Rachel, born September 12, 1983, on a Monday at 3.17pm, was always to be called Rachel; even before we knew she was a girl. Michael called her Rachel from the very beginning. I questioned his wisdom; 'What if she is a boy?' Michael's only answer; 'She's a girl.'



When Rachel's sister Ashleigh-Rose was born in 1987,  Rachel asked, 'Does she have feet, too?' Not a surprise as Rachel would  push furniture back, play classical music and ferret through the dress up box for colourful scarves and full circle skirts; and swirl and swirl. 'Watch me, watch me,' her catchcry. Rachel began dancing lessons at five (the day she died she was dancing, too). Rachel dressed in what she decided, and at the end of a day stripped to her knickers, and ask for a massage, just like her newest baby sister Heather, born in 1989, enjoyed. An on the go all day girl Rachel could run up and down sand dunes, without tiring, and be asleep almost as soon as her head  touched her pillow; leaving us exhausted. 
When Rachel was eight we moved to the Melbourne suburb of Mont Albert, advised by Rachel's ballet teachers that she showed promise; was something special. Rachel left her country ballet school, Christine Miles School of Dancing,  and continued dancing at the Melbourne Dance Academy, which she had also been attending. A few years later, and one week before she was to sit for both Grade 5 and 6 RAD ballet exams, Rachel visited our doctor by herself. The doctor called us in and warned if we didn't withdraw her immediately she would collapse. With only one week from these exams we questioned if  Rachel should stay on until after them, but the doctor said she could only advise but urged we needed to listen to Rachel as well. A few weeks after leaving Rachel said; 'I don't feel guilty eating now. Miss Karen said there are no fat ballerinas.'
At 13, Rachel relaxed. She dressed in cow print pants she asked Michael to make. She carried a teddy bear backpack. She wore long dresses she found in the Kindilan Society Opportunity Shop. She started wearing grunge, and attended drama classes. She went to St Hilary's Youth Group. But, then, Rachel suffered depression, too. She still dressed up. Once as the Blues Brothers, and travelling by train with me she said, 'Mum, people are looking at us.' 'I wonder why?' I replied; sporting my own blues wear she had egged me in to. We were to meet with friends and go to the Valhalla   theatre to watch "The Blues Brothers"  (if you went in character you got in free), but not before we picnicked at the Sidney Myer Music Bowl to watch the Melbourne Opera's Company production of Aida, Opera on the Park. And yet, another time Rachel dressed as Jo in Little Women and walked gracefully down the sweeping stairway at a cinema; so that people stepped aside. Another memorable occasion she appeared in the main street with her friend Tammie, dressed up punk with  spiky Statue of Liberty style hair. Then she cut her recently dyed black hair short. Our Rachel was theatrical.
After six months without formal dance lessons, Rachel tried a local ballet school that the sister of Caroline Reid attended. Caroline Reid, was the eldest daughter of a friend of ours, who had occasionally babysat the girls. But it wasn't long before Rachel left, saying; 'Why is it the 'nice' teachers don't have the technique of Miss Karen?' Rachel always valued Miss Karen's technical skills. And so another half year went by before she came to Michael saying, 'I know why I am so depressed. I need to be dancing.' We had known this all along. At the beginning of her Year 9 school year she started at the Dance Factory in Richmond, which didn't major in ballet but rather musical theatre; dance, singing and drama. The following year, 1999, she left mainstream school and began a two year full time Diploma of Performance Arts. 
Rachel was so very happy; full time dance and a wonderful boyfriend, Emmanuele Carella. At the beginning of 1999 they had known each other for 9 months. On visiting her grandmother with Manni, Rachel threw her arms around her, and hugging  her, whispered in her ear; 'Don't you think Manni's wonderful Nan? Will you welcome him into our family?'
Four weeks later, 1st March, 1999, our 15 year old Rachel went missing. Two weeks later she was found murdered. Murdered by 19 year old Caroline Reid (who had changed her name by depol to Reed Robertson). Caroline had become infatuated with Rachel; stalked her, and premeditated, in detail, how to best lure Rachel away to murder her. Caroline murdered our sweet Rachel with a prepared double knotted telecommunication cable. Caroline told her psychologist that Rachel pleaded for her life, saying 'please, please don't.' Caroline said she thought she was in so much trouble then she had no other choice but to continue with her plan. Caroline said she stored Rachel in her wardrobe for 3 days before hiring a van and burying Rachel in a shallow grave at her father's country property. It was assumed in court that Caroline perceived in murdering Rachel that she could become her.

Become Rachel? Never.
We moved to Glen Alvie, a country hamlet in Victoria, a state of Australia, when Rachel was six months old. She grew up with cows, dogs and cats, ducks and chickens. She bathed in clay and ran naked through our pine copse. But Rachel was easily scared, too. After watching ET for five minutes she demanded the VHS locked in the boot of the car with the garage door bolted.
I put headphones to my tummy and played classical music to Rachel in my womb. This was her favourite  as she responded to this more than any other. We played it at the beginning of her funeral.
Rachel Barber
1983 -1999
Official Memorial Website
​​Administered by Rachel's parents Michael and Elizabeth Barber 
Rachel beginning of her school year, grade six.















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