Hadrian’s Wall has been declared a ‘gay icon’ – hurrah! But why stop there?

I’m all for the heritage industry making the case that the 73-mile-long fortification is somehow ‘linked to England’s queer history’, says Paul Clements. Just don’t put a pink plaque on it…

‘The most famous homosexual couple in Roman history’: An 18th-century bust of Antinous, the teenage favourite of Emperor Hadrian (Getty)

Whoever came up with the phrase “It’s queer up north” could not have anticipated that English Heritage would take it quite so literally.

The charity whose job it is to champion historic sites has declared that Hadrian’s Wall – an archaeological landmark that stretched across the entire width of the country, from the Irish Sea to the English Channel – to be a “gay icon”, and “linked to England’s queer history”.

Gays have a habit of trying to reclaim things about which they really have no business. Back in the 1990s, I was the editor of the Pink Paper, the now defunct national lesbian and gay community newspaper that was a vital campaigning force during Section 28, the Aids crisis and the push for equal rights. Overseeing a design “refresh” to smarten up the old bird and pare down the near-permanent angry tone, I introduced a light-hearted weekly column, Queer Icons. (The “Q” word had previously been banned by the publishers, reclaiming the slur supposedly a sign of how far we had come as a community.)

This was an era before Wikipedia, so Queer Icons was our chance to inform readers about the hidden gay history of objects. More often than not, it was a bit of dolly nonsense, and we did our best to keep a straight face while making the case for co-opting something into gay culture – the Belstaff jacket worn by Tom Cruise, which was first fetishised in the hyper-masculinised artwork of Tom of Finland; Xena, TV’s Warrior Princess, carried a weapon that looked suspiciously like a labrys, the Minoan axe that was also an early symbol of lesbian pride.

But it was also an exercise in poking fun at ourselves. We decided a new breakfast cereal was a queer icon – then a game of rounders! If memory serves, we did the same to a Roman trench, too, so Hadrian’s Wall as a queer icon would hardly be a stretch. We’d have made a mountain out of it.

It is well documented by actual historians that the Roman emperor had gay relationships while still being married to his wife, Sabina. His favourite was Antinous, a Greek teenager who routinely accompanied him on tours of Europe. When he drowned in the Nile before he reached 20, Hadrian immediately declared him a hero, and then a god, before Roman officialdom could even make a start on the paperwork. Some historians suggest Antinous met his end at the hands of Hadrian who had gone the full Kenneth Halliwell and smote him in a rage, before a bad case of killer’s remorse.

The National Museums Liverpool describes Hadrian and Antinous as “the most famous homosexual couple in Roman history”, which in the circumstances feels a bit of a reach – and more like an attempt by the heritage industry PR machine to drum up interest among would-be visitors of the LGBTQ+ persuasion. North Face-clad lesbians have been making a walking holiday of Hadrian’s Wall for years. Now gay men have a reason to crick their ankles hiking it, too.

I’m no Mary Beard but I suspect Hadrian’s Wall was primarily a defensive barrier between Roman and Pict Britain, built to keep out barbarians, than it was a 73-mile-long declaration of love to a young man. After the boy’s death, Hadrian had numerous nude sculptures of Antinous created for his homes. A sandstone wall along the northernmost outpost of the Roman empire isn’t quite the gay day out English Heritage is supposing.

Everybody’s busy “unlocking queer histories” these days. The British Museum offers a tour to “uncover the hidden stories of same-sex desire” in a “fascinating selection of objects with LGBTQ connections”. While the coach parties head for the Rosetta Stone and Elgin marbles, make an LGB-line (ho-ho) for Room 20a, to admire the Athenian wine amphora depicting a gay orgy. Then it’s to Room 70 for the Warren Cup, the ancient silver wine beaker decorated with scenes of male lovers. For a touch of lesbiana, ask to see the English Delftware dish depicting grumpy but bosomy Queen Anne, the monarch whose same-sex excursions and fiery temper were “unlocked” by Olivia Colman in the Oscar-winning The Favourite.

In recent years, alphabet-soupers at the National Trust have attempted to surface (not my word) the hidden histories of gays and lesbians who hid same-sex partners in their dusty west wings (not my euphemism), and whose personal stories and contributions have long been overlooked. Now, there’s an entire podcast series – narrated by Clare Balding! – detailing how each of these stately homos helped shape and preserve some grand old houses for the nation.

I’m all for this kind of thing – let’s call it an act of truth and reconciliation. But let’s not deny it’s also a naked exercise in audience building. Would regency heiress Anne Lister’s sprawling Tudor-style home, Shibden Hall in Halifax, have seen its visitor numbers triple overnight if BBC TV series Gentleman Jack hadn’t revealed her to have been “the first modern lesbian”?

By all means make the case that Hadrian’s Wall is “linked to England’s queer history”, however tenuous, if it shifts a few more cream teas and helps with the upkeep. Just promise you won’t put a pink plaque on it.