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Brighton LGBTIQ+ History Club is back on Sunday April 18th at , join us for an evening of stories, talks, and local(ish) history!<p><p> <b>Sue Lemos<b><p> Sue Lemos is a PhD student in the Department of History at the University of Warwick. Her research uses oral history and community archives to historicise queer Black community spaces and politics in late twentieth century Britain. She was awarded the departmental ‘MA Dissertation Prize’ for her study on the Black Lesbian and Gay Centre in London, from 1985-1995. Recently she contributed to the Haringey Vanguard, a community project on BAME LGBTQ+ history. In queer/disrupt she co-organises events on queer topics and in the Warwick Black Studies Reading Group she co-convenes a space for critical engagement with Black intellectual production.<p><p> <b>Veronica McKenzie<b><p>Veronica is a writer, director and budding historian, with work including 'UNDER YOUR NOSE' (2017) about UK black LGBTQ+ history, FINDING HOME about LGBTQ+ Asylum seekers, and MONICA LOOSE ON A CRUISE which was a BFI Flare 2019 selection. Veronica produced and directed debut feature 'NINE NIGHTS' which won the Pan African Film Festival Narrative Feature Director Award 2019 and is currently on Amazon. Veronica is currently working with the London Metropolitan Archives on Haringey Vanguard a BAME LGBTQ+ history project. Her talk is titled: A timeline of our Dissent. How Black Queer communities impacted the struggle for LGBTQ+ rights.<p><p> The event will take place on Zoom. Upon booking you will receive your Zoom link, which you will be able to use on the night. We will also be sending you some goodies in the post, so please make sure you provide us with your full address when booking.<p><p> Access:<p> The event will be live captioned. If you have any access needs, or require any help with zoom, please do not hesitate contact us.<p><p> Booking:<p> The event is totally FREE, but as always, please feel free to make a donation if you like! To book your free space please click <a href="https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/lgbtiq-history-club-april-tickets-147622533973">here</a> -
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Delving into queer history can seem daunting. Often termed 'hidden,' these histories are frequently occluded, erased, or simply unrecorded. However, Brighton & Hove boasts a rich queer history, dating back to its rise as a pleasure resort in the 1800s. This legacy is recognized and preserved by heritage institutions across the city. Navigating these collections can be challenging, so this blog post serves as a brief guide to current LGBTQ+ collections in Brighton & Hove beyond Queer In Brighton and how to access them. The Keep The Keep houses the archives and collections of the University of Sussex, including the Mass Observation Archive, East Sussex and Brighton & Hove Record Office, and Brighton & Hove Museums. The Keep's extensive LGBTQ+ materials span themes such as Pride, Section 28, and HIV/AIDS, predominantly comprising paper documents like posters, leaflets, letters, and photographs. One notable collection is Brighton Ourstory, a pioneering community project documenting the city's LGBTQ+ history from 1989-2013. To access The Keep's collections, search the online catalogue. Viewing items requires online registration and booking a slot in the Reading Room. The Keep's website provides a detailed guide for this process. The publicly accessible Reference Room also offers a selection of magazines, pamphlets, and books on Brighton & Hove’s LGBTQ+ history, providing an excellent research starting point. Brighton & Hove Museums Brighton & Hove Museums operate five sites across the city, housing physical objects related to LGBTQ+ history. Many items are displayed in curated exhibitions and galleries. Current exhibitions include ‘Queer the Pier’, a community-curated display celebrating Brighton’s LGBTQ+ cultural history, and ‘Queer Looks’, showcasing outfits and oral histories from LGBTQ+ individuals in Sussex from the 1960s to the present. For specific enquiries about museum collections, you can complete a collections enquiry form. Screen Archive South East (SASE) Screen Archive South East is a moving image archive holding a growing collection of LGBTQ+ film material. This includes amateur and professional productions, such as short documentaries and oral histories, depicting everyday life, Pride events, protests, weddings, and other significant occasions. Many films are viewable online on the SASE website. For specific research enquiries, contact the archive directly. Brighton & Hove City Libraries The city libraries offer a vast selection of physical books and ebooks documenting LGBTQ+ history, which can be borrowed by members. Key titles currently available include ‘Queer Beyond London’ by Matt Cook and Alison Oram, ‘LGBT Brighton & Hove’ by Janet Cameron, and ‘Brighton Trans*formed’. For broader UK LGBTQ+ history, recommended books include ‘United Queerdom’ by Dan Glass, ‘Gay in the 80s’ by Colin Clews, and ‘Outrageous!: The Story of Section 28 and Britain's Battle for LGBT Education’ by Paul Baker. Brighton & Hove City Libraries are accessible to anyone, but borrowing books requires membership. Books can be easily searched and reserved through the online catalogue. Collaborative and Community Heritage Projects Several previous collaborative projects