Tag Archives: paedophilia

30. The Score

The Honourable Patrick Thomas QC started his sentencing speech.  He looked straight at Robinson and said, “you are the most wicked, evil man I have ever had brought before me.”  He went on to tell the court of his findings,“it is not my job here today, but I recommend that there should  be a Public Enquiry into the handling of this priest by The Birmingham Diocese and, in particular, the Catholic Church.”  He spent, I would say, 10 minutes elaborating on the handling of this case not only by the Church, but also the Police.  The failing in 1985 by the Police, when the church got the investigation dropped.

Judge Thomas sentenced Robinson to jail for 21 years and stipulated that he cannot be put forward for parole for 14 years.  Having heard this, I was shocked; such a long time.  He then told the Prison Staff to take him away.  I looked at Robinson for the last time.  Yes he hurt me and the other lads, but I felt sorry.  I took my share of the guilt for putting an old man in prison for such a long time.  But that soon disappeared as the Judge said, “he has never shown any kind of remorse.”

Yes he got what he deserved.  21 years for raping children.  21 years for a lifetime of offences, stretching back over 51 years.  His door opened, he went out, the door closed, and that was that.

Judge Thomas thanked the jury for what he described as a truly horrendous case and then I think he relieved them of jury service for life.  He turned to G and I and thanked us for being so brave to come forward to face our Demons.  He thanked the other victims, who were scared to come to court to hear the conclusion.  He thanked the police, the CPS and the Court Staff.  Upon this the court arose and the Judge walked out of our lives.  But I will never forget that man.

From the moment I first met Patrick Thomas I was put at ease and treated with compassion.  But I had just witnessed the other side of a genuine human being, his controlled anger.  He had, in fact, turned on Robinson.  He left no stone unturned, telling the prisoner of his wicked life, of rape, and betrayal of all he had been ordained to do.


29. The Verdict

My brothers and I sat outside the courtroom, still waiting.  The jury had been out for 5 hours, over two days.  Today was Friday 22 October 2010.  We were sitting there seemingly waiting, in a state of nervousness, anticipation and dread.

Miss R appeared, and said, “The barristers for both sides have been summoned to the Judge’s chambers for tea.”  I enquired what this meant and I was told that, “it always happens when the jury have reached their verdict.  Soon we will be in court.”  It was 12 noon.  At 12.30 we were ushered into the courtroom.  I sat next to GS, less than 8 feet away from where Robinson would be seated.

A door opened and in came Robinson.  He sat down, having never taken his eyes away from the Judge’s chair.  This was it, Robinson, the former professional boxer, winner of 31 professional fights.  I can now recall thinking, will he be winning his 32nd fight?  The outcome of this fight would be felt by all the victims, their families, the Police and, more importantly, Robinson.  After all, it was given in evidence that he never lost a professional fight.  Would the now grown up lads end his distinguished career record?  We all hoped and prayed we would.

The Judge entered and we all stood up.  I looked at Robinson and I saw an old man, having aged many years over the last few hours.  He looked vulnerable, scared and somewhat “not quite with us” as we all sat down.  The Judge asked the foreman of the jury, “have you reached a verdict?”  The foreman responded “yes.”

The Judge then went on to ask the most important question of the trial:  “On charge No 1, do you find the accused guilty or not guilty?

G and I looked at the foreman.

“Guilty.”

I grasped G’s hand and the Judge asked the foreman for the answers to the other 20 charges.

On each charge James Robinson was found guilty.

I still cannot believe the atmosphere.  There was no sound at all in court, no talking, no rejoicing, no nothing.  Then at the end of the charges the Judge adjourned the court for ten minutes.  The court stood up and the Judge walked out.  I looked at the clock.  It was 12.45 pm.  We all remained seated, not wanting to leave our seats.  Robinson too remained seated.  I watched him, there was a tear in his eyes.  The tear didn’t run down his face, that would have shown weakness.  But his eyes were far from dry.  I thought to myself, now he feels the threat, the pain, and the fact that everything happening is out of his control.

I thought, welcome to how we felt, as young lads, the difference is, you deserve the feeling, we did not.

