To those who read this letter, likely long after I have passed beyond - I do not ask for forgiveness or for absolution. My days continue to draw to a close and I am ill of health, but in the face of it all I am at peace within myself.

I know that with this I will face the ire of a few and the judgement of many, but some things cannot go unwritten in perpetuity. I write this so that there may be absolutely no doubt as to what occurred in June of 1937, to wit: a thing so heinous in nature that records of it are, at best, extremely difficult to find and likely no longer exist.

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I was a man of the law then, under the auspice of the New South Wales police service - as I was for near-all of my working years. Specifically, at that time I was a Sergeant. It may be hard to imagine, but the late nineteen-thirties were good times. Hard times to be certain - the depression had left its mark on us all in some form or another - but by and large we all got by without a lot of ado. There were troublemakers of course who were dealt with with as the law saw fit, but rarely did it proceed beyond a harsh word or a swift kick up the backside._

In those early years I imagined that there was a measure of goodness in every man. However, I have long since learned that is not the case. The day I encountered Robert James Farden, I knew at once that he was guilty of each and every one of the heinous crimes he had been accused of. To pass judgement on a man’s innocence - or lack thereof - may have been an improper judgement from somebody of my station, however to this day I remain steadfast in my convictions.

In all my years, I have scarcely forgotten young Annie Dixon. As I recall, she came from good stock - a working class family of fine morals, a father who tilled the earth and a mother who devoted herself to her family and the church. They were of meager means but that never seemed to darken their horizons.

I was, in fact, the officer who first received word via telegram that she had not returned home. At first it was thought to be a simple incident of misadventure. That perhaps she had gotten herself lost, as children are wont to do - that she may have wandered into the the thicket of bush surrounding her homestead. It was not until some time later that she was found, on the edge of the Dixon’s property. I loathe to put into this writing the things that I witnessed on that day, but suffice to say that for all of my years I have never again seen such cruelty and malice.

I can still recall the unease that seemed to overcome the townsfolk - as if a darkness had descended on us all, myself included. The response was swift of course. We were all angry - something had to be done, and we couldn’t let such a thing go unpunished. Times might have changed, but an eye for an eye was how the world worked in 1937.

I first met Robert Farden on July the 12th of that year, and from that day forward I knew he was the individual who had committed such a shocking and unthinkable act. He seemed to be a drifter, which wasn’t uncommon at the time and certainly didn’t raise suspicion initially. I soon discovered, however, that he had been living in the bush that surrounded the Dixon’s property. He also matched the description of a man who had been seen several times loitering near the local primary school; not only that, but he also possessed a criminal record for improper conduct with a minor. I wasn’t able to glean exactly what that entailed, however I had no doubt that it was something very unpleasant to say the least.

Of course he was thick with denial. I posited the question of his culpability to him directly, and was met with nothing but a sneer. Despite my certainties things had reached an impasse, and all we had was suppositions. The days continued to pass, and I knew something had to be done. When Annie Dixon’s meager belongings were later found amongst his personal things, no more than a kilometer from her home, there was no further doubt in the minds of the townsfolk that he was guilty beyond reasonable doubt.

As time went on, I began to see him as something less than human. He never did confess, but in the end it didn’t matter. After a swift but eventful trial, Robert James Farden was found unanimously guilty and was sentenced to be hanged on the seventh day of September, 1937.

Some - likely most - would say I went beyond my position as an officer of the law. Some things, however, are so far beyond the bounds of decency and goodness, that they shouldn’t be permitted to stand; such moral turpitude must not be permitted to prosper, lest it spread like a cancer.

I did what I thought was just and right and moral, and I have never wavered in that belief.