by Glenyse Ward
Wandering Girl
Wandering Girl
Glenyse Ward
I would like to acknowledge the generous assistance of the Aboriginal Arts Board in providing funds to develop this book. Thanks to Jack Davis and Colin Johnson for the inspiration they have given me and the editorial help; also to the staff of Magabala Books for their time and effort. Finally and most importantly, thanks to my family for having the faith to urge me on.
G.W.
First published by Magabala Books Aboriginal Corporation
PO Box 668, Broome, Western Australia, 6725 in 1987
Reprinted 1988, 1991, 1993
First Published in this edition, 1995. Reprinted 1997
Published with the assistance of the National Aboriginal and Torres
Strait Islander Bicentennial Programme
Website: www.magabala.com Email: [email protected]
Magabala Books receives financial assistance from the Commonwealth Government through the Australia Council, its arts funding and advisory body, and the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission. The state of Western Australia has made an investment in this project through ArtsWA.
Copyright © Glenyse Ward 1988
All rights reserved. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced by any process whatsoever without the permission of both the author and publisher of this book.
Illustrations by Paul Roseblade, graphics by Merrilee Lands
Cataloguing-in-Publication data
Ward, Glenyse, 1949-
Wandering Girl
ISBN 1-875641-24-6
1. Ward, Glenyse, 1949- 2. Aborigines, Australia - Women - Western Australia - Biography. I. Title.
994.10049915
CONTENTS
The Mission
Dark Servant
Orange Juice in the Morning
My Attitude
First Pay
Wash the Car Seat
Shadows on the Wall
The Turkeys
My Old Tin Mug
Shoosh, Shoosh, Girl!
Running Whenever She Needed Me
The Shower
Never Put Yourself Down
The Daughter’s House
Sunday Best
Going Home
Billy Boy
Prepared
Baalay!
Shearer’s Lunch
End of the Road
Christmas
A’Wandering
Epilogue
For my mother, husband and children, and for all the Aboriginal women who, as girls, had to face hard times working on white people’s farms in the Great Southern and other districts of their own country.
THE MISSION
The sun was gleaming brightly through my bedroom window as I woke from a restless sleep. I know I should have been happy like any other day. Outside my window was a perfect picture of nature. Spring was here again in all its beauty. The tuneful melody of the birds filled the calm air. The sky was blue and serene, not one cloud to cast a shadow over this beautiful day.
As I lifted myself up on my elbow to gaze out the window towards the hills that surrounded the mission, the aroma of wild berries came drifting past my nose. Yet I felt dispirited and sad, for today was the day I was leaving my home to work for white people.
You see in the early days of survival and struggle, there was a lot of hardship and agony amongst the Aboriginal people. Through the misguided minds of earnest white people we were taken away from our natural parents. This affected all of us. We lost our identity through being put into missions, forced to abide by the European way.
I was a baby when I was put into an orphanage called Saint Joseph’s in Rivervale, run by the order of St John of God. When I became the age of three I was put into another home, called Wandering Mission. It was here that I spent the next thirteen years of my life.
The mission itself was very rich in nature, the whole surroundings were photogenic, set in a valley. We as little girls used to be very frightened of going near the hills to pick berries, as there were big caves up there.
The older girls would tell us there were devil-men living in those caves. Mumaries, they called them and they were all hairy and ugly and used to come out at night. If we were naughty they would come with a sack and get us, and put us in it and cart us away.
I just could not laugh today, thinking of how those big girls used to jump on my bed at night because my dormitory window had the best view of the hills. They used to tell us they could see lights flickering up there. The little hairy men were getting ready to come down! I put up with the pain of being half squashed because I felt safe with them all on top of me. Then one of the older girls would sing out, “Baalay - look out, they coming!” And there would be screams, kids crying in a mad dash to their beds. I’d be running with them and jump into my mate’s bed, still crying.
The mission was run by the Catholic Church. The nuns, priests and brothers who were in charge of us were all of German descent. I remember when I first set eyes on the brothers. They seemed strange to me. We used to be frightened of them. They were very serious people, hardly ever smiling. They wore these things on their eyes, which looked so funny. And they wore big baggy pants, long sleeved white shirts and bits of string over their shoulders to hold up the baggy pants - braces!
The nuns wore about three or four dresses on them and all this cloth over their heads. When they walked towards us we would run away and cry. They all spoke in a strange manner, which was a broken kind of English. When we were naughty those nuns used to punish us, and instead of saying that we would get no sweets at night, they’d say, “You become no sweets tonight!” It took us a long time to get used to their language. In the end we used to run away laughing at it.
Our up-bringing throughout our childhood years was very strict. Everyday activities were done to the ring of a bell and with prayers. The main principle was boys and girls had to be kept apart.
