Not your usual Facebook post!

Whilst waiting for my flight back home, I posted this to my facebook account. It was the first time I had publicly spoken about what had happened to me.

Not your usual Facebook status update!

Just one word that meant so much.

He was ushered into the courtroom by two Policemen. He was not a feeble old man. He was well dressed and carried a blue and white plastic bag. I hadn't seen him for 37 years but I recognised him. I was on the opposite side of the courtroom....the last time we met he was so much closer and had control of me but NOT TODAY.

He was sworn in and the charge of indecent assault was put to him and he was then asked how he would plead.

Even at this stage I felt as if I was dreaming. Am I here in a courtroom after 37 years of shame, guilt and heartache? Is he about to finally admit his wrongdoings? For so many years when asked what I wanted, I always said 'my day in Court' and here I am. For me it was the ultimate exoneration, vindication and liberation. The truth is out and everyone now believes me.

'GUILTY' he said and I cried.

Quaking in my boots!

Due to meet with representatives of the Director of Public Prosecutions, An Garda Siochana (Irish Police service), Senior and Junior council at the court at 2pm. My mind is whirring and sleep was no friend of mine last night.

We meet as planned and I am informed that a reduced plea has been accepted by the State. No trial would take place. I was ready for the fight. I was nervous about what the defence would say and do to me whilst giving evidence, but I knew as long as I stuck to the truth that the truth would prevail. My counsellor had helped me build towards this day and  I could almost taste the adrenaline.

However it was not to be, but I would have my day in court, I would see him and most important of all, I would hear him.

Happy Birthday?

Today I am 50 years old but instead of celebrating my birthday I am flying to Ireland to appear in court and come face to face with one of two men that sexually abused me when I was 13 years old.

I have not seen him since that day and I don't know what to expect or how I will react.

I am told the trial could last 7 to 10 days and I am not relishing the experience. He may offer a guilty plea to a reduced charge but I have no control whether it's acceptable to the state, so it's out of my hands.              

It has been a 37 year wait........... and it is only about 37 years late.

Press report on McCabe's extradition from California.

Press report on McCabe's extradition from Alameda, California.

Bolt from the blue.

(Date approximate)


26 years had passed since I left Newbridge College and 16 years since I made my statement to the Gardai. . I had drifted from country to country, job to job, one partner to the next, and alcohol was a good friend to me. I was doing everything to excess and in dozens!

My life had settled down somewhat and there was a sense of continuity in my life. I had been with my partner Phil for 6 years and although he knew about my past and was very understanding, our life together was not without its difficulties.We found a way through difficult issues and times, which brought us closer together.

I had found a way, over the years to 'file away' lots of emotion and confusion when I needed to. It had it down to a fine art!

I was in the office at home, and the phone rang. Inspector Sean Lavin of Kildare Garda station introduced himself. He sounded hesitant. He informed me that he had uncovered a file regarding sexual abuse which occurred in 1977. I confirmed it was my statement, and then he dropped the bombshell,

DO YOU WANT TO PRESS CHARGES?

I asked him if I could take some time to consider it and get back to him.

Phil and I discussed the ramifications for me personally, for us as a couple, for my family, and if the changes it would bring would be of benefit to anyone. We talked and talked and the same word kept emerging.

Truth.

I called him back and said I was willing to pursue it. So in 2003 the ball started rolling again. The floodgates of emotion opened wider and deeper than ever. I was finding it more difficult than ever to cope with triggers and flashbacks, anger, resentment, and confusion. Our lives were affected much more than imagined and it was then we decided that counselling was my best option.

Summer 2003 I started attending one to one person centered therapy sessions and initially I found it was making no difference. Over time we could both see some important changes but little did I realise the counselling would continue for at least 10 years.

Arrested for extortion.

I had been attending Dr Noel Walshe in St Vincents Hospital. He was a psychiatrist and was treating me for the affects of sexual abuse. I had been informed that the treatment could be lengthy.

My mother and I decided that it would be morally right for Newbridge College to foot the bill. I told them if they did not acknowledge what had happened to me 10 years earlier then I would go to the Sunday World newspaper and tell my story.

