Amelia's Story (Box Set the Complete Series Books 1 & 2) (25 page)

Brussels

Over the next few months I did not see much of
Adrian, I received many letters and reciprocated, writing long letters back to him. I filled him in on my adventures to New York, my upcoming trip to Brussels and, of course, my Sociology Degree course. We had in fairness drifted apart ever so slightly over recent months. To be honest, I felt less stifled, freer almost. However, at the same time I had missed my friend. In my spare time I was running as often as possible, taking aerobics classes, and water aerobics to keep as fit as humanly possible, just in case another modeling job came up. I loved keeping fit. It had become a personal passion of mine. It made me feel better when I was low, and it lifted my spirits and kept me in great shape. I found I could be quite grumpy if I had not had my daily fix of exercise!

The day had arrived for our office to take our day trip to
Brussels. We were to meet at the Euro Star International train station in London, and go through passport control just as if you were boarding a plane. The director of the company had asked Sally and me if we would watch over his two daughters as he would not be coming. Of course we had agreed. After all, they were almost 16-years-old and very sensible. So they travelled with us. On arrival in Brussels we headed straight for Grand Place. It was a huge square, once a market square where people travelled from far and wide, full of beautiful 17
th
century architecture. This was now a bustling tourist attraction, full of restaurants, and cafes. All the tops of the buildings were painted gold, it was an amazing site. There was a film crew there shooting a movie. There were many bistros and cafes, with tables and chairs outside each establishment. We chose a place nearest to the film crew as we were very curious as to what they were doing. We ordered wine, then coffee, then more wine! We chilled out in the sunshine observing the film crew for hours, watching the actors doing what they do best: acting.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, people were just sitting down relaxing, the pace of life seemed so much slower, more relaxed, I thought. After what seemed like an age we made our way to the quaint little shops. Sally had a passion for Lalique Crystal; she had been collecting it for years. That was the first time I had heard about Lalique. We went into a couple of shops and I soon understood why she held such a passion for this. Sally bought a beautiful piece, and while it was being wrapped up carefully, we headed out for one last coffee, saying we would collect it on our way back past the shop.

We decided over coffee that we would like to take another trip as soon as possible for the two of us, and head back to New York, as soon as we could afford it. This time we would include a helicopter ride over Manhattan, and stay in a far better and much safer hotel. If we left it until December we could do our Christmas Shopping and ice-skate in Times Square. By the time we had picked up Sally’s crystal from the boutique, and met up with the director’s daughters, it was time to make our way back to the train station to board our train. It was a truly lovely day… Because I felt calm and relaxed, it gave me time to reflect on my current employment, which was due to end in a few months. I needed to start applying for jobs as soon as possible. 

That week I started searching for a new job very openly, as our boss had advised everyone to. They would support us as much as possible, giving us time off to attend interviews and so forth. Much to my surprise, I got the first job I applied for; I was not expecting to find a new one so soon. This meant I would be one of the first to leave. I felt sad, I loved my job. However, it was never going to be a permanent position. The project would be slowly disbanded over the coming months. Everyone would be leaving for pastures new. Telephone numbers would be exchanged and tears would be shed amongst the friendships formed over the project.

I had a wonderful leaving party and some lovely parting gifts. I had exchanged numbers with a few colleagues and said my goodbyes to those I knew I would never see again. I left with glowing references and very happy that my CV was looking better than ever. That weekend Blanche and I went out for dinner to celebrate my new job, which was basically a trouble shooting position for a magazine publishing company called Auto Trader. It was one of the biggest car advertising magazines in the country. It was fast paced; the hours were long, and time was of the essence. Publication had to be out by a certain time on a certain day each week. This took a massive team effort by many departments: the production team, photographers who actually went out and took photos of the cars to be advertised, the accounts team, the sales team, and of course, the marketing team. My position was in the production department, where all the desk-top publishing was done, where everything was copied and pasted and put together, where all the mania took place, I loved it. Still only in my 20s and very eager to learn a new role, and something else to add to my CV.

