Living Without Justice: Overcoming Sexual Abuse

CHAPTER 1–HAPPY CHILDHOOD

By all accounts, I had a happy childhood. A lot happier than many kids, anyway. Our family life started in Victoria. Dad (Geoff) had come from the country and Mum (Adele) was a Richmond girl. Country meets the city. Dad was a school teacher, and Mum had a job where her deceased father had worked servicing tractors. A chance meeting at the St Kilda Town Hall for a dance started a lifetime relationship. Mum and Dad were married in 1964. As part of Dad’s work, they moved to Shepparton, where I was born in 1967. The happy backdrop to my parents’ courtship, marriage, and my birth, however, were marred by family issues surrounding Mum’s family at the time. Her father died when she was just thirteen and ten years later, her sister became seriously ill with psychiatric issues. Mum also had younger sisters who required looking after, as their mum was periodically with their older sister at the psychiatric facility, so there was a bit of shuffling around among the various family members. Life was pretty tough for the family just to survive.

Around the time my first sister Sharon was born, in June 1968, Dad was promoted to a position at Stawell Primary School. Mum and Dad were pleased to be on their own, away from the family, given all the problems that were going on. However, my maternal grandmother died after a long illness in January 1969, and her death was followed by Mum’s older sister’s death in August 1970, by suicide, succumbing to the psychiatric issues she had experienced. These were very difficult times, not only for my parents but for us as a young family. While I can’t remember much, there was a great deal of sadness and travelling at that time.

Life continued in Stawell. Dad and I played together in the back yard after he finished work each night, making things with hammers, gardening, looking after my baby ducklings and playing in the big walnut tree. There were walks in the forest at weekends and visits to Red Lake in summer, swimming, building sand castles, and picnics out at the lake. The focus was on the family unit and making sure we were all right. Dad and Mum had a boarder who was a footballer, which was handy for me. I had access to a great sporting mentor right from an early age. My parents had also become involved in church activities in the local Stawell community.

Then in 1971, Dad got a transfer to Ashwood Primary School in Melbourne so they could look after Mum’s youngest sister, who was only seventeen. In 1973, my second sister Jasmine was born and in 1975 I finally got a brother, Gary. Santa built a huge sandpit with climbing activities and a cubby house for Christmas that year. This was an amazing present. It felt like one minute there was an empty back yard, and then on Christmas day there was a great big present. I have always wondered how it was built without me knowing.

The best part of life back then was summer. Being an outdoor kid, I loved the warmer weather. Mum always tells the story about me playing on the veranda of the cubby, which was about fence-height. The next-door neighbours were building at the time and one of the workmen had gone to the toilet, which was in line with the cubby. It was a classic dunny with a tin roof. I picked up a big piece of four-by-four redgum that I had found, and dropped it on the tin roof of the dunny while the workman was in the toilet! I scared the pants off the workman – he thought the roof had caved in!

Sharon

My earliest memories come from photographs of when we were small; I recall a lot of playing with boxes, toy cars, textas, and backyard stuff. Just before we moved, I remember Paul always wanting to be outside, particularly in the swimming pool, with lots of bombing, whirlpools, and swimming. We used to stay in it for hours.

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In 1976, we moved to Hillbrand. This move was quite traumatic as being a sporty, popular six-year-old, I was leaving behind a very good set of mates. However, the lure of a big house where each us would have our own room was enough to get me excited.

Sharon

We were so excited to move to the ‘big’ house across town, especially with all the secret passageways and hiding potential, together with big bedrooms. We played on top of the cupboard, mainly games about being in clubs, which probably related to us being in cubs/scouts and brownies/guides. I assume it was also about belonging to something. Paul was obsessed with cricket to the extent that he would throw a ball incessantly against the wall whilst we were watching TV; I thought my head would explode.

When we arrived, I was in Grade 3 and started at the local public school. I made new friends pretty quickly – especially with a sporty friend called Barry.

Barry

Paul arrived at the primary school in 1976 for Grade 3. I can remember I quickly formed a friendship with Paul. I think that was because we both had a very keen interest in cricket and football and we were both pretty reasonable performers in those sports – even at an early stage. In fact, I think that when it came time to play cricket and football in the schoolyard, invariably I was one captain and Paul was the other, and we then embarked on the time-honoured method of lining everyone up and picking our respective teams.

In May 1976, I experienced the death of my paternal grandfather. As my father walked past the living room door, all I heard him say was ‘Dad’s died’. Someone who was so dear to me had died. I didn’t really know what to do. This was a new situation and emotional for me as I couldn’t really remember the previous family deaths. I was given the opportunity to go to the funeral but I chose not to. I don’t know why this was. I suspect I had no idea about death and I felt that my Pa had left me. My emotions were pretty raw, crying in bed at night for quite some time. I kept remembering the things we had done together. My Pa inspired me to play cricket and would always encourage me. A dreadful knot in the stomach just wouldn’t go away for a long time. I don’t think I ever came to terms with his death. There was no counselling back in those days – I just had to get over it.

