
Maurice
Edward Morgan Forster was born on 1 January 1879.
He wrote a love story between two men with a happy ending in 1914 – then locked it in a drawer for 57 years. He died one year before the world finally read it.
E M Forster was already a celebrated author in 1913 when he began writing a novel he knew he could never publish. He had written A Room with a View and Howards End, books that made him famous, books that examined English society with wit and precision.
But this new novel was different. This one was about him.
Maurice tells the story of a young man who falls in love with his Cambridge classmate, Clive Durham. When Clive eventually rejects him, Maurice finds love with Alec Scudder, a working-class gamekeeper. And here’s what made it revolutionary: they run away together. They choose each other. They get a happy ending.
In 1914, that ending was unthinkable.
This wasn’t ancient history. This was the era of Oscar Wilde’s imprisonment still fresh in memory, of men arrested and jailed for “gross indecency”, of lives destroyed simply for loving someone of the same sex.
Homosexuality was a crime punishable by up to two years of hard labour. The law wouldn’t change until 1967 – and even then, only partially. Men lost their careers, their families, their freedom. Some were chemically castrated. Some took their own lives rather than face exposure.
Oscar Wilde had died in exile in 1900, destroyed by the very society Forster moved through. The message was clear: if you were a man who loved men, your story could only end in tragedy, shame or silence.
Forster refused to write that ending.
When he finished Maurice in 1914, he showed it to a handful of trusted friends. Their responses were mixed. Some were moved. Others warned him never to publish it. One friend told him it was “too dangerous.”
Forster typed a note and attached it to the manuscript: “Publishable – but is it worth it?” Then he put it in a drawer and locked it away.
For the next 56 years, Maurice existed only in typescript, read by a small circle of Forster’s closest confidants. He revised it occasionally, updating details, refining scenes. But he never published it.
He couldn’t. Not while his mother was alive.
Lily Forster lived until 1945, dying at age 90. Forster had lived with her for most of his life. She was domineering, possessive, and completely unaware – or wilfully ignorant – of her son’s sexuality. Forster couldn’t risk her discovering the truth, couldn’t bear the scandal it would bring to her.
After her death, Forster was more open with friends, but still not with the world. He was 66 years old when his mother died, too old to rebuild a life as an openly gay man, too entrenched in a society that would reject him.
He had other secrets, too.
In 1930, Forster met Bob Buckingham, a 28-year-old policeman. Forster was 51. They fell deeply in love – or something like it. Their relationship was physical and emotional, documented in letters that reveal Forster’s longing and devotion.
Then, in 1932, Bob married a woman named May Hockey. The relationship didn’t end. Instead, it transformed into a complicated triangle. Forster remained close to both Bob and May for the rest of his life, often visiting them, sometimes causing tension. It was love, compromise, and quiet heartbreak all at once.
Forster lived in the shadows – loving Bob, writing privately, achieving public success while hiding his true self.
In 1954, something happened that reminded Forster just how dangerous those shadows were. Alan Turing, the brilliant mathematician who had helped crack the Enigma code and save countless lives during World War II, was arrested for “gross indecency” after his relationship with another man was discovered. He was convicted. Given a choice between prison or chemical castration, he chose the latter.
In 1954, Turing died of cyanide poisoning. The official verdict was suicide.
Forster knew Turing. He knew what the law could do. He knew that Maurice, with its defiant happy ending, was not just a love story – it was an act of rebellion. But still, he didn’t publish it.
He left instructions: the novel could be published after his death. Only then would it be safe. Only then could it exist without destroying him.
E M Forster died on 7 June 1970, at age 91. He had lived through two world wars, had written masterpieces that were taught in schools, had been celebrated and honoured. But he died without ever seeing Maurice in print.
In August 1971, one year after Forster’s death, Maurice was finally published. The timing was extraordinary. The Stonewall riots had occurred in 1969, igniting the modern LGBT+ rights movement. The world was changing, slowly but undeniably. And into that changing world came a novel written 57 years earlier – a novel that said, quietly but firmly: You deserve to be happy. You deserve love. You deserve an ending that doesn’t break you. The response was overwhelming.
Gay readers around the world found themselves in Maurice’s story. For many, it was the first time they’d seen their own experience reflected in literature – not as tragedy, not as cautionary tale, but as love worthy of celebration.
Letters poured in from people who had lived in hiding, who had believed their only options were loneliness or shame. Maurice told them something different. It told them they could choose each other. They could run away together. They could be happy.
In 1987, the novel was adapted into a film by Merchant Ivory, bringing Forster’s hidden masterpiece to an even wider audience.
But Forster never knew any of this. He died believing the world might reject his truth, might judge him, might destroy what little peace he had built. He locked away the most honest thing he ever wrote – a love story that said happiness was possible – and lived his life in the quiet spaces between what was said and what was felt.
E M Forster spent 57 years protecting Maurice. He protected it from the law, from scandal, from a society that would have punished him for writing it. And in doing so, he gave future generations something rare: a story that ends not with death or despair, but with two men choosing each other and walking into the greenwood together, free.



He lived in the shadows. But he left behind a light. And that light – 57 years delayed, one year too late for him to see – has been shining ever since.

I wouldn’t tell a care home I’m gay

In a recent interview on The View From Here podcast, Ted Brown, a veteran LGBT+ rights campaigner, former member of the Gay Liberation Front, and co-organiser of the UK’s first Pride march, is raising concerns about a growing issue of homophobia, transphobia and societal prejudice in the context of elderly care and care homes.
In The View From Here, Ted reflects on a lifetime of activism that began in the 1960s and ’70s. He emphasises that for many LGBT+ individuals, one of the most severe experiences of homophobia and transphobia often occurs during end-of-life care.
In a startling revelation, Ted told the podcast: “If I was going into a care home now, I would not let them know that I was gay.”
Ted reflects on the treatment of his long-term partner, Noel, who suffered repeated homophobic abuse in a council-run care home. This ultimately led to Lambeth Council paying £30,000 in compensation, but tragically, this occurred only after Noel’s death.
“I had a civil partnership with Noel in 2017 because I realised he was getting dementia and I needed to make sure that I had a responsibility as a carer, and the council and various other people did not recognise our relationship.”
“They did not want to recognise that he was my partner. They didn’t want to recognise gay people as a relationship.”
Ted continues: “You’d be surprised how easy it is and how often a carer can just accidentally kick your ankle as they’re preparing your meal or changing your bed. Or, oops, did I spill tea on your lap again?”
“It’s a one-to-one. They’re in a room with you; you’re in a room with this person. There are no other witnesses.”
Ted introduces his latest campaign, Not Going in the Care Closet, which seeks to ensure no other LGBT+ person has to experience the abuse suffered by Noel, but also to ensure that people have the freedom to be themselves in the elderly care system. The initial aim is to share sources of legal and social advice that can provide support, if required, to protect a partner in a care home.
There are indications that Ted’s campaign is making a difference. Following the controversy surrounding the treatment of Noel, Lambeth Council seems to be starting procedures to ensure that the needs of LGBT+ residents are considered by the care homes with which it is connected.
The View From Here is a UK-based podcast that highlights LGBT+ history through in-depth interviews with some of the UK’s leading changemakers. Their goal is to preserve these stories and inspire the activists of tomorrow.
Ted’s full interview is available now, accessible on all major podcast platforms at www.tvfh.co.uk/listen






















































