The ring many years later in the memories of a former Kincora boy

Thank you. Thank you for that,” he said, his big boyish eyes still full of pain.

In 1975, the young army intelligence officer who was now sitting in front of him, old and fat like a pig, had been working undercover and trying to blow the whistle.

They were meeting for the first time at the officer’s house in Belfast, more than 30 years after those events.

“You must be Robert,” said the officer as he opened the door. “I’m Anthony. It’s good to meet you, Robert. Come in, let’s talk.”

“I was reporting all the facts, but I was ordered to stop digging and forget all about it. My fault, Anthony. That’s the thing that still hits me. If I had really pushed it through in 1975 or 1976, you could have been rescued. I’m sorry, Anthony. I didn’t have the strength or the courage to do it.”

That was when Anthony made a big effort to say: “Thank you. Thank you for that.”

It took real effort. He felt completely empty and disillusioned, but he was still able to be civil. He realised that the man in front of him was genuinely sorry.

“I’ve been in a lot of pain for years,” Robert said. “It’s atrocious suffering. I have survivor’s guilt. It’s a calling. I believe it’s a calling. And… I’m not here to think about myself. I find peace in that, you know,” Robert concluded.

“I know,” Anthony added.

They prayed to God together. They both believed in the Almighty.

After the prayer, the journalist who had brought Robert back from the USA to Belfast asked Anthony, “Do you think there are still efforts to cover it up?”

“I do believe so,” Anthony replied flatly, with a faint smile.

For years, Robert had known that when he was a boy he had been paid for sex. It was the only life he knew: a male prostitute.

“Was I a male prostitute?” he said in response to the journalist’s question. “I would put it this way: I didn’t become what they made me into. I had no awareness that I would be that. They shaped me into something dirty. That’s what my life was.”

He had decided to speak out now because the two friends who had been trafficked with him were no longer alive to tell their stories.

“It’s about the voices that no longer have a voice. That’s why I’m here. It’s my spirit that drives me, because we can’t fail on this. We just can’t fail on this. I still hope for justice.”