Susie Henderson, 56, was let down by the man meant to protect her
‘You know I love you, Susan,’ he slurred, the smell of alcohol on his breath.
Dad worked as a high-profile defence barrister in Edinburgh and had a brilliant reputation in the Scottish legal system.
He was a well-respected man and, to the outside world, he was a loving family man too. We lived in a beautiful house in a prestigious area, but our home was far from a happy one.
As my dad stood up from the sofa, he let out a long yawn and stretched his arms. ‘I’m going upstairs for a nap,’ he told my mum. It was 1971 and I was five. Sitting on the living room floor, quietly reading, I knew what was coming next. ‘I’ll take Susan with me,’ he said, his eyes fixed on me. As he dragged me by the hand, I was too terrified to protest. My father, Robert Henderson, had a quick temper and I knew better than to argue with him. Instead, I let him climb on top of me in bed, too scared to cry and tell him that he was hurting me.
SICK PARTIES
Dad had started abusing me when I was just three, and over the years it had only got worse.
When I was four, he’d invited a few of his work friends over for an alcohol-fuelled party. ‘Sit on his knee,’ Dad had ordered me, gesturing to one of his friends. I did as I was told and squirmed as Dad’s friend pushed his hand under my skirt. I choked back the tears as they both laughed.
PASSED AROUND
Now I was five, and Dad’s ‘parties’ were a regular occurrence. Often his friends would stay over on the top floor of the house – ‘the guest wing’, we called it – and I became their plaything.
‘Do as they tell you,’ Dad commanded when he took me upstairs to them, and his friends did the same disgusting things to me that he did.
As I grew older, Dad would give me some money and tell me to massage him. ‘I’ve had a hard day’s work,’ he’d say.
I was too frightened to refuse and when I became old enough to realise that what he was doing to me was sexual abuse, he threatened me, ‘If you tell anybody, you will go into care.’
I was taken to other houses, too, to be abused by other men. One man, another top barrister, John Watt, raped me. It was painful, but I kept quiet, knowing that if I didn’t make a fuss I wouldn’t get a beating from Dad later. And there were others too, as Dad willingly passed me around his friends.
Eventually, Mum left and divorced him, and the abuse finally came to an end when I was in secondary school.
Mum had no idea of the extent of what was happening to me.
However, I still lived
