Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia: The Balance Ground 2019012278, 2019018849, 9781351243773, 9780815373285

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Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia

Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia reveals the maritime landscape of a coastal Aboriginal mission, Burgiyana (Point Pearce), in South Australia, based on the experiences of the Narungga community. A collaborative initiative with Narungga peoples and a cross-​disciplinary approach have resulted in new understandings of the maritime history of Australia. Analysis of the long-​term participation of Narungga peoples in Australia’s maritime past, informed by Narungga oral histories, primary archival research and archaeological fieldwork, delivers insights into the world of Aboriginal peoples in the post-​contact maritime landscape. This demonstrates that multiple interpretations of Australia’s maritime past exist and provokes a reconsideration of how the relationship between maritime and Indigenous archaeology is seen. This book describes the balance ground shaped through the collaboration, collision and reconciliation of Aboriginal and non-​ Aboriginal peoples in Australia. It considers community-​ based practices, cohesively recording such areas of importance to Aboriginal communities as beliefs, knowledges and lived experiences through a maritime lens, highlighting the presence of Narungga and Burgiyana peoples in a heretofore Western-​dominated maritime literature. Through its consideration of such themes as maritime archaeology and Aboriginal history, the book is of value to scholars in a broad range of disciplines, including archaeology, anthropology, history and Indigenous studies. Madeline E. Fowler is a maritime archaeologist whose research centres on Aboriginal maritime landscapes in Australia. Her extensive collaboration with the Narungga community addressed neglected narratives at Burgiyana (Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission) and underscored the need to decolonise Australian maritime archaeology by representing and engaging Indigenous peoples and communities in research.

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Archaeology and Indigenous Peoples Series editors: H. Martin Wobst, Sonya Atalay, T. J. Ferguson, Claire Smith, Joe Watkins, Larry Zimmerman

Maritime Heritage in Crisis Indigenous Landscapes and Global Ecological Breakdown Richard M. Hutchings Memory and Cultural Landscape at the Khami World Heritage Site, Zimbabwe Ashton Sinamai Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia The Balance Ground Madeline E. Fowler For more information about this series, please visit:  www.routledge.com/​ Archaeology-Indigenous-​Peoples/​book-​series/​AIP

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Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia The Balance Ground Madeline E. Fowler

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First published 2020 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2020 Madeline E. Fowler The right of Madeline E. Fowler to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Fowler, Madeline (Madeline E.), author. Title: Aboriginal maritime landscapes in South Australia : the balance ground / Madeline E. Fowler. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2019. | Series: Archaeology and indigenous peoples | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2019012278 (print) | LCCN 2019018849 (ebook) | ISBN 9781351243773 (Ebook) | ISBN 9780815373285 (hardback : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781351243773 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: Narangga (Australian people)–History. | Narangga (Australian people)–Social life and customs. | Cultural landscapes–Australia–South Australia. | Aboriginal Australians–Australia–South Australia. | Aboriginal Australians–Antiquities. | South Australia–Antiquities. | Underwater archaeology–Australia–South Australia. Classification: LCC DU125.N36 (ebook) | LCC DU125.N36 F69 2019 (print) | DDC 994.23/5–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019012278 ISBN: 978-​0-​8153-​7328-​5  (hbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​351-​24377-​3  (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Newgen Publishing UK

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Dedicated to Narungga Traditional Custodians—​past, present and emerging.

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Contents

List of figures  Foreword  Preface 

ix xi xiii

About the author  xiii Community permissions  xiii Notes on the use of language  xiv

Acknowledgements  List of abbreviations  1 Narungga 

xvii xix 1

A maritime culture  1 After contact  5 Organisation  15

2 Burgiyana 

23

Colonising South Australia  23 Burgiyana history  29 Waraldi  36 Dharldiwarldu  40 Conclusions  41

3 Cognitive landscapes 

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Dreamings  46 Toponymy  55 Seascapes  61 Conclusions  67

4 Transport landscapes  Boatbuilding  72 Owning boats  77 Mission boats  84

72

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viii Contents Sea routes  88 Landing sites  91 Conclusions  96

5 Economic landscapes 

101

Commercial fishing  101 Island pastoralism  109 Coastal pastoralism  118 Conclusions  119

6 Social landscapes 

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Fishing for subsistence  123 Living on Waraldi  129 Crayon drawings  134 Leisure landscapes  136 Conclusions  138

7 Territorial landscapes 

141

Contact  141 Waraldi  144 Dharldiwarldu  151 Fringe camps  158 Conclusions  162

8 Indigenising maritime archaeology 

167

Assembling resources  169 Engagement  170 Working together  173 Building confidence  175 Excellence and equity  176 Conclusions  179

Toponym glossary  Index of Burgiyana people  Index 

185 186 191

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Figures

1.1 ‘Pt Wakefield, St Vincent’s Gulf 1845’ (State Library of New South Wales, Mitchell Library, PXD 39/​4) 2.1 The location of Burgiyana, Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu 2.2 Living quarters on Waraldi (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​23/​23) 2.3 ‘Shipping Sheep from Yorkes Peninsula 1863’ (State Library of New South Wales, Mitchell Library, PXD 39/​33) 2.4 Cottage in the Old Village on Waraldi, ca 1925 (State Library of South Australia, B 16577/​14) 3.1 Fred Graham telling the Dreaming story of Badhara while on Country at Badhara’s Rock (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 3.2 Narrunga delivering sheep to Old Dolly’s Jetty (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services) 3.3 Lindsay Sansbury pointing out seamarks off the coast of Burgiyana (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 4.1 Clem O’Loughlin with his boat (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 4.2 Clem O’Loughlin at The Bay on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013) 5.1 Clifford Edwards and Gilbert Williams in a typical Burgiyana dinghy (Elaine Newchurch Collection) 5.2 Fred Graham at Clem Graham’s memorial (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 5.3 People from Burgiyana on Waraldi (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​23/​8) 5.4 Fred Graham (seated) and Clem O’Loughlin (standing) at one of the in-​ground tanks at the Old Village on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013) 5.5 Fred Graham at The Willows (A. Berry, 2014) 6.1 Michael O’Loughlin and Lindsay Sansbury at a favoured butterfishing area (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 6.2 Fred Graham at the remains of the house of Barney and Elizabeth Warrior (M. Fowler, 2013) 6.3 Fred Graham and Clem O’Loughlin at the remains of the overseer’s house on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013)

4 30 35 38 40 50 58 67 77 82 104 107 111 115 119 126 132 133

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x Figures 6.4 Clem O’Loughlin at the location that triggered his childhood memory (A. Roberts, 2013) 7.1 Fred Graham off the coast of Waraldi (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 7.2 At Burgiyana where men lumped bags of wheat onto boats for shipping (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​36/​373) 7.3 Clem O’Loughlin on a visit to Hollywood (J. Mushynsky, 2013)  7.4 Peggy Weetra during a visit to Hollywood (J. Mushynsky, 2013) 

134 150 153 160 160

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Foreword

Sometimes, you read a book that is truly breaking new ground. A book that is asking new questions, developing new methods, changing the status quo. In short, a book that is forging a new area of research. Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia: The Balance Ground is one such book. This book presents the results of doctoral research undertaken by Madeline Fowler in collaboration with Narungga Aboriginal peoples in South Australia. While the Narungga had multi-​faceted and complex economic systems, the core was maritime:  Guuranda, the traditional sea and lands of Narungga peoples, has a coastline of 563 km and there is no place more than 24 km from the coast. The author interprets archaeological data within a broader context of the cultural continuity of coastal use by Narungga peoples on Guuranda in pre-​contact times. The impact of colonisation, pastoralism and agriculture is analysed in terms of maritime cultural continuity within the context of rapid and unprecedented changes to Aboriginal lifeways during the (on-​going) colonial period. Parts of the writing are quite lyrical, as in the author’s description of the ‘continuous mental presence of the sea’ within Narungga society. Aboriginal Maritime Landscapes in South Australia makes an important contribution to an exciting new area of research. It is only recently that maritime archaeology has focused on Indigenous sites or that Indigenous archaeology has focused on maritime sites. Post-​contact Aboriginal maritime landscapes have received little consideration by archaeologists. The chapters in this book investigate this topic from a number of perspectives: cognitive, transport, economic, social and territorial. The inclusion of oral historical research foregrounds the involvement of Narungga peoples in the maritime industry in Australia and highlights the richness of interpretation that comes from including community perspectives on cultural heritage. The research presented in this book contributes new understandings of the past of the lands and seas of the Narungga peoples in South Australia, with implications for coastal Indigenous peoples worldwide. This book advances maritime archaeological theory through interrogating complex theoretical issues. The author unpacks the notion of a maritime culture, not only in terms of whether it is a Western construction but

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xii Foreword also in terms of Indigenous worldviews. She observes that other Aboriginal groups recognise Narungga peoples as skilled fishers and that they identify themselves as the ‘Butterfish mob’, providing both emic and etic evidence of a Narungga maritime cultural identity. The author argues cogently that diverse epistemologies are recognised and validated through engaging with a plurality of knowledges, values and ways of knowing. In this work, she directly addresses the challenge for maritime archaeology of accepting alternative worldviews as valid forms of knowledge. This book is an embodiment of the richness of this method. This is a thoughtful and deep analysis of issues that will be at the foreground of maritime archaeology as it develops over the next few decades. This book addresses long-​standing biases towards the analysis of European maritime activities. The author writes of colonial silences, such as the limited presence of Indigenous workers in labour history, and of the challenges involved in redressing the biases inherent in colonial archives that centre the experiences of colonial administrators. She highlights the importance of pursuing maritime archaeological research for contemporary communities within the present framework of international management of underwater cultural heritage and calls for a stronger commitment to training Indigenous peoples as maritime archaeologists. This book rejects the traditional archaeological dichotomy between land and sea. As the author notes, the underwater landscape is also cultural, as demonstrated in current claims by Aboriginal peoples for recognition of their rights to seascapes as well as landscapes. This book emerges from, and informs, a reorientation of maritime archaeology from the analysis of European to Indigenous pasts. I am pleased to recommend this book to scholars in the areas of community archaeology, Indigenous archaeology, cultural heritage, maritime archaeology and historical archaeology. I look forward to more books being produced in this growing area of scholarship.

Professor Claire Smith College of Humanities, Arts and Social Sciences, Flinders University, Australia

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Preface

About the author My background in maritime archaeology informs and biases this book to a greater extent than Indigenous and historical archaeological approaches. In saying this, this book’s vision is that a maritime lens contributes new insights and a third dimension to the Indigenous and historical context of missions. The public and non-​‘maritime’ peers often misconstrue a maritime specialisation within archaeology as research focused on ships, ships and more ships, but I  identify as one of ‘a younger generation of maritime archaeologists [who] simply does not accept [the perpetuation of] such an atheoretical (typological and technological) stance that has largely permeated their subject in the past’ (Westerdahl 2014:121). While there is a recognised ability for interpretations of material culture to give voices to marginalised peoples, archaeologists need to avoid representing themselves as the authority on groups about which they write (Liebmann 2008:9). A key component of Indigenous archaeology is for the researcher to identify their privileged position (Wilson 2014:3791) and thus I state at the outset that I am a first-​generation (born in Australia to English immigrants), ‘white’ female applying a Western concept to an Aboriginal landscape. Acknowledging my position through critical and reflective methods moderates such biases. I was ‘rocketed’ into the community, people and places, and into the present (Greer et al. 2002:269).

Community permissions This research, developing on the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’—​a community-​driven project involving community members in all aspects of project design, archival research, collection of oral histories, archaeological field-​work and analysis and writing (Roberts et al. 2013:79)—​expands on an area that was already known to be of interest to the Burgiyana community. Before commencing this research, and again prior to the publication of this book, community consent was sought. The Narungga organisations Narungga Aboriginal Corporation Regional Authority

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xiv Preface (NACRA), Narungga Nation Aboriginal Corporation (NNAC) and Point Pearce Aboriginal Corporation (PPAC) supported this study. Before participating in interviews and field-​work, several community members agreed, via formal consent forms, to audio and photographic recording as part of the research and to have their identity made known (rather than anonymous) in ensuing publications. Interview participants were returned to prior to the publication of this book, to ensure oral histories were appropriate to include and, where necessary, next-​of-​kin were informed and provided consent. The Flinders University Social and Behavioural Research Ethics Committee also approved this research as Project 5806. One of the major series pertaining to Aboriginal peoples within the State Records of South Australia, the Aborigines’ Office and successor agencies’ GRG52/​1 Correspondence files, is restricted by the Attorney-​General because it contains sensitive material. The Aboriginal Affairs and Reconciliation Division provided permission to publish restricted information contained in this record series, although in a limited number of instances, references to individual persons were removed, while retaining the balance of the affected content. The restricted reporting of GPS coordinates throughout this book is at the request of the community and accords with the Aboriginal Heritage Act 1988 (SA).

Notes on the use of language Lester-​Irabinna Rigney states that ‘privileging and Elevating certain histories and languages over others is a CHOICE’ (Mollenmans 2014:iv). Throughout this book, I  utilise language and terminology in a deliberate way, as reflected in the use of Narungga toponyms, identity labels and oral histories. The only memorials to many Indigenous peoples and their culture are surviving place names for Dreamtime Ancestors, which are rich in meaning; other names are now lost due to settlers imposing their own commemorative naming (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:115). ‘The process of conveying (primarily) European names to places was part of a larger process of Europeanising the landscape’ (Berg and Kearns 1996:108). Australian society has not questioned the retention of non-​Indigenous naming, despite its quite recent use, indicating the nature of power in the country today (Krichauff 2008:24). Narungga toponyms, privileged in this book where known, counteract the power-​laden nature of place names and the role of naming in silencing Indigenous cultures in history and contribute to the decolonisation of the written record, renaming and reclaiming the landscape (Roberts et al. 2014:26). The spelling of traditional Narungga words and names used in this book is consistent with Nharangga Warra: Narungga Dictionary, an orthography compiled by the Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association (2006) after extensive linguistic and toponymic research. Some historical documents quoted in this book contain words and descriptions that reflect the attitude of the author of the document or the

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Preface xv period of its writing and are inappropriate today in some circumstances. The term ‘Aborigine’, meaning ‘from the beginning’ (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:xv), is not used in this book because of the colonial baggage it carries. ‘Indigenous’ is also regarded by some as problematic due to its broad-​ brush approach to grouping distinct peoples’ very different experiences of colonisation (Fox 2006:403; Smith 2012:37–​38). ‘Indigenous peoples’, a phrase which has become established in academic discourse through its political correctness (Béteille 1998:188), internationalises colonised peoples experiences, although the plural ‘peoples’ does recognise ‘real differences between different Indigenous peoples’ (Smith 2012:39). In order, then, to specify the Indigenous peoples of South Australia, I use the term ‘Aboriginal’ in this book (except when referring to broader issues relating to contemporary Indigenous peoples throughout the world) as it avoids ‘lumping’ people who identify as Aboriginal into a general category (Watkins 2005:430). Aboriginal peoples in the vicinity of Burgiyana and the wider region often refer to themselves as nunga and often call non-​Indigenous people gunya, and this book sometimes uses these terms (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:xv). Aboriginal culture is an oral culture and storytelling is an integral aspect, passed down and kept alive for future generations (Van den Berg 2005). While there is a historical paradox in situating Aboriginal oral history within a text produced in ‘white’ culture, the opposition and mutual exclusivity between oral history and written text requires revision (Dickinson 1994:320, 326). I took care when transforming oral histories into written text by ensuring the transcription and reproduction of interviews was as accurate as possible, attempting to keep the ‘voice and idiom of speakers’ (Van den Berg 2005) and to maintain community members’ narratives as distinct from the principle account of this book (Dickinson 1994:327). The retention of Narungga terms allows for authenticity. Furthermore, community members received transcripts with the opportunity to comment for clarification and accuracy. Burgiyana oral histories dating back to the 1930s are reliant on three people who were born in that decade, so oral histories prior this time are absent. Interest in fisherpeople, sailors and other maritime-​ related livelihoods at Burgiyana for this earlier period arose almost too late, as most people who practiced these activities in the past are no longer living. Yet, this study has recorded oral histories while some of these events are within living memory. This is significant as oral histories are the primary data source for investigating intangible heritage. ‘Overly much is lost forever when there is too little left of familiar contours in the landscape’, but it is never too late to record oral history (Westerdahl 2010:75). The sea undergoes fewer changes than land, and thus, familiarity with the maritime landscape might stretch across longer periods. Further, whilst research assists in the preservation of oral histories, the persistence of Narungga traditional knowledge, memory and storytelling highlights aspects of cultural continuity.

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References Berg, L.D., and Kearns, R.A., 1996. Naming as norming: ‘Race’, gender, and identity politics of naming places in Aotearoa/​New Zealand, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 14:99–​122. Béteille, A., 1998. The idea of Indigenous people, Current Anthropology 39(2): 187–​192. Dickinson, P., 1994. ‘Orality in literacy’: Listening to Indigenous writing, Canadian Journal of Native Studies 14(2):319–​340. Fox, K., 2006. Leisure and Indigenous peoples, Leisure Studies 25(4):403–​409. Greer, S., Harrison, R., and McIntyre-​Tamwoy, S., 2002. Community-​based archaeology in Australia, World Archaeology 34(2):265–​287. Krichauff, S., 2008. The Narungga and Europeans:  Cross-​Cultural Relations on Yorke Peninsula in the Nineteenth Century, Master’s Thesis, School of History and Politics, University of Adelaide, Adelaide. Liebmann, M., 2008. Introduction:  The intersections of archaeology and postcolonial studies. In Liebmann, M., and Rizvi, U.Z. (Eds.), Archaeology and the Postcolonial Critique. AltaMira Press: Lanham, pp. 1–​20. Mattingley, C., and Hampton, K., 1992. Survival in Our Own Land:  ‘Aboriginal’ Experiences in ‘South Australia’ since 1936: Told by Nungas and Others. Hodder & Stoughton: Rydalmere. Mollenmans, A., 2014. An Analysis of Narungga Fish Traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association, 2006. Nharangga Warra:  Narungga Dictionary. Wakefield Press: Maitland. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and “Hidden Histories”: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Smith, L.T., 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, Second Edition. Zed Books: London. Van den Berg, R., 2005. Aboriginal storytelling and writing, Altitude 6. Watkins, J.E., 2005. Through wary eyes:  Indigenous perspectives on archaeology, Annual Review of Anthropology 34:429–​449. Westerdahl, C., 2010. Lake Vanern: Reflections on dynamic continuity and changing shore-​lines, Skyllis 1:65–​77. Westerdahl, C., 2014. The maritime Middle Ages—​Past, present and future: Some ideas from a Scandinavian horizon, European Journal of Archaeology 17(1): 120–​138. Wilson, C., 2014. Indigenous archaeologies:  Australian perspective. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3786–​3793.

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Acknowledgements

Many people contributed towards this book, without whom it could never have been accomplished. My deepest appreciation is for the elders, community members and their families, who shared oral histories and whose knowledge fills these pages with truth:  the late Fred Graham (and Cecil Graham), Jeffrey Newchurch, the late Lance Newchurch (and Diedre and Glenn Newchurch), Ron Newchurch, the late Clem O’Loughlin (and Murial O’Loughlin), Michael O’Loughlin, Barry Power, Lester-​Irabinna Rigney, the late Lindsay Sansbury (and Elizabeth Newchurch), Lyle Sansbury, Clayton Smith, George Walker and Peggy Weetra. The Narungga Aboriginal Corporation Regional Authority, Narungga Nation Aboriginal Corporation and Point Pearce Aboriginal Corporation have supported this research and the publication of this book throughout, including their respective Chairs at the time, Tauto Sansbury, Garry Goldsmith and Eddie Newchurch. I gratefully received assistance, support and cultural advice from Cyril Kartinyeri, Doug Milera, Kaylene O’Loughlin, Carlo Sansbury, Eddie Newchurch and Klynton Wanganeen. Additional information has kindly been provided by Doug Milera, Amy Roberts and Stuart Moody. A number of institutions and their staff assisted in this research including:  Aboriginal Affairs and Reconciliation, Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection (South Australian Native Title Services), Flinders University, National Museum of Australia, Point Pearce Aboriginal School, South Australian Maritime Museum, South Australian Museum, State Heritage Unit (Department for Environment and Water) and State Records of South Australia. The Queensland Museum Network and James Cook University also supported this publication during my employment. This research received funding from the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology, Berndt Foundation and Flinders University. I  also wholeheartedly thank the World Archaeological Congress and the editors of the Archaeology and Indigenous Peoples series, in addition to the publishers at Routledge.

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xviii Acknowledgements This study could not have been achieved without the corpus of important Narungga literature published by the Narungga community, including Doreen Kartinyeri’s (2002) genealogy, Narungga Nation, Doris and Cecil Graham’s (1987) history of Burgiyana, As We’ve Known It:  1911 to the Present and Eileen Wanganeen’s (1987) history, Point Pearce:  Past and Present.

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newgenprepdf

Abbreviations

£ s d

pound, shilling, pence (in historical documents also signified by  -​/​-​/​-​) AGA Swedish Gas Accumulator Ltd AIMA Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology ARC Australian Research Council BHAS Broken Hill Associated Smelters BHP Broken Hill Proprietary BP before the present ca circa cal years calibrated years cm centimetres DEFI Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation ft foot/​feet gal gallon GMAC Gender and Minority Affairs Committee GPS Global Positioning System hp horsepower ICOMOS International Council on Monuments and Sites in inch (in historical documents also signified by ʺ) km kilometres m metres NACRA Narungga Aboriginal Corporation Regional Authority NAIDOC National Aboriginal and Islanders Day of Observance Committee NNAC Narungga National Aboriginal Corporation NSW New South Wales PPAC Point Pearce Aboriginal Corporation SA South Australia SCUBA Self-​Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus TAFE Technical and Further Education UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization USA United States of America yd yard

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1  Narungga

If you’re talking about the blackfella’s … fishing is part of our life. That was our tucker and that was our main ingredient before our wheat was grown … before the sheep … We are more sea people … so we ate more the fish, the abalone, the oysters … pennywinkles … We made sure we just had enough to feed the tribe and that was it.

(int. Walker 29 November 2013)

A maritime culture Narungga is a maritime culture. Archaeological evidence, archival material, historical accounts, ethnographies and oral histories support the inherent and specialised coastal and maritime nature of past and present Narungga communities. Before and following European settlement, the Narungga peoples of South Australia occupied and continue to occupy the land of Guuranda, from approximately Port Broughton and Nhandhu-​warra south to Cape Spencer (Tindale 1974:214; Wanganeen 1987:1). Guuranda is their Country, originating in the Dreamtime when Ancestral Beings created the world and environment, an ‘area associated with … all the plants, animals, landforms, waters, song lines, and sacred sites within its domain’ (Bird Rose 2014:435; Dixon et  al. 2006:241–​242). Country is the ecological, social, poetic and religious context through which Narungga peoples lead their lives. Documenting and analysing past maritime cultures is the task of maritime archaeology. Yet maritime culture is a Western construct, an archaeological paradigm, ‘rather than a means by which a society might define itself’ (Christie 2013:155). Indeed, academic dialogues attempting to define maritime cultures would have little significance to peoples in the past (Christie 2013:155; Ransley 2011:896). Imposing the concept of maritime culture on a society in the past limits and biases our interpretations and assumes that ‘activity in, on or near the sea is inherently ‘maritime’ ” (Firth 1995:3). The environmental factor, that to live by the sea is to be maritime (Christie 2013:155), is only one factor that shaped maritime peoples.

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2 Narungga An important aspect of maritime culture is that it is only one facet of a broader cultural system, as there was seldom a total dependence on marine resources in the past. No culture is ‘maritime’ in its entirety (Hunter 1994:262), and a strict focus on maritime life results in a very narrow scope (Westerdahl 2008b:191). Rather than seeking a ‘specialisation’ (Parker 2001:25), degrees of ‘maritime-​ness’ (Christie 2013:155), or a ‘truer maritime community’ (Ransley 2011:895), the cultural and economic reliance on coastal environments by Narungga peoples is an integral part of their broader culture. Narungga peoples exploited both marine and terrestrial resources, hunting kangaroo, wallaby and other terrestrial species and collecting plants. Narungga peoples’ intensive use of near-​shore waters in mixed economies is no less significant than truly maritime seafarers. Coastal people who used littoral resources, such that it was a major part of their subsistence, are maritime people, even if boats were not in use (Westerdahl 2011a:336–​337). ‘People who practice a maritime culture … are aware of doing it, or feel separate in some way from others’—​even if they do not use the phrase ‘maritime culture’ to describe themselves (Westerdahl 2008b:207). The Narungga culture, community and individuals identify themselves as the ‘Butterfish mob’ (Roberts et al. forthcoming), revealing that maritime culture is a concept that is ‘current in the realities’ of Narungga peoples (Ransley 2011:895–​ 896). Other groups in the broader South Australian Aboriginal community know Narungga peoples as skilled fishers (Roberts et  al. 2016:4). Thus, the outward identity, that is the views of inland neighbours, also consider Narungga peoples to be maritime (Westerdahl 2010:68). The purpose of this book is to present the rarely-​considered post-​contact Aboriginal maritime landscape to the public. Aboriginal achievements are being recognised on football fields and in art galleries, but not at the playgrounds, workplaces and dinner tables of the general public (Rigney 2015). This narrative must become household history. In this chapter, I summarise the lifeways of Narungga peoples across Guuranda, their traditional sea and land, before colonisation, beginning with the integral role of marine subsistence strategies. While the contact and post-​contact period heralded changes in maritime technology, cultural continuity reveals unchanging mentalities, technologies and landscapes, including a continuous exploitation of marine resources; continuous travel over water; and the continuous mental presence, in-​ depth knowledge and experience of the sea (after Rönnby 2007:65, 79). Continuous exploitation of marine resources As well as the environmental factor, a second factor exercised by maritime peoples is economic—​that the exploitation of marine and maritime resources is to be maritime (Christie 2013:155; Westerdahl 2008b:203). As coastal and marine specialists, Narungga peoples employed complex subsistence

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Narungga 3 strategies in the marine environment (Mollenmans 2014; Osborne and Downs 2012:7; Wood and Westell 1998:16). Narungga people’s cultural subsistence includes a maritime economy, with coastal resource use occurring in pre-​contact times and extending to net fishing, spear fishing and gathering shellfish (Roberts et al. 2016:4–​5). Narungga peoples achieved a high level of marine specialisation through this variety of cultural methods (Roberts et al. 2016:21). Furthermore, Narungga peoples have always occupied, throughout the Holocene, ‘a landscape in which no point could ever be classified as truly ‘inland’ ” because Guuranda has a coastline of 563 km with no place more than 24 km from the coast (Kenny 1973:29; Wood and Westell 1998:36–​37). Thus, Narungga were coastal people before contact, hunting and collecting many marine resources. Nets, spears and stone enclosures trapped fish and gathering of at least 43 types of shellfish took place (Mollenmans 2014; Wanganeen 1987:5). Even the underwater landscape is cultural, as Narungga peoples practice their culture in the underwater ecological sphere (Westerdahl 2011a:339). Diving to collect marine resources, and other practices of fishing and marine subsistence, has a much longer history underwater than the advent of SCUBA. Indeed, at Guuranda in 1850, surveyor Edward Snell recorded Narungga people ‘diving for 70 or 80 yards under water’ when fishing (Griffiths 1988:128). Some sources also intimate that Narungga peoples used boats. Continuous travel over water Before European colonisation, Narungga people occupied the island of Waraldi, establishing a continuous connection to the island through the contact and post-​contact period (Fowler et al. 2014; Roberts et al. 2013). Travel to Waraldi in the pre-​contact period was by swimming, as discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4. But it is pertinent to also consider the use of watercraft in the pre-​contact period. In South Australia, the only recorded accounts of traditional Aboriginal watercraft at European arrival were along the Murray River and its Mouth, the northern Coorong and on Lake Alexandrina and Lake Albert (Clark 1990:5). The Wari (or Warri), the Narungga group that occupied the southwest of Guuranda (Tindale 1936), while relying on fishing, are not known to have had any form of seafaring vessel (Coroneos and McKinnon 1997:9). Indeed, ‘there is no evidence to show that the Narangga had any form of seagoing craft’ (Hill and Hill 1975:43). Yet some historical references and scarred trees show the use of bark canoes on coastal swamps and wetlands as far north as Port Wakefield (Gara 2013). A painting attributed to William Cawthorne on a visit to Port Wakefield shows Aboriginal people poling canoes and swimming. Narungga people often met with neighbouring groups for fishing expeditions near present-​day Port Wakefield (Hill and

4

4 Narungga

Figure 1.1 ‘Pt Wakefield, St Vincent’s Gulf 1845’ (State Library of New South Wales, Mitchell Library, PXD 39/​4)

Hill 1975:11; Wood and Westell 1998:13). This is the only evidence for the use of bark canoes on coastal waters west of the Mount Lofty Ranges (Gara 2013:9). Pre-​contact Narungga boat fishing is under debate by researchers and the Narungga community alike. The worldview and perceptions of Narungga community members include those of Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013), who argues in favour of the possibility. While the literature does not suggest seagoing craft, it is possible that the writers of history either failed to see Aboriginal peoples or Narungga were ‘invisible’ to them given the European history of Guuranda overwrites, decimates and ignores that of Narungga people (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Furthermore, mining and pastoralism removed canoe trees on Guuranda, an intentional aspect reflecting the psyche of that time (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) also says that on the north-​eastern coast of Guuranda, near Port Clinton, Narungga people had bark canoes or rafts. Similar oral histories collected by Roberts et  al. (forthcoming) reveal varied thoughts, beliefs and experiences on the topic of boat use, the many interpretations of

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Narungga 5 which are all valid. Despite a lack of archaeological evidence, the arguments in favour of pre-​contact seafaring reveal an on-​going interpretive practice in which Narungga peoples are preserving their coastal identity, fishing traditions and knowledge of the marine environment (Roberts 2011:49). Knowledge of seafaring is a means of incorporating introduced phenomena such as Western maritime technology into existing Aboriginal belief systems, culture and economy (Roberts 2011:50; Roberts 2004:43). Continuous mental presence of the sea The sea is ritually negotiated in Narungga cosmology. Dreaming is ‘a place or thing of special spiritual significance’ and includes sites, stories, paths and tracks (Dixon et al. 2006:242). Chapter 3 explores in detail the presence of coastal and marine themes in Narungga Dreamings, in addition to the attitude towards fish. A final factor of maritime culture, adding to the environmental and economic factors, is social, the influence of the sea on social organisation. The marine environment and social organisation of Narungga society influence one another. Maritime exploitation, techniques and activities embed social meanings, such as the gendered division of labour (Christie 2013:156). Women made fishing nets from buntu/​bundu (Phragmites communis or australis), a fibre from broad-​leafed reeds, covered with hot ashes and left in an oven to dry, then chewed and rolled on the thigh to make a string (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:25; Tindale 1936:57; Wanganeen 1987:5). Narungga women also wore necklaces made of shell (Hill and Hill 1975:24). Each man owned his own net, 6 to 8 ft long, 5 to 6 ft high, with the smaller mesh used for mullet and the larger mesh for salmon (Tindale 1936:57). Narungga culture thus features differential access to, and control of, marine resources and knowledge. As well as physical practices of culture connecting the land and sea, it is the cognitive aspect—​the compound cultural experience and traditional ecological knowledge of the underwater environment—​that links Narungga culture to the sea in an unequivocal manner (Westerdahl 2011a:339). Indeed, at the ‘Grand Corroboree’ held in Adelaide in 1885, a display showcasing Aboriginal culture for the benefit of entertaining non-​Aboriginal people, ‘the last “event” was a “salt-​water” dance by about a dozen of the Yorke’s Peninsula blacks’ (Express and Telegraph 1885:3).

After contact The contemporary relationship of Aboriginal peoples to the maritime landscape is the outcome of customary maritime cultures combined with the impact of colonisation (Smyth 2012:10). This book investigates the contact and post-​ contact maritime landscape in conjunction with the pre-​ contact Narungga lifeways introduced earlier. In the decades following the

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6 Narungga arrival of Europeans on Guuranda, Narungga peoples, through choice or otherwise, relocated to Burgiyana (the Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission) (see Chapter 2), becoming enmeshed in the Western maritime world. This book reveals the presence of Aboriginal peoples at Burgiyana, Waraldi, Dharldiwarldu and further afield in a heretofore Western maritime literature—​resulting in ‘peopled histories’ and offering in some small part an antidote to colonising landscapes (Gill et  al. 2005:127; Roberts et  al. 2014:29; Silliman 2010:218). In Australia, a significant under-​documentation of the participation of Indigenous peoples in maritime activities post-​contact has occurred. The resourceful adaptation by Aboriginal peoples to colonial pressures included integrating new technology, such as boats, and interacting with the capitalist economy by selling the products of their labour, such as fish (Bennett 2007:86). Maritime industries may have been less disruptive to Aboriginal peoples, compared to mining or pastoralism, given the Aboriginal pattern of coastal use (Reynolds 2006:177). The tribes living along the sea coast … principally subsist on fish which they can always obtain consequently are less likely to come into contact with the Europeans while those inhabiting the interior are driven frequently to commit depredations from hunger. (GRG24/​6/​1849/​1945 in Krichauff 2017:183) Yet most non-​Indigenous Australians do not realise the extent to which coastal Aboriginal peoples adopted European maritime technology (Egloff and the Wreck Bay Community 1990:28). Indigenous peoples played a significant role in structuring their future, rather than passively receiving the cultural changes forced on them by colonisers (Roberts 2004:43). This book challenges the still-​popular view that ‘pioneering’ was the exclusive achievement of Europeans and that Aboriginal peoples contributed nothing to the colonisation of the country by foregrounding the role of Indigenous peoples in Australia’s colonial maritime industry (Reynolds 2000:287). The slow development of archaeological research in the area of Aboriginal maritime history has led to biased and inadequate representations of coastal Indigenous maritime heritage (Roberts et al. 2013:78). Most inferences to Indigenous participation in Australian maritime activities come through historical documents, as few cases of archaeological investigation have occurred (for exceptions, see Anderson 2016; Russell 2005; Staniforth et al. 2001). The infancy of Indigenous maritime research reflects the on-​going predominant focus on European shipwrecks within maritime archaeology. Pre-​ contact Indigenous watercraft in Australia, while an understudied topic, has still received further consideration than post-​contact watercraft construction and use by Indigenous peoples (Roberts et al. 2013:78). Recognising these post-​contact endeavours contributes to Indigenous watercraft studies and further dissolves the dichotomy of Indigenous/​‘prehistoric’, non-​Indigenous/​

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Narungga 7 historic. Decolonising Australian maritime archaeology’s non-​Indigenous and shipwreck-​specific agenda requires more research. Archaeological research focusing on maritime activities at missions enables the inclusion of Indigenous peoples in the literature about post-​ contact maritime landscapes (Fowler 2013:73). Missions incorporating a range of site types, including abandoned and extant vessels, boatbuilding sites, fish traps, jetties and bridges, represent a range of themes of engagement within the maritime landscape, such as water-​borne transportation, boatbuilding, fishing and associated technologies, and infrastructure construction and use (Fowler 2013:74). Archaeological research at missions has recorded aspects of maritime activities (Birmingham 2000; Birmingham and Wilson 2010; Griffin 2010; Hemming et  al. 2000; Kenderdine 1993), yet none of these studies approached missions from a maritime-​specific perspective (except for Roberts et al. 2013). Burgiyana is thus part of a wider South Australian, Australian and international landscape of missions and reserves engaged in maritime activities. As the primary aim of this book is to foreground the involvement of Narungga people in the Australian maritime industry, it is important to highlight the methods used to contribute towards decolonising the field of maritime archaeology. Sources for investigating a maritime culture include interviews, archaeological surveys, archival and cartographic material, place names, historical sources and iconography (Westerdahl 2011b:737–​738). This is akin to Indigenous archaeological approaches which include ‘creation knowledge, oral histories, lived experiences, and non-​Indigenous written texts (i.e., ethnographic, historical and anthropological) to complement the archaeological record’ (Wilson 2014:3787). So, by converging Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches, this book follows all these lines of enquiry—​foremost presenting collaborative, community-​based archaeology. Oral histories, recorded both on Country and off-​site, map intangible cultural heritage—​incorporating traditional place names and knowledge—​ as well as record tangible cultural heritage. Archaeology, including non-​ disturbance surveys across terrestrial, coastal and submerged environments, contributes further to understanding the tangible cultural heritage in the island pastoral, maritime infrastructure and transport landscapes. Finally, archival research featuring a range of historical newspapers, photographs, drawings and other primary sources from many contexts allows for the investigation of cross-​cultural entanglement. These methods also contribute towards documenting maritime routes, compiling a history of Burgiyana watercraft use, investigating aspects of mobility, surveying Aboriginal involvement in the island pastoral landscape and contextualising Aboriginal experiences through oral histories, places names, traditional knowledges and beliefs. By scrutinising national biases in maritime archaeology, this book conveys a counter current to the use and abuse of archaeology, history and ethnography in the past (Maarleveld 2011:921). Four key challenges presented

8

8 Narungga themselves while reinserting Aboriginal peoples into local narratives to decolonise the past. First, colonial archives and local histories often silence Aboriginal peoples. Second, archaeology has no method for encompassing non-​Western worldviews. Third, maritime archaeology in Australia generally adopts a Eurocentric perspective. Finally, collaborative archaeology cannot occur without sourcing oral histories. Further examination of these challenges now will enable the telling of a more complicated story in the rest of the book. The archive The maritime history and growing collections of local histories celebrating the pioneer settlement of Australia form a body of public history which reflects the great Australian ‘white’ narrative and reaffirms ‘the values of the dominant “Whitefella culture’ ” (Gill et  al. 2005:126). Indigenous perspectives are often subsumed by the notion of maritime activities as paradigmatic landscapes of dominant colonial power (Lydon and Ash 2010:2). The ‘Great Australian Silence’, ‘a cult of forgetfulness practiced on a national scale’ (Stanner 1969), was a twentieth-​ century phenomenon which has been somewhat broken since 1968 (following the 1967 Commonwealth referendum) (Reynolds 1984). Yet non-​ Indigenous Australians are still ‘slowly, unevenly, [and] often with difficulty’ incorporating Indigenous experiences in the maritime industry into their image of their national past (Reynolds 1984). The ‘colonial archive’ is not ‘neutral or innocent’, accurate or impartial (Manoff 2004:14–​15). The politicisation of historical documents occurs to archives detailing life at sea (Flatman 2003:148). Written material is lacking for maritime activities, particularly of the everyday kind and compared to land-​based undertakings, because applying the same measures of control as those used on land was generally more difficult at sea (Westerdahl 2008b:226, 2011a:338). Official source material and secondary literature under-​ communicates the maritime sphere, such that it is sub-​ historical (Westerdahl 2003:24, 2011a:338). Independent fishing at Burgiyana is elusive in the archives compared to the mission’s agricultural activities. Maritime activities are lacking in written records, annals, registers and narratives because different industries also employed the maritime peoples (Westerdahl 2011a:338). This is the case at Burgiyana where those participating in the maritime industry were also employed in other tasks, most often agriculture. The period after the mission began keeping detailed records of its activities creates an archival bias, as records kept before 1878 are very scarce, which means the first decade of the mission’s life is all but absent (Archibald 1915:foreword). Also, the mission operated outside the control of maritime activities in the state, for instance the Harbours Board, or similar government departments, did not make records of mission boats and maritime infrastructure.

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Narungga 9 Constructs of nature/​culture from a Western perspective suggest that areas are open to control or colonisation by others (Helmreich 2011:132). Often, local histories separate Indigenous and non-​Indigenous geographic spaces, with the mission featured as the only space Indigenous peoples inhabited in the post-​contact period (Howitt 2001; Nash 1984). Such a scenario creates an illusion whereby Indigenous peoples appeared to vacate other parts of the landscape (Byrne and Nugent 2004:11). Western histories have ignored and silenced Aboriginal participation in the maritime industry at Dharldiwarldu (Roberts et al. 2014:29). The lack of documentation of Indigenous employment extends to published lists of lumpers, people employed to carry heavy loads onto ships, which do not contain any Aboriginal names (see Moody 2012:66; Roberts et  al. 2014:29), although documentation of the nearby Guuranda town of Balgowan records the work of Narungga peoples (Moody 2016). Non-​ maritime industries also experienced such silences, as the large absence of Indigenous workers in labour history is due to a lack of sources (Frances et  al. 1994:192). Aboriginal peoples are difficult to quantify at pastoral stations, with up to 80% of the Aboriginal workforce falling outside of historic descriptions (Paterson 2003:61). Colonial archives are valuable for fixing people, vessels, events, activities and material culture in time, as historical sources are ‘temporally precise and spatially inexact’ (Paterson 2003:62). But historical documents do not contribute to the Aboriginal perspective of maritime activities, which requires reinsertion into local narratives to decolonise the past. Archaeological evidence to support the historical record of the involvement of Aboriginal peoples in whaling, sealing, pearling and fishing industries is both limited and contestable (Anderson 2016). Yet archaeology can reveal the Indigenous perspective that is often missing in historical mission accounts, primary authors of which are ‘white’ people in charge of missions, leading to inherent biases (Lydon and Ash 2010:7). The re-​ incorporation of Indigenous workers into the seascape and landscape requires breaching the boundaries between history, anthropology and politics, along with archaeology (Frances et al. 1994:192). To decolonise the discipline thus requires locating ‘the voices of the silenced … within the literature produced by colonial powers’ (Manoff 2004:15) and challenging the sheer size and ‘authorising scientific discourses’ of the colonial archive with Indigenous knowledges (Hemming 2002:51). ‘Whereas the colonial archive places the British administrator at the center … postcolonial literature places the former subjects at the center’ (Manoff 2004:16). Oral histories are key sources in writing a narrative which prevents the activating, reinvigorating and recycling of the colonial archive (Hemming and Rigney 2010:90, 96). Narungga and Burgiyana people’s oral histories reinsert Aboriginal peoples into the literature about maritime landscapes and addresses the biased colonial archive. Recording and foregrounding Indigenous perspectives relating to the maritime industry challenges pioneer histories

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10 Narungga and European cultural assumptions of the colonial archive and literature. This Indigenous approach provides an alternative historical and geographical framework which forms the basis for a more inclusive local, regional and national story (Gill et al. 2005:127). Focusing on cross-​cultural maritime engagement from an Indigenous perspective investigates the wider landscape which Aboriginal peoples’ activities influenced. Exploring partner economies to the maritime industry, such as agriculture, pastoralism and mining, provides a more complex story of engagement between Indigenous and non-​Indigenous peoples who do not occupy predetermined niches in the landscape, for example Indigenous fisher-​farmers (after Gill et  al. 2005:126). In addition to subsistence and other cultural pursuits, maritime activities at Burgiyana contributed to Australia’s maritime industry through in-​kind transactions, economy and labour. This book foregrounds Indigenous contributions to the maritime industry and puts names to participating Aboriginal individuals, extending ‘personal stories into public histories of the region’ (Gill et al. 2005:136). That such details were learnt through archives and oral histories only serves to further highlight the depth of silences surrounding Indigenous participation in Australia’s maritime history in Western literature. The worldview The ability to decolonise research is challenging as many ‘traditional’ academic disciplines have no methodologies for encompassing non-​Western systems of knowledge (Smith 2012:128). Discussions of ‘research methodology’ and ‘Indigenous peoples’ must acknowledge the entrenchment of colonial practices in the search for knowledge (Fox 2006:404; Smith 2012:30–​31). There is a complex relationship between the development of archaeology and colonial rule (Maarleveld 2011:920–​ 921; Martinez 2014:3772). Early archaeological excavations employed local peoples as labourers rather than acknowledging their role in the interpretation of their own past (Chirikure 2014:3834). Cultural heritage management in Australia promotes nationalist programs and supports colonial benefits (Prangnell et al. 2010:143). The landscape method—​advocated for use in heritage by Indigenous Australians (Prangnell et al. 2010:143)—​is one method which, combined with community-​ based approaches, can begin to decolonise the discipline (Roberts et  al. 2013). Archaeological practice must incorporate cultural landscapes and Indigenous knowledges to the same degree as archaeological theory (Prangnell et  al. 2010:152). Most maritime archaeology projects in Australia reflect a lack of collaboration, where European perspectives bias the interpretations of archaeological places (Rowland and Ulm 2011:44). Maritime archaeology literature under-​represents the views, experiences, knowledge, values and management techniques of Indigenous peoples, forcing future researchers to rely on limited data for interpretation (Rowland and Ulm 2011:44).

