Academic literature on the topic 'Crash injuries Victoria'

While absolute injury numbers are widely used as a road safety indicator, they do not fully account for the likelihood of an injury given a certain level of exposure. Adjusting crash and injury rates for travel exposure can measure the magnitude of travel activity leading to crash outcomes and provide a more comprehensive indicator of safety. Fatal and serious injury (FSI) numbers were adjusted by three measures of travel exposure to estimate crash and injury rates across nine travel modes in the Australian state of Victoria. While car drivers accounted for the highest number of injuries across the three modes, their likelihood of being killed or seriously injured was substantially lower than that of motorcyclists across all exposure measures. Cyclists accounted for fewer injuries than car passengers and pedestrians but had a higher risk per exposure. The results varied by both injury severity and exposure measure. The results of this study will assist with high level transport planning by allowing for the investigation of the changes in travel-related FSI resulting from proposed travel mode shifts driven by safety, environmental reasons or other reasons as part of the holistic goal of transforming the transport system to full compliance with Safe System principles.

Road traffic injuries are a leading cause of morbidity and mortality globally. Understanding circumstances leading to road traffic injury is crucial to improve road safety, and implement countermeasures to reduce the incidence and severity of road trauma. We aimed to characterise crash characteristics of road traffic collisions in Victoria, Australia, and to examine the relationship between crash characteristics and fault attribution. Data were extracted from the Victorian State Trauma Registry for motor vehicle drivers, motorcyclists, pedal cyclists and pedestrians with a no-fault compensation claim, aged > = 16 years and injured 2010–2016. People with intentional injury, serious head injury, no compensation claim/missing injury event description or who died < = 12-months post-injury were excluded, resulting in a sample of 2,486. Text mining of the injury event using QDA Miner and Wordstat was used to classify crash circumstances for each road user group. Crashes in which no other was at fault included circumstances involving lost control or avoiding a hazard, mechanical failure or medical conditions. Collisions in which another was predominantly at fault occurred at intersections with another vehicle entering from an adjacent direction, and head-on collisions. Crashes with higher prevalence of unknown fault included multi-vehicle collisions, pedal cyclists injured in rear-end collisions, and pedestrians hit while crossing the road or navigating slow traffic areas. We discuss several methods to promote road safety and to reduce the incidence and severity of road traffic injuries. Our recommendations take into consideration the incidence and impact of road trauma for different types of road users, and include engineering and infrastructure controls through to interventions targeting or accommodating human behaviour.

Many jurisdictions globally have adopted a zero road trauma target by 2050 and an interim target of a 50% reduction by 2030. The objective of this study was to investigate what the road system will need to look like in order to achieve these respective targets. Utilising human tolerance to injury as the key design factor, this study defined the combination of vehicle, infrastructure, and travel speed requirements to manage crash energy in order to: 1. prevent all fatalities and serious injuries by 2050 in an Ultimate Safe System scenario; and 2. significantly reduce fatalities and severe injuries by 2030 in an Interim Safe System scenario. Victoria, Australia and its Movement and Place (M&P) framework was employed as a case study. With the vehicle and infrastructure countermeasures currently available coupled with appropriate travel speeds it is possible to construct an Ultimate Safe System that can manage crash forces to achieve zero trauma and an Interim Safe System that can significantly reduce the most severe injuries in Victoria. This study has demonstrated a potential pathway from the current situation to 2030 and then 2050 that can achieve safety targets while meeting the core objectives of the transport system.

BackgroundThe burden of road traffic crashes (RTC) is commonly reported using fatalities and hospital admissions. Disruption to regular activities, such as work, is rarely reported, yet known to have significant economic and human costs. In the state of Victoria, Australia, people injured and unable to work due to RTC may have treatment and income support provided either through the RTC compensation system or through workers’ compensation. By examining data from both systems, this study sought to determine the rate (per 1 00 000 working population) of RTC injury resulting in work absence, and to quantify the amount of working time lost to RTC injury.MethodsData from each compensation system were harmonised. Analysis included claims from RTCs that occurred between July 1 2003 and June 30 2013 by 15–65 year olds who received at least one day of income support. Fatalities and rejected claims were excluded. Time lost was calculated as the total weeks of income support. Non-parametric tests were performed to determine differences between exposure variables (e.g. male versus female).ResultsThere were 36 640 workers meeting inclusion criteria (average 305 cases per month; mean rate per month of 11.6 per 1 00 000 working population). A total of 1,121,863 lost working weeks were compensated, with a median of 10 weeks. Thirty-two percent of cases did not have a record of attending hospital. The lowest median duration of time loss was among those involved in a train or tram crash (2.9 weeks) and the highest among those with quadriplegia (142.2 weeks). Duration of income support was significantly different within age, sex, injury type, severity, crash type, and compensation system groups.ConclusionsResults showed that RTC injuries of all severities caused considerable work absence. Measures of work absence can complement existing measures of RTC burden.

