After several attempts, and lots of thoughts and uploads I have come to the conclusion that the best place to start my story is with what is thought to be the beginning of the end for me, the most probable cause of my PTSD.

Growing up in Lithgow, NSW, Australia, as a kid there were two annual events a kid could count on for fun, one was the annual show, and the other was the annual "Festival of the Valley" street procession, and as an added bonus on a good year, a circus may even visit the town.

Lithgow is located here in NSW

Back when I was born, winter of 1962, Lithgow was a quiet and safe coal mining town on the western edge of the Blue Mountains, approximately half way between Katoomba to the east and Bathurst to the west. Ten years later in 1972 Lithgow had not changed much. It was still a quiet and safe, and only slightly bigger coal mining town.

It was the kind of country town where everyone knew everyone, where one of any age could walk the street at any time for any distance with complete safety. It was the kind of town where one could basically leave their home wide open whilst on vacation. I am saying it was a safe town to grow up in.

As a child I could get up at sunrise and go outside for a days play and come home at sunset, without my family worrying, and without a care in the world. I could walk, or ride 3km to my best friend Darren's home to play for the day, then ride home.

Looking back in time, for me at least, up until the end of January 1972, Lithgow was a great place to call home

At the end of summer school holidays in Lithgow, school would resume usually on a Tuesday, with the following Friday being a local holiday for the local Lithgow show. This meant that usually the first week back at school was 3 days, although this was also occasionally reduced to 2 days because of the Austalia Day public holiday (January 26) would fall within the week, or if it fell on the Monday of the return week school would resume on the Wednesday.

For a kid in Lithgow, at least when I was growing up there, the show was a big deal. Lot's of noise and thrill rides, the likes of which many of us, including myself, only ever saw once a year. If you glance at the image to the right you will notice a child on a bike, could even be me - but it's not, and another in the background. This was typical in Lithgow, and I would imagine most regional areas in the "good old days", as the show rides were being set up.

After school, kids would grab their bikes, or go for a walk, or leave the swimming pool (located across the road from the showgrounds) and head to the show setup area and try to befriend a showie or two to maybe get a job, or at least known in the hope of perhaps a few "FREE" rides, maybe a job to earn some extra coinage to perhaps get an extra showbag, or maybe just to be inspired by the speed at which these mechanical contraptions were assembled.

In 1972 (the year shown in the image to the right) the "Mexican Hat" was the ferris wheel, to the left of it was the "tilt-a-whirl", to the left of the "tilt-a-whirl" was the "Carousel", and behind but between the "tilt-a-whirl" and the "Carousel" was the "cha-cha" (as shown on my mudmap overlay of "Google Earth" below). 1972 is probably the only year that I am able to accurately remember the positions of at least the last 3 of these items because 1972 is the year that I was lucky enough to get a job with the owner (I believe) of the "tilt-a-whirl" and the "cha-cha".


His name was/is Barney (or Bernie)

Gonks from Australian fairground in 1970s
This image was located via a google search and is believed to be "Public Domain" in nature

My job was to sit at a table that was sloped slightly toward me and covered from table-top to ground with a black satin like cloth. Stacked to the left and to the right on this table were "gonks", similar to those pictured here. In the centre of the table, directly in front of me was standing 2 matchboxes.

I also had a white billiards/pool cue ball. My lap was completely covered by the cloth covering the table in an effort to prevent the cue ball from landing on the ground, as the aim of this game was to stand on the opposite side of the table to me and to place the cue ball on the table before releasing it in an effort to have it roll to me and knock over both the matchboxes on it's way. Definitely not as easy as it sounds.

I guess that this is where the story should really end, I am 10 years old, I have a job at the show and start Friday at 10:00am, pocket money and free rides, I should be the hero!

Sadly, this is only where my story begins ....

Setting up for Lithgow Show in January 1972
Setting up the rides for Lithgow Valley Show in 1972. Image is Copyright © Lithgow Mercury January 1972 and was copied from the webpage http://www.lithgowmercury.com.au/story/3276839/throwback-thursday-janfeb-1972/#slide=4

The big day has arrived, my first ever job and I was excited. Out of bed before my Father has left for work - that was not a normal occurrence.

