Earth, page 13
‘What? What is it, Claudie?’
‘Me tubes an’ things, Frank, somethin’s not right. I smell terrible, that’s why I’ve been using that rose-water . . . ’
‘Well, what about the doctor?’
‘Frank, when it comes to women’s organs, a backyard hen could give you better advice. No, I’m going up to Melbourne on Tuesday to see the matron at St Vincent’s. She’s Catholic but she’s still a Christian. They say she – ’
‘But surely the doctor – ’
‘He’s an ignoramus, Frank, a pumped up, overfed bigot. I’ve had him annoy the life out of the women I help for over twelve years. If I say one thing, he’ll say the opposite just to show who’s boss, no I’m not going to see him, Frank, I’m going up to matron.’
‘Claudie. Claudie.’
‘Come here, Frank, I didn’t mean to argue with you, but you can see why I’m worried, you might have to look after all – ’
‘Shh. Shh, Claudie, don’t say that. It’s surely not that bad. Surely there’s something they can do. It might be just – ’
‘No, Frank, I’ve seen it before, I think . . . I think we have to plan . . . ’
‘Shh, Claudie, please, shh, don’t say it, don’t say it, I’m not ready yet . . . surely . . . ’
‘I’m sorry, Frank, I feel like I’ve – ’
‘Please, Claudie, no more, just let me hold you, let me stroke your hair while I think, maybe we can go to sleep, that’s how I think best, Claudie, oh my wife, oh Claudie, I love you, it’s in my belly it’s so deep . . . ’
‘I know, Frank, I’ve always known . . . and yet I questioned it before. I don’t know why I do that.’
‘Oh, Claudie, I’ll be lost if – ’
‘It’s alright, Frank, it’s alright, we’ll think of something, maybe matron can . . . they’re doing some wonderful things these days, who knows she might take one look and say – ’
‘Oh, Claudie, my dear girl, please don’t say any more.’
‘Alright, Frank, here hold my breast the way you’ve always done. I love it so much when you hold me with those old hands. I feel like a loose – ’
‘It’s the church makes you feel that way, Claudie, I’ve told you plenty of times. The Lord made man an’ woman to come together, he made a woman’s breast fit a man’s hand.’
‘And a baby’s lips.’
‘And a man’s lips . . . and he made her waist fit the crook of his arm and her neck fit his face. Don’t listen to what the church says about men an’ women.’
‘Frank?’
‘Shh, Claudie, I can’t take anymore, let me hold you now, let us sleep, just let us sleep as if – ’
‘You’re right, Frank, let’s sleep.’
*
‘Not bad this, Alf. Out on the wide blue sea, sound of the waves slappin’ the bow.’
‘Yeah, good.’
‘Few fish for Snodgrass, few pennies for the Palmers.’
‘Grandma’s sick isn’t she, Grandpa?’
‘Yes, mate, I’m afraid she is. I don’t know how many more burdens you’re going to be asked to carry, my boy, but you’ll have to help me carry this one, too. Knocked me sideways, I can tell you.’
‘I’ll help you, Grandpa.’
‘I know you will, I know you will, Alf. Few more flatties an’ we better get back.’
‘It’s good of Mrs Ruddock to help Grandma with the washing an’ stuff.’
‘Yes, well at least she can keep a still tongue and other people’s business quiet. Not many seem to want to know us these days, Alf, even though your grandmother’s done so much for others. Yes, it’s good of Mrs Ruddock but by jingo, Alf, one more of her shepherd’s pies will be the death of me. How can you make perfectly good mutton taste like that? If Claudie was up to eating, she’d have a fit to taste what’s being served at her table. Amongst all her other virtues your grandmother’s a fine cook.’
‘She’ll get better won’t she, Grandpa?’
‘If there’s a God, Alf, you’d reckon he’d save the useful.’
‘Mrs Ruddock reckons God often calls the best to heaven.’