Advanced driver assistance systems (ADAS) provide warnings to drivers and, if applicable, intervene to mitigate a collision if one is imminent. Autonomous emergency brakes (AEB) and lane keep assistance (LKA) systems are mandated in several new vehicles, given their predicted injury and fatality reduction benefits. These predicted benefits are based on the assumption that roads are always entirely supportive of ADAS technologies. Little research, however, has been conducted regarding the preparedness of the road network to support these technologies in Australia, given its vastly expansive terrain and varying road quality. The objective of this study was to estimate what proportion of crashes that are sensitive to AEB and LKA, would not be mitigated due to unsupportive road infrastructure, and therefore, the lost benefits of the technologies due to inadequate road infrastructure. To do this, previously identified technology effectiveness estimates and a published methodology for identifying ADAS-supportive infrastructure availability was applied to an estimated AEB and LKA-sensitive crash subset (using crash data from Victoria, South Australia and Queensland, 2013–2018 inclusive). Findings demonstrate that while the road networks across the three states appeared largely supportive of AEB technology, the lack of delineation across arterial and sub-arterial (or equivalent) roads is likely to have serious implications on road safety, given 13–23% of all fatal and serious injury (FSI) crashes that occurred on these road classes were LKA-sensitive. Based on historical crash data, over 37 fatalities and 357 serious injuries may not be avoided annually across the three Australian states based on the lack of satisfactory road delineation on arterial and sub-arterial (or equivalent) roads alone. Further, almost 24% of fatalities in Victoria, 24% of fatalities in Queensland and 21% of fatalities in South Australia (that are AEB- or LKA-sensitive) are unlikely to be prevented, given existing road infrastructure. These figures are conservative estimates of the lost benefits of the technologies as they only consider fatal and serious injury crashes and do not include minor injury or property damage crashes, the benefits of pedestrian-sensitive AEB crashes in high-speed zones or AEB fitted to heavy vehicles. It is timely for road investments to be considered, prioritised and allocated, given the anticipated penetration of the new technologies into the fleet, to ensure that the road infrastructure is capable of supporting the upcoming fleet safety improvements.

This article considers injuries related to crushing and methods of prevention and minimisation of such injuries, particularly from the perspective of plant operations, where a crush injury occurs when the body or a body part is trapped, pinched or jammed under or between objects (Victoria State Government., 2020). A safe system of work, underpinned by worker awareness, should be implemented and maintained in all load shifting operations in order to minimise or prevent crush injury risks. Employers and workers should participate in inductions, safety meetings and consultation activities to ensure that they are aware of best practices to control crush hazards.

Drug driving continues to be overrepresented in both fatal and serious injury crashes in Victoria. As an enforcement countermeasure, preliminary oral fluid tests to detect drug driving were introduced in Victoria, Australia in December 2004. Recent research has modelled the relationships between prevalences of THC and methamphetamine in fatally and seriously injured drivers and (a) the annual numbers of random and targeted drug tests during 2010-2016 and (b) the positive detection rates from these tests. The increase in roadside drug tests in Victoria from 42,000 in 2013 (1% of licensed drivers) to 100,000 per year (2.2% of drivers), particularly targeted tests, is estimated to have saved 33 fatal crashes (13.7% reduction) and at least 80 serious injury crashes (1.4% reduction) per year. Based on the findings from this research, further increases in targeted and random roadside drug tests are warranted, up to at least 390,100 total tests per year, which are estimated to save a further 46 fatal crashes and at least a further 134 serious injury crashes per year.

