The school of secret abuse.

Sadly, a seemingly all too common story of the terrible crimes trusted adults can inflict on innocent children. Incredibly, Ian is no victim but a brave fighter with a determination to bring abuse of this kind to attention. A remarkable man.




 

The long drive that leads to the entrance of prestigious Caldicott Preparatory School took young Ian McFadyen into a world that couldn't be further removed from his granny's humble Leith home.

Inside the school's imposing facade were the sons of the well-to-do, of society figures and well-known celebrities. In some cases there were boys who, like fellow pupil Nick Clegg, would go on to find fame and celebrity.

Young Ian's hardworking parents had hoped the £20,000-a-year boarding school would set up their son for life. Sadly, in the worst way possible, they were right.

For there, in a quiet corner of a master's room, as the busy school day turned to dusk, with the door firmly bolted and the safety of home far away, their frightened young son was systematically, brutally raped.

Deputy headteacher George Hill had a private bathroom in his study, a bathroom made available for certain little boys to whom he took a particular liking. And being one of the outwardly charming and kind Mr Hill's favourite boys meant enduring vicious sexual abuse that would dramatically alter the course of Ian's life forever.

Years later, down and out on the streets of Edinburgh and in a thick fog of drink and drugs as his life spiralled out of control, Ian's privileged public school background and career spent working in some of the world's most luxurious hotels made him among the city's oddest beggars.

Crashed out in a stairwell between the George Hotel and the church next door, he would stagger into a 12-hour shift begging outside Sainsbury's before topping up with his fix and heading to Lothian Road to tap the late-night revellers for cash.

Years of trying to suppress the secret of his Caldicott school days had dramatically exploded. And Ian, the innocent victim of schoolroom paedophiles who had tried to cover his despair with wild and erratic behaviour, was finally broken.

"I was assaulted from eight to 14," he says, matter-of-fact. "I knew that I was keeping a secret and the impact on my life was enormous.

"I saw myself as a bad person, a man without honour who did not need or deserve respect. I caused mayhem and chaos in my life.

"I remember standing on the Dean Bridge thinking I'd just jump because I could never be a good person."

More recently, and after a gruelling battle to have his voice heard by a reluctant legal system, Ian has finally seen one of his tormentors jailed. The school's headmaster is also at last behind bars, while another teacher convicted of abuse at the school died under the wheels of a train hours before sentencing.

The man Ian calls his "worst abuser", George Hill, committed suicide without ever being charged. Another stood trial twice and has been acquitted.

At least now that the abuse which seeped through the school for almost 30 years involving dozens - maybe even hundreds - of boys has emerged, Ian can finally forgive.

"To move on I need to offer them some form of forgiveness," he shrugs. "I need to forgive.

"If we say 'they are animals, let's hang them, let's destroy them', we demonise them. They aren't demons, they are people you trust and they are men from ordinary places. If we stigmatise them and make them like sub-human, we allow them to hide and they go deeper."

Ian was eight when his parents enrolled him at Caldicott, convinced the South Buckinghamshire prep school would give him the best foundation possible in life.

His parents, Moira and Michael, had worked hard to establish a good standard of living, running luxury hotels in London and then further afield in the Middle East. The school, with its sprawling grounds, Victorian main house and short 20-mile commute to London seemed perfect.

But, as it soon became crystal clear, appearances can deceive.

Certainly the school's deputy headmaster appeared charming and considerate to parents. But Ian would eventually learn that behind his teacher's uniform of tweed jacket with leather elbow patches lurked a manipulative predator who cleverly convinced his young victim that being sadistically raped wasn't only perfectly normal, it was a privilege.

"My worst abuser was George Hill. He was brutal," recalls Ian, 47. "He took huge pleasure from inflicting pain whilst he raped you.

"I was nine years old," he adds, softly. "And he was like the grandfather I never had."

The abuse took place in Hill's private bathroom which, on certain nights of the week, would be opened to boys on a rota basis. Ian would know days in advance when his turn had come.

"There was a matron across the landing," he adds, and nearly four decades later he still can't understand how the cries of a little boy in the hands of a rapist were never heard.

"But I knew the power the headmaster, Peter Wright, had.

"Mr Hill was the first person apart from my parents I told that I loved," he continues, choking on the words. "I felt complicit in my own abuse. I felt that was what love was.

