I Was Born In A Morgue

My mother was young and single, strong-willed and curious. My father was also young with a wild and restless Irish streak, and together, the combination did not bode well for me.

Della was the only daughter of the six offspring of Grand Master Mason, Ambrose Angus and the fact that his daughter presented herself to him pregnant and single caused him much consternation.

I don't know whether the decisions he made on behalf of his family at the time ever came back to haunt him as they did me; I never met him to ask him why. Strange as it sounds, the man that had the most profound effect on my life and upbringing never set eyes on me.

My grandfather soon sent his sons away to work in Queensland for a year or so and set about hiding my mother from society when he found out about my existence. It would not have been too difficult to hide her as the family lived in a country town and without the lads at the house bringing visitors he was able to isolate my mother successfully.

As my mother grew in size, so did the lies and deceit, culminating with my grandfather taking my mother down to the capital city to await my birth. The last thing my mother remembers is walking off leaving my grandfather sobbing behind on a bus stop seat holding his head in his hands.

I often wonder what was going through his head at the time. Was he thinking of the shame I had bought upon his good masonic family? Was he sobbing for the lost smiles and laughter, was he sobbing for my mother's lost innocence?