicknamed ‘Clone City’ because just about every man who entered had facial hair.

‘Bromptons’ opened at 10pm and closed at 2am. On a Sunday, it opened earlier but closed at midnight. It was a 30-second walk from where I lived, so it was very convenient.

Friendlier than ‘The Coleherne,’ for those who’d never visited before, ‘Bromptons’ had a small dance floor and a kiosk that sold all the latest Hi-NRG 12-inch vinyl singles.

In those days, gay men only purchased 12-inch vinyl singles, unlike most of the rest of the population that bought the 7-inch vinyl version.

A gay anthem from the 1980s

There was the odd splattering of leather amongst the crowd, but most were dressed in check shirts, 501 Jeans and Doc-Marten boots.

Just about everyone ordered and drunk bottles of lager, rather than pints. If you arrived early, you could compare your check shirts and see if any of them clashed severely with the chequered carpet and wallpaper of the bar.

Arriving early also meant free entry into the bar. After 11pm there was a small entry fee charged, so many would flock in at 22:55.

The Barmen at ‘Bromptons’ were often hand-picked by the owner. “Have good looking bar staff, and you’ll pack the place out every night,” he once told me. And he was right!

The place was a magnet for clones who seemed to need little sleep despite having full-time jobs, many of which required an early morning start.

The other two bars at the opposite end of Earl’s Court were located next door to each other.

One was a bar called ‘Harpoon Louis,’ which hosted cabaret most nights.

The likes of Lily Savage (aka Paul O’Grady) started out here, and it was always a great place to go for a laugh.

‘Cruising’, as Gay men called it (better known as looking for a partner for the night), did go on. In contrast, in the other bars, cruising was very serious, and you dare not laugh when trying to pick up your date for the night. In ‘Harpoon Louis,’ it didn’t seem to matter as much.

‘Copacabana’ was next door to Harpoon Louis and was the main gay nightclub of the area. It was convenient to fall into when coming out of ‘Harpoon Louis.’

‘Copacabana’ (also known as ‘Copa’s’) was the biggest of all the bars in Earl’s Court and had a large dance floor. It was the place to hear the latest Hi-NRG tunes, dance, drink and check out the men.

Some famous faces often frequented the place, but being ‘gay men,’ the clientele often dare not approach them.

During the 1980s, gay men adopted a ‘hanky’ code. You’d place a particular coloured handkerchief in either the left or right back pocket of your 501 jeans. This told other gay men what kind of sexual fun you were into.

Rather than the ‘hanky’ code, Neville and I adopted the ‘teddy bear’ code. This involved the placing of a small teddy bear in the back pocket. This told others if you enjoyed giving or receiving cuddles.

Today, Earl’s Court is no longer the centre of the universe for gay men. Its crown was lost to Soho and Vauxhall during the late 1990s, although the gay scene in London now seems to be more spread out.

Had we arrived for the first time today, Neville and I would not have liked Earls Court as much. However, it holds lots of happy memories not just for us, but for many from the LGBT crowd.

Sadly, Neville passed away in the mid-1990s. However, the fun and laughter we shared together during the days and nights of Earl’s Court in the 1980s can still be heard in its bars and streets.

This post was originally written and published as a guest post in April 2016 on TanGental. It has been updated for this version.

Click here to read another post from my Pride Month series which tells the story of a first date that went horribly wrong.

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One of the biggest regrets of my life is that I never sat down with my mother and told her that I am gay. I chose, instead, the easy option of writing to her and telling her that I was a homosexual.

Facing Mum for the first time after writing that letter, I felt very nervous as I travelled to her home. I hesitated several times before walking up to the front door, ringing the doorbell, and announcing my arrival.

What a shock I got when she came towards me with open arms and, as she gave me one of her wonderful hugs, heard her whisper, “I always knew, I don’t know why it took you so long to tell me.”

Mum & Hugh — Me and mum. Taken sometime in the 1980s, just after I had told her I was gay.

Not all my family was like mum, though. Some told me they were having difficulty accepting what I was because it wasn’t the sort of thing that happened to men in the area we came from. Hurtful words, but I already knew that the best thing I could do was to keep away from those who were upset by the life I was given, and let them live their lives as they wanted.

Over the years, I regained contact with some of those family members and, thankfully, have the changing face of society to thank for bringing us back together.

The fact that, in the past, there had been a few other men in the family who had never married never seemed to raise any suspicions that the family included gay people. It may have been discussed, but never while I was in the room.

I don’t know if any of those men ever ‘came out.’ Probably not, but it must have been tough for those who were gay when they lived. This made me more determined to live my life as I wanted and not as others expected me to.

Moving to live and work in London in 1986 was one of the most important decisions I’ve ever made. Although the city acted like a wall that seemed to shield gay people, I was still struggling to ‘come out.’

It was a strange situation because the first two jobs I took in London were in industries where other openly gay people worked.

When I took my next job, which would last 23 years, it took me six years to come out, and that was only when I heard the words “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” Of course, nobody cared that I was gay, yet for all those years I had been terrified of what some of my work colleagues would think about me had I ‘come out’ of the closet.

Fast forward to today, and being gay is widely accepted by much of society. Or is it?

When we moved to our current home in South Wales, both my partner and I felt a little hesitant about whether people would accept us. There are fewer residents here than in the area where we had lived for over 30 years. We were returning to that place where I’d been told that ‘being gay didn’t happen.’ We could not have been more wrong!

People have been so welcoming, and we’re as much a part of the community as anyone else. Strange, though, is that every now and again, when I meet somebody for the first time and am asked who the other guy who walks our dogs is, I find myself hesitating before saying, “He’s my partner.”

Maybe some of the scars from our past never heal?