Love Song to Lavender Menace

James Ley

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9781786823434
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Social Sciences
• Subtopic: Discrimination & Race Relations
• Index: Social Sciences

In 1982, two friends Bob and Sigrid opened their new radical lesbian, gay and feminist bookshop, 'Lavender Menace' on Edinburgh's Forth Street.On the eve of the shop's 5th birthday, sales assistants Paul and David take a look back at its origins, in this funny, moving play. Cast your mind back to 1982 - Margaret Thatcher sends the British Fleet to the Falklands, Channel 4 comes to the living room and Prince William is born. But this play has nothing to do with all that. This play is about activism, community and fighting for acceptance with words, music, humour and heart. The play looks back at 1982, as Bob and Sigrid open their shop. A trailblazing venture that began life in the cloakroom of a gay club, the shop will become the beating heart of Edinburgh's LGBT+ community. Now, on the final night of the shop's existence, sales assistants Lewis and Glen look back at its origins, its importance, its celebration of queer culture, how things have changed for the better (maybe)...And straight away the arguments begin! Love Song to Lavender Menace is a beautifully funny and moving exploration of the love and passion it takes to make something happen and the loss that is felt when you have to let it go. "Ley's script achieves a deft and sophisticated balance of subjects and registers, shedding light on queer experience with humour, warmth, passion and complexity." ( The Scotsman )

ONE

Just before dawn in Lavender Menace. The light from the moon or a street lamp filters down to this basement bookshop, and picks out half-filled bookshelves and cardboard boxes, lying open on the floor. Under the window there are a suitcase, and a hold-all bag, poised for departure. At the back of the shop there is a large ghetto blaster, with a front-loading cassette player. Amid the boxes in the middle of the shop floor, stands LEWIS. LEWIS is young, in his twenties, and for this solemn occasion he’s dressed predominantly in black. From the pocket of his coat he takes out a cassette. He puts it in the ghetto blaster and shuts the door. He returns to the middle of the shop floor and stands amid the boxes.

LEWIS

It’s evening, it’s nearly dark, you wait in a pub on Rose Street for the cover of darkness… It’s evening, it’s nearly dark, you wait in a pub on Rose Street for night-time to come… It’s evening, it’s nearly dark, you sit in a pub on Rose Street waiting… You want to go there at the quietest time, when everyone’s inside having their tea. Your children will be having their tea too. Don’t think about them, sip your drink, slowly, you don’t want to be drunk. Outside the darkness you’ve been waiting for has come. You step out into it… That sounds a bit Liza Minnelli… You seep out into it. It’s raining. Good. Even less people about. Walking up Hanover Street you start telling yourself a story. You project the story onto the passersby. You’re late for a meeting. That’s right. A church meeting. A bible study. You skip along the side of the National Portrait Gallery. And as you do its gothic, flouncy stonework provides a commentary to your rapid, delicate steps. ‘Where are you going in such a hurry, you wee poof?’, it taunts. ‘To the bible study of course. It’s the book of Job tonight, and if I’m not on time, every one of those curses will be visited upon me.’ The rain begins to pelt and you up the pace.

You reach the mouth of Broughton Street, and as a respectable married man you have every right to be there. It’s not like walking past the Laughing Duck for fuck’s sake. You’d have to skulk past that. Stalk it like a duck you’d eat for your tea. À l’orange of course. But Broughton Street is fair game. And anyway, it’s not like the Gay Centre’s the only thing in the area. You see the gays in the centre as you pass on the bus, with their helplines, and their leaflets, and their big ideas. You pity them for what they must have walked away from. Well it’s not happening to you. You’re fine as you are. Stealing a look at an arse whenever you can is enough. You’ve never been up the hill. Too risky to get caught and get a criminal record. And at least in the bogs you can say you were there to piss. And most of the time that’s all you do. And now you’re passed Broughton Street Lane. You’re at the Western tip of Forth Street. You’ve penetrated it and no mistake. You’re tearing it up. Not too fast, slow down. Like maybe you think you forgot something. That’s it. Great pretending. Don’t over-egg the pudding though. That’s strange… That’s definitely Radio Forth. It’s supposed to be next to it. In a basement. Tie your shoelaces. That’s 11A Forth Street. But it’s not there… So where the fuck is it? Someone’s coming… Probably a casual coming to batter the fuck out of you… Get up! Get up, but don’t run! You’ve got nothing to hide. You’re off to the bible study remember. Go up Broughton Street Lane. Now you look shifty and no mistake. But you have got to find it. Because tomorrow you’re going in. You fucking are. You fucking have to. You have to find out. You have to see. Let’s do this.

LEWIS darts across to the ghetto blaster and hits play – Vivaldi’s ‘Winter’. He goes back to his place on the shop floor.

We’re back on Broughton Street. It’s teeming down now. You don’t even look like you did when you were here five minutes before. You’re a different shade of beige. Take a right. That’s it. Now you’re doing it like you’re on a Pride march. That’ll be you in a few years’ time, singing because you’re proud to be. And then you see them… Shining out through the slats in the shutters… Even the spines look… Even the spines are telling you it’s okay… It’ll all be okay.

LEWIS goes to the ghetto blaster and stops the tape. He quickly searches through a pile of cassettes for another and puts it in. He presses play: The Communards – Don’t Leave...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Foreword
• Half-title Page
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Dedication
• Characters
• One
• Two