In a raw, hour-long interview that laid bare three decades of unrelenting grief, Denise Fergus, the mother of murdered toddler James Bulger, uttered words that have echoed through the corridors of justice like a long-withheld exhale. “After 30 years, I finally feel like I’m being listened to,” she told broadcaster Eamonn Holmes, her voice cracking with a mix of vindication and exhaustion. The conversation, aired on GB News this week, came mere days after the Parole Board for England and Wales delivered a seismic decision: denying freedom to Jon Venables, one of the two boys who, at the tender age of 10, abducted, tortured, and brutally killed two-year-old James in one of Britain’s most harrowing child-on-child murder cases.

For Denise, now 58, the ruling—announced on November 4, 2025, following a closed-door hearing riddled with controversy—marks a fragile turning point in a saga that has defined her life. Venables, now 42, had been recalled to prison twice since his release on license in 2001, most recently in 2017 for possessing indecent images of children. This latest parole bid, his fourth in as many years, was met with fierce opposition from James’s family, campaigners, and a public still scarred by the 1993 atrocity. In a statement released post-hearing, the Parole Board cited “overwhelming concerns” about Venables’ risk to the public, particularly vulnerable children, as the basis for rejection. But for Denise, it’s more than legalese—it’s validation after years of feeling sidelined by a system she once described as “a conveyor belt of heartbreak.”

Seated in the modest Liverpool living room she shares with her husband, Robin, Denise’s eyes—framed by faint lines etched by sorrow—gleamed with a rare spark as she recounted the moment Holmes broke the news live on air. “I was shaking, Eamonn. Thirty-two years since that phone call from the police, telling me my baby was gone. And now, this. It’s not closure—God, no—but it’s a whisper that maybe, just maybe, James’s voice is being heard through mine.” The interview, viewed by over 1.2 million in its first 24 hours, has reignited national debate on juvenile justice, victim rights, and the eternal question: Can monsters be rehabilitated, or do they simply wear new masks?

The Unthinkable Horror: A Walk Through the Shadows of February 12, 1993

To grasp the depth of Denise’s relief, one must first revisit the nightmare that birthed it—a crime so grotesque it seared itself into the collective psyche of a nation. It was a drizzly Friday afternoon in Bootle, Merseyside, when two-year-old James Bulger slipped his mother’s hand at the New Strand Shopping Centre. Denise, then 26 and juggling the chaos of four boys under five, had turned for just a split second to chat with a friend. In that blink, James vanished into the crowd, lured away by Venables and his accomplice, Robert Thompson, both 10-year-old truants from broken homes, their faces flushed with a mix of curiosity and malice.

What followed was 22 minutes of calculated cruelty. The boys led James on a two-and-a-half-mile death march through Merseyside’s grey streets—past bustling shops, oblivious commuters, and even a bus stop where a passerby dismissed their trio as “three little scamps.” They pelted him with bricks, shoved him into a canal, and finally dragged him to a remote railway embankment at Walton Lane. There, hidden by undergrowth, they unleashed hell: batteries hurled at his head, blue paint smeared across his face in a mockery of innocence, and 42 separate injuries inflicted with an iron bar—puncturing his eye, fracturing his skull, and severing his genitals in a final, barbaric flourish. James’s body was discovered hours later by children playing on the tracks, just as a freight train bore down, mutilating it further in a grotesque coda.

The investigation gripped Britain like a fever dream. Grainy CCTV footage captured the abduction—James’s tiny blue coat bobbing between his captors’ legs—launching the largest manhunt in Merseyside Police history. Within days, Venables and Thompson were arrested after a 38-year-old woman recognized them from the footage and alerted authorities. Their trial at Preston Crown Court in November 1993 was unprecedented: the youngest murder defendants in modern British history, tried as adults in a bulletproof dock, their faces shielded from flashing cameras. The judge, Mr. Justice Morland, branded the killing “a cunning and planned act of unspeakable evil,” sentencing them to be “detained at Her Majesty’s pleasure”—an indeterminate term later capped at eight years by the European Court of Human Rights.

For Denise, the courtroom was a descent into purgatory. “I sat there, staring at these two boys—smaller than my James, with their school ties and blank eyes—and I saw nothing but the devil,” she recalls in her 2019 memoir, Close to Evil. “They didn’t cry, didn’t flinch. Just stared back like it was a game. And the world watched, judging me as much as them. Was I a bad mother? Did I fail him? Those questions have haunted me every day since.”

