e. My grandmother's journal (non-fiction) - Pt 5

Hilda was 17 years of age, in 1914, when she left her family home in the Murray mallee region to travel by train to Adelaide.

She was leaving her parents, Nils and Margaret Norman, and her twin brother, Walter, in order to find paid employment in the city.  At that time her entire family were working outside the home:  Her mother ran the local post-office and shop; her father and brother were working as labourers on local farms - following the loss of their own farm after numerous drought years; and her older sister, Annie, was studying at the Adelaide University to qualify as a secondary school teacher.

As much as Hilda wished that she could study further, she had not argued with her mother when she'd been told that she must  leave school, at twelve years of age, to help at home. Six years of schooling was quite typical at that time, especially for the lower classes.  Also, like her father, Hilda could never win an argument with her domineering mother. And, she understood that the family could not afford to send more than one child to secondary school - let alone to university.  Annie was her mother's favourite child, so the choice about which child would gain the most education had come as no surprise.

The wagon ride to the Karoonda station, on the day she left, was a bitter-sweet time for Hilda. She sat beside her father, as they rattled along the dirt  road in the sunshine, chatting about all of their favourite topics:  novels, science, politics, recent journals her father had imported from Sweden.  Hilda loved to listen to her father explain things to her, and she loved the funny things he would say which always made her laugh.  She never felt so happy, respected, or safe as when she was with him.  He challenged her, intellectually, and he was the kindest man she had ever known.  The thought of leaving him filled her with an aching dread. She knew that her life, from this day, would become a more dark and dreary place with him gone from her side.

The new Karoonda train-station came into view.  The track to Adelaide had only been completed two years earlier and, for Hilda, it would become a lifeline to her home over the next few years. The railway would give her the means to visit her family, and her beloved Murray mallee, at least one Sunday in each month when she could get time off work and save enough money to pay for the train-fare.

Hilda's gaze followed the gleaming pair of silvery lines as they snaked off across the stony ground before disappearing into the haze on the horizon.  They cut through the scrub like a steel knife - pushing the mallee eucalypts aside.  They remained coldly indifferent to the beauty of the bush:  The aromas of the eucalypt oils and the cypress pines; the happy sounds of the kookaburras and bush birds calling from the tree tops; the wonderful golden yellows and olive greens of the bush flora.

The lines reached out into another world:  A manufactured world filled with the latest technology, multistorey buildings, and bustling crowds.  In this distant place they would disappear into the modern landscape while, Hilda worried, she would become more conspicuous and out of place.

Nils pulled on the reigns and, with a 'Whoa' to the horses they came to a stop.  He pulled on the handbrake, jumped from the wagon, and walked around to help Hilda down.  She was wearing her new long grey skirt - which wrapped tightly around her small corseted waist, a white lace-blouse, and a wide brimmed hat which almost completely covered her auburn hair which she wore up. Hilda was above average height, at around five foot five inches, with a pretty face, porcelain white skin,  intelligent green eyes, and a gentle demeanor.

She stepped down from the buggy and walked beside her father to the platform; he carried her small suitcase for her. They sat on a couple seats which rested up against the wall of the station-house. Nils checked his pocket watch.  The train would be arriving in only a few minutes, if it was on time.  He reached down into his coat pocket and, smiling down at his daughter, he withdrew a brown-paper package which he'd tied with string. He handed it to Hilda.  'For you, dear,' he said.

Hilda smiled as she took the flat packet. It was about the size of a large envelope. She untied the string and, as the paper fell apart, the contents revealed a gift better than anything she could have imagined. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she looked down at the black and white cardboard-photograph of her family. She recognised it instantly. It was the only photograph her family had ever had taken. Hilda recalled the day vividly:  A professional photographer had come out to the farm.  She had been twelve years old.  Her father had explained that he wanted to send a photograph of them all to his mother (a grandmother, called Hanna, whom she would never meet) back in Sweden. He had kept a second copy of the photograph for himself; he now gave this to Hilda.

Her hands trembled as she looked at the picture:  There they all were in front of the wooden lean-to barn which her father had built so beautifully.   She was standing behind him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. She looked nervous.  Her hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon, and she was wearing her best white, lace-trimmed Sunday-dress.  Her father looked so handsome in his 'Good' suit:  The gold chain of his pocket watch was visible against his vest, his jacket slightly open, and his white shirt buttoned high on his neck. His leather boots were warn and dusty with holes visible in the soles.  Her sister, Hanna (named after their grandmother) - although nicknamed 'Annie' - stood defiant and strong next to her, and her brother, Walter sat between both parents looking like he wanted to run off and ride his horse again or play down by the river.

Hilda hugged her father.  She didn't need to tell him how much the photograph meant to her. He wrapped his arms around her slim shoulders and she snuggled into his warm woollen coat.  She didn't want to let go … although … she knew that she must leave.  The photograph would need to suffice until she could get home again in a few weeks time.  Until then, however, whenever she felt lonely or sad she would look at her photograph and she would imagine them all together again: The year would always be 1909; they would always be back on the farm at Bow Hill; and she would always have her hand resting gently on her father's shoulder.

The loud whistle heralded the arrival of the train.  Steam blasted onto the tracks and the platform as the engine came to a stop with a loud screech of brakes.

