Earth, page 14
If by any chance you or members of your society were able to visit Geelong I would be honoured to show you an example of how intercourse between white and black might be conducted in a more civilised, amicable and spiritually less damaging manner.
Yours in the highest regard,
Captain Reginald Hindsmith
P. S. I hesitate to add further to the letter but as mentioned in earlier correspondence my intellectual life is so constrained that I have no one else with whom to share so much of my experience here. Please be patient with my insistence on relating an account told to me by Too roo rer, an old man at Lovely Banks, who claimed to be the uncle of Moorabool. This must make him at least seventy, probably eighty or more. He is still quite a strong man with all his own teeth and hair and vigour. The camp refuses to talk about Moorabool, whether for his safety or not I cannot fathom, but his name has not been mentioned here for some months despite their being inordinately proud of his deeds (and misdeeds) prior to this. But this is a story Too roo rer related to Miss Dawson.
The old man carves the most intricate designs on the large eggs of emus. Some are made to sell to the settlers’ wives who urge him to etch likenesses of themselves and their homesteads on the eggs. He is a canny old man and insists on the princely sum of two pounds of tea for each egg which takes him around two weeks to complete. On one particular egg, however, is a design created by his uncle and Miss Dawson believes the egg may be over one hundred years old, but it’s hard to be sure that Too roo rer didn’t etch the design himself along the lines of his uncle’s story.
The egg is supposed to represent the earth, Miss Dawson believes, and the tiny pecked splotches are the stars, indeed their idea of the constellations. It is truly very beautifully done and on one side of the egg is the eagle they call Bunjil. Miss Dawson believes Too roo rer was trying to tell her that Bunjil created this design himself, you might say a bird’s eye view. Much of this is speculation but the people have an incredibly detailed memory of vast tracts of land and Miss Dawson says her father believed they understood from their geographical knowledge of land and the curve of the horizon, easily seen from the You Yang mountain range, that the earth itself was curved. Hence the egg? Will we ever get to know the people well enough, and be trusted sufficiently, to become privy to their knowledge? If I even dare speculate on such matters, no matter how circumspectly, even the most refined and educated people of the colony recoil from me in horror. Even my closest acquaintance, Victor Benjamin, garrison Chaplain of Sydney, had apoplexy when I wondered aloud about a native spirituality. Even the most liberal view of the people in this country stops at some romantic notion of benighted and ignorant neanderthals.
*
‘What’s he sayin’ ‘bout eggs?’
‘Says ‘bout stars, toort-na kayi.’
‘Kawirr kayi.’
‘Yueh. Emu egg.’
‘What’s he say ‘bout ol’ bird’s egg?’
‘Says round like sky.’
‘Woorer woorer dilp-na?’
‘Yueh.’
‘Oh, smart fella. Write ‘im down, eh? Know all ‘bout blackfella, eh?’
‘Oh, he not bad fella.’
‘Mmmm, maybe. What business he got tell that story?’
‘He tellin’ lady longa England we not monkey.’
‘Oh, plenty good, eh, real smart fella. Still sittin’ on our river land, eh?’
‘Yueh, but feed blackfella.’
‘That land feed blackfella time before. Da feed blackfella ‘fore fence an’ brung, an’ axehead fella. How we get kangaroo now, eh? All them axehead an’ all them sheepy sheeps push ol’ goim off our land. What he say ‘bout that?’
‘Can’t see past edge of world, but least he lookin’, uncle.’
‘Maybe, but what good them words on paper us people, eh? All this time words on paper, words in book, God man say prayer, God people sing hymn, all time our people got nowhere to live.’
‘That fella let us stay longa Lovely Banks, uncle, see down there now, our people camp on Barwon, sing song, dance corroboree.’
‘Yueh, an’ white fella knock down woman an’ give her munya, steal barrabool, knock ol’ man on head. Yueh, little place us now, my wanung. Look that camp. How our people look after myrniong, how our people look after spirit places when all time amerjee with munya, brung . . . all words on paper. All talk. Look down there. How our people live like that?’
‘You grumpy fella, Uncle. Moorabool, you heard him tellin’ our people gotta live, gotta grow up bobup. He tell his people that.’
‘Yueh, an’ now Moorabool on ‘is way up here, bye an’ bye. Moorabool he live? What Moorabool do now, eh?’
