Tell Me You're Sorry, Daddy--Two Scared Little Girls. One Abusive Father. One Survived Against All Odds to Tell Their Story

by Caryn Walker

  At one point there was a legal argument over consent, my age and a change in a 2003 law, so the jury was sent out while it was discussed. At another point, Ian lost it and stood up and said, ‘How could she consent, she was a child?’ He got told off by the judge, but I was so proud of him for saying that.

  ***

  ‘I think it changed, though,’ Elroy tells me later that day, ‘when they started to put things to him towards the end of the morning and he admitted they were possible. Surely they’ll see that this means he’s guilty?’

  ‘I don’t know, I really don’t know,’ I tell him. ‘I have no idea which way this will go. I keep telling myself it wouldn’t have got this far if there wasn’t a chance they would believe me.’

  ‘It’ll all work out,’ Elroy says. ‘There’s nothing you can do now – we just have to wait.’

  Dad’s questioning continues after lunch and, at the end of the day, I meet up with Elroy, Ian and Andy. I take Ian to the side and he starts to cry, saying he’s sorry, that he didn’t know, that he feels guilty, that he can’t handle the things he’s heard. I try to reassure him that it was not his responsibility to protect me – it was theirs and they didn’t do it. I tell him the guilt was theirs too, not mine, not his. We think the jury will go home tomorrow – will it be hours, or days, until they come back?

  Elroy tells me that when they left court they bumped into Dad, literally. Elroy dragged Ian away and says he started sobbing like a little boy, uncontrollably. He really wasn’t prepared to face a man with whom he had demons of his own. Ian says, ‘It was his voice, his voice took me back.’ It has been so hard for him to hear the details of what happened. I am heartbroken for my big brother when Elroy tells me all this, but there is also a part of me that’s scared of how Elroy himself might see me, now he knows what had actually gone on. I never wanted anyone to know the details, especially anyone close to me, and here I am with my partner and older brother, knowing that they knew. This is so difficult for me; I feel such shame and embarrassment.

  ***

  On the Friday, Elroy and Ian go to court for the judge’s summing-up. It takes about two hours and Elroy feels that the judge is leaning towards my side. Bless him – he would say that, I guess, as he’s so protective and supportive; I can’t let myself feel any hope yet.

  The jury is sent out at 12.30pm and everyone hangs around the court except for me and my friend Nicky, who wait in a cafe. I had known Nicky for twelve years by this time. She was a complete rock for me; she came to court each time or sat in the cafe with me while I took some time to find strength. We are still very close and I’ll never forget how much she did for me during this time.

  My head is all over the place. I convince myself that he will be found not guilty, that I haven’t been believed. I guess the demons are still with me and my fear of being seen as a liar has never gone away. I feel dizzy and nauseous and can’t think or talk straight. Around 2.30pm, I am discussing with Nicky whether I should go and hear the verdict when Elroy calls her and says, ‘Stay there.’

  This is it.

  I honestly don’t know which way it will go, but I feel a physical reaction to the fact that it’s been decided. I get up and go outside, only to see them all walking down the street towards me. For some reason, my mother is there too.

  Elroy rushes up to me, takes my arm and says, ‘Less than two hours, Karen.’

  My heart falls and I think I will pass out.

  Then he says, ‘Guilty, Karen, every single count, every single juror, clean sweep.’

  I can’t take it in. He’s saying my father was found guilty on every count, unanimously? I feel numb. I believe I was in complete shock. Everyone is happy but I can’t feel anything; they all hug me but I don’t know how to react. As my mother approaches, I just say, ‘No – stay away from me!’

  I gradually come back to some sort of awareness while Elroy holds me close. I hear that Dad has been bailed until 18 July to get his affairs in order – this is a shock, to be honest; I can’t believe he’s allowed to walk free for any time at all. A little voice inside me wonders if he will get away with it – what if they change their minds while he’s out and about? I quickly realise I am being silly, and that this isn’t how it works at all.

