The Clay Dreaming

by Ed Hillyer

  The world couldn’t be explored, or its peoples understood, solely from the reading of books. She required expertise.

  Ten minutes after eight and Sarah Larkin crept into the theatre lobby. The Anthropological Society of London boasted a membership of eight thousand; there were 706 Fellows, 29 honorary Fellows, 42 corresponding members, and 104 local secretaries – and not a single woman to be counted among them. She had checked.

  ‘By Jove, Beaven…what do we have here?’

  Sarah hung back, fearful.

  ‘Cruel massa stole him wife, and lily piccaninny.’

  ‘Piccaninny Circus!’

  She overheard remarks from of a small group of gentlemen, stragglers from the main party already gone ahead. Resplendent in evening dress, they gathered around a gaudy wall-poster, an advertisement for the Christy Minstrels: the Hall, most nights, was the venue for a ‘Banjo and Bones’ Black and White Minstrel Show – ‘Very Popular’.

  The most porcine of the Fellows struck an unlikely pose. ‘So,’ he said, ‘we have the irrepressible Negro…black yourself up and play the banjo, Blake. I, the bones, Collingwood the tambourine!’ They launched into an improvised chorus of the Minstrels’ most famous song, ‘Beautiful Dreamer’ – very ragged, for all the polish of their appearance.

  One of them broke off to hold open a door. ‘Sambo,’ he mock-chided. ‘Come along, o’ we shall miss de main event!’

  ‘Don’ drag yo’ heels, lazy Bones!’

  Their noise receded into the bowels of the building.

  Sarah moved forward to take a look for herself at the image on the poster: white men in blackface – not unlike Brippoki, his features clogged with dried Thames clay, but reversed.

  ‘Sure,’ it read, ‘to Run and Run.’

  At any second a member of staff might approach, question her presence, and then all would be in vain. Sarah ducked into a stairwell at one extreme, making for the upper galleries. She ran into a Fellow on the intervening stairs, and froze. As the man passed her by she bobbed slightly, cannily keeping her eyes averted. Despite the lack of lace on her black bonnet, Sarah guessed she appeared more serving girl than lady, and for once felt glad of her dowdy dress. She entered the gods at the very top and crept down to the front.

  ‘…served the Society well, being the site of our A.G.M. two years ago…’

  The grand hall filled and the meeting convened, opening remarks were already under way.

  ‘In the five years since the Anthropological Society came into existence, we students of man, in wishing to combine all of our partial studies under the one name, have fought for that very right,’ said the main speaker. ‘The cry nowadays is no longer, “Anthropology is not a science!” The question of today is rather, “What does anthropology teach?” And this is but the latest and most gratifying sign of our progress. With the very greatest pleasure, may I present to you our first Society president, Dr James Hunt, “The Best Man in England”! Come to the stand, James.’

  Thunderous applause.

  ‘Thank you,’ said their president. ‘Th-thank you, too kind.’

  Sarah crouched low on the seating, near to the back of the deserted Upper Circle. It was hard for her to observe closely, but Dr Hunt appeared quite elderly, with a large moustache and a shaggy mane of grey hair.

  The assembly eventually quietened. Dr Hunt took a deep breath.

  ‘Anthropology,’ he said, ‘I make no apology, is a self-proclaimed science…’

  And in that vein he carried on, his articulation, at times, almost impenetrable. Sarah knew his name from the frequent listings in the newspapers for his many books, among them Impediments of Speech: On Stammering and Stuttering: its Nature and Treatment. Also The Irrationale of Speech: or, Hints to Stammerers, by a Minute Philosopher. ‘Write what you know’, so the saying went.

  ‘…Australia the puh-resent home and refuge,’ said Hunt, working hard, ‘of creatures crude and quaint…’

  His comments met with a ripple of indulgent laughter, and Sarah’s renewed interest.

  ‘…creatures,’ he persisted, ‘that have elsewhere p-p-puh, p-p-p-puh…given way, to higher forms.’

  Dr Hunt paused, and smiled in a fashion most unpleasant.

  ‘This applies equally to the Aboriginal,’ he said, ‘as to the p-platypus and the ka-ka-kangaroo. Just as the…former reveals a mammal in the making, so does the Aboriginal show us what early man must have been like.

