THE DE LA SALLES – WHAT’S THE NEXT STEP?

I’ve just sent SCOE and DLS Safeguarding – the two relevant Catholic Safeguarding organizations –  the summaries of evidence on Brothers Kevin, James, Solomon, Father Jolly the DLS school chaplain, and a summary of other DLS abusers.

These summaries will greatly facilitate the work of the investigations detailed below. It’s hard trawling through the numerous testimonies posted on this site over several years and my summaries are designed to make life easy for DLS Safeguarding and SCOE.

Here’s my understanding of what is currently happening:  There are THREE strands of investigation into the DLS which is encouraging.   However, they appear to overlap which – hopefully – won’t be a problem.

The three strands are:

1.The DLS Safeguarding Inquiry. 

Here’s the newspaper account revealing the inquiry.

https://www.ipswichstar.co.uk/news/st-josephs-ipswich-abuse-monks-ask-police-8553626

But to quote from it:

Barry Hudd, head of safeguarding at the De La Salle Brothers, said the order wanted to “clear the whole thing up”. 

He added that while there have been more than 200 abuse claims made against the order from across the UK, until now only a handful have come from St Joseph’s. 

One of these, he said, was settled recently outside of court, but most of the accusations made on Mr Mills blog were “completely unheard of”, he said.

“With regards to St Joseph’s, we’ve put the ball in Suffolk Constabulary’s court”, Mr Hudd said. “It’s up to them to work out what happened and if the abuse truly was systemic. 

“We’ve also hired our own independent and experienced child abuse investigator to assist the police. 

Previously, DLS Safeguarding had set up an Independent Investigator to look at De La Salle Brother ‘A’  which may still be ongoing, so I won’t comment on that matter. Other than to say their Investigator was Jo Norman whom I found tremendously helpful to talk to. Other Survivors have said the same thing.

However, no one from DLS Safeguarding has been in touch with me thus far regarding this new investigation, even though I understand it’s based entirely on the testimonies on this site.

And one survivor  recently wrote direct to DLS Safeguarding with his well documented account of abuse and was disappointed by their brief response.

So I have a question for the DLS:

Has the DLS independent Investigator been appointed? 

Because we were told by SCOE when Jo Norman was appointed. I think we should be similarly told by DLS Safeguarding what is going on and who the Investigator is.

2. The SCOE. Safeguarding Commission for Orders in Education (SCOE). 

Its Independent Chair is Rev Dcn  Des Bill.   He informed me:

“De La Salle have now written to the police asking them to investigate all allegations and concerns made about the order and any members of it.”

The SCOE themselves have also already been dealing with complaints of DLS abuse. Des Bill has  been forwarding the testimonies on this site to the police of Operation Hydrant (see below).

Possibly DLS Safeguarding will do the same separately via their Investigator or will co-ordinate with SCOE?

Des Bill was also involved in the investigation into De La Salle Brother ‘A’.  In fact, I thought it was SCOE who had initiated it.  But a reporter told me that De La Salle Safeguarding had advised her that they initiated it not SCOE. 

So I assume that SCOE acted at the original  ‘front person’  for DLS Safeguarding and that they liaised behind the scenes.

However, here’s what Jo Norman said herself:

I am an Independent safeguarding consultant who has been commissioned to provide management of all complaints against  Brother ‘A’ and to support the SCOE (Safeguarding Commission for Orders in Education) in making decisions regarding these complaints. 

Catholic Safeguarding (Chair: Nazir Afzal ) are NOT involved.  Their full name is Catholic Standards Agency: CSSA. They are a completely new and separate organization.  They deal with abuser priests and are not involved with religious orders like the DLS.

3. Ipswich police

If an abuser is still alive, it’s relatively simple for a Survivor of the abuse to get a response without going through this complex system.  Ipswich police will  deal with you direct. I found them helpful and pro-active.

But if the abuser is dead, the complaint goes to Operation Hydrant. This is an umbrella police organization dealing with historic and systemic abuse.

It is still handled from Ipswich, but the police tell me they require an authorised intermediary   – like Jo Norman – to  present the information to Hydrant.

That sounds simple enough, but there are inconsistencies. Thus Des Bill has been sending testimonies from my site to Hydrant without such an intermediary.

Maybe this happened because the information was already summarized which would usually be the job of an intermediary.

And at least two DLS Survivors have reported historic abuse – where the DLS abuser is dead – to Ipswich police who have responded direct to them.  Maybe they didn’t need an intermediary because they were ‘one off’ cases.

                                                         ……………………..

The three strands are confusing, a little contradictory, and there is a noticeable lack of detail.   

But I’m hoping these two Catholic Safeguarding organizations will make things clearer for us all in the future.

We need full transparency to avoid going round in circles and in line with the recent Elliott Report which said Safeguarding Officers should adopt a more compassionate, communicative and respectful attitude to Survivors.

The lack of communication I’ve described is certainly not in line with the Elliott Report.

WHAT DOES A SURVIVOR OF DLS ABUSE DO NEXT?

I’m asking both DLS Safeguarding and the SCOE for some guidance here and I think we all need some answers from them to the questions and my suggestions below.

Here is an example of a key case.

Survivor Z has written a detailed and important testimony about a  dead DLS sexual and physical abuser. It’s been backed up by supporting evidence by other Survivors.  It’s in the evidence posts I’ve sent the Safeguarding agencies.

And it should be backed up by further evidence in the DLS files. There is no way this DLS abuser’s sexual and physical abuse crimes could have been unknown by Oxford (The DLS HQ). There would be many complaints about him.

As with all the evidence I have presented, I strongly dispute that they are ‘completely unheard of’ as the cases themselves make clear.

So what happens next? 

1)Does Z wait until Hydrant gets in touch with him ?

Or will the DLS Safeguarding independent Investigator seek to also get in touch with him before passing the same evidence to Hydrant?

2)The Investigator  or Hydrant can get in touch with Z by contacting me and I will pass on their request.

And the Investigator can ask me – from looking at the evidence summaries I’ve provided – who else they would particularly like to get in touch with. I will happily act as facilitator for them.

 If that is not acceptable, we need to know why. 

 3) An alternative would be for the Investigator to place a request for information on my blog, asking survivors to come forward.  This has been done before and I believe it worked well. 

But a few important testimonies will need addressing separately. For example, if a Survivor who made a key testimony rarely reads my blog, so he’s not going to know about the Investigator’s request.  Then I would need to contact them.

4) Or should Z write to the DLS Investigator or DLS Safeguarding?  Bearing in mind his testimony has already gone to SCOE and thus onto Hydrant.

5)Can SCOE and DLS Safeguarding tell us how they avoid this possible duplication and a Survivor like Z telling his story twice to two overlapping organizations?

6) The DLS files in Oxford will be bulging with information on the most notorious DLS abusers:  Solomon, Kevin and James.  If an Investigator goes to those files FIRST, it should confirm many of their crimes.

So how necessary is it for all Survivors to be contacted and repeat their allegations which are painful to recount?

Bearing in mind the Elliott Report asks Catholic Safeguarding agencies to have a more compassionate and kindly approach in future.  

For example, the DLS Investigator should be able to confirm from the DLS  files alone that Brother James was a violent abuser who had psychotic episodes.

There must also be a dozen accounts of  Brother James’ violence on my blog which bear this out. Contacting all survivors would be laborious and may be unnecessary when the DLS already know he is guilty.

In my opinion, the DLS  acknowledging that James was guilty of psychotic  violence should be a relatively simple matter, irrespective of Hydrant. Then it’s up to individual Survivors to decide what to do with that DLS acknowledgement next.

In fact, it hardly needs to go through Hydrant, taking up valuable police time, especially when they seem overloaded with work which may mean it could take some considerable time before they respond – this is according to Barry Hudd, the DLS Safeguarding Officer.

If that proves to be the case, I will have to look at the implications. Namely : are the DLS being obstructive and against the recommendations of the Elliott Report?

There is a simpler solution if the DLS genuinely want to get to the bottom of all this.

 A simple but specific admission of James’ guilt by the DLS would suffice.

The position is similar where Brothers Solomon and Kevin are concerned.

Their cases are provably and emphatically NOT ‘completely unheard of ‘.