"So when I hit puberty and started understanding what had occurred, I couldn't cope. I completely went off the rails."

His goodbye gift to Caldicott involved overdosing on alcohol and having his stomach pumped. He smoked heroin for the first time soon after and by the time he was 14 he was seeking group sex with other men.

"I left little boys behind to be hurt and said nothing," he says.

"No-one would have believed me, but in the psyche I fell into, I walked away and left other people to be hurt. That was a lot of guilt to carry.

"I was completely confused, I didn't have a clue what my sexuality was. I was offering myself to the gay community. It was risky behaviour but I had no value for myself."

Opportunities to follow his parents' lead and work in the luxury hotel industry in the Middle East emerged, and soon Ian was in exotic locations, balancing a glamorous lifestyle and five-star living with the demons that continued to haunt him.

"I had fantastic opportunities," he says. "I had a glam lifestyle, I ran hotels in the Middle East, I worked in Dubai, Oman, Hawaii. I had a flat in Morningside at the age of 18, but I drank too much and took drugs to the point of not knowing how I didn't do myself in.

"Then it all came crashing down."

He had been dabbling with crack cocaine and accumulated GBP20,000 of debts when his father died, shattering his hopes of sitting down with him and explaining the grim reasons behind his erratic behaviour.

Distraught, Ian, by now in his late 20s, quit work in Hawaii and returned to his Northumberland Street home in Edinburgh where grief, drink and debt combined to tip him into a full-scale breakdown.

As he struggled with his demons, bills mounted. Fearing his home was about to be repossessed, he packed his belongings, including his father's wedding band, into a case which he deposited never to see again at Waverley station's lost luggage, and lived on the streets.

"I looked like a typical spoilt public schoolboy," he says. "I hit the streets never having been a violent person, I was like a lamb. I came off the streets like a lion. I was incredibly aggressive and justified it by saying I needed to be to survive.

"I hit the streets with a real problem with alcohol, I left with a massive heroin addiction. There's a lot I'm positively ashamed about."

Homeless charity Streetworks provided precious support.

After nearly two years living rough and begging, Ian battled back to health to work with the organisation as a homeless outreach worker. He was working with homeless charity Fresh Start when it featured on Channel 4's award-winning programme Secret Millionaire.

He met wife Paula ten years ago. Her support encouraged him to finally reveal the dark events of his childhood, while at the same time opening up a whole new emotional rollercoaster.

"I have major problems forming relationships," he confesses. "When sexualised at a young age like that, I saw every intimate relationship as a form of abuse. I have a real difficulty being affectionate.

"I can't say 'I love you', I'll say 'I adore you' instead. I could sleep with multiple partners yet struggle with intimacy and closeness. And yet I worship the ground my partner walks on."

Ian is now determined to focus on moving on, perhaps running a social enterprise-style business in Peebles where he now lives, helping young people who have fallen into difficulty by offering them work.

And he is keen to raise awareness of the need for counselling services and help for male victims of abuse.

There is also some unfinished business. For when fellow Caldicott former pupil Deputy Prime Minister Nick Clegg appeared on a radio show phone-in, Ian was quick to corner him with pleas to introduce stricter legal requirements on schools to notify police of sex abuse claims.

The hope is, he adds, that abuse can never be ignored or covered up again.

"After the headmaster, Peter Wright, was sentenced, Nick Clegg was quoted as saying he was shocked and appalled," sighs Ian, "but you'd have to be blind to be there and not know something was going on.

"As a child, probably not but as an adult with hindsight? Definitely."

 

 

 

Tormentors brought to justice

 

Last February, Ian McFadyen sat with other brave former Caldicott pupils in Amersham Crown Court to witness some justice being delivered.

Decades had passed, but finally former headmaster Peter Wright, 83, was found guilty of ten charges of indecent assault and two of indecency involving boys aged between eight and 13 at the school between 1959 and 1971. He was jailed for eight years.

Getting the case to court involved guts and determination for victims who, along with Ian - a pupil at the school from 1975 to 1980 - found themselves hampered by an apparently reluctant legal system for years.

Another of the school's paedophile teachers, Hugh Henry, 82, died under the wheels of a train days before he was due to be sentenced for his sex assault crimes.

John Addrison, 54, was a former Caldicott pupil who as a student teacher took the opportunity to sexually abuse Ian during one-to-one tutorials. He was sentenced to five years in 2012 after admitting sex offences against pupils there and at another school.

