Bad Apple Press 2021 Catalogue

WELCOME TO OUR WORLD FOR 2021
BADAPPLEPRESS.COM.AU

Welcome to the 2021 Bad Apple Press catalogue. We are happy
and proud to be presenting this year’s books to you, as we think
they all fulfil our Bad Apple Press criteria: they are interesting,
entertaining, educational, compelling and just plain enjoyable
to read.
Our list this year ranges from a memoir about travelling to
India, growing up with Borderline Personality Disorder in a
girls home, coping with our emotions, a blast from the past
with a memoir set firmly in the 1980s about a boy with two
mothers, a father and son walk around Australia the likes of
which you have never read before (I guarantee it!) and the wry
reflections of a country doctor who specialised in autopsies.
Yes, it is a diverse list but the books all have one thing in
common: they are great Australian stories.
We have loved hearing the reactions from our readers in 2020.
We look forward to hearing even more in 2021 and hope that
you will choose to stock our books so even more readers can
find and enjoy them.
Sam and Sonya

Index
of pages
Night Train to Varanasi 5
Borderline 13
The A−Z of Feelings 21
Two Mums and a Dad 29
13 Pairs of Boots 37
Autopsies for the Armchair Enthusiast 45
Other Bad Apple titles 51

Calendar
of releases
02 March 03
February
Release
Release
04 June 07
May
Release
Release
Autopsies
for the Armchair Enthusiast
August 08
September 09
Release Release
My strange encounters with death as a country medical examiner
Dr Meryl Broughton

‘Night Train to Varanasi wears its bristling intelligence so lightly,
darting and diving from shocking history to the profound core
of India’s spiritual tradition – how it took hold of the West, and
even today continues to change who we are. But it’s in the
tender, self-revealing way that Doyle relates to his daughter,
stumbling on a path between protecting her and letting her
go, that this book touches us most deeply. It’s a jewel of a
book.’
Steve Biddulph, author of Raising Girls, Raising Boys and Manhood

Title:
Author:
In short
Night Train to Varanasi
Sean Doyle
ISBN: 978 0648556954
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 256 pp
215 x 152mm
Price: $32.00
Release date: February 2021
People of Ajmar, Photo: Sean Doyle

Travel writer and editor Sean Doyle has loved India for decades, so when
his first-born, Anna, finishes high school, they set off on a two-month trip.
She wants an adventure; he wants a holiday. But India is no cakewalk,
especially for women: he’s nervous.
Night Train to Varanasi showcases Sean’s ability to reflect on his lived
experience, shape it into a compelling narrative, and write in such a way
that the particulars of his life become universals we can all relate to. He
speaks for all of us when he describes the emotional rollercoaster rides that
comprise parenting, ageing, the challenges of India and life in general, and
his hopes for his child.
Blending erudition, humour and paternal angst, this is a beautifully nuanced
exploration of a father–daughter relationship set against the backdrop of
one of the world’s most intense cultural experiences. A compelling and
insightful reading experience.

On being published...
I tried to manage a Subcontinent so my daughter could have a nice
holiday. It worked out, and it didn’t, as my book reveals in grim and
glorious detail. If life is about exploring the full range of our capabilities,
fatherhood and India have served me well – though it hasn’t always felt
like it. And now I’m getting published: sweet icing on a spicy cake. This
publisher might be a Bad Apple, but it’s done a good thing: it’s helped
me find my happy place.
Sean Doyle
Sean’s daughter, Anna, in India. Photo: Sean Doyle

About the
author
Sean Doyle
After completing a BA (Hons) degree at Sydney University, Sean Doyle
misspent his twenties travelling the Asian, especially Indian, road. He
sought redemption by writing Beyond Snake Mountain: A journey in
Rajasthan (HarperCollins, New Delhi, 1991). In his thirties, married
with kids, he was an English-language teacher, then a travel journalist.
He’s now a writer and editor – and an empty-nester. When not back
on the road, hogging the slow lane, he lives in Northern NSW, where
he loves to bodysurf and cook aspirational curries.