Childhood injury is a major health issue, with approximately 20,000 children under five hospitalised each year in Australia. The home is a common site for childhood injuries, with some of the more frequent episodes including falls, poisoning, burns, cuts and crush injuries. A regional initiative to develop a coordinated approach towards minimising injuries sustained by children between 0-4 years, resulted in the development of 'Childsafe Now', a health promotion program which involved training of child care providers, and the establishment of several home safety displays in the Eastern metropolitan region of Victoria. One of the home safety displays was developed in a Community Health Centre, utilising a pre-existing child care facility and the multidisciplinary skills of the staff. Community Health Centres were established with a focus on health promotion - encouraging illness and injury prevention through a holistic combination of education, community involvement, behavioural and social modification and multi-disciplinary primary health care services - yet the opportunity to establish a permanent, functional display which combines all of these aspects of health promotion is becoming increasingly rare. However, the skills and knowledge which have traditionally been nurtured within the Community Health Program make Community Health Centres a particularly appropriate location for establishing a Home Safety Display.

In the last months of his life, 86-year-old Albert Facey became a best-selling author and revered cultural figure following the publication of his autobiography, A Fortunate Life. Released on Anzac Day 1981, it was praised for its “plain, unembellished, utterly sincere and un-self-pitying account of the privations of childhood and youth” (Semmler) and “extremely powerful description of Gallipoli” (Dutton 16). Within weeks, critic Nancy Keesing declared it an “Enduring Classic.” Within six months, it was announced as the winner of two prestigious non-fiction awards, with judges acknowledging Facey’s “extraordinary memory” and “ability to describe scenes and characters with great precision” (“NBC” 4). A Fortunate Life also transformed the fortunes of its publisher. Founded in 1976 as an independent, not-for-profit publishing house, Fremantle Arts Centre Press (FACP) might have been expected, given the Australian average, to survive for just a few years. Former managing editor Ray Coffey attributes the Press’s ongoing viability, in no small measure, to Facey’s success (King 29). Along with Wendy Jenkins, Coffey edited Facey’s manuscript through to publication; only five months after its release, with demand outstripping the capabilities, FACP licensed Penguin to take over the book’s production and distribution. Adaptations soon followed. In 1984, Kerry Packer’s PBL launched a prospectus for a mini-series, which raised a record $6.3 million (PBL 7–8). Aired in 1986 with a high-rating documentary called The Facey Phenomenon, the series became the most watched television event of the year (Lucas). Syndication of chapters to national and regional newspapers, stage and radio productions, audio- and e-books, abridged editions for young readers, and inclusion on secondary school curricula extended the range and influence of Facey’s life writing. Recently, an option was taken out for a new television series (Fraser).A hundred reprints and two million readers on from initial publication, A Fortunate Life continues to rate among the most appreciated Australian books of all time. Commenting on a reader survey in 2012, writer and critic Marieke Hardy enthused, “I really loved it [. . .] I felt like I was seeing a part of my country and my country’s history through a very human voice . . .” (First Tuesday Book Club). Registering a transformed reading, Hardy’s reference to Australian “history” is unproblematically juxtaposed with amused delight in an autobiography that invents and embellishes: not believing “half” of what Facey wrote, she insists he was foremost a yarn spinner. While the work’s status as a witness account has become less authoritative over time, it seems appreciation of the author’s imagination and literary skill has increased (Williamson). A Fortunate Life has been read more commonly as an uncomplicated, first-hand account, such that editor Wendy Jenkins felt it necessary to refute as an “utter mirage” that memoir is “transferred to the page by an act of perfect dictation.” Sidonie Smith and Julia Watson argue of life narratives that some “autobiographical claims [. . .] can be verified or discounted by recourse to documentation outside the text. But autobiographical truth is a different matter” (16). With increased access to archives, especially digitised personnel records, historians have asserted that key elements of Facey’s autobiography are incorrect or “fabricated” (Roberts), including his enlistment in 1914 and participation in the Gallipoli Landing on 25 April 1915. We have researched various sources relevant to Facey’s early years and war service, including hard-copy medical and repatriation records released