We slept in separate dormitories: Boys up one end of the mission, girls down the other end. That went for everything else too - church and school and dining room - boys up one end, girls down the other! When we were allowed out to play in the fields, the boys had their ground and we had ours. We even had our own dams to swim in, and if you got caught talking to boys or were found where you were not allowed to be, you would get a severe punishment or a belting.
Severe punishment would be: locked in a dark room at night with only a lantern to see by. You were made to dam socks up till one or two In the morning. We used to end up nervous wrecks after that!
Our clothes were all made of khaki material, with rick-rack braid all around the hems. Our bloomers were made of Dingo brand self-raising flour bags. If there had been a prize going for fashion in those days I am sure we would have taken first.
Confession was every Saturday and everybody had to go. Sometimes I couldn’t understand why - we had nothing to confess to! If only I had known in those days what I know today, I would have had something to confess.
Although the mission was run very strict, we had our good times and our bad. From the age of six upwards, we each had our duties. We had to help In the dairy with farm chores. The brothers used to look after that part of things and we had to help - milking, collecting eggs, feeding the pigs, going out with the brothers to feed the cattle, checking windmills and so on.
I used to hate feeding the pigs. They terrified me, though I didn’t mind the little piglets, as we used to chase them to see how many we could catch. Nor did I mind milking the cows, but for their business. My job was to shovel it up. The other kids used to tease me about this.
The brothers han
dled the machine that separated the milk and cream but when they weren’t around for a few moments we’d have a good feed of cream. Our job was also to lock the young calves in a yard while their mothers were being milked. We would climb on their backs and ride them around.
Whenever we got up to mischief, we set a smaller girl as our look-out to see if any nuns or brothers were coming. Soon as she sang out, “They’re coming!” we’d be all busy doing our work. Only sometimes the look-out girl might have a grudge against one of us and not give the warning.
Every month we had to change our duties, like whoever used to wash pots or wash the dishes, or clean the dining room up after meals, would change to the laundry duties or the kitchen duties and or, and or...
We used to attend school at the mission. I guess I wasn’t very bright, I stayed in grade seven for two years. I couldn’t even tell the time when I left school to become a working girl on the mission. This meant you had to help on the mission till you were old enough, like fifteen or sixteen, to go out and work for white people.
The way I learnt to tell the time was through the nun I used to work with in the kitchen pointing at the different times she wanted me there to help her. If I wasn’t there on time I used to get a hit!
I’ll never forget the Christmas parties we used to have at the mission every year. It was a sad time - sad because most of the kids used to go home to their families while others like me always stayed behind. We had no-one to go to. Instead we used to have to help do all the jobs, like the harvesting, though that used to be a lot of fun.
Out we would go into the paddocks with the brothers and some of the nuns. Since there weren’t so many of us, we had a lot of privileges during the holidays. While we helped with the harvesting we were allowed to take our dinners with us - sandwiches and cordial - and we were allowed to have as much cordial as we liked. Then we’d bog into our watermelon. One of the nuns would tell us we could go for a swim in the dam, which was nearby, and we’d scramble like chooks off to the water.
By the time the nun reached us we’d be looking like drenched ducks in our dresses, as we never had bathers in those days. The nun used to sit on the bank of the dam, while the cattle were all around us, doing their business in the water. We’d be calling out to sister to look at us diving and splashing.
When she thought we’d had enough swimming she called out to us but we used to make out we never heard her, and keep disappearing by ducking our heads under the brown surface. When we’d come up for fresh air, we’d look at sister and we could see from her face if we’d gone too far.
So we’d race one another back to our work until in the evening we’d go with all the nuns for a walk about two miles down the road. One of the nuns would chuck lollies out to us from her apron pockets and we all scrambled over the ground to get our fair share. Then every Sunday we would be off to the nearest town for a picnic and the brothers or nuns used to buy us each an ice cream, which we did look forward to. We used to lick it slow, so as to make it last longer, although it would melt on us and make us lick faster than we wanted to.
The Christmas party brought us all together like one happy family. This was the only time I felt close to everyone, because all year around we did things separately.
The brothers would go out and cut down a big pine tree, then bring it back and plant it in a large bin of sand. Us girls used to help the nuns decorate the tree and dining room. Come night time the whole dining room would be lit up with candles and coloured lights. All the priests and brothers and nuns used to be there. Then one of the nuns would start to play the organ to the tune of Silent Night. We joined in with them, though they sang in German. We learnt a lot of the German language in the mission!
When the carols were finished we would make a dash to the table to find our presents. The nuns were like real mums. I reckon the look on our little faces when we opened up our presents and cuddled our peg dolls, brought a tear to their eyes. I suppose they were missing their families in Germany too.
After all the festivities were over, everything got back to normal. And so the years went by until this particular spring morning when I awoke feeling very emotional. For the first time in my life I was leaving my home, at the age of sixteen years. I didn’t know what to expect, I was frightened, I didn’t want to go - but I had no choice.
