16 REMEMBERENCE DAY
After 50 years of living through all sorts of triumphs and tragedies I guess it should be difficult to put your finger on one single event that can be described as the worst day of your life. But for me, that defining day is sadly very simple to pinpoint.
November 11th, 1973 is my horror day, sadly I was part of a tragedy that resulted in the deaths of two young brothers. Unfortunately, I can relive the day in my mind as though it happened just yesterday. The memories and images are still very defined despite the passing of so much time.
Sometimes in life it is easy to lay blame when we need to justify certain happenings, certain things we do, but I firmly believe this day in my personal history damaged my life in many ways. A big call I know, and it could sound like a 'poor John' excuse, but I understand the inner turmoil that I have lived with as a result of the accident and deaths that happened that morning at Paruna.
I often wonder how soldiers who have lived through the horrors of war can ever move on once they return to society. How do they allow their mind to deal with the destruction and death that they witnessed on a daily basis on the battlefield? How do rescue workers, ambo paramedics, cops, first responders who must see some horrible carnage as part of their working life ever process and sort the trauma from these events? How do they block it out and work through their personal issues around such experiences?
Because, for me, I know I was never able to leave that day behind, I struggle to rationalise what happened. It has never been easy for me in my mind knowing that I played a part in the death of the two young brothers.
It could have and likely should have been so different. I do not believe that any one person or one event is responsible for the accident, but naturally, I do believe it was a needless waste of life. Events that led up to the impact could have so easily been different.
The following memoir is something I wrote as a personal exercise last year on the 30th Anniversary of the tragedy. I was trying to write about my thoughts and feelings in a hope I could maybe find some form of inner peace. I understand this is my take, my memory of what happened. The family of the young lads are not forgotten, and I try to show the respect I feel and have for everyone affected by the accident.
I include the memoir here as written at that time, it is sad and confronting in ways, but it is my honest take.
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I REMEMBER
I was only 18 on this day 30 years ago when my world had its first defining moment of change. At 11-58am on Sunday November 11th, 1973, a ballast train heading into Paruna station in the Murray Mallee of South Australia collided with a Datsun sedan killing both occupants of the small car. I was the fireman, the co-driver on that train. I sat helplessly and watched as the car drove directly underneath my seat of locomotive 965 'B' end.
It was such a horrible feeling as the car hit and then the sound as it was torn apart as the locomotive dragged it over the next 100 or so metres before spitting it out alongside the railway tracks.
Finally, the train came to a screeching halt another 100 metres further up the track. In my haste to scramble from the loco cabin and go to help I had not noticed the impact had torn away the side steps and I fell to the ground.
Stumbling, I got back to the car before sprinting to the only shop open in the town's main street and raising the alarm. I returned to the car, it was a twisted wreck and behind the wheel was the driver; he just sat there covered in blood. It was a sad sight and on checking I figured he was dead.
The passenger seat was empty with that side of the car mostly torn away but at the time of impact on the crossing I had seen more than one person in the vehicle.
Back along the track I found the body of the younger lad, he had taken the full force of the impact. He was clearly dead and despite the blood I sat and cuddled him there next to the railway track. In those hectic first minutes I was just wanting him to know he was not alone and that somebody cared for him.
This young kid had looked up from the passenger seat and into my eyes that split second before the crash. Maybe he knew his fate, maybe he knew this was it and that he would die. The look on his face has remained burned in my memory since that fateful day, I reason I was the last person he saw on earth.
A tough moment in time, these two young men had lost their life and while nothing would change that, I felt a connection and somehow, I simply tried to be a comfort as they passed from this world. Right then, it was just these two dear young souls and me.
This had been a tragedy. Two lads had died. A family would clearly be devastated and life for many people was changed in the blink of an eye because of this fateful crash.
My life certainly changed. Yes, I got to go on, I had work, I got married, had kids, I had a fortunate time and I got to experience all life offered. But I was not complete, sadly, mentally I was never able to fully get over that morning in Paruna.
Being confronted with this horrible and sad scene by the rail tracks is something unimaginable and with no time to grasp the enormity of the moment as it unfolded, then I came away traumatised and I know I was broken. I was just a kid myself; I did what I could, but I was a shattered young man.
And I am often left to reflect on how it could have all be so different. The train normally would not have been at the crossing at this time on this day. In the Mallee, no trains ran on the weekends and very few ran during the daylight hours. Most freight trains passing through this small farming town did so late at night or in the early hours of the morning and only during the weekdays. But this was a scheduled work train and Sunday was a workday; we were working on the line upgrade.
But, as mentioned, yes things could have been so different on this Sunday. We had travelled from our base in Wanbi and as our train sat that morning at the ballast loading dock on Pungonda siding 38km from Paruna, the contract-based groundwork loading crew had been involved in industrial action. And that had delayed our departure by an hour or so. It would prove a deadly twist of fate.
