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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780702250385 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | University of Queensland Press |
| Publication date: | 11/01/2003 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 150 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Is That You Ruthie?
By Ruth Hegarty
University of Queensland Press
Copyright © 1999 Ruth HegartyAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-7022-5038-5
CHAPTER 1
"Just a little while" — the move to Barambah
My story really begins way back in 1930. That was the year my family moved to Barambah Aboriginal Settlement. I was just six months old at the time, a very fair-haired, fair-skinned child. Not even old enough to know what was happening. I left the west with my mother Ruby, her brothers and sisters, and her parents, George and Lizzie Duncan. My mother was the eldest of eight children. She was nineteen at the time and remembers quite vividly everything that led to her family's decision to leave the west, a hard decision but a very necessary one for the immediate survival of the family. So the first part of this story is Ruby's as well as mine.
My family came from the Mitchell district in southwest Queensland. My grandfather worked on properties in the western area and was not afraid of hard work. Whatever was needed to be done, he did it. He was a horse breaker, fencer, dogger and slaughterman. He was born at St George to a traditional Aboriginal mother and a Chinese father. He was a Bunberry man and his totem was the brown snake (munda). My grandmother was a proud Gunggari woman, whose totem was the possum. She spoke her Murri language. Her family was very traditional. I was the apple of my grandmother's eye, she called me Munya (first grandchild). It was said that her brother Willie was a Guindian man, a "clever man". I remember meeting him when I was about ten years old. Aboriginal people spoke of him with great respect. Many of the older people went to him for healing. They'd send him a piece of clothing to touch, it was believed that the piece of cloth would heal the owner when they got it back. He visited me at the dormitory one day when I was ten years old, and because of the terrifying stories I had heard of clever men I was glad he was my relation. In the dormitory we children told each other stories about clever men and bone pointing, and a strange potion called "mussing" that old men would use to try and catch us to be their wives. I was encouraged to call Willie "grandfather" because he was my grandmother's brother. He looked so much like my grandmother, his skin was black and shiny. One of his legs was shorter than the other and he walked with a very pronounced limp that threw him from one side to the other. He used his hand pressed on the good leg to balance himself.
In my childish and inquisitive way I asked my Grandfather Willie if being a clever man wasn't evil. He replied, "What I do isn't evil, all I do is heal people." I was very proud of him, he sounded like a real doctor. That was my first and last meeting with Grandfather Willie.
My mother and her brothers and sister were all bush-birthed children. Mum was born on the trail, George near the bridge over the Maranoa River at Mitchell. Eric, Douglas, Glen, Arthur, Jean, and Leslie were born at the yumba on Forest Vale Station. My Aunt Jean was one year older than me, and Uncle Leslie a year younger. I was born in a back room at Mitchell Base Hospital, the first Murri baby to be born in that hospital. Before 1929 it was not easy for Aboriginal women who were about to give birth to go to the local hospital, because of the unequal treatment they would receive there. So most of them gave birth at the yumba with the help of older women.
Forest Vale was a large cattle property owned by the Lutteridges and many Aboriginal people camped on the station in a section called the yumba. There was a strong bond between my mum and grandmother. The whole family lived a very traditional lifestyle and spoke only the Gunggari language in their camp.
In 1930 Australia was well into the Depression and station owners were cutting back on employment. Generally, Aboriginal people were the first to lose their jobs. They were hard times, and heartbreak could be seen everywhere. People, Aboriginal and white, were beginning to feel the depths of poverty caused by the Great Depression. Aboriginal families whose livelihood depended on work provided by sheep and cattle stations were now having to make hard decisions. Many moved to the outskirts of Mitchell or other towns and made their homes at the yumbas there. My grandfather was finding it difficult to support his family. His family was his life, and he felt it was up to him to decide what was best for them. The type of work he was used to was no longer available, and there was little work of any kind around at the time. So he decided to go to the local police sergeant (who was also the local Protector of Aboriginals) for advice, or to see if work was available in other areas. The family waited, hoping that Grandfather would come back with some encouraging news — news that would lift the cloud that cast a shadow of uncertainty over us.
The boys were a bit young to be overly concerned but Mum had some troubling thoughts going through her mind. She was nineteen and I was six months old. Living with her parents was a temporary arrangement. Frank, my father, had taken a job droving cattle, and was not expected to return home for some months. So Mum was hoping for some good news and that the family would not have to move anywhere, at least until Frank came back because they planned to marry on his return. But the news Grandfather came back with was to change all our lives. For Ruby, there would be no going back, no marriage to Frank.
Years later a family friend told Mum that Frank had returned to the yumba not long after we left. But because most of the yumba people thought that we were coming back, Frank may have decided to wait for our return. But even if he had followed us to Barambah, the officials there may not have let him see us.
