The 1918 ‘Black Death’
[ The University of Melbourne Voice Vol. 3, No. 9
10 November - 8 December 2008 ] By Janet McCalman
Sixty years later, Richmond people remembered it as the ‘Black Death’. It wasn’t bubonic plague, however, but the Spanish Influenza Pandemic that reached Australian shores in late 1918. It was a ferocious virus that struck down the young and the very old. Worldwide it killed many more than the Great War which had just ended, and it is only in recent times that the death toll in Africa, Asia and South America has been appreciated. Currently, the global toll is estimated as 50 to 100 million.
At the time, however, it seemed like the Black Death. The dying coughed blood and often bled from the ears, nose, stomach and bowel. Towards death, victims turned purplish, almost black. Death could come within 24 hours of the first symptoms. Strong young adults reacted violently to the virus and died with terrifying suddenness.
The enduring memories were of the fear; the bizarre remedies; the ubiquitous face masks; the family crises of loved ones crying out in delirium, singing hymns, making last reconciliations.
The public memories were of the quiet streets and silent schoolyards, the empty theatres and dance halls. In Richmond, the medieval associations began each morning with the procession of FCJ (Faithful Companions of Jesus) nuns from Vaucluse Convent, walking single file down the centre of Church Street in their black habits as they made their way to John Wren’s pony racetrack in Bridge Road to nurse the afflicted.
The hospitals were overwhelmed with very sick patients who needed close nursing and soon nurses and doctors were themselves sick and taking up beds and dying. More women went into premature labour and lost their babies. Maternal and infant mortality spiked.
The government responded by setting up large public emergency hospitals. The Royal Exhibition Building (REB) accommodated 4046 patients, of whom 392 had died by 1919. The University of Melbourne was closed and medical students were conscripted to tend the sick in the REB.
Awful as it was, however, Australia got off relatively lightly with just 12 000 deaths. The blessedness of distance and the quality of Australian maritime quarantine delayed the arrival of the virus long enough for its virulence to have diminished.
The hero of the hour was Dr JHL Cumpston, the founding Director of the Australian Department of Health in the young Commonwealth Government. The illness was confined to the quarantine stations from October 1918 to January 1919, buying valuable time. New Zealand fared less well.
The ‘Spanish Flu’ left a long and nasty legacy in encephalitis lethargica, heart damage and – some have suggested – as a contributing factor to the coronary heart disease epidemic of the 20th century.
Yet afterwards it quickly passed from mind. Historians have recently written of it as the ‘Forgotten Pandemic’. The tragedy of the War overshadowed the civilian tragedy of the ‘flu’ and the distractions and uncertainties of the roaring 20s consumed most people. Australia’s public health administration, doctors, nurses, students and volunteers however, had done extremely well.
Janet McCalman is a Professor in the Centre for Health & Society (Faculty of Medicine, Dentistry and Health Sciences) and the Department of History & Philosophy of Science (Faculty of Arts).
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