Second born child of Eric and Edith Gossage,
brother of Marie and Charles, grandson of Charles and Mabel Marriott (National Park) and
May and Roland Gossage (Bothwell).
The sad
death of my brother Lionel occurred when I was only 4 years of age. My memories of him
revolve around the day of his death. However, my mother often pointed out the house at
Bothwell where he was born and that building is still there today (2002). For many years
mum had kept a little pair of Lionel's black leather boots - I last remember seeing them
in the late 1960's, she would have kept them for 30 years. For other memories of a child
who lived just short of his second birthday, I am most grateful to older relatives for
their contributions. It was Hobart Show Day: Grandma, Grandfather and family members were
at the Show and our father, was in the midlands bridge-building. I remember my mother was
bathing Charles in a tin bath on the kitchen table at Park House and my uncle was there
also. An important point is that there were no means of transport available, the phone
exchange had closed due to it being a Public Holiday and the nearest doctor was at New
Norfolk. As mum, and the others went about their chores, Lionel had wandered off and it
would have only been 5 or 6 minutes when everyone started looking for him.
Across the road
from Park House were several open weatherboard garages. In one was an old flat tray truck,
with the crank handle protruding from the front. My uncle was the one who spotted this
little body hanging on the crank handle. I well remember the jumper he was wearing. It was
hand knitted, black and grey fleck, a tight neck with several buttons at the back. His
little body was carried and placed on a bed and I can visualise exactly where at Park
House this was. There was a great deal of effort to find someone who could open the phone
exchange, get a message to a doctor in New Norfolk, contact Grandma and Grandfather at the
Hobart Show and dad, somewhere in the midlands of Tasmania. My last recollection is being
taken into that bedroom and seeing baby brother Lionel, lying there "asleep".
Sixty three years later, whenever I go to Hobart, I visit the Cornelian Bay cemetery, to
where my brother's ashes are in a niche in the memorial wall and also to visit Mabel and
Charles' graves. Unbeknowns to all around, for half a century my mother and father must
have so often have grieved for the loss of their child. With the technology of the 21st
Century: 63 years later, these memories will
be recorded and this young small life will have a significant part in the annals of
history.
It is finally a
relief to be able to openly accept the happening after over sixty years of avoiding any
references. I occasionally caught my mother secretly playing on the same piano that
had been such a contributing part of the lifestyle of National Park. She was having
private mourning moments playing hymns that would have had special meanings and memories
for her. Times tragic and other times of hilarity and laughter. She was particularly sadly
pensive when she played alone in these secret moments.
‘Shall we gather
at the river” I have memories of hearing
that this was the main hymn played at Lionel’s funeral. A time of mourning the loss
of shared kindred pride and the ‘dashing’ of hopeful aspirations. The heart
rending loss of an expected involvement in an exceptional family heritage of achievement
and self-esteem. The loss of a small child was a most saddening shattering of the most
basic of family entitlement to belonging. The loss of an human right to participate can
only be shared by those closest relatives of the departed.
I recognise here the private grief that lived on with the family.
For me, it is now not so much a time to let go, as
a time ti be able to let go. I now move on.
Charles Gossage. 2002
