Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new) (40 page)

              In the case of where the Family Court Judge and the father of the mother who ran to the UK, whose case so closely mirrored mine - it seemed astonishing that those circumstances alone, had not been considered a conflict, with such obvious grounds for recusal and yet the judge had not seen fit to withdraw.

              We had also sought to have the Judge recuse himself on the grounds that his brother, the Attorney General was prosecuting my case in the Criminal Court whilst presiding over the Family Court case on the same facts and the appearance of bias this gave, but we too, had failed to convince him to step down - even with the arguments of a highly experienced big gun, Human Rights QC on our case who regularly sat as Judge on high profile cases involving such things as war crimes.

              There was so much hard evidence that M had told the truth. All the witnesses at the Fact Find hearing having said, without exception, that he was a very truthful little boy.  He had been even be put through questions designed to test his understanding of veracity.  One wonders if a child under a certain age is ever believed.  In fact the lengths that they would go to, to cover up abuse and protect abusers was completely incongruous with the ethos of the family court of “best interests of the child.” 

              M had been raised to be a very honest child and I knew that he was incapable of making up the things he had told me, yet a man who had more than once, admitted to lying on the stand in the Family Court, was believed over a truthful little boy.  What was the missing link?  There had to be a reason that they went to such lengths to protect evil.  No matter how much I turned the question around in my mind, I could not find an answer.

              The Judge had also asked my then advocate to remove key evidence from our case that would have supported the view that M had suffered abuse at the hands of his father, by way of an affidavit that he had sworn following an accidental interview with M. 

              At the start of litigation, I had received a call from my lawyer on my mobile as I was on my way home from picking M up from school.  He asked me to come into his office and sign a legal aid form, as he was initially representing me under legal aid.  He needed this urgently in order to send a reply letter to R’s lawyer as to why we were denying contact, which at the this time had been on medical grounds and advice of my GP who felt that there was sufficient evidence of impropriety on R’s part, substantiated by a rare urine infection that M had contracted following his first overnight stay with his father and recurrent infections after the three contacts that ensued. All of this had been swept under the carpet by the so-called expert Judge, who had no experience of Family Law, let alone abuse cases.

              I told my advocate, when he called, that M was with me and as he was only five at the time, I could not leave him in the car.  Nor could he wait for me alone.  My then advocate, a one man band, had no formal waiting room in any event.  He saw no harm in M coming into the office with me when purpose was only to sign a form and leave.  However, he then made, what one might say was as a very bad error of judgment.  He asked M if he would have a game of football in the park with his father, as he wanted to offer something by way of contact to pacify the opposing party.

              M’s reaction to this had been extreme to say the least.  He became hysterical and said he was never going to see his father again.  To be fair to my lawyer, he forgot his role for a moment and thought as a parent – he had two children himself and could hardly have just evicted us from his office at that moment.  He asked M why he was so worried about seeing his father and M then unburdened himself to this man, talking about things that seemed to suggest he had slept in his father’s bed with his then girlfriend, now wife, both naked and apparently engaged in some form of sexual act.  It may have been an accident that M had woken in the night to see something he shouldn’t, but he clearly should not have been in their bed when she was then a relative stranger and certainly not with the two of them naked.  Naturally what M was saying in very childlike terms to my lawyer, was very disturbing and this coupled with M’s apparent terror at having to engage with R and the medical history, had rung many alarm bells. 

              My advocate had known that he was now in a difficult position because he had, in effect, become a witness whilst being my legal representative, but he felt that he must disclose this information and did so by affidavit.  His mistake was in not then withdrawing  from the case.  He was forced to choose whether to leave the affidavit on record and leave the case or continue to represent me.  He chose the latter.  This meant his evidence was never properly considered by the Court and did not form any part of the Fact Finding when clearly it was key to our case. This said, one wonders how the Judge could have ignored such critical evidence whatever the circumstances.

              Later my advocate also suffered what seemed harsh treatment for trying to protect M.  He was reprimanded and publically shamed in the local press.  Again it made one wonder to what lengths they would go to cover up abuse in this community.  Were they so afraid that their reputation as an Island Utopia would be somehow sullied?  Would they let innocent children suffer to protect their right to go on existing in their own haven and encouraging people to bring in their money?  Who would come if they knew the horrors of the undercurrent of this so-called paradise?

              Would it have made any difference had my advocate withdrawn from the case at this point and allowed his evidence to stand?  Somehow I doubt it because from the very first hearing the Judge appeared to be biased towards M’s father and it remained the million dollar question as to why?

              Charlene had somehow got hold of the fact that I had been treated for depression in my teens and was now using this information to further taunt and bully me.  I had no idea how she had found out, but the Island is a small place, so really it would not have been that difficult.

              It was so long ago that it seemed like a very distant memory to me now, but she was determined to re-open this particular wound and picked at the scab daily in the hope it would cause me more pain. 

              I spent more and more time in my cell, having now mastered my claustrophobia to the point of voluntarily shutting the door to keep out the bullying comments and jeers.  I focused on writing my thoughts and feelings and tried to escape the outer world by retreating into my inner sanctuary of past happy memories with M.  I replied to the letters that came in daily offering hope and encouragement and I tried to structure my day, going to the gym, reading, taking the short tour of the exercise yard.  Occasionally I watched some television or a film with Annabel who had enhanced privileges and a DVD player, but only when she was well enough to do so, which was infrequent.