7) DLS lay teachers are the responsibility of the DLS, as confirmed by DLS Safeguarding saying that they are looking into Mike Mercado. But I think we want to be sure.

So here’s another key question to DLS Safeguarding:

Will you please confirm that DLS lay teachers detailed in the relevant evidence summary are included in your investigation?

8)DLS Safeguarding started off on ‘the wrong foot’ with Survivors as I’ve previously exampled. (e.g their not-so-public ‘public’ apology). It would be good if we can put that behind us now. 

I’m prepared to do so, if I see there’s a change of attitude from now on.

Bearing in mind  the sensitivity of the issues, the opening of old wounds, the huge emotional toll to Survivors of DLS crimes, and the recommendations of the Elliott Report for Catholic Safeguarding agencies to do much better:

Is there anything DLS Safeguarding and/or the Investigator would like to say to help Survivors just now?  I will happily post it on my blog without comment.

9) Finally, there’s the whole issue of proper DLS apologies and proper DLS acknowledgement of crimes, but I think that’s worth addressing in a later, separate post, possibly as the investigation proceeds.

ST JOSEPH’S COLLEGE MEMORIES – 1954 to 1957

I am indebted to HERB, an American retired Law Enforcement officer, who was a boarder from 1954 to 1957.  I wish I had his memory and eye for detail!

The priest Herb refers to would have been Father Jolly. I was an altar boy, too, but at St Mark’s on Chantry Estate from around 1959 – 60.  Previously we went to the chapel at St J’s from 1958 or 1959 and Jolly was definitely the priest and he’d held that post for some time.

Good morning, Pat.  Central Standard Time 8:50 A.M.  Your blog has rekindled many memories and your invitation to relate the good, bad, ugly, school life at St. Jo’s has brought to mind many thoughts about that place.   Ref anonymity?  Use what ever information from me that you deem useful.  If I omit things intentionally, I’ll let you know.  Otherwise, help yourself.   A little info on how I ended up at St. Jos:  When my stepfather was transferred to Mildenhall from the US there was no room on the base for dependent housing.  The US Air Force was shuffling troops around and housing became jammed with people coming and going.  As a result, we lived in an apartment in Newmarket.  I was unable to attend American school on the base because of overcrowding so I was enrolled in Newmarket Secondary Modern School.  An anxious 13-year-old American kid without baseball???  Unthinkable.  And, football?  Looked like the yet popular game of soccer.   My mother said “no big deal, we all speak English”.  Of course, I could not understand but a few words, phrases, and the slang drove me nuts.  My math was terrible and counting money in the pre-decimalization age added to my misery.   After a short period of time we moved to Burwell and I was sent to St. Joseph’s College Birkfield in Ipswich. 

Your blog has opened my mind to several situations I nearly forgot about.  I’ve also learned (from your blog) that the de la salle brothers have last (sir) names.  I had no idea, I thought they chose a saint’s name to honor much the same manner as most orders of nuns do.  So, I’m at a loss to positively identify these so- called men.  The brothers I recall were Brother Damian (the headmaster), a small slight man named Brother de la salle, Brother Peter, and Brother Lawrence (sp).  Brother Peter taught French, English, and lots of sports interactions.  I admired him for his leg speed.  He would pull his cassock up to his knees and run as fast as the wind.  Amazing speed and all the whilst dribbling a football.     It seemed that most of the boys grew up around a football and could do all sorts of maneuvers with it.   It was foreign to me and when I made attempts to master it I tripped and fell down a lot.  Rugby, on the other hand, was a lot of fun.  I was small but maintained good upper body strength and found rewards playing hooker in the scrum.   My only other sporting forte was cross country running.  I ran everywhere and loved it.  The school placed a lot of value on sports.  The brothers were feared and, as I mentioned, corporal punishment was the way everything was disciplined, and there was plenty of it. 

Brother Peter caught me in class on more than one occasion that required my attention to be “adjusted:”  On this particular occasion I was lifting my desk top, so as to not be seen, and whispering to the boy next to me. Brother Peter saw the no talking violation and “invited” me to the head of the class for ‘three of the very best’.   He held my head by holding it with his left hand and gave me three very hard blows to my left side of my face.  I’m sure he was aware of my high tolerance to pain and really “teed off” on me.  My ears rang for a week that would envy the bells at St. Paul’s Cathedral.  My face swelled up to the point they would not allow me to go to town that Saturday, I even had a pink testimonial but still not allowed to leave the college.  One of the lady cooks prepared a cold, wet cloth to press on my face to reduce the swelling.  It was not the only time I was slapped in the face but this one time was the very worst.  One other point that Brother Peter concerned me was he was in charge of the showers.  As you left the showers he would inspect you for cleanliness.  Hands out, arms outstretched, turn them over, exam fingernails, asked several of the boys if the cleaned “down there.”  It was notable that he told the boys who were not circumcised to pull their foreskin back for “further inspection.”  And, he had that sort of gaze during the entire showering time.  I did not trust him but he never bothered me except for punishment. 

Brother Lawrence taught math and English.  He was also our dormitory overseer.  He had a room just off the side of the boys.  Our class rooms were on the ground floor on what I believe is/was called wing 55.  I’m not real sure of the name but can point it out on google earth.  The dorm was on the second floor and our class had half the space on first floor.  There were three rows of eleven beds, with wall lockers on one wall and sinks of the other, windows to the southeast (I think).  We each had daily chores that had to be completed before heading to the chapel for mass, then off to breakfast.  For breakfast we all had oat meal or some sort of porridge dispensed from a large metal pitcher, tea, and toast.  On Sunday we were allowed eggs scrambled.  I don’t recall anything special about the other meals.  Brother Peter was our meal monitor and was seated at one end of the room on an elevated table and chair.  He was served eggs, toast, tea, and bacon at every breakfast.  And, he made no effort to hide it.  The boys were seated at large tables with 4-5 boys on each side facing one another. 

 Brother Laurence would often times leave the dorm 15-20 minutes after lights out.  I assumed he was going to prayers or who knows what he was up to.  I noted that on about half the nights one of three different boys would shortly follow after him.  I had suspicions but as long as I was left alone i figured it none of my bushiness.  Brother Laurence was equally “into” punishment and his favorite target was the backside with the use of a slipper or tennis shoe.  I was amazed how large his feet were.  On one of his absences a few of the boys got into a pillow fight after lights out.  The swinging of pillows was eventually totally out of control and, I venture to say, that every single boy was involved.  On comes the lights and guess who?  The entire dorm was a mess, pillows broke open, scattered all over, beds tipped over and awry, and several boys pleading that they were not involved.  Too bad, Brother Lawrence announced that everyone was to queue up for three of the very best on the back side.  I thought that I might avoid a hard beating if I found my way to end of the line in hopes that he would be tired after wailing 33 boys rears.  Not a clever idea as it turned out as he was still going strong and worked himself into a rage.  It almost seemed he was enjoying the mass punishment. 

We had a priest that said mass, heard confessions, taught catechism, and selected his favorite alter boys.   It was rumored that the alter boys nick a bit of wine from time to time, so naturally, I wanted to be selected.  It never happened.  American boarders were seldom selected for the really desired chores and activities.  I was warned to avoid the priest if at all possible.  I don’t recall his name.  Not much help there but your description in your blog could easily fit

There were 8-10 American boys but none were my age so I was able to stay separated.  The only difference was the American boys were allowed to wear long trousers regardless of their age.  The rest of the younger boys wore shorts and long socks.  Everyone wore gray uniforms, trousers, white shirt, and ties representing their house.  More on the houses later.  The blazers were matching gray to the trousers except in the warmer terms when we were allowed to wear a light weight blazer, red and blue striped, with the school emblem sewed on the pocket.  With the motto Labore Et Tentacitate on the emblem.  I recall when the houses were formed.  I have no idea the logic behind the selection process but all the boys were assigned to one of four houses.  I only recall two house names, Sherwin and Canberra (sp).  I was assigned to Sherwin and our colors were blue and white.  Canberra was green and black.  We wore ties that were our house colors.  The houses were basically the sports team (or work group) you were assigned.  The brothers encouraged fierce competition among the houses.  Again, I played rugby for Sherwin house.  I had plans to play hooker on the school team and travel to matches with other schools, however we moved back to the states before I had a chance.  I’m quite sure I would have been selected to the team and able to wear the red and white colors. 

