A film spurred me to confront my childhood nightmare 54 years later

On the evening of Feb. 4, 2014, I landed at London Heathrow Airport, nervous about finally joining a number of men I had never met, but with whom I shared secrets that were over 50 years old.We were on our way to Crown Court in Buckinghamshire, for the sentencing of two schoolteachers, Peter Wright and Hugh Henry – old men now. Each of us, as young boys, had been sexually abused by one of them, and had become official complainants in the Crown’s case against them.

Throughout my life, my plan had been to stay silent and ignore what had happened to me; I would keep going forward. I had been certain, as a child, that no adult would believe me if I told them. And even if they did, it was so disgraceful, they would have to hush it up; I would be blamed rather than rescued. Later, as an adult, I feared that my family would be hurt, my friends would distance themselves, and I would lose my tenuous place in the world.

That plan suddenly fell apart one September evening in 2011, just after midnight, when I sat down in front of the television. Our bedroom cable box is automatically set to TVO, where I serve as chair of the board, and a documentary was just beginning.

The opening shot, supported by ominous music, showed a black-and-white photograph of a large Victorian manor house. I recognized it as Caldicott, a prominent English boarding school for young boys, set in the green countryside west of London. I had played rugby and cricket there as a kid. It stood only five miles from my old school, Gayhurst, where, as a son of a Canadian officer in the Royal Air Force, I was a student from 1956 to 1959, when I was between the ages of 9 and 12.

As the film began, it was as if I were watching a guided missile coming in; even though I knew it was going to explode, I was unable to move. Its title was Chosen, and it told the story of how boys were selected and groomed for sexual abuse at Caldicott. Within minutes, one of the men interviewed for the film looked into the camera and said, in a surprisingly matter-of-fact tone, “I can remember his smell … the alcohol on his breath … this jovial teacher … with one shrivelled testicle … I suddenly had big secrets.” I could hardly breathe. He was describing my abuser, Hugh Henry, who had spent some time teaching at Caldicott as well as at my own school.  (more...)

A film spurred me to confront my childhood nightmare 54 years later

30 years on, three English prep School boys dare to break their silence.