My Story

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A Story of a Real Survivor of Institutional Abuse - 'Survivor' is a contributor to Dads Place [FORUMS] I was born on the 23rd January 1968. In 1977 at the age of nine years old I was taken into the care of the local authority by the then, Sunderland Borough Council's, Social Services Department. As a child I was considered to be a 'problem child' and I lived with my mother who was a single parent. During my early years my behaviour was such that my mother enlisted the support of Sunderland Social Services, and together, they decided that the care home system was the only way to control me. I understand that the reason I was taken into care was due to the fact that I had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). On or about 25 January 1977 I was placed in a local authority assessment centre and I remained there for one a half years. Between 18 July 1977and 26 August 1977 I was placed in a childrens' home in Northumberland. I was returned to the assessment home between 26 August 1977 and 16 February 1978 before being transferred to another home in Sunderland, until September 1978, when again I was moved back to the assessment home. On 8 January 1979 I was moved to a very notorious home and I left care completely shortly before my 16th birthday. Stannington Grove Hospital Before I was subjected to a care order, at the age of six I was admitted to Stannington Grove Hospital. I recall on a daily basis having been subjected to abuse. I was frequently being punched and hit by other children. The staff chose to do nothing about it. Emsworth House Assessment Centre When I first entered Emsworth House I was eight years old. I recall clearly, being taken to a side room with my mother. I ran away from the home shortly after admission and the only reason was simply to be with my mam. My punishment for running away was to regarded as a runaway risk and I was therefore treated like a prisoner. The secure unit was like a cell. I remember that there were no light switches or door handles on the inside of the room and there was one plastic light fitting in the centre of the ceiling. In the door to the room there was a single square window which looked out onto the hall outside. The glass of course was reinforced. The bed was a rudimentary block with a mattress sat on it. The mattress and the pillows all had plastic covers on and there was no real bedding to speak of. Anyway I had to be content with my surroundings as I was required to spend seventeen hours in the secure unit each day. I have horrible memories of long nights spent in that room and it would true to say that suicide crossed my mind on many occasions. I stole a knife from the class room, during the day, to cut my wrists. I hid it under the mattress. I never did go through with it I was allowed out of the secure unit during the day to attend a class room. I have distinct memories of an old lady who clearly liked her job., who used to teach in the class. She regularly placed drawing pins on my chair and forced me to sit on them. She was also very fond of the ruler as a means of corporal punishment and she would often strike my knuckles with it. Another feature of class was the dunce hat, it was a conical hat, like you see in the cartoons. We would be made to wear this hat at times when we were considered to have done something wrong or stupid. My education was not furthered because of any of my time spent in that class room. In the secure unit I would be forced to go without clothes and had to go for periods of time, naked. Not only was this very cold but it was also degrading for an eight year old boy. Night times were especially bad at Emsworth. I recall one male worker who would visit my room on a night and stand outside of my room looking through the glass at me. He would then switch the light on quickly for five to twenty minutes. This used to be make me very scared. I can see no other reason why he would do this at all, other than to make me frightened. The same member of staff also abused me sexually. He had previously been a priest. He used to fondle my genitals and he would pull my pyjama bottoms down. At the time my hair was like Michael Jackson's and my pyjama top had a picture of Michael Jackson on it. This man made me masturbate him. He also raped me which caused me intense pain. To this day it is extremely traumatic to talk about the sexual abuse I was subjected to. Witherwack House the Most Notorious On 8 January 1979 I was transferred to Witherwack House, it was a couple of weeks before my eleventh birthday. As far as I know I was the very first resident in the home after it opened and I remained there until 1984. This was to be the worst five years of my live. Almost immediately after moving to Witherwack House I was subjected to constant physical and psychological abuse by members of staff and 'care' workers. I was constantly picked on by members of staff who dragged me around by my neck; punched me, grabbed me by the testicles, gave me black eyes and a broken nose. I was also forced into a bath of hot water and then cold water. When I was alone the staff beat me, punching me repeatedly with both fists in the stomach and my head, causing great pain. During one such instance I screamed and cried for them to stop but they just kept on beating me. I begged them and still it went on. I was also sexually assaulted by a male member of staff who later became involved with child protection. He informed me that he would single me out for punishment The forms of punishment employed by the staff at Witherwack House included restraint techniques. On one occasion my arm was held up my back so badly my shoulder blade needed medical treatment. My thumb would be bent backwards. until it touched my forearm. This was done at least daily and was extremely painful. I suffer from epilepsy and I believe this was caused by my head being hit of objects. This was not reasonable punishment and force being used - this was eveil. I often heard screams of other residents being abused. Indeed I witnessed a rape of a girl who was eight or nine at the time - I tried to intervene but I was beaten senseless for my trouble - it was the best kicking of my life. I was assaulted at least five or six times a day. On one occasion I was raped. Children were encouraged to have sex with each other and if we didn't we would be kicked and beaten all over again. I was also bullied by other children at the home, by the order of the staff - I carry the scars on my head to prove it. Even now I have flashbacks and nightmares about the abuse. My life has been spoiled as a result of the abuse I have suffered, I do not trust people and sit and study people to try and understand them because I still feel people want to hurt me. I believe that the Director of Social Services was fully aware of the abuse that went on as was the Assistant Director of Social Services. Today and Tomorrow........... As a result of my experiences I have avidly campaigned against child abuse and spoken with local and national media on many occasions to spread the message and raise the awareness of child abuse amongst the public. In a similar way to when I was in care when I felt it was my duty to absorb the abuse suffered by others, I continue to feel it is my responsibility as a survivor, to try and prevent it happening to others. I have canvassed my local MP and the Government for 15 years; I was awarded damages, but not Justice.
(sic)

