Hundreds attend Brisbane funeral for Hannah Clarke and her three children
If there was any comfort, it was that Hannah Clarke and the children were together for this saddest of farewells.
If there was any comfort, it was that Hannah Clarke and the children were together for this saddest of farewells. The oversized white casket they shared made more of a statement than any words could.
Three weeks on from their deaths in suburban Brisbane, loved ones, friends, neighbours and the wider community are yet to come to grips with the unspeakable fate that befell the 31-year-old mother, her daughters Aaliyah, 6, and Laianah, 4, and the sweet little boy, Trey, 3.
Out of respect for their memory, we won’t name Hannah’s late estranged husband. After what happened on February 19, he deserves no mention — and received none at Monday’s moving memorial service. His image was cropped from the smiling family snaps that provided a poignant backdrop to the requiem.
Scott Morrison, solemn as an owl, sat in the front row of the packed Citipointe Church auditorium alongside Premier Annastacia Palaszczuk and other dignatories, including Brisbane Lord Mayor Adrian Schrinner and Queensland Police Commissioner Katarina Carroll. First responders who had attended the murder scene dotted the pews in dress uniform.
Somehow, Hannah’s parents, Lloyd and Suzanne Clarke, stayed composed, their faces blank masks of grief. Her brother Nat, speaking on behalf of the family, told teasing tales about his smart, sassy, accomplished sister that only siblings can share.
Over the holidays, they had packed up the kids — Hannah’s and his three — for a day at Sea World that stretched on and on, a pure joy. Nat had wanted to head home early but was talked into staying by his big sister for another two precious hours. How glad he was that they did. Parting for what turned out to be the last time, Hannah had hugged him and said: “Love you, gay boy.”
“We weren’t brother and sister. We were friends,” the young man said, his voice cracking.
Lifelong friend Nikki Brooks said anyone who met Hannah immediately knew what a special woman she was: “She lit up every room”, made you feel important. Training with her at the gym she had run, “in our happy little bubble”, was a magic that could never be replicated.
The children were “three peas in a beautiful pod”, she said. Aaliyah, the feisty one, had corrected her teacher on the first day of school for getting her name wrong. “It’s OK,” the little girl said. “We are all here to learn.”
Laianah was the ratbag in the middle with her mother’s cheeky charm, the funniest kid you could meet. Trey, her little man and “best surprise”, loved nothing more than being cuddled.
“You had my back and I would have laid down my life for you,” Ms Brooks said. “I am so, so sorry I could not protect you.”
The flower-draped casket was plastered with butterfly stickers when the children’s cousins, Jayden, Tyler and Noah, were called forward with other youngsters to say their goodbye.
Local councillor Fiona Cunningham quoted the now-viral social media post Hannah issued a few days before the attack to powerfully call out domestic violence. “I am a Strong Woman, I don’t sit around feeling sorry for myself nor will I ever let anyone mistreat me again,” she wrote.
“I don’t respond to people who dictate to me or try to bring me down. I am a survivor not a victim. I am in control of my life and there is nothing I can’t achieve. My girls will grow up being strong women who understand their worth.”
This was Hannah’s legacy, and it would endure.
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