Rachel Barber
1983 -1999
Official Memorial Website
Administered by Rachel's parents Michael and Elizabeth Barber
1983 -1999
Official Memorial Website
Administered by Rachel's parents Michael and Elizabeth Barber
Here we have invited family and friends to share fond memories of Rachel.
Some may include photographs or other mementos. Copyright remains with the author of each story or photographer of each photo. To publish elsewhere, without permission, is so in breach of copyright law.
Some may include photographs or other mementos. Copyright remains with the author of each story or photographer of each photo. To publish elsewhere, without permission, is so in breach of copyright law.
Fond memories:
I often think of Rachel when we lived at Glen Alvie, in the country, and watching her get off the school bus at the end of the day. I would watch her walking up our long driveway, along the pines and apple trees and agapanthus; dragging her schoolbag behind, with a big smile on her face and greeting Ricky, our Rough Collie. He would race down to meet her with his tail wagging. I’d meet them halfway and take Rachel’s bag from her. No sooner would we be in the house she would get out of all her school clobber and throw on her favourite dress up for the day, whether it be a tutu, full circle skirt, her Wizard of Oz Dorothy outfit (made by Elizabeth), or any one of her national costumes. Some days she would ask for a massage from Elizabeth first.
I remember the three girls singing rhymes like row row row your boat, in the living room. Young Heather not being missed out because she would sit in the middle. I remember them watching favourite TV shows like ‘I Love Lucy’, and ‘Keeping up Appearances’. I remember Rachel’s organising and the occasional tears when personalities clashed and the sister hugs when they would suddenly stop, look at each other, and hug with big smiles. I remember our family hugs when, with Elizabeth included, and sometimes the cats and dogs, we would group together and give each other a kiss.
Another memory is firstly driving Rachel to Secondary School after travelling down from Heathmont to Mont Albert in chaotic morning traffic; Rachel gloomier and gloomier as we got closer, and then of an afternoon collecting her and seeing her big broad smile because she couldn’t wait to get away. This was why when she said she wanted to audition for the Diploma of Performance Arts, and I was all for supporting her. Rachel didn’t enjoy school; it wasn’t the school she loathed as she made lovely friends – it was the institution of school. I know how she felt, because I am visual, too. Rachel was visual, and kinetic, which was why she could see a dance in one showing and memorise the whole dance. It wasn’t necessarily the dancing I remember about Rachel, she was a natural - she stood out on stage - so that was a given, what I remember is the everyday things of Rachel. And now I am reminded when the girls were all younger and I had the trauma of doing their hair for Miss Karen’s dance classes after school a couple of days midweek when Elizabeth was working. I was the lucky one to finish work at 3pm, so it was up to me to pick them up from school and fix the ballet hair! I sometimes wondered whether Elizabeth didn't plan it that way.
I often think of Rachel when we lived at Glen Alvie, in the country, and watching her get off the school bus at the end of the day. I would watch her walking up our long driveway, along the pines and apple trees and agapanthus; dragging her schoolbag behind, with a big smile on her face and greeting Ricky, our Rough Collie. He would race down to meet her with his tail wagging. I’d meet them halfway and take Rachel’s bag from her. No sooner would we be in the house she would get out of all her school clobber and throw on her favourite dress up for the day, whether it be a tutu, full circle skirt, her Wizard of Oz Dorothy outfit (made by Elizabeth), or any one of her national costumes. Some days she would ask for a massage from Elizabeth first.
I remember the three girls singing rhymes like row row row your boat, in the living room. Young Heather not being missed out because she would sit in the middle. I remember them watching favourite TV shows like ‘I Love Lucy’, and ‘Keeping up Appearances’. I remember Rachel’s organising and the occasional tears when personalities clashed and the sister hugs when they would suddenly stop, look at each other, and hug with big smiles. I remember our family hugs when, with Elizabeth included, and sometimes the cats and dogs, we would group together and give each other a kiss.
Another memory is firstly driving Rachel to Secondary School after travelling down from Heathmont to Mont Albert in chaotic morning traffic; Rachel gloomier and gloomier as we got closer, and then of an afternoon collecting her and seeing her big broad smile because she couldn’t wait to get away. This was why when she said she wanted to audition for the Diploma of Performance Arts, and I was all for supporting her. Rachel didn’t enjoy school; it wasn’t the school she loathed as she made lovely friends – it was the institution of school. I know how she felt, because I am visual, too. Rachel was visual, and kinetic, which was why she could see a dance in one showing and memorise the whole dance. It wasn’t necessarily the dancing I remember about Rachel, she was a natural - she stood out on stage - so that was a given, what I remember is the everyday things of Rachel. And now I am reminded when the girls were all younger and I had the trauma of doing their hair for Miss Karen’s dance classes after school a couple of days midweek when Elizabeth was working. I was the lucky one to finish work at 3pm, so it was up to me to pick them up from school and fix the ballet hair! I sometimes wondered whether Elizabeth didn't plan it that way.
