After supper, the group inspected the clothing before trying on anything. There was a lot of jesting and clowning going on when they paraded around before the amused onlookers. Gales of laughter rang out as old man Jibaru, the smallest man in the group, put on what must have been the largest trousers in the whole collection. Where and how was he expected to “make kumbu” as the waist came up under his armpits!
Each one had a set or two of clothes and nobody was interested whether they were stylish or fashionable so long as their bodies were covered. It didn’t matter to anyone if the clothes were ill-fitting and uncomfortable, the important thing was that they were pleasing the boss and the missus.
Later that evening, someone suggested they might like to have a cool shower and change their clothes, but the group refused very strongly. They had just buried a family member and were still in mourning so they would wear the clothes over their ochre-covered bodies until the symbols painted on them disappeared. Bubinya, the elder of the station community, apologised for the lapse of discretion, and poured himself another mug of tea.
So the shower would have to wait. Meanwhile they made themselves comfortable, sitting around the cast-off bundle of white man’s clothing, enjoying the conversation and learning what more their new masters required of them if they decided to settle on the property. The station manager was respected and admired by those already living on the property.
“The wudgebulla he clever man. He got strong marbarn. He catch that jilla and keep ’em that ngubby,” said one old man, pointing at the windmill and the tank that was overflowing with water. Anyone who could capture and incarcerate the jilla, the Dreamtime spirit responsible for the creation of the rivers, lakes and rockholes, must have a very
powerful magic indeed. The wanderers from the desert could do nothing but marvel.
Bubinya looked extremely weary but contented in the summer evening. He removed the cotton shirt from his back as the clothes made him feel hot and uncomfortable. “All Mardus cover ’em up everything.” Although he had lived on the property for almost a year, he still didn’t like wearing clothes but he felt he had to pass on this important advice. Everyone nodded in agreement; they understood that they must now conform to these changes in their lifestyle, obey their new bosses and try not to offend them. They settled down on their government-issue blankets and soon all was quiet and everyone fast asleep.
Early one morning, as the sun was rising in the eastern sky, the small group collected their belongings and decided to continue their journey. It had been two and a half months since they had arrived at Talawana Station and they felt that it was time to move on. They packed enough food to last four days: first they would have to walk east until they reached the rabbit-proof fence then once they found the fence it would be a matter of another two days’ walk and they would be reunited with those who had gone before.
Fear and unrest continued to spread across the desert, forcing others to leave their homelands to seek the safety and protection at the government outpost at Jigalong. The numbers of new arrivals to the depot were increasing weekly. News of Golda’s murder was still filtering through the desert communities. Who would be next? This was the question they were all asking.
Golda and Dora’s father Lubin and his family lived at the depot for over a year and were content to remain there for the rest of their lives. Among the first people to settle at Jigalong were Ruppi and his family. When Lubin discovered
this he became interested in their story and the reason why they migrated to the outpost.
“Which way did you come, Ruppi?”
“We came this way,” Ruppi said pointing to the southeast. “On the right side of Gumbalbindil.” (This is the traditional name of Lake Disappointment in the Gibson Desert.) “Carnegie Station,” he added.
Ruppi remembered that it had been an extremely hot day, the salt lakes were simmering with heat and the spindly mulga trees gave little shade. Ruppi and his family walked to a cool resting place in a sandy gully where they all dozed off to sleep.
“Then we heard someone calling, Yai! Yai! Yai!” said Ruppi. “We all stood up and looked around. The four dogs were barking wildly so we knew that strangers were approaching the camp. The old man, my father Gundu, grabbed his boomerangs and spears; he fitted a spear into a woomera and waited.
“I was only a young fella then, I been through the Law but not married yet,” said Ruppi. “There was my daddy, two mummies [his father’s two wives] and three sisters, but three brothers left months earlier, one to Wiluna, one to Leonora, the eldest stayed in Jigalong,” he explained.
The family scanned the dry salt lakes for any signs of movement then they saw them. “I saw them first and shouted out, ‘There they are.’ They were Mardus, six of them, all men and four dogs. My brother Chummy, the one who moved here to Jigalong earlier, came with them,” said Ruppi, pausing to take a sip of cold sweet tea from the billy can, then he continued his story.
“We were happy to see them, especially my brother Barlu.” He nodded his head towards a tall, lean middle-aged man who was putting the finishing touches to his spear. The other five men were Mandildjara and Gududjara
people from the north-west. Ruppi’s people were Budidjara and this was their traditional land.
