by Julie Janson
‘Holy Christ, what is that?’ She reached for her camera, but the dingo had evaporated and the storm passed with no rain.
Jane prepared for the long awaited inspection but the Department man had not arrived; the waiting drove her crazy. What if he arrived by plane and found her lost in the bush or half-naked sunbaking by the billabong, as she often did? Or up a tree escaping green ants? What if he wrote a negative report? What if Edie and Hubert didn’t think her up to the job? What if he heard that she had lied about being married? Yes, she would tell the inspector that her husband had died, suddenly, of a rare disease. Or he was killed on the last plane out of Vietnam. He was an army hero. A dead one. She worried all week. No, she was going to be fine, she had an honours degree in Drama, she was an excellent teacher, and she had distinctions in the psychology of education. She was very, very competent and many a smart private school would love to employ her – why she could most probably get a position at Frensham with nice white girls to teach.
The inspector didn’t come; Jane gave up posting a child look out at the school window. She stopped writing lesson plans; she did a lot of drama and art in class. They had fun. She forgot about him – he wouldn’t come in this terrible weather.
‘You carry that torch at night and look out.’ One old lady bent close to Jane and whispered. Shirley translated. ‘She say, devil-devil proper bad one, can sing someone, take away their spirit.’
The bigger girls whispered about the Nella Mugga-Mugga.
‘The little hairy people who angry and hungry; they live in stone country’, said Lizzy.
‘They takem you away for sure, they stealem young girls’, said Mayda.
‘There might be giant dogs who attack people and rip them to bits’, Aaron squealed in terror.
‘When you in bush, real dark, der red eyes, dat him, he might eat you’, said Lizzy.
Jane thought about the Lanniwah families in their rough shelters. They would be soaked through. David had told her, ‘It’s nothing; it’s the Wet. Flooding every year’. Jane walked chest-deep in grey swirling water across from her caravan to the school. She carried books and clothes on her head and hoped the crocs didn’t come. ‘Dey fresh water missus. Not eatem you’, Shirley had said.
Wet children shivered outside the school.
‘Why are you kids standing outside in the rain, it’s only seven o’clock? You’re soaked, poor beggars’.
‘We not beggar. We Lanniwah.’
Jane hustled them inside. ‘Come in, get changed. Shirley, get the dry clothes from the cupboard.’
‘Missus, we wet. We hungry. Why we got no tin of pie like you.’
Jane rubbed them down with towels. ‘You’re shivering. We got hot stew for dinner and damper!’
‘We bin sleeping under a bit of tin’, said Lizzy.
Shirley nudged her.
‘Don’t tell her dat. We okay. You make us shamed.’
Jane realised that some of the children only had chaff bags for blankets. She felt so awful she wanted to give them hers. She made a note to buy blankets in town. She gave out school towels. She felt angry that some blankets ended up on the rubbish piles – couldn’t they look after anything?
Hubert pulled up outside the school; he had new cotton blankets.
‘Thought youse might like some of these; they’re new.’
‘Thanks, we appreciate it.’
‘I heard you had a bit of trouble with poor Harry. We don’t see him much … You’re not piss-weak like some of those teachers, you’re goin’ okay. I found it hard to be accepted out here when we first came, but the mob got used to me’, said Hubert.
‘I don’t want to be accepted by people like Harry. Sorry, I never will. He’s an idiot!’
‘You never will, sweetheart.’
The truck thundered away spraying Jane with mud.
Every day Jane worried about the arrival of the inspector, but the road and airfield were empty except for cows.
Shirley became devoted to Jane; she was the first one at the door in the morning. She had bathed in the billabong and carried her baby cousin on her hip. Raymond had taught Shirley to read and she loved reading magazines thrown out by Missus Boss. Her mother was Gertie the domestic servant, so Shirley had a special place. Edie gave her clothes. Shirley dreamed of going to Katherine and seeing a rodeo or movies. Like most of the children, she had never been there – it was the magic Land of Oz. She studied hard and was the last child to leave the school to eat dinner at lunchtime. She wanted to be a teacher and help her people. She sometimes drove Jane crazy.
