Dorothy Shiels & Kerry Wright - 1961

Dorothy Shiels & Kerry Wright

1961

Whilst recently conducting a major house clean, I came across this charming photo secreted within the pages of a book in my library. I’d forgotten I had it. It was taken at a family wedding reception at the grand old Australia Hotel (since demolished) in Martin Place, Sydney, in late 1961, just a couple of weeks after my twelfth birthday. With me is my cousin and godmother, Dorothy Cynthia Shiels nee Murrell (b.1923), who is the daughter of my mother’s sister, Gladys Murrell nee Glover. Yep, it’s true, I really do have a godmother named Dorothy. No wisecracks about Fairy Godmothers, please! (wink) Dorothy and I have always been very close and remain so to this day. We see each other regularly and our next such meeting will be on May 24, when we plan on making an excursion to the Art Gallery of New South Wales together. I’m so looking forward to it. It was Dorothy who first took me to the AGNSW when I was just a little boy, back in the 1950s. She was also the first to take me to live theatre and other assorted museums and galleries around town, here in Sydney. It’s Dorothy I have to thank for awaking in me my enduring love and interest in culture and the arts. My very own Auntie Mame! 

Kerry Wright - 1961

Kerry Wright

1961

This portrait of me was taken in late 1961. I was in my final year at Narrabeen Lakes Primary School, prior to progressing to high school in 1962. I had just turned 12. 

I’m wearing my new high school uniform. That school’s motto, “Enitere ad Finem” (“Strive to the End”), is indelibly emblazoned upon my psyche, conjuring nightmare flashbacks of brutality, cruelty and wanton bastardization. I was repeatedly and systematically bullied, physically and psychologically, throughout my six years at Narrabeen Boys’ High School. Why? Probably because I was sensitive, artistic, gentle and caring. It didn’t help any that I had absolutely no interest in sport – a blasphemy in the eyes of my tormentors. 

But worst of all, I was pretty! The feral little thugs at my alma mater soon took to referring to me in the feminine gender, usually with accompanying kicks and punches and wails of derisive laughter, as I cowered and begged them to “Go away”. They travelled in packs, shrieking “Fu**ing poofter!” as they attacked. Somehow they seemed to know I was gay even before I did! 

Dad tried taking me to boxing lessons but I was far too timid to attend, so I simply had to accept my fate and “strive to the end” of those six hate-filled years as best I could. 

This all sounds like just another pathetic, self-indulgent, victim’s tale of woe, I know. It’s cringesome - even I can see that. Lots of kids were bullied at school, you’re thinking. Get over it and move on! But I’m simply recounting the facts here. I’m not looking for sympathy. This was my experience. Certainly, if nothing else, it taught me how to be internally tough and resilient. And it taught me how to survive.

George Chamberlain - ca.1961

George Chamberlain

ca.1961

Hill School

Eldoret

Kenya

East Africa