ABOUT ME
This is a brief biography on my life to date. Hyperlinked words link to more detailed history.
ABOUT ME
This is a brief biography on my life to date. Hyperlinked words link to more detailed history.
I was born on the 2nd November 1955 in St.Davids's Hospital, Bangor, North Wales."But such a day to-morrow as to-day,
And to be boy eternal."
(Shakesespeare: The Winters Tale)
Fred and Dorothy Hill, my Dad and Mum, raised me on their small farm in a small village called Bont in Mid-Wales. Both were incredibly hard working. They had little money. When I was really young, Dad worked for the forestry commission. Before work each morning, he would have to milk our few cows, an operation he had to repeat on his return followed by all his other farm work. Mum and Dad sold milk locally. Rich Channel Island milk from their beautiful Guernsey and Jersey cattle. I have fond and wonderful memories of life on a farm, but neither the stamina, determination or interest to be a farmer.
Welsh was the first language of the majority of the inhabitants of Bont. As a consequence, I learnt and spoke English at home, but Welsh with the children I played with. I'm told by Mum that I, along with my best friends at the time, Gaynor Thomas and Alwyn Price developed our own language which contained both English and Welsh words. The only phrase I can remember that consisted of both Welsh and English is 'un yes', which roughly translated means 'isn't it?'.
As a child I was always showing off. I still do. I have quite an ego!. I regularly participated in the traditional form of performing festival known as the 'Eisteddfod'. I won quite a few prizes as a boy soprano, and for recitation. My first school report was quite impressive, but I prefer to keep later reports to myself!
At the age of eleven, we moved to a bigger farm at Llandinam. Although only a short distance from the first, about 20 miles, the difference it made to my life was significant. Previously I had lived in the heart of a village, now we lived a mile from the nearest. Although still in the very heart of Wales, I remained in a 'language' minority, this time because I was the only child at Llandinam Primary School who could speak any Welsh.
After one term at Llandinam High School, I moved up to Llanidloes High School. It became a place I dreaded. In hindsight, I received little encouragement or support in the subjects I was good at, and much ridicule over those I wasn't.
I hated sport, football in particular. When the team captains chose their 'squads', I was always the last to be chosen, the argument being 'We don't want him - you have him'.
Until my voice 'broke' however, I was still the 'pride' of the school for my angelic voice, and continued to win prizes. Once broken however, my voice and therefore myself, or so I thought, were of no further interest to my school.
This extended to my career ambitions. I wanted to work in television, perhaps as a cameraman. The notion was ridiculed by the teacher responsible for careers, as almost was my second choice, to be an electrician. The concept that as a farmer's son, I had no wish to follow the convention of following in my father's footsteps (as my farm reared schoolmates were often pressurised into), was beyond the career master's comprehension. The best they could offer was the vague possibility of an apprenticeship with the electricity board, and nothing about further career development.
To my mind, Llanidloes High School, at that time, had a lot to answer for. Pupils were graded stereotypically into A, B or C grades, according to their overall ability, and were taught to that level regardless of any outstanding abilities in certain areas. We were pigeonholed into an academic 'class' society.
The A stream for whom the world was their oyster. Academia and fine prospects lay ahead. The B stream, who could probably learn a craft, but not much else. The C stream, destined for a life of labour and demanour. The most vivid example of this was a then close friend of mine. He had a passion for, and great talent and ability for cooking. Because he was a boy, and because he was assigned into the C stream, cookery classes were not an option he could enjoy. I suspect he could have followed a career in cuisine, maybe ending up running the finest restaurant in Europe, but he never had the chance. I sincerely that wherever he is now, he had a later opportunity to shine.
Despite the lack of encouragement of my school, but with the full support and encouragement of my Mum and Dad, I left school at the age of 15, without finishing my CSE studies, to start a career as an apprentice electrician. It meant leaving home.
