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Novel 1 Chapter 10.

Beverly had paused and she shifted somewhat embarrassedly on the edge of the platform. Ellie sat silent, desperately aware that the boss she had grown to respect and love had just made what must have been a brutally painful confession; a confession that would ordinarily have immediately dragged Beverly’s reputation down from the heights of her commercial success and feminist adoration to the very nadir of public condemnation and revulsion.

For long seconds Beverly seemed to be waiting for Ellie’s response, her eyes glistened slightly for it was obvious that the revelation had been fearfully difficult. Ellie didn’t know what to say and it seemed that Beverly was taking Ellie’s tearful silence as some sort of censure. Beverly’s lips pursed resentfully.

“Go on, say it! Say what you’re thinking, ‘a fucking whore!’”

Ellie almost squealed her protest.

“No! No, no, noo! That’s not what I was thinking! No! No!”

“So what then? Your silence shrieks volumes.”

“Well it’s not that; not a whore! Never that! I am still trying to get my head around it but never that; never a whore. It wasn’t your fault. That’s the first thing that came to my head, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I chose to do it. Nobody forced me to do it. It wasn’t as if I was back in Borstal.”

Ellie searched for words that did no harm. She had found them easily but struggled to put them in some way that wouldn’t sound patronising or condescending.

“I think you’re wrong there.”

“How so?” Beverly demanded. “I was free to do as I wanted.”

Ellie slid tactically into inquisition.

“Where you really free? Think about it. What were you free of; hunger, fear, pursuit, cold?

Were you hungry? When had you last eaten? Where were you sleeping? When did you last wash? Where you cold – tired – frightened and God alone knows what else?”

It was Beverly’s turn to fall silent and that had been Ellie’s intention; giving herself time to think, to comment without revealing the personal shock at learning of such a devastating story. Ellie pressed gently.

“Please, tell me, I’ll bet it was all or most of those circumstances and if I’m right then I have to say now that you were forced. Oh I’ll agree that nobody actually took hold of you and physically forced you. There was no single individual, no pimp or pressing drug addiction, no bullying warden or a customer that physically overwhelmed you but – but, well - circumstances forced you, starvation forced you, cold forced you, fear forced you.

You said it yourself, you were terrified of being sent back to the borstal and you actually felt safer on the streets, safer prostituting yourself and exposing yourself to God-alone-knows what. That’s a damming indictment of the care you received. You know that now but you didn’t understand it then. You didn’t know any better. That ghastly existence was all you had known. Those brutal circumstances had stripped you of any measure of judgement. What was it – eight-and-a-half years of total abuse. What was your yardstick to judge your circumstances? Had there ever been any degree of normality in all those bloody - and they were bloody – years?”

Beverly dimpled her jaw as she found herself struggling to agree with Ellie. To agree was almost akin to some sort of confession of her inadequacies - then as a child - and again – now, as she found herself confronting those oft resurrected demons one more painful time. Beverly felt demeaned by the realisation and debated if it was any use carrying on with her life-story. It seemed that every time she revealed one more disgusting detail of her childhood her own self esteem took another battering. It didn’t help that Ellie was seemingly sympathetic, for that kindness only served to reinforce Beverly’s suspicions that Ellie was hiding whatever revulsion she felt. She considered curtailing her narrative and said so.

“I think I’d better stop this. It doesn’t solve anything and I’m sure you’re sickened by it.”

“No don’t stop. Yes I am sickened by it, but truly Beverly, it’s not your fault. You were never to blame then and not to blame now. Age and time does not change that.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“How would it, how could it?”

“Age and time have changed me and I find the Beverly of today judging the Bernard of yesterday.”

Ellie wagged her head thoughtfully.

“That hasn’t changed the moral argument or the ethical circumstances arising from those events. The only changes are that Beverly has acquired yardsticks and how many years has that taken?”

Beverly reflected bitterly then sighed softly.

“A few.”

“Yeah; like forty – or even fifty years, maybe more; that’s a lifetime for some. Please; I’d like you to carry on. It gives me a deeper insight into what makes you tick.”

“Why would you want – or need a deeper insight? Why do you need to know what makes me tick as you put it?”

Ellie found an opportunity to input her own feelings.

“I wondered why you never judge people. Now it’s beginning to make sense. Is it because you always expect the worst from people? Is this why you seem to have such low expectations? I’ve noticed you seem to approach every problem or question by applying the lowest common denominator of expectations; always anticipating the worst possible outcome. You seem surprised when anybody does you a good turn or something turns out well.”

“That’s not fair I give praise where –“

“Oh yes! Certainly you do, but I can’t help noticing that there is usually some underlying expectation of failure or betrayal or even deception in your demeanour towards everybody. You hide it well, oh yes, you hide it very well with your effusive praise and constantly constructive observations you’ve learned the simpler tricks of leadership and made them work for you at a simple, overt level. But deep down you are always expecting things to fail. You think you are deceiving people into not noticing your pessimism, and indeed yes, you do deceive most people; in the short term that is - but I’ve known you long enough now and worked close beside you, long enough and close enough to see through your facade. At first I was puzzled by the underlying cynicism that never seemed to surface but I somehow sensed it.”

Ellie continued as Beverly’s brow wrinkled with uncertainty.

“Friends tell me I’m acutely sensitive to these deeper elements of human relationships but you have puzzled me and intrigued me since I first came to work for you. Now I get my first glimpse of the causes and I’m sickened and astonished simultaneously. So please don’t leave me hanging with unfinished reasons and explanations. Most people – no I correct myself – almost anybody else would have been some sort of depressive failure by now; you are not and that amazes me as well as puzzling me. Please go on! When did it start to go right?”

Beverly sucked her cheeks in thoughtfully and disentwined her tightly crossed legs. It was body language that had already forewarned Ellie that Beverly was intensely stressed. She offered to make some more tea as a tactic to give Beverly time and space to recover her composure. Beverly nodded ‘yes’ and Ellie took the tray with the empty pot and cups to the kitchen while the older woman sat staring across the container park towards the crane and across the harbour.

From the kitchen window Ellie noticed Beverly’s shoulders heaving so she delayed the tea-making and waited until the shoulders stilled. Long minutes passed but Ellie’s tactic worked and she eventually returned to find her boss actually smiling, though there were long black, tell-tale lines of tear stained mascara.

