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PHENOMENA: The Lost And Forgotten Children

 by Susan Tarr.
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Updated 3 July 2018 –  ‘PHENOMENA has been nominated for several book awards, and the latest is to be shortlisted for Book of the Month Amazon UK, Amazon US and Amazon CA …

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At the heart of this book is the story of a ‘disabled’ little boy whose journey through life is narrated with empathy and compassion by author, Susan Tarr. Not long after the tragic death of his baby brother, followed closely by the death of his beloved mother, he is abandoned by his father at a railway station. When this severely traumatised little boy is picked up by authorities he can’t or won’t give his name.  In fact, he refuses to speak at all. The decision is made to admit him to the Seacliff Lunatic Asylum, a common practise in the 19th and early 20th centuries in New Zealand. Upon admission into Seacliff he is given the name, Malcolm, and there he withdraws completely into himself. He is subsequently diagnosed as being of below normal intelligence as well as having some kind of mental illness. He is incarcerated in the Asylum with other traumatised children; some with their mothers and others, like Malcolm, alone.

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Seacliff Lunatic Asylum in Dunedin, New Zealand. Demolished in 1959.

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Although a work of fiction, Malcolm’s story is based on a true story. In actual fact, the author knows ‘Malcolm’ personally and she has made his story a composite of the lives of many children who grew up in the Gothic styled Seacliff Lunatic Asylum. This is partly to protect his true identity and partly to weave into the book the lives of other ‘lost and forgotten children’ in psychiatric institutions.

Susan Tarr lived in a small East Otago coastal settlement near the mouth of the Waikouaiti River, situated approximately 20 miles north of Dunedin city. Seacliff Village relied on Seacliff Lunatic Asylum nestled on the hill above it for its commercial existence. Many residents of the village worked at the asylum as attendants, nurses, cleaners, cooks, gardeners and tradespeople. Susan Tarr had relatives and friends who were employed as staff, and she has herself  previously worked at  Seacliff Asylum and other psychiatric hospitals.

I grew up in Dunedin and knew of Seacliff  the asylum although I knew of no-one who had been a patient there. Whenever anyone spoke of Seacliff, it conjured up for me, images of raving, salivating lunatics. However, I did have a school friend my own age who attended St Dominic’s College at the top of Rattray Street in the city at the same time I was there. She travelled by train to and fro between Waikouaiti train station and the College every school day.  On occasion I was invited to her home where I met her parents and siblings. Her father was a psychiatric nurse at Seacliff. It transpired that Susan Tarr also knew my  school friend and her family very well; they were near neighbours in the residential settlement at Seacliff/Waikouaiti.

I had never communicated with the author before I saw her post on Twitter with a link to information about Phenomena. So it was very much a chance connection. I bought and downloaded the book immediately onto my tablet and I couldn’t put it down. Not only because it is so well written, but also because it evoked memories of Dunedin which I had left behind many years ago.  Susan Tarr writes in detail about the parks and streets in and around Dunedin. She has accessed personal diaries, old letters, and interviewed ex-staff and former patients for the book. Personal and shared experiences with the author’s workmates, family and friends have added to the depth of this work.

To accompany Malcolm on his journey through the pages of Phenomena is to gain a remarkable insight into the thoughts and feelings of sufferers at a time when mental illness was little understood. The harsh treatment of children at Seacliff, an institution completely devoid of love and understanding, is heartrending. Most of the children suffered from nothing more than emotional trauma, or epilepsy. Some patients, admitted as children, spent their whole lives incarcerated at Seacliff, and died there. Women who succumbed to misdiagnosed post-natal depression were declared ‘insane’ and locked away from family support and their children which often deepened their depression, developed into psychotic states or far worse.  Ex-soldiers suffering battle fatigue and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, (not properly diagnosed at the time) were also among patients at Seacliff.  There were also many ‘criminally insane’ inmates but they were locked up in a secure section of the hospital.

At the forefront of institutional care for the ‘insane’ in New Zealand in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries was Dr Frederic Truby King, known as Truby King. Malcolm’s story brings to vivid life the day to day existence for patients at Seacliff  under the radical ideas instituted by Dr King. The doctor was well qualified at the time, having gained a Bachelor of Medicine and Science, and Master of Surgery at Edinburgh University. In 1894 he returned to Edinburgh to study Brain Pathology, nervous and mental disorders. He became a Member of Psychological Association of Great Britain. During Dr King’s tenure as Medical Superintendent of Seacliff between 1889 and 1920, his energy and compassion towards patients earned him a ‘solid reputation’. But he ran the Asylum with the authoritarian and disciplinarian attitudes of the era. Concurrently, Dr King held the lectureship of mental diseases at Otago University and consultancies in Public Health and Medical Jurisprudence. As if that wasn’t enough, he was also responsible for the overall management of auxiliary institutions at Waitati, and The Camp on the Otago Peninsula.  In terms of the horror stories recorded at other lunatic asylums around the world, there is no doubt Dr King began a benign revolution in the care of the mentally ill.

