by Fiona Doyle
The children would put on a concert at the end of the school year and the parents would go along to watch them. Annie remembers playing the part of Rumpelstiltskin in one play and being a little Dutch girl in another. Mum and Mama Mary Coconut, another local Elder and Mum’s best friend during her dormitory years, started giggling as they recalled those days together.
‘And I played Mother Bear,’ said Mama Mary Coconut.
‘Yeah, and Hazel Peinkinna played baby bear, hey,’ said Mum. ‘Who played Father Bear?’
‘James Motton!’ They both remembered at the same time, obviously taken by this happy memory.
‘Oh yeah, and cousin May Toby played Goldilocks,’ said Mum, remembering.
I laughed to myself as I got a picture of May as she is today. It seemed so odd to me for these people to be playing these characters, so different from their cultural experiences and their understanding of the world around them.
The costumes for these concerts were made by the older girls in the dormitory. ‘Mother Winn’, as she was called, taught the girls to sew as part of their schooling.
On Sundays the children visited their parents, but had to be back at the dormitory by 5pm. Sometimes the families would have a group outing.
We all went to Bung all us kids, with the older people. The men made rafts with drums. We put all our things in it while us kids went over in the mission boat, Reliance.
Mum started earning her own money in her late teens, when she began doing domestic work for families employed by the mining company Comalco.
First couple I worked for was the De Wittes. They lived at River Drive at the time. I worked for the De Wittes for two or three months, I think. I then worked for the Kingsleys and then for Jim Scanlan. I liked Mr and Mrs Scanlan very much. They were nice people. The duties I did for these people included ironing, cleaning in and around the house, helping the missus with the preparing and cooking of meals and basically anything else that needed doing, I suppose. I was not the only one who worked; there were quite a few of us girls working. We would catch the big Comalco bus in and catch it back home at three in the afternoon. The same bus transported the main Comalco workers. Work then ceased for all us girls once the Comalco workers’ families started arriving. I suppose there was no need to employ us girls from the mission front after that.
I left for Wrotham Park Station when I was twenty-one to work for Mr and Mrs Hall. I worked three months for those two and then left to work for Mr and Mrs Johnson for another two months. I enjoyed those times.
Annie remembers some typical teenager behaviour:
Oh, we used to have some fights in those days too. All us girls against each other. It was all just silly competition and jealousy; like who got the best boyfriend or silly things like that, you know. There was this one fella; his name was Alex. Well, he wanted to marry me but the old girl here (nodding towards Nana) didn’t like him at all, so that was that ... Poor fella!
Annie talked about when the Enterprise company came.
Enterprise Exploration Pty Ltd was responsible for exploring for bauxite from June 1956 to the early 1960s.
I was fifteen and a half and I remember there was no dormitory then. That’s when the big barge first came with the first lot of workers. We had good times back then. People got together for the movies at the church. The men from Top Camp came down and people from the village went. The movies were on Friday nights at the old church. We also all used to go down to Evans Landing to watch movies. It was good times then. We also had parties together, laughing, dancing and singing. People from the village got together with their friends from Top Camp for a yarn and just to spend time together.
Mum happily remembers her twenty-first birthday party down at the waterfront village. A big party was put on to celebrate her special day. Everyone was invited to it—the whole village as well as the workers at the mine. Quite a few of the German workers attended also. A man by the name of Ferguson made Mum’s birthday cake. Kukoo Dorothy Fruit cooked the food for the party. Mum owned a big music system which came in handy when people were in the party mood and wanted to perform ‘white man’s dance’ rather than their own cultural dance forms. Both Mum and Nana recall how much fun those times were. The village had begun what to many was an exciting transition to practices that were different and new, compared with the traditions they had always known.
Throughout my childhood bits of information would casually be mentioned by either Mum or Nana regarding how Lynette, my older sister, and I came to be. A direct question put to Mum would be answered on her terms only. However, if there was anything Mum was not quiet about it was who our fathers were. She made certain from the start that both Lynette and I knew exactly who was responsible for our bi-racial identity.
She did not appear to be in any way resentful or regretful. Reflecting on my mother’s life from my perspective now, I feel that she has been cheated by these men. But my mother is a good woman. She has a strong, good heart and deserves the best out of life.
After discussions with Mum about the early days of her life, I realised she did not go into depth about anything personal, but merely brushed over the surface of things. It was as if she told me just enough to ensure that I knew certain things, almost as if she wanted me to say it for her—whatever ‘it’ may be. Mum knows that I know enough about her personal life and how things came to be for me to write her story ... my way.
Mum became pregnant after working out on the stations and meeting Lynette’s father in Cairns. She had Lynette at the General Hospital, Thursday Island, on 15 March 1965 and raised Lynette in Weipa as a single mother with the help, of course, of her parents, Nana and Grandad. The transition from the Waterfront Mission to where the community is now situated happened in the same year. The village was officially opened on 17 November 1965; in the following year in February it became a government settlement. My mother experienced many changes in a short time.
