May 4, 2013 • 06:46 0
I don’t know how Mum did it. We were poverty stricken & yet at birthdays & Christmas she made an effort to make them as special as she could. Places were often set extra nicely at the table, at Christmas each of us kids would have a few novelties on our plates. A little toy, some small puzzle books, a few things to delight us. Often it would be a baked dinner or the like. Lamb with gravy, peas, baked potato. These meals wern’t fancy but they were good. Yet special occasions we steeled ourselves, cause these were the times Dad enjoyed ruining the most.
Anything could set him off. My older brother didn’t like peas one time so Dad picked up the whole plate of food and threw it smashing it against the wall, gravy peas & meat sliding down the paint whilst shards of broken plate scattered across the floor. As mum scurried to collect the glass so we didn’t cut our feet, Dad stormed off speaking profanities over his shoulder. Often he would get dressed up nicely and go for a drink, leaving the rest of us crying at christmas or birthdays to clean up his mess. That was a normal Christmas celebration, birthdays much the same. The ones we enjoyed the most were the ones he wasn’t there. I cant ever remember Dad buying me (or the other kids) a single present in all the years while they were married. Dad earnt money but it was always spent on him. Mum somehow had to cloth and feed us from what she could get from the Smith Family & Vinnies. Dad showed us boys no affection, never a touch, except abuse and Mum was ordered to do the same again under threat. Affection he claimed would make us poofters.
Other times when a meal was placed in front of him Dad would say ‘what shit is this’ swiping the loaded plate in front of him off the table & across the room as it smashed on the floor again with food everywhere. Then storming off he would go out. That was preferable to the times he stayed & yelled, reducing the whole family to tears & nervous wrecks.
If I misbehaved at all normally Dad would pick me up by one arm so my feet were dangling in the air, then get the ironing cord or his belt & & whip it backwards and forwards again & again & again across my bare legs till I was screaming in pain. Then he would drop me on the floor & order to my room as screaming I scuttled to my feet trying to avoid any further blows whilst dancing in pain hopping from one leg to another as they seared from the whipping, collapsing in my room sobbing, trying to muffle my sounds with a pillow so I didn’t get in further trouble.
Even in the small things Dad took joy in his control. I never had friends over to stay because I was petrified of them finding out what my home life was like. Most of them came from loving families & I used to enjoy visiting them & spending time with their families. On one occasion a friend asked me to stay the night at his place. I rarely talked to Dad & typically avoided him like the plague. Because I really wanted to go I plucked up the courage to ask Dad if I could stay the night at my friends, and he surprisingly said yes. I was elated. So I told my friend, he told his parents and it was settled. When they came to pick me up Dad said to me ‘you’re not going’. That was that, no reason, no argument, nothing. If I objected there would be hell to pay. I was totally embarrassed telling my friend I couldn’t now go & felt like a real idiot. I wasn’t asked over again. Nothing you had was safe from Dad ruining it.
May 3, 2013 • 18:36 0
May 3, 2013 • 06:48 0
I had lots of childhood hells but one of the worst ones was between my bed & bedroom door. About 2/3 of the way to the door to be precise. This was the place where I would be glued in agony night after night when Dad was around. This was the place I was stuck with my stomach in my mouth, shaking uncontrollably, sobbing, as I could hear Mums screams whilst Dad bashed her. It was agony. Even to this day if I hear ads for domestic violence on the radio where there is screaming I have to change the channel, they are too painful to listen to.
I knew if I walked through my bedroom door into the hall Dad would see me & order me back to my room under threat of being hit. Bed offered no comfort & even with pillows & blankets I couldn’t block out Mums screams & cries for help as Dad yelled profanities at her & called her every foul name he could, whilst he hit her tiny 5 ft frame whilst she cowered from his blows pleading him to stop.
And so this point on the floor between my bed & my bedroom door was my hell, my excruciating limbo between not being able to block out my mothers agony & not being able to do anything to help her. It was soul destroying. The other kids I’m sure were the same. At times we would all come out of our rooms, one by one and huddled together in the hall, horrified, crying as he bashed her. Only to be ordered in threatening tones back into ours rooms.