in 2012, and find A Fortunate Life in a range of ways deviates from “documentation outside of the text,” revealing intriguing, layered storytelling. We agree with Smith and Watson that “autobiographical acts” are “anything but simple or transparent” (63). As “symbolic interactions in the world,” they are “culturally and historically specific” and “engaged in an argument about identity” (63). Inevitably, they are also “fractured by the play of meaning” (63). Our approach, therefore, includes textual analysis of Facey’s drafts alongside the published narrative and his medical records. We do not privilege institutional records as impartial but rather interpret them in terms of their hierarchies and organisation of knowledge. This leads us to speculate on alternative readings of A Fortunate Life as an illness narrative that variously resists and subscribes to dominant cultural plots, tropes, and attitudes. Facey set about writing in earnest in the 1970s and generated (at least) three handwritten drafts, along with a typescript based on the third draft. FACP produced its own working copy from the typescript. Our comparison of the drafts offers insights into the production of Facey’s final text and the otherwise “hidden” roles of editors as transformers and enablers (Munro 1). The notion that a working man with basic literacy could produce a highly readable book in part explains Facey’s enduring appeal. His grandson and literary executor, John Rose, observed in early interviews that Facey was a “natural storyteller” who had related details of his life at every opportunity over a period of more than six decades (McLeod). Jenkins points out that Facey belonged to a vivid oral culture within which he “told and retold stories to himself and others,” so that they eventually “rubbed down into the lines and shapes that would so memorably underpin the extended memoir that became A Fortunate Life.” A mystique was thereby established that “time” was Albert Facey’s “first editor” (Jenkins). The publisher expressly aimed to retain Facey’s voice, content, and meaning, though editing included much correcting of grammar and punctuation, eradication of internal inconsistencies and anomalies, and structural reorganisation into six sections and 68 chapters. We find across Facey’s drafts a broadly similar chronology detailing childhood abandonment, life-threatening incidents, youthful resourcefulness, physical prowess, and participation in the Gallipoli Landing. However, there are also shifts and changed details, including varying descriptions of childhood abuse at a place called Cave Rock; the introduction of (incompatible accounts of) interstate boxing tours in drafts two and three which replace shearing activities in Draft One; divergent tales of Facey as a world-standard athlete, league footballer, expert marksman, and powerful swimmer; and changing stories of enlistment and war service (see Murphy and Nile, “Wounded”; “Naked”).Jenkins edited those sections concerned with childhood and youth, while Coffey attended to Facey’s war and post-war life. Drawing on C.E.W. Bean’s official war history, Coffey introduced specificity to the draft’s otherwise vague descriptions of battle and amended errors, such as Facey’s claim to have witnessed Lord Kitchener on the beach at Gallipoli. Importantly, Coffey suggested the now famous title, “A Fortunate Life,” and encouraged the author to alter the ending. When asked to suggest a title, Facey offered “Cave Rock” (Interview)—the site of his violent abuse and humiliation as a boy. Draft One concluded with Facey’s repatriation from the war and marriage in 1916 (106); Draft Two with a brief account of continuing post-war illness and ultimate defeat: “My war injuries caught up with me again” (107). The submitted typescript concludes: “I have often thought that going to War has caused my life to be wasted” (Typescript 206). This ending differs dramatically from the redemptive vision of the published narrative: “I have lived a very good life, it has been very rich and full. I have been very fortunate and I am thrilled by it when I look back” (412).In The Wounded Storyteller, Arthur Frank argues that literary markets exist for stories of “narrative wreckage” (196) that are redeemed by reconciliation, resistance, recovery, or rehabilitation, which is precisely the shape of Facey’s published life story and a source of its popularity. Musing on his post-war experiences in A Fortunate Life, Facey focuses on his ability to transform the material world around him: “I liked the challenge of building up a place from nothing and making a success where another fellow had failed” (409). If Facey’s challenge was building up something from nothing, something he could set to work on and improve, his life-writing might reasonably be regarded as a part of this broader project and desire for transformation, so that editorial interventions helped him realise this purpose. Facey’s narrative was produced within a specific zeitgeist, which historian Joy Damousi notes was signalled by publication in 1974 of Bill Gammage’s influential, multiply-reprinted