Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence - Doris Pilkington (5 page)

In July 1930, the rainy season was exceptionally good. For the Mardu people throughout the Western Desert this was the season for taking long walks in the bush, foraging for bush tucker and feasting on the day’s catch. Every Mardu welcomes the glorious warm weather, when the azure skies are even bluer against the grey-green mulga trees and the red dusty earth; grass grows under the small shrubs and between the sandy patches around the rocky ledges and even the spinifex is fresh and green. Alas, like everything that is revived and resurrected by the winter rains their beauty and brilliance is shortlived. They seem to fade and die so quickly.

Molly and Gracie spent a lovely weekend with their families digging for kulgu yams and collecting bunches of yellow flowers from the desert oaks, which they brought home to share with those who stayed behind to take care of the old people and the dogs. They soaked bunches of flowers in a bucket of water to make a sweet, refreshing drink. The other bush foods, such as the girdi girdi, murrandus and bush turkeys, were shared amongst the community. After supper the weary girls curled up in their swags and in no time at all, they were fast asleep.

Early next morning, Molly’s step-father Galli rose at dawn and lit the fire. He made a billy of tea and sat under the shade of a large river gum, drinking a mug of warm tea. He glanced over to the sleeping forms of his two wives, and called out, “Come on, get up.” The women began to stir. Galli then cut a piece of plug tobacco and crushed it in his hand, mixed the pure white ashes of the leaves of the mulga tree into it then put it into his mouth and began to chew the gulja, spitting the juice occasionally. In the old days, the people would collect and chew the leaves of wild or bush tobacco that grew on the cliffs or on rock ledges.

The Mardus preferred the white man’s tobacco, plug tobacco, because it was easily available and also it was stronger and lasted longer. They chewed it and spat out the juice, the same way that other races chewed betel leaves.

Maude was Galli’s second wife. She and his other wife both belonged to the same group under the kinship system. Both were Garimaras, the spouse category for Galli. Between them they prepared breakfast for the whole family, which included three big dampers cooked in the hot ashes of the fire and the girdi girdi leftover from the hunting trip in the bush. They all agreed that it had been a successful and enjoyable day.

Molly and Daisy finished their breakfast and decided to take all their dirty clothes and wash them in the soak further down the river. They returned to the camp looking clean and refreshed and joined the rest of the family in the shade for lunch of tinned corned beef, damper and tea. The family had just finished eating when all the camp dogs began barking, making a terrible din.

“Shut up,” yelled their owners, throwing stones at them. The dogs whinged and skulked away.

Then all eyes turned to the cause of the commotion. A tall, rugged white man stood on the bank above them. He could easily have been mistaken for a pastoralist or a grazier with his tanned complexion except that he was wearing
khaki clothing. Fear and anxiety swept over them when they realised that the fateful day they had been dreading had come at last. They always knew that it would only be a matter of time before the government would track them down. When Constable Riggs, Protector of Aborigines, finally spoke his voice was full of authority and purpose. They knew without a doubt that he was the one who took their children in broad daylight—not like the evil spirits who came into their camps in the night.

“I’ve come to take Molly, Gracie and Daisy, the three half-caste girls, with me to go to school at the Moore River Native Settlement,” he informed the family.

The old man nodded to show that he understood what Riggs was saying. The rest of the family just hung their heads refusing to face the man who was taking their daughters away from them. Silent tears welled in their eyes and trickled down their cheeks.

“Come on, you girls,” he ordered. “Don’t worry about taking anything. We’ll pick up what you need later.”

When the two girls stood up, he noticed that the third girl was missing. “Where’s the other one, Daisy?” he asked anxiously.

“She’s with her mummy and daddy at Murra Munda Station,” the old man informed him.

“She’s not at Murra Munda or at Jimbalbar goldfields. I called into those places before I came here,” said the Constable. “Hurry up then, I want to get started. We’ve got a long way to go yet. You girls can ride this horse back to the depot,” he said, handing the reins over to Molly. Riggs was annoyed that he had to go miles out of his way to find these girls.

Molly and Gracie sat silently on the horse, tears streaming down their cheeks as Constable Riggs turned the big bay stallion and led the way back to the depot. A high pitched wail broke out. The cries of agonised mothers and the women, and the deep sobs of grandfathers, uncles and
cousins filled the air. Molly and Gracie looked back just once before they disappeared through the river gums. Behind them, those remaining in the camp found strong sharp objects and gashed themselves and inflicted wounds to their heads and bodies as an expression of their sorrow.