At times we would cry at him, yelling ‘stop it’, ‘don’t hit her’ only again to be chased back into our rooms with his hand raised ready to hit as a backhander. He knew how to hit to make it hurt, and he knew how to do it so he wouldn’t break any bones. It was not till my mid twenties that I stopped ducking when anyone raised their hand, it took that long to retrain the reflex & and get over the fear and me ducking whenever a friend scratched their head had become quite embarrassing by that time.
As time went on dad was there less & less. When he was away there was a chance of happiness. When he was there it was simply constant terror.
May 2, 2013 • 19:45 0
Have you ever heard of an attempted murder case where the police were so desperate to convict (frame) a man which the victim was emphatically & adamantly claiming was innocent. A man who came to the aid of the victim, called the ambulance & police and whose accent was totally different to that of the attackers.
Have you ever heard of an attempted murder case where evidence is put forward of a suspect who was a psychopath who had a previous history of murder, rape & pedophilia. This suspect was a womaniser who also had a hatred of women. This suspect had worked with & the husband & in all knew his wife & when she would be home alone. The place of work where the husband & the suspect worked was close to where the victim lived. Yet the police were not only not interested in this suspect or evidence of his previous criminal behaviour but went out of their way to ignore it when sent to them and also try and disqualify the evidence that was brought and discredit the integrity of the person that brought it.
Now what if you put the above two scenarios together. Why would the Police go out of their way to convict and imprison an innocent man whilst try in every way possible not to investigated a psychopathic rapist & killer who was connected to the victim.
The man who police charged and imprisoned was a loving husband who had no criminal record, no motive to try and kill his wife & child and was at work at the time. When he found his battered wife & son after coming home from work he called the police & ambulance & cradled them in his arms.
The suspect the police went out of their way to ignore was a lying, cheating married man who had repeatedly bashed & attempted to murder his own wife ( one time by strangling), He had been involved in the murder of others, The evidence given to police minister Ryan about this man was;
‘The attempted murder of Pamela McLeod Lyndsay at Sylvania in 1964. This man worked briefly with Alexander McLeod Lyndsay at Sylvania Hotel as a batman. He knew Pamela McLeod Lyndsay was alone at night when her husband worked. He knew where they lived, had been to their house in Sylvania. He believed she was leading him on. He believed that “she got what she deserved because she was a slut”
The innocent husband was jailed but was was released on appeal after serving 9 years , that 9 fucking years behind bars. The police still say they don’t know who the attempted murderer was yet despite given all the evidence they still protect the psychopath – my father from both investigation & prosecution. Why? And this is far from the only time he has been protected by the police.
The evidence I provided the Homicide squad in 1996 was much briefer & part of a point long list of murders, assaults, rapes & pedophilia that I had evidence my father either admitted to, committed, or was associated with. I wrote;
Sylvania attempted murder, Dad worked at the same place as husband. Commented something to the nature of the bitch deserved it.
Yet the homicide squad detective who came to my door & saw me in at their offices offered me no assistance, wanted no further contact and wanted me hypnotised to invalidate my testimony. Why?
An updated statement I have been able to obtain regarding the case McLeod Lindsay case is as follows;
This was about the same time as the brutal attempted murder of Pamela McLeod Lyndsay in Sylvania which was September 1964. I remember being surprised about his response when I read about it in the newspaper and the police were looking for the person responsible and he spat out “she’s just a fucking slut. She deserves what she got.” He said she cheated on her husband, like all women cheat on their husbands. I thought it was a co-incidence that Alexander McLeod Lindsay worked at the pub at Sylvania where Dick worked briefly and where he used to drink”
I need to make note here that the claims Dad made about Mrs McLeod Lyndsay are spurious. He made the same comments repeatedly about my mother & she was always to my knowledge faithful to him. It’s quite likely she could have refused to have sex with him & so he threatened and then bashed her. If she had consented to his sexual demands there would have been no reason for him to attack.
