* Any views expressed in this opinion piece are those of the author and not of Thomson Reuters Foundation.
The 1990s were the golden age of LGBTQ+ bars and clubs across London. But now, as they close one by one, they need community support like never beforePaul Burston is a writer, journalist and broadcaster and founder of LGBTQ+ literary salon and book awards, the Polari Prize
I jumped feet first into the London gay scene in March 1985. I was 19, new to London and barely out of the closet. I’d never been to a gay club or bar before; I didn’t have any gay friends. Filled with the bravado of youth, I threw caution to the wind and went to Heaven.
I say “gay scene” because we didn’t use the term “LGBT” back then. Saturday nights at Heaven were strictly gay men only -– and there were so many of them. In fact, one of the first things I heard was a man shout “so many men, so little time” – which was the name of a popular gay dance track at the time.
Who knew then how prophetic those words would be?
My memoir “We Can Be Heroes” is largely set in London during the ’80s and ’90s. It was a period of enormous change – not just for me personally but for the gay community as a whole.
In 1985, the age of consent for gay men was 21, compared to 16 for heterosexuals. Police entrapment was rife. We had no employment or partnership rights.
That pernicious piece of legislation known as Section 28, which outlawed “the promotion of homosexuality”, was just around the corner. AIDS was already claiming lives and would soon lead to thousands more deaths. By the early Noughties, we had full legal equality. Section 28 had been repealed and medical breakthroughs meant that people with HIV were living long and healthier lives. To a large extent, these social changes were reflected on the scene.
In 1985, it wasn’t uncommon for gay venues to have blacked out windows or be hidden underground. We kissed in the shadows – and with good reason. Public displays of affection could get you arrested – or worse. I was queerbashed on several occasions. By the late ’80s, graffiti appeared around the city – “G A Y – Got AIDS Yet?” and “A.I.D.S – Arse Injected Death Sentence”.
Faced with such homophobic hostility, gay venues were our safe spaces. A large part of the scene was centred around Earls Court - affectionately known as Girls’ Court. In Soho, old-school boozers like Compton’s competed with new bars like Brief Encounter – one of the few venues with an outdoor seating area.
And then there were the drag bars – the Black Cap in Camden and the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, where Lily Savage held court every week.
Much as I enjoyed the thrill of men-only spaces, I found my natural home in mixed venues like the Bell in Kings Cross, where the music policy reflected my alternative tastes and there were equal numbers of men and women – gay, straight and everything in between. By the late ’80s, mixed spaces were more popular than ever – a reflection of how lesbians and gay men had joined forces in the fight against Section 28.
As the new decade dawned, I was employed as editor of what was then called the gay section at British weekly listings magazine, Time Out, documenting the changing scene on a weekly basis.
The early ’90s were a period of enormous growth. Soho saw the proliferation of shiny new venues with plate glass windows – signs of a newfound confidence. Clubs such as G-A-Y, Love Muscle and Trade were going strong, while indie nights Popstarz and Duckie offered an alternative to the familiar gay diet of house and techno.
In Vauxhall, clubs ran from Thursday night right through to Monday morning. It wasn’t for nothing that London became known as the queer clubbing capital of Europe.
But that was then. The scene looks very different today. There are still clusters of venues in Soho, Shoreditch and Vauxhall. Heaven is still a place on earth.
But the scene has suffered greatly from the pressures of gentrification and the growth of dating apps. Many venues have closed. Others are struggling. Our spaces need our support. Use them or lose them.
