Dilly Boys Make The Times

LONDON: Britain’s press has suddenly discovered the ‘Dilly Boys’ after a book by the same name was published by a small publishing house, Croom Helm. First in where angels fear to tread was the Sunday Mirror. With dazzling originality it called its Sunday Mirror Documentary on the Dilly boys ‘The Dilly Boys’ and admitted that it borrowed heavily from the book.

It saw a Picadilly Circus peopled almost entirely by 13 and 14-year-olds playing the flipper games and the market at Playland and the other mausement arcades, but carefully avoiding naming names or getting close enough to the problem for the article to be more than an empty piece of plagiarism from Mervyn Harris’ book.

It seemed the only people at Piccadilly Circus older than 14 were either older men there to pick up the boys, probation officers leaning on the anti-pedestrian railings or even Sunday Mirror reporters.

The Mirror’s story said: ‘We traced the case-histories of five Dilly boys who, homeless and short of cash got caught up in the dragnet.

‘Two have graduated from amphetamines to hard drugs; one has gone to jail for stealing another has put a girl “in the club”. The fifth has managed to get out of the game and gone back to Bolton.’

Midnight Piccadilly: A day’s rest over, a night’s work begins. [Photograph: Peter Mundy]
Earlier, Victor Sims, the Mirror’s man in the dirty mac at the Dilly had told us: ‘Nearly all of them have heard about the easy pickings to be had in London’s rich heart, and reckon they can eke out a living on their wits.

‘more often, they finish up frozen, half-starved, asleep inside a telephone box, huddled for warmth in a deserted railway coach, in a hotel car park or even in warehouse packing cases.

‘It’s at this stage of disillusionment that the trouble starts. They hang around Piccadilly, desperate for food and shelter. Instead of pocketing their pride and going home, they become easy prey to anyone who will offer them a warm bed …

‘Horrifying? Shameful? Almost unbelievable?

To the senior police officers and detectives at West End Central police station, the problem is very real.

‘The Chief Superintendent told me: “The situation created by these juveniles, who drift into our area is one of the most difficult we have had to handle.”’

The Chief Superintendent didn’t mention gay trade at the Dilly being more of a problem than any other drop-out youth situation there. But the Mirror chose to run as its second headline on the piece: ‘Their trade shames a national showplace’ and under it published a picture of a probation officer ’at “The Meat Rack”, the Piccadilly Circus haunt of young boys waiting for homosexuals.’

Five days later it was Friday and the Times lifted its skirts and had a slam at the Dilly.

In a series called Policemen Talking, Peter Evans wrote a piece on the ‘Missing boys and girls enmeshed in Soho vice nets.’ Racey stuff this for The Times. Police sergeant M Woodheath of the Juveniles Squad, gave us the low-down from her point of view. She said: “If they are young lads, men will start speaking to them and take them home and be nice to them. These boys are usually naive and often accept. The man demands something more of them. Eventually they put these lads on the streets as male prostitutes and they give the men part of their earnings. Their ages can range from 14 upwards. Many of these boys end up as permanent homosexuals. It is very difficult to get at the men in charge of them. Boys are reluctant to give a description or a name and address. They are frightened to give you much.

“One man had ten little boys working as male prostitutes for him from 14 upwards. They were reluctant to give evidence. Some turned up at court to give evidence. He was convicted.

“The same sort of thing happens to girls. Lesbians pick them up from 13 upwards. Three girls from Cardiff were arrested for soliciting before we discovered they were juveniles…”

And so on. It seems you get the Dilly’s dirty washing aired just as publicly in The Times as you do in the Mirror. And The Times gives its readers more details of the washing its discovered.

ED: We’ll carry a full review of Mervyn Harris’ The Dilly Boys in Gay News 17, and we’ll try to look a bit deeper into the rent scene in the future.