  ‘There can be no doubt, that in the juxta-puh-sition of the…superior and inferior races, the latter will always become extinct if they attempt to compete with the civilised…the civilised man. Those who disdain the new nation of Australia may wish to think it denigrated, or else de-nigger-ated. But, when the Noble Savage knows his place, in subordination to the civilised, his extinction need not take place.’

  Sarah looked down from her seat amongst the gods, and was displeased.

  The first of the evening’s guest speakers was called to the podium: Charles Staniland Wake, a noted ethnologist. He looked to be a relatively young man.

  ‘All human societies begin in the state of nature,’ he began, ‘but most of them have progressed since then.’ His opening gambit met with loud laughter and generous applause. ‘The state of nature,’ he continued, ‘is one in which humans have not yet appropriated land as property. Ancient Greek and Roman historians agree it was the invention of agriculture that gave rise to property rights in land. All societies progress through distinct stages of civilisation. Adam Smith enumerates four: Hunting, Pasturage, Farming, and Commerce.’

  Sarah frowned. Hadn’t Sir John Lubbock nominated five?

  ‘Each stage,’ said Wake, ‘corresponds to its political and economic institutions, including that of property. Hunters knew no property. Pastoralists needed, and thus developed, property in their livestock. Farmers developed property in their land. And a Commercial people such as we ourselves have invented the most complex property arrangements of all to suit our needs.

  ‘Furthermore, every race has its stages: race and civilisation but different phases of the same great question. As some of you well know, I call this “the Psychological Unity of Mankind”.

  ‘I will typify the five races of man in reverse order,’ he said, airily, ‘as a bone thrown to any Degenerationists present.’

  Five now.

  ‘Last,’ said Wake, ‘the position of maturity, or rational state, which typifies the European. At the period of early manhood, or empirical level, stands the Oriental. The third stage, of youth, or emotional behaviour, characterises the Negro. Next, the period of boyhood, or wilful level, typified by the American Indian. And finally, at the level of the child, or selfish stage, the Australian Aborigine, one of the most legendary and backward races in our wide-ranging experience.’

  Provoked, Sarah edged forward in her seat.

  ‘The natives of Australia show approximately the condition in which man generally must have existed in the primeval ages. According to Dr Seemann, who is with us tonight…’ Wake nodded into the audience at a certain point ‘…Australian Aborigines are the oldest as well as the lowest race of man. Australia, as with New Zealand, could be construed a unique haven for less evolved forms. Dr Hunt has already specified some best-known examples of the marsupial genera, their existence now confined to New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land. So it is that in the Australian seas we find the Cestracion, a cartilaginous fish which has a bony palate, allied to those called Acrodus and Strophodus, so common in the Oolitic and Lias, predating the Cretaceous.’

  Murmurs and nodding all around; everyone seemed to approve this properly scientific dialect of hoots and screeches.

  ‘Australia,’ said Wake, ‘must therefore be described as the oldest of the great continents, and the least altered…a country in its dotage, which from time immemorial has retained its character unchanged. Thus, “New” Holland may be likened to an old man, tottering towards the grave.

  ‘Look to the desert-like interior, the great n
umber of its salt lakes, the rivers terminating in swamps…it is almost dead already. All is hopeless stagnation. Corals surround the whole, such calcified growths forming where the ground is gradually sinking. The leaves are dull, the flowers do not smell, and the fruits, without any exception, are tasteless and insipid. The whole of this vegetation and the animals depending on it must disappear before the country becomes a fit abode for the white man. Environmental conditions such as these,’ said Wake, ‘are unfavourable to mental and physical development, and have caused the inferiority of the lower races, the remote and highly pigmented inhabitants of Africa, Asia, America, and Australasia. Progress is only possible for these peoples with the aid of the more advanced European.

  ‘In conclusion, Australia has done playing its part, and must now prepare for vast changes.’

  Applause. C. S. Wake stood down. The chairman was upstanding.

  ‘Thank you, Charles,’ he said. ‘The floor is now opened for your responses… The Chair recognises Dr Hunt.’

