“A Kind of Hush” permeated the airwaves in 1967 as I left my Tasmanian life behind and came to live in Victoria. Made popular by Herman’s Hermits and a decade later by The Carpenters, it reminds me of my age; —- I’m now seventy-six as I sit here writing this little story. In 1967, I was twenty-four years old, and for me a new life lay ahead.
Fifty years ago, a gay person was a happy, somewhat carefree person; with no reference to an individual’s sexuality —- but “a kind of hush” certainly existed; no one spoke of being same sex attracted; it simply wasn’t a socially acceptable lifestyle and was regarded as an illness. There was an overpowering “Britishness” over everything we said and did. We had no place to go in those days, we didn’t fit in anywhere, there were no role models. Churches ranted and raved from the pulpit reinforcing traditional ‘Christian’ attitudes —– making people feel guilty about their sexuality. Sadly, that attitude from many churches continues today, contributing to inestimable harm to young people, which is unfortunate because the one element that binds humanity together is the fact that we’re all different. Jesus Christ would be horrified if he came back today and listened to what people are teaching in his name. Over time gay men and women became the world’s best actors and actresses, trying to fit in as best we could. Many young gay blokes married women and had families; the remainder bravely partnered with other men. The same with gay women. Others found it too hard to continue and ended their own lives where at least they had some peace in a world where criticism was king, a world which didn’t recognize them for the lovely human beings they were.
I survived because I understood there was nothing fundamentally wrong with me; I had a connection to nature because we were farmers and commonsense told me there had to be other people like me in the world and there were. I eventually settled down with a guy in Melbourne, but we split after twelve years or so. In those days we had to entertain ourselves in our own homes and I was part of the dinner queen circuit. It was pleasant but vacuous, and after a lonely sixteen months I met Russell. We clicked immediately, found we had common interests away from the city, including farming and just growing things. We bought five acres at Marcus Hill and grew flowers. I was appointed a civil celebrant in that period. Some years later we moved to Connewarre on fifty acres, growing flowers for wholesale, breeding stud sheep and Kelpies. It was at that time I became a funeral celebrant in addition to my marriage celebrant duties. Almost immediately I became aware of how badly families were being served by a mixture of religious and civil celebrants.
I remember waiting our turn to use the chapel at the crematorium; the previous funeral was for a very senior aged lady who had passed away after a full and productive life. Only a small number of people emerged from the chapel, but they were absolutely wracked with grief, sobbing and wailing, clearly not a celebration of a life at all.
Continue reading “A Kind of Hush. By John Terry Moore.” →
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