My
name is ...* I am thirty-eight years old and serving a life sentence
for
a murder I did not commit, but I only wish I had.
My
whole life has been a fuck-up from the start. I was born in Morriston
in
Wales and although I loved my family, I have only had six real
relationships
in my life, or as real as I felt they could be. The sort of
relationship
you want to rush home to, and regret leaving in the morning when you
return
to work.
I
met my wife when I was seventeen, and even today would happily die for
her. We had a twenty-year relationship, though both of us had other
lovers
during that time. Of the six relationships I've had, two have been with
men, which is where the complication begins. Because of years of sexual
abuse I suffered during my childhood, I have never really enjoyed sex,
whether it be with a man or a woman.
Even
today, I detest sexual contact and accept that it is what has caused
the
break-up of my relationships. I was always able to perform, and perform
it was, but in truth it was nothing more than a chore, and I gained no
gratification from it.
I
never felt able to tell my wife the truth about my past, despite the
twenty
years we'd shared together. It's so easy to claim you've been abused,
and
shift the blame onto someone else. It's so easy to claim you couldn't
prevent
it, and it's also virtually impossible to prove it.
The
truth is that I had no idea that what I was experiencing wasn't the
norm.
Wasn't every child going through this? My childhood ended at the age of
nine when I was sent to a home.
Overnight
I became a plaything for those who were employed to care for me, those
in power. They even managed to secure a place of safety order from a
court
so I couldn't be moved and they could carry on abusing me.
During
the 1970s corporal punishment was common in children's homes. For some
of the staff it was simply the way they got their kicks. First they
caned
little boys until they screamed, and then they buggered us until we
were
senseless; not until then did they stop. Nine other children from that
home can confirm this statement; two are married with children of their
own, two are gay, five are in jail. Two of the five in jail are serving
life sentences for murder.
After
a time, the abuse becomes a form of love and affection, because if you
didn't want to be caned, or belted with a strap, you give in and
quickly
accept the alternative, sexual abuse. By the age of twelve, I knew more
about perversion and violence than any one of you reading this have
ever
read about, or even seen in films, let alone experienced.
By
the age of twelve, I had been abused by the staff at my home in —,
local
social workers, care staff and a probation officer. All of these
professions
attract paedophiles, and although they are in the minority (20), they
are
well aware of each other, and they network together, and most
frightening
of all, they protect each other.
I
know a child who was articulate enough by the age of fourteen to tell
the
authorities what he was being put through, so they just moved him
around
the country from home to home before anyone could begin an
investigation,
while other paedophiles carried on abusing him.
At
the age of thirteen I ran away and made my way to —.
When
I reached —, I began sleeping rough in —. It was there that I first met
a man called *****, who offered me somewhere to sleep. That night he
got
me drunk, not too difficult when you're only thirteen. He raped me, and
after that began renting me out to like-minded men. Whenever you read
in
the tabloid press about rent boys for sale, don't assume that they do
it
by choice, or even that they're paid. They are often locked up, and
controlled
like any other prostitute, and have little or no say in what happens to
their life.
*****
controlled me for about six months, bringing to the flat judges,
schoolmasters,
police officers, politicians and other upstanding citizens who are the
back-bone of our country (I can tell you of birthmarks, wounds and
peculiarities
for almost every one of these men).
One
night in the West End when I was still thirteen, I was arrested by the
police while ***** was trying to sell me to a customer. I was collected
from the nick by a social worker, who took me to a children's home in
—.
The home was run by a magistrate, *****. For the next fourteen days,
[he]
buggered me night and day before issuing a court order that I should be
returned to [my original children's home], where it was back to caning
and systematic abuse.
After
a couple of months, I was transferred to —, a hospital for emotionally
disturbed children. Once again, the staff abused me and this time they
had a more effective weapon than caning. They threatened to apply EST,
electric shock treatment should I try to resist. I ran away again,
returning
to —, and have lived there ever since. I was only fourteen at the time,
and ***** soon caught up with me. This time he installed me in the flat
of a friend where seven or eight men would bugger me on a daily basis.
One or two liked to whip me with a belt, while others punched me, this
could be before, during or after having sex. When they eventually
stopped,
they occasionally left a small present (money or gift) on my pillow.
This
wasn't much use, because I never got out of the flat, unless I was
accompanied
by *****.
By
the age of fifteen, I was sniffing glue, regularly getting drunk, and
having
sex with countless men. But it didn't hurt any more. I felt nothing, it
was all just part of my daily life.