The visitors brought two cooked emu legs as well as gifts of tea, sugar, flour and tobacco, which were sampled immediately. Everybody was impressed. Ruppi explained that they had looked at their visitors in disbelief when they were told that this was only part of the weekly rations that were distributed by the boss at the Jigalong depot.
That evening, while the group were sitting down around the fire eating their supper, the visitors told them of terrible events that were frightening all the Mardu people throughout the desert.
“They told us about the white men who were using powerful weapons called guns. My daddy told them that he knew what guns were. He had seen them,” Ruppi said. “The white men who passed through this part of the salt lakes country had used them to shoot kangaroos and emus for food.”
The Budidjara people became very concerned and afraid. They stared silently into the glowing embers until the women got up and walked into the darkness returning a few minutes later dragging more wood behind them. The men rose and returned to their camp to talk “men’s business”. Their discussions went on well into the night. At last, when all the news from other groups had been gleaned and every piece of family gossip had been shared, the old man Gunbu returned to his spouses and made himself as comfortable as he could on the dry, dusty earth and drifted off to sleep. Ruppi stayed with the visitors and slept near them.
Waking at first light, the old man dusted the red dirt off his bottom and hips then tied his hair belt around his waist and walked some distance from the camp, returning later with more wood for the fire. He raked the embers and tossed on some dry spinifex grass then piled small twigs and the heavier pieces on the top.
“Bukala, bukala,” he urged. There was no response so
he repeated the order. “Bukala, bukala.” This time everyone heard him and the camp began to stir.
After breakfast of emu, damper and billy tea, Gunbu announced that they were leaving their homelands to settle in Jigalong. The visitors had convinced him that this was the right decision. No one was surprised, the women expected it somehow. Although they weren’t driven off their land by the white man, all the men agreed that it was the right thing to do under the circumstances.
“We will be safe there,” Gunbu assured his family. “Besides, my boy tells me that there are a few Banaka men and girls waiting to get married. Husbands for my daughters and a wife for my son,” he said with an air of satisfaction. He knew that when his family arrived at the depot they would be given gifts of food and tobacco by potential spouses.
The old man stood up clutching his spears, boomerangs and some smaller weapons that he pushed into his hair belt. The other men did the same, making sure that their secret and sacred paraphenalia was hidden out of sight of prying eyes. The women gathered their coolamons and what was left of the food, and a new and most important gift of a canvas water bag, still half filled with water.
“Bukala, bukala,” ordered the old man. “We gotta long way to go. We go now,” he told them as he faced south-east towards Lake Nabberu along the rabbit-proof fence.
The men took the lead, the women followed behind. The old man took two dogs with him and veered to the left over a small gully to some mulga trees. The women, accompanied by two skinny dogs, moved on. They met up again in the late afternoon and made a huge fire so that the smoke would guide them to the camp. Some fresh meat was cooked in the ashes and a small portion was eaten and the bones and other remains were given to the dogs. The rest was saved for the next day. Although large game was scarce they managed to catch a bush turkey, goannas and a few
galahs that rested in the river gums along the banks of the creeks.
When they reached the rabbit-proof fence they followed it to Savory Creek. The journey took several days, starting at sunrise, walking until midday, resting, then continuing until dusk when they would make a camp for the night.
“When we got to Jigalong,” said Ruppi “my big brother takes us to his camp on the river bank, close to the rabbit-proof fence.”
“After dinner my sister-in-law Minta take us to the store to get ’em midka and jawuja and jaarta and jina-jina for all the women.”
That night the new arrivals from the desert were introduced to “civilisation” as they ate the white man’s food and wore his hot, uncomfortable clothes. Several days later the women were seen around the camp wearing not one but two or three dresses of varying lengths, colours and patterns. No one thought to tell them to wear one at a time, they were merely instructed on how to wear a frock, and no one explained that when the dress became soiled they must take it off and put on a clean one.
“They tell us we gotta cover everything, the wudgebulla don’t like to see neked fullah,” said Ruppi. “We never like to put clothes on first time but we had to, we had no choice.”
These people who were used to walking around the desert without clothing could not understand why or what covering one’s nakedness had to do with the seeking and the acceptance of food and sanctuary. The Mardu also realised that the white strangers were not the only foreigners that they had to adjust to, there were also the large beasts that were thought at first to be marbus but they discovered that these animals were horses. The Aboriginal name given to them was yowada. As well as horses there were other strange imported animals such as cattle, sheep, foxes and rabbits.
