Wrongful Convictions Report

Marking the first anniversary of his death, we publish an extract from the eulogy by his sons Ben & Richard and delivered at his funeral,  from the new book by Andrew L. Urban, Presumption of Evil 2 – Truth Be Told, to be published later this year.

 Mum says that she thought dad was so handsome, though he wasn’t a great dancer and she couldn’t wear heels because she didn’t want to be taller than him, it was his generosity and care for others that mum loved.

1969, July 19, the day before the Moon landing, Mum and Dad took their own giant steps for Valentine-kind. Their 55 year marriage, 5 children, 9 grandchildren, moves around the country side for career progression, investigating becoming a chicken farmer, operating a motel and finishing up running a small cattle farm and olive grove, these were the “money-in-the-bank” parts of Dad and Mum’s marriage.

Along the journey, Dad was absolutely devoted to mum. Decisions were made together, helping each other was their way, asking for advice, knowing the things that he wasn’t as good at doing, stepping back or stepping up, these were the things that dad did, he seemed to just know what the situation required of him in that moment as a husband and father.

Dad was born in September 1940, the 2^nd son of Mary and Frank, a war-time baby and no doubt evidence of a furlough home.

Dad shared so many stories of his childhood. He was thick as thieves with his older brother Jim and younger brother David.

They grew up in Leeds in Yorkshire and their days would be spent getting up to mischief as they went from one aunt’s house to another. Good ideas abounded, climbing being one of them. Whether dad was encouraged, coerced, dared or simply showing his boyhood bravado, scaling the roof of St Patricks church in the end was not his most prudent decision, for you see, going up was decidedly easier than coming back down.

The fire brigade with their extension ladder was called for the young lad needed rescuing from his 20 metre perch atop the peak of the steeply sloping roof.

Dad was a man of determination. He ran all over Yorkshire, winning cross country races wherever he competed, though sometimes the 2^nd place prize was better than for coming first. He told us that he would have preferred the track suit rather than the biscuit barrel. Life was tough.  

He made a few quid on the side by unblocking frozen water pipes while he was an apprentice plumber and he sold vegies around the pubs from his work on a local farm.  

But he thought that there was a different life out there for him and he moved to Australia just after turning 21.

Dad had been a motorbike rider in England, so it’s perhaps his unfamiliarity with being behind the wheel of a car or maybe it was his visit to Balmain Leagues Club, either way the petrol bowser at the servo where he parked felt the brunt of his poor reversing.

And so it was that Dad was now an Aussie, though it would be over 30 years before he was officially naturalised. What was he waiting for? Well, I guess he was just too busy raising a family, making homes out of houses we lived in.

There was a theme there, definitely the worst house in the best street that mum and dad could afford. And each of these ‘worst’ houses needed a helluva lot of work, and dad ploughed in. He was a ball of energy, with the exception of when we would go on family holidays where a midday nap and the reply of “in due course”

would be the answer to our question of when would we be going to the beach for a swim. Family life was loud, small houses and shared bedrooms, extensions were added to create more space, an oldest daughter needed her own room, the new baby needed a quiet place and the baby of the family, well, she was the princess (perhaps self-appointed).

Dad was a great mentor, I continued to learn from him as I became a parent, they say that you don’t receive a manual from the hospital as you take a new-born home but I had someone I could ask as I wondered whether what I was experiencing was normal. He loved his grandchildren and was always interested in whatever they were doing and memories from my boys include sitting on grandads lap playing solitaire or being amused by his little dog – Herbie. 

Dad’s humour and mischievousness is part of who he is, right until the end his jesting nature couldn’t help but come forth.

The priest brought him communion at hospital, after receiving the body of Christ, Dad looked at the priest and optimistically asked with a twinkle in his eye “and a little bit of blood of Christ”. The poor priest who was completely unprepared looked lost until we all had a chuckle, then he realised that dad was just being cheeky.

He Loved his wife as she loved him and when it was time for him to let go, he gave mum’s hand a gentle squeeze and left.

 {Published with permission}

 In Presumption of Evil 2, the author argues that Valentine’s conviction in 2019 of several indecent assaults, rapes and other assaults allegedly committed 45-50 years prior was wrongful. I say allegedly despite the convictions, partly because the grounds for appeal are compelling, notwithstanding they were dismissed by the Court of Appeal, and partly because a detailed examination of the case doesn’t provide proof beyond reasonable doubt. These two reasons are intertwined, of course.

Valentine was sentenced to 22 years in prison, with a non parole period of 13 years. His alleged offending took place at Parramatta Girls Training School in the 70s and were first raised at the Royal Commission into Institutional Responses to Child Sex Abuse set up by Julia Gillard.

Andrew L. Urban

Splashed headlines, double page spreads in newspapers, podcasts at length … the pursuit of cold cases is big in mass media. Wrongful convictions … not so much (with notable exceptions). It’s as if innocents in jail don’t matter to society. Yet the friends and families of unsolved murders suffer no more than the friends and families of the wrongfully convicted – and they themselves.  Continue reading →