Susan Tarr cleverly weaves the changes Dr King brought to institutional care through Malcolm’s eyes. The detail of his and other children’s lives growing up in the Asylum among severely disturbed and mentally ill adults is harrowing. More so because they were intelligent but had no idea why they were there or of life outside of Seacliff.  The treatments and bullying Malcolm endured are frightening and he eventually suppressed any curiosity about life, closing himself off from everybody and everything around him.  Because he had been institutionalised since childhood, his perceptions of life outside were incomplete, mystifying and alarming. Some attendants could be aggressive and violent and Malcolm felt the constant scrutiny unnerving. He saw events and heard discussions he had little internal resources to process.  In the children’s and adults’ minds, the uniformed staff were wardens, there to be obeyed and to inflict punishments on them when necessary. They were not there to offer comfort or give answers to any questions patients might have.

As Malcolm grew into manhood, life began to evolve even more at Seacliff. The  hospital complex had been run as a 900 acre farm, vegetable garden and orchard within its boundaries, with any produce used by the patients and staff as Dr King had envisaged. He firmly believed that mental illness was the result of the maltreatment and malnourishment of infants. So a healthy diet and plenty of fresh air were essential. Dr King had also established a fishing business at Karitane, a small coastal settlement a few miles north of Seacliff. Patients who enjoyed fishing  hitched rides in the hospital van and it was said that so much fish was caught on these regular trips that it ‘contributed greatly to the fishing industry’ and of course contributed to the patients’ healthy diet.

Malcolm was eventually allowed much more freedom around and outside the Asylum environs and he benefited greatly from his activities in the gardens and on the farm. His memory and speech slowly returned and he befriended members of  staff, particularly the head cook and one of the gardeners, who tried to assist Malcolm with answers to baffling questions which arose out of the return of disturbing memories. These memories were able to surface because Malcolm accumulated the sedative pills he was given daily, after his ‘foggy’ brain slowly realised these were what was befuddling him. He had to be careful though, because if the attendants had found out he would be given ‘the treatment’ again.

The ‘real’ person Malcolm is, for so long buried deeply, becomes evident towards the end of the book after a staff member helps him to recover fully, lost and painful memories, and to research his birth date and his full name. The author skilfully uses Malcolm’s long road to rehabilitation to highlight the later important developments in psychiatric care. Namely the emphasis on the medical classification of patients, the increase in patients’ liberty, the agitation for early and voluntary admission, more highly trained staff, and more female nurses. In the past, drugs, so important today, were used infrequently, mainly to calm patients. And psychoanalysis was seldom in use. One can’t help thinking how psychotherapy could have benefited Malcolm had he had access to this kind of treatment when he was first admitted to the Asylum as a deeply traumatised boy

Some of Dr King’s revolutionary ideas allowed patients to run the farm, orchard and gardens under supervision. Dr King originally replaced the attendant/gardener with a landscape gardener commissioned to develop an attractive bush setting for patients and staff to work and live in, with pleasant views out to sea. The idea was to banish all feelings of imprisonment from the patients’ minds. Dr King also designed and implemented a gravitational system of sewage irrigation which eliminated the foul-smelling gas that permeated the building. But the building itself was erected in 1874, on ‘shifting sands’ so there remained serious structural problems which Malcolm and the other patients had to live with. An ‘add-on’ structure behind the main building was consumed in a horrific fire in which many patients, locked in their rooms, were burned alive. The revivalist Gothic Seacliff Lunatic Asylum was finally demolished in 1959.

With a philosophy of efficiency and economy, Dr King had become actively involved in running the farm at Seacliff. Male patients worked outside on the farm and in the gardens while female patients did sewing and knitting, and worked in the laundry and kitchen although there was a male cook who produced delicious and nourishing meals while Malcolm lived there. Dr King held that farm work was unsuitable for women, but the chief reason for the ‘division of labour’ may have been that there was a concern about intimacy between patients of the opposite sex for various reasons. Of course close relationships between patients did exist, as well as antagonistic ones. Every summer a picnic was held for the patients while recreations and amusements were encouraged.  Dr King had to ‘vigorously defend’ the expense of maintaining a staff band, which continued to play at dances for the patients and other celebrations.