My story starts in September 1995 when I gave birth to my son. I instantly fell in love with him. I could not take my eyes off him for a moment.

I felt like the proudest mother on earth. He was perfect in everyway.

He was such a pleasant & good baby. He was less than 3 months old when he started sleeping in his cot right the way through the night. I had hardly any problems with him while he was teething. He had a good appetite & soon developed a love of vegetables. I felt like I was the luckiest mother alive & had the perfect child.

In 1997, I was offered my own flat. At first, I was worried because I had recently been diagnosed as having epilepsy. What would I do if I had a fit? I rang social services. They helped me make sure I was getting the right benefits & that the flat was safe & secure for both my son & me.

Fortunately, there were no real problems until my son was 14 months old. Within 2 weeks of his MMR, I noticed some real changes in him. He became withdrawn & very hyperactive. I tried my best to deal with it but found it hard. I asked the doctor for some help. Maybe there was something wrong with my son. “It’s a phase all children go through,” I was told. “It’ll get better when he starts playgroup & can burn off some of that energy” was my answer. However, it did not get better. I asked Social Services for help again. The got us a place in a Social Services run day nursery where I would receive practical help in dealing with my sons problems.

September 2000, weeks before his 5th birthday, he started “big school”, a local primary school. At the end of the third day I was called over by his teacher who uttered the words I knew were coming “I’m really concerned about his behaviour” she said.

We both agreed that there was something wrong with this child. He was not stupid by any means; in fact, he was a very bright child who had some very erratic behaviour. From that point on my quest to get him assessed intensified.

March 2002 saw my son diagnosed with an Autistic Spectrum Disorder. He had Asperger Syndrome. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I ran from the consultant’s room into the waiting room where he sat with my mother. With a huge smile on my face, I told her “He IS Autistic”. It took a while for it to sink in but at last, we had an answer. It had not been a phase & I had been right all along!

A few months later another revelation. I was told I had ADHD. I was almost 27 years. With this & my son’s diagnosis, I suddenly gained a newfound confidence. The reason why he was so demanding was because he had a problem. The reason why I found it difficult to deal with at times was because I had a problem.

Naturally, I told Social Services. Their response startled me. They told me how I couldn’t possibly have ADHD as its not a life long disorder! I wonder where they got their medical qualifications that put them in a position to dispute the diagnosis of a qualified psychiatrist!

Life was going well. I’d met a new partner who tried to support me & my son as best he could. Then at the age of seven, my son told me he was hearing voices. He even told a CPN that these voices told him to hurt himself & to kill his mother & they came to him in the form of a devil & an angel. He was referred to a child psychiatrist. I attended alone with my son. I needed answers & made the mistake of asking this psychiatrist what were the chances that my son had Infantile Schizophrenia. He laughed this off saying that children his age do not have schizophrenia & that one possibility was ADHD &/or Epilepsy. Although I was not too sure about this, I could see how it may be the case. After all, I have both ADHD & Epilepsy.

