factual summaries of the conservative Argus, through to the more tabloid-style, salacious Truth.
There were frequent discrepancies in the press accounts of Norma’s death. Gaps left vacant by a lack of police information needed to be filled with a flourish of creativity and a heightened sense of drama to attract the readership away from competitors. These served to remind me that the press didn’t always get it right – the adage ‘never let the truth get in the way of a good story’ echoed in my head as I continued reading the accounts.
Some of the inconsistencies related to simple descriptions, such as one newspaper report that Norma died in an ‘upstairs bedroom’, when the McLeods’ home was only single storey. Others related to dates. Most of the information I read provided Norma’s birth date as 31 July 1901 - even her mother had apparently stated as much during the inquest, although this could have been a transcription error. She was, as clearly stated on her birth certificate, born in 1900. A minor detail I know, but an annoying one for a pedantic researcher like myself. Just another prompt to read everything with caution and a degree of scepticism.
At least two newspapers referred to Norma as Mona McLeod. This was perhaps an easy mistake – Mona McLeod was a well-known golfing celebrity who’d won the Australian Championship in 1921, 1926 and 1927, and been runner up in 1925 and 1928 – the association with Norma’s intention to play golf on the day she died and the similarity in their names could explain the confusion, but a degree of accuracy in such a serious case should have been assured. The championship golfer must have been horrified to see the headline “Death of Miss Mona McLeod” splashed across the morning edition of the 8 October 1929 Age, not to mention the distress to Norma’s family.
Other inconsistencies were more controversial, relating to the timing of events. This would prove more critical as investigations progressed, but I’ll get to that later.
I spent hours transcribing the newspaper accounts into one document, looking for clues – not just to the case, but to where information was coming from, what details police were ‘feeding’ the press, and how language was used to reflect new theories. Reading between the lines, there was a real sense that journalists expected the police to tell them everything.
Australia’s press had long considered itself the monitor of police accountability and a partner to the force - a partnership pressmen believed should not be ignored. An article in Melbourne’s Punch in 1911, for example, stated: “It is to the Press and publicity that is due the solution of innumerable crimes, and the capture of innumerable criminals … in all the unfathomed mysteries of the last fifty years the cause of the failure of the police can be traced directly to their stupid unwillingness to take full use of the Press, and so obtain the fullest degree of publicity”.
In Norma’s case, the press couldn’t help solve the mystery, but was this, as implicit in the quote above, because the police held information back? It was certainly possible. Police historian Robert Haldane stated that Chief Commissioner Blamey (who was head of the force at the time of Norma’s death) “took steps to thwart what many other people accepted as the legitimate activities of newspapermen. He stopped policemen giving information to journalists, he delayed and vetted crime reports that were released to the press”. In some respects he pre-empted regulations that would be enforced years later in terms of appropriate press boundaries, but in the 1920s, it was argued, he “went beyond reasonable control”. Newspapermen wanted in on the action.
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Through analysing the newspaper reports, I’d made a start on trying to map out what had happened on the day of Norma’s death and who the ‘key players’ were in the mystery. At this stage, it was all just a game; an interesting distraction from regular work. The reality of Norma as ‘flesh and blood’ hadn’t yet hit.
But where to now? While the newspapers provided great context, I knew I needed to get hold of the firsthand evidence gathered by police to get to the ‘truth’, however elusive that might be.
I had the advantage of having studied history at university, and written a couple of local histories, so while I’d never written about a crime, I had some idea about where to start an archival search. For me, the obvious starting place was the Public Records Office of Victoria. This wonderful organisation is a proverbial gold mine for historians.
Here I searched for, and found, the listing for inquest documents relating to Norma Rhys McLeod, dated 1 November 1929.
If you’ve done some research yourself, you’ll understand how great it feels to ‘discover’ what you’ve been looking for. I didn’t yet feel like a detective, or as I said above, a sense of Norma, the woman. I was more like a child on an Easter egg hunt who’d found the biggest egg. But at that moment, this precious archived package was more enticing to me than any chocolate. I knew it would take me down new avenues of discovery and provide more pieces of the ‘Norma puzzle’.
The inquest file arrived in a thick, see-through plastic zip-lock bag. The bundle wasn’t large, not what I’d expected, but it was a thrill to open the neatly-folded, slightly faded documents, apparently untouched for decades. The distinctive smell of old paper hit me as I turned the pages and dust brushed off on my fingers. It was a sensory delight; a researcher’s idea of bliss.
The inquest documents consisted of two large drawings – one a plan of the McLeods’ house; the other a drawn outline of the local area, to be exhibited at the inquest in relation to one of the police theories (if you're interested, both can be seen via the website - see https://murderarchives.com.au/documents-and-images/). Also in the package of documents were the original police report of Norma’s death, the pathology report, witness statements, a list of exhibits and the coroner’s verdict.
I took extensive notes and a lot of photographs of the material, so I could refer back to it at my leisure. I also wanted to share it with my husband, John. He too would become fascinated by Norma’s story, although not to the same obsessive extent as me.
So, armed with this documented information and the newspaper accounts, I could now begin to piece together Norma’s last day. More detail, and more questions, would emerge as my investigation deepened.
But before I get to that, you need to get a sense of the tragic ‘event’ itself. Every good detective story must set the scene before a reader’s investigation can begin. This is no less important in a true crime. So, what is provided below represents the ‘facts’ as they were recalled by the various ‘actors’ in the mystery. Like pieces of a jigsaw, they have been put together to create the ‘whole’. Theories and inconsistencies in these accounts are discussed in the chapters that follow.
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In that second week of September 1929, Norma McLeod was enjoying the school holidays, taking a break from her role as Kindergarten Teacher at Caulfield Grammar, a job she’d held for just two terms. Wanting to make the most of the vacation time, she’d planned a trip to Healesville by bus, to leave on Tuesday 10 September. She also took the opportunity to indulge in her growing love of golf. While only a beginner, Norma was apparently known to be keen on “out-door games”. Looking “younger than her years”, with a slight frame, her dark brown hair was kept in a short natural bob, in keeping with the style of the day and easy to manage for an active woman.
On that fateful Monday, September 9, Norma had allegedly lunched with her parents, 61 year old Edith, a housewife, and 63 year old Norman, a retired Defence Department staff clerk with the rank of Major. Norma’s brother, Rhys, aged 23, who also lived at home, was recorded
