Добірка наукової літератури з теми "Medical wastes Victoria"

In early 2003, after a prolonged drought period, extensive bushfires occurred in the east of Victoria affecting 1.5 million hectares of land. At the time, smoke and ash from bushfires, settling on roofs, contained pollutants that could potentially contaminate rainwater collected and stored in tanks for domestic use. The major concerns include polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons (PAHs) from incomplete combustion of organic matter and arsenic from burnt copper chrome arsenate (CCA) treated wood. An increase in microbial contamination through altered nutrient levels was also hypothesised. A pilot study of 49 rainwater tank owners was undertaken in north-east Victoria. A rainwater tank sample was taken and analysed for a variety of parameters including organic compounds, microbiological indicators, metals, nutrients and physico-chemical parameters. A survey was administered concurrently. A number of results were outside the Australian Drinking Water Guideline (ADWG) values for metals and microbiological indicator organisms, but not for any tested organic compounds. PAHs and arsenic are unlikely to be elevated in rainwater tanks as a result of bushfires, but cadmium may be of concern.

At South East Water wastewater treatment plants (WwTPs) in Victoria, Australia, biosolids are stockpiled for three years in compliance with the State guidelines to achieve the highest pathogen reduction grade (T1), suitable for unrestricted use in agriculture and landscaping. However, extended stockpiling is costly, may increase odour nuisance and greenhouse gas emissions, and reduces the fertiliser value of the biosolids. A verification programme of sampling and analysis for enteric pathogens was conducted at two WwTPs where sludge is treated by aerobic and anaerobic digestion, air drying (in drying pans or solar drying sheds) and stockpiling, to enumerate and, if present, monitor the decay of a range of enteric pathogens and parasites. The sludge treatment processes at both WwTPs achieved T1 grade biosolids with respect to prescribed pathogenic bacterial numbers (<1 Salmonella spp. 50 g−1 dry solids (DS) and <100 Escherichia coli g−1 DS) and >3 log10 enteric virus reduction after a storage period of one year. No Ascaris eggs were detected in the influent to the WwTPs, confirming previous studies that the presence of helminth infections in Victoria is extremely low and that Ascaris is not applicable as a control criterion for the microbiological quality of biosolids in the region.

Four forest reserves within 50 km of Kampala in Uganda act as a critical buffer to the Lake Victoria watershed and habitat for local populations. Over a 9-month period we capture a pioneering water quality data set that illustrates ecosystem health through the implementation of a water quality index (WQI). The WQI was calculated using field and laboratory data that reflect measured physical and chemical parameters (pH, dissolved oxygen, biological oxygen on demand, nitrates, phosphates, fecal coliform, and temperature turbidity). Overall, the WQI for the four forest reserves reflect poor to medium water quality. Results compared with US Environmental Protection Agency and World Health Organization drinking water standards indicate varying levels of contamination at most sites and all designated drinking water sources, with signatures of elevated nitrates, phosphates, and/or fecal coliforms. As critical health problems are known to arise with elevated exposure to contaminants in drinking water, this data set can be used to communicate necessary improvements within the watershed.

Increased temperatures provide optimal conditions for pathogen survival, virulence and replication as well as increased opportunities for human–pathogen interaction. This paper examined the relationship between notifications of cryptosporidiosis and temperature in metropolitan and rural areas of Victoria, Australia between 2001 and 2009. A negative binomial regression model was used to analyse monthly average maximum and minimum temperatures, rainfall and the monthly count of cryptosporidiosis notifications. In the metropolitan area, a 1 °C increase in monthly average minimum temperature of the current month was associated with a 22% increase in cryptosporidiosis notifications (incident rate ratio (IRR) 1.22; 95% confidence interval (CI) 1.13–1.31). In the rural area, a 1 °C increase in monthly average minimum temperature, lagged by 3 months, was associated with a 9% decrease in cryptosporidiosis notifications (IRR 0.91; 95% CI 0.86–0.97). Rainfall was not associated with notifications in either area. These relationships should be considered when planning public health response to ecological risks as well as when developing policies involving climate change. Rising ambient temperature may be an early warning signal for intensifying prevention efforts, including appropriate education for pool users about cryptosporidiosis infection and management, which might become more important as temperatures are projected to increase as a result of climate change.

