The following content incorporates details about disturbing and horrific crimes of abuse that readers may find upsetting.
It has been just over a yr for the reason that Makin Review was published. The review into the Church of England’s response to allegations of abuse by the late John Smyth had been a protracted time coming, and it was expected to be difficult reading. And it was. Devastating and horrific. Having read the total report and annexes for Evangelicals Now when it was initially published, together with every Cathy Newman interview on the topic up to now, I had thought that we were reaching the “no stone left unturned” stage.
But now, with the discharge of a two-part Channel 4 documentary, See No Evil, it is evident that there was more yet to be said, and to be heard. (It may be viewed online here).
The harrowing two hours of viewing make for a robust retelling of the Smyth story, with painful sharing from two of his victims particularly – Andy Morse and Mark Stibbe. Their calm bravery within the face of such experiences shows the viewer something of one of the best of men. Photographs of each of them of their youth, in addition to of Smyth, and them together, make the history feel newly horrendously real.
Winchester
Attending Winchester College, homesick, they offer their lives to Jesus, and find themselves sucked into the “tractor beam” of Smyth’s seductive charm. He became a loved father figure, before the abuse, the beatings that took place in Smyth’s shed, began. Sinister music, and dark shots of a garden shed are amongst the photographs viewers see, that appear prone to prey on the mind long after the tv is turned off. There is talk of discipleship and torture, father-figures and suicide attempts, and a person felt to be “more powerful than the police.”
I almost shuddered hearing how Smyth used 2 Samuel 7v14 before commencing the beatings that the boys felt trapped in, which became way more severe than anticipated. Boys bled for weeks afterwards. Mark Stibbe describes how he thought he was going to die. Andy Morse describes how after beatings Smyth would “drape himself over my back and nuzzle his head deep into my neck and kiss me very gently … his face was wet with sweat … in my nightmares now it’s that draping that I sometimes feel and wake as much as.”
Unsurprisingly, evangelical Christianity is just not painted well by Channel 4. Iwerne is in comparison with a cult, a spot where women were informally often known as “bunnies.” It is described as a culture where some people were seen as “sound – which meant they believed all the fitting things” while others were “not quite what we would like.”
‘Circles inside circles’
Smyth was in a position to create “circles inside circles” at Winchester too, with boys eager to be a part of his chosen group. It was only a suicide attempt that eventually forced Smyth to interrupt away from what he had been doing to boys in England – only to proceed abroad. Eventually this led to the death of 1 boy in his care, Guide Nyachuru. Originally this was presented to the family as an accidental drowning by Smyth. Yet the family learn during this documentary that Nyachuru was the truth is a powerful swimmer.
Author and theologian
Andrew Graystone appears within the documentary, because the man brought in to assist The Titus Trust, who eventually became aware of an abuse allegation against Smyth. Graystone suggested that further investigation into the abuse allegations was needed. When his advice was subsequently not followed, he was left holding a dossier into the abuse – which he then handed to journalist Cathy Newman.
In defence of what he described on The Sacred podcast this week as what might have been seen as a “skilled and private betrayal,” Graystone declared “the Christian gospel is justice or it’s nothing.” Justice lies at the guts of Cathy Newman’s motivations too. The daughter of a churchwarden, she grew up singing in church choirs (as Graystone also did). She sees it as her call to fight injustice – and, of Channel 4, to offer a voice to the voiceless.
And among the voices unheard until now within the Smyth saga have been that of the Smyth family, of his wife and youngsters. Now we’ve heard them. They talk of a household where they felt “dread.” Peter John (PJ), Smyth’s son, is seen by his sisters because the “golden boy” but talks of how his father made dishonour an existential issue; “dishonouring him was like dishonouring God and you’ll die young.”
Bars on windows
And when PJ was later diagnosed with cancer, his father told him he would only get better if he repented and started to honour his parents. Smyth’s daughters speak of wanting to cover even when small, of being told that girls mustn’t be a distraction, and of bars being placed on their bedroom windows. They tried “to not be seen or heard by Dad.” They at the moment are aware that they were used as leverage by their father. Peter John now believes he was a shed victim himself, between the age of seven and 11 years old. His repressed memories got here back after reading concerning the shed beatings of others. He was, he says, “broken to his dad’s will … the epitome of loyalty.”
One query the now-adult children ask is where their mother was in all this. After the graphic description of the beatings and the blood, the supposed care which became manipulation, and the sheer brutality and sadism, it is tough to not ask this query.
Anne herself, Smyth’s wife, seen with a hard and fast smile when Newman doorsteps herself and her husband with the abuse allegations in 2017, does now appear on camera. She talks of Smyth feeling like two or more different people. “I just did what was asked for,” she says sadly. “I practised too often not facing as much as things that were improper, and so I started to not see things as wrongly as they really were,” she added.
‘Perfect Christian wife’
She now feels ashamed that she wasn’t in a position to do more, and apologises to her husband’s victims, saying she feels “desperately sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to arise to him, simply to say to him ‘why don’t you simply stop all this?'” Distressingly, her daughter Fiona comments that her mum was her dad’s first victim, but adds “my mum was the proper Christian wife, because she never stood as much as him.” Yet there isn’t a blame here, only forgiveness. Mark Stibbe says, movingly: “I haven’t heard any of the victims say they blame Anne Smyth for what happened. I fully and unconditionally forgive her … I saw what anyone had the facility to do through coercion and control to even one of the best souls.”
There is a lot concerning the Smyth case to search out distressing. Each story shared by every victim is horrendous. The sheer scale of the abuse – in England, in Zimbabwe, in South Africa – is nearly unbelievable. All facilitated by good individuals who said nothing. Everyone from Smyth’s wife to the then Archbishop of Canterbury is left desperately sorry they didn’t do more. Smyth had stressed the importance of secrecy – “it was between us and God” – which sadly suited those that so desired to imagine in the nice, whether it was good in Smyth, or good within the Iwerne camps.
Everything to do with the Smyth abuse continues to be stomach-churning stuff, however the bravery and dignity of the lads he abused that we see here does show us that there may be a lot good in humanity, even when beaten and broken. Their eloquence as they articulate their experiences and feelings about such devastating trauma is incredible. I confess I had thought there couldn’t be more to be brought out into the open around this case. I used to be improper. There is way more to reflect on in these two hours, presented in a really different way from previous communications, and a yr later.
These videos will probably make you weep, make you indignant, but most of all make you’re thinking that. They will likely be unattainable to unsee, or unhear. And perhaps that’s just appropriately.
Help and support
If you might be affected by any of the problems raised on this story, help is offered via: FearFree Support (www.fearfree.org.uk); the Safe Spaces helpline on 0300 303 1056 / safespacesenglandandwales.org.uk; The Samaritans helpline – 116 123; The National Association for People Abused in Childhood napac.org.uk.Rebecca Chapman is a freelance author and journalist.
This article was first published in Evangelicals Now and is printed here with permission.
