The Department of Health, Social Services and Public Safety (Northern Ireland) has released the 1985 Report of the Committee of Inquiry into Childrens Homes and Hostels by WH Hughes, WJ Patterson and H Whalley in response to a Freedom of information request on the Whatdotheyknow website
This is also known as the Hughes Report or the Report into Kincora. It also includes inquiries into 9 other homes and concentrates on male homosexual abuse.
Here I am…It’s Saturday afternoon on a balmy afternoon – I’m listening to Led Zep IV on the amp, and finding it hard to resist the urge to turn it up to 11. Chooons.
I’m thinking of something to write…I have the subject, I have the motivation and the time…but I know there’s a good few days of solid research still needed. I can only process so much info at any one time, before my subconscious kicks in and demands some down-time.
So while I let the back-brain do it’s processing, I’ll tell ye another tale about my Ma.
It’s a story about a mouse called Mabel.
My elder brother died, and my Ma moved in with his partner for a wee time. They were both distraught and in a lot of pain….I guess we all were. After the worries about interpreting his final wishes, the funerary fees, and even the stress of meeting other family members in groups of more than 3, my Ma and My Brother’s Missus, (I’ll call her Mavis) definitely needed some time to talk about him.
That time stretched to months…half a year passed. The house itself was an old 2up 2down…the kind they build in closed terraces, and sometimes insist on calling cottages. Well, this one was in need of a few repairs, and had it’s own share of often-unwelcome visitors. One of them was a cheeky little mouse that earned itself the name Mabel; a small grey beastie that’d run rings around the cats…a proper little character. It reminded me of the mice we were familiar with as babbies… we’d often watch the mice running and gambolling in the firelight, in the time between the ceremonious turning-off of the telly and the banking of the coal in the grate…before the long walk up the wooden hill took us to bed. Cheeky little blighters, mice.
Anyway, the time came, and my Ma moved back to her own home – taking with her the stuff that a person accumulates when they stay ‘someplace else’ for more than a couple of days. After the bustle of a mini-move in process had died down a bit, and the stuff had been redistributed, my ma started to hear the familiar rustlings of a mouse. Within a few days, she told us that she’d actually seen it, and she swore ‘it was Mabel’. We figured maybe she was right, and hypothesised that it’d snuck over between houses in a bag of clothes. I looked around, and found mouse droppings in the usual places, so I told my Ma that I’d ‘sort it’. She didn’t look too pleased, but she acquiesced eventually; agreeing to a visit from Mr Jones.
Mr Jones is my cat. He grew up with us in a home full of big, heavy fire doors that were always ajar a crack. He learned that if you push those buggers hard enough, they’ll open…and after a while, he had shoulders like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Poor thing…I bought/took him off a little girl when he was around 6months, and he was still snuffling from the cat-flu that had nearly killed him. He still snores and snuffles, can’t smell for toffee, and has an atrocious sense of balance.
Anyway, I got him to my Ma’s in the fold-up cat-carrier that seemed such a good idea when I bought it…it was in shreds by the time I got off the bus, by the way…so I let him loose at my Ma’s and promised success within a small time. Well, I was wrong. Despite his hard-cat image, Mr Jones never found the mouse, but did succeed in bugging my mom no end…prowling around and calling to be taken back home to his own kingdom, for all of the two nights he was there.
Since then, tho, the little mouse, Mabel, has been quiet…until very recently, anyway. I got told that it’d been heard dancing round in the kitchen again the other week…so it was back to battle stations. I told my Ma that I thought it was finally time for a real mousetrap.
My mom thought for a few minutes, and said something I’d fancifully been thinking about myself, “I’d rather catch it and take it to the vets for a check-up.” You know what, we might just do that, weirdly.
In the meantime, I’ve picked up some of those sonic-repellents…they have been installed for a week now; a fiver each from Aldi.
Nowt’s been heard from Mabel since…Mabel The Lucky Mouse With Tinnitus. It might just get that check-up if it starts dancing around again.
This is more of an update to something I wrote as Adeybob some time back; a blog I guested on: http://kevingreen1950.wordpress.com/2013/05/01/in-adeybobs-own-words/
I have been thinking about the opposition to the #Paedobritain Tag…the trolling, the vicious untruthful blogs about anyone the opposition see as a threat to the lies they support – the whispering campaign on twitter; the accounts that deliberately mis-use the tag, the proven use of ‘duplicate’ accounts to viciously attack people, the way the ‘ringleader’ keeps the main account clean of almost anything that’ll point the fingers in the right place …all of it.
