I Grew Up in Tring. This Is Why I’m Speaking Now.
My name is Neil Lighthouse. That is not the name I was given in June 1989. It is the name I am choosing now. I grew up in Tring. Dundale Primary. Tring School. The Bell. The Black Horse. A town small enough that your surname carries weight before you’ve earned it. A place where your parents’ reputation becomes your inheritance. I was abused in Tring and the surrounding areas. There is no softer way to say that. I won’t dress it up. I won’t dilute it into “poor judgement” or “blurry boundaries.” It was abuse. It happened here. It happened within environments that were considered normal. It happened within a community that prides itself on being safe. And for most of my life, I carried that quietly. I was born in June 1989. My father was born and bred in Tring. My mum moved there from the outskirts of London when she married him. We were a local family. My older brother, my younger sister — we were woven into the social fabric. My parents frequented the local pubs. People knew us. We wer...