I made friends easily and had a friend from Pakistan who had a brother at Oak Hill.  He was quite a good runner and, on a few occasions, we would sneak off and run to Oak Hill to see his brother.   I was aware of Oak Hill because I knew a couple of American boys who were there and was able to visit them.  Small wonder we never got caught doing that.   

FATHER JOLLY & THE KNIGHTS OF ST COLUMBA – THE EVIDENCE

First up, I’m ONLY relating the evidence here in the context of systemic De La Salle abuse.

Because I’ve seen too many accounts of Catholic religious orders thwarting  accusations with  ‘No. That’s not our responsibility. It’s the diocese/ the school/ the individual.  It is nothing to do with us.’

But this is very much to do with the De La Salles.

It demonstrates the organised nature of cover-ups within the order.

FATHER JOLLY – CHAPLAIN OF ST JOSEPH’S COLLEGE, BIRKFIELD.

Central to this De La Salle systemic abuse cover-up is Father Bill Jolly, St Joseph’s College chaplain, parish priest for Chantry council estate, and a Knight of St Columba.

Jolly’s father, a passionate religious zealot, was the founder of the Ipswich Knights of St Columba province before the war.  This is not an irrelevant footnote. The Jollies had wealth and status in the Catholic community and Father Jolly – the owner of a yacht moored at Pin Mill –  was no ordinary Knight. He was de-facto ‘the Crown Prince’, the heir to his father’s organization. This helps explain why he took such a central role in the events below.

Jolly was also a sexual abuser himself. But only, AFAIK, as parish priest of Chantry Estate where he exercised a ‘droit de seigneur’  on selected poor and vulnerable children on the council estate like myself. But this was outside the remit of the DLS so I have not related it here.

However, I still think it’s useful to briefly describe the man. He was a calm, aloof,  detached, ascetic man with an upper class accent. The actor Charles Dance always reminds me of Jolly.  Jolly’s cold, laconic and remote character contrasted with his occasional nervous and high-pitched giggle. He was a diabetic who had several coma episodes in the time I knew him. I’m told he was also a heavy drinker. He gabbled his way through the Mass, without any feeling and at high speed and – as a devout Catholic altar boy – this troubled me greatly. I was reassured by my mother that did not detract from his holiness but I was never convinced. Especially when he abused me. He lived in a cottage on the edge of or inside the DLS school grounds. He had a housekeeper there: Mrs Head, a Catholic widow.

Whatever his terms of employment with the diocese or the DLS, he was facilitating systemic DLS abuse at the school.

This included using his role as school chaplain: taping pupils’ sexual confessions in the DLS school chapel. This means he was abusing pupils of St Joseph’s College who were the responsibility of and in the care of the DLS.

Therefore Jolly is very much the concern of the DLS.

In fact, he is as much the concern of the DLS as lay teacher Mike Mercado whom the DLS are currently (December 2021) ‘looking into.’

EVIDENCE OF JOLLY’S INVOLVEMENT WITH SYSTEMIC DLS SEXUAL ABUSE AT ST JOSEPH’S, IPSWICH.

1)

https://wordpress.com/post/patmills.wordpress.com/1029

In this account – in 1964  – St Joseph’s pupil ‘X’ was violently sexually assaulted by Brother James. He was sent to a private hospital in London to recover. This hospital seems to have been arranged by and under the control of the Knights of St Columba.

Jolly visited  X there to discover just how much this victim of DLS sexual abuse remembered. So Jolly was acting as a Knight and the DLS liaison person.  X relates:

 The left hand side of my head had been shaved and I was wearing some sort of white netting over my head. A couple of days went by and I was asked if I was well enough to see a Priest. I said I didn’t feel up to it but Father Jolly just seemed to barge his way into the room and greet me like a lifelong friend. I did not want to speak to that man so when he asked me by my name how I was feeling I had a brilliant idea I said “what did you call me, is that my name who are you.” I started shouting Nurse Nurse – I do not know this man please ask him to leave. He kept insisting I knew him very well and kept asking if I remembered how I got here. I told him I could not remember him or anything else and I wanted him to leave.

The Nurse came back and was very professional indeed and told Father Jolly he must leave because he was upsetting me and she would not take no for an answer. He waited outside the door to my room and asked the Nurse what is going on with that boy quick as a flash she said someone had given him a massive overdose of anesthetic and he is lucky to be alive. Father Jolly said surely he will recover his memory in time she said there was not much hope less than a 10% chance I’m afraid he was left too long before he got proper treatment. Father Jolly left after that.

The Nurse came back in the room and gave me a huge smile and said that sorted him out. I asked her why she had lied and helped me – she smiled and said I went to a Convent boarding school and I recognize his kind a mile off and besides I have seen all the welts on your hands arms and back and I’m pretty sure I know how you got them.

2)

This next  account happened approximately a year after the assault on X.  He had now returned to St Joseph’s and normal school life. After a transgression involving the track run, he was sent to clean the school chapel as a punishment.

https://wordpress.com/post/patmills.wordpress.com/1040

Unlike my own memories which are ‘patchy’, Old Boy ‘X’ has an impressive photographic memory. You will see it in this account : his enviable detail about even small things like the track run.  As he explains:

I go into great detail because it may jog someone’s memory to confirm my account. I was both cursed and blessed with a photographic memory that is a great asset for examination purposes but a nightmare for the rest of your life when you simply cannot forget the things you desperately want to get out of your head.

X  now tells how he overheard Jolly in the confessional talking to a school boy penitent:

“Impure deeds what do you mean, boy? Impure deeds? You can’t lie to God, you know, if you want my absolution” and “do you mean you’ve been playing with yourself – well do you, if so you must tell me” “and how many times” and “have you been playing with any other boy” and “what is this other boys name”.’

Later,  X cleans out the confessional and:

I was absolutely flabbergasted to find one of those old cassette tape recorders the ones with the four or five piano keys on the front lying on the floor. It was open and the tape cassette had been removed but the machine was still very warm. I simply could not believe that a priest would record the confessions of children.

X later concludes:

The recording of those boys confessions could be of no other use than to alert the Brother Director of the College – in case a victim of sexual abuse wanted desperately to be in a state of grace and obtain absolution and ease his tormented soul.

If X is correct, then this is evidence of systemic DLS  abuse.

It’s possible it was also for Jolly’s own gratification.  

This evidence cross-references with my own experience of Jolly as a sexual abuser and an organizer of  paedophile events with the Knights outside the school.

Once again, a personal abuser and also involved with systemic abuse.

 As Jolly’s assaults on me didn’t happen on DLS property, I have not detailed them here, but they are available to an investigator.

THE KNIGHTS OF ST COLUMBA

The Knights describe themselves today as “A lay Order of Catholic men, pledged to support the Church and clergy.”

As I’ve shown, that support is regardless of the cost to children.  Children are expendable in order to protect the good name and reputation of the Church and its religious orders.

Once again, I need to stress that I am only concerned here with how the Knights worked in partnership with the DLS. Or were the Eminence Gris behind the DLS.

And how they facilitated DLS systemic abuse.

Then and now the Knights are a secretive order so my assessment of the relationship between the Knights and the DLS has to be confirmed but the events speak for themselves.

If any Knight would like to explain things further, their views would be most welcome on this site. If required, their anonymity will be respected.

Criminal matters relating to the Knights – and not directly involving the DLS –   have already been forwarded by Catholic Safeguarding to the police’s Operation Hydrant.

Catholic Herald and other accounts confirm that the Knights were responsible for the setting up of the school before the war. Either as financiers or brokers, it’s never made clear. But it’s obvious from the evidence that the Knights and the DLS are closely intertwined and this helps explain the background to X’s account and the way the Knights got involved.

EVIDENCE OF THE KNIGHTS OF ST COLUMBA’S INVOLVEMENT IN DLS SYSTEMIC ABUSE AT ST JOSEPH’S

1)

https://wordpress.com/post/patmills.wordpress.com/1029

This is once again X’s account of Brother James sexual assault on him.