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Narungga 11 Western perceptions of seas, islands, boundaries, ownership and so forth accompany the Western concept of maritime culture introduced earlier in this chapter. Indigenous conceptualisations of seascapes often differ to Western constructs of cultural landscapes. Western worldviews imagine the sea as natural and indivisible into ‘estates’, a legacy from colonial views of the ‘high seas’ being free (Helmreich 2011:135; McNiven 2008:150–​ 151). This prevalent Western understanding, that the seas are open to all, perceives Indigenous relationships to the sea as solely resource use, discounting Indigenous systems of marine tenure (Peterson and Rigsby 1998:1). Indeed, early coastal archaeology focused on economic aspects of cultural interaction with the sea, such as diet, procurement technologies and occupation patterns, ignoring cognitive connections (McNiven 2003:330). Yet Indigenous ‘inshore fishermen perceive, name, partition, own and defend local sea space and resources’ (Helmreich 2011:136; McNiven 2008:151). While the physical shoreline exists, it is not something that requires crossing mentally (Flatman 2003:151). The universe consists of more than land surfaces, incorporating the extent of the ability to navigate and use the sea and layering landscapes with stories and ‘living maps’ (Bender 1999; Hau’ofa 1993:7). The coastal sea is inseparable from land (Smyth 2012:8). Western perceptions of islands also discount other worldviews. In Western imaginations, islands are marginal, remote, inaccessible, insular, isolated, tenuous and depleted (Crouch 2008:132), overlooking interpretations of islands as bridges rather than boundaries (Ford 2011; Gosden and Pavlides 1994:162). Different points along a continuum from isolation to interaction exist depending on the environmental and cultural factors in operation (Fitzpatrick and Anderson 2008:4). Marginality and isolation are also cultural constructs; in a culturally-​constructed landscape, the middle of the ocean is marginal, but in a culturally-​constructed seascape, the middle of a large island is the most marginal place (Crouch 2008:132). The sea is a ‘sea of islands’ which water connects rather than divides; a holistic Indigenous perspective at a counterpoint to ‘islands in a far sea’ emphasising dry surfaces (Hau’ofa 1993:7). Methods that traverse (Western) perceptions of borders dissolve cognitive boundaries. The concept of ‘seeing the archaeology of the land from the sea’ (Cooney 2003:325) or a ‘waterview’ (Hicks 2001:169) is a useful perspective which contributes to understanding mobility within a maritime landscape (Ilves 2011). To understand the influence of maritime components, such as navigation, piloting and safe landfall, within a culture one must view the sea person’s perspective (Ilves 2004:163). Fishing grounds were also once only locatable by observation of the water (before sounders and GPS) and it is only possible to document these features of a seascape today by looking at them from the sea (Ilves 2004:167). In addition to locating sites, considering site function and symbolism, and assessing heritage management, this method contributes to understanding Indigenous worldviews (Fowler et al. 2015).

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12 Narungga This book incorporates differing worldviews, lived experiences and cultural practices by encompassing complex elements such as a deep time depth including the transition between the pre-​and post-​contact periods (cultural continuity) and the role of entanglement (culture contact), framing the capitalist nature of the mission. These attempts reveal that ‘scientific knowledges can be expanded and improved through articulations with the perspectives and substance of Indigenous knowledges’ (Bruchac 2014:3820–​3821). The perspective While it may be obvious that ‘ships were … one of the essential tools that allowed Europeans to colonize and exert hegemony over much of the rest of the world’ (Meide 2013:13), maritime archaeologists have not considered Indigenous perspectives of colonialism, neglecting ‘the mundane, unsavoury aspects of the historical narrative’ (Harris et al. 2012:111). Provocative statements suggesting maritime archaeology was ‘as white as a freshly pressed set of bed sheets’ (McGhee 1998) are somewhat tempered by calls to expose ‘the “dirty secrets” of European global expansion, colonialism and domination’ (Flatman 2003:150). Countries have used maritime archaeology and its associated finds (ships) as metaphors for their great ages (e.g., Age of ‘Discovery’) (Westerdahl 2008a:18). Well-​known maritime archaeological examples, which embody the ‘glorification of war and the celebration of European maritime hegemony’ (Flatman 2003:150), include Mary Rose (1545, English), Vasa (1628, Swedish), La Belle (1686, French), HMS Victory (British) and H.L. Hunley (1863, American) (Flatman 2003; Maarleveld 2011). Australia’s maritime heritage parallels this situation—​especially the heritage that government agencies present and foreground in the domain of the general public. As is the case with other countries, Australia has used ships as icons in the national agenda, reflecting great periods in the history of ‘white’ Australia—​despite representing brutal expansion policies (McGhee [1998] goes as far as suggesting maritime archaeology paid homage to ‘ships symbolizing genocide’). Narungga scholar, Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (2015), argues that Australia wrote its Constitution from the view of the arriving ships. National biases have been influential in Australian maritime archaeology where studies have favoured the tradition of maritime historical exploration in which maritime archaeology developed (Maarleveld 2011:924). Archaeological projects have favoured either periods that are important for national identity or events in national history that are well-​ documented in written texts (Maarleveld 2011:921). Indigenous maritime culture does not fit into this tradition of maritime archaeology ideas (after Richards 2013:13). Attempts by museums and other institutions to appreciate Indigenous maritime history do little to overcome the image of ‘eons-​old … ancient indigenous watercraft and maritime art’ (McCarthy

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Narungga 13 2011:1046). Of relevance here is that the only Burgiyana vessel that has become part of a historical collection is Bart Sansbury’s boat at the National Museum of Australia (1992.0101.0001). Its significance is thus historical-​, rather than maritime-​, based. There is a bias in maritime archaeology towards non-​Indigenous maritime heritage, particularly shipwrecks (Roberts et al. 2013:78), a legacy of colonialism. Australian-​built vessels have been archaeologically-​investigated, yet historical and archaeological research limits the role of Indigenous peoples in such construction. This may be a product of maritime archaeology more generally where researchers focus on the technology of vessels at the expense of the social history of the people involved, whether Indigenous or non-​ Indigenous (Adams 2001). But most investigations of boatbuilding sites, features of maritime archaeology which are often more socially-​orientated, relate to non-​ Indigenous vessel construction (e.g., see Dappert 2011), although the Western Australian Museum (2014) recorded oral histories relating to Aboriginal shipbuilding in Broome, particularly the pearling lugger Ancel which is now in the Western Australia Museum’s watercraft collection. Discussions around traditional watercraft (such as the Nawi conference, 2012, and symposium, 2017)  are beginning to remedy a lack of archaeological research into Indigenous waterfaring, despite continuing to overlook the post-​contact period (Roberts et al. 2013:78). European maritime infrastructure has received attention by researchers, although infrastructure specific to Indigenous communities has lacked research. Roberts et  al. (2013:78) state ‘less is written about Indigenous watercraft, construction, shipbuilding and use (either of a traditional nature or as a result of European influence) and the past and contemporary significance of such vessels to Indigenous peoples’. Sites such as boatbuilding localities and jetties provide crucial links between maritime activities at sea and on land (Roberts et al. 2013:85). A landscape approach can address the maritime component of colonialism (Firth 1995:4), engaging with the ‘theoretically established set of maritime cultural indicators’, which are the technologies, ideas, events, mentalities, social and cultural structures and capitalist economies brought about by contact and colonialism (Christie 2013:160). In an Indigenous context, the maritime landscape explores the functional and practical aspects of maritime culture, such as the ships, boats and other mechanisms used for initiating and consolidating colonialism within a broader context (McGhee 1998). Investigating such material culture and the technologies of capitalist maritime industries, like jetties, allows ready exploration of the Indigenous involvement in these structures. The simultaneous contextualisation of ‘scientific’ data with Indigenous knowledges, including oral histories complementing the archaeological investigation of Dolly’s Jetty at Burgiyana, for example, brings the cross-​cultural engagements of Indigenous peoples with Western maritime culture into focus and deconstructs the Eurocentric attitude of maritime archaeology.

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14 Narungga The sources Maritime archaeology is behind its terrestrial counterparts when it comes to the collaborative inclusion of Indigenous communities in the research process (Roberts et al. 2013:78). Studies in maritime archaeology often originate in archival research, adopting a mindset grounded in archival sources and generally excluding oral histories (Maarleveld 2011:925). While not all sites or landscapes investigated through maritime archaeology have possibilities for oral history or ethnographic interdisciplinary research, where possible, oral histories—​be they individual narratives or communal stories—​are especially relevant in foregrounding Indigenous perspectives of their own history. Nonetheless, oral history is still a contentious source of data for archaeology despite over two decades of challenging scientific archaeology and master narratives (Nicholas and Watkins 2014:3782). Archaeological research in marginalised communities, such as post-​colonial and Indigenous contexts, has advocated for the use of oral history. Oral memory has far-​ reaching potential for archaeology as it reveals how past and present people created and negotiated meaning in historical landscapes (Jones and Russell 2012:268, 272–​274). Oral histories populate places with individuals and communities, emphasising human action and social relationships (Flatman 2011:325). Harbours, loading places and other well-​frequented havens and their associated hinterland are rich in folklore and the making and telling of stories; even small harbours are centres for retelling and spreading dominant myths and stories (Westerdahl 2011a:334, 337, 2012:334). Legislation and heritage management see archaeologists as the principal experts in cultural heritage management which focuses on tangible, rather than intangible, heritage, even in Australia’s post-​colonial society where ‘genuine’ Indigenous culture is ‘contained or confined in the form of archaeological sites’ (Byrne 1996:87; Prangnell et al. 2010:140–​141). Indigenous heritage research continues to consider its primary manifestation as the material past, despite recent international literature on intangible values (Brown 2008:22). The 2003 UNESCO Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage defines intangible cultural heritage as ‘the practices, representations, expressions, knowledge, skills—​as well as the instruments, objects, artefacts and cultural spaces associated therewith—​ that communities, groups and, in some cases, individuals recognise as part of their cultural heritage’. As such, intangible heritage includes oral traditions and expressions, performing arts, social practices, rituals and festive events, knowledge and practices about nature and the universe and traditional craftsmanship (UNESCO 2003). Documenting any archaeological landscape without reference to its intangible heritage and without the input of Indigenous peoples results in a lack of contextualising information (Bruchac 2014:3814; Byrne 2004:144). Archaeology can read objects and describe activities; only oral history can embed artefacts with specific life stories and meaning (Beck and Somerville

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Narungga 15 2005:476). Traditional archaeological enquiry relates to physical evidence, yet a cultural landscape approach considers the continuity between past, present and future, including the continuum between ‘prehistory’ and history, and the connection between ‘the remembered past and contemporary communities’ (Brown 2007:38). To incorporate Indigenous perspectives of cultural landscapes and heritage, emphasising intangible knowledge and living heritage, collaboration with the community is vital (Prangnell et al. 2010:140–​ 141). Community research challenges the notion of ‘archaeologist as expert’ and recognises the knowledge of Indigenous peoples in interpreting cultural heritage. Indigenous peoples may attribute significance to all archaeology and such interpretations are part of an ongoing ‘interpretive practice’ (Roberts 2011:49–​ 50). Community archaeology is particularly well-​placed for contact period sites where unanticipated meetings of significance contrast assumptions that a site is of interest to only one community (Marshall 2002:216)—​it is ‘of more lasting interest to interview living people than to find shipwrecks’ (Westerdahl 1992:11). One example of this is the loss of the steamship Sunbeam (1892, Western Australia), where Gamberra people explain its wrecking within their mythology as retribution by the Ancestral snake spirit for not returning Aboriginal women to the shore after being on board the vessel (McCarthy 2008:232). Researchers have not attempted the systematic recording of local community’s oral histories and legends and an assessment of Indigenous attitudes and opinions towards the effect of maritime contact (McCarthy 2008:232). Where segregation of Indigenous and non-​Indigenous communities has occurred in the recent past, community-​based research can also uncover older histories of shared landscapes. Relying on intangible heritage, or at least aspiring to a balance between material and immaterial traces, forces maritime archaeologists to adopt a collaborative, community-​based approach (Westerdahl 2010:68, 2011a:339–​ 340). Local cognitive perspectives, accessed through oral history, reveal how the mind maps the ecological surroundings. Place names are a vital and significant source of intangible data (Westerdahl 1992:5–​6). Recording place names at Burgiyana emphasised Aboriginal toponyms and highlighting these traditional toponyms, in this public volume, contributes towards countering colonialism. The inclusion of oral histories in this volume resolves issues surrounding maritime archaeology’s lack of engagement with Indigenous peoples. Nuanced, localised and lived histories, which are a result of collaboration with Indigenous communities about their maritime heritage, enriches the subfield’s premise as the study of maritime culture (Martinez 2014; Nicholas and Andrews 1997; Smith 2012).

Organisation This book contrasts and combines terrestrial, coastal and submerged features of Narungga maritime culture. Chapter 2 introduces the historical

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16 Narungga background of Burgiyana, from the colonisation of South Australia through pastoralism, maritime industries and the chain of government regulations controlling the lives of Aboriginal peoples, to the establishment of Burgiyana and connections to Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu. Chapters  3–​7 present five facets relating to the maritime culture of Burgiyana: cognitive, transport, economic, social and territorial landscapes. These facets are tools to deconstruct the concept of maritime culture, and readers should view these as relational, with interaction between these categories. Chapter  3 presents the cognitive landscape through Narungga Dreamings, toponymy and seascapes, an important landscape that underlies all further facets. Chapter 4 explores Aboriginal adoption, construction and use of Western-​ style vessels. Chapter 5 investigates fishing and island and coastal agriculture which provided everyday subsistence and sustenance, as well as employment and livelihood to Burgiyana people. Chapter 6 reveals the intersections of economy and leisure in the social landscape through the lens of sex and age as factors within maritime activities. Chapter 7 indicates the complexities of human use of the sea and the coastal zone when local Aboriginal and European colonisers are operating side by side (Cooney 2003:327). Chapter  8 concludes the volume by discussing avenues for continuing to decolonise the discipline of maritime archaeology.

References Adams, J., 2001. Ships and boats as archaeological source material, World Archaeology 32(3):292–​310. Anderson, R.J., 2016. Beneath the Colonial Gaze: Modelling Maritime Society and Cross-​cultural Contact on Australia’s Southern Ocean Frontier—​the Archipelago of the Recherche, Western Australia, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, School of Social Sciences, University of Western Australia, Crawley. Archibald, T.S., 1915. Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission Incorporated: A Brief Record of Its History and Operations. Hussey & Gillingham: Adelaide. Beck, W., and Somerville, M., 2005. Conversations between disciplines: Historical archaeology and oral history at Yarrawarra, World Archaeology 37(3):468–​483. Bender, B., 1999. Subverting the Western gaze:  Mapping alternative worlds. In Ucko, P., and Layton, R. (Eds.), The Archaeology and Anthropology of Landscape: Shaping your Landscape. Routledge: London, pp. 31–​45. Bennett, M., 2007. The economics of fishing:  Sustainable living in colonial New South Wales, Aboriginal History 31:85–​102. Bird Rose, D., 2014. Arts of flow: Poetics of ‘fit’ in Aboriginal Australia, Dialectical Anthropology 38:431–​445. Birmingham, J., 2000. Resistance, creolization or optimal foraging at Killalpaninna Mission, South Australia. In Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Negotiating Cross-​Cultural Engagements in Oceania. Routledge: London, pp. 361–​405. Birmingham, J., and Wilson, A., 2010. Archaeologies of cultural interaction: Wybalenna settlement and Killalpaninna Mission, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:15–​38.

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Narungga 17 Brown, S., 2007. Landscaping heritage: Toward an operational cultural landscape approach for protected areas in New South Wales, Australasian Historical Archaeology 25:33–​42. Brown, S., 2008. Mute or mutable? Archaeological significance, research and cultural heritage management in Australia, Australian Archaeology 67:19–​30. Bruchac, M.M., 2014. Indigenous knowledge and traditional knowledge. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3814–​3824. Byrne, D., 1996. Deep nation:  Australia’s acquisition of an Indigenous past, Aboriginal History 20:82–​107. Byrne, D., 2004. An archaeology of attachment:  Cultural heritage and the post-​ contact. In Harrison, R. (Ed.), After Captain Cook:  The Archaeology of the Recent Indigenous Past in Australia. AltaMira: Walnut Creek, pp. 135–​146. Byrne, D., and Nugent, M., 2004. Mapping Attachment:  A Spatial Approach to Aboriginal Post-​Contact Heritage. Department of Environment and Conservation (NSW): Hurstville. Chirikure, S., 2014. Indigenous peoples, working with and for. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3834–​3841. Christie, A., 2013. Were the communities living on the East African coast also ‘maritime’ communities? An archaeological perspective. In Ford, B., and van Duivenvoorde, W. (Eds.), Perspectives from Historical Archaeology and ACUA Proceedings No.  7: Maritime Archaeology. Society for Historical Archaeology: Germantown, pp. 162–​172. Clark, P., 1990. Shipwreck Sites in the South-​East of South Australia 1838–​1915. State Heritage Branch: Adelaide. Cooney, G., 2003. Introduction:  Seeing land from the sea, World Archaeology 35(3):323–​328. Coroneos, C., and McKinnon, R., 1997. Shipwrecks of Investigator Strait and the Lower Yorke Peninsula. Department of Environment and Natural Resources: Adelaide. Crouch, J., 2008. Reading between the lands:  Toward an amphibious archaeological settlement model for maritime migrations. In David, B., and Thomas, J. (Eds.), Handbook of Landscape Archaeology. Left Coast Press:  Walnut Creek, pp. 131–​140. Dappert, C.P., 2011. US shipbuilding activities at American River, South Australia:  Finding significance of ‘place’ in the maritime cultural landscape. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 247–​266. Dixon, R.M.W., Moore, B., Ramson, W.S., and Thomas, M., 2006. Australian Aboriginal Words in English:  Their Origin and Meaning. Oxford University Press: Oxford. Egloff, B., and the Wreck Bay Community, 1990. Wreck Bay: An Aboriginal Fishing Community. Aboriginal Studies Press: Canberra. Express and Telegraph, 1885. Saturday night’s corroboree, 1 June, p. 3. Firth, A., 1995. Three facets of maritime archaeology:  Society, landscape and critique. www.wessexarch.co.uk/​blogs/​splash/​2010/​04/​14/​three-​facets-​of-​maritime-​ archaeology. Accessed on 11 November 2014. Fitzpatrick, S.M., and Anderson, A., 2008. Islands of isolation:  Archaeology and the power of aquatic perimeters, Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 3(1):4–​16.

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18 Narungga Flatman, J., 2003. Cultural biographies, cognitive landscapes and dirty old bits of boat:  ‘Theory’ in maritime archaeology, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 32(2):143–​157. Flatman, J., 2011. Places of special meaning: Westerdahl’s comet, ‘agency’, and the concept of the ‘maritime cultural landscape’. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 311–​329. Ford, B., 2011. The shoreline as a bridge, not a boundary:  Cognitive maritime landscapes of Lake Ontario. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 63–​80. Fowler, M., 2013. Aboriginal missions and post-​contact maritime archaeology:  A South Australian synthesis, Journal of the Anthropological Society of South Australia 37:73–​89. Fowler, M., Roberts, A.L., Graham, F., Sansbury, L., and Sansbury, C., 2015. Seeing Narungga (Aboriginal) land from the sea:  A case study from Point Pearce/​ Burgiyana, South Australia, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 39:60–​70. Fowler, M., Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., and Graham, F., 2014. ‘They camped here always’: Archaeologies of attachment to seascapes via a case study at Wardang Island (Waraldi/​Wara-​dharldhi), South Australia, Australasian Historical Archaeology 32:14–​22. Fox, K., 2006. Leisure and Indigenous peoples, Leisure Studies 25(4):403–​409. Frances, R., Scates, B., and McGrath, A., 1994. Broken silences? Labour history and Aboriginal workers. In Irving, T. (Ed.), Challenges to Labour History. University of New South Wales Press: Sydney, pp. 189–​211. Gara, T., 2013. Indigenous Bark Canoes in South Australia, Flinders University Archaeology Seminar, Adelaide. Gill, N., Paterson, A.G., and Kennedy, M.J., 2005. ‘Do you want to delete this?’ Hidden histories and hidden landscapes in the Murchison and Davenport ranges, Northern Territory, Australia. In Ward, G.K., and Muckle, A. (Eds.), The Power of Knowledge, the Resonance of Tradition. Electronic publication of papers from the AIATSIS Indigenous Studies conference, September 2001. Research Program, Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies:  Canberra, pp. 125–​137. Gosden, C., and Pavlides, C., 1994. Are islands insular? Landscape vs. seascape in the case of the Arawe Islands, Papua New Guinea, Archaeology of Oceania 29:162–​171. Griffin, D., 2010. Identifying domination and resistance through the spatial organization of Poonindie Mission, South Australia, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:156–​169. Griffiths, T., 1988. The Life and Adventures of Edward Snell: The Illustrated Diary of an Artist, Engineer and Adventurer in the Australian Colonies 1849 to 1859. Angus & Robertson Publishers and The Library Council of Victoria: North Ryde. Harris, L.B., Jones, J., and Schnitzer, K., 2012. Monuments in the desert: A maritime landscape in Namibia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 7:111–​140. Hau’ofa, E., 1993. Our sea of islands. In Naidu, V., Waddell, E., and Hau’ofa, E. (Eds.), A New Oceania: Rediscovering Our Sea of Islands. School of Social and Economic Development, University of the South Pacific: Suva, pp. 2–​16. Helmreich, S., 2011. Nature/​ culture/​ seawater, American Anthropologist 113(1): 132–​144.

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Narungga 19 Hemming, S., 2002. Taming the colonial archive:  History, native title and colonialism. In Paul, M., and Gray, G. (Eds.), Through A Smoky Mirror: History and Native Title. Aboriginal Studies Press: Canberra, pp. 49–​64. Hemming, S., and Rigney, D., 2010. Decentring the new protectors: Transforming Aboriginal heritage in South Australia, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–​2):90–​106. Hemming, S., Wood, V., and Hunter, R., 2000. Researching the past: Oral history and archaeology at Swan Reach. In Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Negotiating Cross-​Cultural Engagements in Oceania. Routledge: London, pp. 331–​359. Hicks, R.D., 2001. What is a maritime museum, Museum Management and Curatorship 19(2):159–​174. Hill, D.L., and Hill, S.J., 1975. Notes on the Narangga Tribe of Yorke Peninsula. Lutheran Publishing: Adelaide. Howitt, R., 2001. Frontiers, borders and edges: Liminal challenges to the hegemony of exclusion, Australian Geographical Studies 39:233–​245. Hunter, J.R., 1994. Maritime culture: Notes from the land, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 23(4):261–​264. Ilves, K., 2004. The seaman’s perspective in landscape archaeology: Landing sites on the maritime cultural landscape, Estonian Journal of Archaeology 8(2):163–​180. Ilves, K., 2011. Is there an archaeological potential for a sociology of landing sites?, Journal of Archaeology and Ancient History 2:3–​31. Jones, S., and Russell, L., 2012. Archaeology, memory and oral tradition: An introduction, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 16:267–​283. Kenderdine, S., 1993. Historic Shipping on the River Murray:  A Guide to the Terrestrial and Submerged Archaeological Sites in South Australia. State Heritage Branch: Adelaide. Kenny, M., 1973. Vegetation. In Corbett, D. (Ed.), Yorke Peninsula: A Natural History. Department of Adult Education, University of Adelaide: Adelaide, pp. 29–​54. Krichauff, S., 2017. Yorke Peninsula: Rethinking Narungga responses to Europeans and colonialism. In Brock, P., and Gara, T. (Eds.), Colonialism and Its Aftermath: A History of Aboriginal South Australia. Wakefield Press: Mile End, pp. 171–​191. Lydon, J., and Ash, J., 2010. The archaeology of missions in Australasia: Introduction, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:1–​14. Maarleveld, T., 2011. Ethics, underwater cultural heritage, and international law. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 917–​941. Manoff, M., 2004. Theories of the archive from across the disciplines, Libraries and the Academy 4(1):9–​25. Marshall, Y., 2002. What is community archaeology?, World Archaeology 34(2):211–​219. Martinez, D.R., 2014. Indigenous archaeologies. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3772–​3777. McCarthy, M., 2008. The Australian Contact Shipwrecks Program. In Veth, P., Sutton, P., and Neale, M. (Eds.), Strangers on the Shore: Early Coastal Contacts in Australia. National Museum of Australia Press: Canberra, pp. 227–​236. McCarthy, M., 2011. Museums and maritime archaeology. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 1032–​1054.

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20 Narungga McGhee, F.L., 1998. Towards a Postcolonial Nautical Archaeology. http://​ archaeologydataservice.ac.uk/​archives/​view/​assemblage/​html/​3/​3mcghee.html. Accessed 11 November 2014. McNiven, I.J., 2003. Saltwater people: Spiritscapes, maritime rituals and the archaeology of Australian Indigenous seascapes, World Archaeology 35(3):329–​349. McNiven, I.J., 2008. Sentient sea: Seascapes as spiritscapes. In David, B., and Thomas, J. (Eds.), Handbook of Landscape Archaeology. Left Coast Press: Walnut Creek, pp. 149–​157. Meide, C., 2013. The Development of Maritime Archaeology as a Discipline and the Evolving Use of Theory by Maritime Archaeologists, Dissertation Position Paper No. 2, College of William & Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia. Mollenmans, A., 2014. An Analysis of Narungga Fish Traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Moody, S.M., 2012. Port Victoria’s Ships and Shipwrecks. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Moody, S.M., 2016. Balgowan the Outport:  A Captain’s Nightmare—​ Farmers’ Delight. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association, 2006. Nharangga Warra:  Narungga Dictionary. Wakefield Press: Maitland. Nash, D., 1984. The Waramungu’s reserves 1892–​1962: A case study in dispossession, Australian Aboriginal Studies 1:2–​16. Nicholas, G.P., and Andrews, T., 1997. At a Crossroads:  Archaeologists and First Peoples in Canada. Archaeology Press, Simon Fraser University: Burnaby. Nicholas, G.P., and Watkins, J.E., 2014. Indigenous archaeologies in archaeological theory. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3777–​3786. Osborne, M., and Downs, J., 2012. Ecological Sustainable Development Fisheries Management Social Objectives & Indicators: Testing the Social Framework with the Narungga Community of South Australia (Draft), Primary Industries and Regions SA Fisheries, Adelaide. Parker, A.J., 2001. Maritime landscapes, Landscapes 1:22–​41. Paterson, A.G., 2003. The texture of agency: An example of culture-​contact in central Australia, Archaeology of Oceania 38:52–​65. Peterson, N., and Rigsby, B., 1998. Introduction. In Peterson, N., and Rigsby, B. (Eds.), Customary Marine Tenure in Australia, Oceania Monograph 48. University of Sydney: NSW, pp. 1–​21. Prangnell, J., Ross, A., and Coghill, B., 2010. Power relations and community involvement in landscape-​based cultural heritage management practice:  An Australian case study, International Journal of Heritage Studies 16(1–​2):140–​155. Ransley, J., 2011. Maritime communities and traditions. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 879–​903. Reynolds, H., 1984. The Breaking of the Great Australian Silence:  Aborigines in Australian Historiography 1955–​ 1983, Trevor Reese Memorial Lecture, University of London. Reynolds, H., 2000. Black Pioneers:  How Aboriginal and Island People Helped Build Australia. Penguin Books: Ringwood. Reynolds, H., 2006. The Other Side of the Frontier:  Aboriginal Resistance to the European Invasion of Australia. University of New South Wales Press: Sydney.

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Narungga 21 Richards, N., 2013. Abandoned ships and ship graveyards: Exploring site significance and research potential. In Richards, N., and Seeb, S.K. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Watercraft Abandonment. Springer: New York, pp. 1–​16. Rigney, L.-​I., 2015. View from the shore must be part of the Constitution, Herald Sun, Melbourne, 3 March. Roberts, A., Mollenmans, A., Agius, Q., Graham, F., Newchurch, J., Rigney, L.-​I., Sansbury, F., Sansbury, L., Turner, P., Wanganeen, G., and Wanganeen, K., 2016. ‘They planned their calendar…they set up ready for what they wanted to feed the tribe’: A first-​stage analysis of Narungga fish traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, The Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11(1):1–​25. Roberts, A.L., 2011. Archaeology, anthropology and Indigenous Australians: South Australian perspectives and broader issues facing archaeologists in contemporary practice, Journal of the Anthropological Society of South Australia 34:38–​55. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and ‘Hidden Histories’: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Roberts, A.L., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Wanganeen, K., forthcoming. The Butterfish Mob: Narungga Cultural Fishing. Wakefield Press: Adelaide. Roberts, D.A., 2004. Nautical themes in the Aboriginal rock paintings of Mount Borradaile, western Arnhem Land, Great Circle 26(1):19–​50. Rönnby, J., 2007. Maritime durées:  Long-​term structures in a coastal landscape, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 2:65–​82. Rowland, M.J., and Ulm, S., 2011. Indigenous fish traps and weirs of Queensland, Queensland Archaeological Review 14:1–​58. Russell, L., 2005. Kangaroo Island sealers and their descendants: Ethnic and gender ambiguities in the archaeology of a creolised community, Australian Archaeology 60:1–​5. Silliman, S.W., 2010. The value and diversity of Indigenous archaeology: A response to McGhee, American Antiquity 75(2):217–​220. Smith, L.T., 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, Second Edition. Zed Books: London. Smyth, D., 2012. Best Practice Recognition and Engagement of Aboriginal Traditional Owners and Other Indigenous People in the Use and Management of Victoria’s Marine Protected Areas, Victorian Environment Assessment Council, Atherton. Staniforth, M., Briggs, S., and Lewczak, C., 2001. Archaeology unearthing the invisible people: European women and children and Aboriginal people at South Australian shore-​based whaling stations, Mains’l Haul 36(3):12–​19. Stanner, W.E.H., 1969. After the Dreaming. The Boyer Lectures: Sydney. Tindale, N.B., 1936. Notes on the natives of the southern portion of Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Transactions Royal Society of South Australia 60:55–​70. Tindale, N.B., 1974. Aboriginal Tribes of Australia:  Their Terrain, Environmental Controls, Distribution, Limits and Proper Names. Australian National University Press: Canberra. UNESCO, 2003. Convention for the Safeguarding of the Intangible Cultural Heritage.

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22 Narungga Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Westerdahl, C., 1992. The maritime cultural landscape, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 21(1):5–​14. Westerdahl, C., 2003. Maritime culture in an inland lake? In Brebbia, C.A., and Gambin, T. (Eds.), Maritime Heritage. WIT Press: Malta, pp. 17–​26. Westerdahl, C., 2008a. Boats apart: Building and equipping an Iron-​Age and Early-​ Medieval ship in Northern Europe, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 37(1):17–​31. Westerdahl, C., 2008b. Fish and ships:  Towards a theory of maritime culture, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 30:191–​236. Westerdahl, C., 2010. Lake Vanern: Reflections on dynamic continuity and changing shore-​lines, Skyllis 1:65–​77. Westerdahl, C., 2011a. Conclusion:  The maritime cultural landscape revisited. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 331–​344. Westerdahl, C., 2011b. The maritime cultural landscape. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 733–​754. Westerdahl, C., 2012. The ritual landscape of the seaboard in historical times: Island chapels, burial sites and stone mazes—​A Scandinavian example: Part 1 chapels and burial sites, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 34:259–​370. Western Australian Museum, 2014. Aboriginal Shipbuilding Oral History—​Doug D’Antoine, Derby. http://​museum.wa.gov.au/​research/​collections/​maritime-​ history/​maritime-​history-​oral-​histories/​aboriginal-​shipbuilding-​oral-​h. Accessed 16 August 2014. Wilson, C., 2014. Indigenous archaeologies:  Australian perspective. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3786–​3793. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Aboriginal Archaeological Site Survey of Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside.

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2  Burgiyana

Our maritime knowledges and skills are transferred from that historical reservoir as a Narungga people, not necessarily as a product of colonial intervention by putting our mission close to the sea.

(int. Rigney 18 July 2013) South Australia’s multi-​faceted colonisation had lasting consequences for Aboriginal peoples. Yet, throughout the history of the South Australian state, regulations have been in place that have attempted to restrict the lives of Aboriginal peoples. These state-​wide regulations affected the lives of Aboriginal peoples at Burgiyana, regulations which contextualise the maritime activities at the mission in relation to broader power structures. The specific histories of Burgiyana, Waraldi, and the nearby town of Dharldiwarldu highlight their related maritime activities as part of a greater maritime cultural system. The background to Narungga ways of life and worldviews in Chapter 1 provides important context for the impact of colonisation, pastoralism and agriculture on Guuranda because it highlights both the rapid and large changes to Aboriginal lifeways, as well as maritime cultural continuity.

Colonising South Australia The colonisation of Guuranda and wider South Australia is complex and what follows is a synthesis of the key events from the 1830s to the 1990s. Three epochs of colonialism form a spectrum from ‘colonialism within a shared cultural milieu’ (cultural power), to the ‘middle ground’ (greatest experiment and creativity), and finally to ‘terra nullius’ (violence) (Gosden 2004:26). Burgiyana fits into the epoch of terra nullius, expressed through four necessary occurrences:  stolen land, hardening of racial categories, ignorance of local power systems and capitalist exploitation (Gosden 2004:27). Capitalism had a wide-​reaching impact on people and archaeology can draw attention to communities on the periphery, such as missions, to explore a more complete story of its growth (Shackel 2009:19)—​the mission landscape is a ‘peripheral site’ of capitalism (Croucher and Weiss

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24 Burgiyana 2011:7, 12) and even an ‘agricultural factory’ (Griffin 2000). As capitalist relations became cemented in mission society, changes in the settlement and labour needs ensued (Croucher and Weiss 2011:26). Indigenous labour was hence integrated into global economic systems (Lydon and Ash 2010:2). Burgiyana is not an isolated case study in Australia; it is part of a broader narrative of colonialism set in a context where policies attempted to indoctrinate Indigenous peoples into a capitalist system. Pastoralism Coined the ‘sheep-​led invasion’, colonialism arrived on the backs of sheep (Pope 1988:8). South Australia was one of the fastest growing regions in Australia from proclamation (1836) to 1850 (Brock 1995:103). In South Australia, sheep multiplied from 200,000 in 1850 to 6  million in 1874 (Brock 1995:103). The agricultural economy introduced by settlers was not compatible with the existing Aboriginal economy as restrictions to, and competition for, land and water supplies placed pressure on traditional subsistence of hunting and gathering plant foods. This forced Aboriginal peoples to rely on employment and rations from settlers (Brock 1995:103). Rations undermined the independence of the foraging lifestyle and resulted in dependence and sedentariness (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:20). Wide fluctuations in demand led to the deliberate exploitation of Aboriginal labour in the early years of European settlement of South Australia—​especially during periods when non-​Indigenous labour was scarce (i.e., the gold rush) (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:117; Pope 1988:1, 5). Occupations such as guides and trackers, domestic servants, agricultural labourers and drovers, shepherds and tanners resulted in a significant contribution by Aboriginal peoples to the development of the colony (Pope 1988). In addition to missions and reserves, Indigenous people’s historic and lived experiences within other Australian post-​contact contexts, including the farming and pastoral industries, has received increasing attention from archaeologists (e.g., Gill and Paterson 2007; Harrison 2004a, 2004b; Liebelt et al. 2016:89; Paterson 2005, 2011, 2017). Studies of Indigenous labour in the pastoral and agricultural industries aid in contextualising maritime labour within the wider reaches of colonialism. The ‘archaeologies of attachment’ concept explores the experiences of Indigenous peoples who laboured within the pastoral industry (Harrison 2004b). Attachment is the local or community relationship between physical, material, artefactual remains and heritage places, and intangible heritage and memory (Harrison 2004b:3). Labour is a central experience in the landscape, through which people create networks of identity, stories and associations (Given 2004:18). At a colonial-​era pastoral settlement in the Northern Territory, sites reflected minimal expenditure, use of local construction materials and a reliance on a moveable Aboriginal workforce (Paterson et al. 2003:86). Similar evidence

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Burgiyana 25 for choices in construction materials and durability of structures built on Waraldi at Burgiyana may reveal the changing prosperity of the islands’ agricultural industry and, as a consequence, maritime industry. Evidence for cultural contact at Camden Harbour, a failed coastal pastoral settlement in the western Kimberley (Western Australia) (1864–​ 1865), provides an interesting intersection between culture contact within pastoral, maritime and mission spheres (Souter 2013). Archival sources gave limited insight into Aboriginal peoples using and adapting European objects, including boats—​which were often stolen from the settlers by Aboriginal peoples (Souter 2013:89–​ 91). Archaeological evidence from a museum collection and field survey found indications of Aboriginal adoption and reuse through knapped glass and ceramic artefacts, although a lack of material culture at one site is possibly due to later removal by Aboriginal peoples from Kunmunya Mission (founded 1912) (Souter 2013:91, 93). Maritime industries Indigenous peoples have provided labour to Australia’s maritime industry. On the Fleurieu Peninsula (South Australia) following the arrival of settlers, Ramindjeri people lived a fringe lifestyle at whaling stations, with the employment of men and women in the cutting-​in work, and some working on the whaling boats as rowers (Coroneos 1997:11). Although working without wages exploited Indigenous peoples, for example, young men who worked at a whale fishery returned with only their clothes (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:127). In 1839 at Encounter Bay (South Australia), The Southern Australian (7 August 1839 in Staniforth et  al. [2001:14]) reported that: A boat is employed in the fishery which is entirely manned with natives. They take their part in the occupation equally with the white men, and are found to be not less expert than they. Furthermore: The blacks gave the whalers much help as watchers. It was in their interest to do so, for … the capture of the big “fish” meant a royal feast for them. Incidentally, one of the best harpoonists at the station was an Aboriginal—​Black  Dick. (The Adelaide Chronicle 20 April 1833 in Staniforth et al. [2001:14]) The occupation of Aboriginal youth in South Australia included boat crew, ships stewards or on whaling vessels, and Nauo men acted as coast watchers

26

26 Burgiyana near Coffin Bay (Eyre Peninsula) to notify settlers of approaching ships (Pope 1988:4, 7). Thus, while Indigenous peoples’ involvement in shore-​based whaling is evident, these sites have undergone very few archaeological surveys and excavations. A  1997 survey at Point Collinson (South Australia) whaling station identified bottle glass flaked by Aboriginal people to form tools (Staniforth et  al. 2001:16). This reworked European material located in the vicinity of the whaling station and most likely sourced from the station reveals the interaction between whalers and Aboriginal peoples (Staniforth et al. 2001:16). Cross-​cultural interaction also occurred in another maritime endeavour: sealing. The case of sealing is very like that of whaling. Sealers settled on Kangaroo Island in the early 1800s and brought Aboriginal women from Tasmania and the mainland next to Kangaroo Island with them (Russell 2005:2). Extensive research including collecting many oral histories from descendants explored the lives of Aboriginal Tasmanian women who lived on Kangaroo Island with the sealers and the mechanisms of remembering local Aboriginal history by colonial descendants (Taylor 2008:100). Previous accounts of the topic have shown no empathy with the women and lack consideration of the complexity of their relationship with the sealers (Taylor 2008:42). Furthermore, the history of Kangaroo Island is a footnote in the histories of both the Tasmanian Aboriginal community of Bass Strait and the South Australian colonial narrative (Taylor 2008:87). Aboriginal women on Kangaroo Island hunted seals using waddies and prepared sealskins (Russell 2005:2). Archaeological evidence includes flaked items such as glass, stone tools and a telegraph insulator hafted to form an adze (Russell 2005:2–​3). The archaeological evidence does not fit into the categories of race and sex (Indigenous/​non-​Indigenous, female/​male) of traditional paradigms of accommodation/​resistance, instead suggesting a creolised society in which it is possible that either Aboriginal women or European men manufactured and used these objects (Russell 2005:2). In addition to Aboriginal women, Ngarrindjeri men worked for sealers on Kangaroo Island in the 1820s (Gara 2013:7). Aboriginal peoples also made a significant contribution to the South Australian maritime economy (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:117). Missionary Christina Smith gives a description of the first ship seen by Aboriginal peoples at Rivoli Bay (southeast SA) in 1822 or 1823, ‘some of them thought it was a drifting island, and all who saw it became alarmed, and began to think of a hiding-​place’ (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:145). As early as 1832 in Port Lincoln, Aboriginal peoples, reimbursed with tobacco, assisted whalers in ‘carrying water to the ship and other matters’ (Krichauff 2008:30). Aboriginal peoples under employment loaded ships at wharves such as Ceduna and Port Lincoln (Brock 1995:105). Subprotector Mason reported from Wellington that Aboriginal peoples at the Murray cut firewood for the steamer Lady Augusta and were also employed on the vessel

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Burgiyana 27 for a voyage (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:118). He found Aboriginal peoples, paid in clothing, blankets, flour and tobacco, to be ‘very serviceable’ (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:118). In 1848, the Lieutenant Governor appointed two Aboriginal boys from South Australia, Wailtye and Manara, to the Harbor Department with an allowance of £2 per month (GRG24/​4/​21). They then ‘absented themselves’ several months later (GRG24/​4/​21). Yet this is one of the first examples of paid Aboriginal employment in the colonial maritime industry. In the 1860s and 1870s, Ngarrindjeri men worked as deck hands on paddle steamers on the Murray River (Gara 2013:7). One must view the Indigenous labour in these industries within the framework of Indigenous policies put in place by the government. Government regulations Government policy in South Australia about Aboriginal peoples has fluctuated between non-​existent, protectionist and assimilationist (Ball 1992:36). These regulations, which attempted to restrict the lives of Aboriginal peoples, including through mobility and employment, also affected Aboriginal maritime activities. The South Australia Act 1834 proclaimed the lands of South Australia to be ‘waste and unoccupied Lands … fit for the purposes of colonization’ (Raynes 2002:149). The Colonial Office attempted to make preparations before colonisation for Aboriginal welfare and land rights, but, other than appointing a ‘Protector of Aborigines’, this resulted in little success (Raynes 2002:7). Administration of Aboriginal affairs has been overseen by a series of non-​Indigenous officials, including Protectors, Subprotectors, superintendents, overseers and managers (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:57). During the late nineteenth century, administration responding to Aboriginal needs was in the form of a ‘laissez-​faire approach’ due to a common opinion at the time that Indigenous peoples were dying out (Raynes 2002:24–​25). Following European colonisation of South Australia in 1836, the establishment of 15 major missions occurred between 1850 and 1915, in several cases situated on the coast or on major river or lake systems (Jones 2009:40). Missionary activity, aiming to ‘civilise and Christianise’, marks the initial phases of Aboriginal control (Ball 1992:36). Missionising attitudes were ‘ethnocentric, paternalistic and authoritarian’ (Ball 1992:36). Missionaries preoccupation with clothing, seeing it as the prerequisite to Christianity, forced Aboriginal peoples to wear clothes (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:14). Parliament voted on the annual expenditure on Aboriginal peoples from at least 1888, referred to in historical archives as the ‘Aboriginal Vote’ or the ‘Vote’ (Raynes 2002:25). Financial motivation thus contextualises the provisioning of Aboriginal peoples; the amount voted for the Aborigines’ Office was very low in comparison to other departments, such as education (Raynes 2002:47).

