Smiling Ernest - The tycoon paedophile

Hub 1

I vividly remember his smile; he was always smiling when I looked at him. It was a half smile, almost a snigger. His eyes were dark and piercing and his clothes always appeared well made, neat, and crisply ironed. He smelled of aftershave and often reeked of alcohol, whisky as I recall. In 1968, he was my new guardian, a paedophile with a likeable and caring persona. I was a young boy, established as a victim of physical abuse, and carelessly abandoned to Ernest’s manipulative and secret world in North Wales. I was with him for five years, a period long enough for his alter ego to damage my mind, obscure my child development, and tarnish my life with a burden of guilt. He emotionally disabled my personality. He had agreed to take me into his ‘boy’s home’ for financial reward, and he later gave himself a sexual bonus after habitually preparing me with his grooming process. Ernest had a hidden obsession for the tender innocence of young boys. Unfortunately, my angelic face fitted his particular fantasy, so it was inevitable that I would receive affection and attention that came with a sting in its tail.

I recall his generosity, kindness, and obvious authority. He was, in many ways, very likable, and he had a great sense of humour. He was a natural entertainer who often mesmerized me with magic tricks and illusion. He portrayed humility and tenderness when he spoke. He was tactile, always reaching out to touch you in a gentle manner when he spoke to you. Sometimes he sat me in his lap and his body warmth felt soothing. He temporarily fulfilled my natural desire for parental love when he did this. Being in his presence was assuring and it felt like a safe place to be. At first, I wanted to love him, I had stored up all my child love and I instinctively needed to give it to someone who would take it. This man was in a position to draw it from me at his will, like a dry sponge in a lake of innocence. He always made me feel that I was the centre of his attention and special in his life. In reality, I was one of his many child friends, one of a ragtag collection of vulnerable young boys who he kept close and readily available at a moment’s whim. Each boy was unaware of the others destiny of abuse and each unaware of our own vulnerability. He was like a dad to me, someone to look up to, someone to trust and admire. For me, he was the first man in authority that I thought I could trust. He was not, in contrast, the abusive and violent stepfather that I had known through early childhood.

Ernest always had a calm dominant presence as he walked around the children’s home, often talking to the other boys and dispensing his attention to those he selected. He was like Fagin with his dependant orphans surrounding him and adoring him.

The home became a deprived sexual playground and a ‘cash cow’ that he skilfully presented as a place of safety, love, and adolescent redirection. He was a dashing young single-man and an entrepreneur considered as a saintly maverick with his new and modern approach to residential childcare. He became a hero to many naïve officials.

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