Clouded Judgement

Book 1

1945

A loud scream startled me awake. For a moment, I did not know where I was. Then reality dawned. I was in the sanatorium where I have lived most of my teenage years.

The cries continued, and I covered my ears with the pillow to stop the painful sounds reaching my core, for I know they will stay with me for hours. Unfortunately, the nightmares would stay with the soldiers for a lifetime.

Every night, the returned soldiers screamed or cried out in their sleep as they relived the horrors of war. Lucky to escape death or major injury, they returned home from the second world war to be confined to the sanatorium because they contracted tuberculosis.

Life was not fair!

It has not been fair to me or to them.

Chapter 1

SHIRLEY

I was the only child of Stanley and Edina, born in 1934, during the Great Depression.

My parents started their family life in western Sydney. Then, while I was a toddler, we moved to a town near Tamworth in northern New South Wales called Manilla, on the Great Dividing Range where some of Stan’s family lived.

Stanley and Edina’s marriage was cut short when my father died of tuberculosis when I was two.

Mumma, tell me about my father. I often asked and Mumma patiently told me about him over and over.

My father, Stan, came from a mix of convicts and free settlers, mostly from England. One ancestor, Mary, was an orphan of the Irish Potato Famine (The Great Hunger). Mary was sent to Australia with other girls orphaned by the famine, to marry convicts, as there were shortages of women in the colonies.

Stan was third generation Australian. His convict ancestor settled in the Bathurst area, just past the Blue Mountains west of Sydney in New South Wales. He married and his family became pioneers of Carcoar. My father was a ganger for the railways, laying heavy wooden sleepers that supported the metal rails.

His background was very different from my mother’s. My mother, Edina Taylor’s parents, emigrated from Deptford, England and had certain expectations about the husbands they wanted for their girls. Stan, being working class Australian with convict ancestry was not their preferred option.

The Taylor's were strict and required their girls to be home by 10.30pm if they went out of a night. Anyone wanting to date the girls received the third degree beforehand, to the embarrassment of their daughters. Mr and Mrs Taylor scanned one daughter’s beau with critical eyes when he arrived wearing a flamboyant shirt.

I have a photo of my parents. They made a handsome couple, both fair-haired, thick, and curly. Mumma worked at Saunders Cards in the city, known for its greeting cards, and my father worked for the railways.

My parents loved each other very much and despite her parent’s disapproval, they married in 1933. I was born to Edina and Stanley James in September 1934. An innocent baby with the world ahead of me, with no idea what life would throw my way. We lived at Manilla until two years later when my father died of tuberculosis, leaving Mumma and me, just two years old.

After my father died, Mumma and I remained in the country town where I started kindergarten with my cousins. Mumma eventually remarried Barry, a local storekeeper. He was a tall, robust, handsome man who enjoyed playing football. He was a very kind man and treated me well.

As an infant, I had a fall which stunted the growth of my left arm. My arm was in a brace to fix the problem, to no avail. This difference in length was not noticeable until I grew older.

Except for my shorter arm, and the unwanted attention it brought, these times were happy for me; playing with my cousins, roaming the streets freely where everyone knew each other. We girls often drew hopscotch squares in the dirt or played skipping. I played hide and seek and made stilts out of sunshine milk tins and string with the other children and we often played jacks using pig knuckles. When our parents granted us permission, we eagerly made our way to the tranquil riverbank, where the glistening waters beckoned us to cast our lines. The gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filled the air, creating a symphony of nature's melody. The earthy scent of the river mingled with the fresh aroma of the surrounding foliage, invigorating our senses. As we settled ourselves on the soft grass, the anticipation of feeling a tug on our fishing lines filled us with excitement.

From a young age, my heart has always overflowed with a deep affection for animals. The sight of their innocent eyes and the softness of their fur never failed to captivate me. I vividly remember the times when I would come across injured wildlife on my way home, their cries for help piercing through the silence of the surrounding woods. With tender care, I would gently cradle these wounded creatures, their delicate bodies fitting snugly in the palm of my hand. The sweet fragrance of nature would mingle with the earthy scent of their fur as I carried them home, a sanctuary where they could find solace and healing. In those moments, I would eagerly inquire with my parents if we could adopt a stray, hoping to provide them with a forever home filled with love and warmth.

Unfortunately, this happy, carefree life was not to continue as two things occurred:

Mumma started showing signs of having the highly contagious disease, tuberculosis, contracted from my father, Stan; and

World War II began in 1939, lasting until 1945. All the local boys were signing up to go to war, including my stepfather, Barry. He became a pilot in the Air Force.

