Page 309 of Edge of Eternity (The Century 3)

Odo said: "We want to get married."

Lili stood up. "No!" she cried.

Odo said: "And we hope you will all give us your blessing: Maud, Werner, Carla, and most of all Lili, who has been such a great friend to Karolin through her years of trouble."

"Go to hell," said Lili, and she left the room.

*

Dave Williams pushed his grandmother around Parliament Square in her wheelchair, followed by a flock of photographers. Plum Nellie's publicist had tipped off the newspapers, so Dave and Ethel had expected the cameras, and they posed cooperatively for ten minutes. Then Dave said: "Thank you, gentlemen," and turned into the car park of the Palace of Westminster. He paused at the Peers' Entrance, waved for one more shot, then pushed the chair into the House of Lords.

The usher said: "Good afternoon, m'lady."

Grandmam Ethel, Baroness Leckwith, had lung cancer. She was taking powerful drugs to control the pain, but her mind was clear. She could still walk a little way, though she quickly became breathless. She had every reason to retire from active politics. But today the Lords were discussing the Sexual Offences Bill 1967.

Ethel felt strongly about this partly because of her gay friend Robert. To Dave's surprise his father, whom Dave considered an old stick-in-the-mud, was also passionately in favor of reforming the law. Apparently Lloyd had witnessed the Nazi persecution of homosexuals and had never forgotten it, although he refused to discuss the details.

Ethel would not speak in the debate--she was too ill for that--but she was determined to vote. And when Eth Leckwith was determined, there was no stopping her.

Dave pushed her along the entrance hall, which was a cloakroom, each coat hook having a pink ribbon loop on which members were supposed to hang their swords. The House of Lords did not even pretend to move with the times.

It was a crime in Britain for a man to have sex with another man, and every year hundreds of men who did so were prosecuted, jailed, and--worst of all--humiliated in the newspapers. The bill under discussion today would legalize homosexual acts by consenting adults in private.

The issue was controversial, and the bill was unpopular with much of the general public; but the tide was running in favor of reform. The Church of England had decided not to oppose a change in the law. They still said homosexuality was a sin, but they agreed it should not be a crime. The bill had a good chance, but its supporters feared a last-minute backlash--hence Ethel's determination to vote.

Ethel asked Dave: "Why are you so keen to be the one who takes me to this debate? You've never shown much interest in politics."

"Our drummer, Lew, is gay," Dave said, using the American word. "I was with him once in a pub called the Golden Horn when the police raided it. I was so disgusted with the way the cops behaved that I've been looking, ever since, for a way to show that I'm on the side of the homosexuals."

"Good for you," Ethel said; then she added, with the waspishness characteristic of her later years: "I'm glad to see that the crusading spirit of your forebears hasn't been entirely obliterated by rock and roll."

Plum Nellie were more successful than ever. They had released a "concept album" called For Your Pleasure Tonight that pretended to be a recording of a show featuring groups of different kinds: old-time music hall, folk, blues, swing, gospel, Motown--all in fact Plum Nellie. It was selling millions all over the world.

A policeman helped Dave carry the wheelchair up a flight of steps. Dave thanked him, wondering whether he had ever raided a gay pub. They reached the Peers' Lobby and Dave wheeled Ethel as far as the threshold of the debating chamber.

Ethel had planned this and got the agreement of the leader of the Lords to her appearing in her wheelchair. But Dave himself was not allowed to push her into the chamber, so they waited for one of her friends to notice her and take over.

The debate was already under way, with the peers sitting on red leather benches either side of a room whose decorations seemed ludicrously rich, like a palace in a Disney movie.

A peer was speaking, and Dave listened. "The bill is a queers' charter and will encourage that most loathsome

creature, the male prostitute," the man said pompously. "It will increase the temptations that lie in the path of adolescents." That was strange, Dave thought. Did this guy believe that all men were queer, but most simply resisted temptation? "It is not that I lack compassion for the unfortunate homosexual--I am also not lacking in compassion for those who are dragged into his net."

Dragged into his net? What a lot of rubbish, Dave thought.

A man got up from the Labour side and took the handles of Ethel's wheelchair. Dave left the chamber and went up a staircase to the spectators' gallery.

When he got there another peer was speaking. "In one of the more popular Sunday newspapers last week there appeared an account, which some of Your Lordships may have seen, of a homosexual wedding in a Continental country." Dave had read this story in the News of the World. "I think the newspaper concerned is to be congratulated on highlighting this very nasty happening." How could a wedding be a nasty happening? "I only hope that, if this bill becomes law, the most vigilant eye will be kept on practices of this kind. I do not think these things could happen in this country, but it is possible."

Dave thought: Where do they dig up these dinosaurs?

Fortunately not all the peers were this bad. A formidable-looking woman with silver hair got up. Dave had met her at his mother's house: her name was Dora Gaitskell. She said: "As a society, we gloss over many perversions between men and women in private. The law, and society, are very tolerant towards these and turn a blind eye." Dave was astonished. What did she know about perversions between men and women? "Those men who are born, conditioned, or tempted irrevocably into homosexuality should have extended to them the same degree of tolerance as is extended to any other so-called perversion between men and women." Good for you, Dora, thought Dave.

But Dave's favorite was another white-haired old woman, this one with a twinkle in her eye. She, too, had been a guest at the house in Great Peter Street: her name was Barbara Wootton. After one of the men had gone on at great length about sodomy, she struck a note of irony. "I ask myself: What are the opponents of this bill afraid of?" she said. "They cannot be afraid that disgusting practices will be thrown upon their attention, because these acts are legalized only if they are performed in private. They cannot be afraid that there will be a corruption of youth, because these acts will be legalized only if they are performed by consenting adults. I can only suppose that the opponents of the bill will be afraid that their imagination will be tormented by visions of what will be going on elsewhere." The clear implication was that men who tried to keep homosexuality criminal did so as a way of policing their own fantasy life, and Dave laughed out loud--and was quickly told to keep quiet by an usher.

The vote was taken at half past six. It seemed to Dave that more people had spoken against than for the bill. The process of voting took an inordinately long time. Instead of putting slips of paper in a box, or pressing buttons, the peers had to get up and leave the chamber, passing through one of two lobbies, for either the "Contents" or the "Not Contents." Ethel's wheelchair was pushed into the "Content" lobby by another peer.

The bill was passed by one hundred eleven votes to forty-eight. Dave wanted to cheer, but it would have seemed wrong, like applauding in church.

---