From the tea tray she took a kitchen towel from the several she had ripped from the kitchen roll in anticipation of finding Beverly in tears. Knowingly she proffered it to Beverly who gratefully wiped the smears away. Ellie then dug out some wet-wipes and proffered them. Beverly quickly repaired her make-up while Ellie sipped her tea patiently. Finally Beverly took a deep breath followed by a thankful sip of her tea.

“Better now?” Ellie asked softly.

Beverly nodded.

“Thanks darling. Okay, I’ll go on.”

“You need to, but take your time.”

They continued sitting silently on the platform edge with their legs dangling as they shared the tea-tray between them. Ellie’s digestive biscuit seemed to crunch inordinately loudly as the silence endured. Strangely, even the gulls seemed silent until Ellie realised they were absent, gone to scavenge some distant garbage dump.

Eventually Beverly uncrossed her legs and shifted to get comfortable, but her countenance had a haunted expression as she returned to her life-story.

“The trouble was that first time I did it voluntarily, on the street, in Birmingham, I ended up almost liking it. He proved gentle and thoughtful so once I’d overcome my fear of pain; I managed to briefly suppress any horrors of rape. Once I found myself seemingly unperturbed by choosing voluntarily to get fucked, it seemed that I was at long last in control of my life. He paid up without a murmur and everything seemed good until I suddenly had a flash-back and realised what I’d done.

My delayed reactions were stupid and childish, typical of some naughty child but with the underlying gravity of adult awareness. I wanted to insult him, hurt him, punish him somehow.

That’s when I started prancing in the alleyway and taunting him with my dick. After that first voluntary choice the fucking became easy, - and the money was usually easy provided the guy paid up.”

Ellie stiffened slightly.

“Miss Beverly, will you please not use the ‘eff’ word. I have trouble with it coming from your lips. It sort of – I don’t know, it makes your story sort of seedy; you know even worse than it already is.”

“Could it be worse?” Beverly sighed.

Ellie was hard put to say no because that would have somehow implied revulsion or condemnation but she eventually wagged her head as though words might betray her. A slow wag of her head implied a confused sympathy and even some degree of empathy especially as she averted Beverly’s eyes and stared at the rusty rail track below her feet. Beverly nodded slowly as she added.

“No, you’re right to be at a loss, I don’t suppose it gets lower than a transvestite street whore, a teen-aged prostitute.”

Ellie finally met Beverly’s haunted gaze.

“But it’s still not your fault, your story isn’t seedy; it’s disgusting, yes, but not for the life you led; it was the forces that drove you to lead it. That’s the disgusting part. The fact that those experiences still seem somehow to drive you, motivate you. That is what’s disgraceful, the damage they did. The truth is your story isn't seedy it's inspiring.”

“I’m not sure that those experiences might not still be driving me, I’d hoped I’d left all that behind.”

Ellie felt Beverly was getting bogged down in her own guilt so she tried to move things along.

“How long did you stay in Birmingham?”

“About three weeks I suppose, who was keeping count?”

Ellie nodded and dragged the conversation along.

“So what made you leave – Birmingham that is?”

“The pimps.”

“Pimps?”

“Yeah. Some of the other girls had spotted me working and word soon got around about me. When it became obvious that some of their regular johns were forsaking the regular girls for the under-aged tranny who worked out of a skip up a back alley, the girls got pissed off with me. I was stealing some lucrative trade from them so they put their pimps onto me.”

“What did they do?”

“The pimps or the girls?” Beverly checked.

“The pimps; who else?” Ellie arched her eyebrows for she half knew the answer.

Beverly answered almost dispassionately.

“Oh, the girls tried to catch me by tricking me to join them on their patch but I was far too smart for them. Then one of the pimps tried to force me into one of his stables so I simply ran.

“And?”

“I was too quick for him. I’d been working the area for almost three weeks and I knew the streets like the back of my hand, or more importantly,
I knew all the little alleyways and hidey-holes. I can spot a pimp a mile away. When he and his cronies came to hunt me down, I laid low then waited for the right opportunity. The typical arseholes only knew the streets and places a car could go. A kid on foot can climb and crawl and do all sorts of stuff. Birmingham’s even got old canal tunnels and disused railway tunnels not to mention the sewers. I was out of Birmingham and on my way to Nottingham before they could say Jack-shit!”

“Nottingham?”

“Yeah; just an accident of geography I suppose. I waited outside the fruit market and took advantage of the day’s activities. Next morning I was in Nottingham. Same thing; - same modus-operandi and I was in the groove working the streets within a couple of days. I also discovered a public wash-house where I could strip up and have a bloody good wash. Then it was the same as Birmingham, the working girls noticed me getting more business than them and did not realise I was Trans. I must have been getting better at ‘passing’.”

Beverly let go an ironic snigger.

“Or maybe because I smelt sweeter! Anyway the upshot was the same, their pimps got interested and it was time to go again. Next town was Sheffield courtesy of a John who paid me without any questions. I was already sensing the dangers from the Nottingham pimps and I needed to be moving on. He surprised me when he agreed to give me a lift to Sheffield as payment for services rendered when we got there. I stuck to my side of the bargain and he stuck to his. Who said Yorkshire-men are tight-wads?

Sheffield proved okay, it was a bit dirty with all the steelmaking and stuff but there was plenty of money sloshing around. Lots of steel-men on high wages in those days. I did well for nearly a month until two nosey police women started to get interested in me. The bitches posed as working girls and I didn’t realise they were marks. I was bending down talking into a car when they casually appeared to be walking past. Just as I was reaching down to open the door they snatched me and held me down until two plain-clothes coppers arrived and demanded to know how old I was. I couldn’t hide my adolescent prepubescent appearance. The four of them, two male coppers and the two women coppers; they hauled me off to the police station but I still refused to talk. They checked out my money pouch that I normally kept in my knickers and they couldn’t believe how much money I was carrying. When I still refused to answer their questions they decided to strip search me to see if I was carrying more and to check if I had drugs on me.

Both women coppers started to try to undress me and I kicked like a wild thing so they called their colleagues in. Finally they got me down to my knicks and that’s when they found out. They intended doing a vaginal inspection until they had the big surprise - I was a boy! Well according to their bloody mores I was a boy, you know, usual simian hoots when my bits were exposed for all the bastards to see. Needless to say their attitudes changed and things got rougher. They slapped me around a bit but I still wouldn’t talk. Eventually they gave up after I was given a blanket and subjected to a barrage of questions but I still refused to break. Eventually they brought in a police surgeon who examined me as they held me down and he declared me to be an adolescent boy entering puberty. That’s when things got tricky for them. The surgeon went on to examine me and declared me to be malnourished, but unable to determine my age.

