On the 20th of February 2011 Edward Robert William ‘Eddy’ Spark makes a police statement detailing where he was on the 10th of January 2011, and what he was doing during the day.

This is the first part of his statement.

Eddy says that at 10.00 am he left the house of his mate John Wheeler and walked into town with his mates Kit Mason, Helen Wheeler and Joshua Quinn.

John Wheeler – who coincidentally (or not) has the same surname as the bloke who took and rebuffed Donna Rice’s Triple 0 call for help that day, and is the right age to be the police officer’s son or nephew – doesn’t walk in with his mates.

There’s a good reason for that. I’ll tell you about it in a minute.

So that’s the start of Eddy’s day.

Run of the mill for a local layabout I suspect.

But a few hours of later it all turned to custard when Eddy got trapped in a torrent and had to hang on to a tree until the Swift Water Rescue Team came to save him.

Apparently the Assistant Commissioner of Police had called them, although that is a matter in dispute. We’ll look closer at it later, but for now let’s take a look at the sketch Eddy made and attached to his statement on the 20th of February.

It shows where the mates that he walked into town were at the time that Eddy became stuck to the tree, and it’s bloody accurate too.

Look at the sketch and look at the still shot tof Eddy’s rescue that was filmed by a bystander and posted to YouTube.

Just as Eddy sketched, that’s Helen Wheeler, Kit Mason (whose real name is Kitiara Lee-Anne Mason-Neumann) and Joshua Quinn there at the bus stop.

If you are not sure whether to believe me have a look at the young folk’s Facebook pages and cross-check their pictures.

Kit Mason

Helen Wheeler

Joshua Quinn

That’s them all right.

Edward Spark’s first statement has kicked off with the truth.

Unfortunately you can’t say the same about his second revises, altered, and totally contradictory police statement,

Have you noticed something quite obvious?

Kit Mason, Helen Wheeler and Joshua Quinn – who are there later at the bus stop for all to see – have vanished in this new statement Eddy Spark has made, or been induced to make, to the police.

Now all of a sudden John Wheeler – the bloke who bears the same surname as the copper who ignored Donna Rice’s cry for help, and is the right age to be his son or nephew – goes to town with Eddy.

They drive, not walk; and they leave at 10.30 am rather than 10.00 am as described in Eddy’s first police statement.

There’s a slight problem however.

John Wheeler is appearing in court on that particular day, and is required to be in attendance from 9.00 am.

The matter he is appearing on has resulted in his driver’s licence being suspended, and that day in court he will be disqualified absolutely from driving for three months.

Eddy Spark doesn’t have a driver’s licence.

So who drove?

Why has Eddy Spark in the space of 5 weeks provided two statements that clash so violently in their detail?

Why did Eddy Spark make a second statement at all?

Who cares?

Not Alan MacSporran’s deputy Jeffery Rolls, or ‘super cop’ Mark Ainsworth, or former legal aid hack Cate Holmes, or Elizabeth Wilson QC, or anyone else at the Floods Commission, that’s for sure.

Somehow the Chairman of the Crime and Corruption Committee and his deputy, the Police Medal winning chief investigator for the CCC, the Chief Justice of Queensland, and an eminent QC have all missed the fact that witness Eddy Spark has provided 2 diametrically opposing statements about the same event.

On any rational analysis both statements cannot possibly be true, but no-one utters a word about the glaring anomalies in what Eddy has sworn happened, and after Counsel Assisting the Commissioner gently steers him through what can only be described as a feeble attempt at an examination no-one seeks to ask Spark a single question.

Are the legal eagles all f*cking brain dead morons?

Or is the fix in?

I know which horse I’d back, and its name is not Mistake.

The hot mail is that in the coming days Queensland Police Commissioner Ian Stewart, whose 2 year fixed term contract of employment is not due to expire until the end of October, will be gifted a new long term tenure in office.

Our tip is that Stewart’s reappointment is being fast tracked by the Government so that it can be signed, stamped, sealed and delivered before one or more of the numerous controversies bubbling on the thin blue line boiler explode and burn the Commissioner’s contract to pieces.

Why is the ALP Government so eager to reappoint a deeply unpopular Police Commissioner who has close ties to the LNP?

So close in fact that some in the political game claim that Stewart was sighted delivering lunches to Liberal booths during the 2011 Can Do a Landslide election.

There are some who even say that at one stage the Commissioner was close to and a promoter of Eddie Andrews, the conman whose career as a fraudster and fiend was brought to a screeching halt after our investigative team outed the criminal activities of the man we dubbed Fast Eddie in a series of stories published on this website.

Set that aside though and take a quick sweep of the current police landscape.

What have we got?

Fiddled crime figures.

Flood cover-ups.

Serious assaults on civilians in police stations and on the street.

Near riotous dissent in the ranks

Whacked whistle blowers like Rick Flori.

All this and more, bubbling away like a thermal geyser and ready to blow.

If the Government were serious about stopping crime they’d dead set sack Stewart not reappoint him wouldn’t they?

This is Queensland though, and life’s great in the Sunshine State.

Mate.

So don’t worry sportsfans, she’ll be apples, and if she won’t she’ll be bananas, or mangoes, or pineapples, or rotten stinking eggs or something that turns to slush under a mildly hot glare.

Whatever it is the Commissioner will fix it, and if he can’t he will get one of his underlings to dodge up the figures to make it look like he has.

We’re in safe hands with Stewy steering the good ship Copper.

Don’t you worry about that.

The excerpts published in this story when aggregated form the entirety of full report compiled after a detailed mechanical inspection of Donna Rice’s vehicle conducted by Sergeant Bradley Dieckmann of the Qld Police Vehicle Inspection Unit based in Alderley, Brisbane.

Well kinda detailed. A little bit anyway.

At the time that Sergeant Dieckmann, who is a qualified motor mechanic, inspected the vehicle a minor storm was brewing about the failure of police and emergency services to attend to Donna Rice and her boys who had become trapped in floodwaters at a busy intersection and had been washed away to their deaths.

The ‘elite’ Taskforce Galaxy assembled to investigate the issues had, for reasons known only to those in charge of the task force but suspected by many, predetermined that Donna had driven into flood waters and was publicly intimating that she had been the architect of her own demise and was responsible for her boy Jordan’s death too.

Of course that premise has subsequently been proven to be absolutely and utterly false, but at the time police were desperate to label Donna a dickhead who drove into an inland river of water and promote a premise that there had been nothing police could possibly have done to help someone who was that stupid and reckless that they would endanger the lives of their own children.

Donna’s husband John Tyson and a number of eyewitnesses at the scene were saying that Donna’s car had simply, and terribly unluckily, stalled in the rain at the intersection where it was soon to become trapped. That scenario didn’t fit the false narrative that Taskforce Galaxy had created in order both to conceal the terrible deficiencies in the Triple O emergency call response to the dead woman’s pleas for help, and to cover-up the cowardice of a couple of senior officers who had a lot to lose if the full truth of their movements on the day that Donna and Jordan died was ever made public,

So the white Mercedes Benz in which Donna and Jordan took their last car ride was retrieved from the place it had been washed 400 meters downriver from where it was stopped and towed to a Toowoomba holding yard, and Sergeant Dieckmann was brought up from Brisbane to inspect it.