I didn’t deal very well with my grandfather’s death. I had developed a fascination with the music of Elvis Presley as I grew up. The songs that resonated with me in the ensuing years included ‘Way Down’ (1977), ‘Always on My Mind’ (1977), and ‘Amazing Grace’ (1976). When Elvis died on 16 August 1977, I experienced the same pain of losing someone as when my Pa died. As I moved into adolescence, I would often feel distressed, especially after Pa had died. I had a tape recorder that I would take with me to the park and sit and listen to Elvis. I would have a decent cry as various songs came on that reminded me of Pa, or other things that were making me sad. I shared my sorrow sometimes with my faithful dog, Bessie. I suppose that over a period, this allowed me to properly grieve my Pa. The pain never went away though, and the Elvis songs are still a reminder of my sadness about Pa’s death. I felt I had lost two people I knew very well, both of whom had played a big part in my childhood.

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In 1979, the family headed to England, Canada, and America for an extended six months’ trip. It was a sabbatical for Dad after ten years with the education department. This was enough to take my mind off what happened to Pa. We left on my birthday and headed to England, so I experienced a 35-hour birthday and went into the cockpit as a special surprise. Then it was on to Canada, where we stayed in Vancouver for six weeks and I went to school there, playing all different types of sport and eating different foods. I wrote a postcard to my Nan:

‘Dear Nan, I had had a great time. I learned how to wright Canadian style. Love Paul’.

We were in America for Thanksgiving Day, and Mum made it special by buying a rather large turkey. Although it was cheap, the turkey was too large for the oven and had to be baked with the oven door open! We headed off to the Rocky Mountains straight after Thanksgiving, and ate leftover turkey for the next two weeks! Thank goodness for cranberry and tomato sauce. I really enjoyed Disneyland and the whole American experience.

Sharon

One of the best times was when we all went to the US together, playing for hours at the Hacienda, I think in Los Angeles. Paul was definitely happy there, in his own quiet, reflective way. He always appeared to be on his own mission, doing the things he liked to do, and I’m sure this focus and capability to block distractions has served him well.

Postcard to my Uncle and Auntie:

‘We had a great time in Disneyland. My favourite ride was the Matterhorn bobsled. Love Paul.’

Our trip created a great family bond and when we returned to Australia, I continued to spend a lot of time doing various activities with my younger siblings. All of this created a great level of trust and enjoyment with each other that I certainly didn’t want to lose, although I often liked to go off and do stuff on my own, too.

Jasmine

My brother was my hero! As a young child, I looked up to him in every way. He was 6 years older than me and seemed to be everything I wanted to be. I was obviously not a girly girl, and I loved sport. I wasn’t considered good at sport in primary school, but when I was with my brother in the tennis courts behind our house playing cricket – I was up there with the best! I would get to bowl or bat with him, depending on what he needed to practice, and our two dogs would be the best fielders! He would take my younger brother and I to play golf; we would make him mad because we lost all his balls, so then we were relegated to holding the dogs as we walked around and watched him play. I thought then he wanted us to come with him; didn’t realise at the time he was actually babysitting! He’d also come and pick me up from piano lessons. I’d be on the back of his 10-speed bike and he would race down our hill at top speeds. I was scared to death, but I knew that I was safe with my brother.

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A pivotal event in my life happened during our family holiday in the summer break of 1980, which destroyed much of the honesty and bond that I shared with my family. I went into my shell after this.

Pretending to be a pirate, I broke into a caravan park washing machine and stole some 20 cent coins – it might have been a few dollars – and buried my ‘loot’ underground. I confided in my sister Sharon, but she told my parents, probably my father. She betrayed my trust and the consequences were not pleasant. The police were called and I was given the scare tactic: ‘You won’t be charged this time’. It was frightening stuff for a twelve-year-old.

My punishment was to sand and paint a bungalow we had at the rear of our home. This was like asking a kid to go and climb Mount Everest. The task took so long to complete. This in part started resentment towards my sister for dobbing on me, and a deep hatred for my father as the person responsible for the punishment. I don’t even know if I completed the job, as it seemed to go on and on forever, a completely disproportionate punishment for the crime. This event had a significant impact on me that remained an undercurrent in future events in my life.

In the meantime, Mum had retrained to work with disabled people, so in 1980 after two years of study, she went back to work. This meant that Sharon and I had household work distributed between us, including the preparation of meals and cooking to ensure the smooth running of family dinners. I was often accused of doing ‘mad experiments’ with food, throwing in Vegemite, curry and other ingredients that I thought would somehow create a gourmet extravaganza! We were taught we had to eat everything on our plate. This certainly was an important aspect of family life with the standard ‘what about the starving kids in Africa?’ routine. Brussel sprouts and pumpkin caused me to dry retch at times, until I devised the art of hiding the culprits in my mouth and excusing myself, or whistling for Bessie the dog who would open the back door with her paw and come in to finish off all the inedible vegetables. Meal times were always a bit more fun after Dad and Mum had left the table to watch the 7 o’clock news, and left us kids at the table.

