- Peter spent his early years in foster care, where he faced harsh treatment from unkind foster parents
- At age four, his father Clarence suddenly reappeared with Peter’s sisters, Kelly and Tina, by his side
- Peter learned Clarence had been sent to prison for robbery when he was 18 months old – and that his mum had abandoned the family soon after
- Clarence tried his best to rebuild their lives, but would he return to his criminal ways, and would the law finally catch up with him?
- “Grab what you need, we’re out of here,” Clarence told the kids one night
- Here, Peter Norris, 52, from Wodonga, Victoria, shares his real-life story of life on the run and growing up a bank robber’s boy…
Waking up, I was horrified to see blood on my pillows.
“I’ve got a bloody nose,” I cried.
“What a mess you’ve made,” my foster father said angrily, belting the back of my legs.
It was 1977, and although I was only four, I could sense I wasn’t with my real family.
Two weeks later, I was in the garden when a tall man with big blue eyes like mine walked up.
“You’re coming with me, mate,” he said, picking me up and hugging me.
Instantly, I knew he was my real dad.
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Climbing into his car, I met my sisters, Tina, seven, and Kelly, six.
I learnt that after my dad, Clarence, went to prison for robbery when I was 18 months old, our mum abandoned us at a church.
After that, my sisters and I went to different families.
Mum was never heard from again, but Dad came to get us as soon as he got out.
I was delighted to be taken from my harsh foster parents.
We moved into housing commission in Granville, NSW.
Even though we had little money, Dad was loving, and I adored him.
He’d give me tickles and read bedtime stories.
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“No matter what, I’ll always come for you,” he promised me.
Most nights, Dad went out, leaving us on our own.
Often, we’d wake to find new appliances that weren’t there when we went to bed.
In December, while searching for Christmas presents, we found three brown bags filled with cash.
One also had two handguns.
We never told Dad what we’d found. It was clear he was still living a life of crime.
I soon followed suit.
When I was six, I stole cash and jewellery from the local high school.
Handing it over to Dad, he scolded me.
“Don’t do it again,” he yelled, but he used the cash to buy groceries.
Taking this to mean he didn’t really mind, I started stealing regularly.
One morning, at 2am, Dad woke us up.
“Grab what you need, we’re out of here,” he said.
I packed Tom the Turtle, my soft toy, into my bag and within 10 minutes we were off.
Hopping towns became a pattern.
Sometimes we’d stay somewhere long enough to enrol in school, but then we’d be off again.
When I was eight, he confessed it was because the cops were after him.
I was 11 when he was finally arrested and sent back to prison.
Tina stayed with a friend, but Kelly and I became wards of the state.
I’d have done anything to be with Dad.
They couldn’t find a foster home for me, so I spent four months in a remand centre, enduring horrific abuse.
Then I was finally sent to a foster family.
One night, I heard a rattle at the window. It was Dad.
“Told you I’d always come for you,” he whispered.
Tina, 16, had married with special permission, and Kelly, 14, was happy in her respite home, so Dad and I headed for Western Australia.
As we travelled, he taught me to drive and described his escape.
“I pretended I was sick and got taken to the prison infirmary,” he said.
“When the doctor left the room, I climbed through an air vent in the ceiling.”
I loved Dad’s stories; he was my hero.
At Port Hedland, he got me a job at the local Kmart.
At 11, I was tall enough to pass for 15.
Within three months, I was running three departments with teams working under me.
In 1985, Kelly came to visit.
She entered Dad in a Mother’s Day competition in a local newspaper, claiming he did an amazing job of being both mum and dad.
Incredibly, Dad won! For the prize, we were driven in a Rolls-Royce to a five-star hotel for an overnight stay.
Next day, we were pictured in the paper under the headline, He’s the best mum.
Soon after, two detectives came into Kmart.
“Your dad’s been arrested again,” one said.
My manager, gobsmacked to discover how young I was, shook my hand as I left.
“You’ll go far,” he remarked.
I was placed with another foster family.
They were wonderful, enrolling me in school and taking good care of me.
Two years later, Dad escaped from Fremantle prison and came to find me.
“Are you coming with me?” he asked.
By now, Dad was one of Australia’s most wanted criminals. I loved him, but I didn’t want a life of crime.
“Sorry, not this time, Dad,” I said sadly.
It was the toughest decision I – the bank robber’s boy – ever made.
He nodded, picked up his bag and left.
A few months later he was arrested again.
We kept in touch with letters, but he died in prison from dementia-related issues when I was 16.
I was devastated but determined to make a go of my life.
After school, I did a degree in Tourism and Hospitality and worked my way to management positions.
Now, I’m the CEO of a multimillion-dollar hospitality venue.
Although I’m glad I didn’t go with Dad, I still miss him and believe he gave me invaluable skills.
Being on the run certainly taught me to think on my feet!
When my memoir, The Bank Robber’s Boy, came out in March 2025, my staff said it all made sense.
“No wonder you’re so calm in a crisis,” one marvelled.
My daughters, Chloe, 19, and Sophie, 13, know about my past and are proud of who I’ve become.
I coach their AFL football team and am also a body-building gold medallist.
I’m sharing my story to show that your past doesn’t have to dictate your future.
You can turn your life around if you want to.
To purchase Peter’s book, The Bank Robber’s Boy, click here.
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