My grandmother's aunt fled to Australia after half her family died of dysentery. It was a very sad story for a very long time in the family and the town. Her husband moved the whole family across the Atlantic Ocean to Canada away from her immediate relatives in England because of a good job and land prospects. But their household was stricken with a bloody flux a few months later and sadly only the women survived, alone in a foreign country with nothing. It was just a sad and dark part of our family history growing up, we were taught to respect our great great aunt because she'd "been through a lot and faced it bravely" with watching her family die. As a teenager I could tell there was more going on by the way the older adults glanced at each other, but never knew what.

I was 30 when mum told me that my great great uncle was an abusive pick who moved his wife overseas to isolate her so he could get away with more, and it wasn't a coincidence that he and his "apple that never fell off the tree" son both shit themselves to death after eating a family dinner, but his wife was fine.