Jessica

by Bryce Courtenay

  ‘Mr Carter, thank you for coming. I shall keep you only as long as I have to. Can you tell the judge what happened to your daughter Millie?’ ‘She was took by the authorities.’

  ‘Under what circumstances, Mr Carter?’

  ‘In the schoolroom of Mrs Cross, sir. They just came and took Millie and said she had to come with them. Then the police sergeant at Grong Grong come around and said we had to sign a paper, that they’d took Millie and we had to sign for her. He said it was the law and to read the paper. I told him I didn’t learn no reading, Gladys, me wife, neither. He said, “Never you mind, just sign.” So I signed me name, I learned that in the shearin’ shed.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened next?’

  ‘Nothing, we didn’t hear no bloody thing, not where they took her — bugger-all. And then Mary Simpson come to see us, she said she’d seen Millie in Cootamundra, that she was in the same place as her two girls. We was happy just knowing they haven’t took her too far and that one day her mother and me, we might see her again.’

  ‘Is the woman, Mary Simpson, present in this court, Mr Carter?’

  ‘Yeah, that her over there,’ Carter says, pointing directly at Mary.

  Moishe hands Richard Runche a photograph and Runche continues. ‘Mr Carter, I have here a photograph taken of the pupils at the Grong Grong Infants and Primary School. Will you please identify your daughter Millie among the children.’ The lanky barrister hands the photograph over to Carter, who immediately points out his daughter. ‘Ain’t too hard, she’s the blackest one,’ he says, grinning sadly.

  Runche hands the photograph back to Moishe. ‘Can you tell us when next you heard of Millie?’ he asks Carter. ‘Mary, Mrs Simpson, she come over to tell us Millie’s dead.’ ‘Dead?’

  ‘Yes, she said that she was flogged and left tied up to a post all night and in the mornin’ she was found dead.’

  Banjo Carter can’t go on and he sniffs back his tears. ‘Millie were a good little girlie,’ he chokes.

  ‘Mr Carter, I shan’t keep you much longer, but it is important that you tell the court what happened next.’ Banjo Carter sniffs and straightens up. ‘Mary, Mrs Simpson, she brought a lawyer,’ Banjo points to Moishe, ‘him. He come and seen Gladys and me and says we got to go to the police and make a statement of a suspicion of murder. We done that like he said and the sergeant says he’ll look into it, they’ll get onto the Coota police right off. I said to him, “Sergeant, you remember me daughter Millie, the one you took from the school?” He shakes his head. “Banjo, I’ve took that many black kids you can’t expect me to remember them all. I just drives them to the train and hands them over, mate.” , ‘Can you tell me what happened next, please, Mr Carter?’

  ‘Yeah well, three months ago the sergeant calls me and Gladys and says he’s got a report from the police at Coota. “Banjo, they’ve left no stone unturned, mate,” he says. “They done a big investigation and there’s even a letter from the Aborigine Board.” “What’s it say?” I ask. “Yiz’ll have to read it to us.’” Banjo Carter, now grown more accustomed to his surroundings, is relaxed and, like many people who have to rely on their memories, it is obvious he has a good head for detail. ‘Well, it was a long report orright, full of stuff they done and who they seen and lots of inquiries into, and sworn affy davies.’

  ‘Affy davies?’ the judge asks.

  ‘Affidavits, Your Honour,’ Runche explains. ‘Please will you continue, Mr Carter.’

  ‘Yeah well, in the end it don’t amount to much. The police report said that there was no record of a Millie Carter being in the Coota Girls’ Home. Then he reads the letter from the Aborigines’ Protection Board and it says the same. “There you go, Banjo,” the sergeant says. “Your daughter’s gorn walkabout, she must have escaped from the train.” “Sergeant,” I says, “she were seven years old!” , Tears now run down the Aboriginal stockman’s dark cheeks.

  ‘Your Honour, this is the letter received by Mr Carter from the Board. With your permission, I would like to read it.’

  ‘Permission granted,’ the judge says.

  ‘I shall submit it as evidence so I will skip the formal appendages. The main text of the letter is brief and to the point.

  ‘Dear Sgt McClymont,

  ‘I am charged with the task of informing you that we have no records which show that Millie, the daughter of Banjo and Gladys Carter, ever came under the jurisdiction of this Board.