In further private correspondence with X he has related to me MORE aspects of Knights/DLS systemic abuse.  Thus a Knight later arrives at the hospital, sees X’s wounds, and exclaims, ‘Oxford shall hear of this!’  Oxford is the DLS HQ.

X describes the Knights in further comprehensive detail. As this was in private correspondence with me, I haven’t featured it here.

But I can provide an investigator with the relevant information if necessary.

But, frankly, I think the above account tells an investigator everything they need to know.

There are many revealing aspects of systemic abuse here alone which an investigator would need to unpack and shouldn’t require further analysis by me.

But to emphasise just four elements:

*A boy nearly died and this crime was covered up by the DLS and the Knights.

If he had died it would have been manslaughter.

*This private hospital had been used before and probably since to deal with victims of Catholic child abuse. This has profound implications that are surely relevant to a police investigation. That hospital needs identifying and when (or if)  it was no longer used. We can’t just take the word of involved organisations – the DLS and the Knights – that it stopped.

* X’s school fees were paid for by the Knights and/or the DLS.  The Knights acted as an arbitration service providing compensation for X’s injuries.

To quote X:

“Well I cannot tell you the details of the deal I got but I was most insistent on one thing I was not going to be expelled from St Josephs. They agreed to everything but insisted I must never return to St Joseph’s again, guess who won the argument but with a lot of conditions attached.”

*Brother James carried on teaching at St J’s, despite his evil crimes.

2)

Neither my older brother nor I passed the eleven plus, our widowed mother had no job and we were poor.  Yet, astonishingly, our school fees  to go to St Joseph’s  – approximately for 4 years each – were paid by the Knights.  Why?  We all know there is no such thing as a free lunch – especially where the Catholic Church is concerned.

Unravelling the reason is still a work in progress, which is outside the terms of this inquiry.  Thus far.

But I mention it because it is further evidence that the Knights paid school fees under dubious circumstances.

3)

I envy X’s  photographic memory. By comparison, mine is patchy. Thus after Brother James assault on me at age 12, I remember exploding with anger to my mother and refusing to be silenced. Then suddenly I was presented with a brand new, top of the range bike, with twist gear grips, no less! But how? We were poverty-stricken.  I have dim memories of the Knights providing this luxury gift and being told some nonsense about joining their ranks as a Squire when I was older. I lack X’s  detail, but I remember that bike and how it shut me up.

Just as X was silenced.

The Knights seem to be the troubleshooters whom the DLS call in when their crimes are likely to be reported – which I most certainly intended to do. 

3)

The DLS  and the Ipswich Knights of St Columba have known about X’s account for over a year.

I know this is correct from insider sources. And it is a most serious allegation. It should have been acted upon immediately.

According to Catholic Safeguarding, if they become aware of any abuse, historic or current, it is, as a matter of procedure, reported immediately to the police.

So the DLS and the Knights will have similar Safeguarding procedures. Yet they did nothing.

Not enough evidence? How much more evidence would you need than the testimony of a man with a photographic memory?  

Anyone who is innocent, or believes their organisation was innocent, would have also responded with an inquiry, an explanation or a rebuttal. Or an acknowledgement that is was, alas, true.

Instead, both organisations have kept silent, until social media and newspaper pressure have forced the DLS to appoint an investigator.

Without that pressure, the DLS would have remained silent, hoping the allegations would just ‘fade away’.

Even now, the DLS response  is impersonal (no communication with this site), guarded, minimal, mildly sceptical, mildly hostile and guided not by their consciences, but by their Suits.

A pathetic DLS apology derided by all Survivors was written by their Suits.

The Knights also have nothing to say except to flippantly invite me along to their ceremonies.

My understanding of ‘systemic’ includes where there is an organised cover-up, a silencing (e.g. through an NDA), or an investigation is thwarted by being ignored by an organization, obscured or not reported to the police.

 This is therefore a form of systemic abuse by both organisations today.

After Christmas I’ll write a final summary of other evidence of systemic abuse by the DLS, featuring lay teachers, other DLS teachers and other DLS schools.

Then I will forward the evidence files to the relevant organizations for the independent investigator.

Thanks to everyone for your valuable input and testimonies. You’ve made a huge difference already. And there is more to come.

This is never going to go away and they know it.

Have a great Xmas and I’ll do my best to forget this horrid business during the festive season. Hope you can, too.   All the best Pat

ST JOSEPH’S CHAPLAIN – FATHER JOLLY

Here’s an Old Boy’s vivid account of Father Jolly’s warped behaviour in the 1960s. It substantiates my own experience of him as a serious sexual abuser.  I remember being absolutely terrified by an item of erotic paraphernalia which – with a nervous giggle – he showed me at a weekend Catholic ‘retreat’, organized by the Knights. (Father Jolly is listed in their records as a Knight.) I was terrified, because he intended to use it on me.  I tried finding the device on the internet, but gave up. He was definitely getting off on my fear. That’s what abusers do. It’s part of the hit for them.  It wasn’t just two pairs of Dutch wooden clogs that he brought back from Amsterdam for my brother and I.

There must be many other survivors of his sexual abuse and I’d invite them to post on this site or elsewhere. We need to understand the full extent of organized sexual abuse at St Joseph’s. Who else was involved and when did it stop?

It is disturbing that today’s Catholics have nothing to say on these endless testimonies of clerical and lay teachers’ sexual abuse at St Joseph’s. By your silence, in my opinion, you are part of the cover-up.  

This statement is a full account of a previous entry made on Pat’s site.

I go into great detail because it may jog someone’s memory to confirm my account. I was both cursed and blessed with a photographic memory that is a great asset for examination purposes but a nightmare for the rest of your life when you simply cannot forget the things you desperately want to get out of your head.

Father Jolly

Although I was reasonably careful not to get in any trouble at St Josephs, I suppose it was inevitable. I used to put a towel at the end of my bed each morning which was a sign that I wanted to be woken at 0530 hrs to attend early morning mass at 0600 hrs. I never did attended mass, I used to run between 10 or 12 laps of the track which was situated to the left of the main building with the first 11 cricket pitch in the centre. I would go back for a shower when I saw the others boys coming out from mass.

The grounds man had asked me very nicely the day before to refraining from using the track the next day as he had cut the grass and run new white lines in preparation for a home cricket match on Saturday. He was a nice old man and I readily agreed. Through sheer force of habit I put the towel on the end of my bed that night simply because I forgot. I went running the next day and the grounds keeper came in about 0645 hrs as normal and saw me running and was rather upset and said I thought we had an understanding or words to that effect. I apologised and tried to convince him I had completely forgotten and said I was very sorry but he was obviously quite annoyed and reported the fact.

I had an exemption from Corporal Punishment because the school did not have parental consent for me. That is something all parents of every boy attending the school was obliged to sign. I went to see one of the prefects, a big Greek lad, because he had been tasked to set my punishment if ever required. He had one of those impossible to pronounce Greek names something like Popalopadopapoposis. He had tried to teach me how to pronounce his name in vain so as a mark of respect I suggested I just call him boss.

 He strongly objected to that, so we mutually agreed I could call him Popeye as long as no one was in ear shot. Well someone must had heard me talking to him one day and for the rest of him time at the school he was known as Popeye or referred to as “the sailor man”.

The first thing he said to me was do not dare to suggest that you should go on cross country run for your punishment as he knew I liked running too much. He said he would set my punishment later. He came back later in the day with a big grin on his face and said my punishment would be to sweep out the chapel from top to bottom. The chapel was a long wooden building that had most probably seen service as an army canteen during the war. It was a difficult task because it was always in use.

I did the back half on the Thursday afternoon during the PE lessons because I was excused from attending PE (anyone that knew me would know why) and the front half on the Friday because I had a study period in the Library during RI first period. And I think the second period I skipped was Spanish or something. I knew I could get away with because Friday morning lessons were always disrupted with boys coming and going from the class to go to confession.

I was quite sure Popeye had meant for me to do my punishment on Saturday afternoon and that would be a real punishment indeed because that was the only day we were allowed to go into Ipswich. Besides he did not specify the day so I thought I could apologise afterwards if need be and get away with it.