I’ve been thinking of the effect it’s had on the casual observer…and of how the trolls want it to effect them.
Who ARE these trolls? Why would ANYONE oppose people’s efforts to blow the lid off coverups of KNOWN child physical torture/abuse and CSA…abuses found in far too many institutions associated with vulnerable kids?
Angry right-wing Anglophile tourist-board fanatics?
People with a personal grudges?
Bored people with nothing better to do?
Do me a favour.
The only people to gain from the lid staying firmly on the coverups, are the abusers:
*those who perpetrated the abuse
*those who covered it up
*those who knew it was happening but chose to ignore it, despite having the power to make the truth known.
This list includes every person who decided that they could buy a vulnerable kid for sex, every person who has sex images of kids on their computers.
This list covers almost all of our governmental matrix as regards vulnerable kids.
All of these groups have got a lot to lose if the truth gets out…but there is one group which is in some ways worse than all of the above…
…those who get PAID to stop the truth getting out. The Lackeys. The Narks. The ‘Special Advisors’…
The same ones who were ‘just following orders’ in Belsen, in Aushwitz, for Stalin, for Ceaușescu…those moral mercenaries that are always willing to put aside their humanity for the sake of personal gain.
This link : http://disinfounmasked.wordpress.com/30-pieces-of-silver/ is a current blog written by the scum who patrol the internet and try and stop the truth about government coverups of CSA from getting out.
Do note that this is a less hysterical and ‘cleaner’ one than the several others preceding it…the others got closed down FAST when complaints were made to the blog hosters. This one qualifies itself by appealing to the entire anti #McCann section of twitter, ironically using observations I had privately made to several people on twitter after I was asked to investigate the possible issue of the use of third-parties by either side of the #McCann tag and their possible links to the trolling emanating against #paedoBritain activists from the @realoutlawjimmy (AKA: Rhoyden) account (ask @rothleyPillowcase – he is my main liaison).
– As it happens, in my view, Roth was right…there ARE P.R. firms operating for the pro-McCanns. That doesn’t make the parents of young Maddie guilty of murder or mistreatment of their kids, by the way, nor does it highlight their known close involvement with many influential VIP’s, and nor does it say an awful lot about the way the whole ‘McCann case’ has been trotted out everytime the government wants to slip something undigestable past the voters while we’re all, in an ironic parody, tut-tutting about foreign police procedures…in fact it says nothing about their morality, either, apart from any sums of money diverted from ‘the Maddie Fund’ away from the seeking of the poor child, of course.
Anyway. you can take everything the blog I linked says about disinformation and point it straight at the people who are paid to look after the interests of those that pay them. The trolling emanating from the Rhoyden account has from day one told anyone that cares to look, EXACTLY what tactics are being employed, and WHO they were used against. It goes without saying that any assertions about me are unproven, foundless, and are perpetrated by only one account; you guessed it, the Rhoyden account – but at least these blogs aren’t now publishing my address and calling me a paedophile. In future, if in doubt that a blog is written by narks, just see if I’m in there being slagged off.
The last time I closed one of these nasty blogs down was around a month ago…that particular one really was evil.
The fact is, a lot of work has gone in by a lot of people to end the trolling that has been faced by many advocates of CSA survivors; abuses faced by many CSA survivors themselves. A hard core of individuals has unpicked the thread of the troll-logic, and has exposed the methods used by the trolls…for some assailed survivors and advocates, this has meant facing constant hacking of their accounts, public ridicule and ignorant hurtful comments; all on top of the vicious lies of constant blogs and running attacks from very focused twitter accounts – all while getting constant phonecalls and threats…and all the time wondering what idiotic, if well-meaning, person, would get drawn in by the trolls next, and decide to throw their own half-informed opinions into the crucible.
This fight to expose the narks was not done for personal glory, or out of anger, or, god-forbid, in an attempt to ’cause a fuss’. It was done only to right a wrong…it was done so that those on twitter with the power to get things done could catch a breath and get stuff done while the trolls were being dealt with.
You know, so that the movers and shakers could pull their collective thumb out of their ass and DO SUMMAT USEFUL…hopefully by organising a coherent protest in some way with ANY appropriate tag.