Love on Demand

You Can’t have Love to Order at the Dilly

Dear People,

I want to thank Gay News and everyone who supports it for giving gay people everywher19721001-07e the chance to discover themselves through its pages. Here gay ideas and experience can meet and be explored so that we can all examine our prejudices and myths and perhaps for the first time realise who we are. For being gay is not GLF or CHE, it is people, all people being aware of the reality of each other.

I enclose an answer to the article ‘The Piccadilly Affair which I hope you print. It won’t please a lot of people, but that is what discovering oneself is really about. We have to live together side by side and try to love and understand that which we don’t always like or want to see. We are the bars of our own cage.

I’ve been a hustler in the past, and can give several reasons for being one.

  1. As a penniless artist it was a way of eating;
  2. I was exploring my own feelings or hang-ups about prostitution;
  3. I was meeting the needs of certain people;
  4. It was more honest than most gay one-night sex games, played in the name of love.

None of these reasons appear to make me any the less human or qualify me for the heartbreaker of the year award.

I cannot defend the Australian boy for not making the position clear — that, I feel, was dishonest. (The Piccadilly Affair – GN5).

But I do not defend him over the broken heart. For in a business deal of this sort no-one is talking about love. The product is sex and maybe the satisfaction of someone else’s unusual desires; ie sado-masochistic fantasies. (How many gays have been sickened to find that their man for the night was ‘kinky’ or vice-versa?)

You say you love him: question what you love. Do you have any idea of him as a real person? Please be honest with youself. Love is more than a body and a voice. Did you express your true feelings to him? Why ‘be daft’ and give him £5 when there was no pressure? Perhaps you should have shown him the poem instead and tried to discover the real person you had just had sexual contact with.

I have been hired by many people and few have wanted to discover me as a person, though one did and we developed a real friendship outside of any business relationship, which was rewarding for us both.

I have no guilt over my hustling days, but I have experienced guilt, dishonesty and pain in non-commercial gay relationships from people who claimed to love. Love for me is the whole person, not separate parts, it’s a truth between people, a beauty that does not wither with age.

One of my fellow hustlers met his friend and lover through a client and they have been together ever since, and that was eleven years ago. So please try to see rent boys as having hearts and that they too can fall in love, but not to order.

The Piccadilly Affair

One Thursday night I was at Picadilly Circus, viewing the lights and minding my own business, when after a time, I got talking to a boy next to me. and in the course of the conversation he said he was from Australia. He had a slight Aussie twang in his voice (which was rather nice), his hair was fair, with pale blue eyes and freckles over his nose, which made him rather attractive to me. We talked for a time and then went for a cup of tea.

05-197208xx-4By this time I had fallen in love with him. with his soft Ausie twang and his freckles, and his slim build, and he talked away quite freely, about everything. “Where do you live” I said. “Kent, he said, “What time is your last train”

I said, “1.45″ he said, “Well come down to my place and spend the time till your train time” which he did, good I thought, this boy will be mine for a few hours. Wow, I thought, wonderful. wonderful.

After a short taxi ride we arrived at my place, up the stairs and into my small bed-sit, and after a short period of time his beautiful, slim, half-sunburnt, naked body was mine, there there will be no need to tell you any details, only one thing, there was no response to me advances, he just lay there quite passive, letting me do the work, when the time came for him to go he got up and dressed himself, and as doing so he said, “you know the score, what about it”, “About what” I said, “Come on, you know what I mean, my £5 plus my taxi fare back to the place where you found me”.

I could not believe it, then I realised it was not me he wanted but my cash, then he realised that I was surprised and that I had not realised he was for rent when we were talking at Picadilly, and I think that in a way he was sorry, by the way he talked after. We had a cup of tea and we talked and I gave him his £5 (may be daft on my part), and then he went for his train, and as he went out he said “I would like to see you again”, “OK sometime”, I said, and went back to my room and remembered a poem of long ago, it is;

You are not the boy of my prayers and tears
But of my love, my hope, my certainty
You are not a god you are the boy I am
You breathe in me my blood is yours
What I have you possess
As I hoped and wished
We shall henceforth be together for ever
And it is my turn to say to you
How splendid that is
                      always
If it be sin to love a lovely lad
Oh then sin I for whom my soul is sad

and I have been around Picadilly a few times and seen my god from Australia with other people, then disappearing, how sad I am when it is not me who is with him, what can I do, can anyone tell me for I love the lad from Australia, love him with all my heart, do the people who rent themselves not realise, they are breaking peoples hearts in the process.