By 1895 Dr King was convinced that healthy diets and the general improvements in ventilation, drainage and other hygienic measures implemented at Seacliff were responsible for the almost entire eradication of erysipelas and ulcerated throats. Other doctors and scientists of the era had also known of the importance of hygiene, good nutrition and healthy environments, but Dr King reinforced his knowledge by putting his ideas to work at Seacliff.  Dr King has since been proven wrong in many of his beliefs about psychiatric illness, of which there was scant knowledge at the time. Environmental and social engineering could not and cannot, cure deep-seated psychological problems.

-Anne Frandi-Coory  5 August 2014

Also here on Anne Frandi-Coory’s facebook page:

https://www.facebook.com/myhomelibrary/

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For More about Seacliff Lunatic Asylum, see previous post

 

 

Updated 19 March 2018

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Scattered Cedars

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Once again the so-called Lebanese ‘genealogists’ of Dunedin failed miserably in providing the correct names of Jacob Coory’s grandchildren, in a book about the Lebanese migrant community in Dunedin in the late nineteenth and twentieth centuries, published in 2013.

In the earlier book published, entitled Lebanon’s Children (see below) I, nee Anne Marie Coory, was in a group photo but alas was the only child not named. I took that as an insult to my grandfather, Jacob Coory, one of the original settlers, and to his oldest son, my father, Joseph Coory. But I assumed any later books published would correct the mistakes in this first book. But no!

Any genealogist worth their salt, knows that you do not publish family trees with incorrect information. Fact checking and date checking takes much time, and expense, if you have to purchase original documents, but it must be done! Looking through this latest edition, Scattered Cedars, I saw that there were not many photos of our branch of the Coory family and very little other information. But there was a family tree of sorts: ‘Joe Coory’ there under his parents’ Eva Arida’s and Jacob Coory’s names.  Not even my father’s proper name, ‘Joseph’, just ‘Joe’, and under his name ‘Kasey’, whose name is actually ‘Kevin Joseph Coory’ not his nickname KC, which were his initials! Kevin was actually Phillip Coory’s son, Phillip being Joseph’s younger brother.  My father adopted Kevin after he married my Italian mother, Doreen Marie Frandi, whom Phillip had abandoned when he found she was pregnant. He was already married with a son, you see? My name in the family tree is listed as JoAnne, which upset me greatly. I have written a book Whatever Happened To Ishtar? 

4th edition (2020) now available in Kindle e book and paperback 

Here from AMAZON BOOKS

in which all this tragic saga is explained in full. To cut a long story short, my mother was kicked out of the Coory family home in Carroll Street, Dunedin and I, my father’s only biological child, was dumped in an orphanage at ten months old. When I was about nine years  old, the Coory family decided that they needed me to be trained up as a future housemaid for the family, and I was sent to St Dominic’s College in Rattray Street Dunedin, (fees which my father could barely afford) with many of the other Lebanese girls in the Dunedin community at that time, although I was certainly not their equal as they made very clear to me. When I was fourteen years old, two of my aunts decided that Ann Cockburn, my aunt, and her daughter, Anne Marie, were enough ‘Annes’ in the family, so my name would henceforth be changed to “Joe’s Anne’ shortened to JoAnne! My mother, and Kevin, (who was kicked out along with our mother), and her Italian extended family always called me Anne, named after my mother’s youngest sister, who was very special to my mother, as she practically raised her. Many years later when I visited Italian family members around the world, for information for my book Whatever Happened To Ishtar? they also knew me as Anne, which is the name on my birth certificate if anyone writing up Jacob Coory’s family tree would have discovered!

As it happens, the only correct name given to the three children under Joseph Coory’s name on the family tree, is my younger brother’s name, Anthony. My mother did not rate a mention!

-Anne Frandi-Coory

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Lebanese expats in New Zealand mark their reunion in October 2011: Descendants of 19th Century Lebanese settlers in Dunedin, on New Zealand’s South Island, have unveiled a Cedars of Lebanon Grove at the city’s botanical garden:

…about 250 people gathered on the edge of the Botanic Garden’s Mediterranean Garden to witness the ceremonial opening of a new grove dedicated to the community’s history in Dunedin. The grove’s centrepiece was a large bronze sculpture of the cone of a cedar, the national tree of Lebanon, as well as two cedar trees and a wooden park bench on which to sit and contemplate the area.

