One Law For the Rest of Us

by Peter Murphy

  I don’t know which of us was more surprised. I was flabbergasted. I very much wanted him to do what he was about to do, and I had no way of explaining my body’s reaction to his touch. He began to ask me something, but I had no answer to offer. In desperation, or out of sheer embarrassment, I quickly laid him on his back, moved down, and took his cock in my mouth, which served to distract him. I think he had a good time, but something had happened that neither of us understood, and as a result of whatever it was, I wasn’t ready to take our relationship any further. We broke up a week or two later.

  It was months before I gathered enough courage to go out with another man. His name was Brian, and he was a geographer, and the first time we undressed each other, the same thing happened. By then, I’d thought a great deal about what I was going to do if I couldn’t persuade my body to unfreeze. The strategy of sucking the man’s cock had worked once, but there was no guarantee that it would work again. After some reflection I persuaded myself that my reaction was caused by feeling ticklish when I was touched, and that was something I could explain rationally. Not only that, I’d practised what I thought was a pretty convincing giggle to illustrate the ticklishness. The problem was, I knew better.

  I wasn’t in the least ticklish when I masturbated, or when one evening I ended up in bed with my friend Susan after a party, and found that I welcomed her fingers enthusiastically without any hint of freezing at all. For a short time I even thought I’d found the real explanation: I was a closet lesbian; and at one point I seriously considered adopting that way of life as a compromise solution. But reality prevailed. My real interest has always been in men, and I went back to dating them. But it had become a nervous experience, one that made me feel insecure, and I didn’t do it very often. There were one or two men less sensitive than Alistair and Brian, who didn’t much care about my pleasure and were more than happy with a quick, uninvolved fuck: and to my distress, and occasionally despair, I found that I actually preferred those shallow encounters – I could get through them without any problem. For the others, I had the giggle and the enhanced attention to fall back on: but nothing brought me any satisfaction or pleasure.

  The first time I was naked with Ken, at my place after a nice dinner, I was so anxious that I felt ready to burst into tears at any moment. I’d found someone I really cared about, and I was so afraid that I would mess it up between us because of something I couldn’t control. And sure enough, right on cue, as his hand made its way up my leg, my body froze. He looked at me, and I tried in vain to activate the giggle. But I just wasn’t in a giggly mood. Instead, I collapsed on to my back and rolled away with my back to him, crying my eyes out. I was sure he would get dressed and leave. I wouldn’t have blamed him. But instead, he did something really remarkable. Very gently, he turned me again on to my back. He went down far enough to kiss my feet, which he did for some time, unhurriedly, as though time were unimportant; and as his tongue did its last turn around my left ankle, he allowed it to drift slowly up my leg, followed by a hand. Predictably, I started to freeze again. He stopped immediately, but left the hand in place.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said. I couldn’t, immediately.

  ‘Look at me,’ he said again. I did, wiping away a tear.

  ‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Ken. You’re safe. It’s OK. You’re safe.’

  He kissed my leg, and repeated his words several times, like a mantra: ‘It’s me. Ken. It’s OK. You’re safe. You’re safe.’

  Then he told me to take a deep breath, one at first, then several deep breaths in succession. I did, and to my amazement, I felt my body start to relax. His tongue and fingers moved up my leg very slightly. I froze again. He repeated the mantra and told me again to breathe. How long this went on, I have no idea: it felt like hours. All I know is that eventually, I was able to relax long enough for his fingers to be inside me, and once he made contact and I felt myself being turned on, I gave a deep sigh, raised my arms above my head and held on to the headboard, and finally allowed a man to do what I had allowed myself and Susan to do – to give me pleasure and a wonderful orgasm. As I was unwinding from the orgasm, I felt him ease his cock into my cunt, and we had the most wonderful gentle, loving, intimate fuck.

