Going out at 7.30 to collect the post from the box at the end of the drive, Dr Reeves was surprised to see a car parked across the road. This was unusual in this part of Oxfordshire at that time in the morning. He could see two people in it, so he walked towards them. He'd bid them good morning, and ask if he could help in any way.

As he reached the car, it accelerated away and turned into his drive. He still remembers the scrunch of tyres on the gravel, and the utter shock of that moment. Then, as the two occupants of the car – a man and a woman – got out, another car pulled in behind.

The man told him they were officers from Thames Valley police and they were arresting him on sexual abuse charges. He had to go in the first car to be interviewed at the police station, while the officers in the other car stayed behind to search his house.

"It was horrific", he recalled. "I was very shaken. All I could think was how grateful I was that my wife and daughters were away so they didn't have to suffer quite the trauma that I did."

That was Maundy Thursday, April 1992. It is only now, more than eight years later, that the chain of events which began that day has finally come to an end.

Dr Reeves has dedicated his whole life to the care of emotionally disturbed children. For seven days a week, and most of his waking hours, he took responsibility for some of the country's most difficult kids, the ones the rest of us wanted to ignore. It was work that ought to have earned him the respect and gratitude of the nation.

There was neither respect nor gratitude. Instead, Reeves faced only public humiliation and long-term imprisonment. He was charged at Oxford crown court with 38 counts of sexual abuse. The charges, made by ten children, ranged from the relatively less serious (that he had kissed and fondled the children), to the overwhelmingly serious (that he had buggered the boys and raped the girls).

In the extraordinary climate of concern and mistrust that built up in the '90s, and in the determination to root out child abuse, all those who worked with children came under suspicion. Sometimes, those suspicions were justified; many had betrayed their trust. Sometimes, however, in the public anxiety to drive out the bad, the good became caught up in abuse investigations.

Police inquiries into residential schools and child-care homes throughout the country often resulted in complaints being made against a target suspect. Sometimes that suspect was the victim of false allegations.

False allegations may be made for a range of reasons: some obvious, like the promise of financial compensation or the chance of escaping blame for other crimes; some not so obvious, like a plea for attention or the inclination to comply with authority figures. Just as suspects once "confessed" to crimes they could not have committed, so witnesses may come to allege crimes that could never have taken place.

It is impossible for officers in an abuse investigation to conceal the nature of their inquiries and the identity of the suspect. Impressionable people, those from emotionally disturbed backgrounds, may give answers that fit in with what they feel is expected of them. There is a feeling of solidarity, and witnesses imagine they are only adding to what has already been established.

Many witnesses in this case said that their time in the care of Dr Reeves had been the happiest and most fulfilled period of their lives. Their evidence was discounted. Attention was instead paid to those who made complaints. What they said about Dr Reeves wrecked his career and almost ended his life. Had he been convicted, he could have received up to 15 years, a sentence he may not have survived. "I left my home", he said at the end of the trial, "knowing full well it could be a very long time before I returned, if ever."

In the end, Reeves was acquitted of all charges. However, the last eight years have cost him a great deal, not only in terms of his emotional and physical well-being, but also financially. Proving his innocence has cost him over £300,000. As he was above the threshold for legal aid, he had to pay his own legal fees: £150,000, all his life-savings. The loss of his salary cost him an equivalent amount.

I met him earlier this week at his home in Cornwall. After a brief holiday in Switzerland, to recover from the ordeal, he was looking tanned. Despite all the sacrifices, despite all he has had to endure, he retained a sense of humour – some of the more outlandish twists and turns in the story were recalled with a wry chuckle -- and appeared to bear no ill-feeling towards the young people whose complaints caused such turmoil and heartache in his life.

Robin Reeves, now 61, was born in Horsforth, Yorkshire. As a psychology student at Oxford University, he did voluntary work at the Mulberry Bush school in Standlake, just west of Oxford. "It made an immense impression on me", said Reeves.