My mother and I returned to Sydney so that Mumma’s family could assist with raising me, as anyone suffering from tuberculosis required a great deal of bed rest. My stepfather, Barry, promised to visit as often as possible when he was home from the War.

After learning that we returned to Sydney, my father’s sister May, contacted us. The grapevine of communication was as reliable as always. It brought me great joy to spend time with my Aunt May, and we often spent Saturdays together. During those moments, I would listen intently as she shared stories about my father's mischievous adventures during his childhood.

I started a new primary school in western Sydney and timidly made new friends. As I grew taller, my left arm, being shorter than my right, was becoming more noticeable. This made me very self-conscious. The boys at school often teased me, which did not help my confidence, and at times, I went home in tears. Apart from my friends at school, being shy, quiet, and unsure of myself, I was happy to play on my own and I always gravitated to animals as preferred company.

I was fine-boned, shorter than average height, with thick, curly blonde hair, cut short. As I grew older, my hair turned darker. My eyes were hazel, and my skin was pale. I enjoyed living with my two aunties and grandparents, but it wasn’t the same as being surrounded by my cousins in the country.

In my cherished homeland, the scent of moist earth permeated the air during rainfall, evoking a sense of nostalgia. The joyful chirping of galahs echoed through the atmosphere as they indulged in seeds scattered across the lush, green grass or frolicked upon the hanging wires above. I longed for the piercing screech of cockatoos echoing through the air, accompanied by the melodic sounds of galahs and parrots, their vibrant feathery bodies a common sight. Only occasionally did I hear the kookaburras laughing at me in the city. I especially missed going down to the river.

Spring was my favourite time of year. The mornings were filled with a gentle breeze that carried the sweet scent of blooming flowers. In the evenings, the air was infused with the comforting aroma of wood smoke, creating a cozy atmosphere. The trees adorned themselves with vibrant green leaves, while flowers burst forth in a kaleidoscope of glorious colours. Everywhere I looked, new life emerged, with baby birds chirping and animals playfully exploring their surroundings.

My mother continued to be bedridden. She had a day lounge in the sunny lounge room where she laid and enjoyed watching me play with my toys or my grandfather’s dog, Bluey. My favourite doll was a ratty gollywog Mumma made for me before we returned to the city. These dolls were common for the time and were a black rag doll with curly hair. (They are no longer called that in this politically correct world. I think they are called scallywags, but I will refer to them as golly dolls).

Mumma embroidered beautifully and could also crochet well. She patiently taught me these skills as I fumbled my way though, making error after error. She was also an excellent cook and could play the piano but was unable to do these things since being ill and confined to bed rest. My grandmother and aunties did the housework and cooking, while my grandfather looked after the lawns.

While living with my mother's family, my aunties met their future husbands and married, and I was their flower girl. They soon had their families, and I loved my baby cousins.

Nearing her end, Mumma talked to me. Holding my hands she said, Shirley, darling, you know mummy is very sick, don't you?

Yes, Mumma, Tears ran down my cheeks.

I am sorry, Pet, but I won't be around much longer, and you must be very strong. You know Nan and Pop will look after you, don't you?

I want you! Don’t leave me, pleeaasse. I sobbed.

I love you dearly and would not leave if I wasn't so sick. I love you sooo much and I want you to remember that.

Yes, Mummy I will. I flung my arms around her neck. I had to be careful. My mother said not to be around her if she had a coughing fit, as she did not want me to catch the disease.

Not long after my mother's little chat, I stopped by her door as I was leaving for school, not being allowed to enter as my mother was much sicker. When Mumma looked up and saw me, she said, Have a lovely day at school. I love you.

I looked at my mother, I love you too, mummy, and I blew her a kiss, to which my mother smiled and returned the gesture.

That was the last time I saw her. She died of tuberculosis (TB) while I was at school that day. This was a devastating time for me as I watched my mother deteriorate.

I will always cherish that conversation I had with her and the last time I saw her alive, the morning before I left for school.

When I returned home that day, my grandmother met me at the front gate.

Come inside, Love, we need to talk to you.

Is mumma okay?

Wait ‘till we get inside. I will make a cuppa and a milo for you.

On passing Mumma's room and seeing the door closed, I quickly glanced from my grandmother to my grandfather, as fear gnawed in my stomach. My mother usually had the door open when I came home from school.

Hello Shirley, did you enjoy school today?

Yes, thank you, Pop.

I sat down and started chewing my nails. My grandparents exchanged small talk while the kettle boiled. When my grandmother finally sat down and we had our cuppas in front of us, my grandmother said, You know your mother was very sick, Shirley?

Yes, has she gone to heaven to be with my daddy?

Yes, Love, Nan replied. It wasn't long after you went to school. She won't be sick anymore in heaven.