  We all go back into the cafe for a cup of tea and I call Vicky – she cries on the phone and my first bit of emotion shows as I start to weep too, with relief, sadness, pent-up emotion. I’m not sure what I am feeling. Everyone is talking, saying they’re happy, saying how well I did. But what did I do, really? I just said the truth, told everyone what had happened, spoke the words that were facts and didn’t deviate from what had happened. I don’t feel like celebrating; everyone is laughing and is relieved, but I feel as if I’m watching them rather than being a part of it.

  Mum says she roared and applauded when the verdicts came in one by one, and thanked the jurors individually. She must have forgotten Elroy was sitting right beside her because I’ll later find out this is a lie; she did none of those things but just sat quietly. She’s in and out of the cafe, on her phone all the time – to whom? Karl gives me a big hug and everyone is chattering and laughing and texting people.

  Half an hour later, I go outside to talk to Tamsin on the phone, and she’s so happy at the result; she has put a lot of emotional time into this. She wanted to be there right up until the end but couldn’t make the verdict today. She can’t believe it took less than two hours to decide on all the remaining counts; she believes their minds were made up after I gave my evidence. As I’m talking to her on the street, I turn round and my dad is walking towards me. I can’t believe it. He’s dressed in black, pulling a large black suitcase, smoking a cigarette. I run into a doorway next to a shop, a big wooden door – and he walks straight past. I’m surprised that I don’t really feel anything.

  The day goes by in a haze of phone calls and even the next few weeks are a little blurry. Everyone wants to celebrate apart from me; I just feel sadness and a sense of loss for the life I should have had. I hear nothing from Kevin or my mother but I hear she’s going around telling everyone all about it, playing up to her role as a victim and getting free drinks on the back of it all. Kevin is heartbroken that his dad is in prison and has decided he can’t talk to me as I was the one who brought it about – I can understand his confusion but have to admit I am hurt by it. Andy is a different kettle of fish altogether, and says he’s glad that he told his truth and that it helped. Elroy and I are stronger than ever; this has had only a positive effect on us, and the relief of it being over is showing in me now – I feel happier and closer to him than I have in years. We are starting to laugh again.

  I decide I must go to the sentencing in order to get closure and to hear those most important words, ‘You did this.’ I am afraid of it, afraid of what I might feel and of seeing him again, but it’s necessary. I’ve done harder things.

  Monday 18 July 2011 is when it’s scheduled to happen, at 10.30am. Gail arrives on the Sunday and I book her into a hotel across from court; I am so grateful to her for being there as she makes an incredibly tense day into one with a few surprising laughs. On the day itself, we’re not sure where to go, so I head up to the court canteen with Gail, while Nicky and Elroy work out the logistics. They come back to tell me, but I’m horrified when I realise the walk to court will mean walking past Dad as he’s sitting waiting. I have found this throughout the whole process – there simply isn’t enough separation of complainant and accused. It’s a dreadful situation and one that could be so easily remedied. It takes about half an hour to build up the courage to do it. When I do, and we get to the court vestibule area, we are just sent out. So we head down to witness care, which it turns out is where we should have gone in the first place! Vicky, Tina and Tamsin all come along – they want to see the outcome too and I am so grateful for their support. They have been absolute rocks throughout all of this.

  We are told we could be waiting hours, but then we are suddenly called in. We hav
e to go into the public gallery, where there are just enough seats for us all, plus a couple sitting on the end who I don’t know. I sit between Gail and Nicky but wish I was sitting beside Elroy. The court is full of people, just as it was during the trial, but there is no jury now. My father is sitting directly in front of me with a guard. He’s wearing a blue shirt and dark trousers, and doesn’t look up much. He’s wringing his hands and looks agitated. I feel as though my head will burst; I’m terrified. I’m shaking like a leaf and feel sick. I try to look everywhere except at him.

  We stand for the judge.

  I’m not at all prepared for what happens next: my barrister goes back over the whole case, details I had hoped I would never have to hear again. Nicky and Gail know none of this and it proves too much for me to hear such personal details read out in front of more people I love. I have to leave the court.

