Death Of A Paedophile and Other Small Things Such As Sexual Assault


About this time Avery kicked the bucket, good riddance to bad rubbish. If it was left to me he would have been fed to the vultures as lunch, but my mother had made arrangements for me to attend his funeral. Due to misplaced sympathy the school had granted me an unscheduled weekend off. Since the divorce my mother had not had a car and had been getting a lift in with Granny to her new place of work every morning. To attend she had arranged that Teddy would fetch her from Johannesburg and pick me up on the Saturday morning so that we could attend the funeral late in the afternoon. As they were late in picking me up, I went into town and bought some deep fried chips and half loaf of bread and sat on the pavement outside the fish and chip shop eating this feast with my friends.

 I did not know Teddy’s car so I did not notice them when they drove past the first few times, my mother did not think that one of the urchins sitting on the pavement could ever be her son so she did not see me either. Finally they stopped one of the children and asked if he knew where I was, he pointed to where I was sitting, and my mother almost died of shame. Her precious son, held so high in her esteem, acting like a homeless street urchin.

It was back to the hostel to wash and change and then off to the funeral in Komatipoort. We made it to the church with minutes to spare and were given very cold stares by the other friends and relatives that were there to say good-bye to a great man. The eulogies still ring false in my ears today. Personally I found great solace and comfort in his passing and if I had been allowed I would have happily pissed on his grave.

 I was returned to the hostel on Sunday evening, fortunately after dinner, as Teddy had treated my mother and me to a meal at the hotel in Barberton. That is when I found out that the change in the teachers attitude to me was not only because of my prowess in the game of rugby, but because he knew them all from the local rugby club where he too played with some finesse.

Teddy was a train driver, and lived in Nelspruit, but was often in Barberton and used to have drinks with a lot of the teachers when he was there. It turned out that my mother had asked Teddy to do something about the teacher who had cut my hair off, Teddy had. He beat the teacher up and warned all the teachers that if any harm came to me he would be the one they would answer too, my hero.

After Avery’s death I had this need to tell someone what he had done to me, I chose the wrong person to open up to about Avery’s abuse. It was one of my older friends that I thought I could trust with my life, I was very wrong, he spread the story around the school, which was bad but not the worst of it. One night I was woken up by one of the meanest and thickest Dutchman in the school, one of the few that could never get enough of beating up on me. He was not alone, are bullies ever?  He asked me if I was missing Avery and no matter how often I said I did not the more insistent he was that I did. The next thing he had his friends hold my head while he forced me to open my mouth by holding my nose closed. He then forced me to give him a blow job, making me swallow cum by having his friends hold my jaw shut and pinching my nose until I did.

When it was over he said that his girlfriend gave a far better one and swaggered out of the dormitory. He had managed to wake up the other nine boys and they all watched but no one interfered or helped. If my life had been hard to bear up until then, it became utterly unbearable after. It never happened again, but that was very little solace, the worst is I could do nothing about what had happened and nothing to stop him if he decided to do it again. There was no-one to turn to, the teachers would never believe it.

Lots of Hugs and more,



Cemeteries,Asbestos Cableways and Other Dangerous Pursuits


During that term things were to be a lot better with the change in the Afrikaans teachers attitude, so I was not punished by them that much and because of my move, I had made friends with one or two of the older English speaking students in one of the other prefab barracks. These new friends were of the rebellious mould and they showed me ways of bunking out of the school grounds at night and the dubious pleasures of Barberton after dark.

The only way to town at night and not to be spotted leaving the school was through the grave yard as it was the one place not many people visited after dark, once through it was easy to sneak along the less frequented side streets to reach the illicit and corruptible fish and chips shop.

One evening while bunking out, we entered the graveyard at the usual slow walk that always ended in a run at the exit. We had just broken into a very fast walk when the boy next to me disappeared, which meant the two that were left probably broke every record in the book for sprinting, we only slowed down once we had left the graveyard. It was then that we realised that we had to go back and save our fellow conspirator from whatever had befallen him.

With legs that were as heavy as lead we slowly crept back the way that we had come, to finally hear quiet whimpers from the ground just a few graves further in front of us. Where I summoned the courage to keep going I do not know, but I finally arrived at a newly dug grave and at the bottom was my friend curled up into a ball whimpering. We finally persuaded him to stand up and helped him out of the grave.

That was to be my last night time expedition into town, my friends carried on and were eventually caught and severely punished. There was to be one other dangerous escapade that I was to participate in with my intrepid friends and that was the ride in the “cocopans”, as we called the aerial cableway that stretched between Barberton and the asbestos mine in Swaziland.

One Saturday they decided it was boring to go to town as we had already seen the movie that was showing the previous Saturday and that they had a far better thing to do. So stupidly I followed their lead, we left the hostel as usual, but instead of going to town they headed towards the cableway. It was easy enough to climb the pylons that supported the cableway and it was not that difficult to jump into one of the empty returning buckets, it was getting out that was to prove dangerous and difficult.

It was not something we had considered, when we attempted the stunt. Also the cable moved very slowly, or so it seemed from the ground, but as a worker on an assembly line will tell you it moves a lot faster than it looks. So that Saturday we rode the cableway over into Swaziland and managed to jump onto one of the pylons just before it entered the mine compound. When I jumped out of the bucket I almost did not manage to catch onto the pylon I was aiming for, and even though I finally did, it was not before I had badly scrapped my hands and bruised my chest in the fall against the pylon. If I had not needed to return, there would have been no way I would have attempted the return trip, but as there was no option I did.