Many people were disembarking from the train and milling about chatting and laughing.  Suddenly a familiar voice called out from beyond the crowd:

'Hilda!'  It was Walter.  He'd left for work before dawn that morning.  She'd managed to hug him before he'd disappeared into the darkness, dressed in his work clothes. She hadn't expected to see him at the station.  They'd said their goodbye's earlier. He'd tied his horse to a nearby tree, and he was now sprinting up the platform, dodging other passengers and their suitcases as he went. He hugged her. 'Look after ya self.  And, get back as soon ya can. Make sure ya do, now!'  He then smiled down at his twin and added softly, 'I'll miss ya, Hilda.'

The platform had cleared and it was time to leave.  Hilda clutched her photograph.  She boarded the train and tried not to cry. She found a seat which looked out onto the platform and, beyond the steam, she could see her father and her brother watching as the train pulled away. She didn't know then that in a little over a year she would be the one waving her brother goodbye. He would leave Australia, at the age of 19, to fight as a private with the 10th Infantry Battalion in the Australian Imperial Forces. He would see such awful things on the Western Front in France.  But for now he stood with their father smiling and waving to his sister. 

The train gained momentum and, with every clackety-clack of the wheels rolling across the metal lines, Hilda's childhood and her life in the country moved further and further into her past.  She would return - but things would never be the same.

The dry mallee-scub moved by outside the window in a blur. The train raced toward a world which she knew would be completely alien. She clutched her photograph tightly - just as she used to clutch her father's hand when she was scared.  At least she would see her sister Annie in the city.  Annie would be waiting for her at the Adelaide railway station and she would then accompany her to the the Y.W.C.A in Carrington street.  Annie was staying there while she studied at university.  It was a hostel which catered for students, teachers, and business girls.  However, Annie had arranged for Hilda to stay there as well.


                                                                      *

Adelaide, the capital city of South Australia, had a population of 200,000 in 1914.  It was a young and vibrant city with a median age of just  24 years.  Only 4% of the population were aged over 65 , which was then considered 'old age.'  Although, this was understandable given that the average life expectancy was only 55 years for men, and 58 years for women.

Adelaide, like the rest of Australia, modelled itself on Britain. In part this was because the vast majority of Australians were of British decent:  Over 96% of the Australian population were either born in Australia, Ireland or the United kingdom.  And, like Britain, Australian society was dictated by a rigid class system. The life one experienced in Adelaide was largely determined by the 'class' into which one was born:

The upper and middle classes obtained greater education (and therefore better paid jobs and professions); they lived in finer houses - with many grand mansions in the suburbs and along the edges of the park-lands which surrounded the city;  they dressed in more stylish clothes: For women there were beautiful long skirts and dresses, silk petticoats, blouses embellished with frills and lace, expensive jewellery, large bonnets with ribbons or feathers, high-heeled shoes. And for men there were fine wool morning suits, and expensive watches and hats; they enjoyed the latest technologies of that time:  gramophones (which could play the latest music - such as Ragtime and Dixieland jazz), motor cars (which had become increasingly prevalent since the turn of the century), telephones, bicycles, cameras; they enjoyed the many cultural forms of entertainment in the city: music recitals, live theatre at grand theatres, circuses, horse-races, grand balls; and they could escape the hard physical grind of household chores by employing domestic servants:

As there were no electrical appliances, housework was extremely demanding and time-consuming:  Washing the family clothes in a copper boiler, with carbolic soap and soda, would take all day - starting at five or six in the morning;  meals would take hours to prepare and, with no refridgeration (instead, only 'ice-chests' - which were useless on scorching summer days) avoiding food-poisoning or spoiled food was very difficult.

For the lower classes (working classes) life in the city was mostly dirty, noisy, and hard work.  However, even for this group, leisure time could be found - especially on Sundays - and there were many enjoyable activities in Adelaide in which anyone could engage:

There were many cathedrals in the city (Anglican and Catholic) and these were always packed on Sundays. Park lands wrapped around the city - as a 'green-belt' - filled with wide open lawns, trees and flowers. The city itself had been designed, by the British military officer and surveyor Colonel William Light, into a pleasant grid of open boulevards with wide pavements and numerous parks. On North Terrace there were many opportunites for free entertainment in the Adelaide Botanical gardens; the State Library, the Museum, the Art-gallery, the University buildings, and, nearby, there was the Adelaide Zoological gardens.  In addition, beyond the city, one could always ride one of the new electric-trams to Glenelg beach to walk on the jetty, swim in the surf, and enjoy lunch or afternoon-tea at one of the many cafes and tea-houses.

However, in the year of 1914, when Hilda arrived in Adelaide, there were growing fears, amongst the population, about the political problems escalating in Europe.  Australians, at that time, had a high level of literacy - with 96% of the recorded population older than five able to read.  Related to this, each Australian city published numerous daily newspapers which kept most people abreast of current news both locally and abroad.

The people of Adelaide, therefore, were following closely as the crises unfolded so far from their shore.  They knew that distance would not keep them from a war - should it happen. Australia was part of the British Empire. They celebrated their ties to Britain every year on 'Empire Day' - May 24th (Queen Victoria's birthday). They had fought alongside Britain, in the Australian Imperial Forces, in the Boer war only a decade earlier. If Britain went to war - then so too would Australia.

On Tuesday August 4th 1914, the newspaper boys - selling papers on the streets - called out the news headlines for the day.  The people rushing about their business stopped in their tracks:  Britain had declared war on Germany.