My Father's final instruction - Make Sure You Get Paid

I have made my way to the Lithgow showgrounds and found "Barney" (or Bernie) without any troubles, almost as if he was waiting for me. The table at which I was to work had been all set up, and I was to get my final instructions. I was so excited, my first job, my first money made on my own!

It doesn't take long, in reality, for excitement to become a real genuine fear

"Barney" (or Bernie), my boss, sat me at the table on the provided chair and proceeded to tell me how the game operated, explaining that the table had a slight slope toward where I was seated, and showed me how to space the matchboxes, and told me that the cue ball/white ball was to be rolled down the slope and had to know over both matchboxes for the player to win a prize.

The next action was for my lap to be covered by the sheet that was covering the table in an effort to make it simpler to prevent the cue ball from rolling off the table, or so I was told. It made sense to me.

What did not make sense was why this man's hand was forcing it's way between my legs, and fondling areas that it just should not have been.

I was so scared - so - why didn't I call for help, or run away you may ask !

I guess one reason was that there was no-one around me at the time to call to for help, but in hindsight, even if there was they would have been sideshow workers and this man was one of the bosses, so help may not have been there from that level.

The man (Barney/Bernie) was so much bigger and stronger than I, so escape may not have exactly been possible.

My Father (he is actually my Dad, not my Father, but you will find more about that on another page) is very money oriented and for me to have returned home without being paid may have been more drama than what was happening was worth.

The reality of this part is quite probably my fear of my employer, both in size and strength, as well as the situation being to me at least, so scary, and so alien.

Lithgow Showground
The above image was taken from an arial map copied from the "Google Earth App" which can be downloaded here. I am of the belief that the base footage I have used for the above mudmap is Public Domain

I completed my job, so scared of what had happened, too scared to run, too scared to stay, too scared of my Dad's reaction if I did not get paid. I honestly did not know what to do, where to go, or how to hide from what had just happened to me.

I cannot remember whether I was to finish at midday or at 1:00pm, but I can remember the fear that was in me as I waited for my "boss" to come to me and to pay me, as I expected the case would be. There were more people around now with the public trickling through as they do early in the day, so I guess I now had an added protection.

This however was not to be the case

My "Boss" did not come to pay me, instead, a man came to take over from me. I can still remember the relief in myself when this occurred. It's over, here is my money and I can go home and cry to my Mum.

My relief was to be extremely brief

I asked my replacement about my pay and was told I would have to go to "Barney's (Bernie's) caravan for it, and then he told me how to get there. Now it was all out panic in my brain.

What was I to do?

Do I go to this man's caravan for my pay, or do I go home without it and cop hell from my Dad for not getting paid?

The bosses caravan

My mind was racing as I walked around the area for what seemed like an eternity before I eventually decided that there were more people around now than before and I would only have to knock, get paid and go, no further contact. If I followed this plan I might be ok, and I would not be in trouble when I got home.

I made my way to the caravan, although I did have some trouble finding it. Once there I knocked lightly on the door. I heard movement but no response, so I left it a while and then knocked again only harder. This time the response was "come in".

Come in was not an option I wanted to use, so I knocked a third time. This time the response was louder, and to a ten year old me, I would assume more threatening. I am assuming more threatening because I can remember the response being louder and crankier but this is one of the very few points that I cannot remember the absolute feeling within me. (I relive this whole experience so often but there are a few feelings that my mind has shut out. I wish it were all of them, but after 40+ years I do not think this will ever be the case).

My first thought was to run away, but that meant a probable smack/belting when I got home for not getting paid. One thing I did know about home life for myself was that my thoughts and my reasoning for anything was never listened to, nor was it respected by my Dad but I still tried hard to make him proud, although I do know now in life that I was, and in many ways still am, trying to do the impossible.

I decided that I only have to open the door and stand in the doorway to get paid, and while ever that was the case I could always run from there, and who knows, maybe I was reading something that wasn't into the earlier events. At least then when I got my belting for failing to get paid, I would know I had tried.

