St. Joseph's College today is hopefully a different animal to the grim place I had to endure in the 70's and yet they appear to be desperately seeking to reconnect with old boys in order to present a rosy past. Sorry, but I'm not accepting their pleading to get in touch and join the Old Birkfeldians club with its sickening catchphrase, "Once a Joey, always a Joey."
It's exhausting to have to write this but I will push through it because people should know what tactics the Catholic Church and De La Salle use to avoid responsibility to survivors.
Fairly recently, I reluctantly approached the Religious Life Safeguarding Service, RLSS, after reading that they might hold some influence with De La Salle. I say reluctantly because I've had dealings in the past with the utterly useless Catholic organisation, Safe Spaces. Annoyingly, despite some initial promise, RLSS present themselves as equally useless and their "safeguarding" is so obviously all about ticking boxes for soothing the Catholic Church's conscience.
I say that because although RLSS did manage to arrange some counselling sessions for me, funded by DLS (it seems, rather reluctantly), one would think any proper safeguarding agency worth its salt would surely follow up with the question, "How did it go?" or "How are you doing now?/Is there anything more we can do?" if not out of concern for the survivor, then surely, at least for their own self-evaluation to see if it was money well spent? Are measurable outcomes/evaluations not a thing in the Catholic Church?
After extracting as much personal information from me as possible, RLSS arranged funding for twelve sessions with (after my insistence) a counsellor I trusted. This actually did help me piece together a better understanding of the timeline of abuse at St Joseph's by _ (who I've now named online and will be blogging more about soon) and it enabled me to update my statement to police, giving a much more detailed account of events. However, it was then tumbleweed from RLSS. Zero follow up for several months and a basic lack of human decency rattled me a bit, I must confess, and I felt I still needed more therapy.
So I emailed them asking if any further help was available. They responded with "What do you need?" (Still no "how did it go/how are you?"). They offered to "help" me write a "Letter of Truth" to De La Salle. As you can see though, I can probably manage my own words.
Accordingly, I fired off quite a long letter outlining just a few of the main consequences of Child Sexual Abuse at St Joseph's. Ipswich and eventually I received, several weeks later, via RLSS, a carefully composed, presumably lawyer-checked, whining apology that included this stunning gem: "The betrayal of our mission by individuals within our ranks has caused (us) immense hurt...". Oh well done chaps, make it all about you then. My heart bleeds! Breathtakingly ignorant, in my view, of how to speak to a survivor! This just sums up the level of slithery deceit and dishonesty I have come to associate with Catholicism. And clearly, supposedly celibate men still have no idea how community is supposed to function.
Anyway, the RLSS got me thinking. What DO I need? I mean, I could keep getting therapy until the cows come home. What I really desperately need is closure. What does that look like? To me, it looks like a physical thing I can go to/ touch/ see every time I get a panic attack (most mornings). Something I can say of, "This represents an end to the trauma. This represents acknowledgement that I have been heard and that the matter is now closed." .... So I told them a house by the sea, a grand piano and some recording equipment ought to do it.
RLSS responded saying they don't get involved in compensation claims and 'here's the DLS solicitor's contact details'. DLS also said in their so-called apology, "We also recognise that words alone cannot repair the harm done..."
So, pull your fingers out De La Salle! DO MORE THAN WORDS!
GIVE SURVIVORS THE CLOSURE WE'RE ASKING FOR!
It's not difficult, and will probably only cost you about the same as you spend on those navel-gazing global conferences trying to work out what your mission is! THIS is your bloody mission! Put survivors of your abuse before 'outreach', before 'evangelism', before I have to write another blog.
Amen?
As for RLSS. I gave them a chance. They blew it big time.
After a bit of therapy and 5 pages of a more detailed, updated statement to police, it's good, at least, to have a much clearer understanding of what happened to me (and obviously many others) at the hands / under the "care" of De la Salle abusers. I make no apology for deliberately linking the word 'abusers' to their schools link there because they continue to abuse us by not coming out with a clear, very public statement on their past criminality. Until that happens, I owe it to myself and others to ignore their happy, shiny image projecting and show the world that NOTHING HAS CHANGED while they continue to try the patience of survivors.
