In a heartrending yet dignified revelation, BBC racing commentator John Hunt has broken his silence nearly a year after the brutal murder of his wife and two daughters at their home in Bushey, Hertfordshire. Speaking with striking calm and courage, Hunt and his surviving daughter Amy reflect on the unshakable family bond, the cherished memories, and the painful misreporting that followed the tragedy. With grace and grit, they now step forward not for sympathy, but to restore truth, celebrate life, and speak against the shadows that tried to redefine their loved ones.

STORY HIGHLIGHTS

• Carol Hunt and daughters Hannah and Louise were killed in July 2024 in Bushey, Hertfordshire.

• The attacker, Kyle Clifford, had recently ended a relationship with Louise.

• John Hunt and daughter Amy refute claims there were signs of abuse before the murders.

• They emphasize the enduring love within the family and share personal memories.

• Hannah’s last actions—calling 999 and naming the attacker—may have saved her father’s life.

• Media coverage at the time, they say, was misleading and painful.

Nearly a year after the harrowing murders of his wife and two daughters, BBC racing commentator John Hunt has spoken for the first time about the unimaginable pain and profound love that continue to shape his days. In a heartfelt conversation with the BBC, John, accompanied by his surviving daughter Amy, revisits memories of warmth, resilience, and closeness that defined their family life—and the trauma that followed its brutal shattering. Together, they attempt to reclaim the narrative surrounding the lives of Carol, Hannah, and Louise Hunt, whose final moments have become entangled in media headlines and speculation.

A Life Built on Love and Encouragement
For the Hunt family, life was defined not by extravagance or drama but by something far more grounding—mutual trust, laughter, and a steady sense of belonging. John Hunt recalls that even in the early days of his marriage, Carol was his biggest supporter. A police officer at the time, John had aspirations of being a racing commentator—dreams Carol encouraged wholeheartedly. That belief in one another, he explains, became a family trait passed down to their daughters: Amy, the eldest, followed by middle daughter Hannah, and finally Louise, “the baby,” as he calls her.

John describes their home as a haven of connection. “From the moment I wake up,” he says, “I say good morning to each of them.”

Even now, almost a year later, he continues these morning greetings to Carol, Hannah, and Louise. He says they remain such a constant presence in his life that he speaks to them daily and thinks of them as if they are still physically nearby.

At night, he admits, the rituals continue.

“Sometimes I say out loud to Hannah and Louise, ‘Girls, sorry I can’t be with you, I’m with your mum at the moment’,” he shares.
“As I close my eyes at night, I chat to them as well. They’re very close to me all the time.”

An Idyllic Life Interrupted
The household in Bushey was filled with shared moments and mutual affection. Carol, who was 61, worked from home. Hannah, 28, was building a career in aesthetics and beauty. Louise, 25, had started her own dog-grooming business, operating from a pod in the garden. John remembers their life as vibrant and peaceful.

“It was one of complete happiness—awash with it, really,” he says.

Amy, who lived elsewhere, recalls a special night just two months before the murders. Her three sisters had gone out for sushi. That evening would later take on a new weight.

“We were talking about how lucky we’d been as a family, to have had the parents we’ve had and the life we’ve had,” Amy recalls.

John adds that when Hannah returned from that dinner, she was glowing with emotion.

“She came barnstorming through the door,” he says. “Carol asked, ‘You had a lovely time?’ And Hannah said, ‘Do you know what, Mum? We talked about how lucky we’ve been. We’ve not had a minute of concern or worry through the lives you’ve given us.’”

For John and Amy, that memory is now a bittersweet one—both comforting and devastating in its innocence.

The Day of the Attack
The events of July 9, 2024, were sudden, violent, and catastrophic. Kyle Clifford, Louise’s former partner, arrived at the house claiming to return some of her belongings. Doorbell footage captured the brief conversation between him and Carol.

She greeted him kindly, and even offered advice.

“Maybe… maybe think in the next relationship,” Carol told him,
“The way you are, maybe try and change. If you carry on like this, you’ll end up on your own.”

Clifford responded politely and said he had started therapy. But once Carol turned to go back inside, he followed her in—and then attacked. He stabbed her multiple times.

He waited in the house for Louise to come in from her dog grooming pod. When she did, he restrained her, raped her, and fatally shot her with a crossbow. Later, when Hannah returned, he shot her as well.

Though grievously wounded, Hannah managed to send a message to her boyfriend and dial 999. She was able to tell the emergency operator what had happened and name her attacker.

John, who was in central London at the time, believes her actions saved his life.

“That’s what I believe,” he says.
“I said it in court and I’ve said many times—her doing that has given me life. And I’ve used that to re-ground myself on a daily basis.”

Police later told him that seasoned officers were astonished by Hannah’s clarity and courage in those final moments.

Fighting Back Against Misrepresentation
In the weeks after the murders, as news reports spread, the family says they were forced to endure a second kind of trauma. Headlines, they argue, painted an incomplete and at times false picture of Louise and her relationship with Clifford. Some reports claimed signs of coercive control were obvious. Others suggested the family had missed clear warning signals.

Amy sharply rejects that.

“Did we have any indication that this man was capable of stabbing my mother, of tying Louise up, of raping Louise, of shooting Louise and shooting Hannah? Absolutely not,” she says.

Though they had their misgivings—Clifford was immature, struggled with conflict, and could be inconsiderate—they never saw any indication that he was violent. Their concerns were minor, the kind a family might raise during any ordinary relationship.

“They would giggle and cuddle, cook together, go on holidays,” John explains.
“It seemed like any other relationship, especially in the first year.”

Louise ended the relationship at the end of June. Less than two weeks later, Clifford returned to their home.

John and Amy also criticize how the media handled photographs of the victims, some of which were taken from social media without permission. They describe it as “grave-robbing.” One headline described Clifford as a “jilted crossbow maniac,” which Amy says placed undue focus on the perpetrator rather than the victims.

“The moment he left our house that day,” Amy says,
“My mum, Hannah, and Louise became statistics. They became victims of Kyle Clifford.”

“I want to breathe life back into my mum, Hannah, and Louise as fully-rounded people.”

Honoring Lives, Not Just Loss
For John and Amy, speaking publicly now is about reclaiming the legacy of their loved ones—not letting them be defined by the horror of their deaths. They have shared personal photos and anecdotes to bring their memory into focus for the public—not as victims, but as vibrant, loved, and loving women.

As the anniversary of the tragedy approaches, John says the love they shared still carries him forward.

“From the moment I wake, and as I go to sleep, they are with me,” he says.

It is, he believes, that unshakable bond—the family’s emotional foundation—that keeps him and Amy standing, and allows them now to speak not just of grief, but of love that endures.

In choosing to speak now, John Hunt and his daughter Amy offer not only a moving tribute to Carol, Hannah, and Louise, but also a quiet resistance to a narrative that reduced vibrant lives to fleeting headlines. Their voices—firm, clear, and full of heart—remind us that behind every tragedy lies a human story worth telling with care. As they reject false portrayals and reclaim their truth, what endures is not the cruelty of one act, but the enduring strength of family, the power of memory, and the unmistakable legacy of love.

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