  Vicky comes out to me. I am so, so upset. She calms me down and helps me get rid of the guilt I’m feeling about the situation. She says it’s normal, as I’m a human being with real emotions and I am a good person, but that he needs to be stopped from hurting anyone else. This makes me feel better – she is truly an angel. I stay out until both barristers have finished talking, and go back in for the summary. I do hear what I need to hear – the judge tells him, ‘You took away her childhood and ruined her life. You say you are disgusted in yourself and so you should be. She should have been kept safe in her own home. The lengths she went to, in order to keep away from you, make horrific evidence to hear.’

  During the whole summing-up, the judge looks everywhere else, but not at him. Not even once. There are lots of different sentences handed down: one year, two years, four years, three; but the longest is sixteen years, of which he will have to serve eight before he can apply for parole. He is also put on the Sex Offenders Register for life and will never be able to live or work near children or vulnerable adults.

  Then the judge says, ‘Take him down.’

  As my father stands up to be led away, he turns a little, and I think he’s going to say something … but he doesn’t.

  I feel flushed; my head and face are burning. I’m completely shocked at the length of the sentence – sixteen years (everything else is concurrent). When we leave court, Tamsin says it’s the longest sentence her department has known. Vicky says it’s the longest she’s ever heard of in all the time she’s worked in this area. Yet again everyone is happy and wanting to celebrate, but I can’t feel the same way; I never have. This has to be a new start for me, I think, and I hope that I’ll feel some sort of release inside sometime soon.

  I thank everyone, including the barrister, police, Vicky and the support team, then we walk into town.

  ‘Is this it?’ I ask Elroy. ‘Is then when my life finally starts?’

  ‘It is,’ he tells me. ‘If you want it, it is.’

  I’ve felt it so easy to talk to you throughout all of this, Jenny, but I don’t know what to say now. How odd is that? I was so glad he had been found guilty, that someone had finally called him to account, but I also wished that someone had been called to account for you. The dead have no voice. Their stories can be told by others, and I have tried to do that, but I wish the words could come directly from you and I wish you could be here to make sure your tormentors had to face up to what they did to you.

  When I decided to tell our story, I thought I wouldn’t have the strength to do it under my own name. I still felt shameful and I still felt dirty. I don’t feel that way now – I feel that I can stand up, proud, and say, this is who I am. That day, I changed my name to ‘Caryn’ and I vowed I would never be called ‘Yeo’ again. I reclaimed myself. I also never called him ‘Dad’ again – he was just ‘Norman’. The paedophile who had tried to break me. Just that, a man who had made his own choices and who now had to pay the price for those choices. I wasn’t his daughter, and I wasn’t ever going to be ashamed again. I would live for both of us, Jenny, I would tell the world that my big sister deserved to be remembered with every last breath in my body.

  CHAPTER 11

  SENTENCES

  THEN UNTIL NOW

  An hour after we left court, Grandma’s nursing home called to say she was really poorly, so Elroy and I went straight over there. For the next thirty-six hours I didn’t leave her bedside but, sadly, she left us at 3am on the Wednesday morning. I was devastated, heartbroken at the loss of her but I also knew she was so tired of life and wanted to be with my grandpa, who had passed twenty-six years earlier. I felt that God works in mysterious ways – I was blessed that I got to spend her last hours with her, which I wouldn’t have if Norman was around. I arranged her funeral and made all the plans for her. Norman had all of her documents in prison so I didn’t know what would happen regarding them once he was informed of her death. Neither he nor Kev came to her funeral, but it was a lovely day for her, with songs I chose that I knew she would have loved. I was glad I was able to do this for her but I missed her so much already.

