incandescent, every molecule in his body galvanised. Then heâs flung aside.
The storm recedes from ground which is awash, and the ants and blowflies gather. The sun comes out, the naked corpse has been lugged away, the shreds of clothing gathered and the hullabaloo dies down. The birds return to their pickings, but what becomes of the woman, only twenty-three years old and left with two small children, one of them my grandfather, and another on the way? She doesnât rate a mention in either newspaper report, although the important father of the deceased (who owns the Exchange Hotel) and the brother are featured. The unofficial text is horrifying and it comes to me suddenly that my story is full of mothers abandoned either on purpose or by accident and, worst of all, left to give birth to a child whose father is absent or dead. I donât know how my great-grandmother manages, whether she casts herself on the goodwill of relatives, or whether she consumes her life away in the bitterness of poverty, for at this time there is no social security. An event like this can ruin a family for generations, and this one does â not only financially. From then on its members cherish a deep resentment, a sense of cosmic injustice and, at the same time, a strange pride at having been singled out for such a startling stroke of heavenly malice.
The second family tragedy takes place in Lismore in 1919. The characters are those of melodrama: a vicious aunt, two innocent children. My motherâs aunt is Amy Browne, the eldest child of the lightning-struck Michael Browne, and she teaches school in Lismore. Her brother the blacksmith and his family now live in nearby Goolmangar. She is well known for her strictness, even cruelty, in the classroom. This is not only my motherâs account, itâs confirmed for me more than fifty years later by a woman who had been her pupil and still resents her injustices. Amy Browne is a typical example of the sense of grievance carried down in this family, and her demands lead to the second family tragedy. As my mother tells the story, and she returns to it often, her aunt refuses to live alone, insisting that one of the blacksmithâs little girls should always stay with her for company. The children take turns but my mother, although she is the eldest, always avoids her turn if she can; she has an aversion to this aunt, in fact she hates her. On this occasion itâs her turn but she flatly refuses to go. Her father lectures her on selfishness but finally gives in, giving her sister half a crown to take her place. That decision, as it turns out, is a death sentence for the sister.
In 1919 there is an epidemic of what is called Spanish âflu throughout Australia and the world. This disease kills more worldwide than did the Great War. It is highly infectious, can kill within hours, and leaves behind it a trail of grotesque and blackened corpses. In Lismore the hospitals are full and the pavilion at the showground is commandeered as a plaguehouse for the sick and dying. My grandparents rush from one bedroom to another, from his sister to their daughter, in absolute horror, and can do nothing to save either of them. Among the many deaths in Lismore at the time, these two stand out as particularly hideous, as shown by yet another clipping, eighty years old, entitled Two Sad Deaths.
The Northern Star (Lismore)
8 July 1919
TWO SAD DEATHS
The community received quite a shock yesterday when it became known that Miss Amy Theresa Browne (of Conway-street) and her niece had succumbed to acute attacks of pneumonic influenza. Miss Browne, who was 41 years of age last month, and was assistant teacher in the boysâ department of the Lismore District School, complained of a headache on Friday evening, but beyond this knowledge appeared quite well and in good spirits. On Saturday she developed symptoms of influenza, which gradually grew worse till 9 oâclock on Sunday evening, when she
The storm recedes from ground which is awash, and the ants and blowflies gather. The sun comes out, the naked corpse has been lugged away, the shreds of clothing gathered and the hullabaloo dies down. The birds return to their pickings, but what becomes of the woman, only twenty-three years old and left with two small children, one of them my grandfather, and another on the way? She doesnât rate a mention in either newspaper report, although the important father of the deceased (who owns the Exchange Hotel) and the brother are featured. The unofficial text is horrifying and it comes to me suddenly that my story is full of mothers abandoned either on purpose or by accident and, worst of all, left to give birth to a child whose father is absent or dead. I donât know how my great-grandmother manages, whether she casts herself on the goodwill of relatives, or whether she consumes her life away in the bitterness of poverty, for at this time there is no social security. An event like this can ruin a family for generations, and this one does â not only financially. From then on its members cherish a deep resentment, a sense of cosmic injustice and, at the same time, a strange pride at having been singled out for such a startling stroke of heavenly malice.
The second family tragedy takes place in Lismore in 1919. The characters are those of melodrama: a vicious aunt, two innocent children. My motherâs aunt is Amy Browne, the eldest child of the lightning-struck Michael Browne, and she teaches school in Lismore. Her brother the blacksmith and his family now live in nearby Goolmangar. She is well known for her strictness, even cruelty, in the classroom. This is not only my motherâs account, itâs confirmed for me more than fifty years later by a woman who had been her pupil and still resents her injustices. Amy Browne is a typical example of the sense of grievance carried down in this family, and her demands lead to the second family tragedy. As my mother tells the story, and she returns to it often, her aunt refuses to live alone, insisting that one of the blacksmithâs little girls should always stay with her for company. The children take turns but my mother, although she is the eldest, always avoids her turn if she can; she has an aversion to this aunt, in fact she hates her. On this occasion itâs her turn but she flatly refuses to go. Her father lectures her on selfishness but finally gives in, giving her sister half a crown to take her place. That decision, as it turns out, is a death sentence for the sister.
In 1919 there is an epidemic of what is called Spanish âflu throughout Australia and the world. This disease kills more worldwide than did the Great War. It is highly infectious, can kill within hours, and leaves behind it a trail of grotesque and blackened corpses. In Lismore the hospitals are full and the pavilion at the showground is commandeered as a plaguehouse for the sick and dying. My grandparents rush from one bedroom to another, from his sister to their daughter, in absolute horror, and can do nothing to save either of them. Among the many deaths in Lismore at the time, these two stand out as particularly hideous, as shown by yet another clipping, eighty years old, entitled Two Sad Deaths.
The Northern Star (Lismore)
8 July 1919
TWO SAD DEATHS
The community received quite a shock yesterday when it became known that Miss Amy Theresa Browne (of Conway-street) and her niece had succumbed to acute attacks of pneumonic influenza. Miss Browne, who was 41 years of age last month, and was assistant teacher in the boysâ department of the Lismore District School, complained of a headache on Friday evening, but beyond this knowledge appeared quite well and in good spirits. On Saturday she developed symptoms of influenza, which gradually grew worse till 9 oâclock on Sunday evening, when she
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