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28 Burgiyana The Aborigines Act 1911 passed with the intention of protecting and controlling Aboriginal peoples in South Australia, but in practice it limited their freedoms and determined how Aboriginal peoples should live (Richardson 1992:25). This Act was controlling, restrictive and repressive, eroding civil rights and emphasising segregation (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:45). Few of the recommendations made in the Royal Commission into Aboriginal Affairs in 1912–​1913 were ever implemented (Wood and Westell 1998b:9). The Commission spent two days at Burgiyana, as well as visiting Raukkan and Munda, taking evidence from mission staff, Aboriginal residents and local pastoralists, amongst others (Raynes 2002:36). It was William Garnet South, Chief Protector at the commencement of the Aborigines Act, who turned the attention to mission stations and pushed for the government to take them over as industrial institutions (Raynes 2002:36). Problems arising in connection with Aboriginal peoples in the early twentieth century involved young Aboriginal peoples on missions, including Burgiyana, being unable to find employment and were thus required to stay at the mission to receive provisions (Raynes 2002:32). In this period, the removal of Aboriginal children from their parents occurred (Raynes 2002:41). The assent of the 1923 Aborigines (Training of Children) Act attempted to make better provision for the care, control and training of Aboriginal children and strengthened the powers of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals, affording the means to place Aboriginal children under the control of the State (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:46; Raynes 2002:44). The institutionalisation of Aboriginal children, against their parents’ will, continued until 1960 (Raynes 2002:55). Section 11a of the Aborigines Act Amendment Act, introduced in 1939, commenced a system of ‘exemptions’ which changed the definition of Aboriginal identity to all people of Aboriginal descent and could declare Aboriginal peoples as exempt from the provisions of the Act, whether they had applied for exemption or not (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:48; Roberts et  al. 2013:89). Emphasising Aboriginal independence and later policies of assimilation were part of the government’s agenda to minimise expenditure on Aboriginal peoples (Raynes 2002:50). Various pressures hindered the ability of Aboriginal peoples to live independent of the government, and so outside the missions, not least that the granting of land was often given on 12 month leases which restricted building on and developing the property (Raynes 2002:52). It was not until 1958 that the amendment of the Police Act 1869–​1870 removed the section prohibiting the social interaction between Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal peoples (Raynes 2002:54). With radical changes in attitudes across the world in the 1960s, following World War II, some opportunities for independence and self-​control arose for Indigenous peoples (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:79; Richardson 1992:33). These opportunities included the 1962 amendment of the Electoral Act 1918 (Commonwealth) to enable Indigenous peoples to vote (King 2013:1). The 1962 Aboriginal Affairs Act also repealed the Aborigines

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Burgiyana 29 Act 1934–​1939, yet the new Act contained many channels which persisted in enabling the control of Indigenous peoples (Raynes 2002:57). The emergence of the Indigenous land rights movement in the 1960s resulted in the Aboriginal Lands Trust Act 1966 (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:79). The 1967 Commonwealth referendum recognised Indigenous peoples and granted full citizenship rights following the Constitution Alteration (Aboriginals) Act (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:55). Another significant development more recently was the introduction of the Commonwealth Native Title Act 1993 and the complementary Native Title Act 1994 (South Australia) (Raynes 2002:69). Of interest to heritage practitioners is the Aboriginal and Historic Relics Preservation Act 1965, which pertained to preserving Indigenous and historic relics and had the Director of the South Australian Museum as the ‘Protector of Relics’ (Raynes 2002:59). Most recently the Aboriginal Heritage (Miscellaneous) Amendment Act 2016 came into operation, accompanied by the Aboriginal Heritage Regulations 2017. The Acts and regulations mentioned earlier had specific implications at Burgiyana; the ensuing section further details some of these aspects.

Burgiyana history Burgiyana is part of the traditional seas and lands of the Narungga people. Located on western Guuranda, near the coastal town of Dharldiwarldu, Burgiyana adjoins the Spencer Gulf coastline. Matthew Flinders, on-​board Investigator in 1802, gave Burgiyana the European name Point Pearce after Mr Pearce of the Admiralty (Archibald 1915:9; Neumann 1983:1). Colonisers commemorated names relating to non-​Indigenous people, the namesakes of which have significant achievements in Western constructs, in the hopes of gaining the favour of such individuals (Krichauff 2008:24). Many other colonised countries share this ‘canonisation’ of prominent public figures (Yeoh 2009:75). Non-​Indigenous names such as these show a vast distance between Burgiyana and other places in the world (Krichauff 2008:24). Attaching a family name or local name to an area reflects a genuine connection to the land, yet naming of land after a person unconnected with that place imposes control by colonial forces (Herman 2009:104). Hughes Dam at Burgiyana, named after an Aboriginal family, is an example of a toponym using a local family’s name. The easternmost of two dams located on either side of the road on the approach to Burgiyana from the south, Hughes Dam was likely named after Walter or his son Alf Hughes (int. C. O’Loughlin 25 November 2013). Before 1868 History always begins on the beach, it is the first theatre of contact (Dening 2004:348). The earliest interaction between Narungga and non-​Indigenous

30

30 Burgiyana

Figure 2.1 The location of Burgiyana, Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu

peoples, and the first encounter with boats, began with European sealers and whalers in the early 1830s in the southwest of Guuranda, shortly followed by surveyors and pastoralists (Ball 1992:36; Krichauff 2008:51; Mattingley and Hampton 1992:195; Wood and Westell 1998b:3). After proclamation, the boats of new visitors to Guuranda were different from those of the sealers and whalers. In the period 1841 to 1846, Europeans visiting Guuranda either had access, or the means to get access, to boats (Krichauff 2008:51). Surveyor, James H. Hughes reports the following: Having arrived at Port Victoria, my boat formerly left there, was perceived on the beach, about a quarter of a mile from where I had left it and while preparing to go ashore to get possession of her, about seventeen natives made their appearance with their spears, yelling with their usual threatening attitude. The bottom flooring of the boat had been torn out and the rudder, oars etc had disappeared … (The South Australian Register 26 December 1840 in Moody [2012:233]) Narungga had dismantled it to understand an unfamiliar object and, according to Hughes, Narungga found the boat sail to be valuable (Krichauff 2008:43, 46).

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Burgiyana 31 It was during the rapid expansion of the pastoral industry in the 1840s that Narungga culture felt the impacts of colonisation (Ball 1992:36). The occupational licence scheme, initiated by the government in 1846, was the impetus for broader European settlement on Guuranda (Wood and Westell 1998b:3). The establishment of a ration system led to the setting up of ration stations at Munda, Wadla waru and Gardina (Wood and Westell 1998b:4). Ration stations were: Deliberately used to manipulate and control location of the people. By setting up ration depots the government effectively destroyed freedom of movement. (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:21) It was shortly after the establishment of this system that settlers at these townships established the Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission Committee (Archibald 1915:9–​10; Wood and Westell 1998b:4). Establishment of Burgiyana At the time of the establishment of Burgiyana, the land featured samphire swamps, mangroves and sand dunes, as well as arable land (Wood and Westell 1998b:5). The swamp areas on the mission mainland were only suitable for sheep grazing (South 1909:8). The rest of the mainland was at first a mixed grassland, spinifex and black-​grass environment, but cultivation improved it to be suitable for grazing (South 1909:8). The coastline includes variations between low cliffs or high dunes and salt lakes (Wood and Westell 1998a). Moravian missionary, Reverend Wilhelm Julius Kühn, oversaw the establishment of the mission station in 1868 and was the Superintendent until 1880 (Wanganeen 1987:25). Before the official establishment of the mission, Kühn began teaching Narungga children from 1866 across Gardina, Munda and Wadla waru (Krichauff 2013:62–​63). The movement for a permanent school then commenced and included the non-​Indigenous public from a cross-​section of Guuranda society, most living in Munda, initiating petitions, committee meetings, subscriptions, fundraising, donations and in-​ kind support (Krichauff 2013:63; Raynes 2002:21). The mission’s constitution documents the purpose of the institution as ‘the civilization and evangelisation of the Aborigine’s on Yorke Peninsula’ (Archibald 1915:6). Early 1868 saw the granting of the land of Burgiyana (Krichauff 2013:66). The physical limits of the archaeological study area are the boundaries of the mission (now Aboriginal Lands Trust) land, which includes Waraldi. There is no evidence that the mission had economic motives for locating the mission on the coast, such as profiting from shipping, boatbuilding, shipwreck, salvaging, erecting seamarks or fishing (Westerdahl 2012:291). Rather, Narungga people appear to have agreed to or nominated the

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32 Burgiyana location of the mission site as the area contains significant fishing grounds and Dreaming Ancestors (e.g., Badhara) (Krichauff 2013:65–​67). Some of the densest pre-​contact archaeological sites on Guuranda occur within the Burgiyana boundaries (Wood and Westell 1998b:5). An Aboriginal archaeological site survey of Guuranda conducted in 1988 documented sites in the Burgiyana area, including an open midden and ‘mythological site’ on Waraldi, four water supply features at The Willows and the ‘mythological sites’ of Badhara’s Rock and Goose Island (Wood and Westell 1998a). Faunal remains identified included a variety of marine shellfish species. The identified occupation deposits in the Chinaman’s Wells area, north of Burgiyana and the most intensive area of artefact manufacture, represent a favoured long-​term camping place to which Narungga people brought raw materials and shellfish (Wood and Westell 1998a:28). This location also contained thousands of Snook/​dhudna (Sphyraena novaehollandiae) and Mulloway (Argyrosomus hololepidotus) otiliths (Hill and Hill 1975; Wood and Westell 1998a:16). Narungga needs played a role in choosing the site of the mission:  near the sea for fishing, with permanent water, good soil and scrub (Krichauff 2013:65). There were also advantages for the mission at times, relating to transporting wool and wheat from Dolly’s Jetty rather than by land to Dharldiwarldu, as discussed in Chapter 7. Yet the location for Burgiyana township is ‘inland’, rather than on the coast. It is not visible from Dharldiwarldu or from the sea. Some community members talk about this and perceive it to be a way of hiding the mission so that colonists did not have to confront the plight of the people whose lands they had dispossessed (Amy Roberts pers. comm. 1 May 2015). The idea among the ‘white’ population that efforts to keep Aboriginal people at a distance from ‘white’ society was ‘for their own good’ reinforces the spatial separation and segregation occurring during the late nineteenth century (Byrne and Nugent 2004:37). Despite this ‘inland’ location, maritime activities still influenced the movement and mobility of Aboriginal peoples. The historical reservoir of Narungga people transfers maritime knowledge, skills and seapersonship to the next generation (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) makes it clear that Narungga people’s maritime knowledge extends a long way further into the past than the historical establishment of the mission on the coast. The coastline of what became Burgiyana was part of the Narungga maritime landscape before, and following, European contact, as demonstrated through archaeological evidence for marine resource subsistence in the area of Burgiyana (Wood and Westell 1998a). Based on the massive amounts of artefactual material identified at Burgiyana, ‘it is easy to envisage that upon the establishment of the Point Pearce Mission … the Point Pearce headland and environs became a microcosm of the broader Peninsula, with favoured camping locations, fishing spots etc. identified by people’ (Wood and Westell 1998a:28). But Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) makes it clear that Narungga peoples’ deep attachment to, and sometimes focus on, Burgiyana,

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Burgiyana 33 as one place on Guuranda, is only a recent phenomenon due to Western intervention. The factors outlined earlier, which resulted in Narungga people congregating at Burgiyana, has made this land one of the most significant cultural places on Guuranda. Yet many other places on Guuranda are also of cultural significance, despite Western histories creating the illusion that Aboriginal peoples were only located in specific geographic spaces, such as missions (Roberts et al. 2014:29). During the late 1800s Narungga people were generally still mobile and were not restricted to the mission (Wanganeen 1987:25). Some posit that Narungga people would not have gathered around Kühn and attended his school if they did not want to (Krichauff 2013:67), although it is also possible that there were no better options. During the 1870s, Narungga came and went as they wanted and were not forced into staying, moving between the mission and fringe camps on the outskirts of towns (Krichauff 2013:70; Wood and Westell 1998b:5–​ 6). Narungga people were also employed at various wool sheds around Guuranda and Kühn (1879:  12) noted in 1879 that: … it is customary for them after the arduous work of shearing and harvest to take a rest; hence for a time they disperse themselves through the Peninsula, visiting different parts where … they can enjoy fishing, which is to them a great pleasure. At Burgiyana during this time, a South Australian Register (1874:6) correspondent noted that: The whole of the work on the place is done by the natives under the guidance and instruction of Mr. Kühn, no white labour being employed. Furthermore, Narungga people continued to supplement rations with traditional practices of hunting, fishing and gathering plant foods (Wood and Westell 1998b:6). Another ration depot, established in 1871 at Penton Vale, a station near Wool Bay in southern Guuranda, stored the basics of flour, sugar, tea, rice and tobacco as well as essentials such as pots and blankets, and is also recorded as having fish hooks, lines, net twine and thread (GRG52/​1/​1871/​210 in Wood and Westell [1998b:6]). The government gazetted Point Pearce Aboriginal Reserve in 1876 (Neumann 1983:30). Wide-​scale movements of Aboriginal people, by force, into missions and reserves and then between these places has resulted in many Aboriginal peoples with attachments to Burgiyana and broader Guuranda (Berndt and Berndt 1993:297). In 1894, the closure of Poonindie Mission on Eyre Peninsula and the forced movement of its residents to Burgiyana and Raukkan resulted in the former having to accommodate more people (Kartinyeri 2002:1; Krichauff 2013:70; Wood and Westell 1998b:8). People from the mid-​north, Adelaide Plains, Murray areas and many other parts of

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34 Burgiyana South Australia were also sent to Burgiyana, such as Ngadjuri and residents of Raukkan (Brock and Kartinyeri 1989:1; Kartinyeri 2002:1; Warrior et  al. 2005:89, 96). The Narungga Nation genealogy includes Aboriginal families descended from Narungga people, as well as families connected to Narungga families through marriage or adoption and with long-​term historic connections to Burgiyana—​although, no individual has ‘the right to say who is or who is not Narungga or of any other descent’ (Kartinyeri 2002:1). Migrant peoples also influenced the community of Burgiyana as some Narungga families have Chinese ancestry, an example being the Angie family in which Chinese man Charlie Angie and a Narungga woman had children in the mid-​1800s (Kartinyeri 2002:71, 130). Many Chinese immigrants conducted commercial fishing, reflected in the naming of many coastal regions around Australia associated with Chinese fishing activities (Bowen 2003:14). At Burgiyana, the toponym Chinaman’s Wells points to the presence of these non-​European and non-​Aboriginal colonisers. Life at Burgiyana All aspects of station life involved Aboriginal people, including (but not limited to) shearing, farming and building, and they were also active at Waraldi through both pastoral activities and working for Broken Hill Associated Smelters Pty Ltd (BHAS) (Liebelt et al. 2016:98; Mattingley and Hampton 1992:118; Wanganeen 1987:43, 55). BHAS held the mining leases on the island—​but because BHP is a more well-​known company and also due to the fact that it had interests in BHAS many people use the term BHP, as used herein (after Roberts et al. 2013:88). In 1906, Superintendent Benjamin Lathern stated: When possible we let contracts in various sorts of farm and station work—​shearing, fencing, dam and tank sinking, boat work, and scrub-​ cutting, the natives being selected for the work they are best adapted for. (Hamilton 1907:7) Aboriginal people from Burgiyana, besides shearing the station’s sheep, also sheared neighbouring pastoralists’ stock, such as Glenn Koch’s father who employed three blade shearers from Burgiyana (Moody 2016:110), being ‘competent shearers and good sheep handlers’ (Heinrich 1976:27). Also, Aboriginal peoples’ knowledge of Country was beneficial for settlers in the agricultural industry, for example while a settler was ploughing, an Aboriginal man noted that the plough was too deep because there was limestone at that depth (Graham and Graham 1987:16). Aboriginal peoples learnt shearing, wool classing, road making, fencing, building, carpentry, black-​smith work and painting (Archibald 1915:30; Wanganeen 1987:43).

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Burgiyana 35

Figure 2.2 Living quarters on Waraldi (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​23/​23)

The Burgiyana community was active during the Royal Commission, speaking out against the oppression of the mission and life under the Aborigines Act (Graham and Graham 1987:27–​34; Richardson 1992:25). Some Burgiyana people gave evidence during the Royal Commission, including Tom (Snr or Jnr) and William Adams, Joseph Edwards, Alfred Hughes Snr and Walter Sansbury Snr (Richardson 1992:25). In 1915, the recommendation of the Royal Commission placed the mission under government control and it became known as the Point Pearce Aboriginal Station (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:199). It was also then that the regulation of lives of Aboriginal peoples living at the mission increased (Kartinyeri 2002:70; Krichauff 2013:59), although Aboriginal agency suggests this is more complicated. Aspects of control during this time included regulations about the time that Aboriginal peoples had to wake up in the morning, the hours of the working week and the need to get permission from the superintendent to play any game in any street or road within an Aboriginal institution (Aborigines Act 1911). At Burgiyana, the bell regulated all aspects of life, from waking up and going to work, to going to church and going to sleep at night (Wanganeen 1987:32–​33). Also, the exemption system and permits, legislated under the Aborigines Act Amendment Act 1939, regulated the movement of Aboriginal peoples on and off the mission (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:48–​49; Roberts et  al. 2013:89). Exemption allowed the

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36 Burgiyana declaration of certain Aboriginal peoples as ‘honorary whites’, a declaration that could occur regardless of whether the person concerned had applied (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:48–​49; Roberts et al. 2013:89). Exemption could thus be a punitive measure, an ‘invidious form of discrimination’, as legislation forced exempt people to live off missions and reserves (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:48–​49; Roberts et al. 2013:89). Throughout the next 50 years, Burgiyana sent continuous individual and group letters and petitions to the government; Burgiyana also formed the Australian Aborigines Union in 1944 (Ball 1992:41; Richardson 1992:26). In a vote held at a general meeting of the Aboriginal residents in 1919, Burgiyana parents made a unanimous opposition to a proposal to establish a school in Adelaide for Aboriginal children (Raynes 2002:41). Many letters were pleas for land ownership to become self-​supporting (Richardson 1992:27–​ 28). Across South Australia, Aboriginal peoples sent similar letters seeking land. The official responses to these letters were ‘an indictment of the insensitivity of officials and the selfishness of the land-​usurping Goonyas’ (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:76). The Royal Commission recommended the disbanding of share farming involving non-​Indigenous peoples at Burgiyana, instead allowing the Aboriginal residents to farm, but this was still not enacted in 1927 (Raynes 2002). In 1956, Burgiyana was re-​ dedicated upon the abolishment of all Aboriginal Reserves by a State Parliament declaration (Wood and Westell 1998b:10). Burgiyana was then vested in the Aboriginal Lands Trust in 1966 and leased to the Burgiyana community (Kartinyeri 2002:70; Wanganeen 1987:75). The first land since colonisation in South Australia under Aboriginal peoples’ control, an elected council makes decisions today (Kartinyeri 2002:70; Wanganeen 1987:75; Wood and Westell 1998b:10). At the 2016 census, Burgiyana had a population of 91 (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2016). Burgiyana land has at many times in the recent past, and at present, encompassed Waraldi.

Waraldi Waraldi—​known earlier as Wauraltee and named after the many bandicoots that once lived there—​is a Narungga word, yet ‘white’ people may have first used it to name the island (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:77). The naming of places after local flora and fauna during exploration now serves as a reminder of the loss of such species caused by European colonisation (Krichauff 2008:23–​24). Some sources also record ‘white’ surveyors naming Waraldi after the Narungga name for a type of crow, wardang, which lived on the island (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:77). Waraldi, situated about 10 km west of Dharldiwarldu, is approximately 8 km north–​south and 4 km east–​west in size. The highest point is 32 m above sea level, with a rugged coastline on the western side alternating

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Burgiyana 37 between cliffs and rocky headlands and sandy beaches with many offshore rocks and reefs, juxtaposed by the low relief of the eastern side (Heinrich 1976:86; Moody 2012:113–​114). Grass and coastal vegetation cover the island (Moody 2012:113). Proposals to turn Waraldi into a quarantine station in 1877 never proceeded (Moody 2012:115). In 1915, the government gained control of the island under the Aborigines Act, cancelling the declaration of an Aboriginal Reserve (Heinrich 1976:86, 90). The first school on Waraldi, a small timber and iron room, opened in 1918, although whether its 10 children were Aboriginal is unclear (Heinrich 1976:88). The island was re-​declared an Aboriginal Reserve in 1924, yet this was again abolished in 1948 (Heinrich 1976:90). Such declarations and control measures highlight the effects of colonisation for Aboriginal people at Burgiyana. In 1959, a larger wooden building opened as a school, although by this time the mission was not using Waraldi often and no Aboriginal children were living there on a permanent basis meaning it is unlikely they would have attended this school (Heinrich 1976:88). Community members use and maintain Waraldi on a frequent basis and continue to live on the island at times. Of the other nearby islands, Scotch College Adelaide leases and co-​manages Goose Island with the Department for Environment and Water (SA) for educational purposes. Pastoralism and mining are the two principal industries undertaken at Waraldi in the past. Island pastoralism The Guuranda pastoral industry employed Narungga people as shepherds, lamb minders and as general assistants from the 1850s (Krichauff 2008:110). A painting of shipping sheep on Guuranda, made by William Cawthorne in the 1860s, is very likely what the first transport of sheep to Waraldi looked like, using small, shallow-​draughted vessels. Yet an early reference to a ‘sheep barge’ (ca 1850) used for Waraldi for sheep grazing (Moody 2012:176) does not specify the involvement of Narungga people: Last week, as some men in the employ of Mr. Anstey were transporting 60 sheep in a boat from Yorke’s Peninsula to an island in Spencer’s Gulf, about six miles from Port Victoria, the boat capsized, and a man named John King was unfortunately drowned. (South Australian Register 1851:4) Stephen Goldsworthy, a pastoralist from Gudliwardi, was the first person to lease Waraldi, obtaining two successive leases from 1861 to 1884 (Heinrich 1976:86). In 1861, before the establishment of Burgiyana, when Stephen Goldsworthy was leasing Waraldi, a barge transported the sheep back to the mainland in the late summer when freshwater sources proved to be problematic (Moody 2012:16). Furthermore, in 1867, Robert Playfair

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38 Burgiyana

Figure 2.3 ‘Shipping Sheep from Yorkes Peninsula 1863’ (State Library of New South Wales, Mitchell Library, PXD 39)

built a ‘novel’ boat for the transportation of sheep from Waraldi to the mainland (South Australian Weekly Chronicle 1867:1): She is a pine clinker built and copper fastened, 36 feet long by 9 feet beam, and 3 feet depth. Fitted with thwarts for sailing or rowing, and capable of carrying in smooth water 150 sheep. … She is of such a light draught that shipping and unshipping the woolly creatures will be rendered a matter of no difficulty. In 1877, the Committee of the Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission ‘bought another 1,000 sheep’ and 14,000 sheep crossed to Waraldi in the winter of that year; it was also then that the mission rented Waraldi (Meredith 1866–​ 1892:12). In 1879, the mission offered Waraldi and the sheep at auction to cover its bank overdraft (The Advertiser 1879:4); in 1881 and 1883 J.R. Corpe paid £19 for the pastoral lease (no. 965) of Waraldi (GRG52/​ 1/​253/​1883; GRG52/​1/​329/​1881), and in 1884 the rent again realised £19 (Meredith 1866–​1892:15).

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Burgiyana 39 Declared an Aboriginal Reserve in 1887, at that time the mission leased Waraldi for grazing stock (Heinrich 1976:90). By 1892, the mission owned Waraldi in its entirety, although at that time it was still most often known as Wauraltee Island (Meredith 1866–​1892:20). In 1899, R. Fricker sought permission from the Marine Board to build a jetty at Waraldi and, while successful, it is uncertain whether construction proceeded (The Advertiser 1899:6). It saw significant development in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, including the construction of dwellings, farm buildings and maritime infrastructure at the northern end of the island. Farming was an important activity for the duration of the mission’s existence, established as part of an effort to make the settlement self-​sufficient (Wanganeen 1987:55). The station’s success depended on utilising every available piece of land, including Waraldi, despite inadequate natural water sources; the construction of tanks, run-​off drains, dams and catchments on the island held more than 200 gallons to supply both the village and stock (Wanganeen 1987:55). Large jetties built in 1910, one on Waraldi, known today as the Little Jetty, and one on the mainland (Dolly’s Jetty), cost £600 (Archibald 1915:22; Fowler et al. 2014:15; Roberts et al. 2013:85; Wanganeen 1987:55). Sheep yards on Waraldi included a shed containing a slaughterhouse, living quarters and skinning facilities and a separate shearing shed (Wanganeen 1987:62–​63); blade shearing was the usual technique (Heinrich 1976:86). At first a launch took sheep to Waraldi, replaced by a large two-​masted boat, Narrunga, built in 1903 (Roberts et al. 2013; Wanganeen 1987:55). About seven families stayed on the island to run the sheep and maintain the water catchments on a more permanent basis, while other Burgiyana men and the mission overseer travelled to the island to undertake seasonal tasks (Fowler et al. 2014:15; Wood and Westell 1998b:18). The two main living areas on Waraldi are the original mission outstation, referred to by many elders as the ‘Old Village’—​no longer in use—​and, to the north, the original BHP township, still in use by the Burgiyana community. Island mining Since 1899, sections on the western coast of the island were under various mineral leases (Heinrich 1976:86, 88). Operations by BHP began in 1910 and by 1939 they owned all the mineral leases on the island (Heinrich 1976:88). Aboriginal people from Burgiyana also worked on Waraldi at the BHP flux quarries (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:118). BHP ceased operations on the island in 1968, with the discovery of suitable deposits of limesand at Coffin Bay (Heinrich 1976:89–​90). The BHP launch driver remained at Waraldi in the role of caretaker (Heinrich 1976:90). Following this, H. Gren Pryce obtained the island’s lease and initiated a tourist venture (Heinrich 1976:90). It was finally declared an Aboriginal Reserve in 1973 (Heinrich 1976:90). Waraldi was also vested in the Aboriginal Lands Trust

40

40 Burgiyana

Figure 2.4 Cottage in the Old Village on Waraldi, ca 1925 (State Library of South Australia, B 16577/​14)

on the government transfer (Heinrich 1976:90). It is crucial that nearby centres of maritime activity, such as the port town of Dharldiwarldu, contextualise the maritime landscape of Burgiyana and Waraldi, because it reveals that Aboriginal peoples were active agents outside the confines of the mission, despite isolationist policies.

Dharldiwarldu Dharldiwarldu, also known as Port Victoria, is an area of Narungga land which translates to dharldi, meaning ear, and warldu, meaning neck or narrow space like a neck (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:30). The survey schooner Victoria, which surveyed the proposed settlement in 1839, gave it its European name, first known as Victoria Harbour, highlighting toponyms celebrating early Western maritime endeavours (Moody 2012:15–​16; Neumann 1983:4). As the land in the region was suitable for grazing, it was first used for pastoral activities with the pastoral era lasting from approximately 1844 to 1869, to be succeeded by wheat growers (Moody 2012:16–​17). Proclaimed as the township of Wauraltee in 1876, Dharldiwarldu received recognition as an official port in 1878 (Moody 2012:17), following the survey of the port by the government survey schooner Beatrice in 1877 (South Australian Register 1878:6). Beatrice Rocks, a reef located north of Mungari, further specified as Beatrice North and Beatrice South (int. Graham, Lindsay Sansbury and M. O’Loughlin 27 November 2013), may represent this individual ship name.

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Burgiyana 41 In the early days, cargo boats transferred supplies in to Dharldiwarldu, and shipped wheat out, from ketches at anchor to the shore and then unloaded onto bullock drays in the shallow water (Heinrich 1976:91). Farmers in the region and local residents pressed for a jetty and the government capitulated, with the jetty opening in 1878, built of jarrah, red gum and iron bark timbers (Heinrich 1976:91). A close connection is evident between Dharldiwarldu and Burgiyana from the second half of the nineteenth century. In 1878, drought conditions resulted in farmers and residents of Dharldiwarldu travelling to Burgiyana Wells (in the vicinity of Hollywood) to source water (Moody 2012:17). This close connection between the two locales is especially visible due to the scale of Dharldiwarldu’s shipping, particularly in the early nineteenth century. The first overseas sailing ship, Cardigan Castle, called at Dharldiwarldu to load with wheat in 1879 (Heinrich 1976:91). Dharldiwarldu then developed to become a busy international port. The first harbourmaster, and former manager of Burgiyana for three years, was Andrew McArthur, who held the position for 26 years, followed by his son Lewis McArthur (Moody 2012:76). At its height, during the year ending June 1934, 40 coastal steamships, 239 coastal sailing ships, 10 interstate steamships and 12 overseas sailing ships arrived (Moody 2012:38). From 1939, Dharldiwarldu became the only port in Spencer Gulf where international grain traders continued to call (Moody 2012:48). Two main ballast dumping grounds existed, an area of the seabed, near Dharldiwarldu, where solid ballast—​any material used to help stabilise a vessel while at sea—​was jettisoned. A  ballast ground inside the southeast end of Waraldi received sand and soil, while the deposition of rock and rubble occurred outside the southwest end of the island (Moody 2012:80). There were also two anchorages, one west of the Dharldiwarldu Jetty, and a second, known as the Waraldi anchorage, at the northern end of Waraldi and west of Burgiyana (Moody 2012:80).

Conclusions Burgiyana is a ‘maritime community’, a small, contemporary, Indigenous community with small-​ scale traditions and local maritime practices (Ransley 2011:879). The coastline is the focus of many activities occurring at Burgiyana, for example launching vessels, commencing or concluding voyages, foraging, agriculture, industry and recreation (after Ford 2011:3–​ 4). The maritime activities at Burgiyana, Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu are not isolated practices. Wider impacts of colonialism in South Australia, including Aboriginal labour in pastoral and agricultural activities, as well as the maritime industry, influence the maritime landscape. Furthermore, Aboriginal participation in the maritime industry relates to government regulations, which attempted to restrict all aspects of Aboriginal life including rights of movement and freedom of access, as well as employment. It is important to relate the context of Burgiyana’s maritime history to the two nearby centres

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42 Burgiyana of maritime activity, Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu, given these places have converging but also varied histories. Doing so also stops the ‘isolationist’, colonialist agenda of confining Indigenous peoples to missions (Howitt 2001; Nash 1984; Roberts et al. 2014:29). Maritime activities also relate to the cultural continuity of coastal use by Narungga people on Guuranda in pre-​contact times, explored in the following chapter.

References The Advertiser, 1879. Heads of intelligence, 17 May, p. 4. The Advertiser, 1899. The marine board, 17 November, p. 6. Archibald, T.S., 1915. Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission Incorporated: A Brief Record of its History and Operations. Hussey & Gillingham: Adelaide. Australian Bureau of Statistics, 2016. Point Pearce. www.censusdata.abs.gov. au/​census_​services/​getproduct/​census/​2016/​quickstat/​SSC41158. Accessed 4 December 2017. Ball, M., 1992. The lesser of two evils: A comparison of government and mission policy at Raukkan and Point Pearce, 1890–​1940, Cabbages and Kings: Selected Essays in History and Australian Studies 20:36–​45. Berndt, R.M., and Berndt, C.H., 1993. A World that Was: The Yaraldi of the Murray River and the Lakes, South Australia. Melbourne University Press: Carlton. Bowen, A., 2003. The archaeology of early commercial fishing activities in New South Wales:  A theoretical model, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 27:9–​18. Brock, P., 1995. Pastoral stations and reserves in South and Central Australia, 1850s–​ 1950s. In McGrath, A., and Saunders, K. (Eds.), Aboriginal Workers. Australian Society for the Study of Labour History: Sydney, pp. 102–​114. Brock, P., and Kartinyeri, D., 1989. Poonindie:  The Rise and Destruction of an Aboriginal Agricultural Community. Aboriginal Heritage Branch: Netley. Byrne, D., and Nugent, M., 2004. Mapping Attachment:  A Spatial Approach to Aboriginal Post-​Contact Heritage. Department of Environment and Conservation (NSW): Hurstville. Coroneos, C., 1997. Shipwrecks of Encounter Bay and Backstairs Passage. Department of Environment and Natural Resources: Adelaide. Croucher, S.K., and Weiss, L., 2011. The archaeology of capitalism in colonial contexts, an introduction:  Provincializing historical archaeology. In Croucher, S.K., and Weiss, L. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Capitalism in Colonial Contexts: Postcolonial Historical Archaeologies. Springer: New York, pp. 1–​37. Dening, G., 2004. Beach Crossings:  Voyaging Across Times, Cultures and Self. Melbourne University Press: Carlton. Ford, B., 2011. The shoreline as a bridge, not a boundary:  Cognitive maritime landscapes of Lake Ontario. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 63–​80. Fowler, M., Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., and Graham, F., 2014. ‘They camped here always’: Archaeologies of attachment to seascapes via a case study at Wardang Island (Waraldi/​Wara-​dharldhi), South Australia, Australasian Historical Archaeology 32:14–​22. Gara, T., 2013. Indigenous Bark Canoes in South Australia, Flinders University Archaeology Seminar, Adelaide.

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Burgiyana 43 Gill, N., and Paterson, A.G., 2007. A work in progress:  Aboriginal people and pastoral cultural heritage in Australia. In Jones, R., and Shaw, B.J. (Eds.), Geographies of Australian Heritages:  Loving a Sunburnt Country? Ashgate Publishing: Aldershot, pp. 113–​131. Given, M., 2004. The Archaeology of the Colonized. Routledge: London. Gosden, C., 2004. Archaeology and Colonialism: Culture Contact from 5000 BC to the Present. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge. Graham, D.M., and Graham, C.W., 1987. As We’ve Known It: 1911 to the Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Griffin, D., 2000. ‘A Christian Village of South Australian Natives’:  A Critical Analysis of the Use of Space at Poonindie Mission, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Hamilton, E.L., 1907. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1907. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. Harrison, R., 2004a. Contact archaeology and the landscapes of pastoralism in the north-​west of Australia. In Murray, T. (Ed.), Archaeology of Contact in Settler Societies. Cambridge University Press: Cambridge, pp. 109–​143. Harrison, R., 2004b. Shared Landscapes:  Archaeologies of Attachment and the Pastoral Industry in New South Wales. University of New South Wales Press: Sydney. Heinrich, R., 1976. Wide Sails and Wheat Stacks. Port Victoria Centenary Committee: Port Victoria. Herman, D., 2009. The Aloha state: Place names and the anti-​conquest of Hawai’i. In Berg, L.D., and Vuolteenaho, J. (Eds.), Critical Toponymies:  The Contested Politics of Place Naming. Ashgate Publishing: Surrey, pp. 101–​135. Hill, D.L., and Hill, S.J., 1975. Notes on the Narangga Tribe of Yorke Peninsula. Lutheran Publishing: Adelaide. Howitt, R., 2001. Frontiers, borders and edges: Liminal challenges to the hegemony of exclusion, Australian Geographical Studies 39:233–​245. Jones, S.M., 2009. The Anatomy of a Relationship:  Doing Archaeology with an Indigenous Community on a Former Mission—​A Case Study at Point Pearce, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Kartinyeri, D., 2002. Narungga Nation. Doreen Kartinyeri: Adelaide. King, S., 2013. Commonwealth Government Records about South Australia: Research Guide No. 34. National Archives of Australia: Parkes. Krichauff, S., 2008. The Narungga and Europeans:  Cross-​Cultural Relations on Yorke Peninsula in the Nineteenth Century, Master’s Thesis, School of History and Politics, University of Adelaide, Adelaide. Krichauff, S., 2013. Narungga, the townspeople and Julius Kühn:  The establishment and origins of the Point Pearce Mission, South Australia, Journal of the Anthropological Society of South Australia 37:57–​72. Kühn, W.J., 1879. Point Pierce Mission Station, South Australian Weekly Chronicle and Weekly Mail, 10 May, p. 12. Liebelt, B., Roberts, A., O’Loughlin, C., and Milera, D., 2016. ‘We had to be off by sundown’: Narungga contributions to farming industries on Yorke Peninsula (Guuranda), South Australia, Aboriginal History 40:89–​117. Lydon, J., and Ash, J., 2010. The archaeology of missions in Australasia: Introduction, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:1–​14.

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44 Burgiyana Mattingley, C., and Hampton, K., 1992. Survival in Our Own Land:  ‘Aboriginal’ Experiences in ‘South Australia’ since 1936: Told by Nungas and Others. Hodder & Stoughton: Rydalmere. Meredith, M.A., 1866–​1892. Anglican Church Records Relating to Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission (SRG94/​W60). State Library of South Australia: Adelaide. Moody, S.M., 2012. Port Victoria’s Ships and Shipwrecks. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Moody, S.M., 2016. Balgowan the Outport:  A Captain’s Nightmare—​ Farmers’ Delight. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association, 2006. Nharangga Warra:  Narungga Dictionary. Wakefield Press: Maitland. Nash, D., 1984. The Waramungu’s reserves 1892–​1962: A case study in dispossession, Australian Aboriginal Studies 1:2–​16. Neumann, B., 1983. Salt Winds Across Barley Plains. Gillingham Printers: Adelaide. Paterson, A.G., 2005. Early pastoral landscapes and culture contact in central Australia, Historical Archaeology 39(3):28–​48. Paterson, A.G., 2011. Considering colonialism and capitalism in Australian historical archaeology: Two case studies of culture contact from the pastoral domain. In Croucher, S.K., and Weiss, L. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Capitalism in Colonial Contexts:  Postcolonial Historical Archaeologies. Springer:  New  York, pp. 243–​267. Paterson, A.G., 2017. Once were foragers: The archaeology of agrarian Australia and the fate of Aboriginal land management, Quarternary International 489:4–​16. Paterson, A.G., Gill, N., and Kennedy, M.J., 2003. An archaeology of historical reality? A case study of the recent past, Australian Archaeology 57:82–​89. Pope, A., 1988. Aboriginal adaptation to early colonial labour markets: The South Australian experience, Labour History 54(1):1–​15. Ransley, J., 2011. Maritime communities and traditions. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 879–​903. Raynes, C., 2002. ‘A Little Flour and a Few Blankets’:  An Administrative History of Aboriginal Affairs in South Australia. State Records of South Australia: Gepps Cross. Richardson, P., 1992. Point Pearce:  History of the Point Pearce Mission Station, South Australia, Cabbages and Kings: Selected Essays in History and Australian Studies 20:25–​35. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and “Hidden Histories”: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Russell, L., 2005. Kangaroo Island sealers and their descendants: Ethnic and gender ambiguities in the archaeology of a creolised community, Australian Archaeology 60:1–​5. Shackel, P.A., 2009. The Archaeology of American Labor and Working-​Class Life. University Press of Florida: Gainesville.

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Burgiyana 45 Souter, C., 2013. Camden Harbour reconsidered, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 37:87–​97. South Australian Register, 1851. A  man drowned at Yorke’s Peninsula, 30 August, p. 4. South Australian Register, 1874. Southern Yorke’s Peninsula, 9 March, p. 6. South Australian Register, 1878. Cruise of the Beatrice, 17 June, p. 6. South Australian Weekly Chronicle, 1867. Shipping news, 23 March, p. 1. South, W.G., 1909. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1909. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. Staniforth, M., Briggs, S., and Lewczak, C., 2001. Archaeology unearthing the invisible people: European women and children and Aboriginal people at South Australian shore-​ based whaling stations, Mains’l Haul:  A Journal of Pacific Maritime History 36(3):12–​19. Taylor, R., 2008. Unearthed:  The Aboriginal Tasmanians of Kangaroo Island, Revised Edition. Wakefield Press: Kent Town. Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Warrior, F., Knight, F., Anderson, S., and Pring, A., 2005. Ngadjuri: Aboriginal People of the Mid North Region of South Australia. South Australian Studies of Society and Environment Council: Prospect Hill. Westerdahl, C., 2012. The ritual landscape of the seaboard in historical times: Island chapels, burial sites and stone mazes—​A Scandinavian example: Part 1 chapels and burial sites, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 34:259–​370. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998a. Aboriginal Archaeological Site Survey of Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998b. Point Pearce Social History Project, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside. Yeoh, B.S.A., 2009. Street-​ naming and nation-​ building:  Toponymic inscriptions of nationhood in Singapore. In Berg, L.D., and Vuolteenaho, J. (Eds.), Critical Toponymies: The Contested Politics of Place Naming. Ashgate Publishing: Surrey, pp.  71–​84.