also have accessible online digital archives. Brighton Trans*formed (2014): Documented the lives of Brighton & Hove’s transgender community. The website features oral history transcripts and participant photographs. Themes include family, work, socializing, gender, relationships, sex, desire, and age. Into the Outside (2017): Celebrated stories from LGBTQ+ youth in Brighton & Hove, led by Photoworks in collaboration with Brighton & Hove Libraries Services, the Mass Observation Archive, and the East Sussex Records Office. The digital archive contains oral history excerpts and photography from young people involved in the project. Brighton & Hove holds extensive collections, accessible to anyone interested in queer history, as a result of the diligent collecting and preserving of these histories by local communities and heritage institutions. Whether you're a seasoned researcher or just beginning your journey, these resources offer a wealth of information to explore and celebrate the vibrant queer history of our unique city. -
In 2013, when I was invited to create new work for Queer in Brighton by Photoworks, Pink Fringe (now Marlborough Productions), and New Writing South I had no idea what this work would eventually look like, with whom it would be made, or how it would be created. What I did know was the intention of Queer in Brighton, to celebrate the cultural heritage of LGBTQ+ people in Brighton and Hove, resonated with my firmly held belief that all individuals and groups of people have a right to have a say in how they are represented and by whom. It seemed to me, as a gay man, it was the perfect moment to channel my interests in collaboration, community, and socially engaged practice towards my own experience of being queer and the lived experiences of others with whom I feel allied to. The process of creating Not Going Shopping could not be replicated in the exact same ways today. Not only have the social, cultural, and political contexts for queer people in the United Kingdom shifted over the past eight years, the contributions of the participants with whom I created this work – Charlie, Edward, Fox, Harry, JB, Kate, Kelly, Luc, Matt, Sarah, and Ten – are specific to the moment in time and the particular way in which we came together. The discussions that drove our research, experimentation, and co-creation over a period of nine months or so, were fuelled by openness, play, and a conviction to challenge our own presumptions and the preconceptions of other people of what it is to be queer. The commitment with which each participant invested in the creation of the photographs, texts, and the Collaborative Portraits which culminated in the Not Going Shopping exhibition, community newspaper, and blog – notgoingshopping.blogspot.com – enabled the collective endeavour of this project to be realised in ways that surpassed my expectations. That Not Going Shopping continues to be seen in exhibitions and publications in the UK and internationally is testament to the intentions we all brought to the making of the work. That is, for Not Going Shopping to celebrate the unique cultural heritage queer people in Brighton and Hove are part of, and, by doing so, for the ways in which the work speaks out about the politics of the representation of queerness to be relevant everywhere. The human rights of queer people across the spectrum of the LGBTQ+ acronym have been hard fought for in the UK. In many ways, aspects of these rights are still not fully achieved or acknowledged for everyone, socially, culturally, or politically. While the UK may be a far safer place for queer people to live, work, and love in, than many other countries around the world, and Brighton may be seen as a ‘gay capital’, we have a long way to go. For trans and nongender individuals, especially, many of the rights the majority of the UK population take for granted in their daily lives are a way off from being fully realised. Queer people everywhere need to remain vigilant and vocal about our right to be here. To remind ourselves and to remind other people that queer people have always been here. To let it be known that queer people will not be silenced and we do not have to apologise for speaking out about being who we are. For we are still, and will always be, Not Going Shopping. Image 1. Photograph of Not Going Shopping Newspaper by Anthony Luvera Image 2. Photograph by Matt Robinson for Not Going Shopping by Anthony Luvera Image 3. Photograph of Not Going Shopping exhibtion in Malmo Sweden by Anthony Luvera View the full Not Going Shopping Collection -
In Brighton on World AIDS Day, many of us huddle together at the vigil in New Steine Gardens to ‘hear the voices of dead friends.’ Two hundred souls claimed by the virus are remembered as their names are read, one after another. When I hear my friend Andrea’s name, memories flicker like the candle cradled in my hand, but what settles in my mind is the smiling face of the bright-eyed Brazilian florist who made me laugh every day. For me, it’s important that my thoughts linger on his life and exuberance, however short, before the disease choked the life from his lungs on an AIDS ward. I remember many of the people whose names are read at the vigil, but there are fewer faces I recognise in the crowd with each passing year. Brighton has always been a transient place, an oasis many use to find their queer identity before moving on. Sometimes I worry I might be the only person left in the crowd of candles who remembers Andrea, and it saddens me to think all that might eventually remain of him and others are names forever bound to the virus and death. (Image of Andrea from Brighton AIDS Memorial Collection: Read Andrea's Story) From the late 1980s Brighton was hit hard by AIDS, and due to the number of victims and their age, many likened the experience to being in a war. When I opened the Evening Argus or walked up St. James’s Street and saw GAY – GOT AIDS YET sprayed on a wall, it definitely felt like we were under attack and losing. But as writer and activist Neil Bartlett once reminded me, using war as a metaphor is dangerous because it suggests an end. World War One stopped at 11 o’clock on the 11 November 1918 with an armistice. HIV, AIDS and the stigma that surrounds it continues still. In 1989 I trained as a volunteer at the Sussex AIDS Centre and Helpline, because I wanted to help, but also because I wanted to learn about the disease and stay alive. The camaraderie fostered by the centre birthed many friendships that last to this day, but inevitably I lost quite a few friends along the way too. Despite the carnage the disease brought to the area, little seems to remain to tell the story of the time, just ghosts and a few buildings turned into flats. I believe that every facet of our queer history needs recording and held close in as much detail as possible because it has shaped us and helps inform our identities going forward. (Image of Gary Beverley from Brighton AIDS Memorial Collection - Read Gary's Story) I created the Brighton AIDS Memorial on Instagram as a starting point to this collection after being directly inspired by the AIDS Memorial which has become a global phenomenon with 186,000 followers. The stories that arrive from across the world never cease to move and surprise, and one day it struck me that Brighton needed its own space for remembrance so that local names can be re-embroidered with their essence and local history pieced together. Our remembrance needs to acknowledge the horror, but also celebrate the lost lives and provide a cathartic release. I’ve realised through the work I’ve done thus far, that there’s so much that needs to be found, curated and archived with the appropriate care to remain accessible for future generations. I believe the Queer Heritage South archive site will provide a safe home for the stories so they don’t disappear. The collection will also recognise the queer heroes and trailblazers, the organisations, and bring together all the photos, writing and ephemera in one place. (Image of Tay by Romany Mark Bruce from Brighton AIDS Memorial Collection - read more about Tay) So, take a look in those old shoe boxes under the bed, or the scrapbooks and photo albums in a cupboard and help us build this collection. Or if you have a story to tell or someone to remember please get in touch – brightonaidsmemorial@gmail.com View the full Brighton AIDS memorial collection. -
Long ago, when dinosaurs danced to Motown and disco…when discrimination of all kinds was perfectly legal, nobody was listening to us. We had (still do) plenty to say We wanted (still do) to change the world completely. For starters, yes, we wanted equality, but we were dreaming of much more. On top of that there was – sharp intake of breath, oh the shock! – no such thing as social media. No one had profiles, timelines, accounts. So if you wanted to organise a protest or direct action you called the first woman on the telephone tree who then passed the information on to three others who did the same in turn & so on. I say woman because it was mainly women I was involved with, but of course other groups were doing similar things. In the absence of social media, your body, your clothes became your profile statement. Badges, visible on a coat, jacket, jumper defined your tribe, who you were, what you believed in. (T shirts with slogans came later and did the same.) As well as asserting identity, badges were a way of confronting/questioning society (for instance badges that said things like How dare you presume I’m heterosexual? or No to male violence!). There was humour too. As well as wearing badges we fly-posted, scrawled graffiti and defaced billboards subverting capitalist, sexist advertising. One badge for example beautifully reproduced the Coca Cola logo and phrasing to say: Gay love it’s the real thing. Badges were also a way of communicating to like-minded travellers. Two, sometimes three, women's symbols linked together told other women you were a lesbian (or bisexual and/or feminist but certainly open to sisters doing it for themselves). The double-headed axe or labrys, (originally found in Crete, representing Amazons in Greek mythology), was another symbol lesbian feminists could recognise each other by. It worked as code since not everyone knew what it meant. Not all badges were political or feminist. People wore school badges ironically, Captain, Prefect, 1st VII Netball etc. There was a whole cottage industry of badge making. (Along with home-made ones.) Bands promoted their music by producing badges. Deb, my partner, who has always been really cool, has several obscure band badges in her collection. The risks you took wearing your badge/s depended on where you lived. When I visited Poland in the 1980’s I was a lot less brave than when I was walking round Brighton, (or Islington and Hackney). Communism still