study of front-line soldiers, The Broken Years, which drew on the letters and diaries of a thousand Great War veterans, and also the release in 1981 of Peter Weir’s film Gallipoli, for which Gammage was the historical advisor. The story of Australia’s war now conceptualised fallen soldiers as “innocent victims” (Damousi 101), while survivors were left to “compose” memories consistent with their sacrifice (Thomson 237–54). Viewing Facey’s drafts reminds us that life narratives are works of imagination, that the past is not fixed and memory is created in the present. Facey’s autobiographical efforts and those of his publisher to improve the work’s intelligibility and relevance together constitute an attempt to “objectify the self—to present it as a knowable object—through a narrative that re-structures [. . .] the self as history and conclusions” (Foster 10). Yet, such histories almost invariably leave “a crucial gap” or “censored chapter.” Dennis Foster argues that conceiving of narration as confession, rather than expression, “allows us to see the pathos of the simultaneous pursuit and evasion of meaning” (10); we believe a significant lacuna in Facey’s life writing is intimated by its various transformations.In a defining episode, A Fortunate Life proposes that Facey was taken from Gallipoli on 19 August 1915 due to wounding that day from a shell blast that caused sandbags to fall on him, crush his leg, and hurt him “badly inside,” and a bullet to the shoulder (348). The typescript, however, includes an additional but narratively irreconcilable date of 28 June for the same wounding. The later date, 19 August, was settled on for publication despite the author’s compelling claim for the earlier one: “I had been blown up by a shell and some 7 or 8 sandbags had fallen on top of me, the day was the 28th of June 1915, how I remembered this date, it was the day my brother Roy had been killed by a shell burst.” He adds: “I was very ill for about six weeks after the incident but never reported it to our Battalion doctor because I was afraid he would send me away” (Typescript 205). This account accords with Facey’s first draft and his medical records but is inconsistent with other parts of the typescript that depict an uninjured Facey taking a leading role in fierce fighting throughout July and August. It appears, furthermore, that Facey was not badly wounded at any time. His war service record indicates that he was removed from Gallipoli due to “heart troubles” (Repatriation), which he also claims in his first draft. Facey’s editors did not have ready access to military files in Canberra, while medical files were not released until 2012. There existed, therefore, virtually no opportunity to corroborate the author’s version of events, while the official war history and the records of the State Library of Western Australia, which were consulted, contain no reference to Facey or his war service (Interview). As a consequence, the editors were almost entirely dependent on narrative logic and clarifications by an author whose eyesight and memory had deteriorated to such an extent he was unable to read his amended text. A Fortunate Life depicts men with “nerve sickness” who were not permitted to “stay at the Front because they would be upsetting to the others, especially those who were inclined that way themselves” (350). By cross referencing the draft manuscripts against medical records, we can now perceive that Facey was regarded as one of those nerve cases. According to Facey’s published account, his wounds “baffled” doctors in Egypt and Fremantle (353). His medical records reveal that in September 1915, while hospitalised in Egypt, his “palpitations” were diagnosed as “Tachycardia” triggered by war-induced neuroses that began on 28 June. This suggests that Facey endured seven weeks in the field in this condition, with the implication being that his debility worsened, resulting in his hospitalisation. A diagnosis of “debility,” “nerves,” and “strain” placed Facey in a medical category of “Special Invalids” (Butler 541). Major A.W. Campbell noted in the Medical Journal of Australia in 1916 that the war was creating “many cases of little understood nervous and mental affections, not only where a definite wound has been received, but in many cases where nothing of the sort appears” (323). Enlisted doctors were either physicians or surgeons and sometimes both. None had any experience of trauma on the scale of the First World War. In 1915, Campbell was one of only two Australian doctors with any pre-war experience of “mental diseases” (Lindstrom 30). On staff at the Australian Base Hospital at Heliopolis throughout the Gallipoli campaign, he claimed that at times nerve cases “almost monopolised” the wards under his charge (319). Bearing out Facey’s description, Campbell also reported that affected men “received no sympathy” and, as “carriers of psychic contagion,” were treated as a “source of danger” to themselves and others (323). Credentialed by royal colleges in London and coming under British command, Australian medical teams followed