Dunedin also has its own ‘Lebanon-town’:

The gathering also included exhibitions of family history, a reception and black tie ball in the Dunedin Town Hall, as well as a tour of the “Lebanese precinct” between Carroll, Maitland, Stafford and Hope Streets in Dunedin. As Reported by LebTweets

Jacob & Eva Coory c.1897

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Anne Frandi-Coory’s grandparents Eva and Jacob Coory (Fahkrey) and their extended family lived in Carroll Street for over 100 years, following their emigration from Bcharre, Lebanon. Kahlil Gibran came from the same village as Eva and Jacob, and were related by marriage. Anne would have liked to have gone to the reunion, but too many past ghosts are forever  haunting her.

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Notes from Anne Frandi-Coory:

Thank you Wendy Joseph, for attending the Lebanese Reunion,  I know how hard that must have been for you; We never would have found each other again if you hadn’t been so brave. Both our mothers abandoned us, we paid a heavy price, but survived. Sadly, with no help from the wider Lebanese community.  That’s not to say that I am not proud to be Lebanese, but I cannot speak for Wendy.

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The question I ask of the Lebanese community, which endlessly heralds its “sense of family”, is this: Why was there not enough love and compassion from aunts to close in around me and Wendy? True, our mothers were ‘outsiders’ and found life difficult (to put it mildly) among so many ethnocentric Lebanese immigrants, with their different style of living and eating. I remember the ‘racism’ well. Everyone was well aware within the community at the time,  that preference for marriage partners was for those from within the Lebanese community itself or from those families back in Lebanon.  But the truth was, many did marry “unglese” and life could be very difficult for them unless they were strong and independently minded, which my mother certainly wasn’t. ><

Anne Coory 8

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After a Lebanese community celebration c 1956 (the date on the photo is incorrect), photos of family groups were taken on the steps of St Joseph’s Cathedral at the top of Rattray Street, Dunedin.   I am the only child there who is not named. Why?  If I was publishing such an important work, I would have left no stone unturned until I found the name of the unnamed child.

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Photo below: Ann Coory Cockburn, Eva Arida Coory’s daughter at rear on left,  Eva in front of her in furs, and beside Eva on the right is her daughter, Neghia Coory Dale with me standing in front of neghia with her hands on my shoulders.

Carroll St Dunedin c. 1956

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The photo above was obviously taken on the same day as the Lebanese Community group photo on the Cathedral steps, this one taken outside the Coory family home at 67 Carroll Street, Dunedin…

The Coory family were beginning to show off their hard-earned prosperity at this stage.

And there again is 8 year old Anne Frandi-Coory, in the same dress, the odd one out and as usual looking bewildered, but still no-one knew who I was?  I was not long extracted from the Mercy Orphanage for the Poor in South Dunedin, but still, my father lived in the Carroll Street house most of his life! 

It is not for me I mourn, but for my children and their children who missed out on so much! That is my heartbreak.

Anne blog

Anne Frandi-Coory

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An apology to my grandfather Jacob Coory, a pillar of the Dunedin Lebanese community.  The above group photograph of Lebanese families appeared in a publication Lebanon’s Children’ in 2004. The front row proudly displays their children. Unfortunately, Granddad, there I, Anne Frandi-Coory, 5th child from the left, stood holding the hand of my little cousin Anne-Marie Cockburn, but no-one knew who I was.  Even though I was the only daughter of your oldest son, Joseph, I was the only child in the whole book not to be named.  One of your sons was on the committee that produced the book, but even he didn’t  recognise me! The reason could be that my Lebanese family dumped me when I was 10 months old, in an orphanage for the poor a few blocks from their family home because they hated my Italian mother.  Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. Still, I was devastated to discover I didn’t exist as far as my own extended family was concerned. Obviously, not all of  ‘Lebanon’s Children’ are born equal. As a writer, genealogist and author,  I would not have published Lebanon’s Children’  until I had identified the the unnamed child. Enough of that community saw me often walking with my father, holding his hand, as he stopped to talk to Lebanese compatriots, around the streets of Dunedin. And what of my brothers, Kevin and Anthony? The point is, the abuse and neglect I suffered as a child, at the hands of my Lebanese extended family, has had an adverse effect on following generations. That is what I find very difficult to come to terms with. 

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My Lebanese grandfather, Jacob Habib El Khouri Eleishah Coory (Fahkrey) as I remember him

Thank you Granddad Jacob for treating me with love and respect and protecting me from the family’s hatred when you could. Even though I was only 8 years old when you died, you had a profound effect on my life.  It only takes one good man…

>><> More….photos, stories …. Catholic schools, churches and orphanages

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Read more about Anne’s story here: Whatever Happened To Ishtar?;  A Passionate Quest To Find Answers For Generations of Defeated Mothers – throughout Anne’s family tree; both Lebanese and Italian