I was to keep the flow of the department running: a motivator of sorts, making sure we met our targets. I loved the job and slotted into the team well. I made friends easily and like most people before them, lied about my education when asked. I told everyone I came from a decent family whom I didn’t see very much, and that I had been to boarding school. I became so comfortable with this lie that I had almost started to believe it myself. I was so afraid of being judged wrongly purely because of my upbringing. I was afraid I would not be allowed to fit in if people knew of my past, if they knew I had practically been brought up in the state
-care-system with virtually no education. I wanted to fit in so desperately. I really believed that I would not be accepted socially if people knew the truth. This was a burden at times. I found myself in some sticky conversations at times, and slipped up once or twice and then had to backtrack. That’s the problem with a lie: once you tell it you have to remember what you have told people. I was not comfortable with this continuous lie of mine; however, I was so convinced I would not be accepted socially, and that my future career would be held back by the truth that I did the only thing I felt I could and made up a new past for myself.

I did not enjoy telling people this lie. I would avoid any conversation about upbringings and schooling as much as possible, and it made things far easier than lying. I had a non-descript accent, which was often mistaken for a posh accent by some, and I guess that made my lie more believable. It seemed perfectly reasonable that I could have attended a posh boarding school. I worked harder than most at every job I had. I would start earlier, finish later and always be the first to offer my time at weekends if needed. I put in the extra hours often so I could gain more knowledge of the job and so I could be the best I could in my position. It was important to me that I was never bad at my job.

I was my own competitor. I was always trying to prove something to myself, that I could do just as well if not better than my colleagues who had been to university or college and who had experienced a normal upbringing within a loving family.

I always had to work extra hard at some things, but I mastered everything set out before m
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always. I would almost make myself indispensible at times, as job security to me was paramount. I had no one to fall back on if I lost my job or was made redundant, I would really be in dire straits. So to me, my work was never just my work, it was everything. Independence was also of the utmost importance. I never wanted to owe anybody for anything; and everything I was to achieve had to be by my own efforts, through hard work and determination.

Shocking revelations

One day after a long hard day in the production office, I arrived home later than usual. Blanche was waiting for me. She said there had been two visitors that day from the CID in
North Wales. They had left their card and asked me to call them urgently. Of course, Blanche was worried. She sat me down and rightly so. She asked me why they would have been calling. I had no idea at this point. I assured Blanche that all was okay and that perhaps it must have been something to do with my mother.

I called the number as soon as Blanche headed off to bed. I told them I was at work and as it was publication day for the magazine, I would be at the office for at least 12 hours. They were very insistent that they saw me the very next day, and advised me that they were going to come to the office, as they needed to speak to me urgently. I asked them what it was about, but they would give nothing away on the phone.

I could not sleep at all that night. I tossed and turned. I could think of no reason why the North Wales CID would want to speak to me. How had they found me? I had left the Norwegians without leaving a forwarding address many years before. I flew out of my bed the following morning; Blanche was awake and preparing breakfast. She was worried about me, and she could see how worried I was too. She gave me a hug before I left and I headed out the door to catch my train into work.

I informed my boss that I would be getting a visit from CID, which put me in an awkward situation, as for all they knew I could have committed a crime or something. However, I told my boss that I had witnessed an accident and they just wanted a statement. No more questions were asked, thank goodness. I was not about to reveal my life story to my boss and undo all my hard work. After all, I had done nothing wrong. I had not committed a crime. All I did was work hard and save hard. I could not concentrate on my job that da
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the busiest one of the week: publication day. By noon the North Wales Detectives had arrived; an office had been made free for us; and a secretary provided us all with tea and coffee.

“Can you confirm your full name for the record?”

“Yes of course, it’s Amelia Travis.”

“Can you also confirm that you were a resident at Bryn Tyn & Westbrook Hall Children’s Home between the dates on this document?”

I looked at the document, I looked at the dates, “Yes detective, I was resident at these children’s homes during that period of time.”

Confused and worried, I looked at the two men in front of me. They had a look of great concern on their faces. One detective looked especially sorrowful. I knew something really bad had happened; I just had no idea what. Then the lead detective said,

“Amelia, I need you to tell me about your time in these establishments. There have been many serious allegations made about some of the male members of staff at both Bryn Tyn and Westbrook Hall. Allegations of sexual abuse, spanning a period of 20 years, Amelia. I believe you were there a few years yourself: four years in Bryn Tyn and just over one year in Westbrook Hall. Is that correct?”

