“There’s something I need to tell you.” What misdemeanour had management discovered now? What I wasn’t expecting to be told was that the staff now knew I was gay. I wasn’t ready; I’d accepted it myself only a few months earlier. Having come to terms with who and what I was, I’d told a few close colleagues. This broke a golden rule: if you want to keep something secret in school, don’t tell anyone.

After I’d left a meal with some of the staff the previous Friday night, the colleague who’d arranged the outing decided to do an outing of a different kind. By Monday, the school grapevine was buzzing. Many thoughts went through my mind. What if the kids find out? How will it affect my career? Most of all, I felt let down. I decided, as far as possible, to take charge of the situation, and went to see the head. Her initial reaction was surprise. Once it had sunk in, she offered me her full support and presumed that a kiss at the Christmas party would be out of the question.

Life since can only be described as interesting. Some colleagues have been incredibly supportive. But some I considered friends seemed - and seem - uncomfortable. I assume some of this discomfort comes from my openness about my sexuality - there seems little point in being otherwise. I am certainly not ashamed, but I feel that they think I should be, or at least should not refer to it or talk about it. A few are simply homophobic.

The discomfort has manifested itself in a variety of ways. For example, I no longer use the staff toilets as some male staff are clearly uncomfortable when I walk in. I now use - much to my annoyance - the separate disabled toilet.

I was outed at a staff function, so now tend to avoid them. But I was determined to show my face at a celebration for a colleague who is also a close friend. I asked my partner to come. We sat with some friends, and my partner whispered something I’d already worked out. An awful lot of people were staring at us, and continued to do so, especially when a flower-seller appeared and I bought him a rose.

Shortly after I was outed I suffered a stress-related illness and lost a lot of weight. Now that I am better, one teacher mentioned how ill I’d looked, adding: “Of course, we all thought you had Aids.” There are other examples of this type of reaction, but I keep telling myself it’s their problem not mine. They have to deal with their own prejudices and hang-ups.

Far more important to me is the love, friendship and support that many other colleagues show me every day of my working life. Without them I wouldn’t have been able to cope - at least not nearly as well. This includes teaching and non-teaching staff; in fact, the non-teaching staff have shown a higher degree of acceptance, often coupled with humorous curiosity.

As for pupils, some of them know, some of them think they know and some haven’t a clue. No pupil has ever asked me - I hope I’d be strong enough to say yes. My older pupils have put the clues together and have no problem. For example, when one lad made a homophobic comment to another pupil, he instantly looked at me and said: “Sorry, Sir. I forgot.” On another occasion when my partner came into school to pick me up, a female pupil said hello to him, winked at me and muttered “very nice”.

But I’ve been homophobically abused by pupils, usually in confrontational situations - although the same sort of abuse is also directed at heterosexual staff. Each time, I’ve referred the pupil to senior management, who have dealt with it effectively. At first I’d agonise as to whether the comments were personal or the kind of general homophobic abuse endemic in many schools. But homophobic abuse is unacceptable, no matter who it’s aimed at, so I deal with it accordingly.

What of the pupils I suspect of being gay? The nature of my school - a tough inner-city comprehensive - means no gay pupil, to my knowledge, has been open about his or her sexuality. I keep an eye on those being homophobically abused, as I do on any other pupil who is being bullied. I have met several ex-pupils on the local gay scene, and, after the stares and awkwardness, these encounters have been positive and friendly.

The agonies they went through at school have angered me enough to attempt to set up an LEA mentoring scheme for gay and lesbian pupils. At the moment, it seems to have failed. I decided to walk away after 12 months of meetings with little to show for it. The LEA was sympathetic and supportive, and I owe a great deal of thanks to two people in particular. Yet it was clear that what I was trying to do made others nervous. Perhaps the best example of this was when a possible source of funding was put on hold. Why? The official reason was that the authority was about to be inspected by Ofsted and said it was unable to justify funding a scheme to support the victims of what has been termed “the last acceptable prejudice”.

I walked away then, but sitting here writing this now makes me realise that I have to try again. I have to try to help young people whose lives are being damaged and, in some cases, ruined, simply because they are attracted to people of their own sex. I have no choice but to try again.

I have learned that being openly gay is not the terrifying prospect I thought it would be. Research suggests that few gay or lesbian teachers come out to pupils or their colleagues. Until we do, homophobia in our institutions and society can never be truly challenged. It’s not easy being an openly gay teacher, but I prefer it to quivering in the stationery closet.

The writer teaches in the Midlands

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