day (I was going to say ‘one Tuesday’ but it was over thirty years ago and I haven’t got a fucking clue what day of the week it was) I went to the gym with the rest of the class. My first gym class scares me. The other kids seem to know what to do. They can climb ropes, hurl themselves at footballs and shriek with delight. I’m more of a ‘watching from the sidelines’ kind of kid. But Mr Lee, our teacher, doesn’t seem to mind. He keeps giving me encouraging, kind looks. Like he knows I’m a bit self-conscious but he’s on my side and doesn’t mind at all. It’s all unspoken, but it feels clean, defined, safe.
I find myself looking towards him more and more during the class. And sure enough, every time I look up I catch his eye, and they sparkle a little bit. He smiles at me in a way none of the other boys would notice, and I know at some deep and untouchable level, it is a smile just for me. I feel like the noise and hustle and crowd recedes when he looks at me, and there’s a rainbow-coloured spotlight shining on me and only he and I can see it.
It happens every time I go to his class. Just enough attention to feel slightly special, not enough to stand out. But enough to get me excited about gym class. Which is a pretty epic achievement. I keep trying to be nice for him so he’ll give me a little bit more attention. I ask and answer questions, run harder, climb higher, never complain, make sure my gym kit is clean and smart. I know one day he’ll come through. And sure enough, after a few weeks he asks me to stay behind and help him tidy up. And I feel like I’ve won some kind of lottery where self-esteem is the jackpot. A special ‘you’re the best, cutest, most adorable and brilliant child I’ve ever taught and all your patience has now paid off’ prize. My chest feels swollen and alive with pride.
So we tidy up and talk. Like grown-ups talk. And I’m trying to be all nonchalant like this happens to me all the time and all of my friends are 130 years old and adult. And then he says to me, ‘James, I’ve got you a present’, and my heart stops for a second. He takes me into the walk-in gym cupboard where they store all the equipment and he has his desk and chair and he rummages around in his desk drawer. And then fuck me if he doesn’t pull out a book of matches. In a bright red sleeve. Now I know I’m not allowed to touch matches. And yet here’s this (achingly cool) man giving me some and telling me it’s A-OK to light a few of them.
Kids are fucking stupid; it’s why they’re kids. He was overweight, balding, at least forty and far too hairy. But to me as a five-year-old he was ripped, strong, kind, handsome, dashing and totally magical. Go figure.
I ask him if he’s sure it’s OK and he again tells me to go ahead and light one up. So that’s what I do. I light one and wait for the trouble, the shouting, the drama to start. And when nothing happens, when it’s clear there is no trap, I go to town. Giggling, striking match after match, eyes wide and bright, smelling the sulphur, hearing the rip of the flame, feeling the heat on my little fingers.
Parenting tip – if you want a quiet half-hour to have a nap, give your toddler a book of matches. They’ll be captivated.
It’s the best thirty minutes of my short life. And I feel things that all little boys ache to feel – invincible, adult, 6 feet tall. Noticed.
And so it carried on. For weeks. Smiles, winks, encouragement, pen knives, lighters, stickers, chocolate bars, Action Men. A Zippo for my sixth birthday. Secret presents, special gestures, and an invitation to join the after-school boxing club.
Which is where everything went bad.
Now it’s important to acknowledge that I chose to do boxing class. was asked and I said yes. It was very much a conscious choice. It was not something that was foisted upon me. This guy, this movie star who I wanted to get closer to because he liked me and made me feel special, invited me to do something after school with him and I agreed to it.
You might think my five-year-old mind is a little unreliable. Not quite fully formed, not yet capable of accurate recall. So I’m going to let the head of the junior school speak for me. That way you’ll know it’s properly legit. It’s from a police report she filed in 2010 and is unedited.
In September 1980, I was appointed Head Teacher of the Junior School at Arnold House, a Preparatory School for boys in St John’s Wood. It was there that I first met James Rhodes. He was a beautiful little boy, dark haired and lithe, with a winning smile. He was bright, articulate and confident for a 5 year old. From the earliest of ages, it was clear that he had a talent for music. When he was 6, in about 1981–2, he was in my form (I was a teaching Head in those days). His parents were lovely people, themselves high achievers and they lived just down the road from the school. Although they recognised James’ talents for music, I suspect they wanted him to have an all round experience in education and sporting activities were to be included. They signed James up for the extra curricular boxing activity. This was a paid activity and once ‘signed up’; the parents committed to at least a full year of coaching.
Boxing was a popular activity with boys. It had been added to the curriculum by the previous owner of the school, George Smart. Many shiny silver cups were awarded for boxing at the annual Prize Giving. In the absence in those days, of a real Physical Education programme and having no Games field on site, as we were in the middle of St John’s Wood, boxing in the early 80s was the only physical activity on offer and many parents opted for it for their sons.
The Boxing coach was a man named Peter Lee and I believe he worked at school on a part time basis in the late 10’s. He hailed from the Margate area of Kent. He was a powerfully built man, but not very tall and was probably then in his late 40s. He seemed very ‘old’ to me! In 1981, the new Gymnasium was opened and Peter was in his element. He claimed to have been involved all his life with boys clubs and I clearly remember him boasting of his friendship with Jackie Pallo, who I gathered was a famous wrestler.
Quite a few of my boys from my Junior School were sent to Boxing to be taught by Peter Lee. Some appeared to really enjoy the activity and I do remember that in the beginning, James did too. However, fairly soon after he had joined the activity, I noticed a change in James’ demeanour. He became rather withdrawn and appeared to be losing his sparkle. The boys who were down for the Boxing activity would change into the white shorts and coloured house T shirts in their class room and then I would escort them over to the Gym and then collect them 40 minutes later.
It became clear to me that James was becoming reluctant to attend this activity. He would take ages to change and often keep the rest of the group waiting. I remember so clearly the time he asked me to stay with him in the Gym. I didn’t. I thought that he was being a bit of a wimp. However, every Boxing day, usually twice a week, James would play up and I realised that he really didn’t want to be there. On many occasions, I did stay with him. I hated the whole thing. These very small children were positively encouraged to be aggressive. James was a thin little boy and it was clear that he was very uncomfortable. I thought at the time when Mr Lee asked James to stay behind to help him clear up the equipment that he was trying to make the child feel special. When I took the rest of the group back to change, it was always James who had to go with Mr Lee and help him clear up. I allowed this to happen on many occasions. This happened more than 25 years ago, long before Child Protection became an issue, but there seemed to be an element of trust between colleagues, and children being alone with an adult was never really questioned.
One day, James came back to the classroom to change having been with Peter Lee and he had a bloody face. When I asked him what had happened, he burst into tears and I went straight back to the Gym to question Mr Lee. I was told that James had fallen. I didn’t believe him and at that point, I suspected that the man was being violent in some way to James. The next day, I shared my concerns with my colleague, who was the Headmaster looking after the Senior School. I told him about James’ personality changes, that he seemed reluctant to go to the Boxing activity and that