On Thursday August 6th 1914, the same newspaper boys called out the frightening headlines for the day:  The Australian prime Minister, Joseph Cook, had declared that Australia was now at war.  Australia - in defence of "King and Empire" - had joined the conflict.

The outbreak of war initially seemed to unleash a huge wave of enthusiastic support for Britain, and Australia's involvement in the conflict.  All major political parties were in agreement in this regard.  However, Australians also felt unsure of themselves:  They had become a nation only thirteen years earlier. And, many had been taught in school about the glories of the British military, and the might of the great armies of their allies. Now they were watching their own 'improvised' contribution of volunteers march away to fight.  If war was a testing ground for individual and national character they wondered how Australians would measure up in this ultimate test.

In all, from a population of five million Australians, 417,000 men enlisted in the Australian Imperial Forces over the four year duration of the Great War (later known as the First World War). This represented almost half of the eligible men (aged 18 − 44 years) in Australia.

From South Australia, 35,000 men volunteered to fight. Within weeks of the start of the war, the Morphettville racecourse, which had recently hosted the popular Adelaide Cup horse-racing event, was being used as a military training centre - primarily by the Light Horse brigade - to prepare for war in Europe.

The initial enthusiasm for the war, however, was soon replaced with a more harsh and realistic attitude - and eventually grim endurance - as the death and casualty lists grew, and the war continued on for much longer than anyone had initially anticipated.

With time, the Australian population became divided in their attitude towards the war.  The 'patriots' were strong believers in the war and could not understand how others in society didn't share their views.  They believed that the war demanded every person's full and total commitment - until it was won.  The patriots pushed for new recruits to be sent to war:  They used 'persuasion' (appealing to the individual's sense of what was 'right' and 'wrong') and 'force' (accusations of 'cowardice' - symbolised by 'white feathers' which were granted by women to men who were not in uniform, confrontation, and guilt).

The decision about whether or not to introduce 'conscription' was put to the people in two referendums, in 1916 and 1917, by the federal government under Prime Minister William Hughes (a Welsh immigrant who saw himself as responsible for making sure Australia fulfilled its role as part of the Empire).  The concern of the Prime Minister was that the large losses on the Western Front could not be adequately covered by 'voluntary' recruiting.  However, on both occasions Australians narrowly voted against  it.

While so many men were away, Australian women stepped in to increase their contribution to paid work.  However, the withdrawal of almost half a million men from the workforce did not result in the direct replacement by women:  Womens' contribution to paid work increased by only 50% - from 24% to 37% of the workforce. And, the increase tended to be in what were already traditional areas of women's work - clothing and footwear, shop assistant, and teaching areas. Unions were unwilling to let women join the workforce in greater numbers in traditional male areas as they feared this would result in lower wages. (The minimum wage for women, in 1914, was set at 54% of the basic male wage).

However, many women sought to become more involved in war-related activities - such as cooks, stretcher-bearers, motor car drivers, interpreters, munition workers - but the government did not allow this participation.

In the second half of 1918, a series of victories for the allied forces and significant advances on German held territory led to a feeling that the war was finally coming to an end.

A truce came into effect on Monday, November 11th 1918. Many soldiers were left in a state of disbelief.  A stretcher-bearer named Percy Samson wrote in his diary from Paris:

No fuss was made by the boys. Everybody went on working as usual … Perhaps it was hard to realise that nobody sought another's life, that the beautiful moonlight did not mean horror and death poured from the sky, that men could now live naturally.

By the war's end, 60,000 Australian men had been killed, and 156,000 had been injured. This was the highest number of deaths per capita of any country in the world.  Although, the number of dead in the world, following the war, was catastrophic:  A total of 17 million people had been killed, and 20 million had been wounded.

Following the war, the large number of Australian troops abroad meant that most wouldn't find a seat on a ship home until 1919. However, as it turned out, this was to be an incredibly fortunate thing for Australia.

From January of 1918 many soldiers in Europe developed a 'nasty cold' and 'the flu'.  There were even deaths reported - although few noticed the epidemic in the midst of a war.

Then, in August 1918, the flu virus mutated into an even deadlier strain.  The infection rate was up to 50%, and the symptoms were extremely severe - with death rates of between 10% and 20%. It spread rapidly - partly related to the close quarters of the soldiers and the massive troop movements on relatively fast steam ships. The virus infected around 500 million people worldwide, between 1918 and 1919, from the Pacific to arctic circle, and the death toll has been estimated at between 50 − 100 million people (between 3 − 6% of the world's population).

Those particularly at risk of death were, surprisingly, the young and fit: People aged between 20 and 40 years.  (Studies have since revealed that the virus most likely caused death in its victims by inducing 'cytokine storms' (powerful immune reactions) - which would ravage the body.  These immune reactions would be the stongest - and worst - in those with the healthiest immune systems: The young and fit).

Finally, in 1919, the influenza virus mutated, for a third time, into a less virulent strain before it died out.

The Spanish Flu (so named because it was first reported in Spain - although it is not known for certain where it originated) - was a pandemic described as 'the greatest medical holocaust' in history. It resulted in more than three times as many deaths, in two years, as occurred during the entire four years of the Great War.