              I heard from my father that one of the members of the local parliament who had supported me through my Criminal Trial and whom I had met at the meeting against the proposed Children's Bill, was trying to raise his concerns about our case with the Department.  I tried to feel hopeful about this, but how does one person really break through so much wickedness and corruption?  It needed many people to take a stand, but so many were broken by the system and lived in fear.  Those who had never suffered under this regime did not understand and stayed in their goldfish bowls – secretly relieved that they had not come under scrutiny.  Having your child removed is almost like having a contagious disease; people avoiding you, to avoid the plague.

              This particular minister had been supporting me since I had spoken out at the meeting that had taken place a few months earlier and wanted to change a system that was a well-oiled money making machine which far from resolving the problems within families seemed hell-bent on their destruction and ruthlessly watched parents draining their resources funding litigation in an attempt to fight back.

              Later on, the same man was appointed Minister of Social Care.  I believe they gave him this post to silence him and bring him onside, for once he got into power his courage seemed to leave him and he appeared to lose interest in our case.  For a man who told me he could never be got at, I found this extremely disappointing.  It seemed clear he had succumbed to the pressure of public policy and was far less of a maverick than he had pretended to be.

              The minister had a sister who was a senior social worker and allegedly had been appalled to know of our story, saying it would not have happened in the UK, but from everything that has come out in the press since and from hearing from other mothers and fathers, our situation was not unique and spanned Great Britain and the commonwealth countries. 

              Attitudes in the rest of Europe and Southern Ireland at that time were significantly better and more geared towards keeping families together, rather than breaking them up, but the removal of children on minor and often false or no allegations of parental failure was endemic throughout England and the British Isles.  It was just more concentrated on the Island and more of a closed shop society with less accountability or external monitoring.

              Managers reviewed managers and so no complaint was ever independently assessed.  Even when a so-called external “independent” Complaints Assessor was appointed it was usually someone known to the Department and paid for by them.  The same problem existed in the appointment of court “experts” who usually made their recommendations to support the views of whomever was paying their fees.  Professor Jill Ireland's report had brought the problem into the public domain and consciousness, but we were still a far cry from the system being revised.

              The minister who had initially supported us was shocked that nothing had changed since two children who had been abused on the Island, had died in care in recent years.  There had been recommendations made following a full inquiry, but they had never been implemented.  People who had held positions of responsibility had merely been moved sideways or upwards and our own Family Court Judge had been defence lawyer for the Department of Social Care in this case.  Was it any wonder then, that he was still protecting them now?

              The recommendations for external monitoring and inspection by a leading Queen’s Council had largely faded into the ether and nothing had altered at all six years on from when they were made.  This Minister, having been formerly and vehemently campaigning for change and having initially spoken out vociferously on the subject on both National and Local news, once he became part of the very system he had lambasted, became silent.

              I thought back to the Social Worker in our case, Miss Whiplash, as I had termed her.  I had never in my life met anyone so tight-lipped and hard-faced.  One wondered if she ever smiled.  The cruelty in her steely black eyes, was Machiavellian.  She had so clearly got pleasure out of causing pain to M and I. It seemed her heart was made of granite.  Later this same Social Worker was found not to have protected a child on another case and she was moved side-ways temporarily to another department, but within a very short time when things had clearly died down, she was reappointed to Child Protection Officer - this being a common occurrence at this time.  Nothing had really changed despite the appointment to Minister of Social Care of someone who had started out with such good intentions - a man who had started out with such integrity and seemed to take an intelligent and measured approach to the problem, changed mercurially after his appointment, to someone who seemed to lose his heart and courage.  He stopped replying to my GP, my father and myself and when I did manage to contact him he spoke in whispers and seemed to fear talking to me.  What had happened?  Who had got to him?  It was clear that something or somebody had.

              Now he seemed to be protecting Miss Whiplash - a woman whose hostility had been palpable from the start and who flaunted her power to destroy families, mercilessly- completely uncaring of the damage she was doing to my poor little boy who had learned about the harsh realities of life so young and suffered so much - first at the hands of his father, then the Courts and then the Department - all who had failed to protect him and all who in their turn, had abused him emotionally and psychologically because he had dared to tell his mummy that his daddy was hurting him.

              Having largely conquered my claustrophobia out of necessity, I retreated after breakfast to my cell with my door shut - dividing my time into manageable units, ensuring I had plans for each hour, knitting, writing, answering letters, reading and watching television.  This way I learned to survive but nothing could bring relief from the gnawing pain of separation that I felt.

              When I first moved from the induction cell, I had tried to see it as a positive step and one that would help to integrate me.  I felt that the girls would see me as less protected  and soon afterward when I moved  upstairs where there were no wardens keeping a watchful eye I hoped they would leave me alone.

              The noise level on the upper floor was horrific as the girls played music through the night and any request to turn it down, met with further bullying and scorn,  not that I slept much, other than to drift in and out of the nightmare, but as the Family Court Final Hearing approached, I needed to have my wits about me and the music that thumped endlessly day and night made concentration and preparation, a virtual impossibility. 

              I made the fatal mistake one night of asking, via the night warden, for the music to be turned down.  Naturally it was turned up even louder and now that word was out that it bothered me, the other girls jumped on this new method of bullying me.