Extract
Anna is frowning deeply. I follow her gaze to a cart packed high with caged
chickens. The cages are tiny, the sight disturbing. This is what I feared,
exposing her to animal cruelty. That didn’t take long. Welcome to Old Delhi,
standing at a gateway to heaven, looking at some kind of hell.
‘Shall we walk?’ I say. I want to get her away from that.
‘Yes.’
The light is beginning to fade. We set off – I don’t know where, just away
from the chickens. The shrapnel rage surges, inspired jointly by the plight of
the chickens and by me bringing her to them. But how was I to know about
them, or the traffic, or the pollution? It’s 20 years since I was in Delhi. If this
trip is going to work, I need to ease up on myself.
I get an idea. ‘We could check out Chandni Chowk. It’s the main street in
Old Delhi. Plenty to see there.’ And hopefully no more horror shows. In the
old days, Chandni Chowk was Instant India: Tibetan vendors and Tamil
snake-charmers, Bengali poets and Keralan dancers, itinerant hawkers,
dignified shopkeepers, every religion on display. Quite a head-trip.
‘Do you want to see Chandni Chowk?’
‘No.’
‘Do you feel like doing anything else?’
‘No. I want to go back to the hotel.’
I don’t mind. There’s no point trying to force things. ‘Okay, we can get some
dinner on the way.’
Back in Defence Colony, we queue at a roadside stall for some momos,
Tibetan dumplings – popular winter fare here. The queue follows a
makeshift brass railing erected on the footpath, nightclub-style. A group of
teenage boys are fooling around while their friend stands in line. One of the
boys accidentally knocks over the railing and leaves it lying on the ground.
Suddenly self-conscious, he glances around.
‘Are you going to pick it up?’ I call to him.
‘Excuse me?’ he says. He heard me, but doesn’t like the question.
‘Why don’t you pick it up?’

Extract
No reply, just some awkward shifting from foot to foot.
‘These guys are trying to run a business. You’ve made a mess. Why
don’t you clean it up?’
He’s very embarrassed now; can’t even look at me. I take a few steps to
where the railing lies, stand it up as before then get back in line.
‘Why did you do that?’ Anna says.
‘Do what?’
‘Be rude to that boy?’
‘Was I?’
‘Yes.’ Plenty of attitude in her voice.
‘Well, like I said, he made a mess and didn’t clean it up. Don’t you think
he should have picked up the railing?’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘So what’s the problem?’
‘It’s none of your business.’
Now we’re getting to it.
‘You shouldn’t interfere.’
‘Because I’m not Indian?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But I feel Indian …’ I also feel a surge of irritation. I don’t like being told
how to behave.
We get our momos and stand there eating them, things a little tense.
This incident is trivial, but it reveals the distance between our respective
approaches, and the distance between me now and in the old days. On
my first trip, I would have reacted as she has. I felt like an outsider then,
as she does now. I no longer do, so I get involved. Anna mightn’t like it,
but that’s too bad. Relationships grow through communication. I’ll talk
to her about this when she’s less bothered. It’s Day One, after all. Her
neural pathways have just been nuked.

‘Sandie takes us on a deeply emotional journey through
the haunting rooms of the Parramatta Female Factory and
Institution Precinct, where her story reflects the neglect, the fear
and abuse of the convict women and children that preceded
her.’
Cate Whittaker, playwright and social historian

IN SHORT
Title:
Author:
Borderline
Sandie Jessamine
ISBN: 978 0648780779
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 292 pp
215 x 152mm
Price: $34.00
Release date: 20 March 2021
Genre: Memoir/Mental Health/Australian Social History
Photos left to right:
Sandie in shower room Kamballa 2015, Kamballa group sessions 1975, Kamballa exterior
2015, Sandie by pool Kamballa 1975, Sandie in QLD, Sandie as a child age 3

DESCRIPTION
In 1974, fifteen-year-old Sandie escaped from the Kamballa institution,
formerly known as the infamous Parramatta Girls Home. On the outside
she soon discovered that police and justice are not always the same.
Forty years later, during a heartbreaking family crisis, Sandie
experienced a mental breakdown inside a men’s protection prison
where she worked as a teacher. She felt helpless while other unknown
parts of her personality took over.
Finding herself unemployed, she embarked on the difficult quest to find
healing by reclaiming the other selves buried deep within her. Girls
who were still trapped in the horrors of her troubled childhood.
As part of her recovery Sandie visited the derelict buildings that she
had once been imprisoned in. Kamballa was the gateway between
herself and childhood. To find the lost girls within her and bring them
home, she knew had to cross that threshold and let them finally tell their
stories.
The voices of a troubled child, a rebel teenager, a witch, a teacher, and a
wild fighter join forces in a raw, gritty and ultimately uplifting memoir
that shines a light on the complexities of mental illness, the injustices
and cruelty of juvenile incarceration and, above all, the determination
and strength of character to overcome them both.

