Child abduction laws are meant to protect domestic abuse survivors – but put them in danger

'Why didn't you just leave?' – it's a question almost every survivor of domestic abuse has faced.
As a barrister, I've represented countless women who fled to other countries with their children, desperate to escape violent and controlling partners. But leaving is never the end of the story.
For many, it marks the beginning of a new battle – one fought not just against their abuser, but within the very legal systems meant to protect them. Escaping abuse is one of the most dangerous times for women and children, especially when perpetrators know how to weaponise the law to regain control.
I can tell you exactly how this scenario usually plays out: the mother, along with her children, is likely to be ordered by the High Court to board a plane and return to the reach of her abuser. More often than not, she ends up back in the same country, sometimes the same town, and in the most harrowing cases, even under his roof – all of it sanctioned by the court. You might be wondering – how is this possible?
It all starts with the 1980 Hague Convention – an outdated piece of legislation, created with the laudable aim of protecting children from international abduction and preventing wrongful removal by abusive parents. But, in reality, it is often turned against survivors of domestic abuse, particularly mothers, who flee across borders with their children in search of safety.
Violent ex-partners use the Convention to bring cases in the High Court, demanding the immediate return of the child, and they're often granted free legal representation through legal aid. Meanwhile, the mothers – fighting to avoid returning to a country many describe as a 'prison' – are dragged through exhausting, high-stakes proceedings that can last months or even years, with no guarantee of free representation.
I will never forget representing Lisa – a case I recount anonymously in my new book, He Said, She Said: Truth, Trauma, and the Struggle for Justice in Family Court.
After years of physical, emotional and psychological abuse, Lisa fled Australia with her child and returned to Britain, seeking the safety and support of her family. She believed she was doing what any mother would do: protecting her child. But, instead of being seen as a survivor who needed protection, Lisa was branded a child abductor – a criminal under the law.
The legal system didn't recognise the violent family home Lisa was escaping. Instead, she faced the terrifying prospect of being ordered back to the same country – and even the same street – as her abuser.
In Hague Convention cases, the default is to return the child unless the parent can meet the near-impossible threshold of proving 'grave risk' or an 'intolerable situation'.
Rape, abuse and coercive control are too often dismissed as insignificant and treated as someone else's problem – not Britain's, not the court's.
Lisa collapsed in court, sobbing and struggling to breathe as the judgment was read. Her panic wasn't unusual – it was the raw, human reaction to a system that prioritises procedure over protection.
The High Court accepted her ex-partner's promises: he said he would drop the criminal charges, withdraw his custody claim, offer her rent-free accommodation, and provide maintenance so she could get back on her feet.
He lied. And the law did nothing to stop him.
Back in Australia, Lisa was arrested on arrival. She became entangled in both family and criminal proceedings, her immigration status uncertain, and her worst fear looming – losing her child for good.
There was no accountability for the judge who ordered her return. No consequence for the abuser who manipulated the legal system to regain control. Just another mother failed by a system that should have protected her.
And yet, sometimes the impossible is achieved. In one case detailed in my book, I represented Julia, a mother whose experience of abuse was so severe that the judge, Paul Bowen KC, recognised the link between domestic abuse and the real risk of a victim's death – whether at the hands of the perpetrator or by suicide. It was a rare moment of clarity and courage in a legal system that too often looks the other way.
I had feared the worst after hearing a psychiatric expert who gave cautious evidence, suggesting Julia might have an adjustment disorder if the abuse was proven, while dismissing the possibility of post-traumatic stress.
The expert's lack of a trauma-informed approach was, in my opinion, deeply concerning. Far too often, survivors are subjected to court-appointed experts who pathologise them, not to understand or support their trauma, but simply to prove that returning to their abuser's country would cause harm. But the harm should be self-evident.
No mother abandons her home, possessions, job, friends and family – leaving with nothing but a passport and her child – unless she is utterly desperate.
And yet, judges continue to place faith in foreign legal systems to protect returning mothers and children, even when those very systems have already failed them.
The Hague Convention assumes all jurisdictions offer equal protection, but for survivors, legal safeguards vary wildly, and access is anything but guaranteed.
This treaty, written over 40 years ago, urgently needs rewriting – or countries should begin withdrawing from a framework that breaches international obligations to protect victims from domestic abuse.
The Convention was never built to handle the complexity of coercive control or the lived realities of survivors. It rests on the false assumption that both parents stand on equal footing, with equal intentions.
And while it claims to protect children, it too often delivers them – and their mothers – back into harm's way.
Dr Charlotte Proudman is a barrister specialising in violence against women and girls and a senior research associate at Jesus College, Cambridge. Her book, He Said, She Said: Truth, Trauma and the Struggle for Justice in Family Court, is out on 1 May 2025 – read an extract from it here

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Daily Record

an hour ago

• Daily Record

Pride of Scotland 2025: Meet the incredible heroes being honoured at tonight's star studded event

