‘I was marching in Pride when there were fewer than 250 of us – and I’ve watched it get bigger and bigger’

The very first Pride march I went to in Bristol was tiny. No more than 250 people.

I’ve been trying to remember what year it was but I can only guestimate around 1995. It was literally from the top of Union Street at Castle Park down 100-odd metres to the start of Broadmead. That’s all you could get away with then.

I knew I was gay when I was about five. I’d always chase the girls during kiss, cuddle and torture and I’d see the boys all sweaty with wet hair and didn’t want to be near them. So I just kind of always knew. I just always knew who I was.

But I’m a very self-conscious person and at this march I was far too embarrassed to walk in the road.

I was worried we might get bad comments shouted at us or something so I just hid on the pavement. But it was so obvious I was part of it because my hair was so short and I just looked like a boy.

There were some people at that tiny march who looked like something out of Pride today. They had banners and some people were blowing whistles, but not very many.

And the people on the pavement were stopping, standing, gawping. Thinking, what’s this? What’s going on?

And I was like, I cannot walk with these people. I felt so guilty but I couldn’t, so I sort of carefully meandered down the pavement.

Then of course it ended up in the Bristol Evening Post – and you could see me in the picture.

Pride got a reboot in 2010 with a street party organised by the Pineapple pub – photo: Martin Booth

I think anyone gawping at anyone is just natural. It’s humans trying to take in information and understand what it is they’re looking at here, because they’ve not seen it before.

So you could say that that’s rude or it feels oppressive, but really when people are standing and staring  it’s because they’re trying to identify what they’re seeing.

The Pride that’s happening now wasn’t started by the people who run it at the moment. Pride in Bristol really got going as a yearly event with a party put on by the managers of the Pineapple Pub on St George’s Road.

I worked behind the bar, and the two boys who were running it at the time – who are still together – put on a street party.

We got permission from the council to close the carpark outside the pub; and we had a stage, we had a really cool singer slash DJ come from London, and we had a women’s space.

That was how it started. It was a street party.

Then we decided that wasn’t a big enough thing and we needed a bigger space, so that’s when we moved it to Castle Park, then Lloyd’s Amphitheatre, then the Downs.

Bit by bit it grew as more people came.

Bristol Pride has grown enormously over the years – photo: Dan Regan

The feel of Pride now is so much more inclusive than when it very first began. There’s a lot more diversity of people.

There are many, many more people under the queer umbrella now, so it’s just got bigger and bigger and bigger and bigger.

If you see the Pride march now, it’s so loud – it’s quite intimidating.

There’s also quite a mishmash of people. Of course there are lots and lots of gay people, sure, but there are also lots of young, straight people just wanting to have a party.

I don’t mind as long as they behave, to be honest. Because people’s eyes are opened when they go to a Pride event. You see some crazy things.

Just as I had my eyes open when I first walked into a gay bar. I was like, why are they wearing that? What is that? Why is that man wearing lipstick and he’s got women’s hair on his head, but I can see that he’s a man?

My little brain was kind of like boom.

It’s good when you are exposed and you see all the different people in life. So, yes, do come along, just be good and kind – and learn.

As for those people staring from the pavements – we’re outnumbering them now.

They’re quite nice and they don’t complain, and actually they kind of like to stand and join in. I’ve never seen any bad behaviour, to be honest.

Bristol is quite used to us now.

Sunhats are a good idea at this year’s Pride – photo: Rob Browne

I am 51 and I’ve been out since I was 19. It hasn’t always been easy.

I used to get bullied a lot. People used to often tell me: This is the ladies’ toilets – get out.

They thought I was a man, and I never used to take offence. I understand that it’s frightening if they suddenly think there’s a dude in their space.

So I used to just unzip my bomber jacket and go: “Oh sorry, look – I am a woman.”

I’ve been called names. I’ve walked down the street holding hands with my girlfriend and we’ve been spat at.

I’ve had friends that have been gay-bashed, brutally.

A guy pretended to want to have sex with my friend T in the back alley. But when he pulled his trousers down he threw him on the ground, stamped on his head and gave him life-long, terminal brain injury.

My own gay-bashing happened in my home, by a person who I invited in after knowing them for six months. He spiked my vodka while I sat typing at my computer at 9pm.

Next memory: I’m sat on my sofa, him straddled on my lap, punch to the side of my head. Blackout.

These things keep happening: to a female friend in the 80s, to my male friend in the early 2000s and to me in 2012.

It doesn’t stop, and that’s partly why we queers insist on Pride continuing. Society seems to be more supportive, but the truth is that there is still deep-seated hatred; frustrations that can materialise through violence.

Pride is us, and our friends and families, saying we’re here and we’re queer – so get used to it!

I’m looking forward to Pride on Saturday – as long as it doesn’t get too hot.

If it does, I’ll probably just go watch the tennis.

As told to Molly Pipe

Main photo: Jajay Dahling

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