Anyway, on the Friday Father Jolly was taking confession. I worked my way up to the altar and was busy cleaning up the altar, but I just could not help overhearing Father Jolly in the confession pumping these little boys for graphic details of their sins.

 “Impure deeds what do you mean, boy? Impure deeds? You can’t lie to God, you know, if you want my absolution” and “do you mean you’ve been playing with yourself – well do you if so you must tell me” “and how many times” and “have you been playing with any other boy” and “what is this other boys name”.

 I had heard quite enough, so I went to the back of the chapel and sat down and waited for the last boy to go in. When he had come out I opened the door of the confessional just to tell Father Jolly confession was over and ask if I could continue cleaning the altar. Before I could say anything Father Jolly just said “I see you have recovered your memory then.”

Now the fact Father Jolly could recognise me without me having said a word was rather exceptional because me and the Almighty were not on speaking terms anymore and I had not been in that Chapel for more than a year. Every Sunday I used to sit in the 56 block with a couple of boys from Thailand and one Chinese boy who were Buddhists and two Protestant boys. I usually did homework or read books. One of the boys was called Tony who was studying to become a Vicar in the Protestant faith which sort of makes him stand out quite a bit in a Catholic Boarding school. Someone should remember him surely.

Anyway – I said  “Yes,Father Jolly,  would you mind if I finished clearing up the chapel ? There are no more boys waiting.” “Carry on,” he said.

I continued my cleaning and he came past me and said , “I hope you were not here during confession.” I simply could not resist the temptation and said “I’m very sorry,  Father,I can’t hear very well in that ear anymore since the incident,” and turned my head to the right and said, “OK carry on, Father.”

I was referring to a very unfortunate incidence which had happened to me a year earlier which Father Jolly was well aware of and he was visibly shaken and said in a raised voice mouthing his words “Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter.”

 I just could not let that go, so I replied “A ‘Clatter’, Father? I’m very sorry, Father. I’ll try to be less noisy”.

I am quite sure he knew I was taking the micky but he hurried off to the sacristy to take off his mantle before coming out again and scurrying out of the chapel.

I always was very inquisitive and wondered how on Earth could he recognise me before I had even spoken a word. I thought I would clean the confessional booth as well, after all I had been told to clean the entire chapel so I could not really get into trouble for it. It was very dark but there was a switch on the back wall and I thought that it would give me more light to complete my task but instead it turned a small light on the penitence side of the confessional.

I could see very clearly into the penitents side.

I left the Confessors side and shut the door and went into the penitents side. You could not see anything at all through the grill. I suppose I forgot to close the penitents door when I left and when I went back to the confessors side there was plenty of light now.

I was absolutely flabbergasted to find one of those old cassette tape recorders the ones with the four or five piano keys on the front lying on the floor. It was open and the tape cassette had been removed but the machine was still very warm. I simply could not believe that a priest would record the confessions of children.

Even though I was a non-practising Catholic at that stage, I had always been taught the confessional seal was absolute and a fundamental cornerstone of the Catholic Religion and that priests were expected to die rather than ever break it. We had been given countless examples how Priests had been tortured or even burnt at the stake rather than break the confessional seal.

It was a terrible predicament I had found myself in. I had promised my sponsors, who paid all the fees for me to go to St Joseph’s, that I would never cause any trouble with the Brothers. Did this include a Priest who had violated his most sacred vow – how could he remain a Priest.

I just could not resolve this problem so I went back to the dorm and put on my running kit. And just began to run, even though I had two more periods scheduled that afternoon.

Confessions ended about midday. I did not go to the refectory for lunch that day and by the time I had completely exhausted myself running, they were serving evening cocoa in the ref, so I figure I must have run for at least 6 or maybe 7 hours. I went to bed. The next day I just could hardly walk because my legs were so sore, anyway it was liberation day – the day we were allowed to go into Ipswich.

I had been told Father Jolly was looking for me. I managed to avoid him all that day only because it was Saturday but on Sunday he confronted me after mass because he knew I would be in the 56 block with all the other heathens’ (as he liked to called the non-Catholics). He asked if I had cleaned the confession on Friday. I just said no, I’m sorry it was lunch time and I had lessons in the afternoon and asked if he would like me to do it now.

He asked me are you absolutely sure?  All I could think to say is, “No, I’m absolutely sure; I don’t mind if you want me to do it now.” The sigh of relief from that man was like hearing someone let the air out of a tyre.

I again insisted I didn’t mind really, but he said that he would do it himself and complimented me on a very nice job I had made of cleaning the chapel. Then he walked away.

I had my own personal problems to deal with. I just could not get involved. I convinced myself that as I was not a practising Catholic anymore, it was none of my business. A very logical argument I am sure, but that did not stop me feeling extremely guilty.

I knew I should have done something but who should I tell, who could I trust, who would have believed my word against a Priest anyway. I just had to let it go and get on with my life – until now that is, when a good man whom I have never met convinced me I have to tell my story for all those other poor boys whose lives were shattered and still suffer so much more than 50 years later.

Father Jolly, the confessor of St Joseph’s College, Birkfield, Ipswich, broke the most sacred seal of confession and was in no doubt, by doing so, according to Catholic doctrine, he had excommunicated himself from the Catholic Faith in the eyes of the same God that he proclaimed to worship and in whose name he assumed all his authority as a priest.

The recording of those boys confessions could be of no other use than to alert the Brother Director of the College – in case a victim of sexual abuse wanted desperately to be in a state of grace and obtain absolution and ease his tormented soul.

Most boys who were sexually assaulted were, because of their tender age, convinced by their abusers they themselves were in some way to blame for their own abuse.

This is not some questionable academic theory, it is overwhelmingly borne out by the multiple accounts of the survivors of those attacks.

THE SHOCKING TRUTH ABOUT ST JOSEPH’S (MY OLD SCHOOL)

I had to pour myself a whisky after reading this survivor’s account. It’s strong stuff. Thank you so much to the survivor – who has asked to remain anonymous – for sharing. I’m going to respond in detail in the coming week or so.

Meantime, this is the most damning indictment yet on St Joseph’s College, Ipswich. It raises issues, not just confirming various sexual abuses among the teachers, but also criminal conspiracy. This is something I’ve always been aware of, but been reluctant to talk about, as other survivors at other schools have not covered this subject. It therefore makes the case for St Joseph’s being the first school where survivors have described criminal conspiracy. My own experience bears this out.

There will be much more to come from me in response to this testimony in the weeks to come.

I invite other survivors to share their experiences too. Only in this way can the true infamy of St Joseph’s College and its De La Salle Brothers finally be exposed to the healing light of truth.

Dear Pat,

You either must know me personally or certainly know of my exploits. I hung my girlfriends knickers on the newly completed chapel in 1967 just to piss off Brother Elwin because that chapel was his pride and joy and crowning achievement and he was such a pompous evil conceited man I wanted to do something to hit him where it hurt the most – his stupid pride. No one said much at the time but I am so glad to learn some many years later it is remembered by a few.

First Observation is many people seem to have only vague memories of St Josephs and lack a lot of detail – I do not – I have an excellent memory of everything that happened to me.

In September 1964 I just was 14 years and 2 months old and there was some confusion if I should be put in the 3rd Form or 2nd Form. Eventually I ended up in 2nd Form and had to change dormitories to the new block attached to the main building.
My first canning was to be performed by Brother Bernard when I dropped my trousers and he saw my backside covered in scars new and old he just told me to pull them back off again and learn to behave. That’s why I was at St Joseph’s in the first place because I had a very abusive father and some senior members of the Catholic Church had arranged a scholarship for me. Knights of St Columba sound familiar.

It would have been May 1965 just after half term my math teacher Brother James the one with the awful broad Irish Accent told me to stand outside the door of the classroom (I cant remember what I had done) and I should only come back in when the class finished. On returning to the classroom I was told I had to report in my gym kit to the gym at 1200 noon on Saturday. That was a real bummer because Saturday was when we were allowed to go into Ipswich for the afternoon.

