They Can't Touch Him Now

In 1958, I was a ten-year-old boy when I was physically molested by a man both inside and outside of the Ritz, one of our local fleapit cinemas.

With no resistance from my parents I had been allowed to go the pictures at night and on my own, which would be quite unthinkable in today's society. However then, parents worried less about the dangers of their children being preyed upon. Children were not escorted everywhere, watched over every second nor given great lectures on the dangers of being approached by people they didn't know. Well except for the warning, 'never accept sweets from strangers'.

Without what seemed like little thought for anything other than my getting home late, I was given two shillings and off I went. At the prospect of seeing a good war film, I skipped along, oblivious to any possible dangers. I went out an excited young boy and returned a confused and frightened child. Thankfully the man responsible wasn't violent toward me. Had he been, like so many, I might now be lying in a grave with no more than a tombstone to show for my short life: lying silent, story untold.

Thankfully I was physically unharmed, but mentally what had happened to me was a struggle to cope with. I was already wrestling with the knowledge that I had been adopted and with the fear I had of my adoptive father, who at times would erupt into violent outbursts. During these times I was terrified and I felt he must hate me. This was when I would despise my real mother the most for abandoning me. How could she just leave me with this man? Now, on top of all this, I felt I had some kind of sexual problem. Then, just when I thought things couldn't get worse I met Tom, a friendly paedophile. I was just a young boy and my life was a mess because I was carrying a huge dark secret.

I feel it is time to tell my story and of what can happen to troubled young boys who fall prey to unscrupulous men. Of what can happen when early sexual problems cannot be shared with parents. Of how easy it is to believe those who seem eager to listen and willing to give their time but who are ultimately only interested in satisfying their own physical needs. The question is always; do those so-called sympathetic ears belong to a violent person?

I have carried the guilt for my actions for many years and at last I can tell of what happened, because Tom is now out of reach and 'They can't touch him now'.