It wasn’t done so that the troll-fighters could rise from the ashes, as it were, and run the #paedoBritain tag.
Now, the work is done, and the trolls are finally isolated and exposed…never mind if the ill-informed bleeding-hearts bleat about it.
Can we please get back to work?
I’m going to use the next lines of words to explain what the #PaedoBritain tag means to me.
Also, I’m going to explain how it interacts with other groups and individuals.
Fundamentally, the tag is a meme…a means to not so much as express an idea, as much as it’s a way to plant a seed in the mind of the person who receives it. The fact that this tag needs little description of what it describes, is a testament to it’s innate power as a meme.
On the next level, the tag describes the inertia of the opinion of the public and the sweaty efforts of those in power to keep the truth of child abuses covered up; it describes the country where paedophiles and their apologists find it relatively easy to make the whole system work in their favour.
It describes the country where 99 out of a hundred adults have been affected by childhood sex abuse in some way – whether directly or not, but are ashamed to talk about it – let alone challenge their government’s twisted efforts to make the lie of coverups and poor judicial process the truth. It describes an unremembered place where far too many UK families have a covered-up ‘family secret’ that is slowly eating the family from the inside-out, generation by generation.
The tag doesn’t care if the people using it are anti or pro McCann, doesn’t give a monkey’s whether or not Lori Handrahan supporters use it, and is totally not bothered if it’s used with other tags, like #No2Abuse, #StopAbuseNOW, #McCann, etc.
It doesn’t care how passionate or angry you are, because the meme itself is just a dispassionate logical object.
The ONLY prerequisite to using the tag, is that the person using it is genuinely concerned about the welfare of UK kids, and see’s a coverup in process by government institutions, cops, ministers, judges, Special Advisers, public-image firms, newspapers like the Daily Fail, et-bloody-cetera.
Yes, the tag itself does, and is meant, to invoke an instant emotional reaction in the mind of the observer. Revulsion, shame, guilt, anger…yeah, those are the ones that are meant to be raised. Those are the same feelings that are often felt by most victims of childhood abuse, after all…and they are the feelings that most observers should feel; because at the end of the day, it’s the inertia of public opinion that has been the main tool of poor government since time immemorial.
These feelings pretty-accurately describe how someone feels when they ‘wake up’ as well, incidentally.
Everyone who hasn’t written to an MP in some way, who hasn’t signed some kind of concerned petition, everyone who hasn’t informed themselves, and everyone who thinks it’s too horrible to be true should hang their heads in shame. And THEN they should DO SUMMAT.
The tag doesn’t give two hoots about the tourist industry, it doesn’t care if the finer sensibilities of the observer are offended…or if, indeed, the pillars of heaven themselves should crumble, and Olympus should fall in the pursuit of the truth.
The tag is not going to stop being what it is…so tough bollocks if it imposes on your tennis because it calls Cliff Richard a nonce, and it’s REALLY tough cheese if someone uses it that you don’t like.
Get over yourself and get over it.
Kids didn’t like getting abused, and they certainly didn’t like the idea of being called liars, fantasists, wound-collectors and abuse-jockeys by cowardly anonymous morons later in life…but life, as they say, is a bitch.
In truth, all we can do with the #paedoBritain tag, is try and control it. This is the intent of any kind of opposition to the tag, as well. It’s a juggernaut, either way.
No, the #PaedoBritain tag is one that voices can only be added to…it’s intention and moral standing are unassailable, sure, if directed by the just; but it’s unstoppable, all the same – like an engulfing tsunami gathering pace…jumping from mind to mind.
It can blend all the voices into one coherent shout, and could give rise to one single idea…
Child abuse has to stop, and government should listen to our demands about the coverups about CSA ending, or it should be seen as derelict and dismantled.
In another vein, the sexual abuse of kids, and the subsequent coverup is not confined to the UK. This nefarious double-act is to be found within the child-biased services of almost every country in the world.
If the #PaedoBritain tag represents the UK in any way, then at least let it harken back to the world-beating UK that held back Hitler and woke the world up to the horror of the gas-chambers; let it now wake the world up to the truth of systemic child sex abuse and it’s coverup, and maybe carry a flame of truth, fox-fire fashion, to the four corners of the globe.
