celebrating and creating our own LGBTQ+ history in honour of Sheila McWattie

Archive for February, 2014

day twenty eight


  Musing my Memories {a slice of herstory}

badges 5









Carpentry, karate and motorbikes

Discos, bars and clubs

Squats and co-ops

Lesbos, Greenham and Womansland

Marches, demos and protests

Celebrations and condemnations

Pride, lots of it

Girlfriends, lovers and friends

Making culture, art and love…


Bronwen, 59, USA

day twenty seven

Matters of Love and Death



You know you’ve reached middle age

when you just don’t come like you did in your twenties.


Younger friends bustle through their thirty something’s with kids and houses and friendships, solid with time and sharing, or so I dream for them.


I’m racing ahead uphill empty handed,

No treasures or ties to carry proudly along

Careful cache in the dresser drawers and jeans pocket of my world.


Books of poetry sometimes call – you can’t read your own – timeless teller of your story – but I hear it well enough from the page.


If you had a daughter would it be me?

Wizened word-smith, speaking wisdom from the tree stumps of your water retentive thighs.


My body like a bomb damaged building

water main pulsing gently into disfigured ground,


Back stairway to basements no longer passable,

no chance to leap the broken step,

too far-gone, a route I’ll never scramble down again.


I’m in the old girls club at last, fitting in, knowing the language, something that means something to say, my own fractured concrete that was and counts for something.


The route romantic pathways traversed, you can’t get through, it would take a bulldozer to move the fallen tree and no point anyway, nothing down there to see, no need for that old line, a new bypass carved up the edges.


Freezing to death in the snow, lie still long enough not to know you can’t move that leg any more.


Sometimes I do that in bed in the morning, 2 or 3 seconds of no sensation but warmth, before consciousness wades in.







Janet Jones, 49, Brighton

day twenty six

It was hard enough getting them to understand, hard enough to explain the situation, without other people muddying the waters, casting aspersions. That, however, was the unfortunate state of affairs she always found herself in.  She didn’t ever get the chance to start from scratch. There was always some other influence. Just once, she screamed at the wall in her head, just once I want to be able to have a blank canvas.

It wasn’t that they were ganging up on her, far from it. She was offered support and counsel continuously. It was just that the support and counsel either came from an uninformed corner, or it was tainted by ignorance. Mostly, though, they meant well.

Unfortunately, once in a while, the intention was more than naïve ignorance, or blind stupidity. Once in a while, there was malice in the words and sentiment. That was when it hurt the most. That could, and often did cause her to want to shut the world out, curl into a ball under the duvet and cry for days. Far too often, she had wished she had a button to end it all. Just push the button and it would all go away. But that wouldn’t do. That couldn’t happen. That was weakness, selfish, cowardly. No. She must front it.




Kelly Tonks, 40 , Folkestone

day twenty six

The heart caught in the heart - Dori Kirchmair-2       Dori Kirchmair, 52, Nottingham


day twenty six

The heart caught in the heart - Dori Kirchmair-2

day twenty five

I had always wanted to have a baby. To be a mother, right from when I was a young girl myself.

The years went by. Then I met my partner.   My future wife.

She had never considered being a mother herself.

But I had.

Always had done.

So, I started to think, if that’s what I wanted.

I needed to go after it. So that’s what I did.

I got creative and wrote, ’20 ways I could have a baby.’

Some of those ideas were pretty obscure. But, one

of them was just the ticket.

Everything seemed to fall into place.

But what if. What if.

But nothing.

I knew with every fibre of my being that it would work.

And it did. First time.

Boom! 9 months later – Our Beautiful Amazing baby girl was born.


Amanda Thomas, 43, Whitstable, Kent

day twenty five

I follow the path

and pause to smell the lilacs,

recalling childhood.

But next day they have vanished:

two men are wielding chainsaws.



Andrew Derbyshire, 66, Southend-on-Sea