  ‘Furthermore, we have examined the register of the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls and they similarly have no records of any trainee by the name of Millie Carter having entered the home, nor is there any member of the staff who can identify the girl in the photograph submitted to us by the’ Cootamundra police.

  ‘I am writing to you out of a sense of the obligation to all Aboriginal children by the Board and ask you to convey our sincerest hopes for the recovery of the Carter girl.

  ‘However, I regret we cannot help you further in this matter.

  ‘Yours faithfully,

  ‘Nathaniel Rose

  ‘Registrar. ‘

  Francis Codlington rises from his chair. His impatience is, obvious as he brushes his hand through his mop of white hair. ‘Your Honour, I am hard put to know where all this is leading. Perhaps my learned colleague will come to the point? With the greatest respect, what does Mr Carter’s missing child have to do with this case?’

  ‘If you will give me just a little longer I think it might become clear, Your Honour,’ Richard Runche says. Then he turns to Banjo Carter. ‘Mr Carter, will you tell us what happened next? Let me remind you, you were with the police sergeant. Where was this, Grong Grong?’

  ‘Yessir, at the police station. The sergeant says, “There you go, Banjo, no point in making trouble, mate. Your little daughter’s gorn and nobody’s to blame. The case is closed, the police have closed their investigation.” He gives me back me photograph,’ Banjo points to the letter Richard Runche still holds, ‘and I ask him for that letter from the Abo Board, he give me that too.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Carter.’ Richard Runche turns to the judge. ‘Your Honour, I submit this letter for the court’s perusal and I would like to call to the witness box Mr Joshua Phillips.’

  Joshua Phillips is almost the direct opposite in appearance to Banjo Carter, though both are small. He is a man in his mid-thirties with a weasel-like face and a pink scalp covered with thin wisps of straw-coloured hair lying flat against his skin. His eyes are red-rimmed and of a distinctly watery blue and his face has a strangely scorched appearance, as though he works in a blast furnace. His eyes dart about the courtroom to see if there is anyone he recognises and he pulls nervously at the lobe of his right ear every few seconds. He finally sees Moishe Goldberg and smiles nervously.

  Joshua Phillips takes the oath with great solemnity and has to be reminded to return the Bible to the clerk of the court.

  ‘Mr Phillips, what is your occupation?’ Runche asks.

  ‘I work in a bakery, sir.’

  ‘And prior to your present position what did you do?’

  ‘I was odd-job man at the Girls’ Home in Cootamundra, sir.’

  ‘The Girls’ Home?’

  ‘For the Aboriginal girls,’ Phillips replies, tugging on the lobe of his ear.

  ‘Ah, the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls?’

  ‘Yes sir, that was the one.’

  ‘Mr Phillips, did you, while you were at the home, ever come across a young girl of about seven or eight years of age named Millie Carter?’

  ‘I can’t rightly say, sir, they all looked the same to me. They wasn’t allowed to speak to us, nor us to them,’ he explains.

  ‘Think carefully, Mr Phillips, a very dark little girl, she could easily have been mistaken for a full-blood.’ Phillips shakes his head. ‘I can’t say, sir.’ ‘Well the
n, let me ask you another question. On the morning of the fifth of June, shortly before five o’clock, were you called to the courtyard of the Girls’ Home where there had been some sort of an accident?’

  Joshua Phillips’s eyes grow suddenly bigger. ‘It weren’t no accident, she was tied up to the bell-post.’ ‘Who was?’

  ‘This little black girl.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘Well, the matron said I was to cut her down.’

  ‘Was there anyone else present?’

  ‘Yes, sir, the schoolteacher, Mrs Roberts.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘Well I untied the ropes round her ankles and wrists that was tied to the post and I, you know, tried to pump her chest like.’ Joshua Phillips looks at the judge and then back at Runche. ‘I were a stretcher-bearer in the war, sir.’

  ‘And to what effect, Mr Phillips?’

  ‘I beg pardon, sir?’

  ‘Did your efforts to revive the young girl help?’

  ‘No, sir, she was well dead.’