Oddly, he came at the request of Detective Senior Constable Andrew Lowe, the bloke who we now know jacked up the police statement of 11 year old Blake Rice, the only survivor from the deluged vehicle that day.

First up the Sergeant checked the chassis and noted that the car that had been swept away in a torrent had damage to four doors and a pillar.

Now that’s a surprise isn’t it? Nowhere near as much of a surprise though as what the vehicle inspection expert saw when he looked inside the car though, because the Sergeant observed that it had been extensively flood damaged.

Who would ever have thought hey?

Next he checked the brakes.

Yes the vehicle had some, and they worked. Duh! How could the car have stopped at the red light of they didn’t?

Dieckmann checked the steering wheel.

Yes, it was attached to the drive shaft. How unusual.

He checked the suspension.

Yes it worked too, which is very handy if you hot a bump while driving along the road,  but of no real consequence if your car is up to the roof in fast rising water.

Then he looked at the lights.

The front parking lights and the left headlight still worked, but all the others were rooted as a result of the Merc being tossed around like a rag doll in the raging current. Front page headline there – “Car submerged under ten tonnes of water’s lights don’t work. Premier seeks detailed explanation. Refers matter to a rower at the CCC. Says Chairman McSporran knows all about going to water’.

Dieckmann checked the tyres,

They were all there, but the right front tyre was flat.

The Sergeant didn’t ask himself whether it might have been that way when Donna became stuck at the traffic lights at the entrance to the fatal intersection, or carry out any tests to rule the possibility out. That would require an open mind.

So he simply pumped it back up.

And then Sergeant Dieckmann checked the engine and ran some tests in simulated rain conditions to test whether the vehicle may have stalled when the engine became wet.

Nah, just joking.

He didn’t really check the engine. That would have been too sensible.

Instead he just wrote out his report, without even looking at the big metal bit under the bonnet that powers a vehicle, or not, as the case may be.

The extremely thorough and detailed report declared that Donna’s car had no defects that could have contributed to the cause of the incident.

It was to be expected.

After all it is always the lights, brakes, suspension, tires and chassis that cause a car to stall isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

Isn’t it?

Ah what would I know Neville, I just put my faith in the boys in blue to do what needs to be done. These highly trained and efficient officers know exactly what they are doing.

And therein lies both the puzzle and the solution.

I’ll leave you to work out what they are.

Well, well, well, well, well.

Isn’t this a coincidence?

Vincent O’Dempsey, the long time client of Terry O’Gorman, the voice of civil liberty and public defender of Blake Rice – who he has never actually spoken to, or his father John Tyson for that matter – stands trial in Brisbane’s Supreme Court on Tuesday on a trio of murder charges.

The deceased are a wife and two kids with the surname McCulkin. They vanished off the face of the earth in 1974. A bloke has already been banged up for the murders, presumably for life although he won’t find out the details of his sentence until after the O’Dempsey trial.

Barbara, Vicki and Leanne McCulkin – once there were three and now there are none

Now old Archie maybe as mad as a cut snake – childhood rape and its resulting slow-burn Post Traumatic Stress Disorder tends to do that to a bloke – but he is nowhere near as stupid as the ignorant idiots who discriminate against the disabled may believeor publicly broadcast.

Far from it in fact, because a few days ago when Terry O’Gorman – the long-time legal representative of Vincent O’Dempsey, a career  criminal and major dope grower and distributor who has been funneling money into O’Gorman’s legal firm trust accounts for decades – decided to break his media silence of the past 18 months and hit the press in mock outrage about the treatment of the then 11-year-old Blake Rice when police interviewed him just days after his Mum’s death, your humble correspondent was awake to what he suspected may be the hidden permeations of his noble grand game.

Vincent O’Dempsey – pimp, pot peddler, and accused triple murderer

You see Archie knows that the Crown case against O’Dempsey – a one-time pimp turned drug peddler whose cash used to pay O’Gorman’s legal fees is of the most doubtful provenance, not that Terry worries too much about that –  has almost in its entirety been gleaned from secret ‘star chamber’ interrogations of witnesses conducted behind closed doors by the Crime and Corruption Commission (CCC), and Archie also knows that given the (in my humble opinion wrongful) conviction of O’Dempsey’s co-accused Garry Dubois the only hope that O’Gorman’s aging but still fabulously wealthy client has of walking from the court a free man instead of riding away in the back of a prison van is for the lawyer to discredit, demolish and destroy the evidence elicited by the CCC.

This of course means that Terrence Patrick O’Gorman LLB in the role of legal counsel for his colorful septuagenarian client has a very strong incentive  to keep the CCC sweet.

Similarly the honchos at the CCC, not least among them Alan ‘The Oarsman’ MacSporran, have a pretty strong motive to try to avoid scrutiny over their dodgy as hell dealings with witnesses and evidence in the highly dubious Floods Commission of Inquiry.

I’m sure it’s all apropos of nothing, and sheer fluke that the two events have converged and become proximately linked.

After all, Terry’s a fine and upstanding veteran of the courts who has been an outspoken defender of liberty for decades. His integrity is beyond reproach, and in pointing out the strange twist of fate that has resulted in him having two matters involving the CCC on his hands in a single week I neither seek nor intend to cast any slurs or aspersions on either the man or his character.

Bluey O’Gorman – guarding the Lifeline building to ensure that Damian O’Dempsey and his friend and fellow kiddy-fiddling Christian Brother Kevin Lynch can’t sneak in

I also say unequivocally that the fact that O’Gorman’s brother Bluey was the head of the police union throughout  the 1980’s, when that nice man Sir Terrence Lewis was in charge of the force and Vince was the recipient of a green light from the leader of the Rat Pack Tony Murphy, who was both an Assistant Commissioner of Police and a prominent member of the union executive committee, is neither here nor there and has only been added as a brief history lesson to the bright young things who tend to drolly report on such things as triple murder trials.

And add that the incidental matter of Vincent O’Dempsey’s brother Damian – who ironically goes by the name Brother Damian O’Dempsey, or used to before he was defrocked anyway – being a convicted child sex offender, certified rock spider and serial pedophile who for years worked at the Christian Brothers Gregory Terrace School alongside a devil clothed in teacher’s robes named Kevin John Lynch, and during that period appeared to enjoy the same extraordinary and seemingly inexplicable level of police protection and immunity from prosecution as his mate Kevin did is just that.

Entirely incidental.

Damian O’Dempsey – pervert, pedophile, prick – he ain’t my brother Pope man

I’m just saying that aren’t the webs we weave sometimes so tangled that the mug punter sometimes finds it hard to see. see. see the bottom of the deep black CCC.

That’s all.

