I spoke yesterday of the vast volume of mail I am receiving, since starting to write of the Savile case. Some makes me angry beyond belief – and as if by magic, one such arrived overnight. The writer is known to me, so I can vouch for its authenticity – but she has asked me to refer to her as ‘S’, which I gladly so do. As you will see, she was hoping that I might use her story in a blog post – I wouldn’t dream of doing so, the e-mail is so powerfully written, so from the heart, so burning with the injustice and anguish of it all, that I reproduce it here as per the original, the only thing I have changed is her name.
This is what drives me on; this and the fact that my best friend at Duncroft was sexually abused by her family. We were close friends before we co-incidentally ended up at Duncroft, we remained friends afterwards. She died alone, from hypothermia – too addled by drink and drugs to remove herself to shelter and warmth – some 20 years later. She was never able to repair the damage within her family caused by her disclosing the abuse. It ate away at her, unmitigated by support from friends and specialists.
To all those who accuse me of being a ‘paedophile defender’ for my determination to put a stop to this endless media reality show – ‘the geriatric celebrity you once met can pay off your mortgage’ – I would say, read this and weep.
To all those fretting over which outfit to wear to the next television award ceremony – ‘dead celebrities I have denounced’ – read this and weep.
To all those journalists who say ‘it’s too time consuming to check out all these stories and I have a deadline to meet’ – read this and weep.
To all those pretendy celebrity policemen claiming to have investigated this Savile charade – read this and weep.
To all those charities busy raising untold millions for ‘supporting victims’ – read this and weep.
To all those lawyers raking in legal aid fees for acting on behalf of their confabulatory clients – read this and weep.
This is the sort of case your attention should have been turning to; there won’t be a PhD in it; nor promotion; nor will you build a career as a ‘child protection specialist’; you won’t get an award for your television programme; your charity won’t receive numerous new donations to spend on your wages; you won’t have the sort of story ‘any journalist would want’; you won’t get the ‘personal injury lawyer of the year award’; you won’t topple the BBC; nor even embarrass the coalition government.
But whilst you were all busy posturing, point scoring, portfolio building, pontificating and preening – one little country policeman was getting on with the real work.
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Dear Anna,
I do hope you don’t mind me calling you Dear Anna but having read your blog for some years now I almost feel I know you.
This is a very quick message to personally thank you for all that you are doing to shed light on the whole Jimmy Savile crock of shite.
I have followed this story since it first broke (don’t panic, I’m not some attention seeking 50-year-old who may, or may not have had my bottom or breast touched by a minor celebrity 40 years ago).
2 years ago I started the long and arduous process of bringing my (long dead) Aunty’s partner to court for the horrific abuse he subjected myself and my cousins to. I did it on my own to start with; the other victims gave their accounts later (but haven’t spoken to me since). I still can’t decide which was harder, telling the police what he had done, or admitting that all the adults, My Mum, Her Sister, and all their friends knew what was going on, yet did nothing to protect us.
When I started my quest I hoped, in a way, that the others would come round, eventually. Sadly it is not to be. They were more concerned with keeping this monster’s secret (like our parents and friends were when it was happening to us) than stopping him from harming yet more children (he was a nature walker that took the local primary school kids on nature rambles) and that has saddened me beyond belief.
Anyhow, it took two years, and a very determined policeman; two days ago I got a phone call saying the monster had finally plead guilty to 7 counts , which include, amongst other things, rape and sodomy of his own daughter (She was aged 5 -10 years). He will be sentenced next month and the Judge has already stated a custodial sentence is the only option.