The question is why did the police so vehemently go after an innocent man insistent on jailing him whilst so determinedly try and prevent the investigation of a psychopath & discredit a witness who had significant evidence about that psychopath? Why are the police protecting perpetrators whilst trying to criminalise innocent people?
This is one post in a long list of many. Please read the other posts before and after this as there is a lot, lot more to what my father has done and serious questions as to why he remains free
Miscarriages of justice ; conviction of the innocent ; murderpedia ; skeptic lawyer ; law, crime, politics ; real life libertarian ; miscarriage of justice ;
May 2, 2013 • 18:00 0
It was around the Granville train disaster in January 1977 that my sister & I went to spend holidays with my father, who was staying at his mother’s house in Burrill Lakes. Why we even wanted to see him after what the horrific things he put us through I don’t know. I know part of me always wanted a father who loved me, that was the polarity I lived with. A father who never touched me except in brutal physical & sexual abuse, always threatened me &never took any interest in my welfare. I was 15 & my sister was 9. Maybe my delusion was I thought he would or even could change. As kids you live in hope despite the most appalling circumstances. The holiday was sure going to kill that idea & any hope.
The first day or two with Dad wasn’t too bad. He had the flat on the side of his mothers house. It was opposite the lake, with a park in between & walking distance to the beach. Erin & I got on well & enjoyed each others company. As Dad was a bit smothering her & I would walk along the edge of the lake to the beach in the morning just to get a bit of space. He would look at us with suspicion when we did & later accused me of taking my younger sister for walks so I could poison her mind. I looked at him & then my sister with disbelief, the last thing we wanted to talk about was him.
Anyway Dad ran very hot cold. He was either paranoid or pretend. On this day he was pretend. He had driven us to Mollymook Beach & parked in the car park overlooking the beach. As we were ready to hop out of the car he cheerily said ‘why don’t you two wait here while I get changed & we can all walk down the beach together’. My sister casually responded ‘Dad, can we just walk down the beach & meet you there’. “Out of the car ‘ he blasted, furious at us. We jumped out quick smart knowing to follow his orders & & he screeched off in the car.
We looked at each other. My sister looked like she was going to burst into tears. I tried to calm her and said why don’t we go down the beach & relax, and have a swim, he’ll come back. So we went down the beach, found a spot and lay there on our towels, but sis couldn’t relax. Doug she kept saying he’s up there watching us. I tried to look for him but couldn’t see him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. I knew from experience what he was like. After a few hrs we’d had enough of the beach & waiting as it was apparent he wouldn’t return. We had no other option but to start the long walk back to our Nannas which was around 7km away. It would take a while.
We got to Ulladulla & we had enough money to call Mum in Sydney. Sis was upset. Mum told us to pack our things and come home. Understandably she was angry, not with us, but with Dad. Everything always ended in tears. So we started walking again from Ulladulla to Burrill Lakes. After a few kilometers we came to a relatively deserted patch between the towns & Dad pulled up. ‘Get in the car’ he demanded. I was furious. ‘No’ I said, were going home to Mums. He hopped out & stood over me. He was a big solid man of just under six foot, me a pre pubescant teenager, still tiny for my age & not a lot more than 5ft. ‘Get in the car’ he yelled threateningly into my face. I was standing my ground. ‘No” I said, we are going home to Mum. He snapped, his whole appearance changed, as though someone had flicked a switch & he was now out of control. I’d seen this before whenever he was confronted, & now it was getting dangerous. ‘Get in the car or I will kill you he said pointing into my face’. My sister was crying, ‘Doug, please do as he says’ she said. I stood there petrified, shaking, rapidly reassessing my options. ‘I’ll kill you’ he said, ‘I will kill you’, he repeated as he towered over me he started clenching his fists as though ready for a fight. Realising I had little option & shaking uncontrollably & crying I hopped in. I could have made a run for it but I wasn’t going to leave my sister, I couldn’t leave her alone with him. Unbeknown to me people at a nearby bus stop saw what was going on and started rushing over. But Dad had taken off with the two of us as they stood staring after the rapidly accelerating car.