To the left is a map of the inside of Barney's (Bernie's/my boss's) caravan.

I opened the caravan door and stepped into the doorway and stopped. Barney (Bernie) was sitting adjacent to the sink. I told him I was there for my pay. His instruction was for me to go and sit on the end of the bed and that he would be with me in a minute. This was one instruction I was not following, at least at that point I was not following it.

I stood my ground in the doorway, all I wanted was my pay so as to avoid any trouble when I got home from my Dad, and to hopefully, for once, make him proud of me.

Circumstance at this point wiped out my only wish as another I am assuming, permanent worker, came to the door to ask a question of Barney (Bernie) and in doing so pushed me a little further than I had wanted to be inside the van, at which point I was again told to go sit and wait for my pay on the bed. I again didn't follow instructions. As my employer was ending his chat with the second worker he left his table and proceeded toward the door where this other worker was now standing causing me to be pushed a little further into the van. This was not good.

Barney (Bernie) was now standing between me and the door, as he closed the door on completion of his chat with the other, much older than me, worker. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a $5.00 note and placed it on the edge of the sink and told me that was my pay as he continued to back me up toward the bed. I was told "not yet" as I went to grab the note from the sink to leave and then pushed onto the bed.

How do I remember all this?

I don't think a day has passed where I have not had to relive all this in my mind since the event!

Now I was beyond scared, I had no idea what was going to happen to me as this man, my boss, many other peoples' boss stood in front of me looking down on me, reaching again for my crotch, only this time I was able to see he was reaching for his own crotch also. It seemed to take him no time at all to get his dick out and start telling me to put it in my mouth. The more I resisted, the more force was used on me. I was crying as he tried to push himself into my mouth several times before giving up, at least momentarily.

The time of writing between the above paragraph and the below has been about 3 weeks because each time I come back to do it, I am becoming physically ill from the reading to start from where I left off as I did when I first shared the begiining of the end with you.

I was told to remove my pants. I refused, and I refused and I refused until this man decided to do it for himself. I was no match for him size or strength wise. I thought I was going to die. Once my shorts and underpants had been removed his fun started. He again started to fondle me and kept insisting that I play with his dick, that I suck his dick, that I entertain his carnal thoughts. I was scared, in fact I was so scared I couldn't cry out loud, I could only whimper, and put up a minimal fight against this man's desire to do as he wanted with me.

The order of activities might be out, but I am trying to include all that he did as fully as I can in the hope that my ordeal will help others to understand that they are not alone, and because I realise now that I was/am probably not his only victim and if another is to read this I would hope that they would take the time to contact me.

He held my head as he tried to put his penis on my mouth, I say on because everytime I relive this event and see it, I know that it is to big to go in. He was now fully erect. While he was holding my head he was pulling himself and then wiping his dick on my face. He seemed to get sick of that and returned to fondling me while still telling me to touch him. I can remember whimpering and being told to grow up.

He was starting to play with my bum now as well, not quite sure what he was doing with his hand there, but I can guess because it was really starting to hurt. I think he was trying to put his finger/s inside me. The pain started to become intense and only let up when he would grab my hand and place it on his cock. He rolled me onto my side/front at one point and tried to push his penis into me. That really hurt but even with all the force used, it would not go in, I don't think. I could feel something running/dripping around my butt. Until he was done with me and I looked back to where I was I did not know that it was blood.

I have no idea how long this was going on for but it felt like forever before he eventually held his penis to my mouth again finishing himself off with his hand onto my face and into my hair. I can even still remember the smell of it, although describing the smell for me is very hard because I am yet to smell anything even close to it since.

I was now told to get my money and to fuck off, and to keep my mouth shut for my own good.

I did not pick up my $5.00 pay, I just could not get out of there fast enough, the smell, the pain, the fear about what had just happened, and the extreme confusion in my mind. I left the showgrounds crying with my face and hair a mess, blood on the back of my undies, and this horrid smell that I was sure the world could smell on me.

In hindsight, I must have past other people on my exit from the showgrounds, crying, but I can't remember anyone stopping me or asking what was wrong or if I was ok, or the likes - oh well.

