Before recently leaving London's Metroplitan Police Force, Brian Paddick was Britain's most senior out police officer. In this extract from his acclaimed autobiography, Line of Fire (pub. Simon & Schuster, 352pp) he describes his early awareness of his sexuality and the struggle the went through over years to repress it and lead a straight life.
"I first realised I was gay as a ten-year-old Wolf Cub on a day trip to a scout camp in Essex. The scoutmaster had ordered us to strip off our wet clothes after we were caught in a torrential downpour. There were about six of us, shivering and trying to hide our embarrassment. It was then that I saw a scout of about 15 striding past, naked and confident. I thought to myself, 'That's gorgeous!” but knew that what I felt was not “normal”, even though I didn't understand what sex was all about. The subject of homosexuality seldom came up at home, but whenever it did it was clear my family did not approve. My father had been a major in the Royal Tank Regiment, was mentioned in dispatches for distinguished service in Italy and had taught Field Marshal Montgomery to drive a tank. Dad always kept his emotions in check - while there may have been some deep, unspoken understanding between us, he never told me that he loved me and we avoided physical contact until the last five years of his life, when we started shaking hands.
My non-identical twin brother John and I went to Sutton Manor High School in Surrey. I believed I was the only gay boy in school and possibly in all of Sutton, and thought I kept it well hidden. I was bullied in the sixth form but initially assumed this was because I was well behaved and always neatly turned out. It was not until we were revising chemistry that I realised the real reason. The teacher asked: “What's the name of a solution where the particles are evenly distributed through the liquid?” I answered: “Homogenous.” At the back of the class, a voice said: “You should know about that - homo.”
After I took my A-levels in the summer of 1976, my parents expected me to go to university but instead I joined the police. I knew that the force would be homophobic but it provided both the perfect cover and necessary encouragement for me to keep my sexuality under wraps. Late one night, shortly after the end of my probationary period, there was a knock on the door of my room in the section house. It was Barry, the guy from the next room, whom I had been admiring from afar. He was standing there in his underpants. 'I've noticed something about you, Brian,” he said. 'The way you look at me and some of the other guys.” My heart raced. My first thought was that I had been “outed” and my career was over. But Barry told me not to worry, he wasn't going to tell anyone. He had realised I was gay and wanted to sleep with me. I was petrified. I was 21 and a virgin. “All I want to do is sleep with you,” Barry said. “We don't even have to touch.” His proposition brought a mixture of desire and absolute terror. Trembling, I nodded and we went to bed. After a while we fell asleep. Several hours later I woke up to find I wasn't shaking any more; my desire overcame my fear. I had mixed feelings about this first sexual encounter. Everything I had learnt screamed that this was wrong - at the same time it felt instinctively right. I told Barry that I wanted a relationship but all he wanted was sex, so I stopped seeing him and decided I would have to try to go straight. I convinced myself that what I really wanted was a best friend whose company would be constant and with whom I would share intimate moments. There was no choice but to find a woman to be my lifelong companion.
When I was paired with a female officer, we really hit it off. We started seeing each other and after many happy months together I thought Jenny was the one - so I got down on one knee. To my delight she accepted my marriage proposal. Jenny's parents invited us to their home in Cyprus for two weeks. Her parents didn't believe in sex before marriage, so our beds were separated by a sheet hung from a washing line - a method that proved entirely ineffective. However, this was the first time Jenny and I had spent more than a weekend together and, to my horror, we did not get on at all. It was clear it was never going to work between us and I told Jenny this once we arrived back in Britain. It was then that she threw the ring back at me. I was distraught. This had been a genuine and determined effort on my part to play it straight and I thought I had succeeded. Although we had done everything but full sex, all the indications were that it was possible. It had felt strange to begin with, but it was wonderful to share such intimacy with someone without the guilt that had been associated with sex with Barry.
After Jenny, I started going out with WPC Fiona Pilborough, who was beautiful, blonde and voluptuous. One night I called round to her section house to find her in her nightdress. "Do you want me to come back later?” I asked. With a very firm "No!” she grabbed my arm, pulled me inside and started removing my clothes. I was petrified and it was some encounters later that I finally overcame my fear and achieved my long-awaited goal. Despite this slow start, Fiona boasted to her friend that I was "like a kid with a new toy". I blushed, albeit proudly. It wasn't long before I began to feel that sex with Fiona had little to do with love and intimacy, but we continued our relationship and actually became engaged.
While on a course, I met a sergeant who was a committed Christian. He shattered the negative stereotype I had of a Christian as a weak, feeble person in need of an emotional crutch. He was the complete opposite, someone who greatly impressed me. As we talked about religion, he suggested I read John's Gospel in a modern translation of the Bible. I read it with an open mind and was convinced - a short time later I found myself at Cheam Baptist Church being baptised by total immersion. I then decided to abstain from sex before marriage. Fiona did not take this well - we broke up and she called my mother to tell her I was going mad. I met a couple at church who bemoaned the fact that their daughter Mary was not interested in religion. When they told her about this upwardly mobile young policeman they knew, they managed to tempt her along to church and we started going out. Mary was beautiful, always immaculately dressed, and our senses of humour dovetailed perfectly. We fell in love and were married at Cheam Baptist Church on September 17, 1983. We were soulmates and I was truly the happiest I'd ever been. After our honeymoon in Madeira we returned to Oxford, where I was about to start studying for a degree at Queen's College. Hard academic work, religious activity and life with Mary pushed the issues I had with my sexuality into the background.