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3  Cognitive landscapes

The really, really old stories, that are older than the pyramids. It’s important that you understand that Badhara and Ngarna and Gurada are all … Dreaming stories, of the old, old people. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013)

Narungga Dreamings, toponymy and seascapes reveal that Narungga peoples have named and owned Burgiyana lands, islands and seas into the deep past. Narungga Dreamings altered little with colonisation and indeed maritime activities in the post-​contact period align closest to Dreamings—​relating to past sea levels, birds and marine species—​than the introduced Christianity. Many Burgiyana names, such as boats and fishing drops, are community-​ specific, although non-​Indigenous toponyms signify the colonised nature of the maritime landscape to a large degree. Yet Narungga seascapes reveal a reliance on traditional ecological knowledge during and after colonisation, even as new technologies transformed Narungga’s maritime practices.

Dreamings People living on the coast share similar fascinations with their environment, expressed through cosmology, ritual and religion (Cooney 2003:324), although Aboriginal peoples have their own origin stories, which deserve respect as there are many ways of viewing the world (Zimmerman 2005:313). The complex cultural lives of Aboriginal groups include Dreamings, a belief that Ancestral Beings created the features of the present landscape (Krichauff 2011:9). Tangible cultural heritage often signifies ritual landscapes—​those places where magic or religion motivates behaviour (Westerdahl 2005:2, 2011b:339)—​ yet, in Narungga culture, intangible heritage is instead foregrounded. Cosmology is the transformation and enculturation of chaos (the sea) into order to arrange the everyday world (Westerdahl 2011a:305). Subordinate communities, or ‘underdogs’, use such cosmology as a counter-​ideology to formalised religious institutions, and such cosmology is in turn detested by

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Cognitive landscapes 47 proponents of those official systems (Westerdahl 2006:8, 2010d:301). This idea has many parallels to the context of missionisation in Australia. Christianity, introduced by the missionaries, had no connection to maritime activities at Burgiyana more generally. Yet, oral histories reveal deep connections between aspects of the Dreaming, such as Birldumarda, Gurada and butterfish culture, and maritime activities in the post-​contact period. The cognitive missionising process did not influence the maritime domain and maritime activities even show some form of resistance to it. The Narungga cosmology in the form of Dreamings does not reveal any reworking to incorporate Western religious beliefs. Indeed, ethnohistorical sources only serve to reaffirm the marine presence in stories of Ancestral Beings and oral histories continue to operate to transfer this knowledge across generations (after McNiven and Brady 2012:81). Narungga people were generally divided into four local groups, Gunara (north), Windera (east), Dilpa (south) and Wari (west), whose Dreamings were emu/​ garrdi, red kangaroo/​ wawi (female) dharandu (male), shark/​ gurada and eaglehawk/​wildu (e.g., see Hill and Hill 1975:8–​9; Wanganeen 1987:3). Maritime themes feature in the Dreamings of Narungga peoples through seas, islands and coasts as settings for Dreaming stories, as well as marine life playing significant roles in such stories. Ritual landscapes extend into the deep past. Inundation by rising sea levels may have contributed to the cosmology of the sea and land (Westerdahl 2010b:280) and people in the past may have had differing perceptions of newly-​submerged land. One aspect of Narungga Dreaming is the story of the creation of the gulfs. The Narungga creation story of Guuranda, Eyre Peninsula and Spencer Gulf is as follows: Disagreement amongst Ancestral Beings belonging to the bird, animal and reptile families caused great concern to leaders of the willy wagtail, emu and kangaroo families. After the families experienced a night of prophetic dreams, a giant kangaroo bone was found which proved to be magic. When the wise and respected kangaroo pointed the bone at the swampy land, the earth opened up and the sea gradually flooded the low land. (Krichauff 2011:9) The creation of what is now known as Spencer Gulf was thus the result of a kangaroo that dug with a kangaroo bone deep into the soils and water rose up (Rigney int. 18 July 2013). We know Wardang as not necessarily an island. So, we have stories that go back to when this particular part of Yorke Peninsula is joined on to Eyre Peninsula, when there was land in between … So we have histories that tie us right back to that time. (Rigney int. 18 July 2013)

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48  Cognitive landscapes Another lengthy account of this story is abridged here: One day the kangaroo, the emu, and the willy-​wagtail were sitting on the seashore between Cape Spencer and Port Lincoln. The emu wandered away from his companions, and found a leg-​bone of a huge kangaroo. … The emu led the kangaroo and the willy-​wagtail to the spot, and they dug and dug until they found the other bones. The bones were lying pointing in a straight line toward Port Augusta. The kangaroo took up the bone that the emu had discovered and probed the ground with it … the sea broke through, and came tumbling and rolling along in the track … it flowed into the lagoons and marshes which completely disappeared. … Ever since that memorable time, when the kangaroo made Spencer’s Gulf with the aid of his magic bone, birds have displayed no selfishness. (Smith 1930:168–​172) Spencer Gulf bathymetric data indicates a rather rapid inundation of its southern and northern parts, owing to the wide-​ mouthed embayment, matching versions of the story that describe the initial flooding event as being catastrophic rather than gradual (Nunn and Reid 2015:6). The sea level at the time the oral histories originates, between 9,330–​12,460 cal years BP , was at least 22–​50 m below present (Nunn and Reid 2015:6, 30). Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  describes that Gulf of St Vincent was also land, allowing Narungga to walk across to visit Kaurna. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) also said that ‘the story is that you could walk, you know, the shorelines have receded’. Narungga are by no means the only Indigenous group whose Dreamings reflect the Ancestor spirits’ creation of seabed features when they were dry land (McNiven 2003:333). Indeed, many generations of Indigenous ‘creation stories, oral traditions, and shared memories’ also exist in areas where the creation and drainage of glacial lakes, and inundation and rebound of coastal areas, occurred in New England and Massachusetts (USA) (Patton 2014:88). Narungga Dreamings correlate to a maritime ‘cosmology’. The creation of the sea and islands (see later in this chapter), as told through the Dreaming stories, is foremost connected to the land. The lack of distinction between the sea and land in Narungga worldview may stem from the knowledge that the gulfs (Spencer and St Vincent) were once land and considered a part of the land, albeit submerged. Narungga peoples Dreamings reveal that they accept the premise that the shore is a continuum and that a submerged landscape was an exposed landscape in the past. Seascapes (islands, sandbanks, reefs, rock outcrops) are part of a landscape, whether submerged or exposed. Waraldi and its connection to other parts of the peninsula is also a significant part of Narungga Dreamings. Other islands nearby have also been significant to Narungga people in the past and continue to be so in the present, including Green Island, Big Goose Island, Little Goose Island, Rocky Island and Mungari.

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Cognitive landscapes 49 The most well-​known Dreaming of the Narungga people is that of Badhara (Smith 1930:341–​342). These stories, transferred through oral tradition, are retold in different versions, which may serve different purposes in Narungga culture; Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) says, ‘there’s a lot of stories around’. Narungga peoples, like Ngarrindjeri peoples, layer their stories with meaning; elders give deeper meanings to tales for children when they consider the time to be right (Bell 2008:26). Stories also provide a framework for thinking about the future (Bell 2008:12). Cecil Wallace Graham describes the Dreaming of Badhara and the creation of Waraldi thus: In the time of the Ancestors, a man called Buthera threw a rock from Middle Fence, right over to the Point there, to Boy’s Point. When this rock landed, it split the land and lots of bits flew off and made the Islands:  Wardang Island, Green Island, Goose Island and Moongerie Island, which we call Dead Man’s Island. (Graham and Graham 1987:53) Middle Fence is the location at the coast of the fence that crosses Burgiyana land in an east–​west direction; the toponym points to the colonised nature of the landscape. Fred Graham (int. 27 November 2013)  also told the Dreaming story of Badhara while on Country at Badhara’s Rock: Many years ago … this is this story, about Badhara’s Rock, what I can make out of it. This old Aboriginal and his wife had an argument on Middle Fence, so he got the waddy and he threw it at her. And he threw it from there to here, and the head’s come here and the handle is back over Middle Fence. So that is the story of Badhara’s Rock. Came here with the two old people arguing, Aboriginal people, he threw the waddy at her. And that is what is called Badhara’s Rock now days. That’s the story been going for years, that is the story of Badhara’s Rock. The telling of this Dreaming story varies: Once a giant warrior, furious at his people’s misdeed, angrily hurled his club on to the ground near the coast, causing a large depression. The sea rushed in forming Port Victoria bay whilst pieces of land flew westward forming a group of islands, the largest of which is Wardang. (Heinrich 1976:86) Louisa Eglinton’s oral history is one of the earliest recorded: Ngarna [narna] was a big, powerful man, who lived on Yorke Peninsula. He was a powerful club thrower. On one occasion he stood on the point of Wardang Island [’Wordan], and saw a woman seated on the rocks at Point Turton [Punpu]. She was fishing, and had a baby tied to her

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50  Cognitive landscapes

Figure 3.1 Fred Graham telling the Dreaming story of Badhara while on Country at Badhara’s Rock (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

back. He hurled his club [wir:i] across miles of water and struck the woman dead. He exerted such effort that he imprinted his foot-​track on the rock. The woman turned into a large stone (apparently a large granite erratic) at Punpu. Near to it is another rock with a pattern on it like the rectangular pattern to be seen on wallaby skin cloaks; this is the woman’s cloak [’palta] or rug. (Tindale 1936:58–​59; also reproduced in Hill and Hill 1975:22) Louisa’s son, most likely her eldest son William Angie, states the club was thrown from near Dharldiwarldu to Burgiyana, from Gagadhi to Gunganya warda (Tindale 1936:58–​59). Badhara’s Rock is the location of the waddy head from the Dreaming story. The Dreaming trail of Badhara also includes the places named Yadri and Gagadhi (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:15, 37, 84). Hercus and Simpson (2009:19) note that most Indigenous names fall in the middle of a continuum ranging from topographical and environmental to direct references to Ancestral Beings. Many parts of Australia share the allusion to ‘mythological’ stories in Aboriginal place names (Koch 2009:118). While the Narungga ritual landscape is generally intangible, the naming of places associated with Dreamings does make this cognitive to tangible connection. A recent agreement between the Narungga Nation

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Cognitive landscapes 51 and South Australian Government, committing both parties to negotiations towards a treaty, has even been named the Buthera Agreement (Kingston 2018). Narungga Nation Aboriginal Corporation Chair, Garry Goldsmith, stated: The Buthera Agreement represents our Narungga dreaming, the foundation of our creation. Dreaming of Buthera, a giant man demonstrating his strength, resilience and passion towards his people. This emanates into who we are today as Narungga descendants, and a nation rich in passion, pride, culture and traditions. (Kingston 2018) Other spiritual aspects of Narungga culture reoccur within a maritime setting, for example the story told by Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013) shortly which features the Birldumarda. Doris May Graham describes the Birldumarda: He’s like a bat. You’d only hear him in the night, not the day, and one or two old people on the Mission used to go out and talk to him. He used to sing out like a fox. He used to bring them news from where they’d come from up the north. Might be sad news or bad. That was when we were young. (Graham and Graham 1987:59) Birldumarda is further defined as a bat-​like being or spirit that lives in trees (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:23). In Fred Graham’s (int. 19 February 2013) story, the Birldumarda visited him on Waraldi: So me and this old bloke John [Huntley] Stuart, we went over to the island for rabbiting so we went in the old sailing boat across to the island … this wasn’t the Narrunga, this was different, just an old one. So we get there, first night we go to bed. And then about two or three o’clock in the morning we hear these footsteps walking up and down. Now remember there was no one else on the island. Only me and him. So I  don’t know where the footsteps come from. But he comes right up to the door, you can hear him, and then walks away. So the next morning—​Now I got to tell you something. The old people don’t tell you nothing. Old Aboriginals, you got to find all these things out yourself. They don’t sit down and talk to you, tell you what’s, so you got to find out—​So next morning the old bloke said to me, ‘Did you hear ‘em?’ I said, ‘Yes, I heard them’, I said, I thought my hair, in those days I had curly hair, I  said, ‘I heard ‘em.’ He said, ‘That was them walking last night.’ Fair enough. Next night we go to bed again, then the woodcutting started. Axe chopping wood. Next morning the same thing happened. He said, ‘Did you hear them last night?’ He didn’t explain anything to

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52  Cognitive landscapes you just so, and that’s the only words he said, ‘Did you hear ‘em?’ I said, ‘Did I hear them?’ I said, ‘I heard them all right.’ Here’s the best part. Me and him packed up that day, out from the island and we walked to the end of the island and on the island there’s the catchments for sheep so we slept at the catchment the third night, here’s the best one, you can believe it or not. There’s a bird and it’s called a Birldumarda and he’s an Aboriginal bird. And he comes that night and he’s screaming and flapping all over the place. I was watching and the old bloke said to me next morning. He said, ‘Someone died.’ I said, ‘How do you know?’ And that’s all he said to me, he said ‘Someone died.’ Next morning, so next morning we see a boat coming round the Point over here and it was my uncle come over. My grandmother died that night. That is true as I’m sitting here. He said someone died. But they never explained anything to you. All he said to me in the three nights. ‘Did you hear it?’ Or ‘Did you see it.’ Never explained what it. And you don’t ask bloody questions. No, you don’t. Another Dreaming story featuring Waraldi recounts the creation of seabirds: The story describes the father of the tribe, who was a giant and lived on Wauraltee Island (Wardang Island), where he resided and was ultimately buried. He has a brother in whom was vested power almost equal to his own and who travelled about. Once in his travels down the Peninsula, he met a man from another race and had a fight. The latter was speared and his bowels gushed out. His conquerer then cut him into halves and the upper half was transformed into a bat (majaja). The bat was sent with a message to the conquered one’s people, who were camped on a beach. The bat returned and desired the conquerer to go to the camp for a consultation. He refused, but went to the camp at night, where he burnt the camp and all the people as they slept. The wind blew the ashes away, which turned into the seabirds as seen today. (Wood and Westell 1998:14) While a functionalist perspective might be relevant to place names relating to a specific type of animal, such place names may also be part of the ritual landscape at sea (Westerdahl 2009:315). Animal names at Burgiyana divide into two categories:  marine life and, more frequent, birds. Marine life includes Seal Rocks, Snapper Point, Shell Beach and Dolphin Bay. Bird life includes Goose Island, Cormorant Island, Shag Island, Swan Bay, Bird Point, Oyster Catcher Beach, Pigeon Island and Magpie Place. Snake Point represents a single terrestrial animal, and Hungry Bay indicates a subsistence landscape. These names reinforce both the role of marine resources in subsistence and the ritual significance of such animals as birds. In relation to the coast and marine resources, Narungga people have Dreamings describing fish species, such as the shark (Class Elasmobranchii),

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Cognitive landscapes 53 butterfish/​gayinbara (common name Dusky Morwong [Dactylophora nigricans]) and salmon/​gulyalya (Arripis sp.), as well as traditional ceremonies and rituals (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:46, 188; Wanganeen 1987:3). Gladys Elphick details this story of the shark: There was a little group of fishermen who had a small fish which they wrapped in bark and they sent this fish out to sea to bring back fish for this get-​together. The men called out for the fish to come back. This it did, but it had out-​grown its bark wrappings. New bark had to be tied back to the fish, and it was sent out again, and also recalled again. The bark was too small and had to be replaced by a new and bigger piece of bark as the fish grew bigger and bigger. So it went on, as the fish got bigger so a bigger piece of bark was placed on the fish. The last time it came back it was the biggest fish they had ever seen, and with the biggest teeth. When it opened its mouth at them it was the shark. They all jumped back, and called out ‘bucha’ [something to be afraid of]. (Wanganeen 1987:4) Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (2002:xi) states this story is a prophecy of the arrival and later ‘contact’ of foreigners (“white’ danger’) from the sea. The shark features in Narungga Dreaming stories and is often discussed in anecdotal accounts. Fred Graham (int. 26 November 2013) recalled a story of Big Fred, a great white shark (Carcharodon carcharias) while on sea Country: Many years ago, when I  was about 17, and his name was Big Fred, and he used to patrol the bay here and then down the bottom and go to Ardrossan and back. So one day me and my uncle and my brother was over here, Redbank, see there’s Redbank. See straight out from Redbank, we was doing garfishing in the dinghy and I was standing up near the front of the boat. Now, are you going to believe this or not? And so when we looked we see Big Fred coming. We was in this dinghy and next minute the seat what I  was standing on in the front of the dinghy broke. Arse-​over-​head I went in the water, Big Fred swimming past, this is true. And I come up on the boat, I had tobacco and matches in my shirt, when I was smoking and that, and my back got wet but my front never got wet. I come back into the boat, don’t ask me how I done it. It was bloody frightening. Fell on my back in the water and then came straight back up. These things you can do when you’re frightened, but try to do it normal times there’s no way you can do it. Don’t you reckon? You can do a lot of things when you frightened. The butterfish is vital to Narungga people; the term describes Narungga people themselves, the fish species and Dreamings (Roberts et  al. forthcoming). George Walker (int. 19 November 2013) describes the Narungga

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54  Cognitive landscapes people, ‘I remember, butterfish people and that they call us’. The nhudli gayinbara is the traditional fish, the butterfish, meaning the one with the bent tail (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). The naming of butterfish also varies depending on its size and shape (Roberts et al. forthcoming). Cecil Wallace Graham also describes it: The butterfish is the blackfella’s fish. White men call them strongfish. That’s our butterfish. That’s our delicacy. (Graham and Graham 1987:54) There has been confusion between the meaning of the term butterfish as used by Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal peoples because the latter use the term butterfish to refer to Mulloway (A. hololepidotus), a different species to that of Narungga butterfish (Roberts et al. forthcoming). Butterfish are also described as a totem fish (Roberts et al. forthcoming). Other fish species also feature in the kuyia or subtotems of Narungga people, highlighting their close connection with the sea, such as trevally (Pseudocaranx sp.), silver whiting (Family Sillaginidae), jumping mullet (Family Mugilidae), travelling mullet, Snapper/​gadbari (Chrysophrys auratus), tommy rough (Arripis georgianus) and silver bream1 (Krichauff 2011:12). Narungga people would not eat another’s kuyia without first seeking permission (this is likely more complex and is not explored further here) (Krichauff 2011:12). Narungga are by no means the only Aboriginal group that subjected aquatic (marine or freshwater) animals to food ‘taboos’; the customs of the Yaraldi and Murray peoples of the Lakes in South Australia are similar (Berndt and Berndt 1993:83, 122, 124–​127). Restrictions on resource use and distribution by Indigenous peoples throughout Australia, based on age, gender, initiation status, marital status and the use of particular animals of totemic significance are also integral aspects of Indigenous use and management of Country (Smyth 2012:6–​7). Australia, with Indigenous cultural restrictions about eating certain marine foods, is part of one aspect of a universal form of maritime cosmology. The North Atlantic, Newfoundland (Canada), Texas (USA), the Malay peninsula, and Guyana in South America, also reflect ‘taboos’ within traditional fishing communities (Westerdahl 2010d:303). The Wampanoag peoples of Nantucket Sound (USA), for example, have functional and spiritual relationships with pelagic animals (sharks, swordfish, dolphins and seals) as food, status markers and spiritual guides (Patton 2014:97). Similarities also appear between ‘taboo’ names at sea and the secret and sacred nature of some Narungga Dreamings (not reproduced here) (Westerdahl 2010c:71, 2010d). In Scandinavia, some terrestrial names are not used at sea due to their power and are instead substituted with noa-​ names, a normal, uncontroversial, innocuous term which is the opposite of a taboo term, replacing the dangerous taboo name or phenomenon (Westerdahl 2010c:71, 2011a:292). Likewise, Indigenous peoples often do

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Cognitive landscapes 55 not repeat Dreamings, including those related to the maritime landscape, to prescribed people.

Toponymy The key difference between the ritual and cognitive landscape is that the former is ‘more marked by “actions”, by manners and customs’ while the latter, associated with the mind, is the mental map of remembered places (Westerdahl 2002:64). Cognition is ‘the way people in the past [and present] have thought about themselves in relation to their environment and how they have represented this relationship’ (Westerdahl 2006:7). The cognitive landscape is signified through toponymy (Westerdahl 2011b:339). It is important to not only document place names, but also to interpret them because they may have many meanings, including functional (Westerdahl 2010a:131, 2010d:303–​304). Traditional Narungga language names have several patterns. The interpretation of Indigenous naming practices reveals the differences between Indigenous and non-​Indigenous worldviews (Herman 2009:104; also see Hercus and Simpson [2009:10–​ 14] for a discussion on the differences between Indigenous and introduced place names). The necessity of community-​based research on Narungga toponyms cannot be over-​ emphasised; Narungga people are the only sources for place names that are not on (or differ to) maps. Local peoples are ‘the only providers of information that leads to an understanding of [I]‌ndigenous systems of knowledge and ways of ordering and classifying the world’ (Berleant-​Schiller 1991:92–​93). Place names are mnemotechnic pegs or memorisation points and functioned as cognitive or immaterial marks where oral and tactile knowledge was essential (Westerdahl 2010a:129–​ 130). Maritime communities restrict knowledge of place names to individual groups within the community, for example fisherpeople (Duncan 2011:275). In an oral history collected in 1935, Louisa Eglinton stated, ‘my people never named the inland places, only those near the coast’ (Kartinyeri 2002:8; Tindale 1936:57). Archaeologists have interpreted this as ‘reflecting a preference, or at least a higher significance placed on the coastal areas by the Narungga people’ (Wood and Westell 1998:20). Archaeological evidence appears to support this, although inland Guuranda is subject to freehold title under Western law and so difficult to access and is less researched. Intensive farming also took place on Guuranda (Amy Roberts pers. comm. 1 May 2015). The results of carbon isotope analysis of bone fragments from 15 individuals by the South Australian Museum (2013) indicated that Narungga people consumed terrestrial foods in a higher than expected quantity, although this unpublished research is difficult to assess without further information and data (Mollenmans 2014:53). The naming of some places is the same on both Western and Aboriginal maps but, in some instances, they differ. Also, more named places on Western maps are around Waraldi, rather than Burgiyana, as non-​Indigenous peoples

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56  Cognitive landscapes visited Waraldi more often than Burgiyana. It is thus possible that non-​ Indigenous peoples used the same names as Aboriginal peoples or they have extra Western names. One example of a place that has three names used by both Indigenous and non-​Indigenous peoples is Mungari. The name Mungari, in addition to referring to the island, can also refer to a place on the mainland coast adjacent to the island (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:62). According to Fred Graham (int. 26 November 2013), the original name of Mungari was Island Point. It is also known as Mungari—​ also spelt Moongerie and Mungery (Graham and Graham 1987:57; GRG52/​73/​1; Roberts et al. forthcoming; The Register 1918:11). The first record of the name changing, written many years later, is the viewpoint of Cecil Wallace Graham: One day my father [Fred Graham Snr] and I pulled the boat in to the shore on Moongerie Island and we were walking along the beach. Next minute he made me go back. I didn’t know what happened, I was only about thirteen years old. He said ‘You can go back now’. He must have seen this bloke lying there on the Island. It was a dead man all right. He was practically a skeleton, the sea lice had eaten him all away. They buried him on the Island, and there’s a little cross there. He was a fisherman, by the name of Bert Hutchinson. Well, since that, they changed that name of the Island from Moongerie to Dead Man’s Island. (Graham and Graham 1987:57) Superintendent Francis Garnett gives a contemporary account, written on the day of discovering the body: December 7: Fred Graham reported to me that he had found the body of Harold Albert Hutchinson on Mungery Island—​I reported same to M.C. Hinton on telephone, who came out & we—​with Graham—​drove to Mungery Island inspected body & buried it—​self reading prayers—​a wooden cross was erected over grave. (GRG52/​73/​1) The newspaper also recorded the event at the time: FISHERMAN’S FATE. PORT VICTORIA, December 12.—​The body of the unfortunate fisherman Bert Hutchinson was washed up on Mungery Island (a small island on the west side of Point Pierce) on Saturday last—​almost a fortnight after the occurrence. The body was found by Mr. Fred Graham, of the Point Pierce Mission Station, who informed Mr. F.  Garnett (superintendent of the station). M.C. Hinton, of Port Victoria, was communicated with, and proceeded to the spot. It was deemed advisable to inter the body where it was found, and Mr. Garnett

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Cognitive landscapes 57 read the burial service. Messrs. B. Heynen and C. Erickson represented the Port Victoria fishermen, and several Point Pierce fishermen were also present. A small wooden cross was erected. Mungery Island is close to where deceased had lived for a long while, and it was thought a fitting spot. (The Register 1918:11) The gravesite on Mungari is no longer marked. Finally, the grandson of Fred Graham Snr recollected the story: You know the story about Dead Man’s, who found the body? Out at Dead Man’s many years ago some bloke fell off one of the sailing ships, my dad found him, and that’s why they call it. All the Aboriginals know it as Dead Man’s but some ‘white’ people call it another name. He fell off one of the sailing ships and that’s why it’s called Dead Man’s Island and he buried him there and that’s the story of how Dead Man’s got its name, someone fell off, you know, the big sailing boats. (int. Graham 28 February 2013) While Burgiyana is a local maritime culture, there are commonalities with name giving principles everywhere. Found across Northern Europe, Deadman’s Islands’ usually relate to someone finding a corpse at the location (and so the possibility of shipwreck) or refer to the burial location of an anonymous drowned sailor (Westerdahl 2011b:333). Such burials occurred on islands in Northern Europe because ghosts or haunting spirits were unable to cross water. Burial of the corpses of anonymous outsiders or dangerous evil-​doers in the liminal zone prevented them from walking the earth inland; burial of drowned sailors on islands was a special precaution (Westerdahl 2009:320). Dead Man’s Island at Burgiyana illustrates the international dimension of maritime culture through the treatment of the dead at sea. In this instance, it is more likely that Hutchinson’s burial location was convenient rather than superstitious, given it had been almost a fortnight since the fisherman went missing resulting in a decomposed body. The choice of burial site was also because he lived nearby for a long time (The Register 1918:11). Superstition around this island may have begun after this event. It is possible that some ritual beliefs of death at sea played a part in the chosen burial site being an island, either Aboriginal beliefs, Western beliefs or a combination of both. Islands feature in Narungga Dreamings, including as the resting places of Ancestral Beings. Mungari is also believed by Narungga people to have a colony of albino sleepy lizards, white lizards with pink eyes (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Sleepy lizards/​marawardi feature in Narungga Dreaming as well; the Ancestral Being, Madjitju, turned the Ancestral Being, Ngarna, into a sleepy lizard and he remains so to the present day (Kartinyeri 2002:10–​11).

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58  Cognitive landscapes ‘Dangerous names give the necessary “thrill” to remember them’ (Westerdahl 2009:317). The Burgiyana maritime landscape reveals two danger names. Dead Man’s Island, while practical in the sense of describing the location of a fisherman’s death, also serves to warn others of the danger of the surrounding waters. Devils Window may also be a danger name; indeed, several shipwrecks have occurred near the western coast of Waraldi. A large aspect of maritime naming conventions at Burgiyana is boat names. While archival sources mention some mission boats before 1900, the first named boat and the most significant boat name is Narrunga (also spelt Narrungga, Narungga and Narunga), named after the Narungga language group (Roberts et al. 2013:80, 83). Early ethnographer, Francis James Gillen (in Mulvaney et al. 1997:463) records the moment of naming: We are having a new boat built at the Station a small Schooner, and I have named it the Narungga Much to the delight of the old men. It was like old times squatting in their Camp in the scrub and I am seriously thinking of putting in a week with them some day. According to Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013), many Burgiyana boats had names, especially wooden boats, although, while some boats had names they were not always written on the boat (int. Power 30 November 2013). Boat names fall into two main categories:  first, they were often dedicated to women in the community, particularly family members, and

Figure 3.2 Narrunga delivering sheep to Old Dolly’s Jetty (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services)

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Cognitive landscapes 59 Table 3.1 Burgiyana and other vessels discussed in the text (note that individually-​ owned vessels are not listed) Name

Earliest reference

Latest reference

Narrunga

Built 1903

Scuttled ca Ketch Burgiyana 1945 ca Narrunga, Motor launch Burgiyana sold Sank 1975 Fore-​and-​aft Dharldiwarldu wheat schooner trade, Waraldi tourist venture, Burgiyana Sold 1950 Launch Burgiyana

Annie Roslyn ca Narrunga Moorara

Built 1909

Eva

Built 1912, purchased 1915 1928 1931 1936 Built 1942

Unnamed Unnamed Unnamed Archie Badenoch

1949 1948 1947 2015

Silver Cloud

Built 1942

Sank 1974, re-​floated, sold

Silver Spray Playmate

1944 1946

1954 1948

Reef Runner

ca 1970s

Unnamed Lady Alma

1975 1996

Oyster boat

2000, buried 2015 2015

Description

Association

Launch Barge Dinghy Launch and ferry

Burgiyana Burgiyana Burgiyana Further Education Department, Waraldi Motor BHP, Waraldi, launch Waraldi tourist venture, Burgiyana activities on Waraldi Supply launch BHP, Waraldi Tourist and Waraldi tourist pleasure venture launch Motor vessel Education Department, Waraldi Steel barge Waraldi Steel barge Burgiyana activities on Waraldi Motor vessel Burgiyana

second, many names were humorous. The naming of boats in recent times has often been according to patterns of ship sex—​female names are usual as females are often identified with boats (Westerdahl 2008:25). Females at sea is the most prominent story of maritime cosmology and ships are often treated as a living person, ‘a divine female being’ (Westerdahl 2008:25). The human tendency is to anthropomorphise, personify and engender watercraft (Richards 2013:4). The barge Lady Alma, named after Burgiyana woman Alma Kathleen Power, is a more recent community vessel (int. Power 30 November 2013). Lady Alma is a steel barge from Port Lincoln, 12 by 6 m, which broke

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60  Cognitive landscapes its moorings in 1996 and came ashore north of Dharldiwarldu (Moody 2012:232). Repaired in 1999, it remained in use to transport heavy vehicles and machinery to Waraldi (Moody 2012:232). Students from Technical and Further Education (TAFE) undertook to repair the vessel in 2012 (Doug Milera pers. comm. 19 March 2013). Peter Smith built Rayleen Joy, named after his wife, Narungga woman Rayleen Graham, which was likely sold to someone at Burgiyana and thought to have sunk at its moorings at Gunganya warda (int. Smith 29 November 2013). The frame of it was still visible in the late 1990s or early 2000s and Peter Smith and his son Clayton (int. Smith 29 November 2013)  salvaged parts of the vessel (the keel according to a local newspaper [Rait 2002]) to reuse in the construction of another boat, Doris May, built between 1997 and 2002 and named after Rayleen’s mother, Doris May Graham. Doris May now resides in Peter Smith’s backyard in Dharldiwarldu (int. Smith 29 November 2013) and is a 20 ft wooden cutter, built by eye (i.e., not using plans) (Rait 2002). One boat, owned by Irvine McKenzie Wanganeen Snr, had the nickname Tipsy Cake (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Although not its proper name, this nickname echoes the nickname of his daughter, Theresa ‘Tipsy’ Kay Wanganeen (Lyle Sansbury pers. comm. 17 July 2018). Maritime naming also provides ‘a humorous and fairly decent understanding of human frailties in general’, suggesting humour is a recent occurrence in naming (Westerdahl 2010a:102, 131). Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013)  remembers a boat called Dolphin. Lance Newchurch’s (int. 29 November 2013) boat, HMAS Sinker, was so named because he had to keep pumping water out of the boat. Wellesley Sansbury’s big, narrow-​ decked sailing boat, Axe, was ‘a long skinny boat’ (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Another, which may have also been Wellesley Sansbury’s, Rock ‘n’ Roll, received this title because of its big girth and the way it would rock and roll through rough weather (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Besides place names and boat names, another aspect of maritime nomenclature at Burgiyana is the naming of fishing marks and drops. Transit lines are an integral aspect of the cognition of fisherpeople, regardless of culture or time. Novices must master the entire cognitive world, including the use of transit lines—​also termed sighting vistas or viewsheds (Westerdahl 2010a:118)—​in fishing, the repetition of formulas and naming processes (Westerdahl 2009:316). Actions such as anchoring to fish on a fishing drop or changing of course to avoid submerged obstacles need the production and replication of transit lines, sighting a line across at least two permanent marks on one line together with another transit in a different direction (Westerdahl 2010a:126–​127). At Burgiyana, transit lines were never written down, they were all remembered (int. Power 30 November 2013) and then passed down from older fishermen to their sons or family members (int. Walker 19 November 2013). Often, fishermen would work the ground, drifting in the general area of a mark and then as soon the fish started biting they would look at the

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Cognitive landscapes 61 landmark straight away to create a visual transit and be able to return to that spot again (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). There are also four drops to the west of Waraldi, which are out of sight of land (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Fords,2 Pollys and Messengers are some of the well-​ known fishing drops (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Clem O’Loughlin records that Jimmy Messenger, a BHP employee, took Narrunga to deep water off Waraldi for scuttling (Roberts et  al. 2013:88). A  load of dump trucks from the mining activities on Waraldi aided in its sinking (Roberts et  al. 2013:89). Side-​scan sonar and magnetometer surveys were unable to (re-​) locate Narrunga, either due to the vessel being completely buried by sand or the deterioration (through marine organisms such as Teredo navalis and/​ or weather and water conditions) and scattering of the site (Roberts et al. 2013:94–​96). There is a tendency at Burgiyana to humanise fishing drop names and people are often the inspiration. Garfield drop, named after its discoverer, Stanley Garfield Henry Smith, is a rocky spot amongst the wireweed (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Another drop, coined Starvation drop, delivered for Wellesley Sansbury when he needed to cover his fuel, milk and bread costs (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 25 February 2013)  recalled a fishing drop at the Old Village called The Gardens, where fish gather in the corkweed (Scaberia agardii). Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013) also had a drop near the Old Village called The Strip, which lined up a shed that used to be on the island with the jetty and a bush. Knowledge and the toponymy of fishing grounds reveals that the Burgiyana community names and ‘owns’ such places (Fowler et al. 2014:18). Those named here are, of course, only a selection.

Seascapes The topographic landscape includes the study of natural topography such as contours (both on land and underwater), the various physical approaches to the coast from the sea and the location of harbours. Individual analysis of aspects of the topographic landscape, including seamarks and toponyms, occurs here within the context of the immediate environment (Westerdahl 2010a:120). The maritime landscape of the mission comprises features such as traditional Narungga knowledge, natural topography and seamarks. Seascapes comprise more than marine subsistence and procurement technology, they are rich in spiritscapes, rituals, cosmological and religious significance (Cooney 2003:323; McNiven 2003:329). Traditional knowledge of currents, tides, wave patterns, seabed topography, shallows, snags, beaching and launching grounds, seasonal changes, fresh water locations, raw material locations, food sources such as shellfish banks, fishing drops and weed beds, and ecological diversity are overlain with ritual associations, meaning, sites, place names and ownership (Cooney 2003:323–​324; Crouch

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62  Cognitive landscapes 2008:132–​133; McNiven 2003:331; Patton 2014:91). A holistic definition of seascapes is: The lived sea-​spaces central to the identity of maritime peoples. They are owned by right of inheritance, demarcated territorially, mapped with named places, historicized with social actions, engaged technologically for resources, imbued with spiritual potency and agency, orchestrated ritually, and legitimated cosmologically. (McNiven 2008:151) True seascapes envelop factors, such as star alignments and celestial movements, swells, water depths, birds and winds, fauna and flora, geomorphology, landscapes, colours, sounds and smells, that aid a person in placing their location on a mental map when out of sight of land (Ford 2011:4; Patton 2014:91; Wobst 2005:28). Communities hold this cultural knowledge, which—​due to continuous revisions—​may change over time, as a collective (Patton 2014:91). At Burgiyana, the seascape is an important aspect of the maritime landscape on the coast, as well as at sea, evident through traditional ecological knowledge of the weather, the underwater landscape and the seasons, summed up by Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013)  who states, ‘going fishing in them old boats … learnt a lot about the weather and the sea and all that’. Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) states that Waraldi and Burgiyana ‘give us landscapes and seascapes and places in which to maintain our cultural traditions and monitor our biosphere, all of our animals, flora and fauna’. While Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) states that ‘the blackfella adopted white man’s technology and modernisation’ with regards to netting: They also used the seasons, they used the knowledge of the land, you know, of where their drops was, you know, they used the change in the weather, you know, all those things. So they knew, you know, what weather was good to fish and what weather was good to come in from the sea, you know, when the weather changed and all those aspects. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) reveals that you know when you’re going over sand, you know when you’re going over rocky corkweed because you’ll always pull the corkweed up and you’ll feel … the rocks grabbing it, and you know when you’re going over wireweed … you know you get nothing on wireweed. The in-​depth knowledge Narungga peoples had, and have, for the differences in seabed composition reinforces the hypothesis that Narungga peoples consider the seabed to be a submerged part of the land.

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Cognitive landscapes 63 It’s the bottom of the sea, you don’t worry about anything else, you got to worry about that bottom. ‘It’s the most important thing, Lyle’, Wellesley Sansbury would say. (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013) Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) also says it is only experience that tells you where you are and how to negotiate the rocks because there are no buoys marking the danger, for example Black Rocks near Yadri. This tradition of usage is therefore the advantage of local maritime experiences, practical learning and tradition, including well-​used routes (Westerdahl 1992:8). Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  describes Narungga knowledge of the submerged landscape, ‘we know where the scallop beds are, we know where the razor fish beds are, we know where the juvenile nhudli gayinbara habitat is’. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  also recalls that from Middle Fence to Yadri in the bay is green grass that grows in the mud, which the garfish/​warndga (Hyporhamphus sp.) feed amongst. Around Middle Fence and Winggara is a weed and cockle/​bilili (Katelysia sp.) bank that runs out to Rocky Island with many fishing drops (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). When the tide is out it is possible to walk out to the dips (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Lawrence ‘Lawrie’ Muir Williams is one fisherman who fished in the dip off Middle Fence and Winggara (int. Graham 26 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury’s (int. 30 November 2013) aunt, Jennifer Pearl Wilson, developed a knack for catching mullet at Galadri even when there was no tide and very little water, using the green patches. George Walker (int. 19 November 2013)  learnt from Clement Hugh Graham Snr that diving birds provide another indicator of where to fish: I said, ‘Well, look at the birds just here just out from your shack,’ and they are diving and he said, ‘well there must be fish out there, why don’t you go and set the net out there?’ ‘Me?’ The young boys would walk around set the net and then the next morning he’d wake us up, ‘Go on, go out there and check the net now, go out there and do some fishing’. Hungry Bay, at the southern end of Waraldi, features a rock formation—​ which Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) suggests Narungga people may have modified—​that forms a natural wall and traps fish when the tide goes out. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) states that besides the ‘humble spear, blackfella’s spear’, there are also fish traps around Guuranda. Oral history recounted from Wadla waru resident Ben Simms describes how Narungga people would use the madbra (the morning star that rises in the east) as a sign for ‘telling when the tide would be going out (just before daylight) so that they could block the entrances to the fish traps’ (Roberts et al. 2016:5; Roberts et al. forthcoming). Not only does this reveal Narungga’s detailed knowledge of fish behaviour and tides, but also their knowledge

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64  Cognitive landscapes of astronomical observations (Roberts et al. 2016:5). Ceremonies in which Narungga called fish up in a ritual manner through ‘singing’ also took place (Roberts et al. 2016:5; Roberts et al. forthcoming). A fish trap was identified on the western side of Burgiyana, revealing the link between tangible fish trap sites and cosmological knowledge systems. This, and the wide distribution of other fish traps around Guuranda’s coastline, formed the subject of later research (Roberts et al. 2016). Guuranda has four general areas featuring fish traps, including the Burgiyana Peninsula, although this list is not exhaustive (Roberts et al. 2016:2, 10). The Burgiyana fish trap, constructed of packed, locally-​available, ferricrete stone, is perpendicular to the shore to a length of 106 m (Roberts et al. 2016:10). The construction, maintenance, operation and processing of this fish trap required significant labour (Roberts et  al. 2016:10). People constructed some fish traps, such as that at Burgiyana Peninsula, while the use or modification of natural features to aid trapping occurred at other fish traps (Roberts et al. 2016:2, 19). The location of all fish traps, within lowest and highest present tide heights and the contemporary intertidal or eulittoral zone, revealed that they were likely built within the last 1,000  years (Roberts et  al. 2016:2, 10, 20). As well as knowing the environment and features of the submerged landscape, a final aspect to Narungga seascapes is the seasons. Narungga people know the location of different species of fish during different seasons. During winter, the afternoon tides flow in, when the earth moves on its axis to give the seasons of summer, autumn, winter and spring, and the garfish come in, shaking the water in their schools (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). On a flat, calm day it’s just beautiful to watch … like ballet to me it is. (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013) According to Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013), winter was also the season for getting bigger whiting. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2019) states: Went out at certain times of the season, you know. From late January till middle Easter, middle April, you know, the ‘gardies’ were here, you know, garfish … wintertime, you know that mullets hanging around, you know. Garfishing occurred at Winggara and Middle Fence from January to March and these locations are also garfish breeding grounds and nurseries (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). A Burgiyana man requested a mesh net from the Chief Protector of Aboriginals, stating that he would like ‘to have the net straight away now because mullets are plentiful around here this month [April] until the end of May’ (GRG52/​1/​6/​1926). March is the

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Cognitive landscapes 65 time of year for collecting shag/​mulawi (Phalacorcorax sp.) eggs from Rocky Island, and the island is good for butterfish and scallop (Family Pectinidae) (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Thus, traditional ecological knowledge—​ the ‘practical applied Indigenous knowledge of the natural world’ (Bruchac 2014:3816)—​of the weather, submerged environment and seasons make up part of Narungga’s seascape. From a functional perspective, seamarks are ‘a purely visual aid … an artificial or natural object of easily recognisable shape or colour or both, situated in such a position that it may be identified on a chart or related to a known navigational instruction’ (Westerdahl 2010a:72). A further definition from a cognitive perspective is that they are ‘identified by a person familiar with the coast and having past navigational experience’ (Westerdahl 2010a:72). There is an infinite variation in seamarks, necessary due to their purpose, and so their documentation often needs identification by locals to uncover all official and unofficial marks. Often, navigators would use seamarks in conjunction with contours of the land to produce transit lines—​indeed, fisherpeople, not sailors, are likely to have initiated the use of seamarks, using transit lines for fishing grounds rather than navigation into harbours (Westerdahl 2010a:86–​91). Constructed seamarks were not needed by local people experienced in the topography of the area, who instead navigated by memory (Westerdahl 2010a:73). It is imperative to know your position by way of transit lines, the direction of the seabirds’ flight, the pits in the bottom, the foreboding of a change in the weather, the knowledge of the shallows where perch is breeding, both for profitable fishing and for the dangers in approaching them … The knowledge of the exact position of the shore is imperative. (Westerdahl 2010c:68) There have been no purpose-​built seamarks at Burgiyana (although the planting of shea oaks may have been intentional)—​ there was no need because Burgiyana fisherpeople knew their landscape by heart—​as such Aboriginal, or local/​unofficial, seamarks are not recorded. This has resulted in an almost exclusive use of verbal seamarks, only documented through community-​based, collaborative research. The intentional use of human beings as seamarks occurs while waiting on the shore for fishing boats or at look out points known to sailors and fisherpeople (Westerdahl 2010a:104). People were seamarks on Burgiyana at the location of Redbanks, a site known for watching, looking for shoals of fish (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney recounts stories of elders sitting on cliffs on Guuranda’s east coast to watch sharks ‘herd’ travelling and schooling fish species, such as mullet, into the narrow reaches of the gulf (Roberts et al. 2016:5). In approximately 1927 while at Parson’s Beach, south of Dharldiwarldu, Parsons (1987:3) saw:

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66  Cognitive landscapes Up on the sand-​dunes one native stood watching for fish, the other men spread out along the beach in shallow water, evidently each had a code number. when the observer spotted a fish, he whistled the number of times to suit the code of the man nearest the fish. This happened again many years later. A sketch made by Edward Snell (in Griffiths 1988:128) in 1850 is similar in that it depicts men swimming with nets in formation, while women and children on top of the cliffs called to signal the location of fish (Wood and Westell 1998:12). David Hill (in Moody 2016:114) recalls seeing Aboriginal people in the late 1940s walking along the cliff between Dhibara and Balgowan spotting butterfish, while another Aboriginal person ‘would be in the water spearing and towing the speared fish on a rope’. Secondary seamarks for fishing drops around Burgiyana and Waraldi included many different built and natural features. Trees often form natural seamarks, despite their temporary nature, usually differing from other trees in the area or individual trees in an otherwise barren landscape (Westerdahl 2010a:114). Marks included scrubs, farmhouses, telephone towers (int. R.  Newchurch 29 November 2013), fencelines (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013), and rocks and crevices on the land and beaches (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013) also cites bushes and sheds, particularly those on Waraldi. The sand hills at the southern end of Waraldi were also used (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). A house on Green Island, when lined up with rocks stained an orange colour from lichen, marked seven drops in a line (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Another natural seamark is Mount Rat, located some distance behind Dharldiwarldu (int. L. Newchurch 16 February 2012 by Amy Roberts). Some drops also used Goose Island for marks, including lining up a house on the island with the white strip of a beach (int. Graham 28 February 2013). Waraldi itself was often used as a mark, for example lining a scrub up with the end of the island (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Features of the maritime transport landscape were also used, such as the lighthouse on Waraldi which, when lined up between rocks, signalled Garfield drop at the end of Goose Island (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). The lighthouse is a seamark for both local fishing and foreign vessels, and is the only constructed or purpose-​built seamark in the Burgiyana landscape. Lighthouse Beach, located adjacent to the lighthouse, is a place name transposed from this sailing mark that also reflects the colonised nature of the landscape. The first lighthouse on Waraldi was an unmanned AGA light in 1909, which was then modified and altered many times over the years. The present lighthouse, constructed in 1987, is a double height, size three glass-​reinforced plastic cabinet with a solar-​powered lamp (Moody 2012:118). Besides the lighthouse, other maritime structures used included the jetties. A point would sometimes be set from Dolly’s Jetty to Waraldi, and

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Cognitive landscapes 67

Figure 3.3 Lindsay Sansbury pointing out seamarks off the coast of Burgiyana (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

a certain distance between the two would be a fishing drop (int. Walker 19 November 2013). Some fishing marks along the shore of Waraldi include lining a building from the Old Village up with the end of the Little Jetty (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The moorings at Gunganya warda, when lined up with a shea oak/​garlgu tree (Casuarina genus) at Middle Fence, indicated corkweed drops (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). The extra associations of these maritime features when viewed (or perceived) and used from the sea reveal further significance as part of the community’s maritime landscape. Oral history is again highlighted as instrumental in recording these landscapes as some constructed places, such as buildings and fencelines, are not known to be part of the maritime landscape until after their identification by community members as seamarks. Oral knowledge, transferring immaterial or cognitive seamarks, could be the description of a system of transit lines at the coast (Westerdahl 2010a:130, 133).

