Why Did You Expect Anything To Be Learned?

Jack and Paul, aged 12 and nine, hadn’t wanted to visit their father, Darren Sykes. He had previously hit both them and their mum. He’d made them eat until they were sick. He used to call them “mummy’s boys”. Paul had explained all this to a worker at Cafcass (Children and Family Court Advisory and Support Service) in a formal interview. Throssell had said in an evidence statement that, when angry, Sykes was capable of hurting or killing the boys, that he had told her he intended to take his own life and that he could understand fathers killing their children. Still, contact was awarded to him.

And of course, the end everyone except those involved in the system could see coming happened. 

Ten years on – or, in her own words, “10 years into my life sentence” – Throssell cannot believe how little has been learned. “I’ve had sleepless nights knowing that the judge who made the contact order was still on the bench and the Cafcass worker who interviewed Paul has never been held accountable,” she says.

They never are. And they never learn any lessons, either. 

A paper published in August by the Shera research group, examined 10 anonymous family court cases involving allegations of child sexual abuse carried out by the father – including cases where the father had admitted to it, or there was digital or video evidence, and one of child rape that had led to a prison sentence. In all of these cases, the father ultimately won some form of contact with their children, including overnight stays and 50/50 shared residency. One woman, whose ex was given five years on the sex offender register for downloading child sexual abuse images, mainly of girls, including babies and young children, was told by her Cafcass worker: “Well, it’s all right because you’ve got a son.”

If you think that beggars belief, read on!  

Ironically, Throssell – like many victims of domestic abuse – had first turned to the family courts for protection. “I couldn’t fight on my own any more and I trusted the courts to see sense,” she says.

Her first experience in the courtroom shocked her. Most cases involve allegations of domestic abuse, and women who have fled their ex-partners. Here they were expected to face them again, in close proximity – to sit beside them in waiting rooms, listen while they spun a story. “There were no safety measures,” she says. “He was right there, glaring at me, then verbally attacking me. Then you go inside and it’s like a boardroom with him sitting four seats away, hurling insult after insult. At one point the judge had to tell him to be quiet. I thought this was clear evidence that he can’t control his emotions and wasn’t safe to be around.”

Well, any reasonable person would think so, wouldn't they? But clearly, those sorts don't work in these roles. 

Paul was interviewed by a Cafcass officer for the section 7 report and described life with his dad, listing the many reasons he didn’t want to see him. The Cafcass officer then met with Sykes. The serious case review following the boys’ deaths found that Sykes became “agitated and uncomfortable” in that meeting and barred the door to prevent the officer leaving – her notes stated that she wanted extra support when with him in future. “If that Cafcass officer couldn’t handle seeing him alone, how the hell did she think a nine- and 12-year-old would? She had the power to overrule the contact order there and then,” says Throssell. “But she didn’t.”

See? 

The serious case review, published in 2015, did not conclude that contact should have been suspended, only that this option should have been “considered”.

“Such judgments are difficult to make at the time,” the report stated, “and it is considerably easier to criticise with the benefit of hindsight.”

Well, it gets easier because this system gives us so much practice.