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‘You’re so sexy!’ he would moan.

Little wonder that in that video specially shot for Mo I have such a knowing-innocent look. I was innocent – but I was learning what turned men on. The only positive attention we received from the adults was when we did what they wanted, acted flirtatiously or were sexy. Children crave acceptance, and I was no different. We would be rewarded for being ‘yielded’ and showing God’s love. Being stubborn, saying no or being prudish was of the Devil and bad, and would get us in trouble. I learned quickly to act in a flirtatious manner to get attention, and didn’t know how to act otherwise around men.

Another man who pursued us young girls was Peruvian Manuel. He and his German wife, Maria, taught us our dance routines. They were another childless couple. He had dark eyes and an intense, almost piercing gaze that made me feel uncomfortable. He always paid us girls special attention, especially Mene and Armi. Maria enjoyed performing lesbian acts with the women, and they both taught the girls to mimic their actions for the enjoyment of the men who would watch. Because I was younger, I was not included in many of the sexual acts that my friends were roped in for. I always counted myself lucky compared with them. But I did not escape completely.

One afternoon Peruvian Manuel came into Silas and Endureth’s caravan, where Renee, Daniella and I slept together in the back. I knew the caravan well and treated it as my second home. The red curtains were drawn. He told me to lie down, then pulled my panties down and spent some time kissing me – ‘This is how the adult women do it,’ he explained as he knelt over me and proceeded to rub himself on me, complete in all respects without full penetration, until he had an orgasm.

When I felt the sticky white stuff come over me, I was repulsed. I had never seen semen before. It felt disgusting and was messy. He took some tissues and wiped it off me then went into the small toilet closet of the caravan and cleaned himself up. I remained on the bed, dazed and confused. It was the same feeling as when you are in a nightmare: you want to scream or say something and nothing comes out. I had so many thoughts, questions and feelings but was unable express them. Even when adults asked me directly what I was thinking, I always froze, my tongue rooted to the top of my mouth.

When I watched the adults having sex they seemed to enjoy it, so why didn’t I? These men were trying to instil in me the knowledge that a little girl like myself would provoke the same sexual attention and arousal from a man that a woman would. My self-perception was distorted, and I had no concept of my own vulnerability or that I was different from the adult women.

Though in many ways we were expected to act like adults, we were still just little kids. At least once a week, Loveville would gather for a dance night, which would end up as an orgy. As usual, we were left to do our own thing while the adults – all those over the age of twelve – paired off for sex.

One night in particular, Renee, Daniella and I watched as the adults danced naked, groping each other. We decided to pull a prank, and took turns sneaking up behind a busy couple and pinching them on the bum. We thought it was hilarious when they gave a startled jump. By the time they turned around to try and catch whoever did it, we’d be long gone and giggling in the corner.

We weren’t supposed to tell anyone outside the Family about our sexual freedom, as the adults called it. I was told that Systemites would not understand the truth and liberty we had, and I learned to lead a double life.

I remember singing at an orphanage one morning, and then having siesta time in our camper van before going to the TV studio in Athens to perform a Christmas song on a local TV show. We parked on the street, closed the flimsy curtains of the van and had what the adults called Love Up, or Cuddle Time.

My teacher Johnny Appleseed lay down beside me and stroked me while kissing me on the mouth. He opened his clothing and guided my hand to his penis and helped me to masturbate him. In the end, he finished himself off while I lay next to him. I was conscious of the others having sex around us. His eyes were closed, his mouth open while he panted and gasped. When he was finished he said a prayer.

‘Thank you Lord, that we can share with one another your love,’ he prayed, and then he rolled over for a short nap.

The whole time, I was scared – he was my teacher – and also because there were gaps in the curtains. I could hear the footsteps of people passing by, and I thought that at any minute someone could look in and see us.

When it was time for our appointment, as if none of the afternoon sex had happened, the adults made up our hair and gave us a little pep talk. ‘When we get in there, remember to smile and show God’s love. Don’t worry about the cameras, like Grandpa said, just sing from your heart and think of the lost souls who will be watching.’

We piled out of the van and into the studio. The TV presenter thought we were great and we pulled off a well-rehearsed performance. Of course, no one watching us would have had a clue what had gone on just an hour before behind the red curtains in the van.

