Death By Chocolate: The Last Sip

Tucked away in the heart of Christie Park, at the corner of King Street and Christie Street in Newcastle, stands an ornate relic of the city’s colonial past — the Shortland Centenary Fountain.

Originally unveiled in 1897 to commemorate Lieutenant John Shortland’s 1797 exploration of the Hunter River, the fountain first graced the promenade at Newcastle Beach. In 1937, it was carefully dismantled during the construction of Shortland Esplanade and relocated to the outskirts of Fletcher Park, near the intersection of Church Street and Pacific Street (now connected via a pedestrian walkway), standing close to the shoreline.

On a cold July night in 1946, Beryl and her 20-year-old companion, John, had spent the evening visiting two picture theatres. Later, they wandered through Fletcher Park and eventually sat near the memorial fountain.

There, Beryl consumed a piece of chocolate laced with cyanide, given to her by John. This historic fountain would deliver its most tragic legacy when Beryl, no doubt feeling the first effects of cyanide poisoning, took what would be her final sip of water. She collapsed shortly afterward being rushed to Newcastle Hospital by a passing motorist, but died within ten minutes of arriving.

Death By Chocolate

Police charged John with murder. But as the case unfolded, a more complicated picture emerged. John claimed Beryl had persuaded him to purchase the chocolate and the cyanide as part of a suicide pact. He said he had also intended to consume the poison — but spat his piece out before swallowing.

Freinds spoke of Beryl’s despair and recalled her saying she wanted to die — but never alone. At the time, Beryl was an unmarried pregnant woman — a source of deep shame and societal pressure in the 1940s and didn’t want to disgrace her family. John, it was said, had offered to marry her, but she declined, believing she was too young.

At the inquest, the coroner found that Beryl had willfully poisoned herself — but that John had encouraged her, having sourced the cyanide and helped plan the act. Still, the court could not definitively confirm the existence of a mutual pact.

John ultimately pleaded guilty to manslaughter. The court acknowledged his claims that he had tried to dissuade Beryl — but these were undermined by his encouragement and failure to prevent her death. He was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment, with a recommendation for release after just six months for good behavior.

Death By Chocolate

Today, the fountain — silent witness to Beryl’s final moments — now nestled in Christie Park, stands today as a quiet relic of Newcastle’s layered history and a subtle monument to a tragedy long forgotten.

What do you think? Did John truly intend to die? Or did he handle the poison with care, knowing exactly what it would do? Was this a tragic suicide, a mutual death pact, an act of manslaughter — or did John get away with murder?

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Postscript 1:
Five years later, now living in Islington, John Byrnes made the news again — this time for accidentally shooting himself in the abdomen with a .22 calibre rifle. He claimed he had been cleaning the gun in a shed when a cartridge exploded, with the bullet entering his stomach and exiting near the backbone. His condition at the Royal Newcastle Hospital was serious for a time — but once again, he survived. John eventually passed away in 1965.

Postscript 2:
During the fountain’s relocation in 1937, a time capsule was discovered — a glass jar filled with coins was found hidden within a concrete enclosure at its base. This was a popular practice in memorial installations throughout the 19th and 20th centuries — a practice which continues to this day.

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In Loving Memory: The ‘I Do’ That Never Came

On the evening of February 23, 1929, Constable Jack Holman had finished his shift. His duty officially ended at 11 p.m., and by all rights, he should have been on his way home—perhaps already picturing the week ahead, when he and his beloved fiancée, Pearl Wilson, were to be married.

But fate had other plans.

At 11:15 p.m., Holman was unexpectedly called back to duty. Alongside two fellow officers, he was dispatched to investigate a reported disturbance on Grenfell Street.

Police Shootout

At the scene, they found an abandoned motorcycle. Playing it safe, the officers proceeded to impound the machine and take it to the City Watchhouse. Holman volunteered to ride it in. The motorcycle, however, was temperamental—refusing to start and forcing the men to push it a distance before it finally roared to life.

Those lost minutes would prove fatal.

As Holman rode off into the night, the delay placed him directly in the path of the very disturbance they’d been sent to check—McGrath and his cronies. Shots rang out. One bullet struck Holman in the stomach. Gravely wounded, he still managed to rise and chase his assailant nearly 50 yards before collapsing on the road.

He died within the hour.

Holman had served just two years in the police force. Described as a courteous and capable officer with every promise of advancement, his death sent shockwaves through South Australia. Thousands attended his funeral. Every department of the South Australian Police Force was represented. Yet amid the sea of uniforms the most broken heart belonged to Pearl Wilson.

They were to be married within days.

Grenfell St Adelaide

Pearl’s grief lingered long after the headlines faded. On the first anniversary of Holman’s death, she placed a tender tribute In Memoriam:

“In loving memory of Jack, who passed away February 23rd, 1929.
Loved in life, cherished in death,
A beautiful memory is all we have left.”

