Mummy Where Are You? (Revised Edition, new)

by Jeanne D'Olivier

  We broke at lunchtime for an hour and I left Court with Liz, Sophie and Mags and headed to a nearby pub for a warming drink and some lunch. Before the trial had begun, Sophie had put a bracelet on my wrist that had some kind of religious significance for her. She was Portuguese and a Catholic and there was some connection with the Virgin Mary in the symbols. I wore this throughout the trial and often found myself twisting it round my wrist as a kind of rosary. I fingered it nervously as we awaited our food.

  We talked of nothing but the trial over lunch each day. We would try and see glimmers of hope in the day's proceedings and hang onto them. My little group of supporters did their best to keep my spirits up and encouraged me to stay optimistic and believe that I would retain my freedom.

  The Crown’s case was put forward first - the burden being on them to prove me guilty beyond reasonable doubt, rather than on me to prove my innocence.

  Witnesses were called from the Department, Miss Whiplash, the Reviewing Manager and the Police Officer who had interviewed M. Each one testified against me and justified their actions. I listened as lie after lie was told, but could say nothing – it was not my turn, but my blood boiled and I wanted to cry, “that’s not true” to every falsehood. I sat in silence as each cruel fabrication, wounded me further. With so much hostility and vitriol directed at me, I couldn't believe that I would walk free, but as Phillip reminded me after the hearing, we had yet to put our case and he still believed that I wouldn't go down.

  After the hearing I went to a nearby hotel to be interviewed by the Telegraph which Brian had arranged. Further photographs were taken, but in the end they delayed the interview because they wanted to write something for the next day’s paper based on what had been said on the first day. They had limited time to get this out and decided to interview me later in the week. Dad picked me up and I went home. I couldn't discuss the case with anyone during the trial, so I cuddled the dog and watched television and tried to get what little rest I could.

  The second day was much the same, more witnesses for the Crown Prosecution, more lies and more hurtful falsehoods levied at me and my behaviour. I was glad to be right at the back of the room behind the glass. I tried to detach myself from what was going on in front of me and looked over at my friends for reassurance. They would give me smiles of support, but they were also chastised at times for voicing angst in loud whispers as they couldn't contain their horror at the things that were being said about me, which they knew to be untrue.

  On Wednesday, M’s father gave evidence. I had seen him chatting to the Police Officer who'd arrested me outside the Court. They were laughing and joking as if old friends. The officer made no attempt to hide the fact that the police were supporting him. I thought this very unprofessional and tried to ignore it.

  The Judge decided that this would be the point at which M’s evidence would be played to the Court so that R could be asked questions about it, but we'd already been told that we were not allowed to raise the sexual abuse issue or go behind the original finding of the Family Court Judge. This almost totally prevented us from putting our defence of necessity argument, as there were questions that needed to be asked to demonstrate why I had felt my only option was to run.

  M’s father sat down as the DVD was played. He registered no emotion whatsoever. He seemed totally unaffected as he had done when it had been first played in the Family Court. I couldn't contain my own reaction to it. Tears coursed down my cheeks once more as I saw my son, frightened and so small telling the police what his father had done to him – “He put his winky in my bum and it hurt” "He pushed and pulled it until it was hard." "It hurt when I sitted on it." “Please make it stop;”- the words of a six year old child begging the police for help and the callous blank response of the lady detective, telling him she could not make it stop.

  Through my haze of tears I looked over at my friends. Sophie had her head in her hands, clearly unable to watch and the others looked mortified. I looked over at the jury who were still showing no emotion whatsoever and wondered how they could not be affected by what they were seeing and hearing. Having said that, they had already been told that there was a finding of "No Abuse," and that many professionals had viewed the evidence and reached this conclusion. This wasn't even true as not one expert had viewed the DVD to date, the Judge a contract lawyer by trade, with no expertise in these matters, had acted as his own expert.

  The Judge had predetermined the case and the jury were clearly being led to discount M's evidence. From their lack of response, it seemed that their belief in the system was strong and hard to shake and likely with no personal experience of the establishment, the majority were bound to blindly accept what they were told and be unprepared to accept that it makes mistakes. I imagined that with all that the CPS had put before them, the jury were now desensitised but I still found it inconceivable that they could not be moved by M's testimony. I expect it would have been very different if it had been their child or a child that was known to them.

  How many times have any of us opened a paper or watched the news and been faced with the most awful horrors and tragedy? Whilst we might register some immediate shock, we are so used to this, that we give it little thought after that moment. We are daily bombarded with images of suffering from various charities seeking funding and whilst we know the most terrible atrocities occur in our world, from our protected westernised arm-chair life, we cannot associate or empathise on any real level. Perhaps this was why those seven people seemed so cold and uncaring whilst my son voiced his pain. Or perhaps they simply couldn't believe that sexual abuse happened in a world they experienced as safe and untainted by such things. Whatever the reason, it did not bode well for the outcome for either M or myself.