‘Oh, Uncle, all us fellas we be talkin’ this other day an’ we say we here to whisper ‘em their dreams, might be liddle job maybe, but what good givin’ up now? Look down, Uncle, watch piccaninny wake up in waurn, look ‘im find gnardong i baab, suck out milk, suck out life. Bobup suck bap, least we can do is keep nenema, keep smilin’, Uncle, keep whisperin’ dreams to our bobup, too young an’ brave to wanna give up, too full a’ life, still to taste barrabool an’ boyoungkaal, that fella doan wanna give up, Uncle, listen liddle wanung heart, durrum, durrum, durrum, blind as bat that heart but still durrum, durrum, durrum, pumpin’ blood for all he worth, least we can do Uncle is whisper secrets of land to ‘im you reckon?’
‘Oh, alright, you young fella be plenny smart fella, but me ol’ fella . . . ’
‘We all ol’ fella, Uncle, we all morrom now, all us ol’ warriors, but listen to durrum, look liddle bobup chest he go durrum durrum beatin’ like liddle bird, but brave bird, Uncle, too much waste to keep secret from that fella.’
‘You smart fella reckon you tell your ol’ tandop all ‘bout bobup durrum, alright you smart fella, maybe I down in dumps but sick of all this words on paper, all this bible book, all this singin’ in house . . . ’
‘Yueh, Uncle, we all sick that amerjee business, but take nothin’ much to whisper memories my tandop.’
‘Yueh, yueh, little wanung, plenny time yita nyal, plenny time ye yeh djili, jus’ cranky not ‘ave billy a’ tea or some that korraiyn.’
‘Oh, Uncle, us murrom fellas got no use that billy an’ bottle now.’
‘No billy, no bottle, no soft woman, liddle life us fellas.’
‘Yueh, Uncle, bobup life now, Uncle, ye yeh djili, tell ‘im ‘bout billies an’ woman baab. See, he already know ‘bout that, look he got good grip on bam alright, look he suck up all that bap.’
‘I see ‘im.’
‘Maybe you jealous, Uncle.’
‘Yueh, yueh, I feel warm woman on my face my wanung, I feel baab on face, oh my stomach turn when I think of that warm, all that youdoro, all that bagurrk youdoro.’
‘Whisper the warm, Uncle, whisper warm to that Alfie, so he look out good lookin’ murdimundik, make dam dam, make kanamo, make bobup.’
‘Yueh, yueh, whisper bang i-baab, oh my ol’ wanung morrom, I whisper young fella, push ‘is face in murdimundik baab, roll ‘em in the possum skin . . . oh my wanung, my stomach turnin’.’
‘Not your stomach, Uncle, lower down maybe.’
‘Maybe, smart fella, maybe I go back an’ be guli again, eh?’
‘You jus’ cause trouble now, Uncle. You had your turn.’
‘Oh I love that turn.’
‘Yita nyal now, our tandop, yita nyal ye yeh djili. Whisper ‘em your ol’ dream, make your dreams go ‘roun’ one more time.’
‘Oh you smart fella.’
‘Jus’ morrom fella, like you, Uncle, jus’ poor ol’ morrom, no tongue, no hands, no stomach, no face, jus’ ye yeh djili.’
‘Yita nyal bobup djerradjawan.’
‘Yueh, djerradjawan. Baby wake up.’
*
‘Frank, Frank, wake up, it’s time to take Cecily out. I can hear Mrs Ruddock in the kitchen.’
‘Looks like little Cecily’s too busy drinking.’
‘She’s not going to get much there.’
‘Oh let her stay a while, Claudie, let her feel the warmth of your breast.’
‘You’re just jealous, Frank.’
‘Too right I am, but I’ve spent a fair bit of the night right there.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t notice, old man.’
‘Old man.’
‘Take her out to Mrs Ruddock, Frank, she’s not getting any milk and it will just make her cranky.’
‘It’s not Mrs Ruddock, my darling, she’s not coming today, that’ll be Betty startin’ up the fire for us.’
‘Well take Cecily out there . . . and you’d better take Augustus, too. Tell her to stay inside today, Frank. It’s too cold outside and it won’t upset me.’
‘You’re a good woman, Claudie.’
‘Just a woman, Frank, just a woman thinking of her children, now take them out so I can rest.’
‘Would you like an egg, my darling.’
‘Just a cup of tea, Frank, that’s all I need to start the day.’
