This is a true story of the Moran family, who worked a pastoral lease at Mangowine to the north of Merredin in the early years. In those days the closest hospital and doctor was at Southern Cross, and in 1905 James Moran was admitted to the hospital suffering from two broken legs. One leg had turned gangrenous and the poison was pervading his body.
He lay sweating on the iron bed, bare to the waist. A steel cage prevented the blanket from touching his legs. The gangrene smelt like death as the tissue rotted away, the leg blackish brown leached juices onto the bedding. The stench seeped into every nook and cranny and its foulness could not be escaped. Other patients pulled blankets over their heads in unsuccessful endeavors to escape the revolting smell.
The nurses put cinnamon oil on their masks to help stifle the disgusting odor. They were responsible for bathing the patient in cooling water, before retreating from the foulness. The nurses were also responsible for removing the damaged and infected tissue to help the healing potential. They were of hardy stock but had to regularly step back to hold their gag reflex in check.
Early Goldfields Hospital 1900
James Moran was of fine physique after years of hard work. His good looks and quiet politeness, even when in pain, endeared him to hospital staff. Those who nursed him suffered pangs of guilt for their attempts to escape the revolting smell. They made the effort to linger a little longer when tending him.
Doctor Humphrey warned Jimmy that he would die if he did not have the leg amputated. Jimmy refused again and again.
The longer you refuse the higher up the leg I will need to take off. Amputation will save your life! I will do it in the next hour, just say so. There will be no pain as I will use chloroform and you will feel nothing during the operation. Jimmy replied ‘I fear no pain, but I fear the loss of my leg. A man needs two legs. I will not have it off.’
“Then you will die’ replied the doctor. ‘then so be it’ said Jimmy.
The other patients knew Jimmy’s death was near. Their collective thoughts ‘for Christ’s sake just die you poor bastard.’
Soon Elizabeth Moran arrived. She had travelled from Mangowine to Merredin by horse and buggy and then caught the Express train to Southern Cross to be with her dear husband. It was a scorching day, the last day of 1905. The diminutive woman in her early thirties walked down the aisle between the beds in a purposeful manner, without any indication of the terrible smell pervading the ward.
The other patients were on death watch and kept the privacy curtain under review. Doctor Humphrey sensed Elizabeth’s approach and greeted her outside the curtain. He informed her of Jamie’s condition and his steadfast refusal to have an amputation. The doctor expressed hope that Elizabeth could change his mind. Elizabeth went to James and the gangrene smell was as bad as she had ever smelt, and she had smelt death in many creatures from camels to snakes. She steeled her nostrils against the stench as she hugged Jimmy and gave him a kiss on his fevered brow, and begged him to have the amputation.
Jimmy was still relatively alert although dosed on an opium mixture. He smiled lovingly at her. ‘A man needs two legs to survive in this country. You know that, Lizzie!’. I will not become a burden on you and the children. Oh so sweet Lizzie, you have given me much happiness and love. More than a man can expect in a lifetime.’
Jimmy was resolute in accepting death. His personal attribute was his physical ability. He was Jimmy Moran the undefeated boxing champion of the bush. The best well sinker in the district, and the provider for Lizzie and their children. In a one-legged state, he could no longer box or sink wells or provide for his family. Above all, he would not suffer the barbs from those who would question his usefulness. He loved Lizzie and the children too much to allow the shame his worthlessness would bring. Although he would not distress Lizzie by expressing such thoughts, even on his death bed.
Elizabeth held him close and begged him to have the amputation, saying he was still full of the Irish blarney. Her pleading was to no avail. Jimmy slipped into a drugged repose and she cried as the bacteria thrived in the decayed leg and rapidly invaded his body. Father Henry Mason attended James just before midnight and intoned the last rites. Shortly it would be New Year’s Day. Elizabeth held Jimmy’s hand as the tears streamed down her brown sunburnt face. James woke long enough to turn his head and bade her goodbye with his eyes. Then the poison swept through him and carried him away.
It was a stifling hot new year’s day that prohibited the keeping of dead bodies longer than necessary. A lonely Elizabeth saw James laid to rest mid-morning in a newly dug grave in Southern Cross cemetery. The two gravediggers, who had lowered James in his rough coffin for burial, leaned on their shovels seeking shade from a spindly tree. They were waiting for the service to finish so the grave could be refilled.
Father Mason was in attendance. He had married James and Elizabeth and baptised their two children. After a quiet prayer, he helped her into his buggy for her return to Southern Cross, where she booked a room at the Railway Hotel.
She boarded the Kalgoorlie express late that night and was in Merredin before dawn. She remained in the waiting room until there was movement in the town, then retrieved her horse and sulky from the livery stable for the journey back home. Her horse knew the way and she sat quietly in the buggy. She wept and thought of her dear James, and how things might have been. Over and over in her mind went the words:
A man needs two legs.
Elizabeth Moran visited Southern Cross on several occasions in later years. Her son owned the Bohemia Mine at Marvel Loch. She felt no need to visit her husband’s grave as she felt death was a natural state never fussed over. There was sadness and that was enough! James lies in grave 45 in the Catholic section.
Based on an article written by the grandson of James, the late Kevin Moran in 2012
Moya Sharp
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