Because of my bad diet from aged twelve in Borstal I was so seriously undersized that they had no idea of my age. That worked in my favour because they now had an under-aged male minor who had been palpably trading as a street prostitute. They didn’t know what to do cos’ there were no social workers in those days. Well not like now.

Eventually a woman came down from some unit in the local hospital. She might have been some sort of psychiatrist person but she was a total waste of space. The questions she put to me were puerile by the standards of my past life and the circumstances of my arrest. I played the ‘little child lost’ card and she fell for it hook, line and sinker. Talk about naive! She must have thought that a ‘motherly’ approach would somehow endear me to her; you know – a kid looking for some sort of mother figure or some such stupid notion. Yeah; that worked, the very word mother made me resentful and after that I said no more. She decided to take me to some place she thought was better than a police cell. I suppose the usual attitude of professional conceit drove her. You know the sort of thing. 'I'm a doctor, don't try to tell me my job' She even refused the police advice to move me under escort because I had been violent.

One good thing she did was to make them give me back my original clothes, less the broken buttons and secured with safety pins. Then she even put my money in her handbag. That’s when I realised they were taking me somewhere else. I presumed it would be another Borstal. The poor bitch had no idea how desperate I was to get away despite the police giving her full warning. I suppose she was used to dealing with traumatised kids being rescued from dysfunctional families.

By now, I was in another league – a frightened but hard-bitten survivor. It was dark by now and when she had to stop at some traffic lights, I snatched her handbag and opened the car door. Outside I rifled through her bag, grabbed my money and threw her handbag back at her while shouting that I wasn’t a thief and it was she who had stolen my money. She was in low heels, I was in daps so I was easily away before she even got around to my side of the car. She recovered her bag from the gutter then jumped in the car and started following me along the street. She passed me and pulled in ahead of me but that was a useless tactic. I simply turned around and fled back the way I’d come.
The last I saw and heard was her calling after me saying she was there to help.

‘Yeah and pigs’ll fly’. I told myself as I clambered over some walls and made away through some gardens.
Free again, I ended up back in Manchester, I’d come full circle.”

“Weren’t you afraid you’d be recognised again?” Ellie asked.

“Not really. I was no longer stealing from shops or market stalls, I was a prozzy, I had a business – a living wage, albeit a dangerous risky one. I ended up on Canal Street and Prince’s Street and quickly learned about the New Union Pub. As far as I knew, it was the first avowedly gay pub in Manchester – in the whole north of England maybe - but certainly Manchester. I started hanging around outside cos I was too young to go in and I struck gold the first night I got started. I was already street-wise and shrewd so getting organised was easy.

I was posing against the stone walling that borders the canal when a guy came out and started looking at me. I was wearing a mini skirt, white, calf-length boots and a vest top – the uniform of the street, oh; and a short fur jacket. It was October after all. My hair was fairly long so he came over to me and stood beside me for several moments before looking me up and down. There were no other street girls near and that made him curious. Canal Street wasn’t the usual red light area in Manchester. In those days it was Trafford Road down by the docks.
I was obviously ‘on the game’ but obviously very young and he was seemingly intrigued - skinny as a whippet and legs like a yearling filly. He edged in for a closer look then asked me. ‘How old are you love?’ ‘Old enough.’ I answered. ‘Old enough for what?’ He replied. ‘Old enough for what you’re lookin’ for.’ I told him and he grinned. Then he asked me how much I charged and he frowned when I told him.
I’d already learned that trans-girls were worth more than ordinary girls and that was the only yardstick of any measure of self worth that I had.”
Beverly paused and chuckled ironically before recommencing.

“My arse was worth more than a girl’s va-ju-ju. How bloody arse-backwards is that? When he asked why I was so expensive I gave it to him straight. I was a tranny and trans-girls were special. I’d just seen him coming out of the only queer’s pub in Manchester where trannies congregated so I was pretty certain he was a queer.”

Ellie grimaced at Beverly’s use of the old term ‘queer’ but realised her boss was being historically chronistic.

“Go on. Did he agree?”

“Yes. We did it on my terms under the old canal bridge right by The New Union pub. What’s more he paid up straight away and asked if I’d be there the next day.”

Ellie raised a questioning eyebrow and Beverly pursed her lips distastefully as she recalled the events.

“I agreed to meet him again. Naturally I was doubly cautious and I waited away from the bridge further up Princess Street, but yes I was there the following day - and every day after that for a fortnight. He was thoughtful, kind, gentle, punctual and honest about paying. I would have been stupid not to, the money was good and regular. Then he came on a Friday and told me quite casually that his ship was sailing and he wouldn’t be there on the Saturday. To put it mildly I was devastated for I thought it would be a long term thing. It was only then that I learned he was an engineer on a ship in Salford Dock. My nice safe meal ticket was disappearing before my very eyes, evaporating like steam from a kettle. There were tears when he left, my tears for he was the first ‘long term’ guy who’d been kind and honest with me. That Friday night I crawled into my hidey-hole under Piccadilly railway arches and pondered my fate. I decided to try my luck at the same place on the Saturday cos’ it had proven successful.

Imagine my suspicion and caution when he turned up on the Saturday totally unexpected. Once I realised it wasn’t some sort of elaborate trap I was delighted to see him and we recommenced our relationship. Then he explained why he had come back.

His ship was what they call a cargo liner – that is a ship that calls at the same ports every voyage. However, on that voyage things had been changed because they had been chosen to carry some big transformers and stuff for several voyages. There were lots of them going to some huge hydro-electric contract in America and his ship would be carrying several each voyage for a year or more. When I found out that he came back to Manchester every three to four months depending on the ice in the great lakes I was all agog and even more interested. The ship was going to have to be modified and that would take several days more in Manchester. That meant I had him for another week so I was ecstatic.
On the Sunday night he brought even more exciting news.”

Beverly paused and Ellie pressed impatiently.

“Well go on! Don’t stop now.”

“Apparently, that morning the Cabin boy had had to pay off because there was some problem in his family. My lover-boy asked me if I wanted a job as replacement cabin-boy. Well; do bears shit in the woods!?”

Ellie nodded as Beverly continued.

“I nearly tore his arm off and he told me he’d run it by some of the other officers.”

