Mummy's Still Here

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  I got hold of Brian as soon as I could, who told me to make a full report of what had transpired and send him the emails that had passed between myself and the school. He felt it was time to visit the Headmaster and that I probably needed the heavy guns now. He suggested he write to the school and make an appointment to visit. I hated involving the lawyers so soon as I had so hoped to build a good relationship with the school but they had made it impossible. Once they had hurt my son so cruelly, I had no choice but to put this on a legal footing, rather than a personal one. For M's sake, I could not risk this happening again.

  The school conceded to a date and Brian and Julie, his PA and long-term paramour, drove some three hours from their office to attend - more expense for my long-suffering father, but it was critical that we nipped this one in the bud.

  I climbed into the back of Brian's Mercedes convertible - the spoils of war- and we headed to the school. He assured me that we would have this sorted out very quickly.

  I had a small gift for M in my bag and hoped that the school would pass it to him. I had been going to give it to him at contact that Sunday but R had cancelled it saying that M blamed me for what had happened and did not want to see me. This was all predictable but unbelievably cruel because it meant I could not explain to M what had really transpired and I was quite sure the version given to him by his father had only included the fact that it was "all Mummy's fault."

  I have to say in the school's defence, that they were being manipulated as much as M and I, but it shocked me that they could be so naive without checking their facts and I could not get past the pain they had caused my little boy in denying him the honour of representing his school on such an important day.

  I thought of the many times that M had been denied attending things in the last few years by Social Workers on the Island and always I had been blamed. "You can't go to your cycling club, because Mummy might come and take you away." "You can't go swimming...you can't go to football and even you can't go to school. " Miss Whiplash had kept him out of school for four whole weeks when he was returned to the Island from Florida by the Department of Social Care.

  The Department had gone to the extreme expense of bringing him back from America on first class on a flight, to stop me having time to appeal the decision of the US Court to return him. The irony here had been that the US Court had insisted that the reason they did not hear the case in America was that M needed to stay at his school on the Island and remain with his friends and family there. They felt he should not have any further disruption to his life and yet within a year, he was taken from his life on the Island, everything familiar and moved to a new school to live with a man who had been a once a month visitor for a couple of days in childhood and a woman who was a virtual stranger to him.

  Keeping a child out of school can have a parent jailed and has many times. It seemed that by contrast, Social Workers could manipulate the law in any way they liked. They insisted that M going to school would pose a threat to his safety as I might abduct him. At the time they were saying this I was still in the UK staying with friends, on my way back to the Island from the States, getting psychiatric reports done to protect myself from allegations of being crazy because a woman who fights the system will always be considered either "mad" or "bad."

  We were supposed to be living in an emancipated educated world where being female and having a voice, does not automatically render you "nuts." The reality is sadly in Great Britain at the time that I write this, there has been a regression to the Victorian Age. The truth is that women who challenge the system and dare to take on the establishment, are as likely to be crushed as they ever were. We were only one step removed from a time where single mothers were institutionalised for having children out of wedlock - even though in the majority of those cases, they had been abandoned by the father.

  I am not anti-men and have a lot of sympathy for good fathers who have been wronged by the Family Courts, of which there are many, but the pendulum has swung ninety degrees since Fathers For Justice climbed on roofs to get fairer custody rights. Nowadays Judges are giving residency to fathers more and more and in a lot of those cases, the father has been physically or sexually abusive to the child or the mother. The mother is then branded as hostile to the father for daring to report this to the authorities and the father gains residency on the basis of the alleged hostility.

  One only has to read The Telegraph with reporters such as Booker writing weekly accounts of state enforced crime against parents, to see the pattern that has become the norm in the UK - a regime so terrible, destructive and damaging to children, that is passed off as Justice and "best interests of the child", but in reality has taken everything that is reasonable and natural and turned it on its head.

  As we drove through the gates of the school - a bastion of Patriarchy with its long tradition of only accepting boys and a predominance of male teachers and school governors - particularly amongst the hierarchy - I had a sense of unease. I knew my son was within these walls and that R was paying the fees. It lacked the air of happy chaos that M had been used to in his former school which was also a Public School, but mixed and despite the fact that they had also supported R - who had paid the fees there too - they had at least allowed me to attend sports events and Speech Days even when I was on bail and awaiting trial for child abduction.

