While there is little doubt in my mind that institutional and intra-familial ritual sexual abuse exists in our societies it is also true to say that some minds can be highly susceptible to implanted memories. Clearly the sensitivity of some individuals towards such false memories cannot be discounted. The following article illustrates the point well. However, keep in mind that FMS (False Memory Syndrome) and the over-active imagination of therapists and clinicians alike must never be used as an excuse to discount ALL cases of ritual sexual abuse, especially at the Establishment level that is immersed in occult traditions, some of which are undoubtedly satanic. An awareness of both is the key.
---------------------
The girl we knew: Carole Myers as a newly qualified nurse,
in the early 80s. Photograph: Will Storr for the Observer
At 9.02am Richard Felstead answered the phone; by 9.03am he was
breathless with crying. It was the coroner's assistant in Battersea with
the news that his sister, Carole, had died two weeks earlier. "I'm
sorry it's taken so long to notify you," she said. "Carole's next of
kin told us there was no family. But a letter was found – from you."
Two
minutes later, the phone rang again. A different caller, with a
strange voice, said, "I know you're not one of the ones that harmed
Carole."
"Who are you?" said Richard.
"I'm Carole's next of kin."
"What's your name?"
"That's not important."
"How did Carole die?"
"She had a very difficult childhood."
"What? No she didn't."
"The cremation's tomorrow. People have taken time off work. It's very important it goes ahead."
Richard reacted furiously. The phone went dead.
The
brothers gathered at their parents' Stockport home: Richard, David,
Anthony and Kevin, whose principal memory of the morning of 14 July 2005
is his mother, "Finished. On the floor. Drained. Shattered. Gone." They
began talking. Who was the mysterious caller who claimed to be Carole's
"next of kin"? Why did she talk of a "difficult childhood" when Carole
was happy and popular? She had a successful nursing career down in
London. How could she die at just 41? Why had it taken two weeks to be
informed? How could there be a funeral tomorrow?
Joseph, their father, stood up. "I'll put a stop to it."
"You can't stop a funeral, Dad!" said Kevin.
Joseph
phoned the coroner's assistant. She brusquely informed him that, now
the family had been discovered, the funeral would be halted. She
mentioned a "life assessment", written by Carole. "It's very upsetting,"
she said. It was six pages, typed.
It said: "My parents were abusive in
every way imaginable − sexually, physically and emotionally. At three
years of age, my mother smothered my sister. She sat me on top of her
body and set the house on fire."
Joseph was astonished. "Had she been ill?" he said. "Had she been sectioned?"
The coroner's assistant replied: "Yes."
Over
the coming weeks there came more questions. They were told the nameless
"next of kin" had emptied Carole's flat and driven off in her car.
Officials kept mentioning a "psychiatrist friend" who accompanied Carole
to medical appointments. Joseph was speaking to a police inspector when
something occurred to him. "This psychiatrist and this next of kin," he
said. "Are they the same person?"
"That's right," said the inspector. "Dr Fleur Fisher."
The
Felsteads' search for answers to the many mysteries surrounding
Carole's decline is now in its sixth year. Endless letters and FOI
requests, alongside hours of legal research and long nights on the
internet, have resulted in the collection of hundreds of documents and
the generation of yet more questions: angry ones about individuals they
believe to have been malign presences in her life; strange ones about
startling and little-known corners of human psychology; sad ones about the life and death of the kind and sparky woman they still miss every day.
When
I tell them I'd like to write about Carole, they pass me the telephone
number, discovered in Carole's phone records, of the woman whose role in
the tale is, they're convinced, both sinister and central: that of the
"next of kin", Dr Fleur Fisher.
"I'm not sure I want to talk about
this," Fisher tells me. "You'll have to let me think about it. That
family – they're bloody terrifying."
"You're frightened of them?"
"They're
frightening people. And the things they've been saying," she says,
adding confusingly: "I'm not a therapist!" She rings off, warning me
darkly: "Tread carefully."
Read more
See also:
No comments:
Post a Comment