  The old gentleman stood and turned, but did not take to the stage. ‘I met with a cricketer at the Athenaeum Ball,’ he said, his mouth forming that exact shape, ‘a man I took to be one such advanced European. He captains the Blacks cuh-currently touring our great nation.’

  Lawrence.

  ‘I attempted to pay him a compliment, on the good behaviour of his charges. I will not burden you with d-d-duh…de-d-…’ Hunt hung his head in frustration a moment, before continuing ‘…the nature of his reply, except to say I f-f-fear…he has been rather too much in their company.’

  Dr Hunt could try reciting the liturgy, thought Sarah, a temporary cure reputed to work for the Queen’s chaplain, Charles Kingsley. Or there was one of Bate’s Patent Appliances: they too advertised in The Illustrated London News.

  ‘The Chair recognises Lord Brockbank.’

  ‘The Australian Cricketers insist on demonstrations of their “Aboriginal Sports”, the chief of which…beating each other about the head with “waddies”, and boomerang experiments…have been modified to suit European mildness of taste.’

  ‘Waddy, you say?’ another man interjected.

  ‘It is a primitive sort of club,’ said Brockbank. ‘The native is so fond of his waddy that even in civilised life he cannot be induced to part with it. Indeed, never seems happy without one in his hands.’

  ‘The Chair recognises Mr Wood.’

  ‘The waddy,’ added Wood, ‘is the Australian panacea for domestic strife. Should one of his wives presume to have an opinion of her own, or otherwise offend her dusky lord, a blow on the head settles the dispute at once by leaving her senseless on the ground.’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused another gentleman. ‘Where can I get one?’

  ‘I too saw them in action at the Oval, recently…’

  The Chair straightened his spine. ‘Mr Bouverie-Pusey,’ he announced.

  ‘Thank you,’ replied the new voice. ‘…At the Oval much fuss was made over their boomeranging, an elegant refinement on the art of stick-throwing. I was so impressed, I went home early.’

  ‘Underestimate the boomerang at your own risk. In the right hands it can be a deadly-accurate weapon!’

  ‘Mr Wood,’ said the Chair.

  ‘It is,’ Wood elaborated, ‘a very versatile invention. They also use it for skinning, for digging, and as a musical instrument.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said Bouverie-Pusey. ‘I now wish I had stayed.’

  ‘I desire to make some remarks on the subject of native mortality.’

  ‘The Chair recognises… Who are you, sir?’

  ‘Mr Murray, of Sydney, Australia.’

  A loud murmur arose. Sarah craned her neck, trying for a better view of a fellow buried somewhere deep in the audience.

  ‘Members only knowing about the rate of mortality in European countries,’ said Murray, ‘will be startled on learning how frequently deaths occur amongst us. In an unhealthy season, sickness, such as influenza, assumes a much more serious and deadly character among the natives. The customary number of deaths is very greatly increased…’

  Another voice filled the chamber. ‘Everyone who knows even a little about aboriginal races is aware: those of a low type, mentally, are at the same time weak in their constitution.’

  The Chair identified the speaker as a Dr Lawson.

  ‘When their country comes to be occupied by a different race much more vigorous, robust, and pushing than themselves,’ he said, ‘they rapidly die out.’

  ‘That,’ retorted Murray, ‘is my point. The rapid disappearance of aboriginal tribes before the advance of civilisation is one of the remarkable incidents of the present age – ’

  ‘They are too weak, as I say, to withstand any disease,’ said Dr Lawson. He returned to his own point. ‘Once sickly, there is little or no hope of recovery. Constantly exposed to the weather, the roofless Aborigines are extremely susceptible to “colds”. Before a southerly wind they crouch under every cover they can find… The influx of Europeans has enabled them to procure articles of clothing or blankets the value of which, at such times, they thoroughly appreciate. But the first warm day sees all these benefits thrown aside. Not infrequently, fever and other diseases are actually produced through the careless use of damp coverlets. Their deaths arise through the improper use of clothes.’

  Another Fellow stood, ready to speak.