A Mother’s Odyssey: From Grief to Grit in the Face of Systemic Betrayal

Denise Fergus’s journey from shattered widow-in-waiting to tenacious campaigner is a testament to the alchemy of agony into activism. The weeks after James’s murder were a blur of media frenzy and familial fracture. Her marriage to Ralph Bulger crumbled under the strain, leaving her to raise sons Michael, Thomas, and Stuart amid tabloid hounds and well-meaning but suffocating sympathy. “People sent flowers, cards—thousands of them. But nothing filled the hole where James should’ve been,” she says. Nightmares plagued her: James calling “Mummy!” from the shadows, his face smeared with that cursed blue paint.

By 1995, as Venables and Thompson were transferred to secure units for “rehabilitation,” Denise’s grief morphed into fury at the system. The boys’ anonymity—granted lifelong protection by the courts—felt like a slap. “They took my son’s life, and now they get new ones? While I bury his ashes in an unmarked grave?” she fumed in early interviews. She launched the James Bulger Memorial Trust in 1995, channeling rage into reform: tougher sentences for child killers, better safeguards for shopping centre CCTV, and support for bereaved families. Her advocacy caught the eye of politicians; by 1999, her lobbying helped shape the Crime and Disorder Act, introducing parenting orders for neglectful guardians.

Yet betrayal lurked at every turn. In 2001, after just eight years inside, Venables and Thompson were released on license, their identities surgically altered—new names, faces, lives bankrolled by taxpayers. Denise, tipped off by a probation officer, learned of it via a leaked letter. “I felt violated all over again,” she tells Holmes, her hands clenching a mug of tea. “They get to walk free, start families, while I light a candle for James every birthday.” Thompson has since faded into obscurity, reportedly living quietly in Canada. Venables, however, has been a recidivist specter: arrested in 2010 for cocaine possession and sex offenses, then again in 2017 for a cache of 1,170 child abuse images, including category-A extremes. Each recall to prison reignited Denise’s crusade, her pleas for transparency falling on deaf ears.

The 2020s brought fresh wounds. A 2021 High Court ruling allowed open parole hearings for high-profile cases, but Venables’ was exempted amid safety fears—his identity breaches have led to vigilante hunts and near-riots. Denise sued the Ministry of Justice in 2023, demanding victim input, only to be rebuffed. “It’s like shouting into a void,” she said then. Her personal life, too, has been a battlefield: remarried to Robin Walker, a former prison officer, in 2001, she’s endured online trolls branding her “attention-seeking” and health scares from stress-induced PTSD. Yet through it all, she’s raised awareness via documentaries (The Bulger Killers: Was Justice Done?, 2019) and her podcast, Denise Fergus: A Mother’s Fight, amassing 50,000 listeners who tune in for her unfiltered truths.

The Parole Labyrinth: Venables’ Shadowy Bid and the Board’s Reckoning

This week’s denial caps a hearing that unfolded like a thriller scripted by Kafka. Venables’ application, lodged in June 2025, triggered an automatic review under the Victims’ Code, granting Denise and ex-husband Ralph Bulger “core participant” status. But controversy erupted pre-hearing: Venables, citing “trauma,” refused to attend in person if victims were present, opting for remote testimony from his Category A cell at Frankland Prison. The board, chaired by barrister Dr. Caroline Corby, convened behind closed doors from October 28 to 30, sifting through 1,200 pages of psychiatric reports, risk assessments, and prison logs.

Insiders describe a damning dossier. Venables, diagnosed with ADHD, antisocial personality disorder, and “contact sexual paraphilia,” has racked up 50+ adjudications for violence and rule-breaking since 2017. Therapists note his “lack of genuine remorse,” with one 2024 report quoting him as viewing his crimes as “a stupid kid thing.” Reluctant to engage in sex offender programs, he’s fixated on “starting over” abroad—Canada or Australia—under a fresh identity costing £250,000 annually. Probation officers warned of “high relapse risk,” citing his history of grooming online personas to evade detection.