On being published...
Writing my memoir Borderline, was my way of freeing the
voices within me that I had muzzled for much of my life,
dissociated parts that emerge in time of trauma and were
present a lot when I was incarcerated as a girl. The agenda of
my other selves was always to be heard and acknowledged.
When Bad Apple Press offered me a publishing contract, it
was a watershed moment, I was able to look within and say,
‘I’m not running from you any more.’
The stairs leanding down to the shower room at kamballa, 2015

Sandie at Kamballa 2015
Sandie Jessamine
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sandie Jessamine is a writer, transpersonal art therapist and writing mentor who
lives in Sydney. She spent fourteen years teaching creative writing to inmates in
New South Wales prisons. She has also worked as a health educator, an alcohol
and other drugs counsellor, and a Dru Yoga teacher specialising in trauma yoga.
She is a strong advocate for the rights of Forgotten Australians and people living
with mental health conditions.

EXTRACT
In early 2015 I wrote a letter to my managers. I didn’t disclose that I had
Complex-PTSD. They’d known that for years. Instead I told them about the
other selves within me who had come alive in the protection prison. A teenage
witch. A little girl. A dancing delinquent.
I was sent for a work fitness assessment. The psychiatrist I saw, for fifty
minutes precisely, perhaps didn’t believe in breakthroughs. He affirmed I had
Complex-PTSD but also stated that it could be argued that I had Dissociative
Identity Disorder, once called Multiple Personality Disorder. However,
he concluded that, for the sake of simplicity, his diagnosis was Borderline
Personality Disorder.
In a process akin to alchemy, the months I’d spent in and out of amnesic states
in a prison that held men convicted of rape, murder, child sex offences and
police corruption, were condensed into these three words.
Borderline Personality Disorder is one of the most stigmatised of all psychiatric
conditions. Those who live with it are viewed as manipulative, attentionseeking,
difficult and nasty. The disorder is thought to be caused by an innate
predisposition for emotional, mental and behavioural instability and an
invalidating childhood environment. Suicide is not uncommon.
I had experienced each of these symptoms, mostly in my teenage years. As a
girl I’d spent two years in and out of Sydney institutions for juveniles deemed
delinquent. I tried to die but ultimately chose to live. A jagged scar on my arm
is a legacy from a suicide attempt as a teenager.

To a lesser extent, I’d also displayed borderline tendencies in my twenties
and thirties, usually triggered by romantic relationships. But I was fifty-five
and unimpressed when the hammer finally came down.
Within the psychiatric report my choices were lost from the pages. Trauma
and the resilience to survive it were blurred by the borderline label. I didn’t
dispute the diagnosis. However, it did nothing to help me grasp the deeper
layers of what had transpired with the former police officer and I felt
desperate to find that story.
I sensed that before I could reach within and grasp it, I would need to
reclaim my past. But how? So much of it was lost to memory or stored in
hidden chambers.
I decided to go back in time to find it and I knew just where to start.
In 1974, at age fifteen, I’d been transferred from Reiby Training School
in Campbelltown to Kamballa Special Unit in Parramatta. Both were
institutions for girls sentenced by the New South Wales Children’s Court
for crimes or welfare offences such as being uncontrollable or exposed to
moral danger. Kamballa was a place where girls with severe emotional and
behavioural problems were sent.
Kamballa was the gateway between me and childhood. If I returned and
stood at that threshold with my arms outstretched, maybe I could touch
both past and present.

Andrew Fuller’s most ambitious work yet.
An A to Z compendium of your emotions.