When Grandfather came back from seeing the policeman he told us, "The Sergeant suggested a move to Barambah may be a good idea. He said we'd be looked after. The government people will help us out. We could camp there until the hard times are over, just a few months, just a little while."
My grandfather had no idea that when he made the decision to go it would mean a loss of everything that was dear to him and his family. Had he an eye to the future, some foresight into what his decision would bring about, I'm sure his actions would have been a lot different. It was a very painful and difficult decision that Grandfather was forced to make as it would mean moving his family to a strange place, away from the support and love of the extended family at the yumba.
Mum decided to go with her parents. She told me she decided to go because it was only supposed to be for "just a little while". She had a six-month-old baby and choosing between going or staying on the Mitchell yumba without the support of her family was made easier by the words "just a little while". She had heard about Barambah and knew it would be a long journey. Other families who had gone there had not come back but Mum hoped that it would be different for our family — her entire future depended on it.
My grandfather had to give up his most valued possessions — things he had bought over the years. Things that enabled him to acquire constant work to maintain his family. He sold his horses, tackle and camp gear. Mum said she witnessed a very sad man who wept privately for those treasured belongings. She saw the tears stream from his eyes as Granny turned her back to give him some privacy.
After a few weeks it was time to leave the yumba. It was an emotional farewell with the yumba people. The old men sat around a special smoking fire with Grandfather to say goodbye. The old women wept and hit themselves in their grief. There was a real gnuncha feeling amongst the old people, as though they knew that they would never see us again. Our family was leaving behind everything that was dear to us — ties to land, our extended families and everything cultural. But there was some comfort in the fact that others from the Gunggari tribe had gone before us so not everyone would be a stranger when we arrived at Barambah.
The police sergeant helped the family with travel arrangements. All our personal possessions and food for the journey were carefully packed and finally we were on our way. The family travelled by train from Mitchell to Brisbane and then to Murgon. Mum remembers it was a long and tiresome journey, everyone was most relieved when the train journey was finally over. But there was more travelling to be done before we reached Barambah. This was the Aboriginal Settlement which became known as Cherbourg Aboriginal Settlement in 1932. We knew it as "the Mission".
A truck met the family at Murgon railway station and transported us all to Barambah. My mother remembers arriving at the Settlement. I asked her how she felt. She replied, "It was different. There were so many people about, and the buildings, they were so big compared to the yumba." As the family waited for the Superintendent to see them, word of our arrival must have gotten out very fast. A few familiar faces came to welcome us to the Mission, Gunggari people who had previously been removed from their homeland. My grandparents welcomed the sight of them all.
Mum remembers one elderly lady as she tells the story. "I recall," Mum said, "an old lady and her son came down to the office to greet us. She was crying in the language, with her fists she was hitting her chest and head. My father moved towards her and after they embraced, he stepped back to introduce us all to her. I felt at the time that we were meeting someone very special. 'This,' he told us, 'is Granny Lisa Kirk.' Every child was introduced by name. My father said, 'This woman is very special. She saved my life when I was a young man. It was at the time the Balonne River at St George was in flood. Foolishly I tried to cross the river and almost drowned. Granny Lisa was seven months pregnant and with no one else around, she dived in and saved me. I owe her my life.' Granny Lisa then introduced her son, Hughie, as the one she was carrying at that time. He was now a grown man and married."
Meeting Granny Lisa seemed almost like a good omen. But it took only a few moments for Mum and her parents to realise that this was not so and our lives would be torn apart. Grandfather was used to making all the decisions for his family and had he known what was about to happen to us all, he may have chosen other means to try to support us. In about an hour the freedom of my family, the freedom they enjoyed to travel, work, to be together, was taken away.
The Boss (the Superintendent of the Settlement) stood before us. His name was Mr Semple. He was Scottish, very severe-looking, and spoke with great authority. He informed Grandfather that, because of the shortage of housing, it would be impossible for us all to remain together as a family. This pattern of separation dogged us for nearly all of our lives. Mr Semple ordered my grandparents to go to the camp with the smaller children (Jean and Leslie). The boys were sent to the boys dormitory as there was no room for them in the camp. Mum was told she and I would go to the girls dormitory.
The camp was a part of the Settlement where families lived in their own make-shift huts. Newcomers had to build their own yumbas out of whatever materials they could find. Few families at the time had any decent accommodation.