  It wasn’t a magic cure. But it was a breakthrough. The freezing continued to happen, but it became less frequent, and while there were occasions when we had to give up – about which he was always very understanding – there were also many occasions when the mantra worked and we had wonderful sex. I knew, of course, that I hadn’t found any explanation for the freezing, but somehow that mattered less now. Ken and I had fallen deeply in love, and it wasn’t long before he asked me to marry him. I accepted without hesitation. This was in 1963.

  8

  Friday 8 February 1974

  ‘I think the best way to start,’ Andrew Pilkington began, ‘would be to go around the table and let everyone introduce themselves. Let’s start with the right-hand side, shall we?’

  Andrew was senior prosecuting counsel to the Crown at the Old Bailey, and he had not hesitated when Ben Schroeder asked him to become involved in the emerging story of Lancelot Andrewes School. Quite apart from the fact that he and Ben were friends – a by-product, often found at the bar, of having fought each other vigorously as opponents in a number of difficult cases – Andrew saw immediately what would be at stake when the revelations about the school’s history became public. Without delay, he dropped what he was doing, called in the people he needed, and booked a conference room at the Old Bailey.

  ‘My name is John Caswell,’ the man sitting to Andrew’s immediate right said. ‘I’m deputy director in the office of the Director of Public Prosecutions.’

  ‘DI Steffie Walsh, currently attached to the Met Police Vice Unit, based at West End Central Police Station,’ the woman to Caswell’s right said.

  ‘DI Ted Phillips, from Cambridge.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Andrew said. ‘Left-hand side?’

  ‘Julia Cathermole, Cathermole and Bridger. We act for Mr and Mrs Marshall.’ Julia smiled to her right and nodded to give her clients their cue.

  ‘I’m Audrey Marshall, from Ely.’

  ‘Ken Marshall: I’m Audrey’s husband.’

  ‘Ginny Castle: I’m instructed by Julia on behalf of the Marshalls.’

  ‘Ben Schroeder, also instructed by Julia.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘All right, thank you. Let me see if I can summarise where we are at the moment. Audrey, you’ve made a detailed witness statement today to DI Phillips and DI Walsh, in which you allege a pattern of sexual abuse against young girls at Lancelot Andrewes School over a long period of time, apparently instigated and managed by the school’s headmaster, Father Desmond Gerrard. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Andrew smiled. ‘You don’t have to call me “sir”. I’m just a barrister, like Ginny and Ben. Let’s use first names, shall we?’

  ‘All right… Andrew… Yes, that’s true.’

  ‘Your time at the school goes back to the early 1940s, but you also say that your daughter Emily has been a victim of abuse, more recently?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I interviewed Emily this morning, sir,’ Steffie Walsh added, ‘in the presence of her father, Ken. I found her to be an intelligent, articulate girl, clear and focused, and very specific about what happened to her, remarkably so for her age. I think she’s easily mature enough to give evidence under oath, so I took a witness statement from her.’

  ‘Good,’ Andrew replied. ‘That alone should give you and DI Phillips enough to arrest Father Gerrard on suspicion of conspiracy, or inciting acts of indecent assault and indecency with a child. But Emily couldn’t identify the men who committed the offences, could she?’

  ‘No, sir. She says they all wore black masks that covered their faces, apart from the eyes. They all wore suits and ties, but that’s about it. We don’t have any way to
identify them unless Father Gerrard gives them up, or there’s another witness we don’t know about yet. But she identifies Father Gerrard: no problem there.’

  ‘Audrey, you make allegations against three men who all have a high profile in public life. These allegations are mainly of acts committed against you, but some involve other girls, based on what they told you at the time, in the 1940s. Yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All these allegations – correct me if I’m wrong – are based entirely on memories you recovered spontaneously after Emily had told you what happened to her?’

  ‘Yes, that’s correct.’

  ‘And that’s what will make the Director nervous,’ John Caswell said.

  ‘Her allegations are very specific, John,’ Ginny intervened, ‘and she has no motive whatsoever to implicate any of these three men.’

  ‘I accept that,’ John replied, ‘but – forgive me, Audrey, I’m not saying I doubt your word – but unless Father Gerrard implicates them, any case against them would depend entirely on your recovered memory, which is controversial as far as the experts are concerned.’