My face screwed up and tears streamed down my face, then the sounds of grief escaped my lips. My grandmother hugged me. This was very unusual. I do not remember her ever hugging me. My grandparents did not openly display affection.

I don’t remember my grandmother putting me to bed, covering me with the blankets and placing my favourite toys with me. My grief had consumed me.

On the day of my mother’s funeral, I attended school, as children rarely went to funerals. It was a sunny day with a light breeze as I trudged up the hill to the school. My eyes were red and swollen from crying. Every time I thought of my mother, fresh tears appeared. Nearing the front gate, I wiped away my tears and entered the grounds. At the time of the service, I said a little prayer for my mother and wiped away some more tears.

I was just eight years old. Strangely, my mother was also eight when her mother died, and grandfather later remarried.

My mother’s mortal body was cremated, and her ashes were placed in the rose garden at the local crematorium with a small plaque placed on the ground above.

Nan and Pop took me to visit the rose garden regularly. The crematorium staff planted a lovely red rose bush just behind my mother's resting place. We then visited my father's grave and place flowers there. He was buried with his mother in the Anglican section nearby, within Rookwood Cemetery.

I was devastated at losing my mother and still missed not knowing my father. I loved Barry, my stepfather, as he was good to me and Mumma, but he was away at war.

With the loss of my mother, I became very depressed and felt that something was wrong with me because the people I loved most in the world all left me, and I feared further losses.

I continued to live with my grandparents, but became very withdrawn, worried, and anxious. School was a blessing, as I enjoyed learning, yet I found it hard to socialise. Worry always creased my brow as I chewed my fingernails, wondering what others thought of me, especially with my shorter arm, preferring only one or two close friends. Being the centre of attention made my cheeks burn. I sank into my seat behind the desk at school, hoping not to be picked to read in front of the class. I didn’t even put my hand up to answer questions and anxiety filled me at those times.

My life entered a phase of normality, although it was unlike the ‘normal’ lives of my friends at school who had two parents and siblings, although most of their fathers were away at war.

Two years later, when I was in sixth class (year 6) my teacher sent me home from school.

We were working on an essay, and our teacher was at her desk. I had a coughing fit and covered my mouth with my handkerchief. When I withdrew it, I saw blood. Forcing myself, I stood and walked to the teacher’s desk. Excuse me, Miss Smith, I said in a soft voice. When she looked up, I continued, I am worried that when I just coughed into my hanky, there was blood.

Oh Shirley, we better be safe and send you home so you can go to the doctor. Are your grandparents’ home now?

Yes, Miss Smith I nodded.

Do you feel alright to walk home?

Yes Miss. I nodded again.

Get your books then, and head home. It’s probably nothing, but it is best to be sure. Said the teacher, knowing my parents died of TB.

I felt the eyes of my classmates on me while I was speaking to the teacher, then they watched me collect my things and leave the room. As I was walking back home, I thought about my mother’s coughing and my brow creased. Did I have the disease? Was I going to die, like my parents had?

When I walked in the door my grandparents looked up with eyes wide and enquiring, You are home early Shirley, is everything alright?

I shook my head as tears ran down my face. I coughed up a bit of blood and my teacher said I should come home and go to the doctor. Have I got what my mother had?

Oh, Love. Don’t concern yourself. We will get you to the doctors. I caught the brief exchange of glances between my grandparents and saw the worry lines crease their foreheads. I felt their concern and fear invaded me.

You go lay down for a while, Love and we will arrange an appointment with the doctor.

They took me to the doctor. After many questions, a few tests, and referrals for X-rays, we returned, and the doctor asked me to wait in the reception area while spoke to my grandparents in private. I suspected he told them I had tuberculosis.

Waiting in the reception area did not ease my concerns. In fact, I became more anxious that I was going to die and gnawed on my fingernails, already too low.

As we made our way to the car after leaving the doctor's surgery, a heavy silence hung between us. Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I finally broke the silence, Nan, what did the doctor say? I had to know what was wrong.

The doctor was not sure. He wants to wait until all the test results are in and said, just in case, you are to stay home with complete bed rest until he knows more.

This did not sound too good to me. It was exactly what my mother had to do. I would do as I was told and hoped the results came back clear of any problems.

As I lay there waiting and worrying, I prayed that I did not have the disease my parents had.

A few days later, my grandparents returned to the surgery. I stayed in the reception area while they entered the doctor’s office. They seemed to be in there a long time while I sat chewing my nails and swinging my legs as I sat on the chair.

What did he say, Nan? I asked as we walked back to the car.

Wait until we get home, Love then we will have a chat.

Not good. I thought.