The residential school was founded in 1948 to treat children of primary school age, from 5-11 years old, with severe emotional and behavioural problems. Its objective was to deal with them as they actually were, not as adults thought they should be, and to tailor the care of each child to his or her individual needs.

His experience there made Reeves decide to pursue a career devoted to the care of emotionally disturbed children. After working as a child psychotherapist, he became a consultant at Mulberry Bush school from 1975, and in 1981 was asked to become its principal.

This meant a new phase of life for him and his family. He and his wife, Claire, had two daughters, then aged six and three. When Reeves took on the headship of the school, they moved into a cottage in the grounds, so the whole family became involved in the day-to-day life of the school and the children.

Altogether, during the time that Reeves was head, about 150 children attended the school. They were considered beyond the control of their parents and their own school. Local authorities who opted to send children there had to find the fees; it cost over four times as much as it would have done to send them to Eton. So they obviously sent only their worst cases there. At any one time, the Mulberry Bush accommodated 36 of the most seriously disturbed children in the country.

"At the school, we were trying to remedy something that had broken down in the family, and was often caused by the absence of the mother. Our task was to avoid reproducing these interruptions in care that had led to the emotional problems in the first place. I felt that the school had to re-create the pattern of family life.

"So I would always make sure that I came into the school at about 7.15, as the children were waking up, and be there for about half-an-hour. At the end of the day, I'd do the same sort of thing. I'd be there from about 10 to 11 every night, to kiss the children goodnight. I'd kiss them on the forehead, or the cheek, or occasionally, if the child presented their lips, on the lips. I'd stay with them until I could be sure they were asleep.

"When, ten years later, they made statements about me, some children gave the impression that I was always there. In one sense, I'm pleased they had that fantasy because that is exactly what I was trying to achieve, but it wasn't the reality."

Reeves retired in 1991, having been principal for ten-and-a-half years. His time in charge was generally regarded as a resounding success. The school had consolidated its reputation for excellence. The allegation made the following year dropped out of a clear blue sky.

"Oliver had just left the Mulberry Bush, and was caught in some sexual play with a girl at a village school", explained Reeves. "After being questioned about this a number of times, he alleged that I had buggered him and that members of staff had watched.

"The total implausibility of this was never considered. I was arrested and four members of staff were suspended."

That inquiry was concluded after a few weeks. The members of staff were reinstated, and Reeves was released from bail. "My solicitor said to me, 'well, you'll be able to get on with life now'. I replied, 'don't you believe it'. I sensed that things wouldn't stop there.

Two years later, in April 1994, another boy, William, who had been interviewed during the earlier inquiry, made similar allegations.

"He was a very damaged child who had both emotional and physical handicaps and also had problems with his sexual identity. He was constantly wanting to dress up as a girl.

"He fell through the roof of a warehouse, and was in a coma for weeks. When he came round, he lashed out at his nurses. After being questioned, he alleged that I had indecently assaulted him.

"A child does something which leads adults to ask, why did you do that? Whereas they seem to be asking for an explanation, the child understands it as requiring an excuse. So he provides an excuse, which the adults then take as perhaps an explanation. It goes on from there. The child builds up excuses. It's the confusion of tongues between the adult and the child."

The police now embarked on one of those inquiries that have become known as trawling investigations. These are the opposite of normal police practice. As a rule, the police know of a crime and need to find suspects; in trawling investigations, the police know of a suspect and need to find crimes.

"If you have a policeman coming and asking questions", explained Reeves, "the presumption is that your answers will confirm something the police know already. There is a tendency in impressionable people to give answers that comply with what they feel is expected of them."

Although nothing came of this second investigation, Reeves knew that it was almost impossible to escape the insidious innuendo of abuse allegations, however unfounded.

"I was doing a lot of consultancy work, and I didn't like living a lie. I asked if I was on any blacklist. I was told that I wasn't. So I applied for, and got, a post to set up a child psychotherapy service for the NHS in Cornwall."