The two frightened and miserable girls began to cry, silently at first, then uncontrollably; their grief made worse by the lamentations of their loved ones and the visions of them sitting on the ground in their camp letting their tears mix with the red blood that flowed from the cuts on their heads. This reaction to their children’s abduction showed that the family were now in mourning. They were grieving for their abducted children and their relief would come only when the tears ceased to fall, and that will be a long time yet.

At the depot, Molly and Gracie slid down from the horse and followed Constable Riggs to the car.

Mr Hungerford, the Superintendent, stopped them and spoke to Riggs.

“While you are here, there’s a native woman with a fractured thigh, in the other natives’ camp, the one on the banks of the river. Can you take a look at her, Constable?”

“Yes, I’ll examine her,” replied the Constable.

“I’ll come with you,” said Hungerford. “We’ll borrow that native boy Tommy’s horse and sulky,” he added. “I’ll fix him up with some rations later as payment.”

After Riggs had splinted the woman’s leg, he told Hungerford that he would have to take her back with him to the Marble Bar Hospital. “Lift her gently onto the sulky,” he asked her two brothers who were standing watch nearby.

As Hungerford seated himself beside Constable Riggs he said, “And by the way, the other woman, Nellie arrived from Watchtower Station while you were collecting Molly and Gracie. You know the one suffering from VD. She needs to go to the hospital too.”

“Alright,” Riggs replied. “But I still intend to speak to
Frank Matthews, the station manager about her and remind him that he has no right to examine or treat any of the natives here. That should be left to us. We are the Protectors of Aborigines in this district.”

Constable Rigg was referring to the Protection Policy Regulation, number 106m:

The crippled woman, Mimi-Ali, was transferred from the sulky to the car with Molly and Gracie.

“Tommy,” yelled Constable Riggs. “Take your horse and sulky to Walgun Station and wait for me there,” he ordered.

“Molly and Gracie, you had better sit in front with me, and you Nellie, can sit in the back with Mimi-Ali,” said Riggs as he cranked the car.

Half an hour later he was greeted by Matthews. “You have a load this time, Constable Riggs,” he said as the officer got out of the car.

“Yes, I know. It can’t be helped. I’ve got the two sick native women. Which reminds me, there is something I must speak to you about.”

The Constable explained the duties of the Protectors of Aborigines in the Nullagine district and cautioned Matthews that he should not take on those responsibilities himself.

“I’d better get moving,” said Constable Riggs. “I have to search around for Daisy. I’ll call in next time I’m on patrol in the district.”

The patrol officer drew up in front of the Walgun
Homestead gate and was greeted by Mr and Mrs Cartwright, managers of the station.

“Hello,” said Don Cartwright as he shook hands with the visitor.

“Come inside and have a cuppa tea,” said his wife warmly, pointing towards the door.

“Thank you, but not just yet. I must find the half-caste girl, Daisy,” he said. “She’s somewhere between here and Murra Munda Station, near the soak. I already have the other two, Molly and Gracie in the car with Mimi-Ali from Jigalong and Nellie, the cook from Watchtower Station who are in need of medical attention.”

“But where are you taking those half-caste girls?” asked Mrs Cartwright.

“They’re going south to the Moore River Native Settlement, where we hope they will grow up with a better outlook on life than back at their camp,” he answered with great satisfaction.

“I’ll leave the car here but first I’ll drop the women off at the native workers’ camp. I’ll take Molly and Gracie with me, though,” he said. “I don’t want them to clear out.”

Constable Riggs drove slowly down to the camp, followed closely by Tommy with his horse and sulky. Soon, he and Tommy were heading across the flats, over the spinifex grass and through the mulga trees in search of Daisy, who was with her family at the camp. Finding her had proved more difficult than the Constable expected. He had searched the Jimbalbar and Murra Munda area on horseback covering 60 kilometres, and a further 30 kilometres in the dry, rough country between Murra Munda and Walgun stations before he finally found her. The search was so tiring that he decided to spend the night at Walgun Station. His passengers stayed at the camp with Gracie’s mother Lilly, her grandmother, Frinda, and some other relatives.

At 3.30 in the morning, on 16 July, the Constable noticed that rain was threatening. The roads were bad enough as it
was, but when wet they were even more hazardous so he decided to make a start.