Scotland's unsung heroes will receive their awards at a spectacular ceremony this evening Forget the Baftas and the Brits, when it comes to awards ceremonies, tonight's Daily Record Pride of Scotland Awards with P&O Cruises is the hottest ticket in town. Our People's Oscars will honour the nation's unsung heroes - ordinary people quietly living extraordinary lives and making a difference in their communities. ‌ From humbling acts of kindness and selfless acts of bravery to raising millions for charity, our country is packed to the rafters with incredible folk who have done amazing things that deserve to be celebrated. ‌ Here are the 12 inspirational 2025 winners HERO SHOPWORKERS: BOB BELL, CHERYL GOURLAY, AISHA JAVID & USMAN JAVID, Dunfermline, Fife Shop workers tackled an armed robber who threatened them with a gun during a terrifying raid on a convenience store. Last June a masked man burst into the Nisa Local store in Abbeyview, Dunfermline, brandishing a handgun and demanding all the cash in the till. ‌ He pointed the pistol in the face of post office worker Cheryl Gourlay, 43, who refused to give him the money prompting him to climb over the counter and force her out of the way. Quick thinking shop worker Bob Bell, 34, leapt into action, jumping over the counter, grabbing the robber and hitting him on the head before restraining him. Hearing the commotion shop owners Aisha Javid, 55, and her son Usman, 35, rushed to help Bob and together they managed to bring the gunman to the floor and disarm him of the gun and a knife he had concealed in his clothes. ‌ Cheryl said: 'It happened so fast that I didn't know what was going on. I didn't really have time to think about it. Maybe I should have just let him take the money because there wasn't much in there but my instincts kicked in and I just wanted to protect the shop.' Aisha added: 'It all just happened so fast, my fight or flight reaction kicked in. I grabbed the gun because I knew I needed to get it away from him. I wasn't thinking anything other than how dare you come into my shop. 'You don't know what you'll do until you're in that position and I was more concerned about the staff than myself - Cheryl put her life on the line. ‌ 'She should have just given him the money but she didn't. Then Bob came and we both tackled him and got him down on the floor and kept him there until the police came and arrested him.' Robert Danskin was later jailed for seven years for attempted robbery with an imitation firearm. Sentencing him at the High Court in Edinburgh, Lord Scott told him: "Those in the shop who faced you and stopped you from succeeding in this robbery had no way of knowing that the gun was not real. They acted despite how terrifying a situation you created." ‌ STEWART MILLER, Perth ‌ Tayside plumber risked his life during killer storm Isha to save a woman from drowning in the River Tay. Stewart, 53, was walking his golden retriever Troy near the banks of the River Tay in Perth last January, when he heard cries for help coming from the water. A woman was in the river, clinging to a tree in the middle of the fast-flowing current. Stewart ran to his van to fetch some rope, but soon realised the woman was too weak to pull herself to safety, he called 999 and was urged by police not to go into the water. But after seeing how much the woman was struggling, he ignored the advice and swam out to her. ‌ He pulled her out of the river, and safely back to a log near the shore. He said: 'It was a really stormy night and I was wanting to get back inside but Troy kept barking at the water. I heard what I thought was a lamb but when I looked again it was a lady clinging to a branch .'I phoned the police and they told me not to get into the water but I had no choice. If I hadn't gone in then she wouldn't be here. 'Troy and I both went into the water and swam out to her. She got a hold of me but we both went under. All I could think was 'What have I done?' But I finally managed to swim us back to the embankment and sat her down.' ‌ Stewart added: 'It was lucky I was there and I was able to do what I did. Was it stupid? Aye, a wee bit but I would do it again, I wasn't going to stand by when she was in danger. 'The woman was taken to hospital and made a full recovery. Stephen Leckie, Lord-lieutenant of Perth & Kinross said: 'The Tay can be a very dangerous place, especially during a storm. There were so many variables that night; had Stewart not been there, had he not followed his gut, had he not acted so quickly it could have been a very different story. "The level of bravery he displayed is to be expected from our emergency services but certainly not in everyday life. He risked his own life to save another and that is something to be very proud of.' ‌ EMERGENCY SERVICES AWARD NORMAN MACLEOD, Stornoway, Isle of Lewis ‌ Coastguard winch paramedic braved storms to drop solo onto a ship where two sailors had suffered horrifying injuries. Stornoway Coastguard received an urgent call to assist the Spanish super trawler Lodario in November 2023. Two crew members on board had suffered life-threatening injuries after getting entangled in the ship's industrial-scale cable reels. One had severe leg wounds and the other was still trapped. Arriving above the ship within an hour, the crew faced extreme weather conditions and rough seas. ‌ Winchman Norman 'Nam' MacLeod, along with his 30kg first response bag, was lowered from a 200 foot weighted line onto the deck. The scene that awaited him was horrific. One man had already lost a leg, and the other had suffered catastrophic injuries to both of his. Norman, 55, said: 'I've been a paramedic for almost 30 years, and this was the most challenging scene I've ever dealt with." Hampered by the conditions and language barrier, Norman administered emergency treatment on board. ‌ He said: 'The first guy's leg was ripped out. I applied haemostatic gauze which has a property on it that encourages blood clotting. The second casualty needed special tourniquets to both legs to stop the bleeding'. Norman spent an hour on the ship tending to the men before two stretchers were sent down from the helicopter to lift them to safety, with Norman accompanying each transfer. During the flight to Western Isles Hospital, Norman and his fellow crew member John Carrigan had to carry out emergency treatment to keep the two men alive. ‌ The second man subsequently lost both his legs but Norman said: 'They both survived which is the main