I am a pretty patient guy but the older I get, the thinner it wears. All they have to do is engage. Why not put a page up on their web site about what they're doing to deal with the sins of the past? Pro tip: it makes you look authentic. Only an idiot is fooled by a flawless image.
Meanwhile, so much new information comes to light recently, I am having to process plenty.
I go running to try and process stuff. Also to exorcise the demons that plague my body, my nights and my tired waking hours. I run, not only to try and shore up my mental health, but as a kind of prayer for all those who've either died without any justice or are so broken by the dreadful Catholic Church, they can't get anywhere. But even running itself can be quite triggering as that was the one thing I adored at St Joseph's before I was forced to give it up to avoid contact with _.
Now I can smell jam! I've just realised I'm slightly triggered by raspberry jam too! Jam sandwiches were generally what was on offer in the canteen on the evenings I stayed behind at school to train. I've some memory of running for St Joseph's at Royal Hospital School, Holbrook, somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer scale of an inter-schools event, not being sure which races I was in or which point to go to in its vast sports fields, crowded with competitors I'd never seen before, some looking like giants I was to run against. I believe _ was there too, pretending to be a teacher, chivvying and not exactly helping me prepare. When it dawned on me that any success on the track was being held up as St Joseph's own triumph, I quit. I wasn't giving anyone that satisfaction, least of all Mr _.
It's beginning to feel as though my reluctance to name _ is at breaking point. I've only got so many years left and I don't have any particular reason to withhold his name except to allow police to do their thing, which I think they have now. I'll hang on a little while longer in case anyone else does come forward.
Soon I will shout it from the rooftops. It's my call, luckily!
Interview with my wife.
What is it like being married to a survivor of csa?
Big question, um... It’s been...it was hard dealing with you when you were very depressed but didn't know why until recently. Not having an understanding of the reason why was difficult and understanding why you were having panic attacks... and trying to work out what I could do to help. Also, that touching you in certain places on your body has brought strange , jumpy reactions which has been confusing at times. Yeah, there's been a lot of confusion because of it, over feeling ' was it something I was doing?' It’s affected our sex life in that it's almost felt like there's somebody else there or involved...or in your body because of the jumpiness and things. I sometimes felt like I was being involved in therapy.
As opposed to being just a couple?
As opposed to being in a loving relationship, there seemed to be an added element of having to be a therapist. We can't just be us. It's always having an influence ... on the ability to be intimate.
Looking back, if you could have changed something. What would you have liked to have done?
I'd like to have known more how to support you and how to talk about it .
But we didn't know what we were dealing with.
That's the thing. We didn't. It's been distressing to see you so distressed on so many occasions like I'd come into the room and seen you crying or into the sitting room where you were rocking, crying, shaking, hitting your head to try and remember. It's made you very angry and frustrated with your younger self.
For blocking out the trauma?
Mmm. And therefore not being able to understand what's really happened to you. It’s dominated your thinking for a long time because you want to make sense of your life. I've found it difficult and very tiring at times. And emotionally... um...sometimes I've felt guilty because I have compassion fatigue.
What would you like to say to any spouses or partners going through something similar? And what would you like to say to the perpetrator?
To those going through it, you know, supporting somebody, you need a lot of patience and you need to be very careful with your imagination and hold back from what you think might have happened so that you don't influence or sow a seed that isn't, you know, leads not to the truth. Also you need time for yourself like going for walks or doing some art or some self care because it can be very intense at times.
So yes, thank you for still being here.
Yes I was going to say, the most important thing is just to be there.
And for waiting for me to arrive at the thoughts you'd already had about what happened to me.
And to Mr_ , the perpetrator?
How bloody dare you. You used your position of power to ruin somebody's life, well not ruin because you have been amazing and risen above it using your creativity in lots of different ways but...how dare you force yourself on somebody and make his life a constant battle for no other reason than your selfish pleasure. You haven't only affected one life, you've affected a whole family. And you've got away with it.