I embarked on an apprenticeship in the trade of electrician with the Department of the Environment, (later known as the Property Services Agency) at RAF Sealand near Chester. Originally a civil airfield, the RFC took over Sealand in 1916, and the Station was used for training and later, maintenance, a role that continues today. No 30 Maintenance Unit first moved to Sealand in 1937, and today is responsible for the third line repair of airborne avionic equipment for all three Armed Services. No 631 Volunteer Gliding School operates Viking TX1s from the South Airfield. Toady, the role of RAF Sealand is as the third-line maintenance and repair unit of all airborne electronics, electrical and instrument engineering unit for the RAF. The DOE/PSA role here (and at all other MOD & Government establishments) at that time was for the installation, service and repair of all fixed mexhanical, electrical and structural services. During my four year apprenticeship here, I also spent a few months training at the Royal Aircraft Establishment R.A.E. Aberporth"You try the handle of the road,
It opens, do not be afraid."
(Leonard Cohen: The Stranger Song)
Emotionally, at the beginning, life away from home was difficult. I went home for weekends, but life away from home was completely new experience. For the first time in my life I experienced all those things my parents warned me about including drugs, violence and sex. But with sex, there was a deep seated problem, that was only resolved in later life. I was not attracted to women, at least not in the way my mates 'appeared' to be.
On completing my apprentiship, I moved to work as an electrician at a Royal Naval Armanent Depot in Pembrokeshire. In light of the fact that I am unable to find any reference to the place on the internet that indicates what happened here at that time, and as I am a signatory to the Official Secrets Act, I cannot write about my work during the 18 months I spent here, other than to say I hated it. It has since ceased to be MOD property.
In 1977, I was transferred on temporary secondment to RAF Brawdy, also in Pembrokeshire. I was fortunate in that they had a vacancy and as I enjoyed the work, I applied and was accepted permanently into a team of maintenance electricians. A few months later I was promoted to 'Electrical Line Supervisor' in charge of this team. At the same time, I became interested in Hospital Radio, and became a volunteer at the newly built 'Withybush General Hospital' in Haverfordwest. Both this and work were emotionally satisfying and intellectually challenging. And, for the first time since I was eleven, I began to make some very good friends.
Experience at Withybush Hospital Radio was for me, and a number of my friends, to lead to career change. For Karen Walker, and Hugh Turnbull, it was a move into radio. Both now work for the BBC in Cardiff. For Mike Gomm, it has eventually led into a senior management within Microsoft, where he now has responsibility for AbilityNet. I became interested in hospitals, applied for, and was accepted as a Hospital Engineering Officer at St. Thomas' Hospital in London.
Moving to London from my previously protected world was a major step for me. I went purely for the career opportunities, but it was to have an even bigger impact on my life, from the very first night."The truth is rarely pure, and never simple"
(Oscar Wilde: The Importance of being Ernest)
I explained earlier that I "was not attracted to women, at least not in the way my mates 'appeared' to be". This had troubled me for many years, and once led to my considering suicide. I knew I wasn't a 'queer' or 'homosexual', because all my experience growing up in Wales had led me to firmly believe that to be so, one would have 'feminine' traits. After all, the only 'queers' I knew of were those appearing on television - Larry 'Shut that door' Grayson, Danny La Rue and Mr. 'I'm Free!' Humphries. I knew I wasn't like that, so couldn't be 'one of them'.
However, I thought I had a problem. My mates were getting 'turned-on' by 'big breasts' on page three and nude calenders. I was not. But I did have 'stomach churning' feelings for one or two of the lads I'd known though, but didn't know why.
The day I moved to London, I moved all my things into a bedsit in the hospital where I was to be working and living over the next few years. As I settled myself in, I retuned my portable television to London channel frequencies. I tuned in ITV, to London Weekend Television, to be presented at the opening of a programme called 'Gay Life', a moment of realisation that was to change my life, for the better, forever. Here, on my screen, were ordinary men and women, doing ordinary jobs, leading ordinary lives. What set them apart from anything or anyone I'd ever previously experienced outside my own feelings was that the people they were sexually attracted to happened to be of the same sex. I wasn't the only one. The story of my evolution of 'coming out' could fill an entire book, so I won't.