The death toll from the influenza pandemic in Australia, however, was significantly less than it was in the rest of the world:  A relatively low 10,000 died.  This was partly due to the delay in the Australian soldiers returning home; but it was also due to the medical and scientific communities in Australia advising the federal government about quarantine procedures (based on the latest 'germ theories' and medical discoveries developed over the preceding decades).

The medical and scientific community in Australia were as advanced as anywhere in the western world.  Australians had been studying medicine and surgery in the Australian universities since the 1860's (Melbourne) and the 1880's (Adelaide and Sydney).  They had kept up with the latest research and clinical methods in medicine and science from Europe - as well as producing research findings of international significance themselves - published in medical and scientific journals around the world - since the 1880's (ie. John Davies Thomas on Hydatid disease (1884), John Thompson on the rat flea as a vector for the plague (1900)).

In subsequent years Australian researchers and doctors would continue to engage with the international scientific and medical community as both consumers and contributors to the world's knowledge in these fields.  One such researcher, a graduate of the Adelaide university, would later work in a team with other researchers to develop the antibiotic Penicillin.  This discovery would lead to a shared Nobel prize in Physiology and Medicine (1945) and, much more importantly, it would save the lives of many millions of people during the next world war and beyond it to the present day.

So after the Great War Australia had changed as a nation. Going into the war, in 1914, few outside of the Commonwealth knew much about Australia. It was so far from Europe. And the Australians themselves had felt a lack of confidence, stemming from colonial days, when comparing themselves with the established, great nations of Europe. However, at the conclusion of the war -  when the Australian Imperial Forces returned with their leaders covered with distinction, and their troops acclaimed overseas as one of the respected fighting forces of history - Australians saw themselves differently.  An 'Australian national character', separate to the British heritage - independent, original, and 'loyal to our mates' - became ingrained in the whole nation.

The 'spirit of the ANZACS' (the 'Australian and New Zealand Army Corps' quickly became known as the 'ANZACS' during the war) was born at Gallipoli and on the Western Front.  ANZAC Day commemorations, on April 25th, acknowledge the date when, in 1915, our soldiers landed in Gallipoli. This was the first major military action fought by the ANZACS during the Great War.

The first ANZAC Day was commemorated in 1916 when, in London, 2000 Australian and new Zealand soldiers marched through the city streets.  During the war the date was also an occasion, from 1916 onward, when patriotic rallies and recruiting campaigns were held, and parades and marches occurred in every city and every town in Australia.

'Anzac Day' was added to the existing 'Empire day' as a date of national significance following the war. It has become a date, along with others since added to our Australian calendars, when we reflect on our nation's history with both sadness and pride. ANZAC Day marks a milestone in our journey as a nation.


                                                                 *

Three years passed from the time when Hilda first arrived in Adelaide. The year was 1917 and she was now 20 years of age.  She had been working in domestic service since she had first arrived in the city. The house in which she worked was an upper-middle class villa in the suburbs; a  45 minute walk from the Y.W.C.A Hostel in Carrington street where she was still residing.

Her brother, Walter, remained overseas fighting with the Australian Imperial Forces on the Western Front.  He wrote to her regularly, as she did to him. And, in all of her letters, she tried very hard to find things to write about which might cheer him up or make him laugh. She never allowed him know how scared she was for his safety, or how lonely she was with him gone.  When she could she sent care-packages, with the small amount of money she managed to save, consisting of food, warm clothes, and books. And, above everything else, she always sent him her love and her prayers for his safe return.

Annie, meanwhile, had finished her degree the previous year, at the Adelaide University, and she had found work teaching in a private secondary school.  Soon after she graduated, late in 1916, she had moved from the Y.W.C.A  to live closer to her new place of employment. She had also met a lovely young professional man, named Albert Martin.  They were engaged to be married and they planned to move to Auckland, New Zealand, soon after the wedding.

Hilda, felt especially lonely with her older sister now mostly gone from her life.  Before Annie met Albert, the two young women would spend most of their Sundays together (Hilda's only day off work each week) enjoying excursions around the city.  Sometimes they would attend local dances, on Saturday evenings, or take the steam-train to the beach at Glenelg. However, since Annie met Albert and moved closer to the school in which she taught - Hilda rarely saw her.

While Hilda was pleased that her sister was successful in her work, and happy with her fiance, she felt more lonely than she had ever felt in her life.  She could not afford to travel home to the Murray mallee, to visit her parents, more than one Sunday in each month. And she worked such long hours (usually 12 hour days), six days a week, that she rarely had time to meet any other young people. So, for the interim - until she could work out what she would do next in her life - Hilda spent most of her free Sundays in the State library, on North terrace, reading and borrowing piles of books in which she would immerse herself each night after tea.

The family for whom Hilda worked made a point of almost completely ignoring her over the years that she remained in their employ. Mostly, they treated her like an annoying and stupid domestic appliance - necessary to get the work done but also an inconvenient nuisance.  Hilda found the work exhausting but, even worse than that, it was mind numbingly dreary and repetitive.

Also annoying for Hilda was the fact that when the family weren't ignoring her, they enjoyed ordering her about or sneering at her. This was especially the case with the teenage children - who were not much younger than Hilda.  Fortunately, however, the family spent the bulk of their time engaged in activities beyond the walls of the house:  They were off studying at their private schools, playing tennis, visiting friends in the family motorcar, working in their offices, or attending social engagements in the city. In the early evening, or on weekends, they would often enjoy sing-alongs around the piano in the parlour, or they would play cards together.  They never once invited Hilda to sit with them,  not even at Christmas.