Thanks to my self control?
Thanks to your self control but thanks to not being able to fully remember and therefore not being able to take him to court.
Thank you for your love and support.
I'm sure there's loads more to say but right now, I'm too tired.
I've finally manage to piece together a more detailed account of what happened to me at St. Joseph's and the crimes perpetrated by a pedophile teacher who currently lives in comfortable retirement.
I have just sent police a 5 page statement containing a lot more detail than the initial, shocked and weirded -out statement account I initially gave them. I'm hoping that brings some much needed closure. I gave the statement partly to help myself move on (because, let's be honest, the Catholic Church and De La Salle are about as interested in helping survivors move on as a fox is to chickens) and partly to aid anyone else coming forward with information about abuses at St. Joseph's Ipswich. But survivors certainly aren't chicken. I learned the other day there are 11 million of us survivors of CSA here in the UK. 11 MILLION!! That's an army! We won't be silent and we sure as hell aren't going to go away any time soon so what, may I ask, are the De la Salle and others going to do to aid the closure so desperately needed by (obviously) thousands of their former pupils? De La Salle are silent. The longer they remain so, the more they show themselves complicit in covering up abuse.
But closure is so hard to find. Just when you think, 'Right, enough of that, time to focus on the here and now', another story pops up. Just a couple of weeks ago I spoke with a former pupil whose name I recognised. He told me he'd also been abused at St Joseph's and DLS had settled out of court for less than therapy had cost him to date and that he'd received no apology. Settling out of court is surely an admission of guilt so to then not offer an apology is beyond despicable. He asked who my abuser was and when I told him, he said, " F****ng hell. I now feel better for hating him...He disliked me, I feel proud of that, now. Big into corporal punishment too. I recall being slippered by him multiple times..."
Anyway, I am moving forward and encouraged by such comments because they affirm it wasn't just me, as a child, imagining some awful trauma. Mine was real and I am heartened by whoever it was who recently went to St Joseph's and did this because it demonstrates a growing number of survivors are NOT going to sit meekly by, accepting their lot because all of us know from bitter experience, if we don't speak out now, future child abuse in posh schools and other places (who would rather it was swept under the carpet for the sake of their precious image) is absolutely guaranteed.
Why wouldn't we want to change that?
MAKE. CHILD. ABUSE. STOP!
After a few sessions of therapy, I'm now much better able to make sense of what happened to me at St Joseph's and when I said to my therapist, I couldn't be 100% certain I've got my story straight, she replied that she knew me well enough now and could tell me what happened to me. Furthermore, she stated she'd be happy to testify in court, if necessary. So, that said, I can confidently state that this happened: I was in the toilet block opposite the gymnasium with a two or more friends towards the end of a lunch break. There was some shouting, some people were ordered out and the door was shut. I was held down by an accomplice (probably an older prefect) over a toilet in one of the cubicles, a handkerchief was stuffed in my mouth and "soothing" words along the lines of orders not to struggle were spoken as I was buggered by _. It was after that that I have the memory of standing by the noticeboard on the gym wall, desperately trying to process what had just taken place and taking the awful decision to just shut down my memory in order to carry on with my school day and appear as normal to my friends.
Last week I was sharing this story with friends, one of whom is a secondary teacher. For the first time in 50+ years I heard these words, "Your decision to shut down was absolutely the right decision". Very validating words indeed coming all these years later from the first person I regard as being "in authority".
She then went on to say that she'd been a pupil at Chantry High School, just opposite St Joe's, and remarked that she and her friends were often in town and always used to wonder why "those privileged St Joe's kids all seemed so messed up".
It seems barely a week goes by now without some new tale of woe relating to St Joseph's reaches my ears. I was working for a client and the conversation turned to her place of employment; a boarding school. I said, "Oh, I went to one of those but thankfully just a day boy." My heart sank to the floor when she responded with, " My brother went to St. Joseph's in Ipswich. He was an absolute little sh*t! My parents were constantly having to go in to sort something out." I bit my tongue because she'd just shared some other troubles and I didn't want to add to her distress. But I'll say what I thought here: my money is on her brother having been abused. We're talking 1990's here. The era when Francis Carolan was there, I believe. I'm referring to the guy whose trial was last April but whose case was never heard because he killed himself while on remand, just before the trial began.