For me, in a further twist of fate, I recognised the driver of the car; I had played junior football against him. His team Brownswell and my former side Cobdogla played in the same footy competition.
The younger boy who I would learn was a brother was not known to me but as I cuddled him alongside the track, I promised that I would not leave him until help arrived. It was just the two of us and despite my feeling of helplessness I somehow believed staying with him was the right and only thing to do.
Silly though because I knew that he was dead. For me, it was sort of my duty to be with him. I was shaking and crying and cuddled him tightly to me, there is no doubt I was in shock. But this young fellow who I sat with, and his brother were not on their own. Both the boys were treated with respect and dignity in death.
Finally, the ambulance workers arrived, and I was led away; it was a shocking moment leaving the young boy. “He is dead,” one of the ambulance crew said, “You can’t do anything for him”. But I wanted the youngster to know how sorry I was, how sorry I felt that his life was snatched from him so tragically. It left me feeling so cold and so bloody helpless. The lads died and I was alive.
I watched as the two bodies were loaded into the ambulance and taken away to the morgue at Loxton.
Later I was given permission by the Railway officials who had been summoned to the scene to phone my parents in Barmera and to be allowed to go home. It had been a tragic day indeed.
With Mum and Dad, we now drove to my house at Tailem Bend to collect a few things and then on to my parents' home in Barmera. Clearly, I was upset and struggling so I was taken to a doctor at the local medical clinic later that night and given a shot to help me calm down and to sleep.
But I did not sleep. From that day on my mind changed.
I stayed in Barmera for the next couple of days finally leaving after my father made an unfortunate statement. He knew I was struggling but told me, “It was your choice to be a train driver, so you just have to live with what happened”. I know that hurt but I also knew he was right and I had to get on with it. I do not hold the comment against Dad, that is how things were in this era, rightly or wrongly it was the done thing to just move on. He was simply stating a fact.
So, I returned to work at Tailem Bend the following Friday. The Railway Investigation Unit was taking the train driver and I back to recreate the scene of the accident to prepare a report for the coroner. That was a very hard thing to do, it was a hard day, a zombie mood type experience. But life had to go on I guess, and I was simply advised to move on and to get over it.
Attending the funeral to show my respects to the boys and their family was not something I could do. For whatever reason I was not strong enough and while I regret the decision after all the years, I did not attend.
But sometime in the new year I did have contact with the Verrall family. This bit is somewhat hazy as to how it all came about but I went to a farm on the outskirts of Paruna a number of weeks after the accident and had a visit with one of the older brothers and his wife Paula. It had been Paula I remember, that organised the contact and from that visit I was connected with boys' parents who had moved to or were staying with their daughter in Stirling.
A visit was arranged some months later, but it was not good, The boy's father was clearly struggling with the loss of his sons and my memory is that he got very upset with me as he blamed the train crew for the accident. Again, I never ever held onto that, my understanding being at this sad time he felt the need to lash out. I accepted his anger as a part of his grief and his personal healing process and while I knew his blame was not correct, I felt for the dad and to this day I am so very sorry for what he and the whole Verrall family went through. Their personal and collective grief would be profound.
I know I was not responsible for the accident but at my young age and with little life experience I did feel every bit responsible. It would be hard not to, knowing you had killed two young lads, regardless of how the circumstances played out. For me, I felt the loss in a massive way, naturally my loss was not that of the family, their grief and heartache was not something I could begin to imagine. Their loss was total, it was forever.
From here I had to move on. I stayed in the railways, went back to working on the trains and while that was somewhat difficult, I was able to embrace my work and continue my time as a driver. Naturally, while this was all still so raw when I made the decision to go on as a driver, I had no idea of the long-term implications the tragic events of that day would have on my life.
For all of that, to this day I believe I did not move on in a good way, there was no help, no counselling, no follow up, it was like the entire tragedy was just forgotten. It is easy to look back and say that in this era of life, that is what happened. Now, we know that was wrong, things could have certainly been handled better.
So, while I did move on, I never ever, ever forgot the boys and what happened that morning at Paruna, I got to live, and they did not.
My connection to them was never downplayed from my perspective, I respected and honored both lads in every way I could possibly do across all the years. It was never going to bring them back but my need to honor the lads was always profound. And I knew for the Verrall family life would never be the same but as the years rolled on, then all I could do was to carry my personal memories and honor the two boys. They deserved to be remembered.
