Whenever I look at my hand I’m taken back to the room in that place and I’m reminded of the sexual and physical abuse I suffered there
BY JAMES MONCUR EVERY time Allan Townend looks at his left hand, he is transported back 55 years to the darkest period of his life.
The lorry driver’s missing little finger is a daily reminder of the horrific abuse he suffered in a residential boys’ home in Fife in the 60s.
The 65-year-old lost the digit aged 11 as he tried desperately to escape a rapist priest.
Now more than five decades later, Allan, who lives in Leeds, has found the courage to speak for the first time about his experiences at the St John Bosco School, in Aberdour.
And he hopes his testimony will encourage other victims to come forward and help prevent similar abuse in the future.
Wiping away tears, Allan – originally from Whitburn, West Lothian – said: “Whenever I look at my hand I’m immediately taken back to the room in that place and I’m reminded of the sexual and physical abuse I suffered there.
“As well as the phantom pains I get in my hand, I still remember the searing pain I felt in other parts of my body when I was raped.
“I was very young but still knew what they were doing was wrong, which is why I tried to fight back and run away.”
And he added: “As a child I believed in God and always looked up to people in the church, like brothers and priests, but I couldn’t understand why they were being so nasty to me and the other boys.
“I felt so let down and it has ultimately affected my faith and had a huge impact on my life.”
Despite coming from a strict household, Allan was an easily recognised tearaway whose orange hair marked him out in his community.
Following a number of trivial crimes he was sent to St John Bosco – which was run by the Salesian Fathers of Don Bosco – after other residential placements didn’t work out.
He was quickly targeted by staff and was sexually assaulted and raped in the first few months he was there.
Allan lost his finger after a priest summoned him to a room to look at a book on Roman history. He said: “The moment they shut the doors to rooms was the time we all started to worry. He sat me on his knee to read the book and started to feel me up.
“I’d already been raped and didn’t want it happening again. I made a run for it but he chased me and slammed the heavy door, crushing my hand. They tried to keep it quiet but an infection started and I had to go to hospital.”
Allan was taken to Stirling Infirmary, where a black English doctor treated him and saved his arm.
He added: “Back in the 60s he was the first black man I had ever seen. He had a very posh accent and all I wanted to do was touch his skin.”
The surgeon saved his arm but the operation meant Allan would never play the piano something he’d hoped to master, as music was one of the only releases he had from the horrors of his day-to-day life.
He later ended up in Polmont Young Offenders Institution and eventually moved to England for a fresh start.
But like many other boys his life has been marred by tragedy since leaving the special schools.
Three of his children – Zoe, 15, Craig, 11, and David, 35 – died of cancer, while he also lost baby twins at birth.
Whenever he tried to tell anyone about the abuse, he was not believed – even by his own father, an ex-soldier and miner.
He has since struggled to hold down relationships and has just a handful of good male friends.
But this week saw him start on his road to recovery when officers interviewed him for four hours about his ordeal.
Detectives from Police Scotland’s Specialist Crime Division, in Inverness, are tracking down ex-pupils, priests and teachers at the facility.
The allegations date from the 60s up until the facility closed in 1982.
The police letter requesting