Pat Mills, has also shared on his blog that St Joseph's are currently engaged in trying to get old boys to sign up to their alumni. For some not-very-strange reason, not many old boys seem very willing to sign up so they sought out the help of one former pupil, presumably more prominent than I. He slapped them down for trying to minimise the legacy of the abuses that De La Salle have covered up ever since.
Still alive here, possibly much to the annoyance of the De La Salle order who are now, FINALLY (and seemingly reluctantly) admitting they literally f*ck*d up kids in their care.
I was getting some therapy provided by an absolutely brilliant charity called Restitute but as my 50 years or so survival issues with St Joseph’s College in Ipswich are so deeply engrained, progress was slow and I reached a point where I felt bad for using up their precious resources. I would like anyone reading this to please consider donating to them because they have been an enormous source of support to my wife and myself. I’m looking at you DLS, you owe them for at least 15 sessions.
I say the DLS are probably annoyed because they are now having to fork out for my treatment. For this, I have to acknowledge the Religious Life Safeguarding Service who, after a video interview with my co-survivor Pat Mills, have shown they actually have a bit of clout. So, treatment has begun and long-suppressed, disturbing memories can finally be professionally dealt with. Apart from my blanking it all out for so long, why has it taken them this long to admit their crimes though, and then only issue a weak statement on their website where it won’t be seen by survivors? I had serious qualms about reconnecting with them in any way, but eventually decided that sod it, the Roman Catholic church owes us big time and if I’m ever going to get any life back that was stolen, I’ll start with what’s available.
So today was session two and I spoke about the memory of my last day at St. Joes and my run-in with the vile and angry little Welsh thug called Brother Peter. I can’t recall a single encounter with the guy when he wasn’t threatening something or someone, or when he was speaking civilly. So after being caught skiving at Ipswich station (a.k.a. avoiding my abuser, _ ) “Brother” Peter had demanded a 3 page explanation on his desk the following morning. I duly gave my report to him and went to my class for registration, during which I was summoned into the classroom next door and made to read out said explanation in front of the class. I got to the sentence containing “...but it wasn’t my fault because…” when he absolutely lost it and took a swing for me. Having witnessed this scene played out before, I knew what was coming and ducked. This infuriated him even further so I just walked out and away over the playing fields, equally enraged that not one single adult had my back, but feeling the sun on my face, smelling the green grass and an opportunity to take the trickier, but infinitely more appealing path through life.
Back then, that poor kid never had the language to express what _ had done to him. He has now though. Possibly in a court room at some point.
I’ve just done my first ever stand-up routine because one of the legacies of CSA is wanting to hide and not wanting to put yourself forward for anything that gets you noticed. It went well, though I was expecting a buzz afterwards. I felt nothing. I think it was more huge than I realised. I’m pretty sure though, the next gig will contain quite a lot of material about Catholic boarding schools, the DLS and a certain teacher. Any objections from Catholics? No?
Oh, and if you know or support a survivor of CSA please get involved with this RESTLESS awareness campaign on Weds 20th Sept 2023. Thanks x.
The journey of discovering what I blanked out goes on with the support of some great counsellors and of course, family and a few friends. Needless to say all my attempts at engaging with De La Salle on social media are still completely ignored while they attempt to keep building their shiny image. Here's an interesting example. Now who else likes to use the pentangle symbol? Let me think...
And lo, he became "old". And bold. The title of this blog is what I think I told myself immediately after the attack at St Joseph's.
Since my last blog, I think, maybe before, there has been some meaningless, vague "apology" put out by De La Salle on their web site, presumably aimed at anyone who happened to be visiting their web site to check for an apology (i.e. nobody). Recently De la Salle in Northern Ireland are among several Catholic institutions to offer an apology to survivors ... because they could no longer deny there was a problem. It looks as though they're sorry they got caught.