Ian's chief tormentor, George Hill, killed himself before any charges could be brought.

Another teacher who Ian accused of indecently assaulting him stood trial twice. The first case ended with a hung jury and he was acquitted following a retrial.

Male rape survivors need specialist help

Realising he was ready to confront his years of abuse was hard enough. But Ian McFadyen found his next challenge was finding someone to speak to.

Edinburgh Women's Sexual Abuse and Rape Centre provided some support, but as a male victim of sexual abuse, he needed specialist help.

"There is very little out there to help men," he points out. "Men have definite needs to help them." He eventually contacted In Care Survivors, a Fife-based group which supports people who had suffered abuse in care environments.

However, he says there is a desperate need for more services for men who have suffered childhood abuse.

"The impact of sex abuse doesn't stop when someone is 16, it follows you through the rest of your life."

 

From Edinburgh Evening News 20 March 2014

Sex for sale: Edinburgh's links with the oldest profession

IT is often called the oldest profession in the world and, judging by the earnings of vice queen Margaret Paterson, certainly among the most lucrative around.

The 61-year-old and her pimp partner Robert Munro, also 61, are facing jail after being convicted of running a brothel and nationwide escort business from a flat in the West End.

For nine years they provided prostitutes for punters across Scotland, with co-accused Ian Goalen, 59, acting as their driver.

Police who raided their premises in September 2011 found evidence that Paterson had embarked on a £461,604 spending spree at some of the city's most exclusive shops. And they found more than £204,000 in cash at her home.

The evidence is a fascinating insight into a sleazy red light world, alien to most of us, but clearly every day life to others.

Until "Madam Moneybags" arrived on the scene with her Louis Vuitton handbags and designer clothes, Edinburgh's best known brothel keeper was, of course, Dora Noyce, who ran her house of ill repute from Danube Street from the late 1940s until the Seventies.

Her townhouse at number 17 had around 15 girls in permanent residence who would be joined by up to 25 others during busy periods. Business famously boomed, apparently, when the USS John F Kennedy docked at Leith.

The vessel offloaded hundreds of sex-starved sailors into the Capital and many headed straight to Dora's front door. The queue for her girls' services is said to have stretched all the way to Ann Street, much to the irritation of her well-heeled Stockbridge neighbours.

Dora and her girls are said to have earned around £4000 before the ship's captain stepped in to declare the brothel a no-go zone for his men.

Dora, a former callgirl herself, appeared in court on many occasions. And never short of a well-placed quip, she once commented that her busiest time of the year was during the church gathering of the Kirk's General Assembly.

She was charged more than 40 times with living on immoral earnings, usually rolling up in court smartly dressed, a string of expensive pearls looped around her neck. Typically she would pay the fine on the spot - then head straight back to work. Sometimes, however, she'd be sent to jail and her last prison term was in 1972, aged 71, for four months.

Dora is the best known, Madam Margaret the latest, but, of course, there were many before and just as many after who made their living from sins of the flesh....

Brothel keeper who paid hefty price

Running a brothel in a Leith hotel not only cost Paul Naef a month in jail, it set the wheels in motion for his deportation. Naef had originally denied running a brothel at the Commercial Hotel in Sandport Street in November 1928.

However one businessman who stayed at the hotel for six months told his trial how "there was very little legitimate business carried on" and that he only saw "one respectable couple" stay there. Police set up watch to gather evidence of men who looked like foreign seamen entering the hotel. Mr Naef was given 30 days, but a previous £25 fine for running a shebeen, or drinking den, meant he was recommended to be deported to his native Italy.

Trade took deadly turn

Victorian Edinburgh was shocked by the actions of prostitute Jessie King. She probably already had mental health problems made worse from doses of mercury given to treat venereal disease.

Lengthy periods spent in institutions no doubt did not help. She turned to another trade to help pay her bills - taking in unwanted children from single mothers who, she'd claimed, she would arrange to be adopted by new parents. Except in at least two cases the babies were strangled and hidden in her coal cellar. Her partner, Thomas Pearson, turned Crown's evidence and King became the last woman to hang in Edinburgh, on March 11, 1889.

