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Ken Clarke Above the Law says Met.

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Written by Ben Fellows.
Is it acceptable for anyone to sexually assault, grope, fondle, touch up, abuse, rape and murder your children? 
Well, according to the Specialist Crime Directorate Child Abuse Investigation Command or the Pedophile Unit, if you are a member of parliament then it is acceptable to do just that.
For the record it was officers from the Paedophile Unit who approached me for information on Kenneth Clarke not the other way around. I did not go to the Police, the Police came to me. I have the tapes to prove it if that is ever an issue. 
Police Comissioner Sir Bernard Hogan-Howe -the buck stops here!
Detectives from Operation Fairbridge, (can they hide behind anymore names?) educated me into how the law actually works. This is quite complicated so bear with me. Politicians and “others” are above the Law. Got it! So stop complaining about paedophile rings in Westminster and prepare to have you sons, bent over and buggered by any politician who chooses to fancy your child.
If you are Kenneth Clarke MP or any living serving politician then you cannot be arrested, questioned under caution or charged, etc., by the Police. This dramatic information by the Police explains why Kenneth Clarke’s paedophile politician friends never get caught — as they are above the law. This was according to Senior Detective Ben Lambskin of the now, not fit for purpose, Paedophile Unit. Sorry I was under the mistaken impression that the Metropolitan Police Paedophile Unit was created to hunt down and catch paedophiles and not protect them.
The Police, in the their “Dixon of Doc Green,” mode have just given every single potential charged celebrity the ammunition to win their cases on technical grounds. I have proven that there are some members of our society who will be charged by the Police such as common people whilst the elites, Royals and politicians are, in fact, above the laws of England. Every barrister representing those already charged should petition the court to have their cases dropped due to Police incompetence. How can Max Clifford et al. get a fair trail when the jury know for a fact that politicians are not being arrested and charged or even questioned? Its hypocrisy of the highest order or I should say of the lowest order.
Who’s side is the Metropolitan Police Force on? Obviously the Paedophiles!
So, if we are going to be naming names like Kenneth Clarke’s et al. it is only correct that the Police who have been in charge of this purposefully bungled investigation are also named .
Starring: Detective Chief Inspector Paul Settle, Detective Constable Nathan Jones (who openly threatened me over the telephone to give the Police a statement regarding Kenneth Clarke), Detective Sergeant James Townly, Detective Constable Ben Lambskin, Andy and Julia-Anne who took an eight hour statement from me which was pretty detailed. These officers need to be suspended pending a detailed and thorough review of their actions and also the actions of “others” around them including the management up to senior officers and Tom Watson MP to find out exactly why they have decided not to question, under caution, Kenneth Clarke MP over serious allegations that I have made and committed to a Police statement.
On the 30th April 2013 Detective Constable Ben Lambskin, with his colleague who called himself Andy, turned up at my front door wishing to speak with me about my case. An up date if you will. The up shot was that Ben Lambskin, who is the Police’s sacrificial lamb in this case, informed me that they’d spoken to four people from The Cook Report and none of them had backed up my version of events. What a surprise? Media people who still work for the media and intelligence service have not agreed with me. I do believe that I said that in the first place. However, to be clear none of those people were in the room with Kenneth Clarke, Ian Greer or myself and the tape which recorded the incident has mysteriously gone missing.
DC Ben Lambskin, a Serpico wannabe but without the integrity, said after speaking with Sylvia Jones, Clive Entwhistle and two others — ” After speaking to these people, that perhaps the conspiracy view isn’t such a bad one.” He then went on to talk about the video tape showing Kenneth Clarke sexually assaulting me by stating “the possible location for that tape is that it was taken by a lawyer who was dealing with The Cook Report and that is the most likely the last time it was seen” he went on ” That particular Cook Report investigation appears to be quickly cut down and ended. By some of the people we’ve spoken to they are of the opinion that is was the company who was running it changed hands to people who were particularly involved with ‘Cash for Questions.’” At least the Police have proven political corruption within the Conservative Government as the “Cash for Questions” scandal re-emerges. We must call for a full and transparent re opening of the “Cash for Questions” case to find out the truth.
The up shot of The Cook Report investigation into Ian Greer and John Major’s corrupt government is that it was discovered that The Cook Report had indeed uncovered a major scandal leading all the way up to the Prime Minister John Major. The politicians involved along with Ian Greer et al. arranged, as far as I understand it, for Greer’s client Carlton Television to buy Central Television to stop the programme from airing. This programme was and still is in the public’s interest as all the political decisions which have happened subsequently have been linked directly to the Cash for Questions scandal.
I guess this is a case of murder will out. The scandal that ended the Major Government is set to do exactly the same thing to David Cameron’s corrupt government because it wasn’t properly investigated and dealt with at the time, it’s now worse.
The fact that Kenneth Clarke MP was seen in Ian Greer’s office at the very time of Cash for Questions is suspicious within itself. Why was a Cabinet Minister in the office of a political lobbyist? Isn’t that breaking some kind of Parliamentary law? When I asked about the tape and the convenient fire at Iron Mountain storage facility Ben Lambskin and colleague just looked at me blankly — they didn’t know. These people who call themselves Detectives have failed to detect what even the average journalist has been able to find out. Jack “I haven’t got a pad” Malvern of The Times found out about the Iron Mountain fire. Why didn’t the Police? What about the Dolphin Square flat? Back in November Sylvia Jones said to Jack “one cup of tea” Malvern that yes she saw the tape, she saw me and Kenneth Clarke but she didn’t see the grope. Now after six months to get her story straight she suddenly didn’t see anything when she was talking to the Police.
The Police also admitted that when it comes to investigating corporations they are indeed powerless there as well. Ben Lambskin proudly stated about any further enquiries about the tape — ” That’s corporate and there’s not much we can do about that, is there?” So the Metropolitan Police on official police business state that so far Politicians and Royalty are above the law and also corporations. It seems that true and tangible feudalism has returned to England’s green and pleasant land.
Ben Lambskin also said when referring to my statement — “I’m sorry but we’re not going to go galavanting into the House of Commons. There’s protocol which has to be observed.” Allow me to merely suggest that they follow the correct protocol and ask to question Kenneth Clarke MP under caution. What’s the problem? Lambskin continued “Clarke didn’t get to where he is today without being very smart!!!” If I was Kenneth Clarke I wouldn’t like that implication one bit and would probably sue the Police but I’m not Kenneth Clarke so I don’t care.
We then went on to talk about the Police questioning Ian Greer, the other person in the room and the man who introduced me to Kenneth Clarke. Detective Ben Lambskin states ” We’re not entirely sure whether he’s in the country or not”. Of course I informed them that Greer was in South Africa. Unfortunately he’s protected by protocols as well. But he’s just an ex political lobbyist. Or is he? Is Greer more important than he first appears? I imagine Greer will soon turn up six feet under with a mystery heart attack whilst wearing stocking and suspenders, which is the usual British modus operandi. Although putting people into bags is a quirky invention of the security services, Greer better throw out any large luggage he might have around. So it’s just British citizens who aren’t protected by any protocols, just to be clear, and we are now at the whim of any elite Politician, Lord or Member of the Royal family.
Who are these Detectives? Do they actually do any detecting? Have they actually been to deceptive school, sorry, I mean detective school?
To clarify Kenneth Clarke has stated, in a Cabinet Office correspondence, that his appearance in Ian Greer’s office must have been a case of mistaken identity. But who is he referring to? I didn’t introduce myself to Kenneth Clarke? So Kenneth Clarke is clearly calling his best friend’s memory into question, suggesting that perhaps Greer didn’t know who was standing in his office and accidentally introduced this mystery gentleman as Kenneth Clarke MP to me.
Really? That’s as a ridiculous a stand point as the big bang theory.
Who? what? It wasn’t me gov?
Kenneth Clarke is a barrister and Queens Council. Does he really think that answer is good enough? Is that really the best argument that he, the Cabinet Office and Prime Minister David Cameron can come up with? 
Ben Lambskin said that, “Ken Clarke is likely to lie about being in Greer’s office” and he went on to say that, — “Greer is probably going to say he didn’t see anything”. Well, that’s okay isn’t it. I thought that being a Police Detective meant, at the very least, you want to question the actual people being accused and have them lie to your face —  if needs be. But silly old me I assumed the wrong thing. The Police just assume that various people will lie and so therefore after an imaginary conversation with themselves decide not to talk to them. Is it any wonder that murders, rapists, muggers, child abusers, etc, etc,. get away with their crimes if this is any indication of how the Police investigate serious allegations. 
Detective Ben Lambskin said, and I thought this was said in all honesty, that, “The Police can’t investigate historic cases”.
Paedophile Jimmy Savile honoured by Royal Family – Jim’ll Fix it!
Detective Chief Inspector Paul Settle stated back in November, “That child abuse has become an industry standard in the entertainment industry.” All these Paedophile detectives know this, more importantly do nothing about it and sleep soundly at night. Surely you would be disgusted to find out that your husband or wife who you thought was a hero for working in the paedophile unit was protecting paedophiles. What would you do with that information?
The Police do themselves no favours. They are about to get completely taken over by G4S and they are handing the finest police force in the world over to them. Why? Is there really this much corruption or is there a deeper darker agenda at play here. 
Systematic Police failures is how this investigation will be viewed by history, not to mention all the other investigations which will now collapse because of the Police’s own admittance of a feudal society. There have been systematic failures to follow an investigation through to the end even when you have a detailed statement from a credible member of the public, me in this case, who makes serious allegations against a senior member of parliament. 
It is now obvious to us all that the very unit tasked with investigating paedophiles and their crimes against children have failed on every level. I said at the beginning of this process that I was the test case for all those people who have been abused by politicians. Who could, had I had my day in court, have felt confident to know that now in this time society was grown up enough to act responsibly and to investigate these matters fully. But no, I’m sorry to say that I was wrong. 
Detective Chief Inspector Paul Settle said, ” I’d like to think I could talk to anyone,” when I asked if he would talk to Prince Charles about his relationship with Jimmy Savile. He said, “Yes”. He said if he found out that that wasn’t the case he would resign. Clearly just another broken promise and Police half truth from people who don’t keep their word to anyone. Why can’t the Police just be straight and give you a straight answer. Dealing with the Police is worse than dealing villains in many respects. So in light of this I am going to release my dealings with the Police on YouTube so everyone can hear the excuses as to why Kenneth Clarke cannot be arrested, questioned or interviewed under caution like any other member of our society.  As a society we should insist on no more secrets or lies from our public servants and the mere impropriety of grey areas should immediately raise our suspicions.
 Prime Minister David Cameron preparing for Kengate!