But be aware; this is not going to be pleasant.
broken hard drives and the vagaries of man
The Ghosts In The Machine
About a month-or-so ago, I had a cataclysmic falling-out with my now-ex Missus.
Without going into all the ins and outs, I can tell you that it resulted in shared resources being unshared. Unfortunately, one of those resources was the internet connection.
That was just the start of it…but thats all I can say about that, without drifting even further away from the subject of this blog update. Suffice to say, things are a lot more civil now.
Like I was saying, that was only the beginning of a nice little cascade of bovver that’s hit me since.
The latest episode of ‘hitting adey with crap’ has come via my brother, a dropped keyboard and a couple of dying hard drives.
You see, my brother decided to use his laptop as a nut-cracker…at least thats what the damage to the disk tells me. As with all enquiries about busted computers, a person expects 2 types of answers, one is given from a person who has done something stupid and knows it (and will fib about it to a techie), and then there’s the other – in fact, there’s an old tech-support joke that starts with, “my pc wont work.”, goes through to, “Is it turned on?”, and ends with, “did you save the box? Good…now put it back in and send it back…oh there’s nothing wrong with your PC, sir, you’re just too stupid to have one.”, and this joke applies to a surprising number of people I’ve fixed computers for, although thankfully, my brother isnt one of them.
No…he ‘only dropped it a bit.’, he said.
Looking at the disk surface using forensic software, it looks like an old 33 1/3 rpm LP that’s been played with a steel-bristled scrubbing brush at 5400+rpm. Not pretty. So, having an idea that the hard drive in the laptop was knackered, i said I’d get it up and running for him.
A couple of days later, I found the time to have a look. The drive was fritzed, so I cast about and found one i could replace it with. With my current run of luck, the hard drive, of course, failed while installing windows. Great.
It was the only suitable drive, so I pulled it back out of the lappie and bunged it into my main PC for what i hoped would be a quick fix. Now, I’d usually only have to use a lovely set of programs assembled by a nice chap called Hiren…but the DVD i kept it on had recently been scratched. Great.
So, in the spirit of endeavour, I managed to get online and find an updated copy. As I started to click on the link, I dropped my keyboard and accidently started to download one of those dreaded download managers that litter almost all download sites. Great.
So, being as I’m attracting every stray iota of bad luck in the local continuum, this little download infected my system with a rootkit that had the heinous job of messing my browsers up, slowing my whole system down with crap that replicated genuine faults, and bombarding me with messages about products they thought I should buy to clean up the mess they made.
For those of you lucky enough not to know what a rootkit is, it’s a horrible little beastie that keeps reinstalling itself even if you go and rip the little bugger out by the roots, as it were.
So, ok…I killed my internet and used a handful of programs to clean my system of the infection. 3 hours later, it was all back to normal.
And then I got the Blue Screen Of Death. Great.
For anyone out there who doesn’t know what one of these is…omg,you must be very lucky. It’s when your screen goes blue and gives you loads of unusable data about why your windows PC just bit the dust…basically telling you that for the foreseeable future, that your PC is screwed.
Many things can cause a BSOD, and none of them are good.
So, I made a few checks and determined, you guessed it, Hard drive failiure. Great.
Most of my passwords…all of my files…possibly gone.
So there i am, with blood, snot and failing hard drives all over the place, and I was starting to feel kinda assailed. I shouldnt really expect any less, after all, most of the pc parts I got are pulled out of dead PC’s or out of skips; I’m a sucker for a lost cause. I think it’s a shame that any kind of beastie that dedicates itself to helping us out deserves more than scrapping just because of supercedence. Yeah, I know…computers with souls? It does sound crazy…but I know enough about physics and the structure of the brain to know that any sufficiently complicated system is likely to become self-aware ~ and computers are becoming very complicated; depending more and more on quantum physics to get the job done. I remember I read of a study some years ago, where particicipants were asked ‘think’ at a computer to try and change the outcome of a random event ~ I remember another study that asked participants to ‘emote’ at a computer ~~ in both sets of experiments, the outcomes were definately effected. Wierd, I know…but as far as I know, true.
I’m kinda soft, I know; I scraped up a pc after I’d watched it fall from at least the 10th floor..but I’m also the soft git that got it back on it’s feet again in a couple of hours. After looking thru it’s innards, I sussed that it had been thrown away because the power button was jammed. Go figure.