Attempts to reform failed

As far back as 1928 efforts were being made to rethink society's attitude to prostitution. Former police officer Mrs Hamilton More Nisbett was called to the House of Commons to give evidence on street crimes on behalf of the Edinburgh National Solciety for Equal Citizenship, and appealed for what she called "the offensive label" of common prostitute to be abolished, arguing that once attached to a woman, it removed any hope of reformation.

She referred to one 15-year-old girl, "in whom the glimpses of good had been crashed" by being labelled a common prostitute. Another she said had tried to reform but her reputation has gone against her. "When you're down, you're down and there's no use trying to get up," she says the woman told her. "When I've finished my 60 days (sentence) I'm going straight to hell".

Exotic and erotic

Many 18th century prostitutes came from more exotic climes seeking a better life. Most are believed to have escaped slavery and arrived at the Port of Leith on board ships from the Caribbean, only to end up selling their bodies on the street.

According to the 18th century 'Who's Who' of vice girls, Miss Ruthven of Nicholson Street was "black and comely, middle-sized, good teeth, agreeable and very good-natured. She is very engaging, and loves the sport very well; and when she is in the height of her devotion, she will turn up her eyes with the utmost rapture".

The trade that won't go away

The early 20th century saw desperate attempts to clean up Edinburgh's prostitution problem. The chief constable's report for 1913 revealed 38 people were charged with brothel keeping. There were 686 women arrested for prostitution. It might take two to tango, but it was clear who the authorities felt were at fault: "How to deal with these women is indeed a perplexing problem," the report concluded. "Many are incorrigible and to deal leniently with them simply means they will figure more often in the number arrested until the state interferes and makes it by law possible to send these women for periods of detention."

Made in Manhattan

A mother of four from Kirkliston, Anna Gristina, was recently revealed as the madam behind a Manhattan sex service.

The 45-year-old was jailed for six months and sentenced to five years' probation after it emerged that she had been peddling call girls, a business that's believed to have operated for 15 years. Gristina was caught on tape arranging for an undercover police officer posing as a client to watch two prostitutes have sex. Prosecutors believe she made dollars 10 million from her business which had a roster of wealthy clients.

Dangerous life for women

Victorian Edinburgh police knew of around 200 brothels in the city, although that is thought to have simply been the tip of the iceberg, with street prostitution rife in some areas. Even Princes Street and Hanover Street were frequented by streetwalkers after dark. Life for a prostitute in those days was certainly a difficult and brief one. Charitable organisations were set up to help them, and found they were dealing with young teenagers and few older women - many simply fell victim to disease or brutality. Many girls rarely lived past the age of 30 and had most had been working girls since their early teens.

 

It takes two to tango

Dance club owners Asher Barnard and Edwin Jones appeared in court in November 1933 accused of attempting to earn money from prostitution.

The pair ran Kosmo Dance Club in Swinton Row, where they were said to have conspired together with a view to gaining money through the prostitution of employees who worked as dance partners or instructresses. Men who were "desirous of having immoral relations" it was claimed, could enter the club and chose a partner or make arrangements by phone. Thirty shillings would be paid to the owners, ten shillings to the women.

A street called desire

Rose Street may have a reputation as being the city's one time red light district, but the Royal Mile in the late 18th century was a thriving street of shame where there were at least 117 brothels to be found. In the 19th century it thronged with loose women who sold themselves for pennies which was often used straight away to buy booze.

The posh New Town wasn't that much better, behind the prim walls of impressive properties. One of the best known areas for brothels in the 18th century was St James Square, however Elder Street also boasted one particular brothel said to be so wild that no decent person would go at night.

James Tytler: Imaprtial and investigative

Vital reading, perhaps, for many an 18th-century gent was Ranger's Impartial List of the Ladies of Pleasure in Edinburgh, written in 1775 by none other than James Tytler.

Tytler's other, more legitimate, achievements included editing the Encyclopaedia Britannica and a particularly flying high career as the first Scot to navigate the skies in a hot-air balloon.

His book reviews 66 of the city's best known prostitutes, providing details of their looks, their personalities and just what they might offer their gentlemen clients.

Among them was Miss Peggy Alexander of Monteith's Cross who, according to the List was: "A smart genteel lass, about 20 years of age, dark brown hair, good teeth, fine skin, and extremely good-natured.

"She has got a very agreeable squint, which sets her off to great advantage."

Most of the ladies receive a range of excellent reviews in Tytler's list.