CCC you later sportsfans.

But probably not if Vince O’Dempsey sees me first.

Terry O’Gorman visiting his mass murderer client Robert Long, the demon who started the Childers Backpacker blaze and killed a first XV of bright-eyed kids. Archie, who has never hurt a fly let alone kill anyone, is restrained by a strait jacket in hospital’s adjoining wing.

I’ve been walkin’ these streets so long
Singin’ the same old song
I know every crack in these dirty sidewalks of Broadway
Where hustle’s the name of the game
And nice guys get washed away like the snow and the rain
There’s been a load of compromisin’
On the road to my horizon
But I’m gonna be where the lights are shinin’ on me

Poor old Hamilton William Nation Leslie.

All he wanted to do was take a leak.

Instead the “former” schoolmaster – in fact an active teacher at Brisbane’s elite Church of England Grammar School (Churchie) time he was pinched and for three terms that followed, a fact covered up by his Freemason brother and fellow Anglican Judge Vaux Nicholson issuing a name suppression order in Queensland that allowed him to keep teaching for 9 months, much to many little abused boys later chagrin – all he wanted was a to take a leak.

Preferably straddled over a naked young man as he did pulled out the pony and let fly.

He thought he was onto a winner too when young plain clothes Constable Johnny Fulton – who of course Leslie didn’t realise was a copper – approached him outside the well-known 1960’s gay beat of the toilets on the corner of Elizabeth and Eagle Streets (below) and invited him into his car for a ‘cigarette’, which of course is a euphemism for something long and slender, but quite different altogether, if you know what I mean.

It was a classic honey trap, although Leslie didn’t realise it, even after uniformed Detective Lawrie Welldon bowled up and said ‘Oi! What are you pair of poofs up to here?’.

I can just see Fulton playing his role of the effeminate young gay and squealing and flapping his arms about, but Leslie must have just about sh*t his pants, because back in those days it probably wasn’t the the best of looks for a school teacher at an exclusive private boys school to caught in a car with his fly open and a man half his age by his side.

In fact it was downright illegal under the repressive laws of the 1960’s, and in an instant Leslie’s flagpole would have drooped to half-mast as he watched not only his career fly out the window, but a mid-length spell in a jail cell coming straight at him like a freight train, and social ruination for the descendant of one of the founding fathers of the exclusive suburb of Hamilton following soon after.

Leslie must have thought all of his Sundays had come at once when the uniformed copper proved that he was bent by offering him a way out of the god-awful mess he’d created for himself, as Welldon bent down and whispered in his ear that if he reached his pocket and pulled out two fifty dollar bills and slapped them down on the middle console, then he’d close his eyes and count to ten and if when he opened them again Leslie wasn’t there, well the detective would simply assume that he’d been dreaming and that the schoolteacher had never been there at all.

The next day some folk were reporting that they’d seen a speeding bullet hurtling down Eagle Street, and others were saying that they’d seen two coppers, one in plain clothes, the other in uniform, each with a $50 note in their hand, standing under the famous Moreton Bay fig trees that shaded the public toilets and laughing their bloody guts out.

The pair of crooked coppers weren’t laughing for long though, for there was something they didn’t know, but were about to find out in the cruelest of ways.

Commissioner Frank Bischof  (left), Glen Hallahan (center top), Tony Murphy (right)

A couple of far more senior and well connected much more deeply corrupt cops – Commissioner Frank Bischof  (left), Glen Hallahan (center top) and Tony Murphy (right) – had obtained an early model CCTV camera from their Yankee mates in the FBI, and they’d rigged it up to overlook the public toilets and record the comings and goings of the large number of establishment chaps – lawyers, businessmen, bankers, politicians – who had a hankering for a bit of rough trade and liked pulling young lads love sticks while the aroma of piss wafted through the air.

The coppers with the camera were men who weren’t to be trifled with, and these blokes wouldn’t get out of bed for a sh*tty little hundred dollar shakedown. Oh no, blackmail was their game, blackmail power and influence over people who could in the long game make them hundreds of thousands of dollars, and protect them from the possibility of ever going straight to jail, without stopping or collecting $200 from the community chest, if somehow they were collared for their wholesale crimes.

Tony Murphy and Glen Hallahan, the two most feared policeman in the land of Pineapples, were onto a bloody good thing and they weren’t going to let 2 greedy young constable plods stuff it up, especially when the bast*rds didn’t even have the common decency to offer their superiors a slice of the century they’d just scored.

Nup, this sort of thing was not on. Hallahan and Murphy ran crime in this town, not the pair of pissant policeman who’d just pulled the sting on the poofter schoolteacher, and a message had to be sent out loud and clear to any other bugger who thought it would be a lark to tread on the top boy’s toes.

The demonic duo decided that they were going to well and truly f*ck Welldon and Fulton, thus showing any other smart-arse what would happen if you tried to the Rat Pack, and offer Leslie the choice of the money or the concrete box so that they could recoup their losses in the process.

Murphy and Hallahan went to have a little word in Hamilton William Nation Leslie’s ear, and while we can only guess how much they advised him the price was to retain his reputation, his career and his liberty, you can bet your bottom dollar that it had a lot more zeroes on it that the mere ton that Fulton and Welldon had fleeced from the teacher.

That deed done, they then popped over to see their boss – the King of Corruption himself, Commissioner Frank Bischof – to share the love and explain the situation, and the next thing you knew there were squad cars flying all over town looking for the force’s finest f*ck-ups, and before the hour was out Detective Weldon and Constable Fulton found themselves banged up behind bars in Boggo Road charged with extorting the poor innocent school teacher who only wanted a smoke, not the suck and f*ck that the wicked felon Fulton was claiming that the lecherous Leslie had asked him for.

Of course a job worth doing is worth doing well, and the bad boys in blue lined up the perfect judge for the trial job, a bloke named Vaux Nicholson (below) who was not only an Anglican churchgoer who knew Leslie from the Sunday morning service, but was a fellow Freemason brother who’d taken an oath to burn any bugger who hurt his brethren to boot.

Brother Nicholson threw the book at the pair of pocket-picking plods who’d selecred the wrong place, the wrong time and the wrong bloke to pull a shake down on, and then the judge upended his chair and chucked that at them too, and in what old timers still say to this day was the most impressive coup de grace ever seen in the Queensland District Court, old Nicholson grabbed his gavel in a single, swift movement and slam-dunked it on the accused now-former-coppers heads.

They copped five years did our men Welldon and Fulton, and after being labelled a disgrace to the force the honey trappers did their time hard too, for Murphy and Hallahan made arrangements with their ex-copper mates who ran Boggo Road to ensure that their was no protection for this pair who’d tried to cut their lucrative lunch, and no early parole either, not under any bloody circumstances.

Leslie, by now without doubt a lot lighter in the pocket but with a smile across his dial wider than the Brisbane River, received the gift of name suppression, meaning that the case could not be reported in Queensland, and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that a transport glitch meant that the Sydney papers could not be delivered to Brisvegas the next day.

