#Pride 2024: The Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project – stories of widows

“Losing a partner in a same-gender relationship is every bit as devastating as losing a husband or wife: you may experience all the same feelings as the surviving partner of a marriage or other heterosexual partnership… but can you count on the same support if you are lesbian or gay?”
Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project leaflet (September 1988). Source: Wellcome Collectio

In April 2024. I spent three amazing days looking through some of the the Switchboard LGBT+ archives from a few years in the 1980s, and found some incredible and heartbreaking stories. This is where I discovered the Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project, created by Dudley Cave.​

Cave, one of the original committee members of the London Gay Switchboard (now Switchboard LGBT+) and a regular telephone volunteer, spoke with LGBTQ+ people who had lost their partners grieving without support and being excluded from funerals, losing inheritances and facing eviction from joint homes. He created the Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project. The project was the first of its kind to be established in the UK, and the first organisation with ‘gay’ in the title to gain charitable status in the UK (despite pushback from the Charity Commissioners to change the name).
 
The aim of the project was to give “support at a time when it might seem that all friends had deserted”, helping people right from the first few hours and days of a bereavement. This included practical help: finding a minister of religion or a secular officiant to look after the funeral (“someone who will understand and approve the love felt for the dead partner”), as well as registering the death and talking to funeral directors, (sourced from the Hendon Edgeware Independent, 2 February 1984).
 
The snapshots of stories from the Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project and from the pages of the Switchboard logbooks talk about LGBTQ+ widowhood and anticipatory grief. Some are of their time, and tell of the homophobia and the legal challenges that were more common before civil partnership and same sex marriage. Because of this, Cave would recommend to all LGBTQ+ people that they should make wills and keep them up to date, name their partner as next of kin going into hospital, however short the stay or minor the procedure. Others are stories of heartbreak that mirror those of bereaved LGBTQ+ people today.
 
The snapshots that follow are rewritten and anonymised.

“My girlfriend and I were together for six years. When I arrived at her funeral her mother shouted at me, telling me that I had no right to be there. At the inquest of her suicide, they asked me if we had made love that day, and whether we had any ‘normal’ friends. My family told me that they were glad my partner was dead, and that perhaps I might now marry a good man and have his children. My mother even turned up at the door with a man, to fix me up on a date. At least work treated me well – I'm a teacher – they said I could take as long off as I wanted.”
 
“My boyfriend – he was my teacher – died. I have no support as not everyone knows that I am gay. I feel really guilty about the age difference, and my friends and family aren’t giving me any support.”
 
“My best friend has AIDS. I’ve already lost four friends in two years. I can’t cope. I don’t know whether I want to go on if everyone I love is dying.”

“My partner has cancer of the bones. This is probably her last weekend. She just wants to talk but I am terrified – I can’t even stay in the same room as her. My Catholic parents say that her cancer is a punishment for us being lesbians, and that we will burn in hell.”
 
“We didn’t make wills and I’m not allowed to attend the funeral.”
 
“I didn’t do enough.”
 
“I’m sorry – I’m crying – it’s so embarrassing.”
 
“It’s 13 months on and I feel I should be doing better by now.”
 
“It was a very good funeral – we had a gay vicar.”
 
“We’ve been together since we were 17.”
 
“The family took over the funeral.”
 
“I’m not eating.”
 
“The Church of Christ found out that I was gay, and now they want to get me out of the accommodation.”
 
“I’m a Spiritualist, but I don’t want him to come to me.”
 
“They left his coffin alone in the chapel – it felt like they were abandoning him.”
 
“I met him on holiday. He was killed in an accident on the way to the airport to come to see me. I have lost our future.”
 
“We lived in his house, but when he died, I had to give the keys back. We’d had a row and he changed his will, leaving it all to charity. I only have my disability pension now.”
 
“He died of AIDS in hospital. When I took him there he felt that I was sending him away but I just couldn’t manage on my own any more. He didn’t want to die – it wasn’t a blessed release.”
 
“My girlfriend died of breast cancer. I can’t speak of my loss to anyone.”
 
“He died by suicide. When he came out to his parents, his mother was fine but his homosexuality concerned his father. She’s managing all right with her grief but she can’t cope with his father’s unwillingness to talk about their son. He finally allowed her to put up a picture in the hall, but she’s not allowed to put one up in the living room. I think she’s dreading Christmas.”
 
“We had no wills and the relatives are threatening to come and take everything. I’ve hidden our valuables.”
 
“He was killed in a car crash. I’m angry – he was a stupid driver and his car went under a lorry.”
 
“He died of AIDS. He supported me when I lost my job. I as asked not to go to the funeral, even though we lived together for five years. I’m numb, and I think I’m going to lose my home.”
 
“He was a heroin addict. I feel I’m to blame for his death.”
 
“There was no will. It all went to his nephew.”
 
“The dog keeps looking up at the corner of the room. I’m not religious, but…”
 
“We’ve been together for 40 years since we left the forces. I can’t go on.”

The Switchboard LGBT+ and Lesbian and Gay Bereavement Project archives, along with archives from the Terrence Higgins Trust and others, are held at the Bishopsgate Institute, a beautiful Victorian building in the City of London. The institute is home to one of the most extensive collections on LGBTQIA+ history, politics and culture in the UK. The building flies the progress Pride flag, and the archives room is lined with a huge variety of LGBTQ+ flags.