To mark this year’s LGBT+ History Month, Darienne Flemington and Fiona Hutton (pictured above, left to right) recall the long battle with the government, over Darienne’s right to live in the UK, which would pave the way for same-sex couples to be recognised for immigration purposes.
Both are long-standing UNISON members, living and working in the West Country. Darienne is originally from South Africa, Fiona the UK. And they met on the Greek island of Paros in the late 1980s. “It was the fourth of July, so we always call it our Independence Day,” Fiona tells me, her eyes lighting up at the memory.
After Paros, Darienne returned with Fiona to Devon and they settled down together. When Darienne’s visitor visa was coming to an end, Fiona contacted the Home Office to ask what paperwork she needed to complete for Leave to Remain in the UK as a ‘common law’ partner, the term then in use for un-married cohabiting couples. The reply was stark: there is no paperwork to fill out, common law partners must not be of the same sex. She must leave.
Their story: forced separation and deportation
Fiona then contacted successive Home Secretaries, who held discretionary compassionate powers that could have allowed Darienne to remain in the UK.
“That was the moment it turned into a fight,” Fiona says. “They could have acted with good grace, within the law, and kept it quiet. But they weren’t compassionate. So, I said, right — you want a fight? You’ve got the right women.”
What began as a simple question escalated into a full-blown legal battle. Darienne was granted one extra week and then forced to leave the UK. “I was distraught,” she says. “You had to go back to your country of origin – for me, South Africa, where it was illegal to be LGBT+ and where you were persecuted. It was completely unsafe for me to live there.”
After several months in South Africa, Darienne managed to stay temporarily in Brussels, where Fiona was able to visit her. During this period, Fiona wrote to Angela Mason, then Director of Stonewall, the UK human rights charity fighting for lesbian, gay, bi, trans, and queer+ equality. Her question was simple: did anyone else face the same situation? Mason replied yes, she knew of four other couples.
The four UK-based partners of those couples, and Fiona, met up in a London pub and devised a plan to go for a judicial review and start a campaign. From that meeting, the Stonewall Immigration Group was born. Solicitor Wesley Gryk became the central legal figure supporting them. There was no funding, no staff, no immigration department – just a handful of heartbroken people, separated from their partners, and a sympathetic solicitor. Stonewall agreed to promote the campaign, print leaflets, and provide a helpline.
Wesley advised that Fiona and Darienne’s case was the strongest candidate for judicial review. They agreed it would become the lead challenge, pushing through the courts on behalf of many.
“Our lives were completely disrupted,” Fiona recalls. “Sometimes you don’t choose your battles – they choose you. We genuinely just asked a question about how Darienne could stay as my partner. Suddenly, we were in a fight we hadn’t chosen, but one we had to finish.”
Eight months after their forced separation, the Home Office granted Darienne permission to return to the UK to collect her belongings. Fiona already had a pro bono legal team waiting. “As soon as she got through the gates, the barristers put forward a legal case to allow her to stay.
“It goes up the courts until it reaches judicial review. We appealed the original decision and put forward our arguments with the help of a pro bono barrister. One by one our appeals to higher courts were granted, until we finally won our appeal for judicial review. This was the breakthrough moment, as granting judicial review implies that it can be won.”
Now they could campaign for support. In the week of the judicial review, the Guardian picked up the story, running an extensive feature using pseudonyms. “We called ourselves Harriet and Sandra!” Fiona laughs. When asked why, she explains: “My father was still a senior officer in local government, and we didn’t want to drag him into it. It was also about safety. We lived in a small village – we didn’t want to broadcast that there were ‘notorious lesbians’ living there.”
‘Get the champagne out’
As the case progressed, the media coverage intensified. Support grew. Other cases lined up behind theirs. It became clear their challenge had a strong chance of winning at judicial review.
Shortly before the hearing, the government offered an alternative visa in exchange for withdrawing the case which, on legal advice, they accepted. It secured Darienne’s Indefinite Leave to Remain status – and other cases were already “queued up” to continue the legal pressure.
“Our solicitor told us to get the champagne out,” Fiona recalls. “He wrote, ‘You’ve done your bit. You can stand aside now. Others will take over. It will be all right for everyone.’”
They had paved the way. “It had to be women,” Fiona reflects. “We didn’t pose a perceived risk. And it had to be middle-class women, I’m afraid to say.”
Reflections
“I don’t look back very often,” Darienne says. “It was a long process. Exhausting. Dehumanising, in a way, because you’re just a number.”
After their case, Stonewall established a dedicated immigration department with staff and resources. “People could join easily. It happened very quickly,” Fiona says. “It gave Stonewall power and credibility in the press – because it was a campaign the public genuinely supported.”
When asked what advice they would give to younger LGBT+ campaigners, Darienne is clear: “Don’t give up. Keep communicating. Keep asking for what you need. And don’t be complacent.”
She continues: “Look how quickly the world has changed. The right wing is encroaching on LGBT+ rights. Look at the United States. People are being persecuted in their own countries. Democracies are eroding fast. After immigrants and migrant workers, LGBT+ people are often next. It can happen here.”
Fiona’s advice is practical: “What works best in campaigning is films, videos, photographs – and letters. Collect the human impact. That’s what moves people to change.”
LGBT+ History Month
For Darienne, LGBT+ History Month is about memory. “It’s about remembering where we’ve come from. People stand on our shoulders – and we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t have others’ shoulders to stand on.”
Why is it important these stories are remembered? “Because anyone can change the law,” she says.
Armed with some understanding of the process, and taking up the case of another UNISON member 15 years later, Fiona took on generating the evidence for a second judicial review – this time for stateless LGBT+ asylum seekers. “It’s what we do,” she smiles. “Campaign. I’ve been a campaigner since I was about 10.”
Darienne laughs in agreement: “When we met in Greece, we campaigned for animals – donkeys and dogs. We were both doing it long before we met.”
“It’s who we are,” Fiona adds. “We see an injustice – and we want to do something about it.”
The work of the Stonewall Immigration Group went on to transform UK immigration policy. Sustained legal pressure and public campaigning eventually led to the introduction of the Unmarried Partners Concession, which, for the first time, allowed same-sex couples to be recognised for immigration purposes on the same basis as unmarried heterosexual couples.
Though limited and imperfect, it marked a decisive shift: LGBT+ relationships were no longer invisible in immigration law. The concession laid crucial groundwork for later reforms, including civil partnerships and equal marriage. What began as a small group meeting in a pub became a turning point in the recognition of same-sex love under UK law, and lives on now as Rainbow Migration.
