Hugh Sheehan
Criminally Queer: The Bolton 7 chronicles a shocking and scarcely-known landmark legal case in 1998, whereby 7 gay and bisexual men had consensual group sex and were subsequently arrested and charged with the archaic crimes of gross indecency and buggery. The series also acts as a framework to more broadly contemplate the criminalisation of homosexuality in England. Released in 2025, this 5-part narrative audio documentary series for BBC Sounds was dubbed “mind-bending” and “a staggering tale” by The Guardian and a “sad, startling story skilfully unravelled” by The Sunday Times.
NOTCHES: How did you become aware of the Bolton 7, and why is it important to revisit this case now in Criminally Queer?
Hugh Sheehan: I came across the case of the Bolton 7 about 3 years before starting working on the series, whilst looking at Outrage!’s online archives. Outrage! was a queer rights activist group formed in 1990, which campaigned around the case of the Bolton 7.
Despite being someone now very immersed in queer culture, I’d not heard of the case before then. I couldn’t believe how recently it had happened, and how the men had been charged with seemingly archaic crimes (which is the most common reaction when I tell people what the series is about). I also was shocked at how little reporting had been done on the case since. The more I read about it, the more I felt it was a story that needed to be told.
Why now? In the UK and around the world the rights and lives of LGBTQ+ people are under attack in ways that are more pernicious and targeted than we’ve seen maybe since the late 80s or early 90s. And so, to me, it seems absolutely imperative that we bear witness to the oppression of queer people in years gone by whilst fervently maintaining resistance and dissent in the face of bigotry and prejudice today.
NOTCHES: How did you approach balancing confidentiality, significance, and historical accuracy when some of the key people involved are still alive?
HS: Along with the podcast’s executive producer Anishka Sharma, I was adamant that in making this series we would not sensationalise the men’s ordeal. We wanted to tell their story in a way that was rich and multi-faceted, but full of reverence and compassion. This meant certain narrative storytelling devices were off the table. We were incredibly careful in what details to include or omit, and thought deeply about where to add colour and weight, and where to report in a granular and almost scientific way.
There is a world in which this story would have been made into a grisly true crime documentary, which is just something I’m so uninterested in, and actually opposed to ethically. But broadcasters want continued engagement, and, even if a story is important, they still want it to be entertaining, so to speak. This was maybe the greatest editorial challenge for me, but what Anishka is so skilled at. She guided me in the process of using narrative and dramatic devices in a way that felt ethical and would actually enhance our understanding of and empathy towards these men’s experiences.
We were presented with a further challenge in not getting to speak to any of the seven men. Documenting a person’s story without hearing directly from them leads to obvious narrative challenges, but it also poses important questions: who gets to tell these stories and why? If the people who were victims of a human rights injustice aren’t contributing to its documentation, is it ethical to tell their story anyway? What is the threshold for a story being in the public interest? These are not black and white questions; they are quandaries that I think anybody who is dealing ethically in reporting on human rights abuses or stories with victims who have experienced trauma will have to wrestle with. I think the consistent thread, however, is that there is great responsibility in whatever action one takes.
In terms of contextualising the case and historical accuracy, another important aspect for me was to weave in conversations that excavate the history of how and why gay sex has been criminalised, and the socio-cultural ramifications of such legislation. Because so much of how the Bolton 7 were criminalised was bound up in really quite granular legal technicalities, we felt it important to offer context for these technicalities, and then also consider their impact on every-day life.
NOTCHES: What kind of research did you undertake—were there archives, media sources, other documents, or personal interviews that proved especially useful or challenging?
HS: Initially I did a deep dive into anything and everything I could find even remotely connected to the case. There was limited information online, but the LSE archives and Bishopsgate Institute’s LGBTQ+ archives proved incredibly useful in getting hold of court documentation, and reporting on the case itself as well as the activity of Greater Manchester Police. The latter also houses scores of press clippings from the time concerning age of consent equalisation and LGBTQ+ rights in general. (I can’t stress enough how important I think these sorts of archives and resources are, and I would encourage anyone to visit one and explore their vast troves).