I duly arrived at the gym expecting to have to do some push-ups or run around the track four or five times. Bra James turned-up right on time unlocked the gym told me to get inside then he followed in and locked the door.
He walked me over to the stage and told me to drop my shorts and put my head and hands on the stage. He then took a dozen steps back and ran at me with his cane – whack. He expected some sort of reaction but I just waited for the next one, as I said my own father was a very violent man and I was well used to a beating or two. The next one was from maybe 12 paces away he ran up I braced myself but nothing happened. I turned around and he went ballistic and shouted if I dare turn around again that would be another 6. Naturally I said I’m very sorry Bra it won’t happen again. He ran up again and again nothing happened but I did not turn round and then I got one hell of a blow from a stationary position.

That hurt like hell but I did not make a sound. I was well use to my fathers stupid antics trying to psych me out keeping me guessing when the next blow was coming. Bother James was huffing and puffing, I just assumed he was out of breath from running up and down the gym. I waited for the next blow it seemed to take forever then it came he got a slight noise out of me for that. He was breathing even more heavily but he had not taken a run at me this time. The next blow seemed to take even longer than before – I vividly remember thinking good perhaps the old bugger is having a heart attack or something then it came this time across the back of my legs he got a good yell out of me for that one.

Eventually having had my 6 of the best I turned around and pulled up my shorts in one quick movement only to see him madly playing with himself under his robes, his eyes were almost closed but I must have made a noise turning around and when he realized I could see what he was doing he went completely insane and I mean absolutely and utterly uncontrollable insane. He shouted and screamed at me to turn around again – I was having none of it and stupidly said I was going to report him to the headmaster (Brother Elwin). He came at me and I dodged him easily after all I was the best and fastest fly three quarter the school had ever had. I got to the double doors of the gym only to find them locked. He followed walking slowly. I turned around and I just couldn’t help myself laughing because he had his left had stuck in his robe or pocket and his dick was hanging out the center of it. He turned around and fumbled to get his hand out eventually having to put his cane down to get the other hand free and put his dick away. He was frothing and had a very weird twisted grin on his face and said “did you not forget the door was locked”. I dropped my head slightly and said I wont say anything just open the door please and let me go.

I certainly was not expecting what came next he hit me very hard indeed across my left ear and left temple with his cane. I put my left hand over my ear it was bleeding very badly. The second blow was across the back of my left hand that was protecting my ear by then and third and fourth blows across both my upper and lower left arm. I put my right foot against the glass of the doors and drove straight at him knocking him to the floor. As he tried to get up I kicked twice between the legs. He stopped breathing (as you do) and dropped his cane and put both hands over his balls. I grabbed the cane and hit him as hard as I could mostly on his upper arm and upper legs screaming at him give me the bloody key.

My adrenaline was up and after two or three more blows he said stop, stop, here take the key. He got it out of his right hand pocket and threw it on the floor. I grabbed it opened the door and locked it from the outside. My white gym vest was covered in blood all down the left hand side and I made my way over the lawn to the main building. There was hardly anyone about because the boarders were allowed to go downtown on Saturday afternoons.

I went through the main entrance and climbed the wooden staircase up to Brother Elwins Office, which was immediately above the main entrance. I did not knock I was in no mood to be polite. There was no one in his office but the door to his bedroom was ajar. I heard a kids voice saying “there is someone in the your office”
I just flung the door open and there was Brother Elwin naked on his bed with a naked kid of only about 12 sitting on his stomach.

We just stared at each other for 30 seconds. I turned around and went down the block to the showers and Laundry room. I grabbed a tee shirt from one of the lockers went to the hand basins that were just in front of the showers because they had mirrors and I wanted to see how bad I was hurt. That was a terrible mistake. I spent too long looking at the huge bleeding welt across my face and trying to clean up the blood. I grabbed another t-shirt from someones locker and held it over my ear. I knew I had to get outside the college and call the Police or and Ambulance. I went out the back entrance of the showers down the steel stairs and was walking across the rugby pitch to get to the small gate that lead to the Chantry Estate where I was sure I would get help. I was almost there when Brother Hugh rugby tackled me and brought me to the ground. He was a big man and very fit and he had completely knocked all of the wind out of me and easily picked me up and carried me back to the main building.

He carried me into the sickbay and then into a single bed isolation room at the back of the sickbay. He told me he was going to the infirmary to get something to bandages my ear. He locked the door as he left. Brother Elwin arrived in the sickbay and shouted why is the door locked, meanwhile Brother James had arrived, (I found out later there was a fire door near the stage that you could just push open from the inside) and I am sure Brothers Leo was there and one more I not sure who it was.

Brother James was screaming at the top of his voice for Brother Hugh to give him the key to the isolation room. There was a huge slapping sound and Brother James suddenly stopped shouting. Brother Elwin was next to rock off shouting “You bloody idiot haven’t you done enough already”. He then asked how bad is it?that bastard has left blood all over my office and all down the hallway.

Brother Hugh said everyone should take the conversation elsewhere and I will try to patch him up. The other left with Brother Elwin for his office I guess but I don’t know for sure. Brother Hugh unlocked the door and began with the small talk like “I guess your good looks have gone forever now still you’ll have quite a scar to impress the girls with.” He then said this is going to hurt a bit and put something on my face to clean it – damn right it hurt it must have been surgical spirit or something it burned like hell, he then put gauge and some bandages. He said I will have to give you a tetanus shot but I protested I already had one that year either way he took a syringe and a little glass bottle and put quite a lot of this water like liquid in the syringe and jabbed in in my backside. It burnt like hell and I passed out – it was anesthetic.

I don’t know how long I was out but various people came and went saying can you hear me – wake up. I just ignored them and tried to sleep.
Eventually I heard a woman’s voice speaking very softly and calling my name I opened my eyes it was Mrs Bacon the school nurse. I begged her don’t let any of those bastards come near me – she promised she wouldn’t and I was sure I was safe while she was there.

A man in a suit turned up sometime later and I asked if he was the Police he said he was a Doctor. He took the bandages off but the gauge had stuck to my face. He tried to be gentle but I screamed so badly he said he would give me something for the pain. When I came round I don’t know where I was but it was not in the school anymore that I was sure of. I was in a large comfortable bed with my wrists tied to the Iron bedhead with bandages. I waited and waited eventually a nurse came in and I asked why are my wrists tied up. She explained I had an operation and it was very important that I stay lying on my back and my wrists were tied to stop me trying to scratch my face in my sleep.

The same Doctor came back sometime later and said he was very pleased with the operation and assured me I would only have a slight hairline scar. I asked where I was he said a Private Hospital and I was safe now. Later I had to go to the toilet and the Nurse gave me a piss bottle I just said not that one the other one. I had to promise to behave myself and not pull at the bandages. In the toilet I could not resist to look in the mirror. The left hand side of my head had been shaved and I was wearing some sort of white netting over my head. A couple of days went by and I was asked if I was well enough to see a Priest. I said I didn’t feel up to it but Father Jolly just seemed to barge his way into the room and greet me like a lifelong friend. I did not want to speak to that man so when he asked me by my name how I was feeling I had a brilliant idea I said “what did you call me, is that my name who are you.” I started shouting Nurse Nurse – I do not know this man please ask him to leave. He kept insisting I knew him very well and kept asking if I remembered how I got here. I told him I could not remember him or anything else and I wanted him to leave.

The Nurse came back and was very professional indeed and told Father Jolly he must leave because he was upsetting me and she would not take no for an answer. He waited outside the door to my room and asked the Nurse what is going on with that boy quick as a flash she said someone had given him a massive overdose of anesthetic and he is lucky to be alive. Father Jolly said surely he will recover his memory in time she said there was not much hope less than a 10% chance I’m afraid he was left too long before he got proper treatment. Father Jolly left after that.

The Nurse came back in the room and gave me a huge smile and said that sorted him out. I asked her why she had lied and helped me – she smiled and said I went to a Convent boarding school and I recognize his kind a mile off and besides I have seen all the welts on your hands arms and back and I’m pretty sure I know how you got them. I must keep you safe until you recover. Later she let slip I was not the first boy she had treated with cane and whip marks when the beating had gone too far.

