My brother and I went to St Joseph’s Orphanage when we were quite young. My brother is a year and a half older than me. My mother suffered personal problems as well as domestic violence, and my father left when I was around one year old. Our mother struggled to cope, so my brother and I were placed at St Joseph’s Orphanage.

We were in and out of St Joseph’s several times, and on our last placement there had been a change. There were now the Brothers of St John of God, who ran Marylands School. This changed everything, as the nuns would take us over to Marylands, telling us that we were going over to the ‘bad boys’ hut’. The sisters labelled Marylands the bad boys’ place.

I was like my brother’s shadow and he was my protector. On weekends my brother and I would stay all weekend and we’d be subjected to sexual abuse by the brothers at Marylands. They would just take their opportunities.

Both my brother and I were sodomised and raped on at least 10 separate occasions by approximately seven brothers. Not only were we sodomised, but we were required to undertake oral sex on the brothers. This would happen in their private rooms, sometimes in the boiler room and sometimes at the swimming pool.

On occasion, my brother was given port wine to drink, or cigarettes, to make him more placid and pliable. The brothers would ask us to ‘do a chore’, and my brother would end up in the brothers’ house, where they would show him pornographic magazines. Sometimes the brothers would offer my brother bags of aniseed lollies to eat or have soft drink, which we never got at St Joseph’s, when he was sexually abused.

The offending against us was horrific and non-stop from the brothers at St John of God. I believe the nuns must have known what was going on. It was like a pecking order – the priests, then the sisters, then us kids.

St Joseph’s and Marylands were very close in proximity, with lots of trees and bushes that are not there now. To me, this enabled the abuse. There was a mixture of school fairs, swimming sports and schooling, which allowed the kids from St Joseph’s to mix with the St John of God Brothers and Marylands pupils.

It was almost as if the nuns got nastier as they got older.

I remember the beatings from about age four. My brother and I wondered what on earth was going on. Everything seemed to be a punishment and it made us nervous wrecks from the very start. Because of the beatings, I’d wet the bed, which resulted in getting whacked – so it was a vicious circle. They would humiliate us for wetting the bed, and we’d be treated like an animal. We were hit in class at any time and for no reason, just things like not keeping up or not learning your lessons properly.

The nuns wore black and white habits, with big sleeves for their arms where they often hid little weapons, like hitting instruments, to discipline us. They used canes to hit us but also the backs of knives or little stick things like the clubs that police used to use. They also hit us with the big crosses they wore around their necks. Sometimes, they’d twist my brother’s ear or hit him across the face. I remember a lot of blood on my clothes or on the floor. After a caning we were locked in a dark room under the stairs, like a cupboard, and left in there for at least a day with just a mop and a cleaning bucket.

Basically, the whole orphanage was based around fear. The boys were controlled by fear and would cower to the nuns, ministers and the brothers.

We sometimes had classes and the nuns used to force Latin down our throats. If we made mistakes, we were disciplined heavily in class – they’d bang you on the knuckles, which just made you a nervous wreck. At swimming sports, the nuns would throw me in the deep end and my brother would have to save me. Because of this, I now have a fear of water.

The food at St Joseph’s was terrible. They gave us bread dipped in fat at breakfast and we had to eat four or five slices of it, and I couldn’t do it. If I did eat it, I’d be sick on the bus on the way to school, and I’d get a whack for it. I think they made us eat the bread dipped in fat to make it look as if we were fed, but everything was stale and rotten anyway.

I remember several of the brothers of St John of God. They wore brown robes and were there during our last stays at the orphanage. There were also ministers who visited and wore black suits with a dog collar. One priest used to come to the orphanage more often than the other priests. He was in his 40s, wore glasses and was a reasonably tall chap. I also remember another priest with glasses who used to say mass at church.

There were quarters at the orphanage for the visiting priest to stay, and it was when these ministers were visiting that things would happen. They’d ask for some help with a little job, which led to further sexual abuse. I believe I was abused by around five different priests or brothers. I remember there were a couple of young ones, then the one who wore a Father Christmas suit, and also Bernard McGrath. While it wasn’t an everyday thing, I’d describe the abuse as opportunist, and that it occurred on a semi-regular basis.

We used to go to movie time to watch films in the dark, and the sisters would be wandering around as well as a few males. A minister or brother would be sitting next to you and they’d just stick their hands down your pants. The movies were once or twice a week and it appeared to be some sort of opportunity for the male adults to get their rocks off.