Abstract There is a global concern regarding the occurrences of harmful algal blooms (HABs) and their effects on human health. Lake Victoria (LV) has been reported to face eutrophication challenges, resulting in an increase of bloom-forming cyanobacteria. This study is aimed at understanding the association of HABs and health risks at Ukerewe Island. A cross-sectional study conducted on 432 study subjects and water samples for cyanobacteria species identification were collected at LV shores. The results reveal that concentrations of cyanobacteria cells are beyond (WHO) acceptable limits; species of Microcystis aeruginosa range from 90,361.63 to 3,032.031.65 cells/mL and Anabaena spp. range from 13,310.00 to 4,814,702 cells/mL. Water usage indicates that 31% use lake water, 53% well water and 16% treated supplied pipe water. Vomiting and throat irritation was highly reported by lake water users as compared to wells and pipe water (P < 0.001). Gastrointestinal illness (GI) was significantly elevated among lake water users as compared to pipe and well water users (P < 0.001). Visible blooms in lake water were associated with GI, skin irritation and vomiting as compared to water without visible blooms (P < 0.001). The concentration of cyanobacteria blooms poses greater risks when water is used without treatment.

Abstract Currently guidelines for disinfection of water with free chlorine, while primarily developed for potable water, are often used for virus disinfection of nitrified recycled water of >1 NTU (Nephelometric Turbidity Unit). More information is needed on the disinfection efficacy of free chlorine for viruses in waters of varying turbidity and pH due to significant reuse of treated wastewater of varying quality. In this study, disinfection efficacy in nitrified/denitrified activated sludge treated wastewater was investigated for coxsackievirus B5 (CB5), an enterovirus known to be highly resistant to free chlorine. The required chlorine contact times (CT) values (mg.min/L) for inactivation of CB5 were established in treated wastewater at 10 °C and of varying turbidity (0.2, 2, 5 and 20 NTU) and pH (7, 8 and 9). CTs were calculated to achieve 1 to 4 log10 inactivation. Robust data is presented in support of the chlorine CT values required to inactivate a chlorine-resistant virus in a range of turbidities and pHs in treated wastewaters. The testing method used a conservative approach and the data presented have been used to develop the free chlorine virus inactivation guildelines for recycled water in Victoria and South Australia, Australia.

Phytoplankton biodiversity studies in Kenya's standing waters were carried out between 2001 and 2003. Toxin producing cyanobacteria were recorded in twelve water bodies. Microcystis and Anabaena were the most common species in freshwaters while Anabaena and Anabaenopsis were common in alkaline saline lakes. Seven lakes with cyanobacteria blooms and a hot spring had detectable levels of microcystins and anatoxin-a. Cell bound microcystins (LR equivalents) concentration ranged from 1.6–19800 μg g−1 Dry Weight (DW) while anatoxin-a varied from below the limit of detection to 1260 μg g−1 DW. In alkaline-saline lakes, microcystins and anatoxin-a were also present in stomach contents and liver samples of dead flamingos. Monoculture strains of A. fusiformis from Lakes Sonachi and Bogoria had detectable levels of microcystins while anatoxin-a was present in strains isolated from Lakes Sonachi, Bogoria and Nakuru. Two freshwater sites, Nyanza Gulf (L. Victoria) and Lake Baringo recorded cyanotoxin concentration exceeding WHO's upper limit of 1.0 μg l−1 for drinking water. The results confirm that cyanotoxins could have played a role in the mortality of flamingos in Lakes Bogoria and Nakuru. The implications of these findings on water resource use, measures to be taken to reduce the risk of exposure and eutrophication control steps to reduce cyanobacteria bloom formation are considered in this paper.