‘What rot that is, Alf, just words to froth at the mouth with at funerals, tryin’ to make the sad happy. Lot of garbage. If God was doin’ somethin’ useful you’d reckon he’d leave nursing mothers with their babies, black or white. I never went to school as you know, Alf, but tell me what’s the good of calling perfectly good people to heaven an’ leavin’ people like Pearson, Fyans and Angliss down here to cause mischief? Tell me that, Alf . . . I’m not tryin’ to destroy your faith, little wanung, I’m tryin’ to make sense of the mess we’re in.’
‘We’ll be right, Grandpa.’
‘Good on you, Alf, I hope you’re right.’
*
‘And what good are we up here, my brothers? What good are we doin’ for anybodies? Look our brother down there bein’ showered with gooyun, our Scissors Mother, layin’ on her bed tryin’ to suckle the bobup . . . an’ what are we doin’? Sittin’ aroun’ chewin’ the fat while our people are scattered like grain in the wind.’
‘Oh, alright now ol’ man, you listenin’ to Da’s angry words too much, now. We whisper to ‘em that’s what, we give ‘em hope, we tell ‘em maybe where they catch nice fat fish, where the oysters are, lead ‘em up river to the best boyoungkall, that cress good for our bobup, all them liddle things, me brother, all them liddle things can help maybe. Cress for a liddle bobup’s soup, fish for ol’ man’s rheumatics, good honest woman for a young man, liddle things maybe, but handy . . . we can give ‘em hope.’
‘Hope!’
‘You down in the dumps ol’ man. You been tellin’ us to look after our people, give ‘em their dreams an’ so forth, an’ now you’re goin’ all bloody sour on us. Stop pullin’ out ya gnarnda an’ pick up ya heart . . . you, our best warrior, stand up, face them spears, our brother. No use you givin’ in while our people still fightin’. Whisper ‘em their dreams. Yita nyal.’
‘Ye yeh djili.’
8
Whispers
‘Now, Betty, you mustn’t go in Mrs Palmer’s room, is that clear.’
‘Yes, Missus Ruddock.’
‘She’s nursin’ the baby and when she’s done I’ll give her some more laudanum an’ then she might sleep an’ I’ll bring the baby out to you.’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘Betty, I reckon you oughta call me Thelma, because it’s just you an’ me helpin’ out this wretched family . . . an’ Betty I know why you’re so keen to help, why do you think I came for you . . . but that’s a secret alright. Maybe no one will notice, perhaps even the good Lord might pass it off as a charity rather than a lie . . . but, Betty you must not take the baby out of the yard or let anyone know what you’re doing here. You know how important that is?’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘Thelma.’
‘Telma, missus.’
‘Alright, Betty, suit yourself, just wait here while I get the bairn. It’s a Christian service we’re doin’, Betty, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, missus Telma.’
‘I haven’t told Mr Ruddock. He’s unreliable when possessed of the truth, Betty, so remember this is our secret, just you an’ me. Mrs Palmer, poor soul, won’t know anything, but her bairn is being cared for.’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘We’ll have to tell Frank, of course. I just hope there’s one man in the district who can recognise a useful arrangement when he sees it. I’ll tell him when he gets back, but keep yourself scarce just in case he gets it into his head to do something ridiculous.’
‘Good man, missus. Look after Woorer.’
‘Yes, yes, Mrs Tomkins told me that he wouldn’t stand in the way of good sense.’
*
‘Get a few fish, Frank?’
‘Yes, Mrs Ruddock, we sold most to Mr Snodgrass, but we brought home a few whiting for our dinner.’
‘Oh, there was no need, Frank, I’ve made a lovely shepherd’s pie for you.’
‘Very kind, very kind . . . but . . . ar . . . I thought a bit of steamed fish might be good for the . . . ar . . . babies an’ . . . Claudie, seein’ as how she’s not eatin’ so well.’
‘A good idea. I’ll just put the pie in the meat safe an’ you can have it tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Ruddock.’
‘Not at all. Now, Frank, Mrs Tomkins an’ I have had a little talk an’ we thought, under the circumstances like, we should get in somebody to look after the baby for a few hours a day while you’re at work and Mrs Palmer’s sleeping. She could mop the floors, too, things like that. I could still do most of the cooking. Now don’t look like that, Frank, it’s no trouble at all, it’s the least a woman could do for a lady as good as your wife has been to most women around here.’
