I was working with a mate of mine, C. This one day he asked me if I would take out his nephew, an 11 year old lad, called G. G wanted to go shooting pigeons. It was one of my favourite pastimes. I said that I would, and so I met G and his mother J.
J was married and had three children, G 11, L, 6, and K,1. I took the lad shooting many times. In fact, I gave G a shotgun when he was, I think, 14 years old. This was the friendship we made. As much as I met G, I met J. Despite the fact that we were both married to other people, J and I spent much time together over the next few years. At that point I have to say that I started treating the three children as my own. To this day, 32 years later, they are still my children. I would die to protect them. I am very proud of them. And yes I do moan about them, but I love them all.
When G was 16, and about to leave school, I asked what he wanted to do. He replied that he wanted to be a gamekeeper. So I advertised in the Shooting Times magazine, and got him a job in Anglesey, North Wales. We went up to Anglesey many times, me J and G. They had become my family, or should I say the family I never had.
Just prior to G leaving for his job I told G and J that I had been abused by a priest in 1961. I didn’t go into details , but I had to tell them. They deserved to know. We are after all, subjects of our history. They deserved to know who and what I am.