Marie Storey was small in stature, but never easily overlooked.

When she joined Police in 1943, women were still something of an experiment. They were “temporary constables”, part of a separate women’s division, and many people wondered whether they really belonged.

Marie was determined to prove they did.

She was just 18 when she joined in the third intake of women police officers. She had been inspired by her father, a senior sergeant and Police Gazette editor, who came home one evening in 1941 and told his daughter he had witnessed history – the swearing-in of New Zealand’s first women police officers.

“They were a fine bunch of young women,” he told her.

Marie decided she wanted to be one of them.

Her father died shortly before she joined, but his influence stayed with her throughout her life.

For a woman whose Police career lasted just four years, her connection with policing endured for more than eight decades.

Marie Storey, nee Nixon, died at her Kāpiti Coast home near Wellington on August 4, aged 104.

A different kind of officer

Marie’s policing career bears little resemblance to those of women entering Police today. 

While Australia, Britain, Sweden and Germany all began accepting female officers before 1920, women in New Zealand had to wait until 1941.

Their uniforms were a smart dress from their own wardrobes, worn with a hat and included a handbag that could be used as a weapon in an emergency. Police uniforms did not arrive for women until 1952. 

They were also banned from riding in police cars. “We had to walk or take public transport, or wait for someone to take us," Marie told Stuff in 2016.

Crucially, women were expected to hand in their handcuffs if they chose marriage and/or motherhood; not that Marie made a single arrest – that was a job for the men.

Women patrolled parks, streets, hotels, picture theatres and the waterfront, dealt with matters involving women and children and were used as decoys.

Marie was once sent to Mount Victoria, Wellington, to act as bait for a man suspected of molesting women. It was pitch-black. She was scared of the dark and was supposed to have a detective keeping watch nearby. Except, on this occasion, Marie couldn't see him.

She walked back and forth along a dark, uneven track in a skirt, blouse, hat, gloves and handbag, waiting for the offender to appear. Then something moved.

Marie took off. She said she wasn’t sure her feet even touched the ground. The culprit turned out to be an equally aggrieved cat. 

When the detective finally appeared, his observation was understated: “My word, that was a great turn of speed you put on.”

The actual offender was caught a few days later.

Giving as good as she got

Being a pioneer was not always comfortable. Some male colleagues welcomed women officers. Others were sceptical. Some simply didn't want to know them.

Marie quickly learnt that she also had to watch out for pranksters.

After one late shift, she asked the watchhouse keeper to order her a taxi home. When the driver eventually got her alone in the car, he asked: “Have you been bailed out?”

Marie was horrified. “No, I'm a policewoman,” she told him.

She later discovered that a constable at the watchhouse had put the taxi driver up to it.

“Pranks were played on us, and we had to sharpen our wits,” she said.

Marie could look back on the indignities and absurdities of those early years with humour – but she never underestimated what it had taken for those first women to establish their place.
 

“We were trying to prove that there was a place for women. I felt a responsibility to do well in the Police in those early days because I wanted to ensure that no-one regretted the decision back then to hire women.”

Speaking during Police’s 75th anniversary celebrations in 2016, Marie said: “We knew we had to measure up, to make a success of the venture.”

She did.

Career ends, connection continues

Marie had to leave Police in 1947 after marrying fellow officer Tom Storey and becoming pregnant with their daughter, Carol. “We didn’t have maternity leave.”

But leaving Police did not mean leaving it behind.

Her four years in uniform became a lifetime connection with the organisation and the people in it. She remained fascinated by policing and volunteered as a welfare officer for the Wellington Retired Police Members’ Club. She continued attending club meetings well into her 100s and became a Life Member. 

She attended graduations at the Royal New Zealand Police College and delighted in seeing generations of women following the path she and her colleagues had helped pave.

At her 100th birthday celebration, the youngest female recruit at the college presented her with flowers. The symbolism was not lost on anyone.

Marie had joined an organisation that was still deciding whether women belonged. Then, 82 years later, one of scores of young women entering a vastly different Police was standing beside her.

At 103, she was still being described by friends as sharp-minded, independent, beautifully turned out and a joy to talk to. “She always looks a million dollars,” one friend said.
 

'I just feel so proud'

Marie featured prominently in Police’s 75th anniversary celebrations of women in policing in 2016.

Then 94, she led a parade through Wellington to Parliament celebrating the women who had followed her. She was proud of how far Police had come.

But she never seemed to regard herself as extraordinary. She simply believed she had a job to do – and that she had better do it well.

She was proud that women had gone from being a tentative wartime experiment to taking their place throughout the organisation, including in its highest ranks.

“I just feel so proud that women have been able to go forward from what was a rather humble beginning,” she said. “And I wish every success for the movement.”

Marie never stopped belonging to Police, even after Police stopped being her job. 

She was one of the pioneers – and right to the end, she remained interested in the people and organisation she had helped change.

A tiny woman with a sharp mind, a ready laugh and, apparently, a very impressive turn of speed.

Moe mai rā, Marie.