Last week I wasn’t able to stop reading reports and listening to testimonies from people involved with the Knox School abuse. For those who have not been following, probably those not living in Sydney, students at the “prestigious” boys school on Sydney’s north shore were abused , over a 33-year period from the 1970s until 2003.

ABC News reports

A former student of a Sydney private school says students were sexually abused so often, he was not sure it was wrong when he was assaulted by a teacher in the playground.

Former Knox Grammar student Scott Ashton told the royal commission into child sexual abuse of the shock, shame and confusion he suffered after being abused at the school in the 1980s.

He said it was clear the school harboured “a large paedophile cohort” and the abuse led to him becoming a sex worker as teenager.

The details of the case, the extent and breadth of the abuse and the sheer horror of the case were frightening, crippling to listen to at times. Maybe it is because I am the mother of a son but at one stage when I listened to the testimony of one of the mothers speaking, actually speaking doesn’t cover it – sobbing with words coming out of her mouth was a more accurate description , I couldn’t breathe. The thought of something like that happening to my son makes my blood run cold, fear grips my heart. It’s a visceral reaction.
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It’s a beautiful day in Sydney today, blue skies warm temperatures, not a cloud in the sky. I’m looking at my Facebook feed and my friends are celebrating our city, the beauty, the warmth, the “vibe” to quote the classic movie The Castle.

But there’s a helicopter over Maroubra beach and as my friend who breaks the news says to me “you know there’s only a helicopter in Maroubra when there’s been a drowning”. We have 13 year-old sons that are champing at the bit to go to the beach themselves – we are finely attuned to the sounds of helicopters around our closest beaches.

The last thing you expect to see on your beach is Forensic services vans. And swarms of police. You fear a drowning but you don’t expect kids to discover the body of a dead baby on the beach.

Here is the official statement from the Randwick Council

Randwick Mayor Ted Seng today said he was shocked and saddened to learn of the discovery of a newborn baby’s body at South Maroubra Beach today.

The body was discovered this morning Sunday 29 November 2014 by nippers from the local surf club who notified parents and Council Lifeguards.
Lifeguards initially sealed off the area and are now assisting police with their enquiries.

“South Maroubra is one of our more isolated beaches, but it is patrolled by Randwick Council Lifeguards and volunteer surf life savers from South Maroubra Surf Life Saving Club,” Mayor Ted Seng said.
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“To say that I’m shocked is an understatement. I cannot imagine the circumstances that lead to this tragic event. Our thoughts and the thoughts of the whole Randwick community are with this little lost soul and the family and loved ones.”

Council will continue to work with the police and surf life saving club as required.

The worst part, actually can there be a worse part than a baby’s body being discovered on the beach?, is that the body was discovered by kids. What they are processing right now is too difficult to imagine.

No details have been released yet about the gender or age of the baby , a crime scene has been established by the Eastern Beaches police, with the Police Rescue Squad and specialist forensic officers on the scene and it is reported that the homicide squad are also assisting.

A post mortem will be conducted to establish the cause of the child’s death and I am sure that I speak for every member of my community here on the edges of Maroubra beach when I say our hearts are shattered.

My heart breaks for the kids who found the baby, the baby who was found and somewhere out there the parents of this baby

The day is too beautiful, our lives too perfect to have this turn up on one of our beaches. Or so we thought.

People with any information are encouraged to call Crime Stoppers on 1800 333 000

Recently I had a fight with one of my very closest friends. It was a public fight that took place on Twitter for all the world to see. I argued with her and I argued with other friends, I even argued with strangers. But some strangers supported me and many people I knew took my side, others contacted me privately and told me their point of view. It was a very public fight about a very public story – that of Greg Hutchings who took his daughter’s life before taking his own.

I cannot condone such a hideous act and never would but that does not mean I can’t have compassion for a man who is at such a desperate place that he takes his child’s life and then his own.

There was so much anger expended against this man because… well for one he killed his daughter I guess, but I think they felt anger because they assumed it was an act of revenge or malice. The man had no history of mental illness, he wasn’t being treated for psychosis or depression or bipolar disorder.
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There is no sport that my husband won’t watch on TV. Rugby, golf, cricket, skiing, NFL, even darts (which I contest is not actually a sport) he is there, eyes glued. Tennis, swimming, athletics, snooker (again not really a sport) he watches with rapt attention. I on the other hand rather love to fall asleep to sport on TV so basically we are very well suited couple.

It’s a nightly routine : Mr Pencil channel surfs for a while grumbling away that there is nothing good on TV and as soon as he settles on a channel and starts watching a ball being flung around a field or people testing the limits of their endurance I fall asleep.

But last night was different. Last night Mr Pencil didn’t let me sleep because he suddenly turned into one of those crotchety old men that like to write into newspapers with a fountain pen and complain to the world in general that they are unhappy.
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