So off he sauntered down the street, and if you ever want to know what the price of police corruption is, then don’t worry about what happened to Fulton and Welldon, because they did the crime, and even if they did get framed like the Mona Lisa by Murphy and Hallahan, well bad eggs need to be thrown out – or in, as the case may be – and rascals simply reap what they sow, which is no good and plenty of it.

No it’s not that pernicious pair who shine a bright light on the evils of corruption among the police force. The real price of corruption is the damaged lives of the three unnamed young boys, now men, written about in the article below.

If the law had been applied fairly and properly in 1968 then Hamilton William Nation Leslie would never have stepped foot in a school yard again, and these young boys would have been spared from the clutch of his kiddy-fiddling paws.

From little corrupt things terrible big things flow.

In one case, the headmaster was condemned for having dismissed a teacher after receiving a complaint of abuse against him, but allowing him to stay on for some weeks till the end of term, so that he could leave without disgrace. Archbishop Aspinall described this as a ‘cover-up’. The truth was that the teacher was the son-in-law of a member of the school council; Charles Elliott was a leading Brisbane stockbroker and a close personal friend of the then Archbishop of Brisbane, Philip Strong. The archbishop was chairman of the school council, and it quickly found a solution to the problem of a potential scandal at the school: the teacher would leave quietly at the end of term and join the Elliott stockbroking firm!

On that evidence, no court would find the headmaster guilty, yet he has been judged solely responsible.

Luck, G. (wizz yours is bad); extracted from the serendipitously titled Built on a Foundation of Lies ; Quadrant 10 April 2017

Geoffrey Luck and his band of merry boys clearly suffer from an incurable case of what old Doc Claxton the SP bookie and some time MD from Geebung used to call old school tie myopia, for they can’t see what is staring the rest of us in the face and stands out like over-sized dogs balls.

Just because a pedophile’s wife’s old man wears a pinstriped suit and walks around all day carrying scrip, and is mates with the Archbishop, doesn’t make it all right to stage the pedophile’s exit over a number of weeks.

The bloke’s a kiddy fiddling creep and criminal who poses a clear and present risk to every boy in the schoolyard 60 seconds a minute, 60 minutes an hour, 24 hours a day, seven days a week , 52 weeks a year, a hundred years every century.

The phrase child protection means actually keeping kids safe from harm. You can’t do that while there is an incorrigible child molesting rapist in children’s midst, no matter who the monster’s daddy in-law may be, He should have been frog-marched to the front gate and hurled head first into the gutter at the shiny-booted feet of waiting police, not politely had his fucked up fetish for pre-pubescent boys hushed up to avoid a whiff of scandal old chap.

These short-sighted, and quite frankly dangerously foolish, wanna be Peter Pan fops defending the bloke that used to cane them on the arse by invoking a circa 18th century-style argument that :It just wouldn’t do to call a pedophile a pervert in polite and well-bred society old chap, and we must think of the great name of the old alma mater” are achieving nothing but making themselves look like the imbeciles who believe that its okay to cover up child abuse that they are.

What’s worse is that they are lying through their bloody teeth.

The sicko that they are sticking up for is a bloke who goes by the quite pompous name of Hamilton William Nation Leslie and was a teacher at Churchie from the start of the 1950’s all the way through to 1968 when the cover-up defended by the octogenarian Luck and his dandy dressing faux latin scholar lawyer mate Tony Morris took place.

Some people might try to tell you that Leslie was at the school for only a few years. Don’t believe them. They are either sadly ignorant and misled, or they’re bloody liars, and it doesn’t matter which because what comes out of the end of the sausage mincer is still the same either way. Complete and utter bullshit.

Just like the story that Luck, Morris et al are attempting to spin you.

Hamilton Leslie didn’t get the bullet from Churchie for touching up the students. You didn’t get the sack for such a trifling misdemeanor as that under the Eton in 1676 replica regime of headmaster Harry Roberts, the bloke that the little old boys seek to posthumously deify.

Oh no, Hammy didn’t deserve or get the sack simply for sucking a little boy’s dick . That silly nonsense can and was on numerous occasions glossed over, and anyway he’d been puting predatory love bites on pre-pubescent students at the school since at least 1961, and so many years on unbridled but-tingling turn ons had passed since Leslie first tickled his fancy and 13 year old boys balls that Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin were soon going to be landing on the Moon.

I wonder if they said g’day to Geoffrey Luck and Tony Morris when they arrived?

No, Hammy did not get handed a post dated pink slip by Roberts because he was a pedophile/=. That story being peddled is deliberately false and absolutely untrue.

The real reason that Hamilton William Nation Leslie was required to leave the exlusive school was because one lunch time in the spring of 1957 he ducked into town for the express purpose of visiting an old public toilet block in Eagle Street, which you would probably think was a decidedly odd thing to do if you didn’t know that the dilapidated old dunnies just so happened to also be a well-known gay pickup beat frequented by young men of the type salivated over by old pervs like Leslie.

He must have been excited too our Hammy for the moment that he arrived he immediately put the hard word on a likely young man to join him in performing a one or two of what were in those dark ages of inequality were  highly illegal homosexual sex acts. Unfortunately for Leslie though the young hottie he was keen to dance the reverse polka with turned out to be an undercover copper, and before he could even get his dick out the schoolteacher had been pinched for soliciting another to engage in acts of indecency.

Even more unfortunately for the undercover copper and his mate, who was waiting in a nearby parked car, the inexperienced offer put the hard word back on Hammy, but rather than asking the stockbroker’s son-in-law to suck him off, the police officer took advantage of the highly embarrassed degree-wielding deviant’s vulnerable state and hit him up for a cash bribe of a hundred bucks.

Hamilton William Nation Leslie paid it too, but he obviously whinged about it at the kiddy fiddlers club’s weekly meeting of the ring, and then word got back to the pedophile crowd’s Rat Pack police protectors and all hell rained down on the plain clothes pricks who’d tried to pick corrupt police officers Tony Murphy and Terry Lewis’ pockets by muscling in on the highly lucrative well oiled extortion and bribery racket they called The Joke.

It was a bad move by the cocky and clearly crooked young coppers, and Murphy and Lewis threw the charge book at them, and then arranged for them to appear before an onside judge who loved nothing better than his own monthly slice of the back handed cash, and was really annoyed at these c*nts of constables who had tried to relieve him of his rightful share of the payola.

So annoyed in fact that he smashed them with a sledgehammer wrapped in the sentencing book and sent the sinners off for a 5 year stint breaking rocks in Boggo Road. That’d bloody teach them wouldn’t it?

Sadly though the highly public lesson Murphy and Lewis taught the hundred buck scamming pair and everyone else who might have had a stray thought or two about pulling their own stooges meant that Mr Leslie the schoolteacher from East Brisbane couldn’t have his charge sheet ignited with a match and thrown to the wind as he would in regular circumstances upon receipt by the Rat Pack representatives of an appropriate sized was of untraceable used bank notes in small denominations.