Denise submitted a 20-page victim impact statement, read aloud by a proxy: “James was stolen from me on a day that should’ve been ordinary. Jon Venables has stolen my peace every day since. Releasing him now would mock my son’s memory and endanger every child he encounters.” Ralph, estranged but allied in grief, echoed: “He’s not reformed; he’s restrained. Let him rot.” Over 10,000 public submissions flooded the board, a deluge of fury from strangers who’ve carried this scar for generations.

On November 4, the verdict dropped: denial, with a minimum two-year wait before reapplication. “The panel is not satisfied that Mr. Venables would not present a risk of serious harm to the public,” read the summary, alluding to “persistent patterns of sexual deviance and poor impulse control.” For the first time, victim voices pierced the opacity—Denise’s statement deemed “pivotal” in deliberations. “They quoted me back to me,” she marvels to Holmes. “Not dismissed, not redacted. Listened to.”

Echoes of Validation: Public Outpouring and Denise’s Quiet Triumph

The decision has unleashed a torrent of support, a cathartic wave crashing over Merseyside and beyond. Liverpool’s streets, once haunted by murals of James’s cherubic face, now host spontaneous vigils—white balloons at the cathedral, blue ribbons (his coat’s hue) tied to railings. Social media erupts: #JusticeForJames trends with 2.5 million posts, celebrities like Gary Lineker (“A mother’s pain should never be parole fodder”) and J.K. Rowling (“Denise Fergus is braver than any fictional hero”) amplifying her story. Petitions for a public inquiry into the original trial surge past 500,000 signatures, demanding scrutiny of the “Slovenian experiment” in juvenile reform.

Critics, though, decry the ruling as “vindictive populism.” Human rights lawyer Caoimhe Chelle warns of “knee-jerk justice eroding rehabilitation principles,” while Venables’ solicitor, hinting at appeal, calls the process “trauma-informed only for the perpetrator.” Thompson’s camp remains silent, but whispers suggest he’s “living in fear” of association. Psychologists like Dr. Samantha Lund weigh in: “Venables’ case tests the limits of neuroplasticity—can a child killer unlearn evil? Evidence says it’s rare, but denial without therapy is just warehousing.”

For Denise, the noise is backdrop to a profound shift. Post-interview, she visits James’s grave—a simple stone in Kirkdale Cemetery, engraved “Forever in Our Hearts”—and shares a private ritual: reading him headlines from her phone. “See, lad? Mummy’s winning a bit today.” With Robin’s arm around her, she’s planning expansions to the James Bulger Foundation: AI-driven child safety apps, trauma hubs for families. “This denial isn’t the end,” she vows. “It’s fuel. I’ve screamed into silence for 30 years; now, they’re echoing me back.”

Eamonn Holmes, 65 and no stranger to loss (his own son’s health battles), probes gently: “What does ‘listened to’ feel like after so long?” Denise pauses, tears tracing familiar paths. “Like breathing without weights on my chest. But it hurts too—because it means facing that James is gone forever. Still, for him, I’ll keep talking. Louder.”

Legacy of a Little Boy: Why James Bulger Still Haunts Us

James Patrick Bulger would be 32 today—a man, perhaps with children of his own, laughing over pints in a Liverpool pub. Instead, his absence is a ghost that shapes policy and pierces souls. The case birthed ASBOs (Anti-Social Behaviour Orders), curfews, and the Child Safety Card scheme. It exposed societal fractures: poverty’s grip on Merseyside, where Venables and Thompson grew up amid domestic violence and neglect; the media’s role in “trial by TV”; the ethics of punishing children as adults.

Denise’s interview with Holmes transcends the verdict, a masterclass in resilience. She recounts lighter memories—James’s obsession with Postman Pat, his chubby fists clutching Freddi Fish toys—to humanize the horror. “He wasn’t a statistic; he was my cheeky monkey, stealing biscuits and dancing to the Wombles.” Holmes, eyes misting, shares his Irish lilt: “You’ve turned poison into purpose, Denise. James would be proud.”

As winter darkens Merseyside’s skies, the parole denial offers a sliver of light. But questions linger: Will Venables ever walk free? Can Denise’s voice pierce higher—Parliament, perhaps, for a Bulger Bill mandating victim vetoes? For now, she savors the quiet win. “Thirty years,” she whispers at interview’s end, “but today, I feel seen.”

In the shadow of Walton Lane, where wildflowers now cloak the tracks, James’s story endures—not as tragedy alone, but as a mother’s unyielding roar. And in that roar, a nation listens.