I was shaking, I felt sick, and I could not believe what I was hearing.

“Yes, that is correct,” I replied

The detective went on to explain that somewhere between 100 and 200 children had been allegedly abused in these children’s homes. It was mostly the younger boys that had been abused; there were some girls, but it was mainly boys. They were building a case against the male carers who were in charge of us children. John Allen, the founder of the Bryn Tyn community, was at the heart of the investigations. He was the private owner of all the children’s homes within the community. He hired and fired; he received a lot of money from the government and acted as an overflow for the state
-care-system, as they were overwhelmed, and spaces were few and far between.

Other names were mentioned. I just could not believe it. Some of those named were my carers too. It suddenly hit me that I had been placed in the care of a pedophile ring for the four years I had spent at Bryn Tyn. I was asked to tell them anything
that I thought were strange goings on in Bryn Tyn during my time there: anything that didn’t make sense, any odd behaviour among the carers. Were they over friendly? Did they come into our dormitories at night? Were there especially close relationships between children and carers that seemed strange to me at times?

I was also asked if I had been abused myself. I told them I had not been abused myself. However, I did mention the incidents of near rape at Westbrook Hall, and how it was brushed under the carpet. As sorry as they were to hear about my incident, they were only there for the child abuse allegations made and reported by so many children. So I told them how some of the boys at Bryn Tyn were
favoured over everyone else, and we did not know why. That they got to spend weekends at John Allen’s large house, and they would have motocross bikes bought for them, and televisions in their bedrooms. They were really spoilt compared to the rest of us, who had nothing. This was always something that puzzled the rest of us children. Now I know I had no reason to envy those poor boys, that their living hell was far worse than mine had been. The gifts they were receiving were aimed to keep them quiet about what was happening. Those gifts could never have made them happy.

It seemed all to fit. There were acres of land at Bryn Tyn Children’s Home, including a small wood and a stream. There was a song some of the children used to sing, and I remember it well. I never knew what it meant at the time, until this day. I just thought it was a silly song that some of the other children had made up, a song about John Allen and the woods. It went something like this:

“If you go down to the woods today your sure of a big surprise”

It would end with rhyming lyrics about John Allen, the founder of the Bryn Tyn community, who was now at the heart of these heinous allegations concerning many vulnerable children that had been placed in his care. I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

I cannot remember the whole rhyme. However, this song made sense now: they were not just children making up silly songs, which were ones that had been thought up for a real reason. It made me feel sick, the very thought of what had been going on. I felt as if I was in a bad dream and I would wake up any moment. But it was real; it was not a bad dream, more like a living nightmare.

I remember one or two of the younger boys in Lindisfarne Unit who were always quiet, who always looked sad. I wondered if any of those were abused. This news had knocked me for six. The interview lasted around 40 minutes. I did not really have much to tell them. However, they said I had been really helpful, and the song I mentioned had come up in several statements from other children they had already visited. I asked them a few questions of my own. How many children were involved in these awful abuse claims during my time at Bryn Tyn? There were a few, I was informed. They had told me that I was one of the lucky ones that this was an awfully tragic case that would be going on for quite a long time. I was devastated at some of the names I discovered were involved in the alleged pedophile ring. They were staff I had trusted and confided in; staff that I had liked. Surely it could not all be true.

Just when I thought life could not shock me anymore, there was this awful discovery, the awful crimes committed on all of those poor vulnerable children, the true horrors that went on in these children’s home that I had been living in. This was far too much for me to take in. I was still fragile myself, and nothing in the world could have ever prepared me for that visit from North Wales CID. Nothing could have prepared me for the news they delivered, or the questions I would be asked. I prayed to God to make all this go away, but I knew it wouldn’t. I knew this was really happening.

I had to leave work almost immediately following that interview. There was no way I could continue with my work that day. I explained to my boss I needed the afternoon off and I was granted my request. I went straight home barely being able to control my tears. I was so shaken by this news in ways you just can’t imagine. I think I always knew something was off kilter in these children’s homes. There was the odd rumor that floated around, but it was never really taken seriously. The one thing I could not get out of my head was that I along with other children placed in the care of John Allen and his staff were all in a vulnerable position for the duration of our time in these homes. Any one of us could have been chosen; any one of us could have suffered at the hands of these animals. Those of us that were not were very lucky. And those that were, well, I just cannot imagine what they went through. Being in the state
-care-system was  bad enough for children, but to be sexually abused as well by the very people who were supposed to be taking care of you, well, it just does not bear thinking about.