Conclusions It is the cognitive landscape that binds a terrestrial maritime landscape to an underwater landscape (Westerdahl 2011b:339). The cognitive landscape of Burgiyana comprises the ritual, toponymic and topographic landscapes.

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68  Cognitive landscapes The ritual landscape is expressed through Dreamings, for example creation stories. Toponymy conveys the cognitive landscape. The topographic landscape is communicated through the seascape, particularly knowledge of the underwater environment. Narungga cognitive landscapes, of access to researchers only through the transmittance of oral knowledge, underlie all other Narungga landscape facets, as explored in the following chapters beginning with the transport landscape.

Notes 1 Silver bream is an amorphous fish species and cannot be further classified in this context. 2 Escott Ford, of Munda, had been a fisherman in the waters around Dharldiwarldu for many years when he went missing at sea in March 1945 (The News 1945:3). He had a hut on Burgiyana land, and following his disappearance his fishing business was sold to Gordon Cave (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940).

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70  Cognitive landscapes Richards, N., 2013. Abandoned ships and ship graveyards: Exploring site significance and research potential. In Richards, N., and Seeb, S.K. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Watercraft Abandonment. Springer: New York, pp. 1–​16. Rigney, L.-​I., 2002. Foreword. In Chittleborough, A., Dooley, G., Glover, B., and Hosking, R. (Eds.), Alas, for the Pelicans! Flinders, Baudin and Beyond. Wakefield Press: Kent Town, pp. ix–​xiv. Roberts, A., Mollenmans, A., Agius, Q., Graham, F., Newchurch, J., Rigney, L.-​I., Sansbury, F., Sansbury, L., Turner, P., Wanganeen, G., and Wanganeen, K., 2016. ‘They planned their calendar…they set up ready for what they wanted to feed the tribe’: A first-​stage analysis of Narungga fish traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11(1):1–​25. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Roberts, A.L., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Wanganeen, K., forthcoming. The Butterfish Mob: Narungga Cultural Fishing. Wakefield Press: Adelaide. Smith, W.R., 1930. Myths and Legends of the Australian Aboriginals. Harrap: London. Smyth, D., 2012. Best Practice Recognition and Engagement of Aboriginal Traditional Owners and Other Indigenous People in the Use and Management of Victoria’s Marine Protected Areas. Victorian Environment Assessment Council: Atherton. Tindale, N.B., 1936. Notes on the natives of the southern portion of Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Transactions Royal Society of South Australia 60:55–​70. Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Westerdahl, C., 1992. The maritime cultural landscape, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 21(1):5–​14. Westerdahl, C., 2002. The ritual landscape at sea. In Cederlund, C., and Kruger, K. (Eds.), Maritime Archaologie Heute:  Herausgegeben Von. Inglo Koch Verlag: Rostock, pp. 51–​72. Westerdahl, C., 2005. Seal on land, elk at sea:  Notes on and applications of the ritual landscape at the seaboard, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 34(1):2–​23. Westerdahl, C., 2006. Maritime cosmology and archaeology, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 28:7–​54. Westerdahl, C., 2008. Boats apart. Building and equipping an Iron-​Age and Early-​ Medieval ship in Northern Europe, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 37(1):17–​31. Westerdahl, C., 2009. The horse as a liminal agent, Archaeologia Baltica 11:314–​327. Westerdahl, C., 2010a. Ancient sea marks: A social history from a North European perspective, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 33:71–​155. Westerdahl, C., 2010b. ‘Horses are strong at sea’: The liminal aspect of the maritime cultural landscape. In Anderson, A., and Boyle, K.V. (Eds.), Global Origins and Development of Seafaring. McDonald Institute of Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge Press: Cambridge, pp. 275–​287. Westerdahl, C., 2010c. Lake Vanern: Reflections on dynamic continuity and changing shore-​lines, Skyllis 1:65–​77.

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Cognitive landscapes 71 Westerdahl, C., 2010d. Sea versus land:  An arctic and subarctic ‘cosmology’? In Westerdahl, C. (Ed.), A Circumpolar Reappraisal: The Legacy of Gutorm Gjessing (1906–​1979). Archaeopress: Oxford, pp. 301–​327. Westerdahl, C., 2011a. The binary relationship of sea and land. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 291–​310. Westerdahl, C., 2011b. Conclusion:  The maritime cultural landscape revisited. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 331–​344. Wobst, H.M., 2005. Power to the (Indigenous) past and present! Or:  The theory and method behind archaeological theory and method. In Smith, C., and Wobst, H.M. (Eds.), Indigenous Archaeologies:  Decolonizing Theory and Practice. Routledge: New York, pp. 17–​32. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Aboriginal Archaeological Site Survey of Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside. Zimmerman, L.J., 2005. First, be humble:  Working with Indigenous peoples and other descendant communities. In Smith, C., and Wobst, H.M. (Eds.), Indigenous Archaeologies:  Decolonizing Theory and Practice. Routledge:  London, pp. 301–​314.

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4  Transport landscapes

There’s a whole range of history of Aboriginal peoples, Narungga peoples, using particular boats throughout the entire timeframe of the colonial period, of the mission being established; in navigating this area … they knew exactly the underwaterscape, as well as the seascape, as well as the landscape. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013)

The outer resource landscape extends away from the boundary of the maritime landscape under study and particularly extends inland, away from the coast. It incorporates ship and boatbuilding and shipyards, as well as local ecological resources such as wood for shipbuilding (Westerdahl 2006:62, 2011:746). This resource landscape is greater than individual sites, such as shipyards, and can incorporate entire landscapes such as forests (Westerdahl 2009:13). The Burgiyana community obtained raw materials on several occasions, including limited examples of timber for boatbuilding—​and the source of the jetties’ raw construction materials may have been nearby—​ however, the outer resource landscape relates to buying boats and other maritime material culture such as oars, nets and sails. The outer resource landscape features a fundamental aspect of capitalism:  commodity, things produced based on raw materials and labour (Horrell 2005:25), representing the acquisition of production-​based materials and resources from an external landscape. This reflects the capitalist nature of a post-​contact mission society—​exploitation of Indigenous peoples could not proceed through the extraction of raw material commodities, and thus exploitation occurred through labour (Bennett 2003:9).

Boatbuilding The rapid transmission of information characterises the coast, nowhere more so than at ports and harbours (Westerdahl 2006:61). Thus, the contact period saw local peoples embrace boatbuilding innovations. ‘Communication between the different coastal settlements have often been livelier than

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Transport landscapes 73 between the coastal settlement on one hand and inland settlements on the other’ (Westerdahl 2003:20). Hence, it may be that—​besides preserving cultural continuity—​the maritime location of the mission also accelerated culture contact. There was a more rapid transfer of information at missions located on the coast than inland. The proximity of Dharldiwarldu definitely played a significant role in the interaction of Narungga people with non-​Indigenous peoples and the speed at which the transfer of knowledge of Western maritime technology occurred; recognition of Dharldiwarldu as a port occurred a decade after the establishment of Burgiyana in 1868 (Moody 2012:17; Wanganeen 1987:25). As noted by Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013), the modern interpretation of understanding boats came when Aboriginal peoples began to build and buy boats in a Western tradition. Aboriginal people undertook boatbuilding at Burgiyana, the first of which is Narrunga (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013). The Advertiser (1903:7) describes the construction and launching of Narrunga: A new vessel for sheep carrying—​A vessel has just been completed to the order of the Yorke Peninsula Aboriginal Mission committee for the station at Point Pierce. The measurements are:—​Length over all, 45 ft. 5 in. beam extreme, 12 ft. 5 in; and depth amidships, 4 ft. She has accommodation for over 160 sheep, and draws only 20 inches of water when loaded. Light draught is necessary for working over the shallows that are found between Wardang Island and Point Pierce. The vessel was built at the station by Mr. W. Burgoyne, of the “Pioneer slip”, Port Pirie, and was taken over two and a half miles to be launched. A  traction engine, owned by Jarret Bros., of Maitland, provided the motive power necessary to effect the launch. Owing to the soft condition of the road after heavy rains, laying steel plates under the trolly wheels was resorted to, thus ensuring firmness. Over one and a half miles was plated in this way. The vessel is called Narrungga, which is the aboriginal name for the Yorke Peninsula tribe. She is ketch rigged, with centreboard of jarrah, and sails well. The sheep are loaded by being driven on stages through a gap hatchway in the stern. Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) describes Narrunga as a cutter (as does Moody [2012:128]), others identify it as a ketch at the time of launching (Roberts et  al. 2013:82; The Advertiser 1903:7; Wanganeen 1987:55), yet some label it as a schooner (Gillen in Mulvaney et  al. 1997:436; The Advertiser 1907:10). It is possible that the vessel had more than one rigging over its use-​life (Roberts et al. 2013:82). The Advertiser (1903:7) suggests a non-​Indigenous man, Burgoyne, built Narrunga, while other sources do not credit the boatbuilders (e.g., Archibald 1915:22). Doris and Cecil Graham (1987:58) state that the people on Burgiyana built it, substantiated by a discussion between Olga Fudge and Eileen

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74  Transport landscapes Newchurch, recorded by Eileen Wanganeen (1987:66), which gives a much more nuanced perspective on its construction: That old boat, that was built in the wool shed in Point Pearce, in that old wool shed. That’s our people, the Narrunga people. That’s the new boat that just come out, on her first trip I think to Wardang Island. It was to cart all the sheep, cattle and all in that boat. It was built by a fella by the name of Burgoyne. He had all the Nungas working with him, helping him, like old Joey, my grandfather. [William] Billy Williams [Snr], all them fellas, helped to build that boat. Burgine was only just telling them what to do, supervisor. I think Narrunga was five hundred a full load. They used to put them on deck, the sheep, and all. All the station was down there watching the boat come out of the shed and they took it down to the sheoaks (the tide was out). Old Yates, Jerry Yates his name was, took it down there with a big locomotive from Maitland, engine pulling it. They put her on with the wheels and this engine took it down there, left her there on the sand. When the tide come in … away she went. She floated. They took her over to the island. The old fella, Ben Sims, he was the captain of her for a good while … Narrunga was also used to ferry us all over to Wardang Island for the day, for a big picnic. She was towed by the motor launch, Annie Roslyn, later sold to someone in Port Pirie. Annie Roslyn (ca 1940)  was a motor launch used to tow Narrunga (Wanganeen 1987:66). A ceremony on the shore for the transfer of a vessel from land to sea is inescapable in any maritime culture (Westerdahl 2010b:278). Little remains of the old wool shed at Burgiyana after its demolition in the 1960s (Roberts et al. 2013:89). Ship timbers with copper alloy fasteners are present at the launching place, north of The Sheoaks (Roberts et al. 2013:89). The expansive, hard tidal flats free from rocks and obstructions and nearness to the mission and deep water loading places/​harbour, present it as a favourable site for launching and refitting a vessel (Roberts et al. 2013:91). Other vessels used the site for landing, including a barge cleaned and refitted on the tidal flats in this area in the 1970s (Roberts et al. 2013:91). While Narrunga was a mission or community boat, people at Burgiyana also built their own, or private, boats and dinghies. Chief Protector of Aboriginals M.T. McLean (1932:9) reported in 1932 that ‘two of the natives built a new dinghy and the job is a credit to them’. The source of the boatbuilding materials is not known. Lindsay Sansbury (int. 27 November 2013) recalls house floorboards used in the construction of a couple of flat-​ bottomed dinghies. In addition to dinghies, Doris May Graham describes the methods of building larger boats: Then, they also used to make their own boats with a tommy axe, a rasp and a hammer and saw; even big boats, twenty foot boats. They used to

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Transport landscapes 75 make the ribs for the boats by cutting the boughs of the trees; and then they’d cut the stern for the boats. (Graham and Graham 1987:23) Robert Cock, who conducted the first survey of Dharldiwarldu in 1839 states, ‘the timber is principally sheoak, but other timber is in abundance for fuel and fencing purposes, although not generally adapted for building purposes’ (Neumann 1983:4). While ‘Shee Oaks’ (Casuarina genus) are not known for their suitability in shipbuilding, its use for cabinetry and furniture, decorative parts of carriage and coach building, interior fittings, shingles and walking sticks, does not preclude its use for boatbuilding (Baker 1919). There was no professionalisation of boatbuilding at Burgiyana; the mission/​station or others did not engage anyone for their skilled labour in a permanent, year-​round manner (Westerdahl 2009:23). The first prerequisite for a boatbuilding location is local access to timber resources and labour with moderate skill in carpentry—​material and social geography (Westerdahl 2009:26). While the construction of Narrunga establishes the skill and knowledge of Burgiyana boatbuilders, access to timber suitable for constructing vessels, such as straight grown wood for planking and crooked grown wood for frames (Westerdahl 2009:28), is an unsolved dilemma at Burgiyana. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) describes the process of building riveted boats without an electric drill: They would have used the old drill and do the hole, put the copper rose—​the washer, they call it a rose—​you put that through and then there had to be another fella on the other side, put the other rose on, cut the copper nail and burr it over with a round headed hammer, while the other blokes holding the weight behind the hammer. Lindsay Sansbury (int. 26 November 2013) says a fire underneath a 44-​gal drum aided in steaming and bending the boards. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) supports this: They used to build boats down in Hollywood, you know. Partly old clinker type boats with caulking in them. … They’d build them from scratch, you know, you’d sit there next to the shacks and they’d be burning the timber to bend it so it’s right and they’d be caulking it and soaking it. The Sansbury’s also lived at Hollywood. Douglas Parry Sansbury built dinghies, Wellesley Sansbury tried to build a boat there and Richard ‘Dick’ Alfred Sansbury and his son, Richard ‘Bart’ Edward Sansbury, are also Hollywood boatbuilders (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013; Int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013; int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Richard ‘Dick’ Sansbury also made his own additions to his boat, which he kept in his

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76  Transport landscapes yard at Dharldiwarldu, by cutting a branch off a gum tree near the wool shed at Burgiyana and using it as a samson post (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) lists his father, Thomas John Newchurch Jnr, and grandfather, Thomas Henry Newchurch Snr, as part of the Hollywood boatbuilding community. These families kept their boats at Hollywood, although in the winter they brought their boats around to the sheltered side of the Burgiyana Peninsula (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Nearby the most seaward post of the Boundary Fence is a rusted chain and encrusted concrete block, beside two isolated wooden posts. These features taken as an entirety could represent a mooring, which corroborates Peggy Weetra’s (int. 28 November 2013)  oral history of fishing occurring out from Reef Point, as well as at Hollywood. Munda Hole is a fishing drop located along the reef that runs beside the sand hills on the west coast of the Burgiyana Peninsula, around Hollywood, and was a mooring for some boats (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). In 1939, Claude Smith had his boat off Hollywood Beach for fishing. The Smith family were also involved in boatbuilding at nearby towns. Frederick Joseph Smith Jnr undertook boatbuilding at Dharldiwarldu, Ryan Street (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2013)  in Munda and Balgowan, and Clayton Smith (int. 29 November 2013) recalls that: They used to build them on the beach … apparently; they’d build a boat in a ridiculous amount of time … on the beach because they had no way to bring the boat down. Frederick Smith Snr built his last boat, 25 ft, at Ryan Street in the 1940s, which he sold to a Guuranda farmer, Jack Dusky (int. C.  O’Loughlin 15 October 2012 by Amy Roberts). To connect boatbuilding traditions to perceived ethnic groups is difficult (Westerdahl 2010a:329–​330), for example those boatbuilding communities at Burgiyana interacted with non-​Indigenous people. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013)  says that they learnt boatbuilding skills and techniques with the help of non-​Aboriginal people, and there was a relationship between all fishermen at Dharldiwarldu, where ‘you were respected and you worked together, those old people … working together and sharing and, you know, working the sea’. Peter Smith and his brothers learnt the boatbuilding craft from Fred Smith Jnr and his brother Claude Smith, whose father Fred Smith Snr was born in England and married Alice Victoria Yates in Dharldiwarldu and continued the tradition within the family (int. Smith 29 November 2013). According to Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012), Fred Smith ‘used to build them and everybody owned them, different people owned them; good sea boats’. Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012)  even remembers going to visit Fred Smith Snr when he was a child to look at his

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Transport landscapes 77

Figure 4.1 Clem O’Loughlin with his boat (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

boats in the yard. Some Burgiyana people, including Tom Newchurch Snr as well as others, owned Smith-​built boats and chose them ‘because they were built for the sea’ (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Joseph Edwards was also a fisherman who built his own boats (Ball 1992:38). More recently, Aboriginal people at TAFE have undertaken boatbuilding. Students at Tauondi built Clem O’Loughlin’s (int. 25 November 2013)  unnamed fibreglass dinghy in the 1980s and Clem would visit the college to watch them build it. Besides building boats, the Burgiyana community and individuals purchased a series of work and fishing boats.

Owning boats Aboriginal people often participated in the local economy of purchasing and selling boats and other maritime equipment such as sails and nets, ensuring a healthy industry for equipment manufacturers, distribution agencies and markets (Bowen 2003:10). By encouraging dependency on wage labour and Western goods through stimulating the maritime industry—​including investing money in jetties and providing loans for boats and fishing equipment—​the colonial missions and government attempted to manipulate the Indigenous maritime landscape to promote a capitalist worldview (Meide 2013:16, 22). The construction of boats, as well as the need to service mission boats on a regular basis also contributed to local mechanics and

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78  Transport landscapes launch works companies. This focus on materiality enables the identification of wider maritime landscape transport zones and sea routes, and allows engagement with the ‘racialised’ aspects of early consumer culture within the maritime industry (Croucher and Weiss 2011:8). Across Australia the government often provided Indigenous communities with boats. In South Australia, access to trees to cut canoes was being denied to Aboriginal peoples and the Protector of Aborigines recognised that without watercraft Aboriginal peoples would become reliant upon government rations rather than being able to fish for subsistence (Gara 2013:5). From the 1860s to the late 1880s, Aboriginal peoples took supply of wooden canoes at many locations on the Murray River including Goolwa, Mannum, Milang, Murray Bridge, Raukkan and Wellington (Gara 2013:5). For example, a local boatbuilder received the order to supply wooden canoes to Aboriginal people at Wellington in 1861 (Gara 2013:5). When the provision of canoes ceased around 1900, Aboriginal fishers, both men and women, were able to receive help to buy their own boats or canoes for commercial fishing, and the Protector of Aborigines contributed towards sails, oars, fishing nets and lines (Gara 2013:6). It is important to recognise that the Aborigines Act 1911 stated that all property issued by the Department to any Aboriginal person remained the property of the Crown, a clause which was not compatible with traditional practices of sharing belongings (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:23). The Protector of Aborigines contributed to the cost of boats and fishing equipment to Aboriginal peoples on Guuranda, Eyre Peninsula and the far west coast (Gara 2013:6). Thus, help in relation to fishing activities occurred across South Australia, not only at Burgiyana. In the 1915 Chief Protector of Aboriginal’s report, Chief Protector William Garnet South (1915:3) states that many Aboriginal people ‘have been assisted in the purchase of boats, guns, fishing nets, seed, wheat &c. with but little good resulting’. Aboriginal people at Burgiyana began owning their own fishing boats and dinghies from as early as 1895. John Milera Snr’s successful request for payment of freight from the Protector of Aborigines for the transport of his 15 ft dinghy on the steamship Ferret (1920), from Port Lincoln to Munda, followed his relocation from Poonindie Mission to Burgiyana (GRG52/​1/​ 209/​1895). In 1899, Superintendent Benjamin Lathern stated that ‘three of the natives have boats of their own and the only station boat adapted for fishing purposes we lend when asked for if not in use for their work’ (GRG52/​1/​69/​1899). The earliest boat request by an Aboriginal person at Burgiyana was by Robert Wanganeen (GRG52/​1/​41/​1896). Yet the Protector of Aborigines declined this request for two reasons: the ‘Aborigines Vote’ was unavailable that year and Burgiyana and Munda Bay had already received fishing boats for general use by Aboriginal people (GRG52/​1/​41/​1896). By way of example, the ‘Aborigines Vote’ for 1900 allocated funds for canoes and fishing tackle across the state, not necessarily to Burgiyana (Hamilton 1900:4).

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Transport landscapes 79 The removal to Burgiyana of the boat for Aboriginal use at Munda Bay, against the orders of the Sargent in charge, R. Phelan, resulted in damage. Wiseman, a non-​Indigenous fisherman of Munda Bay, repaired it on condition that he could use it when not required by the Aboriginal people (GRG52/​1/​186/​1899). In 1899, John Stansbury1, his son Walter Stansbury, Alfred Hughes, E. Bewes (Snr or Jnr) and Henry Angie, of whom three were flux company employees (a precursor to BHP), requested from Protector of Aborigines Edward Lee Hamilton that they could make use of this boat for fishing purposes as it was not used ‘by any of the Natives but by the Sargent and Mr Wiseman’ (GRG52/​1/​69/​1899). Deemed of very little service to the Aboriginal people at Munda Bay, later transfer provided for its use at the mission. In addition to the ‘Aboriginal Vote’, other financial and political factors often influenced the response to a request for help from the Chief Protector of Aborigines. For example, in 1914, a response to a request for a boat by Chief Protector of Aboriginals William Garnet South stated: If it [the government] is intended to resume the lands at Point Pearce as suggested both by me and the Royal Commission, I think it will be as well to hold this matter over for the present. (GRG52/​1/​41/​1914) Others state, ‘Please inform … that nothing can be done until a new Act is passed in Parliament’ (GRG52/​1/​50/​1913) and ‘I recommend that it stand over until the Point Pearce station’s taken over’ (GRG52/​1/​56/​1914). Transport systems are important for internal control, as in a mission context, and, in permanent need of maintenance, are subjected to neglect during periods of political uncertainty (Westerdahl 2006:73). It is often harder to show this in maritime, rather than land, transport systems, however the interruption to providing loans for buying boats during the period from 1913 to 1915 when the Royal Commission was occurring is a key indicator (Westerdahl 2006:73). Uncertainty about the future of the missions’ administration led to the rejection of Aboriginal peoples’ requests for help to buy boats. Waiting for the transfer of the mission to the government meant a different department would provide the funds, highlighting financial motivations. Thus, neglected spending during this time of uncertainty between mission and government administration affected the maritime transport system. The global events of World War I had implications on maritime activities at Burgiyana. In 1916, Chief Protector of Aboriginals William Garnet South stated, ‘no more assistance is to be given natives in boats, nets &c. till after the war’ (GRG52/​1/​36/​1916). Superintendent Francis Garnett goes on to say, ‘I think your decision to stop such assistance till after the war is a wise one owing to the general scarcity of labor, all who will work can earn good wages’ (GRG52/​1/​36/​1916).

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80  Transport landscapes Often, an Aboriginal person would offer to go halves with the government to buy a boat (GRG52/​1/​41/​1896) and this would increase the likelihood of securing financial help. Yet at times when agricultural work was plentiful, such as 1917, Aboriginal people desiring a fishing plant would have to pay for it themselves, the view of Superintendent Francis Garnett being, ‘they naturally prefer the irregular, irresponsible life of fishing as conducted by Natives to regular hours at steady continuous agricultural work’ (GRG52/​1/​5/​1917). The types of boats requested include an: ‘open boat, 18 ft keel … would put in a well … deck and such like’ (GRG52/​1/​298/​1907); ‘length is 18 feet with sails, oars & well, capable of holding from 14 to 15 dozen whiting’, costing £16 (GRG52/​1/​41/​1914); ‘16 feet long’ (GRG52/​1/​50/​1913); and ‘a good fishing boat, sails, oars, rigging & a good well’ costing £18 (GRG52/​1/​ 42/​1914). In 1925, a Burgiyana man inspected two boats for sale at Wadla waru, ‘No 1 Boat 13 ft long, 6 ft beam, copper fastened, sail, mast & boom complete, shallow draught price 16/​-/​​-.​ No 2 Boat 12 ft long, 4 ft beam, copper fastened, oars & rollocks price 13/​-​/​-​’ (GRG52/​1/​66/​1925). Often someone from the mission would organise to buy boats and engines for Aboriginal people. At times, a condition from the Chief Protector of Aboriginals before buying a boat was its inspection and valuation by the superintendent of Burgiyana or a local police officer (GRG52/​1/​6/​1926). The acting manager and farm overseer inspected a dinghy offered for £12 to Lewis Charles Joseph Power in 1946 (GRG52/​49/​1); inspection of this boat occurred again after its sale to Power (GRG52/​ 49/​ 2). The station inspected and purchased a marine engine from J. Gibson’s at Dharldiwarldu for Tom Newchurch (GRG52/​49/​3) and inspected a fishing net for (Clifford) Tony Wilson (GRG52/​49/​2). Tony also took delivery of his dinghy in 1950 (GRG52/​49/​2). The stock overseer likewise inspected a dinghy on behalf of Cecil Graham (GRG52/​49/​2). The mission’s control at Burgiyana extended to the acquisition of boats by individuals, ensuring power in this domain; for example, requiring the inspection of vessels by a non-​Indigenous person before buying and the necessity for Aboriginal people to get loans to buy vessels. The monthly returns for the mission show Aboriginal people making payments for boats and engines (GRG52/​49/​2; GRG52/​49/​3). While there appears to be control in regard to acquiring fishing vessels, it seems that missionaries did not attempt to control the fishing activities themselves (i.e., claiming the catches) in comparison to agriculture, such as the share farming system. Working for the mission, Aboriginal people received a share of the wheat and wool profits which was not equal to their entitlement had they been independent farmers (Liebelt et al. 2016:96–​98). If a family bought a new boat then they would often sell their previous boat to someone else in the community (int. Power 30 November 2013). Claude Smith owned a boat in 1939 (earlier owned by another Burgiyana man) that he was trying to sell to Francis ‘Frank’ Victor Newchurch. But the

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Transport landscapes 81 Table 4.1 Repayments made on boats and engines Year’s payments made

Name

Total payment

Object of repayment

1948–​1950

William Christopher Williams Tom Newchurch Johny Milera Lewis Power C. Tony Wilson Robert Wilson Snr Laurie M. Williams Cecil or Claude Smith Walter Smith Parry Sansbury Alf O’Loughlin

£27

Engine

£38 20s £28 £28 £11 10s £2 2s £3 £2 £16 £44 £2

Engine Boat Not specified Dinghy Not specified Not specified Not specified Not specified Not specified Not specified

1948–​1951 1948–​1952 1948–​1952 1949 1949 1949 1950 1950–​1951 1951 1952

Chief Protector of Aboriginals would not assist Frank Newchurch in buying the 18 ft 4 in long and 7 ft 6 in beam boat (GRG52/​1/​18/​1939). It was old but had a well-​functioning 4 hp American marine engine, sails in poor condition and anchor, with sound timbers and blocks and rigging in good order, a new keel and garboard planks (GRG52/​1/​18/​1939). Other examples include in 1919 Edward Sansbury purchasing another Burgiyana man’s boat (GRG52/​1/​79/​1919) and in 1940 one Burgiyana man purchasing another Burgiyana man’s boat (GRG52/​1/​76/​1940). When boats were not for sale from other people at the mission, Aboriginal people had to look elsewhere to buy private fishing boats. This included purchasing from non-​ Indigenous fishermen in surrounding towns such as Dharldiwarldu (GRG52/​1/​5/​1917), Wadla waru (GRG52/​1/​66/​1925), Munda (GRG52/​1/​41/​1896; GRG52/​1/​42/​1914) and Munda Bay (GRG52/​ 1/​18/​1939; GRG52/​1/​45/​1935; GRG52/​1/​50/​1913). These boats would range in price from £10 (GRG52/​1/​40/​1908; GRG52/​1/​50/​1913) to £20 (GRG52/​1/​5/​1917; GRG52/​1/​41/​1896). In a small number of instances, the inspection of boats occurred in metropolitan centres, such as Queenstown in Port Adelaide (GRG52/​1/​27/​37). It is likely that the archaeological remains of boats at Burgiyana are very similar, if not identical, to those of other fishing communities such as Munda Bay, given the sale of boats between these communities and their use of similar suppliers for materials. Although, the intangible heritage, that is the systems of knowledge used to fish with boats, is likely to be quite different—​ Aboriginal peoples were well-​versed in the technologies of the boats on which they worked, but were ‘deeply tied to the past and the continuity of lifestyles at sea’ (Flatman 2003:150). Ridding the boats of marine growth, cleaning and painting occurred yearly or every other year at Gunganya warda, where a tractor and trolley

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82  Transport landscapes brought them in and out of the water (int. R.  Newchurch 29 November 2013). Coinciding this task with big tides aided in pulling the boats out and putting them back on the moorings again (int. Power 30 November 2013). Most Burgiyana boats, painted with red anti-​fouling on the hull and white up to the deck, had either a green or blue deck (C. O’Loughlin pers. comm. 29 August 2014). The deep, muddy intertidal sediment of this region likely buried any evidence of this equipment at Gunganya warda. At the Little Jetty area, old railway line, used to create a slipway in The Bay for the ‘old blokes’ to launch their dinghies, has lain flat since the late 1940s (int. Graham 25 February 2013). Upright rail posts in this area are more recent. The existing winch with steel rope hauled boats in for maintenance tasks like painting (int. Graham 28 February 2013). Aside from purchasing boats, Aboriginal people also requested government help to buy a range of maritime equipment including chain, anchors, oars, nets and sails. A Burgiyana man received 25 fathoms of 5/​16 in size mooring chain for his boat in 1898, as his request for a longer and heavier chain (30 fathoms of 3/​18 in size) took too long to reach the supplier (GRG52/​1/​408/​ 1898). In 1914, a Burgiyana man succeeded in requesting 16s for a 12-​pound anchor and a pair of 10 ft oars (GRG52/​1/​64/​1914).

Figure 4.2 Clem O’Loughlin at The Bay on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013)

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Transport landscapes 83 The use of non-​Indigenous fishing nets at Burgiyana reveals technological knowledge transfer. Despite the change in the methods and materials used to make fishing nets, from buntu to cotton, fishing continued using similar methods (and targeting traditional species [Amy Roberts pers. comm. 23 January 2015]). The use of bone needles to repair twine nets also suggests a period of transition (Graham and Graham 1987:23). Fishermen purchased about 80 yds of net at a time (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). In 1914, a Burgiyana man succeeded in requesting a fishing net, ‘one sling with ropes, corks for hauling—​100 yards long. Standard width (about 1 fathom) with 1½” mesh’, complete, tanned and ready for use for £8 12s (GRG52/​1/​56/​1914). Richard ‘Dick’ Newchurch and another Burgiyana man requested nets later that year, ‘150 yards long, 1¼” mesh, usual width, roped & sling’ for the former (GRG52/​1/​66/​1914) and ‘a cotton net 1½ inch mesh, about 200 yards long’ as well as a pair of 8 ft paddles for the latter (GRG52/​1/​63/​1914). In 1915, a Burgiyana man succeeded in seeking a £9 ‘drag fishing net, 100 yds long, 1” mesh, corked & sling’ (GRG52/​1/​67/​1915). William Russell, ship chandler, sailmaker and rigger at Port Adelaide, wrote to John (Herbert or Snr) Milera with details of the net Milera purchased with the Chief Protector of Aboriginals’ financial help (GRG52/​1/​84/​1922): I can supply you with 250 yds of unslung netting the same as the sample you sent that would hang 6 feet when slung for £6-​15-​0. Twine for slinging 4/​1 per hank. Nearby fishing communities supplied secondhand nets, for instance a Burgiyana man sought to buy a £10 net from Wadla waru (GRG52/​1/​60/​ 1921). Major centres, such as Adelaide and Port Adelaide, supplied other materials for boats. Geo. P. Harris, Scarfe, & Co. in Gawler Place, Adelaide, supplied mooring chain (GRG52/​ 1/​ 408/​ 1898) while William Russell (GRG52/​1/​36/​1916; GRG52/​1/​38/​1915; GRG52/​1/​56/​1914) and Norris & Son, ship chandlers, Port Adelaide (GRG52/​1/​27/​37; GRG52/​1/​45/​1935) stocked nets and sails. Norris & Son attached a sample of fishing net to correspondence (GRG52/​1/​27/​37). In 1929, Hubert James Weetra wrote to the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for three lengths of ½ in fishing net, two lengths to be 6 ft deep and the third to be 9 ft deep, enclosing a sample of the type he wanted. Hubert already possessed corks and lead for the net and wanted it for salmon ‘so it must be strong’ (Fowler et al. 2016:217). Superintendent J.B. Steer’s recommendation was: I think if he had a net he would perhaps be able to earn more money and relieve the station to some extent. I  feel quite sure many of our men could make a good living fishing if they would only work at it. On

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84  Transport landscapes condition that Weetra pays half cost of net I would recommend giving it to him. (GRG52/​1/​67/​1929) Aboriginal familiarity with net specifications, including samples, in letters to buy the nets from suppliers in Adelaide indicates their knowledge of the adopted fishing nets. In 1915, Superintendent Francis Garnett recommended the Chief Protector of Aborigines buy a standing lug mainsail for Fred Graham Snr’s 18 ft boat, as Fred had been ‘earning the major portion of his living by fishing for about 12 months’. William Russell forwarded quotations and two samples of sailcloth to the Chief Protector, the samples of which remain attached to the correspondence in the State Records of South Australia. The Chief Protector approved the request as Fred ‘bears a good character and does his best to earn a living by fishing’ with his own boat (Fowler et al. 2016:215; GRG52/​ 1/​38/​1915). A Burgiyana man was fishing from Waraldi in 1936, in the boat he had purchased with the proceeds of share farming, when he required new sails. His choice of sail maker, Paul & Gray, ships chancellors, Port Adelaide, was likely influenced by another Burgiyana man, whose existing Paul & Gray sails served as a good advertisement (GRG52/​1/​13/​1936).