In the car I confronted Dad about his violent abuse, his bashings of mum. He told me I was a liar & told my sister I was insane. He told her she was not to listen to me, never to listen to me. I was like her mother, a liar. He repeated it over & over again as though he was not just trying to convince her but himself as well. The stupid thing is Sis knew what he was like, she had witnessed him bashing Mum, its not like him telling not to listen to me was going to change the past. It was crazy, I was broken, we sat in the back seat crying, I hated him – again.
In a few minutes we arrived at my Nannas. Dad parked the car down the side. Sis & I were both still shaking and crying. He turned to us & cheerily said ‘I’m going to go get a towel & then we can all go down the coast & have a nice afternoon at the beach together. I don’t want you making any noise and disturbing Nanna’. Sis & I looked at each other through our tears, was this man for real?, crazy (yes), we were total emotional wrecks, the last thing we wanted was to be with him down the coast. As Dad went inside Nanna had heard the car & came through & noticed instantly we were visibly upset, and inquired what was going on. We told her & she burst into tears. We told her we wanted to go home, we wanted to catch the bus back to Sydney.
Dad was seething but tried not to show it in front of his mother. Nanna was visibly more upset than the situation demanded, as though there was other things she knew about him. He couldnt threaten us with his mother there, he had a persona to maintain. With her assistance it was agreed we were too upset to stay. Dad refused to let us catch the bus & insisted on driving us back to Sydney much to our horror. I just wanted to get away from him.
It was the scariest road trip I’ve ever been on, as we silently sat in the car he sped way past the speed limit flying around corners and over hills, petrifying the two of us in the process. I especially remember the bends along the clifftops near Kiama & thinking any moment we were going to fly over the edge & crash down the hills below. The tyres of the car would screech around the corners & we would swerve across on the other side of the road. Dad as usual was delighting in his power & revenge, smirking taking pleasure in petrifying his two kids.
We finally made it to Sydney, physically in one piece but emotionally & mentally distraught. Never was I happier to be home and definitely happy to be away from him.
May 2, 2013 • 14:27 0
May 2, 2013 • 07:14 0
The system is broken
Whilst the often violent, sickening perpetrators who sexually abuse young & innocent children walk free, their victims get life sentences.
This is the appalling way it is for most victims of pedophilia.
In the week that I have gone public about my own experiences many have come to me telling me of theirs. In a few days just from those I know I have been told of over a dozen cases of childhood sexual abuse. I pulled out the day before court as the police told them they wouldn’t win. 2 went to court and lost. Another is about to go to court a second time. The rest try and block it out and move on. I remember when I originally spoke to the local police station about my abuse. The constable said to me, if it was him he wouldn’t report it. How’s that for justice in action. Hows that for protecting the perpetrators. The homicide squad wanted to ruin my testimony and now they wont respond to me. The police commissioner wasn’t interested. The criminals are the ones in power.
Often the key that sets victims free, that re-empowers them and lets them feel safe, that helps them to finally progress with their own lives is to see their perpetrators incarcerated for their horrific crimes. But the state will not have this as the perpetrators may not get justice.
So typically the state aids the perpetrators, helps them walk free. But there were no witnesses to what was done to you secret they shout at little kids. Why didn’t you get their DNA naughty little girl while you were being raped they smirked. We can’t have it so anyone can make a claim against innocent perpetrators the State laughs on TV. The hidden epidemic of broken survivors is then locked up back into the shadows, and their life sentences continue. The State is not concerned. We’ve gotta protect our mates the States turn & say to their colleagues after the cameras are turned off. This week the Attorney General Greg Smith did just that and made sure there was no mandatory sentencing of pedophiles. He had no regard for the mandatory sentencing of victims. This is one of Barry O Farrell’s own ministers.
Most people see this & don’t report their abuse because they know they will be worse off if they report it.