“I was only fourteen years and eight months, what did I know about ships or joining the merchant navy. He told me he’d sort stuff out but that we’d have to tell them I was over fifteen. He said the simplest way was to say I was born a year earlier and in those days it was easy. They never asked for birth certificates or any sort of documentation. He smuggled me aboard the ship in Manchester and the ship sailed that night down the ship canal to Manchester. Next day, he took me ashore when we arrived in Liverpool. With the chief steward and the radio officer vouchsafing for me, I was issued with a discharge book and an identity book by the shipping federation. I didn’t even have a medical. They were desperate for boys to join as deck boys or cabin boys or galley boys. The only thing they gave me was an eyesight test which I passed easily.

The following morning I was signed onto the ship’s articles and that afternoon I was washing alleyways, cleaning toilets, making beds, polishing port holes, cleaning cabins and so on; all jobs I’d done in borstal except that the port holes had been windows.

I soon settled into a routine while the ship loaded these huge two hundred ton transformers and generators bound for the USA. Finally we sailed and only then did I learn why I’d been given the job. The officers who had vouchsafed for me were the lead players in a paedophile ring and I was the new toy; - under-aged, under-sized, undernourished with longish light brown to dirty blond hair and bright blue eyes. A perfect toy!

So it was; a few days at sea and the engineer who had got me on-board asked nicely if I wanted to come to bed. How could I refuse? As I saw it he had me by the balls and anyway, we’d been fucking together for two weeks in Manchester so I knew he was gentle, kind and thoughtful. That night I ended up in his bunk where he proved to be true to his nature, that was, kind and gentle, plus his bed was warm and dry and roomy. Officers had better cabins than the crew and wider bunks. I loved it, during the sex he cuddled me gently and stroked me, he didn’t beat me or force me with punches or blows and after the sex – which I must add I actually enjoyed - I slept in his arms. I’d orgasm’ed, and I’d never been happier. I was warm, wanted and willing

And so it began; nearly every night, when the ship was at sea and working watches, I spent the night in a different bunk belonging to one of the paedophiles. What did I know? It was warm and comfortable and at least they never hit me; besides, theirs’ were the first cuddles and hugs I’d ever felt since I was four! The first ever signs of affection. What did I know, what did I care? I was safe in somebody’s arms and being loved. Well, that’s what it felt like to me.”

“You didn’t know any better, it’s still not your fault.” Ellie mistakenly tried to reassure her boss.

Beverly just wagged her head.

“Of course I didn’t know that the fucking was illegal but I knew I was signed on under-age and I knew that was definitely illegally. That would have been enough to keep me quiet but what was there to ‘keep quiet about’. The last thing I would have dreamed of was complaining or reporting anything illegal. For the first time in my life I was happy – never happier and never more loved.

I understand about the illegal sex perfectly well now, but hindsight’s a wonderful thing you know, twenty, twenty vision. Back then I counted them as the only friends I’d ever had. Even now I find it difficult to condemn them out of hand; they were never cruel to me and always gentle.”

“But they were just using you.” Ellie protested.

“Yes!” Beverly replied sharply, “But I didn’t bleed, they weren’t hurting me or injuring me or ¬abusing me. Not like the brutes in the borstal. In there it was all ‘Wham, bam, thank you bitch! Well no, not exactly that even. In borstal they never ever said thank you! At least my shipmates were always kind and gentle. I had found kindness, happiness and acceptance were everything before had been brutality, rejection and fear.”

Ellie shuddered and wagged her head. It was impossible for her to get inside Beverly’s head. ‘How could anal rape, or child rape be kind – or gentle?’ she wondered. ‘Rape was rape!’ However she kept silent. Beverly was about to resume talking.

“We finally arrived in America; everything was strange and exciting for me. Each evening in Philadelphia I could catch a bus right outside the dock gate and travel directly into town. I walked around the city just looking at the buildings and shops that stayed open until long after the old British system of five o’clock closing. I saw the liberty bell and thought of my own liberty, my own independence. Believe me those were some very mixed emotions. I was looking at the bell when some coppers or guards or some such security guys were watching me, probably because of my seeming youth and long hair. It was just before sunset and they were probably wondering what such a young, effeminate kid was doing staring at the bell so late. Fortunately my old streetwise ways alerted me to their surveillance and I left immediately. A bus back to the dock gates then the safety of the ship.

That same street canniness enabled me to also avoid tricky areas and dangerous places as I kept to the busy city centre. American cities seemed much like British cities except for the sky-scrapers and crime. One of the older, able seamen got robbed but he was alone and drunk outside a bar in a bad part of town.

In Philadelphia the ship was two weeks unloading the special lifts but as a cabin boy I was not involved with cargo work. I would finish work at six and the nights were mine to do as I pleased. Once the bosun asked how it was I didn’t get attacked but I just told him I was careful and too young to drink so I didn’t get caught by muggers outside bars and stuff. He simply smiled and walked away wagging his head.

The truth was I was exceptionally street wise and finely attuned to any circumstances or potentials that might precipitate an attack. I was also quick to take early avoiding action if something looked risky or ‘unusual’ further down the street. I would always walk near the kerbside so as to avoid being surprised from alleyways or dark doorways whilst simultaneously watching for any unusual vehicle approaches. There are a dozen ways a street-wise kid employs almost unconsciously to avoid traps and muggings. Besides all the street savvy I could also run like a whippet.
Finally we finished the heavy lifts and resumed our normal trading voyage via New York, Boston and Halifax Nova Scotia, then on to the great lakes; Toronto, Montreal, Detroit, Chicago and so on. Most of these ports were only four or five day stops. I didn’t go ashore every night because my wages just didn’t support it, plus I was saving up though God alone knew what for. It was just the idea that I could save, the very thought that I had money to call my own and that it was safe on the ship. I didn’t have to hide it about my body or even in my own desk. The money was ‘on account’ and that felt reassuring.

Eventually the ship had completed its run of ports. We were chased out of the lakes by the encroaching ice and we were occasionally escorted in a convoy by an ice-breaker as we finally left the St Lawrence. There was a brief call into St John’s Newfoundland then across the Atlantic back to Britain; that was Liverpool and Manchester again.

All that time up the lakes I shared a different bunk with one or another of my newfound friends. One of the nicest experiences was looking out of the cabin porthole at the ice and snow going past while I was snuggled up safe and warm cuddled in the arms of one of the paedophiles. What did I know? What did I care? I was safe, warm and loved.

All that changed when we were just a day out of Canada and just cleared the Grand Banks. The ship got one of its frequent storm warnings and the captain turned some of the senior deck-crew out to make sure everything was battened down. The North Atlantic is a cruel ocean and there’s nowhere to run to if things go wrong. Unlike the North Pacific where there’s a chain of the Aleutian Islands to duck behind all the way across no matter if you’re crossing eastwards or westwards.

