Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence

by Pilkington, Doris

  4

  From the Deserts They Came

  By the 1900s, Western Australia was showing signs of progress and prosperity, especially in the mining and agricultural industries. The farming of sheep, cattle and wheat flourished, so the boundaries of white settlement were extended to meet the demands of the growing overseas markets. This expansion brought many changes—settlements inevitably became towns and soon all available arable land in the south-west and the coastal areas north of Perth was occupied by white settlers. The government introduced a policy allowing large areas of the country to be claimed by European farmers and grants of land were given to the pastoralists to raise sheep and cattle without any provision being made for the traditional owners, the Mardudjara people.

  The Mardudjara is comprised of several tribes that once lived on their traditional lands in the desert regions. Each group spoke their own dialect. Today, however, they speak a language which is a combination of the two main dialects: Gududjara and Mandildjara. All traditional people are referred to as Mardu, their language is Mardu wangka. The pastoralists and graziers of the Pilbara region were hospitable towards the Mardudjara people. The station owners and managers trained them to be stockmen and domestic help on their stations and they were soon regarded as excellent horsemen and cattlemen. The women proved to be loyal servants, housemaids and cooks, and during mustering time they displayed other skills such as horseriding and took their turn watching the cattle at night. They did not see this work as exploitation but as a form of kindness shown to them. However, just as in other regions in this vast continent during the pastoral expansion, good working relationships and respect came at a cost. There were incidents of violence and murder; some reported, others were not. But all Aboriginal people were affected by the growth of the rural industry, either by expulsion from traditional lands, sexual exploitation of the women or by the criminal acts of murder and violence committed against them.

  The only reported incident of confrontation between the Mardu people of the Western Desert and whites occurred when some white construction workers dug up a sacred site and removed sacred objects. This action led to hostility between the two groups. The Mardu men attacked and speared two of the labourers who had violated their sacred ground. The labourers were part of a large team of workers who were sinking wells along the stock route surveyed by A.W. Canning from 1906 to 1909.

  Anger spread through the base camp as the white men buried their dead. The remaining workers retaliated by sneaking up on a group of Mardus and shooting them while they slept in a dry creek bed. The unsuspecting Mardu were travelling through the area and had camped for the night, intending to move the next day. They had no idea that the creek they slept in would be their death bed. The incident occurred between Wells 33 and 62 along the Canning Stock Route sometime between 1906 and 1907.

  News of the shootings spread throughout the region. The elders realised that their weapons of wood and stone were no match for the white man’s guns. Their spears and boomerangs were effective only in a surprise attack at close range, otherwise their weapons were useless in direct conflict with a group of white avengers. From their secluded look-outs, the Mardu men watched the well sinkers as they worked at their daily tasks. One morning at dawn, they were pleased to see the construction workers rolling up their tents and other belongings and loading them on pack horses and camels. They had completed their section of the 1,610 kilometre chain of wells and were going home.

  This meant that the Mardus could move about more freely, however the establishment of the Canning Stock Route affected the subsequent migration south-west, to the Jigalong Depot. Each Mardu family group made their own path through the desert and settled at various locations in the East Pilbara and east to Wiluna and the eastern goldfields; anywhere the food supply was plentiful and continuous and, more importantly, where they would be sheltered and protected from the avenging white men.

  The paths criss-crossed throughout the red desert landscape—the traditional homeland of the Mardudjara people for over 40,000 years. Although they weren’t driven off their land, the Mardu chose to move for many reasons. Fear of reprisals against them and their kin was the main reason for their migration south, but the stories of a constant food supply and access to the white man’s tobacco were also attractive persuaders.

  The migration from the east side of Lake Disappointment occurred in small numbers, in groups of six to twelve people. Dora who was born near Lake Dora in the Great Sandy Desert remembers vividly when she, her mother, sister, and two brothers and seven other members of her family, made a long trail across the dusty desert in the north-east of the current site of the Jigalong Aboriginal community. On the way late one dry summer afternoon, the family were resting in the shade of the ghost gums in the dry creek bed. They hadn’t eaten meat for two days; the dogs had chased and caught a skinny doe kangaroo, but that was all gone. So the men were planning to go hunting around the rockhole a few kilometres south of their resting place.