In 1996, soon after moving, Reeves had a heart attack. "It was very serious in the sense that it was life-threatening; my heart stopped. It was triggered by all the anxiety, and the fear of what was to come in the future."

Although Reeves made a complete recovery, that fear was realised on 6 June 1997 when he was suspended. Fresh allegations had been made; a third inquiry had been launched. The previous day he had briefed the panel of judges in Truro; now he was regarded as all but a criminal himself.

"My solicitor found out that it was William again. All the police would tell us was that he had anal scarring which was consistent with him having been buggered on a regular basis.

"I wrote to the police, telling them of the problems of trawling investigations, particularly with children from disturbed backgrounds, and the danger that their answers would be based on the way the questions were put, rather than authentic experience. But the inquiry continued."

The summer of 1998 was the 50th anniversary of the founding of Mulberry Bush school. A series of functions was planned to mark the occasion. At the last minute, the invitations to Reeves and his family were withdrawn. As a result, they were conspicuous by their absence.

The police had told the school that the presence of Dr Reeves at these events would prejudice their inquiries; as it turned out, it was his absence that prejudiced them. Former pupils who were interviewed afterwards certainly knew what, and indeed who, the questions were about. Some former pupils did now make allegations.

The affectionate care that the children had received during their time at the Mulberry Bush – the goodnight kiss, the ointments rubbed into private parts – was now reinterpreted in a different, and highly suspicious, context. The highest standards of child-care in the '80s had become potentially criminal behaviour in the '90s.

In February 1999, Reeves was finally charged with 38 counts of serious assault and indecency.

Once the defence lawyers had obtained all the case documents, they were able to understand how the allegations came to be made, and to assess the evidence in context. William, for example, had had a series of homosexual encounters since leaving the Mulberry Bush, so the supposed medical evidence could be easily discredited. The judge ordered that all these charges should be struck out.

There was no corroborating evidence for any of the allegations. The open-plan lay-out of the school, the microphones placed in the dormitories, and other factors meant that the allegations were implausible. Former staff members rallied to Reeves' support, as did a number of former pupils.

By the time the trial started in May, other charges had already been dropped.

"One of the complainants in court, Wendy, was brought direct from a mental hospital. She was completely destroyed in cross-examination. Because we had all the records, we could show that she'd made false allegations many times and one police officer had written that she should never be believed.

"The prosecution withdrew those charges the following day, but they should never have put her through it. The real scandal of it was that, as a mental patient, Wendy was actually showing signs of getting better, and this experience can only have set her back."

Last month, having heard the defence case, the judge, Mary Jane Mowat, thought the testimony so unreliable she instructed the jury to bring in not guilty verdicts. Dr Reeves was finally vindicated. The headline that could have been "Evil Paedophile Jailed for 15 Years", happily read instead, "Devoted Doctor Cleared of All Charges".

"This was an appalling ordeal for Dr Reeves", commented Neil O'May, Reeves' solicitor. "The whole prosecution was misconceived at the beginning, and a shambles by the end."

In wider terms, the current atmosphere means that the regime of child care which operated at the Mulberry Bush in the '80s cannot exist today. "The attitude now", said Reeves, "is that you look after children, but you have to look after yourself first and foremost, and don't allow yourself to become the target for allegations.

"This has been a devastating experience. You just feel an outcast in a society to which you had belonged and were contributing significantly to. It's terrible to feel that what was valued and valuable about your work is no longer recognised."

I spoke to him again on Wednesday, to check a few points, when he was in Yorkshire. I was pleased that, having had to relive the whole experience for my benefit, he was in good spirits, and chuckling again. "I'm really pleased the article isn't going to appear tomorrow", he said, "because I'm going back to Cornwall and I didn't fancy travelling for eight hours on a Virgin train with people looking up from their papers saying, 'It's him, it's him'".

The names of all complainants have been changed.

See also:
Trawling goes on trial, but who pays the price?