‘People think you come out … and live happily ever after. If only.’ The reality of life after wrongful conviction

Paddy Hill spent more than 16 years in prison for murders he did not commit. One of the so-called Birmingham Six who were wrongfully convicted for the Birmingham pub bombings in 1974, he was proof that exoneration and financial compensation do not fix a miscarriage of justice.

When I met him in July 2023, more than 30 years after his release from prison, his ordeal continued to haunt him. He was in his late 70s, looking frail and far from the “12 and a half stone” man he was in Parkhurst Prison. He had very little appetite and was in poor health. The little sleep he was able snatch was marred by screaming nightmares.

Neither of us knew it at the time, but this was to be his final interview. He died aged 80, on December 30 2024. I sat down to talk with Hill in his living room. Struggling to control his emotions, he told me: “Sometimes I sit in the bedroom … and I’m crying my eyes out like a child and I don’t know what the fuck happened … I’ve been so fucking screwed up.”

The ITV docudrama Mr Bates vs the Post Office thrust wrongful convictions into mainstream consciousness in January 2024 – a quarter of a century after the Post Office began prosecuting sub-postmasters and mistresses for fraud, theft, and false accounting and 15 years after Rebecca Thomson’s Computer Weekly article exposing the Horizon IT system as the potential culprit.

Now the public could finally see the human impact of miscarriages of justice on these upstanding – and, more importantly, innocent – members of their communities. Public outrage followed.

But despite the mass quashing of hundreds of convictions, and amid promises of speedy financial compensation, progress has been pitiful. While collecting a National Television Award in September 2024, former sub-postmistress Jo Hamilton confirmed that out of the “555 group”, those involved in the litigation which exposed the Horizon scandal, “more than 300 haven’t been paid yet, including Sir Alan Bates”.

Sadly, this timescale is far from unusual. In July 2023, Andrew Malkinson finally had his 2003 rape conviction overturned after several unsuccessful appeals, including unsuccessful applications in 2012 and 2020 to the Criminal Cases Review Commission (CCRC), the independent body which investigates potential miscarriages of justice.

Crucially, the CCRC did not commission the DNA testing that finally exonerated him and did not review police files which would have shown that Greater Manchester Police had withheld crucial evidence at his trial.

Malkinson spent 17 years in prison maintaining his innocence. Perversely, he could have been released sooner had he falsely confessed. He was eventually exonerated thanks to the help of the charity Appeal, which commissioned those crucial DNA tests and unearthed the disclosure failures.

The CCRC has since acknowledged in an independent review that it “failed Mr Malkinson” with chairperson Helen Pitcher OBE (whose recent resignation was welcomed by the Ministry of Justice) eventually expressing “sincere regret and an unreserved apology on behalf of the commission”. All of this happened 12 months after Malkinson called on the CCRC to apologise to him. Malkinson said it was “shameful” that the CCRC has kept private the names of those responsible for his ordeal and delayed the publishing of the report highlighting its mishandling of his case.

The true number of miscarriages of justice is unknown. In the UK, the CCRC referral rate averages 2% including appeals of sentence. In the US, estimates of wrongful conviction and imprisonment range from 6% to 15.4%.

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Inevitably, some innocent people will have their appeals denied and will remain convicted for the rest of their lives. The trauma of remaining legally guilty of a crime you did not commit cannot be overstated.

But persistent psychological ill-effects can be seen even in those who have been formally exonerated, including long-term effects on their employment and relationships.

I’ve been examining cases like this as part of a research project into the experiences of people who suffer grave miscarriages of justice. Working with Dr Mandy Winterton at Edinburgh Napier University, I interviewed several men who have been imprisoned for crimes they did not commit.

As academics with psychology and sociology backgrounds, we were predominantly interested in how victims were affected by such injustices. Previous research has documented the litany of mental health and social effects on those who have been wrongfully convicted and exonerated, and the flaws in the criminal justice system that are to blame. But little attention has been paid to individual experiences. While there were clear commonalities in the men’s stories, they all had unique perspectives.

Of the people we spoke to, Hill and a man called Jimmy Boyle spoke to us on the record and specifically requested that they be named. I have given the other men featured here pseudonyms to protect their anonymity.

Paddy Hill

Hill’s story is particularly harrowing. On November 21 1974, shortly after 8pm, bombs exploded in two pubs in Birmingham, England, killing 21 people and injuring around 200 others. They were attributed to the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA), which had detonated many bombs in the West Midlands in the previous year.