Anyway, back to that first voyage. I’d just had my fifteenth birthday but of course I didn’t celebrate it. The last thing I wanted was to alert anybody about my being under-aged. On that date in late February, somewhere after passing Quebec on the St Lawrence, I became technically legal at least as far as my age was concerned though my seaman’s books were still technically illegal. That March night as we cleared the grand banks, we had the storm warning; as the ship was heading back east for Britain. I was cuddled up with the chief steward safe from all the gales and snow.

It was three o’clock in the morning when the chief steward gently tapped my shoulder and suggested I return to my own bed so as to avoid being caught by the changing watchkeepers at four a.m. Unfortunately, the chief mate had joined the second mate, the carpenter and the bosun to debrief after checking that everything was battened down for the storm.

All of them were gathered whispering at the main stairwell so as not to waken any passengers or stewards and I emerged out of the Chief Steward’s cabin straight into them. As I turned from closing the steward’s door softly so as not to wake anybody I blundered straight into the second mate. The chief mate had seen me emerge from the cabin and he immediately grabbed me by the shoulder.

“Wait there!” He whispered, “I’ll talk with you shortly.”

"I was caught bang to rights, no excuses, no explanations and no hope of escaping from this one. Two senior officers and two petty officers had seen me and stopped me.

They continued discussing what precautions they had taken to make sure the ship was battened down for the storm then the chief mate turned to me."

“What were you doing in the steward’s cabin?”

I tried lying but what was the use? It was obvious what had been happening and the mate’s next question confirmed it.

“Has he been fucking you?”

I stared at the floor and nodded. There was no way I could deny it; I was in the deepest shit of my life. The mate just swore and thumped my shoulder.

“Go to your bloody cabin. The old man will have to sort this out in the morning.”

Beverly chuckled briefly as she recalled the events then resumed talking.

“Well the next morning at ten-thirty sharp I was up in the old man’s office to meet with my disaster. The old man looked at me and plunged straight in; no formalities, no questions to check if I was okay, just straight direct questions.”

“Did he fuck you boy?”

I mumbled “Yes sir.”

He wagged his head and sighed.

“Aye, we’ve suspected this for some time. D’ you like him fucking you?”

“Dunno’ sir.”

“What d’ you mean you don’t know. Are you a queer or was he making you do it?”

I had to think long and hard. It was no use lying because I was up to my neck in shit every which way – no escape. The old man just looked at me for long moments. Then he repeated.

“Well you must know if you like it boy. Did he force you to do it? Did he tell you you’d lose your job if you refused?”

“No sir; well not exactly but I, well I thought it was what I had to do.”

He stared at me trying to understand what I was alluding to but my meaning escaped him so he asked me bluntly again.

“Are you a queer?”

I honestly didn’t know. He sat watching me and occasionally wagging his head then he seemed to realise what turmoil I was going through and he spoke softly.

“There’s no need to be afraid boy. Just tell me if you felt obliged to sleep with him.”

“I dunno' what you mean sir, what’s obliged?”

He took a deep breath and explained.

“Did you feel you had to sleep with him like some sort of duty?”

“A bit sir – yes.”

He took another deep breath.

“Now we’re getting somewhere. So again, I’ll ask you do you like doing it.”

“D’ you mean the fucking bit sir?”

He frowned at me for it was obvious my vocabulary had no other word for sexual intercourse. Realising this, he used the same language to avoid confusion.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Did you like his cock in your arse? I presume it was his cock in your arse and not the other way around.”

“No sir. He fucked me.”

“So one more time, this is like pulling bloody teeth; did you like it?”

“I liked cuddling sir.”

Once more the old man paused. He was becoming more thoughtful as he began to piece things together.

“So you like cuddling up to him but not the fucking bit.”

“It was my turn to pause but eventually, I realised that was pretty much how it was. It was nice sharing a bed and cuddling him while the fucking part seemed like a small price to pay. However, the fucking was okay because they were gentle and didn’t rip my rectum plus when his cock pressed my prostate it sometimes felt like coming. I told him about his ‘cock hitting my button’ and even the old man did not understand until I explained the feeling and the ejaculation. Once he understood this, he nodded knowingly. Then he came to a clever decision.”

“Right boy. You obviously can’t stay in the catering department if that man is raping you. I’m moving you sideways to the deck department and you can work as a deck boy until we get to Liverpool. You’ll be under the orders of the first mate Mr Roberts and the bosun. The bosun will explain your duties and each night you’ll sleep in the ships hospital. I’ll personally lock you in.”

Ellie gasped slightly.

“What you were locked in each night? What if there was an emergency? What if the ship was sinking?”

“Ships don’t sink that quickly. They’d have got me out. The hospital is only one deck below the captain’s cabin. Anyway, who was I to question his authority – captain next to God and all that? The upshot was that I worked as a deck-boy for the remaining eight days of the voyage and found the deck crew to be a hard-working, decent bunch of lads. They even teased me by giving me the nick-name ‘Spider’ when I rushed around like a jumping spider because I was so desperate to please the bosun and the deck crew. No message was too difficult, no job too hard, no orders were ever disobeyed and the bosun noticed this. The bosun was like a father to me, a proper father, you know stern but fair.”

“So what happened when you got to Liverpool?” Ellie pressed.

“Well I suppose the airwaves were buzzing during the whole time while we were returning across the Atlantic. Eleven days later, the ship docked in Liverpool precisely at six a.m., right on schedule. After all the usual procedures had been completed by ten a.m., you know, customs-clearance, immigration, paying off etcetera; a meeting was convened in the captain’s office. Straight after ‘coffee’ at eleven o’clock, I was taken by the bosun from the locked hospital to the captain’s office. There I was made to stand before a whole panel of people. The captain sat in the middle, to his right sat a police superintendent from the Liverpool division of Lancashire County Police, next to him sat a sergeant from the Liverpool Docks Police and at the end of the table sat the registrar general for shipping and seamen, Liverpool section.

To the Captain’s left sat my nemesis Fatty Gardiner the borstal warden who’d been my worst enemy and abuser in Borstal. Next to him sat Governor Davies the big boss during my life in Borstal. Finally, right at the end sat the Port Health officer, a lady doctor.
I felt like that young royalist boy being arraigned before the Puritans in the famous picture ‘And When Did You Last See Your Father?’

https://www.google.com/culturalinstitute/asset-viewer/and-wh...