We were very fortunate that neither the people in the mines nor the Swaziland police spotted us or we would have landed in jail and I am sure would have been expelled from the school.

Lots of HUGS and more,


Returning To Hell, But Meeting An Angel.


On the trip back we arrived in Nelspruit just before sunrise and with a wait of approximately three hours before we could connect with the Local to Barberton. At that time of the morning Nelspruit was still in dreamland and as there was no adult supervision a lot of the older kids disappeared and returned just before the train’s departure smelling of alcohol, where they obtained it I was never to find out.

The rest of the kids waited for the station’s kiosk to open at around seven where I was introduced by a small blond girl to the delights of sardines and sweetened condensed milk on Marie biscuits. From that moment on we were always together when we were allowed into town every Saturday, suffering the usual taunts of being boyfriend and girlfriend chanted by our peers in the student body, we were just friends she also being English speaking and the only one of her class in the hostel.

As the previous year my memory is very scratchy when it comes to names. She is the person that showed me the statue of ‘Jock’, famed in literature as Jock of the Bushveld; she showed it to me because I had told her that the thing I missed most from home was my dog Tina. So the first thing that we did every Saturday was to visit Jock and I would ask him to pass on my love to Tina and to tell her that I was OK. A dog that had its own statue had to be very special, not so? So I was sure he would pass on the messages.

During those Saturday visits we would attend the matinee together, as there was only one cinema in Barberton and it always showed its latest offerings for a fortnight, we visited the cinema every second week. One of the more memorable films was ‘Gone with The Wind’ the first film that I ever cried in, not because at that age I appreciated the classic nature of the movie, nor because it was the longest movie I had ever seen, but due to the attention of a wasp.

We were sitting in the back row of the cinema, where all the kids sat, when I felt what I thought was a fly making its way along my neck, so I naturally swatted it with my hand. The pain was excruciating and been a boy even if only ten I tried to be a man and not cry, I failed in the attempt and tears were still streaming down my cheeks when the movie ended, she thought it was sweet and offered me her lace hankie to mop up the tears. For once in my life I was a real rooinek as the swelling took days to subside and the boys that noticed the tears never let me forget that I had cried like a girl at the movies.

She was one of the better things that happened that term, besides rugby the other was the Gym teacher volunteering to teach me how to defend myself as he had noticed that I was beaten more regularly than the other children. He tried to convince me to learn to hold my tongue and when that seemed impossible he told me he would tell me when I was ready to defend myself and should show the same ineptitude until that time. His reason being if they saw me getting progressively better at defending myself they would just use more of them to get the job done, instead of just one on one.

Lots of HUGS and more,


End of First Term and A Train to Paradise. (Or a Broken Home)

Train Journey

Eventually the term came to an end and the blissful day arrived when it was time to pack our belongings into our trunks and head of home. I had a lot less to pack when I left than I had when I arrived, but fortunately I still had about seventy-five percent of my school uniform intact. I had arrived with six of everything, shirts, trousers, safari-suits and two pairs of shoes, sandals and all sports equipment as needed. It was to become a sad fact of life, that at every end of term I had less and less to pack even though my locker was always locked.

Our trunks were labelled and sent to the station, then we were lined up as usual, girls separate and marched to the railway station, this was strange since there was no supervision on the actual train. Once there we boarded the local-coal fired train to Nelspruit from where we would connect with the mainline train to Johannesburg. There were students that had made this journey before, so it was not hard to find the train and find our respective cabins as the numbers were printed on the tickets, including a food voucher and a bedding voucher.

The train travelled through the night stopping at every station on the way, dropping off and collecting different passengers as well as milk, as it was known as the “Milk Train” and arrived at Johannesburg station just after sunrise.

My mother was waiting for me on the platform alone, which was strange as my father’s office was just above our heads in the stations concourse and he was not with her. Mother at first did not spot me, waiting for my trunk to be unloaded, mainly because she was looking for my very white hair, and as I now was as bald as cue ball she did not recognize me in the crowd.

She was starting to panic that I had missed the train or knowing her perchance to the dramatic, had been killed or kidnapped, when I materialized in front of her. She took one look at me and burst into tears muttering about my beautiful hair been gone, she looked really shocked.

It was something she was never able to get over, her son sheared like a Marino sheep.

The holiday naturally flew past, especially because I was spoilt rotten, all my favourite foods were dished up, Hubby running around making sure that I wanted for nothing and the other children asking me all sorts of questions of what boarding school was like and being very sympathetic to my situation.

Playing with my friends on the street and not being bullied all the time was wonderful, but my mother was very cool towards little John, as his mother was one of the women that my mother had named, my own mother was guilty of the same crime as the residents of Barberton, visiting the sins of the parent onto the child.

Little John’s parents were busy with a divorce of their own due to the revelation that his mother was one of my father’s mistresses. Granny had also moved back into her room and the house was filled with the aroma of her baking every day that I was home. I was naturally teased by everyone about being bald, but big John decided he liked it and shaved his own head that brought an end to the teasing, as nobody would dare tease him, his temper was always bubbling just beneath the surface and he was the biggest of the friends, the eldest too.

Before I knew it I was back on the train and heading for the dubious pleasures of Barberton. My father did not visit me during that holiday. Nor was the divorce a favoured topic of conversation in our house, so I had no idea where he was living or what he was up to.

Lots of Hugs and more,