My father, Arthur Barber, would say she was always annoying because she was always trying to hog front of camera when she was little, and the more he dodged the more she was there.
My favourite photograph of her was when we lived at an old cottage while a new house was being built. She is near the vegie patch and wearing my boots. She looked so cute. I guess a few parents would have pictures like that.
My favourite photograph of her was when we lived at an old cottage while a new house was being built. She is near the vegie patch and wearing my boots. She looked so cute. I guess a few parents would have pictures like that.
Even up until a few weeks before she was murdered whenever we were at a supermarket checkout she was always after a few extra lollies, only worth a couple of dollars or so, but because I was always trying to save money mostly I’d say no. Now, of course, I wished I’d just let her have them.
Mike with 11 year old Rachel.
You just couldn’t help be in awe of her when she was on stage. It wasn’t only us. Other parents would come to us after a performance and say when Rachel was on the stage their eyes would just go to her. She had a certain grace about her. Her back was also held so straight her neck seemed to grow a couple of inches; it was her overall stance.
Rachel attended the Anglican Church St Hilarys from Year 8, when some friends invited her to their youth group Wipeout. Not long after that we learnt Rachel had booked herself in for confirmation classes. It didn’t surprise us that she liked church because we were a church family. What surprised us was that Rachel hated public transport, and after school made her way to the church with friends, but then came home on the tram by herself. This also reminds us that in Year 8 she came home from school upset, because some girls had been cheeking her. Usually the social side of school was not an issue for Rachel. ‘Well, what happened,’ Elizabeth asked. She answered ‘I was preaching about God’s love at the basketball courts. Youth group said we shouldn’t be embarrassed about sharing our love for Jesus.’ Elizabeth told her she admired her courage but felt school wasn’t the right place if she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Rachel didn’t usually mind about what other people thought. She just got on with doing her thing.
A proud Rachel at her Confirmation
Rachel woke up late one Christmas morning, when she was about five, and came out to the kitchen and said, 'Has Father Christmas been yet?' Rachel had walked right past her Christmas sack and the two wheel bike Mike had painted bright red and reconditioned. This was standing in the hallway outside her door.
Another Christmas, a couple of years later, and two weeks before Christmas Day, we were at the Korrine Tennis Club for the Christmas party. Unfortunately Rachel had chicken pox and stayed at home with Nanny Joy who was visiting. Father Christmas always arrived at the tennis courts on the Glen Alvie fire brigade truck. He was so upset to hear Rachel had chicken pox that with fire bells clanging and jangling his handbell he made a visit to our house. My mother said she only wished she'd had a camera to capture Rachel's delighted face as the fire truck came up our long driveway, with its special delivery. Two weeks later Ashleigh-Rose and Heather both woke on Christmas morning to another special delivery, the chicken pox.
Lighthouse - High - Instrumental
A favourite of Rachel's.
A favourite of Rachel's.
I remember the days we would go to Grandad Ivan's (my father) and Granny Susan's (my stepmother) and the girls would go to the dress up box. It was always Cinderella; every time a new performance of Cinderella, and with Rachel always organising. I remember the time after Rachel's murder we were at Grandad Ivan's and Ashleigh-Rose and Heather went to the dress up box. They came out with Cinderella and only a few moments into the performance my poor father lost it. 'Not Cinderella,' he yelled. The girls looked shocked (even I was taken aback), but the girls understood, and gave their grandfather a cuddle. No more Cinderellas ever again.
My father survived the war, a captain of a Sunderland, but he did not survive the murder of his granddaughter Rachel. My mother-in-law, Rose, did not survive the murder of her granddaughter. My father developed dementia then cancer; my mother-in-law alzeimer's. Rachel's murder was the beginning of their decline. My mother wells with tears every time we remember Rachel. My stepmother feels the loss of Rachel, too. And eventually Mike’s father, in his old age, appeared to forget Rachel, but then spasmodically say ‘I haven’t seen Rachel for sometime.’ In remembering Rachel we are keeping her alive in our hearts, and then, it is okay to speak of her in a present tense. Grandparents feel the loss of a grandchild plus the burden of the loss for their child who has lost theirs. Still, we remember Rachel, and we remember her with love.