Jane turned the school into a drama room for a maths and speaking exercise that lasted for hours; they made the chairs into seats on Connair, or Qantas.
‘We’re going on an imaginary trip to Sydney to see the Opera House. You, Robert and Ricky, can dress up as pilots or air stewards. Lizzy, you collect the tickets and tell everyone to fasten their seat belts. Okay. Look out the windows and see the city down below’. They practiced their English, their manners, and the fun they would have on the journey … The children arrived in Sydney and bought things at the play shops. They practiced asking for drinks and jeans. They counted out their money and asked for the correct change; it was exciting to learn in this way. Outside a bustard picked at a green melon in the mud, Jane watched it. It was ridiculous, really – how would any of them ever get down south?
‘At my place, I got a concrete floor, real flash. You come up to camp and meet my family’, said David.
Jane wasn’t sure if this meant he had a wife. He smiled, she was excited and happy. ‘I’m not married yet; just meet mother, father, brother, sister, big mobs’, he said.
He could read her mind.
After school, Jane took Aaron and walked with Shirley to find David at his brother’s camp. Sammy was making tea and David leapt up and beckoned them to his fire. They ate damper and golden syrup; no one said much, the young men reached for the syrup can and poured it thickly on the damper. It was awkward and Jane felt uncomfortable being the only adult woman: she noticed Lanniwah eyes watching her every move. Jane waved goodbye and went with the usual group of followers up the hill behind the camp. David and Sammy followed at a distance.
‘Don’t go dat way Miss: not woman place, lizard man place. You follow me’, said Shirley.
Jane nodded. She puzzled about this way of viewing the world, where people of the past were both human and animal but also ancestors. A clever woman carried her spirit familiars in a dilly bag. A kaggatta clever woman gained power from a grave or blood of a dead man. The causes of death were said to be contagion, swallowing a bone, eating too much clay. Jane heard that you could die from handling cycad nut, snakebite, sea wasp sting, even a death adder on the road. Wemmi ti, this was sickness with no cause. If anyone died, it could be wangginawaggi or bilka.
They looked down from the escarpment to the camp. Children flicked stones down the cliff.
‘Everyone lives in tin shacks. What does the Department do with all that money?’
‘They don’t spend it on houses, dat for sure’, said David.
Shirley pointed to the distance and tugged Jane’s arm.
‘Some fella comin; look plane dere’, said Leroy.
‘Might be government man,’ said David.
‘I’ve got to get back’, said Jane. She felt rising panic, it might be the inspector. Leroy helped her down the rocks, she rushed towards the school. What if he was already in the classroom? It was a wreck from drama games. He wouldn’t understand.
The next morning, it got hotter and hotter and the rain went on and on. Jane felt like she would explode. She heard laughter from inside Hubert’s house and then a man with a folder, dressed in beige shorts and tie, walked outside with Hubert, they sat down to drink tea. Jane thought he was a stock agent. His plane was fancy enough. She relaxed. She was mistaken.
John Pageworthy had been a Department of Education inspector for years. He was zealous and careful. He looked constantly at his clip
board. He arrived at the school just on the morning that Jane had sent all the children to the billabong with Margie. There was a community meeting in the school about land rights. Mr Pageworthy looked surprised, fingered the school lesson plans and registers. Jane invited him to sit down at a small desk, where he sat awkwardly and opened a new page on his clipboard. He rapped his pencil and coughed. Jane thought he smelt funny, like bad fish. He had spit collecting in the corner of his mouth. David had a look of horror on his face. Jane waved at him.
‘I have come a long way Mrs Reynolds and I am due back in town by eight o’clock.’
‘I’m sorry, but I had no warning that you were arriving today. The Lanniwah are having a meeting’, she said.
‘Do you consider that this community meeting is part of your school responsibilities?’ he said.
‘Well, it is part of being in a community. They have no other buildings. Just tin humpies.’