thing.' Winch operator John said: 'In situations like that, you can only hope you've got someone experienced in your crew. Although traumatic, what Nam did that day was some feat of bravery, and we're extremely proud to have him on our team.' ‌ TEENAGER OF COURAGE GEORGIE HYSLOP, 16, from Ardrossan, Ayrshire Inspirational cancer patient has channelled her energy into helping others and raised an incredible £51,000 despite her condition. ‌ In December 2023, when she was just 15-years-old Georgie went to the doctor with leg pain and they initially thought it was a stress fracture. The fracture wasn't healing and, after an MRI and CT scan, she was diagnosed with Ewing sarcoma - a rare cancer which occurs in the bones or in the soft tissue around them. Determined not to let cancer get the better of her, Georgie immediately looked to help others by agreeing to donate her tissue to Cancer Research and vowing to fundraise. ‌ In the months after her diagnosis she raised more than £15,000 for the Schiehallion Ward at the Royal Hospital for Children in Glasgow, the Teenage Cancer Trust and Marion's House. Throughout her treatment, which included 14 rounds of chemotherapy and 33 rounds of radiation, Georgie never stopped thinking of ways to help others and continued to organise family fundays, raffles and a ball. During her time at Beatson West of Scotland Cancer Centre, Georgie would give out 'pocket hugs' to the other patients who were waiting on scans or treatment, and even dressed up as SpiderMan to cheer up a four-year-old receiving radiation treatment. ‌ In July 2024, Georgie was given the news she was in remission but earlier this year scans revealed her cancer had returned. Despite the cruel twist of fate, the smiley schoolgirl is continuing to raise money for others and to date has raised more than £51,000. Georgie, who is hoping to start an acting course in September, said: 'The survival rates for Ewing Sarcoma are single digits but I've always said I will be one of those digits. I don't see why I can't be. 'At one point I was told I might lose my leg but I just said then I'll get a blade and I will go to the Olympics and if I do lose it in the future I can just cut one leg off my jeans. ‌ 'My main aim is to help others going through the same thing. Hospital can be a scary place so I just wanted to find a way to make the experience a little better by either fundraising or raising a smile.' She added: 'Yes my cancer has returned but you just have to keep going. I have lots of fundraising planned and lots to look forward to.' Georgie's mum Lynn said: 'Throughout all of the ups and downs Georgie has remained so positive and hasn't stopped fundraising. To be told that she was no longer in remission was a big deal but Georgie being Georgie took control of the situation, gave herself a buzz cut and just carried on. She is a true inspiration and we are in awe of her courage.' ‌ YOUNG FUNDRAISER THEO HARDIE, seven, from Falkirk ‌ Unstoppable seven year-old took on the challenge of running 100 miles in the hopes of raising funds for his little brother Jude's first wheelchair. Theo's little brother Jude was born with spina bifida and hydrocephalus, and has undergone a series of operations. Although healthy, he has limited use of his legs. Wanting to help and support his brother, Theo, then aged five, decided to start his own challenge to raise money for Spina Bifida Hydrocephalus Scotland. ‌ Starting in April 2023, he aimed to cycle a total of 100 miles to and from nursery every day to raise £1,000 for the charity. Smashing his target, Theo managed to raise a total of £2,043. In 2024, spurred on by his love for his brother, Theo decided to set himself an even bigger challenge - running 100 miles in 50 days or less. Upset that two year-old Jude couldn't join in playing in the garden with him and other children, Theo told his mum that he wanted to raise funds to buy Jude a wheelchair so he could play alongside him. This time Theo raised £1,060, more than double his target, and purchased a tiny wheelchair so Jude can zoom along beside him. Theo said: 'Jude couldn't move around and I wanted him to be able to play outside with me so I wanted to buy a wheelchair for him. ‌ 'The running was tougher than the cycle. I just told myself 'Keep running, keep running. When we got to order the wheelchair that was great as now my brother can finally have a chance to have fun.' Theo's mum Taylor said: 'It was all his idea, we never brought it up or pushed him to do anything, We are just so incredibly proud of Theo and touched so many people donated.' ‌ P&O CRUISES INSPIRATION AWARD UPS & DOWNS THEATRE GROUP Theatre group for children and young people with Down's syndrome and their siblings which has been making a difference for three decades ‌ This inspirational and fun-filled group is celebrating its 30th birthday this year. Around 70 young people with Down's syndrome and their siblings come together every Sunday to share their passion for music, theatre and dance. The group was formed in 1995 by three music teachers who worked at an additional needs school and recognised that young people with Down's Syndrome had a particular musicality and love for theatre. As well as performing, members forge friendships, learn about teamwork, build resilience and develop vital life skills. The group also offers camaraderie and support to families. ‌ Each March, the family-led group put on a week of sell-out concerts to show off their sensational talent and promote the positive side of Down's syndrome. Ups and Downs President Lorna Leggatt, whose son Ellis, 26, has been a member of the group since he was five, said: "Young people with Down's syndrome can be funny, frail, musical, mischievous, wilful and witty - just like everyone else. 