June 2003 I noticed a red rash down my son’s back, chest, & arms. I quickly checked it was not anything serious. It looked like the same rash he gets anyway due to hay fever. I gave him antihistamines, kept his skin moistened & treated any scratches. I made sure the school were aware of how I was treating him. However, for Social Services this was not enough. They insisted I take him to the doctor. I did not see the point. I knew what it was & how to treat it & apart from him continually scratching the rash itself was getting better. On top of that, my son does not like attending the doctor surgery as he gets very bored & frustrated & this leads to him kicking off. Not only is this distressing for me but also my son & the other patients. However, at the continual harassment of the Social Services I rang the doctor. They did not have any appointment slots available but I was welcome to take him there & wait to be seen. I was not happy with this. More phone calls from SS & I was getting really upset & angry. Therefore, I rang my local hospital. They agreed for me to take him there. Within an hour, he was seen. I was promptly told that I had done exactly what they would have advised!

Finally, I got them off my back. I could get on with my life once again. 11 weeks after I had last heard from them I found out I was pregnant. Naturally, I told my son who happily told his teacher. 4 weeks later I had a visit. A strategy meeting had been called & held & a Child Protection Conference had been called. I was being accused of Emotional Abuse! At the time I had a friend with me. She told them how she had never heard anything so ridiculous. I loved my son & that was evident to anyone who cared to look. That meant nothing.

Therefore, that was it. His name was put on the Child Protection Register. The following morning I had a very heavy heart as the bus collected him from school. Would I see him again that day or even ever. You see I had to attend court as the Local Authority had also applied for a Care Order recommending my son to be fostered.

The Interim care Order was granted & my son was placed ½ a mile away with my grandmother. At first they tried to restrict my contact to 6 hours a week but my solicitor managed to get them to agree to flexible, but supervised visits.

I cried bitterly for days. I had to get out of the area, as I could not stand it. I couldn’t even go in his room, let alone tidy it. I went to stay with my partner at his home in a neighbouring county.

The next few months were a constant blur of meetings with social services, my solicitor, & court hearings. As hard as it was I tried to keep calm for the sake of my unborn baby.

I had to be assessed for Munchausen Syndrome By Proxy. My own psychiatrist (of almost 12 months) laughed at the possibility & promptly told the Local Authority so. Yet, I still had to see another psychiatrist who was an expert. Needless to say the Local Authority was not to happy when she wrote back saying she agreed with my psychiatrist!

Then in March 2004, my daughter was born 2 months early weighing less than 3lbs. I could not believe what was happening. I still maintain that if I had not been subjected to such high level of stress I would have gone full term. Fortunately, my daughter fought back & has grown into a happy healthy toddler.

Naturally, my main concern was that THEY were going to try to take her. In the end it was agreed, somewhat reluctantly, that if I underwent an intense 8-week in house assessment I could come home with the baby. If it meant keeping at least one child then I would do it. When my daughter was 7 weeks old, she came home. 4 hours later there was a knock at the door. One of the workers responsible for taking my son stood there with two other workers. The assessment started there & then!

I kept it together & things were going really well. The feedback I was getting was really positive until 4 weeks into the assessment. My daughter had not taken a whole feed all day, was tired & sleepy, & when she was awake did nothing but cry. I phoned for a doctor. An hour later I was still waiting when the last worker of the day turned up. He agreed to get us to the hospital. So, I rang the doctor & cancelled the call out & we were off.

First, I was told it was possibly gastroenteritis. Then another consultant asked me, this time in front of one of the SS workers, if there was any history of Coeliacs Disease. Other than my son having a lactose intolerance when he was younger, there was nothing. They decided it looked like Reflux. Therefore, they would try treating her for Reflux. If that had no effect then tests would be run. They also advised I reduced the amount of formula I gave her.

We were home 2 days later. The Neonatal Outreach nurse called out to see us & weigh the baby. She could not understand why the local hospital (not the one she came from where my daughter had been treated) had reduced her feeding. She said it was obvious my daughter was hungry & told me to increase the amounts again. However when the baby was weighed she had lost weight…. 1.5oz. She told me not to worry as it was due to the restricted feeding regime. She wrote this down in my notes & her own.

The next thing I know I got SS on my doorstep telling me that they did not believe I was feeding the baby at night! I showed them what the nurse had said but they turned their heads away! If I did not want them to take my daughter there & then I had but one option…to accept overnight assessment! I was furious & tried to argue against it but I could see I was getting nowhere & so reluctantly, I agreed.

The assessment finally finished after12 weeks (instead of the 8 weeks I was told it would last) & I no longer had to put up with care workers, assessors & social services continually turning up at all times of the day & night.