CHAPTER 2–PREDATOR IN THE MIDST

Sunday mornings, we would head off to church. At 13 years old, I felt I had outgrown Sunday school, but my younger siblings still enjoyed it – or pretended to – and it was our family routine. Anyway, my dad was one of the Sunday school teachers, so attending was obligatory; there was no point in moaning, feigning illness, or trying to get out of it.

We’d pile into our 6-seater Chrysler Valiant and head off to church. Halfway through the service, my sisters Sharon and Jasmine and I went with my dad to the rooms at the back of church for Sunday school, while Mum stayed at the service with my youngest brother Gary. Dad disappeared into one room with a bunch of reluctant-looking teenagers, while Sharon and Jasmine and I joined the younger kids to be tutored by Jim Andrews. I didn’t have much of an opinion of Jim then; besides, he wasn’t into football and cricket like I was, so there wasn’t much to talk about. I didn’t respect him or like him; he wasn’t going to be a role model in my life. He was my Sunday school teacher and that was that.

One of the good things about the church was the youth group excursions. Sometimes we stayed overnight at a beach house and had camping trips. It was all good fun with a fantastic group of kids. However, right from the start I noticed there was something strange about Jim. His actions and mannerisms were very effeminate, and he acted much younger than his actual age.

Barry

I recall being a member of the Sunday school youth group at the church. There were approximately five to ten kids who were aged approximately twelve to fourteen years of age. Jim was one of the leaders and there were two others at all times. Jim was a huge man who at the time was probably in his mid-twenties. In terms of huge, I’m thinking that he was probably between 6’5’’ and 6’6" and although not obese in any way, he also had a reasonably solid frame. If I was asked to describe Jim, I would say you had this physically huge man; but if he started talking you would definitely think he was effeminate. It is difficult to recall any single thing it was about him that made us think that way, as it was his whole look and mannerisms.

In terms of those early years and involvement with Jim, I can only recall a few youth group trips. In November 1980, my first year of high school, my family and I moved to Seymour. I had just turned thirteen years of age. During the year, various outings were arranged for the youth group and this included a day at the snow, as well as a trip to Portsea, where we stayed at someone’s beach house. I cannot recall anything specific regarding Jim’s behaviour; however, I do recall Jim being keen to apply sunscreen on me at the beach. Jim was always perfectly manicured and suntanned, with the very best clothes.

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Dad had a physical presence and was very authoritarian. The relationship I had with my father was he told me what to do, and I did what I was told, regardless of what I thought or wanted to do. This type of father–son relationship was pretty standard for that era. Why couldn’t I express myself and tell my father how I felt about Jim? There were a few reasons, the main one being the type of relationship that had been set up: I felt the implications of saying something just wasn’t worth it. When I was growing up there was a real, physical threat if I did something wrong. No-one wants to be smacked if they have done something wrong. So, disclosure and communication can’t really work in harmony because of this physical threat. My response was to be quiet and not give anything of myself, especially what I was really thinking.

Jim used a systematic approach to ingratiate himself with my family. He already held the position of youth group leader at the church, which gave him a legitimate role and presence at the institution. He was working with the right age group of children and he targeted me. Jim assessed my particular needs and determined what Mum and Dad needed. I probably told him what was important to Mum and Dad in our classes. I could imagine the conversation he may have had with my father, when Dad became aware of what Jim did for a job – he was a solicitor – and how he might be a good contact for the family. Jim worked to get an invite to our home. It wasn’t a difficult task: I was asked by my father to invite Jim home for dinner.

So, I begrudgingly invited Jim to dinner. Jim had an adult relationship with my parents. He was someone my parents looked up to. I was more than aware about this because of the different language used and the adult conversation that I wasn’t particularly used to or really engaged with. Our lives were really busy. Mum and Dad had four kids. Gary wasn’t well and the house required some order and coordination. We had to be independent and get jobs done. We all played sport and needed lifts all over the place. We all needed attention and maybe Mum and Dad thought that Jim could provide another positive influence. Jim fitted into the family really well. He ingratiated himself on several levels, which meant it was very difficult to fault him.

Mum and Dad

Jim groomed us with presents, such as huge Easter eggs for the children, dinners at prestigious clubs, and he did our wills for Christmas one year as a gift.

Jim created a great balance between behaving on an adult level whenever he was around my parents – he was my parents’ lawyer from that time right up until I told my parents about the abuse in 2003 – and then when he was at the youth group or with teenagers he adjusted well, or did ‘cool’ things that we couldn’t do with our parents because of the cost.

Sharon

Jim would come for dinner and be over-interested in everyone, particularly playing up to Mum, ‘over-listening’, pretending to ask for advice, bringing over-the-top gifts, like at Easter, a tall rabbit from Ernest Hillier (before the days these things were cheap). It wasn’t just that he gave a gift; he also took the trouble to explain why it was expensive and special. He would also engage us by showing us