I spent the whole night crying, I told Blanche all about the visit, all about the children’s homes, and all about my feelings on this awful revelation. She was amazing. She told me how special I was, how I could do anything I wanted, and how someone was watching over me, always. She listened as always, she advised, and she hugged me. Blanche was like a shining star that had been sent to me for guidance. My angel.

One day a few months later the case of the Bryn Tyn child abuse was all over the news nationally, there was no escaping it. I tuned in to BBC 1 News after work one day. There it was, the children’s home in which I had spent four years was on the TV. John Allen was at the heart of the news. Other names were mentioned too. They had all been convicted of heinous sexual abuse crimes on young children in their care over a period of years. They were all sent down to serve their sentences. Many children were too afraid to give evidence in court. The details were hard to hear. I turned off the TV. I sat in silence. I thought back over my time in Bryn Tyn and thanked God that I was always running away. I thanked God that I was not one of those children. I could not believe that so many children were removed from their homes for their own safety and placed under the state-care-system for their protection, only to be systematically abused by their carers. I could not take all this in; I could not make sense of this at all. What kind of a world had I been born into?

How did they get away with this abuse of vulnerable children for so long? Where were the
Social Workers? Where were the government checks? I had so many questions, and no answers. I was very luck
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I could have been one of those children. I lived with them and I played with them. For a while it was big news all over the country. There were documentaries about it on Channel 4. There were one or two interviews on TV with the odd victim.

There was on
e particular interview that got my attention and made me so angry. It was with the doctor that Bryn Tyn used whenever a child was poorly. He was being interviewed on TV. He was not very nice about the children in care, saying that we were all wild like animals and that’s why we were all there. We were nothing as far as he was concerned. He was also very good friends with John Allen, the main abuser. This really upset me, and made me realise that my decision to lie about my past, and tell everyone I had been away at boarding school was most definitely the right decision. Is that how we children in the care system were thought of by the masses? I remember this thought haunted me for a long time.

It made me even more afraid to reveal the truth about my past. I
was young and still very naїve; I truly believed that concealment of my past was the best way forward. This shock revelation of the sex abuse scandal dubbed, “The homes from hell” by the media prompted a long-term visit from my nemesis. I was in darkness for quite a few months. Operating on auto pilot, could I ever get away from my past? I felt as if I was fighting a losing battle. I became so depressed I literally just went to work, did my job and went home. I barely went out the house for months. At one point I was so depressed the thought of getting out of bed and facing the world made me feel sick. I would never admit to anyone that I occasionally suffered with depression, something else I chose to conceal about myself. I would call into work stating I had the flu and would not be in work for the next week. I barely climbedout of bed. At its worst, my nemesis was totally debilitating. No one would understand, I thought. I would not have known how to explain what was wrong with me. It was not physica
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I could move, I could walk, I could talk. Yet I could not function. I occasionally forced myself out of bed to shower, and then I would go straight back to bed again. I would not draw the curtains for days. I would ignore the phone, and ignore the door when someone knocked. I basically cut myself off. This was my abyss.

It was very rare for me to be rendered this disabled by my nemesis, but when I was I had no control whatsoever. I was far too proud to go to the doctors for help at that point in my life, as I was hell bent on proving to myself and the world that I would be a success, that I was happy go lucky, that I fitted in just about anywhere. To admit to any body anything less would be an admission of failure as far as I was concerned. Soon my nemesis waved goodbye temporarily. I felt more positive once again, and was able to function like everyone else. I called into work to advise them I was better, that I no longer had the flu and would be fit for work on the Monday. No one ever had any idea of the real cause of my absence. This would be the case for many years to come. Whenever my nemesis paid me a visit and rendered me incapable of leaving the house, I managed to keep my job by lying and calling in sick with a virus or some other believable illness that would give me at least a week off work. This would happen at least once a year, so not often enough to cause me any problems at work. So many employees took more than three weeks off work per year, taking sick leave for one reason or another.