  Suddenly one of the lads, a recent initiate, shouted excitedly and pointed to the south-east. “Look over there!”

  Everyone stood up and stared with curiosity at the huge, slow moving cloud of red dust.

  “What is that thing?” everyone wanted to know, the older ones were shielding their eyes from the glare of the sun.

  “It looks like a big mob of some kind,” said one of the old men. “Must be that ngubby that brother from Jigalong been talking about. Good mundu.”

  This was the first time the group had seen the white men droving cattle. They were curious indeed and wanted to get a closer look. The droving team rested and watered their herd at the same rockhole the group intended to visit. Only now it was no longer just a rockhole, it had become a government well that provided water for the drovers and their stock as they travelled south along the dusty trails to the rail heads at Wiluna and Meekatharra or north through the Kimberleys to the port of Wyndham.

  “Those white spirit devils got plenty of bullocky, we hungry fullahs, we take one,” said Dora’s father, Lubin.

  “I’ll go when it’s dark,” volunteered his younger brother Golda. He wanted to go alone to prove his skills as a hunter and a provider.

  “No. It’s too risky, we’d better come with you,” said Buggeda, his uncle. Everyone agreed that Golda was the right man for the task. So as soon as it was dark enough Golda, Buggeda and his older brother Juberji sneaked towards the herd of cattle. While his two uncles remained hidden behind some spindly mulga trees, Golda approached a reclining steer, one that seemed to be on its own apart from the main herd, and speared it through the stomach. Before he could remove the spear that was lodged deep within the flesh of the beast, he was shot dead by a drover; the night watchman who was about to have a drink of tea when he saw something moving in the flickering firelight.

  “What was that, Ted?” asked the members of the mustering team who came running towards him in their boots and underwear.

  “Just a blackfella. I caught him trying to steal one of the young steers,” he explained.

  “Alright, Jim and Mick you two take his body and put it over near that tree,” ordered Tom McIarty, the boss of the team. “There’s nothing we can do for the steer except put it out of its misery. Ted, you can do that.”

  “Alright boss,” he said as he placed the rifle barrel in the centre of the steer’s head and cocked it.

  “No,” yelled the boss. “Don’t use your rifle, too messy, use my pistol. Here,” he said as he passed him the weapon.

  “Harley, you’d better gut the steer now but skin it in the morning,” the boss told him. Harley James set to work then returned to his swag, blew out his hurricane lamp, and tried to put the sight of the dead Aboriginal man out of his mind. He shut his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

  Buggeda and Juberji had watched in horror and disbelief as they saw their nephew fall on the ground, the red blood flowing from his dark chest. The murder had been clearly lit by the glow of the drovers’ hu
rricane lamps. They waited until the early hours of the morning when they felt it was safe to go down and carry his body to the camp.

  The next day Golda’s family performed the traditional rites and buried the body near some small acacia bushes. When the grave was filled with dry red earth they covered it with large stones and rocks to prevent the dingoes from digging it up. The small clan decided to leave this place and follow other members of their family who had migrated earlier.

  When they returned to their camp, they saw that the droving team were moving slowly westwards, so the desert nomads walked quickly to the well and drank their fill, then replenished their wooden coolamons with water for the trip. A few metres away from the troughs one of the men found the remains of a slaughtered steer, the upper part—the head, neck and rib cage. They were pleased with their find. After a breakfast of grilled beef and water they walked as far as they could before the heat became unbearable. Three of the older women made a wuungku. They shared what was left from the beef and drank a little of the water, and rested until late afternoon then continued the trek. The old men decided that when they reached the Rudall River, or Buungul as it was traditionally called, they would travel east until they reached a station property.