When visitors came to the camp to stay with us, everyone dressed up a little more conservatively and I soon learned there were subjects we didn’t talk about with ‘outsiders’ – such as sex and our prophet Mo – and Mo Letters and Family publications such as the Davidito Letters would be tucked away from sight.

‘Sweetheart, my parents, your grandpa and grandma, are coming to visit us from England,’ Dad said one morning, after receiving a letter from them.

‘But we call Mo Grandpa,’ I said. ‘Is this another Grandpa?’

‘Yes, his name is Glen, and he’s my Dad.’

‘Oh. I might get confused if I call him Grandpa too,’ I said. After a moment I had figured out how to solve the problem. ‘Maybe I’ll call him Granddad, that way I won’t get confused. Did I meet them before?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they met you when you were a baby when we were in London,’ Dad replied. ‘I’ve been wanting to witness to them. My father hasn’t been saved yet, he’s been stubborn, but maybe he’ll pray this time.’

Dad always talked about saving souls. He sincerely believed that without Jesus in their hearts, they were doomed to hell. Dad didn’t want his parents to suffer such a fate in the afterlife.

When I met them, I noticed the difference in their appearance and manner immediately – how reserved they were, and the way Penny, Dad’s stepmother, dressed was different from Family women. Her hair was cropped short and permed and she wore a long-sleeved blouse and trousers. Penny gave me a kiss on the cheek, but there were no hugs, though they seemed happy to see me.

‘My, you’ve grown since we last saw you when you were just a baby,’ Penny said.

The evening they arrived Antonio prepared a delicious pasta dish and we sat together on one of the tables under the trees. Faithy Berg had come for a visit, and introduced herself to them and spoke glowingly of the radio show. Windy and Peter and Rachel played guitar and sang songs from the show. Dad sat beaming with pride, like he was a little boy again, at being able to show his parents what he had achieved.

The next day we accompanied them on a tour of the town, but what I remember most from their visit was the stories Granddad told of when he was a young man. He told stories about his escapades in Palestine during the war as a British army officer. ‘One time I woke up in the morning to find my bed had been stolen right out from under me,’ he chuckled.

My grandparents’ visit and hearing Dad talk about his real mother made me feel special. I was excited that I had another family, my own flesh and blood that was separate from the Family. After Granddad Glen and Grandma Penny left, I wrote letters and sent them drawings and gifts of little things I had made, telling them that I hoped that I would get to see them again.

Perhaps all these family stories struck a chord with Dad. He wanted to know more about his mother and he received permission from Mo to make a trip to Poland to find his mother’s relatives. He was able to track down a surviving relative in Krakow and came back with stories and pictures of my grandmother, Krystina. She looked so young and beautiful in her wedding photo with brown eyes and fine dark hair. Dad told me proudly that I got my singing voice from her. The sad ending to her story was that she got a degenerative illness like mad cow disease and died within months when she was just twenty-four years old. Dad was a little boy of three and a half and had no memory of her, but he idolized her just like I did my mum.

I knew then that Dad and I had a deep link – and understood why he never forced me to have a relationship with my stepmother Serena. I still talked about wanting to visit my mum in India, but Dad told me it was too expensive and he was needed for the radio show. He suggested instead I make a tape for them. I sang my favourite Music with Meaning songs and jingles while shaking a tambourine. When I forgot the words, Solomon Touchstone was there to coach me. I also quoted Mo Quotes and Bible verses. At the end I told Kristina and David that I loved them and to be ‘good witnesses for Jesus’.

Before saying goodbye I said, ‘If I don’t see you here, then I’ll see you in the Millennium.’

This was Dad’s favourite line when I would talk about missing my family. He always said, ‘You’ll see them again soon, if not here on earth, then in the Millennium.’

The end of the world was going to happen any day and it would not be long before we would all be together forever. Whatever my dad said was true. He knew everything. He was also very important, as I discovered one evening we all gathered together for a big celebration. It was the anniversary of Music with Meaning and I was beaming with pride when I learned that we were going to honour Simon Peter – my dad! – as the founder of the show. Mo had declared it ‘Simon Peter’s Day’. I don’t think my father could believe that this was happening and that he and his work was being recognized by the prophet himself. In a glowing letter Mo had even called him Saint Simon Peter.

