Thank you. You are Alan Oliver Bushman, aged 19, and you are in Brocklehurst with a youth rugby team visiting from Australia. You are here for training and to play a number of matches across the region. You were lodging at the home of the defendant. Please tell the court in your own words what happened on the day in question.
He had told me a number of times that I wasn’t performing well at training. He said I was lazy and treating it like a holiday camp. He was annoyed that I had been staying out late at night. The night before it happened I had been out to a club and got back about midnight. I was pretty bad at training that day.
When we got back to the house I could tell he was mad at me. He had criticized me in the car. He told me to put down my bag and go to the garage. He said I would find some canes there and I was to select one and bring it to him. I was confused. I didn’t really understand what was going on, but I went out the back and into the garage. I saw a pile of bamboo sticks, there were about eight or nine. They were all the same size and I just picked one up and took it back.
He went crazy and he called me “a very stupid boy” and he grabbed me by the ear and he frog marched me back to the garage. “There, you idiot!” he pointed at the far wall. Then I realized what he meant. There were four canes pinned to the wall. They were proper canes, like you have at school, with curved handles. They were of different lengths and thicknesses and he grabbed one from the wall. He didn’t even let go of my ear and then he dragged me back into the house.
We were in the sitting room when he said something like, “You’ve been needing this from the day you got here. You are lazy and disobedient,” something like that. I couldn’t understand what was going on. He’s let go of my ear by this time and he had the cane in his hand and he was bending it and he said, “I know what you need lad.” I was frightened now. He swished the cane while he was talking and now I had a pretty good idea what he wanted to do.
He pointed the cane at a chair and he said, “Bend over.” I was confused. It was like the room was spinning. I didn’t know what to say. Or do. He tapped the chair with the cane. “Bend over,” he said. “I won’t tell you again.” I was too confused to talk. I wanted to ask him what he thought he was doing.
I had been a bit scared of him from the moment I arrived. We were told he was a big shot and he had been a successful player and quite famous. He was the main man at the club and the brains behind the tour. It was supposed to be an honour to be chosen to stay with him. He’s not very friendly and I was intimidated.
When he told me to bend over, I didn’t know what to do. He was in charge. I was so confused. Did he really want to cane me? Like I was a naughty schoolboy or something. It didn’t make sense. I stood there frightened. He muttered under his breath and next thing he had hold of my arm and he pulled me toward the chair and then he let me go and grabbed my neck and forced me over the chair. I was too scared to do anything.
I felt very vulnerable. I was still wearing my rugby kit. “Keep still,” he ordered and he took hold of my shirt and pull it half way up my back. “Legs apart.” I can’t remember what I did. I suppose I must have done what he told me because pretty soon. I felt his horrible cane slapping my backside. “Steady lad, steady,” he muttered as he was finding his aim.
Then he walloped me with his cane. I heard a tremendous whacking noise a second before there was this horrible, searing pain. I jumped to my feet. It was humiliating. I jumped up and down rubbing my backside. It was like it was on fire. I have never felt such pain in my life. I saw the fury in his eyes. “How dare you!” he yelled. “Get back down.” I was whimpering, I don’t think I was crying. Not yet, I don’t think.
He pushed me back over the chair. He told me, “Stay down. You get up again and you’ll get extra strokes,” or something like that. I was terrified. I couldn’t understand what was going on. I gripped hold of the chair for dear life. Then he hit me again. If anything, this was even worse than the first one. It cut right into me. It went right through my cotton shorts. I’m sure I screamed. I howled and howled. The pain was terrific. It was like he’d put a red-hot poker across my bottom.
I don’t remember too much about what happened next. There was a lot of pain; agony really. He whacked me again and again. I was hollering then. I cried a lot. I might have pleaded with him to stop. I don’t know, I can’t remember.
He stopped caning me and I remember still being out of breath and laying over the chair and then he must have put down the cane because I remember he got hold of the waistband of the shorts and he pulled them down. I didn’t have underpants. I was too shattered to resist him. Then, he slapped his hand across my bare bottom; over and over again. My bum – sorry, bottom – was already on fire and this just made it worse. I have never felt so much pain in my life.
I know because of the cuts I saw later that he gave me six strokes. After, there were six thick red welts right running along my cheeks. It was awful. I couldn’t sit down for hours and the marks were there for days.
At last, he let me go and I pulled up my shorts and ran from the house. I was terrified, I didn’t know what to do. I was humiliated. I didn’t want anyone to know what had happened. I was running in the street. There’s a wood at the end of the street and I headed there, but I didn’t get there. The Club secretary was in his car and he saw me. He stopped and he made me tell him what happened. I didn’t want to. I was so ashamed. But he got it out of me. He took me to his house and he called the police.
Thank you. Please remain in the witness stand the defence lawyer has some questions for you.
Picture credit: Unknown
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