The Globe And Mail, Focus Section
Saturday, February 7, 2015
On the evening of Feb. 4, 2014, I landed at London Heathrow Airport, nervous about finally joining a number of men I had never met, but with whom I shared secrets that were over 50 years old.
We were on our way to Crown Court in Buckinghamshire, for the sentencing of two schoolteachers, Peter Wright and Hugh Henry – old men now. Each of us, as young boys, had been sexually abused by one of them, and had become official complainants in the Crown’s case against them.
Throughout my life, my plan had been to stay silent and ignore what had happened to me; I would keep going forward. I had been certain, as a child, that no adult would believe me if I told them. And even if they did, it was so disgraceful, they would have to hush it up; I would be blamed rather than rescued. Later, as an adult, I feared that my family would be hurt, my friends would distance themselves, and I would lose my tenuous place in the world.
That plan suddenly fell apart one September evening in 2011, just after midnight, when I sat down in front of the television. Our bedroom cable box is automatically set to TVO, where I serve as chair of the board, and a documentary was just beginning.