was still conditioned; I was still fearful of her. Standing in the High Court in Edinburgh that day in October 2003, I was still that frightened little girl inside. When I looked at her, as I was instructed to by Lord Hardie to identify her, she had the power to instil an incredible fear in me, even though I was 45 years old.
I was perplexed by the charges laid against her: 'procuring a minor'. I stood in that court back then and really, honestly, didn't understand what had gone on in my childhood. I knew it was wrong – that's why I was there, to get some justice at last – but I had no idea of the whole picture. What has come to light since that day is that I was not the only one she abused; it is not my place to say who that other person was, but there definitely was another person who, like me, was a child at the time. I know this because I have heard their story too. I do not know for sure if there were other children who suffered the same fate as we did, but I do have my suspicions. I can recall an instance at one of those parties when I heard a young girl cry out in pain in the room next to me. I don't know who the girl was or what was being done to her, but I could guess because I recognised the painful, pitiful sobs that were the same as mine.
Helen's parties were really nothing more than a sordid, sick bunch of paedophiles gathering together to exploit a child, a child held captive and provided by Helen to be used and abused by these warped, twisted people. That's what I understand now.
I love parties in my life today because we have healthy, happy family get-togethers where we enjoy each other's company. We listen to music, eat food and laugh and joke. Any children who are at these parties are respected and protected, an integral part of happy celebrations. It is a far, far cry from the parties I knew as a child where I would be fearful of every sound, where I was far from respected and protected. In complete contrast to a day being stolen, our parties today are days to be treasured, and the memories of them are happy and wholesome. I wonder if Helen Ford can say the same?
Chapter Nine
T HE D ARLING OF A LL
WHEN I ORIGINALLY DECIDED to tell my story, I didn't know what I wanted from it. This far down the line, however, I can see the huge benefit I have gained from just being able to get everything out. Before I did this, I wanted to bottle everything up. I really didn't think anyone would believe me if I told them; furthermore, it was just too painful to think about.
During the court case against Helen, she and her 'friends' appeared to be the only guilty ones, but when I look at my father's role in my upbringing I see that he, too, is accountable. I also see that I was badly let down by all the organisations involved in my childhood, from the social workers who visited every four to six weeks – some of whom recognised something was wrong but did nothing – to the schools I attended where teachers saw a steady decline in my behaviour and witnessed my bruises, yet did nothing.
It seems incredible to me now, as an adult, that I was actually taken to be assessed by doctors after I was caught stealing at school. The files I have report that I was stealing food at home and from children's bags and pockets at school. That was perfectly true – I took food from any source I could. I'd pick halfeaten sweets from the pavements, and eat bread thrown out for the birds. I'd even steal food from bins. I was starving. I needed to eat. I'd go to school hungry having had no breakfast and possibly no tea or half rations the previous night. I was stopped from having school dinners by Helen and made to come home at lunchtime each day so that she could maintain control. It was hardly surprising that I stole food.
As I pointed out at Helen's trial, the only child who feels the need to do that is a hungry child. It was a cry for help, not naughtiness. So, at one stage, I was referred to a child
I was perplexed by the charges laid against her: 'procuring a minor'. I stood in that court back then and really, honestly, didn't understand what had gone on in my childhood. I knew it was wrong – that's why I was there, to get some justice at last – but I had no idea of the whole picture. What has come to light since that day is that I was not the only one she abused; it is not my place to say who that other person was, but there definitely was another person who, like me, was a child at the time. I know this because I have heard their story too. I do not know for sure if there were other children who suffered the same fate as we did, but I do have my suspicions. I can recall an instance at one of those parties when I heard a young girl cry out in pain in the room next to me. I don't know who the girl was or what was being done to her, but I could guess because I recognised the painful, pitiful sobs that were the same as mine.
Helen's parties were really nothing more than a sordid, sick bunch of paedophiles gathering together to exploit a child, a child held captive and provided by Helen to be used and abused by these warped, twisted people. That's what I understand now.
I love parties in my life today because we have healthy, happy family get-togethers where we enjoy each other's company. We listen to music, eat food and laugh and joke. Any children who are at these parties are respected and protected, an integral part of happy celebrations. It is a far, far cry from the parties I knew as a child where I would be fearful of every sound, where I was far from respected and protected. In complete contrast to a day being stolen, our parties today are days to be treasured, and the memories of them are happy and wholesome. I wonder if Helen Ford can say the same?
Chapter Nine
T HE D ARLING OF A LL
WHEN I ORIGINALLY DECIDED to tell my story, I didn't know what I wanted from it. This far down the line, however, I can see the huge benefit I have gained from just being able to get everything out. Before I did this, I wanted to bottle everything up. I really didn't think anyone would believe me if I told them; furthermore, it was just too painful to think about.
During the court case against Helen, she and her 'friends' appeared to be the only guilty ones, but when I look at my father's role in my upbringing I see that he, too, is accountable. I also see that I was badly let down by all the organisations involved in my childhood, from the social workers who visited every four to six weeks – some of whom recognised something was wrong but did nothing – to the schools I attended where teachers saw a steady decline in my behaviour and witnessed my bruises, yet did nothing.
It seems incredible to me now, as an adult, that I was actually taken to be assessed by doctors after I was caught stealing at school. The files I have report that I was stealing food at home and from children's bags and pockets at school. That was perfectly true – I took food from any source I could. I'd pick halfeaten sweets from the pavements, and eat bread thrown out for the birds. I'd even steal food from bins. I was starving. I needed to eat. I'd go to school hungry having had no breakfast and possibly no tea or half rations the previous night. I was stopped from having school dinners by Helen and made to come home at lunchtime each day so that she could maintain control. It was hardly surprising that I stole food.
As I pointed out at Helen's trial, the only child who feels the need to do that is a hungry child. It was a cry for help, not naughtiness. So, at one stage, I was referred to a child
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