‘Alright, my love. I’ve got to go and finish that roof at Snodgrass’s. But if you need anything I’ll be back at lunchtime. Alf is up, so he can make you another cuppa later on.’
‘I’ll be alright, Frank. Be careful up on that roof.’
‘I’ll be careful, don’t you worry about that.’
‘Hmm . . . he’s working hard that man and much as I try I can hardly drag myself out of bed. Phew, I stink. I’ve gotta go and have a wash . . . an’ look, there’s Betty outside again. I hope she’s not lettin’ those babies get cold. She’s feeding both of them. I’m jealous of that woman’s life. She’s got milk and I haven’t. And time, she’s got all the time in the world. What’s she yabberin’ on to them about, what heathen stuff is she telling my babies, fillin’ their heads with. If I open this door just a crack . . . ’
‘Woorer Woorer Woorer. Woorer Woorer Woorer. Oh you good bobup, alright. You fat baby. You be strong fella, Woorer Woorer, you grow up strong for your people. You drinkin’ all that bap. That good boy, Woorer. An’ you too liddle Cecily. You drink up, you be fat baby too. Your mumma sick, so you gotta drink, you gotta suck an’ be strong, make your mumma real proud. Tell you babies liddle story ‘bout long time before, ‘bout time when your grandaddies an’ granmummas walk all aroun’ here. Go huntin’ for goim, dig up myrniong, trapim boonea an’ all us people, all us kin kin bil, we all walk long way, long way, bobup like liddle ngarmbulmum snuggle up in mumma’s possum skin, oh plenny warm that time, long long walk all over that country that time, walk all way to Condah, all big mobs there, big boonea fishin’ goin’ on, an’ all us peoples in stone warrun, nice fire, lovely that time true, an’ we sing this song . . . alright how it go now what my aunties sing, it go . . . now let me . . . yueh, this is song . . . mandarr mandarr mandarr mandarr, mmm mmm, porrongitj maya manmah manmah manmah manmah manmah, mandarr mandarr bil yallock, gupma bil boonea, mandarr mandarr mandarr, mandarr, mandarr, mandarr . . . ’
‘That’s a nice song, Betty.’
‘Ohh, Missus Palmer, jus’ singin’ to babies, look sleep alright.’
‘Yes, Betty.’
‘I look after for ‘em, missus, so you sleep, not takim – ’
‘Alright, Betty, I know what you’re doing . . . and I’m grateful. I’ve got no milk at all now, Betty, I’m in no position to argue.’
‘Good babies, missus, not hurt ‘em.’
‘I know, Betty, sit down again, please. It’s nice here in the sun. I’d make you a cup of tea if I didn’t feel –’
‘I make tea, missus. I learn ‘bout stove an’ all. I got johnny cake too, missus. Look here I gotim in bag.’
‘You cook these in the camp, Betty?’
‘Yes, missus, cookem on coals alright. Here you eatem up.’
‘Just a cup of tea, Betty, if you don’t mind. If you could put the kettle on later that’d be nice. Did you burp Cecily, Betty, she gets very bad colic if you don’t.’
‘She burp alright, missus, like bloody cart ‘orse.’
‘Thank you, Betty, you’re doing a good job. I can see that. She’s started putting on weight again.’
‘She strong baby.’
‘Yes, she’s strong and good.’
‘Pretty girl, missus.’
‘Yes, very pretty. Betty, I think you should call me Mrs Palmer . . . or Claudie.’
‘Yes . . . Mrs Palmer. Look I bring you medicine.’
‘What is it, Betty?’
‘Ol’ man weed, missus, plenny good for belly. Boil ‘im up, drinkim’, plenny good, missus. I fix ‘im up, missus –’
‘Claudie.’
‘Yueh. I fix ‘im up and you drinkim, an’ alright in belly.’
‘Are you sure, Betty, you drink this yourself?’
‘All us peoples drinkim, missus, all us peoples get real well longa ol’ man weed. Merrijig merrijig alright. Here, got bottle. You drink now.’
‘Oh, Betty, I’m not sure . . . ’
‘Mrs Palmer, please you drinkim, good for liddle Cecily too.’
‘You’ve given this to Cecily. I’m not at all sure . . . ’
‘Good for bobup, missus. Look her now, she fat like puppy, she sleep like log, missus. No belly ache, no gripe.’
‘Well she is looking well. Perhaps just a little sip. It can’t do me any more harm than I’ve already got.’
‘Yueh, good, eh.’