At five to one, the court arose, and the Judge walked back in, taking his place, Lord of all he surveyed.  He spoke to the barristers for both sides and then, having reviewed some notes, looked up at Robinson.  It was now.  Now was the time that Robinson’s professional career would take a nose dive.  He had lost his 32nd fight, the most important fight of his career.  In fact, the most important fight of his life.  The grown up little lads had won, now it was time for the Official Referee to announce the score.


22. Bored, Worried, Anxious…

It was now that I was told about the priest coming from Northern Ireland to give evidence; I asked if he was for prosecution or the defence, he told me that he was for the prosecution.  His evidence was that as a Child Protection Officer in the Birmingham Diocese in 1985 he reported to the police, and the Bishop, three cases of abuse by Robinson.  He went on to explain that the church got the investigation dropped.  The police did nothing.  The church did nothing.  I was not told the name of the priest.  But after the trial I was told it was Fr McA, from Antrim.

As it happened, after the trial, I was told that Fr McA did not attend the trial, owing to ill health.  But his statement was read out and accepted by both sides.

After two hours with me the police left, saying that they would be in touch with me as to when to appear.  I spent the next 10 days bored, worried, anxious and, I would say, partly terrified waiting for my time in court.  I had had many months to get very scared about giving my story to the court.  What personally was the worst was the public gallery.  This I feared.


17. “Deliver Us from Evil”

At this most traumatic time if my life The Murphy Report was published in Ireland.  So I was surrounded by TV programmes and newspaper coverage of this age old problem of paedophilia.  We all know the reasons why this is allowed to continue.  The church puts up its shutters and weathers the storm of public hostility.  The Church has had many centuries to work out their defence.

What they really show is their utter contempt for Christianity and the weakest, most vulnerable members of our Society.  I am still deeply shocked.  It was, of course, only a matter of time for the next time bomb to explode, The Cloyne Report to emerge from its State imposed coffin.

This was also the time that, one night, I looked on TV to see a film,” Deliver us from Evil.”  The film was  Directed by Amy Burg.  I have to admit I’ve watched this film on at least 4 occasions, each time by myself as Jill refuses to watch it.  The subject is appalling, but it is the subject that has affected me all my life.  Yet I can watch it. I can admit to you that I always cry.  I am always affected by victims and their families.

I even wrote a letter to Bob, Maria and Anne Jyono.  I emailed the letter to Jeff Anderson to forward it for me, as I had no way of getting the address.  He told me he would forward it for me, but as I have never received a reply, maybe they didn’t get it.

But I must say I am very disappointed.  For many, many decades Ireland exported paedophile priests throughout the world.  But now Ireland imports convicted paedophiles who, having served their sentences, are coming home to Ireland to re-offend.  What this film did for me was to make me truly aware that I am not alone.  Like many other victims, we all share the same fears.  I have been advised by my Doctor, my family, the police and a Judge to get counseling.  But as I have never been offered any I will go without.  I seem to feel that to get counseling I am admitting that he has beaten me.  No, I take the attitude that I am stronger than the after effects Robinson has left me with.

I would, hand on heart, advise anyone in my situation to watch Amy Burg’s film and to read Colm O Gorman’s book, “Beyond Belief.”  This I have read 4 or 5 times.  The man is an inspiration to me, his life, his strength, how he coped with such an appalling childhood.  It is my belief that this man should be Ireland’s next President.  That is the position I would put him in.  I hope one day to meet the man.


16. All My Life I Had Never Cried

All my life I’ve never cried.  But now, I’m an emotional  freak.

It was mid December and the police came to Ireland to interview J and my Doctor.  When the officers arrived, I insisted that they come to the house in an unmarked car, so that the neighbours would have no reason to talk about a police car on my property. The Irish are wonderful people but they are, to say the least, nosy.  The officers were accompanied by an Irish police sergeant who legally had to take my wife’s statement and physically hand it over to the UK police.  It was quite surreal.

Whilst J was being interviewed, HM sat in the front room answering my questions.  I asked to see the video of Paul Kenyon Confronts.  He took it out of his pocket and asked me to think.  If I did not see the video my testimony would be my recollections and not the info gleaned from a TV programme.  I agreed with him.  HM said he would let me have the video after the trial and this he did do.