Hilda tried to occupy her thoughts - during the long hours she spent working - reliving the stories her father had told her during her childhood, or thinking about her visits home each month, or considering the plots and characters of the most recent novel she'd read. However, she felt like she was slowly dying inside.  She wished that she didn't feel the need to 'think' so much.  She wished that she could find some joy in the domestic work she did and that could be enough to give her life meaning.  However, with Annie mostly gone now - she felt like she was drowning in ennui.  Her mind screamed out for something to do which might offer some intellectual stimulation or challenge.

So, Hilda made the decision that she would quit her job.

She just couldn't stand it any longer.  She didn't mind the rudeness of the family so much.  Her mother, Margaret, had treated her with similar disdain for all the years she'd worked in the family house since she left school at twelve.  However, the thought of existing in a job where her brain was forced to stay silent and never used - for the rest of her life - filled her with such dread that such a life seemed hardly worth living. 

Hilda considered her options for work:  She was mindful that she only had six years of schooling in a 'public school' (this was less socially acceptable than a 'private school').  Although, she had come top of the school, and she had even been pushed ahead by a year.  She had no other skills, other than domestic service, although, she reminded herself,  she was a fast learner and she was hard working.

She read the 'employment notices' in the Advertiser (the Adelaide daily newspaper). She noticed that there were interviews soon for nurse trainees at the Adelaide Hospital.  Applicants were required to be 21 years of age at the onset of training.  Hilda would be 21 the following year - when the training began.

She considered this. The nurse training would involve the skills she had:  Studying (Hilda always did well in exams, and she loved to study).  Domestic duties - bed-making, cleaning and so on. (Clearly she had more than enough training in this regard). Patient care. (Hilda had looked after the members of the family she worked for, whenever they were ill, as well as caring for the members of her own family if they were unwell.  And she had no problems when dealing with wounds, blood, needles and such).

Hilda made the decision to apply.

                                                                            *

Medicine in Australia kept pace with the latest scientific discoveries and the most recent medical practices as they evolved in Europe.  It was a field of learning which accelerated quickly from the mid-19th century.

In the late 18th century, when the British first came to Australia, the mortality rate was very high due mainly to communicable diseases: dysentry, typhus and typhoid - all  increased by malnutrition and scurvy. The annual mortality rates ranged from 47 - 152 per 1000 of the population, while children's deaths were three times as high at 170 - 490 per 1000 of the population. 

Later, in the 19th century, as a growing number of young, free families settled in Australia, the pool of young 'susceptibles' increased enough to sustain common infections and epidemics: Whooping cough, measles, recurrent local influenza.  Marked urban growth with poor sanitation also gave rise to outbreaks of enteric infections - the cause of many infant deaths. Deaths in childbirth and pregnancy also remained very high at around 6.4 deaths per 1000 live births. (Today in Australia deaths in childbirth and pregnancy are 1% of this number - 6.8 deaths per 100,000 live births).

Morbidity also remained fairly constant - at least with hospital statistics (although most 'chronic illnesses' were nursed at home).  The five most common hospital admissions in Australia in the 19th century were: accidents and violence, influenza, diarrhoea, rheumatism and dysentry. (NB: Non-communicable diseases were far less common:  diseases of the heart and blood vessels were only 2% of reported illnesses, and cancer was even les common).

Medical knowledge and practices before the mid 19th century were extremely limited and of little help to patients:  In the 18th century doctors would rely on 'sensory assessments' (such as tasting urine) and they would rely heavily on a patients report of symptoms.

However, early in the 19th century doctors began to use simple instruments like the 'monaural stethascope', along with 'sensory impressions' from manual examination (ie. palpating a mass or the abdomen).  The sensory impressions were then supplemented with 'numerical data' and 'visual  depictions' - as evidence had to standardised and reproducible.  Medical and scientific journals began to document these findings.

Later in the 19th century hospitals, laboratories, and universities finally came together to produce modern scientific medicine.  Organic chemistry and physiology emerged as new sciences at this time. Also, improved microscopes became the way histopathology linked anatomy to physiology. The idea of 'cells' generating more 'cells' was the basic unit of pathology. The focus on 'morbid anatomy' had encouraged surgical interventions - but wound infections and pain management were still problems to be overcome.

By the 1880's Melbourne Hospital surgeons were strongly pressing the use of 'aseptic' techniques (the Listerian principle) in students and, by 1900, surgery had become so safe the Melbourne Hospital reported a 'waiting list' for operations for the first time.

In the 1840's American dentists, Wells and Morton, had experimented with nitrous oxide and sulfuric ether for the control of pain.  And, in Edinburg James Simson had reported using chloroform as a form of pain relief.  This also became commonly used in Australia.

And, by the 1880's, Australian surgeons were operating on previously 'untouchable' parts of the body: joints, abdomen, head, and the vertebral column.

Bacteriology was also established as a science from the mid 19th century when Louis Pasteur showed fermentation resulted from the activity of 'micro-organisms'. It became understood, then, that many common diseases arose not from 'miasmas' (bad air) or 'chemical agents (industrialisation per se) but from pathological micro-organisms.  bacteriologists went on to identify the pathogens involved in many significant communicable diseases (ie. tuberculosis, typhoid, leprosy, malaris, gonorrhoea, cholera). In the 1890's a 'diphtheria antitoxin' was even discovered - although treatment for the other infections was not yet available.

