Whatever Happened To... Joanne Bryce whose sister was buried in her garden?
Claire and David Hampson on their wedding day
Monday 15th October 2007
On the surface we weren't that close. My sister Claire, 41, was 11 years younger than me and lived almost 400 miles away from my Cornish home in March, Cambridgeshire. But one thing was for certain, if she needed me I'd be there in a shot.
Like most sisters, we'd always been different. Growing up I'd wanted to see the world, while Claire had wanted to settle down, get married and have kids. So when she'd married David Hampson in September 1985 and had their beautiful daughter Felicity three years later I was thrilled for her.
'I've never been happier,' she'd told me after Felicity was born.
Seeing my little sister cradling her newborn daughter was enough to bring tears to my eyes.
And as Felicity grew older I could see that she was getting everything she wanted.
'Another dress?' I'd laugh down the phone when Claire told me about another shopping expedition.
'I can't help spoiling her,' she'd laugh.
Marriage to Alex, now 81, and two sons Jamie and Lewis, meant that I hardly ever got up to see her, but we kept in touch with notes and calls. And she was always bursting with stories of holidays and family days out. If only I'd known then what I know now.
In September 1996, when Felicity was 8, Claire stopped calling. Whenever I phoned it was just the answer phone. After I hadn't heard from her in a few months, I rang our mum Mary, 78, who lived in a village near Claire.
'Is Claire OK?' I'd asked.
'She's busy at work,' she told me. 'But I saw Felicity last weekend and sent her home with a cake.'
After that, it was always a different story. She's working at Tesco's. She's doing overtime.
She's out at the shops. Irritation prickled. Claire told me David didn't work because he couldn't find a job yet he was happy for her to work her fingers to the bone.
But Mum wasn't worried so that put my mind at rest. After all, she still found time to send us birthday and Christmas cards. And time flies so quickly that it wasn't until October 1998 that I realised that I hadn't actually heard Claire's voice in two years.
When I'd realised how long it had been I'd started to panic and ring around. Mum. Felicity's school. None of them had heard from her. I'd called the police and David was interviewed.
Then, three months on in December 1998 I'd got the worst call of my life.
'We've found a body in David's garden,' an officer said. 'I'm sorry but it's Claire.'
'No,' I screamed.
How could Claire be dead? And buried in her own garden? It was too horrific to imagine. To make matters worse, poor Felicity was just 11.
It turned out that on 25th September 1996, David had killed Claire. He'd hit her repeatedly around the head with a club hammer and buried her in a flower bed in the garden of their Victorian semi. He'd hid her death from us for two years, forging cards and notes. Two years!
My niece went to live in Fleetwood, Lancashire with David's sister Julia. But I was determined to make sure she remained part of our lives. So, while David was still on remand, in April 1999 we'd arranged for her to spend the Easter break with me, mum, Alex, Jamie, then 13, and Lewis, 11.
'Don't ask her about what happened,' I'd told the boys.
I was determined that when she was with us she'd have fun.
When she stepped out of the car my heart leapt.
A pretty brunette, she was the image of her mum at 11.
'Felicity,' I said as I blinked back the tears.
'Hi auntie Joanne,' she said shyly.
Felicity seemed quiet but happy and well adjusted.
The two weeks sped past but after that Felicity came back for her summer holidays. She was a delight and I hoped that once David was jailed she would be able to spend even more time with us. But then four days before David's trial in October 1999 his crime was changed from murder to manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility, to which he pleaded guilty. I sat in the public gallery of Northampton Crown Court, my heart aching for justice. But did I get it? Did I hell.
The proceedings lasted just one hour. There was jury and no witnesses. David didn't dare meet my eye and there was no sign of Felicity. David's QC claimed that David killed Claire because he was suffering with a depressive illness caused by Claire's nagging. An illness that apparently completely disappeared once Claire was dead.
Talk about a character assassination. No-one was allowed to defend Claire and when the sentence was read out I felt the bile rise in my throat. He got just six years in prison and the story was splashed across the papers. Headlines said: HUSBAND JAILED FOR KILLING 'NAG' WIFE.
As I read them, I wept angry tears.
'People will be sniggering over this story,' I cried. 'They'll picture her as a nagging old hag.'
But worst of all was the thought that Felicity could believe those lies. She'd been unknowingly covering up for her dad for two years. Would she remember how Claire doted on her? Loved treating her to pretty dresses?
And I wasn't the only one who was worried.
'Claire wasn't like that,' Mum said. 'What will Felicity think?'
'We'll make sure she knows the truth,' I vowed. 'It's the least we can do for Claire.'
So the visits continued and she spent Easter and summer with us the following year as well.
They were fantastic weeks.
Watching Felicity running around the garden and hearing her practice the piano was a joy.
'She's happy,' I whispered, looking at a picture of Claire on the wall.
But our happiness was short lived. In July 2000 David's sentence was reduced to four years on appeal and he was due to be released in December 2000. He'd served just 14 months from sentencing to release. Felicity would be going back to live with him.
When I waved her off from the train station platform that last time I couldn't help worry David would never let me see her again. Sadly, I was right. In December Felicity's phone calls and letters stopped. It was like losing Claire all over again.
Mum took it the hardest.
'I can't bear to lose anyone else,' she said,
By now, Mum was 83, riddled with arthritis and broken by her daughter's death. Her decline was quick and in February 2006 she died. We scattered her ashes over the beautiful rose garden at Truro Crematorium.
Three weeks later a letter arrived in the post. 'Dear Aunty Joanne, it began. 'I hope that you're all very well. I was sorry to hear about Grandma dying.'
I added her letter to the precious collection of her mum's then went to town and bought a pretty watch and sent it to her with a 18th birthday card.
'All our love Auntie Joanne, Uncle Alex, Jamie and Lewis, I signed it. 'Please keep in touch.'
A year on I haven't heard anything, but I'm hopeful. In the meantime, I'm busy trying to persuade Cambridgeshire Police to let me see Bedfordshire Police's investigation into their report of my sister's death. I believe, that under the freedom of information act, I should be allowed to know the truth. All I want is for people to know my sister wasn't all the things David said she was. She was sweet, shy and considerate. Not a nagging old hag.
But most of all she was a fantastic mother who loved her daughter more than anything.
I think about Felicity all the time. So Felicity, if you're reading this. Never forget that your mum was a very special person who loved you very much.
Felicity Hampson said: 'Joanne wasn't in contact with my mother for years before her death. The situation at home wasn't a good one Joanne had no idea what it was like. I wasn't old enough to know the circumstances but I don't think that what happened was Dad's fault. Joanne refuses to believe that any of what happened was Claire's fault and sees her as some kind of saint, which she wasn't. I wish that Joanne wouldn't keep dragging up the past. '
Every week, we revisit someone who made the headlines. Check out our other fascinating go-backs.
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