Lynette, whose second name is Jean after her grandmother, was a beautiful baby. Mum recalls how there was no shortage of helpers in the village as this baby was loved and spoilt by all the families. Different families would offer to look after Lynette at certain times throughout the day. It was not unusual to see Lynette leaving the house, comfortably perched on a relative’s shoulders and instructed to wave ‘bye bye to mummy’ by her guardian for the day. There was an obvious sense of trust and community closeness in those times. My mother, my grandmother and other community members tell the stories of those times with an obvious display of joy, evident not only in their voices but also in their eyes.
By the time I came along Lyn was almost four-years-old. I arrived on 2 January 1969, taking the number of bi-racial children in the community who actually remained with their own family to two. I recall being told later on in my childhood that my grandmother had declared, ‘No one will take my two fair-skinned babies, and if they try it, it will be over my dead body. They will have to fight me first!’
Mum now had two daughters, both of whom were a part of two worlds yet knew only the world of their mother. Their fathers were not around to contribute in any way, apart from providing the material that began life. I was born at the General Hospital on Thursday Island. It is interesting to note that Mum did not put down the names of either of our fathers on our birth certificates. When I asked why this was so, her reply was, ‘I didn’t think it was important, as you girls were my children’. It still amazes me that someone can think like that and make such an important decision on behalf of someone else. I mean, did Mum think it was not going to occur to us to wonder why there wasn’t a dad around? It was inevitable that questions would be asked eventually. The less she spoke about it, the more mysterious it became—and the more I wanted and needed to know. I do not quite understand, but I know that Mum must have had her private reasons to think like that.
Lynette and I were brought up with a lot of love around us, especially from our grandparents. Grandad was always there for us and I will never forget the love t
hat that man showed to us while we were children. Lyn and I both called him ‘Dad’, but I also called him ‘Daddy Old Man’.
I was born Maryanne Fiona George. My father, a European of Austrian origin by the name of Ferdinand Florian Wirrer, was known back then simply as Fred. The affair between my mother and Fred, who were so culturally different, was very brief—but long enough for my mother to fall pregnant. Mum recalls how she tried to inform my father of her pregnancy many times, yet he did not respond as she had hoped. She got the message and that was that—no daddies for her two girls.
Lynette and I were both deprived of having our fathers as part of our lives, yet it is possible for me to say that we both lived very full, rich lives in our early years. Full and rich simply because there was love, laughter and peace in and around the home, which Mum and our grandparents provided for us.
I always did have, though, a burning desire to find my father and put together the pieces that were ‘missing’, that I felt would ‘make me whole’. After quite a bit of searching I located my dad in late April 1996. We met in June of that same year for the first time ever.
Dad and me at Jessica Point after our historic first meeting, 1996
Mum went on to marry my stepfather (now deceased), the father of my other three sisters, Jane, Barbara and Sharon, and also Willy Roy, my little brother. They married when I was two or three and remained married (although separated for the last two years) until his death in April 1997. Nana, Mum and my sisters and their families live in Weipa, Napranum and Aurukun.
Sharon and Jane travel between Aurukun and Weipa. The fathers of their children are first cousins from two mothers (that is, their mothers are sisters). Lyle and James are Winchenan, and Sharon and Jane (along with Barbara) are Wanam. Barbara has three girls: twins Jonyele and Bridgette, now nine, and Kashae, a year younger.
Lynette, my oldest sister, has now taken Barbara’s three girls and has full responsibility for them. Jane has four children: Daniel, Zeanne, Brittany and Braydon. Sharon, the youngest, has one son, Mitchel, who is now under the care of his cogai (aunty older than one’s mother), Lynette.
A precious sight, a moment of joy and laughter between these three, my younger sisters: Sharon, Jane and Barbara Bandicootcha, at the Napranum Oval, 1991. (Photo by Paul Sweeney.)
Nana is noisily yet joyfully surrounded by her ever increasing number of great-grandchildren. From her one daughter, she now shares her life with all her little ‘sisters’ and ‘brothers’. She has a total of eleven great-grandchildren, consisting of eight girls and three boys.
CHAPTER SEVEN
After spending a lot of time with Nana and my mother on the tales and stories of mission times, I cannot help but wonder what happened to the men. Today, where are they? Where are the ones who went to the dormitory ... the children or grandchildren of those strong, proud men Nana told me of? Those men sound like the type of people who knew who they were. Hard workers who lived with dignity, they stood proud and tall.
I look around today and I am curious about the descendants of those men who lived at the waterfront mission. Very few remain. Very few carry out the cultural practices of their fathers and grandfathers. There are those who have been consumed by alcohol, lack self-respect, and have a sense of loss in knowing who they are as a people today.
