Annabelle Hu Window

I don’t know who you are. Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me, and I don’t know who you are, but I love you.

I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a women. I hid it inside me. Perhaps I won’t be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I’m writing it on toilet paper.

I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl’s Grammar. I wanted to be an actress.

I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson’s class. Her wrists…Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sara did. I didn’t.

In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.

But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it’s all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us. But within that inch we are free.

London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I’d go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn’t mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition. And I wanted more than that.

Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in “The Salt Flats.” It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine’s Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.

In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.

In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us? They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I’d seduced her. I didn’t blame her. God, I loved her. I didn’t blame her.

But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn’t live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth. . . .

They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can’t feel my tongue anymore. I can’t speak.

The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I’ll die quite soon. It’s strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.

I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.

An inch. It’s small and it’s fragile and it’s the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.

I don’t know who you are. Or whether you’re a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Valerie

Allow me first to apologize……I do, like many of you, appreciating the comforts of the everyday routine……the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy it as much as any bloke.

But in the spirit of commemoration, whereby important events of the past, usually associated with someone’s death or the end of some awful, bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday……

I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is, sadly, no longer remembered……by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.

There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. Let me guess even now, orders are being shouted into telephones and men with guns will soon be on their way.

Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation …… words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth ……And the truth is , there is something terribly
wrong with this country, isn’t there?

Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression……And where once had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and surveillance oercing your conformity and soliciting submission……

How did this happen? Who’s to blame? Certainly there are those who are more responsible than others. And they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told, if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.

I know why you did it, I know you were afraid. Who wouldn’t be? War, terror, disease, There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense.

Fear got the best of you, and in your panic, you turned to the now High Chancellor Adam Sutler……He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent.

Last night, I sought to end that silence, last night, I destroy the old Bailey to remind this country of what it has forgotten.

More than 400 years ago, a great citizen wished to imbed the 5th of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives.

So if you’ve seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you, then I would suggest you allow the 5th of November to pass unmarked.

But if you see what I see, if you feel as I feel, and if you would seek as I seek, then I ask you to stand beside me, one year from tonight , outside the gates of the Parliament, And together, we shall give them a 5th of November that shall never, ever be forgot！

Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran……cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of fate.

This Visage, no mere Veneer of Vanity, is it Vestige of the Vox populi, now Vacant, Vanished, as the once Vital Voice of the Verisimilitude now Venerates what they once Vilified.

However, this Valorous Visitation of a by-gone Vexation, stands Vivified, and has Vowed to Vanquish these Venal and Virulent Vermin Vanguarding Vice and Vouchsafing the Violently Vicious and Voracious Violation of Volition.

The only Verdict is Vengeance; a Vendetta, held as a Votive, not in Vain, for the Value and Veracity of such shall one day Vindicate the Vigilant and the Virtuous.

Verily, this Vichyssoise of Verbiage Veers most Verbose Vis-à-vis an introduction, So let me simply add that it is my Very good honor to meet you and you may call me V.