the practice of classifying men presenting “nervous or mental symptoms” as “battle casualties” only if they had also been wounded by “enemy action” (Loughran 106). By contrast, functional disability, with no accompanying physical wounds, was treated as unmanly and a “hysterical” reaction to the pressures of war. Mental debility was something to be feared in the trenches and diagnosis almost invariably invoked charges of predisposition or malingering (Tyquin 148–49). This shifted responsibility (and blame) from the war to the individual. Even as late as the 1950s, medical notes referred to Facey’s condition as being “constitutional” (Repatriation).Facey’s narrative demonstrates awareness of how harshly sufferers were treated. We believe that he defended himself against this with stories of physical injury that his doctors never fully accepted and that he may have experienced conversion disorder, where irreconcilable experience finds somatic expression. His medical diagnosis in 1915 and later life writing establish a causal link with the explosion and his partial burial on 28 June, consistent with opinion at the time that linked concussive blasts with destabilisation of the nervous system (Eager 422). Facey was also badly shaken by exposure to the violence and abjection of war, including hand-to-hand combat and retrieving for burial shattered and often decomposed bodies, and, in particular, by the death of his brother Roy, whose body was blown to pieces on 28 June. (A second brother, Joseph, was killed by multiple bayonet wounds while Facey was convalescing in Egypt.) Such experiences cast a different light on Facey’s observation of men suffering nerves on board the hospital ship: “I have seen men doze off into a light sleep and suddenly jump up shouting, ‘Here they come! Quick! Thousands of them. We’re doomed!’” (350). Facey had escaped the danger of death by explosion or bayonet but at a cost, and the war haunted him for the rest of his days. On disembarkation at Fremantle on 20 November 1915, he was admitted to hospital where he remained on and off for several months. Forty-one other sick and wounded disembarked with him (HMAT). Around one third, experiencing nerve-related illness, had been sent home for rest; while none returned to the war, some of the physically wounded did (War Service Records). During this time, Facey continued to present with “frequent attacks of palpitation and giddiness,” was often “short winded,” and had “heart trouble” (Repatriation). He was discharged from the army in June 1916 but, his drafts suggest, his war never really ended. He began a new life as a wounded Anzac. His dependent and often fractious relationship with the Repatriation Department ended only with his death 66 years later. Historian Marina Larsson persuasively argues that repatriated sick and wounded servicemen from the First World War represented a displaced presence at home. Many led liminal lives of “disenfranchised grief” (80). Stephen Garton observes a distinctive Australian use of repatriation to describe “all policies involved in returning, discharging, pensioning, assisting and training returned men and women, and continuing to assist them throughout their lives” (74). Its primary definition invokes coming home but to repatriate also implies banishment from a place that is not home, so that Facey was in this sense expelled from Gallipoli and, by extension, excluded from the myth of Anzac. Unlike his two brothers, he would not join history as one of the glorious dead; his name would appear on no roll of honour. Return home is not equivalent to restoration of his prior state and identity, for baggage from the other place perpetually weighs. Furthermore, failure to regain health and independence strains hospitality and gratitude for the soldier’s service to King and country. This might be exacerbated where there is no evident or visible injury, creating suspicion of resistance, cowardice, or malingering. Over 26 assessments between 1916 and 1958, when Facey was granted a full war pension, the Repatriation Department observed him as a “neuropathic personality” exhibiting “paroxysmal tachycardia” and “neurocirculatory asthenia.” In 1954, doctors wrote, “We consider the condition is a real handicap and hindrance to his getting employment.” They noted that after “attacks,” Facey had a “busted depressed feeling,” but continued to find “no underlying myocardial disease” (Repatriation) and no validity in Facey’s claims that he had been seriously physically wounded in the war (though A Fortunate Life suggests a happier outcome, where an independent medical panel finally locates the cause of his ongoing illness—rupture of his spleen in the war—which results in an increased war pension). Facey’s condition was, at times, a source of frustration for the doctors and, we suspect, disappointment and shame to him, though this appeared to reduce on both sides when the Repatriation Department began easing proof of disability from the 1950s (Thomson 287), and the Department of Veteran’s Affairs was created in 1976. This had the effect of shifting public