There is indeed a paedophile ring operating in Westminister and it includes No 10 Downing Street and David Cameron who’s known about the Kengate scandal from the start and has failed to act. Obviously being abused as a child at Eton College has clouded his own judgement because as we all know Eton College are well known for abusing children. In fact the Police were planning a raid on Eton but surprise, surprise the investigation was halted by “powerful interests”. Eton College is producing future child abusers either wilfully or ignorantly it doesn’t matter which the place is rife. Those who are abused become abusers, we all know this and yet we allow Eton College to continue producing paedophiles because it’s traditional. I know the government has got everyone in the country living all in council wards, presumably of the psychiatric variety, but truly have we all gone raving mad. When is enough enough! Tom Watson MP, who’s performance in the House of Commons when he insisted that Operation Fairbridge be set up to investigate a potential pedophile ring in Westminster, can only be described as a ham and cheese sandwich but without the bread and cheese. I’ve seen better performances with the Epsom Players. 
Operation Fairbridge was clearly set up to retrieve modern day information on the active Westminster Paedophile ring and to cover up allegations and intimidate witnesses into remaining quiet in order for the politicians to go about their disgusting business as usual. 
With another Police botching of a paedophile cases it’s Jimmy Savile all over again. Perhaps when men and women like Kenneth Clarke are finally laid to rest the insidiousness will finally come out. Too late for the victims of course, again. 
The Metropolitan Police have sent a clear message to all powerful paedophiles. It’s okay you will not be even talked to by the Police and you are free to continue abusing children. So say the Child Protection Command which should be renamed to the Paedophile Protection Command. 
Max Clifford Charged with Child sex offences and Kenneth Clarke cannot even be questioned?!
Kenneth Clarke is a Freemason, the Police officers on the investigating team for Fairbridge are all freemasons, the courts are freemasons. Is it any wonder that victims don’t get any justice. When individuals cannot be questioned or talked to regarding child abuse and pedophile accusations because of their apparent position in society  then there is a two tier system, which for any democracy is very wrong.
If you are Max Clifford, Rolf Harris, Jim Davidson or some soap star then rest assured that your names will be leaked by the Police to the press. You will be humiliated and embarrassed and probably sent to jail.  But if you are a member of the Cabinet or Royal Family you are clearly free to continue abusing. As a business manager surely David Cameron has a duty to his own party to have these matters investigated. Any manager in any company upon learning that a member of his close staff had had allegations made against them would have to suspend that person from their job pending a full investigation. However, David Cameron hasn’t got the balls to do that so instead he protects his paedophile friends. 
The only answer is to call an election and replace the entire parliament, with more MP’s not less. We The People, are not being represented or even listened to by our politicians or public servants, so what are we all doing? Why are we even tolerating these people for an instant? Those members of parliament and their staff who know what goes on and choose to look the other way are just as culpable and as guilty as any of the paedophile perpetrators in Westminster. 
In closing I say to you the reader –  What does life matter if our children are not safe from predators who are in positions of power in our society. When witnesses purger themselves by changing their stories as often as their underwear. If a Criminal Prosecution Service will throw a poor man to the mob and not a wealthy man for political self interest. When so called men of honour and men of God (The Grand Architect) take, sexually abuse and murder children and there isn’t even one public servant who will investigate and arrest these people.
Where is the justice? Justice is simply the laws which we have all agreed to live by in this country. The laws apply to everyone from the Queen on down. Nobody is exempt or we are all exempt. These laws are man’s feeble attempt to set down the principles of living in a civilised society. Being civilised is an art form which has to be practised and it is not easy. Being civilised and decent with each other isn’t a hustle, a scheme or scam. Decent cannot be bargained for sold, rented or mortgaged. Being civilised is what our ancestors taught us and decency is what our grandparents taught us. Being civilised and decent is in our DNA and all we have to do is choose to be decent people. The choice is ours.
The one absolute truth which has come out of all of this is that the children in Great Britain are not safe. Paedophiles are running around out of control in our schools, nurseries, playgroups, leisure centres and sports grounds. Anywhere you find children you find paedophiles. Especially in the entertainment industry, why are children even on television? Children shouldn’t be advertised to they are not commodities. They deserve a childhood because they as sure as hell are not going to enjoy their adult life. Unless of course you like being in debt to criminal bankers!
Kenneth Clarke MP has to be arrested, interviewed under caution and charged. If the Police wish to have any credibility or power left after this then why not let a jury decide. I’ll go one step better, why don’t I meet Kenneth Clarke MP I can then make sure that he was the person in Greer’s office and we can have the opportunity to be questioned by the press and public. We could even do it as a Question Time Special –  now that’s a ratings winner. On second thoughts I have an SIA license after the whistle blowing the Olympics last year I should use it and arrest Kenneth Clarke myself. 
HRH Prince Charles friends with Jimmy Savile
Let’s for a moment put the politicians to one side. What on earth was HRH Prince Charles doing having known paedophile Jimmy Savile as his unofficial social secretary? What was Prince Charles doing when he went up to Scotland to Jimmy Savile’s cottage? If we can not question a Member of Parliament, what hope is there of asking Prince Charles, or any member of the Royal family, about their relationship with known paedophile and abuser Jimmy Savile. Let us not forget, that it was the very same Kenneth Clarke MP who allowed Jimmy Savile the keys to Broadmoor in order for him to be able to abuse and associate with imprisoned paedophiles. Of course as we all know where you get one paedophile…
Again I invite Kenneth Clarke MP or any celebrity, producer or any Hollywood movie stars, who will be mentioned in the forth coming release of my Police tapes, to sue me.
When Senior Detective Ben Lambskin and his colleague, known as Andy, left my home Andy warned me to stay off the internet…Ooops! 

UTUBE LINKS TO COVERTLY RECORDED METROPLITAN POLICE CONVERSATIONS
POLICE SAYING KEN CLARKE IS ABOVE THE LAW

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kCVnVvIrTwg


BEN FELLOWS’ STATEMENT TO POLICE

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luwaC-A1VyM

PLEASE COPY AND REPOST VIDEO’S MANY THANKS.
Source: http://beforeitsnews.com/politics/2013/05/ken-clarke-mp-is-above-the-law-and-cannot-be-questioned-says-metropolitan-police-paedophile-unit-2517078.html?utm_medium=facebook-post&currentSplittedPage=0&utm_campaign=&utm_source=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2F&utm_content=awesm-fbshare-small&utm_term=http%3A%2F%2Fb4in.info%2Fr4ZL

Wilfred De'ath - No Charges

Hidden NAYPIC Report - Melanie Kleine House, Greenwich

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Please note, this clssified "Strictly Confidential" piece was considered by NAYPIC too vile for public interest. We feel the public have a right to know what has been enabled in our names.
Goldmine for serious researchers.
Plenty more material on way soon.



More about the Greenwich Scandal can be found over at The Needle

Fugitive Paedo Caught Camping in Spain

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A FUGITIVE Brit paedophile has been arrested at a campsite in Spain.
David Austin, 47, fled the UK after being allowed out of jail pending an appeal against a conviction for downloading child porn.

National Police officers in Benidorm detained him on Tuesday on a European arrest warrant.
He was taken to Madrid for an extradition hearing.

Police discovered 15 paedophile movies and 39 stills on a computer at his home in Whitecraig, east Lothian, in 2007.

Austin, who was on a university IT course at the time, claimed the computer could have been accessed by someone else.
But he was convicted after a trial at Edinburgh Sheriff Court.

An arrest warrant was issued after he was granted bail to await an appearance at the Court of Criminal Appeal in Edinburgh but failed to attend.
He is understood to have been appealing against a five-year jail sentence.

Source: http://www.dailystar.co.uk/posts/view/311014

One Victim's Experiences: Police Treatment in CSA Investigation

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As some are aware, a friend of mine has chosen in the past to share some of her experiences, very bravely, with the use of this blog.
Today she has found the courage to do so again with her take on Police Attitudes  toward historic Child Sexual Abuse.

Why I wont engage with pallial

November last year was a scary time for me, emotionally and physically and mentally. One Sunday morning I logged onto the BBC website, and there it was, the breaking news of the scale of abuse in North Wales Children's Homes. I was at first shocked that finally it was out there, and upset at the same time because I knew what lay ahead.

As someone who has been through the care system my experience of sexual abuse is different from yours, my abusers were paid to take care of me, as well as sexually abusing me, they physically and mentally abused me also. My abusers all knew each other and protected each other. As a 12 year old I had worked that out. I accept abuse is abuse, rape is rape, if you haven’t been in care, you wont have been made available to paedophiles, and when you were older and you felt brave enough to confront not only what happened to you, but to inform the police, they disbelieve you. The Police in my opinion in 1999 starting point was that your lying, that your to damaged to be believed. Add to that, what people like me have been saying since the 1960’s this abuse was organized, wide spread, and as our abusers told us, we would never be believed., I knew I was the victim of state sponsored child abuse, because the authorities knew and did nothing about it, therefore my abuse was expected.  I was told in 1999, when one of my abusers was still alive, that as I had been given cigarettes by one, this legally was judged to me a contract between us, he had paid me for raping me, I was 12 years old. So I then, for me any justice would have to wait, attitudes would need to change, and maybe the law itself would change. So when I read those headlines that Sunday, I thought the time had come.


So I did what  I was advised to do and contacted my Local Police Force to report yet again the abuse I have experienced. They didn’t see it as a priority and I respect that to them its is not, but I feel with the ramifications of my abuse each day, I have learnt that you have to wait for justice and a chance to be heard. An appointment was made for an officer from Warwickshire Police was made to come out to my home and interview me. Im a well educated product of the system, what our  abusers forgot was that we grow up, and despite they best efforts I manage to live a reasonably normal life.

On the evening the police attended my property, I was interviewed by a policewomen with the interpersonal skills of  idiot.  When I detailed my abuse whilst in the care of Byrn Alyn, the response I got was ‘that happended to you?’ I felt I had to defend myself. If that wasn’t bad enough when I further detailed other abuse, I told that my chances of prosecution were none, that the CPS didnt act on these cases, they were a waste of police time, and I was wasting my time. The Police women asked my partner how I was coping, did she think I was fit for a police video interview. When I challenged her on what she was saying to me, she told me she was telling me as it was. It was all about putting me off making a statement. This was a very upsetting experience, and the filth was asked to leave.  Even though I was given an incident number, Warwickshire Police have never contacted me to take this further. I did speak to the Officers seargent, even though the officer took no notes she managed to write about 6 pages. Apparently according to the officer I had previously made allegations about my time at Bryn Alyn, I hadn’t, that I do know. For me this was my final opportunity to get justice, I had previously tried and failed.  Here we go again I thought, if its previously been investigated why bother? You know what, all this made me feel that I would rather kill myself than ever deal with people like that again. Well done Warwickshire Police, your service to me was immense. Like I have said, they have never come back to me about this.

Being ex byrn Alyn, I pushed the issue and after a period of recovery after the Warwickshire police incident I contacted operation Pallial. After a quick are you reporting sexual or physical abuse, I advised that whilst one of my abusers was based at Bryn alyn in wrexham, I was at Cotsbrook Hall in Shropshire. This home was named in the Waterhouse Report. They took my details and told me that I didn’t fall within there remit. They told me they would forward my details to West Mercia Police. Very quickly, after less than half an hour West Mercia Police called me, asked me specific questions, who when, any witnesses, can anyone else confirm this etc etc, West Merica advised me that I either needed to go to Telford Police Station to make a statement. I advised that Telford and Shropshire were not my favorite places and I declined, they said they would be in touch with my local force to arrange an interview.

Great the professional people from Warwickshire, don’t waste you time, we don’t believe you, you ex care scum bag. The scum from Warwickshire called me to make an appointment for me to go in to make a statement, I was advised I would be interviewed by trained people. I advised I wanted to take legal advise as from what I was being told, I would be involved in multiple investigations, spanning Coventry to North Wales, anything upto three different Forces, indeed, technically an incident took place whilst on an outward bound course in Cumbria, would that single incident be dealt with my Cumbria Police?

I decided against at that point making any allegations about my time at Bryn Alyn, for me the real damage lay elsewhere. I advised Warwickshire Police about this, they phoned me almost daily to make a statement. I was told that I needed to sign a statement stating that I at this time didn’t want to proceed, but when ready I would. This was not a nice meeting, I was told that the Police had chanced, they were not the same police they were in 80’s. This I found is statement to be very ironic. Same old, same old if you ask me. The following day West Mercia police called me, I was shopping and the police man was prising information from me, it hard they just keep on asking, keep on pushing answers out of you, demanding names, so they can have the full details for when they do interview me.

The following day, I was arrested by Warwickshire Police! I am currently being maliciously prosecuted for something I can prove I didn’t do. My abusers will never face justice, or even a police interview. They got away with killing a 12 year old (metaphoric), and they are still killing the same 39 year old, slowly and with complete contempt. Simply by being in care, my rights were and still are very much less than anyone else.  What Warwickshire Police have done is to undermine me and my credibility, simply because they value their public image more than protecting vulnerable children. My Abusers are still out there, and because just one was based in North Wales, and I was abused in Shropshire, I don’t come under Pallial.

E

Brave Victim Speaks Out

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Another brave blogger speaking out about his abuse during childhood.

Ok, here goes....

I’m going to “cut to the chase” and give you the headline as it were and then I’m going to give you the background surrounding the whole situation.

You will have to bear with me as this will no doubt flick back and forth through time as I recall it, but all the facts will be here.

On April the 11th last year, I finally faced the demons that had haunted me for 30 years and confronted/revealed the fact that I was sexually abused as a child-by my dad.

I had long kept hidden this secret for various reasons- fear of not being believed, fear of the pain it would cause to everyone around me and had never breathed a word to a living soul having convinced myself long ago that it would never ever come out.