Another very useful resource which I managed to track down was a documentary about the trial for Channel 4 which aired in 1998, made by film maker Ian Lilley, which he kindly sent to me. Roger Bolton had been the producer, and he very kindly granted us the rights to use audio from the documentary, which turned out to be incredibly helpful in adding texture and colour to the story, as well as identifying lawyers and activists connected to the case.
From there I tried to locate as many of the people whose names I had as possible: the men themselves, the solicitors and barristers, the judge, the police officers, the prosecutor, the activists involved. This proved tricky. We had limited time and ran into a lot of dead ends: some had passed away, some I couldn’t track down, some couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to me. But we were incredibly fortunate in that those who could or would speak to me proved to be so articulate and ardent in their testimony.
In terms of research and interviewees for the more broad conversations pertaining to the history and culture of gay sex and its criminalisation, I was incredibly fortunate in getting to speak to pretty much everyone on a list I had drawn up at the beginning of the process. Sometimes those conversations would lead me on to further research or topics which I would then fold back into the script.
NOTCHES: The podcast highlights both the injustice of the prosecution and the community’s response. How did you navigate presenting those dual narratives?
HS: Despite homophobia still being prevalent in society, I think the unjustness of how the men were treated touched a nerve within the LGBTQ+ community. This was evidenced from much of the research that I did: documentation from rallies held at the time, letters sent to the judge opposing the men’s conviction, and testimony from members of the community.
During my reporting I spoke with Louis, the landlord of the Church Inn, one of Bolton’s three gay bars. He spoke very warmly of the three of the seven men that he’d met. Between arrest and trial, the eldest of the Bolton 7, Terry, had voiced concerns that people in the Bolton LGBTQ+ community would admonish him, or they would adopt the bigoted rhetoric of those who castigated the queer community and accuse him of being a predator or a menace. However, Louis told me that he and others assured Terry that everyone supported him and the other men.
In terms of getting the “other side of the story”, as you’d imagine it was quite difficult to find anyone who would endorse the actions of the CPS and the police now. Unfortunately the arresting officer and the prosecutor on the case couldn’t be reached for comment. I’d love to have interviewed them and would be very interested to know how they feel about their involvement in the case in retrospect. I’d also like to know why they pursued the convictions so doggedly, given these laws were generally not being used with such fervor anywhere else in the country at that point in time.
Often law enforcement and the criminal justice system excuses past actions by saying they were “just following orders.” Had I managed to speak to the lead police officer on the case or the prosecutor, this is rhetoric that I would have really wanted to interrogate.
NOTCHES: What did you learn about the media coverage of the Bolton 7 case and how it shaped public attitudes toward queer men at the time?
HS: In the 90s much of the press was virulently homophobic: the language of predation was ever-present in discussions around age of consent; any mainstream discussions about gay sex were rooted in disgust and disdain. I knew this to be the case to a certain extent before conducting research for the series, but as someone who came of age in the naughties, I didn’t realise how widespread and explicit the press’s homophobia had actually been. It’s hard to quantify exactly how much tabloids and/or the mainstream press influenced public opinion on queer issues—the bigoted minority can often shout so loud that they seem like the majority—but it is undeniable it had a considerable impact, and this will have been true in the case of the Bolton 7. The abuse and attacks the men were on the receiving end of in the aftermath of the trial evidence this.
NOTCHES: In what ways do you think the Bolton 7 case marks a turning point—or not—in the history of queer criminalisation in Britain?
HS: The case was one of the very last of its kind in the UK, which I think defines it as somewhat of a landmark. The myriad campaigns of humiliation, degradation and malignancy that had defined the prior three decades were coming to an end.
It could also be argued that this case was a catalyst for a paradigm shift in terms of the law changing. It’s true that momentum for change was already underway: Blair’s Labour government had come to power and a few politicians, amongst them Jack Straw and Anne Keane, were pushing for age of consent reform. This eventually happened in 2001, despite great pushback from the House of Lords. But it wasn’t until 2003 that the privacy stipulation (that decreed no more than two men could have sex together, and that it was to happen in total privacy) was struck from the statute books.
And so I think it’s fair to say that the case played a part in the ongoing decriminalisation of homosexuality, and marked a turning point. But progress is not linear. Much of the rhetoric used against the Bolton 7 is now being weaponised against trans+ and gender non-confirming people. And I would argue that the rights of gays and lesbians are not as entrenched as deeply as we may think. So as much as a turning point that this case may have been in that moment in time, I’m wary of regarding it as a “never again” shift, given the current climate.