  ‘It’s not controversial as far as we’re concerned,’ Ken reacted angrily.

  ‘No, of course not; nor should it be. But please try to understand our concerns, Ken. Once Father Gerrard is arrested and all this becomes public knowledge, the press is going to have a field day. I’m not concerned about Father Gerrard. We’re on solid ground with him. But the other men are also going to be pilloried in the media. They can protest their innocence all they like, but they won’t be able to prevent some mud sticking to them: which means that the Director must be very careful to ensure that the evidence is sufficient for an arrest, and sufficient to justify a prosecution.’

  ‘Some of her allegations involve other girls,’ Ginny pointed out.

  ‘Based on what those girls told her, which is hearsay.’

  ‘Not if the girls – women, as they are now – confirm what Audrey says,’ Ben replied. ‘And actually, even if they don’t, I think it’s admissible in evidence: provided that Audrey can confirm that the woman concerned was making a complaint about what happened to her, shortly after the event, and while she was distressed about it.’

  ‘I agree with that,’ Andrew added.

  ‘Another positive,’ Ginny said, ‘is that Emily provides corroboration for Audrey, and vice versa.’

  ‘Only against Father Gerrard,’ John pointed out. ‘Not against the other men.’

  ‘Fine. But once the press gets hold of the story and Lancelot Andrewes becomes a household name, other women are bound to come forward. We just need to interview the women Audrey’s named; if only one of them confirms what she says, we have more than enough.’

  ‘I’d be happier if Father Gerrard gave them up,’ Ted Phillips said.

  ‘Do you know Gerrard at all?’ Andrew asked. ‘Audrey and Ken do, of course, but have the Cambridge police had any dealings with him?’

  ‘Not as far as I know, sir,’ Ted replied. ‘I’ve never met him. He may have some history with officers at Ely and round that way, but not on our patch. I’m not worried about him, though. Once we confront him, I’m betting that we, or his solicitor, will persuade him that cooperation is his only hope of avoiding a long sentence.’

  ‘Well, any court that sentenced him would be impressed if he saved the victims from having to relive the horror in the witness box,’ Ben pointed out.

  ‘That was my thought exactly, sir,’ Ted replied. ‘Let’s invite him to turn Queen’s evidence. My money says he’ll give up the men he entertained at the school.’

  Andrew turned to Audrey and Ken. ‘What’s your take on him?’

  ‘That’s not the Father Gerrard I know,’ Audrey said. ‘He’s always struck me as a hard man, and I never detected any compassion in him for the likes of us.’ She shrugged. ‘But I’m not exactly a neutral as far as he’s concerned, so perhaps I’m not the right person to ask.’

  ‘I can’t add anything to that,’ Ken said.

  ‘Well, we will just have to see,’ Andrew concluded.

  ‘Andrew,’ John said after a silence, ‘the Director’s bound to be a bit nervous about this. I think I can talk him into following your advice: but he can’t stop Cambridge from prosecuting, can he? At the end of the day, the Chief Constable is free to arrest anyone he thinks he has a case against, and to prosecute them accordingly. That’s a matter for the Chief Constable. The Director may ask me why he should stick his neck out.’

  ‘Because the Director’s involvement would make all the difference,’ Andrew replied immediately. ‘Once this starts, we’re looking at massive, unrelenting publicity, deep local feeling, and, very likely, unwelcome local pressure on the police. It would be a hard case for Cambridge to handle without the Director’s support.’

  ‘And, with all due respect, sir,’ Ted added, ‘even without the pressure, this will be a very big case. It would really stretch our resources to try to manage it without the Yard’s help. I’m not sure how we’d do it, to be honest, not if we have to approach all the girls who were at school all those years ago, and goodness knows what other witnesses may come out of the woodwork once word gets out.’