“I don’t want to be marooned on the road with these natives,” Constable Riggs explained to the Cartwrights.

“We understand,” said Mrs Cartwright, “we’ll see you when you’re in the district. Have a safe trip home.”

“Thank you. I’d better get going,” he said. “The women must have finished their breakfast by now, so I’ll go down and pick them up. Thanks again for your hospitality.”

Grace’s mother, old Granny Frinda and other relations in the camp began to wail and cry.

“Worrah, Worrah! He take ’em way, my grannies [granddaughters], wailed the old lady, as she bent down with great difficulty and picked up a billy can and brought it down heavily on her head. She and the rest of the women began to wail louder, their hearts now burdened with sadness of the girls’ departure and the uncertainty of ever seeing them again. The girls were also weeping. The wailing grew louder as the vehicle that was taking them away headed towards the gate. Each girl felt the pain of being torn from their mothers’ and grandmothers’ arms.”

As the car disappeared down the road, old Granny Frinda lay crumpled on the red dirt calling for her granddaughters and cursing the people responsible for their abduction. In their grief the women asked why their children should be taken from them. Their anguished cries echoed across the flats, carried by the wind. But no one listened to them, no one heard them.

A couple of hours after the three girls had been driven away, Gracie’s mother, distraught and angry, was still sitting on the ground rocking back and forth. Maude and her brother-in-law had ridden over in a horse and cart to discuss the distressing news and stayed to comfort and support each other. Some time later, she calmed down enough to hurl a mouth full of abuse at Alf Fields, Gracie’s white father, who was standing silently near the galvanised iron
tank. She screamed at him in Aboriginal English and Mardu wangku, and beat his chest with her small fists.

“Why didn’t you stop them?” she cried out in anger and frustration.

“I couldn’t stop them taking my daughter—yes, she is my daughter too,” he said sadly. He was so proud of his beautiful black-haired daughter whom he had named after his idol, English singer Gracie Fields.

He tried to explain to her mother that the patrol officer was a government representative and an officer of the Crown. Had he interfered or tried to stop the man he would have been arrested and put in gaol and charged with obstructing the course of justice. Gracie’s mother didn’t listen.

“You are a white man too, they will listen to you. Go and talk to them,” she pleaded softly.

“I am sorry but I can’t do anything to stop them taking our daughter away from us,” he said finally.

She couldn’t accept his excuse or forgive him for just standing by and doing nothing to prevent their daughter from being taken away from them. She packed up and moved to Wiluna.

6

The three girls were not used to rising before dawn so they settled down in the car and fell asleep. When they opened their eyes they realised that they had slept longer than they expected. They had passed through Ethel Creek and Roy Hill stations and were on the main road to Nullagine, which was an unsealed dirt track, full of pot holes and fine red bull dust that seemed to fill the car.

They were so exhausted they couldn’t cry anymore and they spoke only in whispers and sign language.

Except for a curt, “You girls awright back there!” the policeman didn’t speak to them or tell the girls where he was taking them. All they knew was that they were going to the settlement to go to school. The rain clouds were gathering and by the time they reached the bend where large grey boulders loomed above on either side of the road, the sky was black with rain clouds. Riggs glanced up at the dark clouds, while his passengers in the back sat silently watching the landscape change as they passed through it. They paid no attention to the beautiful scenery or the long shadows of the tall river gums. Their interest was aroused only when they saw animals such as kangaroos, emus, horses and
camels. Otherwise, they sat quite still until one nudged the other to look at something as they passed by.

In his role as a Protector of Aborigines, Constable Riggs had been on the move for over a week and would have completed the round trip when he arrived at Marble Bar. Except for a brief pause at stations along the way they spent most of the day driving. At 2 o’clock they arrived at Marble Bar hospital where Riggs admitted the sick women, then he handed Molly, Gracie and Daisy to Constable Melrose for removal south.

Constable Riggs returned to Nullagine at 5pm the same day. With great relief and satisfaction he notified the Chief Protector of Aborigines in Perth by telegram. “All halfcastes and sick natives transported Bar train tomorrow report earliest. Riggs Const.” 21 July 1931.

It was late afternoon when the party reached Marble Bar. When they arrived, Constable Melrose handed Molly, Gracie and Daisy over to his wife as he had to visit the local Aboriginal camp to attend to a young girl who was sick and had to be taken into the Marble Bar hospital.