held Poland in its grip and even forming a women's group was prohibited, (after all there was the Party-run League of Women; anything else was outlawed). Polish Pride badges didn’t come till much, much later. But in the late 1980’s I got given a badge that said Kino Kobiet (Cinema of Women/Women’s Cinema) which I proudly wore in the UK to celebrate my (often invisible) Polishness. I’ll finish this post by telling you a bit more about some badges in my collection which resonate personally for me: I Love Sober Dykes was brought over from the States and given to me by a girlfriend. Alcohol had been a big part of my life. I loved drinking! When I was first coming out it felt scary as hell to acknowledge lesbian feelings. I needed a lot of alcohol in order to approach women I liked or fancied. Also many political meetings took place or ended up in pubs. But in my late twenties I started having some health issues which made me decide to stop drinking. It was very validating to be given this badge. I’d had no idea there might be other women giving up alcohol too and that not drinking could be seen as cool. There has always been that tension between wanting wide and inclusive community (like the present umbrella alphabet of our LGBT+ identities) and wanting to break away to articulate the needs and interests of a particular group. For example now in addition to Pride celebrations there’s Black Pride, more recently Trans Pride. Back in 1977 women who'd been involved with Gay Switchboard and the befriending organisation Icebreakers felt that women's needs weren't being met by those phonelines and decided to set up a separate organisation, Lesbian Line. I went along to their first meeting and joined up. It was an exciting and affirming time, which included Lesbian Strength marches which began in the early 1980’s. We started Lesbian Line in London and then one was also set up in Brighton in the 1980’s. Socials were held in various locations including the Women’s Centre then in St. George’s Street, also in Boyce’s St, off West St. When I moved back to Brighton, I was no longer volunteering for Lesbian Line but enjoyed going to its friendly socials at The Only Alternative Left, a women’s B&B and bar in St. Aubyn’s, Hove run by Monica Crowe. It was a great way of meeting other women. Does Yes I'm homosexual too seem quaint or funny now? At the time I wore that badge (early 1970’s) ‘homosexual’ was a creepy, clinical, already then, old-fashioned word. The sort of word that came up in medical journals discussing our ‘pathology’. You have to remember that until 1973 homosexuality was classed as a mental illness, then as a ‘sexual orientation disturbance’ – and what that carried with it in terms of appalling, demeaning, cruel psychiatric practices… (‘Queer’ at that time was also used very negatively. Both words suggested older men to me, and being older then was considered (still is) pretty unwelcome.) People mistakenly thought ‘homo’ meant man too, whereas in ‘homosexual’ it means same. But also gayness, generally, was seen as something that men did. Women's sexuality, desire - unless obediently heterosexual (today we’d say heteronormative) was hugely invisible. So this badge was a playful flip of the word ‘homosexual’. It was an expression for me not only of solidarity with my gay brothers but a way of simply saying that women could love other women. There are lots more badges I could tell you about, but I’ll just mention one more, last but not least, Gays Against Fascism (circulated in the late 70’s, early 80’s). This badge felt problematic for the reasons I've just mentioned that although some of us used the words ‘lesbian’ and ‘gay’ interchangeably we also felt that as an umbrella word ‘gay’ didn’t make women visible or visible enough. But it was a badge which had (still has) a strong emotional charge for me as well. The image on it is the pink triangle which the Nazis made ‘male homosexuals’, as they would have been known, wear in concentration camps. Later on badges - and jewellery - were also made with the black triangle, which was what women deemed socially deviant, including prostitutes and lesbians, were forced to wear. I can't stress enough how important it felt to me (still does) to link every struggle for what today are called queer rights with wider struggles – whether we were supporting the miners’ strike, fighting for women’s reproductive rights, fighting for disability rights, for the environment or fighting against racism, fighting fascism. Image 1. Maria Jastrzębska 1973: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Image 2. Gay Love Is The Real Thing badge: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Image 3. Assorted badges: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Image 4. I Love Sober Dykes badge: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Image 5. Lesbian Line badge: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Image 6. Gays Against Facism badge: Maria Jastrzębska Personal Collection Buy the Queer in Brighton anthology edited by Maria Jastrzębska and Anthony Luvera -