During that time I was assured that I would be meeting the Prosecution Barrister, but this did not work out.  Whilst all this was going on work dropped off, owing to the state of the financial crisis.  This was another stick to beat myself with, a lot less work, less cash and more time to think about my dire situation.  For weeks and months my head was all courts, abuse, Robinson, nightmares, no sleep and too much time to spare.  It was a terrible time.  The only thing that really kept me going was J and my two brothers.  They phoned once a week to see how I was.  C always says to me that he sends all his love.  This I find very strange, not a bad feeling, but I can’t get used to it.  It took a paedophile 50 years ago to bring us all together.


7. Trust No One

So as far as I was concerned, this was the last I would ever have to do with this homosexual, Jimmy Robinson.  I say “homosexual” because that’s what I thought Robinson was.  It wasn’t until I got to about 40 years of age when I suddenly heard a new word, paedophile.  Upon using a dictionary I found out that my abuser was a paedophile, not a homosexual.  That confusion, that fear and misunderstanding, is just one of the after effects of my abuse.

Over the years, I have seen hundreds of reports in the newspapers to do with priests going to court for abusing children.  I have never shied away from wanting to know about the subject or to try and find the whereabouts of my abuser.  But I never came across anything.  I have often thought about my abuse, wondered about any other victims.  But something always told me Jimmy Robinson was dead and rotting in hell.  With this, I was happy.

The abuse I suffered and the experiences that I had to endure, had a terrible effect on my life.   These visions of Robinson, live with me every day.  But I learned from a very early age to bottle things up, to switch my mind off.  I became very hard mentally, take it or leave it.  I have had to learn to look after number one, stuff everyone else.

When the abuse happened, I look back to my schooldays, when they should have been the best days of my life.  I see now that I withdrew, went back into my shell.  I am ashamed that for the next 4 years at school, I sat looking out of the window.  I switched off, I wouldn’t, or should I say couldn’t, learn anything at school.  I am ashamed that I have never passed one exam, not one.

In the last year of my schooling, I spent nearly all of the year in the metalwork shops, with a school teacher named Mr. Sam Taylor.  I never confided to him of my abuse, but I think he suspected there was something wrong with me, or should I say he thought I had troubles.  For nearly a year I spent all my school hours cleaning, tidying and generally helping this teacher in any way I could.

Or is this the story of an idle mind.  As I say I could never concentrate.

I have had 51 years to lock away my demons, lock away my childhood, hide my innermost fears.  The main thing I learned, so many years ago, was that I am a survivor.  I was victimized, but chose to get on with my life.  I am what I am, you see what you see.  If you don’t like me, that’s fine.  I stick up for number one, me.  I’ve always had to.  I say what I think.  I come straight to the point.

I learned one thing, trust no one and I won’t get hurt.


5. Paedophile

Robinson used to take me to his mother’s house probably twice a week. Every week for I would say, three months. It was always the same routine, him laying on me and thrusting, me wanking him off, the kissing, the drowning inside my chest. I switched off. He never tried anal sex. But what he did to me was, as the police told me 51 years later, rape.

I switched off mentally, but emotionally no. The worst thing that he did to me was the kissing, the tongue down my throat. It was and still is pure terror. That and the fact that I was short of my next breath. Yes I was drowning. Of course, looking back, not only was I in a very dangerous situation, I firmly believe today, here and now, the next step for him, the paedophile Jimmy Robinson, would be murder. That is the next step. We all know the cases of child murder. It seems always to go from the act of paedophilia to murder. They want to cover their tracks.

Over the course of the next three months, I would be coming out of school, in Tynings Lane and Robinson would be waiting for me. It got to the point where I would come out of Quicksand Lane. I would make my way back to home avoiding being seen or followed. But Jimmy Robinson would always wait for me. And if I wasn’t there, he would come to my home to collect me. Often when I came out of school he would be at my home, with my mother, having cake and tea. Laying in wait for me to arrive, so he could take me to his “mother’s house.” This went on for months.