'They are individuals with their own strengths and weaknesses, likes and dislikes, hopes and dreams and, above all, they love to sing and dance. Ups and Downs allows them to show off their passion and they thrive on it.' ‌ Ellis added: 'I love performing with the Ups and Downs. We have so much fun. They are my family and I love them all.' Over the years the company has amassed a host of celebrity fans including Paolo Nutini who came with his family to watch the show and Callum Beattie, who is a patron of the charity, and has been performing at their shows for the last four years. Callum has also asked the group to open for him at the OVO Hydro in November. ‌ SPECIAL RECOGNITION ASIYAH & JAWAD JAVED, from Stenhousemuir near Falkirk ‌ Local shopkeepers have donated more than £100,000 of food and medical assistance to people in their community since the pandemic. Jawad, 39, and Asiyah, 38, who bought A&J Alloa Road Shop in Stenhousemuir, near Falkirk, eight years ago, started their community outreach during lockdown. But even as the world has returned to normal, the pair have not stopped helping their community, and are still going strong five years later. ‌ Mum-of-three Asiyah said: "When the pandemic hit we had been saving for a family holiday to take our children to Florida. We couldn't go so we used the money we had saved to order quite a lot of hand gel, face masks and wipes which we gave to our NHS worker customers and the vulnerable in our community.' Jawad said: "The local hospital was also struggling to get access to a lot of the same stuff, so we ordered over 10,000 bottles of hand gel and face masks and donated them all to them. "In total we wound up spending around £35,000 supporting the community around that time.' Now the pandemic is over, Jawad and Asiyah focus on helping people in need and supporting four local care homes. They deliver food to elderly customers and hundreds of Easter eggs and boxes of chocolates to the care homes. ‌ Asiyah said: 'Once the pandemic was over we found ourselves looking for other ways to give back to the community and keep the momentum going. 'We now deliver food to our elderly customers and bring local care homes Easter eggs and boxes of chocolates at Christmas. 'Those in the care homes often can't be with family at Easter and Christmas, so we just like to cheer them up a bit and let them know that they are appreciated." ‌ SPECIAL RECOGNITION THE SPEIRS FAMILY, Rothesay, Isle of Bute Built a network of holiday homes and flats in memory of their son Calum, supporting the families of more than 3000 children with cancer. ‌ When their son and Jenna's twin brother Calum died of an inoperable brain tumour in 2007 aged just 12, his parents and sister were determined to fulfil his dying wish - building a holiday home where other families of children diagnosed with cancer could spend time and create precious memories. Calum's Cabin, complete with a stained glass window of Calum's favourite hobbies, was opened in 2009 and Calum's mum, Caroline, 58, dad Duncan, 63 and twin sister Jenna, 30, have gone on to set up six more holiday homes across Scotland. In 2017, ten years after Calum died, they opened their first flat in Glasgow where families can stay while their child receives cancer treatment in hospital, and home is hundreds of miles away. ‌ They now have 12 flats, and through their charity, the Speirs family support 220 families every year, and in total have helped more than 3,000. As well as a warm comfortable place to stay, the family pay for their utilities, provide food and other needs so they can concentrate on being there for their sick child. Jenna, who says she lost half of herself when her twin passed away, works as a Therapeutic Radiographer so she can give her own support to families as they go through the most difficult time of their lives. ‌ She said: 'I'm now a radiographer because of Calum, and he pushes me to be a better version of myself in every way - I just ran the London Marathon for him and Calum's Cabin, and I'm not even a big runner. 'Calum was an inspiration to me and everyone who knew him, and he thought of others right until the end. I've lost count of the number of people who have asked their child where in the world they'd like to go after treatment finishes, their little one replies, 'Calum's Cabin'. They are offered the world and they want to come to Bute – how magical is that.' Caroline added: 'We love what we do and we love knowing that Calum is with us every step of the way. Even when we have days that don't go to plan, we know it's just Calum playing one of his tricks on us and say 'Calum's having a right laugh today' - he was a wee joker. ‌ LAURA YOUNG, Troon, South Ayrshire ‌ 'Vape Crusader' is the driving force behind the successful campaign to ban the sale of disposable vapes in Scotland. Laura's remarkable crusade started when she spotted a discarded vape while walking her dog. She said: 'I picked it up like any other piece of litter and went on with my day. But then I kept finding them everywhere and after a few weeks, I looked into what these devices were, and why I was seeing so many of them.' ‌ What she discovered appalled her. As well as being made of single-use plastic, the devices littering Scotland's streets also contain a cocktail of chemicals which are harmful to wildlife and lithium ion batteries, which are a fire risk. There are also health concerns about e-cigarettes, many with colourful branding and sweet flavours which appeal to teenagers. Laura, 28, a Phd student at Dundee and Abertay Universities, was shocked that nobody seemed to be speaking out on the issue. She said: 'There was no research, petitions, or organisations focussing on the problem. So, that left me with the decision of whether to be the one to start talking.' ‌ She used her social media platform, where she is known to 42.9 thousand followers as Less Waste Laura, to highlight the scale of the issue, and began lobbying local politicians, starting in Dundee.' She used her social media platform, where she is known to 42.9 thousand followers as Less Waste Laura, to highlight the scale of the issue, and began lobbying local politicians, starting in her home city, Dundee. After she addressed councillors there, Dundee City Council became the first in Scotland to back calls for a ban. ‌ Councils across Scotland followed suit, alongside calls from MSPs and a Daily Record campaign, piling pressure on the government to act, and now, on June 1, 2025, legislation to ban disposable vapes will come into effect. Laura said: 'It makes me so proud to think that Scotland was the starting place for something like this. And since, people from Canada, the US and Ireland have all been in touch about doing the same. 