  By the fourth day of trial, we had reached the time for my case to be put forward. I would be the first witness taken through my evidence in chief by Phillip. I did at least feel in safe hands and knew that this would be the easy part. It would be much harder once the Crown Prosecutor came to cross- examine me. He would be brutal and do his best to put words in my mouth. I would need all my wits about me.

  I took the stand nervously, my legs like jelly and hands trembling. I was sworn in and given some water and told that I could sit down if I so wished. I had no wish to sit. The bench in the witness box was low down and I wanted to feel confident and be both seen and heard by the jury as I gave my evidence. I only had to tell the truth and I trusted that hearing it and seeing my sincerity, I would at last be able to reach the jury. For the first time I would have a proper voice for M and I and I was determined to fight for him as well as myself. I prayed again to my fallen God, to give me the right words and strength to reach the hearts of the seven people who were now watching me intently.

  Phillip took me through my evidence, focusing hard on the parts which were problematic. He quickly addressed the fact that I had not been entirely honest in my statement to the police in regards to our reasons for running, telling them I had gone away to forge a plan and that we had intended to return after respite.

  Phillip advised I come clean about this and not try and hide it. I was not being charged with Perjury after all and there were very good reasons why I had lied, mainly that I hadn't wanted to be remanded in custody as that would have prevented me seeing M. I explained this to the Jury as best I could and looked for any sign in them that they understood, but still the blank faces registered nothing.

  Soon came the turn of the Prosecutor and the breath caught in the back of my throat, as he looked at me with pure hatred and anger - a short, stocky man with a bushy black moustache, who had the appearance of Dickens's Mr Pickwick. His face was red and seemed to turn redder as the hours passed. With each question he fired at me, he looked like he might explode with rage at any moment. I had known that this part of the trial was going to be the hardest, but nothing could have prepared me for just how brutal, aggressive and bullying he would be. He fired questions at me in staccato succession, barely giving me a c
hance to reply - each one a cutting accusation.

  “You took him to stop him being taken into Care, didn’t you?” He shouted.

  “No, I took him to avoid him being further abused.” I fired back.

  “But you knew he would be going into Care and not to his father and you took him to avoid that didn’t you?”

  Again I responded:- “No, I took him to stop him being abused."

  Repeatedly the Prosecutor fired questions at me, trying to elicit the response he sought, and again and again I stood my ground. Through the stillness of the Courtroom I could hear Phillip whispering loudly to Elaine, “She's doing everything we wanted her to, she's throwing it straight back at him every time.” I looked at Phillip and saw that he was half smiling and gave me an imperceptible nod of encouragement. My palms were sweating and my body trembled as I tried to withstand the increasingly brutal attacks by the CPS. I was weak with exhaustion, but there was no let up, as evidence was placed before me and I was asked to read out selected passages of the Care Plan. I knew what he was trying to do and each time, I would counter with the same answer and refer them to the final paragraph of the Care Plan which stated that it would be at the discretion of the Judge as to whether M went into Foster Care or straight to his father which I believed would place him at risk.

  The Prosecutor accused me of lying to the police to demonstrate that I was lying now and asked why I hadn't said in my statement that I feared M may be subjected to further abuse. I reiterated the answers I had already given over and over - my need to see M and the fact that I couldn't go behind the Finding of the Family Court Judge, the brother of the Attorney General. I had believed that he would keep me in custody if I went behind his judgment.

  This angered the Prosecutor even more who asked; "Did you really believe that the fact they are brothers would mean you would not be treated fairly?" I countered that by now that I didn’t believe that any local Judge would treat me fairly, brother or not." There was an audible intake of breath by the Criminal Judge at this point. He was clearly furious that I dared to suggest the Court may not be impartial.

  The prosecutors relentless questioning was punctuated from time to time by the Judge who intervened also firing questions at me and trying to get me to admit that I had fled merely to avoid losing M. I repeated the same answers to him as I had given to the Prosecutor.

  As the hours passed, I became increasingly exhausted. My legs ached and I was getting weaker and weaker from standing so long. Still I persisted in standing my ground, trying to hold my nerve and not fall into the traps that they were clearly trying to set me for me. At times I was moved to tears, especially in recounting what I sincerely believed to have happened to my son. I couldn't contain my emotion and it tumbled forth as I tried to withstand the brutal, furious attack on my integrity. I kept my mind on M and knew that I must take this opportunity for the truth and our voices to be heard. I gave my all and more trying to stay free for him and strong in the face of such hostility.

  At last lunch time broke my torturous turn on the stand and the Judge ordered a recess of an hour. A representative for the Times newspaper had arrived and was sitting on the bench reserved for the press. She wanted me to speak to a more senior journalist, namely Camilla Cavendish, who specialised in Family Court matters, later on in the week. I could obviously not speak to the press until I'd finished giving evidence. One thing was certain though, I had their sympathy.