If there was any genuine contrition, the Catholic church would be bending over backwards to help survivors come to terms with abuses the church and its agents are responsible for. It would demonstrate genuine intention towards bringing closure to this whole sickening saga. I see no evidence of this. The RC church could open their records for public scrutiny and submit themselves to the laws of each land (make no mistake, this is a global issue) instead of arrogantly thinking Canon Law is what God's people want or need.
When you've done something wrong, the correct course of action is to do whatever it takes to try and put it right. I know this. Catholic teaching, see. Why then, such hypocrisy from the Pope downwards? I'm not anti-catholic, just anti corruption. If you're standing in the way of justice or are party to its denial, you need to read your bible bro/sis; there's a message for you in there, stop ignoring it.
It was only a matter of time before stories of abuse at St Joseph's surfaced. I'm not in the least surprised though, given that I only began to realise in 2015 or so that for decades I'd been avoiding thinking about my difficult experiences there. I re-traced my childhood steps from Ipswich station and up Birkfield Drive the other day. I thought of the lads who used to traipse up there with me, and of my school year group. I'd read years ago that one had been in prison for guess what, a pedophile offence. I wondered if he'd been abused too by a teacher at St Joseph's. There's a barbed, steel fence now where we used to climb the embankment and walk across the field to assemble for the day. All those petty inspections we used to endure; fingernail inspections, cap inspections, haircut inspections, uniform inspections... ugh! Someone suggested to me recently that I should go and "loudfence" the place. This was a term I'd not encountered before, but involves tying brightly coloured strips of material to the boundaries of places to highlight that people have been abused there. I'm not that much of an activist but was sorely tempted!
It's a shame the current set-up there didn't want to engage with us survivors at the outset and only made a statement once they realised we weren't going away, but such is the way with institutions; they'll deny, obstruct, try to confuse, argue, nitpick and generally fail to acknowledge there's a problem until it's too late. For example, in true Catholic church style, the pope has just described domestic violence as being 'almost satanic' which suggests to me he's gaslighting a fact: there's a subtle culture of misogyny in the RCC. He's either 'almost read' the bible, hasn't yet grasped the concept of sin or he's the sort of chap who thinks it's possible for women to be 'a little bit pregnant'. Downplaying the seriousness of such an offence with a simple two words is a classic narcissist tactic. Violence = "almost satanic". I see. So not wholly satanic is what he's saying. I'd suggest he might start at Matthew 23, verse 27 and ponder who Jesus might say are the "whitewashed tombs " of today. I mean, I still have a great love and respect for the good people who strive to make Catholicism relevant but ultimately, I think they're being duped by a stubbornly entrenched hierarchy fixated on its own needs.
I am SO glad I don't have to endure tiresome celibate men preaching on marriage or any other topic to suit their tiresome self-serving agenda any more. Sure, a little bit of Christianity is always mixed in to give it a flavour of something....Almost Good. Take away that flavour though, and see what's left. I just look at how many broken people there are in the wake of the RCC; people who couldn't quite stick to or fathom RCC teachings. Dear broken people, you matter the most.
Reading a book called Pagan Christianity you realise that pretty much every single aspect of the RC church has its roots in Roman pagan tradition. Could it be that as well as temples, priests, robes, relics, candles etc., we've inherited a cult of child abuse down the generations too? That would explain much.
Well, this year has taken a toll on most people's mental health and mine is no exception. I've stopped expecting any help though as MH services are so stretched and now just receive any and all kindnesses and positives as they come. I've also taken action and made my own statement to the press only because it helps me towards some kind of closure. And that's what this blog is about. Closure. It's not in any way about compensation as I've seen ignorant some people suggesting. If De la Salle want to acknowledge with financial compensation, fine; I'll deduct what I've spent on therapy and happily donate the rest to the charities who provide survivor support. But again, I'm expecting DLS to cough up even less than I'm expecting getting any more helpful counselling. I feel as though I have touched the bottom of the abyss (no sick pun intended) of poor mental health and somehow not died. Perhaps things are changing. It's hard to tell but what does encourage me is the number of voices now speaking out.
