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In 1975 Anthony Daly left his home in Northern Ireland hoping to escape The Troubles.

He was naive but excited about being in London but after six days in the city he was swindled out of his rent money and began to get scared.

So when two wealthy and well spoken men offered to help him he was relieved he'd finally found some kind faces to help him.

While his new friends, known to him as 'Charles' and 'Keith', had been drinking all night he'd stuck to cola. Sadly not everything was as it seemed and his life was about to change forever. As he puts it 'I was like an unsuspecting lamb to the slaughter'.

Buy the book here: Playland by Anthony Daly, published by Mirror Books

Chapter Five, Playland, Secrets of a Forgotten Scandal by Anthony Daly - Halter Breaking

Huddled in the taxi between two men I’d only known for a couple of hours, I sat silently looking out at the black, wet shiny night before I felt my eyes closing and sleep start to creep up on me. I could hear the occasional muffled conversation between Charles and Keith. Then the taxi came to a halt and I was gently tapped on the cheek.

“We’re here,” I heard one of them say. I rubbed me eyes, stepped out of the taxi and gave an involuntary shiver as the cold air filled my lungs.

The address seemed familiar, almost reassuring. I was taken into a wide hall, up the stairs and into an enormous drawing room. Although large, the room had a warm cosy feel to it. A few tall gold-columned lamp stands with dark shades were strategically placed on tables around the room. The light reflecting off the yellow-coloured walls was comforting and the walls featured paintings and old framed prints of flowers and shrubs.

My coat was taken and I was invited to sit on a settee upholstered in creammaterial. Almost immediately a bottle of red wine was produced. Charles poured and despite my protests the glass was filled to the top. He sat beside me, raised his glass and said, “One for the road.” I was tired and any notion of drinking more had left me.

(Image: Collects from Anthony Daly)

The effort of even having to make conversation seemed too much and I was starting to regret that I’d come back with them. I just wanted to borrow the money and get a taxi home. “Cheers.” Glasses were raised.

Keith became very animated and started to engage in playful banter with Charles,trying to provoke a response to his criticisms about football teams, fellow business associates, the state of the economy and political parties. It became clear that Keith was a Labour supporter, whilst not surprisingly Charles was a Conservative. The debates had more volume than substance, as if the intention was to keep me awake rather than score any points over a particular argument. When I had drunk half of theglass, Charles was there with the bottle topping it up again. I pleaded with him not to give me any more.

“Nonsense,” he replied. “I wish to belatedly toast your birthday and success in your new job. Every success and good fortune, Mr Daly.” Glasses were raised again and more wine was consumed. Charles loosened his tie and opened the top couple of buttons on his waistcoat. He sat his glass on a table and threw himself back and deep into the settee.

“So, Anthony, tell me what your are plans for the future. What do you hope to achieve in this great city of ours?” He was starting to sound drunk.

I told him of my plans to learn as much as I could about the antiquarian book trade in Foyles and of my dream, one day, of opening my own little bookshop here inLondon.

“I have to tell you,” Charles said, “that I am very good friends with a man who works in bookselling. I must introduce you, although he just sells the usual predictable rubbish, best sellers, magazines, newspapers and the like.”“Does he own a shop?” I asked, now becoming more alert and feeling less tired by the prospect of making another valuable contact in the book trade.

“Not really. He’s involved in running a chain of bookshops. He’s in charge of all the buying.”Keith stood up and drained his glass. “All right, enough of this poncey bookselling business. The only books I’m interested in are books that involve betting,gambling, the horses and the dogs.”Charles also stood up. “Nature calls.” He gracefully bowed out of the room withan exaggerated wave of his arm.

Keith started asking me about my family again, what my parents did, how many brothers and sisters I had, covering much of the ground we’d already discussed at therestaurant. I wondered if he was so drunk he couldn’t remember what I’d already toldhim. Charles soon came back with small glasses of port on a silver tray.

“You really must try this, Anthony.”“No thanks, really, Charles. I’ve had enough. It’s time I was going.”I drank down the last of my wine, shuffled to the edge of the seat and sat my glass on the table with an air of finality. I looked around to see where my coat had beenleft. Keith had taken a glass of port from Charles.

“F**k, this is good stuff, Charles. Very nice.”“Nothing but the best,” Charles laughed, and insisted I try the port.