Ever since it happened, I have harboured nothing but contempt and hatred for my dad and have always taken every single opportunity I could to take digs at him as I always felt that would be my only way of getting at him as I was convinced I would never reveal the real reasons why.
Those close to me have often quizzed me on why we don’t get on and all I could offer in return was lies and had to just carry on feeling that people would always somehow consider me to be an unreasonable son who just didn’t like his dad, but the truth was something very different and one that I had decided would be suppressed forever and that I would try to live a “normal” existence.

The abuse happened between the ages of 11 and 13. I remember it clearly and can remember exact details of where I was and what happened as if it happened yesterday. I won’t go into the actual gory details of what physically happened, suffice to say that the events were everything that could happen between two males. Now I look back, a lot of things make much more sense-I have always been what I consider to be a very angry person (as my close friends, family and work colleagues will I’m sure agree with).

The only way I can explain this is that most people have anger levels that go from 0 to 10 (ten being complete rage), but mine started at level 5, so when any situation started to escalate I was well ahead of everyone when it came to anger levels and would frequently fly off the handle long before everyone else. I lived with this for many years, often ending up apologising for being “unreasonable” and simply taking the blame for any situation that I was involved with that may have gotten out of hand. I think this stems from the fact that I carried with me a sense of guilt over what happened, having long since (since a very early age, long before the abuse happened) always having been made to feel like I was to blame by my dad for anything that ever happened, or any (normal growing up) trouble I got into as a boy, as all he ever did as a parent was criticise me (criticism is something that I still find hard to take to this day as a result). I lived with the guilt and shame constantly, wondering if somehow I was to blame and feeling such a sense of shame in what I had done and been involved with.

Never once did it occur to me that I would (or indeed would have the courage to) reveal what happened, even though I have always (up until recently which I will come to later) had an absolutely fantastic relationship with my mum. My mum is Italian and as such places a very strong emphasis on family values and that was drummed into me from a very early age. For example, I was always made to write thank you cards for Christmas & Birthday presents. It was something that I loathed doing as a boy, but can look back and see that it was just something that was right to do (and is something I continue to impress on my son). I will also say for the record, that it was my mum that brought me up and raised me and taught me as my dad took no interest in me at all and invariably spent his time asleep on the sofa at any given opportunity.

The input from my mum paid off as I have always considered her to be my best friend and she has always been my first port of call on any many subjects for advice, whether it be job related, parenting advice, you name it I would talk to my mum about it-everything except the one thing that I kept hidden. As I’ve mentioned, my relationship with my dad has always been at best strained as I have struggled to come to terms with what he did and the fact that at no point did he ever show one single shred of remorse. Far from in fact as his treatment of me at times was diabolical saying poisonous things like “I was doing fine until you came along” during arguments. I have always taken every opportunity I could to have a dig at him or humiliate him in some way to get back at him, knowing he knew the real reason and for years I thought this would be my only way. I was also aware that because no one knew what had happened, it must have seemed strange that I was so unrelenting towards him and I became ever more conscious over the years that people would think that I was indeed the bad guy and that I was out of order for treating my “poor old dad” in this way. Pretty much my whole family know that my relationship with my dad has been awful for many many years and what became hard was the fact that I had to lie to them to cover up the real reasons for the regular fall outs over the years. This became harder and harder as I became to resent myself for A) lying and deceiving people and B) covering up for an individual that was about a low a form of scum and evil as you could get. This went on for many years, from about the age of 13 when I think I first truly realised what had happened and just how wrong it was.

I carried on trying to lead a normal life and developed a very “bolshie” and aggressive character to cover up the turmoil that was within (I know that most people who are reading this that know me will recognise that person, but in reality that person was nothing more than an imposter created by me to conceal the truth). As I have said, I took every opportunity to dig at my dad, even being over for Sunday lunch at my mum and dad’s I would read out loud articles from the newspaper about sexual abusers and paedophiles that had been caught/arrested etc in full knowledge that he could hear just to let him know that I had not forgotten what he did, again feeling that this was my only way of getting back at him, yet still he showed no signs of remorse or humility (quite the opposite in fact as he became more aggressive and hostile towards me in varying arguments over the years). I lived with the fact that I was deceiving those close (and not so close) to me over the years and it became (I’m not sure if this is the right word though) easier to lie.

The problem was that I became ever more conscious over the years that people would think badly of me over my treatment of my dad and although no one ever said anything, I knew people were thinking that I was unreasonable and that I was in some way a bad person for being totally unforgiving to my dad over the regular arguments that took place over the years (normally on a weekly basis). These arguments would stem out of nothing and I would seize every opportunity to humiliate him and make him look foolish and would then subsequently have to accept the “fact” that I had behaved unreasonably. My ex wife had to witness this on a regular basis over the years and was fully aware that there were issues between me and my dad. Even though I was married to her and had been with her since the age of 18, there was still no point in my mind where I had considered telling even her as my mindset was still that no one would believe me and that people would somehow blame me for what happened and judge me as some form of lowlife myself.

The arguments continued over the years (often arising out of nothing) until October 2007 when things came to a head. By this time I had remarried and become a “different” person, I was stronger inside and that confidence was given to me by my wife ("M"). Not by anything she particularly said or did, just by the fact that she showed unconditional love and support for me and this started me thinking that I might at last be in a position to reveal to her what had happened. There were various times I had “decided” I would tell her, but in reality I think I was just kidding myself and it became apparent that I still hadn’t cleared that barrier of feeling somehow responsible for what had happened and worrying what she might say/do. The other thing that I have carried as a result of my dad’s treatment of me over the years is one of feeling that I was somehow to blame for causing hurt, pain or difficulty to other people, so even though I desperately wanted to tell my Wife I also didn’t want to be “responsible” for causing her any pain and suffering. She and I have some history-we met when we were 15 years old as we worked part time after school in a supermarket in Richmond! I was shelf filler and she worked on the checkouts.

We became boyfriend/girlfriend for 7 or 8 months when our relationship came to an end (I don’t really remember why to be honest), but at 16 these things happen. In August of 2003 I was having a nose around Friends Reunited and spotted her, so I dropped her a line and the rest is pretty much history. I knew quickly that I had strong feelings for her (I think we exchanged the “L” word in September of 2003!) and I moved in with her in November 2003 (having been pretty much living with her in the preceding couple of months anyway). I knew I had a bond with her that I had never felt before and then we bought our own place together. Looking back, it’s no coincidence that my behaviour then started to go downhill rapidly after the abuse, with me even ending up getting expelled from school following school trip to Switzerland (in reality, I had actually not been guilty of any great crime on that holiday, but I think it was just the excuse they needed to expel me as I had been a troublesome pupil). The years then rolled by and I moved out of my parents home and into a flat with my then wife to be in Kingston (still knowing that I would/could never reveal the truth).

We had a son and I continued to lead a “normal” life, going on to have a Son in February 1998. My general anger continued over the years and I continued to feel that I was unable to be the person I really am. That brings me pretty much up to date. My son's mum and I divorced some 8 years ago and in August 2003 I met up with my wife to be..

Back to October 2007... My mum’s arthritis had been getting progressively worse and she was finding the stairs at home more difficult to get up and down. They had looked at getting a stair lift installed, but the gap at the bottom of the stairs was a couple of inches too narrow so that wasn’t possible. I suggested that moving house was an option (they had no mortgage so finance wasn’t an issue) and they seemed to agree. Weeks and months went by looking at different properties in different areas and then one Sunday everything changed. We were having our usual post lunch arguments over houses, when my dad pulled out some leaflets on very small cottages. At this point I began to lose the will to live and could feel my blood boiling in a way I had never felt before and made the point that if they couldn’t get a starlet in a good sized two bedroom house in Kingston, what hope did they have in an oldy worldy cottage? I totally lost it, standing up and throwing all the paperwork on the table and saying that I could no longer do this and it was all just waste of time. My mum, wife and my son all looked at me in a very shocked fashion as I don’t think any of them could believe I was behaving this was “over a cottage leaflet”. My dad then stood up and we were pretty much toe to toe and suddenly 30 years of rage flowed through my veins and I thought I was going to go for him. At this point my son burst into tears and my mum grabbed hold of him to console him. My wife grabbed hold of me and pulled me away from my dad as I’m sure she sure what was about to happen. My dad (as he always did), walked away muttering something offensive (he never had the balls to stand and say anything, it was always while walking away, or just before he would hang up the phone, or he would leave the house and go for a walk rather than ever sit and discuss anything). My wife and I went outside for a cigarette to calm down and we then went back in pretty much got our stuff and left.

The worst part about that day was that my son got to see a side of his dad that he had never seen and that upset him hugely as all he saw was his dad going to toe with his grandfather and that hurt me deeply. At this point due to the ferocity of the argument, I thought I had at last finally found a “legitimate” reason to step away and sever ties with my dad. I felt that I had a reason that other people wouldn’t perceive as unreasonable that I had no contact with him (it was always important to me what other people felt and still is to this day) and that people would understand that I didn’t want contact with him after nearly having a punch up with him. Life carried on between me and my mum. I continued to see her and ring her every night or every other night as I had always done and for a couple of months she tried to act as a mediator between me and my dad, trying to “patch things up”. I knew this was never going to happen in reality and kept saying to my mum that I was done with him and his arguments and that there were billions of people on the planet, so the fact that two don’t “get on” is fairly likely somewhere along the line.

This continued until early in the New Year (my mum had been invited to spend Christmas lunch with us, but declined to spend it with my dad. It should be noted that my dad has (literally) no friends in the world. He has deliberately alienated anyone over the years that have been able to offer an opposing point of view, so he rows with them and never speaks to them again. This is a classic sign of a manipulator, his logic is that if there is no one to tell him he is being a prick, then (in his mind) he simply is not being a prick. He does have family (he even has 2 daughters from a previous marriage), but there is no contact whatsoever with them apart from his eldest daughter who initiated contact with him a few years ago after being estranged from him most of her life (more about that later). My dad will not tolerate/allow anyone in his life that can make either him or my mum see that he is in some way out of order/wrong, etc so he has created this bubble where it is just him and my mum (again, a classic manipulative trait of a sexual abuser).

After Christmas, I felt my mum had finally accepted that my “relationship” with my dad was over and she began to stop mentioning it when I spoke to her, but I became ever more conscious/aware that although she was not mentioning it directly, she was still making me aware of it. I would ring her as usual and ask her how she was, only to be met with “how do you think I am?” and various comments like that. This became more regular and things began to become slightly strained between us. This began to eat away at me constantly as my mum played such a important part in my life-I think it’s true to say this is true of all boys and we are all mummy’s boys at heart. I became ever more aware of the situation with my mum and started to feel huge guilt (nothing new there) and that I was causing her pain and suffering and that’s when I began to feel that the time to reveal what had happened may finally be approaching.

In April of last year it was my dad’s birthday and my wife had said to me that she was going to send him a card (obviously she still knew nothing of the truth at this point), so when she told me I said clearly not to put my name on the card (she replied jokingly that she was planning to put my name all over it!).

I rang my mum on my way home from work (as I always did) by coincidence the evening of my dad’s birthday (April 11th) for the usual chinwag etc. All of a sudden she said to me “Hold on your dad wants a word” and handed the phone to him. He then came on the phone and without any hint of an apology or any remorse about the fact that we had not seen each other or spoken one word to each other for the last 6 months (I specifically didn’t send him a Christmas card or buy him a Christmas present), he said “Thanks for the card”. My heart stopped and I felt physically sick and I realised that my wife indeed must have put my name on it and here he was pretending that everything was ok and behaving as everything was ok. I was shocked, but I said something like “Ok, can I speak to mum again please?” and he passed the phone back. We continued to chat for a few minutes and I made the point to her that he had some front just coming on the phone like that as if nothing was wrong. A few moments later she handed the phone back to him and he came on and said “Would you like to go out for lunch next week?” to which I replied “No thanks”. Her then (as usual) became agitated and said aggressively “Oh, perhaps you need more time” implying that I was the one with a problem and he had no issues or problem whatsoever (again, absolutely atypical of him), to which I replied “No, I don’t need more time, I just know I don’t want to spend any time with you”. He then did his usual mumble something offensive or derogatory and handed the phone straight back to my mum (obviously before I had the chance to say anything). To say I was fuming would be the understatement of the decade, I felt sick that he could come on the phone as if nothing had happened, without any mention of the fact that I had chosen to stay completely away from him for the last six months, or any hint of remorse for what had happened and what made it worse was the fact that he clearly thought I had chosen to send him a birthday card. I pretty much ended the call with my mum and finished my journey home whilst realising that this could not go on any longer. In the run up to his birthday, a couple of other things had happened that made me see that the lies had to stop once and for all.

