The killer disease that nearly cut us off from the mainland
Spanish flu brought Tassie more tragedy, although some saw a lighter side, says Craig Carnes
THIS year marks the 100th anniversary of the worst pestilence to affect the globe since the black death of the Middle Ages. It was called the gleaner of the war’s harvest and commonly known as the Spanish flu. It was a new type of virus strain — H1N1 — never unleashed upon the world. It struck like a juggernaut and its effect was catastrophic.
The flu did not originate in Spain, though it is said that the Spanish King was one of its earliest victims. Flu historians suggest it broke out in Kansas and was carried around the world by American troops. Others believe it may have its origins in the rat-infested trenches of the Somme and spread to all parts of the globe with returning soldiers.
The 1918-19 influenza pandemic moved across the globe with alarming speed. It is estimated it infected 500 million people and killed a staggering 20 million to 50 million. No part of the world was left untouched. Mortality rates in Asian countries were higher than that of Europe.
In comparison to the rest of the world, Australia was given a glancing blow. By the end of 1919, 14,000 Australians had died as a direct result of the epidemic, a harsh reality after the loss of 60,000 souls during the war. The highest death rates were in more densely populated areas such as NSW and Victoria. In Tasmania the final toll was 171.
So-called Spanish influenza struck unexpectedly and always with devastating speed. The victim first experienced chills followed by fever and shortness of breath. Pain spread through the body accompanied by searing headaches and a cough. The body temperature rose rapidly to 104C. This was followed by spitting blood and a bluecoloured skin from a lack of oxygen. Lungs would fill with bodily fluids followed by heart and chest complications. Death could be in a few hours. Whole families and communities were decimated in a frighteningly short period.
In Tasmania on August 16, 1919, The World headlines read: ‘The Real Thing at Last: Influenza diagnosed as pneumonic”. Rumours abounded that a New Norfolk councillor’s niece had died in Sandy Bay, a day before official government acknowledgment. So ended a long and unnerving game of waiting.
Isolation camps for returning soldiers were set up at Claremont and Barnes Bay, North Bruny Island, the latter hard to bear for soldiers so close to home and loved ones after years away at war. Their diaries and recounts of the time are heart-rending. Tasmanians were angry and frustrated that they had to secure permits to leave the state. Added to this indignity was the impost of a charge for quarantine expenses if one did so.
Elizabeth Street State School provided accommodation for the initial influenza patients and the Wellington Square State School was transformed into a hospital for the same reason.
If these issues were not enough to set the Tasmanian public on fire, those of the mask and inoculation were. Rumours abounded that batches of serum were impure and had caused mass fatalities while the government legislated to make it compulsory to wear a mask in public, under threat of a 10pound penalty. One
commentator said, we assume with dark humour, now we really are a state of bushrangers. Doctors understood its use was farcical but “it gave a sense of protection to nervous people”.
Masks cost one shilling a piece and special constables were appointed to take the names and addresses of those not wearing masks in a public conveyance — old world parking meter attendants. Formalin antiseptic was affixed to all telephones in Commonwealth offices or banks as a precaution against the flu germs.
Many commentators advocated complete isolation of the state from the mainland until the end of the flu epidemic but in the end the premier at the time, Walter Lee, rightly took the view that to isolate the state would cause economic deterioration and further plunge the state into chaos.
When Tasmania was proclaimed infected, all libraries, schools, theatres, picture shows, public halls and other places for indoor resort or public entertainment were closed. Military parades, races and football were prohibited. Horror upon horror — hotel keepers were warned that the number of people allowed in bars at one time were three — and for only five minutes.
It is said the famous Aussie beer skull/skol came into being during these three minutes. There were lots of inconsistencies in these proposals, where large billiard hall rooms were closed but cafes (not bars) could remain open with multiple customers.
The favourite local antidote was alcohol. One hotel advertised: “Keep smiling: Be inoculated and drink Archie McCrea’s Quick Draught Beer: you’ll be right.”
Fruit also came into vogue as a cure, especially oranges. The slogan for the market was: “I fear no more the dreaded flu: For sun-rayed fruits will pull me through.”
If this was all too confusing, then the government recommended Dr Morse Indian Root pills followed by a call to the doctor.
Tasmanians were lucky the flu possibly weakened as it advanced the world to settle on our tiny isle. However, the global lessons learnt were sobering indeed. The flu virus is amazingly adaptive and can quickly reassert itself to an entire new structure if the conditions are right. Will it come again? Probably. Are we prepared? Maybe.