'Looking back now, it was the easiest campaign ever, I had so many people behind me and everyone wanted to get rid of them. It took less than 500 days from starting the campaign to the government actually announcing the ban. ‌ 'I'd like to think I could do it again, and I'm now looking towards what campaign I can take on next.' Green MSP Gillian Mackay said: 'Plastic is one of the biggest factor impacting our environment… What Laura managed to achieve in such a short period of time is incredible, the determination she has shown throughout this campaign is a testament to her and should be looked at as an example in years to come. ‌ KING'S TRUST YOUNG ACHIEVER ASHLEIGH LANCASTER, 28 Young woman who is overcoming the trauma of domestic abuse launches new career supporting others. Scottish entrepreneur transforms trauma into purpose ‌ Ashleigh Lancaster, 28, has never followed a conventional path and she's proud of it. After experiencing the long-term impact of domestic abuse, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (C-PTSD), and chronic health conditions, Ashleigh was forced to leave her job in community care. Ashleigh found a lifeline through The King's Trust. The charity supported her both personally and professionally, helping her rebuild her self-confidence and shape a new path forward. ‌ In 2023, Ashleigh received a grant through The King's Trust's Enterprise Programme and went on to launch 'Lancaster Solutions' in 2024. Trained to deliver mental health first aid training, Ashleigh was inspired by her own experience of how frontline responders often lacked the compassion needed to handle trauma. Drawing on this, her business aimed to bridge that gap. However, as the business grew, so did the demands on her health. When ongoing health challenges meant stepping back, Ashleigh made the difficult but courageous decision to pause her business and prioritise her wellbeing – a bold and honest move rooted in growth and self-awareness. Now, Ashleigh is retraining as an assistance dog trainer. The new direction honours her physical and emotional needs while allowing her to continue supporting others with complex health conditions. The choice was inspired by the life-saving bond with her own assistance dog, Blu. ‌ Despite the weight of what she was carrying, Ashleigh refused to stay silent. She has become a fierce advocate for survivors of domestic abuse. Her lived experience fuels her work to improve how the justice system responds to coercive control, stalking, inadequate sentencing and breaches of Non-Harassment Orders, all of which directly impact the safety and wellbeing of those facing gender-based violence. She used her voice to challenge systems that often fail those most in need. Her advocacy has reached the highest levels of government. Ashleigh's case is currently with the Justice Secretary who has issued an official acknowledgement and apology, showing that her voice is being heard. ‌ KING'S TRUST YOUNG ACHIEVER SHANE LEE, 26, Dundee Young man with autism has landed his dream job at Marks & Spencers and is a hit with customers and staff. ‌ Shane, 26, who lives with his gran and brother, has gone from believing he would never be ready for the world of work to finding his vocation working as front of house in a busy M&S in Dundee. Being on the autism spectrum, he was worried that his condition meant he would never have the confidence or team working skills needed to hold down a job. Shane is also a carer for his older brother, who has Cerebral palsy, and worried that employment might limit how much he would be able to help with his sibling. But he decided to make the leap out of his comfort zone and signed up with The King's Trust who were offering an employability programme with M&S. ‌ Despite reservations due to his lack of previous work experience, Shane convinced his caseworker that he was ready and was put onto a taster day where he blew King's Trust staff and M&S management away with his enthusiasm and positive attitude. Shane was granted a place on the four-week course where his incredible customer service skills made him a favourite with shop regulars and at the end of the course he was offered a contract. He said: 'A few years ago, I never imagined I could get a job. I have autism, so I thought I wouldn't have the confidence or the skills needed to do a job justice 'I knew I could take on responsibility because I help out my Gran and brother at home - with the cooking or cleaning and things like that. Still it just seemed like without the right skills for the workplace, no one was interested in me. But I was very determined and now I have my dream job. He added: 'I'm just so proud of myself and how far I've come. I really appreciate everything The King's Trust and M&S have done for me. I know that my family are proud of me, and that means so much.' ‌ SCOTLAND'S CHAMPION SIR CHRIS HOY ‌ One of Britain's all-time greatest sporting heroes, whose courage and dignity in the face of terminal cancer have inspired the nation. From the moment he was inspired to ride a bike aged six, after seeing the flying BMX scene in ET, it was clear Chris Hoy had talent. Within a year he was winning BMX races, eventually becoming one of the top teenage riders in Europe. Switching to track cycling, he was tipped for a glittering future by coaches, and he fulfilled their predictions with a silver medal at the Sydney Olympics in 2000. ‌ It was the start of a medal-laden, record-breaking run of success, as he helped to transform the British cycling team from also-rans to a sporting powerhouse. He won Olympic gold in Athens in 2004, and four years later in Beijing, became the first British man to win three golds at a single Olympic Games in more than a century. Two more golds at London 2012 saw him become Britain's most decorated Olympian of all time. But there was much more than simple natural talent behind his extraordinary success. ‌ Staying at the top of one of the most gruelling, physically demanding sports for more than a decade required unbelievable reserves of determination, courage, grit and inner strength. These have all been qualities that he has relied on once again, following his terminal cancer diagnosis. And alongside that strength there has been a truly inspirational degree of optimism and positivity, that has shone like a beacon of hope. "You know, we were all born and we all die, and this is just part of the process," he said. "You remind yourself, aren't I lucky that there is medicine I can take that will fend this off for as long as possible." Sir Chris Hoy may have achieved greatness on the cycle track, but he has demonstrated that greatness every day since. He is truly Scotland's Champion. Article continues below - Catch all the red carpet drama in tomorrow's Daily Record - You can catch all the red carpet action on the Pride of Scotland Facebook, Instagram and YouTube page from 5.30pm tomorrow night

