Interview: Amy Clarke on Mammy’s House

Mammy’s House FOCUSES ON the the Irish LGBTQ+ community in LONDON IN THE 1980s

Mammy’s House is set behind the door of an ordinary Camden terrace, where an Irish LGBTQ+ household have made a home together. From 1985 onwards, as the AIDS epidemic takes hold and discrimination continues to shape their daily lives, that household is tested in ways none of them could have prepared for. The play is created by Derek Murphy, who also performs as Barry, known to the rest of the household as Mammy, and written by Amy Clarke, with Brian Brady directing. I spoke to Amy Clarke ahead of the show’s opening.

Red Bus: You spent two years developing this with people who lived through the period, including activist Bernárd Lynch and historian Dr Joseph Healy. What surprised you most in those conversations, and how did it end up shaping the play?

Amy Clarke: What struck me most was how personal the stories were and really painted a picture of the individual souls at the heart of the crisis. Because AIDS affected so many thousands of people, it’s easy to become numb to the numbers and forget the human beings behind them. Listening to Bernárd, Joseph and everyone else we spoke to brought that humanity sharply back into focus. Even within the lighter or more humorous stories, there was a vivid sense of who each person was, what they cared about and where they belonged in the world. It made me think of projects like The AIDS Memorial, where people can actively remember their loved ones on social media, because it helps remind us that every life lost belonged to someone with a unique personality, history, and a future that was taken from them too soon.

I went into these interviews expecting to think about the crisis in a broader sense, but what stayed with me was how personal each experience was. The wider context was shared, but the emotional reality was different for every person living through it. I walked away thinking about people I never got to meet, yet feeling like I understood something about who they were. That, for me, was the point of doing this work. I wanted to create characters who represent the people we learned about, not one person in particular, but a blend of the wonderful individuals who stayed with me long after the conversations ended. My hope is that audiences will feel that same connection and carry these characters with them after the performance, because remembering the people behind the history is vital to the preservation of their memory.

Red Bus: This is a story about being queer and being Irish in a city that wasn’t always welcoming to either. How did you go about balancing those two identities on stage without one overshadowing the other?

Amy Clarke: Researching the Irish experience in London during the 80s revealed a complicated dynamic. Irish people faced suspicion, exclusion and outright discrimination. Many pubs barred them, and they were often treated with distrust. What struck me was how different the experience could be for Irish LGBTQ+ people. Gay bars and queer spaces were often more welcoming simply because they were built on the need for solidarity. If you needed a safe place to exist, you were accepted regardless of nationality. In many ways gay Irish men were welcomed in London’s queer community far more than heterosexual Irish people did in the wider city.

That dual identity, Irish and queer, is present throughout the play but it doesn’t overshadow the story. It hums beneath the surface, shaping how these characters navigate the world and how they find connection with one another. The community had to stand together to survive, and that sense of collective protection is central to the narrative. Their Irishness informs their worldview and shared history, but it’s woven in subtly rather than dominating the piece.

Red Bus: This is a play about resilience and chosen family as much as it is about loss. How did you decide where the humour belongs in a story like this, and were there any moments you fought to keep in even though they felt risky?

Amy Clarke: Humour is part of the Irish psyche, especially in moments of crisis. Growing up in West Cork, I’m acutely aware of how gallows humour sharpens when things get difficult. It’s a survival instinct and a way of keeping yourself tethered to something familiar when the world becomes overwhelming. That instinct follows Irish people wherever they go, and the characters in this play are no exception. Even in the darkest moments they find levity in small things, which is a deeply human reaction, especially in Irish culture. And yes, the situation they’re facing is serious, but it’s their humour that helps them to ensure it.

I’ve been incredibly fortunate with Brian as our director. He understands the tone of the piece instinctively and recognises how humour and grief sit side by side in this story. There have not been any major battles over keeping moments in, only a few suggested cuts for time. His own lived experience helps bring sensitivity and generosity to the direction and has made the process collaborative rather than combative, which is something I value enormously.

Red Bus: The household at the centre of the play has organised itself around a figure known affectionately as Mammy. What does that tell us about how this family works, and how much of it is drawn from people you actually spoke to?

Amy Clarke: When Derek and I began shaping the play, we knew we didn’t want to simply retell the AIDS crisis through an Irish lens, but to weave Irish culture, society and the legacy of oppression into the characters themselves. That’s why the story is set in a house rather than a hospital ward or a bar. It’s an intimate space where we see what these characters carry home with them, how they process the outside world together and how they support one another when the crisis becomes personal. The domestic setting allows the audience to witness the private moments that define chosen family.

The Irish Mammy is an iconic figure, but many queer Irish people never got to experience that version of home. Shame, secrecy and fear often prevented them from being honest with their biological families, and many were disowned or felt forced out of home. Mammy in the play is a reimagining of that archetype – a gay Irish man who provides the safety, acceptance and unconditional care that so many queer Irish people were denied. He makes the tea in times of crisis, gives out about the mess and opens his home to young LGBTQ+ people fleeing an Ireland that didn’t feel safe for them. It’s both familiar and radical, and it reflects the heart of the community we learned about.

Red Bus: Upstairs at the Gatehouse is an intimate venue for a story with this much history behind it. What do you hope audiences carry out of the room, and where would you like to see the play go from here?

Amy Clarke: Upstairs at the Gatehouse is an intimate venue, and that’s intentional. I want audiences to feel immersed in the world of the play, close enough to the characters that they experience the story alongside them rather than observing from a distance. It shouldn’t matter whether someone is Irish, LGBTQ+ or neither. The themes of oppression, resilience, love and loss are universal. My hope is that people leave feeling connected to these characters and with a deeper understanding of the history that shaped them.

One of the most meaningful parts of this entire process is knowing that people like Bernárd and Joseph will sit in that theatre and see elements of their experiences honoured on stage. During the crisis they faced nothing but blame, fear and ignorance. The idea that their stories are now being researched, staged and embraced by audiences is a full circle moment for me and for Derek too.

After this initial run, I hope the play sparks enough interest to grow, whether through a longer run, a tour or a future home in another theatre. This history still reverberates through Ireland and the UK, and it risks being forgotten. The scale of loss was staggering. Entire communities disappeared. The least we can do is learn from them, imagine who they might have otherwise become, and honour their memory.

Mammy’s House runs at Upstairs at the Gatehouse from 1st to 13th September.

Running Time: Approximately two hours
Age Guidance: 16+

Photo credit: Amy Clarke; Poster: Laura Clarke

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