So, I began my career with St. Thomas' Hospital. It was intersting work, and I made many friends quickly. And they were friends from backgrounds and cultures outside of my previous field of experience. I also met other gay men and women. We shared our experiences. For a short I went through both 'political' and 'promiscuous' periods before settling down again into a 'normal' lifestyle.
At St. Thomas' I found the Phipps Respiratory Unit, one of the few remaining centres in Europe for home ventilator users. Over the first few months at the hospital, I became increasing interested in the work of the technicians: Frank Kelly, John Clifton and Mick Atkinson. In 1981, Frank retired. Despite a considerable salary reduction, I applied for the resulting vacant post and was accepted.
I can honestly say that it was the most enjoyable and satisfying jobs I can imagine. I had the privelige to meet and work with some outstanding people. One day, I will write more, maybe a bookful on my time there.
In June 1983, I met Simon. He was, and still is charming, witty, intelligent and sexy. We began meeting regularly, and a few months later realised that we had become a 'couple' and that probably and hopefully, our lives would be intertwined forever. I'm glad to say, seventeen years later, they still are.
My friends, my employers, my workmates. They all knew I was gay, and none of them had a problem with it. As far as I was concerened, anyone who did have a problem with it wasn't worth knowing. But families are different, and as far as I was aware, no-one in the family knew I was gay."My parents kept me from children who were rough,
And who threw words like stones and who wore torn clothes."
(Stephen Spender)
I'd heard too many stories of men and women, young and old, rejected by their families because of their sexuality. This troubled me. I wanted Mum and Dad to know. I loved them, and wanted them to know everything.
My cousin Chris visited me in London regularly, as his work brought him to the city once a week. We always met up for a drink. It was during one of these visits he paid me the honour of asking me to be Godfather to his and Penny's newborn son Nicholas. I was honoured to be asked, but had reservations. It was inevitable that soon Chris was going to realise that I was gay. I couldn't say yes to being a Godfather without first telling him, so I did. It made no difference to him, and I am proud to be Nick's 'Uncle' and Godfather. I'm also very proud and moved that Chris and Penny named their second son, Richard, after me.
Some months later, after much thought and many sleepless nights, but on the 'shaking' spur of the moment I told my Mum and Dad that I was gay, and that Simon was my partner and I loved him. They were brilliant, and from that day on accepted Simon, and we became a whole family, spending weekneds, and holidays together.
Shortly before he died ten years ago, my father made one of the most touching gestures of love that I have ever felt. On a visit to him in hospital, in respect for our privacy, Simon stayed in the car while Mum and I went in to see Dad. Despite being seriously ill, Dad asked for Simon to be there as well, because he was part of our family.
A few months later, at Dad's funeral, Simon made an equally touching gesture. As I escorted Mum behind Dad's coffin out of the church, Simon touched the back of my hand. He was, without words, telling me he was there for me.
In September 1990, at the age of 36, I suffered a heart attack, followed by two more, resulting in heart surgery in January 1993. In 1995, my heart condition deteriorated further and reluctantly, I had to retire in December of that year."Just a heart-beat away..."
(Adlai Stevenson: New York Times)
Throughout my years with St. Thomas', I was fascinated by the iron lung. I collected as much information about the history of its development and uses as I could find. By chance, in my last few months at St.Thomas', I heard about an annual competition run by the Special Trustees of Guy's Hospital - 'The Lord Brock Memorial Historical Essay Prize'. Thinking little of my chances against learned medics, I decided it would be a challenge I would enjoy. I researched, wrote and entered an essay on the history of the British Iron Lung from 1832 to 1995 ( Reworked version here). To my suprise, I won joint first prize. This was the point I realised that maybe, despite having to retire, I could earn money from writing.
