Queer Cambridge: An Alternative History, written by Prof Simon Goldhill, recounts the untold story of a gay community living, for many decades, at the very heart of the British Establishment. Goldhill also examines the huge influence these individuals had on British culture, in its arts, politics, music, theatre and self-understanding. Queer Fellows of Cambridge University explored bold new forms of camaraderie and relationship.
In the hushed corridors of King’s College, Cambridge, where portraits of illustrious alumni gaze sternly from the walls, a rather different legacy has lingered—one that, until recently, remained shrouded in discreet whispers. New research by Simon Goldhill, a professor of classics at the college, illuminates a chapter of King’s history that stands in stark contrast to the prevailing narratives of repression and secrecy in Britain’s queer past.
Making effective use of chiefly forgotten archival sources – including personal diaries and letters – the author reveals a network that was in equal parts tolerant and acerbic. During difficult decades when homosexuality was unlawful, gay academics – who included celebrated literary and scientific figures like E. M. Forster, M. R. James, Rupert Brooke and Alan Turing – lived, loved, and grew old together, bringing new generations into their midst. Their remarkable stories add up not just to an alternative history of male homosexuality in Britain, but to an alternative history of Cambridge itself.
One story in particular has puzzled historians for decades. Why, in the course of reporting a burglary to the police in 1952, did the maths genius and the pioneer of the theory that lead to AI and the end of the World War II Alan Turing volunteer that he was in an illegal homosexual relationship? The admission enabled the police to prosecute the Bletchley Park codebreaker for “gross indecency”, ending Turing’s groundbreaking work for GCHQ (Government Communications Headquarter, an intelligence agency) on early computers and compelling him to undergo a chemical castration that rendered him impotent. Two years later, he killed himself.
“There was a whole community in King’s quite different from stories one knows about from gay history, usually involving casual pickups and a lot of despair, hiding and misery,” Goldhill explains. His findings, drawn from a detailed study of college life, suggest that Turing’s decision not to conceal his sexuality from the police in 1952 may have stemmed from the formative years he spent at King’s—years during which he discovered that being a gay man need not mean living in the shadows.
In his new book, Queer Cambridge, Goldhill describes a “rather happy” and flamboyant community that flourished at the college while homosexuality was still illegal. “It was a very camp environment,” he notes, adding that in the 1930s, when Turing was an undergraduate, “the provost [college principal] and many of the senior fellows [tutors] were openly and outwardly gay. They had sex with men and talked constantly about having sex with men.” In this setting, Turing learned that it was “perfectly acceptable” for intellectual gay men like himself to live authentically, even around figures of authority.
This environment may explain why, in 1952, when questioned by police about a suspected burglary, Turing did not hesitate to identify the suspect as a friend of his male lover. “Turing thought he had the perfect right to be gay. He wasn’t ashamed of it. It was who he was,” Goldhill argues. The confidence Turing displayed in his dealings with the authorities, refusing to lie or conceal his identity, was, Goldhill believes, a direct legacy of his time at King’s.
The college’s long-standing queer history includes such figures as the poet Rupert Brooke, the novelist E.M. Forster, and the economist John Maynard Keynes. Keynes, a fellow at King’s alongside Turing, meticulously recorded his liaisons with men in ledgers. “He’s an economist—and economists count things. He’s bookkeeping,” Goldhill remarks drily. Keynes also wrote about how everyone in Cambridge was “buggering each other,” a sentiment echoed by Virginia Woolf, who, in a letter to her sister, observed that “the word buggery was never far from our lips.”
Goldhill traces this culture of acceptance back to a statute signed by King Henry VI in 1443, which required King’s to admit only students from Eton College. The close-knit nature of this community, many of whom had known each other since boyhood, fostered an environment in which same-sex desire was tolerated “within the safety of the college walls.” Over centuries, this camaraderie evolved into an enduring tradition of queer life at King’s, where gay men could pursue lifelong relationships in relative safety. Unlike other accounts of clandestine gay life in Britain, the story of King’s is one of continuity and relative stability.
Even after the statute favouring Etonians was overturned in the 1860s, King’s retained its reputation as a haven for queer students. Teachers at other schools, aware of the college’s liberal atmosphere, would discreetly encourage bright young men they knew or suspected to be gay to apply. To this day, the college maintains its reputation as a centre of LGBTQ+ life at Cambridge. “There has been and remains a spirit of tolerance and liberal values about the place—though even here, these days, such values are under threat,” Goldhill cautions.
Ainoa Cernohorsky, King’s LGBTQ+ student officer, affirms that the atmosphere remains overwhelmingly supportive. “I have not encountered, seen or felt anything but unwavering support for my queerness—and for my role as the LGBTQ officer—from queer and non-queer undergraduates, graduates, professors and directors of studies at King’s,” Cernohorsky says. The legacy of King’s queer history is visible across the college, from the Antony Gormley statue dedicated to Turing in the grounds to the painting of Keynes by his lover Duncan Grant, which hangs in the grand dining hall.
“These people are present in my mind,” Cernohorsky reflects for The Guardian. “They left their mark on the atmosphere in King’s.” As Goldhill’s research suggests, this legacy is not merely historical but a living tradition—one that shaped Turing’s courage to live authentically and continues to inspire students today.
Simon Goldhill, Queer Cambridge: An Alternative History was published by Cambridge University Press in February 2025, €29.99.
– – –
GAY45 is committed to publishing a diversity of journalism, prose, and poetry. We’d like to hear what you think about this or any of our articles. And here’s our email if you want to send a letter: [email protected]
– – –
When we learn of a mistake, we acknowledge it with a correction. If you spot an error, please let us know.
– – –
Listen to our podcast ‘Gen Clash: Queer Perspectives on Current Affairs’ on your favourite podcast platform.
– – –
TODAY IS NOT AN EASY DAY
Queer press and books are forced into silence.
But we have something powerful on our side.
We’ve got you. You make us strong.
GAY45 is funded by readers.
Our editors decide what we publish—no one else.
Donate as much as you can.
Every 5€ is a way to help the community, the independent press and fight against silence.
GAY45 is Europe’s leading queer magazine of culture, politics and ideas, because of you.
You can donate to support our Queer Journalism Campus and GAY45 now.
We appreciate it. Thanks for reading.