Old Pelican and Burnie were at the front of the room; behind them was a large collage of alphabet and Lanniwah words. David stood nearby; he was answering questions.
‘Not crown land – dat mean we can’t make it claim’, said David.
‘Excuse me. I have to explain something’, said Jane.
‘You have to give me your day books’, said the inspector.
She ignored him and stood next to David.
‘I have written a letter to the big fellas at the Department of Aboriginal Affairs again about Lanniwah land rights. I have been talking about this process to David’, she said to the elders.
Old Pelican began to yell in Lanniwah language. He was pointing at Mr Pageworthy. Old Pelican was getting agitated; he kept slapping his woomerah against his leg.
‘Might be we shootem all gubberment men’, he said. Mr Pageworthy’s face turned whiter than usual.
‘Okay. Let’s wrap up the meeting until tomorrow’, said Jane. She tried to shoo everyone out of the school. No one moved. She was impotent. The Lanniwah ignored Mr Pageworthy; they were agitated and wanted action.
‘You writem letter, we sign ’im’, Old Pelican said.
‘You tell him talk about this wid dat Chief Minister fella, he got big nose, big job, he can gibbit land back’, said Old Lucy. She walked over to Mr Pageworthy and pushed her bony finger in his narrow chest, he looked alarmed.
‘They want Aboriginal land rights to the Harrison Station’, Jane explained.
‘I am a school inspector, not the Prime Minister.’
‘There’s no grass for stock anyway. In the Dry, it’s just dust’, she said to no one.
The inspector was getting angry. He clicked his pen frequently, he sat apart at Jane’s desk and read the lesson plans and marked them with red ink. His neck grew red.
‘I can go over the records of attendance when the elders have gone’, she said.
‘Where exactly are your students?’
‘Sport, swimming practice, you know freestyle, butterfly, in the billabong, there’s a school sports carnival coming up’, she said hopefully.
‘Of course, they are practicing at eleven am. The whole fifty two of them.’
‘Miss Jane, you writem up letter now, we not wait no more!’ Old Pelican was full of energy; he was about to claim his people’s land, and no white fella in beige shorts was going to stand in his way. Margie arrived back with all the children. Dripping wet, noisy, unruly, they crowded into the school. David quickly saw the disintegrating situation and spoke to Old Pelican.
‘Grandfather, teacher got big fella Boss from Katherine to talk to, we come back later, eh?’ said David. Jane opened the door and invited the Lanniwah to leave.
‘I come over later, we writem ’nother good letter’, she said.
Old Lucy watched her and touched Jane on the arm.
‘Okay, we come back ’nother time eh? Dat fella come for testem you, granddaughter?’
Mr Pageworthy tapped his pen again, and Old Pelican walked towards him. Jane saw a flash of anger on the old man’s face. This was not a good sign.
‘You go back Katherine. Dis teacher best one, you write dat. Den you get plane and go back now, you not bugger up dis school’, Old Pelican said. The Lanniwah parents left the school, the children sat in neat rows, all very quiet. David sat beside the children.
Jane smiled at them and pulled up a child’s chair next to the inspector.
‘Bush schools, eh? You never know what to expect.’
‘Quite the contrary, Mrs Reynolds, I expect standards, high ones, and children sitting at desks learning to read and write. But perhaps you don’t. Perhaps you have some Sydney ideas about creativity; I can see all the papier mache and paintings on the walls. Nice if you are in a city Performing Arts High school – but not so useful out here in the outback. We care for our students. We have a responsibility to these poor native underprivileged persons. Perhaps you should reconsider your future. But now, time’s up and I will be having a formal meeting with the station manager and his wife – they have been sharing certain facts with me, very interesting. So excuse me.’ He walked out of the room. Jane put her head down and sighed, fearing the worst. It was all too hard. Tears dribbled on her day book.
The children had been listening, they looked at her, and she blew her nose and forced a smile.
‘All okay. We’re all good; he said you are wonderful.’
David took out a picture book and began to read aloud.