“Okay,” I said, “then I really need to go.”“Absolutely, old boy.”. Charles eased himself down beside me. “Well, what do you think?”“It’s very strong but nice,” I said taking little sips. I’d never tasted port before. Isat back in the settee again, resigned to the fact that I’d need to stay a little longer. All I wanted was to get the money, sort out how I’d repay it and leave, but I couldn’t be pushy about it. I was at his mercy.

I noticed a few large books sitting on a table between the windows. I walked overand started looking through them. If I could move around a little maybe they’d get the message that I really wanted to go. The books were large pictorial volumes aboutgardening.

“Do you do much gardening, Charles?” I asked.

He shook his head and laughed. “As little as possible.”Keith joined in the laughter. “When he’s in the country, Charles just wants to ridethings and shoot things. Come to think of it, that’s all he wants to do in London, too.”They both laughed loudly and fell back in their seats.

Buy the story in full here: Playland by Anthony Daly, published by Mirror Books

I sat on the edge of the table and leafed through the books, pretending to beinterested. I wanted to keep my glass as far away from Charles as possible. The conversation turned to horse racing before finally tapering off into a moment’ssilence. Keith resumed but this time the frivolity had gone.

“That was some f**king mess at Moorgate yesterday. Poor bastards. How the f**k can you drive a train straight into a brick wall? Jesus Christ.”Charles regained his air of superiority, all humour and signs of drunkenness having evaporated from his demeanour.

“The Underground is falling apart just like the rest of the country. The sooner we get a proper government the better.”They then mentioned the killing of the young police officer and discussed the impact the activities of the IRA were having in London. I felt rather uncomfortable. I was mentally and physically exhausted and Northern Ireland was just too heavy a subject to try and discuss at this hour.

I closed the book and had a little trouble adjusting my vision from the dust jacketto the rest of the room. I started to feel a little light-headed. “Are you feeling OK?” Charles asked.

I sat down in the chair next to Keith. “I’m wrecked,” I said. “I really need to be going now. Thanks for helping me out like this. What about the repayment, Charles,what way do you want to work this?”At that moment I was overcome with a wave of nausea. “I’m sorry, I drank toomuch. I’m not feeling very well.”Keith leaned over towards me, “You actually don’t look too well.”He stood up. “I’ll get you a drink of water,” he called back, leaving the room.

I looked at Charles. “I really need to be getting home, Charles, thanks again foreverything.”Charles reached for me as I rose unsteadily to my feet. “Look, why don’t you stay here for the night? We have no shortage of bedrooms. I’ll drive you home first thing in the morning.”I shook my head. “No thanks, I want to go now.”Keith appeared with a glass of water. I drank it down in a couple of gulps. My face felt hot and flushed. I was embarrassed to have gotten into this state but now Ineeded to get out. I spotted my coat over a chair by the door and walked overunsteadily. Charles took the coat from me and held it out for me to put it on.

“Hang on, I’ll phone for a taxi,” Keith said and disappeared again. I looked directly up into Charles’s face. “I’m so sorry about this, I never drink thismuch.”“Don’t be silly,” he replied and put a hand on my shoulder to steady me. “We had a great evening and I really enjoyed your company.”Charles steered me out of the drawing room and along the hall.

“Let’s get you down to the front door for a breath of air, you’ll feel much better. The taxi won’t be long. Oh, and I have the money you need here.”Just as we passed an open door, Charles suddenly turned me at a right angle and pushed me into a dark room. His hands were now gripping my shoulders. Another figure emerged from the darkness and pulled me forward. I was violently flung face down onto a bed.

Charles and Keith flipped me over onto my back. I was slapped hard on the face. I was shocked, stunned, and disorientated, my vision blurred and my head spinning.

My shoes, trousers and underpants were pulled off. I tried to kick out with my legs but I seemed to have lost control of them. I reached out with my arms to try and grab something, someone.

Keith slapped me in the face again and I was tossed over onto my belly. I tried to push myself up but Keith threw himself across my back and pinned me down with his arm and elbow pressing down on my neck.

I felt his breath at my ear. “F**king move and I’ll break your f**king neck, you Irish c**t.”Charles pulled my legs apart and I felt a cold wet stabbing pain as a finger entered me.

“That’s it,” Charles said, “just getting us greased up. Just relax.”I tried to move but realised it was impossible. In one way I’d sobered up, but in another way I felt as if I was detached from reality and was observing and experiencing this from somewhere else. I started to wonder if this was really happening, or if it was a dream, a nightmare. Charles then slowly entered me. I had experienced pain before.

