. . Garrawarra Cemetery is so covered by vines, broken branches and time, it's almost as though it never existed. But beneath the dense bus...
. . Garrawarra Cemetery is so covered by vines, broken branches and time, it's almost as though it never existed. But beneath the dense bush that has grown over the graveyards lie the remains of 2000 souls, their stories forgotten for more than 60 years. The cemetery, which also goes by the name of Waterfall General, was the final resting place for about half the tuberculosis patients who died at the nearby sanatorium early last century. From 1909, when tuberculosis killed more Australian women than any other illness, the cemetery served as the state's only public facility for those with the deadly disease. Society shunned tuberculosis patients and the stigma affected their families. Isolated in the bush and desperate for news of home, patients at Garrawarra would sometimes walk to the Waterfall rail line to wave at day trippers, who would toss them newspapers. "'At first, I thought there might be 50 or 60 graves in there; I had no idea there were thousands.'" There was faint hope of escape or survival. Clean mountain air and healthy food provided by the centre's orange orchards and dairy cows were little help once the disease took hold. The sanatorium stayed open for about 10 years after the last grave was dug in 1949, but as vaccinations and antibiotics dramatically lowered infection rates, there was no longer need for public hospitals dedicated to tuberculosis. In 1967, the records of the Waterfall General Hospital became lost in bureaucracy. The Wollongong City Council failed to take note of the cemetery records when the NSW Health Ministry offloaded general cemeteries in bulk to councils. Sept 28, 1898 – Sept 15, 1923 Before the rediscovery of Garrawarra Cemetery, Penrith’s Sue Gorst always felt disconnected from her grandfather, Thomas Kennedy, thinking of him merely as her ‘‘mother’s father’’. But finding his final resting place has allowed her to fill in the missing pieces of her family tree. Mr Kennedy married Lydia Best in 1921. Their first daughter, Roma, Ms Gorst’s aunt, was born on February 8, 1922. Ms Gorst’s mother, Dell, was born at Parkes on May 15, 1923, but does not appear on Mr Kennedy’s death certificate, as he had been quarantined at a sanatorium. He died there four months later and was buried in the cemetery. Ms Gorst’s mother began trying to find out about the father she never knew about 20 years ago. She applied for a copy of his death certificate, and found his place of death was listed as Waterfall Sanatorium. The family searched in vain for his grave until, in November 2012, Ms Gorst read in the Sydney Morning Herald about the forgotten burial ground and watched ‘‘a missing page in our family history ... unfurl’’. Sadly, her mother died in early 2012. ‘‘It’s been an amazing journey, which seems to have taken on a life of its own,’’ Ms Gorst said. ‘‘I had no emotional connection to my mother’s father at all, because my mum didn’t even know him.’’ Josephine Minister (nee French) and Gertrude French Feb 28, 1896 – Dec 24 1922 and Mar 16, 1898 – Dec 15, 1919 For Gold Coast resident Jody Faraone, finding out about her ancestors buried in Garrawarra Cemetery has opened a new chapter for her family. Ms Faraone’s great-grandmother, Josephine Minister (nee French), died of tuberculosis at Garrawarra in 1922, aged 26, three years after her younger sister, Gertrude French, was buried at the cemetery. Josephine left behind a four-year-old daughter, Mary Eileen French – Ms Faraone’s grandmother – who died several years ago without ever knowing how or where her mother died. Ms Faraone tracked down the Frenchs in the northern NSW town of Casino and was told they were a respected local Aboriginal family. ‘‘I contacted the family and told them who we were. They knew that Josephine and Gertrude existed, but never knew what happened to them,’’ she said. ‘‘Knowing who our family was is really important, especially for my grandmother’s sake because she grew up not having any family. She always stressed to us that family was very important.’’ Ms Faraone said finding out about the sisters’ Aboriginal background shifted her perspective on ‘‘who we really are’’. ‘‘All my life, I’ve been asked what nationality I am, and I’d just say ‘I’m Australian, that’s all I know’. ‘‘Knowing we have Aboriginal heritage changes so many things – and explains a lot of things also. We’re proud of it, because it’s part of our history.’’ ‘‘It’s really opened up my eyes to the ignorance in society, and in my life, about how we don’t really know about Aboriginal history or heritage.’’ Less
