Sunday Mirror, Jul 8, 2001
'About eight years ago I decided to become a special constable with the Dumfries and Galloway Police Force. I'd moved from Edinburgh back to where I grew up, near Langholm in south-west Scotland to be closer to my family and I was keen to contribute something to the local community. I was doing a full-time graphic art degree and part-time police work appealed. I never saw it as a potential career though.
My first encounter with Carruthers did not bode well. He was the sergeant at Langholm police station where I applied to become a special. He asked me to fill out an antiquated application form for the post which contained a section for chest measurement, both expanded and relaxed. Underneath, it read: "To be completed by the sergeant". When I handed it back, having filled in the details, Carruthers expressed disappointment, saying he'd wanted to fill in that bit.
But I wasn't put off by his lecherous talk. I swiftly settled into the job and got on well with all my colleagues. There was talk that Carruthers liked a fling and considered himself a bit of a ladies' man, but no indication that he might go further and use force.
Some months later, we were in a police car on a surveillance operation against a suspected drug dealer. Our target never showed up. During our wait, Carruthers placed a hand on my thigh. I told him in no uncertain terms where to get off.
I'd worked in other male-dominated environments and thought I was able to deal with a man trying it on. Despite my dislike of Carruthers, I became friendly with his wife Margaret. We met when he insisted on taking me home for a meal break. I said I couldn't impose on his wife, but he called her and said there'd be two for dinner in 10 minutes. She was very welcoming and we hit it off immediately. From then on I'd often pop in for coffee. On one occasion, she had to nip out and asked me to wait. Carruthers was at home but in another room. The second the front door closed, he came in and grabbed my breasts. I was appalled that he could behave like that in his own home with his wife practically on the doorstep - and I told him so. Margaret came back seconds later and I made an excuse and left. I was furious with him and very sorry for her.
But I still had no idea of the real threat he posed. I always felt in control and never thought he'd try to go any further.
Then in August 1996 I moved to a beautiful remote country cottage. It was just what I'd always wanted - no near neighbours, other than the local wildlife, big enough for me to work from home and a garden for my two dogs. One afternoon two months later, Carruthers turned up unexpectedly. He was in uniform and was friendly, asking how I was. I thought he wanted to discuss business, and I offered him a coffee.
I didn't have central heating and the house was cold, so I took him up to the warmest room, my studio upstairs. My bedroom is downstairs. He saw my art work spread out, including some drawings of a life model. It was then that his attitude changed. He commented on her breast size, then on mine and told me to get my clothes off. I remember thinking, "Oh shit". He came at me, grabbing at me. I backed away so quickly I cracked my head on the door frame of the room opposite. He pushed me to the floor and I felt a pain in my back, followed by pain shooting down both legs. As I pleaded with him to stop, he sexually assaulted me with my own police baton before raping me. After it was over, I said I'd report him. He sneered: "Who'll believe you?"
He left when his shift would have been about to end. I pictured the man who had just raped me driving back to Langholm, dealing with some paperwork before going home to Margaret and his children, no doubt to find his dinner on the table. I sat on the edge of my bath for ages in great pain and floods of tears, desperately trying to decide what to do. I simply couldn't believe what had happened.
Eventually, I made a decision that still haunts me. I got in the bath and scrubbed myself for hours, continually adding hot water and removing all the physical evidence. Even now, nearly five years later, I feel so dirty I have at least two hot baths a day.
I didn't tell anyone. I bottled everything up, working non-stop to try and block out the horror. It didn't work. Mentally I was a mess and physically, I'd suffered a lasting back injury from the attack. Then, about 18 months later, I was attacked on my brother's farm... '
My first encounter with Carruthers did not bode well. He was the sergeant at Langholm police station where I applied to become a special. He asked me to fill out an antiquated application form for the post which contained a section for chest measurement, both expanded and relaxed. Underneath, it read: "To be completed by the sergeant". When I handed it back, having filled in the details, Carruthers expressed disappointment, saying he'd wanted to fill in that bit.
But I wasn't put off by his lecherous talk. I swiftly settled into the job and got on well with all my colleagues. There was talk that Carruthers liked a fling and considered himself a bit of a ladies' man, but no indication that he might go further and use force.
Some months later, we were in a police car on a surveillance operation against a suspected drug dealer. Our target never showed up. During our wait, Carruthers placed a hand on my thigh. I told him in no uncertain terms where to get off.
I'd worked in other male-dominated environments and thought I was able to deal with a man trying it on. Despite my dislike of Carruthers, I became friendly with his wife Margaret. We met when he insisted on taking me home for a meal break. I said I couldn't impose on his wife, but he called her and said there'd be two for dinner in 10 minutes. She was very welcoming and we hit it off immediately. From then on I'd often pop in for coffee. On one occasion, she had to nip out and asked me to wait. Carruthers was at home but in another room. The second the front door closed, he came in and grabbed my breasts. I was appalled that he could behave like that in his own home with his wife practically on the doorstep - and I told him so. Margaret came back seconds later and I made an excuse and left. I was furious with him and very sorry for her.
But I still had no idea of the real threat he posed. I always felt in control and never thought he'd try to go any further.
Then in August 1996 I moved to a beautiful remote country cottage. It was just what I'd always wanted - no near neighbours, other than the local wildlife, big enough for me to work from home and a garden for my two dogs. One afternoon two months later, Carruthers turned up unexpectedly. He was in uniform and was friendly, asking how I was. I thought he wanted to discuss business, and I offered him a coffee.
I didn't have central heating and the house was cold, so I took him up to the warmest room, my studio upstairs. My bedroom is downstairs. He saw my art work spread out, including some drawings of a life model. It was then that his attitude changed. He commented on her breast size, then on mine and told me to get my clothes off. I remember thinking, "Oh shit". He came at me, grabbing at me. I backed away so quickly I cracked my head on the door frame of the room opposite. He pushed me to the floor and I felt a pain in my back, followed by pain shooting down both legs. As I pleaded with him to stop, he sexually assaulted me with my own police baton before raping me. After it was over, I said I'd report him. He sneered: "Who'll believe you?"
He left when his shift would have been about to end. I pictured the man who had just raped me driving back to Langholm, dealing with some paperwork before going home to Margaret and his children, no doubt to find his dinner on the table. I sat on the edge of my bath for ages in great pain and floods of tears, desperately trying to decide what to do. I simply couldn't believe what had happened.
Eventually, I made a decision that still haunts me. I got in the bath and scrubbed myself for hours, continually adding hot water and removing all the physical evidence. Even now, nearly five years later, I feel so dirty I have at least two hot baths a day.
I didn't tell anyone. I bottled everything up, working non-stop to try and block out the horror. It didn't work. Mentally I was a mess and physically, I'd suffered a lasting back injury from the attack. Then, about 18 months later, I was attacked on my brother's farm... '
1 comment:
Aye well, what has he got to lose by saying, "It wasnae me?"
He's ruined the lives of so many women and there has been loss of life cuased by him ..... yes his fault, his doing.
He's the lowest of the low.
How do these women cope? I bet he never thinks of them.
Stop automatic early release for dangerous criminals. Increase sentences to match their crimes.
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