The following content contains details about disturbing and horrific crimes of abuse that readers may find upsetting.
It has been just over a year since the Makin Review was published. The review into the Church of England's response to allegations of abuse by the late John Smyth had been a long time coming, and it was expected to be challenging reading. And it was. Devastating and horrific. Having read the full report and annexes for Evangelicals Now when it was initially published, along with every Cathy Newman interview on the subject to date, I had thought that we were reaching the "no stone left unturned" stage.
But now, with the release of a two-part Channel 4 documentary, See No Evil, it is clear that there was more yet to be said, and to be heard. (It can be viewed online here).
The harrowing two hours of viewing make for a powerful retelling of the Smyth story, with painful sharing from two of his victims in particular - Andy Morse and Mark Stibbe. Their calm bravery in the face of such experiences shows the viewer something of the best of men. Photographs of both of them in their youth, as well as of Smyth, and them together, make the history feel newly horrendously real.
Winchester
Attending Winchester College, homesick, they give their lives to Jesus, and find themselves sucked into the "tractor beam" of Smyth’s seductive charm. He became a loved father figure, before the abuse, the beatings that took place in Smyth’s shed, began. Sinister music, and dark shots of a garden shed are among the images viewers see, that seem likely to prey on the mind long after the television is turned off. There is talk of discipleship and torture, father-figures and suicide attempts, and a man felt to be "more powerful than the police."
I almost shuddered hearing how Smyth used 2 Samuel 7v14 before commencing the beatings that the boys felt trapped in, which became far more severe than anticipated. Boys bled for weeks afterwards. Mark Stibbe describes how he thought he was going to die. Andy Morse describes how after beatings Smyth would "drape himself over my back and nuzzle his head deep into my neck and kiss me very gently … his face was wet with sweat … in my nightmares now it’s that draping that I sometimes feel and wake up to."
Unsurprisingly, evangelical Christianity is not painted well by Channel 4. Iwerne is compared to a cult, a place where women were informally known as "bunnies." It is described as a culture where some people were seen as "sound - which meant they believed all the right things" while others were "not quite what we want."
'Circles within circles'
Smyth was able to create "circles within circles" at Winchester too, with boys desperate to be part of his chosen group. It was only a suicide attempt that eventually forced Smyth to break away from what he had been doing to boys in England – only to continue abroad. Eventually this led to the death of one boy in his care, Guide Nyachuru. Originally this was presented to the family as an accidental drowning by Smyth. Yet the family learn during this documentary that Nyachuru was in fact a strong swimmer.
Author and theologian
Andrew Graystone appears in the documentary, as the man brought in to help The Titus Trust, who eventually became aware of an abuse allegation against Smyth. Graystone suggested that further investigation into the abuse allegations was needed. When his advice was subsequently not followed, he was left holding a dossier into the abuse – which he then handed to journalist Cathy Newman.
In defence of what he described on The Sacred podcast this week as what could have been seen as a "professional and personal betrayal," Graystone declared "the Christian gospel is justice or it is nothing." Justice lies at the heart of Cathy Newman’s motivations too. The daughter of a churchwarden, she grew up singing in church choirs (as Graystone also did). She sees it as her call to fight injustice – and, of Channel 4, to give a voice to the voiceless.
And some of the voices unheard until now in the Smyth saga have been that of the Smyth family, of his wife and children. Now we have heard them. They talk of a household where they felt "dread." Peter John (PJ), Smyth’s son, is seen by his sisters as the "golden boy" but talks of how his father made dishonour an existential issue; "dishonouring him was like dishonouring God and you would die young."
Bars on windows
And when PJ was later diagnosed with cancer, his father told him he would only recover if he repented and began to honour his parents. Smyth’s daughters speak of wanting to hide even when small, of being told that girls should not be a distraction, and of bars being placed on their bedroom windows. They tried "not to be seen or heard by Dad." They are now aware that they were used as leverage by their father. Peter John now believes he was a shed victim himself, between the age of 7 and 11 years old. His repressed memories came back after reading about the shed beatings of others. He was, he says, "broken to his dad’s will … the epitome of loyalty."
One question the now-adult children ask is where their mother was in all this. After the graphic description of the beatings and the blood, the supposed care which became manipulation, and the sheer brutality and sadism, it is hard not to ask this question.
Anne herself, Smyth’s wife, seen with a fixed smile when Newman doorsteps herself and her husband with the abuse allegations in 2017, does now appear on camera. She talks of Smyth feeling like two or more different people. "I just did what was asked for," she says sadly. "I practised too often not facing up to things that were wrong, and so I began not to see things as wrongly as they really were," she added.
'Perfect Christian wife'
She now feels ashamed that she wasn’t able to do more, and apologises to her husband’s victims, saying she feels "desperately sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to him, just to say to him ‘why don’t you just stop all this?'" Distressingly, her daughter Fiona comments that her mum was her dad’s first victim, but adds "my mum was the perfect Christian wife, because she never stood up to him." Yet there is no blame here, only forgiveness. Mark Stibbe says, movingly: "I haven’t heard any of the victims say they blame Anne Smyth for what happened. I fully and unconditionally forgive her … I saw what somebody had the power to do through coercion and control to even the best souls."
There is so much about the Smyth case to find distressing. Each story shared by every victim is horrendous. The sheer scale of the abuse - in England, in Zimbabwe, in South Africa - is almost unbelievable. All facilitated by good people who said nothing. Everyone from Smyth’s wife to the then Archbishop of Canterbury is left desperately sorry they didn’t do more. Smyth had stressed the importance of secrecy - "it was between us and God" - which sadly suited those who so wanted to believe in the good, whether it was good in Smyth, or good in the Iwerne camps.
Everything to do with the Smyth abuse continues to be stomach-churning stuff, but the bravery and dignity of the men he abused that we see here does show us that there is so much good in humanity, even when beaten and broken. Their eloquence as they articulate their experiences and feelings about such devastating trauma is incredible. I confess I had thought there could not be more to be brought out into the open around this case. I was wrong. There is much more to reflect on in these two hours, presented in a very different way from previous communications, and a year later.
These videos will probably make you weep, make you angry, but most of all make you think. They will likely be impossible to unsee, or unhear. And perhaps that is just as it should be.
Help and support
If you are affected by any of the issues raised in this story, help is available via: FearFree Support (www.fearfree.org.uk); the Safe Spaces helpline on 0300 303 1056 / safespacesenglandandwales.org.uk; The Samaritans helpline - 116 123; The National Association for People Abused in Childhood napac.org.uk.Rebecca Chapman is a freelance writer and journalist.
This article was first published in Evangelicals Now and is printed here with permission.
