WHEN Brian Gilmore first sat in on Callings, the play about the 1970s campaigners who fought for gay rights in Northern Ireland and helped set up the support service, Cara-Friend, it was a bit like looking in on a rewind of his life.
As a co-founder of Cara-Friend – the befriending service and helpline set up 50 years ago in Belfast to support gay people living in fear of the state, the Churches, the judiciary and society at large – the drama written by Dominic Montague has been something of a bittersweet experience.
“The play is very accurate – the statistics, the calls, the types of people, their anxieties and concerns…” reflects Brian, who worked with the organisation for 15 years and is still involved in a writing and research capacity. “The memories stay with you.”
Although serious in subject matter, Callings – which premiered at the Lyric in 2022 and has been reprised in celebration of the helpline’s 50th birthday this year – is charged with upbeat “iconic music of the era”. It is also laced with trademark Belfast humour, as well as a fair number of local heroes: “The ones out there changing the world,” as Brian says.
Now in his 70s and a retired scientist, Brian lived through the worst of times as reflected in the play; a time when discrimination was rife, ostracisation common and personal safety often at risk.
“You have to remember, we are talking about a time when homosexuality in Northern Ireland was still a criminal offence,” he says. “I wasn’t hurt physically myself, but others were – Jeff Dudgeon, for instance, [the well-known Belfast campaigner who in 1979 successfully took a case to decriminalise homosexuality in Northern Ireland to the European Court of Human Rights] got a breeze block through his window.
“Everything was a relentless battle because everything and everyone was against you. Our volunteers at Cara-Friend took calls from anxious people trying to come to terms with their sexuality, many living in fear of arrest, in fear of losing their jobs and in fear of being disowned by friends and family.”
Several thousand calls were taken each year from people in desperation – “some suicidal for various reasons”, many of whom were referred by the Samaritans – one of Cara-Friend’s founding members and early campaigners, Graham Carter, was also a Samaritan volunteer.
Brian recalls many poignant stories from those days, but picks out one that epitomises all that was wrong with the “oppressive attitudes” of the time: “We had people of all ages calling the helpline,” he recalls, “among them a large number of gay women. I remember one woman whose husband had discovered one of her letters to a female German lover 30 years previously.
- Newry’s Marianvale mother and baby home: ‘We thought it would be OK because the Church was running it. We were very naïve...’Opens in new window
- The Pillowman brings a Martin McDonagh theatrical shock to the Lyric Theatre stageOpens in new window
- Music project helping ease pain of dementiaOpens in new window
“Her homosexuality – or rather, her previous homosexuality – was used against her in a divorce case and she ended up losing her child, her daughter. The judge considered that if she was homosexual at one stage, she could not be a good parent. Many years later, though, mother and daughter were reunited when the mother became involved in a relationship with another woman and her daughter gave her away at a civil ceremony in Co Down.”
Brian’s own background is less traumatic, but he still struggled as an adolescent growing up in Co Armagh, retreating to libraries to read books while suffering from lack of an understanding ear, for someone to talk to about his sexuality. Later, at Queen’s University in Belfast reading physics, he was one of the first to come out publicly as gay, helping start up the Gay Liberation Movement and taking on the role of gay rights officer with the students’ union for several years.
“Then we set up Cara (‘friend’ in Irish), which was a forerunner to Cara-Friend and it just operated for a week before it had to be suspended due to high demand,” says Brian, who along with co-founder Doug Sobey is taking part in a post-performance Q&A after Saturday’s performance of Callings at the Lyric Theatre in Belfast. “There were hundreds of calls coming in every hour.”
The judge considered that if she was homosexual at one stage, she could not be a good parent. Many years later, though, mother and daughter were reunited when the mother became involved in a relationship with another woman and her daughter gave her away at a civil ceremony in Co Down
— Brian Gilmore
Cara-Friend was set up later, in 1974, to provide information, befriending and “sometimes counselling, as well.” “We fought campaigns on different fronts,” Brian adds. “We were dealing with the media, we gave talks to social workers, we wrote to MPs and church leaders, and we later became engaged with talks with the police to try to improve relations.
“But, as well as all this, there were perhaps 30 or 40 befrienders who were always on the other side of the telephone line, just talking to people – there were 1,000 to 1,500 calls each year from gay men and women who needed to hear a friendly voice. Many of those clients then went on to join us as part of the befriending team.”
Queen’s University was “very supportive” in the early days, he says, providing a building for Cara-Friend to operate from and during the Troubles, “when most students went home at weekends because of the violence and danger”, the students’ union permitted gay discos “that helped improve the social scene”.
But when an invitation went out to London-based theatre company Gay Sweat Shop in 1980 to stage several plays around the Queen’s University area, people came out on to the streets in protest.
“So you see how far we have come - having gay people stage a play in Belfast was once taboo; now we have one that is celebrating our history,” reflects the man who says he never had himself down as an activist or campaigner.
“I never really saw myself in that role at all,” he muses, “but it was necessary. We all had to do it.”