  ‘John, my advice to the Director would be this,’ Andrew said. ‘He should take over the case against Father Gerrard as soon as DI Phillips has arrested him. I’d be happy to take responsibility for the case, as long as I can bring Ben and Ginny in as counsel to work with me. I’d need help anyway: with my present trial schedule, it’s not something I can handle on my own.’

  ‘And if I may, Andrew,’ Ben added, ‘we should ask the magistrates to commit the case for trial here at the Bailey, rather than Cambridge: there’s too much risk of local feeling poisoning the jury pool at Cambridge.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Andrew said. ‘Then, depending on developments in the case against Father Gerrard, we’ll consider whether there is enough evidence to arrest the three men in public life. Until we reach that stage, we won’t refer to them publicly by name. We will call them Lord AB, Sir CD, and the Right Reverend EF. Inspector Walsh, we’ll need to prepare a redacted version of Audrey’s witness statement, so that we protect their identities.’

  ‘Right you are, sir.’

  ‘Why should they have special protection?’ Ken demanded. ‘They’ve brought all of this on us. Why should they get special treatment?’

  ‘Because the Director has a duty to protect people in public life to a certain extent,’ John replied. ‘I’m sorry, Ken; I have to insist on that. But it’s a limited protection. It ends once they’re arrested. We’re only talking about the period before their arrest.’

  ‘But their names are withheld while ours are dragged through the mud. That’s what it comes to, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ken, we can’t protect you and Audrey from all publicity: but we can – and will – protect Emily’s identity, and those of her friends. Children who are the victims of criminal offences are entitled to anonymity.’

  ‘I wouldn’t put money on anyone remaining anonymous for long,’ Julia said quietly, ‘not once the press wakes up and realises the extent of the scandal. It won’t be long before everyone knows exactly who did what to whom.’

  ‘If they go too far, it will be at their peril,’ John insisted. ‘The Director takes his responsibilities very seriously, and the court will support him when it comes to publicity.’

  ‘Does that mean that you will be advising the Director to take over?’ Ginny asked, smiling.

  John nodded. ‘I will advise him to take over – in accordance with Andrew’s advice.’

  Ted smiled happily at Steffie.

  ‘In that case, I’ll make my way back to Cambridge and make arrangements to introduce myself to Father Desmond Gerrard. Would you care to accompany me on behalf of the Met, Detective Inspector Walsh?’

  She returned the smile. ‘I’d be
delighted, Detective Inspector Phillips.’

  9

  Audrey Marshall

  Emily was born in June 1965. She’s an only child, though not for want of trying. We did our best to provide her with a little sister or brother, but for whatever reason, I didn’t, or couldn’t, get pregnant again; and I’m not sure there’s enough of me left for another child now, even if I could. Emily is a bright girl, curious and articulate, but like Joan, she can sometimes hide away silently within herself for hours, as if she’s communing with some higher power. Actually, she reminds me a lot of Joan, both physically and mentally. There are days when the resemblance makes me happy; but there are also days when it makes me cry, and I can’t explain the tears to her properly until she’s older.

  As she was approaching her seventh birthday, I was chatting to Bill Hollis one day about schools, and he suggested that we apply to have Emily admitted to Lancelot Andrewes. It had never occurred to me. I’d somehow made the assumption that we would never be able to afford the fees – even though Ken and I weren’t badly off, and we lived close enough to the school for her to attend as a day girl, which would have been significantly cheaper. But Bill pointed out that the school had a special rate for senior employees of the diocese, which reduced the fees to a level we could manage, even with Emily boarding. He’d sent his own two sons to Lancelot Andrewes as boarders. Besides, he added, as an old girl myself, surely I would want Emily to have the same excellent education I’d had myself. Well, of course I did. I told Ken as soon as I got home, and we fairly jumped at the chance. Not long after that we received a warm note from Father Gerrard, in which he said how much he was looking forward to seeing Emily in the new term, once she turned seven.

  We left the choice of whether or not to board to Emily. She chose to board, secure in the knowledge that we would never be far away, because boarders have much easier access to sports and other extra-curricular activities. She entered the school in the autumn term of 1972.