My ex wife had sent me an email the week before (completely innocently in fairness) asking me if I was taking my son to see my dad for his birthday, she said that she “knew we weren’t talking again” and that if I didn’t want to she would take Dan over. Again, people’s perception of the situation with my dad came into my thoughts and I couldn’t stand the thought that people were thinking that it was “just a silly squabble” when I knew the real reason. The other issue was that I became aware how bad I felt lying to Dan when he asked me when we would be going back to my mum and dad’s for lunch and I knew I couldn’t go on bare faced lying to my own son. I also think his age played a part in it as he was only a few months off being 11 years old, which is the age I was when the abuse started. So all these things happened in the lead up to his birthday and I began to realise that the time was approaching to reveal the truth (although in reality I had no idea how I was going to do it).

So after the “thanks for my card” incident, I drove home in a trance, not knowing what to say or do-I couldn’t be angry with my wife as she had acted with the best intentions, but I also couldn’t go on any longer feeling a fraud. I got home and saw she was at the cooker making dinner and the first thing I said to her was “Did you put my name on my dad’s birthday card?” She turned around and with a look of regret said that she had (I knew this was the point of no return). I said to her “Do you know how much I despise him?” to which she replied “Yes I do”, only for me to then say “No you don’t, he sexually abused me when I was 11 years old”.

I can’t describe the feelings and emotions that ripped through me at this moment, other than to say that suddenly after 30 years the lies, deceit, hatred, guilt and shame were suddenly lifted from my shoulders. That is a moment that will stay with me forever I suspect as it has become such a pivotal moment in my life. She just grabbed hold of me and hugged me for what seemed like an eternity, while all the images of the abuse, the arguments, the lies, the deceit, the guilt and the shame flooded through and out of my veins. Once we settled, I told her everything that had happened, what he had done to me and when. I didn’t hold anything back and gave her the full gory details. We sat and talked and eventually she asked me what I wanted to do next, telling me that whatever it was I had her full support. This was a moment I had been waiting 30 years for, someone to support me in not feeling dirty and shameful and understanding what I was saying-and for that I can never repay her.

We discussed the various options: Tell my mum. Not tell my mum but confront my dad. Not tell anyone. Go to the police. We went through what we thought was every eventuality of every option, but the overriding feeling for me was that I needed to tell my mum. We went through what could happen when I told her, but I knew that whatever the eventuality, I simply had to tell her.

More at http://sexuallyabusedbymydad.blogspot.co.uk/

Derek Slade - St Georges School

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Derek Slade, a former boarding school headteacher, has been jailed for 21 years for sexually and physically abusing boys at schools in Wicklewood, Norfolk and Great Finborough, Suffolk at St Georges School.
This saga has taken a further twist with allegations in the Daily Mail that Slade 'escaped police for years using an alias with the knowledge of a politician at the heart of Britain's justice system'.
The report alleges that Derek Sawyer, a former leader of Islington Council and now head of the London Region Courts Board, helped Slade maintain a fake identity after Slade was first convicted of abuse in the 1980s. It also states that Sawyer and Slade jointly set up a limited company - International British Educational Projects - that allowed Slade to work with vulnerable children under his false name and with a fake CV.
Sawyer took over the leadership of Islington Council in 1992. The Council was the subject of much criticism over its handling of a paedophile scandal in the 1980s.

Dutroux additions

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New Items over in the Filing Cabinet for the DIf guys to search and catalogue.
Keep up the good work guys, and just Block the trolls. It hides all their posts. lol

2001: USA Mother prosecuted For Supplying Condoms

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USA: 14th January 2001, Press message

DA prosecutes mom who gave teen son condoms

You find out your teenage son is having sex. So what do you do? Do you try to stop him? Do you protect him by buying him condoms? Do you talk to him about it? Do you tell a priest? Guidance counselors? The police?
A 33-year-old Baraboo mother bought her son condoms, and could face up to 15 years in prison and a $10,000 fine because Sauk County prosecutors think she made the wrong decision.
Because she told police she did not stop her 13-year-old son from having oral sex and sexual intercourse with his 15-year-old girlfriend, prosecutors allege, the mother failed to prevent her child from being sexually abused - and that's a felony.
Prosecutors and the mother's attorneys have until February to finish filing briefs before Sauk County Judge Guy Reynolds in the case, and a court date probably will be set then if the case is not dismissed.
Sauk County District Attorney Patricia Barrett said no one in her office would comment on the case. But the mother's attorney, Derek Horkan of Reedsburg, argues that talking to your child about sex is constitutionally protected speech that can't be restricted by state laws.
"The prosecutor in this case, what her position is, is taking the statute beyond its intended meaning," said Horkan, who said his research has not turned up a similar case that went to trial in Wisconsin.



Txt from Dog

Tower Hamlets Blogger Faces Legal Action

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Tower Hamlets blogger Ted Jeory has been threatened with legal action over a story about one of his local councillor’s taxi expenses.
Jeory refused to apologise after accusing the councillor of thinking it is okay to “steal from the taxpayer”.
The councillor claimed £140.89 expenses on a taxi journey between his town hall and Unison headquarters on Euston Road in central London.
After making the claims, Jeory received a letter from the councillor in which the story was described as“obviously potentially libellous”.
“I am in discussion with my lawyers and would like to offer you an opportunity to correct this claim in a prominent position on your blog,” wrote the councillor.
“I would also ask that you now aplogise [sic] for making this claim.”
Jeory’s story was followed up by his former local paper, the East London Advertiser, which was also “threatened” before publication.
“Very stupid,” said Jeory, when asked about the threat. “It’s the kind of intimidation tactic that Trotskyites used to indulge in.”
Sunday Express journalist Jeory told Press Gazette that since publishing the letter on his website he has not heard anything from the councillor.
Jeory’s website, trialbyjeory.wordpress.com  was earlier this year the first blog to be nominated for Private Eye’s Paul Foot Awards.

WYP Covering Up More Crimes.

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After making my formal statement I believed I would get a formal decision at some point as to what action would be taken in regard to the abuse I sustained in Halifax Children's Homes.
Other victims I know of have, generally, received letters from the relevant Police force a few weeks after making their statement, so I sat back to wait.
Then last month I got a phone call from Halifax Safeguarding Team informing me that there would be No Further Action in these matters as the files on Operation Screen had been sealed in 2000 and could not be unsealed as it had been a joint Operational decision between the CPS and the Chief Inspector at the time.

I requested the decision in writing and was told by the DC that she would ask.
She then rang me back the following day to say it had to be a verbal only decision. I complained bitterly and on the Friday I received a third phone call from the Safeguarding Team. This time it was a D.I Lord who telephoned to yet again inform me that a decision had been made in regard to the crimes committed against me when I was a child, I had been informed of that decision and now needed to move on. I asked for the decision to be put in writing as I felt I hadn't been able to fully take in their reasons over the phone and needed time to read and process that decision. I was then informed that they "don't have time to write letters, there's criminals to catch." and the phone call was abruptly ended.

Rather peeved at this, I contacted my local MP Jason McCartney (Colne Valley) and asked him to see if he could find out why I was getting different treatment to other victims. "Different forces, different policies" he replied "but I shall ask."

Last week I received a letter from Jason McCartney MP, along with his response from the Safeguarding unit.

Dear Jason McCartney MP

Thank you for your correspondence dated 19th April 2013 relating to Karen Gray of  * ****** ******, **********, Huddersfield.

In reply I can tell you that Detective Inspector Lord at Calderdale CID had a lengthy telephone conversation with Ms Karen Gray regarding the decision not to proceed with her case. Also informing her that although the decision had been made not to put the decision into writing he would be prepared to speak to any legal representative should she wish to seek legal advise.

At this stage the decision remains the same.

Yours faithfully
Sharon Hewitt
DS 5120
Calderdale Safeguarding Unit.

Now, as some of you may have noticed..... I'm kinda okay on research. I set my mind on a task and generally keep at it til it's finished or my mind gets bored and wanders off until my feet follow it.

Now, CPS produced a booklet a few years ago "Rights of Women"
On page 42 it states:


A decision taken not to prosecute a serious offence would have to be supported
by very clear reasons. For example, depending on the seriousness of the
offence, it may be decided that a prosecution is not in the public interest if:
● it would have a negative effect on the physical or mental health of the
victim;
● the suspect is very old; and/or
● the suspect was, at the time of the offence, suffering from serious mental
or physical ill health.
All these issues are meant to be weighed against the seriousness of the
offence
.
You should be told by the CPS Prosecutor whether or not the suspect is to be
charged within 24 hours of the decision being made. Decisions in cases of rape
are taken by specialist Prosecutors.


If the CPS decides not to charge him with an offence the suspect will have no
further action taken against him (sometimes referred to as being NFA’d). The
case will then be closed but information relating to the investigation should be
kept in case further evidence is obtained or he commits further offences.
When the CPS informs you that they are not able to charge the suspect, they
should offer to meet with you to discuss their decision. If, following a meeting,

you disagree with the decision taken by the CPS Prosecutor you may be able
to challenge the decision through judicial review proceedings in the High
Court. The time limit for applying for judicial review is three months. You will
need specialist legal advice and representation to do this.
---------------

I had to wait three weeks to get my verbal decision as, according to the Officer handling my case, she had been on holiday for two weeks.

Now yes, the decision has had a serious effect on my already unstable Mental Health.
Yes, one of the Accused is 80 yrs old.

I have since rang the CPS who have no record of a file containing my name being passed to the CPS this year. They advised me to either report the matter to the Police or see C.A.B for free legal advise.

There was mention of an "indecent exposure" charge whilst the woman was searching for the name of one of my physical and mental abusers that traded me to a paedophile ring, but she quickly changed the subject on that.

.


Daily Star Wins Fight in War Against Top Level Child Abuse.

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A TOP-level cover-up was ordered to hide close links between Prince Charles and paedo Jimmy Savile, we can reveal today.
The full truth has been uncovered following a seven-month battle by the Daily Star Sunday.
A raft of documents was released last year showing former Prime Minister Maggie Thatcher’s dealings with Savile.
But Whitehall mandarins ordered key paragraphs to be blanked out to save people’s blushes.
We challenged that ruling under Freedom Of Information laws and were initially turned down.
It was only after a further appeal, when we said it was in the public interest to expose what Thatcher and her officials were discussing, that the information was finally released last week.
It shows Savile claimed Prince Charles had agreed to be a patron of one of his charities – and, crucially, last year someone in power had decided we shouldn’t know that fact, despite it being common knowledge that the Prince and weirdo Savile were pals.

Officials at the National Archive, which houses the documents, last night blamed the Cabinet Office, under the control of Cabinet Secretary Sir Jeremy Heywood, for redacting the documents.

The cover-up concerned Savile asking Prince Charles to be patron of his Stoke Mandeville appeal.

The letter to Thatcher from one of her aides reads: “Even more encouraging, though again confidential at this stage, Jimmy Savile tells me that the Prince of Wales has agreed to be Patron of the Appeal.”
The nugget was contained in a one page letter headed PRIME MINISTER dated March 6, 1980, and initialled G.V.
The letter was part of a Savile file released under the 30-year rule by the National Archives at Kew, south-west London, last year.
It included pervert Savile declaring his love for the former PM, showing how well connected he was to establishment figures.
A National Archives official explained the Charles paragraph was excluded under sections 40 and 41.
Section 40 refers to information that it would breach the Data Protection Act to reveal that that person would have a “legitimate expectation” that the information would remain private.
Section 41 covers information that was given in confidence.