They’d charged their capricious young colleagues, so they had to charge Hamilton William Nation Leslie too, and although an arrangement was reached with all concerned whereby his judicial sanction was certain to be a slap over his limp wrist with a wet bus ticket, it was the shared view that sadly there was no way they could safely pull any sort of swifty that would save the lust-driven school master with the bad judgement’s job.

An accommodation was however reached between the parties, and while the amount of untraceable cash in used bank notes in small denominations that changed hands is unknown, what is a matter of public record is that the soon to be ex-schoolmaster’s case was cleverly and deliberately delayed for 10 months, and thus Leslie was free to continue working at Churchie for the next three terms unhindered by anything than his own unhinged and deeply deviant sexual desires, and so it wasn’t until the mid-winter July break in the next school year of 1968 that Hammy toddled off to Daddy in-law’s firm so under the totally ingenuous pretext of career-shifting to become a bonds broker at the top end of town.

Former school master Leslie actually never quite made it to Queen Street – he probably got side tracked at the Eagle Street toilets – and ended up as a shopkeeper in New Farm, but that’s a yarn we’ll tell another day.

The story here is that Geoffrey Luck and Tony Morris are a nothing more than a pair of emotionally underdeveloped bullshit artists who are selling you hot air and trying to send you and the truth off and out of sight down the river.

The worst of it though is that they tried to pull their craven three coconut trick right under the watchful of your humble correspondent – moi – and for some absurd reason thought that by baffle and bluff and bogus claims of court record research thought that they’d get away with it.

There’s just no accounting for some wrinkled little boater wearing bovver boys who wuv Mr Woberts stupidity is there?

A word of advice for next time old chaps.

Pull the other one.It jingles.

That’ll be a hundred bucks thanks fellas.

Now I must dash and vault up and on eagle’s wing, dashed ding-dong schoolbell’s about to ring.

Two last words of advice before I leap onto the flappers of the magnificent winged beast and soar back to the glory days of my beloved school years past.

And avoid Eagle Street like the plague.

Harry can’t hush things up for you there.

arhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Az_GCJnXAI0

Geoffrey Luck, retired ABC journalist turned defender of dead pedophile protectors, commenting [posted this evening in response to our story about his school headmaster’s cover-up of the crimes of pedophile Churchie teacher Hamilton William Nation Leslie:

Bravo Archie/Brendan! A brilliant piece, well up to the quality of reporting by your mates Matt Condon and Mike McKenna. It’s what happens when you’re all fed by Amanda Gearing.

Pity about the facts tho’. Hamilton Leslie was dismissed from Churchie in the second term, 1964. Your two standover coppers, Lawrence Welldon and John Fulton were sentenced on July 25.1968 for their attempt to shake down Leslie on September 6. 1967. That was three, yes THREE years after he left Churchie. By then he had spent 18 months as a stockbroker clerk, then opened his arcade trinket shop with his wife.

You reported the Eagle St affair on May 10 last year, as I recall, but you’re always a bit light on with dates. Is that so people can’t catch you out?

BTW neither Tony Morris nor I approved of the abuse, nor excused Leslie. We just pointed out that Harry Roberts wasn’t responsible for keeping him on, or covering up the event, as Archbishop Aspinall would like everyone to think. It was his predecessor, Archbishop Strong and his school council who protected Leslie. Get with it Brendan!

What is it with these people like Geoffrey Luck who delude themselves that they are clever when, with a smirk on theirs stupid mugs, they insist on calling you by the long-renounced name you bore at the time you were raped as a thirteen year old child?

Do people like Mr Luck not realise that your birth name is no secret and never has been, or that you legally changed it – with your Mum’s blessing by the way – as a symbol of your determination to wash away the filth of the criminal child-abusing psychopath(s) who without a thought for anything in the world other than their deviant sexual desires violated your lithe, smooth hairless boy’s body, and in the process damn near ruined your life?

A fool named Ernie Terrell – whose sister was Jean was the lead singer of The Supremes, apropos of nothing – once refused to refer to Muhammed Ali by anything other than his despised former slave name Cassius Clay.

An incensed Ali declared that Terrell was nothing but “an Uncle Tom nigger who is going to get his ass whupped”, Tand being a man who prided himself on making promises not threats Ali was true to his word, extracting a terrible toll from Terrell for his intransigence when The Greatest beat him to an absolute pulp during their 1967 heavyweight title bout, screaming ‘What’s my name sucker? Say my name!’ during every bone-shaking furious fistilistic flurry he launched.

Ernie Terrell never called the champion Cassius again.

I grew up in Geebung and we were taught on our father’s knee not to land right crosses on the craniums of geriatric geezers or laywers – in the latter case at least not when they are looking and can easily ID you –  so he Ali strategy for dealing with dickhead recalcitrant’s is not available to me when during my deliberations on what to about Geoffrey and his old school tie loving mate Tony Faciem durum cacantis habes Morris.

The pen’s mightier than the sword anyway, or at least those who haven’t gone 15 rounds with Ali say, and I can wield a pen as well as most punters with a rape-interrupted grade 12 education, so the pen it must be and the pen it is.

Geoffrey, you’re a bumbling fool and an idiot. It was just a school, not the Garden of Eden, and Harry Roberts was simply your head school master, he wasn’t your Dad.

The simple fact is that he made an informed election to personally employ and protected later protect pedophiles in preference to keeping the little you and your equally little schoolmates past, present and future safe from harm, and if his decision to elevate the dark desires of deviants above the imperative to protect infants in his scale of priorities has in the fulness of time become his legacy then all I can say is that he did it to himself and that he damn well deserves the opprobrium too.

Henry Emmanuel Roberts was no hero; he was merely a harbinger of pain, a man  who who promised to turn the lads entrusted to his care into the leaders of tomorrow, but instead allowed depraved monsters to imprint ‘”Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate” – abandon hope all ye who enter here – upon the bright young boys souls.

Reflecting by reference to my first-hand experience on the carnage caused by poorly-evolved predators, I have long argued that those who knowingly permit pedophiles to perpetrate their their criminal acts are equally as evil as the once-trusted Pans themselves. Perhaps worse even, for the child molester is an inherently deviant deceiver who carries inside an illness that no expert can cure; what then are the Harry Roberts, Max Howells and the Gilbert Case’s of the world, the men with knowledge of the indecencies that their kiddy-fiddling friends are committing against hitherto carefree young boys, but do nothing to act?

Try as I might I simply cannot find a word or phrase to adequately describe the gravity of their seemingly guiltless ambivalence to their publicly professed God-fearing hatred of sin, or the cavernous depths of their betrayal.

So, lost for words, I simply expose them by striving assiduously to deconstruct the vault like walls of deception, lies and deceit that they and their fellow travelers have for reasons known only to them constructed and, flying in the face of all the available evidence, they continue to maintain, thus demonstrating that the walls of deception are but hollow shells built by even hollower men.