Some weeks later, while Jane expected a letter from the Department to arrive any day, instead the letter about land rights came back. It had been opened. Hubert had had a good look and scowled over his veranda at this do-good southerner with her political ideas.
‘Any trouble up at the camp because of you, and I’ll take the bullwhip to you, whip you good!’ However, the letter said that despite the obvious long-term association of the Lanniwah people with Harrison Station, they had no legal rights to the land. The Singapore consortium was within their legal rights as leaseholders to run the Lanniwah off at any time. It said that the Lanniwah didn’t meet the criteria. This was leasehold, not crown land. The land was owned by a Singapore consortium. Jesus wept. The Lanniwah also didn’t have rights to move around to sacred sites for essential renewal of spirit ceremony: it might disturb the cattle. She still had a thought that eventually truth would win. After the dark there would be light.
Jane was astounded at the casual injustice; she again asked the children. ‘Who owns this country?’ They yelled as one, ‘We do!’
Jane had been involved in land rights marches in Sydney and it felt like the 1970s had been alive with Black Power and Aboriginal activism. The Redfern mob had accomplished so much down south.
She sat with Old Burnie as he painted a vivid landscape from birds-eye perspective, bold orange swirls, mauve and green, the teeming waterfalls in the wet. David handed him the acrylic paint from the school cupboard.
‘The Koories in Sydney set up an Aboriginal Medical Service in Redfern and that movement is spreading all over New South Wales’, she said.
‘We only got bit a clinic, no doctor’, said Old Burnie.
‘What’s that Black Power?’ said David.
‘It’s not like that. They got the Aboriginal Legal Service, and it was pushed forward by these young Aboriginal law students and their white supporters.’
‘No Black Power?’
‘Well, kind of. People visited the United States; they came back, and they wanted a bit of Black Power and guns’, she said.
Burnie stopped painting and scratched his head.
‘No good’, he said.
‘There were some very violent protest marches; you know, cheeky fellas.’
‘No good: gun no good, gaol no good’, said Burnie.
‘Now, some blackfellas become big fella politicians.’
‘I heard that.’
Jane didn’t tell them that she had also attended marches and had been caught up in feminist protests as well; she had ripped her bra off in Hyde Park with some Koori women. Arr
, sisterhood!
However, it was like land rights in the Northern Territory hadn’t quite arrived despite the Northern Territory Land Rights Act. Hubert laughed about how he had run off some Koori people from down south who wanted to talk to ‘his’ blacks.
‘They drove up to my house, the hide o’ them, wearin’ land rights bloody tee-shirts! They were goin’ on about Aborigines living in this country for forty thousand years. What bunk. I ran ’em out with a shotgun blast.’
Jane smiled weakly. ‘They are getting land rights in other places.’ She felt exhausted: maybe she should just shut up, and play it safe, be a nice calm sweet mother and teacher, find a boyfriend and settle down in the Sydney suburbs. Somewhere nice and middle class like Mosman. Study Cordon Bleu cooking. She could get a perm and have a facial. She would be a new person, she might marry a doctor: her mother would like that.
‘Aboriginal rights will be extinguished or it will be like a flaming Berlin wall running down the whole country. You talk like that and I will run you off too, you watch me!’ Hubert sneered, and then farted loudly like the crack of doom.
He stomped off, puffing Marlboro. Jane thought it was crazy that an Australian cattleman would fight for the right for Singapore businesspersons to buy more Mercedes, destroy Hubert’s own country, and at the same time treat Aboriginal people like so much vermin. Mind you, Hubert made a lot of money from the Lanniwah by skimming off their welfare cheques. In a two horse race, always back self-interest.
In the privacy of the caravan, Jane developed endless strategies, but mostly she just wrote letters to members of parliament. She couldn’t just do nothing. Jane wondered if this limp action was the result of having become a government employee, relying on them for her wages. (That money was adding up). Jane poured over the booklet that arrived by post. She read the details of the 1975 Act that outlawed racial discrimination in Australian society. Really? No one seemed to take notice of that in the Territory.