  ‘Objection, Your Honour!’ Codlington shouts. His face is puce with rage and he shakes his finger at Richard Runche KC. ‘I must ask why you didn’t report all this to the police. It is against the law not to do so!’ he shouts at the alarmed Phillips.

  Judge Blackall brings down his gavel. ‘The counsel for the defence will please sit down. You may crossexamine this witness at a later time if you wish.’

  ‘Your Honour, in the interests of the truth, I would be happy for Mr Phillips to answer my learned. colleague’s question,’ Runche says.

  ‘Very well, you may answer, Mr Phillips,’ the judge says wearily.

  ‘Well, sir, they didn’t ask me. I were dismissed three weeks later from the Girls’ Home by the matron, she said it were on instruction from the Board in Sydney. There wasn’t no police come to see me at the bakery.’ ‘Thank you, Mr Phillips. Now let us continue,’ Runche says. ‘When you. were trying to revive this young girl would you not have been in a good position to study her face?’

  ‘I’ll never forget it as long as I live,’ Phillips replies sombrely.

  ‘Ah, then maybe you can help us, Mr Phillips. I have here a photograph of a group of schoolchildren. Perhaps you can identify the young girl in it.’ Moishe hands the photograph to Runche who, in turn, hands it to Joshua Phillips.

  Phillips studies the photograph. ‘I can’t rightly say, sir,’ he says, giving an involuntary tug to his earlobe. ‘Mr Phillips, can you read?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I can manage well enough with the newspaper and all.’

  Runche turns to Moishe. ‘Do you have half a crown, Mr Goldberg?’

  Moishe digs into the pocket of his trousers and produces a half-crown piece. Richard Runche KC hands it to Joshua Phillips. ‘Mr Phillips, can you read the inscription around the rim on this coin?’

  Joshua Phillips squints, holding the coin close. ‘Me eyes, they ain’t what they used to be — it was the war, sir.’

  Moishe, who as usual has thought of everything, hands Richard Runche a large magnifying glass. The barrister passes it to Joshua Phillips. ‘Try it now.’

  Joshua Phillips holds the magnifying glass to the silver coin. ‘George V Rex. 1916 Australia,’ he announces. ‘Good, now look at the photograph through the magnifying glass, Mr Phillips.’

  ‘The dark girl, she’s the one! She had this one tooth missing and that mark on her face, the side of her nose, like a burn. That’s her, orright.’ ‘Are you certain, Mr Phillips?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon, that’s the closest I ever got to a blackfella.’ He takes another look through the magnifying glass. ‘Yeah, that’s her, no risk.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Phillips, you may step down, Richard Runche says, ‘unless my learned colleague wishes to cross-examine the witness?’

  The judge turns to Francis Codlington. ‘Do you wish to cross-examine the witness?’ he asks. ‘No, Your Honour, not at this time.’

  ‘Very well, the senior counsel for the plaintiff will proceed,’ Blackall says. Richard Runche has been expecting the judge to pull him up and ask where his questions are leading. But now he senses that Blackall has a keen interest in the evidence unfolding and is giving him a little rope, although whether it’s to hang himself or to prove his point, Runche is not yet sure.

  ‘Your Honour, I wish to call Mrs Margaret Roberts to the stand.’

  Francis Codlington comes to his feet. ‘Your Honour, I must insist that my learned colleague comes to the point. What have the two witnesses he has summoned to the stand — and the one he is about to put under oath — got to do with Mrs Simpson’s capacity as a mother, and my client’s rights to remove her children from her care?’

  The judge looks down Micawber-like at the big barrister. ‘I suspect the counsel for the defence is about to find out.’ He turns to Richard Runche. ‘The counsel for the plaintiff will make clear to the court what he hopes to prove in relation to the question just asked by counsel for the defence. I must say, I am myself somewhat mystified — I appear to be trying an entirely different case, involving a young girl named Millie Carter.’

  ‘Your Honour, I crave your indulgence. What I hope to prove is that the Aborigines’ Protection Board is not responsible and cannot be trusted to protect my client’s children and that they are therefore far better off under the protection and care of their mother. My next witness will, I hope, further amplify the fact that the Board cannot be trusted with the young lives under its jurisdiction and that it is prepared to act in a duplicitous and conspiratorial way to conceal its incompetence.’