  “Then we walk some more,” said Dora. “All the kids have yina booger, bark ones.” She promised to show those who had never seen yina booga how to make them and what kind of bark was used.

  This primitive footwear effectively protected the feet from the burning red sands of the desert. Normally the desert nomads roamed around without any sort of covering on their hardened soles but took care never to walk around during the fierce heat of the day. They usually walked from early morning to noon then would rest under a bough shelter or in the shade of a tree until it grew cool enough to continue their journey.

  After several hot summer days of travelling and having barely enough to eat, they arrived at a cool, shady riverbed. While the women set about clearing a camp site, the men sat further along the riverbed and began checking their weapons as they intended to go on another hunting trip at first light in the morning, sometimes known as piccaninny dawn.

  Jilba, one of the men, stood up to try out his new spear when he noticed a movement through the mulga trees over the other side of the gibber plains. He didn’t raise the alarm until he was sure what it was he was seeing. For a while he couldn’t make out what it was. The sun was sinking slowly in the western sky and all he could see was the strange thing heading straight for them.

  “Bukala, bukala,” he ordered everyone then he cried out again more urgently. The women and children didn’t waste time asking why, they got down on their hands and knees and crawled towards the large boulders on the other side of the river and hid. From the safety of the rocks, they sneaked a peek at the life-threatening object. They saw a strange being looming closer and closer; all shivered with fear, the children began to whimper and cling to their mothers.

  “It’s a big marbu with long kudda,” said Dora’s mother, Barphada. This was the first time that she had seen one this close. They became very frightened.

  As the “marbu” came nearer its kudda bounced up and down. The men aimed their spears ready to throw when it came into close range. Suddenly a man called out in Mardu wangka. He greeted them in a friendly manner and told them not to be frightened.

  “This is a horse,” he said as he rode towards them.

  All eyes were focussed on the stranger. This tall, young man was neither black nor white, they observed. He sounded harmless but they still weren’t sure; the women and children remained hidden behind the rocks.

  His mother was a Mardu, he explained, but his father was a white man, a wudgebulla named Harry Phillips. He was a muda-muda, a half-caste or part Aborigine, who worked as a stockman on Talawana, a station not far away.

  He guided the group to the station where they found some of their relations who had come in from the desert some time ago and decided to stay.

  This small band of desert dwellers was immediately introduced and instructed on the preparation of white man’s food. Their mayi or damper was larger and whiter than the ones made from seeds. The meat was either boiled, fried, salted or came out of tins. And they were given the most refreshing, and what was to become the most popular drink, billy tea, black or with powdered milk and liberally sweetened with white sugar. This was drunk not only by adults but was cooled and shared with the children. How they all marvelled at all the sights and sounds of a pastoral station. There was nothing in the desert to compare with this kind of food. The desert nomads did not use cooking utensils, they simply drank from the rockholes by scooping the water in their hands or sipping from wooden bowls. The only time their drink was varied was during the warm winter days when the flowers from the desert oak, a type of grevillea, were picked and soaked in coolamons of water to make a sweet drink like cordial or lolly water.

  While the new arrivals were enjoying their meal, others who had settled there earlier, rummaged through piles of clothes scattered around the camp for suitable clothing—white man’s cast-offs—to cover their naked bodies. They were told that, “the boss and the missus don’t like to see neked fullah at this place.”

  “We gotta cover up everything. All buchiman have to put ’em close on,” they informed the newcomers.

  They stood around in a circle, staring at the heap of clothing that the boss and the missus and others used to cover their bodies. The desert dwellers were baffled, they could not understand why anyone would be embarrassed or offended by their own nakedness: their normal, natural appearance. These people had roamed about in their own environment naked except for a pubic covering made from human hair. Their bodies were covered only with a salve, a mixture of red ochre and animal fat. This ointment is still believed to protect them from illness and evil spirits but its most common use is to disguise human body odour when hunting. Their bodies are also anointed during ceremonial occasions when their rituals are performed.

  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 th
e 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.