Chapter One – part A


Josefine Karla Hanrahan woke early on the morning of her eighteenth birthday and stood beside the window, fixing her eyes on the frosted landscape for a very long time. As it was warm inside her room but bitterly cold outside, the windows were moistened with misty condensation around the frames. The effect softened the landscape into a vista of Christmas card nostalgia. She was in a pensive mood, knowing it would be the last birthday she would spend at the boarding school that had been her home for a long time—almost a decade, in fact. She wrapped her fingers around a warm cup of cocoa, just gazing. A ghostly mist, rising up off the school’s artificial lake, hovered over the water. Underneath the cloud’s spectral belly feathers, a mother duck with a dozen little ones waded in from the muddy edge.

“Lucky little things,” she sighed deeply.

Lucky to have a mother taking care of them, she meant. She missed her mother all the time, but the pain was always sharpest on her birthdays. Outside on the lake, a duckling suddenly disappeared beneath the surface, leaving a ring of circles expanding outwards to mark where it had been. Josefine blinked, rubbed her eyes and counted. Just eleven. A water rat had swum under water and snatched the little bird from the very midst of its family. Its siblings kept paddling frantically after their mother, who sailed obliviously onwards, unaware she’d lost one of her brood.

“That would have been me,” the eighteen year old school girl thought, twisting her mouth into a sad grimace for the lost, unlamented baby duck. “I would have been the one snatched with no-one noticing I was gone.”

Unlike the little ducks, she was an only child—the only child of a dead mother and an absent father.

“Happy Birthday Josephine,” said the written script in the birthday card her father had sent her. Typical! Some new junior secretary hadn’t even bothered to check that her name was spelt the Danish way. Josephine indeed! Well, somewhere in the world, girls called Josephine were celebrating their birthdays with families who cared about them but, at Our Lady of Dolores College in Canberra, Josefine Karla Hanrahan was having a typically lonely start to her special day, lamenting the murder of a fluffy, yellow duckling whose mother couldn’t count.

Part two:



About lynettefinch

Dr Lynette Finch. Once I was a poster designer and illustrator. I ran a small poster business called Mantis Prints, specializing in political posters during the odd days of the Bjelke-Petersen Government in Queensland. I’m told my posters hung on the walls of Rizhsky railway station in Moscow, although I’m not sure about that. They are in the collections of the Queensland Art Gallery, on several on-line websites, and in the following book: Lynne Seear and Julie Ewington, eds. Light II, Contemporary Australian Art 1966-2006, Queensland Art Gallery Publishing, 2007, pp. 110-117. In my next incarnation I was a senior lecturer in history. I published books and articles on urban health and feeding people in modern industrial cities, on the Queensland home front in the second world war and the role and history of war propaganda. Sometimes I wrote about Marxism and its impact around the world as well as intimate oral histories of communists in Australia, their experiences in conservative society, their role as social and political radicals in small towns and cities. Once I went through a death phase and wrote about the role of the Coroners Court in colonial society, about abortion and infanticide in nineteenth century cities, and about the role of gossip in policing. My research took a decidedly happier direction when I was granted an Arts Fellowship to Antarctica in the 2007/08 season, as research for a biography about Antarctic surveyor and explorer Syd Kirkby. I bunkered down in a blizzard in Brooke's hut near Davis station and imagined what it was like for Syd, caught for twelve days in a 150-knot blizzard, high in the plateau beyond Mawson in 1960. Some of my books: Australia’s Frontline: Remembering the 1939-45 War. With the rapid escalation of the Pacific War in 1942, Queenslanders suddenly found themselves perilously close to the frontline, especially those in the far north. The book is based on interviews of men and women who worked their farms in the north, some of them Italians and Germans who were interned as enemy aliens. Nevertheless, the book is essentially a story of courage, of community spirit and neighbourliness, and of the public and private war effort of a community facing crisis and loss. Dark Angel: Propaganda in Modern Warfare. This book traces the origins and development of propaganda and media manipulation from the 1800s to today’s ‘spin’ and ‘false news’. Why have governments at war allocated resources to propaganda leaflets, broadcasts, movies and art during major military conflicts? Read the book. You’ll find the answer. The Classing Gaze: Sexuality, Class and Surveillance. Concepts like sexuality and class share the same moment of birth during the nineteenth century as social inquiry turned to analysis of the workings, population growth, thought patterns, economic systems and internal bodily workings of humans (or Man, to be historically accurate). How did these ideological concepts impact in the real world? A great deal, is the short answer, outlined in this book. Young in a Warm Climate: a history of childhood in Queensland is an edited volume about childhood on the Queensland frontiers, at school, at home, in hospitals and other institutions. Fixing Antarctica: Mapping the Frozen South. In 1956, in the height of the cold war, the biggest wintering expedition that Australia had ever sent to Antarctica set out to map the great frozen landmass of Antarctica, driven by official fears that the Soviet Union meant to take the continent for themselves. The fourteen scientists were chosen from a field of hundreds of applicants. The surveyor, the central character in Fixing Antarctica, was Sydney Kirkby. Over the next twenty years, Syd Kirkby explored and map more unknown regions in the world than any other person in history. Earth, Wind and Fire is essentially twelve generations of my father’s mother’s family but it’s much more than that. It’s kind of Game of Thrones without the dragons. It starts with a kidnapped girl in Shelford, Nottinghamshire in the east midlands of England in 1618 and follows an unbroken chain of recorded births, deaths and marriages which spans four centuries until, six generations later, her descendants flee their farms in Ireland and join the diaspora to Australia. Using family stories, family photographs, published diaries and official documents, it’s the interwoven stories of five families struggling to survive amidst the most tumultuous times in European history. What’s next? I’m wandering into the boggy territory of creative fiction, writing a series of crime stories set on King Island, a beautiful windy island in the Bass Strait between Victoria and Tasmania. I’ve finished the first draft of Book One, The Rock. There will be seven, I think. I’m also writing a stand along novel, called The Key Collector. It’s about a World traveller, Angela who settles in a Tasmanian village near her daughter and grandson where she witnesses a car crash that kills three women. Convinced the collision was an act of murder, she digs into the tragic lives of the victims and is mired in a mystery stretching across three continents and reaching into the second world war.

One response »

  1. Like the intro. The parallel between the duck and Josefine is intriguing. The repetition of “eighteen year old girl” was a monotonous. Would she see herself as a fledgling woman bound by school. Keep up the good work.

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