My name is Valerie, and back in 1962, when this incident took place, I was eighteen, and my boyfriend Fred, was seventeen. We’d been going out together since our last year at school, when we’d both been fourteen. I’d always been advanced for my age, sexual development wise. So by age eighteen, I’d got a pretty well developed figure of 38, 24, and 37. But Fred on the other hand, being only slightly built, always looked much younger than his age.
Meaning that very often when we went out together, I’d tend to attract the attention of older boys/men. And on numerous occasions this had led to them attempting to chat me up, almost ignoring his presence, as if he wasn’t there. Or even making snide comments, such as, “Do you always have to take your little brother with you when you go out.”
I’d never respond positively to any attempts to chat me up, whether Fred was with me or not. And along with Fred himself, I’d attempt to come up with some kind of comment to counter any snide remark made. Like my response to the snide comment I’ve just told you about. To this I replied, “No. Do you always act like a dickhead when you go out?” Not the most subtle of retorts, but at the time, it was the one that came to my lips.
But on this particular night, we were going to watch the speedway. And the venue was the stadium at Brandon on the outskirts of Coventry. This was the home of The Brandon Bees. I guess they got their name from the sound the bikes made during a race, sounding very much like a swarm of angry bees; only amplified a hundred times. And their colours were obviously black and yellow.
This was the first time we’d gone to watch the speedway, and as he’d only recently passed his test, I hadn’t yet bought the sensible option, protective clothing wise. So although I’d got the mandatory crash helmet, I was apart from that, pretty much dressed as if we’d been just walking to the local cinema. That is, skirt, blouse and imitation leather coat (plastic). Oh, and high heel shoes.
Once we’d arrived and parked up his motorbike we went to join the queue at the entrance. And as we didn’t have money to spare, we opted for viewing from the terraces; that is as opposed to the stands. These terraces were banked concrete steps, where you stood to watch the racing.
We found ourselves a place, but as more and more people arrived, the perfect view I’d had initially, soon became blocked by taller men standing in front of us. And even the higher steps behind us were filled up, so moving back wasn’t an option. And then one of a group of three men who were standing directly behind us, asked, “Are you having trouble seeing over that beanpole’s head?”
He was obviously talking to me, and referring to the man standing directly in front of me, one step down. I didn’t really want to get into a conversation with this man or his friends, but neither did I want to be ignorant. So I just said, “I’m okay. Maybe I’ll see better when the racing starts.”
He then asked Fred, “Is this her first time up here?”
“Not just hers. It’s the first time I’ve been.”
And then just at that moment, the lights above the terraces went out, leaving just the track illuminated. This man said, “They’re about to start.” And then without warning he reached forward, putting his hands on my waist, and hoisting me back to the step he was standing on, saying to Fred as he did, “You don’t mind if she stands back here do you? She’ll get a better view; and I’ll be okay, I can still see over her head.”
At that moment the bikes began to appear on track, and Fred, who was more interested in watching them, said, “Yeh that’s okay! Whatever she wants,” And with that he turned back to see the race start.
The man, who I didn’t know from Adam, had pulled me back, and held one hand on my lower chest under my bust, pulling me close to him. And almost at the same time, the man either side of me, took hold of a hand each. I felt a hand sliding around my navel; and it was only then that I realised that the man who’d lifted me, had already undone the zip on the side of my skirt, and now he’d slid his hand inside it. I struggled, but at first, I didn’t want to arouse too much attention. His hand was now over my belly button, and his fingers worked their way into the waist band of my knickers, pushing rapidly down. So then realising this was a serious groping attempt, I struggled with all my might, pulling a hand free, and smacking Fred on his back.
Fred did turn to see what I wanted, but in truth, I think he was more interested in the race. And as the noise of the open exhaust on the bikes was almost deafening, this meant he couldn’t hear a word, even though I was shouting. “HELP ME FRED! HE’S GOT HIS HAND DOWN MY KNICKERS.” And even though I’d obviously been in great distress as I’d shouted, Fred hadn’t picked up on this. He was obviously too engrossed, and so not realising anything was amiss, he turned back to watch the race
The man to my side had regained control of my hand, and my abuser had reached the lips of my fanny, which he was poking at furiously trying to find my hole. He must have been watching how many laps had taken place, because just before the race ended, without him reaching his goal, and before the lights came back on, he put his mouth next to my ear, and made sure I heard him.