Adoringly, I stayed by Dad’s side the entire evening. When the ‘birthday’ cake was brought out, Paul passed an envelope to Dad with a large sum of money. ‘Simon, this is for you, to spend in any way you like, along with a full week’s holiday. It’s your just reward for your hard work in the Lord’s service. As you sow, so shall you reap. Praise the Lord.’

There was a further reward to mark that auspicious event. Everyone got a three-day holiday. Of course they were all delighted with Dad and crowded around congratulating him and thanking him. He glowed in their praise and I glowed in his reflected glory as I stood beside him, hanging on to him and gazing up at him – my dad.

After our three-day family holiday Dad took Serena, who was eight months pregnant, to the island of Patmos for his special week’s holiday while I stayed back with Silas and Endureth and my friends Renee and Daniella. When Dad returned, he showed me the pictures they took on their trip.

‘We rode on a donkey. It was really bumpy, and I was sore after that for a few days.’ He chuckled.

‘What else did you do?’ I asked, wanting to know every detail of what he had done without me.

‘Well, we went into the cave where the Apostle John received the Book of Revelations. Just think, it was the very place where he received in visions the final events before the End of the World!’

A few weeks later, on 2 June 1981, my half-sister, Juliana, was born in a little Greek hospital in Rafina. I couldn’t wait to see her. Solomon Touchstone drove up to the house, with Dad and Serena in the back of the car. The door opened and there was a cute little baby girl in Serena’s arms, with her eyes shut tight.

Excited, I asked, ‘Can I hold her?’

‘Sure,’ Serena replied. ‘Be careful.’

She placed the baby in my arms gently. I thought she was like a little doll as I lifted her up. But as I did, her head hit the car door and the poor thing let out a mad cry.

‘Oops,’ I said, upset. Serena quickly took her from my arms and comforted her. She didn’t tell me off though, which was reassuring.

Dad gave me a hug and we all went into the house. ‘What’s her name?’ I asked.

‘We’re calling her Juliana Faithful,’ Dad said. I was so happy to have a baby sister. I watched as Serena changed the baby’s nappies and nursed her. I even tried to nurse her myself – and got a few purple hickeys as a result. But because of the age gap between us, after the initial excitement of having a new baby sister, I saw her and Mariana rarely, except for Sundays. I preferred to spend time playing with Renee and Daniella. I was never jealous of our new addition to our family. I was Dad’s first, and he assured me that no one would ever take my place.

Sundays were our Free Days and the only time I spent with Dad and our little family. I looked forward to Freeday, but dreaded the traditional afternoon Sunday fellowship. On one of these fellowships, everyone filed in to the big communal tent and sat down on rows of benches lined up in front of a television set.

Paul led everyone in a prayer and then announced excitedly, ‘This is a very special privilege. I have here in my hands a series called the Garden of Eden. Mo has allowed us here in Loveville to view these tapes, but no one must talk about it with anyone else or discuss what he looks like.’

There was complete shock and silence, and then an excited buzz of conversation while the first tape was turned on. Except for a few trusted leaders, no one knew what David Berg looked like. His last name was never mentioned in internal publications and pictures of Moses David showed his face covered by an artist’s drawing of a lion’s head. This was done to protect his identity and whereabouts, as he was already a fugitive from the law. The media regularly printed articles about him – all of them negative – that raised public awareness and alerted government authorities around the world. All these cumulative reasons had led to David Berg – Grandpa Mo – living a shadowy life, guarded by his inner circle, who slipped from country to country with forged passports.

I was curious to find out what Grandpa really looked like and stared hard at the screen as his image came up. He had deep-set eyes, a balding head and a long, pale blond beard. He was dressed in a dark-brown robe, and around his neck he wore a great big yoke – the kind of wooden thing worn by oxen – hanging from a chain. He fit the perfect image of what I imagined a prophet would look like.

It was as if Jesus had appeared on earth. Everyone drew a breath, as they oohed and aahed.

‘It’s such a privilege–’

‘What an honour–’

‘Praise the Lord!’