Mission boats Mission boats were generally for the daily work of the mission, yet boats were also provided for fishing. As early as 1877, the Mission Board bought boats for the mission (Meredith 1866–​1892:12). The government supplied the mission with a boat in 1880 and the transfer of a boat used by Aboriginal peoples at Ardrossan (who had left the area) to Burgiyana occurred in 1881; both of these boats were 12 ft in length (GRG52/​1/​224/​ 1883). Stephen Lathern, Hon Secretary Yorke Peninsula Aboriginal Mission, made a request to the Aborigines’ Office in 1883 for a new boat as the previous one had worn out, but Protector of Aborigines Edward Lee Hamilton refused saying that the mission had enough funds to buy a boat on their own (GRG52/​1/​224/​1883). The missions’ 1884 financial statement shows an expenditure of £204 9s 6d towards a new boat for transport of sheep (Meredith 1866–​1892:15). In 1887, Aboriginal people at the mission requested that Superintendent Thomas M.  Sutton ask the Aborigines’ Office for a small fishing boat, of which he requested ‘that the boat be about 13 feet long with a fairly wide beam so that it may be safe in a rough sea’ (GRG52/​1/​392/​1887). The reply from the Protector of Aborigines was that the Point Pearce Mission Committee should instead receive the request as they were almost out of debt by this stage (GRG52/​1/​392/​1887). While the government received requests, boats were often bought and sold from the nearby towns, such as Dharldiwarldu. At the end of 1913, the mission had one motor launch, one

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Transport landscapes 85 boat and two dinghies’ (Archibald 1915:37) and 1915 shows one motor boat and one sailing boat (GRG52/​48/​5). In 1916, Lewis McArthur, Shipping & General Agent of Dharldiwarldu, suggested that he could buy the stations small launch when he sold them Eva (reducing the cost by £20), but the mission decided to keep the small launch and were getting it repainted (GRG52/​1/​8/​1916). This smaller motor launch was likely bought in the 1911 financial year (South 1911:6). Burgoyne’s Motor & Launch Works at Port Pirie serviced the launch engine in 1915, although recommended the purchase of a new one (GRG52/​1/​90/​1915). The order placed at Burgoyne’s for the small motor launch’s new cylinder in 1916 took over six months to arrive due to freight difficulties caused by World War I (GRG52/​1/​8/​1916). Also purchased from McArthur for a cost of £10 in 1919 was a cargo boat (GRG52/​48/​5) which could carry 50 bags of wheat (GRG52/​1/​86/​1919). By 1928, Fred Smith Snr undertook repairs to it because it was in a bad state (GRG52/​73/​3). In 1926, Burgiyana owned two motor boats and five fishing boats (Richardson 1992:29). The Aborigines Protection Board (1940:4) reports refer to mission boats until 1940, at which time the ‘recently repaired and painted’ boats were all in good order. The mission boats, such as Narrunga, the ‘station launch’, ‘station barge’ and ‘station dinghy’ all underwent almost continuous maintenance. Nearby towns equipped to keep the mission and its maritime activities running included Dharldiwarldu and Port Pirie. The inner resource landscape includes aspects such as shipping upkeep—​shown at Burgiyana through the maintenance of both mission boats and individually-​owned boats—​but can also relate to traits of power and wealth on land and at sea. Narrunga Expenses for the maintenance of Narrunga are not well-​ documented, although William Russell’s sale of a canvas jib sail to the mission in 1909 may show continued upkeep (GRG52/​66). In 1909, Superintendent Benjamin Lathern described Narrunga and its use: Wardang Island is two and a quarter miles distant from the mainland, and the stock have to be conveyed to and from it in a sailing boat. The boat is handled by the natives, who like the work, and make smart and useful boatmen. (South 1909:8) In 1910, Hector Simms took Narrunga to Munda Bay, also towing and shipping wool and towing logs to Waraldi (GRG52/​66). In 1915, McArthur examined Narrunga with the view of installing an engine but this did not proceed (GRG52/​1/​8/​1916). A photograph of Narrunga ca 1903–​1915 identifies Alfred Hughes Snr on board the vessel (Graham and Graham 1987:58). Fred Smith Snr and John Milera used Narrunga to cart goods from the port

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86  Transport landscapes and take timber to Gunganya warda in 1928 (GRG52/​73/​3). The following day Fred was still on-​board with tar cement, oil and a tar brush (GRG52/​ 73/​3), presumably conducting repairs. Later that year Narrunga returned to the water (GRG52/​73/​3). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012)  remembers it from the late 1930s: I remember them loading the sheep up on the Point. Had a job to push them on, didn’t want to go. Once we got over the island they ran off! Cow and a horse for our own use there, they went on all right. The vessel underwent cleaning and pumping out in 1945 (GRG52/​49/​1). Its’ beaching a couple of months later is the last direct reference to Narrunga (GRG52/​49/​1). Although in 1946, R.S. Richards, Leader of the Opposition, while petitioning to Hon M.  McIntosh M.P. Minister of Works for non-​ Aboriginal access to Burgiyana land, states ‘not so very long ago the Mission sheep boat, Noarlunga dragged her anchors and went ashore, and the Kemps used their boats, put her back and secured her to her moorings’ (GRG52/​ 1/​120/​1940). Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013) suggests that Narrunga was ‘just about finished’ when he was on Waraldi, although he remembers it when he was young as a big sailing boat. Station launch Purchased in 1916 from McArthur for £220, the station launch, Eva, served to tow Narrunga (GRG52/​1/​99/​1949). McArthur had already used Eva for towing Narrunga when loading wheat and it would run at 5 miles per hour when loaded (GRG52/​1/​99/​1949). McArthur specified the construction of Eva three years earlier (ca 1912). The station launch, 26 ft long, 8 ft 6 in beam and 2 ft 6 in deep, used for hauling a barge to and from Waraldi with loads of sheep and cattle (GRG52/​1/​41/​1931; GRG52/​1/​99/​1949), underwent heavy repairs in 1928. Fred Smith Snr and one of his sons used black wood, copper nails and at least one coat of paint to repair the launch (GRG52/​73/​3). At times people from outside the community would go to the mission due to their specialist skills, for example Harris Bros. from Maggiwarda (1906–​1944) said the launch engine was in a bad state and assisted Fred with the launch repair (GRG52/​73/​3). They repaired the boat engine and it went well when tested so island work could continue (GRG52/​73/​3). The launch again required a long list of repairs: new deck, pull out old engine and put in new, put stern tube & stuffing box inside, re-​cork garbit planks & plane keel, cut stern post to oil stern gland, fit new floor inside, stern benches and seats, burn paint off outside, paint the boat inside & outside, fit some new pieces of plank …

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Transport landscapes 87 re-​bolt engine bed & new rudder & new gudgeons, repair stern board, fit two new leads forward. (GRG52/​1/​41/​1931) J.H. Kemp at Munda Bay carried out these repairs, which were complete by 1932 when the launch gave satisfactory service with the Invincible marine engine installed (GRG52/​1/​41/​1931; McLean 1932:9). The station bought a new anchor chain for the launch in 1938 and placed it on the slip for overhauling in 1939 (Penhall 1938:4, 1939:6). The launch again caused many problems in 1944, needing attending to often through to 1948 (GRG52/​49/​1), and to a greater degree through 1949 and early 1950, including inspecting, scraping, burning off paint, painting, bailing, pumping and repairing (GRG52/​49/​1; GRG52/​49/​2). Also, the station manufactured buoys for the launch in 1948 (GRG52/​49/​2), evidence for self-​maintenance of boats as opposed to purchasing items. After the removal of the engine in 1945 and attachment of a new anchor chain, the pump underwent repairs in 1946 (GRG52/​49/​1). After beaching the launch ready for painting in 1946, it returned to its moorings (GRG52/​49/​1) to later have the engine cleaned in 1946 (and again in 1949). Mitchells Garage at Dharldiwarldu repaired the launch engine in 1946 (GRG52/​49/​1). The stock overseer, Young, repaired the launch and beached it in 1947, returning it to its moorings in 1948 (GRG52/​49/​2). The 16 hp, four-​cylinder, Invincible engine (GRG52/​1/​99/​ 1949) also underwent a full overhaul, inspection by Young, and removal to the station for repairs in 1948, reinstalled and painted in 1948 (GRG52/​ 49/​2). Ken McDonald, from Maggiwarda, visited the station to repair the launch engine in 1948 (GRG52/​49/​2). But by October of that year, after beaching, the first attempt at launching it again was unsuccessful, requiring another attempt to float it (GRG52/​49/​1; GRG52/​49/​2). In 1949, the vessel broke its moorings and Young and two men attempted to refloat into the early hours of the morning (GRG52/​49/​2). 1949 saw the repair of the station launch moorings (GRG52/​49/​2). While Young, the stock overseer, is often mentioned, other individuals involved in this work and the location of these activities is unknown, although it seems that, given the return of the vessel to the Point, it is being carried out at another location, most likely the mission. When it came time for the mission to sell, two officers from the Engineering and Water Supply Department and Constable McKae from the Police Department both inspected the station launch (GRG52/​49/​2), presumably with the intention of purchasing it. Geo Gibson, from Dharldiwarldu, ended up buying the launch, taking delivery of it in 1950 (GRG52/​1/​99/​1949; GRG52/​49/​2). Station barge In use since at least 1931, an approximately 40 ft long by 12 ft beam station barge was capable of carrying about 150 sheep (GRG52/​1/​41/​1931). In 1936, 1938 and 1939 the barge was in good order, but in 1945 it was

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88  Transport landscapes pumped out twice and beached (GRG52/​49/​1; McLean 1936:13; Penhall 1938:4, 1939:6). Further repairs made in 1947 proved temporary as it was leaking and beached again. Two weeks later, Young floated the repaired and inspected barge, yet a year later, 1948, it was up on the beach once again (GRG52/​49/​2). Station dinghy The station dinghy, maintained in good order in 1936, 1938 and 1939, underwent repairs and a coat of paint in 1944 before transfer to the Point (McLean 1936:13; Penhall 1938:4, 1939:6). Repaired again in 1945 and painted again in 1946, the dinghy returned to the Point afterwards (GRG52/​ 49/​1). Unidentified individuals laid a new mooring for the station dinghy in 1946 (GRG52/​49/​1). The annual October maintenance occurred again in 1947, when the dinghy was again collected from the beach for painting (GRG52/​49/​2).

Sea routes The Burgiyana community’s transport and communication landscapes feature sea routes and landing sites. Communication affects the maritime sphere to a greater degree than inland places and the sea is both a ‘roadless country’ and ‘amphibious landscape’ (Westerdahl 2006:79). The missionaries and government imposed transport systems on top of natural, internal transport patterns and traditional routes, for example the pre-​contact sea route between Burgiyana Peninsula and Waraldi, in continuous use by Narungga people. The original meaning of a channel is a place where swimming is necessary (Westerdahl 2006:76), and this is how Narungga peoples crossed the channel between Burgiyana Peninsula and Waraldi in the ethnographic period and beyond. Cecil Wallace Graham recounts the following story: My grandfather told the story about when in the old days some people camped on a little island, Greeny Island. The old men would go over to Wardang Island, butterfishing. They’d swim across through the shallow water, and be back before the tide came in. One old lady this time was scared. She said, ‘Don’t go today, the shark might get you.’ The man swam. He had a sore on his leg. He never came back. (Graham and Graham 1987:58) Irene Agius also recalls how the ‘old people’ used to get across to Waraldi: Now, with our ancestors, they used to make parts of the branches off the tree, walk out to Greenie, if they needed to cross the island, drag the branches with them, go from one island and keep walking while the tide was out. Then they had a channel to cross off from, part way off

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Transport landscapes 89 from Greenie to Wardang Island. You had strong men each side of the channel and strong men to help cart the old ladies and old men over to Wardang Island. And by having the strong men up each end of it, two three strong men up each end of the channel, they were facing opposite end to each other and they would wave their branches so to distract the sharks from coming to take the, take them. And that’s how they crossed to Wardang Island. (Wood and Westell 1998:18–​19) King Tommy, described by Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) as ‘the fisherman of the south’, travelled to Waraldi before and following contact: His stories of travel were quite interesting. Before the whites settled on the Peninsula he has gone up the Murray for grasstree to light fires, and was never molested by the other natives. He has frequently swam to Wauraltee Island with a firestick in his hair. The distance is between 2 and 3 miles, but he would choose low tide for it, when he could occasionally rest on sandbars. We doubt if any of the young ones would do it, as they are too much frightened of sharks. (The Advertiser 1886:36) Fred Graham (int. 26 November 2013)  said that after the ‘old people’ walked to Green Island they would tie their things on their back to swim to Waraldi. Narungga people swam to Waraldi to capture bandicoots (Cockburn 1984:235), although Black (1920:88) states Narungga visited Waraldi to get fish and penguins’ eggs: When crossing to Wardang Island the blacks would wade out to [munari]2 and swam the rest of the distance. Mrs. Newchurch’s grandfather and grandmother told her that while the swimmers were in the water the old men sat along the shore and sang an incantation to keep the sharks away. No one was allowed to move until the party landed on the island. When ready to return they made a signal across the water and the singing began again. These references state that the route was from Green Island, yet based on hydrographical information this was one of the deeper and longer crossings available. The shortest route commencing at Green Island would conclude at the Little Jetty area and has a long extent (1.95 km) of 5–​10 m water depths (and a total distance of 2.55 km) (Chief Surveyor 1990). It was almost possible to walk from the tip of Burgiyana to Waraldi at low tide, only having to swim across one short but deep channel (Hill and Hill 1975:38). This route, from the southernmost extremity of Burgiyana, would travel via Rocky Island and end at Bird Point on Waraldi and only has one

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90  Transport landscapes very short distance (100 m) at 5–​10 m water depths, but also has many sand banks at low tide (and a total distance of 1.75 km) (Chief Surveyor 1990). Any fixed points of entry and exit to and from the sea in these two most likely routes are uncertain. A newspaper correspondent writing of the mission in 1874 highlights the transition from transport patterns to systems, which followed the adoption of Western watercraft: The young natives, however, have almost given up the art of natation [swimming], and none of them now care to go [to the island] except “along boat”. (South Australian Register 1874:6) The adoption of Western watercraft also resulted in new transit points appearing in the landscape. Sea routes form three principal categories:  an inner route, rowing and hugging the coast; a middle or outer route, following the coastline at some distance, under sail; and an open sea route, for continuous shipping far out at sea, with the coastline either in sight or without observing the coastline (Westerdahl 1992:7). The intrastate transport zone follows an outer route and is active around the western Guuranda townships, close to Burgiyana, extending across Spencer Gulf to the eastern coast of Eyre Peninsula and across to Gulf of St Vincent in the metropolitan region of Adelaide. The local, or inner, route features sea routes between transit points, as well as non-​linear sea routes. There were various maritime routes taken at Burgiyana between five main transit points, Dolly’s Jetty and Gunganya warda on Burgiyana Peninsula, the Little Jetty and Big Jetty on Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu Jetty. These landing places reveal the connection between the mainland and Waraldi, as well as intangible trajectories to and from places in the broader maritime landscape. Sea routes are often intangible and mobile, yet contextualise and bind tangible, fixed places and empty spaces on land and underwater. Elements of navigation, such as place names and transit lines, order the points and borders of the landscape (Westerdahl 2011:746). Sea routes often reveal the location of other intangible sites, such as fishing drops. Islands or mainland points and peninsulas reveal most tangible traces relating to sea routes (Westerdahl 2006:60). The location of two wrecked or abandoned vessels at Burgiyana, detailed in Chapter 5, steps away from the typical ‘shipwreck as artefact’ focus and situates the broader life history of ships and boats within the transport landscape. The remains of a wooden mast (or spar), with mast bands at each end, located a distance south of the Little Jetty on Waraldi, emphasises the prominence of maritime activities within the cultural landscape used by Burgiyana people—​whether attributed to a Burgiyana boat or not. A number of timbers with square-​headed bolts and copper nails, as well as loose copper nails were observed at Mungari, however this is evidently a collection place of flotsam and jetsam (modern

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Transport landscapes 91 debris was also observed) and does not suggest in situ finds. Inland from the mainland coast, near Mungari, are two ships tanks. These physical remains of maritime cultural heritage reinforce the tangibility of sea routes and the active nature of landing sites as centres of maritime activity. The two remaining jetties on Burgiyana land are key transit points (Roberts et al. 2013). According to Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013), ‘old people from the mission’ built both Dolly’s Jetty and the Little Jetty, while BHP built the Big Jetty. The goods received book notes the receipt of a monkey jack with 8-​ton guide in July 1910 (GRG52/​66). The construction of pile driven jetties used a large weight, called a monkey, hoisted and dropped to drive the pile into the ground (Khan 2006:6). Also, many goods received are timber from Cowell Brothers & Company Ltd, timber merchants based in Norwood, Adelaide, and established in 1875 (GRG52/​66). Most of these timbers are jarrah and oregon, but whether any of these were for the jetties, or for standard building construction, is unknown. Turpentine was known as the best Australian timber for the construction of wharves, yet jarrah was also used in jetty construction, for example in Western Australia (Baker 1919:460–​468). Besides being key locations for embarking and disembarking, jetties also protected boats from wind when alongside (int. Smith 29 November 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) likewise notes the use of jetties for shelter, the Little Jetty in particular. ‘You’d moor your boats at different aspects judging on the wind’ (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Aside from these main locations, many other maritime routes related to fishing places. For example, Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013) fished around Green Island, Mungari and along the shores towards Chinaman’s Wells. Sometimes a boat towed people in a dinghy out to a drop to fish, while the larger boats went fishing elsewhere (int. Power 30 November 2013). For example, when he was young, Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  rowed around in a dinghy to fish for whiting and Clem Graham picked him up and took his box of fish in to the fish buyer. Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) hooked from his boat around Hollywood and Reef Point and according to Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013), other people would also go from Winggara around to Hollywood, Chinaman’s Wells and Reef Point, fishing for garfish. Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013), for example, would often leave for fishing from Gunganya warda and go around to Hollywood and leave his boat there, and then walk back down there the next day and decide if he wanted to go back around to the bay.

Landing sites Landing is the most important task for every sea voyage (Ilves 2004:172). Sites, such as jetties, are ‘transit points … where vessel and transportation methods change’ (Westerdahl 1992:6) and reveal maritime connections including pathways and sailing routes. Natural harbours and anchorages,

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92  Transport landscapes such as Gunganya warda and Winggara, do not depend on the terrestrial landscape and almost always lack any archaeological evidence for their existence (Ilves 2004:173). A landing-​place usually includes some construction features which connect it to terrestrial activities and is a location for the retrieval of boats (Ilves 2004:173), such as the Big and Little Jetty on Waraldi, Old Dolly’s Jetty and Dolly’s Jetty. Harbours feature a port service and the hinterland region associated with that port (Ilves 2004:174), such as the Dharldiwarldu Jetty. Gunganya warda Gunganya warda (and The Bay at Waraldi) is an example of the fishing harbours and landing sites associated with the ‘common lands’ where their ‘collective character’ allowed extensive activity (Westerdahl 2009:27). The movement of Aboriginal peoples into centralised communities meant ‘the sea within easy reach of such communities tended to become an area in which all people in the settlement have similar de facto access rights’ (Peterson and Rigsby 1998:4). Horse and cart provided transportation on the route from the mission to Gunganya warda (int. Graham 26 November 2013), the primary mooring area at Burgiyana and often simplified to ‘the Point’ or ‘the Moorings’ (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). It is a safe and permanent mooring, sheltered in any weather even an easterly wind as the tide goes out with an easterly (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Bent railway tracks served as moorings at Gunganya warda (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013), surviving remains of which include upright metal posts, metal railing and rope attached to chain. Most people who were running private fishing boats kept them moored up at Gunganya warda and there were up to 25 or 30 boats at the moorings (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). About half of the boats at Gunganya warda had masts and wells (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Several vessels were in varying states of disuse at Gunganya warda over time. Most fishing trips started at Gunganya warda with the route determined by where the fishing would occur, for example, Cecil Graham took his boat around to End Sandhill Beach (Graham and Graham 1987:55). People would walk out or row out in dinghies to the main boat (int. Graham 26 November 2013; int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). A groove in the bank is the result of pushing boats into the water. Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) paints an evocative image of the daily routine of the fishermen at Gunganya warda: They would all go down there, gather at the Point, have their cigarettes and a yarn, their flagon of tea, cold tea, and their jam sandwich … plum jam, apricot … out they go, come in about five, six o’clock at night.

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Transport landscapes 93 Fishing occurred year-​round with between 25 and 30 men going out each day (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). A sand bank, running parallel to the shoreline, required crossing to get to the deeper water used to moor the sailing boats. Before the recent construction of a spit into the water to access the deeper channel, fishermen would come inshore in their dinghies (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). A channel now runs perpendicular to the shoreline, alongside the spit, out to the deep water. While there has always been a creek running out at Gunganya warda, which the ‘old people’ used, the spit was first cut out in the 1980s and later construction continued in the 1990s by Lyle Sansbury (pers. comm. 29 October 2014)  and Ian Alby Harradine Snr. Rubble used to construct the spit includes concrete and cinder blocks sourced from old demolished buildings at the mission. Clem O’Loughlin, Clem Graham, Darcy James Power and Richard Sansbury Snr used the Gunganya warda moorings in the 1980s (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). In the 1940s, at least one hut was at Gunganya warda, occupied by non-​Indigenous fishermen, Escott Ford and Gordon Cave, at varying points (GRG52/​ 1/​ 120/​ 1940). Modern foundations, located inland from the spit, show recent buildings at Gunganya warda. Winggara Winggara refers to the whiting species found in The Creek (Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association 2006:77)—​ itself a generic name which doubled as a specific term; The Creek, that is, the only one that mattered (Hercus and Simpson 2009:64). Wingarra is a freshwater creek, a soak or spring (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). It is a breeding ground for certain fish and birdlife use the samphire habitat (int. J.  Newchurch 25 September 2013). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) suggests that there were up to 10 dinghies lined up in the saltbushes at Wingarra. In the 1950s, superphosphate (fertiliser) bags, washed in the creek to prevent the acid in the fertiliser from rotting the bags (Moody 2016:110), were hung to dry (GRG52/​49/​3). Wingarra was also a source of freshwater, which was then transported to Waraldi (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Big Jetty In 1911, one year after the construction of the mission jetty on Waraldi, the then Port Pirie Flux Company gained permission to build a jetty 370 ft long and 15 ft wide and construction began the following year (The Barrier Miner 1912:8; The Register 1911:5). The Big Jetty had plenty of room to pull up alongside, useful for most of the larger vessels—​both BHP’s Silver Cloud and launches and mission boats like Narrunga (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). While safety concerns resulted in dismantling the Big

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94  Transport landscapes Jetty in 2007 (Moody 2012:117), evidence of BHP’s larger, private slipway and winch foundations remain nearby (int. Graham 28 February 2013). The winch now resides at the main housing area of the BHP Village. Little Jetty They [the jetties on Waraldi] were red hot! Yeah, everybody used them. (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012) Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) calls the jetty on Waraldi, also referred to as the ‘Island Jetty’ (GRG52/​73/​3), the Little Jetty. The timber for the Little Jetty was most likely brought over from Burgiyana on Narrunga (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Discussions in 1948, involving Dharldiwarldu’s harbourmaster A.R. Edwards and an inspection by a delegate from the Harbours Board, mooted the disposal of the Little Jetty (GRG52/​49/​2). The Little Jetty, of similar construction to Dolly’s Jetty and likewise used for the transfer of livestock, is long, reaching 31.2 m, not including the soil ramp. It has six bents, two piles per bent, as well as diagonal bracing, double crossheads and girders. Originally timber-​planked with iron rails running between the bents at the top of the piles, extra metal ring and post features attached to the outer piles are most likely davits. A  fence constructed of wooden posts with metal rails lead uphill from the jetty on the southern side of the soil ramp. This is different from the construction of a stone wall at Dolly’s Jetty, yet served the same purpose, the reason being Dolly’s Jetty’s more flat terrain compared to the steep incline at the Little Jetty. The Little Jetty is not deep when the tide is out, thus being more practical for the smaller mission boats; larger boats could only get in when there was enough water (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Although, the water depth is greater than that at Dolly’s Jetty, allowing vessels to berth alongside as well as at the head (Roberts et al. 2013:92). As Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) states, ‘everything was done from the small jetty and it was straight direct to the jetty at Dolly’s Jetty’. On Waraldi, The Bay to the south of the Little Jetty, what was also known as ‘the Moorings’, sheltered boats (int. Graham 28 February 2013). Square-​ shaped iron with railway lines and chains provided the mooring to which the Wardang Island launch tied (int. Graham 28 February 2013). Extant moorings at The Bay include a bathtub filled with concrete and several metal frames and wheels of rail carts, likely from the mining area. In 1948 and 1949, BHP purchased several assets from the mission, including the station barge, and had ‘already taken over … the small jetty at the Island’ (GRG52/​1/​99/​1949). The launch was also no longer required as the Aborigines Protection Board no longer controlled the island in 1949.

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Transport landscapes 95 Old Dolly’s Jetty Evidence of the probable location of Old Dolly’s Jetty, located north of the current Dolly’s Jetty, includes two upright wooden pile stumps in the intertidal zone, at times covered by seaweed, parallel to the remains of a rough rock wall (Roberts et al. 2013:90). In 1919, Superintendent J.B. Steer stated that ‘the supply of firewood is a very serious item but we hope to overcome this when our new jetty is built’ (South 1919:12). This suggests the likely dismantling of the older Dolly’s Jetty for reuse as firewood, explaining the lack of timber at this location. Dolly’s Jetty The Marine Board offered no objection to the construction of Dolly’s Jetty and the corresponding Little Jetty in 1910, agreeing to charge a nominal rent of 5s per annum to cover the terms of the lease (South 1911:6; The Advertiser 1910:12). The metal collars at the top of the piles on both jetties are evidence for the driving process, where the collars prevented the timber splitting (Khan 2006:6). The construction of both jetties, being almost identical, also confirms that the same builders built them at a similar time. The construction of the seaward section comprises two piles per bent for each of the three bents, double crossheads, diagonal bracing and girders, although it has deteriorated in stages over time. A later addition to the jetty, in the late 1930s, is a stone wall which runs out from the jetty, landward, in a ‘V’ shape. Clem O’Loughlin’s (int. 14 November 2012) father, Alfred O’Loughlin Snr, built this wall for a wage of 35 cents per m (see also Roberts et  al. 2013:90, 93). Repairs to Dolly’s Jetty occurred in 1945 (GRG52/​49/​1), substantiated by physical evidence of the longevity of the use of, and repair to, the jetty by the community (see also Roberts et  al. 2013:91–​92). Many notches in the piles above the deck of the jetty provide evidence for the iron rails from rail tracks, which were of varying gauges, suggesting replacement or repair over time. Also, remaining tacks show the attachment of the fence. Engraved on a pile is the initials ‘D N J M’, but who this might relate to is unknown. The jetty is 30.7 m in length with the first 14.5 m shoreward comprised of rock. The jetty’s length also indicates that vessels would need to berth with the stern moored to the head of the jetty, due to the depth of the water, confirming its use for the transfer of livestock (Roberts et al. 2013:92). Used as a working jetty in the earlier years, the missions’ historical documents refer to Dolly’s Jetty as the ‘Point Jetty’ (GRG52/​49/​1). Narrunga used Dolly’s Jetty to load sheep, indicated further by the iron railing running on either side of the jetty, at the top of the piles for the length of the jetty and between the deck and top of the piles in places.

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96  Transport landscapes A busy route was from the mission to Point Paddock and Dolly’s Jetty, particularly in the early 1900s when Dolly’s was a working jetty. The roads were already well-​established by this time; but there were three or four different routes because, based on the weather, some roads would be more difficult to traverse than others (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013)  remembers pulling in at Dolly’s Jetty when coming from Waraldi, although when the tides go out vessels are unable to get in there, so travel happened with the tides. Travel from the mission also depended on the weather, for example on at least one occasion in 1918 the weather was too rough to go to the island (GRG52/​73/​1). In 1925, travel from the mission to the Point occurred by car, to then continue by boat to Waraldi (GRG52/​78), although this car most often transported the superintendent. According to Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  you should never leave a boat at Dolly’s Jetty because all the rocks cause it to break the moorings. Lindsay Sansbury (int. 26 November 2013)  says that several moorings were available to put some boats in the water, yet several fishing boats wrecked at Dolly’s Jetty, including Wellesley Sansbury’s boat, Axe (int. L.  Newchurch 29 November 2013). In later years, Dolly’s Jetty was not used as a base for fishing because it was unsafe, fishermen using Gunganya warda instead (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) borrowed trailers or, when unavailable, drove with a dinghy on the roof, padded by t-​shirts and held down by passengers sticking their arms out the window. Dolly’s Jetty has become part of the leisure maritime landscape, although use of the term leisure, in a Narungga sense, is more complex. People still fish from it and Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) remembers walking in and standing in the water at Dolly’s Jetty in the 1990s to wait for a boat to pick her up to travel to Waraldi. Dharldiwarldu Jetty The 259 m Dharldiwarldu Jetty opened in 1878, although extensions in 1883 saw it reach 333.5 m (Moody 2012:19). Boats and motor launches ran between Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu for food and supplies (Graham and Graham 1987:53). Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) drove one of the Waraldi launches across to Dharldiwarldu to collect fuel, making the trip once a week to do the shopping, usually on weekends. Fishermen fishing from the jetty sometimes hampered pulling alongside.

Conclusions The transport landscape of Burgiyana emphasises Narungga’s incorporation into capitalist systems following colonisation, in particular requiring

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Transport landscapes 97 permissions to buy boats and other marine equipment for fishing. Yet with adopted technologies came new relationships and suppliers at Dharldiwarldu—​and further afield—​and the mission, and non-​Indigenous and Burgiyana boatbuilders and fishermen, developed strong ties (explored further in Chapter  7). Narungga people established connections to this colonised landscape, contributing to the construction of new transit points such as jetties. Yet the Westernised maritime landscape continues to overlay past practices, with the persistent use of traditional methods for fishing, and routes navigated by boats between jetties that were much earlier crossed by swimming. The following chapter investigates the impact of these adapted technologies on commercial fishing and island pastoralism through an economic lens.

Notes 1 The earlier spelling was Stansbury, after the name of the town on the east coast of Guuranda. The surname was later spelt Sansbury (Kartinyeri 2002:131). 2 Black’s (1920) reference to departing from Mungari may be in error, intending to refer to Green Island, as he describes it as the ‘little island between Point Pearce and Wardang Island’ and Mungari is not located between the two, but rather further north.

References Aborigines Protection Board, 1940. Report of the Aborigines Protection Board for the Year Ended 30th June, 1940. House of Assembly: Adelaide. The Advertiser, 1886. Death of King Tommy, 27 December, p. 36. The Advertiser, 1903. A new vessel for sheep carrying, Adelaide, 30 September, p. 7. The Advertiser, 1907. Wardang Island wreck: Vessel breaking up, 15 October, p. 10. The Advertiser, 1910. Two small jetties, 30 June, p. 12. Archibald, T.S., 1915. Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission Incorporated: A Brief Record of Its History and Operations. Hussey & Gillingham: Adelaide. Baker, R.T., 1919. The Hardwoods of Australia and Their Economics. The Government of the State of New South Wales: Sydney. Ball, M., 1992. The lesser of two evils: A comparison of government and mission policy at Raukkan and Point Pearce, 1890–​1940, Cabbages and Kings: Selected Essays in History and Australian Studies 20:36–​45. The Barrier Miner, 1912. Limestone quarries, 13 May, p. 8. Bennett, M., 2003. For a Labourer Worthy of His Hire:  Aboriginal Economic Responses to Colonisation in the Illawarra and Shoalhaven, 1770–​1900, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Faculty of Applied Science, University of Canberra, Bruce. Black, J.M., 1920. Vocabularies of four South Australian languages—​ Adelaide, Narrunga, Kukata and Narrinyeri—​with special reference to their speech sounds, Transactions Royal Society of South Australia 44:76–​93. Bowen, A., 2003. The archaeology of early commercial fishing activities in New South Wales:  A theoretical model, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 27:9–​18.

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98  Transport landscapes Chief Surveyor, 1990. Spencer Gulf: Port Victoria Small Boat Chart. Department of Marine and Harbours: South Australia. Cockburn, R., 1984. South Australia:  What’s in a Name?. Ferguson Publications: Adelaide. Croucher, S.K., and Weiss, L., 2011. The archaeology of capitalism in colonial contexts, an introduction:  Provincializing historical archaeology. In Croucher, S.K., and Weiss, L. (Eds.), The Archaeology of Capitalism in Colonial Contexts: Postcolonial Historical Archaeologies. Springer: New York, pp. 1–​37. Flatman, J., 2003. Cultural biographies, cognitive landscapes and dirty old bits of boat:  ‘Theory’ in maritime archaeology, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 32(2):143–​157. Fowler, M., Roberts, A., and Rigney, L.-​I., 2016. The ‘very stillness of things’: Object biographies of sailcloth and fishing net from the Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission (Burgiyana) colonial archive, South Australia, World Archaeology 48(2):210–​225. Gara, T., 2013. Indigenous Bark Canoes in South Australia, Flinders University Archaeology Seminar, Adelaide. Graham, D.M., and Graham, C.W., 1987. As We’ve Known It: 1911 to the Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Hamilton, E.L., 1900. Reports and Returns, for 1899–​1900, with Reference to the Aborigines in the Settled Districts of South Australia. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. Hercus, L., and Simpson, J., 2009. Indigenous placenames:  An introduction. In Hercus, L., Hodges, F., and Simpson, J. (Eds.), The Land Is a Map: Placenames of Indigenous Origin in Australia. Australian National University Press: Canberra, pp.  1–​23. Hill, D.L., and Hill, S.J., 1975. Notes on the Narangga Tribe of Yorke Peninsula. Lutheran Publishing House: Adelaide. Horrell, C.E., 2005. Plying the Waters of Time:  Maritime Archaeology and History on the Florida Gulf Coast, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Department of Anthropology, Florida State University, Florida. Ilves, K., 2004. The seaman’s perspective in landscape archaeology: Landing sites on the maritime cultural landscape, Estonian Journal of Archaeology 8(2):163–​180. Kartinyeri, D., 2002. Narungga Nation. Doreen Kartinyeri: Adelaide. Khan, A., 2006. Pier Reviewed: A Study of Port-​Related Structures in South Australia, Master’s Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Liebelt, B., Roberts, A., O’Loughlin, C., and Milera, D., 2016. ‘We had to be off by sundown’: Narungga contributions to farming industries on Yorke Peninsula (Guuranda), South Australia, Aboriginal History 40:89–​117. Mattingley, C., and Hampton, K., 1992. Survival in Our Own Land:  ‘Aboriginal’ Experiences in ‘South Australia’ Since 1936: Told by Nungas and Others. Hodder & Stoughton: Rydalmere. McLean, M.T., 1932. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1932. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1936. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1936. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. Meide, C., 2013. Economic Relations on a Contested Maritime Landscape: Theoretical Framework and Historical Context, Dissertation Position Paper No. 1, College of William & Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia. Meredith, M.A., 1866–​1892. Anglican Church Records Relating to Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission (SRG94/​W60). State Library of South Australia: Adelaide.

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Transport landscapes 99 Moody, S.M., 2012. Port Victoria’s Ships and Shipwrecks. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Moody, S.M., 2016. Balgowan the Outport:  A Captain’s Nightmare—​ Farmers’ Delight. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Mulvaney, J., Morphy, H., and Petch, A., 1997. ‘My Dear Spencer’: The Letters of F.J. Gillen to Baldwin Spencer. Hyland House Publishing: South Melbourne. Narungga Aboriginal Progress Association, 2006. Nharangga Warra:  Narungga Dictionary. Wakefield Press: Maitland. Neumann, B., 1983. Salt Winds Across Barley Plains. Gillingham Printers: Adelaide. Penhall, W.R., 1938. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1938. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. Penhall, W.R., 1939. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1939. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. Peterson, N., and Rigsby, B., 1998. Introduction. In Peterson, N., and Rigsby, B. (Eds.), Customary Marine Tenure in Australia, Oceania Monograph 48. University of Sydney: Sydney, pp. 1–​21. Richardson, P., 1992. Point Pearce:  History of the Point Pearce Mission Station, South Australia, Cabbages and Kings: Selected Essays in History and Australian Studies 20:25–​35. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. South Australian Register, 1874. Southern Yorke’s Peninsula, 9 March, p. 6. South, W.G., 1909. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1909. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1911. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1911. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1915. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1915. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1919. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1919. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. The Register, 1911. Marine matters. Marine board at work, 22 March, p. 5. Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Westerdahl, C., 1992. The maritime cultural landscape, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 21(1):5–​14. Westerdahl, C., 2003. Maritime culture in an inland lake? In Brebbia, C.A., and Gambin, T. (Eds.), Maritime Heritage. WIT Press: Malta, pp. 17–​26. Westerdahl, C., 2006. The relationship between land roads and sea routes in the past—​Some reflections, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 29:59–​114. Westerdahl, C., 2009. Shipyards and boatbuilding sites: Features of the maritime cultural landscapes of the north, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 32:1–​32. Westerdahl, C., 2010a. Ancient boats of the Sami in Fennoscandia: A brief survey with a focus on the inland environments, in particular those of the Forest Sami. In Westerdahl, C. (Ed.), A Circumpolar Reappraisal:  The Legacy of Gutorm Gjessing (1906–​1979). Archaeopress: Oxford, pp. 329–​348. Westerdahl, C., 2010b. ‘Horses are strong at sea’: The liminal aspect of the maritime cultural landscape. In Anderson, A., and Boyle, K.V. (Eds.), Global Origins

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100  Transport landscapes and Development of Seafaring. McDonald Institute of Archaeological Research, University of Cambridge Press: Cambridge, pp. 275–​287. Westerdahl, C., 2011. The maritime cultural landscape. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 733–​754. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Point Pearce Social History Project, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside.

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5  Economic landscapes

‘You’ve always got to give your first fish away’, they say. (int. Walker 29 November 2013)

Small-​scale, everyday activities relating to subsistence and sustenance as well as employment and economy characterise the economic landscape. Examples of this landscape include elements of coastal agriculture (e.g., settlements, fields, fences, grazing areas on islands) and other terrestrial resources, fishing (e.g., seasonal settlements, fish traps, net sinkers), hunting (e.g., traps, sheds), gathering (natural landscape) and industrial activities (Westerdahl 2011b:746). Marine resources are essential for foraging societies, as well as being a reserve for agricultural communities (Westerdahl 2011b:745). Burgiyana’s marine-​focused economic landscape includes the archaeological structures of the agrarian landscape at the coast (Westerdahl 2011b:746).

Commercial fishing Fishing was fishing, and it was fun, you know. (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013) Fishing became one of Australia’s largest commercial industries following European settlement and remains so to this day (Bowen 2003:9). Commercial fishing is defined here as ‘the catching of fish by line, net or trap for the purpose of financial gain’ (Bowen 2003:9). The professional fishing and even smaller-​scale sale of fish by Burgiyana fisherpeople has contributed to the development of Australia’s fishing industry. This is also recorded at the Illawarra/​Shoalhaven area of New South Wales where modified fishing increased due to the introduction of fishing boats and nets by the government, permitting a larger catch and allowing the sale of surplus (Bennett 2003:257). It is not possible to quantify the contribution the sale of fish made to Aboriginal subsistence (Bennett 2003:260).

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102  Economic landscapes Marine resource and island use continued throughout the mission period. The mission first recognises fishing as a form of employment for men from Burgiyana, and a means of earning a living for themselves and their families, in 1916 and again in 1921 (Garnett 1921:10; South 1916:12). Help described in Chapter 4 included being able to get more suitable boats and to install marine engines which allowed continuous employment in the commercial fishing industry (Aborigines Protection Board 1948:2). A  garage was even built at the cottage of an Aboriginal fisherman in 1937 (McLean 1937:18). In 1949, three fishermen received help to engage in commercial fishing, which brought the total number of Aboriginal people earning a living as fishermen, and so separate to the station, to eight (Aborigines Protection Board 1949:6). The station provided help for fishing equipment until the 1950s, when the Station Manager stated: Two natives were provided with fishing nets to enable them to engage in fishing on a commercial basis. Other fishermen assisted in previous years are making a good living. (Aborigines Protection Board 1950:7) The impact of Westernised versions of ‘maritime’, sail and motor boats, was well-​established by the 1950s (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Half of the population of Burgiyana had a dinghy and relied off the sea because food was (and is) very expensive (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). They [dinghies] were beat up, they were patched up, they were crusty. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013) The dinghies of Burgiyana, dating back to the early 1900s, serve as key indicators of Narungga cultural knowledge of seamanship (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). The privately-​owned sailing boats and dinghies of Burgiyana are all a similar type with several key features and similarities. Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) describes the sailing boat owned by his father, Ron Glen Newchurch Snr, as a cutter with sails. Sailing boats were wooden, carvel built (int. Power 30 November 2013)—​some were clinker (int. Lindsay Sansbury 27 November 2013)—​with a mast. All the sailing boats had wells in them to keep the fish, including Claude and Peter Smith’s boats (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013; int. Lindsay Sansbury 27 November 2013; int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). On still days the water in the wells lacked oxygen and the fish would turn belly-​up, so fishermen would pump the water out to allow fresh water to come in and keep the fish alive until the end of the day (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Those few boats that did not have wells would have iceboxes or eskies (portable coolers) to store the fish (int. Power 30 November 2013). The old sailing boats would not get much bigger than 14 to 16 ft (int. Graham 19 February 2013). The old boats also had ballast, to balance the

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Economic landscapes 103 boat (int. Graham 19 February 2013). Fishermen put old objects, such as pieces of cement, railway lines and similar items, inside the boat along both sides of the fishing well (int. Graham 19 February 2013; 28 February 2013). Later, motor boats with engines were up to 20 to 21 ft at the most (int. Power 30 November 2013). The community refers to all the motors as ‘simplex’ motors—​a petrol motor—​often the smaller simplex motor (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). The engine on Lance Newchurch’s (int. 29 November 2013)  boat was a 3¼ hp simplex. The motors were at the back of the boat, with the well in the middle (int. Power 30 November 2013). Lindsay Sansbury (int. 27 November 2013) took the magneto off the simplex motor to take home at the end of trips. In later years, the community purchased more motor engines than dinghies because the second-​hand engines were often unreliable third-​or fourth-​hand motors (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). More times than not, the engine would die while out at sea, causing the fishermen to row back to shore (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Submerged offshore from Gunganya warda is the remains of a sunken motor boat. This wooden-​built vessel was approximately 5 m in length. Features identified at the wreck site include an anchor, wheel, engine and ladder. The location of these features, distributed as used on board the vessel, suggests that it sank at its moorings and there has been very little disturbance to the site. This vessel is likely to be of similar construction and working set up as many other Burgiyana boats. Shipwrecks often represent a unique spatial combination, particularly unusual for objects of high mobility, because wreck sites are often found at their home harbours and sometimes also at their place of construction (Westerdahl 2009b:24). This is especially the case in small communities where maritime culture is one aspect of the subsistence landscape; it underlines the ‘intimate relationship with the history of the landscape and the people’ (Westerdahl 2009b:24). Dinghies were wooden, clinker built (int. Lindsay Sansbury 27 November 2013) and required caulking if they leaked (int. Power 30 November 2013). A particular type of dinghy remembered is the Bondwood boat, of which Parry Sansbury was the first person at Burgiyana to own one (int. Power 30 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) remembers that his grandfather Parry’s boat was 12 ft and other dinghies were roughly 13 to 15 ft. Up to three men could be on a little dinghy at once, and with a hole in the side of the boat it was often surprising that the fishermen were successful (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). In the sand bank south of the Old Village at Waraldi is the remnants of a dinghy, with visible outer planking, frames, keel and keelson. Fred Graham (int. 26 February 2013)  interpreted the vessel to have had an engine at the back and a well in front of the engine—​‘the old boats, years ago, the ones that used to sail from Point Pearce also had a well in front of the engine’—​and suggested that someone came over with an old boat and left it there between the 1950s and 1970s. The copper bolts are still in very good

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104  Economic landscapes

Figure 5.1 Clifford Edwards and Gilbert Williams in a typical Burgiyana dinghy (Elaine Newchurch Collection) Table 5.1 Dimensions of Waraldi dinghy (all measurements in cm)

Keel Keelson Frame Outer planking

Depth

Width

Length

Spacing

9 5 2* 1

9 9 4 9–​13

500* 500* 40* 150*

-​ -​ 10–​12 0.5

*Surviving dimensions, not original

condition. Also, the only child-​specific artefact found in the Old Village area is a child’s shoe located alongside the keel of the vessel. Regulating fisheries Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013)  states that later in life, each fisherman had his own boats. There is an increase over time of the number of people owning private boats, particularly evident in the 1950s.

