***
“Are you a homosexual, Mr. Clarke?”
“No.”
“Yet you’ve never married.”
“I prefer to live alone.”
“With another single man in the flat below? Convenient that, isn’t it, Mr. Clarke?”
“The four of us moved in together after the war. We’ve been friends for a long time, and it made good financial sense.”
“We’ve arrested Jim Johnson.”
Arty said nothing, because he knew it was an outright lie: Jim had telephoned that morning to confirm he and Joshua had arrived safely in New York.
“He’s agreed to testify that you committed buggery with each other. However, if you—”
“I want my barrister,” Arty said.
“Mr. Clarke, it’s almost nine o’clock on a Wednesday evening. I’m quite sure your barrister has better things to do than waste his time on someone like you.”
“Like me?”
“A queer invalid.”
“Please get my barrister,” Arty repeated, impressed by how calm he sounded, and also grateful Jim was out of the country.
“A war injury, was it?”
Arty clasped his hands together and squeezed, and squeezed.
“You’d have been better off dead. Same goes for all your sort.”
And squeezed. The tirade continued, and Arty tuned out, introspecting, reciting stories in his head, listing the butterflies he had seen over the years, trying not to be joyous that Jim’s father was dead.
When finally the police officer realised he wasn’t going to rile Arty into breaking his silence, he threw him back in his cell. The next morning, Bernard Cohen, QC, caused merry hell with the bigwigs and Arty was released without charge. Such was the benefit of knowing who was in the underground of homosexual London, for they all had their price: freedom.
The harassment continued, with the police hauling Jim away the day he returned from the States. He and Arty hadn’t even seen each other. Yet again, Bernard Cohen was called in, but his tactics failed, and Jim was held on remand until the magistrates’ court could fit him in, along with the dozens of other men arrested for conspiring to engage in homosexual acts. The magistrates adjourned the case to crown court, and the crown court added Jim to the list of homosexuals awaiting sentencing; to call it a trial would have suggested justice might prevail, and it did not.
Every day Arty waited for the police to come for him. After all, if they had evidence to charge Jim, then surely it must incriminate him too? He was so desperate to see Jim, but as time went by, and Arty was still at liberty, it became apparent that Jim had protected him somehow, and one visit or letter would mean it was all in vain.
The day of the court hearing arrived; Joshua and Charlie sat in the public gallery, whilst Jim admitted his guilt and was sentenced to eighteen months’ imprisonment for three counts of gross indecency. Once sentencing was passed, Joshua was allowed to see Jim, who passed on a message for Arty.
“How?” Arty asked, taking the letter from Joshua. “Did they leave you unaccompanied?”
Joshua smiled and pointed at his lips. “Read,” he instructed. “I will make a pot of tea.”
Arty took the sheet of paper from the envelope and unfolded it, perpetually amazed by the man who was his brother-in-law. The letter filled both sides of the paper, and it would be Jim’s words exactly, remembered by Joshua until he could write them down.
Hey darling,
I don’t have long, but I needed to get this message to you before they move me to the jail. First I need to tell you I love you and I miss you. God, I miss you so much, it feels like my insides have been ripped right out of me. You’re all I can think of and being apart is killing me. But I’ve got to stay strong, for you if not for myself. I’m sorry I’m putting you through this. You deserve so much better.
You will read in the papers of how I am guilty of gross indecency with three men whose names I do not know. Please believe me when I tell you none of it is true. You are the only man I have ever loved and the only one I ever will love.
I made you a promise that I would never deny my feelings for you, but when it came to it I had to do it to keep you safe. It’s the only thing that matters to me, and I will spend the rest of my life locked away if that’s what it takes.
The judge says I’ve got to have treatment because I refused to admit being homosexual was a sickness. I told them it doesn’t work. I was born this way, and I’m going to keep on fighting them.
What it means is I’m not coming home any time soon, but you mustn’t feel bad for me. It’s worth it to know you are free. Live your life, darling. Go on without me.
I’ll never stop loving you, do you know that? Never. But if you can, then please, I beg you. Please stop loving me.
Forever yours,
Jim
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Part Five: 1955
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When Skies Have Fallen Page 43