Hill and his friends were arrested at Heysham Docks as they were boarding the ferry to Belfast to attend the funeral of an old friend who had been a member of the IRA. Hill said that they were initially interviewed at Morecambe police station in Lancashire, and the West Midlands Police took over their questioning the next day.

Hill and his co-accused were, says Hill, tortured by the West Midlands serious crime squad. They were subjected to anti-Irish verbal abuse, hours-long beatings over several days, mock executions, were burned with cigarettes, and deprived of sleep, food and drink. Unable to withstand this, four of the six men eventually signed false confessions, condemning them all to life imprisonment in 1975 for the murders. The six men brought a civil action against the West Midlands Police which was thrown out in 1980 by Lord Denning.

These shocking revelations eventually reached the public consciousness thanks to investigative journalist and former Labour MP Chris Mullin, who uncovered evidence of police wrongdoing and corruption. His work informed the group’s court of appeal hearing in 1987. However, the convictions were upheld by Lord Chief Justice Lane. It was only at their second appeal in 1991, after Mullin had uncovered more evidence of their innocence, that they were finally exonerated.

Despite other lines of enquiry which could have led to the real bombers – including a confession and several named suspects – the Crown Prosecution Service (CPS) decided in 2023 that there was insufficient evidence to prosecute, denying justice to the families of those killed and injured.

The impact on Hill’s family was enormous. With such public vitriol for the Birmingham Six, his wife and children had to move house regularly and change their names to avoid being recognised. He told me:

Everywhere they went, sooner or later somebody found out who they were and then they’d pick on them. And sometimes my kids were going to school and they couldn’t even remember what fucking name they were supposed to be using, they were that confused.

Hill’s marriage ended while he was in prison. “I told her to divorce me. I said: ‘Meet someone, you want to get married, don’t worry about me.’ And that was it.”

He later remarried, but his relationship with his children was irretrievably destroyed. “Along the way I lost my own kids, because I came out of jail and I didn’t feel nothing for my kids. I still don’t … I’ve spent more time here with you than I have done in the last 20 fucking years with my kids.”

Though he was referred to psychologists for support, he told me none were able to help him. Over and above the pains of imprisonment, the wrongfully convicted are betrayed by the very people that we are led to believe are there to protect us. The justice system has wrought on them the worst injustice, and many will suffer from enduring anger and mistrust of authorities.

When we met, Hill was still consumed by his anger and felt badly let down: “Over the years I realised I was never going to get any professional help from the government, even though we have it in writing that they have a duty of care towards us – but they’ve never done nothing to help us … If they did, they would acknowledge what they’ve done wrong.”

Up until his death, Hill had spent much of the past 30 years helping other survivors of miscarriages of justice. Initially intending to spend his first 12 months of freedom campaigning, he “got involved with the families, and it was then I realised how bad the families had it … That’s what kept me going, coming out and campaigning.”

He established the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation (Mojo), a Glasgow-based charity dedicated to supporting the wrongfully convicted. It provides advocacy for clients in prison, aftercare and reintegration services, and dedicated psychological support offered pro-bono by a clinical psychologist.

But the demand far exceeds Mojo’s ability to help, and it may take several months for a case to be assessed. Euan McIlvride, the organisation’s legal officer, told me it typically receives “250 applications a year, and we will probably support only ten of those because the rest of them don’t meet the requirements for our support … We have finite resources.”

For Hill, keeping busy provided some relief from thinking about his ordeal.

…When you aren’t doing something, all you’re going to do is sit there and think … about things you don’t fucking want to think about. I don’t know what happens to me when I go to sleep … [My wife] hears me screaming … kicking and punching everything … I’ll be watching television and all of a sudden … BANG! It’s like a non-stop video going through your head all the time.

Chained to a radiator

The Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 (Pace), which came to effect in 1986, aimed to reduce miscarriages of justice by balancing the powers of the police and the public. Pace provides safeguards for suspects during questioning, puts a limit on how long suspects can be questioned for, and insists that interviews be recorded.

This makes it easier to detect when protocols have not been followed or there may have been mistreatment or intimidation.

It doesn’t prevent such wrongdoing, however.

I spoke with one man, who I am calling Mark, who was wrongfully convicted of murder in 1988. He told me there were over one hundred breaches of Pace in his case, including being handcuffed to a hot radiator, being denied food and water, and being denied a solicitor.