By the third anniversary, the tribute had become more formal:

“In memory of Constable Jack, who died on the 24th of February 1929.
You live with us in memories still.
Not just today, but always will.
Inserted by Pearl and Wilson family.”

Gone was the intimacy of “Jack.” Now, he was “Constable Jack.” The message came not just from Pearl, but from “Pearl” AND the “Wilson family.” A subtle shift—yet perhaps a telling one. Had she remarried? Perhaps this was her way of saying one final goodbye? We can only speculate. History leaves no answers for this.

As for McGrath, he was found guilty and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, and he was released after serving just 13 years.

But Jack Holman never got the years he was owed. And Pearl’s life was changed irrevocably. Their story ended just when it was meant to begin.

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The Beginning of the End of Martha Rendell

How an Unexpected Mother–Son Reunion Brought Down a Monster

On a seemingly ordinary day—1st May 1909—Sarah Morris was making her way to her West Perth home after a long day at work.

Suddenly, a young boy approached her. She didn’t recognise his face at first—until he revealed his name: George. He was her 14-year-old son.

Since April 1906, when a separation order had been granted, Sarah had not seen or heard from any of her five children—three girls and two boys. She had been ordered away from the family home. Early attempts to keep in touch only led to the children being beaten by their father, Arthur Morris. Not wanting to bring more harm upon them, she stayed away, believing her absence would spare them further misery.

Now, here stood George—clearly distressed, desperate, and begging for help.

He refused to return to his father’s East Perth home, where Arthur now lived with housekeeper-turned-mistress, Martha Rendell. George was adamant: he would rather sleep on the streets than go back if she would not help him.

What Sarah didn’t know was that three of her children had already died slow, agonising deaths under Martha’s so-called care in the intervening years. George was certain he would be next.

Arthur Morris and Martha Rendell

Shocked into action, Sarah went straight to the Perth Police Court and applied for custody of her son. Despite noting her past absence, the magistrate declared it “highly desirable” that the boy not be returned to his father’s custody. He refused to explain his decision in open court, only deepening the mystery.

Rumours quickly began to swirl through the streets of Perth. What was being hidden? What was really happening inside that East Perth home?

The reunion of mother and son proved to be the beginning of the end for Martha Rendell—a woman who would go down in Perth’s history as the very embodiment of the evil stepmother. Behind closed doors, she had slowly and methodically tortured her stepchildren to death under the guise of discipline and care.

Within a few months, the bodies of the deceased children were exhumed. The investigation that followed led to the arrest and trial of Arthur Morris and Martha Rendell. In court, overwhelming witness testimony and damning evidence led to Martha’s conviction and execution.

A desperate boy’s plea, delivered to his long-lost mother on a quiet Perth street, would spark the unravelling of one of Western Australia’s most notorious crimes.

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Queensland’s Sliding Doors Moment: Wiretap City

In the 1970s, a gripping arm wrestle was unfolding behind closed doors. Would corruption prevail, or could the anti-corruption forces reclaim the heart and soul of Queensland policing?

The fightback took shape in the early 1970s with the formation of the Whitrod-led CIU (Criminal Intelligence Unit). Their weapon of choice: the wiretap.

The years that followed would prove to be an incredible lost opportunity—what we might now call a sliding doors era. For a time, the anti-corruption forces had successfully neutralised key members of the infamous Rat Pack who were running the Vice Squad’s corruption rackets—either forcing them into retirement or banishing them to remote Queensland country outposts where they could do no harm.

Wiretapping had proven to be a valuable weapon. But despite having what seemed like unlosable, ironclad, open-and-shut cases—backed by wiretap evidence—several high-profile prosecutions were lost.

Wiretapping in Vice City Fortitude Valley

By 1976, the relationship between Commissioner Whitrod and Premier Sir Joh Bjelke-Petersen had completely broken down. The Premier was increasingly interfering in police affairs, demanding the use of the police force as a bulwark against critics and political opponents. Then came the tipping point: Joh recalled one of the rats from the wilderness of country QLD and appointed him Assistant Police Commissioner—directly under Whitrod.

It was intolerable. Whitrod resigned in protest. The end result? The Premier promoted head rat Terry Lewis one more rung to take on the newly vacated top policing job in the state—appointing Terry Lewis as the new Police Commissioner. Like a pied piper, Lewis played his tune—and the rats returned en masse.

The sliding doors moment wasn’t just missed; it was slammed shut. Political corruption was now entrenched at every level, fusing police, underworld, and cabinet interests to a scale never before achieved. Fortitude Valley became further entrenched as the vice capital of Queensland.

But as history would record, the corruption of this era would eventually come crashing down—almost by accident—a decade later. It wouldn’t fall in a single blow—but once the first domino tipped, the downfall of Vice City was unstoppable.

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