The rabbits adapted to this hot arid land immediately and they thrived and multiplied at an alarming rate. In an attempt to control the rabbit population, the rabbit-proof fence was constructed and completed in 1907. In Western Australia the fence covered a distance of 1,834 kilometres and ran from the Southern Ocean near the port of Esperance in the south to the tropical Eighty Mile Beach north of Port Hedland. The government of the day proposed that a properly constructed and a well-maintained fence of barbed wire would halt the invasion of rabbits into Western Australia from the eastern states. But the theory was proved wrong—there were more rabbits on the Western Australian side of the fence than there were on the South Australian side.
At strategic points along the fence small depots were established. Fencing contractors were employed as inspectors to patrol the fence and repair sections that were damaged by flood, fire, emus and kangaroos. They rode on camels or horses in pairs up and down the fence and each pair of riders was responsible for patrolling 240 kilometres.
The rabbit-proof fence became an important landmark to everyone, including the Mardudjara people migrating from the desert regions. Once they reached the rabbit-proof fence they followed it to Jigalong.
Old man Gunbu and his family settled in well at Jigalong. Two of his daughters married Banaka men from the Mandildjara group while their youngest daughter married a Banaka man from the Gudidjara people. One of the women, Minden, had a lovely daughter whom the superintendent called Maude.
Five years after settling at Jigalong, Maude’s grandparents died. The old man Gunbu went to bed one night and never woke up again. His first wife Maupi, Maude’s grandmother, had a chest infection that was probably influenza,
from which she never recovered. Ruppi’s mother Duddi, Gunbu’s second wife, went to live with her son and daughter-in-law on Balfour Downs Station.
Maude grew up in a warm, loving environment and brought joy and laughter into the lives of many people. She was very small for her age but that didn’t stop her from playing with other relations in nearby camps. She proved to them that she could climb the huge river gums along the river as well as anyone.
During the Christmas holidays almost everyone left their usual camps and moved closer to where the “big meetings” were held.
5
Jigalong was established as a government depot in 1907. It was the base for the maintenance men who travelled up and down the rabbit-proof fence, clearing away branches of trees and tumbleweed that may have been blown against the fence or any dead animals that had been caught in the barbed wire. The Superintendent of the depot was also the Protector of Aborigines. At that time the staff at the depot consisted of two white men, the white women arrived later.
Food rations, clothing, tobacco and blankets were distributed amongst the Mardu people who came in from the desert. The depot began to arouse the curiosity and interest of the nomadic people in the area. Small numbers, mainly kinship groups, wandered in to see for themselves what this place had to offer them. The old people were growing tired of the hardships and the constant searching for food since the supply was now scarce. But more importantly, they wanted a refuge, a place where they could sleep safely at night without fear of attack by the white men. The young men were still suspicious and slightly apprehensive but dutifully accompanied their old people.
By the 1930s the numbers at the Jigalong depot had grown steadily as more people came in from the desert.
The elders decided that Jigalong would be their base camp for holding their sacred and secret ceremonies. Sacred objects were brought in from their hiding places in the desert and buried there, thus signifying a permanent “sitting down place”. As they came and settled, the people did not abandon their nomadic lifestyle entirely but adapted to one that was semi-nomadic. They remained where the food supply was plentiful and continuous and when they wanted to supplement this regular diet of government rations they went out hunting and gathering the traditional foods. This became a regular weekend event.
A big meeting held during the holidays at the end of the year was a time when all the cultural rituals and ceremonies of traditional significance were performed. The young boys entered the initiation camps and the young girls were formally given to their bilgurs, if they were durn-durns. Like all the other girls, Maude knew who her bilgur was as they had been betrothed when she was a baby. So every year when she attended these meetings with her parents, she was apprehensive and hoped that her time to leave them had not yet come. When the announcement was finally made she and her family were totally unprepared.
“I don’t want Maudie as my wife. I want her cousin sister,” her bilgur told the meeting. Maude hung her head, she didn’t want others to see the relief and pleasure on her face. Her family stood up and yelled abuse at him. She was sixteen at the time and she was glad that she wasn’t marrying old Gillbu, although he was a very kind and generous old man. Maude only pretended that she was humiliated by the rejection. She liked things as they were and wished they would never change. She was luckier than most of the girls of her age. When she was about twelve years old, Maude became the first Mardu girl to be trained as a domestic help for Mr Hawkins, the Superintendent at the depot. She was bright and very intelligent and quickly learned to speak the English language. The Superintendent often called on her
to act as a translator for newcomers arriving from surrounding areas. She proved to be a happy, reliable worker, and often accompanied her parents back to the claypan where they had made their camp.
