Monday 15 January, 2007

Memories

In 1968, for two weeks in either August or September, my brother (age 2), mother (age 25, I think) and me (age 4) were held in quarantine at Manly's North Head. This was because my brother hadn't received a small pox vaccination when we moved to America. Mum thinks this is because he had eczema and the doctors didn't think it was safe. This wouldn't have been an issue except for the fact my parent's marriage ended and we ended up coming back from Boston after three months or so. We were taken straight from Sydney airport to Manly which must have been distressing for my mother who was returning to Australia and uncertainty. When I remember it though, I think of the rabbits I saw hopping about, and going down to the private beach to play with the nice nurse who I hung out with. When I spoke to mum on the phone today she said that yes, there had been a very young nice German nurse, and a less friendly older nurse.

Last week I went on a tour of the quarantine station. The guide who showed me around, was pretty sure we would have been held here:

The nurses were in the central hut, and the families in the huts to the side. When we stayed there we were the only family.

I didn't have a clear memory of the wards, but did of the hospital.

Which has a pretty amazing view.

So, it was fun for me, but not so fun for Mum, who had several serious asthma attacks while we stayed there. According to family legend political pressure had to be brought on the station to insist they improve the quality of the nursing. I am still trying to track down the article which I'm told was written, and the mention of our case in parliament.

Memory is a funny thing. When I saw this couch I became convinced I remembered my mother reclining on it. But it seems unlikely.I think I must have inherited the family gene for being fanciful.

Obviously our incaceration was much more comfortable than that of people with plague (1901), and small pox (1881) before us. And than the Asians ( a coverall term for anyone who wasn't white) who were held in the third class 'Dormitory for Asiastics' so that the white people at the station wouldn't have to see them. Here is some grafitti from outside the 'Asiastic' dorm. .

In general the station is in poor condition () and has been sold to a hotel chain that specializes in cultural heritage. I don't know what to think of this, and plan to do more research on it. I am interested both in what is happening to the site, and its history - but also in my personal relationship to it, and the gulf between my memories and what it seemed actually happened. For example, I was conviced we were there for 6 weeks, though that can't be the case. I was also under the impression (that is told, by a flamboyantly exaggerating father) that the ruckus around our being held and Mum becoming so ill with asthna meant we were the last people held there. But this isn't true. Small pox families were held there into the Seventies. The station itself wasn't closed until 1984. This is what I love about history, and, indeed intrigues me about the fiction/history debate. History, in my family anyway, has always been a very fluid thing. So, now it's time for me to delve into a few facts. I will report.

A version of this post has been cross posted at Sarsparilla.

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