The room went quiet immediately Mo began to speak. When he talked ‘in tongues’, everyone joined in. They raised their hands in the air when he did and followed his every move. I looked from one person to another, wondering what on earth was going on. I didn’t understand what they were saying. I didn’t know how to speak in tongues. When they started weeping and crying, I wondered what I was missing out on. Sometimes, during united singing the atmosphere became emotionally charged and I felt a slight shiver, like goosebumps – had Jesus touched me? People said that was what it felt like. Everyone seemed as if they had been touched by Jesus watching those videos, and I wished that something would happen to me too – but it never did.

For the next few weeks, we spent many hours watching those videos. Mo preached on the Endtime, interpreting passages from the Book of Daniel and Revelations and explaining to us that a one-world dictator called the Antichrist would soon arise and usher in the last seven years on earth. According to his calculations, Christ would return to earth in 1993.

Everyone praised the Lord. No one seemed worried or terrified that the End of the World was about to occur. Mo said that meant the Antichrist would have to appear in mid-1986 – only five years away. I was almost seven years old. To me, five years seemed like a long time.

The Garden of Eden series marked a great exodus from Europe. Mo told us to move to the Southern Hemisphere, to escape the nuclear fallout that would soon engulf the West. Paul Peloquin announced that Loveville would soon be packing up camp and moving wholesale to Sri Lanka. We were not told this at the time, but I found out later that Mo and his team had moved from France, where the Garden of Eden series had been filmed, to South Africa, and then to Sri Lanka. We would simply be following in our prophet’s footsteps.

A few days later, Dad told me that he had been asked to go on a scouting team ahead of the rest of us to find a suitable place to re-establish Loveville.

‘I don’t want you to go, Dad,’ I pleaded. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘Don’t worry, honey. It will only be a few months.’ He tried to encourage me.

I clung on tight like a baby when he said goodbye and Serena had to prise me away.

CHAPTER THREE Come Union

‘Where are we going to live in Sri Lanka?’ I asked.

‘You’ll see. It’s a surprise,’ Dad said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘Did you know that it was a Sri Lankan radio station that was the first to play Music with Meaning? It’s a beautiful country, and the people are receptive to the Lord’s message.’

When we stopped over at Karachi International Airport, I knew Pakistan was near India, and I gazed avidly out of the airport windows, through the heat haze across the Arabian Sea. The air smelled vaguely familiar, a mixture of exotic spices and gasoline, as were the intense heat and humidity. I was close but so far from the place where I had last seen my mother. I thought about my sister Kristina. If only we could have stopped off in Bombay to see them. Then it was time to board another plane to Colombo, Sri Lanka’s capital city and I was caught up with the excitement of arriving on an island in the Indian Ocean.

After the long trip, we stayed in the capital at a hotel resort for the first two days to rest up before continuing our journey. The air was hot and humid, filled with the fragrance of frangipani, the sacred temple flowers that were used in Buddhist ceremonies. You could see these trees everywhere, their brightly coloured flowers hanging down in bunches, the ground beneath them littered with fragrant carpets of yolk yellow, white, purple pink and red. My first day in this beautiful, exotic land was unforgettable. The first thing I noticed were black birds crowing loudly. They seemed to be everywhere. As I walked under one of the banana palms in the grounds of the resort, I felt something warm hit my head. To my horror, I discovered a crow had shat on me.

The journey to our new home was exciting. Dad kept saying, ‘Just wait, you’ll see.’ The anticipation was killing me. We crammed all our belongings into the air-conditioned bus we’d hired to take the three-hour drive into the mountains. It was all so different after the barren rocks and scant vegetation of Greece. Here, palm trees and the rich red soil of fields where black-skinned buffaloes toiled gave way to rounded slopes covered with tea plantations. With so much rain – the island is in the path of tropical monsoons and hundreds of inches of rain fall each year – we saw many tranquil lakes, which reflected the sky and the encircling high mountains. Everything seemed so peaceful, yet rich. I gazed at it all avidly, absorbing the sights and sounds.

Finally we arrived at the new home that Dad had found for us. It had been a farm, with a large colonial farmhouse and a few other smaller houses nearby. Dad took me round and showed me the large sugarcane field at the far end of the property, and rows of strawberries and green and red chilli bushes.