On leaving the showgrounds, I walked crying as far as Watsford and Conran Sporting Ovals where weekend adult soccer was played. Once there I had to take a break and lay down on one of the seats. My butt was hurting so much while I was walking, the fore and back movement of my legs was causing great pain, and my hair was feeling all stuck together as was the skin feeling tight on my face. I was able to scratch the tightness off my face, but I could not rid myself of the smell.

Eventually I found the energy to continue home to my parents home, avoiding contact with others as I went. Once there all I wanted to do was cry, which was something that I had been doing most of my walk home.

My Mum asked me how my job had gone, ignoring my crying, as I went to the lounge-room, which at that time in my parents home was just a walk through room that was never really used. My next big event for the day happened when my Dad returned home from work. He wanted to know if I had gotten paid. When I told him no, and tried to explain what had occured he cut me short and proceeded to smack me for failing to get paid. I can still remember the pain of that to, his hand repeatedly striking my already sore bum. His smacking became even more intense when he wanted me to return to the showgrounds and get my money and I refused to. My Dad had no desire to listen to me or to hear why I did not want to return to the showground. We did return to the showgrounds that evening. Dad did not seek out the man who did not pay me, and happily I did not see him there, nor for that matter, have I ever seen him since.

It Seemed To Me That No-Body Cared What Had Happened To Me!

In the coming days, that idea became even more ingrained in my mind as I tried to tell someone what had happened. I didn't know what had really happened to me, I didn't know why it had happened to me, all I knew is that it should not have happened to me and I needed help. I didn't even know what sort of help I needed. I was just so fucked up by what had happened.

During the course of the weekend following that Friday, can't remember if it was Saturday or Sunday anymore, but I did walk myself to the Lithgow Police Station, which in those days was located next door to the Court House on Bridge Street. To the best of my recollection this was the first time I had ever been in a Police Station alone, not that I can remember ever being in one accompanied either, and it was quite a scary place to be. I knew I needed/wanted help, I also knew what for. Speaking side was not so easy though because I did not know what it was called or how to even start to tell my story of what had happened. I remember being ignored for the most time, and when eventually asked why I was there because I did not know how to tell them or what to say to tell them, I was quite quickly put on my way back home because they did not have time and I was in the way. As you read on you will learn from emails I will publish with this site that not a lot has changed with the Police.

So now I have discovered my parents didn't care what had happened to me, with the exception of me not being paid, and the Police were not interested either, who or what else could I try ..... my school, my teacher.

My teacher, my school, my worst possible choice and the end of my young life as I knew it.

My grade 4 teacher took time out from her lunch break to talk with me and I must have somehow made her understand what had happened to me because she told me that she would do what had to be done. I was so wrong in thinking she had understood me and wanted to help me. Later that day I was kicked out of class by this teacher, the reason, she didn't like my laugh. What happened while I was out of the room is something I will never know, but when I was allowed back into the room I was called "POOFTA" by a fellow student called Darren, a student who was up until then one of my best friends. This comment had the whole room, including my teacher laughing. Laughing at me.

I had been raped, I sought help and now I was labelled a POOFTA for being sexually assaulted by an adult

This website is so mentally strenuous to construct that it will be under construction for quite some time to come, so please check back regularly


If you are, or anyone that you know is suffering from

PTSD, Depression, Anxiety or any associated Mental Illness

Please be aware that in Australia and most countries world wide there is help available 24/7/365.

Before you attempt that final step, in Australia, please call one of the numbers below, or, failing that call

Triple 0 (000)

And just talk to someone before you remove all your choices

Please note the numbers below, and Triple 0 are for Australia only, for elsewhere please refer to either your local directory assistance or Police/Medical for urgent assistance


24/7 Crisis Line 13 11 14


If a life is in immediate danger call 000

Beyond Blue Support Line 1300 22 4636

If a life is in immediate danger call 000


The original material contained within this website is all subject to International Copyright © Laws and as such may not be reproduced without permission
Any materials/data included from other sources will be marked as such and the sources disclosed
Copyright © 2016-2017, Mark Kuzma