The War Years (Unwanted Attentions)
Once in a while a female student, to show her peers that she could, would make bringing me a cup of tea a pretext for sitting on the corner of the throne and talking.
This sometimes led to trouble.
The day before one Easter holiday, I was standing in the corridor of a vast technical college outside London waiting for my wages. A student with whom I had exchanged a few polite words came up to me to say good-bye. It was her last day and I was still trying to think of something eternal to say when she suddenly seized my hand and kissed it. The moment I had recovered from the shock, I glanced up and down the passage to see if there had been any witnesses to this blurring of my public image. Then I turned to ask the girl what on earth she thought she was doing. She was already running away, as well she might. . .
A week or two later the girl wrote to me asking if we could meet. . . all seemed to be going well until we were standing in Holborn amid the usual crown of hostile witnesses waiting for a bus that would take her home. Then, without even a cry of warning, she flung herself upon me with a weight fit to bring me to the ground and implored me to kiss her. I was very annoyed. Straightening my knees with a great effort I said sternly, 'You had better catch your bus.' . . I received a letter from one of her friends entreating me to continue to see the girl. The implication was that suicide would follow if I refused. I replied explaining that I was homosexual and that, as we now all knew that a beautiful friendship was not all that was expected of me, further meetings would be a complete waste of time. It took several other letters saying the same things more and more unkindly to bring the relationship to an end.
This sometimes led to trouble.
The day before one Easter holiday, I was standing in the corridor of a vast technical college outside London waiting for my wages. A student with whom I had exchanged a few polite words came up to me to say good-bye. It was her last day and I was still trying to think of something eternal to say when she suddenly seized my hand and kissed it. The moment I had recovered from the shock, I glanced up and down the passage to see if there had been any witnesses to this blurring of my public image. Then I turned to ask the girl what on earth she thought she was doing. She was already running away, as well she might. . .
A week or two later the girl wrote to me asking if we could meet. . . all seemed to be going well until we were standing in Holborn amid the usual crown of hostile witnesses waiting for a bus that would take her home. Then, without even a cry of warning, she flung herself upon me with a weight fit to bring me to the ground and implored me to kiss her. I was very annoyed. Straightening my knees with a great effort I said sternly, 'You had better catch your bus.' . . I received a letter from one of her friends entreating me to continue to see the girl. The implication was that suicide would follow if I refused. I replied explaining that I was homosexual and that, as we now all knew that a beautiful friendship was not all that was expected of me, further meetings would be a complete waste of time. It took several other letters saying the same things more and more unkindly to bring the relationship to an end.