To assess microbial safety of treated sewage sludge (biosolids), we examined the inactivation of microbial indicators for potential bacterial, viral and protozoan pathogens. The levels of indicators were determined throughout the air-drying and storage phases of anaerobically digested sewage sludge. Samples were collected from two wastewater treatment plants (WWTPs) in Victoria, Australia. Established methods were applied for analysis of bacteria and coliphages, based on membrane filtration and layered plates, respectively. In the pan drying phase, the prevalence of Escherichia coli was reduced by >5 log10 compared with sludge entering the pan. Thus, after pan drying of 8-11 months at WWTP A and 15 months at WWTP B, the numbers of E. coli were reduced to below 102 cfu/g dry solids (DS). This level is acceptable for unrestricted use in agriculture in Australia (P1 treatment grade), the UK (enhanced treatment status) and the USA (Class A pathogen reduction). Coliphage numbers also decreased substantially during the air-drying phase, indicating that enteric viruses are also likely to be destroyed during this phase. Clostridium perfringens appeared to be an overly conservative indicator. Survival, but not regrowth, of E. coli or Salmonella was observed in rewetted biosolids (15–20% moisture content), after being seeded with these species, indicating a degree of safety of stored biosolids upon rewetting by rain.

Abstract The inactivation of Cryptosporidium species oocysts during sewage sludge treatment is important to protect human health when the residual biosolids are applied to agricultural land. Quantifying the decay of Cryptosporidium species during sludge treatment for microbiological assurance purposes is difficult if low numbers are present in wastewater. The rate of decay of Cryptosporidium parvum oocysts during solar/air drying treatment and in sludge stockpiles in temperate environment conditions was simulated in laboratory inoculation experiments using sludge sampled from a mesophilic anaerobic digester. Oocyst numbers were also determined in settled lagoon sludge samples collected from three operational rural wastewater treatment plants (WWTPs). C. parvum oocysts were enumerated by immunomagnetic separation followed by staining with vital dyes and examination by confocal laser scanning microscopy. An air-drying/storage period equivalent to 11 weeks was required for a 1 log10 reduction of viable oocysts inoculated into digested sludge. Oocyst viability in air-dried and stored digested sludge decreased with time, but was independent of sludge desiccation and dry solids (DS) content. No oocysts were detected in sludge samples collected from the anaerobic digester, and the average concentration of oocysts found in settled lagoon sludge from the rural WWTP was 4.6 × 102 oocysts/g DS.

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. 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Drawing on a number of examples from writers such as D. H. Lawrence and James Joyce, the introduction develops the concept of “wastepaper modernism”: an awareness of communicative failure that finds its most potent manifestation in images of wasted and ruined print. While “wastepaper modernism” finds its fullest constellation at mid-century, its origins lie at the end of the Victorian era. In a moment that is symptomatic of an emerging ambivalence towards the printed residue of history, Henry James, watching the media spectacle of Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee, figures the transition of one age into another as a layering of papery debris over papery debris: the presentable “historic page” becomes only another peeling poster or discarded billet that accumulates in the Jubilee’s aftermath. To be modern, for James, is to anticipate ruination.

This chapter suggests that two phenomena that usually get explained in terms of the rise of electronic media in the late twentieth century—the dematerialization of the text and the disembodiment of the reader—have more to do with two much earlier developments. One is legal: the 1861 repeal of the taxes previously imposed on all paper except that used for printing bibles. The other is technological: the rise first of wood-pulp paper in the late nineteenth century and then of plastics in the twentieth. The chapter then looks at Henry Mayhew's London Labour and the London Poor (1861–62), the loose, baggy ethnography of the urban underclass that swelled out of a messy series of media. Mayhew's “cyclopaedia of the industry, the want, and the vice of the great Metropolis” so encyclopedically catalogs the uses to which used paper can be turned.