Traditional Elders at Weipa, men who have led their people and broken new ground by working politically and socially with the white man, have passed on. Who has risen to take their place ... to be a continuing voice among the people? Whether fair-or dark-skinned, who will continue where they left off? Where are our men? What are our boys growing up into? It is simply not enough to be a ‘big’ man in your own head. Boys and men must prove themselves as ‘real’ men to others, whether it is to their own people or whether it is to the white man. Their voices must be loud and it must be a voice that will change lives and situations and lead to the betterment of all people. What are the examples they are setting for their children? What kind of future will their children have? What are they preparing today for those who must contend with the future?
Today we have a fusion of men, a percentage of them mainly from other places, neighbouring communities, missions and towns. These men have developed a sense of belonging to this land and feel a part of it. The contribution these men and boys make to this town and region demonstrates a great commitment that we as Aboriginal people have to each other. It shows that, although our clan group systems may separate us geographically as a Nation of Peoples, we can work together as one towards a better future for us collectively.
The women still remain strong. They have been strong for so long. Their voices too will soon fade with the wind. Who will take their place? What are the children and the grandchildren taking hold of now ... today? What will tomorrow’s cries be? What will tomorrow’s voice sound like? Every now and then, my heart whispers questions like these; questions that are prompted by something I happen to witness or hear, whether good or bad.
There has been representation of our people on overseas delegations, especially by the women. As a young child, I remember waving goodbye to Nana as she left for New Zealand with Kitty Dick, to represent the Indigenous people of this country at a big cultural festival that took place in Rotorua. On her arrival home, I remember being so excited when she dropped into my hands a Maori tiki and some Maori necklaces, earrings and wristbands; small souvenirs which meant so much.
Throughout Nana’s life, particularly through her more mature years between forty and seventy, Nana was always going away for meetings, seminars and festivals. Occasionally Grandad would accompany her but she would mainly travel alone. Grandad was there for me. He washed my clothes, prepared my meals and sent me off to school. He would tell me the stories I eagerly waited to hear night after night. It was really Nana’s place with the storytelling, but fortunately for me Grandad was a satisfactory stand-in. It was interesting to hear his version of stories for a change. I was so very familiar with Nana’s storytelling, her sound effects and her opinions. She always personalised everything, whether it was fact or fiction. She is the best storyteller I’ve ever heard. I still think so.
Now I find myself alongside this woman, accompanying her to local schools to tell those very same stories to other children.
Nana has been actively involved in the growth and betterment of many areas throughout her life. She has been involved in creating and implementing by-laws within the community, of introducing those laws at the community level and also ensuring that those laws were adhered to by community members. Nana was always there advising on appropriate punishment for young offenders—talking to these young people, trying to make it known to these youngsters that there does exist, among the pain and the chaos, a difference between what is right and what is wrong.
These young people were usually relatives—not directly, but if you are familiar with Aboriginal kinship, everyone is related in one way or another. This made the punishment and the carrying out of it a lot easier. As in the mission days of my great-grandfather, the offenders respect the authority of their own.
During her time, Nana has worked as a policewoman, a justice of the peace and a community councillor over a period of approximately twenty years. She has also been an active elder of the Uniting Church for a long period.
She is well travelled within her own country as a strong Indigenous representative. More recently, either Church or Wik business takes her beyond her own territory. She goes on teaching trips, offering and sharing her great wealth of knowledge in the area of language and culture.
Nana is a lot older now; not as loud as she used to be. Her heart has softened and her eyes have softened too. She aches a lot when those of her clan group pass on. Nyaker Cyril Owokerem recently left us—the eldest to sing and dance the songs of the Wikwaya. Granny Norma Chevathun is gone too. Tony Kerindun will take over now. Those remaining should all stay sober and stand strong and tall, lest everything will slip through their fingers, waking up one day and look
ing around, only to wonder who or what they have become, in a world strange indeed to their kind and the ways of their own people.
Nana and her brother-in-law Denny Bowenda in Canberra on Wik business.
Another grandfather, Andrew Chevathen, who Nana holds close to her heart, occupies the Weipa side of the Western Cape. The knowledge that one of her brothers is so close in vicinity makes a difference to Nana in a community that contests and questions her identity. Granny Andrew descends from Avumpin (see ancestry chart) who is a sibling to our direct ancestor Yepenyi. They are two of the few Wikwaya (Elder status) who have chosen to live at the Weipa end of country.
CHAPTER EIGHT
At Weipa children dance and this is good, as the yare the future. However, at the sametime it is sad that the adult representation is not as strong as it should be. The children still need practical examples, and still need a visual representation of cultural displays before them, so that their interpretation of language, song and dance stems from something genuine, something more solid than just their own interpretation of what they are taught.
Aurukun children learn by performing. Practical hands-on experience allows these children to learn their cultural ways. There is no absence of song, language and dance at Aurukun and they are fortunate that their Elders have kept their cultural practices strong and intact.
For as long as I can recall, Nana has played a big role in the representation of Weipa at the Laura Dance Festival, particularly in its beginning stages. Nana and Granny Harold Pamulkan were actually the first to prepare dancers for the festival.
The Apalich mob at the Laura Dance Festival, 1995. The Apalich are Nana’s mother’s people. (Photograph by Danny Doyle)