I was the youngest of 4 children and my parents were both petty crooks in the 1950s in scotland and england My father was from Glasgow and my mother grew up in Dublin but lived in Liverpool. My maternal grandmother resided in Dublin. As a child we were always on the move, moving from one squalid place to another, always with my parents looking over their shoulders. My father was an alcoholic, my mother a thief and a prostitute cum hostess. We were never fed, washed or loved and when the police got too close for comfort or my parents got bored of us we would go on the ferry Liverpool to Dublin and be dumped at my grandmas house or if she refused to take us then taken to any of the industrial schools or catholic childrens homes in the area that would take us. I have vague memories of being hurt and abused physically, emotionally and maybe sexually at home and at the convents. as far as the convents went as soon as I walked up the drive into one of these cavernous georgian buildings that all looked the same and always in the middle of nowhere with no chance of escape and no explanation given as to why i was dumped there , then my mind goes black , I dont have childhood memories, only black holes and empty spaces, I was incarcerated in 3 different childrens homes in Ireland up to the age of 7 that I can remember and maybe more times I dont, I do know I may as well have died in there as I wasnt the same when I came home eventually and moved back to Liverpool. I was a skinny underfed grubby child with no friends who smelt and was hyperactive , covered in louse and with physical tics , more importantly my mind was separated from the child you saw in front of you. I detached into a place I couldnt be hurt and Ive never really come out since. I talk and act normal I grew up and got married and had children, but every day I suffer Ive never been happy and I hate most people and trust nobody. I cant fix myself and tell nobody, at 53 I just think hang on my life is almost done and then I can sleep forever out of the pain of this world, in the meantime I cherish my husband and children but I know im a broken inside. Growing up on merseyside and being forced to church every Sunday and attend a catholic school was bad as I hated all nuns & priests with a passion. My father vanished in the 1960s and my mother died in the 1970s so now that the trauma and old memories surface there is nobody to answer my questions as to why and where. When I look at pictures of the irish schools and convents such as goldenbridge and artane and dalgan park they all look the same to me , a long sweeping drive up to a big building, boys through one door and me and my sister through another door and then the shutters come down. Its incredibly frustrating to have such a poor start in life and no proof of the abuse, no dates, no names no hard facts , abuse can and does happen to children wherever there are adults with power over them and not all of it is proveable yet the children suffer the consequences it casts a long shadow, Im not telling this story fro sympathy just to share how hard it is to speak about and to write down never mind to go forward and tell the police, those people who have gone forward to share their stories I dont believe theyre all chancers and fantastists, too many people and too many stories, I hope they get closure from the whole process.
The thought that people might seek to profit from the JS investigation or any other with false stories in the hopes of compensation would be sickening , people do make false accusations but I would hope they would be in the minority and god knows how the police tell the difference. I know im a walking mess and i have to assume the Police are trained enough to spot the difference between liars and truth tellers without always having concrete evidence. Just sharing my story is enough for me