Pain from falls, pain from cuts and bruises, pain from being strapped in school, pain from my childhood beatings. But this pain presented itself in extremes of both physical and mental torture. This was the pain of both the body being violated and the pain of total humiliation that comes with the abject loss ofdignity. An assault on the very soul.

Charles’s movements became faster and faster as he pummelled into me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t believe pain like this, and could barely breathe with the weight of Keith lying across my back. All I could do was endure and wonder how much longer, how much longer.

Keith started licking my neck, my cheek and the inside of my ear. I smelt his aftershave: a concoction of green plants, cedar and moss, but also with a clinical,antiseptic scent that made me feel as if I were being subjected to a medical procedure.

I smelt the alcohol from his breath, felt the stubble on his chin, felt his saliva running down my cheek and over my lips. Charles was vigorously grunting and groaning. He panted breathlessly.

“How are we doing there, Keith? He’s very quiet, is he still breathing?”Keith eased his weight off me a little and positioned his face directly in front of mine, our noses touching. I opened my eyes. They were now the only weapon I had and I willed my eyes to speak for me. I showed him pain and despair, but above allhatred. My visual resistance displeased him. He moved above me again.

“He’s fine, in fact the little bastard’s enjoying it.” Keith then sank his teeth into the back of my shoulder. I screamed. That was the breaking point. The last vestiges of anger and the will to fight left me. My body and my spirit collapsed. They had won. I was theirs. I didn’t care anymore.

The pain of the violence was now matched by the feeling of not caring. From this point nothing mattered, they could do whatever they wanted; they could take all night with me, or they could kill me now. I cried tears of acceptance and submission.

Finally, Charles groaned loudly and I felt his full weight push against me, then tense and finally rest on me. “Oh Jesus,” he whispered. Keith’s face was in front of me again. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth.

I tasted nicotine, but it didn’t matter. Charles collapsed on top of me and now, with the weight of both men on me, I was suffocating, but it didn’t matter. It would all soon be over. At least unlike some of the other pupils in my class in secondary school,the Troubles had not taken me.

Buy the story in full here: Playland by Anthony Daly, published by Mirror Books

I’d survived shootings and bombings; I’d survived Bloody Sunday and lived to see 20. A pity I was now going to die after a week in London. I wondered if all of this was retaliation for the murder of the policeman. Had all this been planned? I had a brief flicker of an image of my mother being told news of my death and that was the thing that hurt the most.

The realisation that I was about to die made me do something unusual. I instinctively reached out and held Charles’shand. Took the hand of my murderer and squeezed it. I needed to hold someone’s hand at the moment of death. Straining my neck, I moved my head and looked at him.

He had a puzzled look on his face. It was then that I passed out. I regained consciousness and opened my eyes for a second and saw darkness.

Then the outlines of bedroom furniture became visible. I closed my eyes again. I was lying on my side in a foetal position. I was completely naked and was not alone.

Charles was lying beside me. He was aware I was awake and positioned himself behind me, putting his hand through my hair. He moved his hand under my arm and across my chest. I felt his breath, then kisses on my neck and down to where Keith had bitten me.

“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered. Then he entered me again. I thought nothing, felt nothing. He raped me again, more gently this time but it was no less a rape than the first vicious assault.

I awoke again in early morning daylight, naked, bedclothes removed, the pain from the shoulder bite stinging. I was lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, aching all over. I felt movement at my feet. Charles, also naked, was kneeling at the foot of the bed. He’d been performing oral sex on me. He held my penis in his hands.

He smiled at me and continued. I could barely raise my shoulders from the bed. My head fell back onto the pillow. The light was hurting my eyes so I let my arm rest over my brow. I was in his bed, tired, weak and in pain. I was broken, my humiliation was complete. He was in complete control of my body.

As if reading my mind, Charles paused and said quietly, “I own you, Anthony, you’re mine.” At that moment in time, he was right. I was helpless and penniless and he was taking ownership of my body in the most intimate way possible. I gripped the headboard behind me and bit my lip. Charles had won. There was nothing more he could take from me – apart from my life.

I shuffled to the shower and washed as best I could. The movement of my arms was restricted by pain and my legs felt as if I had run a marathon. It was as if I’d been in a fight, which of course I had. I put my clothes back on and felt as unclean as before. When I could afford to, I’d burn these clothes.