And for me, over the many years I have relived many times the last moments of that morning before the fatal impact and questioned everything the driver Les Bienke and I did. As instructed in my job, I sounded the train horn continuously once I spotted the car as we headed out of the cutting and onto the rail crossing. It all happened so quick, the car just kept coming so I yelled to the driver in control of the train, and he applied the brakes seconds before impact. But with 850 tonnes of ballast pushing us forward, stopping quickly was never a possibility.
In my heart I believe we took every possible precaution as an engine crew to prevent the accident and apart from the visit to the scene with the investigation team I have never heard from the railway authorities to this day any more about what happened on that Sunday morning. So, my understanding of that is all aspects of the collision cleared the driver and me of any wrongdoing. And for me personally, that sat as it should because as said, I know we did all we could.
And naturally I do not in any way blame the car driver. He too was just 18 and no doubt had anything but meeting a train at the crossing on his mind in the moments before the crash. Again, as mentioned trains did not run on the line on a Sunday. This had been a tragic accident, one with horrible consequences but an accident just the same.
I know in my mind that the boy I cuddled beside the tracks that morning was asking for help in that split second before impact, but I hope he can forgive me and know that I did all I could so as to prevent the crash. I could not help him!
He should not have died as he did. But his death has played on my mind in such a way that when my son Bradley James turned 11 in 1994, I was so sure that something tragic would happen to him, I had a knot in my guts for the entire year. Mind over matter type of thinking I know but I was so sure of something happening. Thankfully, it didn't.
Now, as I sit here today and write this, I still think of the young lad I cradled in my arms on that Sunday, and I pray that one day he can let me move on and put the tragedy to rest. To the driver of the car, you are also always in my thoughts. I wish with all my heart this could have all been different.
For me it has been a very long 30 years. I really hate November 11th, a famous day in Australian history it may well be, but I hate how and where this day stands in my life story. I feel for the dad and mum, for the siblings, please know I have never forgotten you and how this must have affected each and everyone in the family. I am so sorry for your loss.
Graham Bruce Verrall and Richard John Verrall, RIP. You are always remembered.
After the accident I continued to work as a fireman in the SA Railways at Tailem Bend. Perhaps I could have stayed as a railway worker but transferred to a different section, got away from working on the trains.
But like I wrote in the memoir if I knew then what I do now, then yes, a transfer was the best outcome. But hindsight is a wonderful thing and at the time I decided to continue I naturally had no idea how this would all play out in my mind as the years rolled on.
The trauma of being on the locomotives did manifest fairly soon after the accident, I was in a state of shock for so long, it messed with me, but I guess I learned to hide things. Being so young at that time gave me no insight whatsoever into what might lie ahead.
I would do things like close my eyes and sing to myself as we powered over level crossings, I would be petrified if I saw a car approaching and would just hope against hope that it was slowing down. I did this for years.
The stress I put myself under was massive. I would make light of any situation when my stress levels were off the page and simply mask any feeling that would give indication as to how I felt. Not good, but in my defense, it was what I did.
A near miss one night on a level crossing was almost my undoing, it was hard to hide my fear. I am not sure how I completed the trip back to the Tailem Bend loco depot but once off the locomotive I simply crumbled.
To this day I have no idea how we missed the semi that night, it was just too close, I remember I thought it was my turn to die. To cope, I went home once that shift ended, locked myself away and just hid. I managed a trip to the local doctor before I had to work next and faked an illness that gave me some time off. For the next week I became a hermit, it was just plain awkward. Somehow, I came through and willed myself back to work. I never told anyone about how that semi all but took us out. But it scared me stupid.
Something had to be done, so after this near miss experience, I made myself toughen up. Again, rightly or wrongly I commanded a mindset that gave me some form of coping ability. It must have worked because I did move on and managed to hide how I was really battling in myself.
My ability to mask feelings seemed to work and life was now manageable. I still stressed and cringed when things happened on my train journeys, however I was getting a handle on this, and I coped. Somehow, I coped. This was not a good way to live but it was how things were.
Nothing I did would bring the two lads back, that was a given. To let that accident disturb me as it did was dangerous and anything but healthy, yet I knew no other way. I truly and very sadly did not know how to let it go.
Eventually, in 1977 I did transfer to Port Pirie to continue as a train driver and from there my work life moved to the Pilbara in Western Australia when I took a post with Hammersley Iron driving iron ore trains.
Railway life had been my first job out of school, it was a job of choice at the time. January 6th, 1970 was my start date with the South Australian Railways at Berri and over the next decade I worked with and on trains at a number of stations and depots around the state and in WA.
It was a great experience I have lots to take from that time. I met and worked with some amazing people, and I learned so much about life in this time. So, my memories are generally good allowing for that fateful November 1973 morning and the trauma carried after that day.
Once I left WA and headed back to Barmera then my time in the work force headed in other directions and my railway workdays were over.
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