I contacted the College and arranged a meeting with the Prior which was cordial. We arranged a second meeting. I arrived at the College and as I got out of the car I was surrounded by several Garda and arrested for extortion.

I was taken to Newbridge Garda station, where, after questioning I made my first formal statement about the abuse. I was barred from making any contact with Newbridge College or the Dominican order ever again.

The Garda drove me home to my parents where they in turn verified my statement to be true.

I was now a criminal and it's on record. Not my finest hour but it just increased my anger and bitterness towards Church and State. I knew I was telling the truth but no-one wanted to hear it.

I never heard another word from the Gardai until 2003.

No crime number. No victim support. No acknowledgement of wrongdoing.

Where was my file for 16 years?

Mothers courage.

My parents were conservative Catholics. They played by the rules both in business and in life. They knew and stood for what was right. My Mother in particular was deeply religious and was heavily involved in Parish duties all her married life. She would socialise with and entertain many Priest friends. She always demonstrated her love and respect for the church and it's teaching and tried to instill those teachings and principles into her children. When she wasn't praying she was thinking about praying.

She did a lot of charity work in the local area and no Christmas would be complete until she collared my brother and I to accompany her on her 'Santa' visit to St Vincents Hospital in Athy, where we would spend hours distributing presents to every patient in nearly every ward. I can honestly say that as a 10 year old, it wasn't up there with 'my most exciting ways to spend an afternoon' but ultimately I knew it was my mother's way of showing us a Christian attitude towards others.

As a child I would meet priests regularly at home. When I was old enough, I became an altar boy and of course this strengthened my own individual respect and love for the Church. I enjoyed my childhood and I felt part of a larger family. I felt included and secure. I was comfortable.

When my parents found out what had happened to me they were told not to talk about it. In late 1970's Ireland, that was probably the best course of action. Who would dare speak ill of the church or princes of the Church. I'm sure the last thing my mother wanted to do was upset any of her priest friends by telling them what happened. I'm sure she was quite embarrassed by what happened because of her standing and reputation locally. I'm sure local clergy and Bishops would never expect a child's mother to come knocking on their door looking for answers and acknowledgement.

How very wrong they were!

Each and every opportunity that arose she was there with her account of what happened to me. She demanded answers from Priests, Bishops and Archbishops. If she couldn't get and answer she at least demanded that they listen. Unfortunately she was dismissed by each and everyone of them as if she was some demented woman rambling on about some untruth.

It wasn't until I became older that I realised how brave she was. She was going against every deep rooted principle that she held dear. She was a thorn in the side of her Church. She felt so totally let down by the very institution that she had such fervent belief in.

She had been abandoned by her mother Church and it was a horrible sight. She became withdrawn. Mass attendance was no longer a priority. We didn't see as many priests at home. I was no longer an altarboy.
We didn't kneel at night to say the Rosary.

I had changed. My parents had changed. Little did we know that our family life would be would never be the same again.

She felt as if so much had been lost, and it had. She was a one woman crusade, a lone voice and a Mother that wanted acknowledgement and justice for her son.

Why would no-one listen?

She may have felt as if she lost so much but one thing they could not strip from her was dignity and  courage.

What's a Canon?

Vincent Mercer, the Headmaster excused me from class and showed me into a private room.

 I was nervous, had I done something wrong?

I was introduced to Canon McMahon. He said he was from Archbishops House in Dublin and asked me to recount what had happened to me a couple of days before. I told him as best I could knowing who had just taken me to the room and could be listening outside the door.

Fear has the power to silence anything!

I only had the courage to tell him about McCabe and regretfully I was left with my other 'dirty' secret. What could I do, when I knew I would have contact with the other person on a daily basis?

This was the first recorded version of what happened and I presume it was taken back to the Archbishop in Dublin. I have a copy of his report and occasionally I read it to remind myself that I did the right thing in reporting it and even then not being afraid to speak out (albeit I only told half the story).

An innocent picture.

My pony, Snowball.

At first glance, an innocent photo of a child looking smug on his pony! But this photo was perhaps the trigger for the one of the events that changed my life forever. The photo was proudly displayed in  my family home, and was admired by Fr Patrick McCabe on his 'visit'. Within 5 hours, he had tracked me down and abused me.