In Short
Title:
The A–Z of Feelings
Author:
Andrew Fuller with Sam Fuller
ISBN: 978 0645069013
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 256-272 pp
215 x 152mm
Price: $32.99
Release date: May 2021
Genre: Psychology/Self-help/Motivational

Description
How to make your emotions work for you instead of against you
In perhaps his most ambitious and comprehensive work yet, Andrew
Fuller takes a deep dive into the architecture of our everyday human
emotions to understand why we think, act and behave the way we do. If
you have ever struggled with feelings you just can’t make sense of, have
trouble controlling or feel helpless against, then this book is for you!
Andrew, one of Australia’s best-loved psychologists, examines the most
common array of emotions and explains what they are, how they work
and how you can use them for your own personal good, rather than letting
them rule your life. He details the origins of emotion and outlines the
pathways of the brain that surround and allow emotional development.
Divided into 26 easy to read, bite-size chunks of information, The A to
Z of Feelings can be dipped in and out of for quick reference or read at
leisure for a more detailed understanding. It is essentially a recipe book
for emotions!

About the
author
Andrew Fuller
Clinical psychologist and leading
adolescent and family health
therapist Andrew Fuller specialises
in how children learn and improving
concentration, focus and educational
outcomes. Andrew Fuller is a Fellow of the
Department of Psychiatry and the Department of Learning
and Educational Development at the University of
Melbourne. He is the author of numerous books including
Unlocking Your Child’s Genius, Your Best Life at Any Age and
Tricky Teens.
More fantastic Andrew Fuller Titles

How feelings can help you to
read minds (even your own!)
Learning to read the signposts of your own emotional world is massively
advantageous. It is like having a secret knowledge that provides a roadmap
to healthy relationships with others and also with ourselves. Some people
try to ignore their feelings, usually to their peril. It would be like sending
important messages to yourself that you never bother to open.
Knowing how to read feelings is a bit like learning a second language.
Learning the language of feelings is like delving into the past and recapturing
a language your distant ancestors had, that was then supplanted by a deluge
of words. Your distant ancestors may have been much better readers of microexpressions
and feelings than modern people. In the absence of words, they
relied on that communication of feelings to survive. Today we prefer words
which makes us over-reliant on what people say (and less on what they do).
The language of feelings is just a relevant today and will give you insights
into other people and, at times, will startle you about yourself.

EXTRACT
Acceptance
Kindness Self-compassion Self-worth Creativity Playfulness Acknowledgement
Confidence Tolerance Openness Freedom Flexibility Understanding Integration
‘When I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.’
Carl R. Rogers
What you may notice
Acceptance is about becoming less reliant on praise, feedback and affirmations
from others and more validated from within yourself. It is related to confidence
and assuredness and opens up the way towards following your own path.
Acceptance is not passivity. Acceptance can appear less dynamic than setting goals
and making plans for self-improvement. As we will see with many of the feelings
covered in this book it is easy to be discontented. It is easier to be, as P.G. Wodehouse
superbly put it, if not quite disgruntled, not entirely gruntled either. It is easier
to squander energies trying to resolve discontentment. It takes consideration and
careful action to be contented.
Acceptance is actually a form of alignment that shifts us towards contentment.
When we lack self-acceptance, we believe our way of being requires change and
improvement. There is a sense of not quite being in control of the direction of our
life.
The world tricks people into feeling dissatisfied with their current state of being.
You are not good enough is the main message. Consumerism relies upon it. The
question the world seems to attack people with is, ‘Why accept who you are now
when you could be fitter/ thinner/ happier/ richer/ smarter/ even more successful?’
Diet harder, exercise more, work longer or rush faster are messages that place
people on the treadmill of self-improvement. Invariably, this is accompanied by
offers to sell you some product to help you achieve your new ‘improved’ state of
being.
Self-acceptance takes patience. It is a type of alchemy that we do on ourselves.
There are parts of ourselves that we find admirable and easy to like. There are other
parts of ourselves that we regard as distasteful and a little well… grubby (don’t
worry we’re just talking about people generally here, I’m sure this doesn’t apply