Related to this rapid increase in medical and scientific understanding - the training of doctors and nurses, and the function and organisation of hospitals changed markedly over the 19th century.

Early in the 19th century 'students of medicine' were trained under the traditional 'apprenticeship' scheme (from as young as 14 years of age).  They would work with trained doctors and later obtain a 'corporate licence' by examination in Britain. They would then return to practice in Australia.

Medical schools finally opened in the new universities:  Melbourne (1862), Sydney (1883), and Adelaide (1885).  The latter two universities didn't have the funding to start medical schools until the 1880's. These 'registered doctors' gradually replaced the 'college licentiates'. And, from there, doctors gradually developed increasing numbers of 'specialist practices'.

The first formal training program for nurses was not established in Britain until 1860.  And, it was not until 1870 that the first trained nurses started in the Adelaide Hospital. Prior to this, the female staff at the Adelaide Hospital were married to men employed by the hospital, and their duties were of domestic and housekeeping skills rather than nursing.  Possibly reflecting this, the uniform of the first nurses in Adelaide followed the style of a domestic servant: white cap and a full length white bib, apron over a long skirt.

The formality of the training program for nurses increased, in 1889, when two British trained Nursing Sisters sailed to Australia and took up the positions of Matron and Superintendant of the Night Nurses in the Adelaide hospital. They introduced a strict heirarchy of status, in the nursing ranks, with uniform changes (based on the British nursing uniforms) to reflect this. The Matron and the senior nurses wore different uniforms and caps to the more junior nurses. And, following the British nursing system, the new trainee nurses completed a three month probationary period, during which time they wore a plain dress, often black.

Once a nurse had finished her training and passed her exams, she would be granted a certificate and she was then able to register with the Royal British Nurses Association. An association bar brooch could then be worn on the collar. Gold medals were awarded, and could be worn on one's uniform, for first class passes in nursing examinations.

The rules for nurses were so strict that if a nurse wished to leave the hospital grounds social etiquette demanded that she must wear a suitable uniform called a 'walking out' uniform. This was introduced by the Matron.

Once a nurse graduated from training, a position could be sought in one of the private nursing hospitals. In the early 1900's there were few openings for nurses in the Adelaide Hospital.

                                                            *

Hilda applied to train as a nurse at the Adelaide Hospital in 1917.  She brought with her a letter of reference from her current employer who vouched for her hard work, reliability, and conscientiousness; she brought her school report cards which stated that she had come first in her class for every year that she went to school over six years; she wore her best dress, freshly washed and ironed; and she practiced many times, with her father and with Annie, what she would say during the interview and how she would answer any manner of questions put to her. She then said a prayer, crossed her fingers for luck, and entered the interview room.

The interview lasted only a couple of minutes.  The Matron and three members of the hospital board sat before her at a long desk.  Hilda sat down on the only other chair in the room - facing them.  She handed them her reference, and her school reports, and then she waited. They didn't need to read any of her paperwork for long.  Almost immediately they each  took their reading  glasses off and looked up at her.

The Matron spoke:  'So you are a domestic servant, are you?'
'Yes, Matron,' Hilda replied.
'No, we don't take domestic servants  to train as nurses.  That will be all.  You can leave now.'

And that was it.

Hilda was given her paperwork then one of the board members got up from his chair  to open the door and show her out.

Hilda was stunned.  She never thought that working as a domestic servant made her too 'low' in character to work as a nurse.  She could understand that a lack of schooling might be a hindrance. But the 'problem' was not her lack of formal education. The 'problem', for the hospital staff, was that she wasn't 'middle class' enough to become a nurse.

Hilda walked from the hospital grounds still determined to find a new job which would challenge her intellectually. She walked along North terrace and noticed the medical rooms of Dr Violet Plummer.  Dr Plummer was a popular doctor.  She was also the first female doctor to practice medicine in the state of South Australia. Hilda had her paper work with her; she had practiced for an interview situation; and she was desperate to find a new job. If she made a fool of herself, by inquiring about a job with the doctor, then, she reasoned, her day couldn't get much worse anyway. So, Hilda walked into the office of Dr Plummer and she asked the receptionist if she might make an appointment to see Dr Plummer.

Two weeks later Hilda dressed in the white uniform Dr Plummer had given her to assist at her medical clinic: A white veil, a white apron, and a long pink check dress - very similar to the nurses uniforms at the hospital. 

Hilda's timing, inquiring about a job at the clinic, had been incredibly fortunate.  Dr Plummer had been about to advertise for the position of an assistant nurse (training to be provided on the job) that very week.  She had become busy, however, and so the advertisement had not yet been placed in the newspaper yet. Hilda just happened to inquire about the job at the perfect moment. 

Dr Plummer was an intelligent, hardworking and kind woman, like Hilda - and she recognised those qualities in Hilda at her interview.  Hilda's school reports and references also backed up this first impression. Furthermore, Hilda demonstrated, during her interview,  that she had sound judgement, and she was not squeamish with blood and medical instruments. She was perfect for the job.

Hilda continued to work for Dr Plummer for three years - until she got married in 1920.  During these years she very much enjoyed her nursing job, and she greatly admired Dr Plummer for the rest of her life. 

