gcase

I began to warm and chill, to objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop, the face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals, the meal trolley’s wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food, all things either good or ungood

The black-eyed sinner above is Gilbert Case, the bad bad man who ran the pedophiles pleasure dome at St Paul’s School for over 20 years, and during that time allowed perverts to run amok with impunity, free from the consequences of their criminal actions until either the police or the devil came knocking upon their door.

Under the cover of darkness caused by the cloak cast by Case, the horrendous abused perpetrated upon bald-balled boys at Bald Hills occurred between 1981 and 1997, and in the long years since the sins committed by the ravenous, wretched demons of those decades have, in part at least, been uncovered and unveiled.

A normal human being would sanguinely surmise that is time to set things straight.

Time to say sorry, and forgive me Lord, for I knew not what I had done, or permitted to have been done, even if I did

Time to say sorry to the students that have been betrayed, and their parents who have suffered in guilt and sorrow for scores of years for their innocent folly of entrusting their feverishly loved fillies and foals to Gilbert Case’s care.

Time to say Mea Culpa, and God forgive me for what I have done, for I am just a simple sinner who repents, and save a seat in heaven for me yet.

That’s what a normal person would do.

But Gilbert Case is far from normal.

Far, far from normal.

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And thus, offered the chance to publicly confess and be healed at the Royal Commission hearings into his beyond any reasonable doubt betrayal of boys like me and my childhood friends (above), this is what the wretched ruin of a man replied.

cunt2233

The dog.

The goddamn f*cking dingo.

At least the wild animal that took Azaria Chamberlain was driven by a primal blood lust dating millennia in its DNA, and didn’t know any better.

But Case professes to be a Christian, and to stand alone and above the animals that trod the earth. He is however sadly mistaken. He is a cloven beast just like them, and nothing awaits him in the afterlife except the scorching of his soul and seared pain.

The lawyer asking the questions in the passage quoted above – Roger Singh – represents Dr Chris Wetherall, my class mate at St Paul’s and one of the most courageous of men that you could ever wish to meet.

Singh speaks for all of us who were victims of the evil Greg Knight when he asks Case the question of whether he wished to apologise to us all. It is a simple request, an opportunity afforded to an aging man to admit that he did wrong, and in a few simple sentences atone.

Instead Gilbert Case elects to spit in our eyes.

He has not apologised to many.

He has apologised to few.

And even to those, he looked them in the eye and lied through his teeth.

He is not sorry about what happened to us. Not for a single second. All he is sorry about is that he has been sprung.

The abuses that the lawyer publicly invited the pusillanimous Case to apologise for occurred almost 35 years ago. Yet the shaman refuses to say sorry, and instead repeatedly refers Singh to his press release of a dozen years ago, and his statement made with a judicial gun pointed to his head 12 years later.

A curse upon his body and a pox upon his soul, if he has one at all.

Case doesn’t apologise to Chris and Noel and I and all the others abused by Knight. He doesn’t even acknowledge us at all.

There can be no absolution for the cursed, and their is no hope for the damned.

May God show this lecher the same mercy that he shown to us.

None.