to you). However, our flaws are just as important as our more positive qualities.
Self-acceptance is about making the best of the bits we like while acknowledging
the bits we’re not so fond of and directing them in positive directions. For example,
someone who tends to be controlling can use this to become a meticulous detail ed
person and possibly seek a career as an events or project manager.
Often the journey towards self-acceptance begins with being accepted by loved
ones. We first glimpse ourselves reflected in the eyes of those we love.
While change is always possible, without awareness, reflection and some degree
of self-acceptance most attempts are dashed by disappointment, followed by selfloathing.
This sets up an unhappy cycle of failed efforts.
Acceptance is awareness rather than passivity. It doesn’t mean we have to be
resigned or content with situations as they are. Accepting that this is how things
are for now, leads us to a sense of awareness and being present. Becoming aware
and being present opens us up to new possibilities.
Self-acceptance is a pathway to recovery and healing. Life transitions such as
relationship breakups, job changes, health changes or fluctuations in fortunes
can jolt us all. Through self-acceptance people begin to learn that they are larger
than their damaging misfortunes. At these times self-acceptance restores trust in
yourself that enables you to move beyond periods of hurt and tough times.
Without self-acceptance we can be tempted to try to conceal parts of ourselves
with a cost to our integrity. Self-acceptance empowers us to be authentic.
What happens
One of the central longings of people is to be acknowledged. To be accepted for
who they are. When we feel accepted there is a sense of calm belonging. We don’t
have to be on guard or defend ourselves. We can speak more freely, think more
creatively and live more playfully.
True acceptance of others requires acceptance of ourselves. We have to be brave
enough to celebrate the parts of our own self that we like and be courageous
enough to look those parts that we aren’t so fond of in the eye and admit that they
also are part of who we are.
It can be an act of great liberation to re-label some of our most troubling flaws as
treasures.

In short
Title:
Author:
Two Mums and a Dad
Toby Roberts
ISBN: 9780648780793
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 256-272 pp
215 x 152mm
Price: $32.99
Release date: 1 June 2021
Genre: Memoir

Description
Sydney’s leafy northern suburbs were a bastion of Christian conservatism
in the 1970s, but the Roberts family was always a little different. If having
lots of children, pets and parties made them stick out, then a mum with a
procession of live-in lovers had the neighbours wondering if this mob had
mistaken Beecroft for Lesbos.
Despite the climate of the times, Toby’s parents were able to reach a very
bohemian understanding – his dancer mother was free to find love in the
arms of younger women, while his doctor father was free to drink and
pretend it wasn’t happening.
Growing up a middle child of four, Toby loved his mother’s girlfriends
as if they were older siblings. But when his mum fell for Caro, everything
changed. It’s hard enough when your mum and dad divorce, and you move
into a new home with two mums – harder still, when one of those mums
challenges your masculinity by flogging you in tennis and lifting weights
that would give you a hernia.
To make matters worse, Toby had just started high school at a Christian
college where Mum’s spiky hair and long trousers weren’t welcome. The
usual insecurities about finding acceptance in high school go up a notch or
two when you’re a weedy violinist and your two mothers keep kissing in
public.
This delightful coming of age memoir explores the angst of puberty, school,
sport and bad 80s fashion. Beneath the humour and quirky characters,
reminiscent of Netflix’s Sex Education series and just as awkwardly funny,
lies a deeper reminder of the human need to pursue more authentic lives,
and the capacity for people to surprise us by accepting love in all its forms.
Over time, the bravery and decency of Toby’s two mums wins admirers and
supporters in unlikely places, from rugby-playing school boys to deeply
religious stay-at-home mums. Even Toby learns to see the value in his
embarrassing childhood…

On being published
Me and my family have always said horrible things about each
other, but now I get to do it from a rooftop. Being a proper writer,
I also get to wear a skivvy and cord jacket. Lower down the order
of needs, I’m hopeful that my story reminds people, in this time of
division, that love and persistence will eventually wear down the
walls of prejudice.
Toby Roberts

About the
author
TOBY ROBERTS
Toby grew up in Dural, Sydney, and attended
the Steiner School where he played the violin.
Between 2003–2008 he was the singer/songwriter
for the band The Telltales, whose songs
received airplay on MTV, Video Hits, MusicMax
and commercial radio. Toby’s songs were
distributed through MGM and also featured
on the soundtrack of some Australian films. He
has worked as a song writer, a session singer,
a lawyer, a banker and a consultant, in roles
that have taken him from Sydney to London,
Singapore and Jakarta. He currently lives in
Sydney with his wife and two children. He has
written for law journals and the ABC short story
podcasts. This is his first book.