  ‘Compared with Europeans,’ continued the doctor, ‘the ordinary native is slight in frame and feeble in constitution, easily brought low by sickness, and pining away often from unaccountable causes, principally pulmonary complaints, aggravated by their own thoughtlessness and roving mode of life.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Lawson…you have finished?’ checked the Chair. ‘Thank you for your enlightening contribution. Mr Bouverie-Pusey?’

  ‘Have not these races lived their appointed time?’

  ‘Have a heart!’ someone cried out, the voice sounding somewhat familiar: Sarah tried, but could not identify who had spoken.

  ‘A heart, sir?’ Bouverie-Pusey took up the challenge. ‘Unless it be a bullock’s, and well cooked, to have a heart is a mistake! We are men of science, not Romance.’

  ‘Then perhaps it is time you heard from a man of religion.’ An elderly gent lurched to his feet, steadying himself on the back of the seat in front. ‘I am not so sure myself,’ he croaked, ‘what message Mr Murray was attempting to impart, but let me say this. Sprung from the Mother Country, modern Australia is Protestant by law. Directives from London continue to insist on religious instruction as essential, in deterrence of immorality and to the preservation of order. But around Perth, where I myself have ministered, our Sundays are far from high and holy.’

  ‘What do you mean by this?’ demanded the Chair, as if rankled by an interloper. ‘Are you talking about the Blacks, or the Whites?’

  ‘The settlers, sir,’ came the reply, ‘their schooling in life so harsh, they know of no kindness. Their days are given over to drinking, gambling, and hunting for sport. And I regret to report, not all of the shooting is confined to kangaroos…’

  Sarah gasped.

  ‘The Aboriginal character is not without blemishes, to be sure, nor above dishonesty when it suits them, but there can be no denying they have been set the very worst of examples. Even a blind eye might see that.’

  ‘The Chair recognises Mr Reddie.’

  ‘I agree with the kind gentleman. Yet how might we benefit the Australian Aborigine, given what success we have had with the morals of our own refuse population?’

  ‘Mr Reade?’

  ‘The specimens of Africans which have been received in America are pretty much the same as if the inhabitants of Whitechapel had been sent out to any country as specimens of Englishmen.’

  Clambering to the stage, Hunt strode forward to address them all. ‘However poor the stock,’ he roared, ‘I will not stand for this comparison. If there is one truth most clearly defined in anthropological science, it is the existence of well-mark
ed psychological and moral, moral distinctions…in the d-different races of man.’ Hunt grasped the lectern and drew himself up higher. He swept the room bodily, like a searchlight. ‘Utopian ideals,’ his words rang out, ‘universal equality, fraternity, and b-brotherhood…’ he blasted ‘…are chimeras! They have no place!’

  If this was the Best Man in England, Sarah felt she might prefer the Worst.

  A small voice from the back broke the stunned silence. ‘If the Aborigines are inferior to all other races of mankind…if this truly is the case, all other races of mankind must be more highly endowed than I, for one, ever thought they were.’

  Dr Hunt leant forward, his elbows jutting like pincers. ‘Mr Murray is a very profound thinker.’

  A howling chorus arose from Hunt’s running dogs. In the face of unbeatable odds, Mr Murray sat down. The matter appeared almost settled.

  Another voice, thin and wheedling, piped up. ‘The native is redeemed by his contact with the White man, not corrupted,’ it said. ‘I wish to make that clear.’

  ‘The Chair recognises Wood.’

  ‘But does Wood recognise the chair?’

  Laughter.

  ‘It is a question for our times!’

  ‘Gentlemen! Mr Wood?’

  ‘In proposing the following example, I leave it for the individual member to decide, but mark it for the attention of the reverend gentleman in particular,’ he condescended. ‘A goodly number of natives are now enrolled among the police, and render invaluable service to their community, especially against the depredations of their fellow Blacks, whom they persecute with a relentless vigour that seems rather surprising to those who do not know the singular antipathy which invariably exists between wild and tamed animals…

  ‘The Australian native policeman,’ Wood concluded, ‘is to the colonists what the “Totty” of Southern Africa is to the Boer and Englander, what the Ghoorka or Sikh of India is to the English army, and what the tamed elephant of Ceylon or India is to the hunter.’

  Sarah could feel her heart, hardening.

  ‘I wish to add to this point, as it returns us to another.’