The main house was large, with a huge, vaulted living room with a white marble floor. Our little family got one of the best rooms, a big, airy bedroom with an en suite bathroom that the five of us shared. In the back garden of the main house we built a swimming pool, and within a few months I learned how to swim the breaststroke and the crawl. Dad established his studio as quickly as possible so his work could continue without interruption.

On our Freeday Dad and I would always do something fun together. Sometimes we walked down the mountain to the local town, which was twenty minutes away by foot. It was easy going down, but quite a haul going back up. All the women dressed in colourful saris and the men in lungis, a kind of long cotton skirt, tied in a knot at the waist. Their chests were bare, and gleamed in the heat and humidity. I tried not to stare, but I was put off by the sight of the women’s earlobes, which hung down almost to their shoulders. I whispered to Dad, ‘What’s wrong with their ears?’

‘Oh, they’re used to wearing really heavy gold earrings for special occasions,’ he explained. ‘The weight stretches their lobes. It’s quite common in many parts of the world.’

I liked being with Dad when we were just alone, because he acted different; he was relaxed and there were no rules to follow. We’d head out on our own to ‘seek adventure’ he would say playfully. We’d pack a little picnic lunch and set off on the mountain trails around us. The sights were breathtaking, with waterfalls tumbling down from sheer cliffs, rocky little rivers, thick undergrowth filled with birds and huge butterflies, and the most incredible ancient trees hundreds of feet high.

The leeches were the only things I dreaded. They would burrow their way into my socks and I would find at least three or four on each leg, sucking my blood. Dad showed me how to get rid of them by putting salt on them and they would melt away. I hated having to come home, because it meant going back to our commune routine. After a shower, we would join everyone in the main living room for Sunday fellowship, led by Paul Peloquin and Marianne. We always ended our fellowships with the Christian tradition of Communion.

One Sunday, Paul read to us a new Mo Letter, called ‘Come Union’. Mo had received a revelation that our fellowship ceremony had a sexual meaning. We were all one, and part of each other, body as well as spirit.

Do we have complete full communion? Come-union? Common-union? All things common Communion in the flesh as well as the spirit? How long has it been since you’ve given your body to someone, a brother or sister – or even a fish? Jesus gave his body even for the unsaved! Have you? Maybe you need to get liberated from your selfishness and fears – fear of love, fear of sex, fear of pregnancy, fear of disease, fear of commitment, fear of the future, fear of the unknown, fear of flesh!

Paul stopped reading and stripped off his clothes. Everyone, including the children, obediently followed. He broke out into tongues, ‘Haddeda, Shedebeda, Hadaraba, Shadbrada. Praise the Lord. Thank you Jesus–’ and the whole room suddenly erupted into loud chants and babbling, praising the Lord with their arms raised in the air.

I looked around in amazement, baffled at the sight of the adults with tears streaming down their faces. I could not understand the sudden outburst of emotion and euphoria.

I was young, but I had a seeking mind. None of it made any sense to me. What had stripping naked to do with showing dedication to Jesus our Saviour? Everyone sat together naked, arms around each other, while Paul finished reading the ‘Come Union’ Mo Letter. But worse was to come when Paul went on to demonstrate a new way to pass the wine.

‘“Now we have signified we’re all one body,”’ he read, ‘“the bread, and one in spirit, the wine. That’s why I like to drink from one cup, which is what they did. These Protestant churches that have a bunch of little tiny cups, they never get the point. And they’ve got the bread all broken up beforehand, so they don’t get the point of that either, that you’ve got to be one body. Boy, there’s a hot one for our Family! One in the flesh, one body, one spirit! Sexually as well, really one Bride of Christ, One wife, One Body!”’

Everyone partnered up, and the men were instructed to take a sip from the communal cup and pass it on to the mouth of their female partner. When the wine came round, my adult partner took a gulp and then fixed his mouth on mine. The warm, red wine mixed with his saliva tasted awful. For a seven-year-old this was as yuck as yuck gets, and I swallowed as little as possible.

