It gives me a yearning for the time and place yet this the place my clear memories of abuse start. This is where my father first almost killed me. It is also where I was accosted when playing in the jungle by a man who then sexually abused me. Whilst I am normally quite upfront about details, in the case of the sexual abuse, I do not feel it appropriate to describe what he did. I can only describe how he ripped my world , such as it was, apart. My father had been abusing me emotionally and physically for a long time by this stage but it was here that he came close to killing me. I was about 10 yrs old. In one of his rages he threw a case of books at me which hit the side of my head, pushing the other side of my head into the corner of an ornate coffee table leg. I was almost knocked out. I recall my mother leaning over me as I lay on the cough whilst she used a cold compress on my wound, all the while blaming me for what my father had done. If only I could be a good boy. This same woman slapped me and called me disgusting when I finally plucked up the courage to tell her what the man in the jungle had done. I only told her because the little girl next door had been accosted too so I thought I ought to say something. Needless to say I never told her anything again and that was the first of many times I was sexually abused. The next series of abuse was by a teacher who was a child pornographer. Nothing compared to my dads hatred of me and his continuing and worsening violence.