                                                               *

Dr Violet Plummer was born in Sydney in 1873, but she later moved to South Australia.  She entered the Adelaide University in 1890, aged 17, to study science and she obtained her Bachelor of Science degree (BSc) in 1892. She then decided to study medicine and she enrolled in 1893, aged 20. 

Violet was not the first female in South Australia to study medicine at university - but she was the first female to practice medicine in Adelaide.

The first woman to study medicine in Australia was Dugmar Berne who enrolled into Arts, at the Sydney university, in 1884 and then second year medicine in 1885 - which is only two years after that medical school began. The Dean, Anderson Stuart, wrote in a letter in 1885 to a lecturer in medicine at the Melbourne university:

'I have had a lady (Dagmar Berne) in my classes for over two years, as gentle and modest a lady as I have ever seen, as such she came to us and as such she has remained ... As a teacher I have never experienced the slightest difficulty in saying what I have to say in the presence of ladies and I have never attempted to gloss over certain subjects because ladies were present.'

This precedent, set by Sydney's admission of a woman, persuaded Adelaide to follow suit.  The first woman to study medicine in Adelaide, Laura Margaret Fowler, was admitted in 1887. 

When Violet graduated, in 1897, she decided that she wanted to become a surgeon - although she was faced with intense opposition from the other doctors and students.  She had one champion for her cause in the Professor of Anatomy and Surgery, Professor Archibald Watson.  However, Violet eventually gave up the idea of specialising and she entered General Practice.  (Many years later - in 1914, at the age of 65 - Professor Watson would join the first expeditionary force as a major in the Royal Australian Army Medical Corps and become a consulting surgeon and pathologist to the Number 1 Australian Stationary Hospital in Egypt).

Soon after graduation Violet bought a house, for her medical practice, on the prestigious North terrace in Adelaide.  She borrowed money from the bank and managed to  persuade the bank manager to include extra money in the loan for the fare (first class) for her and her sister, Nellie, to sail to England.  The loan was paid off following her first year of medical practice - so much in demand was her work.

Typical of many doctors at the time, who often engaged many different activities in addition to medicine (ie. political life, commerce, pastoral pursuits, and cultural developments) Violet was a very popular member of Adelaide's medical and social life.  Her home became a 'salon' where she entertained a number of 'upper class' and educated professors, Sirs, and Ladies. She was also involved in many different societies:  The Adelaide club, the Victoria league, and the Overseas league. She also worked with other women doctors to establish The SA Medical Women's Society; and she was elected the society's first president.

Although she never married, she was very pleased and supportive of women doctors, later in the 1950's, who discussed with her their plans to combine medicine with marriage. 

Violet died in 1962, at the age of 78.  She was bedridden, in her final years, after she broke her hip.  However, the women from the medical communities and societies - in which she had played such a vital role many years earlier - and her nieces and nephews, visited her regularly for the remainder of her life.

                               *                                  *                                     *


I will continue with the story of my grandmother's young life - when she met her husband, Frederick Mitchell, and then she had her children and endured the years of the Great Depression - in the next blog.

But for now here is the excerpt from her journal (1948 - 1963) written to my mother Anne.


HILDA'S  JOURNAL


Wednesday April 20th 1949

After five days of holiday you are back at school. Yesterday we went to see 'The Red Shoes' at the York, a lovely picture if one is fond of ballet.  Afterwards we went to Semaphore by two and home from there by train.

You will be home any minute from school.  You have had a cold poor darling during the short holiday but it seems to be much better. We are looking forward to our holiday in August (as I see I have written on the opposite page).

Here you come.  Goodbye xx


May 6th 1949

Winter has set in properly now I think. A real winter day. Cloudy, a few showers, patches of blue sky. Officially it is still autumn and there are plenty of autumn leaves about. The vine sprawling down the side fence is yellow, brown, and green. The almond trees look a little sorry for themselves as they drop their leaves. Your iceland poppies look healthy dear.  I have just given them a dressing of lime to help them on.  I hope they get advanced far enough to bloom in the winter before the cold weather stops them.  They were a little late going in.  If you plant them in February you can have them blooming all winter.

It is three o'clock and it cheers me up when I think you will be home soon.  No homework tonight dear unless you want to do it.

I bought you a suspender belt yesterday to keep your stockings up.Over the weekend you will try to get used to it.

That reminds me of a story I read once about a girl and a boy who were pen friends for some years. They continued to correspond when they grew up and the boy repeatedly asked the girl to meet him or let him visit her. It seems that she used to always tell him her worries as well as her pleasure and was quite frank about many things so when the idea of meeting him came about she felt she couldn't face him after all she had told him herself during the years, and one thing in particular stood out in her memory, she had written years before to him about the struggle she had to get used to her first suspender belt.

However, they met accidentally and fell in love and the story had a happy ending. It was all composed of letters and was very well written.

Cheers darling xxx My grandmother drew some autumn leaves at the bottom of the page (with an arrow pointing to her drawing) and commented:  In case you imagine this is modern art of some sort, these are meant to be autumn leaves.


Monday May 9th  1949

Yesterday was Mother's Day.  You gave me a pretty apron and you were so kind and loving all day, my dear little girl.  I could not feel unhappy, as I might have otherwise (the reason will become clear in the eighth blog in this series). It seemed that you showed enough love for two and that comforted me and made me happy.