My own abuser is still around but I have to try and leave him be, try as best I can to reclaim what has been stolen from me by his abuse. My own Christmas appeal then: If you are or were a pupil or teacher (and I include _) at St Joseph's College, Birkfield, Ipswich, (#teammystjos) and you have information relevant to the current reports of abuse there, NOW is the time to let either Suffolk Police or the EADT know.
Is St Joseph’s Ipswich some kind of pedo magnet? This last week in the Ipswich Star
https://www.ipswichstar.co.uk/news/crime/former-ipswich-teacher-accused-of-sex-crimes-8430922
suggests it certainly was up until the 90’s so it does rather beg the question, what’s been done since then to ensure pupil safety? My natural instinct, rooted in my deeply disturbing experiences there, is to suspect nothing has been done. I look at the super smiley images of apparently happy, well-adjusted kids in their marketing material and can’t help thinking it looks like the perfect cover. I desperately hope I am wrong but over the years have learnt to trust my gut feelings.
Be that as it may, some developments. I read that De La Salle have at last asked police to investigate all allegations against their order. That’s good . Coincidentally (or not) I’ve now had more memories returning from the blanked out two years or so. I’m currently ‘between therapists’ as previous one was unable to continue due to family commitments but having learnt a few good techniques, I am finding that memories associated with the time around the main trauma/s are coming back. For instance, I was thinking of the Eastern Counties bus I used to catch (or miss when things got too bad) when I suddenly remembered a lad I had become friends with. I remembered his house just up the road from ours, where he got on the bus, then I remembered ringing his mum to ask if he could play, then his name, then the fact we were mates for two or three years and would go on bike rides together and finally, his moving away from the area. This was a significant friendship! Wiped until last month! I value my friendships dearly so does this not demonstrate that yes, I most definitely did shut my brain’s memory banks down somehow around that time in the early 1970s?
It was bizarre and encouraging to realise that everything is still stored up there. Now I am getting the faintest recollections of less pleasant events concerning _ . Perhaps I’ll be able to give police a fuller account soon. Another penny has dropped too. I've always had a kind of throat-clearing cough which I had always rationalised was because of the smoking for a few years. It occurs to me only now that it may well be linked to a vague memory of throwing up in a field entrance en route to school in _'s car. (the longest route) And then there's a pain I have always had in my left rib. Kind of where a gear stick would poke into a passenger if they were made to lean across. Ugh. I mentioned it to my sister and my wife and they've both said they've thought of that scenario but didn't want to put ideas into my mind. It seems my mind has been working very hard to push away and not recall something.
I just need to find a safe enough place /person to ‘let it all out’. I don’t think my wife should have to deal with that. She’s put up with enough as it is when it comes to my panic attacks and particular behaviours concerning all kinds of things.
And if the plaintiff in that case linked above happens to be reading, my sincere sympathies for what you’re having to endure and thank you for your courage and determination to bring that to court. I watch with interest and am rooting for you all the way. I also urge any former members of staff and pupils of St Joseph’s, Birkfield, Ipswich to come forward and report to police any information relating to criminal activity . This is not revenge. We have a duty to protect kids if we know something .
I've recently found that with EMDR therapy it's possible for the first time in ... well, ever really, to begin dealing effectively with some of the trauma caused by _. It costs money I don't have to spare so I've had to stop but I've heard today that it may be possible to find funding so will see if I can continue.
I was very skeptical at first, not least because I have learnt to be suspicious of everyone and everything for some reason I can now actually put my finger on. However I managed to overcome my suspicions using logic. EMDR, based on eye movement, seemed to make sense to me. Being awake and moving the eyes whilst dealing with your trauma, might do the trick if that's what happens during sleep (allegedly). How l envy those who reach proper amounts of REM sleep to process stuff! Anyway, bingo! After all the re-traumatising talking counselling and the therapist who started crying when I told her my story (in fairness, it must be gruelling listening to constant tales of woe), I felt I was getting somewhere.
