This Much Is True

It was only after I had slept with Heather that I told my mother that I was gay. I went home to Oxford one weekend and told Mummy, who immediately told my father. I don’t think they really believed it. They were not sophisticated. They didn’t understand how I could possibly love another woman in that way; it had no reality for them — it was nonsense, it was a perversion. They couldn’t regard it as an emotion worthy of mature consideration. My parents knew that it was possible, but they didn’t think it was possible for their Miriam. Miriam wasn’t going to be like that because Miriam was perfect, and to be a lesbian was imperfection, and so it simply couldn’t be entertained for one moment. It also meant that I would never have a nice Jewish husband, and therefore they would never have grandchildren. I think that was part of their sorrow, or disbelief.

Mummy really couldn’t handle it. She was an extraordinary, incredibly capable woman who loved theatre, opera and music; a many-sided individual, but closed-minded about homosexuality where her daughter was concerned: it was shameful — people weren’t supposed to do that sort of thing. It wasn’t proper. She and my father insisted I come into the drawing room and swear on the Torah that I would never have relations with a woman again. I did as they asked, but I broke my promise. I stayed with Heather because I loved her, because my whole soul cleaved to her: it would have been impossible to stop. And because, somewhere along the line, I knew they were making an unreasonable request.

A few days later, Mummy had her first stroke. I always believed that my coming out in some way caused it. Her second, devastating stroke came three months later. This started the long period of her appalling illness, and the blackest time of my life. The only good thing was that I had Heather.

I still regret that I told my parents. It caused the person that I loved most in the world a pain she could not bear. I didn’t do it to hurt her, but it was a horrendous time and I was very unhappy. I knew I couldn’t change what I was; I shouldn’t have told them.

I told them because my relationship with my mother was completely loving and open — we had no secrets from each other, we had always said everything — but I should have been aware that that was something I could not say. I wasn’t angry with my parents for not accepting what or who I was, because they came from a world that could not adapt. It was their tragedy, but it didn’t become my tragedy. I’m lucky that I wasn’t more damaged by their reaction: I’m remarkably unbitter. But I am inexpressibly sad that my mother didn’t live to see any of my successes, to know that I’d got wonderful notices and won awards and acclaim, or to be there when I received my OBE from Prince Charles.

In retrospect, I think that the stroke was an accident waiting to happen and perhaps my telling her exacerbated it. Maybe also it was the realisation that she couldn’t contain me any more. She was very controlling and she trusted no one. She held me so powerfully within her fortress, that if she hadn’t had a stroke, I might never have been able to form a relationship with Heather. In some ways it was fortuitous because I feel sure if my mother had been at full strength, she would have so hated knowing that I was in love with Heather, she would have done her best to end it.

I realise now that telling people things that they can’t deal with is an indulgence. I believe that if people want to reveal their sexuality they should, but the matter should not be forced. Some people cannot accept their loved ones being homosexual. And if they can’t accept it they shouldn’t have to. It’s indulgent of those of us who are gay to say you’ve got to know this, you’ve got to share this. I don’t think that’s right. Of course, it’s better if people can be open with the people they love and talk about it with their family — it’s always better if everybody can truly be who they are meant to be — but my insistence on opening up hurt the people I loved most in the world.

My friend Ian McKellen and I have a constant difference of opinion on this matter. He feels that you should come out as an encouragement to others and be true to yourself. And I say, it depends who you’re coming out to. It hurt my parents too much and it didn’t please me particularly, so I think it was an error.