About MARIAS

Mothers Against Radical Islam & Sharia
Toni Bugle founder MARIAS - MothersAgainst Radical Islam and Sharia

Toni Bugle, founder of MARIAS

CLICK HERE to read a summary of …

  • Toni Bugle’s personal story of violent sexual abuse (by non-Muslim “friends” of the family)
  • Her first encounter, years ago, with a 12 year old girl being pimped out by Muslims
  • Why Toni started MARIAS (Mothers Against Radical Islam & Sharia)
  • How political correctness is enabling Muslim rape gangs to spread far and wide across Britain
  • Several examples of MARIAS at work — helping victims of Muslim sexual abuse

CLICK HERE to read a Letter of Support from Baroness Caroline Cox.

Caroline-Cox2


 

Toni Bugle, MARIAS Founder

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MARIAS on Facebook

1 week ago

Marias

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Your courage to speak out has overwhelmed me. As a survivor myself I know the mental scars and emotional scars that nobody can see are visible to you every single day. Thank you for your courage I hope others speak out and give you a voice. I hope my followers will share thia, if nothing else it will be a show of support for your bravery and courageFrom the ages of 12 to 13 I was sexually abused by an older man in the village I grew up in. (Stotfold, Bedfordshire).

He groomed me alongside many other young boys who ‘helped’ him around his old house and grounds.
He was predatory and repetitive.

He was also part of a larger organised group of paedophiles and in 1983 he had me destroying vast quantities of horrendous child abuse photographs that were being shipped in to his house in official cars. Someone somewhere was scared and we were being made to destroy the evidence.

I went from being a grade A bright and bubbly (be-it bullied) schoolchild to someone who dropped out of school on the first day of A levels.
I was threatened with death if I ever told anyone.
I was a child and I was groomed.

It effected every day of my life from there forward. Every relationship, business and who I am.
In 1990 I came back from a year abroad in Norway and I saw him with his arms around two young boys at the village carnival. I could no longer hold this in and I went to the police. I reported him in great detail for the vile abuse he and others put me through. I made witness statements for the destruction of evidence and my view on that being part of a greater clear up.
The police raided his house and he confessed. They found supporting evidence.
I went to see the police after many months of hearing nothing more.
I was told it was all sorted. He would never abuse again and that he had moved to Australia. Stotfold children would never go through what I went through again.
Somehow in the midst of my own chaos I let this satisfy a small part of vengeance and justice. I let this put the lid back on the box of my emotions and I attempted once more to get on with my life.

I continued to have the church leaders that I had ‘punch’ me and ‘kick the devil out of me’ in the ‘name of Jesus’ as I sought healing, until I realised that that was abuse in a different way. (I had suffered the same in the evangelical church from 13-16 when I told leaders what was and had happened. Not once did they suggest the police!)
Three years ago when I was lying in a hospital bed having been given two weeks to live I asked a question of someone about my abuser.
It all unravelled. I unravelled. He hadn’t left. In fact he went on to live and die in the village with assets and everybody still thinking nothing bad of him.
I moved back to the village to find out what had happened. I was stonewalled everywhere.
The football club where he was a patron for the youth team had ‘changed the name of the trophy’ he supported but wouldn’t tell me whether the police had stopped his involvement with the youth.
He carried on the same pattern of befriending children and their parents and I’ve now got his will where he distributes his assets to them and the young men. I’ve contacted his executors. ‘They has heard rumours’ yet benefitted 10-40k a piece from his will. They wouldn’t talk more.
The police failed me in getting justice. It was made to go away. My files don’t exist online on their systems.
I have never got over it. I never healed. It never got better.
Over the last months I’ve been compiling all the evidence again and witnesses to it. I made an official IPOC police complaint online through their website 2.5 weeks ago. Two days ago when I chased their response I was told there was no record of my complaint on the system.
You could almost get paranoid.
In the light of the Michael Jackson programme, I don’t want to get lost.
Each abuse survivor has their own pain and wounds.
I could write a book on how it’s destroyed me and my life and how having found that I wasn’t dieing in hospital I went on to sort it out ‘once and for all’ only to then end up trying to hang myself when I realised it was all a big cover up. OR GROSS negligence and incompetence within the police force.
I want justice. I want to piss on his grave (he doesn’t have one - he was scattered) - I want to know how and why the police and other bodies (football club committee etc) allowed this vile man to continue his pattern even after I had reported him.
Someone somewhere will be able to close this for me.
My children are the reason I am alive.
I forgive my parents for not protecting me.
I want to forgive the church for kicking the shit out of me as I remorselessly cried on the floor.
I wish I had been braver.
I wish I had killed him when I had the chance.
Sorry for the bad grammar and sentences, this has poured out and I need to press send before I stop myself and hide again.

The abuser was Walter Stanley Griffin. (Wally for short), Of Stotfold, Hitchin, Herts. He died in 2002 in his house, 15 Rook Tree Lane. 12 years after I reported him and 20 years after he started to abuse me. He still had young boys helping him around his house.

The police and IOPC have now both confirmed they have my new submission and will be back to me within the 14 day response period on what they are going to do now. I’ll keep you posted....

Some friends have PM’d me obviously shocked and upset, but if you want to know what helps me press a ‘❤️’ or ‘like’ as it says you love me. I know sometimes words are hard to find x

edit : I've just realised that this page does not say who I am and in that the post copied from my personal timeline is missing me. I am August Templar. I changed my name by deed poll two years ago when I started to try to 'start again' from Matthew Roberts, my childhood name. I grew up in Alexander Road.

I want to be as brave as I feel when I look into the eyes of these photos.
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