I began to have memories come back. Mental pictures of random things I hadn't thought about in 50 years! Those heavy medicine balls we had in the gym and the relay games we did with them for PE, even as I type this, I recall standing in a circle passing the stupid thing to each other. Then I got a picture of some white blobs. What was this now? Oh, they're not blobs... they're... white... sticks? ....no, cigarettes? Yes! White cigarettes! Hang on... they're those menthol ones I started smoking... what were they called?.... Oh yeah! Consulate! ... in a green and white packet! Like the JML ad: "but wait... there's more!" Oh blimey, and there was More too- those extra long cigarettes that came out- just remembered those now).
But why the hell was I smoking? I was an athlete, picked to represent St Joseph's (until I decided they weren't to gain any glory from my abilities thanks very much) so why would I smoke? But I did start smoking. I absolutely hated it. Why did I start then?....
Ohhhh yeahhhh! Because it was an act of rebellion against a certain teacher (_) with an absolutely obsessive desire to catch someone smoking in the toilets (presumably for the thrill of carrying out the punishment). Of course, smoking menthol fags was the way not be smelt out in our childish reasoning back then!
But yes, this guy was obsessed with domineering, controlling behaviour. There was one occasion when a friend and I were over on the rifle range one lunch break (yeah there was a rifle range, a popular place to go smoking I believe. Has anyone dug there for bodies yet?) We were happily minding our own business digging air pellets out of the tree bark (boys collected random stuff back then - petrol station coins, football stickers, stamps, dust... bits of lead...) when who should drive across the sports field towards us but Mr How-can-I -terrify-you -best?.
He leapt out of the car fully confrontational and accused us of smoking which, to two non-smokers clearly attending to the needs of a tree and not skulking behind it and with nope, no fags in our pockets, seemed a little bizarre to say the least.
"You were smoking! If I catch you smoking... threat, threat, threat ..."
Seriously?
There seemed to be a collective insanity among most of the staff at this so-called 'educational establishment' that almost daily made one appreciate all the more the 'normal madness' of family and home at evenings and weekends for those of us 'lucky' enough to have been day boys.
That home/family 'normal' was pretty short lived once this same teacher had wormed his way into my parents' social circle.
It wasn't until I was at college aged 18 where someone said 'Why do you smoke?' and I couldn't answer, that I managed to stop instantly. It was almost as though I'd been given permission to lay that one down. You don't have to do that any more. He's not here.
So, what do we conclude from today's lesson boys?
There is no smoke if there's no fire, sir.
Correct, and I can testify now the smoke and smog is finally starting to clear, there was more than one loose cannon / smoking gun at St Joseph's.
It's important not to live on 'what ifs' but going to St Joseph's could and should have been a much more positive experience.
Having deliberately flunked exams to escape St Joes as soon as possible, in my early 40's I decided I really ought to get some qualifications because I knew I wasn't "stupid" as _ had liked to highlight at every opportunity in front of the class. I now recognise that was all part of his coercive controlling behaviour, to make sure I was as afraid of him as possible and thereby minimise the risk of my speaking to my parents about what he'd done. There was just no escaping the guy. He went to our church. He lived near me. "Befriending' my parents was also a classic abuser tactic and as my academic career evaporated before their eyes, I'm pretty certain they sought his advice on what to do with me. Such a nice man in their eyes, I'm certain.
Anyway, I like to try and count my blessings and had it not been for _, I wouldn't have taken such a rocky road. The thing about rocky roads is that on them, you encounter rocks. My wife is one such and I'm very blessed and thankful that she's had the patience to help me unpack some of this stuff. (She's as much a victim of the abuse I encountered by the way. She shouldn't be having to put up with all the rubbish that occasionally comes to the surface.)
Regarding education, it came as no surprise to me that I was able to sail through an Access course (A-levels) and get to university as a mature student. However, getting into campus for a 9 a.m. lecture where the lecturer would swan in late and talk about who wasn't there last week began to grate a bit and I decided I'd bail out because I'd sold my first bit of writing. I didn't need a degree for that.