Her father, Willabi, and two uncles worked with the gang from the rabbit-proof fence. There had been three different maintenance inspectors since they started; the new man was a good boss and they liked him very much. Sometimes he stayed at their camp to share a meal with Maude’s family. He enjoyed the kangaroo stews and dampers that her mother and aunts made. The workers also called in at various times for a hot meal when they were in the area.
One day her mother noticed that the light cotton shift Maude was wearing seemed to be too tight around the stomach. At first she thought it must be all the good tucker she had been eating, but as the days wore on she realised that her only child was expecting a baby. One evening when Willabi returned home from south of the claypan near Lake Nubbera, she mentioned her suspicions to him.
Who was the baby’s father they wanted to know. Since her rejection by her betrothed, Maude spent most of her time with them at the depot. Willabi decided to confront their daughter after breakfast before he went to work. They were both relieved to find that Maude had not broken any kinship laws by having a boyfriend from the wrong group. The child’s father was none other than the boss himself. His name was Thomas Craig, an Englishman who was employed as an inspector of the rabbit-proof fence for a few years. He was saving enough money to buy a farm in the Lake Grace in the Dumbleyung area.
The family remained at Bunda-Bunda, a claypan south of Jigalong, except for the occasional trips to the depot to pick up food rations and to gather the latest news and gossip. Summer came and went, the cold winds were blowing relentlessly across the salt lakes into the camp. Huge campfires were burning fiercely, the flames leaping in all
directions forcing her mother and her two aunts to search for a warm spot out of the range of flames. At first they all stood facing the fire, with their hands spread out in front of them like fans, then turned around to feel the fire’s warmth on their backs.
If only the bitterly cold desert winds would stop, sighed Maude. She wasn’t feeling well, it must be the emu she had for supper. She told her mother that she had a stomach ache but each time she went to the toilet nothing happened. Her mother and aunts watched her movements very closely.
“The baby, he come soon,” one of her aunts said very quietly. The others nodded in agreement.
“Come on girl,” urged her mother. “We go and make a camp in the river over there,” she said, pointing beyond the mulga trees. “Plenty of worru and soft bunna. Your baby be coming soon,” she added softly.
Maude was feeling worse, the terrible pains in her stomach were spreading around her lower back. Meekly and slowly she followed the three older women over the banks of the dry Savory Creek where a wuungku was hastily built. Soon a big fire was lit.
“You lie down on the blankets over there, not too close to the fire,” her mother told her.
“Now lay down,” said her oldest aunt, “on your back.” Between them the two aunts pulled her shift up over her swollen stomach and began massaging it, while her mother watched anxiously. They kept rubbing and touching her stomach and back for what seemed like hours. Then they watched as the uterus dilated to reveal the baby’s head.
“It’s a wandi, a muda-muda wandi,” the aunts told the young mother.
“See,” said her Aunt Gauldi, holding the babe so that the grandmother could see her. Then while her sisters began rubbing the warm, dry sand over the child to remove all the amniotic fluid from its body it was customary for the
grandmother to protect the baby from any evil spirits who may be lurking nearby.
She began shouting loudly, “Look at this baby, it’s the ugliest child I ever saw. She is too ugly to look at, and I know that she will grow up to be a naughty girl.” She hurled all sorts of insults about her grandchild to protect her from any possible harm brought by evil spirits who may have witnessed the birth. After the ritual was completed, she stood up.
“You go to sleep, everything’s alright now,” Aunt Gauldi assured Maude.
The women remained in the creek until the men returned from their work on the rabbit-proof fence. Maude’s father and uncles and the white worker were expected back at the camp in a couple of days’ time. The boss, the baby’s father, was due to return to Jigalong the following week. The baby remained nameless until he arrived, then he called her Molly after his sister.
When Molly was almost six weeks’ old Maude took her up to show Mr Keeling, the Superintendent. The child was wrapped in a piece of calico and was sound asleep in her mother’s arms. Mr Keeling said all the nice things about the babe and wished them good health and issued Maude with her own ration order, which included a few yards of unbleached calico to make clothes for the baby. He later recorded in his files that he had just seen the first half-caste child to be born amongst the Jigalong people.