  It still seemed strange to me that I could have been accused of kidnapping my own child when R and I had never lived together or married and M had always lived with me. R had not even wanted contact with his son until he was six months old and I had never denied it, believing that M should know his father. The only time I had objected to contact was when M disclosed to me and what mother would willingly hand her child to a man who he claimed had "stuck his winky in my bum and it hurt". I would never forget the moment when M had told me this, my horror, the unimaginable pain I felt for M. I could never have imagined that he would end up living with the very man who M had alleged had done these terrible things to him, nor could I have conceived of a world where medical evidence, the words of an expert and most importantly the words of an innocent child would be so blatantly ignored. Especially now, when Child Abuse cases, the failings of Social Workers and the cover-ups of the police are almost daily coming to the fore in the news. Most of these cases were historical though and many involved high profile people, but what about the children now suffering, disbelieved, frightened and forced to live with those who they had claimed had hurt them? These would be the cases being reported on the news in ten or twenty years time - too late for many - after they had already been denied a proper investigation and after they had lived with God-knew how many horrors on a daily basis. Yet everyone disbelieved me - a mother with nothing to gain by reporting what my son had told and everything to lose - my son most of all.

  Back then I had been ignorant of the evil that pervaded the establishment - the corruption - the backhanders - the washing of one sin by a greater sin - the chain of people who would then build a fortress around my son and his father, to which no-one held the key. I would break it down brick by brick if I could and as I walked through the gates of M's school, another fortress to which I had only momentary access, I could feel his presence as if he was there with me, clutching my hand in his - asking me to save him.

  We were met by the Deputy Headmaster who was white-faced and wore a grim expression. "I'm sorry but we cannot proceed with the meeting today." He told us coldly. "We have had an incident at the school, a terrible tragedy. One of the boys has died."

  My blood ran cold. The anger at having gone to the huge expense of bringing Brian and Julie for the meeting, paled into insignificance against this news. It was only later that we discovered what had happened. The boy, in his early teens had hung himself. To make matters even more disturbing, we later found out that this child had transferred to the school from the same school as M had attended on the Island and that the child had been known to have been the victim of bullying.

  This
was the better life and environment that my son had been moved to as preferable to the small school he had attended until the age of seven, where he had friends and where his Mummy lived a mile away and his Grandad only a little further. This was where my son would spend the rest of his educational years - at a school that knew a boy was suffering, where the housemaster had already been told by several boys that the boy was drinking vodka in his dorm and was deeply upset and yet no-one had been able to prevent this terrible tragedy. It was unthinkable and how much of what had been happening to this child did anyone really know? How many cries for help had he made? Why was no-one listening?

  We drove to the hotel where M and I had had our first supervised contact and sat outside to talk. We were all deeply affected, even Brian who was usually so devoid of emotion. All we could do now was make another appointment and discover what other shocks were in store - for I had no doubt that there were more to come - and there were.

  Chapter 5

  Decline and Fall

  It was nearly two weeks now since I had last seen M and R had now involved the former Guardian ad Litem - writing a pack of lies to him saying that I had coached my son against him at the last contact we had had in the Summer. I was accused of discussing adult matters with M and told he no longer wanted to see me. This was completely untrue and when Brian forwarded me the correspondence between the Court officer and R, I was horrified and angered.

  "Surely he can't say these things. I had a witness for the whole of contact. All we did was play cricket and hide and seek." There is nothing to support this ridiculous fabrication.

  "The Guardian wants you to agree in writing not to discuss Court matters with M and then he will consider allowing contact with himself and R supervising."

  "But I haven't discussed the Court with M. It is only his father who does that repeatedly. I know this because of the constant questions I get about the Appeal. Brian this just cannot be fair."

  "Just sign the damned thing." Brian said. "It's just a means to an end."

  That would have been all good and well if it was a means to seeing my son, but I feared that signing this agreement would imply guilt on my part and that would then be twisted and used against me.

  "I'll sign something, if he also signs it." I replied. "If I'm the only one making this agreement, it makes me look culpable and I'm not and can prove it."

  I believed this latest turn of events was a trap and couldn't understand why Brian didn't see it as such. Clearly having to make any admission to something I categorically hadn't done, which signing this document would imply, would give R ammunition against me. All we needed was a statement from Robert who had been present the whole time, to counteract this. But as usual the lawyers wanted a quick fix to something that was another manipulation and manoeuvre on R's part - another move of his pawn in a game of chess until we reached stale mate. I seriously wondered what we were paying them for when they seemed so reluctant to fight my corner on anything.

  In the end I decided to email the Guardian myself with a truthful version of events. I included in my email that I had never coached my son and never would, that I had never discussed Court matters with him, even when he questioned me and that if he needed me to say this in writing, here it was. I urged him to allow contact for M's sake, if not for mine and Robert even wrote an email saying that all we had done was spend a happy time playing cricket in the park and at no time had I spoken to M about the Court or his father. He even went so far as to add that the only time he had seen M upset, was when his father arrived to collect him.

  As usual this was seen as non-compliance on my part. I had to sign a Decree Absolute - or be damned. Yet, I would be damned if I signed it. The usual predicament arose - defend a lie and look guilty or be guilty of non-co-operation.

