Elsie Kane knew it was time.
She was heavily pregnant and could feel the baby telling her it was ready to join the family fold.
The problem was, Elsie wasn’t. Far from it.
She was at the Terry Hie Hie property, Bundy, about 20 miles from Moree and a long way from the nearest hospital.
Elsie called out to her husband, 42-year-old Gordon, known widely as Percy. He was outside, tidying up the yard.
Percy ran back to the house at a rate of knots. He knew exactly what was happening. He’d told himself a million time not to panic when the time came, but the self-administered sage advice was now a blur.
His 46-year-old wife was about to give birth and the nearest bloody hospital was 20 bloody miles away.
Percy collected himself – the best he could – and ran to the house.
It was Sunday afternoon, May 5, 1940. Percy and Elsie were spending a relaxing weekend at home after attending a huge Red Cross fundraiser – the Lady Gowrie Appeal – at the McIntosh Hall in Moree a couple of days earlier. More than £1500 was raised – a record for a NSW country town. It was a big day, and Elsie needed a good rest. She was well into her third trimester; the baby was only days away.
We should’ve stayed in town, Percy told himself as he charged through the back door.
He found Elsie on a divan in the living room, nursing her swollen belly. She was taking deep, slow breaths and perspiring freely. Their 15-year-old son, Herb, comforted his mum.
She looked pleadingly at her husband: “The baby’s coming Percy; it’s coming!”
Percy and Herb tenderly helped Elsie to her feet and made their way to the family car outside.
Once Elsie was safely in the passenger seat, and Herb in the back, Percy jumped behind the wheel and sped off along the Terry Hie Hie Road to Moree.
He knew he was going too fast, but he had little choice; the baby, it seemed, was only minutes away.
Percy gripped the steering wheel hard. Every few seconds he glanced sideways at Elsie.
“The hospital isn’t far, honey; we’re almost there,” he grimaced.
Elsie nursed her belly and forced a smile.
The vehicle sped across the rough gravel road, edging closer to Moree. As it approached a level crossing on a sweeping bend about a mile from the Inverell Road turn-off, Percy relaxed his foot on the accelerator ever so slightly.
He’d driven this road a thousand times and knew every square inch of it – or thought he did.
Suddenly, the vehicle slid in loose gravel, struck a culvert and bounced heavily across the railway line.
Percy tried desperately to correct the vehicle, but the momentum was too great. The steering wheel spun from his fingers with tremendous force and the vehicle flipped over and rolled several times before coming to a rest on the northern side of the Terry Hie Hie level crossing.
Incredibly, no-one was seriously injured.
Percy and Herb crawled from the wreck. Percy’s only concern was Elsie and her unborn baby.
Elsie was still in the overturned vehicle. She began taking deep, long, heaving breaths. Percy reached through the open door and held his wife’s hand.
Elsie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She did both.
“Oh my God, Percy, it’s coming; the baby is coming!”
Percy sent Herb to a nearby Weebollabolla homestead to get help as he watched his wife give birth to a healthy baby.
Percy wiped tears from his cheek. “It’s a boy, Elsie; you’ve had a little boy, and he looks just fine to me.”
Within 15 minutes, ambulance superintendent Peter Seymour was at the scene.
Seymour relocated to Moree in 1934 after more than two decades at Manly in Sydney. He had attended dozens of roadside accidents over the years but nothing quite like this.
Elsie was perched against the vehicle, nursing her newborn son when Seymour jumped from his wagon.
“You’re too late,” she smiled.
Seymour grinned – possibly turned a slight shade of crimson – and tenderly helped Elsie and her baby into the back of the ambulance. They were taken to Aubrey Maternity Hospital, where Elsie was treated for a laceration to her face. Her miracle baby was unmarked. He was a healthy bundle of joy, and completely oblivious to his incredible entry to the world.
Percy and Herb suffered minor injuries. Percy’s knee was knocked about and Herb suffered a small cut to the chin. They were shaken and sore but pretty much unhurt – and armed with quite a story to tell for the rest of their lives.
“No-one will ever believe this, son; not in a million years will they believe what happened,” Percy laughed.
Naming the baby boy wasn’t too difficult, either.
Baby Kane, all 6lb 2oz of him, was christened Terence Roland, or ‘Terry’ – named after the road on which he was born.
He later became known by the nickname ‘Bully’.
By the 1960s, the Kane family was living near Sydney suburb Revesby in the Canterbury-Bankstown Shire.
In 1963, Percy found labouring work and 23-year-old son, Terry, was employed as an auto electrician. In 1965 Terry married Lois Elliott at Kogarah and the couple relocated to Bundanoon, west of Sydney.
The union produced three children: daughters Melinda and Narelle, and a son, Greg, born in 1972. The family by this time was living at Liverpool, where Terry was employed as a truck driver.
Forty-six years after Terry was born on the side of the road at the Terry Hie Hie level crossing, fate dealt the Kane family a tragic hand.
At around 10.45pm on Friday, September 12, 1986, Greg Kane was killed at a level crossing between Bundanoon and Mittagong in the Southern Highlands.
He was 14 years of age.
Greg and a mate, 18-year-old Walter Quigg, were travelling along Penrose Road when their vehicle went through a stop sign and ploughed into a goods train.
Both teenagers were killed on impact.
The life-death parallel between father and son is achingly unimaginable.
Terry Kane was born on the side of the road in 1940 after a car rolled over at a level crossing. He lived a full life.
Forty-six years later, his teenage son, Greg, was killed at a level crossing when the car in which he was a passenger smashed into a goods train.
The incredible coincidence is inconceivable, yet heartbreakingly true.
Terry died in 2017. He was 77. His wife, Lois, fondly known as Lo-Lo, died six years earlier, aged 67.
She is buried alongside her son, Greg, at Bundanoon General Cemetery.
Words: Bill Poulos
Image: Supplied
