Every year at 11am, on the 1th day of the 11^th month, our country stands still to remember those who gave their lives for us.

World War 11 was the deadliest military conflict that the world has ever known, over 60 million people were killed during this horrendous time this equalled 2.5% of the entire world’s population.

But, though these brave and heroic men and women are rightfully remembered every year, one group seems to be forgotten about. Their stories are not told and their bravery bypassed.

In Britain alone, over 5 million men fought for our country and it is estimated that around 250,000 of these men were gay. Of course at that time (and until 1999) it was illegal to be gay and be in the armed forces but, as the threat of Hitler came closer to our shores, a blind eye was turned to homosexuality.

Many of these gay servicemen were killed or became prisoners of war. They fought valiantly for their country and showed bravery beyond imagination. They fought for a better world, one in which man could be free, they expected to return home to be treated as heroes but instead, those very freedoms that they fought for did not apply to them. They came back to a country where they were vilified for having a natural attraction to other men, they survived the horror of the battlefields only to return home to be imprisoned and punished for the way they were.

EVERY person who played their part to keep this country free from tyranny is a real hero but, all too often, some of those heroes can be deliberately  forgotten if they do not fit the ‘normality’ of society.

So on Remembrance Sunday and Armistice Day, please give a thought to those that history has turned a blind eye upon.

Please see this letter below, it was written by one soldier to another during WW11, it is incredibly moving.

 Dear Dave,

This is in memory of an anniversary — the anniversary of October 27th, 1943, when I first heard you singing in North Africa. That song brings memories of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Memories of a GI show troop — curtains made from barrage balloons — spotlights made from cocoa cans — rehearsals that ran late into the evenings — and a handsome boy with a wonderful tenor voice. Opening night at a theatre in Canastel — perhaps a bit too much muscatel, and someone who understood. Exciting days playing in the beautiful and stately Municipal Opera House in Oran — a misunderstanding — an understanding in the wings just before opening chorus.

Drinks at “Coq d’or” — dinner at the “Auberge” — a ring and promise given. The show 1st Armoured — muscatel, scotch, wine — someone who had to be carried from the truck and put to bed in his tent. A night of pouring rain and two very soaked GIs beneath a solitary tree on an African plain. A borrowed French convertible — a warm sulphur spring, the cool Mediterranean, and a picnic of “rations” and hot cokes. Two lieutenants who were smart enough to know the score, but not smart enough to realize that we wanted to be alone. A screwball piano player — competition — miserable days and lonely nights. The cold, windy night we crawled through the window of a GI theatre and fell asleep on a cot backstage, locked in each other’s arms — the shock when we awoke and realized that miraculously we hadn’t been discovered. A fast drive to a cliff above the sea — pictures taken, and a stop amid the purple grapes and cool leaves of a vineyard.

The happiness when told we were going home — and the misery when we learned that we would not be going together. Fond goodbyes on a secluded beach beneath the star-studded velvet of an African night, and the tears that would not be stopped as I stood atop the sea-wall and watched your convoy disappear over the horizon.

We vowed we’d be together again “back home,” but fate knew better — you never got there. And so, Dave, I hope that where ever you are these memories are as precious to you as they are to me.

Goodnight, sleep well my love.

Brian Keith

Sarah Carmody

editor@gayleeds.com