The boxing gym was supposed to be a sanctuary, a place for a young boy to learn discipline and strength. For Simon Byrne, it became a landscape of fear, shadowed by the predatory actions of coach Patrick Lowe. Lowe, a figure of authority, exploited his position, subtly inserting himself into the boys’ private moments, making inappropriate jokes that hung heavy in the air.
But Simon wasn’t just another boy in the gym. Lowe singled him out, weaving a web of false friendship and manipulation. Private sessions were offered, rides home arranged – all designed to isolate Simon and silence any potential outcry. The chilling warning echoed in Simon’s ears: speak up, and his family would suffer. Threats of disappearance and physical harm became a constant, suffocating weight.
The secret festered for decades, a dark burden carried in silence. Simon’s parents, unaware of the horror unfolding, never knew the pain their son endured. He shielded them, fearing their guilt over enrolling him in the gym would outweigh their comfort. Only his wife, Maria, whom he met at sixteen and married in 1995, sensed the deep-seated trauma he carried, patiently waiting for him to find the courage to share.
The arrival of his own children brought the buried trauma surging to the surface. Living just miles from Lowe ignited a fierce protectiveness, manifesting in anxieties over sleepovers and school trips. But it was his eldest son’s interest in boxing that triggered a devastating breakdown in 2015, forcing Simon to confront the demons he’d long suppressed.
Maria found him spiraling, unable to sleep or speak, surrounded by objects that hinted at a desperate plan. “It felt like a dark force inside me,” Simon confessed, overwhelmed by fear and self-blame. He was haunted by the memory of another girl who had come forward years earlier, wishing he’d had the strength to act then, to potentially prevent further harm.
The stigma of abuse felt insurmountable. “There’s a stigma to knowing people know you have been abused. You are showing everyone your scars,” he realized, the vulnerability terrifying. It wasn’t until the isolation of the 2021 lockdown, watching news reports of another abuse scandal involving football coach Barry Bennell, that Simon finally found a flicker of resolve.
Reporting the abuse proved agonizingly difficult, complicated by a move to Ireland in 2000. Sharing the truth with his eldest son was a painful but necessary step, finally offering an explanation for his father’s years of struggle. A court date was set for April 2025, a two-year wait that felt like an eternity.
Then came another blow. As they prepared to travel to the UK for the trial, they received the devastating news: Lowe had been deemed unfit to stand trial due to early-stage dementia. “Our worst fears had been realised in the middle of the Irish Sea,” Maria recalled, the hope they’d clung to dissolving into despair.
Despite the crushing disappointment, they continued to Manchester, seeking a different kind of justice. Simon pursued a fact-finding hearing – a rare legal maneuver designed to establish the truth of the allegations, even without the possibility of a criminal conviction. They fought for this, even reaching out to influential figures, determined to be heard.
The courtroom was packed with legal professionals eager to witness this unusual proceeding. Lowe, too ill to attend, had already been convicted in relation to another victim. But this was Simon’s moment. When the hearing concluded with a finding of “proven,” the room erupted in emotion. The judge expressed regret at being unable to impose a sentence, and jurors wept, recognizing the injustice of the situation.
Now, Simon and Maria are channeling their pain into advocacy, campaigning for more robust outcomes for elderly sex offenders and offering support to other survivors. They’ve created a space for others to share their stories, discovering a disturbing pattern of abuse across various sports. “We don’t want anyone else to go through what we did alone,” Simon says. “And we want to tell as many people as we can, that it’s okay to reach out.”
They offer a simple, powerful message: you are not alone, and your voice matters. Their journey, born from unimaginable pain, is now a beacon of hope for those still struggling in the shadows.