‘Betty, it’s as bitter as poison.’
‘No, missus, good, you see bye an’ bye, plenny good. Bit more, missus.’
‘Just a little. My goodness it’s bitter. Old Man Weed you call it?’
‘Yes, missus, plenny good all us peoples.’
‘Well, I don’t feel any worse. In fact . . . in fact better, that has certainly settled my stomach . . . yes, that’s a lot easier. You will tell me if you’re going to give any of your medicines or food to the children.’
‘Yueh, missus, yueh.’
‘Not missus, Betty, please. You’re looking after my babies, really we should . . . I’m sorry, our babies, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘Our babies . . . so I owe you a great deal. It wasn’t my idea, Betty. There are a lot of things that have happened in the past few years which weren’t my idea, but now they’ve taken place we have to make the best of them.’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘So when you’re here and the babies are sleeping could you do some washing for Frank and Alfie?’
‘Yes, missus, I boil ‘im up good. I seen them coppers, missus, I washem good. Maybe wiidji too, eh?’
‘Pardon, Betty?’
‘Ar . . . crayfish, missus, boil up crayfish in copper.’
‘With the clothes, Betty?’
‘No, nyah, missus, what crayfish do with clothes? . . . after time, missus, cookem up plenny good. I bring wiidji, bye and bye.’
‘Where do you get them from, Betty?’
‘Oh we walk on beach, missus, we look in rock, you know. Plenny good. Good for you, missus, liddle bit for baby. Plenny good.’
‘Alright, Betty, we’ll see, but if you could wash up the trousers and so forth it would be a great help.’
‘I learn in mission house, missus. Cook scone, wash clothes, sweep floor. Merrijig. Betty look after.’
‘You’re very kind, Betty, considering everything, it’s worked out as well as could . . . ’
‘I make tea, missus, you hoi’ bobup now.’
‘Alright, Betty, thank you . . . She’s good to you Augustus, look at your fat legs. You too, Cecily, my goodness you sleep like a stone, don’t you? Be good babies for Frank, won’t you. He’s just a man you know, he can’t be expected to be much good with babies . . . just be good to him, look after him for me, because God knows he’s not getting any younger . . . he doesn’t realise it but soon he’ll be an old man . . . and this whole house depending on the strength of his back. Poor Frank, how lucky I’ve been to have a man like that. Imagine what it’s like not to be loved. God knows it’s a hard enough life at the best of times.’
‘Look, missus, Betty make tea. Plenny sugar, missus.’
‘Thank you, Betty, you’re very kind. Sit down, Betty, please, sit down and drink your tea with me. You make me feel uncomfortable standing over there. Is that what they teach you in the mission house, Betty?’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘Not to sit down with the white people?’
‘Yes, missus. Eat outside in shed.’
‘In the shed?’
‘Yes, missus. After lady eat, we go outside.’
‘What lady?’
‘Missus Campbell. She teach us work, cook, iron – ’
‘And teach you to eat in the shed?’
‘Yes, missus.’
‘A Christian woman that Mrs Campbell.’
‘Yes, missus, talk prayer all time.’
‘Gentle Jesus, meek and mild.’
‘Yes, missus, alia time.’
*
‘Hey you, Palmer, you up there?’
‘Yes, Mr Snodgrass.’
‘Ya gunna have that roof on by tonight?’
‘Looks like it.’
‘Make sure you do, there’s cloud building up on the You Yangs, looks like it’ll be pouring before dark.’
‘All the sheets will be on Mr Snodgrass, even if I have to cover the ridge with a sheet of calico.’
‘I hear your missus is crook, Palmer.’
‘Yes, not too good.’
‘Well look, the wife has saved a bit of soup from the kitchen. She’d take it around herself but she’s a bit busy at the moment. Gladys in the kitchen will show you where it is.’
‘Thank you, Mr Snodgrass.’
‘Not at all. Make sure that roof is secured though, Palmer. I’m moving furniture in there tomorrow. I’ve got a load coming in on the Ocean and there’s nowhere else to store it.’
‘It’ll be right, Mr Snodgrass.’
‘Good, see to it then like a good man. I’ll be out to check on it before dark. Oh and by the way, have you got that Betty working down at your place?’
‘Well, ar, yes, yes, she’s doin’ the floors and so forth . . . just while Claudie’s ill.’
‘Watch her, she’s a slovenly bitch just like all them gins.’