Trolling in Tehran

04-197208XX 04When I set off last year on a business trip to Teheran and other Iranian cities, I had the dottiest picture in my mind as to what it was all going to be like. The only thing that I knew as a fact was that Iran is the most curiously arrogant and corrupt place from a business point of view. With all this naughty bevaviour I had visions of potential gangbang at every street corner. Far, far from it dear Reader.

I suppose we all know that the slant of Moslem culture is towards an easy acceptance of homosexual behaviour both in the home and in public. I’d seen Arabs in places like Jeddah and Beirut walking hand in hand without the public giving it a second glance. But in Iran its all very very confusing. To start off with, in the great cities like Teheran or Tabriz, where there is some degree of western sophistication, overt homosexual behaviour barely exists at all.

But paradoxically, you have only to drive for ten minutes past the Mayfair of Teheran, up the mountains behind Shemiran, and you find a selection of chaikhanehs (tea houses) complete with beautiful dancing boys who entertain largely middle aged clients. You can find the same establishments in Meshed and Isphahan. The fascinating thing is that this sort of entertainment has been provided for the past 2,000 years, but today it seems only to be seriously patronised by the elderly gents who sit quietly drinking tea and watching the gyrations of the boys, some of whom are very beautiful indeed. They retire from ‘business’ at around 18 years of age, and more than half of them get married on the proceeds of their work.

But the gay young things of Teheran or Tabriz would not be seen dead in such a place. To them its all too old fashioned, stuffy and conservative for words. There are literally no gay Bars or Clubs as we understand them in the U.K. It is true that there are a few cafes where you might just have the luck to pick up something interesting, but it is very likely to be rent. You will be far luckier in the lounges of the better class western type of hotel.

I think that there is also a deepseated, but almost entirely unadmitted, resentment of the white mentality, and therefore of the white persons possible sexual approaches. I did meet two charming and highly educated Iranis, but they had both been to Europe, and knew the gay ropes well! They confessed that a white body did not mean all that much to them sexually, and that it was white women that were in demand …. not men!

This reserve is all tied up with the inevitable association of homosexuals with drugtaking hippies and wierdos who have passed through Iran on their way to and from Afghanistan, via Iran.

And that brings me to the matter of Hash and/or Pot. Unless you wish to be shot at sight or sent immediately without trial to prison, do not under any circumstances look for, attempt to buy, or even import any form of Hash. Whilst I was there for a mere 4 weeks on biz, no less than 4 people were shot out of hand because they had been arrested with it on their person.

Before I’d ever got there, people had told me the wildest stories about the goings-on in local Hammams.

I tried four in Teheran and two in Tabriz. They were about as turned on as a Sunday School Treat. In Meshed, which is a sacred Moslem city, complete with shrines of all sorts, I was politely directed to an ‘unbelievers’ hamman. All I saw there was a slightly deformed young man soaping his parts with rather more fervour than was entirely required … and that was about it.

But, and there’s always a but, if you do have the good fortune to meet an Irani who is a member of one of the select private hammams. I’m told that these are not all that innocent, and all sorts of things can and do happen in them.

I just didn’t have the luck to meet a subscriber.

So if you ever contemplate going to Iran for your hold, don’t imagine that its a riot of sex and fun. It’s so hot you can fry an egg on the pavement from April to October, and though it’s beautiful beyond belief, it’s bloody dull if you are looking for what is innocently known as Trade.