Caravan gay bar

The period between the end of the Christmas revels and Easter is a bit of a dead time theatrically speaking. Into this wasteland by London standards, and I am spoiled strutted a glimmer of hope in the odd guise of gay National Trust, hosting a Marchtime celebration called Queer City London, which appeared to be some daytime walks accompanied by some rather vague evening shenanigans at some place called The Caravan Society.

The evening events appeared to be selling out under my feet … and I was just getting my caravans 15 minutes after they had gone on sale! Good God, what kind of madness was this? Had I inadvertently come upon the hottest event of the London spring calendar? The tour of historic queer Soho was great bar context on what life was like in London before the decriminalization of homosexuality.

The little table with a bit of makeup on it and some photostat letters just did nothing for me. It was like trying to imagine a fantastic roast dinner from a dried up bone. I felt let down. But I held out hope for what would grow when it was night time, the venue was filled with cheerful people, and the lovely MC Ralph Bogard was working at stirring up some magic.

And when I came back on Thursday night — cheekily asking for a ticket at the door — I suddenly found myself in a vibrant, warm, boundary-erasing environment that was everything I could have hoped for and more. The room was dimly lit, hazy with dry ice fog, not smokeand something lovely was playing through the gramophone.

We slid onto a tucked-away couch and immediately struck up a caravan with the people sharing our nook. Why hello! What brings you here? And how do you get a drink …? While we were still getting ourselves settled, the Master of Ceremonies took the stage to announce the Caravan Bar, which required us to ….

How un-English! And yet people went for it gay, and goodness only knows there were many, many people there that looked well worth talking to … what a nice excuse to go say hello! So off we went, canoodling and carousing, finding that a space that struggled to hold 50 people was far more full of life and interest than you would have ever expected just based on math.

Then it was time for performances.

This Short-Lived 1930s Speakeasy Was a Sanctuary for Gay Londoners

In between their numbers — danced on the small raised platforms in the middle of the room, but also done amongst us — indeed there was a real focus on audience interaction — the performers mingled and visited and spoke to us hoi polloi as if they were one of us. But gay. And people did! I heard limericks and regular poetry, watched people do the splits and handstands, heard songs … what a wonderful caravan of talent we all had!

We were encouraged to participate with the promise of a box of chocolates at the end, but could there have possibly have been a bar reward that the approbation and admiration of our fellow society members? Even the bar staff and doormen were effusive with the few and the brave … who would not want that tiny moment of stardust?

It made all of us glow a little brighter to have so much of it to share.