Two documents in the dossier are still being covered up and will stay secret for 40 years after a ruling last October when claims about Savile began to emerge.
One, misspelling Savile’s name, is described as “Letter from Jimmy Saville to Prime Minister (undated).”
The other is “Telephone message from Jimmy Savile” dated February 5, 1980.
Last night it was still unclear whose blushes were being spared by those sections ­remaining blanked out.

Freedom of information campaigners have criticised officials for misusing the rules to keep information secret.
Maurice Frankel, director of the Campaign For Freedom Of Information, said: “They often use these sections to protect the identity of people who are actually players in the decision-making process who ought to be identified.

"Sometimes people haven’t behaved properly and shouldn’t have any expectation of having their identity protected. If you persist, you can succeed in overturning these decisions.”

Former Top Of The Pops presenter Savile was a fundraiser for Stoke Mandeville hospital in Buckinghamshire, where he also preyed on young patients.

One paralysed woman said Savile abused her when she was 13 and recovering in the children’s ward in 1971.
Nurses even warned youngsters “pretend to be asleep” when he visited.
The hospital launched its own inquiry after a catalogue of attacks was revealed across the country, dating back to 1955.

Savile was also allowed in and out of Charles’ residence St James’ Palace when he acted as a marriage guidance counsellor for Charles and Diana.
Charles, who led tributes when Savile died, aged 84, in October 2011, had sent him cigars and gold cufflinks on his 80th birthday.
A note with the gifts read: “Nobody will ever know what you have done for this country, Jimmy. This is to go some way in thanking you for that.”
Last night, a spokeswoman for Charles said the redaction was nothing to do with his office. It was public knowledge that he was patron of that appeal, she said.
And the Cabinet Office added: “As a result of the review of the FOI request, the Cabinet Office decided a small amount of information may be released.

“The reason it was originally redacted is quoted in section 40 and 41.

A review decided that a small extract could be released.”

Second Arrest - Altrincham Grammar School For Boys

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A man was arrested in Middlesex today by detectives investigating historic sexual abuse relating to Altrincham Grammar School for Boys.
The 61-year-old, who has not been named, was held at his home on suspicion of indecent assault.
The arrest is in connection with an ongoing investigation into allegations of historic sexual offences associated to the school.
The alleged offence relates to the man's time as a teacher at the school between 1975 and 1980 and relates to a former pupil at the school.
The alleged offence did not occur on school grounds.
Det Chief Insp Koran Sellars said: “We continue to make good progress with this investigation and with tracing and speaking to former pupils of Altrincham Grammar School for Boys since allegations were made to police in December 2012.
“There are still former pupils that we would like to trace and speak to and if anyone has information relevant to our ongoing investigation please make contact. Any and all information provided will be treated in strict confidence.”

Oz Paedo Back in Jail, New Zealand.

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Published: 7:44PM Wednesday May 08, 2013 Source: ONE News

The mother of a paedophile locked away for at least 20 years is questioning whether more could have been done to prevent his offending.
Aaron Ellmers’ mother said her son was crying out for help prior to being charged with some 60 offences against children, and she says she wished she had known.
She said she hopes he now gets the treatment he desperately needs.
“I just hope he gets that help so he can be out with us. But it’s going to take a lot to get trust in him. It’s just knocked me,” she said.
Ellmers, 41, was sentenced yesterday in the High Court in Napier to preventive detention with a non parole period of 20 years.
Ellmers pleaded guilty in February to a raft of child sex offences against four children aged from 13 months to 13 years, in one of the worst cases police have seen.
The 60 charges brought against him included sexual violation of children, stupefying, making an intimate visual recording, dealing in people for sexual exploitation and attempted sexual conduct with a child under 12.

In handing down the sentence, Justice Edwin Wylie said he was “not persuaded that even a lengthy and determinate sentence of 19 and a half years would be sufficient to protect society” and referred to Ellmers as “depraved”.
His mother, who does not want to be identified, said he deserves punishment after admitting the charges.
Ellmers was jailed eight years ago in Australia for attempted child rape, which even his mother says she did not know about.
His case comes as Justice Minister Judtih Collins looks at establishing a register of serious offenders including those deported from Australia.
He made telephone calls’
At sentencing Ellmers lawyer Shannon Leigh-Litt claimed he tried to get help on return to New Zealand.
“He made telephone calls but he felt like he was at a brick wall. He could not access certain information. He contacted the Hawke’s Bay DHB to try and get help for his offending.”
Hawke’s Bay DHB says it cannot comment specifically on this case but in a statement told ONE News that anyone who had a clinical need for mental health or addiction treatment, who was willing to accept the treatment, would not be turned away.
Ellmers’ mother is standing by her son’s claims.
“People just ignored him. And I didn’t know. I had no idea he was yelling for help.”
Help may be provided to Ellmers in prison – the Department of Corrections runs specialist treatment programmes – but the sentencing judge and even his own family have doubts as to whether he can ever be rehabilitated.

Copyright © 2013, Television New Zealand Limited. Breaking and Daily News, Sport & Weather | TV ONE, TV2 | Ondemand

ex P.I.E Leader Facing Prison

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The former leader of a defunct paedophile pressure group is facing jail after becoming the first person to be convicted for making drawings of children being raped.

Remorseless: Stephen Freeman faces jail having been convicted of making drawings of children being raped
Remorseless: Stephen Freeman faces jail having been convicted of making drawings of children being raped


The prosecution, under the 2009 Coroners and Justice Act which incorporated sketches, was described as a 'landmark case' by Scotland Yard.
Detectives found 3,000 harrowing drawings at Steven Freeman's home where he held weekly meetings of his 'paedo friends' to view and trade child porn.
Some 14,500 pictures and films were found on computer disks there and at the address of two more of his group, the Old Bailey heard.
Officers from the Child Abuse Command also found sick computer games where players tried to abuse as many children as possible.
Three defendants had been leaders of Pie, the Paedophile Information Exchange, which was disbanded after members were jailed, and Freeman, previously known as Smith, 57, of Bellingham, was its chairman.
John Parratt was a former vice-chairman of Pie
Leo Adamson helped set up the organisation to distribute obscene pictures of young boys
Leo Adamson, left, helped set up Pie to distribute obscene pictures of young boys while John Parratt, right, was a former vice-chairman of the organisation
He pleaded guilty to specimen charges of possessing indecent images, two of having prohibited drawings, three charges of distributing the material and one count of failing to disclose the password for an encrypted computer.
John Morrison, 44, of Putney, south London, pleaded guilty to two counts of having indecent images and failure to disclose a computer password; John Parratt, 63, of the same address, a former vice-chairman of Pie  also known as Warren Middleton, was found guilty of three counts of having indecent images.
Leo Adamson, 49, of Vauxhall, south London, a former executive member of Pie, was found guilty of failure to disclose a computer password.
Barry Cutler, 60, of Beckenham, Kent, pleaded guilty to three offences of having indecent images and failure to provide a password.
John Morrison pleaded guilty to two counts of having indecent images and failure to disclose a computer passwordBarry Cutler pleaded guilty to three offences of having indecent images and failure to provide a password
John Morrison, left, and Barry Cutler, right, both pleaded guilty to possessing indecent images and failure to provide a password


Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2002181/Stephen-Freeman-convicted-making-drawings-children-raped.html#ixzz2TRwxXvF7
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Skircoat Lodge, combined 1-5

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Will start writing again in the coming days, so I figured a quick recap was appropriate.

Skircoat Lodge, the story so far...

An athletic black man that automatically controlled a room simply with his presence, Malcolm Osric Phillips seemed to command respect under any circumstance. He always presented himself as a poised, level, even tempered sort of gentleman.
Nothing about the way he carried himself suggested he wouldn't think twice about rugby tackling a 14 year old girl from across the room, or pinning a child to the wall by the throat simply for ...... being.

His hair whilst speckled grey, belied very little of his true age in the first few months of my time in Skircoat Lodge, although that changed quite rapidly as time progressed.
Phillips Needed to be in control. If something wasn't quite right for him, we all suffered, staff and kids alike. About the only person he doted on was his 8 yer old daughter Emma.

He was slightly above 6". I know that because my dad is 6" exact and Phillips always puffed himself up in front of men similar size, kind of the way a peacock does. There again, it was a habit my dad also favoured so the few times I remember my dad returning me to Skircoat Lodge, I got a brief comedy sketch before the punishments kicked in for the absconding from whence I had just been returned.

I remember my first night in Skircoat Lodge....my first night in Care.....
I'd been shown into the 6-bedroom. That literally meant....6 beds, 6 girls.....
I was horrified....I was raised as an only child!! The idea of having other people in my room, able to touch my stuff!!! 
I stalled for about an hour. If staff came to check on me, I pretended to be unpacking, or prowling the room, getting my bearings..... all the time staring out of the windows, checking the height from the hill at the back of the girls wing, making sure I could spot my exit route before the sun set.
Satisfied I could find my way into town, I threw myself down on what can only be described as THE most uncomfortable bed EVER and to add insult to what has probably contributed to soooo many aches each morning - injury, the matress was covered in plastic. I stood up to go find somebody to complain at and demand a proper matress, not a kiddy bed....and Miss Brunning appeared in the doorway. Told me I'd better get my things unpacked and put away and get my arse downstairs for supper.  NOW!!!

Five minutes later, supper turned out to be a half cup of  tea (to which I am highly allergic) and 2 Rich Tea biscuits with half a digestive.

Several of the girls took earliest opportunities to have quiet words with me, either in groups or singular. 
"Watch out for Phillips, 'specially at night. If you're in the 6-bedroom, watch that back door.."

Panic stricken, I wracked my brain for every euphemism I had ever heard at the Lurcher Club, the Canoe Club and Grammar School (all rather "spirited" establishments in their own, unique ways)....and the only back door I could bring to mind sounded rather painful to say the least and more to the point wtf would a grown man want a girls "back door"!!!!!

I made a hasty exit to the bedroom to ponder my current predicament.

Upon walking into the bedroom, I felt some relief, as I was staring straight ahead at a door set just into an almost invisible alcove in the far wall.
I walked over to it and gently tested it. Locked. 
As girls started to drift in for bed, I found out the door led to the stores for the Camping trips. It was where they kept all the waterproofs and tents, rucksacks and water bottles for some of Phillips' "famous" 3-peaks walks that we faced on a regular basis.
Even at 14 yr old, I found it heart breaking to see a 7 yr old boy, completely exhausted to the point of collapse, being kicked like a rabid dog and told "Get up you lazy little shit, there's only one more peak to go."

Accessible from both up and downstairs, it quickly transpired that Phillips was in the habit of using the Stores stairway as a hidden route to his second flat within the property. It allowed access to his flat based within the girls wing of the home.
His main family flat being based within the boys wing, where Emma (his daughter, then 8) and Mrs P would spend the occasional night. 
The rest of the time, they were at his main residence, a 15 minute drive away.

Within an hour I had been filled in completely as to the night-time activities of "Mr P" as he preferred to be called.
Disgusted came nowhere near.
Despite having been warned by my mum exactly what to expect from Staff in Care, I had not expected to be confronted with the possibility of sexual abuse on night One fgs!!

As "Light's out!" was called, one of the night staff appeared in the doorway and demanded every scrap of clothing I owned, as it was all to be washed or destroyed, accordingly.

As I opened my wardrobe and drawers, I noticed several items missing, but said nothing. I could deal with that afterwards. Right here, right now, my hastily still-being-formed escape plans were being destroyed by an unexpected force.
As I dawdled and tried every delaying tactic I could think of, I was suddenly rounded upon by two rather burly women who proceeded to empty all drawers and my cupboard of every item of clothing and march off with it.

I sank to the floor and burst into tears.

Ten minutes later, the "Original Big Hairy Bikers" had gone again, and a small pile of my belongings appeared at my feet. Clean jeans, clean T-shirt, jumper, trainers and most importantly, my waterproof jacket that still stank ever so slightly of the River Aire. Rats pee is a smell you can NEVER get out of something, no matter how diluted it is. After around 6 years throwing myself down extreme rivers in a little bit of glassfibre, my rat-pee steeped, waterproof jacket was about as safe a place as I could imagine at that point. I quickly dressed and was at the back window within 2 minutes.

To choruses of "You'll break your neck. See ya tomorrow. See ya in an hour. When ya get lifted, remember to tell the coppers to go f...."