One of his co-accused, a vulnerable adult, had also falsely confessed to the crime. Mark lost his first appeal in 1990 but his case went to the CCRC when it was established in 1997. The CCRC brought in another police force to investigate. He said:

When I saw [their] report … I nearly fell off my chair and nearly choked on my coffee … Everything I had said all those years ago … the handcuffing to the radiators, they proved it. All the breaches of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act … that we were interviewed off the record … Making up notes and stuff like that. I couldn’t believe it. I knew we were going home.

He subsequently pursued a civil action against the police which was settled out of court, with the force insisting the settlement did not mean it was admitting liability.

Mark also suffered a marital breakdown, after he and his wife lost their baby daughter while he was on remand:

It ripped the guts out of my marriage, you know. My wife was only 17-18, same age as me … She had a husband inside and she lost a child. And you’ve got to look at the economical impact and the mental impact it had on her … She was just as much a victim as what I was.

He started taking drugs in prison: “I didn’t care if I lived or died because I had lost everything, as far as I was concerned.”

But Mark turned himself around, got off drugs and availed himself of all the education he had access to, including law and human rights, to build the strongest possible case for his appeal. With the aid of a human rights lawyer the CCRC referred his conviction in 1998, which was then quashed by the Court of Appeal in 1999. He had spent 11 years in prison as a convicted murderer.

‘The innocence test’

After his exoneration, Mark was successful in securing over £600,000 compensation for his ordeal, though he had over £37,000 deducted for “saved living expenses”. A House of Lords ruling in 2007 deemed that those receiving compensation for a miscarriage of justice can have the amount reduced to account for “savings” made while in prison – for costs such as food, housing and other bills that they would have had to pay had they not been wrongfully incarcerated.

Considering the difficulties people face accessing any financial compensation for their wrongful imprisonment, this adds further insult to injury. The rule has since been scrapped following the high-profile Malkinson case – but deductions made prior to this are not being reimbursed.

Mark was given no financial counselling or support, and he rapidly spent the money – more than he had ever had in his life – while trying to block out his pain:

By the time six months had gone, I’d spent the hundred grand [interim payment] on wine, women, drugs … ’cause I couldn’t cope with what was going on … That was my way of blotting out all the things I saw in prison.

The money also caused a rift in his family – something echoed by others I have spoken to. After the death of his mother, his family “went their own ways”.

Nowadays, only a small proportion of those exonerated will ever receive financial compensation due to the requirements of the so-called “innocence test”.

The Criminal Justice Act 1988 made it difficult for applicants to receive compensation because there had to be a newly discovered fact – not available at the time of their original trial – that they could use to make the case that they had suffered a miscarriage of justice.

The definition of what constitutes a miscarriage of justice has become more restrictive over time, meaning an applicant now must provide evidence, beyond reasonable doubt, of their innocence. In the absence of a key witness admitting to falsifying their statement or DNA evidence proving innocence, this is unlikely.

Like Hill, Mark struggled to adjust after his exoneration and release, and found support to be woefully lacking:

I had nobody to talk to, no money, no job, no house. I didn’t have any prospects. I phoned up my solicitor … I remember saying: ‘Why did you get me out?’ It was difficult to adjust … I slept with a hammer … under my pillow – I was very paranoid … All they did was give me tablets and told me to get on with my life. No counselling. Nothing. They didn’t know what to do with people like me.

Mark still suffers with post-traumatic stress disorder and depression, and has never been able to work a normal job. He continues to campaign for the wrongfully convicted and to increase awareness of miscarriages of justice. He credits this work with giving him a sense of purpose.

Jimmy Boyle – not innocent enough?

I also spoke to James Boyle, who was acquitted at retrial of historical sexual offences after he had spent five years in prison. Boyle, from Rutherglen, who likes to be known as Jimmy, has always maintained these offences never happened.

Judge's gavel and statuette of a blindfolded 'Lady Justice' — Sometimes justice is hard to find within the legal system. Shutterstock/Stock Studio 4477

From the outset, Boyle found processes quite at odds from how we are told they are supposed to be. He said: “Things that you should have: for example, presumption of innocence – nonsense, it doesn’t exist. None of these rights exist in reality.” He claims that lines of evidence undermining the allegations against him were not investigated. Further, he encountered professionals in the criminal justice system who he says were incompetent and even “malicious” and “criminal”.

To add further insult, he was later told that he was not considered exonerated because he did not provide evidence proving his innocence (he failed the “innocence test”). As a result, the General Teaching Council for Scotland did not reinstate him and he was unable to return to his teaching career which he had found enormously fulfilling.