NOTCHES: The podcast situates the story within a moment in the late 1990s—post-AIDS crisis, pre–Section 28 repeal. How do you think this cultural context affected both the prosecution and the activism that followed?
HS: The law does not exist in a vacuum; it is an emanation of the state, of our politicians, of our judges and the judiciary committees that draw up our laws. All of these people will have harboured the prejudices that were a result of both the AIDS crisis and Section 28.
Cyclically, the censorial nature of Section 28 will certainly have exacerbated the ignorance and disgust with which queer lives were regarded at the time, and thus have worsened the way queer people were treated by the state in prosecutorial campaigns such as this.
The bigotry and moral panic that manifested in society as a result of the AIDS crisis will also have affected how the state regarded the men and the sex they were having, and there are myriad examples of the press and the state weaponising the AIDS crisis so as to temper the public’s attitude towards queer people.
And so I think it’s fair to say all of these factors absolutely informed the doggedness with which these prosecutions were pursued by the state.
In terms of the activism that followed, I think the urgency which the AIDS crisis instilled in the queer community will have certainly informed the fervour to which activists sought to oppose the prosecutions and subsequent convictions. I also think that, despite societal and state homophobia at the time, there was progress: prosecutions such as this were rare by 1998. And so that also will have informed the activism that the case catalysed.
NOTCHES: What responses have you received from listeners, including those who remember the case or were directly affected by these laws and also those who didn’t know about it?
HS: The response to the podcast has been wonderful and overwhelming. I’ve been so touched by the amount of people who have reached out and shared how and why they’ve connected with the series and the stories it tells.
First and foremost, the response from the LGBTQ+ community has been incredibly heart-warming. Personally, I avidly consume art, music, and literature about queerness because I’m still figuring out my place in the world as a queer person (a life’s work, perhaps), and it enriches my experience in moving through life. I now make work about queerness for similar reasons, and so to hear other people engage with this series like I have with other podcasts or books or films is a really incredible feeling.
More specifically though I’ve heard from so many gay men with experience of being criminalised for their sexuality during this era. It seems as though they’re seeing their ordeals being acknowledged in the media for the first time. A recent review for the series on Apple Podcasts reads:
Thank you for shining a light on this. It was a hard listen but necessary. Having been a victim of this in the late-eighties with a subsequent conviction, humiliation in the local press, rejected by my family & the deep shame and humiliation that l’ve carried ever since. I’m surprised I’m still here, if l’m being honest. This podcast is so special & vitally important to ensure it’s not forgotten.
It means the world to know that I’ve played a small part in preserving their histories, in honouring their courage, and in bearing witness to their pain.
The response I’ve had from non-queer people, be they allies, friends or family of queer people, or folks with no real connection to the queer community but who enjoy history documentaries, has been great too. Their general reaction has been one of shock and outrage, and gratitude for being enlightened. It’s encouraged me to continue the pursuit of exposing societal inequality: if you shine a light on injustice, people will notice and respond accordingly.
NOTCHES: After producing Criminally Queer: The Bolton 7, how has your understanding of queer history or activism changed—and where do you hope the series leads next?
HS: I’ve always revered my queer forbearers—I’m acutely aware that the rights and freedoms that I enjoy as a 33-year-old queer man are directly linked to the struggle and endeavours of those who came before me. But learning about the Bolton 7’s ordeal, and the thousands of others who had similar experiences, has only augmented this reverence. It’s easy to forget or to be ignorant of the lives and accounts of those who come before us: perhaps because older generations don’t have the platform or the inclination to tell their stories, or because we want to feel as though we’ve sufficiently assimilated and therefore have no reason to demarcate our Other-ness. But in making this series it’s become even clearer to me how important community, (intergenerational) sociality, inter-community solidarity, and perseverance are in the fight for equality, and how central they were to the liberties I’ve been afforded.
In terms of what’s next for the series: there are a few exciting things in the pipeline, none of which I can talk about unfortunately, but for the most part I want to keep making work that recognises and amplifies the stories of those whose voices are often silenced, and which exposes and confronts unjustness and inequality.
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