Extract
It was clear that Mum liked girls well before she left my Dad. I’d just
misread the signs. When I was 7 years old, Mum took me to meet her
year 12 students at the girls’ school where she taught French. She sat
me on a pile of books and two smiling teenagers cooed over my blond
hair, leaving me with the mistaken impression that they loved me. They
really loved my mum.
And there was a lot to love about Mum. She had perfect white skin
and elfin features. The only thing that stopped her looking girlish
was the severe helmet fringe that she’d adopted in honour of the
70’s folk singers whose anti-establishment message she embraced so
enthusiastically. Her free-spirited approach to teaching kids was fun
too. A book called The Children on The Hill had convinced her that an
environment of creativity and experimentation would yield bold and
gifted children. While we all loved the plays and books and word
games, her eccentricity must have been embarrassing for some people.
I was too young to feel anything other than adoration, but to others it
was clear that Mum was different.
Within a year of finishing school, both of those French students were
living at our place in Beecroft. Our three-level house could happily fit
Juliet and Kelly, and Dad didn’t seem to mind. He even described them
as “angels”, though Mum knew they were naughtier than that. I don’t

think there was a sexual relationship underway between Mum, Juliet
or Kelly at this stage, but it was clearly on their minds, judging by all
the flirting and cuddles.
In the 70s there was a general air of permissiveness when it came to
bad fashion and sex. Underdressing was common around our house
but clothes became entirely optional on the first boat trip with the girls.
Dad had just bought an oversized clipper, a captain’s hat and a pair of
fetching ‘miss daisy’ denim shorts to go with it. When your radiological
practice is making too much money, one response is to buy a large boat
and play dress ups.
Dad performed the part of admiral with conviction - he was a tall man,
proud and loud, well used to getting his way. But the effect was partly
undone when he tried to stride the top deck with denim shorts wedged
in his bum crack. If he kept still, he could convey the impression of an
experienced seaman, albeit one who knew enough about real sailing
to avoid the ocean altogether and stick to the Hawkesbury river. We
set out from Akuna Bay with Dad at the helm, my older brother Mark
trying to make sense of his orders, my sister Ren already set up below
deck with a board game, Mum and her two new friends up the top with
the wind in their hair.

‘Steeped in humor and great adventure, Mark’s memoir
provides a unique perspective on not only travelling
through Australia but also the unmistakable bond
between father and son. From venomous snakes to an
unruly water buffalo his story was perfect for our travel
podcast Postcards From The Road. We are very excited
to introduce 13 Pairs of Boots to our listeners this season!’
Elizabeth Hill - National Productions/Outreach Coordinator and Producer
WAMC Northeast Public Radio NY, USA

In Short
Title:
Author:
13 Pairs of Boots
Mark Howison
ISBN: 9780648556947
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 224 pp
215 x 152mm
Illustrations: Colour Section
Price $32.00
Release: August 2020
Genre:
Memoir
Interesting...
▪ People who travel around Australia are called ‘Big Lappers’.
▪
▪
100 000 people are travelling around Australia right now.
Kangaroos have outpaced the population of Australian
residents 2 to 1.

Description
In 1973 David Howison announced to his then 17-year-old son Mark that they
were going to walk around Australia to raise money for a wildlife sanctuary to
protect kangaroos.
Once he got over his initial shock, Mark was up for the adventure. Thanks to the
local Kangaroo Protection Society they were kitted out in boots, hats and suncreen
and given a sponsorship with Hanimax cameras. After leaving Sydney with a
huge farewell from a Scottish Highlander band, thousands of people and many
media interviews, it was just Mark, his dad, and their dog Wendy on the road. The
fourth mem ber of their team was a large cart loaded with their belongings, which
they pulled behind them.
Anticipating a hero’s welcome and free hospitality at every town, the pair soon
discover that not only are they left to fend for themselves but that, in the bush,
the bloody kangaroos don’t need saving and on many occasions angry farmers
reminded them of this fact by firing bullets over their heads. Dirt roads, wilddriving
semi-trailers, feral pigs, crocodiles, snakes, rogue RSPCA officers and,
eventually lack of food and, even more importantly to David, cigarettes, turn this
inspiring quest into one of survival.
To make matters worse, halfway through the trip, not only have the locals turned
against them, Mark and David begin to become heartily sick of each other. And
that is when the fun really begins ...
Frequently hilarious and written by a master storyteller with a very ‘Australian’
turn of phrase, this is warm-hearted, entertaining read.