Dougie ‘Bawdy but British’ Byng was the UK’s notorious king of double entendre. His performance career as a cross-dressing society entertainer spanned film, stage, variety and cabaret for more than 70 years. The content of his shows was so risqué, he was repeatedly banned by the BBC. His act could be seen at West End venues including Café de Paris, the Celebrite Club and eventually at his own nightclub, The Kinde Dragon (off St Martin’s Lane in London). His friend and colleague Noël Coward described Dougie’s act as ‘the most refined vulgarity in London’. Pushing the envelope that little bit further in true Dougie style, he actually called it ‘refined filth’. Either way, his female impersonation was side-splittingly crude and clever in equal measure. Dougie lived for much of his later life in a flat in a Regency house on Arundel Terrace, Brighton. When he passed away his ashes were scattered in front of it, reflecting it was where he called home despite a vibrant international career and the decades he spent entertaining London’s social elite. The grand house was owned by the dashingly handsome British character actor Robert (Bobby) Flemyng (1912 – 1995) and was occupied from top to bottom by rental tenants, all of whom were gay, a familiar historical trope in queer communal living. In common with many gay men of his generation, Bobby was married and had a daughter to whom he was devoted. In conversation with local gay historian James Gardiner about his friend Dougie Byng, Gardiner recalled these queer residential quarters in Kemptown to have been conveniently located within a short drive or bus-ride of the 'Unit One' men’s sauna in Rottingdean. The venue– complete with its own indoor swimming pool– was hugely popular at the time (1970s-1990s), with groups of men often driving down from London to frequent it (being, of course, long before the age of hook-up apps). Gardiner suggests that it was one of the very few saunas in the country where gay sex was– if not exactly sanctioned– discreetly allowed to happen without interference from the recently amalgamated Sussex Police. Elsewhere in the country, the state’s authorities were rigidly enforcing the terms of the 1967 partial legalisation of homosexual acts that decreed sexual encounters between men should only happen between consenting adults over the age of 21 in a private (domestic) setting with no more than two men present. Speculation was in abundance over what kind of relationship must have been enjoyed between the establishment’s owner and the local force that enabled it to operate unimpeded. It was an odd set up. A discreet sign ‘Unit One Sauna. Men Only.’ between two shops on an unpromising, modern-ish seafront parade pointed patrons down an alley and down some stairs to the basement premises. They were presided over by a respectable looking and homely middle-aged lady named Dee and her visibly camp ‘son’, recalls Gardiner. In a nod to Charles Dicken’s tricoteuse ringleader from his 1859 Tale of Two Cities, patrons fondly called her Madame Defarge. Bobby Flemyng was a regular visitor. Whilst Dougie may never be the recipient of a crown for political correctness by 21C standards, he could nonetheless still teach today’s young British drag artists a lesson or two. Closer examination of his astute performance skills reveals an excellent ability to craft minimal costume into colloquial characterisation (he notably had an early career in fashion working for the designer Charles Alias, whose firm specialised in pantomime and fantasy costumes). And of course, he was a linguistic acrobat, the master of using the classic– yet frequently denigrated– comedic tool of double entendre to navigate otherwise unspeakable sexual taboos through irreverent, bawdy wordplay. Is it too much to suggest that Dougie’s refined vulgarity literally played a part in the movement towards gay liberation? In queer historian Matt Cook’s superb publication London and the Culture of Homosexuality, 1885-1914, the author reveals 1920s London to have had a thriving queer culture. This was the context within which Dougie began his career, and without a doubt, he would have been both a part of, and influenced by, this scene during the formative stages of his practice. The affection afforded to Dougie by those outside of the gay community was of broader benefit to softening attitudes towards those within it. His confident yet coded, wink-wink, nudge-nudge humour parodying the ins-and-outs of sex and gender displayed his control over the art of creating a ‘secret’ bond between performer and audience, regardless of class, gender or sexuality. Put simply, sharing a good old cheeky giggle is an effective way of inadvertently dissolving prejudices. Many a gay man has navigated his way through danger with a sharp tongue and sheer queer quick wittedness. Dougie’s drag was a profoundly revolutionary homosexual act, precisely because it was centre stage and reaching out to mainstream audiences en masse. It was more than a dirty joke– it was a dalliance in defiance. Much is known about Dougie, as his legend lives large in British theatrical history. His archive is held at the V&A though sadly, their specialist Theatre Department was made defunct in February 2021 and its intensely knowledgeable curators duly dismissed (a decision blamed on Covid, but that moreover reflects the broader, dire arts funding shortfalls). -
