We recently had the pleasure of hosting a workshop titled “LGBT+ Letters to the Past/Future,” as part of the Norfolk LGBT+ History Club at the Millennium Library. The workshop centred around a dying medium: the humble letter. The worksop allowed participants to delve into over 200 years of queer history in Norfolk, blending archival exploration with personal reflection and imagination. This workshop wasn’t just about discovering Norfolk’s rich queer history history as told by the people who lived it—it was about engaging with it, connecting it with our present lives, and considering what these insights mean for our collective future.
The workshop opened with an exploration of queer archival materials, sparking conversations around our shared LGBTQ+ past, both locally and nationally. Attendees brainstormed significant moments, both personal and historic, forming a timeline that traced queer life from the past to the present. This collective knowledge sharing underscored how much queer experiences have evolved, yet how some themes and challenges endure across generations.
Each writer then took a unique approach to their letter, responding to archival material or discussions in the session. One wrote a letter back to the first Norwich Pride in 2009, reflecting on the library’s role in championing queer literature and visibility. They questioned whether the library was doing enough to promote LGBTQ+ books year-round and suggested diversifying the Pride displays to include media beyond books. This letter was both a critique and a celebration, as the writer noted the library’s evolution to include a broader range of LGBTQ+ resources, a testament to how institutions adapt to meet the needs of the communities they serve.
“I wonder if there could be a whole collection permanently within Norfolk Libraries, which would be easily accessible for all people (not just LGBT+ people) and visible. One of the difficulties at the moment in not having enough visibility”
Another participant found inspiration in a personal ad from shOUT, a local queer zine. The responded to an ad from gay and lesbian friends Daryl and Jen as they searched for a new housemate. This ad captured the longing for safe, affirming spaces—an ongoing need for LGBTQ+ individuals. Through the act of responding to this ad, the participant imagined themselves in that past, speaking directly to Daryl and Jen as if they were present, reinforcing the timeless nature of connection and community-building within queer circles.
“Saw you ad in shOUT – I am looking for a gay household at the moment… I’ve not lived in the Golden Triangle but have had many gay experiences there. Currently a student but can afford rent & bills.”

On the eve of Remembrance Sunday, one writer addressed Alan Turing, the brilliant but persecuted computer scientist who contributed immensely to the Allied victory in World War II. Turing’s story is a solemn reminder of the contributions and sacrifices made by LGBTQ+ individuals, and the writer’s letter honoured both his legacy and the resilience of queer people who have faced, and continue to face, profound challenges. This letter echoed with gratitude, reflecting how the trauma of the past remains entwined with modern queer resilience and pride.
“I hope you would be pleased to know that people still value you, learn about what you did and visit the place where you worked—Bletchley Park”
Perhaps one of the most poignant moments came when a participant read a letter inspired by a love note from Esmee to Bunty, a woman working in a Norwich hospital. Rather than focusing solely on Bunty, the participant wrote back to Esmee, asking about her own story, her feelings, and her experiences beyond her love for Bunty. This letter served as a tender reminder of the unseen, unheard voices in queer history, urging us to uncover the fuller lives behind love letters, photographs, and fleeting mentions in the archives.
“I feel like I know so much about Bunty in comparison to you. Did she ever write back to you? What did you do with her letters? Why have yours survived and hers not? Who kept them safe and donated them to the Museum?”

Another participant chose to respond to a Zine from 1984 that described the lively gay club scene in Norwich at the time. Their letter reflected on the vibrant, electric atmosphere of 1980s queer nightlife, drawing comparisons to today’s more fragmented scene, where online spaces have become more important for flirting and making connections. In both eras, the writer noted, there were common challenges: even back then, queer clubs faced issues with straight patrons entering these spaces, sometimes disrupting or disrespecting the sense of safety queer people fought to create. The letter also held a tinge of nostalgia, mourning the gradual disappearance of physical queer spaces as nightlife moved online. Despite this shift, some challenges—like running into a former fling unexpectedly—still carry over from those clubs of the ’80s to the modern digital spaces. The underscored both the evolution of queer spaces and the timeless desire for connection and belonging.
“You complain about there being too many straight people at the club in 1984 – but you should see it now! It’s not just the ‘fag hags’, but crowds of straights. When you write, you worry about your community being seen by a straight friend or co-worker who might ‘out’ them. Venues like The Loft are still struggling to maintain a safe environment for queer patrons.”
The workshop was a beautiful reminder of the power of letters—how they allow us to collapse time, reaching back into the past and forward into the future. Writing these letters wasn’t just a reflection on history; it was an act of empathy and curiosity, and a chance to explore how far we’ve come and what still needs to be done. Through our letters, we were able to talk to people we’d never met, ask them questions, honour their stories, and offer insights from the present that would hopefully bring comfort, validation, and connection.