Through her voice and her book, her boys continue to have theirs too - Christa Ackroyd

Instead I always seem to be meeting myself coming back with fewer hours in a day than I can cope with.

Simply too much to do and not enough time to do it in to even contemplate the thousands upon thousands of words that would be required.

And then it is unlikely to change the world. And that is what books, important books should do.

Am I lazy? I hope not. My excuse is that I live by my father’s mantra for today and tomorrow and don’t enjoy looking back.

As he told me often, that’s not the direction I am travelling in. That’s if I ever found the time to consider opening up the chapters of my life.

Well that’s my excuse anyway. Whoever told me retirement would be restful has a lot to answer for.

Even at school I was last minute Annie, arriving just as the bell sounded and dawdling on the way until it did. Exams were the same.

I actually stayed up all night to read Far from the Madding Crowd the day before I sat my English paper.

I still blame Thomas Hardy for such a drab story, whereas I couldn’t get enough of Brighton Rock and To Kill A Mockingbird. But as far as Bathsheba, Gabriel and Troy were concerned, dull though I found them, at least they were fresh in my head as they told us to turn over the exam paper and I passed with flying colours, though not before both parents and teachers were quite rightly tearing their hair out.

Procrastination should have been my middle name, when it comes to exams at least.

I am that kind of a person who likes to see things that need doing and do them immediately, not spend hours upon hours thinking about it.

Thankfully I found a job that required last minute deadlines, late changes and more importantly starting every day with a clean sheet of paper.

Yesterday’s news is just that, for yesterday. But I know I drove my TV and radio colleagues mad by dashing into the studio almost as the theme tune began to play. I could never sit there for hours, even minutes before we went on air. Would you believe it made me nervous. But I never missed a deadline. Just.

And so I admire those, I truly do, who shut off the world and starting with a blank sheet of paper, create something for us all, a book.

Because if I don’t have a book on the go, my life is without balance. To lose yourself in the page, is probably the only time I ever switch off.

This week a friend of mine has had her book published. It is sad she even became a friend because as a journalist our worlds should never really have collided.

But I am honoured to call her one. It is a book she should never have had to write but a book, nevertheless, she needed to write. It is important in so many ways. It is a rallying call for action from both politicians and the courts. And it is truly shocking.

But above all it is for the two sons she lost. And for the hundreds of others who may be in danger. As hers were. And she knew it.

Claire Throssell escaped a dangerous marriage, a violent relationship and took her sons Jack and Paul with her to build a new life in Penistone. She knew instinctively that her ex husband was a danger to her sons, but could not convince the courts or social services.

In October 2014, on just such a parental visit Claire had fought against, the boy’s father lured them into the attic on the pretext of a new train set, and set fire to the house, killing himself and the two boys.

Claire held both of them in her arms as they died from their injuries. The last words Jack said to the firefighters who tried to save him were ‘My dad did this..and he did it on purpose’.

Claire’s world collapsed. But with quiet determination she was resolute in changing the presumption that parental visitation rights are just that, a right.

In 2016 she launched a petition, twice. It was debated in parliament but still is not law.

Twice she handed petitions totalling almost 150,000 signatures in to Downing Street. The Lords had the chance to debate presumption of contact alongside the Domestic Violence bill, which she had helped to shape.

They chose not to. A full investigation into the issue was undertaken by the previous government and reported on in April this year.

But the recommendations for change have so far not being acted upon, despite the fact that in the last 30 years almost 70 children have lost their lives, murdered due to unsafe contact with known perpetrators of domestic abuse.

Nineteen more children have died since Claire began her campaign. Since her sons were murdered, as she always feared they would be.

But Claire Throssell is not one to give up or give in. When Covid or changes of government meant her previous work had been in vain and discussions were put on hold she simply started all over again.

And she is not going away, not for a Jack and Paul and not for those children who have died since and those who sadly may be at risk today.

She has brought about change. The courts have recognised that it is the child not the parents who are the priority. Their safety is paramount. But it is not enshrined in law.

For My Boys is a tough read. It is a gift of love from a mother who lost her sons and never gave up loving or fighting for them.

It is as I say a book she never wanted to write. But not for Claire the excuse that I have made she is too busy.

She has had plenty of time to contemplate what might have been for two precious children who would now be in their twenties, many lonely hours wishing that her warnings about what might happen to them had been heeded. She is one inspirational woman who like so many, has turned a tragedy into something positive for others.

The book is a love letter to what Jack and Paul meant to her then and now, but also a wake up call to what might still happen to others if, despite their promises, the government don’t step up as they promised they would.

Claire does many things to honour her two boys. She raises funds for instruments in schools because one of them was a talented musician. She organises walks and events in their memory. But this book is special.

I cannot begin to contemplate how hard it must have been to write it. To relive, with such sorrow and yes such anger an act of unspeakable wickedness which could have been prevented. To sit staring at a blank page and begin to try to put into words all she has lost so needlessly. But she has done. And I beg you all to read it and think on all it has cost her to do so.

Because Claire is not going away.

Through her voice and her book her boys continue to have theirs too. Now it is up to the politicians to listen, really listen and give her the justice she, Jack and Paul deserve. Then she can truly close a chapter and grieve in peace.