'REMEMBERING ANITA COBBY' - A Widower Reborn
No matter how many years may pass, the memory of a loved one who has gone far too soon never dims. If that same person has been stolen away through one of the most horrifying murders of the century, then every single one of those precious recollections is smothered with pain, disbelief and often deep seated loathing for the people whose names should not even be in your memory bank, let alone having their faces continually haunt your dreams. This scenario is the constant companion for John Cobby, aka John Francis, Anita Cobby's still deeply grieving husband.
Thirty years ago last February, a beautiful, fun-loving and effervescent young woman, who also had the trademark tender heart of a nurse, caught a train home from a dinner date with a few nursing buddies in Sydney's CBD heart. This was in the days long before the convenience of mobile phones and instant communication.
Arriving at Blacktown train station two kilometres from her home, Anita found some unnamed person or persons had unknowingly already taken her fate into their hands through the most senseless and stupidest acts of vandalism. A bank of phones lined the walls but as she went to ring for a taxi, every single one of the handsets had been ripped from their socket. But something of this nature wouldn't have bothered this carefree woman. She enjoyed a good walk and it was still early - around nine o'clock on a balmy night - and the distance was an easy stroll for any fit and healthy person.
Anita had no way of knowing that within the space of only a few minutes, what was to befall her would make her name known all around the country as the victim of the most despicable crime anyone could ever imagine. Career-worn policemen and tough investigative journalists would be horrified by what they would learn this innocent young woman had been subjected to for who knows how long. They would discover she breathed her final breath through a gaping slash across her neck where a sharp knife ripped through her windpipe all the way to her spine by a man with a heart made of stone while four others watched on without raising a hand to go to her aid. After all, why should they? Each one had just used and abused that beautiful body to relieve their thirst for power and insatiable lust while egging each other on.
Yes, I know. Those words conjure up a ghastly scene and some reading this may wonder why this reviewer penned such a blunt account of this poor woman's last moments on earth. But I make no apology - this is what John, her parents - Garry and Grace - and her sister, Kathryn, have had to live with every single second since that terrible night in February 1986.
'Remembering Anita Cobby' is a hard read that makes your heart ache for her loved ones, the bile rise in your throat for what she had to endure, and your blood boil at what five callous young men with the whole world at their feet decided was merely an act of fun one summer night.
And yet, despite the agony of reading about the pain and suffering John Cobby is still dealing with every day as he tries to blank out what his beloved wife went through - and still dreams of finding a way to mete out his own form of justice to these five sadistic brutes - this account was a real page turner as the author, Mark Morri, gave voice to John's story when he opened up his heart as never before. It took every bit of guts he could muster up - and not surprisingly, this poor heartbroken soul often found himself trying to run away from another bout of deep melancholy that inevitably arose with each telling - but he persevered and actually found a small amount of solace and relief when he came to the end after many long hours of relating his thoughts and pain. And in amongst all this horror, he found himself again ... a man no longer hiding his name - a widower reborn. You get the impression it was similar to cauterising a long festering wound with the deep sharp pains that eventually bring a measure of healing, although the deep-seated scars will never fade.
Thank you, John, for bravely recounting those heartbreaking years of shocking imaginings, unspeakable loss and desperate loneliness. I pray that one day soon you will find a measure of peace in your heart and reach a place where you will only ever remember your beloved Anita with a smile that comes from the very core of all those good times the pair of you shared before your heart was ripped apart and all that unwarranted self-loathing began. And one day I trust you will be together in the way you so yearn for and believe with every bit of your heart.
Until then, rest easy in your maker's loving arms, Anita Cobby. A whole nation wishes you peace.