It’s the year 2017.

The time for lies has come to an end.

Anyone who has listened to seemingly never-ending torrent of horror stories told by child rape victims at the Royal Commission must demand that the time of tolerance for the deceptions of loquacious liar by decent society has come to an end too.

The blinds are slowly being drawn down on the despoiled lives of so many boys whose psycho-sexual schoolmasters all those years ago taught to abandon hope. We owe it to them to rage against the dying of their light, to unveil the truth of the terrible deeds that were perpetrated upon them while men they trusted to save them simply turned and looked the other way, to put an end to all the lies.

Hamilton William Nation Leslie was a parasitic pedophile who lived for 81 years before  his brutal sexual misconduct toward boys was uncovered and he was forced by a court of law to confront the indisputable terrible truth about what he had done.

Henry Emmanual Roberts was his employer and his friend, the headmaster of an elite private boys school who did absolutely nothing to prevent Leslie forcing young men to fornicate with him, and then created a fallacious stockbroking fantasy to conceal what the hideous creature cavorting in his house was and had done.

Roberts lived a long and presumably happy life, and went to his grave without ever being called to account for his actions, or his criminal neglect of the children so trustingly placed into his care.

Dead men can’t sue, it is true.

They can’t be prosecuted either, or pay a requisite price for the devastation that they have wreaked.

The only place they can be tried beyond the grave is in the court of public opinion, and in that great old age forum of free speech there is no amount of tautological twisting and turning of yesteryear’s laws can ever hide what good people know innately to be the immutable truth of the words that Saint Matthew expressed two millennia ago in the famous book upon which the foundations of Churchie are proclaimed to have been built.

But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and [that] he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

The pedophile Hamilton Leslie did not leave the employ of the Church of England Grammar School in second term 1964, and I have never been fed by Amanda Gearing, a freelance journalist and conflicted Anglican Church adherent who I took drastic steps 12 months ago to prevent from ever having the ability to contact with me again. Despite my Christian upbringing I wouldn’t piss on Leslie or Gearing if either of them were on fire.

I’m not sure if I’d piss on Geoffrey Luck either, at least not while the man continues to practice his trade as a wholesale pedophile apologist and twister of hard truths.

I told you yesterday the true story of how the Churchie headmaster Harry Roberts covered up for the child abusing criminal Leslie for years, and how he allowed the miserable excuse for a man 9 months grace to pack his port after the actions of corrupt police officers forced him unwillingly to tell his colleague and friend that the full-time hooter had sounded on his kiddy fiddling career at Churchie.

As always, I have backed my claims with hard evidence and continue to do so – see the electoral records from 1968 below, and tell me if you see the word ‘Stockbroker’ next to Hamilton William ‘Abomi’ Nation Leslie’s name, because I see another word starting with ‘S’ there and it doesn’t say Sicko, even though it should.

Geoffrey Luck has accused me of being a liar.

But I can assure you all sportsfans that there’s only one pair of liars dancing this particular Tango of deceit, and neither of the pricks is me.

It’s funny isn’t it how Luck and Morris – the blowhard double team who claim to have conducted exhaustive research into the affairs of men and boys at their beloved old school, and the actions or inactions of head masters (space in between intended) in response –  have blown a blizzard’s worth of hot air in defence of their Heracles of a one time headmaster Harry Roberts and made a frenzy of furious claims about alleged facts relating to the matter, but somewhat more than oddly the pair have failed to place a single document in the public arena to prove that any of their assertions are in fact true.

What do you reckon we call that fellas?

A denial of justice? Or a straw house built on a foundation of lies?

Over to you Tony and Geoffrey.

Show us what you’ve got, or shut the f*ck up.

The balls in the Churchie deviant-defenders court.

I guess the balls always have been.

Editor’s postscript:

Hercules – real name Heracles – liked young boys heads too, and didn’t mind knocking a few of them off just for fun. In fact he once got so carried away with himself that he actually killed three young lads entrusted to his care.

The dead kids names were Therimachus, Deicoon, and Creontiades, which is tragic but also kind of ironic when you slightly mispronounce  the names in modern English – ‘There I Make Arse’, ‘The Con’, and ‘Cretinish Aides’. 

Hercules pleaded insanity and copped a not guilty verdict from the mislead jury. It’s not known if the deceased boys attended Churchie, or whether Tony Morris was the Queer Customer who represented the kid killer at the trial.

Later down the track the Gods granted Hercules the gift of eternal youth.

Geoffrey Luck and Tony Morris are still searching for it.

And the mercy seat is smokin’
And I think my head is melting
And in a way that’s helping
To be done with all this twistin’ of the truth
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And, anyway, I told the truth
But I’m afraid I told a lie

Nick Cave, The Mercy Seat

Kevin John Lynch is indisputably one of the greatest perverts and serial pedophiles Australia has ever known.

Whilst employed as a school teacher and student counselor between 1973 and 1988 at the prestigious Brisbane Boys Grammar School, and then from 1989 – 1997 as a student counselor at St Paul’s School, an Anglican Church run institution on the city’s north, Lynch raped and molested literally hundreds of boys. The abuse included such as horrors as inserting needles in a young teenage boy’s genitalia, drugging and anally penetrating dozens of victims, and forcing boys to perform oral sex on him and then ejaculating in their face or on their bodies.

There is strong evidence to suggest that Lynch was a member of a global child sex ring whose members perpetrated vile crimes against boys in Australia, England and South East Asia. Based on documents tendered to the Child Abuse Royal Commission it appears almost certain that Lynch filmed himself performing criminal sex acts on child victims that he had drugged or hypnotised, and there is widespread suspicion among child abuse investigators that he sold, traded or swapped these recordings to fellow pedophiles in the UK, Europe and the USA.

It seems beyond doubt that Lynch received high-level protection from Queensland Police for decades while committing his evil deeds. In 1996 the pedophile was recorded on a covert police surveillance device worn by one of his victims telling the now teenage boy that he had a close friend who was an Assistant Commissioner of the Queensland Police Force, and that this friend would protect he and his associates and had regularly perverting the course by arranging the alteration of prosecution evidence, the concealment of police records, the withdrawal of charges, harassing potential complainants, and in one case effecting a faux arrest and interrogation of 2 young drug users that Lynch had spent the night with in a Spring Hill unit and with whom he had engaged in non-consensual homosexual sex.

Gregory Lance Early, long-time neighbour and friend of Kevin John Lynch, former Assistant Commissioner of Queensland Police, personal assistant to corrupt top Terry Lewis, and alleged protector of organised pedophile rings. Pictured here with current and soon to be reappointed Queensland Police Commissioner Ian Stewart, who has failed utterly to launch an investigation into the claims of serious criminal conduct leveled against Early by his close friend Lynch and captured on a covert police recording.

At the time that Lynch made this claims captured on the covert surveillance recording it is known that he was particularly close friends with his neighbor of more than two decades, a man named Gregory Lance Early, and that their friendship had endured after Lynch had left the family home in the late 1980’s and moved to he unit in which the recordings were later made.