I was called to Canterbury Girls' Secondary College when Rachel was in Year 7 or 8. They thought she was concussed. How and why? Half an hour later, at the doctors, it was revealed. Rachel and two or three of her girlfriends had wanted to have a midnight feast on the oval of Mont Albert Primary School - their old school. But had thought they would be scared at that time, so they arranged to have a breakfast feast, before dawn. And for some silly reason Rachel climbed out her bedroom window, which was a sash window. (All part of the excitement I'd expect.) When she was climbing back in and standing on a tin to get back in, the sash dropped and hit her on the head. So yes, the doctor confirmed she did have a mild concussion. Enough to give her the afternoon off school and I think the next day. I'm sure those friends if they are reading this will know who they are!
I was breastfeeding Heather quietly in my bedroom for a few moments. I had left Rachel (6.5) and Ashleigh-Rose (2.5) in the family room, happily playing doctors and nurses. When I came out I immediately thought Ashleigh-Rose had been in an accident, although she wasn’t crying and looked calm. Rachel had a ‘who, me?’ look about her. On second glance I realized the stitched up cut on Ashleigh-Rose’s forehead was in fact a very clever attempt at stage makeup by Rachel, of course. But what I noticed first was the very very short and layered haircut that Ashleigh-Rose sported. Rachel looked at me with scissors in hand. ‘You said last week Ashleigh-Rose should have her baby curls out. I thought I’d save you a trip to the hairdresser.’ ‘Does it look nice, Mum’ Ashleigh-Rose asked. I took another look, and went to the phone and dialed a number. ‘Mum, Mum, Rachel’s cut off Ashleigh-Rose’s hair.’ Before I finished talking to my mother Rachel had already run out the house door. We were on three acres and she ran out to the pine copse. ‘I had to ring you, Mum,’ I said. ‘I just thought I’d smack her. What will I do?’ Mum paused. ‘Hair can grow back,’ she said. ‘Go outside and tell her you would rather have taken her to the hairdresser. Say let’s come in and have a cup of tea.’ A cup of tea? My mother is English. Everything is solved with a cup of tea. I went out to the garden and said to my six year old, ‘Let’s go in and have a cup of tea.’ It all seems so laughable now. I think Rachel was surprised at my reaction because we did exactly as my mother suggested. Later at the hairdressers, Ashleigh-Rose said, ‘Can you put all my hair back?’ ‘It will grow back,’ said the hairdresser, and said to me, ‘You know Rachel’s actually done a very good job, except for the fringe.’
.
Mike Barber
Mike and Elizabeth remember...
Elizabeth Barber
Click arrow to see; Three sisters keeping the adults entertained in Grandad Ivan and Granny Susan's garden. (5 1/2 mins) Be patient this takes a while to load. We will split it into two shortly
Click arrow to see; No time for dress ups,
but surely time for one short Cinderella. (1 - 2 min)
but surely time for one short Cinderella. (1 - 2 min)
deep beneath the soil
your body rests
clothed in rosewood
surrounded by letters and poems
toys and shoes
ballet shoes and Spice Girl shoes
dressed in lace underwear
and your last solo costume
you lay there
bones and dried flesh
even so, beautiful would your skeleton be
a beautiful skeleton
dressed in seashells
dancing feet resting their dancing toes
buried beneath nine feet of cold earth
killed by a cold heart
a cold fish
the warmth of your smile
your being and serenity
can never be frozen from recognition
when people think of Rachel Barber
memories remain vivid
vivid as you were - as you are
energetic with life
full-on yet also shy
timid of things new
I am so glad you were found - in your shallow grave
and brought home to those
who loved their dear sweet Rachel
always remembered
forever in their memory - their hearts
your body rests
clothed in rosewood
surrounded by letters and poems
toys and shoes
ballet shoes and Spice Girl shoes
dressed in lace underwear
and your last solo costume
you lay there
bones and dried flesh
even so, beautiful would your skeleton be
a beautiful skeleton
dressed in seashells
dancing feet resting their dancing toes
buried beneath nine feet of cold earth
killed by a cold heart
a cold fish
the warmth of your smile
your being and serenity
can never be frozen from recognition
when people think of Rachel Barber
memories remain vivid
vivid as you were - as you are
energetic with life
full-on yet also shy
timid of things new
I am so glad you were found - in your shallow grave
and brought home to those
who loved their dear sweet Rachel
always remembered
forever in their memory - their hearts
Elizabeth Southall
The following is a poem I wrote to Rachel not long after her murder. It was later published in 'Perfect Victim' the book I co-authored with Megan Norris. I thought I would also share it here.
At Nanny Joy's
(Elizabeth's mother), with Mike, Rachel and Ashleigh-Rose.
(Elizabeth's mother), with Mike, Rachel and Ashleigh-Rose.
Rachel with Ashleigh-Rose after Rachel cut Ashleigh-Rose's hair.
Rachel looking as if she has come up trumps with the genuine article; Father Christmas. (Also wearing a dress that I made her.)