and media scrutiny back onto a system that had until then deprived some “innocent victims of the compensation that was their due” (Garton 249). Such changes anticipated the introduction of Post-Traumatic Shock Disorder (PTSD) to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) in 1980. Revisions to the DSM established a “genealogy of trauma” and “panic disorders” (100, 33), so that diagnoses such as “neuropathic personality” (Echterling, Field, and Stewart 192) and “soldier’s heart,” that is, disorders considered “neurotic,” were “retrospectively reinterpreted” as a form of PTSD. However, Alberti points out that, despite such developments, war-related trauma continues to be contested (80). We propose that Albert Facey spent his adult life troubled by a sense of regret and failure because of his removal from Gallipoli and that he attempted to compensate through storytelling, which included his being an original Anzac and seriously wounded in action. By writing, Facey could shore up his rectitude, work ethic, and sense of loyalty to other servicemen, which became necessary, we believe, because repatriation doctors (and probably others) had doubted him. In 1927 and again in 1933, an examining doctor concluded: “The existence of a disability depends entirely on his own unsupported statements” (Repatriation). We argue that Facey’s Gallipoli experiences transformed his life. By his own account, he enlisted for war as a physically robust and supremely athletic young man and returned nine months later to life-long anxiety and ill-health. Publication transformed him into a national sage, earning him, in his final months, the credibility, empathy, and affirmation he had long sought. Exploring different accounts of Facey, in the shape of his drafts and institutional records, gives rise to new interpretations. In this context, we believe it is time for a new edition of A Fortunate Life that recognises it as a complex testimonial narrative and theorises Facey’s deployment of national legends and motifs in relation to his “wounded storytelling” as well as to shifting cultural and medical conceptualisations and treatments of shame and trauma. ReferencesAlberti, Fay Bound. Matters of the Heart: History, Medicine, and Emotions. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2010. Butler, A.G. Official History of the Australian Medical Services 1814-1918: Vol I Gallipoli, Palestine and New Guinea. Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1930.Campbell, A.W. “Remarks on Some Neuroses and Psychoses in War.” Medical Journal of Australia 15 April (1916): 319–23.Damousi, Joy. “Why Do We Get So Emotional about Anzac.” What’s Wrong with Anzac. Ed. Marilyn Lake and Henry Reynolds. Sydney: UNSWP, 2015. 94–109.Dutton, Geoffrey. “Fremantle Arts Centre Press Publicity.” Australian Book Review May (1981): 16.Eager, R. “War Neuroses Occurring in Cases with a Definitive History of Shell Shock.” British Medical Journal 13 Apr. 1918): 422–25.Echterling, L.G., Thomas A. Field, and Anne L. Stewart. “Evolution of PTSD in the DSM.” Future Directions in Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder: Prevention, Diagnosis, and Treatment. Ed. Marilyn P. Safir and Helene S. Wallach. New York: Springer, 2015. 189–212.Facey, A.B. A Fortunate Life. 1981. Ringwood: Penguin, 2005.———. Drafts 1–3. University of Western Australia, Special Collections.———. Transcript. University of Western Australia, Special Collections.First Tuesday Book Club. ABC Splash. 4 Dec. 2012. <http://splash.abc.net.au/home#!/media/1454096/http&>.Foster, Dennis. Confession and Complicity in Narrative. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1987.Frank, Arthur. The Wounded Storyteller. London: U of Chicago P, 1995.Fraser, Jane. “CEO Says.” Fremantle Press. 7 July 2015. <https://www.fremantlepress.com.au/c/news/3747-ceo-says-9>.Garton, Stephen. The Cost of War: Australians Return. Melbourne: Oxford UP, 1994.HMAT Aeneas. “Report of Passengers for the Port of Fremantle from Ports Beyond the Commonwealth.” 20 Nov. 1915. <http://recordsearch.naa.gov.au/SearchNRetrieve/Interface/ViewImage.aspx?B=9870708&S=1>.“Interview with Ray Coffey.” Personal interview. 6 May 2016. 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This chapter examines the first of the house guests' stories of Dead of Night, ‘Hearse Driver’, which is also directed by Basil Dearden. The story is recounted by racing driver Hugh Grainger (Anthony Baird) who survives a mid-race crash that leaves him hospitalised with head injuries, in the care of Joyce (Judy Kelly) the dedicated nurse and his future wife. While convalescing, Grainger is witness to a strange temporal shift and a bizarre premonition in the form of a Victorian horse-drawn hearse beneath his nursing home room window. The driver of the hearse (Miles Malleson) delivers perhaps the film's most well-known line: ‘Just room for one inside, sir’. The chapter studies the significance of the bed as a prime vehicle for scares in horror cinema and explores the potency of stillness and the suspension of time as devices for eliciting those goose bumps.