Once, my brother and I were told to put on tights and made to do a ridiculous dance over some swords that were lying on the ground. It was entertainment for the sisters and brothers who were laughing. Then the sisters left and we were left there to entertain the men. Next thing the tights were off and sexual things happened. We were forced to give blowjobs to the men, and eventually it led to the worst of the worst – sodomy.

Once, the sisters said it was time for my brother and I to take confession. We went to the church and we were sitting there, and next thing, the father’s hand was down my pants. This happened in a little room near the chapel where there was a table and a chair.

We disclosed the abuse – one time my brother and I tried to tell the nuns about what was happening, as we were getting older and starting to realise that it wasn’t right. Unfortunately, the response was ferocious. We were accused of being devils and were caned and whacked. They put soap in our mouths for the ‘dirty lies’ we were telling about the priests. It was humiliating, and they picked on us as a result of us trying to speak up.

They threatened to send us to Marylands to be punished, and said things like ‘how dare you say things about these mighty men’.

We also complained to our mother, but she didn’t listen. She wasn’t really with it and was basically a write-off. We told our aunties and I think they sort of knew about the abuse anyway.

My brother never recovered from the abuse he suffered at St Joseph’s and St John of God, it affected him for the rest of his life.

He was expelled from high school aged 14. A teacher put his hand on my brother’s shoulder and told him he needed to take his clothes off and go swimming. My brother was triggered, and he reacted immediately by turning around and punching the teacher. He was expelled and never went back to school.

My brother became heavily addicted to drugs, as did a number of boys we knew from St Joseph’s Orphanage. He lived a life of survival on the streets, and he spent time in jail. He tried to attack a judge because he was going to be placed in a jail cell, and he had claustrophobia.

He suffered greatly, until he took his own life at the age of 40. Just before this happened, my brother said he couldn’t take it anymore.

My brother steadily destroyed himself over the years. I dabbled in drugs a little, but I drank a lot more. That is what you do to try and suppress the trauma. As an adult I had a breakdown and the memories of abuse came crashing back. I lost my job, my girlfriend and my life spiralled. I ended up in Sunnyside Hospital for psychiatric treatment.

My life after St Joseph’s was shattered. I couldn’t form proper relationships with people and I am wary of everyone. I’ve never been married and I’ve found I gravitate to partners who have also been abused. If any women looks remotely like a nun, I get triggered, and whenever I see or hear anything to do with Catholics, I’m just filled with hate. I’ve had mates over the years, but I prefer a more hermit-type life – I don’t want to inflict pain on others.

I haven’t worked for over 20 years. Both my brother and I developed PTSD, anxiety disorders and insomnia. The PTSD stops me working, and I don’t sleep well enough to function.

While the physical damage is one of the nasty things you live with, it’s the mental damage that plays on your mind.

I have gone through a redress process with the Order of St John of God, and received an ex-gratia payment that gave me tangible help. It was, however, disproportionate to the effects of the abuse on my life.

I also complained about my time at St Joseph’s orphanage and this is when I got involved with lawyer Grant Cameron. He represented several of us men complaining to the Christchurch Diocese and the Sisters of Nazareth. Initially the process went well but then the sisters hired a private investigator. I found the private investigator terrible and felt he was more interested in protecting men from the church that he knew himself, rather than help me.

Luckily the settlement did not depend on [the private investigator’s] report. Initially the settlement was good. A 10-million-dollar trust fund was set up for us survivors at St Joseph’s. It was designed to assist us with loans and bills. At one time I asked to borrow some money for a house, but they kept procrastinating when I found a few houses, and they reneged their promise to help. All I got from them was around $30000. I found Sister Clare ok, but I did find it wrong that they were not concentrated on targeting or prosecuting the bad nuns.

Before we got any money, we were required to be assessed by a doctor. I had to be certified by psychiatrists from the Royal Melbourne Hospital, this was done at the St George Hotel. Sister Clare said she arranged specialists to meet us and assess us to ensure we were not lying. To me this was another abuse on top of what I’d already been through.

I also made a sensitive claim to ACC in 1983. They did an assessment and came up with $32 per week. I told them to shove it, when they said my ruined life was worth only that.

References

Witness statement, MR JB, WITN1171001 (Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care, 28 April 2022).

Witness statement, Mr JC via his representative, Mr JB, WITN1171002, (Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care, 28 April 2023).