Charles matter-of-factly called me into the kitchen, where he’d prepared scrambled eggs, tea and toast. I joined him at the table but could barely look at him. I felt ashamed, vulnerable, nervous and angry. There was no sign of Keith. He talked as if nothing had happened. Small talk about the weather. Sunday papers had been delivered and he glanced down at the headlines. Moorgate, the Tibble murder and the forthcoming referendum on whether Britain should remain in the EEC (it had joined in 1973).

I ate in silence, refusing to comment on anything he said. He turned to a back page and chuckled. “Aston Villa won the Football League Cup yesterday.”I could keep silent no longer. “Are you serious?” I asked angrily. He looked a little puzzled.

“How can you talk like that as if nothing happened? Why did you do that to me?” My eyes welled up. Charles sat his cup down. “For Christ’s sake, Anthony, don’t try and be so bloody parochial this morning. You knew exactly what you were coming here for last night.” I was incredulous.

“Jesus Christ,” I said on the verge of tears. “I needed help, you said you would help me.” Charles rolled his eyes as if suffering the tantrums of an ungrateful child.

“You didn’t say you needed help, you said you wanted money. There’s a big difference. Especially when you’re in the Dilly”

“Yes, a loan. I wanted a loan”

“I’ll give you the bloody money. You’ve earned it – no loan, no repayments, it’s all yours.”

He walked out of the kitchen and returned with some notes. He counted out £30 and placed it in front of me.

“There you are, now for Christ’s sake cheer up. You peddle your arse around the Dilly, you allow yourself to be picked up. You score a fine meal from a couple of punters. Don’t act the naive innocent. You knew exactly what you were doing. You get into a car with two strangers, take all the drink you’re offered and then think you can just pretend it’s all a polite social gathering, that you can just get up and leave. Not bloody likely.”

He dabbed his mouth with a napkin and rested his elbows on the table, hands joined under his chin.

I couldn’t believe he was saying those things. Suggesting that I had been out looking for sex. He was completely wrong. How could he think that? I’d been in London six days. I knew nothing about Piccadilly Circus. But I had followed Keith and I did get into that taxi. Was this really all my fault? I hadn’t been thinking straight last night. I remembered feeling nervous but also strangely elated. I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.

(Image: Lorcan Doherty)

“Look, I knew you were a little edgy and uptight, I knew you were over from Ireland, assumed you were a first timer. New to the game.” Something that looked like guilt flashed across Charles’s face for a second. “That’s why I added a little spike to your drinks to lighten you up, relax you.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You drugged me?”

“Yes,” he replied.

“With what?”

“Mandrax, starting with your Coca-Cola in the bar.” He studied the blank look on my face.

“I’m reliably informed it’s a methaqualone-based, sedative-hypnotic drug,” he explained enthusiastically. “Very popular and very cheap. Easier to get than Smarties and when mixed with alcohol,” he smiled, “who knows what can happen?” He frowned a little. “I fear I may have administered something of an overdose last night.

It’s not like I use the stuff myself. Sorry about that. I’m also informed by those who use them that they can increase sexual arousal. They call them randy mandies.” He smiled and winked at me. “Seemed to work this morning.” I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t understand how he could simply have a cup of tea, read the papers and explain the effects of a drug he had administered before raping me.

“Well, you didn’t exactly push me out of bed this morning,” he added defensively.

What world did this man inhabit? I needed to get out of this place now. I collected my coat from the floor of the bedroom and made for the front door.

“Hold on,” Charles called out as he appeared from the kitchen. “I phoned for a car while you were having a shower, it’ll be here in a minute. Please sit down for just one minute. I want to say something and I want you to listen very carefully.” We went to the drawing room and he sat opposite me.

“Anthony, I really enjoyed your company last night. False modesty and gullibility aside, you’re handsome and smart and funny, and obviously very open and honest. Very trusting. Those are nice qualities. I like that. I know some people who would love to meet you. Important people.”

He spoke in a smooth, rich, confident tone. I refused to respond to his oily compliments.

“There’s something different about you, something rather special.” He studied me intently. “Was I your first last night? Was it your first time? I was your first, wasn’t I?” I ignored the questions.

“Look, I know a lot about horses, and I’ve worked with a few stubborn mules in my day. But I break them, train them, breed them. They do what I want them to do in the end. Jump over a fence, trot this way or that way, lie down, get up.” His voice took on a more forceful tone. “I ride them and I make them winners. I turn them into valuable commodities. You, Anthony, are like a young Irish horse. You have greatpotential. I can tell you’re not a one-trick pony.” He rose and joined me on the settee.