Like others I have spoken to, Boyle, now in his 60s, hasn’t been able to work since his release:

There was so much involved, and fighting with the Teaching Council – you know, it was full time. It really was full time when you’re dealing with these agencies … I do plenty [at Mojo] – I’ve spoken at a number of events … But I had to continue fighting my own fight.

Martin: total lack of victim support

Miscarriages of justice have a huge effect on a person’s mental health. But my research found the impact begins long before a conviction – with effects such as anxiety, trauma and depression resulting from the wrongful allegation.

Martin (not his real name) detailed the difficulties he experienced from his initial wrongful allegation of rape – including isolation, lack of advice, and a lack of appropriate mental health support. He said:

I kept [the rape allegations] to myself and it was horrific, because I didn’t know what was going to happen … Once I was charged … I went to my GP because I was severely depressed. I could barely function. [Counselling] was actually making things worse rather than better … I had looked online … There’s victim support and there’s witness support, but if you’ve been accused there is absolutely nothing.

It took over three years from the initial allegation to court proceedings, during which time two other allegations of rape and indecent assault were made and charges were brought. Martin kept the allegations from his employers and friends:

You don’t mention it because if you mention it, you’re opening the box and then that becomes a big thing – and God help how you’re going to feel at the end of that conversation.

Convicted of rape and indecent assault (the second and third charges), he was sentenced to four years in prison, but successfully appealed on the basis that the Moorov doctrine was misapplied.

Moorov is a principle of Scottish law which allows evidence of one crime to corroborate evidence of another. As the charges against him were considered to corroborate one another, having been acquitted of the key (first) charge he should have been acquitted of all. Instead, he spent about a year in prison – yet he considers himself fortunate.

The guy [Andrew Malkinson] that won his appeal the other day spent 17 years in prison. I only spent one. And although I shouldn’t have spent any, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. There are a lot of people that haven’t been able to clear their names, there are a lot of people that have spent a long time in prison. I spent one year and managed to clear my name, so I should be thankful for what little happiness I’ve managed to get out of it.

Martin was fortunate in that he’d had a good education and had taken detailed notes during his trial, which assisted his appeal. He also helped other prisoners who were struggling to complete required forms for themselves, and managed to get a job in the prison kitchen.

Since his release, he has pursued a law degree, eager to use his experience for positive change in the justice system. “I think it’s given me a new perspective really … You know what, life’s too short – let’s just get on with it.”

What needs to be done?

People wrongly accused of crimes are in dire need of support from the moment the initial allegation is made, to help them navigate the complex legal processes and challenging psychological effects of being wrongly accused.

Currently there is woefully inadequate mental health support at all stages, from initial allegation to post-release.

Of course, there are many guilty people in prison who protest their innocence – but support should not be denied to those who maintain their innocence.

Reforms are needed to make it easier for an innocent person to appeal their conviction. The CCRC has suffered a decline in funding, from £9.24 million in 2004 to £6 million in 2022. Over this period, the workload has more than doubled while the Ministry of Justice has reduced CCRC commissioners’ terms of employment from full-time salaried positions to one-day-a-week contracts, making the workload unsustainable.

People may also face significant barriers in accessing evidence that would exonerate them such as police files, without which they have little hope of a successful appeal. This was evident in the Malkinson case, where the charity Appeal accessed the police files the CCRC had refused to look at.

The lack of accountability and consequences for those who purposely harm innocent people causes further anger and distress to the wrongfully accused and convicted. Yet those affected rarely even receive an apology. This needs to change.

Finally, there needs to be greater public awareness of wrongful convictions and allegations, their causes and consequences, and an understanding of their devastating and long-term effects. As Hill told me the year before he died:

People think you come out and they give you a few quid … [then you] walk off into the sunset and live happily ever after. If only. I would love to go to bed at night like an ordinary fucking person … without waking up so angry and tense.

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This article is republished from The Conversation, a nonprofit, independent news organization bringing you facts and trustworthy analysis to help you make sense of our complex world. It was written by: Faye Skelton, Edinburgh Napier University

This work was supported by the BA/Leverhulme Trust grant SRG18190884. Many thanks to Dr Mandy Winterton, co-Investigator on this research, and to the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation (MOJO) for supporting us by facilitating access to clients. Faye Skelton is affiliated with the Miscarriages of Justice Organisation having joined the Board of Directors in April 2025.