After making me stand before the panel, the bosun left. I felt the bosun had been my only friend and now I stood utterly alone. The captain started the inquiry by simply asking me -.

“Right boy; from the beginning when you joined the ship.”

It was utterly useless trying to lie to cover up. They knew everything and they had four witnesses so I gave up all attempts to lie and started from the beginning.

“I joined the ship in October sir. I –“

“He’s lying captain!” Fatty Gardiner declared loudly.

I stood utterly defeated. I had only uttered a few words and already I was being called a liar! Even when I was telling the truth. It was hopeless, I stood no chance and didn’t expect to. I fell silent waiting for the axe to fall and the silence became oppressive. I wanted to shout and swear at Gardiner but that would have only made my situation worse; especially when I was taken back to Borstal. I just stayed dumb; stupidly, fearfully dumb. There was nothing I could say. I’d only mentioned October and I was already being called a liar.

As I stood there almost in tears the captain leaned forward and turned to face Fatty Gardiner before speaking softly.

“So why do you say the boy is lying Mr Gardiner?”

Fatty Gardiner leant forward with all the arrogance and confidence of somebody with total power.

“He absconded from Borstal in August Captain, he must have joined your ship in August or soon after.”

I wanted to shout and scream I was nowhere near the ship in August but I was too terrified to speak. I’d have to reveal what I’d really been doing and that would have made it far worse – at least in my eyes it would. Then the captain did something unexpected. He reached out and opened the large book, the ships’ articles of agreement before speaking again to Gardiner while he gently tapped the opened page.

“Mr Gardiner; if that boy joined this ship in August of nineteen sixty then he must have either swum across the Atlantic or flown over it. Both I believe would have been equally impossible for a boy of fourteen. My ship Mr Gardiner, was in New York, Boston, Halifax Nova Scotia and Quebec during August of last year. Furthermore, I happen to know with total certainty that the boy signed on to this ship’s crew right here at this very table and in this very book in October. I know because I signed him on. Look here, that’s his signature – well his name at least, printed right there. - And THAT Mr Gardiner; is MY signature.”

He tapped the bottom of the page quite hard before continuing.

"Now Mr Gardiner, I can say with certainty that so far, the boy has NOT lied and he DID join this ship in October. I will therefore respectfully ask you not to interrupt the boy again.”

He turned to me as I stood bewildered by events and wondering. ‘Had somebody just stood up for me or was there a deeper hole being dug, a bigger trap?’ I wondered.

My silence was self explanatory, my paranoia self evident so the captain spoke more softly.

“Right boy, from the beginning when you joined the ship in October; everything mind, everything you can remember.”

Gradually I found my voice and gave it to him chapter and verse; everything I could remember, names, dates, locations, everything. I was too frightened to tell any lies. It was over by twelve o’clock, I’d tried to tell everything I could remember and the silence around the table frightened me. The captain told me to stand outside his office. I left both relieved and yet terrified about what was being decided. As I stood like some naughty schoolboy outside in the corridor, the bosun reappeared and paused before going into the office.

“Bloody Hell Spider, you’ve stirred up a right hornet’s nest. The captain’s just been on the phone to me and he’s not very happy. What the hell’s been going on?”

I just stood there trembling with fear and ignorance.

“I dunno Bos’, I dunno.”

He went in and all I could hear were mumblings through the door, then, as the noise levels rose. I could definitely hear the Bosun arguing with Fatty Gardiner. It became something of a shouting match until the captain called them to order and the bosun stormed out past me saying he was getting Mr Roberts the mate. I was wetting myself and stood petrified as the bosun returned with the first mate. Mr Roberts the mate turned to look at me and repeated the bosun’s question.

“Good God Spider what on earth have you started – d’ you want to pee lad?”

I nodded and the bosun took me to the lavatory while the mate went inside.

We returned to wait outside in the alleyway and we both heard the same sort of thing. Mr Roberts spoke quietly then Fatty Gardiner started arguing again then things got heated again. This time however, Mr Roberts was more professional than the bosun and eventually the meeting returned to calm. Mr Roberts came out and told me to go back in. But before I went in he told me I should be okay. I had no idea what he meant by that and I went in still frightened as before. The Captain addressed me again but this time by my nick-name. It was probably to calm me down but I did not pick up on the fact, I was still too frightened. The question he asked didn’t help either.

“Right Spider, the Superintendent and Governor Davies want to know what you were doing between August when you absconded from borstal, and October when you joined the ship.”

I started to tremble again and was almost sick with fear. The lady doctor picked up on this and stopped the meeting. She took me outside and gave me a drink of water as I told her I was too frightened to say. She asked me to tell her privately and she would decide if it was too bad to say. I gave her a brief rundown and she frowned but told me I was not entirely to blame. She advised me to be brave and tell everything because she felt the captain was on my side. She explained that his use of my nick-name indicated that. I took some more water and returned to the meeting. The doctor advised everybody not to be confrontational, whatever that meant, and to be patient as I was approaching a state of shock through fear. The captain nodded and looked pointedly at Fatty Gardiner but I was too afraid to look at Gardiner or Governor Davies.

“Are you ready to tell us now Spider?” The captain asked.

I realised then that he had used my nick-name again and remembered what the doctor had said, Captain Mac was on my side. I nodded and started once again to give chapter and verse what I told you earlier, the escape, the stealing from clothes lines and shop-lifting, the prostitution and so on, everything. I finished by describing how I came to join the ship and the registrar was very interested to learn how I came by my illegal seaman’s discharge book and identity card. When I finished there was a long silence before the captain called a break for lunch.”
Here Beverly paused and suggested going for lunch. Ellie agreed and they retired to the yacht club. Even there, Ellie found herself struggling to assimilate the wealth and luxury of the yacht club with the story of deprivation and fear her aunt was revealing. They were some of the
biggest extremes of human existence she could have dreamed of, at least for an advanced, western civilisation. The meal passed in large periods of silence as Ellie tried to digest what she had learned so far. Beverly was not disposed to spoil her lunch recounting memories that still hurt. Instead they returned to Beverly’s office after lunch then resumed their previous location sitting on the derelict freight platform where the direct noon-day sunlight had warmed the flagstones. Once seated Ellie looked expectantly at her newly discovered aunt and gave a tentative smile of encouragement. Beverly gave a soft chuckle and remarked.

“There’s no need to be nervous girl. From now on the story is a good one, mostly about climbing out of the shit and moving on.”

“So what happened next, when you returned from Lunch?”

Beverly nodded and her brief smile faded.

