Tassie: The Pubic Hair Of Australia

Now that I'm back in Melbourne, I feel like I can safely address a few issues that have been troubling me.  No longer shall I have to fear a lynch mob turning up on my parent's doorstep, smearing me in leatherwood honey, rolling me in seagull feathers and stringing me up on the Tasman Bridge.  And before  you all get your friends in the big smoke to do the job for you, just remember that I am in true multi-generational citizen of The Map of Tas.  I love Cascade beer, Boony, Princess Mary, and in fact leatherwood honey.  I can make the noise of a Tasmanian Devil and I freely swim in the Tasmanian sea into autumn.   Being a proud Tasmanian, is like your relationship with your mother.  You can say whatever you like about the woman, but if any other person even dares utter a single statement that could be construed as "mother bashing" you want to strangle them with whatever tool you have handy.  In fact, "mother bashing" would probably stand up as a credible defence for manslaughter in court.

We Tasmanians have learned to defend our "Mother Tas" over many years of coming into contact with mainlanders.  So many stupid jokes have we had to feign amusement at over the years, that now, most of us find the best way to deal with them is to pretend we didn't hear.  So, just in case anyone reading this feels a Tassie joke coming on - I have a tip for you.  Don't share it with a Tasmanian.  If he or she kills you and the case is tried in Tassie - they will walk free on "unnecessary provocation".  Particularly offensive to me were the "two-headed" jokes when I was pregnant with twins.  As I was already fearful of the undetected conjoined twin issue, I found this particular ribbing warranted a swift kick to the shins.  Try it sometime, it's satisfying.

Inbreeding - it's no joke when it's your family

I arrived back in Melbourne yesterday, and had an extremely delicious dinner out with two delightful dinner companions.  Both of them Tasmanians - and therefore unconditional legends.  Our evening started off with the usual pleasantries - recent activities, how are the kids, etc.  However, after a few wines, and a considerable amount of food, the real conversation starts.  Naturally if you asked any of us,  we would all scoff at the stereotypical notion that Tasmanians are inbred.  Basically, we'd roll our eyes and write the ignorant questioner off as a "wanker".  However, much to the amusement and somewhat horror of my beloved, a few stories started to creep out.

I listened in fascination to tales of the "Pig Woman" that used to frighten the residents (including the father of our friend) in a remote Tasmanian town.  I shared my own stories -one of them told by a friend of mine, who had got lost in north west Tasmania while on a bushwalking trip. At last he came across and stumbled into a pub.  However, instead of relief he got flashbacks from the "Hills Have Eyes".  The entire room of occupants all simultaneously turned and stared at him.  To his horror he saw that they all had a wild shock of tangerine frizz, cross eyes and buck teeth.  Apparently it was very frightening to my out-of-state friend.  Then, there were tales of strange, almost monkey-like children hanging off a gate at the top of a long deserted road, that may or may not (it is still unclear), have been relatives of my dinner companion.

I then felt it was time to share the whispered story of the "Dog Children of Ouse" (rhymes with "youse").   I doubt my Granny will ever read this, but as she is traumatised by the memory, it still seems cruel to even go there.  Naturally I will though.  When my then nineteen year old grandmother got posted to the small country town of Ouse, she went to investigate why the Harrison children did not attend school.  As she arrived at the property, she was confronted by the sight of what appeared to be dogs chained up outside eating out of bowls.  On further inspection, it became apparent that they were in fact the Harrisons.  My Granny still gets a far away look in her eye when I encourage her to tell the story at family events.  Sometimes all she can muster is "They weren't human, they weren't animals, they were.... (cue hysteria and voice rising) something......inbetween".  No word as yet on whether she ever got them into the classroom.....

Jo Jo the "Dog Boy"

After further research, I discovered no such record of the poor "Dog Children of Ouse" - or the Tasmanian "Pig Lady".  However, tales of pig women and dog faced children are very common throughout the ages.  The first stories of pig-faced women, occurred simultaneously in Holland, England and France in the 1630s.  The typical story depicts a wealthy woman who was beautiful in every way....apart from the pig face of course.  There was however, a case that appeared to have some merit  in 1815 due to an advertisement in The Times and a tell-all exposée by the housekeeper.

Suddenly, there was a pig-faced lady at every travelling "freak show".  However, these unfortunate porcine humanoids were actually shaved and drugged bears, dressed up in women's clothing.  Aren't people lovely?

Dog faced boys were also a medical oddity that gained notoriety- particularly in the late 1880s. A Russian peasant boy was displayed at circuses in Europe, and eventually shipped out to The United States (That would be Jo Jo in the above photograph).  These days, medical science makes his case unremarkable, but naturally 150 years ago he was a star freak.

If this kind of thing interests you - maybe read the book "Freaks".  It describes how these "tragic individuals rose above human adversity".  If you don't like reading, why not go on a mystery tour of Tasmania's isolated communities.  Just remember to keep the windows locked.