In addition, I was allowed unsupervised contact with my son. Then I was allowed him one night a week. A month later this was increased to 3 nights to include weekends. At last, it seemed to be going my way. October 2004 the overnight visits increased again to 4 nights a week.

Then I was told about a family who would provide respite as my son was still with my grandmother who, due to her age & ill health was finding caring for my son harder & harder. I was told if I was not happy with the arrangement, I could call it off.

That was February this year. In March, we were back in court for the final hearing. The SS made it a condition that my son was to remain in respite for 3 nights a week or he would be removed altogether. Fortunately, their attempts to remove my daughter & have her adopted all failed.

Now I just have to plod along. There is nothing I can do for 6 months. At that point, I can apply for a discharge of the Care Orders.

Now I’m on a mission. I can prove the Local Authority have broken the Children’s Act 1989 by continually making decisions without first talking to me. They are also infringing on my right to a private life (Human Rights Act 1998) by telling me I have to attend the local Sure Start centre at least twice a week. So come August I can make an application to have the Orders discharged. Then as soon as I have that & my son is back permanently I am taking my story to the papers & anyone else prepared to listen.

What gives these people the right to destroy families like this? Most of the time the people who start proceeding are unqualified & all they want is to work their way up the promotion ladder, attain their quotas for children in adoptive & foster care. There is no consideration given to the effect the separation has on the children or other family members. Their actions are nothing short of criminal.
(sic)

You're told to get to your bedroom and you know what's coming - you've been here before. The stairs get darker and the bedroom isn't yours any more, it's a place of punishment. You take your clothes off slowly hoping that will delay the inevtiable, then climb into bed. You wait, perhaps you're supposed to wait so you can contemplate what you've done but all you can think about is what's coming. You lie there in the dark, waiting. Why did she pick him? What have I done to deserve this?

You think he's forgotten about you and you start to doze off to sleep, then you hear the footsteps on the stairs. There's a sickening feeling in your stomach and your backside begins to tingle, you know what's going to happen and you can't stop it. The shadow crosses the room, pulls the blankets from the bed and you're dragged onto a knee. You scream but you're shouted at for it. Your whole body tenses. The belt falls and your head explodes in pain, all you can hear is your own cries. The ones that follow aren't so bad, the first one has numbed the pain and your mind is trying to shut off the pain. It doesn't quite work though. When it's finished you're dumped back into bed, lying there cold, in pain and crying.

You blame people, anyone. You blame yourself for deserving it - you do deserve it, right? You blame him for doing it to you, there's no need for this. You blame your mother because she let him. You blame the neighbours, they must have heard you cry but they did nothing.

The next day doesn't bring any release, the weals still hurt and you try to make out there's nothing wrong when your firnds ask. They can see you can't move properly and they sense you're not yourself.

You never forget that, it's always with you. You make a conscious decision not to do it to your kids so that they don't go through what you did, or perhaps hope that it will make it stop. Every time it happens you hope it's the last. The world carries on around you as normal but you don't feel a part of it, not right now anyway. In a couple of days the marks will go away, but the memories never do. It only stopped when I was fourteen years old, when I was thrown out of the house in a snowstorm. I was wearing short trousers because it was all I had, we were a poor family.

You want to go and face him, point and him and tell him that he did this to you and punch his lights out. You want to forgive yourself for deserving it and forgive him for dishing it out.

Forgiveness doesn't come easy.
(sic)

I think it's defo an avenue worth exploring as it may actualy wake people up instead of the apathy that now surrounds allegations, it may also make the legalsystem take a more realistic approach in the handling of victims and also the so called sentence imposed by the courts. My case went to court in 87 (I think as I have tried to forget), as Ive said it had a farscical part to it, thanks to the defendants employer being the church. After the case in the late 90s. There was a summary of what was coming up on granada reports and low and behold the curate (now a priest) who was found guilty, was about to be given a parish. I was immediately on the fone and interviewed on camera the next day as a response to the story. I can remember likening a paedophile pries tbeing given a parish to a joyrider being given the keys to a full carpark ! Well I was very young then! If it would help in bringing about changes in the Law, or make people stop becoming apathetic in there attitude to abuse (as it feels as a survivor, in this day and age, that this is happening now) then i would defo think about re telling my story. Anything that protects the vulnerable and innocent can only do good.

By the way im in no way upset at you writing or asking my thoughts, its as I said, if it helps others then atleast something positive would result from something that was so bad that happend to me.
(sic)

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