“If you breathe a fucking word to that little weed of a boyfriend, we’ll take him out to the car park, and beat the shit out of him. Now go stand back down there and think yourself lucky there are only four laps to a race.” And with that he pulled his hand out, and pushed me back down the step.
As I landed back down on the lower step, it being dark, I missed my footing and slipped forwards into the man in front. Fred and the man who’d pushed me, both bent down at the same time to help me back up, and as they did the crowd let out a mighty roar. One of our riders had made his overtaking manoeuvre right on the finish line, and Fred had missed it.
“What the bloody hell are you playing at? I missed that. Can’t you bloody stand still?”
“It’s alright, I’ve got her. You watch the end of the race.” Said the abuser, smiling at me like a Cheshire cat.
Fred said, “It’s finished now anyway.” Then as the terrace lights came back on, he turned to me and said, “I’ve got to nip to the toilets, won’t be a sec.”
“I’ll come with you,” I said quickly.
“No if you want to go, you go first; one of us needs to save our places.”
I didn’t want to go to the toilet, I just didn’t want to stop here, so I said, “You go first, but don’t be long.”
Off he went, and the men closed in. The overhead lights were on, and we were surrounded by people. There was nothing else going on to divert the attention of the surrounding crowd. So all the men could do was put their mouths to my ear, and make comments like, “We’re going to fuck your pretty brains out.”
When I saw Fred I was so relieved, and when he got back to me, I asked, “Can we find another place to stand?”
“I can’t see very well from here.”
At that point the lights went out ready for the next race, the gates rose, and the bikes roared away. I was hoisted back again, but this time he had his arms wrapped right around the outside of my arms, pinning them to my body. Fred turned, and saw me going back to the step behind again, but in the darkness, he couldn’t see how I was being lifted. He smiled as if to give his approval, and turned back to his racing.
I was held tight by the man, who’d lifted me tightly up to himself, and in the dark the man either side had crouched down. They each placed a hand on my ankle, holding my feet still, their other hand reached up my legs and my knickers were pulled down, and my feet pulled out of them. My legs immediately were stretched open, and the two hands raced to be first up my hole. They were both poking furiously, and as I was dry it hurt like hell, I screamed, and started crying. This didn’t affect them at all and just as the roar went up for the end of the race, my legs were closed, and I once again was pushed down the step. This time I didn’t fall, but as the lights came on Fred could see I was crying.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m all right; I’ve just got a cinder in my eye. I’ll go to the toilets, and get it out.”
I’m pretty sure that at least some of the other men surrounding us, must have been aware of what those men had been doing to me, but not one of them felt it necessary to intervene in any way.
So feeling very vulnerable, I made my way down the steps, and along the long corridor under the main stand, to the ladies toilets. Ladies toilets always have a queue, and by the time I came out I heard the roar as the next race started.
As I made my way back down the corridor, I saw one of my abusers coming up behind me. I was about to speed up my pace, when I saw the other two coming towards me at the other end of the corridor. There was only one other person in the corridor, and she was 50 yards in front of me. The men coming towards me passed this other woman, and in a few seconds she was out of the corridor, and gone. The man behind was now alongside of me and had taken hold of my arm; the other men were about five feet away, when we reached a small door in the side of the corridor.
It led to the underside of the main stand seating; and I was bundled inside, with the help of the other two who’d just arrived. I looked around; we were under the seats that tapered down to ground level, so the head room disappeared rapidly. The seating wasn’t closed in and we could see the legs of the people sitting above us only a few feet away. I stood there screaming at the top of my voice, but the bikes outside drowned my voice out, and nobody even looked.
They pulled off my coat, and laid it on the ground, then I was stripped without any concern about whether my clothes got ripped, or not. When naked, I was pulled down, and one man sat on my face, blocking my mouth completely, and holding my wrists. I was kicking and flailing my legs about wildly, so much so that every time one of them tried to mount me I managed to shake him off.
When the race finished, the lights came on in the stands, and although my mouth was covered, my eyes were not, so I could see all around. When I looked down towards my legs, directly above where my legs were thrashing about, there was a young boy. He was about ten or twelve years old, he was looking under the seats from the stand above. He’d probably dropped something, and when he saw me, I was still kicking my legs about. He appeared to find this amusing, and had knelt down to get a better look. I thought if only I can keep him interested, his parent will wonder what he’s looking at, then once they see me I’ll be saved. The other two blokes had gone off somewhere leaving me pinned down by one man; I knew I couldn’t overpower him. So I settled down to save my energy, so I’d be ready for their next attack.