 

Lady who feel from grace

Lady Agnew of Netherbow was the daughter of a wealthy baronet who fell on difficult times, turning to prostitution to make ends meet. But a scathing review in the 18th century List of Ladies of Pleasure would do little to increase her business. It described her as a "drunken bundle of iniquity", adding: "Lusty and tall, and she has followed the old trade since she was about 13. She regards neither decency nor decorum, and would as willingly lie with a chimney sweep as with a lord. Her desires are so immoderate that she would think nothing of a company of grenadiers at one time. Take her in all, she is an abandoned piece."

Robert Louis Stvenson no stranger to fleshpots

One of Edinburgh's most famous sons, Robert Louis Stevenson, was no stranger to the city's brothels and prostitutes.

While his own family campaigned vociferously against the evils of prostitution and were busy donating money to save the city's fallen women, the Treasure Island author was said to have been among their regular visitors. Biographer Jeremy Hodges claimed the famous writer liked nothing better than to satisfy his own carnal curiosities among the city's seedy underbelly.

And the fleshpots around Leith Street, where bawdy brothel girls flaunted disease-ridden wares and negotiated hurried sex for a few shillings and the illicit drinking shebeens where booze flowed regardless of the law, were where one of the Capital's most famous writers frequently spent his nights. It's not completely clear whether Stevenson visited the brothels for illicit sex or simply because of his fascination for Edinburgh's underbelly.

Among the brothels of his time was Clara Johnson's Clyde Street brothel, the poshest in town, where clients would pay GBP5 to spend time with one of her girls, known not as prostitutes but as "gay girls". The 1871 census revealed them to be young women with previously respectable jobs, whose £8 annual salaries for such skilled jobs would have been dwarfed by their earnings under Clara.

Appeared: Edinburgh Evening News June 2013

c) 2013 Johnston Publishing Limited

Sordid 'Jekyll and Hyde' real life secrets of Robert Louis Stevenson.

Published 8 September 2010

EDINBURGH, he wrote, was not so much a city as the largest of small towns, not so much beautiful as interesting, and that, "in a word, and above all, she is a curiosity
And so too, it seems, was Robert Louis Stevenson.

For beneath his veneer of respectability and charm, his status as celebrated writer and his social rank as the son of a highly regarded god-fearing citizen of the New Town, Stevenson liked nothing better than to satisfy his own carnal curiosities among the city's seedy underbelly.

The forbidden fleshpots around Leith Street, where bawdy brothel girls flaunted disease-ridden wares and negotiated hurried sex for a few shillings and the illicit drinking shebeens where booze flowed regardless of the law, were where, according to a new biography, one of the Capital's most famous writers frequently spent his nights.

Just like his most famous character, Dr Jekyll, Stevenson had another dimension to his character - one which would have had his church-going father broken by shame.

For while the writer was busy making the short journey from the New Town to the sleazy brothels around Leith Walk, his own family were campaigning against the evils of prostitution and donating money to "save" the city's fallen women.

They were women who made their living selling sex to outwardly respectable men like Stevenson, who - thanks to biographer Jeremy Hodges' laborious research - now have names and ages, backgrounds and identities.

"Many of these girls would have been only around 19 to 24 years old," says Mr Hodges, who trawled through census papers from 1871 in a bid to uncover detail about the ladies of the night who so fascinated the Edinburgh writer.

"Some reports from the charitable institutions set up to try to help them suggest many were just 14.

"It would be quite possible that within ten years, they'd be dead. For many, it was a grim existence."

Stevenson's mother, a daughter of the manse, and his father, a brooding, religious character with strong Calvinistic convictions, were seemingly unsuspecting: they thought their only son was studying hard at university.

In fact, says Hodges, as d arkness fell and the city shed the strait-laced daytime outer shell to reveal its hedonistic and wanton streak, he had no qualms about joining in the "fun".

He certainly didn't need to travel far to find a seedy side to the city.
The High Street, says Hodges, thronged with "sixpenny whores", loose women who sold themselves for pennies which typically would be used almost immediately to buy booze.

The New Town, meanwhile, may have had a classier exterior, but behind the prim walls of some of its impressive properties, the same kinds of salacious acts and transactions were taking place.

"You can picture the scene of horse drawn carriages and gaslight," says Hodges.