  I was on the stand for two whole days being bullied, interrogated and accused. Intermittently the Judge would take over from the Crown Prosecutor in battering me. He too tried to get me to say that I'd run to avoid my child being taken into care. Of course, I had run to avoid him being taken and given to a child abuser – what woman would hand an innocent seven year old over to a Nazi regime to indoctrinate him into accepting a man who had harmed him repeatedly and violated his pure little body and soul?

  I'd spoken the truth from my heart over and over. I let all the maternal love I felt for M pour into that Courtroom, but looking at the faces of the jury – I wondered where their heart and souls lay. Still they sat there motionless, compassionless and unmoved.

  The Prosecutor’s questions became more personal and brutal as he tried to unnerve me and prove that I didn't really see M's father as a risk and there were moments where I simply didn't have the answer to a particular question because so much had happened in only a few months that it was hard to remember how I'd reasoned things at the time. Most of my actions had been taken quickly out of the necessity to protect M and were the instinctive actions of any mother whose child's life is threatened.

  I was asked why I hadn't thought I would have a chance of putting forward my case at the hearing that had been scheduled for the day after the Multi-Agency meeting; the same meeting where I had been told by the Reviewing Manager that there was nothing I could do and they would be taking my son on a supposition of coaching - despite the lack of any evidence whatsoever. His job was to weaken our case and show that M had been in no immediate danger. Our case was to show that whether the Court agreed with me or not, I believed sincerely that he was at risk and had run for that reason alone. Ironically, to run because you don't want to lose your child is not a defence - even if your child's wish is to remain with you. It was imperative that the Jury believed that I had run because I feared for M's safety and that was, of course, the truth. If the Prosecutor could demonstrate that the decision was premeditated, it would weaken our position and whilst I knew we hadn't decided to go until the night before we left, I couldn't think how I could demonstrate this to the Court. I was not allowed to consult with my lawyers and had to go home at the end of the day with this question still unanswered.

  It wasn't until that night that I remembered a crucial piece of evidence that I had in my possession. I suddenly remembered something that I'd forgotten earlier. I'd removed my local lawyer from the case only days before we ran and in a desperate attempt to obtain better legal advice, I had met with a company of solicitors from Liverpool who had flown over for the day. I'd met with a family law barrister attached to this firm. I'd then written to the Court stating my wish to adjourn the hearing whilst allowing time to obtain a licence to appoint UK counsel. I had had no response from the Court but the emails asking for this were still on my laptop and proved that had I stayed I would have been unrepresented at a critical hearing and would have had little hope of retaining my son under those circumstances with no time whatsoever to prepare myself. This piece of information would show clearly that our decision to run was not premeditated and proved we had still intended to fight the case and had taken steps to this end right up until the last minute.

  I knew it was vital to get these emails on record, but didn't know the correct protocol and had no one I could ask. I was barred from discussing the case with anyone. I spent hours trawling through my emails to find the relevant ones that showed I had withdrawn my local lawyer and had sought to reappoint and printed them off. I then agonised all night as to how I might best put these before the Court and whether I would be allowed to do so.

  At ten O'clock the following morning, I once again took the stand and when the Judge came in and was seated, I asked if I might speak to him. He looked rather surprised at this and my lawyers looked nervously at each other wondering what I was going to say. I told him that I had crucial evidence that had not previously come before the Court that would assist in demonstrating why I had not felt confident that the hearing to decide my son’s fate would have allowed me any chance of retaining residency and thus protecting him from harm.. I asked if I might show him the emails and he nodded.

  The Court clerk took them to the bench for him to view. I looked over at Phillip and smiled reassuringly, I knew that he would approve of what I was doing and I was willing him to trust me on this. Knowing me as well as he now did, I knew that he knew I was capable of just about anything to fight for M and was probably thinking that whatever I was about to do might be self-incriminating without me r
ealising, but my intuition was strong on this point and I knew that I was doing the right thing. For once I had to trust my own judgement without the safety net of legal advice.

  The Judge considered the emails for a few moments and I held my breath to see what he would decide. He decided they were relevant and they were handed to the Prosecutor and Phillip in turn – Phillip looked at me and smiled back. I believe I gained his respect at that moment as he realised just how important this evidence was. I knew then I had done the right thing and the emails were put on record and read out to the Jury.

  The Prosecutor looked furious. This evidence clearly demonstrated that I would have gone to Court had I been represented and that it was the fact that the Family Court Judge had not allowed me to adjourn that had left me in an impossible predicament. Whilst it may not have been enough to sway the case or the Jury, it was an important piece of the jigsaw and one that weakened the Prosecution’s case.

  Running a "defence of necessity based on imminent risk" is hard to do in any Court but even harder in a country where it was widely believed that things happen for the greater good.