real life
Born into one of the world’s most notorious cults, Serena Kelley, 40, suffered at the hands of its paedophile leader…
As my mother lifted me up on to a grey-haired man’s lap, I wrinkled my nose at the unpleasant smell of the man we knew as Grandpa. “You’re going to be mine forever,” he said. “We’re having a union.” Then he gave me a ring to symbolise our “marriage”. It was 1986, and at only three years old, I didn’t understand what was going on and the ring was so big for me that it had to be wrapped round with tape. “As you grow up you can take the tape off, so it still fits,” he told me.
I’d been born into the infamous Children of God cult run by David Berg – Grandpa. Founded in 1968 in California, the cult had 13,000 members in 130 communities across the world. One of the key foundations of the Children of God “family” was sex. My mother was an important member. “You’re the chosen ones,” a cult member told me, along with an older boy named Ricky.
“Everyone will look to you for leadership.” As members of the cult’s inner circles, we lived in the lap of luxury. Berg had moved the Children of God out to the Philippines and we lived in mansions with pools and tennis courts and koi ponds.
But behind all the luxury I lived a very dark and traumatic life. Often I’d wake in the night to loud music and toddle downstairs into the communal rooms where I’d stumble on drunken orgies. I was too young to understand, but I saw things that deeply disturbed me. On other occasions, I’d be made to dance and undress in front of the camera. I learnt quickly that if I cried, I’d be taken off camera. I was then punished, but it was worth it to avoid being filmed. Gradually, I became more withdrawn, desperate not to be noticed. When I was five years old, I was woken in the middle of the night. “Come on, we’re leaving,” my mother told me in a whisper. Under cover of darkness, we took a car to the airport, followed by a flight to Japan. The cult was frequently under investigation for child abuse, so secrecy for top members became essential. In Japan, I was handed over to the care of Dora and Jeremy Spencer, a musician. From this moment onwards, I rarely saw my mother.
Then, just a year later, Dora and Jeremy moved the family to the Brazil compound. “No one can know who you are here,” Dora told me when we arrived. My birth name was Mary-Dear, but I was renamed Serena. Life was tough and often we’d be set gruelling manual tasks, such as cleaning the bathroom with toothbrushes. At other times, we’d be sent out to beg, or sing Christmas songs, for money from the locals. If any of the children misbehaved, th