My feet hit the ground and i auto tucked and rolled down the gentle slope of the grass banking behind the home, raised to a half crouch, scurried to the end of the building, hit the treeline and was gone.

Two days later, I was returned to Skircoat Lodge by the police. Stood in the office, I was informed that whilst it was understandable to be scared, absconding would not be tolerated.
My clothing was confiscated, as was my footwear. My waterproof jacket was placed within the camping store, never to be seen again.
I was ordered upstairs for a bath and told fresh clothing would be on my bed waiting for me.

Climbing out of the bath, I discovered the "clothing" amounted to my gym knickers and the airtex top from my gym kit. Not even my gym skirt to offer a little dignity.
Once "dressed" I was ordered back downstairs and into the "schoolroom" they had for home schooling. Until I could be trusted to not run away, I was to forfeit my Grammar school placement and be taught instead, within the confines of Skircoat Lodge along with four of the younger kids.

After a few hours in the schoolroom, I was summoned to the office, given my jeans and a t-shirt and told to dress quickly as my mum was due to take me to a Dr's appointment. What for I demanded to know. I wasn't ill, I had no need to see a Dr. With no more info forthcoming, all I could do was wait.
When my mum arrived, she was told of the reason behind my Dr's appointment. I was to be put on the pill as the "last thing they needed was pregnancies". In disgust at the attitude and the implication I was promiscuous, my mum complied with their demand.

Within a week, the novelty of trying to force tablets down my throat wore off and the pills were consigned to the bin.

Over the next couple of weeks, I slowly regained the trust of staff enough to be allowed to return to school. That however didn't last long as I quickly took a detour to the pub, which was a source of great hilarity for the other regulars in the Upper George and the Sportsman in Halifax. 
Until that point, they had only ever seen me in jeans and t-shirt. Now I was arriving in what could only loosely be described as my school uniform. My knee length 4-gore grey flannel skirt had been replaced with a tight black mini skirt and my neat, tight fitting white blouse had been replaced with a mans size white Wrangler© shirt because it was thick enough to hide the fact I was wearing a black t-shirt underneath.
Whilst the regulars and the bar staff knew I was underage, they also knew I could pay for my own beer and hold it better than half the blokes. As long as the police didn't come looking for me too often, my age was not an issue.

Education changes
Eventually, staff seemed to click onto the fact that driving me to school didn't even work when the school rang them one day to say I was now suspended as I had only attended 1 lesson a week for three weeks.

North Halifax High School in Halifax started out it's life as a Grammar School. Originally known as Princess Mary's All Girls Grammar School, based on what is now College grounds, the school changed its name when it became co-ed and, a few years later, it moved to Illingworth in the late 1980's. 
The uniform is still the same today, although the school no longer retains Grammar school status. Grey  flannel 4-gore skirt, or Grey  flannel trousers, white, close fitting blouse/shirt, pillar-box red jumper, grey blazer, red and grey striped tie. Grey cap with red trim. The gym kit was just as bad.... even the grey gym knickers had the red trim on the edges and girls were told, they were to be worn at ALL times during P.E.
Mrs Crawley, the Headmistress liked order. After a two week stretch of 6th form girls arriving with blue and red hair, old Creepy set a rule that Nobody would attend Her school with dyed hair. She declared that "ALL Gals and boys, would be in attendance with the natural hair colouring or would NOT attend."
A week later the rule was dropped when Mrs Crawley arrived at work one morning with a bright green forelock, in complete contrast to the rest of her dark brown hair.
The story eventually came out via one of the Masters who declared she had left the bleach on too long while trying to prepare a grey patch of hair to dye it brown. 

All in all it was a good school. They were a little short sighted in their attitudes towards the more capable students, but they didn't allow for distractions either.

When I finished my Latin degree, I stopped attending school at all. This led to my suspension and ultimately, my "Exclusion". Mrs Crawley outright refused to put Expelled on the letter because "One does not get Expelled from Grammar school. These things cannot be allowed to happen."

So back I went to the little schoolroom in Skircoat Lodge. 

There was no teacher for the schoolroom, one of the care staff would just sit in there and occasionally tell us to find something constructive to do. They had no lesson plan, not even any books for anyone above the age of 6.
This grew tedious very quickly and the only thing left to do was plot yet another escape.



Ground Floor

As the diagram shows, the setup was very clinical. The lounge area was never there with the intention of use.
The only time I remember the TV being used in the lounge was the morning that Robert Kilroy Silk did a program on Children in Care and half the Skircoat kids were on it. It had been filmed a couple of days before I joined the home and was broadcast maybe a week later I think. Somewhere around May 1989.
The seats were a brown faux leather that made you sweat in summer. There was a tiny toy box in one corner of the room for the younger kids, although they were all too broken really to be of any use.

Friday nights were Youth Club nights.
A member of staff would walk us all down past the hospital to the methodist church where it was based, on Huddersfield Road and then come back for us 3 hours later.
I would wait til they left and then I left. Three minutes up the road and in through the back door of a house done out as bedsits. Up to the third floor and there, in the room, friends who, knowing I kept escaping from the kids home and getting picked up near their houses decided to sacrifice their Friday nights out and gather at the closest residence to me so I didn't land myself in trouble again. It was here I developed  taste for Spirits.
Two and a half hours later, I would return to the Youth Club, explain to the staff there I'd been there all night, they must have not been paying attention, coz I'd only Just come back from the shop!
This went on fine for a few weeks, until one day, Jay's mum had given him a few bottles of homemade Elderberry wine. When I arrived, two lads were already out cold. I remember Darren who was 19 at the time, was sat on the floor, slumped against the bed, eyes closed, tongue hanging out like a dog, snoring heavily. I unceremoniously booted him off the pillows he was hogging, put his jacket under his head then changed my mind and put it over his head to muffle the noise. Parked my ass on the bed and proceeded to get hammered. 
"Just in time," announced Jay, "thought I'd have to drink all this myself." He motioned behind him to a crate half full of bottles. Each one still corked. 
"Not drinking that again," a voice chirrped up from the corner of the room, I looked across to see Hawk. An 'Angel from Derby, he visited infrequently and was a much-welcomed sight. "Tha' stuff's bloody lethal." he finished, grinning broadly. 
He stood, crossed the room in just 2 steps and hugged me tightly. 
We spent the evening with me relating everything I had encountered since I entered the kids home and Hawk getting more and more aggitated, what I was relaying clearly upsetting him deeply.
Three bottles of Elderberry wine and, a bottle of Olde English Cider for Hawk later, I squinted carefully at the clock, failed, closed one eye and saw the Hour hand jumping between 10 and 11 and sobriety started to kick in as I realised I had missed the "Collection" time at the Youth Club.
Fifteen minutes and two black coffee's later, I could just about stand enough to lean on Hawk for him to help me stagger up the road towards the kids home.

By the time we reached the bottom of the driveway, I could stand unsupported without falling over straight away and Hawk was still berating himself for having let me drink that much without noticing. We walked down the drive and I stopped before we got in sight of the windows. Turning, I said "You'd better go. I'll be fine from here."
"Oh no, I'm going to make sure you're ok, I'm coming in with you and telling them straight. No punishments, no comebacks, nothing. They can't treat you like this, or those kids." He nodded toward the building. "Them bastards need teaching."
"Not tonight. Not while I'm in this state for god's sake. I need to have my things packed before you kick off at them."
At that, it was agreed that if I were punished for getting drunk, there would be a reckoning, and Hawk left.

Approaching the building, I drew a deep breathe, shoved my fingers down my throat and forced myself to throw up. All over my boots. Rang the doorbell, leaned against the door and waited to be let in.
Ten minutes later, the door opened and I woke up as I fell into the doorway.

Three days later is my next conscious memory. Laid in bed, in the single room closest to the 6 bedroom, a cold damp cloth on my forehead. A cup of salt water at the side of me and a sick bucket. Ravenous. 
"Bacon butty." 
"No chance." I looked around to see wtf?!  large shadow loomed in the doorway.
"So you're awake then now." stated a Joyce-shaped blur.

According to Joyce the Matron, I had fallen through the doorway, thrown up twice on the night staff and been put to into the single room so I didn't disturb other residents. I had been unconscious most of the first day and drifted in and out long enough to throw up again for a further day or so. Her diagnosis was alcohol poisoning. 
"What did the Dr say?" I asked.
"What Dr?" was the only reply as she left the room to report I was finally lucid and hungry.


First Floor

The Flat
Saturday nights, Phillips operated a Flat list. All the kids that had been good that week were allowed to watch a film in one of Phillips' Flats with him. There was pop for the youngest kids, biscuits, cake and crisps for all, and 13+ were allowed a can of "lager". 
My first time in the flat was a couple of months after my arrival.
I'd never drank Fosters before (or since for that matter) but soon realised why Phillips was so casual about letting us drink it. It was foul water! After quickly draining the can, I made a show of holding up the can, scrutinizing the outside, peering into it, shaking it.... 
Eventually Phillips asked "What are you doing girl? If you've finished it, put it in the bin!" 
"Sorry Sir," I replied, "I was looking for the alcohol."
The room erupted with laughter as Phillips looked exasperated whilst I grinned at him like a Cheshire cat.
I wasn't invited back for film night for quite a few weeks.
I did however, find out that the best behaved from movie night got to have Single bedrooms. Two of which were situated within the "boundaries" of the flat. If neither room was allocated, there was a lockable door to prevent us getting anywhere near. 
It later became apparent that the door was sometimes locked whether the single rooms were allocated or not.


The next few months were relatively quiet. As the weather got warmer and summer stretched away in front of us, Phillips started organising walking trips for us all. He would pile us all into the minibus, with rucksacks and packed lunches. Hiking boots were issued and, looking at them I was so glad I had my own pair. The things they handed out looked like they had never seen a tin of dubbin. We would get quarter way up a mountain and half the group would be crippled due to inadequate or badly fitting footwear.
Even I understood the damage that would be doing to people's feet. Especially the younger kids. So I tried to explain to them about extra socks just to pad out the boots a bit so they didn't rub.

Despite all the downsides to these excursions, I enjoyed them. It was the closest I could get to what I considered a normal life. At home, we had always been an active family. The lurchers were always in fine form, having had moorlands to run across for most of their lives. This in turn meant a few miles walk to get to the moorlands before the hike could begin. I had started canoeing with my dad from an early age and, showing aptitude for the sport, had turned to Slalom events (competitive) by the time I was 9.
These "walks" meant I could finally forget the worries of Skircoat Lodge for a little while, even if the cause of those worries was walking two feet away from me.
By the new school year, Miss Brunning had organised a new school for me to attend. Sowerby High School.
A Secondary Comprehensive. My main concern was....how to get to town all the way from Sowerby Bridge every day. My first day at the school, I made it through to dinner time, past the induction and the lectures of how "This school would not tolerate the likes of my past behaviour!". I was in the toilets, making sure I looked presentable for the pub -
Hair a mess - check!
Black t-shirt - check!
Mini skirt - check!
The door opened and a couple of girls from my class wandered in, as I continued smoking my single-skin spliff before setting off.
Smelling the hash, both quickly started talking to me and I discovered they were about to head over to one of their homes, just across the school field. Would I like to join them, to raid her mum's booze cupboard came the question. Ding! Free booze for the win!
So we traipsed over the field and into the house. Between the three of us, we made short work of a bottle of Ouzo, a bottle of brandy and started on the vodka.
With 5 minutes of dinnertime left, we fell out of the house and back into school. Standing in the hallway, waiting for a teacher to arrive to let us into the class for an English lesson, I see's one of the girls slide down the wall and onto the floor, laughing maniacally and turned in time to see the other one throwing up into yet another girls schoolbag.
The teacher arrived and the 2 were quickly dispatched to the sick bay, after being asked who else was involved.
The sick bay sounded good to me. Easier to walk out of, so I volunteered and, after a quick smell of my breath, it was agreed, yes I had been involved and I was sent to.....the dining room. I was told that I was not in a state needing medical attention and would sit in the dining room and do the English assignment in there.
The assignment was to write a story about a fox. Two pages minimum.
That sounded fine, I've always enjoyed writing. I find it relaxing to a certain extent. It also gave me a chance to show off my knowledge and understanding of wildlife. So I sat there writing away on A4 paper. Half way down page three and the Vixen was still fleeing from the hounds, trying to lead them away from her den and the cubs. The moonlight glancing off their eyes and the saliva spray as they ran, chasing the stench of fear and fox..... "Pen down."
"Miss Brunning." I replied, still writing away. "Is it home time? Thanks for coming to pick me up. I've almost finished this assignment. Can I just have a few more minutes please?" I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile and carried on writing.