When we were home again, and Nan had made a pot of tea and milo for me, we sat at the table. I glanced between my grandparents, who were focussed on their tea, until they exchanged a look, and my grandmother took a deep breath and looked at me.

"The doctor said you have tuberculosis, Love, but it has been discovered early and you can get well.

How? Why couldn’t Mumma be cured?

Your mother’s condition was much worse. To get better, you will have to go to a special hospital."

My eyes grew wide. I had to go away! Is it far away? I swung my head back and forth between Nan and Pop, waiting for an answer.

There are two outside of the city limits in the country. My grandfather said.

The doctor told us that sanatoriums were set up to isolate patients to prevent the spread of the disease, while patients were treated. Apart from isolating the spread of the disease, sanatoriums provide a place to rest. They also provided a healthy diet, plenty of fresh air and treatment to rest the lungs to promote recovery.

I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you. I wailed.

Oh there, there, Love. My grandmother put her arms around me. The doctor is making some inquiries for us. Don’t you want to get well?

Yes, Nan. I sniffed and hiccupped. What about school?

You will still have lessons.

In no time at all, the arrangements had been made.

It is in the country, and we can catch a train there. We are not sure how long you will be there, Love. It depends on how quickly you get better. Hopefully, it won't be long because the doctor has made the diagnosis early.

I don't want to leave! Do I have to gooo?

Afraid so, Love.

When do I have to leave? I slumped and mumbled.

We will take you there next week.

I looked up eyes wide. I started to cry and went to my grandmother for comfort. My grandparents put her arms around me and held me close, there, there Love, it will be fine. You will be home in no time at all.

Why me? Why do all these horrible things happen to me and my family?

Oh, Pet, this is very unfair, and I cannot explain the reasons. It is just a horrible disease that is easily spread. Don’t forget, you will get better.

I gazed at my grandparents; their faces reflected their concern. They did not like the hard decision they had to make.

I went into my bedroom crying, worried and fearful and laid on the bed cuddling my golly doll. My Nan must have come in and covered me up after I cried myself to sleep.

My grandparents, aunties and their families were all tested for the disease and were all declared disease free.

I heard my grandmother say, Poor Love, one ordeal after another for such a young life.

When my aunty May arrived a couple of days later, I ran to her, with tears staining my cheeks. I don't want to go away. The doctor said I am sick, like Mumma and Dadda.

Aunty May sat me down. I know you have to go away, honey, but you are not as sick as your parents.

Hugging me she said, did you know some of your father’s family live close to where you are going?

No, I sniffled and looking up at my aunt.

Lucy lives near where you will be. Your grandfather often visits his brother and niece, Lucy. Lucy is your dad's cousin, and she will come and visit you.

What is she like? I was interested in another relative of my father.

Well, she is a younger than me and married. Her first husband was a bushranger. How about that! While he was away, she had to trap rabbits for food and sell the skins for money. She is a lovely lady, and she lives on a farm now. You will get on great with her.

Will you visit me and write me a lot of letters Aunty May?

Of course I will! you little ratbag. My aunty promised, while hugging me to her.

I love you so much! I told her as we walked inside together.

After her visit, I walked out with my aunty, why do people leave me or send me away? Don’t they love me? Is something wrong with me? Am I a bad person? I don’t understand, Aunty May and I want my mummy back!

Oh, honey, you know your mummy can’t come back, but she is always with you, looking after you. Just pray to her and your daddy. You must remember nothing is wrong with you and we all love you so much. It isn't your fault these things happen.

Really?

Yes, of course. As your grandmother mentioned, it is a horrible disease that spreads easily. It was unfortunate that your dad caught it and then passed it on to your mother, and now you. Remember, IT. IS. NOT. YOUR. FAULT. This has happened and your parents would not have left you if they could have been cured, but it had advanced too far for them. They loved you soooo much, darling, we all do, and remember you can beat this and resume a normal happy life. You just remember your family love you dearly.

Feeling miserable, I said goodbye to my aunty and threw my arms around her ample girth.

Before I left for the sanatorium, my mother’s sisters both came to see me. I was grateful they came to see me.

Following my aunty May’s visit and my mother’s sisters, I thought about my grandparents’ different backgrounds.

My father’s side had settled into the Australian way following generations being born in this country, while my mother’s parents were pure English. My grandmother and grandfather still had their English accents. Grant Taylor, and Kathleen Mann, married in Australia after emigrating in 1911. They had both lived in Deptford, England, southeast London, on the south bank of the river Thames. Deptford’s population at that time was around 120,000 people. They travelled separately although they were with two married couples from their hometown.

Kathleen travelled as a nanny to the Grey boys. It was unusual for a lady to travel on her own unless in service of some kind. Grant had known Kathleen for two years. He found her very attractive, with