“Feed them an early supper and I’ll lock them up in the empty cells,” Melrose told his wife. “I want a good night’s sleep tonight.”

And so while Mimi-Ali and Nellie were resting at the Marble Bar hospital, Molly, Gracie and Daisy spent the next few days at the Marble Bar police station under the supervision of Constable Melrose. Nellie remained in hospital when the others later boarded the train under the escort of Constable Pollett to Port Hedland. Travelling by train was much better than by car but Molly, Gracie and Daisy were growing weary. The girls knew that they had left behind the rugged landscape of the East Pilbara when they sighted the blue-green ocean. They were fascinated by the beauty of the sea, but had no idea what they were doing there until they drove down to the wharf and were handed over to the captain of the State Shipping Service vessel the
Koolinda.
It was berthed at the harbour waiting for high tide. After Constable Pollett handed over the documents to the captain, he turned towards the nervous young girls and told them that the captain would be taking them all the way to Fremantle.

Captain Freeman called to a member of the crew, Gwen Campbell, the stewardess. “Here’s another four for you. There’s Molly, Daisy, Gracie and the woman with the fractured femur is Mimi-Ali. Take them down to their cabins,” he said.

Campbell asked the girls to follow her to the lower deck while another crew member carried Mimi-Ali in a stretcher. So, on the 26 July 1931, Molly, Daisy, Gracie and Mimi-Ali sailed south to the Port of Fremantle. A telegram was sent to Chief Protector of Aborigines in Perth. “Half-caste girls Daisy Mollie and Gracie and crippled gin Ballerallie [Mimi-Ali] from Marble Bar forwarded
Koolinda
last night care stewardess stop please arrange meet and have stretcher for Ballerallie. Pollett Constable.” 27 July 1931.

As the vessel chugged slowly out into the deep, blue waters of the open sea, the three girls anxiously clutched their bunks, overcome with fear. They let themselves roll from side to side until they got used to the grinding and murmuring of the ship’s engines. Then they stretched out on their bunks and went to sleep.

The next morning after breakfast, Gwen Campbell coaxed them out on deck. “Come and see all the big fish,” she said, as she beckoned them to her. “We may be able to throw a line over this afternoon and catch some for supper.”

They stood near the railing and watched as the mulloway, schnapper, kingfish and many other types of fish darted this way and that in the ocean below them.

As the days wore on Gwen Campbell tried gently to gain their trust but they remained shy and frightened. George Johnson, a crew member, told them of the exciting and fascinating places he had visited. He spoke of the pyramids of Egypt and how these unusual burial places were built by slaves.

“Slave people?” they wanted to ask him. “Are they like us or the same as you?” But they were too timid.

George told them about the many races of people in the world. The girls liked to listen to his tales about the
countries that he had visited and also about the places that he would like to see. Sometimes he and Gwen encouraged the three youngsters to go for a stroll on deck in the evening, while it was pleasant and warm. They were good sailors, George told them. During their evening walks he taught them the English names for the stars. On calm nights he would tell them to look to the night skies.

“Look over there. That’s the Southern Cross,” he would say. “If you are ever lost in the bush, let it be your guide. If it’s a clear night, look for it. Remember, the Southern Cross is found in the south-west of the dark sky.

“And there’s the Big Dipper, see up there,” he said, pointing to the thousands of twinkling stars. The girls saw it but said nothing. They just nodded silently.

“Now, it’s off to bed you go. In a couple of day’s time we’ll berth at Fremantle,” Gwen told them, as she escorted them back to their cabins. “Good night,” she said and she closed the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The girls didn’t see George the next morning, he was on early shift. Raymond Baxter was escorting them instead. “Gwen is busy with other passengers. She’ll come down later,” he explained.

Raymond was a lanky sailor with red hair and freckles all over his face. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he laughed and yakked with the others. He wasn’t as old as his friend George but they liked him as well. They were all leaning against the rail around the deck when Raymond shouted excitedly, “Look over there. Porpoises.” Porpoises, thought the girls from the Western Desert, what are they? As if reading their minds the red haired sailor explained, “They are the smallest species of dolphins. You see them in all the oceans of the world.”

The girls watched with great interest as the six graceful mammals sailed into the air and nose dived smoothly into the turquoise ocean.

