The Unlucky Australians by Frank Hardy

Author:Frank Hardy [Hardy, Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781922749420
Publisher: Ligature
Published: 2021-11-18T00:00:00+00:00

Vincent Lingiari

GIVE THE ABORIGINES THEIR HEADS

I wanted to go by road so that I could talk to Aborigines between Tennant Creek and Darwin. I got a lift at Mt Isa and ran across Fred Thompson at Frewena. Fred is an old friend from Melbourne days and now North Queensland and the Territory Organiser for the Amalgamated Engineering Union.

The diary says: 21 February—The country has just come back from the grave. Green grass grows three feet high where you would have thought grass would never grow again … At Frewena, Fred Thompson, first into the pub, heard a white ringer shout: ‘Hey, mate, that’s the black fella’s side of the bar!’ Fred replied, eyes stern behind his glasses: ‘I don’t worry about colour …’

Near a shed, the inevitable cluster of Aborigines, and an old guitar leaning against a tree. I went over and engaged them in conversation. They worked at various cattle stations in the area but were now conveniently on walkabout when the boss did not need them. Some had travelled long distances to be with kith and kin. I brought up the subject of wages. They were getting better money now. ‘Boss says he gonna pay me proper money when muster starts.’ ‘How much?’ ‘I dunno, ten dollar maybe, ekel money every week.’ They were confused about how much they should get or would get—illiteracy is a terrible handicap and hardly an adult Aborigine on the Territory cattle stations can read or write. They all believed they would soon get proper money, but knowing the white cattlemen I had the feeling their wage rise would be more apparent than real. I asked about the Newcastle Waters mob. They fell silent until a tall young fellow leaning against the shed replied softly: ‘Lotta people say they stupid, that mob, to sit down like that, but they not stupid.’ They had heard of Captain Major and Dexter, but when I suggested Dexter might come to see them later they did not reply. Were they uninterested or had their employers warned them of reprisals if they listened to trouble makers? I will never know because Fred came over and the natives clammed up.

At Tennant Creek I was warned that the highway was under water further up and all roads off the bitumen impassable …

22 February: On the highway near Banka Banka cattle station, a group of Aborigines clustered around an old blue utility. It had broken down. They had the bonnet up, gazing inquisitively, taking out parts. Machines intrigue them but they have no training in engineering. I talked aside to some of the Aborigines. ‘What kind of wages do you get now?’ A young fellow with an educated voice replied: ‘They are treated well now. Things are better.’ He worked at a distant Welfare settlement but had come to visit relatives. They seemed to be trying to work out who I was and what I wanted them to say. Banka Banka station had given the truck to the aboriginal head stockman, Loader, they told me.

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