“Because the ship’s deck crew were Scousers to a man, they had all taken shore leave and gone to their homes, there were no dinner duties for me that lunch time. I’d was sent to eat in the petty officer’s mess, you know, the Bosun, the Carpenter, the Chief cook, Second cook and the Engine-room storekeeper. That’s like the Sergeant’s mess in the Army and often deemed to be one of the best places in the army. On a merchant ship however, it’s a very small intimate place, - usually only four or five older guys and a pretty relaxed intimate atmosphere. They grinned and teased me a bit when I turned up nervously at their door but the cook told me there was plenty of food in the galley and to help myself.

‘You need feedin’ up lad, yer’ all skin an’ bone’, - and in truth I was, despite just over four months of plentiful, good food I was still an undersized runt. I was still eating my meal when I was summoned back to the inquiry the Bosun took it upon himself to escort me back upstairs for he could see I was almost sick with worry. I went inside with the Bosun at my shoulder but now, somehow, it felt like he was somebody protecting me, not guarding me. The captain looked up at the bosun and nodded before turning to me.

“D’you want the bosun to stay with you?”

“Please sir, is that okay?”

He looked up at the Bosun who declared there was nothing happening until three o’clock when the floating crane was scheduled to come alongside. The Captain nodded and turned to me again.

“Right Spider, the Superintendant of police and I want to know why you were sent to Borstal, what had you done wrong and which court sent you?”

“I replied with the only facts I knew. ‘I was a pervert sir, a- a transvestite – a danger’ - .”

The captain frowned and asked me to explain further but there was not much more I could tell.

“A- a transvestite sir, I wear girl’s clothes. They said I was danger to other children and had to be locked up; a secure residential facility.”

Ellie frowned and asked.

“But that would just have been a children’s home surely?”

Beverly smiled ironically.

“Not in those days. This was nineteen fifty eight remember; I was twelve and children’s homes were separated into Boys or Girls. The powers that be had decided I was neither a girl because I still had the ‘boy bits’ and I would be a danger to vulnerable girls; but nor was I a normal boy. I was a transvestite and therefore deemed to be a queer. I might also pervert other boys so they had to find me somewhere secure and safe.”

“Yes you said that earlier, go on.” Ellie pressed.

“I told the captain this; about my being a transvestite and he turned to the superintendant.”

“Transvestism’s not a crime is it Superintendant?”

The copper wagged his head then explained.

“Not as such but if there’s an incident we usually have to arrest them on the grounds of ‘Behaviour likely to cause a breach of the police.’ This is usually for their own protection. But you’re right Captain; transvestism is not illegal per se’. The boy would not have broken any law just by wearing girl’s clothes.”

“This little gem went straight over my head cos’ I was too stressed but the captain picked up on it and he turned to me again.”

“You heard the superintendent Spider. Wearing girl’s clothes is not illegal so you must have done something serious to be sent to borstal.

Where did you go to court?”

“I just stared stupidly at the captain. I had no idea what he meant cos I had never been near a courtroom. I just wagged my head and mumbled. ‘Dunno sir, I dunno’.”

“Oh come on now boy, you must remember the court case, where did you go to court? So far lad, you’ve appeared to tell the truth so don’t spoil it now by lying about your offences. Where did you go to court? It wouldn’t necessarily have been a judge with a red gown and wig, more likely just a man or a panel of three men or women in normal clothes. In what town where you arrested?”

“I continued staring stupidly because nothing made sense to me. I just repeated that I didn’t know because frankly; I had no idea what this was all about. I also told them I had never been arrested. I knew this for certain because I was secretly proud that I was never caught after my second escape from borstal. The captain then turned to Governor Davies and asked. ‘What do his case notes show, what court, what crime?’

"Davies just replied.”

“He was sent to us because he was deemed a danger to society – an incurable pervert. That’s what the psychiatric report said.”

Then the Superintendent interrupted again. ‘But what did his court hearing say? What was the finding?’
Governor Davies fell silent. Apparently he had no court notes in the file he’d brought and he said he’d have to find them. The captain turned to the superintendent and declared. ‘Unless there’s a court order I don’t see that I have to release the boy from the ship’s articles. He’s only fifteen and technically I’m ‘Loco in parentis.’

The superintendent didn’t seem sure and the captain took the bull by the horns as he turned again to Governor Davies. ‘Unless you show me the court order sentencing the boy to your prison, I don’t see any cause to release the boy to your custody. From what the boy’s told me I don’t think it would be safe to send him back and at the moment he’s signed on to my ship as deck boy. I’m sure if I’m prepared to keep him here then his books can be put in order.’ He turned to the registrar who sort of nodded uncertainly for it was obvious my case was exceptional. So the captain sat back and boldly declared.

‘Until I see the court order sentencing the boy to Borstal, I’m keeping the boy on the ship. Both my bosun and my chief officer Mr Roberts have spoken highly of the boy and you’ve all heard them. No. The boy stays. Bos’ take the lad with you and let him work with you on deck.’

"And that was that.” Beverly finished. “After that it was all paperwork and follow-ups but I was back on deck at three pm helping the Bosun secure the floating crane alongside our ship.

The rest of that afternoon was spent discharging the cargo we had freighted from America. The large floating crane would remain idle until the heavy lifts arrived by road so the crane crew let me climb down to have a look at their barge because they wouldn’t be needed until after we had completed discharge. The ship wasn’t going up to Manchester yet because of the heavy lifts so we had nearly a fortnight to spend in Liverpool waiting for all the transformers and stuff to be hauled up from Birmingham by road. I was just climbing back up the rope ladder from the barge when the bosun called to me.

‘Spider! If you’re going ashore tonight, you’d better go and see the second mate for your sub on your wages. He’ll be closing up the safe in a minute.'

I dashed up just in time to catch him before he locked up the ships safe in the Captain’s office. Then after dinner I went ashore with money in my pocket and wandered around Liverpool until about nine o’clock I still remember the feeling of joy I had when I was walking back to the ship. I was free, I was legal, I had money in my pocket and as I passed the security guard on the gate I was able to tell him the name of my ship – my legal home. Never could a fifteen-year-old kid have been happier.”

Ellie smiled and finished.

“So that was that.”

“More or less there were a few bits and bobs but that’s the jist of the story.”

“Were your abusers ever punished?”

Beverly’s face clouded as she replied. “Not all of them, not the worst ones, not the bastards in the Borstal.”

“How come.” Ellie pressed.

Beverly’s expression wrinkled with suppressed anger.

“It’s the law. You can’t sue the crown. What goes in prison, stays in prison.”