Because Jesus had turned the water into wine in the Book of John, Mo had always said that it was permissible to drink alcohol, and in Greece wine was always served with food or enjoyed in the evenings. Now Mo admitted in a Letter of Confession that he was an alcoholic and had ruined his oesophagus and stomach through heavy drinking. But he blamed his drinking binges on those who had deserted and betrayed him.

‘See, I’m not like other preachers who hide their sins,’ he would write in his confessions. ‘I’m a terrible sinner, but God has chosen me to lead you. God still called King David of Israel “a man after his own heart” even after he had Uriah murdered so he could marry his wife. I’m just a man with many faults, but when I’m in the spirit, I’m God’s prophet and King.’

This show of openness and false humility was swallowed hook, line and sinker. Dad would tell me, ‘He’s so humble, if only we could be more like him.’ But slowly I began to see the glaring double standard, and that the adults seemed to readily excuse his indiscretions because he was ‘God’s anointed’.

Maria was constantly sending out prayer requests for his health and would blame us for our lack of fervency in prayer when he became seriously sick and unable to eat solid foods. We had to fast and pray for our prophet’s healing on many occasions. During these three-day fasts, no solid food, sex, or alcohol was allowed. Children like me who were under twelve were given minimal food, usually liquid soup, and the hunger pangs were just as difficult to endure as the long prayer and prophecy sessions.

Up until this time, our cook, Antonio, made wine by fermenting grapes in large containers. This meant that alcohol was free flowing. Some apparently could not hold their drink. One morning, on the day after an orgy, I could see that the adults were on edge as we were all summoned to the living room. Paul Peloquin rolled in, his face like thunder.

‘There is sin in the camp! The Devil has been allowed to get in!’ he roared.

I knew something must have happened to get him going like this and listened carefully. From his ranting, I pieced together that one of the men, Paul Michael, had done some ‘perversion’ in the bedroom with Endureth, the mother of Renee and Daniella. I tried to imagine what it might be. As his ranting escalated to the frothing at the mouth and arms waving level, I sat there terrified at what he would do next. I wondered why the children were in trouble too. I did not drink wine. I had been in bed asleep.

‘There has been too much partying and drinking, damn it!’ Paul shouted. ‘Antonio, I want you to bring all the wine containers here right now and line them up on this table,’ he ordered.

Antonio scuttled back and forth as he brought out every last wine bottle and container from the storage room. There were at least fifteen of them.

‘Is that everything?’ Paul yelled.

‘Yes, sir,’ Antonio replied, and sat down.

Paul picked up the first of the large containers. He could barely lift it off the table. ‘There will be no more drinking. Period! If this is what is causing the poison in the camp, then it’s going to go. And if you think I don’t mean it, then…’

In what seemed like slow motion, I watched him throw his arms back and hurl one container after another out on to the patio. The sound of crashing glass continued for ten minutes, as he chucked every last bottle out.

I looked in horror at the shattered glass and pools of wine that had seeped out into the garden. I wondered if Paul had thought about who would have to clean up the mess afterwards and how dangerous broken glass was.

‘We’re going to have desperate prayer and fasting,’ he shouted, ‘and no alcohol for the next three months.’

Fervently, everyone got down on their hands and knees, and took turns praying for forgiveness for the next two hours. The floor was hard, cold marble, and my knees began to ache and my legs tingled with pins and needles. I was relieved when the tongues and weeping finally died down, thinking that maybe we could get up and sit down again. But then the prophecies started. I tried to move into different positions to get comfortable, but I was scared that Paul might notice and single me out for punishment.

I had good reason to be scared. Paul thought I had disobeyed him during another public correction. Armi had been found with a note under her pillow that she had written as a prank, forging someone else’s name to the letter. It was supposed to be for a laugh, but jokes like this were taken seriously. All of us children were called into the living room for a correction. Paul told us to close our eyes while he prayed and to keep them closed as he read a Mo Letter. When he said ‘Amen’ at the end of the prayer, I immediately opened my eyes.

‘Celeste, how dare you disobey! You’re rebellious, and disobedient,’ he shouted. I did not know what I had done wrong at first, but then I remembered he had said to keep our eyes closed not just for the prayer but for the entire length of the letter. I tried to explain.