Please, Daddy, No: A Boy Betrayed
Stuart just wanted his father to love him, but he was made to believe he was too naughty to be loved. Finally David Howarth was sent to prison for abusing Stuart's young sisters. Nobody knew the truth about Stuart's abuse until one fateful day when his father tried it again and Stuart fought back in the only way he knew how.Stuart Howarth spent the first thirty years of his life in mental and physical hell. After years of emotional torment and despair, at the age of 32 Stuart felt an overwhelming urge to see his father (who he now knows was actually his stepfather), then living in Wales. Seeking reconciliation, Stuart was only to be met by the same old abusive man. The rage, pain and confusion boiled over in Stuart and he fought back, killing his stepfather.When Stuart's story came to light in the courtroom, it was so terrible that he received the minimum possible sentence for his crime and only served thirteen months in Strangeways prison in Manchester. But while in prison, the cruel system compounded the crimes of his evil abuser, and he suffered at the hands of the prison guards. What happened to him during those months led to him suing the Home Office and Strangeways on his release and winning his case.This is the story of a sweet-natured boy who grew into a brave young man and refused to allow himself to be a victim any longer.
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Please, Daddy, No
Stuart Howarth
A BOY BETRAYED
WITH ANDREW CROFTS
TO MY SISTERSHIRLEY ANNE HOWARTH
1 FEBRUARY 1965 – 8 FEBRUARY 1991AGED 26 YEARS
I miss you, ‘Shirl the Whirl’,and today I know that you escaped awayto peace and freedom.
I watch you dance in the summer meadows,running free and chasing butterflies.
Today I smile for us all –love you!
Table of Contents
Chapter Two Mum And The Bin Man
Chapter Four A More Private World
Chapter Five A Very Naughty Boy
Chapter Seven Just Messing Around
Chapter Eight The Man Of The House
Chapter Thirteen The Lump Hammer
Chapter Fourteen Forget Everything
Chapter Seventeen Did You Enjoy It?
Chapter Eighteen Guilty Or Not Guilty
Chapter Nineteen Pictures Of The Outside World
There are thousands of kids out there, just like me, who suffer abuse on a daily basis. You can turn a blind eye and consider this too nasty to read about, or you can take a courageous step forward and share a few moments from my world. We can only bring about change by doing something positive and being prepared to listen. This is my story.
I know when I set out from Mum’s pub that evening, 20 August 2000, I intended to go to pick up my girlfriend, Tracey, from her house. I know I intended to because otherwise I would never have taken the road I did. If I had set out with the intention of driving back to Wales I would have taken a more direct route.
Something happened inside my head between leaving Mum’s and getting to Tracey’s place, which stopped me from turning off the road. I just kept on going west. I know I didn’t have any set plan in my head; I just wanted a lot of answers to a lot of questions. Why had he done the things he’d done to me and the girls? Did he still love me? Was he sorry for what he’d done to the family? Was he really my dad or not?
A good few miles down the road, when it dawned on me where I was heading, I phoned Tracey. ‘I need to sort this thing,’ I told her. ‘I need to see him.’
‘You’re lying,’ she said, ‘aren’t you? You’re just going out with your friends again to do more drugs, aren’t you? I thought this was going to be a new start for us, Stuart, but you aren’t going to change, are you?’
I switched the phone off and just kept driving west. I could understand exactly why she would think the way she did; I’d let her down often enough in the past, why should she have faith in me any more? But there wasn’t enough space in my head to think through what I might be doing to our relationship, the best relationship I had ever had in my life. Feelings, thoughts, memories, confusion and enormous pain were all mixed together. The thing I wanted most of all was to try to make some sense of it all, to find some sort of resolution with the past.
He always seemed to be there, part of my life – my dad. But it must have been around 1972 that he first started courting Mum. He would be in the garden, sweeping up for her, or coming round to see us, bringing sweets, or presents that he’d picked up on his bin rounds. He was a great collector, was Dad, a real magpie. Anything he found that he thought still had any life in it he would cart home: furniture, broken toys, even a telly, which was the first we’d ever had. From having absolutely nothing, our house suddenly started to fill up with stuff that other people didn’t want, much of which we needed badly and some of which just cluttered the place up.
His bin round was in an area of Ashton-under-Lyne where the residents threw out things that were better than anything we had ever had. Some of the things still worked. The telly did sometimes if you banged it very hard on the side in just the right place. Most of the time the screen was pierced with a single, tiny white dot. I would get up close and try to peer through the dot, in the hope of seeing the picture through it, like a ‘What the butler saw’ peep show. My efforts were usually only rewarded by a short period of blindness while my eyes tried to refocus. I loved pushing the buttons in and out. I discovered that if I pressed two together they stuck in, but if I pressed a third button it would release them. Intrigued by these experiments I tried pushing all six while Mum was out at work, and they all jammed. Dad was furious, slapping me hard on the backs of my legs, making my skin burn, punching and kicking me until I went numb.
‘Please, Daddy, no! I’m sorry!’
He threw me up the stairs and I dragged my battered body to bed, sobbing myself to sleep, crying for my mum. I was so sorry for being such a naughty little boy. I wanted to turn the clock back to just before I’d committed my crime and to make my daddy love me again. I vowed to myself that I would make an extra effort to be good for him.