The time will come, maybe not in this life, where those responsible for this appalling situation with have to live through the consequences of their actions. Most cultures, most religions & a huge amount of research talks about a life review after we die where we live through the pain that we have inflicted on others or live the good that we have bestowed upon them. In this life there is also the destruction of their soul. I have seen it in my father & other perpetrators where they cannot live with themselves & so become fractured, bit by bit. Constantly lying to themselves about their horrific crimes, at a very deep level living in fear about being caught, but that fear becomes their own prison. Moments of so called pleasure result in a lifetime of destruction.
And so perpetrators don’t get help & reoffend. Victims are given life sentences for their pain by the system. And the State pays people obscene amounts to maintain this appalling scenario & then they call it justice.
NSW rejects mandatory jail for pedophiles
May 1, 2013 • 20:05 1
The following is fairly heavy & could be confronting to some. Please stop reading if it triggers you. This is my story in terms of psychology and yes it is slightly sanitised in that it does not go into all the gory details, there is a lot more to it, but what is written is as i remember it, & it gives you the gist of the impacts of my abuse & my journey towards wholeness.
I could hear Mum & Dad arguing in their bedroom next to mine. It was only a timber framed, fibro housing commission house with no insulation so when voices were raised you could hear everything. I could tell it wasn’t a real argument & knew what would happen next as it had happened before. I knew how to be hyper vigilant to prepare myself. I was only young, this time probably 8 or 9. And hearing Dads fabricated argument with Mum meant he didn’t have to sleep with her. I tensed in anticipation. I heard my door open, he walked in and closed my bedroom door behind him as Mum outside said ‘No Dick, No’. I don’t know if she knew what was going on, In speaking to her years later she doesn’t remember any of it & She would have known at the time to push the door open would have meant a severe beating for her. She’d had too many life threatening ones already. I never blamed her for Dads behaviour.
‘Move over Son’ Dad said as he approached the bed – I only had a single bed, it ran along the wall underneath the window that looked out on the street. He was carefree, this was fun to him. i was but an object. He climbed into bed with his head down the opposite end of mine. As he got comfortable he slid his feet between my legs & his toes between the cheeks of my bum and then started penetrating me with them. That was the trigger, the usual trigger & I blacked out. Next I knew it was morning & he was gone. I told myself nothing happened and went to school as though nothing had. I was not strong enough at the time to remember, i wouldn’t have been able to survive if i did. There was no option of telling anyone, I had years before been shown the brutal consequences of that with a knife held to my throat and horrific threats whispered in my ears. And this was far from an isolated incident. When you have no perceived means of escape you have to go into survival mode.
The only way to survive the destruction of the parent/child protective bond combined with the brutality of what happened the night before was to tear myself apart. As a young vulnerable child I had to give the darkest, most painful experiences & memories to part of me & then disconnect from that part. in order for me to live, part of me had to die. A bit like chopping a limb off to survive. in this way the rest of me could pretend for many years that nothing had happened & in this way i could function relatively normally for a time & get on with my life, do all the normal activities. But deep down inside you knew, you always knew what had happened, you never ever fully forgot. & you always carried, right from those times a suicidal sadness deep, deep inside you.
To be continued.
May 1, 2013 • 12:36 0
May 1, 2013 • 11:19 1
This is but a snippet of what my mother had to endure for just one period when she was pregnant with my younger brother. she already had my older brother & I. We were around 4 & 6 at the time. That Mum is alive today is nothing but a miracle. Her survival is a testimony to her strength. It didn’t even matter if Mum was pregnant, Dad would still bash her.
The following is from some of mum’s writing. I have taken snippets to give an idea of what she went through.
“I was constantly sick from being pregnant. Dick gave me a kicking in the lower back when I was cleaning his shoes one day. He had his shoes on at the time, and I also had to shave him, comb his hair & lay out his clothes every day. I was like his personal valet and everything had to be perfect or he’d punish me. Later that day, when I was trying to lift Doug up into a bus, my bowel ruptured and I had to manage to get back home. I was in absolute pain but had to push everything back in and hope for the best. I had no money for a doctor and was embarrassed to tell anyone what had happened.”