Molly grew into a pretty little girl. Her mother was very proud of her and her father brought her gifts of clothing and pretty coloured ribbons. The other members of the family received parcels of brightly coloured material and tobacco. These gifts were shared amongst family members and the community, and were proudly displayed and shown-off to the people at the depot.
As she grew older, Molly often wished that she didn’t have light skin so that she didn’t have to play by herself. Most of
the time she would sit alone, playing in the red dusty flats or in the riverbed depending where her family had set up camp. The dust-covered child stood out amongst her darker playmates. The Mardu children insulted her and said hurtful things about her. Some told her that because she was neither Mardu or wudgebulla she was like a mongrel dog. She reacted in the only way she knew. She grabbed handfuls of sand or stones and threw them at her tormentors, and sometimes she chased them with a stick. After a while she became used to the insults, and although they still hurt she didn’t show it. One morning, when Molly was about four years old, her mother told her some exciting news. Two of her aunties had babies, little girls, and they were both muda-mudas like her.
The first question Molly asked was, “When are they coming to Jigalong?” She was very happy. Now she had two sisters.
First came Daisy, who was born at Mad Donkey Well, south-west of Jigalong towards Mundiwindi Station. She was followed by Gracie, who was born at Walgun Station northwest of the depot.
As they grew older, Gracie and Molly became inseperable and they supported each other when other children teased them. They also saw Daisy quite frequently when her family moved closer to work on Murra Munda Station.
Mr Keeling had been taking a great deal of interest in Molly and Gracie. One day while he was observing the children at play, he noticed that the attitude of the Mardu children towards the two girls was unfair. He wrote to the Department of Native Affairs in Perth advising them that the girls would be better off if they were removed from Jigalong. In his report he mentioned that the girls, “were not getting a fair chance as the blacks consider the H/Cs [half-castes] inferior to them...” (Department of Native Affairs file no.173/30.)
Thousands of miles south, politicians and other officials
were planning the destinies of children like Molly, Gracie and Daisy.
Official concern shifted from the decreasing numbers of traditional or full-blood Aborigines to the half-castes and part-Aboriginal children who were being born all over the country. The common belief at the time was that part-Aboriginal children were more intelligent than their darker relations and should be isolated and trained to be domestic servants and labourers. Policies were introduced by the government in an effort to improve the welfare and educational needs of these children. Molly, Gracie and Daisy were completely unaware that they were to be included in the schemes designed for children who were fathered by white men. Their mothers were accused of being promiscuous. A few critics were honest, however, when they said many white men satisfied their lustful desires with the native women until they were able to return to white society.
Eventually the Western Australian government decided to establish two institutions for Aboriginal children with white fathers: one at Carralup Settlement near Katanning in the south-west, and the Moore River Native Settlement, north of Perth and 13 kilometres west of Mogumber. Although the births of these children were not registered they were still noted by station owners in their journals so it was easy for the authorities to locate them. Also, movement between stations throughout the Pilbara was not quite as frequent then as it is today because the travel was mostly by foot. This helped the government officials to track down a family group.
Patrol officers travelled far and wide removing part-Aboriginal children from their families and transported them hundreds of kilometres down south. Every mother of a part-Aboriginal child was aware that their offspring could be taken away from them at any time and they were powerless to stop the abductors. That is why many women
preferred to give birth in the bush rather than in a hospital where they believed their babies would be taken from them soon after birth.
The years passed by and the seasons came and went. Except for a couple of years of severe drought when no rain was recorded in the district, nothing extraordinary happened—life and the cycle of nature proceeded. Molly, Gracie and Daisy had outgrown the insults and the teasings. Once the other children accepted their differences, their lives became quite normal. Nevertheless, the trio stood out from the main community at the depot.
No matter where the three girls went, there was always someone watching them very closely and recording their behaviour just as Mrs Chellow from Murra Munda Station did on 9 December 1930 when she wrote to the Commissioner of Native Affairs.
The girls were very fortunate to be part of a loving, caring family who tried to compensate for all the nasty insults and abuse by spoiling and indulging them at home. Their
grandfather even went as far as to take them on walkabouts in the bush where he ground black charcoal into fine powder and rubbed it into their bodies, covering them from their faces right down to their toes. This powder, he promised, would solve all their problems. It would darken their light skins and end all the teasings and tauntings, but most importantly, it would protect them and prevent them from being taken away from their families. The trio was joined by ever-increasing numbers of half-caste or part-Aboriginal children in the East Pilbara region. However, the birth rate there was insignificant compared to the rate in the south-west of the state.