"Stevenson lived in Heriot Row, he would have walked along Queen Street which would be perfectly respectable, but turn right to Elder Street and he'd have found a wicked place which decent people would not go near at night.

"St James Square was known for its large number of brothels, but Stevenson was most likely at Leith Street.

"The tobacconist shop at number nine was where he had his 'private' mail delivered - items that, presumably, he didn't want his parents to see. Below was a network of cellars, which, at night became a shebeen."

Stevenson, who was given just a small allowance by his prim father, couldn't have afforded a visit to Clara Johnson's Clyde Street brothel, the most posh in town.

"There, clients would pay £5, which was a fortune by today's standards," adds Hodges.

Clara's girls were far removed from the High Street's "streetwalkers", he says.

Instead, they were given the much less tawdry title of "gay ladies".

The 1871 census revealed them to be young women with previously respectable jobs such as milliner and dressmaker, whose £8 annual salaries would have been dwarfed by their earnings under Clara's roof.

Indeed, morally bankrupt as she was, Clara was eventually found to be worth around £14,000 - in the region of £2m by today's standards. And while she operated a high-class prostitution business, many brothels were far less salubrious.

"There were around 200 brothels known to the police in Victorian Edinburgh, and of course, there would have been a lot of "part-time" prostitution which doesn't show on police records of the time," adds Hodges.

"Some parts of the city would be barely recognisable by night.

"In Princes Street and Hanover Street, once the shops shut, it would be all prostitutionIf you were respectable, you would not even go there after the shops closed.

"Prostitution was a massive problem for respectable people and they could be quite hysterical about it at the time."

Among them were Stevenson's own family.

"The girls whose company he enjoyed were the same 'fallen women' his father, a respected engineer, was trying to save at the Edinburgh Magdalene Asylum," says Hodges.

"His uncle David, meanwhile, supported the Scottish National Association for the Suppression of Licentiousness in its campaign against vice, including the banning of nude models at the city's school of art."

It seems unlikely that the man known as "Velvet Coat" for his Bohemian style jacket and for his charming manner and consideration for the women he encountered, did not partake in some services.

"He mentioned one, Mary H, who worked in a factory in Leith but at times she apparently went on and off the game, sometimes a perfectly respectable woman who would not welcome advances at all, and then there'd be periods of prostitution," Hodges says.

"Stevenson seems to have known her very well."

In visiting these brothels Stevenson was, adds Hodges, dicing with danger. For those found to be dallying with women of loose morals often paid a very high price.

"It was a very claustrophobic society," adds Hodges. "Stevenson's parents actually thought they would have to leave Edinburgh when he married an American divorcee, such was their shame.

"Whether they were aware of his shenanigans, I don't know, but he certainly had a lot of upset with his parents which was usually put down to his opposing views on religion."

Worse though, Stevenson's dark side may even have been the death of him. For fraternising with Victorian prostitutes could be a deadly business.

"Stevenson had TB but he died from a stroke," says Hodges, who has delved into ageing census records and historic reports in a bid to unravel key elements of Stevenson's short but prolific life.

"And a stroke had nothing to do with TB.

"However, it could have been one of the things that happened to you in the later stages of syphilis."

It's not completely clear whether Stevenson visited the brothels for illicit sex or simply because of his fascination for Edinburgh's underbelly - eventually he'd drawn on its schizophrenic nature for one of his most famous works.

"What is known is that while he wasn't a great physical presence, he had enormous personal charm," adds Hodges.

"He would chat away with anyone. And that is one of the things that made him a great writer."

n Lamplit, Vicious Fairy Land by Jeremy Hodges, is being serialised on www.robert-louis-stevenson.org, which is hosted by Edinburgh Napier University's Centre for Literature and Writing (CLAW).

Colourful life of talented writer
Robert Louis Stevenson was born in November 1850, at Howard Place, Edinburgh, son of lighthouse engineer Thomas Stevenson, and his wife, Margaret, daughter of a Colinton minister. The family later lived at 17 Heriot Row.

Stevenson's childhood was plagued by illness which left him frail and thin. He studied engineering at Edinburgh University but his talent was writing. He eventually made his home in Upolu, one of the Samoan islands.

He died from a stroke aged 44 on December 3, 1894, leaving behind his works including Treasure Island, The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and Kidnapped.
sdick@edinburghnews.com