“We froze at Griffith too. We couldn’t handle the cold weather and were not equipped with warm clothing etc. My family kept in touch via a P.O. Box number that I had secretly obtained for two pounds that I had saved for ages out of my child endowment. It was the only way I could have mail from them, otherwise Dick would confiscate it before I got it. It was my only link with the real world & sanity”.
“He left me & the kids in the house without any money or support. I went into labour at 6 months & again at 7 months, but each time it stopped. I was totally alone. … We were literally starving, the three of us, and under a huge amount of stress and fear from Dick, who kept us totally controlled with his power. He kept taking off for Sydney … “
“I wrote to the address Dick had given me at Enfield, asking for money or help, to come back or to help us. I was almost due to have the baby, and we were penniless & alone”.
“I went into labour soon after getting to Val’s place and Dick drove me to the hospital where I was admitted straight away. It was just awful, he just left me at the door and drove away with the boys. He never returned & abandoned us all. The hospital staff could not believe I never had any prenatal care at all during my pregnancy”.
“My poor little baby was born and had so many things wrong with him …”
“After a week the social worker finally rang Vals number at work to let her know what was happening and she came & got me. Dick had never told her I was in hospital”.
During all this period Dad worked on and off, was well fed & had a car to get around. After Dad deserted us he was eventually caught and arrested for abandoning us & put into jail for a brief period.
May 1, 2013 • 08:36 1
Premier, you are in a position of responsibility, I implore you, I appeal to you, please help right the wrongs of the past. Please protect your constituents who are currently at risk.
In summary, so far we are up to;
2 murders Dad has admitted to doing including poofter bashing & king hitting
1 attempted murder (car park attendant) for which he was simply charged with assault & let to go back into the community
So far I almost lost my life on one occasion (brick at the face), as well as being brutally raped by him as a young child, & severely assaulted repeatedly
Dad is connected with & possibly involved with 4 additional unsolved murders including Wanda murders, Lyndsey McLeod attempted murder, strangling murder of a relative which also resulted in a suicide. I have offered to come in & give my DNA if it in any way helps resolve these, but nothing.
Repeated bashing of my mother. Bashing of a woman in Nowra & my sister, her partner & young child at risk.
The police, including the homicide squad have had the details of most of the above and others for over 15 years but have done nothing. Well they have done something – they have done whatever they can to stop him being investigated. I need to know why is this so? Why has he been protected whilst the community has been repeatedly put at risk. And I am only part way through my list. There is a lot, lot more to come. How much else is there that I don’t know about? How can successive governments & police allow this to happen over an extended period despite being repeatedly made aware of his actions.
Yet my father has been able to work for the government as a transit officer on the trains, amongst vulnerable women & children,. How would these mothers feel if they knew the man patrolling the trains amongst them was a murderer, rapist & pedophile? How would their husbands feel at work knowing their wives & kids had a murderer, rapist & pedophile checking their tickets? What about the young school kids travelling home alone on the train whilst he was ‘policing’ – at what risk were they?
When my father had a criminal record for the few crimes he was actually charged with, when the police had come numerous times to the house when my mother was bashed, when my father had been put in prison for a short stint (more on that soon), he had been rejected from the army on psychiatric grounds, when I had met with the homicide squad in person & given them 6 pages of evidence, when another had written to police minister Ryan about my fathers crimes – how could my father get job after job where vulnerable, innocent people were put at risk when there were meant to be security checks.
For many years my father also worked as a taxi driver. It’s like a scene out of a horror movie isn’t it. With women & young children hailing a cab, then hopping in with a driver who is a murderer,rapist & pedophile. The police have knowingly allowed him to be placed right in the midst of the most vulnerable. It is chilling and appalling stuff.
And as a Chubb security agent, how did my father pass clearance checks?
