Michael Cashman - One of Them

Praise for One of Them

Poignant reading Observer

Michael Cashman describes his journey from a cruel Dickensian childhood to the dignity of the House of Lords with brutal honesty. I was shocked, amused, and deeply moved by this life of a brave, good, man Sheila

Hancock

There is brilliance in his memoir, One of Them, and darkness, too, enough to raise it far above the normal standard of celebrity biography Stunning The lucidity of the writing is breathtaking He could never be accused in life or literature, of not doing enough

Herald

Michael Cashmans beautifully crafted memoir left me in tears and grateful that he had the courage to lay out his almost unimaginable life with such impressive honesty ... Above all, however, this is the tenderest of love stories, a proud testament to a decades-long queer romance. There are so many reasons to love this book

Armistead Maupin

A roller coaster memoir Peppered with delicious anecdotes of his encounters with celebrities Scotsman

An extraordinary account of improbable leaps of faith and changes of direction ... An amazing, complicated

love story Radio Times

Michael Cashman CBE is a British politician and life peer. Born and raised in the East End of London, he acted throughout his childhood and adulthood and is best known for his role as Colin Russell in Eastenders. He is the co-founder of the Stonewall Group and was the UKs first ever special envoy on LGBT issues. He was elected as an MEP in 1999, a position he filled for fifteen years. He has been awarded the Stonewall Politician of the Year, a Pink News Lifetime Achievement Award, and a Lifetime Achievement Award from the European Diversity Awards. He was made a CBE in 2013, and was raised to the peerage the following year.

He lives in the East End of London.

lordmichaelcashman.com / @mcashmanCBE

ONE OF THEM

BLOOMSBURY PUBLISHING

Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK

29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland

BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY PUBLISHING and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

First published in Great Britain 2020

This edition published 2021

Copyright Michael Cashman, 2020

Michael Cashman has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers

Plate sections: The Sun article printed with permission of News Corp; Sir Ian McKellen and Michael Cashman at Never Going Underground, Shirlaine Forest/Getty Images; Paul Cottingham and Michael Cashman wedding photos, Les Wilson; Michael Cashman at Labour Conference, Gus Campbell

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

ISBN: PB: 978-1-5266-1236-6; EBOOK: 978-1-5266-1235-9

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For Paul ,

the man who put the F in fun

CONTENTS

The winter sun is dropping quickly. The room is already dark even in summer it is dark. Its north-facing. Easier to sleep in.

He opens the torn, dusty grey folder and is surprised. After a few seconds he picks up an envelope. He recognises who its addressed to, but he doesnt know whats written inside. It doesnt occur to him to turn on a light or to get closer to the window. Hes been searching, looking, but never been able to find what he has been looking for. Until today. The letter, freed from years of confinement, rests in his open hands. He takes a deep breath, holds himself upright and begins to read:

It was smashing talking to you over the weekend, and I was so pleased about the honest chat we had late on Friday.

It does worry me that you are having some difficulties. I want to help you all I can, and so the best I can do is to love you. I will love you, give you the knowledge that whatever happens to you, whatever you do I will love you and give you the security of a relationship as long as you (and I) need it. I hope that it is forever, but only time will tell, and we must not live for tomorrow, but for now, for today.

All I am trying to say in my confusing style is that whatever anyone thinks, feels, or says about you, remember that you love someone, they love you. That is enviable. Not everyone experiences that. End of lecture.

He folds the letter back along its original lines and places it inside the envelope.

We are getting married, even though they call it a civil partnership. We will have the same rights, the same responsibilities and I never thought it would happen in my lifetime.

Three months after the civil partnership legislation came into effect, which we had helped to become a reality, Paul and I arrived at our venue on 11 March 2006, nervous, awkward and excited. Paul had found a brilliant location, Vinopolis, a huge Victorian wine warehouse nestled beside the infamous Clink prison at London Bridge. Paul quietened my nerves, thrust a cup of coffee at me and then ran through the programme with the staff: after the ceremony everyone would go upstairs for the drinks reception while the room was rearranged for the buffet dinner for the 300 guests. When that was over, the free bar would continue and we would dance away to an Abba tribute band until midnight and beyond. Ever the organiser, Paul wanted to be there from the beginning to make certain it went okay. Hidden away from our guests we perched upstairs and waited as the staff gave us a running commentary.

Outside, the media spilled over into the street and so did the security, as half the Cabinet was in attendance: Gordon and Sarah Brown, the first female foreign secretary, Margaret Beckett, her husband Leo, Cherie Blair, as well as casts of soaps, dramas and the crme de la crme of British theatre. Oh, and Lily Savage, aka Paul OGrady.

All the guests had assembled; it was going like clockwork. But by 3.45 there was still no sign of the registrar. By quarter past four I had started to panic. When it approached 4.30 I saw that Paul was worried too. So was the manager of the venue. Repeated calls made to the registrars number were met by an answerphone. Sweat broke out across my top lip. The blood had drained from my cheeks, and from Pauls. The manager asked us what we wanted to do.

Paul and I now had to face the reality that the ceremony was not going to happen. We discussed options: I would go downstairs and announce that we had been let down by a Lib Dem council, that it was sabotage, but we would celebrate our union anyway, which would be legally undertaken another day. Paul begged for a bit more time.

I screamed out: I can see it now, I can see it now

What?

The headlines: Labour cant organise a piss-up in Vinopolis.

Downstairs there was a sudden flurry of activity. Two Amazonian women crashed through the doors, brushing security guards aside and pleading: Is this Vinopolis?

Are you the registrars? I begged.

They nodded, one nearly breaking down in tears. Theyd been driving around in circles for nearly an hour but the police and security services wouldnt let them stop, let alone park. After a pause so they could get their breath, Paul issued instructions to the manager and we made our way round to the back of the hall. Through the crack in the door we watched as our witnesses, Michelle Collins and Ian McKellen, took their places and an expectant buzz started to fill the room.