The arts was something I would have relished had it existed at Birkfield (St. Joseph's) but as I recall, our career choices were rather imaginatively, the army, Navy, RAF or banking. I remember many a boarder skulking at the back of class drawing military hardware in their jotters and realising that these poor kids had issues of their own too.
Anyway, life handing out lemons has always been my cue to attempt making some drinkable wine. It's a difficult thing to do and takes time and miracles but as the weird Brother Ives once said, 'Remember that God can turn any evil situation to his own advantage'. That was one of only two interesting things that caught my attention at that school.
As I write, there appears to be a gradual process emerging of former pupils coming forward as De La Salle continue to stay silent and attempt, it seems, to remain unaccountable for the sins of their past. You can't have it both ways guys. God either favours the poor (that includes us survivors FYI) as you teach, or He favours the abuser. It seems to me that DLS would do well to come clean now, rather than get taken to the cleaners later. Abuse survivors are highly trained experts in doing things the unnecessarily hard way though so, y'know, your call DLS/St Joes.
I know there's a lot still to come out for many of us and I know all too well it's deeply unsettling to realise the past wasn't anywhere near as rosy as we like to paint it. Apologies if I have triggered anyone.
Once again, if any other former (or current!) St Joesph's pupils need to tell their story to someone in confidence re ANY type of abuse experienced there, either this blogger or the police are here for you. It takes an enormous amount of courage but you'll find you're not alone.
Take care.
Another penny has finally dropped this week. When I was twelve or thirteen, knowing me as I do, I would have told myself I wasn't allowed to remember the trauma of St Joseph's until I was really, really old. Well here I am and surprise, surprise, the teacher abuse is all coming back into focus.
I may or may not have already have mentioned an incident in my teenage years when, being from a Catholic family where the mysteries of sex were kept undisclosed for as long as possible, I decided the only way to find anything out was to steal a book. As stealing was so obviously a sin, I had to keep the evidence hidden in my padlocked box of 'secrets'. At some stage, my dad must have realised something wasn't quite right at school and decided to break into that box and confront me with my copy of the A-Z of sex. Uh-oh, I thought, I'm in trouble for stealing again (My mum had once frogmarched me back to the newsagents to apologise for stealing a Beano annual). But no, this time it was, "Why have you got this? I mean look at all this nonsense (line drawings telling me things you haven't, Dad) And this! (flips to back three pages on homosexuality) You know this is all rubbish, dear boy, rubbish!"
I hadn't even read that far!
He proceeded to give me a lecture on all the misinformation there was in the world concerning sex (which is arguably better than zero information) and I got the distinct impression he was worried about me being gay. I have always wondered why he immediately went to the back pages to confront me. How could you even think such a thing Dad?! Then he made me burn the book, my extremely hard-earned effort, in the Aga. Yes, we were that posh.
Well now it occurs to me in a flash of light that he thought that I may be gay because he was told to think that by a certain teacher. The same teacher who had recently palled up with him by buying his old car and had, to my great distress, promoted himself to first name terms. Naturally, my Dad would have been concerned about his son's declining school career so who better to ask what might be going on at school than one of his teachers?
I would bet my house on my trusting father being told by this coercive controlling teacher that I was probably struggling with my sexuality. Poor old dad, always believing the best of people, would have easily bought this line and worst of all, not wanted to see what was really going on. This manipulative teacher was clearly covering all bases so that if he did get caught interfering with me, in his defence he could then say my own father had had doubts about my sexual orientation. My God, if my dad could've known the struggles I've had to avert my eyes when women are around, I think he might realise he was duped.
So well done little me for storing all the information I thought was forever blanked out. The bigger picture is coming into focus at last. I'm writing this simply to log it but boy, am I ever still learning how these creeps operate.
St Joseph's College Ipswich, I and several others are part of your dark past. Please do yourselves and all us former pupils a massive favour and acknowledge publicly there are casualties of your de La Salle era.
St. Joseph's College today is hopefully a different animal to the grim place I had to endure in the 70's and yet they appear to be...