‘Not all the women see it like that.’
‘Well they do, Frank, they see it, they’re just scared to say it, because there’s some bossy britches around like that Mrs Fyans an’ Mrs Campbell who frighten the other women . . . make ‘em scared they’ll be cast out so to speak.’
‘Like they’ve done to Claudie.’
‘Exactly. So Mrs Tomkins and I had a look about and we found a girl at the mission who has learnt to be tidy and reliable and mind her own business. Betty can come in . . . ’
‘Betty?’
‘Now, now, Frank, you know it’s for the best. If we all keep quiet and discreet no one – ’
‘What about the busybodies around the town?’
‘If we keep it to ourselves and call her by her tribal name, Morlgalyu, most people won’t notice.’
‘Most people.’
‘They can hardly tell one black from another, Frank.’
‘Because they don’t look.’
‘Well, all the better for us under the circumstances. Here, come to the window, Frank, see she’s out there, under the passionfruit vine, see, you’d hardly know she was there with that big hat.’
‘She’s feeding Woorer.’
‘And she’ll have to, Frank, I think.’
‘Yes.’
‘They suckle other babies back in the camp. She’ll have milk.’
‘She’s fed him a few times over the past year, Mrs Ruddock, and as you’re so good at secrets I hope you’ll keep that one.’
‘Well, you can see how practical it all is . . . you know, Frank, Claudie’s not very well at all and she won’t let me call the doctor.’
‘She knows more about this thing than any doctor, Mrs Ruddock, she’s seen it plenty of times before. She wouldn’t have the doctor, I tried. She went to see the matron in St Vincents. Claudie didn’t say much about that but you can tell by lookin’ at her that she’s resigned, can’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s very good of you, Mrs Ruddock, I couldn’t have coped without all you and Mrs Tomkins have done.’
‘Our Christian duty, Frank.’
‘Christian, Mrs Ruddock, is a word I’ve stopped using.’
‘I know, Frank, but don’t lose faith in everything . . . for the sake of Claudie and your children. Shunning the door of the church and shunning God are two different things. So, we’ll just say it’s our duty as women, one woman to another.’
‘Yes.’
‘And don’t forget that pie’s in the meat safe, Frank, it’ll only last another day in this weather.’
*
‘Cecily’s a good girl, aren’t ya, darlin’. An’ so are you, little Woorer. See, here’s ya mum.’
‘And how’s Betty, Frank?’
‘Betty?’
‘Frank, you’re like a window. See the milk on the child’s lips . . . ’
‘I was just . . . ’
‘You was just nuthin’, Frank. I’m not stupid. I know she’s nursed Woorer before. You an’ all your stories of bready milk. Do you think I’m that daft, Frank? Why was he always so ready to try and suckle me before Cecily came? And what good would it have been to kick up a fuss about it with so much else to worry about.’
‘I’m sorry, Claudie.’
‘Don’t be sorry, Frank. It’s too late to be sorry. You’re trying to do your best and Mrs Tomkins and Mrs Ruddock have come up with a good enough way, I suppose.’
‘We’ll keep it quiet, Claudie.’
‘You’ll have to, Frank . . . but I suppose they can’t shun us any more than they’ve already done. It feels like we’re in the poor house, all our respect gone.’
‘We’ve got respect in the eyes of the Lord, Claudie.’
‘Listen to you, Frank, of all people.’
‘But it’s true, we’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, Claudie, except in the eyes of those people who think the commandments an’ the teaching belong to white people alone.’
‘Well, I just hope the Lord remembers, because I’m not looking forward – ’
The Lord’s not going to forget his most loyal servant, Claudie. I’ll be speakin’ to him if he does.’
‘And he’ll listen to you, Frank?’
‘I’ll be speakin’ pretty loud, my darlin’.’
‘Well . . . well don’t gild the lily, Frank, just say it as you saw it. Don’t exaggerate, just . . . just say it how it was . . . and . . . and if he doesn’t listen to that . . . well, I’ll just have to abide by his – ’
‘He’ll listen, Claudie, you won’t be forgotten by anyone. In their hearts all the women here will remember what you’ve done for them and in time to come –’
‘Time to come, Frank, time to come.’