Mum remembers how frightened she was. She was ordered to take me to the hospital for a medical check-up, just in case we had any illnesses. A native policeman escorted us up. "I looked back," Mum remembers, "I felt all alone. I saw my parents going in the other direction, I had no idea where they were being taken. The boys could do nothing as they watched from behind the dormitory fence. My heart ached. I thought we were like an old rag that had been torn in three parts. It was never to be put back together again. I felt for my parents, they had come of their own free will to be assisted, but they were now being treated like people who had no rights." Mum agreed that at the moment her parents were powerless, they were unable to resist the order. The man who confronted them, the one who gave the orders, was, after all, the Boss. He was the powerful whiteman. He was obviously unmoved by what he was doing. As Mother said, like a rag our family was torn into pieces.
That day was the 6th March 1930. It's recorded in the Register of Removals which was kept by the Chief Protector. My story as a dormitory girl began that day. "Just a little while" turned into a life-sentence for our family. As for me, it meant I would remain in the dormitory until I married in 1951 at the age of twenty-two.
How ironic it was that on that first day, the day of our visit to the hospital, my future husband and I would share the same cot. This story, which is so precious, was told to me by my mother-in-law, May Hegarty, many years later.
In times past it was our custom that older women would discuss the suitability of a marriage, to make sure there were no blood relationships or any tribal customs which would stand in the way of the union. When Joe and I decided to marry, I wanted to know if ours was a good choice. As my Mum-in-law looked at me, I noticed a twinkle in her eye and she said, "I was in the maternity ward in the hospital after giving birth to Joe-Joe, he was just a few days old, when your mother arrived with you. You were asleep. She placed you on one of the spare hospital beds — they were very high. When she went to see the doctor you were left alone and, as you awoke, you rolled over and fell off the bed. You made such a racket, I asked the nurse to put you into my baby's cot — he was already asleep — so you wouldn't fall off the bed again. You remained there until your mother was finished with the doctor." She said this was a sure sign our marriage was meant to be.
While I found out years later that Joe's parents would have preferred us not to marry because I was a single mother, I was glad that this did not prevent them from loving us. My children were warmly welcomed into their home as part of the family. May Hegarty was a wonderful friendly and loving woman. From the moment I set foot inside her house, there was a feeling of mutual respect between us. She quickly became my other mother and my confidante. I loved her very much.
However for the next twenty years, before Joe and I married, I was to experience many emotions, heartbreaks and joy as a dormitory girl. I was among the very few children who began life in the dormitory as a small baby. Some of us were orphans, others were from single parents, and still others the unfortunate victims of family breakup. We were all shapes and sizes, different shades of colour — some darker skinned, some lighter. Our family backgrounds and circumstances were very different. But in spite of these very different beginnings we became a close-knit family whose bonding gave such strength and support that made bearable what could have been a very miserable and lonely existence in the dormitory.
CHAPTER 2In the dormitory
My mother's introduction to dormitory life was rather daunting. It was a strange life compared to what she had been used to. Most of her life was lived out in the bush, sleeping under the stars, with a camp fire always burning and the sounds of the night — birds, animals, hobbled horses, dogs — to lull her to sleep. Plus there was the sharing of beds with brothers and sisters for company and comfort. Here, in the dormitory, she was very much on her own; she was the new girl. Mum says the other girls were very friendly. In spite of their friendliness, she vowed in her heart not to get too comfortable as she had no intention of spending the rest of her life in this place. Her greatest comfort was her father's words — "just a little while". This gave her some hope of a future she could share with Frank and me, and possibly more children.
The dormitory was a two-storeyed place. It was larger than anything she had ever lived in. There was a high fence around the building with rows of barbed wire on top. She said it gave her the impression of going into prison. She soon learned that the escort service, by native police, was the main feature of the Settlement's discipline, particularly when any single female from the dormitory went anywhere outside of the fence. We were given a single bed to share in a ward with other mums and babies. All personal belongings were carefully tucked out of sight under the beds. Mum thought it was amazing that such a big building had so very little furniture in it. Our personal belongings had to be carefully guarded as there were no lockers or cupboards.
The top floor of the dormitory was where everyone slept and it was divided into two separate sections each with its own staircases. One section housed single women and mothers with babies. On the other side were two wards, one each for the little girls and the big girls. We were placed in the mums and babies section, as the small single-storey babies home nearby was overcrowded. While most of the children on the Mission were placed in the dormitories, others lived with their parents in the camp.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Is That You Ruthie? by Ruth Hegarty. Copyright © 1999 Ruth Hegarty. Excerpted by permission of University of Queensland Press.
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Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page,List of illustrations,
Acknowledgments,
Introduction,
1: "Just a little while" — the move to Barambah,
2: In the dormitory,
3: The little girls dorm — school and separation,
4: Into the big girls dorm,
5: Domestic service,
6: Leaving the dormitory,
Copyright,