To date, anyway, I’ve got one laptop burbling away as a program uses the software equivalent of gaffer-tape to fix it (it started as a 650gig…but already the reallocation of bad sectors has gobbled up 200gigs, and it’s still got a couple of days to run!), and the main pc is currently juggling what it has to, to fix my main hard drive…leaving me with just enough gubbins to use a simple text editor.
So here i am now, waiting for the final test, to see if i still have all my files and folders…all while using a strip-down version of windows with a strip-down version of notepad to write it all up. The simplicity and restriction of the tools I have at hand is actually helping me to focus on the important things, as regards my personal on-line approach to the issues surrounding CSA coverups by people in power. I think it’s time I started writing it all down…and at least providing explanations as to my thought processes, and of why I’ve been out of touch. That, perhaps, will put paid to some of the troll-bile that tends to get flung at anyone trying to be part of something cohesive to make something good happen…something that will only see the truth come out about the way vulnerable kids are treated by government, judiciary, and childcare systems.
Anyway, I’ll blog that latter part up in more detail when I get back.
Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough, whether I can use the PC/wireless dongle combination to get on line again, or whether I have to keep trying to wave my phone around like a freaked-out Captain Kirk with a bad communication device.
So what started out as a quick fix ended up miring me in a man vs machine contest that’s so far lasted 4 days.
I guess that’s life.
There’s a couple of morals there somewhere, but I’m damned if I know what they are…
I’ll be back properly when I have it all stable…til then please bear with me.
I’ve had a lot more time to talk to my mother, lately. She has a voracious appetite for news and personal interpretations. I talk to her at length, sometimes. The whole experience has moved on from recriminations and barbed comments about my upbringing…now we REALLY talk.
As we chat, old memories resurface and old things are polished for a new view.
I must have been around ten, when I first realised that there was much more to my ma than I’d previously thought.
It’s a bit hazy, for some reason, but I clearly remember what happened to make me look at my ma in a new light…I just don’t recall when that day was.
As with such recollections, I can’t remember what I had for breakfast, or indeed why I was in the front room of the two-up two-down on such a sunny day…but I do remember the golden shafts of light that crept thru the heavy curtains into the permanently dim room. My ma was around 30 by then, and had done a pretty good job of keeping it together for a couple of years – long enough to build confidences, friends…and the occasional dusk-loving piece of antique furniture. I can’t remember why exactly, but we didn’t have a vacuum – making chores difficult.
Anyway, for some reason, I was in the front room with ma, when the door to the street burst open with shouts… It was Jamey, one of the ‘bigger-kids’ we used to play amongst the ‘bomb-pecks’ with; a stalwart who’d be just as easy jumping 30foot onto a couple of salvaged mattresses, as he was pulling the smaller kids around in a home-made plank-motor go-cart.
On this day,after his explosive entrance, he fell onto the rug shouting, “Pat! Pat! Two big nig-nogs are kicking seven shades of shite out of yer eldest!!”
To a kid my age, this was a clarion-call to look for my big brother and do what I could to help…so imagine my surprise when my mom stiffened, turned to look at Jamey and instead berated him. What she said for the next few minutes would change my life; “I beg your pardon, James…WHAT did you say?”, demanded my ma.
Jamey quickly thought, and said instead, “There’s two big nig-nogs battering yer eldest, down the road there, Mrs!”
“I BEG YOUR PARDON?!”, thundered my ma – surprising myself and Jamey to the point of being dumbstruck.
With both me and him standing there and looking like a couple of eejits, my mom put us both out if our misery, by explaining,”We DON’T say nig-nog in this house!”.
I honestly don’t know what happened immediately after that, but the scenario and words stuck in my mind forever…recently gaining new poignancy as my ma needed more and more care; as I thought more and more about who this woman actually is, and what effect she had on my life.
So, it was with the most gentle humour and understanding of everything good and bad that my ma gave to me, that I found new heart both in my own recollections and her own rememberences, when, after a recent talk about New Things in my life, my ma struck me dumb once more, with the words,”You shouldn’t have said anything about moustaches…its cruel.”
So, despite my tale of people abusing positions of power to abuse me, digging up my facepic, publishing my address, calling me a grass, threats of violence, etc…it was all down to my ma to distillate it all down to a sentence that I had forgotten I serve, still…
Be True To Yourself, and
Never Lower Yourself To Their Level.
Here’s to my Auld Ma