About the
author
MARK HOWISON
Mark was born the eldest of five children
in Bathurst, NSW. As a family they
travelled around a lot, mainly to avoid
debt collectors or to follow their father’s
latest gambit to make money. During his
teens and early twenties Mark played
rugby league and participated in boxing.
After his journey with his father around
Australia, Mark worked as a painter and
decorator, and later in sales adminstration.
This is his first book.
On being published...
Through the publication of the book, I look
forward to talking with people and retelling
many of the great adventures experienced
during that year.
Mark Howison

Extract
Here I was stuck up a tree, about 20 feet off the ground, with an apparent madman
slowly circling around the trunk below. Why was I up here? What had I done? A
few minutes before it had been simply me and Dad walking across the Nullabor
and all I had said to the old man was, ‘Maybe it would be a good time for you
to give up the fags.’ This was not meant as anything other than a desire to make
conversation, but the old man just exploded.
‘Give up smokes, yeah why not? I have given up every bloody thing else. I’ve
given up rooting, I’ve given up bathing, I’ve given up drinking … I’ve even given
up living and now you want me to give up smoking!’
Well, as I thought this was just Dad being Dad, the bloke with all the gags and the
quick wit, I once more offered my opinion.
‘All I’m saying is that it’s been three days since you had your last smoke and if you
gave up, you wouldn’t have to send me into town anymore to buy them anymore.’
‘Look!’ Dad screamed, with a glint of madness in his eyes. ‘I could no sooner
give up cigarettes, than you could give up wanking, so I’m gunna give you three
choices: pull a packet of smokes out of your arse, get up that fucking tree there or
bloody well fight me.’
Now Dad had never been violent and I can’t ever recall him striking anybody in
anger. Sure there had been the childhood threats of the belt and sometimes even
a couple of whacks across the backside, but this was a demonstration of real fury.
In hindsight I should have seen it coming. He had been snakey for three days now
since running out of smokes and was only getting crankier. At this stage we were
three and a half months into our planned twelve-month walk around Australia to
raise funds to build a wildlife sanctuary. As we crossed the Nullabor the walk had
taken on a humdrum routine of getting up at the break of day, walking till 1.00 pm
and then having a break until 4.00 pm to escape the real heat of the afternoon. We

would then start walking into the night or until we both agreed we were rooted.
Blow up the airbeds, have a leak and sleep until the first light of day then get up
and do it again.
Dad had run out of cigarettes a couple of times before and it had not been a big
deal; he usually just put the bite on a passing motorist or sent me into the nearest
town to get a couple of packets. This time though, we were on the Nullabor and
the nearest town was a bloody long distance away and passing motorists were few
and far between.
Of the three choices given me, I chose the second and climbed the tree. Now
people think the Nullabor doesn’t have any trees, as the name would imply, but
the Western Nullabor does have some. They are sparsely placed and not very
tall, but when Dad and I were having our moment of unpleasantness, there was
a particularly tall Mulga tree and I was perched on the top branch. I was shaking
violently from the fear of heights, but also shaking from a fear that I might really
hurt Dad in a fight. Not quite understanding what was going on and not willing to
beat him up, I stayed put for two hours. During this time I started thinking about
Dad, pondering on my strange life with him and his various adventures.

‘If the popularity of entertainment based on hospital themes and
crime investigation is anything to go by, people are curious about
the human body and the processes of delving into it, preferably
from a safe distance and on somebody else.’
Meryl Broughton, taken from Autopsies for anyone?