“But you weren’t legally in prison.” Ellie protested.

“Exactly I was not registered legally as a prisoner but I was in prison. How d’you think I was allowed to remain on the ship. Gardiner and Davies couldn’t order my re-arrest cos’ I had never been arrested or even tried. Her majesty’s prison service didn’t ask questions but the courts might have if my case had been referred to them.

When I was put in the Borstal then I became a guest of her majesty and that’s that. I had no idea about appeals or referrals and there were no court records or lawyers to forward an appeal. If there’s no official record then that’s it – On paper I suppose I wasn’t technically there but I know I bloody was. Don’t think I haven’t tried to object. The records must have been altered or destroyed soon after those bastards realised there was some sort of screw-up or something illegal had taken place. Believe me I’ve tried but no go. No records no case to answer. Ask yourself how many times people have tried to make claims for medical negligence then vital records just seem to disappear. Well it’s the same with other government organisations, the police, the courts, the prisons, local authorities – you name it and suddenly vital records or bits of information just seem to disappear. The proof is simple, try and find any other records for Beverly Taff or Bernard Holst; schools, children’s homes, borstals, hospitals – anywhere! There’s nothing. It’s as if I was an illegal immigrant.

I suppose that’s why the paedophile ring on the ship unknowingly got away with creating my illegal seaman’s identity and discharge books. They were desperate to sign me on and the initial searches hadn’t thrown up my birth certificate or any school records. By the time the registrar of shipping had got suspicious I was halfway across the Atlantic. When the captain started his investigations that’s when the alarm bells started ringing. My file lying stashed away in some cupboard or filing cabinet, all forgotten about until Captain Mac reported stuff to the police on our way back to Liverpool.

That’s why so many people were at the inquiry. I can only suppose that too many questions were being asked, too many cans of worms being opened, too many people with too much to lose. That’s how the establishment works. Everybody covers everybody-else’s backs. There was no come back and Captain Mac simply let me stay on the ship. He apparently had a good kid as a deck boy and his officers were happy with me as a worker. I was lucky, those three men, Captain Mac, Mr Roberts and the Bosun were decent guys. They treated me as a young boy should have been treated, hard but fair. Yes I got the odd clip around the ear if I was cheeky or told off if I did something stupid but it was for good reasons –

‘Don’t stand in the bloody coil boy, when the wire runs you’ll get cut to pieces, -Slap!’

‘Don’t stand there boy, the boom will crush you when it’s lowered!’ - Slap!

‘Gerr’out of the way you silly little bugger; look! – Slap!’

And when I looked there would invariably have been some deadly danger that I had just been dragged or knocked from. Yeah the slaps were for my own protection and instruction. Honest lessons from honest men. I kid can accept those and in the mess-room later they would laugh about it but the warnings were genuine and sincere. I was genuinely accepted into the company of honest, decent men; - rough men, tough men, fair men. Slowly I became a man; slowly I gained my own self respect and self worth. Slowly, I dug myself out of the shit that had been my early life. But always; always deep down there was that girl, that woman crying to escape.”

Ellie smiled but the thought still irked her.

“And they were never punished – the abusers that is?”

“I said not all of them were; the ones on the ship were arrested but I don’t know the outcome and I didn’t care I was free and gone; out of it; safe on a ship thousands of miles away in another continent. There’s a bit more to tell but it wasn’t significant.”

“Go on. I want to know all of it. I want my Nan, your Mum to know. She should know, she should be made to say sorry!”

Beverly looked up and laughed cynically.

“Jesus Ellie. Why would I ever want to tell her, I’m surprised she’s alive? If I met her I’d probably want to attack her; kill her even. I’m not exactly a balanced reasonable person you know. There still dark stuff going on, especially where my family are concerned. On reflection I
don’t think I want to meet them, no Ellie, I don’t think I could handle that, I don’t see why I should. There’s nothing there, nothing for me down that road, thanks but no thanks.

Anyway, I don’t want to be reminded of the rejection. Ten years of rejection as a child is bad enough but fifty years rejection as girl and woman, no I don’t want that. They never came looking for me, I won’t come to them. What have they got to offer me? I’m a wealthy, independent woman; a ship-owner with my own means and my own life. What have they got that I would want? Sorry Ellie, there’s some things that can’t be fixed, my past is one of them.”

“But I’m part of your family, your blood, your past.” Ellie protested.

“Yeah. Well don’t push it girl. You’re doing all right up to now. Don’t try and resurrect the dead.”

“But they’re not dead.”

“They are to me. Let’s leave it there. I’ll tell you the remaining bits of my story then we’ll call it a day.”

Ellie’s disappointment was readily apparent in her expression but Beverly was not to be moved. As if to reflect their mood, clouds had covered the sun and it became chilly.

“Let’s go inside. We’ll finish the rest of the story in the office, come on.”

As they made yet another a pot of tea in the kitchenette Beverly related the final details.

“The ship spent twelve days in Liverpool, first discharging her cargo then loading the heavy lifts plus other stuff. I was working with the bosun passing wires over the big transformers and then the riggers would secure them with bottle screws and chains. One morning, while I was scampering on top of the huge drum shaped generator units Mr Roberts called down to the bosun to send me up to his office.”
“Go on Spider, I’ll finish off here, you go and see what he wants.”

“Like I always did, I scampered over the load and skipped up the companion-ladders to the deck where the mate had his cabin and office. I stepped in to meet two ladies in black suits and white blouses, Mr Roberts introduced them.”

“These ladies are called public notararys Spider. They are here to witness your testimony for the courts.”

“This went completely over my head as I stared dumbstruck at the pad of lined paper. Mr Roberts had placed the pad, a ball point pen, a pencil a ruler and a rubber all neatly laid out on his desk and he was offering me one of the chairs. I slumped into the chair and continued staring at the paper until he asked.

‘What’s wrong spider? You only have to write down everything you told the captain yesterday and if you can remember anything more, write that as well.’ You’re not in any trouble any more. Everything is known and you only have to write down the truth, it’s okay, what’s wrong!?’

"Finally I slumped across the desk, let out a wail then rolled out of the chair and sat curled up in the corner of his office while continuing to ball my eyes out. The women just stared as Mr Roberts bent down trying to repeat his assurances."

‘It’s all right Spider. I’ve told you you’re not in trouble! All you have to do is write down in your own words what you told the inquiry.’

Then and only then could I look up still crying to tell him and the two women. - It’s not that chief. I can’t read or write.”

~oo000oo~