In hindsight, my first attempts at writing were very basic. I threw ideas at publishers without knowledge of or thought for the intended reader. I attended evening classes is creative writing, and in the Summer of 1996 I attended the Annual Writers Conference, never having had pubished a word. But of course I had a great idea, that was bound to become a best-seller. This idea I told to the writer Gordon Wells. He showed interest, but told me that it was of little interest in a commercial market. What he told me next was the most significant piece of advice I have ever had as a writer. "Don't write about what you know." he told me, "Know about what you write, and make every word work." He went on to explain that you can write about almost anything providing you research your subject thoroughly, and sell it almost anywhere providing you research your reader thoroughly. He also told me to think about everyone in my life, and that I would be sure to find something of interest on every one of them."Proper words in proper places, make the true definition of a style.
(Jonathan Swift)
He was so right. Following his advice I made a list of all my family and friends. I found that in the 1920's, my grandfather (my mothers father) had worked on a horse-drawn narrowboat, collecting milk in churns from the dairy farms of Shropshire and delivering them to the canalside Cadbury processing factory in Knighton. I talked to my mother, uncles and aunts about him, and gathered the facts. Then I looked at the three possible magazine markets: Inland Waterways Magazines. By careful study, I deduced that the most likely magazine, if any, to accept this article, would be Canal and Riverboat Magazine. The editor Chris Cattrall accepted and published it, and I have worked regularly for the magazine ever since. Using the same principles I eventually came to write for a whole range of UK leisure magazines. By September 1998, I had filled over 200 pages of various periodical publications. In November last year, one of my articles was seen by over one million readers.
In September last year, my health suffered another setback. Three of the four grafts performed in the 1993 heart by-pass began to fail. I was devastated, and went into a period of severe depression. I gave up writing altogether and almost gave up on life."To live, and act, and serve the future hour"
(William Wordsworth)
In November, the Royal Brompton Hospital took a look at my health and my heart. I was expecting the worst, but I got the best. They explained that one of the grafts was completely blocked, and that another two were in danger of doing so. The previous operation (performed at a different hospital) had been done in emergency 'life-saving' circumstances, harvesting the only easily available veins from my legs. These were not particularly good quality, and it was inevitable that in time they would need replacing.
I spent a few months suffering difficult side effects as I was tried on different cocktails of drugs to stabilise my symptoms. The Royal Brompton made a detailed study of arteries they could use from elsewhere in my body, and found some good ones. In late May 1999, I had a second heart bypass. The operation went well but respiratory complications set in shortly afterwards after parts of my lungs collapsed. I spent an additional seven days connected to a life support ventilator in intensive care. However, once my lungs recovered and I was slowly waened off artificial ventilation, I recovered well.
At the time of writing I am again at home, taking plenty of rest as I start a programme of physical and cardiac rehabilitation.
I said near the top of the page, that it had been a boyhood ambition to work in television. I have come to realise that I am now well equipped to work towards that ambition, not as a cameraman, but as a writer and producer. So I'm trying to learn the craft. As I study, I am working on a number of projects, under the guidance of my friend Shaun MacGlauglin, who has directed and produced over 600 plays for BBC television and radio."I have seen the future; and it works."
(Lincoln Steffens)
Some of my work may be fiction, but most will be factual programming. I'm looking forward to the day, while watching the credits rolling with the words: 'Written and Produced by Richard Hill' I can sit back and think "I did that"
Not in the least bit morbid. Suffice to say that I'm not afraid of death. I have achieved and enjoyed far more in my life than many. Partly through hard work, partly through luck, but mainly with the support, friendship and love of so many people who have been close to me."Though lovers be lost love shall not
And death shall have no dominion."
(Dylan Thomas)
And people who know me, and my passion for the music of Mike Oldfield, will know what I mean!"And the man in the rain picked up his bag of secrets,
and journeyed up the mountainside, far above the clouds,
and nothing was ever heard from him again,
except for the sound of Tubular Bells."
(Mike Oldfield : Tubular Bells III) GO THERE!
[INTERESTS] [WORK] [W.W.W. LINKS] [HOME PAGE] [E-MAIL]