‘We’ll deal with the time to come . . . when that time comes.’
‘Very good, Frank, but I’m very thankful that Mrs Tomkins and Mrs Ruddock have been . . . so practical. And, Frank?’
‘Yes, my dear girl.’
‘When . . . you’d better ask Betty inside, the weather won’t always be this pleasant, she’ll need to bring the babies in out of the cold.’
‘Yes, Claudie. I’ve got some lovely whiting for tea.’
‘Mrs Ruddock made a pie.’
‘Yes, yes, I know, but I thought you might like a little steamed whiting. You know how much you – ’
‘Thank you, Frank, but I might just settle for a cup of tea tonight . . . just while my lunch is settling. What are you doing, Frank?’
Im cuddling my sweetheart.’
‘You’ll wake the babies.’
‘Ten tin saucepans clatterin’ in their ears couldn’t wake them babies . . . an’ besides I can get me arms around the lot of you, so there.’
*
24 May 1890
Miss Alwyn Hope
Dear Miss Hope,
Thank you for your reply to my initial impetuous correspondence. I look forward to any literature issued by the Anti-Slavery Society.
As I reported to you earlier, my career in the service of His Majesty has been doomed ever since that day in court when I attempted to have members of my own garrison charged with the murder of the blacks on the Werribee River.
While in Sydney I found evidence of repeated and large scale incidents treated in exactly the same way. Wentworth stands up in Parliament and sways the house against the most limited tolerance of the indigenous population. He and his cohorts have again voted down the right to admit evidence in court by Aboriginal people.
My attempts to give evidence or even commentary on my experiences in Port Phillip in trials involving Aboriginal people are thwarted at every turn and it is obvious my progress within the service of His Majesty has been quashed. I am persona non grata in Sydney and so have resigned my commission.
I considered returning to England but am strangely drawn to this country and the cause of the most limited justice for its original inhabitants. With the small amount credited to me on my resignation I have returned to Geelong as you can see by the envelope and have opened a small stationery and bookselling business in Ryrie Street in partnership with Mr Griffith, my father’s cousin.
Although my reputation has preceded me and in a social sense I am ostracised by what they deem to be the upper echelons of society, in a business sense I am quite secure as the town is booming. The price of wool has never been higher. In an irony I’m sure you will appreciate we sold 316 bibles in the last two months alone and sales of Mr Wesley’s hymnbooks would make our business profitable even if we sold nothing else.
I say this in no way to boast, profits are simply the result of opening a door on the main street here. You could sell, and some are doing just that, the finest ceramics in the world and have your shop full to bursting after every wool or fat lamb sale.
This situation has allowed me a great deal more freedom to investigate, and in some ways improve the situation of the native people. All the missions at Buntingdale, Swanston Street, Waurn Ponds and Bellarine have failed miserably as the people are disinclined to move from their own country. When forced to do so quarrels break out amongst the different tribal groups who, by their strictures, are not meant to live in such close proximity and certainly not in the dormitories provided.
So, finally, I arrive at my point. I have purchased a property on the Barwon River and the sale included an Aboriginal camp. This was considered a major selling point as they are fed and clothed by the state, in the most callously inappropriate manner imaginable, and were used as indentured labourers on the property. This is a common practice as the people make good shepherds, adequate housekeepers and cost nothing. The wool industry booms on the back of their labour.
On my property, Lovely Banks, I have allowed the people full access to all their haunts and they share in the monthly kill of beasts. Miss Dawson, from Camperdown, who knows a little of their language has been able to communicate with them and assure them of their liberty within the confines of this property. With judicious fencing of ponds and streams, we are able to allow for the hunting of kangaroo, geese and opossum as well as the collection of an amazing number of water plants, bulbs, shoots, berries, fruits and eggs. They complain of continual harassment when they return to Corio for oysters, mussels and fish but on most occasions, when their women are not harassed by shepherds from other properties and the dillybags of produce stolen, they return with the most succulent seafoods I have ever seen.
