My dad was jailed for raping me – then he did it again

In March 2019, I reported my dad for his sexual abuse.

It had been 37 years since he first raped me – and this was the second time I had reported it.

This time, I was determined to make sure he stayed in jail.

I was just 11 when I first spoke out about the sexual abuse I’d suffered at his hands.

Growing up, I remember dad ruling our household with an iron fist, but as the baby of the family I avoided his temper – he called me his ‘blue-eyed girl’.

When I was nine, my parents separated. Mum just couldn’t take his anger issues any longer and took us to live with her mother but we saw Dad most days as we all still lived in the same area.

Granny used to say: ‘There’s pure evil running through that man.’

Two years later in 1982, when I was 11, I experienced that evil.

During one of our visits to his house, we found out that Dad got a puppy, so I begged to stay over to play with it – Mum agreed, and that night, he climbed into bed with me.

I’ll never forget the smell of him in the dark, or the pain. I didn’t know what was happening but I knew it was very wrong.

The next day I told Mum: ‘Daddy got into bed with me last night.’

Her face went white and she took me to the local police station. I was so young that I didn’t know how to explain what Dad had done. I ended up having to show the officers what happened, using dolls.

When a police doctor confirmed I had been raped, Mum fainted.

In 1984 Dad was charged with incest and jailed – but only for seven months.

I’ll never know why his punishment wasn’t more severe then, possibly because he plead guilty at the eleventh hour, but it certainly would have changed things had he been kept in for life.

Instead, after his release from prison, he was encouraged – to my knowledge by social services – to have supervised contact with his family. Naturally, my mum was livid and tried to stop it, but ultimately she felt she had no choice or she’d risk losing us.

I’ll never forget how terrified I felt seeing him pulling up outside my school on his motorbike. But thankfully he kept his hands to himself.

After leaving school, aged 15, I got a job at a local butchers. I moved in with my grandmother because I didn’t see eye-to-eye with Mum’s new boyfriend and, unfortunately, Dad was living there, too.

Though I felt safer because I was older, I still tried my best never to be alone with him. Meanwhile, Dad acted like the previous attack had never happened, it was just brushed under the carpet.

Then, on my 18th birthday I went out to celebrate in Belfast with my boyfriend at the time. I got home and fell asleep, and the next thing I remember is Dad’s weight pressing on top of me.

He was crawling all over me, making horrible grunting noises, raping me again. The pain was excruciating. I can still smell him. I felt sick, but I couldn’t move. I was frozen.

This time I didn’t tell anyone about the attack. All the fight had gone out of me.

Then, I missed my next period.

Realising I was pregnant, and it was Dad’s, made me feel sick. Then, at three months I suffered a miscarriage.

When Dad visited me in hospital he threatened to kill me if I ever told anyone the baby had been his. Traumatised and scared, I kept the secret.

At the same time, my heart broke for my child, who I had named Sara.

After losing the baby I spent eight and a half months as an inpatient at a psychiatric unit, being treated for anorexia and a nervous breakdown.

It took years to get back on my feet, but in time I trained as a beauty therapist and built a life for myself.

I’m now 53 and, though I still struggle with nightmares, I am happy and surrounded by love. I adore my wonderful son, Lewis, 23 and I’ve been with my current partner Gerard for 14 years – he’s the best man I’ve ever known.

As for Dad, he moved to England and I never heard from him again. In fact, I’d all but pushed him to the back of my mind when, in late 2018, I saw an advert on TV encouraging victims of historic sex abuse to come forward.

It took months to build up the courage, but I walked into the police station to finally report him for the rape on my 18th birthday.

I was believed and supported by the police, and my dad, William Boyle, was arrested in Birmingham in October 2019.

Due to medical evidence of my pregnancy and miscarriage he pleaded guilty and on January 25, 2024 – after delays due to the pandemic – he was finally jailed for seven and a half years for raping me in 1990.

Looking at him in court, I just felt numb, but I still knew how important the moment was.

This demon (he doesn’t deserve to be called a father) will only serve half his sentence but he is in his late 80s and used a wheelchair in court, so hopefully he’ll rot and die in prison.

I learnt that being abused isn’t your blame, shame or stain to carry.

It took me decades to realise that, but I was finally able to. Now I’m an activist, speaking out and telling my story as a survivor of historic sex abuse to help other women.

I advocate for women’s rights and have been supporting Women’s Aid and other campaign organisations, waiving my right to anonymity to tell my story and send a message out to other women who have suffered sexual abuse.

Now that I spoke up for myself, I want to speak up for others.

I’m a survivor and I fought for justice for my baby daughter – now she can finally rest in peace.

That monster no longer has any power over us.

As told to Jade Beecroft

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk. 

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