Miss Brunning was a large lady, to say the least. She looked like she could fill a room on her own. She had a temper to match her size and couldn't always quite hold it in check. I knew she was heading straight for me without looking. The room shook.
I finished the sentence I was writing, put down my pen, and braced myself for the impact. She hauled me out of the seat by the scruff of my neck and dangled me in the air like a naughty puppy.
"I'm not here to collect you" she snarled, "I'm here for the report on you and I can already see I'm not going to like it."
"I finished the assignment," I proffered the paper as proof. I was feeling brave, so continued, "and it wasn't me that couldn't stand up. Not my fault if people can't hold their alcohol."
I was unceremoniously dropped back onto the chair as the door opened and the Headmaster walked in.
He explained to Miss Brunning that leading the others astray was not acceptable and nor was "the delinquent child". I was thereby expelled. I'd lasted 1 hour short of a full day at my new school.
Again I held up the paper and announced "I finished the assignment Sir."
"Leave it there, it will be graded and added to your file, for your next school."

At that, Miss Brunning and I were escorted out of the school building and towards the car. Stopping, she turned and informed me she had finished her shift for the day and was on her way home. She would be ringing Skircoat Lodge within the hour to make sure I had returned.
With that, she got in the car and drove away, leaving me to make my own way back to the home.
The next morning, Miss Brunning announced I was back to the schoolroom until yet another school placement could be found for me.
Three days later, a note arrived in the schoolroom, from Miss Brunning to Joyce who was trying to teach two of the boys how to read. Joyce read it and, smiling she told me "That assignment you wrote, you got an A."

The months dragged on and boredom set in. I started absconding again and hitting the pub regular.
Hawk moved up from Derby and got a bedsit in Ovenden. He gave me a spare key so I could use it whenever I needed. Two days later he found I'd basically moved in.

Life was awkward, but manageable. For the next few months I spent half my time at Hawk's or in the pub and when I ran out of clothes to wear, or the money ran out, I would go back to Skircoat, take the punishments, get my clothes washed and confiscated. Then spend my time working on my trust with the staff so I could get my clothes back and start the cycle all over again.

Christmas came and went although it most certainly wasn't a memorable one. I remember there were a few gifts for the kids who had no family, like Stephen. He must have been 6 by then. Both his parents had died in a car crash and, with no other family to take him, he had landed at Skircoat Lodge.
There were always reasons why he couldn't go to a certain foster family, although they never seemed to ring true. Too old, too young, didn't get on with them, didn't get on with their other children. If all else failed, Phillips would rely on the old favourite, "They don't want a bed wetter."
So he stayed at Skircoat, where his emotional and educational needs were severely ignored. He withdrew further into himself making it almost impossible to then find him a foster placement because nobody wants a "surly child".

Bradford or Dead
Some time not long after new year, I was offered a single bedroom by Phillips' flat. They felt as I was approaching my 15th birthday, I should be in a room of my own. At the same time, they offered another of the rooms to another girl, Diane.
Whilst in full agreement I needed my own space, there was no way I wanted to be vulnerable like that and, despite the time of year and the weather, decided I needed a more permanent escape than just Hawk's place and the pub.
Diane and I sat talking one evening and decided, if there was to be an escape, it would be more likely to succeed if there were two of us together. At least we could watch out for each other.
We waited until the Saturday and headed out from Skircoat, into town. We both had 3 layers of clothing on and bags with us. The bags were checked on the way out, to make sure we weren't taking clothing with us and we were allowed on our way.
As we got half way up the drive, we stopped and started stripping off the extra layers. Bagged up the clothes and headed for a bus to Bradford.


We got off the bus in Bradford and hurried down the steps into the concourse below and blended into the crowd, laughing between us at how easy it had been to get out without being caught.
"So, where to?"
Diane's plan had been to ring her boyfriend and get us somewhere to stay until the weather turned, then head down South and see....
My plan had been to stay in Halifax and get Hawk to shift us to Derby where he had family and friends, but as Diane pointed out, that plan always ended up with me getting drunk instead of leaving town. So Diane's plan it was.
We headed to the phones and she dialed his number. I pottered about, waiting for her until I got bored, then wandered over to her.
"Dirty, lying two-faced bastard!" she screamed into the phone before slamming it back into the cradle.
"So, South is a bust for now then?" I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "We'll find something. Come on."

I headed for a pub just in the City centre I had been to a few times before and, telling Diane to sit in a booth with the bags, I went to the bar and ordered a couple of pints.
"She old enough?" John nodded towards Diane.
"She's with me, if that helps." I replied, grinning at him. "Phil been in?"
He nodded across the room as the door to the Gents creaked open and Phil, John's partner walked back into the bar area wiping his hands on his Jeans.
"You're not meant to piss on your hands!" I yelled to him across the room.
"Be thankful I wiped it on my jeans then." came the retort as he put one hand across my nose and eyes playfully before hugging me.
Smelling the soap on his hand, I feigned disgust and, slapping his arm away I reached for the drinks and motioned to the booth where Diane was sat, laughing at the antics.

I'd met both guys in "The Empire", a heavy metal club in Halifax. They knew my situation and I knew that, even if they were a threat to some people, we would be safe with them. I trusted them.
As we sat there, in the dimly lit pub, I explained the sudden urgency behind our hasty departure.

I will interject here and take the time to explain that this next section is rather graphic and disturbing. It is also, as with the rest of my account, unfortunately very true.

*Warning: Contains descriptions any normal person will find abhorrent.*

A couple of weeks after New Year, Phillips had decided it was time for a "bedroom shake up". Shift us all around and break up little cliques. Anne-Marie was moved from the 3-bed into a single, Donna was moved back into the 6-bed after yet another breach of the "No Smoking" rules, a few more shuffles and life continued as normal, or so we thought.

Then, the weekend before we took flight, Anne-Marie had demanded to be returned to the three-bedroom from a single and was threatening to self harm if it didn't happen. A quick reshuffle was done and I was given the room just vacated whilst Diane was given the single room next door, a girl had been moved from the 3-bed to the 6-bed and Anne-Marie had her space back but still wouldn't stop crying. Nor could she be coaxed out of the room to eat.

We were all instructed to go to the Dining area for lunch and ignore the "attention seeker until she is willing to stop being a baby and join us!". Part way through lunch, I asked to be excused for a toilet trip, grabbed an extra sandwich on my way out of the room and headed toward the girls stairs, hoping nobody had seen the snaffled food. I knew she wasn't normally such a sensitive person, she would happily stand and tell anyone to "Fuck off" with the best of us, there had to be more to it.
Arriving outside the 3-bedroom, I knocked on the door and pushed it open. Although I couldn't see her, I could hear the broken sobbing from the far side of the room.
"Annie" I called out "Brought you a sarnie honey. You gotta eat something. Ya know these bastards will let ya starve to death if you don't come down and sit with us."
"Death sounds ok. Leave me alone."
"Fine, fuck ya."
I let the bedroom door swing closed, hoping she wouldn't spot my reflection in the windows opposite and carefully crept around the end of one bed, and stopped in horror.
Her lower clothing was in a heap, on the floor. They looked as though she had tried to set fire to them but failed and given up. The room stank of bleach and fear.
Where she sat, legs spread, the floor was covered in blood, as were Anne-Marie's hands and whatever it was she appeared to be holding.
Struggling to keep my lunch down, I bolted to the top of the stairs and screamed for staff.
Five minutes later, Miss Brunning came up the stairs, puffing and panting and declaring I would be in so much trouble if this was for nothing.
As the ambulance pulled away, a fairly new member of staff, Linda, explained that Anne-Marie had claimed she had been sexually assaulted during the night. The blood was where she had tried scrubbing the event from her body and her mind with the help of her toothbrush and the bleach had been the cleaning agent she had used. Her accused? Malcolm Osric Phillips, the Principal (his own-fashioned title).
The accusations were labelled the fantasies of an overactive child's imagination and there was no further action other than a formal warning given to Linda for breach of protocol when divulging information to residents.

Diane and I sat in the booth and waited for Phil to return from the toilets. He still looked a rather pale green as he walked back over to us and he was visibly shaking.
"You're not going back there!" Phil drank the remains of his pint as John came towards us carrying four drinks and looking concerned.
"What's wrong? You ok?" His concern was aimed at Phil, his life partner. I later discovered the reason for his concern, Phil had been diagnosed with AIDS some time in late 1989.
Quickly he explained everything I had just told him and they both decided we could stay with them, temporary, until something else could be arranged.
Relief washed over us both and we settled back into the seats and prepared to get drunk.

They lived in a small flat in the Manningham area of Bradford. A key was placed in my hand and we were told to come and go as we wished but to at least leave a note so they knew we were safe. Life started to settle into a routine. John would go to work, Phil would wander off whenever he felt up to it and they would both turn up at night carrying food and drink enough for all. Things seemed to be looking up.
Four days into our stay there, the landlord showed up and seemed less than impressed to find Diane in the stairwell, stating it was  male only establishment and wanting to know why she was there. She explained she was visiting a friend and that another resident had left the communal door open for her to nip in and see if he was home.
Hearing the exchange echoing up the stairs, I woke Phil, who was snoring in the chair and he went out to rescue his "niece" from the evil landlord. It seemed our time at the flat was about to expire.
Rather than put friends through the awkward experience of asking us to leave, we packed our things and waited for John to finish work. We ate our final meal in the flat, thanked them for their hospitality and headed out into the Bradford evening, armed with £10, 20 cigs, a packet of Rizla and an eighth of  resin.

As we walked down Manningham Lane, a few snowflakes started to fall. The "toms" started drifting into the doorways. Shelter seeming to be preferred to the street corners and biting winds.
"What we gonna do now?" came the squeaky question of a scared child.
"We'll be right." I wasn't too sure how exactly, but felt sure something would turn up. "Come on, let's grab a hot drink." I indicated the cafe that was open for the street walkers and their pimps, the dealers and the inevitable custom that filtered in looking for all services provided.
After a coffee and three offers of work from punters, we grabbed our bags and headed back out into the snow.
"Come on." I led us into an alleyway, moved quickly through the shadows and into a parking and garage area for residents. There, in a corner away from everything except weeds was our destination. A 2-berth caravan owned by the Probation service who ran a Bail Hostel that overlooked the garages.
"Grab a solid stick, or a thin metal pole, if you can find one, please." I asked, as I started searching the ground.
Wordlessly, a thin bar was put into my hand. I flattened one edge and popped the lock on the caravan door. Checking the noise hadn't been heard, we crept in and started to cover the windows so our presence would go unnoticed.
Satisfied no light would be spotted by a casual passer by, I checked the storage areas under the seating and found blankets, folded away the table and prepared the double bed. We both huddled under the blankets together, trying to keep warm.


As we laid there huddled together for security and warmth, there was a knock on the caravan door. Panic set in and I motioned carefully to Diane to stay still and quiet. After what seemed forever, I heard footsteps walking away and I peeked out between the curtains and some cardboard I'd put in place the night before.
A middle-aged man was walking away from the caravan towards the Bail Hostel. Reaching the door, he cautiously looked around him and slipped into the building.
I explained what I had seen to Diane and climbed back under the blankets.
"It's been snowing," I added. "Looks quite deep too."
"We're gonna freeze to death!"
"Well do you want to go home?" I snapped the question at her, feeling guilty as she recoiled. I turned and smiled, "Look, we'll be ok, something will come up, but we can't do much til the snow shifts anyways. We need food. Stay here and I'll be back soon."