The porpoises lept up in pairs as if the movements were
choreographed by some unknown being. The girls stood mesmerised while the ship rose and fell as the huge waves swelled and heaved beneath them and they watched until the beautiful creatures were out of sight.

“It looks like we’re in for wet weather,” said Raymond, breaking the magic spell. “The clouds seem to be building up in the west.” Just as he finished there was a roll of thunder followed by a flash of lightning.

“Yes, we’re in for a wet night. You’d better go back into your cabin. Come on then,” he said.

They settled back in their cosy, warm cabin, and “read” comics that the sailor had given them. Although none of the girls could read, they looked at the pretty illustrations and tried to guess what the pictures were saying. The sea was getting very rough and they were beginning to feel frightened and worried. What if this ship tipped over with too much water! They might get drowned. But the stewardess Gwen, supported by Raymond, reassured them that the
Koolinda
was a big, safe ship and certainly would not sink.

“You all go to sleep now. It will be better in the morning. The worst part of the storm will be over,” Gwen told them.

The three girls and Mimi-Ali, all from the rugged Pilbara region, had a most pleasant experience sailing down the coast of Western Australia. The weather was sunny and warm from Port Hedland to Geraldton but the further south they sailed the colder and wetter it became. The winds were strong and cold, and the rain made it impossible to stroll on the decks of the ship. Even the beautiful blue-green ocean was changing as they neared the outer reefs of Fremantle Harbour. It turned a dark green colour and the dull grey sky seemed to be reflected on the rough, choppy sea. But as they drew closer to the harbour there was a break in the weather, patches of blue appeared between the grey clouds.

After breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and sweet, hot tea, George Johnson led the way up to the wet deck for the last time.

“We’re nearly there. See over there,” he said, pointing to the coast. “That’s Fremantle.”

The small sailor leant on the rail, puffing his pipe. As the ship sailed closer to the shore he removed the pipe to explain what was to happen next. “Here’s the tug boat, the tug master will come on board and take us into port.”

They watched with interest and curiosity as the tug drew alongside the
Koolinda
to allow the tug master to transfer from his small boat to sail the ship through the reefs to the safe shipping lane.

“That man knows these waters like the back of his hands, and he’ll guide us through the channel to dock safely in the harbour,” said George.

“Ah, there are the wheat silos and do you see the other building north of it, the one with the big dingo on the tower?” he asked. “Well, that’s where all the flour is made. That’s where they grind the wheat that is stored in the silos. They send bags of flour all over the place.”

As the red dingo became more visible, Molly, Daisy and Gracie felt an acute pang of homesickness. How many ration bags had their mothers, grandmothers and aunts used with that red dingo—midgi-midgi dgundu—on them? Scores and scores when you think of all the dampers they cooked. When the bags were empty the women made them into bags for carrying food and other items or filled them with old rags and used them as pillows. Bloomers and shifts were also cut out of the flour bags. Yes, they had grown up with the red dingo. Tears welled in their eyes as they remembered their families.

Gwen Campbell’s soft voice brought them back to reality. “Come on girls, get your belongings and I’ll take you all ashore with me. Eh, by the way, you will need these,” she said, as she handed them gaberdine raincoats, which she
advised them to put on right away, and a comb and a mirror each. These they put in their calico bags.

After five days of sailing down the coast of Western Australia, they arrived at the Port of Fremantle.

Ten minutes later the girls were following the friendly stewardess without any hesitation down the gangplank and were very relieved when their feet touched the strong timber wharf. They were totally unprepared for the sights and sounds that greeted them. The atmosphere and activity of the busiest seaport in the state was overwhelming and frightening. They huddled closer to the stewardess, seeking her protection. Men were rushing about and yelling; some were watching the cargo being lowered down onto the wharf by huge winches. There were hundreds of bales of wool and crates of dairy produce waiting to be loaded onto ships for export overseas. The girls had never seen so many white men in the one place before. They were very pleased when Gwen Campbell finally said to them, “Here’s someone now, see over there.”

Matron Campbell (no relation to the stewardess) from the East Perth Girls Home—now the Jack Davis Hostel—waited quietly near the ambulance for the officers to bring Mimi-Ali down the gangplank and for the stewardess to hand over the three girls from Jigalong. Gwen Campbell greeted the Matron cordially. “There are four of them this time,” she told her. The ship’s crew had done this quite often during the past twelve months.