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Economic landscapes 105 Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  suggests that more and more Narungga people bought Western boats because they needed to go further out due to demand on fish being so high in the traditional fishing places as a consequence of the growth in the Western professional fishing market. More Narungga people had to go off mission, to areas such as Balgowan, Cape Elizabeth, Dhibara and Munda Bay, and around Guuranda (although this always happened, of course) to compete with recreational fishermen (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). This was a conscious decision by the community, which, due to the impact on Waraldi waters, caused a behaviour shift in favour of preservation of traditional fish stocks (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Restrictions on fishing grounds are not a new phenomenon. In 1924, Superintendent William Richard Penhall, wrote to the Chief Protector of Aboriginals on behalf of a Burgiyana man about: The matter of opening the waters of the little bay around our coast boundary from the end of Gurgutha paddock to the Point for the purpose of fishing for mullet and salmon by means of his net used from the boat. He says the Inspector of Fisheries closed these waters for ten years against mesh net fishing for whiting, and that his net is not a whiting net and he will take only salmon and mullet. (GRG52/​11/​52/​1924) The Chief Protector of Aboriginals raised the query with the Chief Inspector of Fisheries, W.D. Bruce, who in reply stated: The waters in question are closed to net fishing of any kind and cannot be re-​opened. Some time ago, a request was received from the Mission Station to open the waters between Reef Point and Balgowan Jetty. This was done and now netting can be done between these points. (GRG52/​11/​52/​1924) W.D. Bruce enclosed the Proclamations and Regulations under the Fisheries Act (GRG52/​11/​52/​1924). Thus, the Inspector of Fisheries prohibited netting in the waters next to the mission land, but permitted netting in waters north of the mission boundary. In more recent years, Richard ‘Bart’ Sansbury gave up fishing, his occupation from 1974 to 1989, to protest the lack of traditional fishing rights (Hickson 2012:20). His boat, a white, blue and brown cabin cruiser, along with a protest banner, featured in the exhibition Nyoongah Nunga Yura Koorie held at the Tandanya National Aboriginal Cultural Institute in Adelaide in 1991; the National Museum of Australia’s National Historic Collection acquired the boat and banner in 1993 (Hickson 2012:20). This boat features many similarities to the wrecked motor boat located at Gunganya warda. The wooden construction is similar, as well as the wheel

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106  Economic landscapes design—​although Bart’s boat has a wooden rather than metal wheel—​and the location of the engine. It is evident that Burgiyana fishermen favoured similar vessels. Fishing families Most people bought their boats and got the majority of their income from fishing, supplemented with casual work at Burgiyana (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) describes the attitudes towards fishing in his father’s generation: Fishing was their job, it was their employment. Fishing wasn’t an escape from there [the mission]; it was what they had to do to put food on the table. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  also reiterates that fishing was an economic base and that all the individuals would team up with friends and family, ‘it didn’t matter who jumped in with who’. Many of the main Burgiyana families, the Edwards’, Smiths, Grahams, Powers, Newchurchs, Sansburys and Wanganeens, were involved in commercial fishing (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). At Burgiyana, Aboriginal people sold fish to the fish buyer at Dharldiwarldu, receiving the entire profit (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). ‘Fishermen used to camp at Goose Island … they’d tow the boats out further to the fishing drops and then they’d all fish off a mother ship, mother boat, then they’d come in … turn the fish in to Port Victoria … get their supplies … their little change and they’d go back out fishing’ (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). This highlights that Aboriginal peoples were active agents and supports research into the Aboriginal contribution to colonial-​era industries (Paterson 2003:63). Many people conducted net fishing, for example, Joseph Edwards ‘used a net to catch fish, and on return he’d go around with a basket with a lid and a wet bag on it to cool the fish, and he’d go to all the farms with the fresh fish to sell’ or trade with local farmers (Ball 1992:38; Graham and Graham 1987:23). Joseph Edwards had his own boat, and his son Clifford ‘Dasher’ Joseph Edwards used to go with him (Graham and Graham 1987:23). Joseph Edwards used to mend the fishing nets, as remembered by his daughter Doris May Graham: If the net had a break in it he used to string it up in the yard, on poles, and mend it with special twine and the bone needles. He’d patch that net up. (Graham and Graham 1987:53)

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Economic landscapes 107 Of the three Smith brothers, Stanley Garfield, Claude and Frederick Joseph, Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012; int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013; int. Walker 19 November 2013) says: Nobody knew the bottom of the sea like the Smith brothers did. From way up Pirie right down to the bottom of the Peninsula. They knew where the reefs were and when to go there and what time, you know. Yeah, good fishermen. Stanley’s son, Stanley Garfield Henry Smith, was also involved in the fishing community (int. Smith 29 November 2013). Clement ‘Clem’ Graham was one of the first two Aboriginal people in South Australia to get a skipper’s certificate (Anonymous nd). A memorial laid south of Gunganya warda is in remembrance of Clem Graham. Clem Graham’s boat, purchased in Port Lincoln in the early 1980s, wrecked in the bay between Middle Fence and Winggara after drifting from moorings at Gunganya warda in about 1987, to be later used as a fishing spot for net fishing (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013; int. Smith 29 November 2013). The mission work on Waraldi was further supplemented with fishing. For example, the Powers used to go out fishing any time they got a chance and would send the fish to Dharldiwarldu for sale (int. C. O’Loughlin 14

Figure 5.2 Fred Graham at Clem Graham’s memorial (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

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108  Economic landscapes November 2012). Barry ‘Couta’ Trevor Power was a prolific fisherman, as well as his brothers, Darcy (int. Smith 29 November 2013) and Tyrone Bernard Power (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Ronald ‘Old Red’ Newchurch Snr had an old sailing boat, a cutter, on which his son, Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013)  learned to fish. Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) took over his father’s license for commercial fishing, but he fished from Dharldiwarldu. Knowledge of the various fishing licenses required, for example that a Class B license did not allow for netting, while an oyster license also allowed for the collection of oysters, further reveals Burgiyana people’s involvement in commercial fishing (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch’s (int. 25 September 2013)  father’s father, Tom Newchurch, also had his own boat and crew and Lancelot Francis Newchurch (int. Walker 19 November 2013) was also a Newchurch fisherman. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) recalls his parents fishing during 10 to 15 knot winds to be eating bread by the end of the day, his father, Frederick Colin Sansbury, saying, ‘We’ll go see if we can get some gars [garfish]’, and his mother, Rose Marie Gladys Newchurch, replying, ‘What, in this wind?’. Lyle’s grandfather Parry Sansbury had a team of people who worked for him in the fishing industry, netting off the shore with half a dozen dinghies (int. R.  Newchurch 29 November 2013). His boat, built in 1962 at Dharldiwarldu, had a simplex motor (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). He would use people to skipper the boat and net for the day during the six months of garfishing season. Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) remembers him as one of the first entrepreneurs at Burgiyana to have their own business. Wellesley Sansbury also had a fishing license (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) would go fishing with Wellesley Sansbury when he returned to Burgiyana from boarding school in the holidays. When Wellesley Sansbury told him ‘come on get up, we’ve got to go’, he would go, no questions asked, knowing fishing was Wellesley’s income, and act as anchor boy, pulling the anchor and lifting drums of fuel (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  says that Lance Newchurch joked that Wellesley Sansbury could catch whiting in the dam, he was that good at fishing. Yet fishing barely covered Wellesley’s fuel costs and he would supplement this by shearing at Kangaroo Island in the winter (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Archibald ‘Archie’ Bevan Sansbury (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013) and Walter ‘Wally’ Carl Sansbury (int. Walker 19 November 2013) were also Sansbury fishermen. Irvine Wanganeen (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013), Edward John Wanganeen (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013) and Terence ‘Terry’ Douglas Wanganeen (int. Rigney 18 July 2013) were Wangeneen fishermen. Other individuals identified as fishermen include Milton Eli Milera and John Milera (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013) and Lester Arthur Rigney Snr (int. Rigney 18 July 2013).

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Economic landscapes 109 ‘All the boats started to disappear in the late 70s, you know’ (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). As of 2013, Clayton Smith (int. 29 November 2013) is the only commercial fisherman with ties to Burgiyana who is active. Outside fishermen, using 640 m nets, which, with only three or four boats working in the bay, depleted whiting, harmed small-​scale fishing enterprises, such as those run at Burgiyana (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Some boats are present in the backyards of people’s houses at Burgiyana. As George Walker (int. 19 November 2013) says, ‘they just sit there now … because they’ve got memories and you write a story about them with a plaque and put it somewhere and leave it there’. Maritime culture correlates to a life mode, ‘the exploitation of a number of niches in society and in nature’ (Westerdahl 2003:19). Thus, it is often formed through a combination of occupations, most of which are part-​time and unable to form an independent economy (Westerdahl 2006:61). Fishing, as an example, may not be a central economy; yet it is also not a sideline pursuit. So, maritime life within any culture features ‘the same everyday occupations and the same type of sea-​ land combinations’ (Westerdahl 2008:192). Indeed, for coastal communities ‘the sea is merely another resource’ (Christie 2013:152, 154).

Island pastoralism A maritime landscape includes the partner economy of any maritime culture: coastal agriculture (Westerdahl 2011a:337). The investigation of cultural activities should not occur in isolation and so pastoral culture needs to contextualise maritime culture. The exploitation of islands and the sea for purposes other than transport and fishing are important in a holistic picture of a maritime landscape, such as grazing (Westerdahl 2009a:314)—​pertinent to Burgiyana, where maritime and pastoral cultures on the coast involve the same people—​ fishing farmers or farming fisherpeople (Westerdahl 2008:205). Indeed, the first place to begin a theory of maritime culture is by combining ‘two or more ways of subsistence’ (Westerdahl 2008:191). Narungga people often combined their participation in agricultural work with other cultural pursuits such as traditional fishing activities (Liebelt et al. 2016:98). Shearing Aboriginal people started shearing on the island from at least 1883, with the use of a boat ‘for conveying sheep from the mainland to the island, taking over the natives to shear’ (GRG52/​ 1/​ 224/​ 1883). The station employed Aboriginal men to cross sheep to and from Waraldi in 1920 and 1921 (Garnett 1920:10, 1921:10). Aboriginal people also cared for the sheep, for example in 1934, ‘a few aborigines look[ed] after mission station property and the flocks and herds’ (Edwardes 1934:51) and in 1937, ‘tending sheep

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110  Economic landscapes flocks give employment to a number of mission natives’ (The Sunday Times 1937:35). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) describes his father, Alfred Snr’s, daily activities (ca late 1930s): He just fed them out in the paddocks, just keep an eye on them, you know. ‘Til he was ready to bring them in and crutch them, or shear them, or dip them, you know. Cause they dipped them every year, anna. Big jetty had a dip over there, cement dip. They’d run the sheep in this side, and one there with a big rod he’d get behind the ear and push them underwater when they’re travelling through, make sure they get  all the dip. Except for shearing time, the sheep remained at the southern end of the island (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). On the island was a jinker—​a horse and buggy with spoke wheels (int. Graham 19 February 2013). Alfred O’Loughlin Snr was also responsible for looking after one or two horses and a cow (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The station paid the people living on Waraldi and working with the sheep £3 per week, according to Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013). Shearing in 1934 indicates the scale of the activity on Waraldi when 2,036 sheep were shorn (McLean 1934:9). In 1935, all sheep were shorn on the mainland owing to a water shortage on the island (McLean 1935:11). In both 1937 and 1938, the best prices the mission received for sheepskins was for the skins of wethers (castrated male sheep) from Waraldi (McLean 1937:15; Penhall 1938:5). In 1936, 1937 and 1938, the sheep on the island were still shorn with blade shears—​although people with blade shearing knowledge were becoming scarce—​yet the mainland shearers used machine shears (McLean 1936:10, 1937:15; Penhall 1938:4). In 1939, it was difficult to get blade shearers to shear the sheep on Waraldi and the order of a portable two-​stand shearing plant aimed to ensure mechanical shearing of the whole flock in the future (Penhall 1939:7). Following this, island and mainland shearing are not distinguished, suggesting all sheep were then shorn on the mainland. Some people lived on Waraldi on a temporary or permanent basis, while others only travelled across to work during shearing and then returned to the mission (Graham and Graham 1987:53). Those people who were engaging with work on Waraldi, as shearers during 1913 or 1914 included Thomas Adams, Lewis Adams, Charles Adams, Eric Charles Angie, James ‘Jim’ Angie, Joe Edwards, Alfred Hughes, John Newchurch Snr, Edward Sansbury, John ‘Jack’ Stuart, Barney Warrior and Mark Wilson (GRG52/​ 70). Edward Sansbury, his father John Sansbury, and the Edwards’ and O’Loughlin men also went back and forth during this era (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Aboriginal men would often go with the farm manager/​overseer on trips to the island. In 1918, six men assisted Pethick with breeding on the island

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Economic landscapes 111

Figure 5.3 People from Burgiyana on Waraldi (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​23/​8)

staying for two nights, nine men went to the island for lamb tailing and four or five men for dagging (GRG52/​73/​1). Activities such as dagging and shearing occurred at the same time each year, as dagging also occurred in August and shearing in September of 1921 (GRG52/​73/​2). Fred Smith Snr was a more permanent resident of the island in 1916, ‘Fred Smith is coming back to take charge of boats & island’ (GRG52/​ 1/​ 8/​ 1916), and 1918, reporting back to the superintendent that things were all right and feed was scarce (GRG52/​73/​1). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) also remembers Fred Smith Snr’s sons, Stanley Snr, Claude and Fred Jnr living there in the late 1930s, as well as Stanley’s son, Stanley Jnr known by his second name, Garfield. During 1918, John Milera’s engagement with activities on Waraldi included remaining there to prepare for shearing and picking out rejected ewes, and in 1921 he went to the island to pick out sheep for butchering (GRG52/​73/​1; GRG52/​73/​2). In 1934, John Milera ‘who has been on the Station for very many years has been in charge of the work on the Island and has done his work very creditably’ (McLean 1934:8). Those who sheared on Waraldi in 1932 or 1933 included L.  Buckskin, Lionel John Hughes, Thomas Mitchell Jnr, Terrence Charles Sansbury, Wilfred Lawrence Wanganeen, Hubert Weetra, Harold James Weetra Snr and Gilbert Williams (GRG52/​70). On the island in 1937, ‘four families of aboriginals [are] there now but the number fluctuates with the work in progress’ (GRG52/​ 1/​ 38/​ 1937).

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112  Economic landscapes Those involved with shearing, shed hands and crutching on Waraldi from 1936 to 1938 are L. Adams, Joe Argent, M. Cook, B. Goldsmith, F. Graham, L.  Hughes, Nathaniel Kropinyeri, J.  Richards, W.  Sansbury, John Smith, Les Wanganeen, B.  Warrior, J.  Warrior, Barney Edward Warrior, Cecil Spencer Weetra, Hub Weetra, J. Williams and Robert (Snr, Thomas Jnr or George) Wilson (GRG52/​ 65/​ 2). Nathaniel Kropinyeri is Peggy Weetra’s (int. 28 November 2013)  grandfather, whom she remembers living over there looking after the sheep. Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013)  also remembers Herbert ‘Bert’ Goldsmith, Lionel Hughes and Jimmy Richards as shearers from this era. Pastoral infrastructure The Old Village and surrounding areas of activity on Waraldi reveal a range of structures relating to pastoral activities. The asset list written when the government took over the mission included a wool shed and yards on Waraldi (GRG52/​73/​1), indicating their construction before 1915. In 1908, Superintendent Benjamin Lathern recorded the intention of building a new wool shed on Waraldi in time for the next shearing (South 1908:9), suggesting there may have been more than one wool shed. No evidence remains of the wool shed, although Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) says there was no stone used in its construction, ‘It’s all iron, been undone and took back to Point Pearce on the Narrunga’. The shearing shed and yards were most likely located adjacent to the Little Jetty, where two gates and two collapsed limestone walls, perpendicular to each other, now lie. A fence constructed in 1911 and 1912 ‘from sea to sea’ prevented stock from accessing the southern part of the island, which was being reclaimed through drifting (South 1911:6, 1912:12). 1918 saw a low natural increase of sheep on Waraldi and plans for more extensive fencing (The Register 1918:6), which seems to have eventuated as the superintendent inspected the netting on fences the following month (GRG52/​73/​1). The construction of about 3 miles of fencing subdivided the run and created two more paddocks (South 1918:12). In 1933, sheep were de-​pastured on Waraldi in early summer, although the transport of many sheep to the mainland occurred in November if the season was dry (The Advertiser 1933:19). Repairs to the sheep yards also occurred and the following year the sheep yards and wool shed underwent tarring and painting, while fences were also repaired (McLean 1933:7, 1934:8). In 1935, 137 chains of fencing were laid, subdividing the southern end of the island, alterations and additions to the sheep yard and dip occurred and, following the winter, the catchments provided enough water to transfer 1,000 hoggets (young sheep between one and two years old) to the island (McLean 1934:8, 1935:9–​ 10). In 1936, improvements to the sheep dip and the erection of stone walling to form an extra sheep yard took place,

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Economic landscapes 113 although water shortages led to the return of 500 ewes to the mainland before lambing, leaving 500 wethers on the island (McLean 1936:9–​10). Water scheme At first, Waraldi was only used as a winter run, as there was no water source on the island (Meredith 1866–​1892:12). In the years leading up to 1909, the construction of tanks for water storage allowed a total capacity of 200,000 gal (The Advertiser 1909:14). The third tank alone, built in 1907, had a capacity of 100,000 gal (Hamilton 1907:7). 1911 saw the construction of an underground tank with 20,000-​gal capacity and another windmill (South 1911:6). Aboriginal peoples definitely built the later tanks (GRG52/​1/​8/​ 1916; GRG52/​73/​1; int. C. O’Loughlin 25 February 2013; int. Graham and M. O’Loughlin 27 February 2014); but the construction of the catchments received tenders from non-​Indigenous people. In 1916, E.  Sansbury was responsible for excavating and building a tank in South Paddock on the island (GRG52/​1/​8/​1916). This is likely an underground tank constructed by Aboriginal builders described as having a capacity of 30,000 gal and built in a favourable position to fill with water by pumping from a soakage well nearby (South 1917:12). The Old Village area features a series of linear ditches, generally leading down the slope towards an in-​ground tank. These ditches could date to as early as 1918, as in that year the superintendent and Christopher Pethick inspected the sheep, water and drains, the latter of which could be the ditches (GRG52/​73/​1). Although, ‘owing to the loose porous nature of the soil, the water only runs in the drains during heavy rains’ (GRG52/​1/​3/​1928). The erection of a windmill with iron tank and troughing followed the construction of a new underground tank the previous year (South 1918:12). The superintendent and Pethick also organised for Fred Smith (Snr) to build a stand for a 2,000-​gal tank, although whether this eventuated is uncertain (GRG52/​73/​1). The superintendent and Pethick marked out a catchment for the tank in the South Paddock in 1921 measuring 90 by 90 ft, constructed by Stanley Giles and Albert Angie (GRG52/​73/​1). Then it was also decided to put a cement brick pillar in the centre of the round tank (GRG52/​73/​2). John (Jack or Huntley) Stuart and J. Whimpley erected a windmill in 1921 (GRG52/​73/​2); this is most likely the windmill that supplied the tank in South Paddock (Garnett 1921:10). A group of structures, including a square stone tank, circular concrete tank and triangular shaped stone footings of a windmill, provides evidence for a windmill in the Old Village. Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013) also states that a windmill was definitely in that place because of cogs that are on top of the round tank. The cogs would be at the top of the windmill, to allow the windmill to spin, and would go through a tin filled with oil to prevent them from wearing out (int. Graham 28 February 2013).

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114  Economic landscapes The 1927 expenses record purchases for the Waraldi catchments (GRG52/​73/​1). The call for tenders for the construction of catchments in 1928, awarded to N.S. Jones of Dharldiwarldu, records specific details of the catchments including measurements and materials (GRG52/​1/​3/​1928). The report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the 1928–​1929 financial year noted that the program to improve the water supply on Waraldi continued: Two large catchments were erected last year, and this year three more catchments have been added. Although only light rains have fallen these improvements have considerably added to the water supply. In normal seasons the tanks will be filled. (Garnett 1929:4) In the following year, ‘the galvanized-​iron catchments to tanks on Waraldi have filled the tanks there, and it is estimated the island will now carry 2,000 sheep’ (Garnett 1930:4). Waraldi catchment materials cost £47 14s 11d in the 1929–​1930 financial year, while a loan of £2,023 13s 10d covered the expenditure for improvements on Waraldi and purchasing stock and implements (Garnett 1930:6). By 1929, the water conservation scheme and catchment area install was complete and under inspection (The Advertiser 1929:12). In 1937, Waraldi had ‘nine underground and squatters iron tanks fed by galvanised iron artificial catchments and drains’ (GRG52/​1/​38/​1937). Over the years, the station made many efforts to bore for water on Waraldi to overcome the water shortage. The hire in 1937 (and later purchase) of a hard-​boring plant from the Department of Mines located a small supply of stock water, with a well then sunk at this location (McLean 1937:17). In 1939, Superintendent A.H. Bray engaged two miners for some weeks searching for water and, despite little success, planned to continue boring (Penhall 1939:6). Built of limestone and covered in cement plaster, the construction of the in-​ground tanks on Waraldi was by hand, with a pick and shovel. The tanks at the Old Village were for the people who lived there, the sheep using the catchments further south (int. Graham 25 February 2013). The Old Village has four in-​ground tanks, three near the living quarters and one close to the sheep yards, although they vary in length, width and depth. Jim Richards is someone who may have contributed to the construction of the tanks (int. C. O’Loughlin 25 February 2013). When he was young, Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) remembers going out with a bucket and rope to pull the water up from the wells. Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) also remembers the in-​ground tanks and catchments on the island, as well as the soaks where donkeys used to go. Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013)  suggests that the southern end of Waraldi also featured a tank or well.

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Figure 5.4 Fred Graham (seated) and Clem O’Loughlin (standing) at one of the in-​ ground tanks at the Old Village on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013)

Changing times in the mid-​twentieth century The decline in use of Waraldi in the early 1940s could be the result of World War II (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013). From 1947, the removal of materials from Waraldi is well-​documented in the missions’ daybooks. In 1947, the stock overseer and Superintendent A.H. Bray took the launch to the island to inspect the huts and buildings, likely associated with the disassembling of the buildings on the island (GRG52/​48/​5; GRG52/​49/​2). Young was often working on the island with three men from the mission, working a 14-​hour day or staying overnight on the island (GRG52/​49/​2). A  barge transported the loads of timber from the island to the point for unloading and stacking (GRG52/​49/​2). From 1948, materials from the island, such as iron and piping, were being carted from the Point, presumably to the mission for reuse (GRG52/​49/​2). The stock overseer and four men also stayed overnight on the island in 1948 (GRG52/​49/​2). Young went to the island with three men and stayed overnight in 1949 (GRG52/​49/​2). Earlier that year, the stock overseer went with Thomas Goldsmith to recover piping that Goldsmith had left on the island, making more trips with the manager

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116  Economic landscapes on the launch (GRG52/​49/​2). Also, in 1949 the station collected material brought from the island to Dharldiwarldu via the BHP launch (GRG52/​49/​ 2). Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) suggests that the buildings in the Old Village started deteriorating until knocked down in the 1960s or 1970s. A  lack of archaeological evidence suggests the removal and relocation of materials, likely for reuse, for example, the tin roof of the living quarters is no longer at the site. Yet Burgiyana people have maintained a continuous connection to Waraldi. Clyde Edward Kropinyeri and his wife, Beryl, lived there for a while, likely in the 1950s or 1960s, still looking after the sheep, although there was not as many then (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Edward ‘Ned’ Peter Stanford Milera also lived there more recently, in the houses in the BHP Village (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). A photograph shows Clem O’Loughlin with Ned Milera and Mrs Mersey unloading feed at Waraldi, suggesting use of the island for stock, for example horses and donkeys, until at least 1974 (Sunday Mail 27 January 1974). In recent years, there have been a series of Burgiyana people engaged as caretakers living on Waraldi. During the 1970s when the island was first returned to the community, Peter Goldsmith was caretaker for a time and Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) was his off-​sider, later taking over the role. Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) would conduct general checks of the island including if anyone was staying there or had permits. From 1976 to 1983, Lindsay Sansbury (int. 26 November 2013)  worked on the island transporting visiting school children during the years when the Education Department was also using Waraldi (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) lived there for about five years in the early 1980s and also had his boat there and fished off the island. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, Lindsay Sansbury (int. 26 November 2013) and Richard ‘Dick’ Sansbury Snr lived on Green Island, the latter’s boat wrecking when he hit the rocks going past Green Island (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). In 2014, Richard ‘Bart’ Sansbury Jnr was living on Waraldi. Waraldi boats While Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) said that everybody had their own boats on Waraldi, except for his family and the Warriors who relied on the launch to get back to the mainland, the community remembers many vessels used at Waraldi during this time. The ‘Wardang Island launch’ (ca late 1930s–​ca 1950s) was the first motor launch, driven by Bert Holding and Jack Doyle (Heinrich 1976:89). The skipper of the Wardang Island launch in 1950 was C.F. Anderson (The Advertiser 1950:3), although he could have been driving it earlier than that because Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013) remembers his driving it daily from the island to Dharldiwarldu for food when he was living there in the late 1930s. The Wardang Island launch

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Economic landscapes 117 is also mentioned in 1944 when it had to take provisions to Waraldi in heavy weather (The Maitland Watch in Moody 2012:257). Silver Cloud (built in 1942 as a flying boat tender) was a motor launch almost 40 ft in length, first used by BHP and skippered by Jack Doyle yet at the time of sinking owned by the Aboriginal Lands Trust (Heinrich 1976:110). Used to transport tourists and cargo between Waraldi and Dharldiwarldu, it sank at its moorings in 1974 but was later refloated (Heinrich 1976:110). Clem Graham also skippered it (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013) and ‘Nugget’ Rankine was a crewman. Towed to the bay to the lee of Burgiyana, it remained at moorings until sold to a Victorian fisherman and converted to a fishing vessel (Moody 2012:231). Moorara (1909–22 August 1975), converted from a river barge to a fore-​ and-​ aft schooner in ca 1940, served to transport wheat from Dharldiwarldu Jetty to the grain ships at anchor. Following this, ca 1970, Gren Pryce purchased it as a supply vessel for Waraldi, and the Aboriginal Lands Trust took it over when Waraldi became Aboriginal land (Ford et al. 2002). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012)  remembers driving it once to Dharldiwarldu. Owned by the Aboriginal Community Council, Moorara was in poor repair at the time of sinking (Heinrich 1976:110) at anchor off the northeast coast of Waraldi, approximately 1 km offshore and south of the Little Jetty (Ford et al. 2002). The community has since used it as a fishing drop (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012) and several objects salvaged from the wreck are on display at the Port Victoria Maritime Museum. ‘Reef Runner’ was a 22 ft, fibreglass vessel with a 150 hp Mercury engine owned and used by the Education Department when they were accessing Waraldi (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). The name of this vessel describes the model of fishing trailer boat, Reef Runner, manufactured since the 1970s (Trotter 2011). The Royal Australian Navy used Archie Badenoch, built in November 1942 at the General Motors Holden plant in Birkenhead, Port Adelaide, as a supply tender until 1946, when the South Australian Police took it over (Rickard 2009). The boat arrived at Burgiyana in 1978 (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013), owned by the Department of Further Education and used by the community (Rickard 2009). Archie Badenoch used to do trips taking people across to Waraldi (int. Power 30 November 2013). Clayton Smith (int. 29 November 2013)  remembers taking the ferry Archie Badenoch to Waraldi to camp when he was a boy, with Peter Goldsmith as the skipper at that time. Abandoned and fallen into disrepair, the South Australian Police Historical Society salvaged the launch in 1985 and restored it (Rickard 2009). Archie Badenoch is now kept on the Port River in Port Adelaide (int. Power 30 November 2013), under the custody of the South Australian Maritime Museum. The ‘Wardang Island barge’ was a steel barge, 15 m in length with a diesel engine and outboard leg. The barge broke free of its mooring and grounded

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118  Economic landscapes north of Dharldiwarldu in 1975, but was later refloated and moored off Waraldi. The barge broke adrift again and hauled ashore on the northeast side of Waraldi. A clean-​up on the island in 2000 led to the burial of the Wardang Island barge in landfill at the back of the BHP Village (Moody 2012:172). This is likely the barge that Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) recalled from the 1960s and 1970s at Waraldi. The ‘Oyster boat’ is the most recent community boat, used for conducting work on Waraldi.

Coastal pastoralism Other significant pastoral structures exist on the mainland, some of which are near the coast as the pasturing of sheep occurred on the coast. In 1956, sheep were not de-​pastured on the sea frontages because many sheep were being drowned on the tidal flats during the incoming tide (Aborigines Protection Board 1956:11). A suggestion to fence these sea frontages seems unlikely to have eventuated (Aborigines Protection Board 1956:11). At Gagadhi, Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2014) relocated three wells that run in a line perpendicular to the beach. The first, located close to the coast at Gagadhi, fed water via a pump to a second well, located on the western side of the road that runs from the Boundary Gate at Gagadhi to the mission. The third tank, located on the eastern side of the same road, receives the water from the second tank. This larger third tank has the remains of a windmill and drinking trough, like the catchments on Waraldi except for the tin and frame catchment structure. Sheep and cattle used the third of these tanks, as described by Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2014) and confirmed by sheep and cattle (Bos primigenius) bone on the ground alongside the tank. A series of tanks also runs from The Willows to the mission and sources the large underground tanks near the stables that supplied the mission’s drinking water. In the centre of Burgiyana township, some tanks are extant (although deteriorating) while others underwent demolition. An etching in the mortar of one of the tanks reveals the name Thomas Goldsmith. The Willows, located in the centre of Burgiyana Peninsula, is also known as the ‘bluebushes’/​wadbula (Kochia sedifolia); Jack Stuart, Wilfred Wanganeen and Fred Graham Snr built the tank at The Willows at the turn of the century (int. Graham and M. O’Loughlin 27 Febraury 2014). Willows Tank never went dry and had ‘beautiful water’ which Fred Graham and Michael O’Loughlin (int. 27 Febraury 2014) remember swimming in during the late 1950s. Also, Edward Russell grew watermelons at The Willows and it was a favourite place for playing on the weekends—​cooking potatoes and onions—​having taken horses from the mission (int. Graham and M. O’Loughlin 27 Febraury 2014). A diesel pump in a stone-​walled pump shed pumped water from Willows Tank to Bucks Tank, named after Arthur Buck’s father, a gunya from Dharldiwarldu, and not the Buckskin family (int. Graham and M. O’Loughlin 27 Febraury 2014). The laying of pipes from tanks at The Willows to the

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Figure 5.5 Fred Graham at The Willows (A. Berry, 2014)

mission and the construction of windmills and force pump occurred in 1907 (GRG52/​1/​1907/​292 in Wood and Westell 1998:9). Henry Angie, Jack Buckskin Jnr and the O’Loughlins’ were also involved in constructing tanks and wells (int. Graham and M. O’Loughlin 27 Febraury 2014).

Conclusions The economic landscape highlights equality between the importance of both marine resources and island and coastal agriculture. At Burgiyana, fishing and agriculture provided everyday subsistence and sustenance, as well as employment and livelihood. This interdependency on marine and terrestrial resources extends through the pre-​and post-​contact period. Island pastoralism occupied many Narungga peoples, besides the construction of tanks and other labour, with some people living on Waraldi on a permanent basis. Commercial fishing also provided some Burgiyana families with an income

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120  Economic landscapes to ‘put food on the table’. Despite the competitive nature of fishing between Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal people (discussed further in Chapter  7), Narungga peoples continued to self-​ regulate fishing grounds alongside enforced regulation by authorities. Fishing also provided direct subsistence, as well as recreational and ritual roles, as discussed in the following chapter.

References Aborigines Protection Board, 1948. Report of the Aborigines Protection Board for the Year Ended 30th June, 1948. K.M. Stevenson: Adelaide. Aborigines Protection Board, 1949. Report of the Aborigines Protection Board for the Year Ended 30th June, 1949. House of Assembly: Adelaide. Aborigines Protection Board, 1950. Report of the Aborigines Protection Board for the Year Ended 30th June, 1950. K.M. Stevenson: Adelaide. Aborigines Protection Board, 1956. Report of the Aborigines Protection Board for the Year Ended 30th June, 1956. K.M. Stevenson: Adelaide. The Advertiser, 1909. Caring for the black population, 13 November, p. 14. The Advertiser, 1929. A visit to Point Pearce, 21 June, p. 12. The Advertiser, 1933. Township of contrasts. Tax-​free, rent-​free life at Pt. Pearce. Aborigines’ home, 14 December, p. 19. The Advertiser, 1950. Governor enjoys island holiday visit, 16 January, p. 3. Anonymous, nd. Aborigines are skippers. Ball, M., 1992. The lesser of two evils: A comparison of government and mission policy at Raukkan and Point Pearce, 1890–​1940, Cabbages and Kings: Selected Essays in History and Australian Studies 20:36–​45. Bennett, M., 2003. For a Labourer Worthy of His Hire:  Aboriginal Economic Responses to Colonisation in the Illawarra and Shoalhaven, 1770–​1900, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Faculty of Applied Science, University of Canberra, Bruce. Bowen, A., 2003. The archaeology of early commercial fishing activities in New South Wales:  A theoretical model, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 27:9–​18. Christie, A., 2013. Were the communities living on the East African coast also ‘maritime’ communities? An archaeological perspective. In Ford, B., and van Duivenvoorde, W. (Eds.), Perspectives from Historical Archaeology and ACUA Proceedings No. 7: Maritime Archaeology. Society for Historical Archaeology: Germantown, pp. 162–​172. Edwardes, A.D., 1934. Lonely islanders happy in isolation. Graveyard of ships is little industrial centre, Chronicle, 3 May, p. 51. Ford, J., Gainsford, M., Gilman, J., and Winton, T., 2002. Site Survey Report: Moorara, Wardang Island, Port Victoria, South Australia. Flinders University Department of Archaeology: Adelaide. Garnett, F., 1920. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1920. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. Garnett, F., 1921. Report of the Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1921. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. Garnett, F., 1929. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1929. Harrison Weir: Adelaide.

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Economic landscapes 121 Garnett, F., 1930. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1930. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. Graham, D.M., and Graham, C.W., 1987. As We’ve Known It: 1911 to the Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Hamilton, E.L., 1907. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1907. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. Heinrich, R., 1976. Wide Sails and Wheat Stacks. Port Victoria Centenary Committee: Port Victoria. Hickson, J., 2012. Bart’s boat, Goree: Aboriginal & Torres Strait Islander News from the National Museum of Australia 9(1):20. Liebelt, B., Roberts, A., O’Loughlin, C., and Milera, D., 2016. ‘We had to be off by sundown’: Narungga contributions to farming industries on Yorke Peninsula (Guuranda), South Australia, Aboriginal History 40:89–​117. McLean, M.T., 1933. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1933. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1934. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1934. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1935. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1935. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1936. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1936. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1937. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1937. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. Meredith, M.A., 1866–​1892. Anglican Church Records Relating to Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission (SRG94/​W60). State Library of South Australia: Adelaide. Moody, S.M., 2012. Port Victoria’s Ships and Shipwrecks. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Paterson, A.G., 2003. The texture of agency: An example of culture-​contact in central Australia, Archaeology of Oceania 38:52–​65. Penhall, W.R., 1938. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1938. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. Penhall, W.R., 1939. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1939. Frank Trigg: Adelaide. The Register, 1918. Aboriginal stations, 9 October, p. 6. Rickard, D., 2009. Archie 67 years on, Afloat 240, October. South, W.G., 1908. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1908. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1911. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1911. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1912. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1912. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1916. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1916. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1917. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1917. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1918. Report of the Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1918. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. The Sunday Times, 1937. Deadly virus to be tried out on island, 26 September, p. 35. Trotter, D., 2011. Reef Runner: The legend lives, Fishing Monthly, February.

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122  Economic landscapes Westerdahl, C., 2003. Maritime culture in an inland lake? In Brebbia, C.A., and Gambin, T. (Eds.), Maritime Heritage. WIT Press: Malta, pp. 17–​26. Westerdahl, C., 2006. The relationship between land roads and sea routes in the past—​Some reflections, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 29:59–​114. Westerdahl, C., 2008. Fish and ships:  Towards a theory of maritime culture, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 30:191–​236. Westerdahl, C., 2009a. The horse as a liminal agent, Archaeologia Baltica 11:314–​327. Westerdahl, C., 2009b. Shipyards and boatbuilding sites: Features of the maritime cultural landscapes of the north, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 32:1–​32. Westerdahl, C., 2011a. Conclusion:  The maritime cultural landscape revisited. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 331–​344. Westerdahl, C., 2011b. The maritime cultural landscape. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 733–​754. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Point Pearce Social History Project, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside.

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6  Social landscapes

Rose [Sansbury] used to come out … with her husband. … She would have been out jumping overboard. Pulling the net. (int. Weetra 28 November 2013)

The social landscape refers to the demographics of a maritime culture. In maritime archaeology in the past, archaeologists have been more concerned with shipwreck artefacts and their functions rather than maritime societies and individuals (Richards 2008:38). There is a ‘fractured, undertheorized dialogue’ between maritime communities and traditions (through sources such as oral histories and folklore traditions, contemporary ‘traditional’ boat studies and ethnography) and maritime archaeology (Ransley 2011:891). Collaboration with local communities must explore the social landscape. This chapter discusses fishing for subsistence, fisherwomen, living on Waraldi, crayon drawings, tin canoes and beach picnics through the lens of sex and age as factors within maritime activities.

Fishing for subsistence Narungga exploitation of marine resources and islands for subsistence is continuous, occurring before contact, relied on during the mission period and in use today. Narungga peoples practice both cultural take, food for traditional ceremonial purposes, and customary take, fishing for personal, educational and communal purposes (Osborne and Downs 2012:13). ‘Narungga people are marine specialists with in-​depth knowledge of their sea, coast and islands and all that they contain’ (Roberts et  al. 2014:28). As Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) stated, ‘the knowledgescape and the understanding of the land and seascape and seabedscape is very much drawing on … the very, very first Narungga peoples fishing at this area’. Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (2002:x) understands ‘contact’ as beginning much earlier than the arrival of Europeans and includes ‘the stories … of our ancestors, telling stories after the Dreaming’.

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124  Social landscapes Narungga peoples had and continue to have a connection to waters in and around Guuranda, for example from Port Broughton and Hardwicke Bay on the west coast to Port Clinton, Gudliwardi and Stansbury on the east coast (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). George Walker (Roberts et al. 2016:11) describes the significance of fishing: The old fellows did a lot of hard work in the day. But then they knew where the fish were seen. They planned their calendar … they set up ready for what they wanted to feed the tribe … a fish feed and all that. Coastal locations, such as Burgiyana, can preserve their continuity (Westerdahl 2009:316). This is comparable to missions located inland where rapid fencing and agricultural exploitation of the landscape restricted access to resources using traditional lifeways (Byrne 2008; Di Fazio 2000; Smith and Beck 2003); an occurrence unmatched at sea (although as mentioned in Chapter 5, early adoption of fishing restrictions did occur). Traditional fishing expertise was re-​oriented to deal with expanding economic fisheries, a change documented elsewhere following the arrival of missionaries (Ash et al. 2010:59). A dependence on rations for subsistence occurred following the introduction of wage economy and changes to traditional subsistence patterns, a fact encountered at many missions and part of the goal of missionisation (Ash et  al. 2010:68; Bennett 2003:i). Yet the success of missions also depended on traditional modes of subsistence activities (Ash et al. 2010:73; Morrison et al. 2010:87). While Burgiyana’s success was apparently dependent upon ‘utilising every available piece of land’, it is clear through oral histories that marine resources continued to play a significant role in daily subsistence (Wanganeen 1987:55). An informal economy, which is not recorded in official documents, occurs through adaptation to capitalist economies (Bennett 2003:18). Indeed, non-​ capitalist systems are often preserved by capitalist interests, in this case missionaries and governments, due to the benefits of a self-​supporting labour source (Bennett 2003:8). Fishing for traditional foods is not only an invisible non-​cash part of the economy in coastal regions, it also reduces the reliance of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people on the cash economy (Smyth 1993). The Aboriginal choice in fishing activities evidences active agency. Agency is often equated with resistance, a Western, modern notion of a ‘universal human desire to resist those aspects of social relationships that are currently viewed as oppressive’, but agency should incorporate the lived, non-​rational, emotional and historic baggage of human behaviour (Dornan 2002:318–​319, 324). Aboriginal people at Burgiyana were active agents in the maritime landscape based on this latter definition. Fishing is an activity that included people of all ages. Boats were often made available to Aboriginal people in other towns around the Guuranda coastline, besides Burgiyana, and their benefit to elders played a role in these arrangements. For example, in 1895, Protector of Aborigines Edward

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Social landscapes 125 Lee Hamilton made a request to the Minister of Agriculture to buy a small fishing boat at a cost of £15 for the use of ‘the old Aborigines of Point Pierce Mission Station … the possession of a boat for fishing purposes would be a great boon to them’ (GRG52/​1/​172/​1895). The transportation from Ardrossan to Maggiwarda of the boat used by Aboriginal people at Stansbury provided a solution for Burgiyana (GRG52/​1/​172/​1895). In 1899, Superintendent Benjamin Lathern described this boat as ‘more or less in use by the old people but when not in use they are unwilling to lend it to the others’ (GRG52/​1/​69/​1899). Also, in 1906, the Protector of Aborigines approved a request for a pair of 10 ft long oars from four elderly Aboriginal men, sent via Dharldiwarldu (GRG52/​1/​83/​1906). Government loans for the purchase of boats, detailed in Chapter 4, were predominantly made to individuals aged from their late 30s to late 60s. During the 1930s and 1940s, marine resources continued to play a role in daily food supplies. An example of this is a recollection from Lewis William Arthur O’Brien of his aunt using fish heads for soup (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:200). As a child, O’Brien ‘learned to eat the eyes and the piece off the forehead and the tail of the fish’, showing no part of the fish went to waste (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:200). Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013)  owned what he describes as a ‘big dinghy’, which he bought off his cousin, Tom Newchurch Jnr, and used to go fishing to ‘get enough for a feed’. While Lance was away his boat wrecked on the rocks. Besides using boats, shore-​and jetty-​based fishing also occurred (Graham and Graham 1987:53). Galadri, Middle Fence and the Little Jetty are places to collect bloodworms and Middle Fence and The Bay (Waraldi) were also shore fishing sites (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013; int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013; int. Weetra 28 November 2013). Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) went fishing from the shore at Galadri, as well as anywhere around the point where he could get a clear spot to throw the net. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  reiterates that fishing off the shore would happen at every beach, everyone would try different places to see if they would be successful. People would collect worms at Badhara’s Rock and go fishing at Mungari and Galadri from March to April/​May (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). On the western coast of Burgiyana is where men used to go out butterfishing with harpoons (int. Weetra 28 November 2013)—​from Galadri to Mungari (int. Graham 26 November 2013). More recently, in the 1960s, young men would go butterfishing with spear guns (int. Walker 29 November 2013). In addition to fish, the collection of a range of shellfish took place around Burgiyana and the islands. Hollywood to Second Beach was a ‘well-​known garden paradise for shellfish’ (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Lifting up the rocks when the tide was out at Mungari allowed the collection of warrener (Turbo undulatus) and periwinkle (int. Weetra 28 November 2013), and it is a good location for Snapper (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Places on Waraldi with significant marine

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Figure 6.1 Michael O’Loughlin and Lindsay Sansbury at a favoured butterfishing area (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

resources include Table Rock with warrener, periwinkle, abalone (Haliotis sp.) and scallop (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Remains in the Old Village area reveal the consumption of shellfish. These included limpet (Order Patellogastropoda), called Chinaman’s hats or gundhi hats, warrener and black periwinkle (common name Black Nerite—​Nerita atramentosa)—​ nicknamed pennywinkles (Fowler et  al. 2014:20; int. C.  O’Loughlin 26 February 2013). Cooking methods varied. Clem O’Loughlin (int. 26 February 2013) said: They’re good to eat those Chinaman hats, upside down on the stove or the oven, on the fire. Inside cooks. The inside is then removed with a fork or something similar. A boiling billy cooks black periwinkles, and the cooking of warreners is undertaken in a similar manner, ‘same thing, boil them on the ashes like we do camping, throw them on the ashes and cook them on the ashes’ (Fowler et al. 2014:20; int. C. O’Loughlin 26 February 2013). Also, elders received a distribution of fish brought back to the community, for example Wellesley Sansbury would take fish to Gladys Elphick, Annie Winifred Sansbury and Leslie ‘Sugar Buck’ John Buckskin and Bessie Maria Buckskin (int. Walker 19 November 2013). The giving of the nhudli

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Social landscapes 127 gayinbara to a relative or non-​relative, to an elder or someone who is unable to catch their own fish, is honourable and humbling and one of the greatest acts of kindness and respect (int. Rigney 28 July 2013). The topic of cultural fishing practices and the contemporary socio-​cultural importance for Narungga people is the subject of a separate publication (Roberts et  al. forthcoming). The professional fishing activities at Burgiyana were, for the most part, a shore-​based activity, yet this world was very much entangled with the everyday and non-​professional, i.e., cultural fishing activities. Even economic fishing involved the whole family, including children, with net fishing occurring from boats. Irene Agius remembers fishing around Winggara: We used to just stand up on top of the dinghy and pole along. … And they’d throw bread out to feed the garfish, all stale bread. They’d buy about 20 loaves sometimes. Might last the day, might last two or three days. … Net fishing. And we’d have one of the big old tubs, you know what you have a bath in? That was brought down in a jinker with other stuff, cart with other stuff and we’d come along in the buggy, all the kids. And then night, when he’d (her father) bring the fish in, we’d be there, stripping them you know. All the garfish. And putting the little ones one side and the bigger ones one side. Oh yeah, tedious job. … We’d just take the whole lot, put ‘em all back in the bag and he’d take them all down to the Port and sell them. Used to get $5 a bag in the, £5 a bag. Wheat bag, you know. … So he’d get three bags, four bags. … We’d have our feed on the coals here. Just throw the garfish on the coals. Never worry about skinning the, scaling them rather, or doing the running, cleaning them. You’d rinse them out and stick ‘em on the coals and then just eat the flesh … [we ate] fish nearly every day. … If fish was there we’d eat it. We had nowhere to keep it see? Just had the little ice chest in those days. Before fridges come in, kerosene fridges. (Wood and Westell 1998:14–​15) This memory is like Lyle Sansbury’s (int. 30 November 2013) where he would wait at Winggara for his grandfather, Douglas Parry Sansbury, to come in at night and then strip and clean the garfish for him. When garfishing, people would either throw the anchor over if it was a windy day or pole along at slow speed on flat calm days and watch for the shiny underbelly of the garfish, seen when the fish is digging into the mud with their pointy noses (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Then one person would jump over either end of the boat and walk at a slow pace to close the nets, throwing water to keep the garfish inside the net (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Richard ‘Bart’ Sansbury also describes the technique of splashing the water to manipulate the movement of fish (Roberts et al. 2016:10–​11). Clayton Smith (int. 29 November 2013)  describes his first experience of netting thus, ‘he threw us over the side and told us hold the net down. He

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128  Social landscapes literally threw us’. As the eldest child, Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) also has memories of fishing from the boat with his father, where his tasks included pulling the anchor up, cleaning the boat down and packing the fish. The involvement of children in the launch of workboats, working as ‘deck hands’ and cleaning fish in preparation for sale, allowed them to gain invaluable practical experience and cultural knowledge at the same time as being ‘on the job’. Fisherwomen It would be remiss to consider a maritime culture without reference to sex. In most instances, the sailor’s world is male, reflecting a sex prejudice and distinguishing maritime occupations as ‘male at sea’ and ‘female on land’ (Westerdahl 2010:69). Thus, maritime-​related activities are often seen as male domains (Westerdahl 2010:69, 2013:337) and the missions’ historical documents silence the role of women in maritime activities at Burgiyana. The recent deaths of some key senior women also biased interviews towards male community members. Yet where a maritime culture is everyday and non-​professional, the active role of women is equal, including as partners in fishing, or independent fishing (Westerdahl 2010:69), and the role of women within the maritime landscape at Burgiyana has been revealed. George Walker (int. 19 November 2013) suggests that subsistence roles follow the same principle on the land and the sea, men hunting and women gathering. Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013)  also said that ‘fishing in them days and keeping the fishing as a business, as a survival, as a food mechanism, sustainability for the family, you know, the men did it’. Most of the time women would stay back and fish from the shore instead of going out on a fishing boat because that was the men’s job (int. Walker 19 November 2013). This characteristic is shared by the Indigenous peoples of southern New England (USA), where ‘the littoral zones were female spaces, for collecting of shellfish etc., versus the deep waters, reachable only with constructed watercraft, reserved for men’s fishing and hunting activities’ (Patton 2014:93). Yet several Burgiyana women were also active in the fishing community. Many women would go fishing with male relatives, for example fathers, husbands and sons. Barry Power’s (int. 30 November 2013) mother, Alma, would go fishing with her sons on an old boat at Gunganya warda. Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013) recalls his mother walking all the way there when her sons would ask her to stay at home and go fishing without her. Carrie Buckskin and her sister Sandy would also go fishing with their brother (int. Power 30 November 2013). Irene Agius used to go out often with her father, Parry ‘Kaiser’ Sansbury, on the boats (int. Walker 19 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury’s (int. 30 November 2013) mother, Rose Sansbury, would also go out with his father and Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) recalls Rose netting on boats for garfish. Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) herself

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Social landscapes 129 also fished with Clem Graham on his boat, around Little Goose Island. She also went with her uncle and grandfather, Nat Kropinyeri, from Reef Point where they would walk out to the dinghy and then row out to Munda Hole (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). In addition to fishing with male relatives, women also fished together from boats and the shore. Lindsay Sansbury (int. 26 November 2013) remembers that Alma Power and Janet Smith had their own dinghies and used to row out to drops to go fishing. Aged eight, he would help push out the dinghies. George Walker’s (int. 29 November 2013) mother, Susan Lorraine Walker, and her best friend Estelle Maude Cross, also used to fish using harpoons. Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013), Carrie Buckskin and Rose Sansbury would also fish from the shore, all lined up along the beach, at Winggara, which is also where they got their worms in the seaweed, as well as Yadri and the Point. They would go fishing there in March for mullet and silver whiting (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). Jennifer Newchurch and Lyle Sansbury’s (int. 30 November 2013)  mother, Rose, also had a place near Dolly’s Jetty that they favoured for catching silver whiting. Greenbush is another location where the old ladies would walk out for fishing and stand in the water catching mullet; they would then cook the fish on a fire (int. Graham 26 November 2013). Kevin O’Loughlin also recalls Myrtle Edna Sansbury, Thora Martin and Charlotte Lavinia Gray being among the women who would fish (Krichauff 2017:197). According to George Walker (int. 29 November 2013), Karen Brine learnt her fishing knowledge from her grandfather who used to talk to her about fish and take her down to the beaches to show her things. Thus, women were, and are, as active in maritime cultural activities as men, fishing with male members of their family such as husbands, fathers and sons, and fishing alone or with female relatives and friends. The dichotomy of male and female roles is more significant within offshore maritime activities (although exceptions exist), rather than coastal fishing communities (Westerdahl 2010:69).

