J ournalists are always late to the party. Always. We arrive once the riot is coming to an end, an hour after the shooting has occurred, or as the dust is settling once the bomb has gone off.
But in the case of Alan Morris and St Ambrose College, I was very much there although I really would have preferred to be somewhere else. I was there when the beatings were dished out at our Christian Brothers school in the leafy village of Hale Barns, south of Manchester. I was there when Morris used corporal punishment as a way of satisfying his sexual desires. Indeed, he did it to me as he did to so many others.
So its with thanks to Greater Manchester Police officers DI Jed Pidd, DC Barry Conway and DC Nicola Graham that I was also able to be there thirty-five years later, during Morriss historical sex-abuse trial. I was there when evidence boxes were loaded into the car on the first day of the trial; I was there when he arrived at court in fact, I earned myself a reprimand from the judge for confronting my old chemistry teacher and I was there when Alan Morris was sentenced for his crimes.
I was holding DC Grahams hand when the sentence was read out, or perhaps I should say she was holding mine. It was Nicola who first said to me, Youre an author, David, you should write a book about this case
Many other people have helped to tell this story: Helen Tonge, Ian Bradshaw and Laura Robinson from Title Role Productions; Lucy West and Ashley Derricott from Granada Television; Charlotte Crangle from the Crown Prosecution Service; Paul Malpas; Ken and Margaret Nolan; Elsie Mitchell; Mollie Whittall and Richard Scorer from Slater & Gordon and John Kennedy of the St Ambrose Old Boys Association. Thanks also to Chris Mitchell at John Blake Publishing and to Paul Woods.
Crucially, many St Ambrose pupils from different eras stepped up to tell their tale, so I give huge thanks to Mike Bishop, Richard Eames, Tim Gresty, David Lee, Scott Morgan, Simon OBrien, David Prior, Paul Quinn, Andy Rothwell, Derek Scanlan, Neil Summers and Paul Wills, along with those ex-pupils, parents and others who cannot be named: Ground Zero Boy, Nervous Boy, Doctor Boy, Doctor Dad, Gallery Boy, Police Boy, Business Boy and Investigation Woman. You know who you are but I respect the fact that you dont want other people to know.
I never thought Id have anything to do with St Ambrose after I left in 1981 and no one is more surprised than I am that this book even exists. As an adult, Id sometimes tell people how tough the school was but, like many other ex-pupils, I never really spoke about how dark things actually were. We boxed it up and hid it away.
Thanks to the ex-pupils who have come forward all those individual boxes have now been opened. Through their brave actions, other people may now learn from what happened.
Thats about as close as were likely to get in terms of something good coming out of this. The rest of it stinks
David Nolan, Manchester 2015
@davidnolanwriter
All photos, unless otherwise stated, are by Katherine
Macfarlane: www.shesnaps.com
NO ONE HEALS HIMSELF BY WOUNDING ANOTHER. ST AMBROSE OF MILAN
W e were used to Mr Morris chemistry teacher at St Ambrose College being in a fury but this was off the scale. He swept into the laboratory late that day this hyper-organised teacher was normally early and slammed the stack of books and folders he was carrying onto the front desk where the first row of boys sat. I was in the back row; I wasnt a front-row kind of pupil.
There was a long silence.
Someone has been talking about me, he said, pacing up and down in front of us. Someone has been telling stories about me.
As the pacing continued he balled his hands into fists, holding them tightly by his side. He looked like a caricature of a 1970s chemistry teacher: wavy, side-parted black hair; spectacles; a brown jacket with leather patches on the elbows.
The pacing continued. Someone has been telling lies about me. The pacing stopped. If any boy were to say anything about me, tell stories about me, tell lies about me, I would leave this school. Morris paused and brought his right fist level with his face. But I would take the teeth of the boy who said it with me.
This was followed by a really long silence. Then the lesson began.
It was 1978 and I was thirteen years old. But it would be nearly twenty-five years until anyone plucked up the courage to say anything about Alan Morris outside the school grounds; then a further ten years until that ex-pupil was believed and dozens more boys would come forward. Only they were no longer boys by this stage; they were middle-aged men and the stories they told would put Morris behind bars.
They would tell the police of ritualised beatings, sexual assaults and acts of gross indecency carried out under the guise of corporal punishment. Older boys would also come forward, telling of sex attacks at the hands of teachers who worked alongside Morris at St Ambrose; attacks that they had stayed silent about for decades.
It all stayed hidden until Greater Manchester Police launched their biggest historical sex-abuse investigation thus far, to get to the truth behind what happened to all those boys so many years ago.
Indeed, truth had been a very important facet of life at our Catholic school. The motto of St Ambrose remains to this day Vitam Impendere Vero: Life Depends on Truth. Its on the badge of every boys blazer.
But there was an unofficial motto that some teachers would quote as they doled out terrible beatings that stayed with the pupils for the rest of their lives. It would come back to haunt Alan Morris, the Christian Brothers and other staff from St Ambrose College with its direct quote from Shakespeares Henry IV, Part 1: Tell the truth and shame the Devil! Theyd say it just before they hit you.
This is the story of how the truth would finally be told and the Devil eventually shamed.
I ts 2001 and the phone rings at the Holy Angels Roman Catholic Church, Hale Barns, on the comfy southern edge of Greater Manchester. The man making the call wants to speak to Deacon Alan Morris. Theres a lot going on in the tone of his voice: calm and clear but also insistent, angry and upset as he has good reason to be. For hes just been told by officers from Greater Manchester Police that no further action is going to be taken regarding a complaint about Deacon Morris. And its a very serious complaint indeed.
It has taken the man on the phone more than twenty years to build up the courage to tell the police something hes never told anyone before: that Deacon Morris had repeatedly beaten and sexually assaulted him over a three-year period when he was a boy.
Back then, Morris had been a chemistry teacher at St Ambrose College, the prestigious boys school next door to the church. The man making the call had been his pupil and he was the first person to tell police about Alan Morris.
Lets call him Ground Zero Boy.
By 2001 he was in his mid-thirties but the memories of what happened to him were still fresh in his mind and raw in his heart.
Imagine sending your lad to school, in his shiny new uniform and his new sports bag, Ground Zero told me, trying to put into words how it felt to have those memories raked over again. You give him all the guidance about whats right and whats wrong, how to be a good person, a good guy. You watch him walk up the school path and get smaller and smaller and disappear into the milieu. Then years later you find out he ended up in a lonely room, on his own with Alan Morris. Imagine thats tomorrow morning. It doesnt bear thinking about. Youd feel youd want to destroy that situation; destroy that possibility. Im glad to say that for some years to come though not enough weve succeeded in stopping Alan Morris.