Some wrestlers are built for sunshine. Beatrice St. Claire Terry—born Bea Priestley—is not one of them.
She’s a storm in eyeliner. A stitched-up promise of pain with moves that land like unpaid debts. She’s fought in more countries than most people can find on a map, lived under more aliases than a con artist on the run, and survived everything from brain surgery to Vince McMahon’s revolving door of bad ideas. Somewhere along the way, she even made people forget she once answered to the name “Amy St. Clere.”
That was her debut gimmick in New Zealand at sixteen years old. Most sixteen-year-olds are cramming for biology exams and dreaming of prom. Bea was throwing knees in front of crowds of fifty, trained by Travis Banks, learning how to take pain and give it back harder. Wrestling didn’t come to her; she hunted it down, dragging it by the hair from New Zealand to Japan to the U.K. and eventually to Vince’s vinyl-gloss empire in Stamford.
By the time she was twenty, she’d already spent more time in locker rooms than lecture halls. She had names like Nixon Newell and Kay Lee Ray on her resume before she could legally drink in most countries. When she returned to England, she trained at Progress Wrestling’s Projo—grindhouse school for British bruisers. It was there Bea stopped trying to become the next big thing and started becoming something worse: a threat.
WCPW: Blood, Bruises, and Bravado
Bea’s time in WhatCulture Pro Wrestling (later Defiant Wrestling) was like a fever dream on fast forward. She lost her debut to Newell, then beat her the next night, then lost again, then stole the title anyway like a wrestling Bonnie Parker. The angles weren’t always perfect, but her intensity was undeniable. She cheated, scratched, and clawed—not to win, but to leave you knowing she’d been there.
She aligned with the Swords of Essex, carried that outlaw edge like a badge, and by the time she was done, she’d captured the Defiant Women’s Championship twice and brawled her way into cult hero status. She didn’t wrestle matches. She survived them.
Stardom: Becoming a Godless Queen in Japan
In Japan, Priestley became a name worth whispering. Stardom took one look at the scowl and swagger and handed her the keys to the kingdom. She danced in the Goddesses of Stardom Tag League, battled Toni Storm in Taiwan, and by May 2019, she dethroned Kagetsu to win the World of Stardom Championship—becoming the face of joshi’s rising Western rebellion.
She didn’t just win titles in Japan. She won respect.
She joined Queen’s Quest, then burned it all down when she defected to Oedo Tai—the promotion’s snake pit of villains and misfits. It was the kind of betrayal Shakespeare would’ve penned if he liked chair shots and double-crosses. Alongside Jamie Hayter, she became one-half of the first foreign duo to hold Stardom’s tag titles, right before COVID lockdowns stripped them away.
When the world froze, Bea didn’t. She attacked, adapted, evolved.
AEW: The Girl Who Kicked Britt Baker in the Skull
In 2019, AEW tried to get ahead of the curve. They signed Bea Priestley after she turned down a WWE offer. For a second, it looked like the revolution had its femme fatale. She teamed with Shoko Nakajima at Fight for the Fallen, but all anyone remembers is the real-life concussion she gifted Britt Baker via a back-of-the-head boot that echoed like gunfire. Baker went full shoot in interviews. Bea, ever the chaos artist, leaned into it.
They feuded. Bea lost the blowoff at Full Gear. But that wasn’t the point. The point was she made Britt better by giving her a villain. Then she disappeared—COVID travel restrictions clipping her wings like a cruel punchline. AEW quietly released her in August 2020. No farewell. No flowers. Just silence.
WWE: Blair Davenport and the Corporate Machine
WWE signed her in 2021, slapped the name “Blair Davenport” on her like a label on a wine bottle, and shoved her into NXT UK with no warning. She made it work. She always did.
Davenport quickly became the brand’s death dealer—racking up bodies like a Bond villain in leather gear. She challenged Meiko Satomura for the NXT UK Women’s title and lost. But the real crime was what happened next: the brand died. She was thrown into NXT stateside like a dart at a board. She became a mystery attacker in 2023, taking out women one by one. Fans loved it. Her matches with Lyra Valkyria and Sol Ruca were stiff, jagged masterclasses in snug style. But WWE never seemed to know what they wanted from her.
They drafted her to SmackDown in 2024. A few random matches. One high-profile beatdown of Jade Cargill that felt like the beginning of something. But like most good things in Stamford, it never got past the first act. By February 2025, she was cut loose like yesterday’s storyline.
And she didn’t miss a beat.
Back to the Beginning: New Japan, Full Circle
In May 2025, under her real name again—no alias, no mask, no plastic gimmick—Bea Priestley returned to New Japan Pro-Wrestling at Resurgence, beating Viva Van with a look on her face like she had never left.
New Japan. No glitz. No gimmicks. Just pain and performance. It felt right.
Because Bea’s not built for WWE’s sterilized dream factory. She’s a wrestler. A knife in a velvet box. She doesn’t need 50 writers in a boardroom scripting her promos. She needs a microphone, a rival, and a reason.
More Than a Survivor
She survived a brain tumor as a teenager. Survived surgeries. Survived AEW. Survived WWE. Survived the poisoned politics of British wrestling and the brutal travel circuits of Japan. Most wrestlers come in broken. Bea came in that way and turned it into her fuel.
She’s been Blair, Bea, Amy, St. Clere—names don’t matter. What matters is the damage left behind.
Now married, engaged in life as much as in-ring feuds, she’s found a strange balance between chaos and clarity. But don’t confuse calm with weakness. There’s still thunder in those boots.
Because the ring is her church, and every bump is a prayer.
And Bea Priestley… well, she’s still sinning beautifully.