3 positions where the worst type of criminal is placed amongst the most vulnerable. How did this happen? Isn’t part of the governments & police role to protect people from these sorts of animals. And yet Dad was the protected one, living his violent & abusive life with impunity, and innocent people repeatedly put at risk, extreme risk. And as a consequence many have suffered terribly. How many other innocent victims are there out there? How many other people have suffered at his hands that we don’t know about.
Premier I have emailed you repeatedly since you took office, requesting action & to speak to someone I can trust, I so very much need that. Yet you have put me back in contact with the homicide squad who proved so untrusting the first time. Please understand i don’t feel safe with them & for good reason. I need those who are going to take my information seriously & treat me with the understanding, credibility & compassion I need. Peoples lives are more important than department reputations. I am simply trying to do what is right. Please don’t treat me like the criminal for trying to ensure a dangerous man doesn’t keep walking free. I need you to understand that as a young child I had my psyche brutally ripped apart & have spent my life, where I can, putting the pieces back together again. And I am one of the lucky ones, most who go through what I have don’t survive, the pain is too much. This is not easy for me at all to keep reliving this in order to repeatedly try & get justice done. Justice should have been done a long time ago.
Again I implore you, for the sake of others, take this man off the streets so the community is protected, investigate his crimes so those who have suffered can get answers & closure. For the sake of others please act.
May 1, 2013 • 07:34 2
It was the early 90s. My younger sister & her partner at the time & their young son had decided to visit Dad in Nowra where he was living I think in a caravan park. My sister had been spared the worst of Dad’s behavior as he was around a lot less for when they she was there. She by no means escaped unscathed. Anyway she was excited about being a Mum & proudly wanted to show her son to Dad.
They traveled to Nowra & on arrival they met Dad & a woman and her two young kids at the caravan park. Dad informed my sister & her partner that they were to be married. My sister was taken aback. At some stage during the proceedings my sister & the woman were in the bathroom together chatting, as women do. Sis pulled her aside & informed her about what Dad was really like & a bit of his history with Mum. Unbeknown to the two of them he was standing outside the toilets listening in to the conversation.
As they exited the toilets Dad was waiting. He ended up bashing into the woman & then went after my sister, her partner & son who ran for their lives. They kept hiding but would see him cruising the streets in his car looking for them. They were petrified. Eventually they managed to get to Bomaderry Railway Station where they managed to phone Nowra police.
They advised Nowra police what had gone on, that they were in hiding and fearful for their lives. Nowra police were quite concerned and said theyd be there right away to pick them up. The police then asked what Dad’s name was & upon telling them, the Police said sorry not interested, not getting involved. That was it. Why is my father protected? I forget how they got home to Sydney but it was a miracle they wern’t hurt. For the police to leave them at risk, particularly when they had a young child with them is criminal. And yet again another example of a dangerous criminal being given free range by the police.
This is article 10. Please read the preceding 9 to see how a murderer, rapist, assaulter, pedophile etc has for most of his life stayed free & amongst the community with children, able to re-offend at will. The Premier of NSW Barry OFarrell has been repeatedly contacted about this I am awaiting his response. I have also contacted the NSW Police Homicide Squad, and no response.
April 30, 2013 • 15:36 0
April 30, 2013 • 08:59 0
It was the early seventies, Dad would appear whenever he needed us to take care of his every need – under duress of course. And then he would disappear to who knows, but not before he left more bruises, more tears & damaged kids & wife.
During this time he was arrested & charged with assault on a parking attendant. Dad began hitting the man and he would have continued until he killed him but someone called the police. The mans crime – he yelled at dad. Dad was convicted & simply placed on a bond. No prison time. Off Scott free again while his victims carry their scars for life. Back into the community for Dad who were to suffer even more.
This is the eight post in a series. See what he has been up to & how the police protect him. Every day another of his criminal actions will be posted & yet he lives in a suburb with kids to do as he pleases
April 30, 2013 • 08:36 1
The few close friends i confided in ask me how did i get through it.. My answer is this – a few years ago I went skydiving. Tandem. As I looked out of the open door of the plane whilst we were 5km up in the sky, ready to jump – there was nothing below me but ground & a long way down. I had been really cool up to this point, but now nup, I did not feel safe. Before I could say stop, my instructor had rolled forward & we were out, into the sky. This is how many father’s actions had affected me – as we were hurtling at 250m per second towards solid earth my first thought was Dad, you can’t get me here‘. this was the first place in my life i had ever felt safe from him, plunging like an asteroid. That is how much it affects you. The child in you never feels safe. You are hyper vigilant, I used to walk into a room & have to know what everyone is thinking just to be ok.