I recovered pretty quickly but by then it was the school summer holidays and I was very keen to get out of hospital. I was told I was not allowed outside the hospital without my nurse imagine my surprise when I found out I was in London. My Nurse promised me things are going to change for the better and I must stay calm and in the Hospital and not make a fuss. She said she was quite sure some men would eventually come with a fantastic offer to make sure I could get a good education in another school in a really really nice place as long as I played the game and stayed calm.

I asked her why was she so certain she gave me that enormous smile of hers and said how do you think I became a nurse and went to Nursing School without ever passing a single entrance exam. Well I cannot tell you the details of the deal I got but I was most insistent on one thing I was not going to be expelled from St Josephs. They agreed to everything but insisted I must never return to St Joseph’s again, guess who won the argument but with a lot of conditions attached.

Yes I returned to St Joseph’s for 3 more years, I got a fantastic education. I had special tutors to help me with some subject normally first year sixth boys (part of my deal) and Mr Sumner helped me ace my math exam. I got £1 pocket money every week (a great rise from half a crown) and I even got the Chemistry and the History prize. I’d love to say I was a model student but that would be too much, I put my girlfriends knickers on top of the cross of the new chapel late at night before the official opening and no sixth former could be convinced to go up and get them down. I was amazed that they eventually had to hire a crane and a basket to get them down.

How did I do – pure math and logic. I ran a rope around the pyramid (As I called it) got the two ends of the rope together and just gently pulled them back and forth until I worked it to the base of the cross. A bowline under my armpits and pulled myself up with the other end of the rope. The cross was more difficult. I had to throw a smaller rope over one arm of the cross then the other arm and hoist myself up. Having got the knickers secure I nearly came a cropper coming down the cross when the smaller rope broke fortunately I had the sense to tie one end of the main rope around the base of the cross It was a very long way to the bottom fortunately the rope stopped me about half way. I managed to hang on and get back up to the base of the cross untie the end and lower myself back down.
It was worth it – it was so so wonderfully worth it.

When no-one seemed to notice the next day I said to one of the third former’s “you have good eyes what’s that hanging from the cross?” He had such an hysterical laugh that everyone had to find out what he was laughing about on such a solemn occasion. He could only point to the cross because he could not speak once he started laughing – Yes young master Wallin many thanks for your help that day otherwise all my efforts may have gone unnoticed and suspicion could have easily fallen on me. Part of my deal was that I would never give anyone any trouble or talk to the other boys about what had happened.

I fought back in my own way. I returned and made those bastards squirm every-time I pasted them and cheerfully said “Good Morning Bra”. However I had one great advantage over those poor innocent boys who suffered so much. I had already been violently abused by my own father at home. I was used to cruelty and especially of showing no fear even when I was very afraid – that is what made them avoid me. The other boys had left a loving caring safe environment to go to what they thought was a cross between school and a holiday camp. They were innocent and naive in the extreme. After they were abused they were made to feel worthless and ashamed of themselves and that if it was their fault, it was never their fault and the suffering did not stop when they left St Josephs.

The worst of all abuses to those poor boys that they themselves most probably did not know about is if ever they went to Confession and in the they told Father Jolly that they had done something terribly wrong (anything about the abuse they had suffered) he reported them back to Brother Elwin. He sat in the confessional without a light on with just a mess screen. The other side has a small light – he could see the boys faces but they could not see his. He was a pervert of the worst kind constantly prompting the boys that they must tell him everything all the sordid details how may times they had masturbated otherwise he could not give them absolution.

I am nearly 70 years old now and I still have flashbacks of my early life some very pleasant some I would like to forget forever but just can not when the bad flashbacks start dwelling on my mind I snap out of it and say “Right back in the real world time for a drink I think”

To the survivors I would say NEVER EVER blame yourselves for what happened to you. Never ever feel ashamed because you were innocent of any wrongdoing and there was nothing you could have done back then when you were just a helpless little kid. Even grown men struggle to fight back.

The people that should have looked after you failed miserably they are the ones who should be ashamed of themselves I mean all the adults who knew and the Authorities both civil and religious. You cannot fight a 2000 year old organised religion especially when you don’t know who they are or how many they are. Often the people you turn to for help are the same type of people that are abusing you and will go to great lengths to protect your abuser or what is even worse they consider that you will damage their faith or their Church in some way by your accusations even if they are true. If fact they would insist for the good of the Church you must stay silent and God will punish the guilty ones in time.

The Catholic Church is like a brick wall. You can bang your head on it for as long as you want. Your head will break and the wall still stands. If you take a compass point and keep rubbing it back and forth along the mortar line eventually the mortar will give way and you can remove a brick or two but it takes a very long time.

Anyone who reads this and was there 1964 -68 will know who I am No need to put my name is there.

Pat give me a heads-up if you remember me.

THE IMPORTANCE OF FIGHTING BACK

The recent newspaper article about an abuse victim killing a 92 year old clerical abuser by shoving a crucifix down his throat made me reflect on the various ways Survivors fight back.

Sadly, fear and violence, horrible as this example is, is all these clerical abusers seem to understand. I wish it were otherwise, but in an age of endless cover-ups, when the current head of the Catholic Church – Pope Francis – is provably guilty of deliberately lying to cover up abuse – it’s inevitable.

See the final section of a French TV documentary (In English) Sex Abuse in the Church:  Code of Silence.

It’s well worth seeing because when the Pope is caught lying (Over the Grassi scandal), the guilt is clearly written all over his face. He’s caught red-handed and papal apologists will have to tie themselves into knots to excuse his reaction. Even Bill Donahue would have difficulty. I guess he’d just bluster and shout at the camera as he usually does.

But with a long line of Popes like Francis in charge, it sends a message to these perverts that what they’re doing is okay, and is tolerated and IMO, for which I have some evidence, is actually encouraged by the clerics at the top. Such priests are not abusing their vocation, as critics or defenders usually claim, because it’s actually part of their vocation.  I believe it’s always been part of the Church’s belief system. It’s actually no different to PIE (Paedophile Information Exchange) attempting to legitimise its crimes against children, and with a similar evil, if pseudo-spiritual, logic.

It’s never been one rotten apple in the barrel. When I was growing up, all the apples in the barrel were rotten and I very much doubt my parish was unusual. That’s when you start to realise the Church is actually like PIE; it’s hardwired into the religion itself. It’s something the media dare not say, because it’s thinking the unthinkable, but it seems blindingly obvious to me.

My own experience involved three parish priests based in Ipswich in the 1950s era, all three paedophiles: Canon Burrows, Father Wace, and Father Jolly – chaplain to St Joseph’s College.

So I thought I’d share three examples of fighting back against clerical abusers and how valuable it was for me personally. Even if I didn’t always win.

The one thing all three priests had in common was that they were English upper class, the product of Catholic public schools, and two of them, at least, were Knights of St Columba. (Canon Burrows and Father Jolly). I believe that their elite English Catholic background gave them a Droit du Seigneur and a pseudo-spiritual rationale for their crimes. 

For the sake of brevity, I’m just going to focus here on the fighting back, although I have extensive notes on all three individuals. I even hired a private detective to gather information on one of them. A useful and positive step, by the way, which I would recommend to Survivors.

So Canon Burrows first: parish priest at St Pancras, Ipswich. Burrows was a very close friend of my Irish widowed mother. He was always round our house, doing practical jobs, like rebuilding a fireplace. I was 5 years old when he bought me an expensive cowboy suit, amongst other gifts, and he always referred to me affectionately as ‘The Sheriff’. One wintry afternoon he drove me to a deserted lumber yard down by Ipswich docks where his ancient car broke down and it needed a hand crank start. I can still remember wanting to hit him with that crank handle. Instead, I remember kicking him (a valuable symbolic gesture in retrospect) and then I did a runner. Maybe because he called me ‘The Sheriff’, instead of going home, I went to the police station to report what had happened.  After all, that’s what a Sheriff would do.

I don’t remember the details, but I do recall vividly a kindly and positive response, where the cops made a real fuss of me. A classic Dixon of Dock Green cop brought me a cup of hot chocolate – a beverage I still drink today if I’ve had a shock. The official family story became that ‘I got lost’ and that’s how I ended up at the police station, because the truth was just too difficult for Catholics to deal with. Sadly, I doubt it was High Noon for Burrows – not in those days – but I think he may have been warned off.  Anyway, my experience at the police station was so encouraging, I believe that’s what’s turned me into a life-long whistleblower. They listened to my story and they believed me. That was very rare in the 50s. So I’m still grateful to the boys in blue and that’s why I’m writing this whistle-blowing post today.