Gregory Lance Early was the Assistant Commissioner of Queensland Police. Prior to his promotion to that position Early had been the personal assistant to disgraced corrupt Police Commissioner Terrence Murray Lewis, who was jailed after being found guilty of charges asserting that he was a senior member of an organised criminal gang that had been operating within the police force since the early 1950’s and had extorted millions of dollars in bribes from criminals in exchange for police protection.

Despite the covert recordings detailing the serious and credible assertions made by the known serial pedophile about senior level police protection of pedophile groups being held by police for two decades and tendered in 2015 to the Child Abuse Royal Commission, none of the Queensland Police Service, the State’s Crime and Corruption Commission, the State Government or the Royal Commission have ever conducted inquiries into Lynch’s claims.

Despite the harrowing testimonies given by scores of witnesses during the Commission’s Case Study 34 that purported to examine in detail Lynch’s crimes, and revelations that a suspected 20 victims had taken their own lives subsequent to being abused by the pedophile school counselor, the shocking allegations Lynch made about police protecting he and other predators so that could continue to prey upon children failed to merit a single mention in the Case Study 34 report recently released by the Commission.

Now, after months of research by victims, we can exclusively reveal that shocking new evidence about Lynch’s pedophile past has emerged.

The document below is the resume of Kevin Lynch tendered into evidence during Case Study 34 of the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sexual Abuse.

From 1953-54 Lynch studied Education at a Sydney Teacher’s college, and in 1955 was appointed to a teaching tole in the NSW State education system. He held the role for just 2 years before leaving his employment with the State Education Department and taking up a role as a low-level customs clerk for three years between 1957 and 1960 before returning to a teaching role in 1961 when he commenced employment at Wollongong’s Edmund Rice College.

It seemed highly unusual that a recently qualified teacher climbing the service-based salary scales and enjoying the generous employment conditions provided in the government education sector, including 10 weeks annual leave per year, would give it all away to take up a low paid role with minimal benefits in the private transport sector, and on any reasonable assessment the issue warranted a thorough investigation by the Royal Commission.

The Senior Counsel Assisting the Commission, a highly trained and experienced rising star of the legal profession named David Lloyd, failed to identify this glaring anomaly in Kevin Lynch’s CV, and as a result did not order the well-resourced research staff of the Commission to undertake further inquiries, and did not probe the issue in any more than a superficial manner in his extensive examinations of the Lynch related witnesses.

Lloyd’s omission was a most serious error of judgement that some are quietly alleging was major professional negligence by the experienced Senior Counsel, and those privy to the information we are about to reveal are about to begin a campaign for the reopening of Case Study 34 that is destined to gather widespread support among victims and their families across the wide brown land.

This notice published in the Sydney Morning Herald on Friday the 14th of March 1958 is the reason why.

Kevin John Lynch was already a known pedophile long before he came to Queensland to attack hundreds of boys and ruin – and in many tragic cases, end – their lives.

Lynch had been summarily dismissed from his employment as a teacher by the NSW Education Department after allegations of indecent behaviour he displayed toward young students had been made and substantiated a clear decade before he commenced his first known teaching role at Brisbane’s St Joseph’s College Gregory Terrace.

And the school that he worked at, the State Government of NSW and almost certainly his later employers the Catholic Church in Queensland and NSW knew it.

Lynch’s friends and later employers Gilbert Case and David Howell almost certainly knew it, and his long-standing friend and next door neighbour Assistant Commissioner Gregory Lance Early is highly likely to have known it too.

Yet none of these people were ever asked a single question by the highly paid lawyers of the Royal Commission about their knowledge of Lynch’s past teaching career, or the reason that he left his State Education Department employment in 1956.

Their failure is in equal parts a travesty and an absolute scandal.

Lynch should never have been allowed to teach again.

He most certainly should not have been registered to teach in Queensland.

All these hundred of children should never have been sexually attacked by the pedophile in the sanctity and presumed safety of their school yard.

Scores of young lives should never have been destroyed.

The 12 names on plaques in the garden of the recently commissioned sorry space at St Paul’s School should be attached to a dozen Australian men now in their thirties and forties enjoying the prime of their lives in successful careers and watching their children grow, not affixed to a stone block wall while the owners of the names lie buried in bitterly cold graves and their parents break down crying every day at dawn.

They all should have been protected. We all should have been protected.

Kevin Lynch should never have been employed at Grammar or St Paul’s at all.

The Teacher’s Registration Boards in two States have failed us.

The States of Queensland and NSW have appallingly let us down.

The Catholic Church has betrayed us.

The school boards of Grammar and St Paul’s carry blame, and the Anglican Diocese of Brisbane too.

The Queensland Police Service cannot be trusted to protect us from pedophiles.

The Royal Commission is simply a disgrace.

Kevin Lynch was a known pedophile in 1958 and everyone knew it.

Everyone but the Royal Commission that had been constituted and provided with special powers specifically so that they could find out the truth.

It is a tragedy.

A murderous tragedy.

A totally preventable murderous tragedy that cannot be allowed to pass.

We owe it to those dead boys whose names are on those stones in the St Paul’s garden, and to the dead boys from Grammar who don’t have a garden to have their names placed in, to discover the truth.

We owe it to their families and friends.

Most of all though we owe it to our children, and to the future generations of children to follow.

This can never be allowed to happen again; but we need the truth so we can stop it. Our children must be protected.

Something has to be done.

These lost boys can never rest in peace until the full truth about their attacker is known

Yesterday we told you what the Child Abuse Royal Commission couldn’t or wouldn’t.

Kevin John Lynch – the school teacher and student counselor who abused hundreds of young students in his care and is one the most prolific pedophiles in recorded Australian history  – was sacked as a teacher in 1958 for indecent dealing with a student.

Despite his summary dismissal from his employment as a teacher by the NSW Education Department the life-long pervert was able to return to the teaching ranks just a couple of years later when he gained employment at Edmund Rice College in Wollongong NSW.

Edmund Rice College was opened in 1926 and until 1962 was known as the Christian Brothers College (CBC). For the first 36 years of its existence the school was owned by the Catholic Archdiocese of Sydney, but in late 1958 ownership of the land and buildings were gifted by the church to the Congregation of Christian Brothers, who assumed full control of the operations of the school.

From that moment on it is becoming increasingly apparent that mass-scale sexual abuses of children began, and were to continue unchecked or abated for the next 50 years. Stephen Jones, a former student at the school and now a Member of the NSW Parliament, has spoken extensively about the wholesale sexual abuses that occurred at the school during the 1970’s, and late last year in a Parliamentary speech described the school as ‘a dumping ground for sex offenders’, and stating it is known ‘Brothers … were moved from other schools in Sydney after complaints and allegations of child sexual abuse.

Kevin John Lynch, sacked and disgraced teacher, joined the staff of the school just one year after the Christian Brothers assumed ownership and full control.

