The lives of our forebears were full of sadnesses. Many children did not survive birth or the first few years of life. Many mothers died in childbirth, leaving grieving husbands and children. Many of our ancestors died of diseases for which we now have simple remedies, and the accidents which befell many of our forebears are now considered preventable.
Of all the many sad stories in my family tree, none is more
truly tragic than the fate of my uncle Jackie.
Jackie was born on 16 November 1913, 18 months after my
grandparents’ first child together, Keith. There was also a half sister aged
10, my grandfather’s daughter Gladys whose mother had died in childbirth. Keith and Jackie were inseparable mates, and
when Ruth arrived in September 1915, she became the third member of a tight
knit little trio.
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| Jackie, Ruth and Keith - about 1919 |
They lived on the family’s sheep property about 13 miles
from the nearest town and with seven crossings of the Jacob and Joseph Creek
between farm and town. The children had
happy country childhoods with dogs, cats and horses, a creek to swim in and
lots of extended family on neighbouring properties – their grandmother, uncles,
aunts and cousins. On Sundays, my
grandfather would load them all into the sulky for the ride to church which
would be followed by a huge family lunch and games with all the cousins.
On Saturday 12 June, 1920, my grandfather followed his
normal routine – he rode to town to make grocery and other purchases for the
coming week. He left my grandmother at home
with the children, which now included baby Connie, and the girl who was to help
her. We know nothing about this girl –
not her name or her age or her background.
She is forever referred to in the family stories as “the girl”.
During the day it rained.
It rained so hard that the Jacob and Joseph Creek rose and rose and my
grandfather was forced to stay in town.
Back on the farm, my no doubt frazzled grandmother sent the children off
to play in the care of the girl. When
they returned late in the afternoon, Jackie seemed to be unwell. He was quiet and listless as they ate their
dinner. Did he complain of a headache, I
wonder?
As the night wore on, Jackie lapsed into
unconsciousness. My frantic grandmother
quizzed all the children – what could have happened during the day to make him
sick?
Keith told her. The
girl had demonstrated to them how to kill a rabbit, by chopping it across the
back of its neck with the side of the hand.
She had demonstrated on Jackie.
Jackie died in the night.
My grandmother was alone and isolated in the house with the
girl and the children. The creek rose
higher. There was no telephone and anyway, nobody could cross the creek – not
her husband, nor a clergyman, nor the undertaker. She laid Jackie out in the parlour and went
about caring for the rest of the children, weeping into her apron. It was to be two days before anyone could
broach the creek and get to them.
There is such tragedy in this story. Tragedy for my grandparents who lost a
beloved son. They talked about him for
the rest of their lives, so that for my mother, born 6 years later, he was
always a family presence.
Tragedy for “the girl”.
How did she live for the rest of her life with the knowledge that she
had killed a child? My grandparents did
not bring charges against her or even seek an inquest into Jackie’s death. My mother thought that they would have wanted
to spare the girl from the pain and notoriety such charges might have brought
into her young life but she had to live with that burden always.
Heartbreaking, for the parents, the girl and the siblings including your mother who never knew him but again knew very well of him.
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