This monster destroyed my family all those years ago, and destroyed it again when I called him to account. But I don’t care. Had I not had the unending support of that one police officer I would have bailed long ago. He hunted down unwilling witnesses and dealt with my family (who were fit to see me tied). I’m sure what remains of my family will recover and repair in the years to come. But, even if we don’t, I will always know I did the right thing, and that is down to that one police officer. He will never be famous, he will simply go about his business, doing what he does best, which happens to be catching and nailing these monsters. When I spoke to him the other day, to thank him, he simply said ‘No worries, it’s my job, but remember, regardless of the shitty sentence the Judge hands down, the computer bods haven’t actually got around ‘sigh – rolls eyes’ to examining his computer yet, so who knows,in 6 months time we might be able to nail him for another couple of years’.
We also spoke briefly about the Jimmy Savile crap and he snorted. He said ‘Bunch of attention seeking fu*king arseholes’. I said ‘What about the police’, he replied ‘I was talking about them’ – Ouch!
I asked if this recent rash of dead celebs touching the bottoms of nubile 15 yr olds, 40 years ago would affect my case and he laughed.
He said ‘We have a cast-iron case of actual historic sexual abuse/sodomy/incest to which the actual perpetrator has admitted all and every crime. Any Judge that tries to brush this shit off with community service is either stupid or deaf, dumb and blind, fu*king stupid’.
He then stated that if the Judge turned out to actually be deaf, dumb and fu*king stupid he would back an appeal, with my consent, with a view to disclosing what ever horrors the tech chaps finally discover on the Monsters computer.
It’s been a very long and sad and trying couple of years but I have absolute faith in my man in blue. Every time I have phoned he has either answered in person or returned my call within 12 hours. He has also visited me personally to divulge the most personal of information (from the other victims). I wish I could tell you his name but obviously, I can’t.
Sadly, as I stated before, since I decided to start this quest I have found myself alone. In the truest sense of the word. No one in my family will speak to me and oddly enough all the ‘Aunties and Uncles’ have fled the scene. And I won’t deny it, as I type this I am crying and sad beyond belief that everyone is more angry at me than they are at the fucking monster.
But I am lucky, because my boys (11 and 12) have supported me through all of this (yes, they do know the whole unvarnished truth) and they think I rock as a Mum. They reckon I should have a cape and sword and should make it my job to cut down all perverts, and their secret supporters (aka family and various Aunts and Uncles).
I am a very sad and very tired survivor ( I will not use the word victim) who has somehow managed to bring just one monster to justice , against the family’s wishes, and with nothing more than the help of a single police officer. You are more than welcome to post this message, in fact I hope you do. Edit as you see fit.
I would prefer it if you just labelled me S, as opposed to xxxxxxx, one time blogger of xxxxxx. Yes, it is me. You probably don’t remember me, I’m kind of hoping you may, but I had to give up the blogging when I started hunting down this monster. I would love it if you could, somehow, someway make a decent post out of my ramblings that would support those that are really going through the horrors of an actual, honest to God, historic sexual abuse case whilst being bombarded, every day, in the press by this fu*king Jimmy Savile, Jimmy Hall fu*king shite.
I cannot tell you how tired I am, tired and lonely but, thanks to that one police officer, I am a winner and the Streets and Sands of xxxxxx xxxxxxxx, North Devon are finally, after 20 odd fu*king years, safe from one Peter xxxxxx. You’ll find him in the records for Portsmouth Crown Court. And it was down to little old me, not my cousins who were happy to let him wander round and enter every primary school, including the one that housed my niece. They were so desperate to keep his secret they were willing to allow him access to all the children in North Devon, including their own children.
S.
Edited to add: If anyone feels like sending a message of support and friendship to ‘S’, then e-mail me at annaraccoon2010@gmail.com, and I will gladly forward them on to her. I would imagine that whether you get a reply or not will depend on whether she feels like setting up an anonymous e-mail address, I shall leave that up to her.
More redactions made at 13.32 on the 13th july to ensure that one policeman actually doing his job doesn’t get into trouble for doing so – thanks to ‘Fedup’ in the comments for pointing this out to me. Most unfair that the likes of Mark Williams-Twat can spin whatever crap they like, but a decent copper like this one, could conceivably get into trouble.