Glasgow Times

10 hours ago

• Glasgow Times

Murder bid thug who 'ruined life' of victim is jailed

Kyle Young lashed out at Jordon Gray after a confrontation near his home in Kilsyth, Lanarkshire, on March 23, 2023. The victim was left stricken, having been struck with a knife and a machete. The 27-year-old also attacked Mr Gray's friend, Paul Miller, during the same incident. Young was convicted of the attempted murder of Mr Gray following a trial at the High Court in Glasgow. He was also found guilty of assaulting Mr Miller to his severe injury, permanent disfigurement and impairment. READ NEXT: Total number of arrests made at Glasgow Summer Sessions Jurors had heard how Mr Gray was targeted first after Young and an accomplice had gone to challenge him. Mr Miller tried to intervene, but was then also struck with the weapons. Mr Gray suffered found wounds to his back, one to his neck, and he was left with a collapsed lung. Mr Miller, meantime had similar injuries to his elbow, shoulder, chest and thigh. READ NEXT: 'Parents Against Knives' march takes place through Glasgow He now has permanent nerve damage, which means he can no longer lift his arm above a certain height without help. Sentencing this week, Judge Douglas Brown told Young: "Both attacks were sustained, determined and involved repeated use of bladed weapons. "The attack on Jordon Gray endangered his life. He said in evidence that it has pretty much ruined his life. "In a victim impact statement, Paul Miller said that he requires daily medication. He also has insomnia and suffers flashbacks." Young was also banned from approaching or contacting either man for an indefinite period.

The Guardian

a day ago

• The Guardian

When I think about the burglar menacing my mother, the memories are slippery. She wasn't chirping. She was screaming