  It was a strange time, but also one that brought some normality into my life. Everyone goes through this, losing elderly relatives – it’s just natural, just normal, and it was something I could deal with. Even missing Grandma is part of life’s cycle, and I hold on to my lovely memories of her. She was a wonderful woman who did not deserve to have anything nasty brought into her life. I’m glad she never knew about Norman’s conviction and I genuinely felt he was the way he was because of his choices, not because of anything that he experienced at the hands of my grandparents. People have to take responsibility for who they are – and I never saw anything that suggested Grandma and Grandpa were anything other than loving people. They were horrified by the lazy, indolent life Mum and Norman lived, and he certainly hadn’t been brought up that way, but even if he had, I don’t think that’s an excuse. I think it’s a horrible slur to suggest that those who have been abused in any way can’t prevent themselves from becoming abusers. There is nothing in this world that would make me hurt a child, and I hate the fact that some people believe you can never break the cycle of abuse. Grandma was a good woman, and I can only hope it’s her blood that runs through my veins rather than his.

  I was so relieved that Norman got such a long sentence, because it did matter, it really did. Knowing that all of those people – strangers who had no reason to do anything other than listen to the facts and make a decision based on those facts – believed me meant the world. However, I think the fact that we are so unused to substantial sentences being handed out to paedophiles, particularly with regards to historical cases of child abuse, is a sad indictment of our society.

  Yes, Norman got sixteen years, but I got a life sentence.

  When someone reveals that they are a survivor of child sexual abuse, the focus is on that specific crime and on the fact that they did survive it – but so much is hidden.

  I’ve fought a battle with bulimia for sixteen years now. I am never free from guilt or shame.

  I only had one child because I could barely cope with the anxiety and fear of raising a child in the world that had allowed my father to abuse me. I felt incredible anxiety and terror every time Karl was around other people and, for years, I thought I couldn’t risk having another baby if that was to be how I felt. I wanted a little girl so badly, but I worried about how I would be, whether I could ever allow her to be around men. When I finally did feel strong enough, I found that I had been so physically damaged by the abuse that I would never have another, that Karl was actually a miracle child in so many ways.

  I suffer from depression and have done for years; I have suicidal thoughts and I really can’t say with any certainty that I won’t act on them one day. I get flashbacks and have nightmares, which haunt me during my waking hours too.

  I don’t really trust many people and I have ongoing issues with intimacy: seeing Norman’s face when I’m with someone, knowing there are so many triggers that can ruin any moment no matter how much I’m loved by the other person.

  I’
m unable to be alone with older men and I think of every one of them as a potential paedophile. I look to see if they’re hanging around children in a suspicious way; I check everywhere all the time just to see if I can ‘spot’ one, even though I know the danger is much more likely to lie closer to home, just as it did with me.

  I always seek approval from other people, even when I know they aren’t worth it. I feel worthless, and let others use me, expecting their hurt and just waiting for the moment it will come.

  I’ve tried so hard to be honest in this book and cover everything, but I’ve really only scratched the surface – how do you put a life, all of those lives, into a couple of hundred pages?

  To this day, my mother’s voice is there in my mind far too often, shouting me down, telling me I’m stupid. I feel that there is a darkness on me that other people can see, that I have been marked for ever by the past, what was done to me. But I must find the strength to move on.

  Many – if not most – abuse survivors are told that historical convictions are virtually impossible to achieve. That isn’t surprising really: it’s hard enough for contemporary cases to secure a ‘guilty’ verdict and, even when they do, custodial sentences are not guaranteed. With historical allegations, there is likely to be even less evidence, witnesses may be impossible to trace or have died and corroboration is difficult to prove. I knew all of this – I was told many times – but still I fought. And I won.

  In the middle of all of this, Vicky has been amazing. She tells me she will offer support for as long as I need it. She says some cases stay with her always, and that mine is one of them. It’s been in the local papers, so everyone knows now, but I’m handling that. I’m still waiting for my ‘elation’ to start, to start wanting to celebrate, but I kind of doubt that it will ever happen. I hope my life is better now though. I was believed; it was his fault, not mine. It’s my turn to have a life now. For the first time he knows how it feels to be afraid and out of control of his own life. I awoke one night recently thinking, I’m free and safe, no one is going to hurt me. The tables had completely turned. In fact, after the trial, early one morning when I was driving to Birmingham for work, I had an amazing feeling of being free. I know I’ve always been free but, that day, I felt totally aware of it. I can stop for coffee, have a break, get some fresh air – basically, do whatever I like.