Autopsies
for the Armchair Enthusiast
My strange encounters with death as a country medical examiner
Dr Meryl Broughton

In Short
Title:
Author:
Autopsies for the Armchair Enthusiast
Dr Meryl Broughton
ISBN: 978 0645069020
Format:
Trim:
Paperback, 256pp
215 x 152mm
Price: $32.99
Release: September 2021

Description
Intimate interactions with complete strangers, faithful customers and
everything in between, form a regular component of the professional work
as a country doctor. Within the sanctity of the medical consulting room
however, confidentiality is king and privacy rules supreme.
For over 35 years Meryl Broughton has been a keeper of secrets. But while
there is a special group of patients whose voices can no longer be heard,
their tales can teach so much and deserve a wider audience than the doctors’
enclave.
The ultimate medical examination and strangest of encounters is the autopsy,
that mysterious procedure strategically positioned between death and the
grave. It is a sort of biography of the body that increasingly few people get
the opportunity to see, and in Autopsies for the Armchair Enthusiast, Meryl
provides a virtual tour. The insights she offers offer a unique and compelling
encouragement to looking after one’s own health.
This account of a peculiar passion for performing post mortems involves
pickled brains, dungeons, zombies, maggots, outsides, insides, blood and
guts. Exploration of the human body is illustrated by fascinating true stories
based on real cases.
Details of the individuals are smudged to protect the privacy that still belongs
to those who have gone to wherever people go when they have left behind
their mortal remains. As Meryl says, we should not miss the chance to learn
about ourselves from what happened to them.

About the
author
DR MERYL BROUGHTON
Meryl completed her medical
studies at the University of
Monash and has been a doctor for
over 35 years, mainly in the country
regions of Western Australia. She writes
regularly for the Medical Observer and has also been
published in the Griffith Review. She lives in Albany
with her husband. This is her first book.
On being published
There is a strange sensation in my chest, my pulse quickens, tingling
spreads over me causing a funny look on my face. No, I’m not
having a heart attack, just delighted that my peculiar passion for
post-mortems has escaped the medical enclave and made it out
into the big wide world.
Meryl Broughton

Extract
‘There was blood everywhere.’
The head of the forensic pathology department was recounting to me his adventures
during a night call-out to a scene. We donned our white overalls and protective
gowns before proceeding into the autopsy suite at the State Mortuary.
Police had arrested a nervous character hanging around a house where a man was
found dead. There was blood spread about in several rooms and the deceased was
found lying with his head on a blood-soaked pillow.
The body arrived in the autopsy room with brown paper bags tied over his hands
and, creepily, one over his head. Several police officers accompanied the alleged
victim to collect evidence in this sterile environment and observe the post mortem
proceedings. I was incidentally there to be looking at other autopsies, cases of
presumed natural causes, not suspicious ones. But everyone was diverted to this
spectacle for a while.
Some bottles and packets of medicines were recovered from the scene and delivered
in a plastic bag along with the body. The man was a known alcoholic but, as a
general medical practitioner and country doctor, I could tell from his medications
he was also being treated for high blood pressure, arthritis and a past stroke. This
was my immediately useful contribution.
The paper bags were removed. Inspection of the outside of the naked corpse
revealed bruises of various ages over his trunk and limbs. There was a fresh deep
cut to his left ear but no other bleeding sources were detected.
No weapon had been found. Could the amount of blood dispersed throughout the
house have come from this apparently minor wound? Was it foul play or something
less sinister?
Trace evidence was collected from his body surface, scrapings from under his
fingernails, and combings from his hair. Each bruise was meticulously sampled
with a small cutting device and the tissue placed in little cassettes for subsequent
microscopic examination. Then the head pathologist continued the autopsy in the
usual way.

Extract
We found cirrhosis of his liver, a result of chronic heavy alcohol use. There were
the signs of his previous old stroke in the cerebellum of his brain. But there was no
evidence of other wounds, occult injuries or suspicious pathology.
So the scenario came down to this. He had cut his ear by accident. But the tablets
he was taking appropriately to prevent another stroke interfered with the process
that initiates clotting. This was exaggerated by the anti-inflammatory medication
he took for his arthritis. The patient’s other coagulation factors were in short supply
due to the abnormal function of his diseased liver.
Already walking funny because of his past stroke, acute alcohol intoxication made
him bumble about the house as he tried to stem the bleeding from his ear. He
eventually passed out on the bed and quietly bled out.
His worried old mate who had been apprehended was no longer considered a
suspect and released from police custody.
That was the one case of drama I encountered while brushing up my skills in
anatomical pathology in the city. A few others would occur in the course of my
duties as the coroner’s medical examiner in the country.

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