There was no time for tears or goodbyes. The nuns had all my clothes packed. Everything was brand new. “Oh God,” I thought, “I am going to miss these dear nuns.”
I said goodbye to all my mates in a very emotional state. Then the white people arrived to take me away. They were In a smart car and both were well dressed, old looking, about fifty I suppose. The man was short and round, with a plump face and beady eyes. His wife was short too but slim, with a lined face and a turned up nose. She had a dainty look.
The Father in charge introduced me to them, and told me I had to work hard for these nice people. And not to forget to say my prayers, as he would be ringing up from time to time to find out how I was progressing in my work. Then he gave me a pat on the back and the lady opened the back door of the car. I got in and sat down nervously.
As the car sped on my journey into the unknown, I sat back with a feeling of anguish and grief. The journey was quiet for most of the way, the man and woman just making conversation between themselves, and I dozed off to sleep.
DARK SERVANT
When I awoke we were driving through this pretty town. The lady turned to me and told me we were nearing our destination. Just a couple of miles beyond the town and we would be there, at their farm.
The countryside was very picturesque. There were big hills all around, which reminded me of my Wandering home. We drove on for another mile and the man slowed down. He veered off to the right. I looked up as he stopped the car to get out and open the gate. It was getting on dusk and I saw lights on the hill. It looked real pretty from down here.
We bounced over this bridge with a little brook running under it. The ducks seemed so content just paddling with the flow of the water.
We drove up to the house and in the driveway he stopped the car. The house looked enormous! The woman turned to me and told me to get out. She climbed out herself and told me to follow her inside, which I did.
We went into the kitchen and sat down. She said she’d put the kettle on and make a cup of tea and that she shouldn’t be long, as she was going to her room to freshen up after the long journey.
I sat there feeling rather uneasy and on edge, got up and thought I’d take a peep Into the next room. What I saw took my breath away!
The floor was covered in a beautiful dark, rich red carpet. The furniture was all antique and shone magnificently. The silverware, placed effectively around the room, glittered vivaciously. Even the brick work around the open fire place was polished up to a deep dark red colour, and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling sparkled like a jewel.
In one way I was glad I had come to this nice place. I couldn’t wait to write back to the mission to tell my mates. Then I heard footsteps coming so I quickly went to sit on my chair - innocently!
They came in and the man sat down, while she pottered around getting the tea things ready. I sat very quietly there, listening to their conversation, which they were having between themselves.
When everything was ready she sat down, turned to me and told me their names were Mr and Mrs Bigelow.
As she poured herself and Mr Bigelow tea in beautiful cups and saucers, I wondered if I was going to get a cup. I could only see two cups and saucers on the table, when she went to a cupboard In the far left of the kitchen, and I thought, “Oh, that’s good, she’s going to get me a cup and saucer.” To my amazement she came back to the table with an old tin mug, poured tea in it, and placed it down in front of me.
She must have seen the bewilderment on my face as I looked at her. I wasn’t the type of person to speak out, being brought up in a strict environment. We were taught never to speak out to people unless we were spoken to fir
st, no matter what the circumstances.
I politely asked her if I could have a cup and saucer to drink from, as I wasn’t used to drinking out of tin mugs and never had done so in the mission.
The answer I received back was in a very irate and furious tone of voice. She stated to me that I was there as her dark servant, that I was to obey her orders, and do what she told me to do! I took the tin mug and drank my tea with a very confused mind.
Now that we had our cup of tea, Mr Bigelow said he was retiring to the lounge. Mrs Bigelow said she’d take me to my room - which I couldn’t wait to see, as I imagined it to be like the beautiful dining room I’d seen.
So we went out the back door of the kitchen, away from that nice room, up some stairs and past an old shower room. It looked like a place where she’d keep her dogs. I had caught a glimpse of them as I came in.
We passed a big rack of shoes, went up another set of steps, then she opened a door and switched on the lights. I wondered where my nice room was: we were in a garage!
She opened a door on her left, reached up and got an old burner down from a hook - and lit it.
Through the dim light of the lantern I saw my case standing next to an old wooden bed. I cried out, and asked her what my case was doing in this horrible dirty room? Could she have possibly made a mistake?
I suppose I shouldn’t have asked, as I only burdened myself more by having to be told sharply, I was her dark servant! This room was to be my bedroom while I was here working for her.
She continued on with a fierce tirade of orders, saying she wanted me to be up bright and early. If I looked in the cupboard next to the bed I would find an old alarm clock. I was to set it to five o’clock. Just outside my door in the garage, I would find a big straw broom. With that broom I was to sweep her driveway which, as I later found, went for about a mile around her house and finished down near some gates leading to the orchard. After that I was to go and wait for her in the kitchen to get my orders for the rest of the day.