My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man in a balaclava with a knife to her throat. She is not chirping. She is screaming. The expectation of one thing when the opposite is true. And yet in my memory it is still a chirp, not a scream. When I think about the robbery, even now, decades later, it is my toes that tingle. My ankles. I was four at the time. Or five. I do not remember. Time, what a slippery thing. My friend Hayley was over to play. Sometime after the chirping, the man with a knife to my mother's throat told us to go upstairs to my room and not to open the door. I do not remember this happening but, when I reverse-engineer the events, I know it to be true. Until it's not. Maybe it was my mum. Maybe my mum had told us to go to my room and not to come out. What I do remember is sitting on my bed. I remember a dollhouse at the foot of my bed, its white pointed roof. I remember thinking we had to jump from the dollhouse to the bed. We could not let our feet touch the floor. If we did, the burglar (Did I know he was a burglar then? The intruder? The man?) would be able to reach through my bedroom floor and grab our feet, our ankles, his arms stretching up through the ceiling above him. We could not let our feet touch the carpet. I remember standing on the street. I remember the police. I remember my mum's wrists, bound with rope. I remember begging the police to take off the rope. There is no in-between. There is the chirp/the scream, the man, the dollhouse, the feet through the floor, the wrists bound with rope. 'I don't know,' she says, in the years that follow, when I ask her the man's name. 'I used to know. But I always forget. It wasn't relevant. He was caught. I didn't want his name in my head.' I don't know his name. I don't know if I ever did. If it was a detail I knew and then forgot or never knew at all. I know he drove a blue van. Whenever I see a blue van now, my toes tingle. My ankles. I think of the dollhouse and the floor, my knees tucked up under my chin. More than 30 years later I receive a message on a social media account I rarely use. It is Hayley. She apologises, knows it is out of the blue, but wonders if I may be free to talk about the robbery. The incident, she calls it. I try to identify the emotion that bubbled up when I saw Hayley's message in my inbox. It was not fear. There were no flashbacks of the event. The incident. No terror or anxiety. No apprehension. But the feeling was sudden and strong and all-consuming. Red, hot shame. Before I meet Hayley, I tell my mum. I ask her if this is OK. Yes, she says. I ask her again if she remembers the robber's name. No, she says. Is he still in jail? I'm not sure how long he got in the end, she says. But is there anything else you want to know? She says that it was a Friday afternoon. That kindergarten was a half-day on Fridays, so she had picked us up early and taken us home. That my two older brothers weren't home from school yet and my dad was at work. That Hayley and I were playing in the living room after eating lunch, and a man came up behind her. I asked if he had a knife. A boxcutter, she said. My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man in a balaclava with a boxcutter to her throat. She told him that there were two young children in the house and that he could take anything he wanted, do anything he wanted to her, but not to touch the children. Do not touch the children. That when he attacked her, she had screamed and we had rushed in and she said to us slowly, calmly, go upstairs to your bedroom, close the door and do not come out. And that we went upstairs and closed the door. And that the man told her to take off all her clothes. That he had covered her head with a pillowcase so she wouldn't see his face. That he tied her up, and that he led her around the house naked and bound from room to room to room. And that she didn't stop talking. She was a social worker and had worked at a rape crisis centre. She knew from what she heard there that she could not remain faceless and nameless. That she needed to become a person to him, that he was less likely to hurt her; or less likely to hurt her as badly, if she could personalise herself. Even while she was naked. Even with a pillowcase over her head. And so she talked about my brothers and school and holidays and what we liked to do on the weekends and our favourite foods and hobbies and my dad and which music we liked, as he led her from room to room to room. Take whatever you want. Do not touch the children. At one point, after what felt like a few hours, he threw her on to the couch in the living room, face down, wrists bound, head covered. And then there was silence. She waited a few moments. To make sure it was over. To make sure he had left. She did not move. Did not make a noise. She waited longer. And longer, still. She wriggled her wrists through the rope, and that was when he came back. Sign up for a weekly email featuring our best reads At some point, not then, but later, she heard the front gate slam. That was when she ran, wrists loose from their binding. Ran to throw a dressing gown over her naked body. Ran to my room. Bundled us up into the bathroom, the only door with a lock, grabbing the landline phone as she ran, closing the door behind us to call the police. As she says this, I can picture the loops of the phone cord under the door. I ask her if he drove a blue van. No, she says. He didn't drive a blue van. I do not have a memory of the dollhouse, except for in this memory. Its sharp, pointed roof. Growing up I played with my brothers' hand-me-down toys. Trains. Blocks. Transformers. I have no memory of the dollhouse, except for in this memory. A memory in a memory. A house in a house. Did I own a dollhouse, or invent it? Invent the danger of the pointed roof. I meet Hayley near the hotel where she is staying in South Yarra. She lives interstate now and is down for a few days to visit her parents. Her dad is not well. I ask her how often she thinks of the robbery. Often, she says. I'm so sorry, I say. She says that after her mum picked her up from our house, they went to buy a present and that was that. That they never spoke of it again. Which made her think about it more. That she never came over to my house after that. That whenever her sisters have mentioned my name in the decades that followed, I'm referred to as Hayley's First Best Friend. It's only then that I start to wonder what else was taken that day. The table where we are sitting is sticky with spilt beer. Yeasty and heated by the December sun. She remembers my mum screaming, she says. She remembers us running in and seeing a man on top of my mother, pinning her down, with a screwdriver to her neck. She remembers he told us to hide, or he would kill us. She remembers the fear. She remembers being told to go upstairs to my room and not to come out. She does not remember who said this. She remembers the waiting. She remembers sitting on my bed reading Mr Men books. She remembers my mum opening the door, the way she grabbed us, running to the bathroom and locking us in. She remembers the phone dragging behind her as she did this. She remembers my mother in her dressing gown. She remembers the phone call to the police. Her memories are crisp and fully formed. They are in her mind's eye, she says. I tell her that because of my mum's experience as a social worker she knew to talk and talk and talk, to not stop talking. That she told him over and over again not to hurt us. She calls my mum brave. She says she's a hero. Hayley is also a social worker. My mum and Hayley are the only social workers I know. I'm jealous that she remembers