Lee Clayton was a shy and innocent teenager, “cotton woolled” in parental love and protection while growing up in Wahroonga, on Sydney’s north shore. She didn’t know what a lesbian was, having never even heard the word – but she knew she had a crush on her English teacher, a kind woman who taught her for four years, and who would patiently listen to her speak about her personal troubles.
Most days, Clayton would pick this teacher a rosebud and leave it for her on her desk. “I had no idea that loving her was a bad thing,” she recalls, with a rueful laugh.
