The modern image of swiping for romance obscures a long history of platforms that helped people reach out publicly. Long before apps, personal adverts were a recognised method for introducing oneself; historians trace the practice back centuries. One striking instance is The Link, a modest monthly that appeared between 1915 and 1921 and offered a discreet forum for women who wanted companionship. Created by journalist Alfred Walter Barrett, the paper emerged amid the social upheaval of the First World War, when bereavement, changing work patterns and shifting social norms opened space for women to form new domestic and personal bonds.
The wartime moment gave rise to distinctive figures and life choices within queer circles. Women such as Vera “Jack” Holmes and May “Toupie” Lowther are noted examples of people whose roles in the war effort or new freedoms made alternative living arrangements more socially visible. As many men did not return from battle, it became more common for women to share households or beds without immediate suspicion. Sapphics and other queer women turned to publications like The Link to find kindred spirits, using the paper as an informal matchmaking space even though it officially declared itself “not matrimonial”.
A bulletin shaped by constraint and code
Advertisers in The Link had to be concise and cautious; notices were typically limited to a few dozen words and had to avoid overt language that might invite criminal or moral scrutiny. Writers therefore adopted a range of euphemisms and descriptors—words such as bohemian, musical, unconventional and broad-minded—to signal availability to those in the know. A minority used the phrase same-sex directly, but many relied on an informal vocabulary that functioned as a shared code. The paper attracted correspondence from across Britain and beyond, so this coded language helped readers recognise potential matches while limiting public exposure.
Coded notices and real examples
Sample phrasing and dates
Several short notices survive in the historical record and capture the tone of the exchange. In October 1919 a London woman described herself as a thirty-year-old “bachelor girl” interested in reading, music and theatre, seeking a sincere friend of either gender and promising to reply to all letters. A 1918 notice read from a 24-year-old in London asking for a refined, lively chum aged 18–26 and explicitly specifying “same-sex” preference. Another July 1919 notice from Chelsea presented an educated, artistic sportswoman asking only for replies from women who preferred female friendship. One advert from Hertfordshire explained that a 26-year-old who had found her ideal woman was now seeking a good-tempered male friend to enjoy music and films together. These brief entries reveal how people combined personal detail with guarded phrasing to reach potential companions.
Legal danger and a hostile public sphere
Despite its usefulness to readers, The Link operated in an increasingly hostile environment. In 1921 the government considered a bill that would have extended punishment for gross indecency to women, paralleling laws already used against men; the measure reached the House of Lords before it was dropped. Aristocratic opponents framed the topic as deeply damaging to public morals, arguing that debate itself would encourage supposedly corrupt behaviour and even worsen exploitation or blackmail of women who shared beds ostensibly as friends. At the same time sections of the press stoked panic: an article in The People in November 1924, titled “Another Phase of the Smear: Women Friendships that People Talk About,” portrayed such relationships as degenerate and intoxicant-fuelled. By the decade’s end Radclyffe Hall’s novel The Well of Loneliness had ignited an obscenity trial, reflecting wider cultural backlash against visible lesbian lives.
Police action and trial
The pressure on publications produced a dramatic legal confrontation in 1921. Following complaints, police investigated The Link and arrested four men associated with the paper, including editor Alfred Walter Barrett. While the defendants denied that the journal was meant to promote immoral behaviour, Barrett admitted that the notices might have been screened more carefully. The court found the men guilty; they received sentences of two years’ hard labour at Wormwood Scrubs. The presiding judge condemned the enterprise as a serious assault on national morals, declaring that establishing such a paper facilitated immoral encounters between men and women. The conviction effectively ended the publication and served as a warning to other outlets serving queer communities.
Legacy and continuing significance
Although The Link ceased amid scandal and prosecution, its brief life illustrates how people created possibility under constraint. The paper provided a means for connection, a way to assert desire and friendship, and a record of a community negotiating visibility in dangerous times. Contemporary queer media continues that lineage: magazines and organisations run by and for LGBTQIA+ women and gender-diverse people keep community conversation alive. For example, DIVA — published by the DIVA Charitable Trust — has spotlighted queer women for over 30 years and now operates as a charity supporting queer storytelling and services. Supporting such outlets helps preserve the channels that once gave readers of The Link a rare chance to find companionship in an often-unforgiving world.