the phone call. Remembers the bathroom. Remembers the dressing gown. I do not tell her why my mother was in a dressing gown. She doesn't ask. I ask if she remembers the dollhouse. Remembers that he drove a blue van. No. And no. She asks if he was caught. Yes, I say. I ask if she was told that there was a trial and that he went to jail. No, she says. She had spent every day since then thinking he could be anywhere. There is a file in my dad's filing cabinet about the robbery. I know this because every few years when I ask my mother if she remembers the man's name and she says that she doesn't, she says there is a file in my dad's filing cabinet and I can see it if I'd like to. I never ask for the file. Even after Hayley asks to speak to me. Even after Hayley asks me his name and I say I do not know. Sign up to Five Great Reads Each week our editors select five of the most interesting, entertaining and thoughtful reads published by Guardian Australia and our international colleagues. Sign up to receive it in your inbox every Saturday morning after newsletter promotion It is years after my conversation with Hayley that I ask for the file. Another hot day, in another December. It feels urgent and important in that moment but I can't explain why. A repurposed manila folder, a thick White-Out block on one side and, over the top, my dad's pointed handwriting: ROBBERY. Inside there is a subpoena for my mother to appear in court. We command you to attend, it begins. It includes the man's name and the charges against him. I wait to feel something. Burglary (eight counts); Aggravated burglary (one count); false imprisonment (one count); indecent assault with aggravating circumstances (one count); armed robbery (one count); damaging property (one count); theft (one count). I wait, and wait, and wait (three counts) and feel nothing. His name is underwhelming. I feel almost embarrassed to see it. It is boring. There is nothing that hints at the violence it contains. It's comical in its ordinariness. After I see it, I Google his name on my phone. No trials appear in the search. No burglaries. A LinkedIn profile for a plastics CEO in Alabama is the first result. A news article about a sculptor. An obituary for a cinematographer. I check to make sure I have spelt his name correctly and giggle because I realise I have searched for a completely different person. First name. Middle name. Last name. All completely wrong. In the time it took for me to look away from the subpoena and search for him, I have given him a new identity. I look at my mother's statement, typed and faded. The one that has been in my father's red filing cabinet for 39 years. The drawers that creak when they're opened, the lock that doesn't quite work. My mother was 39 when it happened, and it is 39 years later that I read her statement. I don't know what this means. Her statement talks about arriving to our house. How she parked in the garage and Hayley and I ran inside first. How she collected armfuls of shopping and then came inside with them. I picture plastic bags digging into her forearms, leaving a mark, the garage closing behind her. I try to picture my mother at the age of 39 but can't. I can only picture her the age she is now. My image of her constantly updating, overriding the previous versions of her. Her written statement describes the way Hayley and I were playing piano in the lounge room. And I can hear the clank of keys. The laughter. And as we were playing, how she was grabbed by the wrists. The way she struggled. Fought back. Was thrown to the floor. And I can hear her chirp, her scream. In her statement it says he held a yellow screwdriver, its shank to her neck. There is no mention of a balaclava. My mother is chirping, like a small bird. I laugh. What a fun game. And when I run through the house to find her, there is a man with a screwdriver to her throat. Also in the statement: the things she said. The things he did. The things she pleaded with him not to do. And yet I still feel nothing. Blank. As if I am reading about someone else and not my mother. Which doesn't make sense actually because when I do read about these things in the news, I feel waves of anger. I feel instant rage, my body prickly with heat. In the statement she described his hands. A plain gold ring on the third finger of his right hand. Wide hands. Short, fat fingers. The hand which held a yellow screwdriver to her neck. It is these hands that make me feel something. Rising bile. I picture them hairy, though there is no mention of this. I have invented it. And in the days that follow, this is the image that returns to me. Wide hands, short, fat fingers. Hairy knuckles. My breath catches and I count to slow it. Three counts in. One. Two. Three. Three counts out. One. Two. Three. We moved house straight after the robbery. I do not remember the layout of the original house. The colour of its walls. The feel of it. I remember the house we moved into afterwards. Its brown laminate benches. The way the front door swivelled. The sound of the rain on the skylight. The tread of the carpet. There are memories that I have that don't belong to me. My parents and my brothers lived in San Diego before I was born. I remember the sound of their voices, the cereals they ate, their visit to Disneyland, that time my middle brother almost drowned and was pulled out of the pool by his curly hair. I know these memories as my own, constructed from stories repeated around the dinner table and photos yellowed around their edges. Their hand-me-down toys and their hand-me-down clothes and their hand-me-down memories. Before the trial my mother was told to stick to the facts. That after the man was arrested, he told the police that he would not contest anything if they were fair with him. I know what 'stick to the facts' meant, she said. Do not be hysterical. Do not play the victim. I roll the memory of the robbery around in my mind, try to press it like a bruise until I can feel something. Wait for the ache of it. But it's dull, out of reach. I play with the memory and change it. I open my bedroom door. I run to her. I scream. I flail my arms. I bite and kick. My four-year-old self. Or I don't. I am quiet and I tiptoe to the phone, and I call the police. I do something. Anything. But that is not what happened. Stay in your room. Do not come out. I write his name in a note in my phone. I scroll back. My car registration. Our alarm code. Our wi-fi password. Another password that belongs to something I can't place. An old shopping list. Canned tomatoes. Red wine. Writing-related questions: Staring at magpies so they don't swoop you. They remember your face. Is this true? I never checked. The robbery. It's there. Between the magpie and a shopping list. A years-old note to self. The robbery. And again, as I scroll down. A Joan Didion quote, an idea for a character, a podcast recommendation, notes from a doctor's appointment, words without context: Longing (for what?). And The robbery, the robbery, The Robbery. Sometimes capitalised. Sometimes not. I look at his name. The last entry. First name. Middle name. Last name. I hold my thumb down on the screen. Press on his name. Four options appear: Mark as completed. Deadline. Priority. Delete. I press delete. I let the other reminders stay there. The robbery, the robbery, The Robbery. I will continue to forget his name. I don't know if I ever owned a dollhouse. My feet will continue to tingle when I see a blue van. This is an edited version of The Chirp/The Scream which appeared in Australian Book Review's June issue as runner-up in the 2025 Calibre essay prize. You can read the essay in its entirety here