It is believed that he also became a member of the Congregation of Christian Brothers at this time, however while Lynch’s membership of the order has been widely accepted by the media and by the Child Abuse Royal Commission, no proof has ever been presented of Lynch’s membership of the order, and the revelations of recent days cast doubt upon whether the claims of Lynch to have been a brother are in fact true.

In either event Lynch, like the plethora of his fellow child sex-abusers who taught at the school, willfully elected to ignore the Christian Brothers vow of chastity, just as he and the others failed to follow the order’s mission of educating children, unless of course teaching them the finer art of raping minors was on the school curriculum.

In 1968 Lynch transferred to or was sent by the order to St Joseph’s College Gregory Terrace, a Christian Brothers owned and operated school in Queensland. At the time a number of now known pedophiles were working at the school, including Brother Charles Lorenzo Dillon, who was later to become the deputy headmaster of the school, and Brother Damian O’Dempsey, whose older sibling Vincent O’Dempsey is at this moment seated in the dock of Brisbane’s Supreme Court facing trial on charges of triple murder.

A boy named Matthew ‘Matt’ Foley was a student at St Joseph’s College Gregory Terrace at the same time, and became close to his teacher Kevin Lynch, so close in fact that Foley was in 1997 to give one of the three eulogies at Lynch’s funeral, held after the pedophile committed suicide the same day that he was charged with multiple counts of abuses of students at St Paul’s School.

It is widely believed that Lynch, an active member of the ALP and at one time a member of the party’s Education Policy Committee, had encouraged Foley to join the Labor Party and purse a parliamentary career, just as later in his career he was to encourage a student at St Paul’s School named Steven Miles to do the same. Miles is the present Environment Minister in Queensland’s Labor-led Government.

At the time he gave his glowing eulogy Foley was a member of Queensland Parliament and the opposition shadow Attorney-General. From 1992-1996 Foley had held the ministry of Attorney-General in the ALP government led by Wayne Goss, and resumed the office when Labor regained government in 1998, remaining Attorney-General until 2001. In this role Foley was the Minister responsible for the selecting and appointing new judges, magistrates and other members of the State’s judiciary.

Kevin John Lynch’s summary dismissal from the teaching service was effected by the then NSW Premier Joseph Cahill pursuant to Section 61 (1) of the Public Service Act (NSW) 1902.

The relevant section of that Act is the document reprinted below.

A search conducted of the NSW bankruptcy records reveals no record of any person named Kevin John Lynch or Kevin Lynch being declared bankrupt in the years of either 1957 or 1958.

Kevin John Lynch would go on to perpetrate hundreds of known sexual attacks on Brisbane schoolboys, although the true number of his victims is likely to be in the thousands – many victims remain silent; Lynch was known to troll the Brisbane streets at night seeking homeless youth to feed his depraved lusts; and the monster was a board member of the Endeavour Foundation, giving him unfettered access to victims unable to tell their stories.

The trail of ruin Lynch left behind is a horror story. Broken lives, failed marriages, addictions, sexual dysfunction, insanity, institutionalization –  in some cases for a lifetime –  violence, armed attacks on police officers, the list goes on. At the latest count at least 20 of his victims have taken their own lives, almost certainly and without exception as a consequence of the physical and psychological damage caused by his attacks.

It all could have been prevented. None of the attacks should ever have been allowed to take place. The pedophile should never have been teaching at all.

Kevin John Lynch was dismissed under Section 61(1) of the Public Service Act.

Kevin John Lynch had been convicted of a felony or other infamous offence.

Kevin John Lynch was not a thief. He was a pedophile.

In 1958 Kevin John Lynch had been convicted of an offence against children.

Yet for reasons that I am totally at a loss to explain, until now nobody has ever told you this immutable and utterly soul-destroying truth..

The Royal Commission did not properly examine Lynch’s employment background.

Lynch’s criminal history was never checked.

The Christian Brothers were not called to give evidence about his membership of the Brotherhood, or about his employment with them.

No-one from St Joseph’s College Gregory Terrace, Lynch’s immediate employer before his known abuses commenced at Brisbane Grammar, was called to give evidence.

The Gregory Terrace school was not the subject of a Royal Commission Case Study, despite the fact that at least three, and likely more, pedophiles worked there at the same time as the monster Kevin Lynch.

The Royal Commission has failed us utterly.

Head must roll.

Good Afternoon

This particular post is by legal necessity oblique.

The team who produce this website have no desire or intention to allow the hurt feelings of a civil libertarian to interfere with the conduct of a Supreme Court murder trial.

Should the self-proclaimed libertarians themselves elect to imperil the pursuit of justice by taking ill-guided actions that some, including us, hold are certain to ensure an outcome that is most undesired by all, then that is their decision and the results of their follies are, to employ a colloquial term, on their own heads.

That is all that we can say at this time.

If you wish to gain a deeper understanding of what the hell we are on about, then we suggest that you present yourself at Brisbane’s Supreme Court at 9.45 am tomorrow morning and ask the court staff this question:

‘Hey mate, what court is Archie in? And why the hell is he here?’

Queensland Council for Civil Liberties; Submission to Parliamentary Committee on Human Rights, 16 December 2016

Dear Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, Education Minister Simon Birmingham, 

We the co-signed urge you to implement as soon as possible a national anti-bullying, anti-violence program in schools across Australia that targets bullying in all its forms.

We understand and accept that programs implemented in recent history, such as Safe Schools, have become highly politicised and controversial. We wish not for controversy but for a program with a goal that everyone can agree on: an end to bullying and domestic violence in Australia.

As ambitious a goal that might sound, we believe that it can be achieved by way of a national program which aims to prevent violence and bullying not only in schools, but later on in a child’s adult life…..

Make no mistake of our request: we do not seek a program that seeks approval of the way certain members of our society live. We seek only mutual respect and tolerance.

Make no mistake, we don’t ask Australians to say it’s okay for gay people to enjoy the same approval that straight people receive.

We just don’t want the poofters to be bullied.

You would have to be kidding wouldn’t you?

‘Look Massa, you don’t need to set the sambos free. But please sah, just be civil to dem damn niggers’

That in effect is what this alliance of former soapie stars, second rate singers, reality TV contestants and non-mirth inducing comedians are saying.

Other than the fact that I’m not, and some of you may not be either, what’s wrong with being gay?

Does the way other law-abiding people live their life affect you? Is your lifestyle really in any way damaged by the fact that the loving couple next door may be of the same gender? Is the son or daughter of yours who just may tell you in the morning that they are gay any less of a loved son or daughter, or any less of a person? Should their rights be trampled on but tolerated, or should they be treated just the same as they were the night before the morning that they came out?

How the hell can you have tolerance without equal rights?

What are you really tolerating?

Think about it.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

The Age; Government urged to pay Vasta’s costs; The Age, 15 January 1990 (above)

Mark Dreyfus QC, eminent barrister and former Commonwealth Attorney-General ; Speech to Federal Parliament, 10 September 2012 (below)