Status Updates From Playland

Recommended in the James English interview of ex-cop Jon Wedger. An attempt to describe how the grooming of young men in Soho in the 1970’s by politicians, army officers and those who move in aristocratic and royal circles, actually looks. From a first person perspective. This man was 20 years old, cash strapped and hungry. The context of The Troubles (NI) is rounded and helpful.

This is about way more than a forgotten scandal. Very readable but daunting, enraging and depressing at the same time.

I felt the presence of Pretty Boy. He was standing beside me. I realised that in London he had never cried: he did what he had to do and he got on with it. He never complained. It was I who did the crying afterwards in Hope House. I now gave him permission to be human. I gave him permission to cry and accept love. I accepted him. Tears of joy ran down my cheeks. I had set him free, and so I had set us both free.

The Birmingham Six were found guilty in August, the Playland defendants in September, and the Guildford Four in October 1975. In all cases, the weight of evidence appeared to be overwhelming. Who then would have believed that Playland would remain open, its gaming license would be renewed, and that the Playland defendants, unlike the Irish prisoners, would all be free by the following Christmas? (...)

I heard the bedroom door close. I looked over my shoulder. Tom was approaching the bed.
"It may be magic, but I need something stronger to drink," he said with affected yearning. "But which first, Scotch or Irish?"

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This illustrious client was an academic, an intellectual, so I suppose, in his case, it was only to be expected. As he rambled on about literature once considered obscene and corrupting, I stood by the sink in the bathroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to find the person I used to be. There was no sign of him.

The older child was lifted from the settee and placed on the floor beside his little brother. The last thing I saw before I passed out was some of the men encircling the two boys and then descending on them like vultures.

I shook my head in disbelief, cleared my throat, and spat on the ground.
Damie walked back to the bin and picked something up from a windowsill. He returned and held it out in front of my face.
"KY Jelly," he announced. "Now on special offer at Boots, Piccadilly Circus."

I awoke sometime later. The room was in darkness. I was freezing, shivering uncontrollably, and entangled in my arms. Easing myself up a little, I carefully lifted the limbs from around me and reached down, and felt blanket. I pulled it up and wrapped myself in it. After a few moments of listening to the breathing on either side of me, I fell asleep.

Into this cauldron of political, social, and sexual turmoil, I arrived to forge a new life and develop my career in the rarified world of antiquarian bookselling. I'd unwittingly moved from troubled Derry to troubled London. Despite everything, however, I still considered London the lesser of two evils at that time. (...)