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At 22, Henry Lawson was dirt poor, painfully shy and deaf as a post. His first few poems had garnered considerable praise but writing was "clearly not to be relied on as a means of support". Haphazardly schooled, he found work where he could, mainly as a house painter. The grinding daily slog left him exhausted and frustrated.
His mum, Louisa, had a bright idea. In the political flurry that was Sydney in the 1880s, she'd intersected with the premier, the venerable Sir Henry Parkes. The Republican, Louisa's pushy little rag, was in favour...