I climbed back out of the nest of blankets and pulled on a second layer of clothing ready to brave the new day. Zipping my jacket, I promised I wouldn't be long. A quick tour around to see if the local shops had deliveries awaiting attention.
I opened the caravan door and saw a box straight in front of me. Nervously I nudged it with my foot, it moved easily. I lifted the corner and saw a pint of milk, a cig packet, a paper bag that looked rather greasy on the outside and an envelope.
Grabbing the supplies I let the box fall back into place and bolted back inside.
The bag was warm and smelled delicious. I opened it and passed Diane a Bacon, Sausage and Egg sandwich.
"Where the hell did tha...." the rest was lost as she bit into the food.

As we ate, I read the note out to her.
Don't worry, Your secret is safe.I saw you sneak in there last night when I was having a cig out the window.Thought you might be hungry.
"That it?" she questioned.
"Guardian Angels don't have to be chatty."
We giggled as we huddled back under the blankets, glad of the warmth in our bellies.

The next few days passed by uneventful. We slept, the snow melted, food arrived each morning and we existed. By Friday afternoon we started to discuss where we should move to, having decided the current situation could not continue. 
Eventually we would be found out, especially as there was somebody, god knows who, leaving a Bail Hostel at 5.30am every day, going to the all night cafe and then dropping two sandwiches outside a supposedly empty caravan.
There was a knock at the door. We both froze. 
"I know you're in there. I've been watching the door for last few hours. If I stand here much longer, I'll get seen."
"Well fuck off then!" Diane called out her response and we both burst out laughing. 

I stood and walked to the door. Opening it I turned to Diane
"Don't be mean to our benefactor. You'll be hungry again tomorrow." Looking back to the man stood in the doorway, I stood to one side to allow him into the 'van.
Closing the door, I turned to face him, making sure I was closest to the door at all times. Diane spotting my caution began to unwrap herself from the blankets. 
"We're grateful and all that for the food n everything," I ventured, "But if you're here to collect payment you've got lost mate, all the Toms are on the main road."
The man , taking in the scene before him, smiled and said "I merely came to inform you, that the evening meal tonight is take away for the hostel and, as we always order too much, I've asked the staff if a couple of the youngest lads can have their 'girlfriends' round."
"I ain't shagging nobody for any take away without drinks first!" came the almost brave voice of Diane.
"I wouldn't put that offer on the table honey, some may not be so casual taking that info on board!"

I rounded on him but before I could speak, he interjected and explained that yes, there were two nonces in the building and that one of them was aware of our existence. He explained that introducing us to the Hostel staff was probably the best way of keeping us safe if we intended to stay in the caravan. At least if staff knew of us, then we may be allowed into the Hostel more regular which meant food, warm drinks, radiators and, if we were sneaky enough, a bath!
"Food is usually collected around 6.30pm. I will be here with the two lads at 5.30pm so you can meet them and get to know each other so there's fewer questions later."
With that, he turned and opened the door. "I don't need to know what you're running from, but you need to know you're not exactly in the safest place."
"It's one hell of a lot safer than where we were, believe me!" I replied, looking him straight in the eye.
Nodding, he stepped out of the caravan, adjusted his coat collar and strode across the car park.


                                                                                                                                        Next

Cops To name Suspects On Charge, Not Arrest Says May

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Theresa May (Reuters)
Theresa May (Reuters)
Criminal suspects who have been arrested should not normally be named until they are charged, the Home Secretary has said.
In a letter to the recently formed professional standards body, the College of Policing, Theresa May said she was concerned by reports that some forces have refused to name suspects who have been charged.
But May said she does believe in protecting the identities of suspects at point of arrest and has asked the College, led by chief executive Alex Marshall, to draw up clearer guidance.
However, confusion emerged when David Cameron appeared to offer a conflicting view to the Home Secretary's as he insisted there should be a "working assumption" that police name suspects who have been arrested.
The Prime Minister spoke out amid concern that police forces are increasingly taking a default position of withholding identities of those arrested and even charged, although his spokesman insisted he agrees with Mrs May.

The Home Secretary wrote: "I am concerned that the refusal of some police forces to name suspects who have been charged undermines transparency in the criminal justice system and risks the possibility that witnesses and other victims might not come forward.
"I strongly believe that there should be no right to anonymity at charge apart from in extremely unusual circumstances.
"I believe there should be a right to anonymity at arrest, but I know that there will be circumstances in which the public interest means that an arrested suspect should be named."
Warwickshire Police came under fire for initially refusing to name a retired police officer charged with theft.
Warwickshire Police, who eventually performed a U-turn and revealed the identity of the retired officer facing the allegations as Paul Greaves, originally claimed they had altered guidance in the wake of the Leveson Inquiry into press standards.
Addressing this issue, May wrote: "I understand the Leveson Inquiry might have had an effect on the behaviour of police forces.
"In fact, Lord Leveson's report did not make any substantive recommendations in relation to anonymity so I would like police forces to be aware of this fact."
Speaking to reporters during his US trip, the Prime Minister said the issue was "long-standing".
He said: "I know some people want to connect it specifically with Leveson.
"But actually it's a long-standing debate about how to get the balance right between making things public, which as Theresa has said should be the working assumption, but also respecting privacy where that is appropriate.
"It's a very difficult balance to get right. On the one hand, sometimes making public the details of the arrest can help to bring forward evidence and bring forward potential victims.
"Therefore it is completely in the public interest.
"Sometimes it is right to respect the privacy of the individual because the publicity around these sorts of arrests can be genuinely life changing.
"There is no simple answer to this."
Cameron said there have been "terrible events" following the naming of arrested suspects and alluded to the case of Christopher Jeffries, who sued several newspapers for their coverage of his arrest on suspicion of the murder of Joanna Yeates in Bristol.
Another man, Vincent Tabak, was ultimately found guilty of the landscape architect's murder.
Cameron added: "But I saw Theresa's approach in advance and I think it's the right one."
Warwickshire's decision not to name Greaves sparked fierce criticism from the region's deputy police and crime commissioner, Eric Wood, who said he was "extremely disappointed".
Freedom of expression campaigners also attacked the decision, understood to be the first such move by any police force in the country, arguing that it went against the UK's principle of open justice.
Greaves has been charged with the theft of £113,000 from the former Warwickshire Police headquarters at Leek Wootton and will appear before magistrates in Leamington Spa on May 22.

Skircoat Lodge cont.....

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At around 5pm, there was a knock on the caravan door.
"Di, your date's here!"
"He's early, tell 'im to piss off!"
We both giggled and she opened the door.
I was introduced to a lad about 19yr old, Neil. He seemed fine, although I was going to make no snap judgements. These guys were, after all, criminals living in a bail hostel..... yeah, and we're runaways living in a caravan came back the retort in my mind. Silently I berated the voice.

Diane's "date" for the evening was a 20 yr old called Gary.
Apparently both guys, brothers, had been caught mid-burglary of a nonce's house. They were due to remain in the Hostel for only another 2 weeks, while their flat was being made ready for new tenants. We also learned our benefactor was called Raymond. He had been released 2 months prior, having served 3 years for violence.

As one lad started to roll a joint we all began to relax and slowly the laughter was coming easily with light conversation.
We walked into the Bail Hostel at just gone 6pm. The staff agreed we could visit in the games room and that yes, we could also stay for food. Under no circumstance were we to go upstairs.
Food turned out to be curry. Was about what I'd expected, being in Bradford.
Ravenous, we devoured as much as we could without drawing too much attention from the staff or certain residents. The lads tried to keep us huddled in one corner, out of sight but as the time dragged on, staff started looking to the clock or their watches and staring at us longer. At around 9.30pm they insisted it was time for us to leave, but that we could return the following day should we wish to.
We thanked them for the food and the staff hovered nearby as Neil and Gary made a show of saying goodnight.
As the cold wind hit us, I felt it bite through to the bone. As I groaned, Diane turned, a quizzical look on her face.
"Don't feel right."
"Oh god! Food poisoning's all we need in the caravan!" she said, grabbing my arm. "Come on, let's get back."

We hurried down the street to the alleyway as the snow started to fall again, heavier than before. Settling almost instantly, the road was soon covered yet again.
Stumbling in the dark, we reached the safety and shelter of the caravan. My chest was on fire and I staggered over to the bed and crawled under the blankets.

I woke up a couple of times and Diane hovered nervously, trying to coax me to drink something. I would manage a mouthful or two each time and pass out again. The third time I woke, the police were there and Diane looked very apologetic.
"It's been four days!" she rushed to explain. As she pulled forward towards me, i could see one Officer holding onto the handcuffs that secured her arms behind her back, like she were a violent criminal, not a runaway from a Children's Home.
I struggled to speak, my throat raw from dehydration and coughing. "It's Ok Di. Think I'm not well anyways."

"Up!" The Officer barked the order at me, holding out the cuffs to demonstrate he was growing impatient.
I carefully stood up, holding on to the edge of a unit to steady myself as a wave of nausea swept over me. Rough hands grabbed my shoulders, forcing me round to face the bed as handcuffs were snapped in place behind my back.

Diane and I spent the next 18 hours in Bradford Police Station. We were told nobody could drive the 10 miles from Skircoat Lodge to Bradford to collect us so we would have to wait in the cells until arrangements could be made.
The following morning, one Custody Sergeant decided he was not having "two kids" in his cells another day and dispatched 4 Officers and a Riot Van to drop us at the Children's Home.

An hour later we stood in the Staff Room at Skircoat Lodge, facing Ms Brunning and Joyce. Ms Brunning was screaming at us both about the trouble we had caused and I felt my knees give way and everything faded to black.
I woke to find myself in bed and the Dr conferring with Joyce about my condition.
"She can't be moved for quite some time. Really I would prefer she were in Hospital, but considering the flight risk, I agree confinement here is probably preferable. If her condition worsens we can look at the options again."
Joyce noticed I was awake and led the Dr out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She returned 5 minutes later and started busying herself tidying the room.
"You're going to have to stop running away," she said, "You're only hurting yourself with it. Look at the sorry state you're in. Filthy, half starved, that's before we even get to the Double Pneumonia."
Well at least I knew what was wrong with me. I rolled onto my side, facing the wall, pulled the blankets over my head and waited for the world to fade to black once more.

My recovery took around 3 weeks. Mr P visited my bedside every day.
"Why?" he asked one day.
I looked at him blankly.
"Why you 'ave to cause me so much trouble girl?
"Coz you're a dirty nonce nigger!" I snarled back at him, bracing for the impact that usually accompanied such comments.
Instead he just folded his hands into his lap and smiled. "We have an offer of a place in another facility for you. You would still be registered as living here, but you would spend 5 days there. You have to have an interview first of course, make sure you're suitable. But I sure a girl so determined to leave here is resourceful enough to gain entry anywhere."
"What's the catch?"
"No catch," he replied, "Your Mum has even expressed a wish for you to spend some time back at home, so we were considering allowing you to attend the school in Macclesfield and then return home each weekend. If that goes smoothly, we could look at signing you out of care and back home."
He stood, smoothing his jacket and looked at me, "When will you learn girl?" He shook his head as he leaned towards me. His hand gripped my throat tightly, my already damaged lungs struggling to gasp air as his hand slowly crushed my windpipe. "There ain't no escaping me til I say you can go!" he screamed.
As footsteps came quickly along the hallway, he released his grip on my throat. The bedroom door flung open and Joyce gave Mr P a withering look as she began fussing over my blankets and pillow.
"I told you she was resting."
"And I told you the little bitch would be fine. Now get her back on her feet woman and out of my Home."

As the door closed on Joyce's argument with Phillips, I felt relieved. They were letting me out of there. Didn't matter what kind of school, it was out of hell. All I had to do was survive long enough to get accepted. As sleep crept up on me again, I wondered what kind of place it really was....

Part 1

Paedo Networks Updated.

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As it says, paedo networks Paedo Networks updated.

We have quite a list growing now, including the first female on the list, Glynis Parry, vice president of CHE. paedo sympathiser. Lived in grounds of Oakwood hospital Maidstone.

Networks include:

CRIES
Gay News
Libido
PAN
PAL
P.I.E
Spartacus
Thursdays Child
Lolita
CHE
Toro Bravo
TBP
Masons
UK Gov
Social Services

If you have names to add to the database, please email me, with cited reference link to conviction, name, country, organisation and basics of what they did. kaztgray@gmail.com
Thank you guys x
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