For the 11-15 workshops we had two themes to work with, around Pride in Brighton and Safe Space. To start I always feel it is important to open with a conversation – have the participants share some information about themselves, unpick terminology, its meanings and what it means to us. Some of the questions we discussed were around what safe space means to us, when do we feel proud, how do you express pride, among others. It was a lovely opportunity to hear the young people reflect on their own lived experiences and to help them to build the confidence to share these in a group dynamic. Working over zoom means our creative outcomes have to be digitally focused, using online platforms to make, share and collate work. I try to build these in as shorter smaller exercises, so the young people don’t get too tired or agitated and so there’s always an opportunity to discuss what’s been made. In one of our sessions Ellie my co – facilitator lead an exercise using Canva, an online platform to create posters, we made memes, bringing together stock imagery and text to public and the personal and how memes can be a useful and playful tool to communicate our experiences. I also feel it is important to recognize that the digital space (zoom room) as a conduit for being together so I also make sure to encourage the building of creative/photographic skills whilst utilizing the Zoom camera. Some examples of this include sharing Photographic artists working with themes around LGBTQ+ experience and discussing their working methods – we looked at Sunil Gupta’s project From Here to Eternity. We discussed what photographic techniques (composition, location,text, props) he employed to document the changing face of Dehli’s LGBTQ+ community. We then used these techniques to work with objects and items and the zoom camera in our own environments in order to convey a certain emotion, from happy, safe to strange or content. I draw from my practice as an artist to plan and facilitate workshops. I am very interested in how we inhabit spaces, environments and the dialogues and exchanges that take place there, a lot of my work is a lot about belonging, encounter and about understanding my place in the world. I really believe creativity is such an important way for the Queer community to come together, as photography can provide such a valuable way to tell a story and to help others understand our own personal experiences and how feel about ourselves. It can provide a visual record of the places we live in, time spent with family, friends and carers, in nature, at school or at home. -
Erased, hidden or simply thrown-away. A prevailing theme of the exhibition is just how little of our rich queer heritage has been recorded and archived. So, faced with these challenges, how did we manage to collect over 100 objects for the exhibition? The short answer is luck; reaching out to our LGBTQ+ communities and contacting people of interest. One example of this was where the chance sighting of an embroidered sampler by transgender prisoner Sarah Jane Baker, in a small display case at The Keep – the Sussex archives – led us to be able to include her story in the exhibition. Though perhaps the most striking example of good fortune was the discovery of a huge collection of photo albums, war medals and personal effects belonging to a lesbian couple from Worthing. Found by someone known to the Exhibition’s lead curator, E-J Scott, the hoard would most likely would have been thrown away had it not come to the attention of queer historian and collector, James Gardiner. We are pleased to say that so important is the collection now deemed to be that it has found a permanent home at Worthing Museum. The slightly longer answer to the question about how we managed to hunt down so many items relating to Brighton and Sussex’s queer past, was building on little bits of knowledge we did have, in the hope that it might lead to something bigger. For instance, knowing that Bill Butler, the owner of the Unicorn Bookshop in the North Laines from 1967-1972, was not only openly gay but also a poet, led us to the discovery of a wonderful poem about ‘cottaging’ (the practise of looking for sex with other men in public toilets) on the inside back cover of one of the many hundreds of radical magazines printed by the shop and now stored at The Keep. It was connections like these that made working on the exhibition so thrilling; like being able to reunite the actual banner from an infamous anti-Clause 28 rally through Brighton town centre - on loan from collector and historian, Alf le Flohic - with 38 black and white photographs of the event taken by another lender – Paul Clift. A reunion made even more remarkable by the fact that Alf only became involved in the Exhibition after being approached by myself and another community curator, Janet Jones, because of his in-depth knowledge about conjoined twins and vaudeville stars, Violet & Daisy Hilton – whose fascinating lives are also celebrated in Queer the Pier. Comprising largely of flyers, magazines and badges, Alf’s collection underlines the fact that we each of us have more history than we think! Indeed, it was only through working on the exhibition that I realised how much I myself had that counted as history. So, how did we manage to gather so many objects? Luck? Yes. Building on existing knowledge? Absolutely. But for me, the most important aspect. And the one that will be so important to the success of our digital museum, was understanding that we all have items that are worth preserving. So please, look under your bed, at the back of your sock drawer, in your attic. Whether you are 18 or 80 – you will have things that celebrate our queer history. Dust them down, take a few photos with your phone and upload them to our site today. -
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