After years of counselling & love & support, I was able to board a bus or train & not feel compelled to sit in the back seat for safety. I was able to be the focus in groups or crowds, I was able to go to meetings. As a young man sex was almost impossible, the thought of ii or if I was being propositioned (by either sex) put me into shock. I would shake uncontrollably, sweat & shiver no matter how hot the day. I would feel nausea & diarreagh & dizzy all at once. I was a mess. This is what many survivors have to live with, some worse, some lose the fight to live, many die. Whilst our politicians hold dead end inquiry after dead end inquiry only the bravest end up in court.
Sexual abuse isn’t always brutal, mine was. For those where it wasn’t often they blame themselves if in any way they enjoyed it. Mine was clearly & totally excruciatingly painful as well as life threatening. My father held a knife held at my throat threatening to kill me should I ever speak about it. In later years the few times I confronted him on what he did to mum he put his face right in mine & screamed at me threateningly & repeatedly that I was a liar and making it up, screaming that i was insane and he kept going until he broke me. There was no middle ground.
As difficult as it was, I resolved that love is greater than fear & in this life I wanted to know the greater love. I faced my fears again & again & again. and as i did so I went into shock again & again & again, shaking, shivering, nausea etc. but with time it got better, and we are talking decades, but it has been worth it. There is much love to be found if we look hard enough for it and we ask our god, the universe to open our eyes to see it.
April 29, 2013 • 20:37 1
In the early sixties my father Richard McIntyre & his mates used to go into the cross for nights of poofter bashing. My father had a reputation by that stage of cowardly violence, king hitting guys from behind, on at least one occasion fatally. Poofter bashing to them was a bit of fun, not so to their victims.
On one occasion my father boasted that he & his mates bashed a poofter one night, stealing his watch & then leaving him to drown in the fountain. Not sure exactly where but either in Hyde Park or Kings Cross. As poofter bashing was something they did on a regular basis over a period of about 3 years it is quite likely there are many more victims, hopefully no other fatalities, but knowing my fathers history it is possible.
This information has been provided to the NSW police on a number of occasions, including the homicide squad but they are not interested in pursuing it. Likewise I have contacted the Premier seeking action. As a child I was molested & bashed by my father at a young age & know of his cowardly anger and sickening history of sexual abuse. It is bad enough that he did it, worse still that the government turns a blind eye to his horrific actions. The gay community & the victims of my father’s crimes deserve answers. The public is not safe whilst he is free.
Poofter bashing as a sport ; how many other killers have not been brought to justice;
April 29, 2013 • 17:30 5
Another snippet from my fathers past that doesnt seem to be of any interest to the police. My father used to be called Dick which was short for Richard.
An except from another letter i have received as follows. My father was in his early twenties at the time, the year was 1958.
“Dick lived with his Aunt Phyllis and her three kids at Kogarah Bay, not with his mother at Oatley and Cec her third husband. Phyllis, an attractive young woman in her thirties, was found under her bed by her children. They had slept in her bed when she hadn’t come home the night before. Young Billy looked under the bed for a ball, or a toy, and had found his mother there, strangled.
Ultimately her jealous lover was the main suspect, but before he could be apprehended he drove to Goulburn & shot himself. Ironically, two prisoners escaped from goulburn Gaol & crashed into the dead man’s hearse, which was on the way to the cemetery“
I also meant to add that anyone who might know of the identity of the poor victim or a way to find out please contact me. Twawki1 at gmail dot com
For more exploits of my father that the government & police arnt interested in investigating please see as follows;
April 29, 2013 • 16:16 4