  Francis Codlington has become almost apoplectic in his appearance and he is barely able to find the voice to say, ‘Your Honour, we wish to ask for an adjournment so that we may study the evidence presented by the counsel for the plaintiff.’

  ‘Adjournment? What sort of an adjournment? I am prepared to give you one hour to be added to your luncheon recess.’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour. We have come to this court to argue a point of law and now we are confronted with a line of inquiry which we believe to be inappropriate. Our fervent request is for the case to be reconvened at a later date.’

  ‘Inappropriate or inconvenient? This is the first case of this nature to come to the courts. I hope it won’t be the last. No, I am not prepared to postpone this hearing. As I understand it, there have been several months of delay caused by your deliberate efforts to prevent it coming before the bench. I see nothing in this case which requires further preparation on your part. You will have ample opportunity to cross-examine the witnesses. ‘

  ‘Your Honour, I should like to consult with my instructing lawyer.’

  ‘Very well, I shall adjourn this court for lunch. We shall reconvene at two o’clock.’

  ‘What does it all mean?’ Jessica asks Moishe and Runche. She is holding onto Mary’s hand and they are seated on a park bench munching corned beef sandwiches and drinking lemonade. Richard Runche looks longingly at the pub across the street. He hasn’t had a drink for almost two years now, yet what he refers to as the ‘clarion call of claret’ still sounds cleanly and clearly in his ears.

  Moishe grins, nodding towards Runche. ‘The old man has caught them flat-footed. They had thought to argue the case on a point of law, to stonewall it.’ ‘Stonewall?’ Mary asks.

  ‘Whatever we say, whatever we prove, they would point to the law of the land. Keep to the one point, that the law allows them to remove mixed-blood children from their families for their own good without necessarily having to prove anything, that’s stonewalling,’ Moishe says.

  ‘And now?’ Jessica asks.

  ‘Well, we’re going on an issue of incompetence — an inability, if you like, to carry out the law. If the law allows that it may take mixed-blood children from their parents the assumption must be that it is for the ultimate good of the children.
That the children are better off than they might be if left with their own parents.

  We have set out to prove that this is not the case, and the suspected murder of Millie Carter and the implication that the police inquiry was plainly aborted has, well .. .’ Moishe tries to think of a suitable word, ‘set the cat among the pigeons.’

  ‘But can we do that? I mean, with Millie Carter? You heard what Mr Codlington said — what’s it got to do with Mary’s kids?’

  Runche grins. ‘Get away with it? I don’t know, my dear. It depends very much on the judge. It is clear that there is a case for a miscarriage of justice with regard to Millie Carter, but whether it can be married to our case remains to be seen. We are still in a most tenuous situation. Fraught, most fraught.’

  The court is reconvened and the judge turns to Richard Runche KC. ‘The counsel for Mrs Mary Simpson will explain more clearly why he believes the plaintiff’s children are placed in a situation which is likely to endanger their lives. He must do so to my satisfaction or I shall discontinue this line of questioning, which I should point out remains only just within the parameters of this case.’

  Knowing himself to be on a warning, Runche decides to take a slightly different tack and not to pursue the Millie Carter murder any further by calling Mrs Roberts to the witness stand. He begins slowly.

  ‘Your Honour, how strong yet fragile is the human condition. We can take starvation and hardship and all manner of physical pain and we may still recover, but if it is done to our heads and our hearts, that cannot be repaired. If we are loved we can endure. If we are hated we will soon perish in spirit. It is when we are young that the love will nourish and the hate will most effectively destroy.

  ‘Man’s greatest wickedness is the abuse and malevolent manipulation of the young, innocent mind. The child, in particular the orphan or institutionalised child, has no means at its disposal to resist, nor does it possess sufficient maturity to question the authority or to discover the truth for itself. Children are in no position to argue, they have no one of equal status to contradict the authority of the voices railed against them, and they are subject to arbitrary punishment if they show the slightest resistance to the lies and half-truths inculcated in their tender young minds. These children are the true victims of our white supremacist society. Millie Carter is believed to have shouted out, “Me mother’s a blackfella and she loves me!” And for this, for this cry in the wilderness, this child crying out in pain, she was lashed to a bell-post and flogged and left all night to be found dead in the morning. For God’s sake!