“I broke you in last night. But you were asking for it, whether you know it or not.

It may not have been entirely pleasant, but it was necessary. The first hurdle of the race.” I shook my head.

“Not pleasant? Jesus Christ,” I snarled at him. “Were we in the same room, on the same bed? And that other animal bit me, he f**king bit me.”I took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to regain my composure. He placed his hand on my knee.

“You could make a lot of my friends very happy and you would be very well rewarded. You could make more in a night than you make in a week in that bookshop.

The best-paid apprenticeship you’ll ever be offered. And like a prize horse, you will be well groomed and looked after. You will be protected. No one else will ever take advantage of you. You will be in my stable. Safe.”I lifted his hand from my knee and dropped it.

“You’re wrong about me. I’m not that kind of person, and I’m not an animal to betrained. You have completely got the wrong impression of me and if I’ve done anything to give that impression, I am sorry.”A car horn sounded from below. We both stood up. Charles walked around in front of me, blocking the doorway.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Anthony. I work in the insurance industry. When bad things happen I have to pay out a lot of money. Some of my colleagues will not have slept this weekend thinking about what Moorgate will cost them. So, part of myjob is about preventing bad things from happening in the first place.”I wasn’t quite sure what he was getting at. Was this some kind of a threat? Was he trying to convey a warning? From my perspective the bad things had already happened – to me.

“Look, Charles, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this. I don’t want anyone knowing about this, ever.”“Well that’s just the thing you see,” Charles leaned his tall frame against the door.

“Some people, people who are very close to you, might find out about this.”“What are you talking about?” I demanded.

Charles stood aside and waved me through to the hall. “Let me see you down to the car.” We descended the stairs. “Last night when you were well and truly out of it, I took some very revealing, not to say, creative photographs of you. I have to say, you are particularly photogenic.

The close-ups of Keith’s cock in your mouth will be quite breathtaking, as the experience seemed to be for you at the time. Keith is getting an amateur photographer friend of his to develop the pictures this morning.”I stopped in mid-step, suddenly feeling sick to the stomach. “Please don’t do this to me, Charles, I promise I won’t tell a soul about it.

I just want to forget it ever happened. I’ve been through worse during the Troubles and I’ve always just got on with it. Same with this, I’ll forget all about it. I was stupid and drunk. It was just a misunderstanding, it was my own fault and you’ve taught me a lesson.” Outside, a silver Ford Granada was waiting. Charles opened the back door for me to get in.

“Please, Charles,” I pleaded. "It would just be awful,” he said, “a devout Catholic like your mother. Imagine that poor woman getting an envelope addressed to her, opening it, seeing her son doing this. God help her, it would break her heart. She’d never get over some thing like this. Anyway, just think about my offer, and my photographic insurance policy.” He looked at the driver.

“Basil, this young man is going to Kilburn.” He gave a broad smile. “I’ll be in touch. Take care now.” He closed the car door and we drove off. I looked out the back window to see Charles, his arm raised, waving goodbye with the fingers of his hand.

I spent the rest of that Sunday in bed, curled up in a ball, restless, tossing andturning. As much as I tried to put everything to the back of my mind, the events of the previous night replayed themselves over and over again. I felt sick with apprehension, sick from the nervous cramps that gripped my stomach. I’d never felt as miserable or as alone in all my life.

Buy the story in full here: Playland by Anthony Daly, published by Mirror Books

Anthony, now 63, is married with four children and lives and works in Derry, Northern Ireland.

(Image: Collects from Anthony Daly)

This is Anthony Daly's Author's Note for Playland: 'What I wanted to do in this memoir was to recapture some of the conversational smoke from my past; in the encounters I had, the discussions I listened to and the events I witnessed in 1975.

The fact is, storytelling is storytelling and both fictional and non-fictional storytelling use the same sorts of narrative devices: scene, description, exposition, reflection and voice. All literature is shaped by the writers' imagination and consciousness. Although I have created and approximated dialogue that I can't recall word for word, I have tried to capture the emotional truth and the essence of my interactions with people as I remember them; to reveal the honest heart of the story. Writing dialogue served another purpose for me; I wanted to raise the dead, I wanted to hear their voices again.

Buy the story in full here: Playland by Anthony Daly, published by Mirror Books