Wendy Davis - Dont Make a Fuss: Its Only the Claremont Serial Killer

This book is dedicated, with sympathy and understanding, to the victims of the Claremont serial killer, their families, and their loved ones.

It has now been more than thirty years since I was randomly, terrifyingly and without warning attacked in my Perth workplace by a man I didnt know, but who would become publicly known, some two-and-a-half decades later, as the Claremont serial killer.

Until an unexpected phone call from Western Australia police at my current home in Hobart some twenty-five years after the attack, I hadnt thought about it in years. Never for one moment had I considered writing about it. It was something that had happened to me something so frightening that, wanting to eliminate the feelings of terror, helplessness, despair, shock and anger that had assailed me at the time, I had buried deep in my subconscious. Because it seemed to have been so easily forgotten by all those involved at the time all except me I had forced the trauma deep down. As people, especially women, of my time were taught to do, I just got on with it. I didnt make a fuss.

But then, with that out-of-the-blue phone call from police investigating the Claremont killings, what happened to me all those years ago on the other side of the country came back with a vengeance, causing much turmoil in my life as it played itself out in what became a long and drawn-out sequel laced with anxiety, tragedy and sorrow.

A few of the people who witnessed this turmoil including Cassandra, a counsellor with the Victims of Crime Unit in Hobart suggested that it might be good therapy for me to document the events that had happened at the time of the attack itself, as well as what was happening currently and the impacts of it all. So I started to do this, using a pen and notebook, and during those early weeks as memories resurfaced and I woke in the night recalling vivid details from the past, I filled scraps of paper with words and sentences rememberings of isolated incidents that sometimes didnt make much sense when I read them the next day, little scrambled jottings consisting mostly of intense feelings that overwhelmed me as I recalled more of the attack. Safe now in southern Tasmania, I found it difficult to process these feelings in the context of the news of a mans arrest for violent crimes far away on the mainland.

The course of bringing that man to trial became a never-ending, permanent thread intricately woven into the background fabric of my life ever present, sometimes surreal, always stressful.

Its over now. Bradley Robert Edwards has been found guilty of murder. There will, no doubt, be more to his story that will eventually be told.

This is my story, about what happened to me.

I live in an exceptionally beautiful and peaceful part of the world: Hobart, Australias southernmost capital. Drawn to the cooler climate and the slower pace of life, my husband Tim and I moved here from Western Australia in 2004.

Hobart reminds me in many ways of Perth forty years ago. You often meet people you know in the city, there are few security screens on doors and windows, and people are generally friendly, happy to stop what theyre doing and chat for a while. Some people think Tasmania is a place that has been left behind, but that is precisely why I like it. The houses, especially in the city, are old and crooked, and you can sense the history, feel the presence of others before you. As you walk along the Hobart rivulet, past the historic Female Factory, certain spots send chills down your back and you just know that bad things have happened there in the past. But not now. I feel very safe walking the dog there. I know theyre only memories of long ago, memories held by the land.

I was born in England, migrating to Western Australia with my parents and younger brother John when I was eleven years old. We were ten-pound Poms a small family hoping for a better life than postwar working-class England was offering, and we arrived in Fremantle with a great sense of excitement and anticipation. We lived at first in Bayswater with my dads sister, who was our sponsor, until my dad secured a job in the industrial hub of Kwinana and we were allocated a Housing Commission house in the nearby southern suburb of Medina.

After finishing high school I did a short stint at Claremont Teachers College. In those days the main career options for girls were considered to be teaching and nursing. No-one from my cohort went on to university upon leaving school, although some, like me, did embark on tertiary education later, in their twenties or thirties.

I met my first husband, Matt, at a pub in Kalgoorlie when I was so very young just twenty. He was Irish. He looked like a god, and he sang like a bird, but unfortunately, he also became violent when he drank too much alcohol, which was frequently. During most of the time I was with Matt, we lived in New Zealand. Looking back, it was only with the support of family in Australia and New Zealand that I managed to escape that relationship with what could be considered minor injuries: a cracked rib, bruised shins, a bloody lip. It was, of course, domestic violence, but nobody talked about that much in those days and I didnt make too much of a fuss about it. After we separated, Matt moved to South Africa to become a mercenary. Ive sometimes wondered what happened to him after that.

Still young, and eager to see more of the world, I abandoned my teaching studies and travelled extensively, eventually finding myself in Germany where I met the man who would become my second husband Dave, a military policeman in the British Army. After leaving the British Army, Dave joined the United Nations, and while he was serving in Israel we got married in Cyprus. We moved to Australia when I became pregnant with our first child: I wanted my family around me, and Dave planned to join the police force. Sadly, however, my mum died shortly after the birth of my first child, a daughter. I raised three baby daughters who were born in quick succession, and I supported Dave while he established his career in the Western Australia Police Force. Once my youngest daughter was well out of nappies, I began tertiary studies in social sciences at Curtin University, with a view to an eventual career in social work. In 1989, some two weeks after the whole family had travelled to Dubbo in New South Wales to spend a holiday with my brother John and his family, my dad had a massive heart attack and died.

After many years spent juggling parenthood, study and careers, Dave and I eventually separated in 1996.

I have now been married to my husband Tim for twenty years. We first met in 1988, when we were both mature-age students at Curtin University. We became good friends first, then work colleagues. We supported each other through painful relationship breakdowns, and we eventually built a life together. Tim has multiple sclerosis (MS), but despite this awful affliction he has become the mainstay, the rock of our family. For the past two decades he has been there for us all through a number of life traumas always available, always calm, loving and supportive, no matter whats happening. Although painful, watching his physical decline, his terrible fatigue, has in some way given me greater perspective on life, a better capacity to manage my own trials and tribulations. He is the strongest person I know.

It is, for us, a peaceful, quiet and mostly predictable retirement, and I very much appreciate the change of pace that this time of life has brought. We live in a renovated old workers cottage within walking distance of all that old Hobart Town has to offer. When we purchased the property it was very dilapidated, and we like to think we have saved it from decay and ruin. We let out a self-contained bedroom to guests, and people from all over the world have stayed with us, appreciated our location, the restaurants and facilities close by. My days now consist of slow lazy mornings, long easy walks with our dog, Maisie, a little gardening, shopping or cleaning in preparation for our guests, Pilates classes, occasional coffees with friends or my daughter Martha, who lives nearby with her family, grandchild-minding as needed, and a glass of wine before dinner. There are monthly visits to the cinema with my friend Lucy, a time for chatting and relaxing over good food followed by the latest movie. I love to read, to curl up in a warm, quiet spot for hours at a time, something I have done since I was a child. Twenty years ago I started creating mosaics, and I find this hobby meditative, relaxing, something to immerse myself in during the long winter months. It also produces something tangible to give to friends and family to express my gratitude and my love.