Given that I lost my father last year, I would be really grateful if people could give me the time and space to deal with his loss, and recover from what has been an horrendous period of my life. I realise that this is a terrible time for everyone, but time and space remain the best healers for grief and trauma of all kinds.
From 2000 – 2009, while my mother was terminally ill, I tried to clarify if I could help Northumbria police and to report several crimes including this underage assault, firstly via a solicitor who did not have my best interests at heart, then via my brother who would not take my calls, then via an organisation for the “advancement of women” who completely ignored me, and finally via a friend acting as a go between with the police. I believe this is called framing someone.
Shortly before my mother passed away in 2009, my go-between’s Facebook messages were hacked. The net result of all this was that nothing was resolved while my mother was alive and a ton of evidence, involving several separate cases, went unreported. Following my mother’s death, there was little incentive for me to become further involved with these cases, most of which should have come to light long ago, and in 2012 I created an outdoor site to remember my mum amidst the devastation.
Anyway twenty years on, I am gradually still reporting some of the things I was prevented from reporting when my mother was alive, without support or representation, as I feel able, including the underage rape. Although I have had absolutely no feedback from Northumbria Police on most of these reports, 2019 ended on a real low as I received the predictable news that the underage rape has not been crimed by Northumbria. Then in March 2020 I was told that there was no evidence to support the hacking of my computer and websites. This means is that not one prosecution has resulted from any of the reports I have made to this force since I was 12 years old (including two assaults and two rapes).
It seems to follow the same format each time I report anything from when I was a child. Northumbria Police and NHS firstly pathologize me, they then isolate me from my main witnesses or corroborators, sometimes for years, and seem to harvest them for information about me. In the meantime the accused says any old rubbish and the case is dropped. I have been through this routine before and am beginning to feel as if there is a formula at work.
As I have said to the investigating officer, depriving abuse survivors of contact with anyone who might support their allegation is a barbaric practice, which results in much unnecessary suffering for victims who don’t understand why they can’t speak to their closest family or friends, and that in turn results in failure to report other crimes. My own experiences (detailed in older posts) are testimony to this.
I have begun to feel that it is just not worth the hurt and upset of this process, in which I keep making allegations and everybody lies, meaning they are not progressed or “lost” and nobody gives a fig about my late mother. It is very unlikely that I will report any further cases to this force, or to the organisation who claim to “advance” the position of women. I cannot be held responsible for any cases arising from the ignoring and silencing of my evidence over many years as nobody seems to give a fig about this either.
I try to remain positive by kidding myself that people read these news posts, and that they are accessible to all, as this is a paid for website.
I hope to be able to write about something more cheerful next time.
When I was 23, I was lucky enough to be selected for the Motley Theatre Design Course, then based at the Riverside Studios in London, and under the direction of the late Margaret Harris. We were fortunate enough to work on projects with Danny Boyle, Edward Bond, Bill Gaskill and Hayden Griffin, which included Early Morning by Edward Bond, The White Devil by John Webster and The Father by August Strindberg.
It was a very special year, and the influence of both the course and the other students has always formed an enduring part of my creative life. Meeting up with my fellow students again was a privilege, and after much conversation and reminiscence, we joined to drink a toast to the late Paul Brown, one of our year who sadly passed away in 2017.
Sadly my father passed away on 3rd July this year at the age of 90. He was a complex man who stayed pretty energetic and living at home to the end. It remains difficult for me to appraise his less tangible legacy.