A Mystrey Of Misery

A phone call out of the blue answered the terrible question that had been tormenting wendy Forrester, 56, from Blackpool, for 33 long years

- Cherheasmer, Nicolam

Waving goodbye to friends, I made my way to the taxi rank.

It was May 1983, and I’d just been to a rock’n’roll club. A single mum to Russell, then 3, nights out were rare.

I’d left him with a babysitter and made the most of having a night off.

I’d only had a couple of drinks and, just before 2am, decided to call it a night.

It was only a short walk in Gateshead to get a cab home, and I knew the area like the back of my hand.

As I walked along the dimly-lit road, I saw a man coming towards me.

But when he passed me, he suddenly grabbed me from behind, pressing something against my back.

‘I’ve got a knife and I’m going to rob you,’ he hissed in my ear.

Then he dragged me down a grassy embankment, away from the road.

Trying to stay calm, I hoped he’d just take what he wanted and let me go.

But as he marched me down the verge, I twisted my ankle.

As I cried out, he dragged me to a dark, secluded spot.

Tearing my denim jacket from my shoulders, he tied the sleeves around my wrists.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked trembling.

But he just shoved me to the floor, then ordered me to strip.

Terrified, I did as he asked. ‘Please, don’t!’ I croaked. But I was so frightened, it was barely a whisper.

He lifted my T-shirt over my face so I couldn’t see him. I was rigid with fear.

Then he started to rape me.

The pain was unbearable and I bit back tears, waiting for it to be over.

At some point, my T-shirt slipped down and I caught a glimpse of him.

Dark, shoulder-length hair, stubbly beard…

But I was in too much shock to really take note of his features.

When he’d finished, he grabbed my jacket and emptied the pockets of the few quid I had.

Then he took my family allowance book and also my house keys.