  R, as predicted, was using the time in getting M to phone the Guardian, fully scripted and say he did not want to see me. Things were headed to a catastrophic conclusion - the very outcome I had feared was now materializing before me and once again I was powerless, despite my father's legal bills approaching close to a million pounds by now. It was like watching two cars heading for collision and not being able to do a damn thing to avoid the inevitable fatalities.

  Whilst all of this was going on, we managed to secure another meeting with the Headmaster of the school.

  Brian and Julie travelled to Buckinghamshire once again and we headed back once more to try and at least build bridges with the school in the hope that they would be impartial, if nothing else, for M's sake.

  It was a vain hope. With R paying the fees, they made no bones about the fact that they saw both their loyalty and their contract as with him. The Headmaster was a slightly nervous, red-faced man with a lack of composure who was towered above by my solicitor, whose large build was imposing, despite his congenial manner.

  "All we want is for my client to be able to come to school events to support her son and attend Parents' Evenings so she can keep track of his progress. We know the school is in a difficult position, but she is his mother and has full parental rights." Brian spoke evenly and slowly as the Headmaster squirmed, went redder and brought up the subject of my conviction for child abduction.

  "You are aware that my client's conviction was fully quashed on appeal?" Brian continued. "And the Judge saw no reason for her not to have weekly unsupervised contact, so clearly did not consider her a flight risk."

  The Headmaster said he was unaware that I had been cleared but had got the opposite impression from a meeting that had been held at the school, before M moved there. It had included Social Workers, the Guardian, the Island's police and the local Police and Department. In fact all had attended the meeting, other than myself or any spokesman on my behalf. This was entirely against protocol and bordered on illegal. I had been pre-judged and found guilty by a kangaroo court set up by the school themselves - an establishment that is supposed to remain neutral in these situations. What was more we had no way of knowing the extent of the public damnation that had taken place but could only guess that I had been hung out to dry and my name blackened to such an extent with this and many other factual inaccuracies to ensure the school would assist R in widening the divide between myself and my adored son.

  To anyone who has had no dealings with the Family Court in Britain, this may all sound ludicrous and even unlikely, but to those who have experienced the full force of the establishment loaded against them, it will be no surprise.

  Sadly in Britain, as I write, experiences such as this are common place and when clandestine meetings and even clandestine hearings are held ex-parte behind closed doors - the outcomes against innocent parents can be brutally unfair, completely unjust and those affected are usually the last to know.

  We were all stunned by this information. Brian chose not to tackle the issue there and then, fearing alienating the Headmaster further - if that were even possible. He pointed out the upset caused to M by denying him attendance at the athletics event and the Headmaster responded with, "yes that was unfortunate," looking sheepish.

  I sat there biting my lip. I longed for Brian to make some form of protest and defer more strongly to my Parental Responsibility rights, along with, more importantly M's rights to have his mother support him through his schooling. However, Brian had never taken an aggressive or even firm stance in matters such as this and tried to curry favour with the enemy. His whole approach was conciliatory in every situation and this placed us in a position of defensiveness when I firmly believe now that attack should have been our only approach - attack the lies, the injustices, the skewed reports and the system with full force but instead we were rolling over and taking the kicks.

  I knew that we had gone way beyond this. R's lawyer had been weak, but was always aggressive even when his claims were far-fetched, whilst my legal team, allegedly the best that money could buy, were compliant, conciliatory and completely ineffectual. It was around this time I began considering litigating the case myself. In fact it was fast becomin
g a necessity - my father's coffers were almost empty and we were getting nothing for the long thousands spent, but failure.

  I fingered the small gift in my pocket that I had hoped to give to a member of staff for M. It was nothing expensive, just a little wind up furry mouse in a box, that I thought might amuse him. Now that it seemed unlikely that any contact would take place for the foreseeable future, I hoped they may do me this small favour and pass it on.

  "Would you like to give it to him and see round the school?" The Child Protection Officer, who appeared more humane, volunteered. "Oh please, yes." I said, overjoyed. The chance to see M under any circumstances was like manna from heaven at this point.

  I followed her out of the study and left the lawyer to do his worst with the Headmaster. I cared about nothing other than seeing M and any anger at the injustice dissipated with the excitement of seeing my son.

  I took the tour of the buildings, impatient to see my beloved child, whilst showing as much interest in the surroundings, as I could under the circumstances. My overall impression was a place of archaic tradition, no doubt architecturally and historically splendid but cold and imposing. Where was the warmth and heart that children need to nurture them through their school days? Despite this, I knew that M saw school as a sanctuary. Since going to live with R, he had told me many times that he looked forward to going to school each day, a stark contrast to the reluctance he had shown to leave my side for even one day when he had been in my care. I had put that down to us being a single-parent family. We shared a particularly close bond with no man in our lives and no other child in the family. This was inevitable - but something else for which I had been formerly damned.