I was in Leeds on the day of Sir James Savile’s funeral. I was at a union meeting. I nipped out during the lunch break, and applauded his gold coffin as it left the Queen’s hotel, along with many others, all filmed by ‘Look North’. I finished my meeting, and wandered over to Leeds cathedral, and watched on the big screens as many people gave heartfelt speeches, about what a generous, caring chap he was.
And I believed them. This was Jimmy Savile. The guy who arranged treats for kids on Saturday nights. The guy who was on the radio. The guy from Top of the Pops. He raised millions for Stoke Mandeville hospital. Yes, he was a bit mental, but in a likable way. A good egg.
And now, in the last few days, it appears he was actually a perverted old sod, fond of young girls. If this is true – and it’s yet to be proven – then I feel like a mug. I’m disgusted, but at the same time I feel foolish. I was taken in.
Funnily enough, my first reaction was one of digust that people would turn against such a generous old chap. How dare they sleight a dead man. I suspect my reaction was wrong.
If he is a genuine ‘kiddy fiddler’, then I would quite happily take a JCB through his grave, to dig up the dirty old sod and stick his 45-degree seaview up his arse. He wants a seaview, he can have one from the bottom of the North Sea.
I’m disgusted. I feel let down. I feel taken in. I suspect others feel the same. I suspect this is not the last time it will happen in my life.