After Oxford I became, for a time, acting chief inspector at Lewisham in South London. While I was there, a female officer came to me to tell me that a PC called Phil was being bullied by colleagues who thought he was gay. I called Phil into my office but he insisted: “I'm not gay, and I can handle the situation.” “If you do need to talk to somebody, just bear in mind that some senior officers have very different views from others,” I said. A few weeks later I got a phone call from Phil, asking if I would come and see him. "I'm staying at my girlfriend's place,” he explained, throwing me temporarily off the scent. When I arrived, the door was answered by a sweet blonde girl. Phil explained that he actually shared the flat with another man and the flatmate had just beaten him up. "I don't want anything done,” he said, "but if I tell him that a senior police officer knows about it, it might stop him doing it again.” “Did your flatmate attack you because of your sexuality?” I asked. Phil looked at the girl, who nodded her encouragement. Hesitantly, he said yes. "Well, I'm not as straight as I look,” I said. Phil nearly fell off his chair. I became friends with Phil and his boyfriend and one night we went to the Hippodrome nightclub in London, which had a gay night on Mondays. Mary's trust was such that she didn't question it when I told her they were taking me there to reassure me there was nothing strange about gay clubs. I was incredibly nervous. I had a lot to learn. On one hand it all seemed, well, strangely normal. On the other, it was a revelation. I had no idea there were so many gay men in London, let alone in one club. I was finding it increasingly hard to continue living a lie and agonised over what to do until a particular incident made up my mind for me.
I was watching the film My Beautiful Laundrette, which features a gay relationship, on television when Mary came in and saw two young men kissing. I felt very uncomfortable until Mary said: “Oh no! They're going to catch them!” I took her sympathy towards the men as an indication that she might be sympathetic to my situation and I determined to tell her. There never is a right moment for these sorts of life-changing revelations. We were having dinner in a Chinese restaurant one evening in 1988 and I was talking to Mary about Phil. Mary looked at me and said casually: “You'll think I'm being very stupid . . . but you don't have any inclinations in that direction, do you?” I looked at my wife - and I did not have to say anything. Tears welled up in her eyes. At home I told her that I had always been gay but that I loved her and had really wanted the marriage to work. I had tried so hard to overcome my sexuality but now realised I just had to be myself. Mary was remarkable, as always. There was no massive row and she even thanked me for being honest with her. Incredibly, now that this fundamental secret of my sexuality had been revealed, Mary and I felt closer than ever, but at the same time the marriage was over and divorce was inevitable.
Understandably, Mary did not want to be seen as responsible for the break-up of our marriage, so I had to tell my parents the truth. While I suspected, and hoped, that my mother would sooner or later employ her oft-used expression "san fairy Ann" (a jokey corruption of the French phrase "ça ne fait rien" - "it doesn't matter"), I had no idea what my father's response would be. My dad, who was in his 70s, sat in an armchair while my mother was on the sofa. "I've got to tell you both something,” I said. "I'm exactly the same person today as I was yesterday. The only difference is that you are about to know something about me today that you didn't know about me yesterday.” Dad said: “Are you trying to tell us you're gay?” Not bad for 70! He was very stoical. Mum, meanwhile, was in tears. The next day I telephoned her. I asked if I could talk to Dad. "No, he's taken it very badly,” she said.
Apparently, after his initial response, he had become very upset. Some months after separating from Mary I began my first gay relationship, which lasted seven years, my longest to date. By now rumours about my sexuality were beginning to circulate at work. However, it was a sign that things were changing when I was posted to Notting Hill CID. The culture was very macho and alcohol-fuelled, but a detective sidled up to me at one of our regular drinking sessions and said: “By the way, guv, I share a house with a couple of lesbians.” Another said: “My uncle used to run a deli in the King's Road and he had several gay customers.” It was their way of letting me know they knew but that it didn't matter to them. On the anniversary of the publication of the Macpherson Report into the death of Stephen Lawrence, the Met wanted to do a media piece about diversity, featuring interviews with senior officers from minority backgrounds: one black, one female, one gay. "Guess which I am?” I asked colleagues when I told them about the plan but the idea was too cheesy even for the Guardian and it was dropped. I had developed a good professional relationship with a Financial Times journalist. He had known for a time that I was gay and volunteered to tell the world. The then Commissioner, Sir John Stevens, had wanted a "managed outing" so everything was set. I finally "came out" in a Saturday edition of the newspaper in 2001. In the middle of an article about the changing face of the Met, a sentence read: “Brian Paddick, the UK's most senior openly gay police officer ..." The world could easily have missed the announcement."
Brian Paddick now pursues a full time career in politics and recently stood as a candidate in the London Mayoral election.