The second was Father Harry Wace – he was Chaplain to Canon Burrows. He was from a wealthy military family – his father was a Lieutenant Colonel in a Sikh regiment of the Indian Army. His brother, too, was a priest. According to his obituary, Harry liked to wear dead priests clothes and his dead father’s suits.   As they were the same gender, I guess there’s nothing Norman Bates there. My mother was his housekeeper. So when I was around seven, I followed her around as she made Wace’s bed and folded his pyjamas. His pyjama jacket, casually left out on the unmade bed, was covered in the most amazing metal badges. A collector’s paradise. I was in awe and I can still recall that feeling of really coveting those super-cool badges. They were every young boy’s dream.

Wace was 28 years old at this time. He had been in the Rifle Brigade of the Suffolk Regiment and served in Palestine in the 1940s for two years.  So he was not some immature young Father Dougal from Father Ted.

That pyjama jacket would have been impossible to sleep in, but my mother simply smiled at me as she put his pyjamas away. She was surely a classic example of Stockholm Syndrome, which is how the Catholic Church got away with so much – and still does. They call their denial system – when faced with overwhelming evidence – the highly prized Gift of Faith. You believe in the Church, no matter what. Every Catholic aspires to it.

So then I joined the Catholic Cubs, which was run by Wace. He was Akela and all I can recall visually is a memory of his bare knees and his special Cubmaster grey socks.  The rest is still hazy but I guess he thought that my mother being a widow, I was fair game. But what he didn’t know was that although my legal father was dead, my biological father was still very much alive and would visit us from time to time as a family ‘friend’. He was from a working class background in Dublin and was fond of the notorious ‘Bucky’ – Buckfast Tonic Wine – the ultimate tongue loosener, which is how I knew that he was actually my dad.  So I told my dad – I blew the whistle on Wace – and, to my delight, he paid the priest  ‘a visit.’ I then mysteriously left the Cubs and Wace shortly afterwards left his chaplaincy at St Pancras church.

Filling in the gaps on these minimal details is conjecture but I believe it’s pretty close to the truth. Because, annoyingly, adults rarely tell kids what actually happens on these occasions. But it would certainly not have been a polite middle-class exchange of views! However, dad – under the influence of Bucky – once opened our front door with his shoulder, so I’m convinced he would have dealt with Wace in an appropriately ‘physical’ way. Even though he too was an Irish Catholic, there was no danger of him being affected by Stockholm Syndrome.

And that makes him quite unusual. In the same era, a middle-class dad gave his son a horrific beating for making up ‘terrible lies’ when he complained about the notorious Brother Solomon abusing him. And that was the usual reaction of parents in that time – the child must be punished for being a ‘malicious liar’ in order to protect the corrupt institution and corrupt individual.

What makes me know my dad was different and say this with conviction is the song, ‘Oh! My Papa’,  which was very popular in the 50s. When I listen to that song today, the tears stream down my face, but they are never tears of sadness or loss – which the words usually evoke for most people. (E.G. ‘Deep in my heart, I miss him so today.’). Instead, surprisingly, they are tears of happiness, of joy and celebration! Celebrating what? I’m pretty certain I’m celebrating dad’s visit to Father Wace. Dad may not have shoved a crucifix down Wace’s throat, but I like to think he gave that upper class pervert a good hiding, which he certainly deserved.  ‘Oh, my pa-pa, to me he was so wonderful.’ Thank you, dad.

And lastly we come to Father Jolly – the chaplain at St Joseph’s and my parish priest at St Marks. I would help him paint his yacht moored at Pin Mill, and he took me sailing as a reward. He also took other St Joseph’s pupils on sailing trips.  When he wasn’t buying me wooden clogs – one of several souvenirs he brought back from his visits to 1960s Amsterdam – and loaning me his 1930s super-long skis, he was part of a wider Catholic community of like-minded souls. This involved weekend ‘retreat’ trips away in his Hillman Minx car and I would sometimes accompany him. Once again the details are hazy, but let’s put it this way – I still have a fanatical hatred of Hillman Minx cars, specifically their dashboards, which I’d still like to smash with a hammer. Because when you can’t attack a perpetrator, you displace the anger onto a nearby inanimate object.

But kids’ revenge is sometimes as devious, ingenious, nasty and – most important – deniable as the groomers’ actions themselves, and this needs honouring and recording. So here’s a case in point. A friend of mine, who I’ll call Paul, also knew Jolly very well, disliked him intensely for some mysterious reason, and – in recent years – described to me an incident which I had no knowledge of at the time.

Paul related how he and his friends, all fellow pupils at St Joseph’s,  (not in my class) ‘made a pipe bomb and blew up the remains of an old tree in Father Jolly’s orchard.’

Why?

‘Because we were interested in chemistry.’

(Next time I see Paul I must ask him if Mike Kearney was their teacher – although I doubt their bomb would qualify for his memorial prize.)

So I quizzed Paul further. He and his friends bought all these specialist ingredients to make a bomb. But why choose Father Jolly’s orchard of all places to detonate it?

Paul shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, his sphinx-like face giving nothing away.

Any old boy of St Joseph’s from our era will tell you that Jolly’s orchard was small – it was just a garden, really, overlooked by Jolly’s house – and it was so close to the school that the risk of being caught was high. If you’re going in for crazy chemistry experiments, as kids used to do, there were other places nearby where you could carry them out without any fear of discovery.

I tried interrogating Paul again.  ‘Was Jolly there at the time? What was his reaction to you exploding a bomb near his house?’ I was wasting my breath. I doubt Paul would break, even under waterboarding. He came back with his standard reply whenever I push him too hard for details about his days at  St Joseph’s.

‘It was so long ago, I don’t remember now,’ he said, his face a picture of complete innocence.

Fair enough. So I’ve filled in the blanks myself, and a fictional version features in my novel ‘Serial Killer’. Doubtless you can reach your own conclusions.

Bottom line on all this?  Kids do hit back in their own unique ways and we need to remember their victories over the priests, teachers and De La Salle brothers in Ipswich, cowards who have otherwise largely escaped justice.

This is because of a Catholic Diocese that has shown zero interest in historic crimes by its priests. Instead, it does a Pontius Pilate and refers them to the police, which is all too often wasting valuable police time as the crimes are historic and, invariably, there’s nothing the police can do. But they still have to look at every case passed to them. I’ve personally found the police as supportive today as when I was six years old.

In a similar way, the De La Salle brothers are still going strong, but the organisation also ignores the numerous historic crimes its order are notorious for. Unless they’re fetched. Then, of course, they will wring their hands with expressions of regret which I doubt fools anyone, including themselves. 

Meanwhile, St Joseph’s maintains its links with its past  (e.g.  a sadistic teacher like Kearney. See an earlier post), but otherwise does a complete Pontius Pilate while at the same time proudly proclaiming that it is ‘In the La Sallian Tradition’.

Which particular aspect of the tradition would that be?  As a Survivor, that means something quite negative and disturbing to me.

Yet the reaction of Catholic authority is hardly surprising when the Pope, their leader is caught lying on camera. He is clearly telling Catholic perpetrators: ‘It’s okay to lie. I’m on your side.’ Stockholm Syndrome, cognitive dissonance, or whatever you choose to call it, is still as potent today as it ever was.

But we don’t have to always talk about all this in sad, hushed tones as stereotypically represented in the media. These sick individuals, when they’re still alive, probably enjoy that because it means they still have the power and power is ultimately what all this is about.  Especially when – as the facts have shown time and again – they’re still protected by their Pope, despite his phoney words to the contrary.

Naming and shaming them is one way of us taking back our power and I’m looking forward to doing more of the same shortly. There are other ways, too – like suing them or their organisation or having abusers arrested and banged up before they can plead senility. If you’re a Survivor, whichever path you decide to take, I wish you luck and can assure you it will be worth it. 

Because you’re fighting back.