Thank you, my very dear little daughter.

May 18th  1949

I am expecting you home from school any minute.  While I am waiting I thought I would write.

It is rainy today, fresh winter weather. I am sitting in the lounge chair near the open window enjoying the fresh air also a cosy little fire.

Yesterday out town was rather close.  Autumn has hung on this year with sunny warm days, though every night is cold enough for a fire especially with you sitting up  doing homework until 10.30 often - awful scribble this. it is awkward writing sitting in this chair.

Well, we met darling in Myer's lounge yesterday had an ice cream (strawberry flavour) there and picked a jumper pattern and pretty blue wool for you to knit yourself a jumper. Good luck darling. I hope you do better than I did at my one and only attempt at a cardigan.

You started knitting it last night, poor love.  I have it down in black and white and we will see now how long (or how soon) you take to knit it. 

I bought a pretty carpet (hearth rug) for the dining room, green with leaves and flowers, yesterday.

The vine looks lovely through the window, the autumn colours look like captured sunshine, bright golden leaves amongst the pale green and brown, with grey sky above.

Come home soon darling.  I am lonely for you. xxxx with my love.


Thursday May 19th  1949

A quiet grey day, rather cold.  I am writing lying down not managing too well at it. Tomorrow you break up for a fortnight's holiday.

I meant to do a lot today but found I must rest a while.

I am enjoying the calendar verses each day.  Every one of them so far has been good and such pretty drawings with each verse. You spent a lot of time and care dear over the calendar.


Tuesday 31st May  1949

The last day of autumn. Tomorrow it will be winter.  I have a sore throat and a cold and am spending most of the day in bed.  You gave me a nice lunch and tidied up the place.  I can hear you washing up now.  You are still on your holidays.

We meant to go out shopping today but I was not well enough.  Last week we went to Mrs Powell's.  Mrs Powell was ironing and scorching as usual.  The baby is a trick.  Darlene and her husband are there in a caravan.  Mrs P. showed us inside the caravan, it is very nice and convenient.  Shirley was sitting as usual.

It is nice and restful in bed.  I have the 'Woman' to read and you to look after me.  Your curly cut is getting long now and looks so pretty.  We are having a nice time together this holiday.

I have had letters from Mrs Vincent, Jack and Mr Allen lately.  Poor Mrs Vincent has lost her daughter who was ill for so long.  Mr Allen wishes he could convey to me the beauty of Angela's smile. Jack unsettled as he usually is.

I am writing lying down excuse the scribble.  xxx

I must say how pleased I was that you came top of first years and third of second years in your class at the terminal examinations, and top of all in English. '

Good work darling.


June 1st 1949

The first day of June, the beginning of winter.  A nice day, calm and sunny.  I am still in bed but expect to get up about midday.  My cold felt bad this morning, but you have been looking after me so well I feel better now.  You brought me cups of tea and bread and butter, also toast, and you have been tidying, dusting and mopping as shown at the bottom.  (My grandmother drew a picture of herself in bed and my teenage mother cleaning next to her).  My room looks very nice and tidy.  I only hope you don't catch my bad cold.  I will get up a little later and cook some sausages for your lunch before you get ready to go to see 'The Merchant of Venice'.
You are studying it this year and the teacher wants you to see it. 

I hope I am well enough on Friday to have a day shopping in town with you.  School starts next Monday.  This is an awful scribble as I am writing lying down.     xxxx(My grandmother has drawn a house with a woman out the front holding a broom and smiling.) She comments next to her drawing:  I have tried to sketch Mrs Tham's house as I see it through my window.  Sorry it was such a poor attempt.  I must try to do some better drawings when I am sitting up.


June 26th  1949

I have a bad throat and am spending the day in bed.  I see I was in bed last time I wrote.  You have been looking after me so well and you hunted up my pretty blue bed jacket that you knitted me.  You insisted on me wearing it and it is so cosy.

Things have happened unexpectedly.  This house was for sale and I am buying it.  I signed the contract two days ago and paid 100 pounds down.  Now we are waiting for the Government price before finally settling.  I would rather have waited a few years for prices to drop, but with the present desperate house shortage I had no choice. I couldn't risk letting anyone else buy it and then probably put us out.  However, we are all thrilled about owning it. 

It is cold and raining.  I am snug and warm in bed and I am feeling the benefit of it.  This morning I felt pretty awful. 

I visited Dorothy's mansion, her night duty sleeping quarters on North terrace - Austral House.  It must have been lovely inside at one time.  It still has signs of grandeur.  I was pleased to see a comfortable sitting room with a nice fire and a cat on the hearth rug giving it an extra homely touch.

After the excitement of signing up for the house and visiting banks I filled in time waiting for you dear by going to the gardens.  There are very few flowers out but I enjoyed the quiet restfulness of the gardens and a nice pot of tea and a sandwich at the kiosk there.

As I lie here I can see cars driving by, families visiting friends and relations.  It must be nice on a day like this particularly to be able to put your family in a comfortable car and take them wherever you wish to.

Writing lying down is awkward so goodbye Ruffabags for the time.

I have just been telling you what a beautiful word Good bye is - it's meaning I mean  xxxx

(My grandmother mentioned earlier in her journal that 'Good bye' is a contraction of the expression 'God be with ye'.


That is all for this week.  A very long blog I'm afraid.  A shorter one next week.