This
life, if that's what you can call it, continued for another four years,
during which time I was photographed for porn magazines, and appeared
in
porn films.
By
the age of eighteen, I no longer served any purpose for these men, so I
was thrown out onto the street and left to fend for myself. That was
when
I committed my first crime. Burglary of a department store, Ullywhites.
I was arrested and sent to Borstal for six months. When I was released,
I continued with a life of crime, I wasn't exactly trained for anything
else.
By
now I was six foot one and weighed 190 pounds, so didn't find it
difficult
to get a job in security, which is so often on the fringes of crime.
In
1980, at the age of eighteen, I met my future wife, who had no idea
what
my real job was, or that for twelve years I had been sexually abused.
During
the next five years, we had two sons, and twelve years later in 1997,
we
decided to get married.
I
was already earning a good living as a criminal, and everything went
well
until I was arrested in 1997 for DSS fraud. I had been making false
claims
in several names for several years, to the tune of £2.8 million,
for which I received a three year sentence, which caused my marriage to
be put off.
During
my time in jail, I began by letter and telephone, to let my wife know
that
I had for sometime been involved in a life of crime. But it wasn't
until
I was released that I revealed to her any details of the sexual
abuse
I had been put through. Her reaction was immediate and hostile. She was
disgusted, and reviled, and said she couldn't understand why I hadn't
reported
these men to the authorities. What authorities were there for me to
report
to? 'I was only nine years old when it all began. After all it was the
authorities who were buggering me,' I told her, 'and by the age of
eighteen,
when I was no longer of any use to them, they threw me out onto the
streets.'
She
couldn't come to terms with it. So I was rejected once again, and this
time it was by someone I cared for, which made it far worse. She
described
me as a filthy person, who allowed dirty old men to rape me, because I
wanted love and affection. There was no way I could begin to make her
understand.
By being open and honest, I had lost the one person I truly loved. My
life
had been ruined by these evil men, and now they had even robbed me of
my
wife and two children. All I now wanted was to kill the five monsters
who
were responsible, and then die in the hands of the police.
There
were five paedophiles who had taken away my life, so I planned to take
away theirs. I quickly discovered that two of them had already died, so
there were only three left for me to deal with. Their names were ***,
****
and *****. I carefully planned how I would kill them, and then later
die
in the hands of the police.
I
drove down to — and kidnapped *** and brought him back to —, leaving
him at
my Hat with three friends, who agreed to guard him while I returned to
the coast to pick up *****. I then planned to go onto — and collect
****
and bring them both back to —.
I
arrived back in — at one-thirty in the afternoon, when *****'s next
door
neighbour told me that I had just missed him. I phoned — to warn them
that
I would be late, because I couldn't risk grabbing him in broad
daylight.
It was then that they told me the news. They had already killed
***.
I
was enraged. I've always been a cold person emotionally, but I cried on
the journey back to London, because I had wanted to kill *** myself. I
had needed to cleanse myself of these three evil men, and all I had now
was a dead body on my hands and three terrified associates.
I
drove back to —, breaking the speed limit most of the way. On arrival,
I cleaned all the finger-prints from my flat and told the others that I
would deal with ***** and **** in my own way. That was when the police
burst in; twenty-four armed officers pinned the three of us to the
ground,
handcuffed and arrested me.
I
discovered later that ***** had already phoned the police and told them
he feared for his life. I gave my solicitor all the details, and he
said
that because I was in Hastings at the time of ***'s death, they
wouldn't
charge me with murder, but they could charge me with conspiracy to
murder.
They charged me with murder, and I was sentenced to a minimum of
twenty-two
years.
Yes,
I am doing a twenty-two year sentence for a crime I didn't commit. I
only
wish I had, and I also wish I had killed **** and ***** at the same
time.
I
am now a Listener§ at Belmarsh and feel useful for the
first time in my
life. I know I've saved one life, and hopefully helped many
others.
My
demons still haunt me, of course they do, but I somehow keep them at
bay.
I won't complete my twenty-two year sentence, but I will choose the
time
and manner of my death.§§
It's
only shame that prevents me from contacting anyone I know. A feeling of
worthlessness, a dirty little rent boy that allowed older men to use,
beat
and abuse him, because he needed to be loved, and no longer cared what
happened to him. How can I ever expect my wife, my children, or my
family
to understand?
I
hope by telling this story, I may save someone else from the horror
I've
been put through, so that that person will never be visited by the same
demons, and worse, will not end up in jail on a charge of murder.