Living on Waraldi Several Burgiyana families were closely associated with Waraldi in the 1930s and 1940s, including the Powers, Newchurchs, Grahams, O’Loughlins and Warriors. Ephraim Tripp, known for smoking tealeaf in his pipe, also lived there (int. Graham 19 February 2013), in particular in 1928 when he was ‘over from the island today’ (GRG52/​73/​3). Barry Power’s (int. 30 November 2013) mother, Alma, and father, Lewis, lived on the island in the late 1930s, when Power was a young child. They had a house built further up the hill from the main living quarters, which was being built when Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) lived there in the late 1930s. This may be the same building as the overseer’s house. Barry Power’s siblings, Darcy and Timothy ‘Toccie’ Charles Power, went to school

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130  Social landscapes on Waraldi (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Darcy and Timothy also had an older brother, George ‘Tricksy’ Robert Power and another younger brother, Tyrone (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Bernard ‘Bernie’ Lewis Power Snr and his wife, Myrtle ‘Doody’ Power, also lived there (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Both Bernard Power Snr and Lewis Power worked with Alfred O’Loughlin Snr and Barney ‘Poppa Syke’ Warrior with the sheep (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013)  also lived there as a young child, not old enough to go to school, along with his father, George John Eustace Newchurch, who was working there as a shearer, his mother, Eileen Dardanella Newchurch, and other members of his family including sisters, Jennifer and Rose Marie Gladys Newchurch, and brother, Allan Eustace Newchurch. John Smith would go out fishing every day and Lance Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) would wait at the jetty to receive three or four fish to take into the shacks at the Old Village. Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) believes Fred Graham Snr used to go over to Waraldi often. Doris and Cecil Graham and their family also lived on Waraldi for six months in the early 1930s (Graham and Graham 1987:53). Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013), their son, lived on Waraldi, attending school there with about 10 to 15 other children, in the late 1930s. He lived with his great-​uncle, Lionel Hughes, and great-​aunt, Mary Jane Hughes, and their two children. He also returned in the mid-​1940s, as a young man, to live for three or four weeks with John ‘Uggie Goodner’ Stuart, to go rabbiting (int. Graham 19 February 2013). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012)  also lived there in 1938 or 1939, when he was six or seven years old, with his parents, Alfred Snr and Gladys Elizabeth O’Loughlin, and a couple of brothers, Daniel ‘Danny’ Patrick O’Loughlin and Jack Langdon O’Loughlin. His father was an expert shearer and mechanic—​working at Burgiyana before—​who would look after the shearers, maintain and grind the tools, start the machines up, drive all the tools and fix anything that broke down, as well as load the pens in the morning ready for shearing and getting the sheep ready (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). His mother was a housewife (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) attended school with other Aboriginal children. Some men also undertook rabbiting on Waraldi. The age of these people, between 12 and 23 years, suggests rabbiting was an activity undertaken by young men. In 1928, the station sent a rabbit trap over to the island (GRG52/​ 73/​3). In March 1938, rabbiters on the island included:  Jack Abdulla Jnr or Jim Abdulla, Howard Lawrence Buckskin, Ron (possibly Ross Mervyn) Buckskin, M.  Cook, Oswald Huntley O’Loughlin, Benjamin Richards, Oscar Richards and Walter Richards Jnr, Kenneth or Kevin Sansbury and Malcolm or Mervyn Sansbury, Nelson Dennis Varcoe and Thomas Henry Weetra (GRG52/​65/​2). In March 1946, Banks Long1 and Gordon Sansbury were rabbiting there (GRG52/​49/​1).

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Social landscapes 131 Faunal remains, including sheep bones (Ovis aries), indicate the consumption of sheep at the Old Village. This is further substantiated by Fred Graham’s (int. 19 February 2013) recollections that the ‘old people’ would have lived on whatever they had to eat over there, including sheep and rabbits. The superintendent did not consider the living quarters on Waraldi to be of high importance. Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013) and Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) note that they were all stone houses. Renovations to the cottages occurred in the 1930s (McLean 1934:8, 1936:9); Burgiyana men Darrell or Douglas Parry Sansbury, Jim Richards, Edward Russell Chester and Douglas (Gerald or Anzac) Milera undertook this work (GRG52/​65/​2). The building used for camping and sleeping had several rooms, including bedrooms and a kitchen (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The kitchen was the shorter end of an ‘L’ shape, with the bedroom in the middle and the sheep kept in a room at the top of the ‘L’ (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). ‘Couldn’t sleep at night much with the sheep baa-​ing all night’; although the sheep also had outside yards (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The floors were dirt or cement, yet Clem O’Loughlin (int. 26 February 2013) describes them as liveable and comfortable. Two types of toilets, a pit and pail type privy, were all outside (int. Graham 26 February 2013; GRG52/​1/​90/​1940). The main living quarters also had a water tank on top, from which the water would go into the in-​ground tank nearby (int. Graham 26 February 2013). Inside the living quarters was a fireplace (int. C. O’Loughlin 25 February 2013), a table, a bed and a hanging cooler wrapped in a wet bag, which kept the meat cool (int. C.  O’Loughlin and Graham 26 February 2013). Two metal bed heads are next to the limestone rubble suspected to be the remains of the living quarters. A Metters stove is located at the base of the short cliff beneath the living quarters. Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013)  remembered this type of wooden stove, with the plates, as the ‘best stoves going’. A  cluster of brick scatters and a concrete floor is what Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013) believes to be the remains of a house that Barney and Elizabeth Warrior lived in. Several ‘MBC’ embossed bricks may be from the Metropolitan Brick Company, established in Adelaide in 1882 with brickworks at Blackwood, Magill and Brompton (The Advertiser 1919:12). Other bricks also featured the embossing ‘PIRIE’, likely brought from Port Pirie by the BHP company. Barney ‘Poppa Syke’ Warrior and his wife, Elizabeth Warrior, whose rabbit pasties are famous, lived there too (int. Graham 19 February 2013). Their children, Vera Emily Warrior, Thelma May Warrior, Leon Goldsmith Warrior and Claude Huntley Warrior went to school on Waraldi (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  suggests that the superintendent used one of the houses on the island. Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) reinforces this, saying that ‘one whitefella [stayed] up in that house

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Figure 6.2 Fred Graham at the remains of the house of Barney and Elizabeth Warrior (M. Fowler, 2013)

there … the overseer for the old black people’. He used to live there when shearing time came but was not a permanent resident of the island (int. Graham 26 February 2013). This is more likely to be the overseer than the superintendent, as the farm manager or overseer often stayed on the island for several days, for example during shearing time, while the superintendent only went to the island for a single day to conduct inspections. This building has the remains of intact stone walls, covered in concrete plaster, as well as collapsed stone walls and partial concrete flooring. Some parts of the wall are hewn limestone or concrete, while other parts are natural limestone. Fred Graham (int. 26 February 2013) says it was a nice house with two bedrooms and a kitchen, as well as a tin roof and floorboards. A small outbuilding is also located west of this building—​likely a toilet or storage shed—​and this is the most intact building remaining in the Old Village, with only parts of the iron roof missing. Artefact scatters include bricks, glass, ceramic, bolts, bone, iron sheeting, driftwood and shell. Located on a flat area between the shoreline and the short cliff up to the main living area is a scatter with glass and ceramic. Denser than elsewhere in the Old Village, interpretations of this scatter fall into two schools. First, Fred Graham (int. 26 February 2013) suggests people were camping on the lower area before the construction of the living quarters and then shifted up after building. The second possibility is people

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Figure 6.3 Fred Graham and Clem O’Loughlin at the remains of the overseer’s house on Waraldi (A. Roberts, 2013)

in the Old Village used the area as a rubbish dump, where they discarded broken glass and ceramics. Further inland is another rubbish dump with larger hard rubbish. Manufacturers names embossed on the base or body of some glass fragments provide a broad date range of roughly 50  years, from ca 1897–​1948 (Arnold 1985). So, the artefactual evidence supports the use of this area to dispose of broken glass and ceramics. It is of course possible that the artefact scatter represents both an earlier campsite and a more recent rubbish dump. The glass artefacts also reveal that Adelaide products supplied the outstation; companies identified include Humphris & Sons Adelaide and the Adelaide Bottle Cooperative Society. Some artefact scatters triggered ‘lived experience’ memories. Fred Graham (int. 26 February 2013)  remembers having blue coloured dishes when he was a child living on the island, a recollection prompted by the identification of blue ceramic in an artefact scatter. Clem O’Loughlin (int. 26 February 2013) recollected this story from his childhood: They [O’Loughlin’s brother, Danny] let me down here on the little three-​ wheel bike I had, rope round the axle hanging onto it. Someone came out from the door there … [and said] ‘You want a piece of birthday

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Figure 6.4 Clem O’Loughlin at the location that triggered his childhood memory (A. Roberts, 2013)

cake?’ ‘Yeah’, he [Danny] threw the rope away and I went straight over [the cliff], might of been there. This personal memory reveals some aspects of the life of a Narungga child growing up on Waraldi (Fowler et  al. 2014:19). Further childhood experiences at Burgiyana are captured in a collection of crayon drawings.

Crayon drawings The collection of the Board for Anthropological Research series of ‘Children’s crayon drawings relating to the Harvard and Adelaide Universities Anthropological expedition to South Australia, New South Wales, Queensland, Cape Barren Island, Tasmania and Western Australia, 1938–​1939’ (AA346/​18), contains 91 crayon drawings made by children at Burgiyana in 1939. Maritime vessel depictions feature in 31 drawings and formed the basis of an exhibition (Roberts et al. 2014); some drawings feature more than one watercraft, resulting in 54 individual motifs, although the majority portrayed a single ship or boat image. The high percentage of

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Social landscapes 135 crayon drawings featuring maritime themes testifies to the cognitive presence of the sea in the lives of children at Burgiyana, again signalling cultural continuity (AA346/​18/​9; Roberts et al. 2014). Children’s experiences of the maritime landscape are often silenced, so the crayon drawings allow the voices of children experiencing maritime activities at the mission to be heard and privileged (Roberts et al. 2014:24). The only reference to the collection of the drawings at Burgiyana located in the archives was found in Dorothy Tindale’s journal (AA338/​2/​35/​5): The kiddies look healthy and there are some very nice homes here. … About 42 children were tested and all did drawings … Therefore, the motivations of the children at the time are unable to be contextualised (Roberts et al. 2014:25), although it is true that ‘the ship is a common and seemingly much loved pictorial category in various contexts’ (Westerdahl 2013:337). Most drawings that feature ships and boats were drawn by boys at Burgiyana, with only two being drawn by girls, Pearl Pearce and Leila. A range of vessel types and complexity of detail and style correlates to the age of the child, becoming more complex the older the child. All of the watercraft depictions demonstrate major structural elements, while most depict minor structural elements and fixtures or fittings. No vessels depict cargo and contents elements, while only three vessels depict people. All 54 watercraft depict hull structure, suggesting this is the single characteristic necessary to produce a watercraft motif. Also depicted are propulsion, chiefly masts, and rigging, primarily represented by sails. Superstructure and auxiliary items are also well-​represented across the motifs, however internal structure is only depicted once, and mechanical items are absent. This can be interpreted again by the age of the artists. Children are seeing and probably travelling by watercraft, however it is unlikely they are operating them and therefore have little understanding of the mechanical workings of the vessel. In addition, the internal structure of the large sailing ships would not have been seen, children viewing these ships from a distance and most likely not going on board themselves. The identification of the specific type of vessel (i.e., schooner, ketch, ship) represented in the watercraft depictions correlates to its detail. Evidently, children at Burgiyana were familiar with boats and ships, seeing and experiencing them often (Fowler et al. 2014:19). While some depictions show slight inaccuracies, others feature fine detail revealing an intimate knowledge of boat features. An exceptional appreciation of ship-​related details suggests a ‘culture-​specific interest’ in ships (Westerdahl 2014:133). Depictions of Western objects, such as these crayon drawings, are markedly shaped by, grounded in and entangled with Aboriginal worldviews and therefore have underlying cultural meaning (McGrath 2015:13).

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Leisure landscapes Leisure imposes a conventional definition because it is a Western, academic term (e.g., entertainment, freedom from obligation) (Iwasaki et al. 2009:159, 171), requiring deconstruction, critical reflection, decolonising and caution (Fox 2006:404; Iwasaki et al. 2009:159). Indigenous archaeology is well-​placed to ‘challenge hegemonic categories and dismantle binary frameworks’, such as ‘leisure’ and ‘work’ (economy) (Colwell-​Chanthaphonh et al. 2010:231). The orientation of activities—​such as picnicking, playing and fishing for pleasure in a cultural context—​towards the sea reflects the mental presence of maritime culture. The leisure landscape acknowledges leisure practices that are part of long-​term cultural structures. Leisure landscapes at Burgiyana include children making and playing in tin canoes, a practice which replicates the use of boats by adults and therefore transfers knowledge and skills between generations. Another aspect is beach picnics at various locations, which are community-​ wide socialising events incorporating cultural activities such as fishing knowledge and practice, a pursuit that has a long time-​depth. These leisure practices are not superficial but have deep cultural roots. Indeed, regarding Indigenous employment today, Indigenous peoples’ time is not necessarily divided between work and leisure, but is rather entirely allocated to ‘Aboriginal purposes and activities’ (McRae-​Williams and Gerritsen 2010:15). Cultural learning can take place through a variety of means—​including ‘fun’. The phrase leisure-​like allows for the themes of: 1) Family, friends and relationship-​oriented pursuits; 2) Helping people in community; and 3) Spiritual and cultural activities, culminating in ‘enjoyable and meaningful activities’ as an expression of lived culture (Iwasaki et al. 2009:159, 167). Therefore, it is difficult to separate leisure from culture in a Western sense. Tin canoes The leisure landscape highlights the participation of children, although the cultural and social complexities of fishing activities do not only serve leisure purposes. The construction of tin canoes by children at Burgiyana appears to have begun in the early 1950s. The canoes were carried by three kids on foot the 7 km to Winggara, an open swampy area with a fairly big and deep creek (int. R.  Newchurch 29 November 2013). Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) describes their construction: We all made these tin canoes out of corrugated sheets of iron, we’d bend them over, at the end of it we’d put black tar, heat it up and seal the ends. We had great fun, made our own paddles. Use of a hammer flattened the bottom to enable getting in and out without tipping over, and the selected tin had no holes in the middle (int. R.  Newchurch 29 November 2013). A  piece of stick with a square of

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Social landscapes 137 plywood at the ends, nailed on, formed paddles that were easily replaceable after breaking (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). An evidently home-​made paddle was located at Mungari and could be similar to the type described by Ron Newchurch. They were only a one-​person canoe, but each child had one and sometimes up to 20 to 30 children would go and camp on the weekends, living off the land (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Mainly boys would go up and down Winggara in the canoe, fishing line in the boat, catching fish (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013), although Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013)  also remembers paddling in Winggara in the tin canoes. Barry Power (int. 30 November 2013) remembers catching mullet in Winggara and making a fire to cook them on. These activities can be seen as replicating what the ‘old people’ were doing in their boats. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) also remembers using tin canoes in the dam when he was a child. In recent years, Ron Newchurch (int. 29 November 2013) has taught children at Point Pearce Aboriginal School ‘what we used to do’. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) makes it clear that the tin canoes in his time bore no similarity to bark canoes. Beach picnics Large number of Natives journeyed to beach. (GRG52/​49/​3) Christmas is a day that shows some tradition of visiting the beach, for instance in 1950 the Aboriginal people used a trolley and horses to go to the beach (GRG52/​49/​3). Some cultural activities were more structured, being organised by the mission. For example, a jubilee sports day was held at the beach on Christmas Day 1951 where trollies and a utility were used to transport people to the beach (GRG52/​49/​3). Earlier in the year, all the vehicles were loaned to the Aboriginal people at the mission to go to the beach for a day of fishing and swimming (GRG52/​49/​3), suggesting that some activities were conducted without the supervision of mission staff. In the 1960s, Easter weekend is also a time when everyone went down to the beach at the bay on the way to the Point. Children would be taken out on the boat, swim and hold the two ends of the net and the women and children would pull the fish in for the Easter barbeque feast (int. Walker 19 November 2013). Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) remembers going down the Thursday before Easter with Clem Graham and other children’s fathers who would net for garfish with the children helping. Clem Graham would also take the children over to Rocky Island to get shag and gulls eggs (int. Weetra 28 November 2013). Cecil Graham also had a boat and Cecil and Doris Graham took their children to Rocky Island to collect shag eggs from their nests, further evidence for a continuous use of the islands around Burgiyana Peninsula (Graham and Graham 1987:55).

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138  Social landscapes Several beaches around Burgiyana Peninsula are recorded as traditional picnicking areas, although Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  says there was no cultural determinants as to which beach was chosen on which day. Gagadhi, near Dharldiwarldu and just outside the Burgiyana boundary, is a significant beach, visited every Sunday by horse and cart or horse and trolley for picnicking (int. C. O’Loughlin 25 November 2013). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) remembers travelling in a tractor-​ trailer along with other children and their mothers to Gagadhi for the day, where older children would carry on into Dharldiwarldu for the jetty. These outings were an ongoing tradition where children would swim, and scones and cakes would be baked (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Dolly’s Jetty was also a popular place for day trips and Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) remembers going there for swimming as a child. Evidence for Dolly’s Jetty’s use as a playground for children appears today, with a rusted slide still attached to one of the jetty’s straights. Local children continue to play on it. Another area for these cultural gatherings was Winggara, an area of saltbushes, where people would camp along the beach road (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). Waraldi was also visited for cultural leisure activities and a favourite place to travel to for swimming and butterfishing was Hungry Bay (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). The Little Jetty, on Waraldi, was also used as a swimming place for children (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012).

Conclusions Leisure, society and economy are all tied to culture in the Aboriginal context of Burgiyana. Camping, fishing, swimming and picnicking are all leisure and cultural activities. Fishing, for example, occurred for many different reasons; livelihood (as discussed in Chapter 5), personal subsistence, education, communal benefit and ceremonial purposes. The two primary factors in the social landscape of Burgiyana are sex and age. Women’s activities in fishing are equal to those of men, revealing the fluidity of gendered divisions (Patton 2014:93). The role of children in fishing is also indistinguishable between labour and the transfer of cultural knowledge. Of course, all children at Burgiyana were familiar with ships, not only those living on Waraldi, as informed by the crayon drawings. Chapter  7 further explores the rich detail of the community residing on Waraldi, including the individuals, physical living conditions and families, discussing the tensions within and between communities.

Note 1  The son of Clarence and Lydia Long of Raukkan (Kartinyeri 2002).

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References The Advertiser, 1919. Monetary and commercial, 23 August, p. 12. Arnold, K., 1985. Collecting Australian Found Bottles:  Glass, Part  1. Crown Castleton: Maiden Gully. Ash, J., Manas, L., and Bosun, D., 2010. Lining the path: A seascape perspective of two Torres Strait missions, northeast Australia, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14(1):56–​85. Bennett, M., 2003. For a Labourer Worthy of His Hire:  Aboriginal Economic Responses to Colonisation in the Illawarra and Shoalhaven, 1770–​ 1900, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Faculty of Applied Science, University of Canberra, Bruce. Byrne, D., 2008. Counter-​mapping in the archaeological landscape. In David, B., and Thomas, J. (Eds.), Handbook of Landscape Archaeology. Left Coast Press: Walnut Creek, pp. 609–​616. Colwell-​Chanthaphonh, C., Ferguson, T.J., Lippert, D., McGuire, R.H., Nicholas, G.P., Watkins, J.E., and Zimmerman, L.J., 2010. The premise and promise of indigenous archaeology, American Antiquity 75(2):228–​238. Di Fazio, B.C., 2000. Living on the Edge: An Exploration of Fringe Camp Occupation in Beltana, Flinders Ranges, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Dornan, J.L., 2002. Agency and archaeology:  Past, present, and future directions, Journal of Archaeological Method and Theory 9(4):303–​329. Fowler, M., Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., and Graham, F., 2014. ‘They camped here always’: Archaeologies of attachment to seascapes via a case study at Wardang Island (Waraldi/​Wara-​dharldhi), South Australia, Australasian Historical Archaeology 32:14–​22. Fox, K., 2006. Leisure and Indigenous peoples, Leisure Studies 25(4):403–​409. Graham, D.M., and Graham, C.W., 1987. As We’ve Known It: 1911 to the Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Iwasaki, Y., Bartlett, J.G., Gottlieb, B., and Hall, D., 2009. Leisure-​like pursuits as an expression of Aboriginal cultural strengths and living actions, Leisure Sciences 31(2):158–​173. Kartinyeri, D., 2002. Narungga Nation. Doreen Kartinyeri: Adelaide. Krichauff, S., 2017. Kevin ‘Dookie’ O’Loughlin, OAM. In Brock, P., and Gara, T. (Eds.), Colonialism and its Aftermath: A History of Aboriginal South Australia. Wakefield Press: Mile End, pp. 196–​199. Mattingley, C., and Hampton, K., 1992. Survival in Our Own Land:  ‘Aboriginal’ Experiences in ‘South Australia’ since 1936: Told by Nungas and Others. Hodder & Stoughton: Rydalmere. McGrath, P.F., 2015. Three weeks with strangers: Photography and the production of social identity during the 1935 Board of Anthropological Research expedition to the Warburton Range, Western Australia, Australian Journal of Anthropology 26(1):74–​93. McLean, M.T., 1934. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1934. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. McLean, M.T., 1936. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended 30th June, 1936. Frank Trigg: Adelaide.

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140  Social landscapes McRae-​ Williams, E., and Gerritsen, R., 2010. Mutual incomprehension:  The cross cultural domain of work in a remote Australian Aboriginal community, International Indigenous Policy Journal 1(2):1–​27. Morrison, M., McNaughton, D., and Shiner, J., 2010. Mission-​based Indigenous production at the Weipa Presbyterian Mission, western Cape York Peninsula (1932–​ 66), International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:86–​111. Osborne, M., and Downs, J., 2012. Ecological Sustainable Development Fisheries Management Social Objectives & Indicators: Testing the Social Framework with the Narungga Community of South Australia (Draft). Primary Industries and Regions SA Fisheries: Adelaide. Patton, J.K., 2014. Considering the wet homelands of indigenous Massachusetts, Journal of Social Archaeology 14(1):87–​111. Ransley, J., 2011. Maritime communities and traditions. In Catsambis, A., Ford, B., and Hamilton, D. (Eds.), The Oxford Handbook of Maritime Archaeology. Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 879–​903. Richards, N., 2008. Ships’ Graveyards: Abandoned Watercraft and the Archaeological Site Formation Processes. University Press of Florida: Gainesville. Rigney, L.-​I., 2002. Foreword. In Chittleborough, A., Dooley, G., Glover, B., and Hosking, R. (Eds.), Alas, for the Pelicans! Flinders, Baudin and Beyond. Wakefield Press: Kent Town, pp. ix–​xiv. Roberts, A., Mollenmans, A., Agius, Q., Graham, F., Newchurch, J., Rigney, L.-​I., Sansbury, F., Sansbury, L., Turner, P., Wanganeen, G., and Wanganeen, K., 2016. ‘They planned their calendar…they set up ready for what they wanted to feed the tribe’: A first-​stage analysis of Narungga fish traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11(1):1–​25. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and “Hidden Histories”: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Wanganeen, K., forthcoming. The Butterfish Mob: Narungga Cultural Fishing. Wakefield Press: Adelaide. Smith, A., and Beck, W., 2003. The archaeology of no man’s land: Indigenous camps at Corindi Beach, mid-​north coast New South Wales, Archaeology of Oceania 38(1):66–​77. Smyth, D., 1993. A Voice in All Places: Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Interests in Australia’s Coastal Zone. Resource Assessment Commission: Canberra. Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Westerdahl, C., 2009. The horse as a liminal agent, Archaeologia Baltica 11:314–​327. Westerdahl, C., 2010. Lake Vanern: Reflections on dynamic continuity and changing shore-​lines, Skyllis 1:65–​77. Westerdahl, C., 2013. Medieval carved ship images found in Nordic churches: The poor man’s votive ships?, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 42(2): 337–​347. Westerdahl, C., 2014. The maritime Middle Ages—​Past, present and future: Some ideas from a Scandinavian horizon, European Journal of Archaeology 17(1):120–​138. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Point Pearce Social History Project, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside.

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7  Territorial landscapes

How we lived together, how we lived independently on the peninsula. (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013)

‘It is not uncommon for multiple cultural landscapes to exist in the same physical space’ (Westerdahl 2011:333), as is the case at Burgiyana where Aboriginal people interacted daily with non-​Indigenous missionaries, farmers, fishers, miners and sailors. The territorial landscape includes the internal power and resistance landscape of cultural contact (both positive and negative). Thus, it is well-​placed to explore colonisation, from initial contact (external) to long-​ term cross-​ cultural engagement (internal). The territorial landscape investigates whether outside groups, such as the church or the state, had an interest in controlling maritime activities, for example sea routes and fishing, whether those interests aligned with local groups and whether there was then conflict within or between groups (Westerdahl 2012:331). ‘Every landscape of power has been challenged by a landscape of resistance’, although a lack of archaeological evidence can also define power and resistance, i.e., the exclusion of certain groups from an area (Westerdahl 2014:135). Archaeological evidence within banned areas, i.e., violating proscribed boundaries or using alternative toponymies, may also indicate power and resistance, as it has also been spatially expressed at missions through the (resistance to) reorganisation of space (Duncan 2006:22–​23; Griffin 2010:157, 164). The territorial landscape reveals particular places in the Burgiyana and Guuranda landscape where cross-​cultural engagement was prevalent, as well as places that reinforced the bounded setting of the mission.

Contact In the initial period of contact—​where early interactions may have featured defence—​it is evident that some Narungga people resisted the draw of the mission and remained as outsiders for a time (as occurred elsewhere in Australia, see O’Connor et al. 2013:551). This territorial landscape is very hard to access from a maritime perspective.

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142  Territorial landscapes The population of Aboriginal women kidnapped from coastal South Australia and taken to Kangaroo Island may have included people from Guuranda (Krichauff 2008:32; Taylor 2008:127–​128). Women from the Walker family of Raukkan, who married into Burgiyana families, lived on Kangaroo Island, including Sally Walker (Kartinyeri 2002:207). Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (2002:xi) also notes that his ancestor Nellie Raminyemmerin, kidnapped from Kaurna Country and taken to Kangaroo Island, was a sister of Invaritji who was from Burgiyana and Raukkan. George Walker (int. 19 November 2013) suggests that old sailors, sealers and whale hunters came across to the bottom end of Guuranda to meet with Aboriginal women. Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  also highlights that these visitors drew on Aboriginal knowledge of the maritime landscape for navigation, which is often dismissed in the history of Kangaroo Island. It was with the help of Indigenous guides and crew that sealers and whalers gained local knowledge of the coast, which was in turn crucial for establishing settlements and trading routes during colonisation (Anderson 2016:33). Many visitors have sailed through the area, including the British, Matthew Flinders, and the French, Nicolas Baudin (Krichauff 2008:14), although it is Narungga who have ‘lived it, harnessed it, looked after it [and] farmed it’ (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). These scientific voyages of ‘discovery’ by colonial powers aimed to map Australia’s uncharted southern coast (Krichauff 2008:14). Only on one documented occasion did a party come ashore during the time these exploratory ships were in Narungga waters and no known direct contact with Narungga people took place (Krichauff 2008:25–​26). Indigenous peoples first contributed to the post-​contact marine economy through in-​kind support. For example, before the arrival of missionaries, Aboriginal peoples traded fish for other supplies with some of the first non-​ Indigenous peoples to travel into traditional Aboriginal lands (Griffiths 1988:120, 127–​ 128; Krichauff 2008:117, 124). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013)  has knowledge of settlers, such as artist and surveyor Edward Snell, trading flour, milk and tobacco for Snapper and suggests that this was the beginning of Narungga people ‘selling’ fish within the Western economy. In 1850—​in addition to trading bits of tobacco and red wafers (slabs of dried pigment) for Snapper, butterfish and leatherjacket (Family Monacanthidae)—​Snell also bought two fishing nets in exchange for a pipe, tobacco and a knife (Griffiths 1988:120, 127–​128). A Narungga family, ‘the grandmother, Tilly, Milly and her son Charlie’ had a close relationship in the early 1900s with the Edwards family who operated a pastoral station. Charlie would spear butterfish, mullet or flathead at Parson’s Beach and ‘kept the Edwards family in fish’ (Parsons 1987:4). When the Edwards’ moved to Minlaton, Charlie and other Narungga fishermen would bring their fish to town to sell and Mrs Edwards would buy any unsold fish (Parsons 1987:5). An aspect of the Burgiyana maritime landscape is that Waraldi was the site of the ‘headman’ of the Aboriginals on Guuranda (The Advertiser 1886:36), King Tommy’s, first encounter with Europeans:

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Territorial landscapes 143 He has often told his experience with the first white men he met, which meeting took place on Wauraltee Island. Some sailors came ashore and gave him a smoke, which made him sick. He thought, “white fellow poison him”. Notwithstanding this experience he took up smoking, which he did not give up until compelled by Nature’s inevitable law. King Tommy was influential amongst Narungga people and was instrumental in the establishment of the mission, supporting the organisation of a school and township to care for the elderly and sick since 1865 (Krichauff 2008:145, 161, 181). In the same year as the establishment of the mission, the Wadla waru ‘tribe’ spent the summer season in Gardina, Wadla waru and Munda, fishing, while the Peninsula ‘tribe’ frequented Parara (or Clay Gully, a landing and property near present-​day Ardrossan), Gudliwardi, Yorke Town and Penton Vale for fishing (Hamilton 1868:4). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) is also aware of the issuing of fish hooks and lines to the Narungga ‘mob’ at Wadla waru for catching mullet, like the issuing of flour and bread. In 1909, depots across South Australia took delivery of 132 pounds of netting twine, 1,150 fish hooks and 175 fishing lines (South 1909:5–​6). From a power and dominance perspective, only the local, illiterate community owned the knowledge of the coast, having learnt it in a tactile way from male relatives, usually from father to son (Westerdahl 2010:74). This personal knowledge was thus protected from outsiders, but in times of colonisation this knowledge was invaluable and monopolised by either party, indeed, examples of local fisherpeople’s and islander’s capture by the enemy and enforced role as a navigator exist (Westerdahl 2010:74). Narungga people, such as Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013), recognise that Narungga involvement in Dharldiwarldu’s port history, including as navigators, is under-​theorised and silenced. Europeans took Aboriginal people on board their sailing ships to aid in navigating local areas and act as conduits to communicate with the local community (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  suggests a misrepresentation of Aboriginal people as interpreters for the local Aboriginal community, downplaying their skills in navigation and seapersonship because it undermines the orthodox narrative of ‘the great European sailor’. History does not credit Aboriginal people for their understanding of the local seascapes, which they succeeded in assisting colonists to navigate (int. Rigney 18 July 2013). Fisherpeople, due to a dependence on successful catches for both occupation and livelihood, guarded (and continue to guard) knowledge of local transit lines, transferred through formulas and rhymes (Westerdahl 2010:127). The knowledge of the coast, through cognitive or verbal seamarks, was one aspect of the Narungga community’s knowledge European colonisers used. Aboriginal man Ben Sims sharing traditional fishing knowledge with a ‘white’ family of the same name (also spelt Simms)

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144  Territorial landscapes demonstrates this (Roberts et al. 2013:84). Thus, the colonisers attempted to dominate and monopolise sea knowledge, one of the currencies of power, in some cases to the detriment of the local community. Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) remembers a more recent example of this, when a non-​ Aboriginal fisherman took the mark off them while fishing at Cave drop, located on the western side of Waraldi.

Waraldi Wardang Island … has been a highly contestable place. It’s spoken about in history and it’s been invisible in history. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013) Alongside the mission’s grazing activities on Waraldi, BHP was using the island for sand quarrying, a mine founded on sea-​going transport. By 1913, the flux works employed 20 to 30 men and a boat with a 20 hp engine and capable of carrying 30 passengers was soon sent (The Register 1913:15). In 1918, they took another 15 mineral leases containing 426 acres on the west coast of Waraldi, adjoining their previous lease (No. 430)  (GRG52/​ 1/​27/​1918). BHP was still working on Waraldi in 1937 (The Advertiser 1937:17) and in 1946 got a new boat for up to 70 passengers which could travel between Dharldiwarldu and Waraldi in half an hour (The Advertiser 1946b:3). The relationship between Burgiyana and BHP was beneficial to both parties in some instances. In 1915, the sheep were able to stay on Waraldi over summer because boats engaged by the BHP company in connection with their flux quarries brought water from Port Pirie (South 1915:9). The mission supplied the BHP men with mutton in 1916, about 30 sheep per month, acting as their butchers (South 1916:11). But the relationship between the mission and BHP was much more complex than this. In 1927, Haywood, the BHP manager, complained about station sheep, which were grazing on the northern end of the island (GRG52/​1/​72/​1927). Superintendent J.B. Steer believed that the mission had the right to graze on the mining leases and wrote to the Chief Protector of Aboriginals because Haywood was ‘very nasty to Smith over the matter’ (GRG52/​1/​72/​1927). The outcome of the discussion was that the Aborigines’ Department granted the mining company grazing rights over the enclosed area at the northern end of the island at the site of their buildings, on the condition that the mining company keep the fence in repair so that the station stock could not gain access to the enclosure (GRG52/​1/​72/​1927). Burgiyana and BHP sold several vessels to each other. Jack W.  Waters, the BHP manager, inspected the station barge in 1948 and, a year later, BHP purchased it for £15 (GRG52/​49/​2). When seeking to buy the station launch in 1949, Waters mentioned that he heard that its sale would most likely occur with the station dinghy (GRG52/​1/​99/​1949).

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Territorial landscapes 145 The mining landscape provides another layer to the maritime activities at Burgiyana and several tangible reminders exist at the BHP Village. An iron-​ stocked anchor, with one fluke laid back against the stock and anchor chain, serves as a monument at the cliff top near the BHP Village. This anchor, located away from the jetty, moored the sand barge from Port Pirie with a heavy chain attached to the barge (Stuart Moody pers. comm. 23 October 2014). G. Price, who operated the tourist business on the island, relocated it in 1969 or early 1970 (Stuart Moody pers. comm. 23 October 2014). Also, two ships’ tanks rest near the existing main street of buildings. Although a fraught area for the community, an indirect connection to the maritime industry is the labour of Aboriginal peoples at the BHP mine on Waraldi. Those Aboriginal people working for the mining company included Cecil Graham’s uncle, Lionel Hughes, who worked on the flux for BHP after the sheep (Graham and Graham 1987:53; int. Graham 19 February 2013), and Barney Warrior. But Aboriginal employees still lived in the Old Village rather than at the BHP township (int. Graham 25 February 2013). Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013) indicates that it was around the early 1940s that employment shifted from the mission sheep to the BHP mining. Yet, employment at the flux company commenced as early as 1899, with the employment of three Aboriginal men from the mission at that time (GRG52/​1/​69/​1899). Superintendent Benjamin Lathern in 1899 stated: It is unfortunate for us that the Flux company were allowed to come to Wauraltee Island. The discontented go between and it generally complicates matters. (GRG52/​1/​69/​1899) In 1916, several men are again employed for some months at the flux quarries on the island (South 1916:12). The revelation that the mission was not altogether pleased that residents were working at the Waraldi mine breaks ‘the silences that obscure Indigenous people serving as laborers in colonial settlement’ (Silliman 2010:50). No doubt the Burgiyana employees felt conflicted and needed income. Thus, Aboriginal people were not passive, bending to the mission’s will, but rather were active agents and able to make choices about their employment in the colonial industry, a fact equally true of Narungga people as active agents before this in the nineteenth century (Krichauff 2008:iii, 150). The mining of Waraldi is also more complex in that the mining disturbed pre-​contact archaeological and cultural sites, in addition to destroying the environment (Amy Roberts pers. obs.). Devil’s Window, a place named by the community, is the location of the large quarry cut on Waraldi (int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013). The mission and BHP employees shared many aspects of the concurrent economic activities, for example the Aboriginal people living on Waraldi used the mining launches to travel to Dharldiwarldu or sent their shopping

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146  Territorial landscapes lists with the mining company boat drivers. During the late 1930s, the launch ran every two to three days and Gladys O’Loughlin would go over to Dharldiwarldu to go shopping for bread, butter and meat (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Fred Graham (int. 25 February 2013)  recalled this anecdote: Used to go put baggies there for the launch to go over the island to get you stuff. I told you my uncle [Lionel Hughes] stopped here in the first place, in the first cottage, so he said to me and my cousins, you know, Steve [Stephen] Williams, ‘You boys better go down there and put them bags in for the mail tomorrow’. So off we go put them bags in, dark night, so we had to put them on the, they had things on the jetty there where you used to put bags, and the bloke that used to, Anderson, I think his name was, used to drive the launch to the island. So we went down there and took that down there and we were coming home and remember it’s a pitch-​dark night and we can’t see anything and this cutting here [leading down to The Bay], you know what our uncle does? He went down this cutting with a sheet, waited for us, so when we came back he was floating like a ghost coming up and it was a dark night. By the powers didn’t we go! The baggies referred to are hessian bags collected by the launch driver. In the bags was a list and the goods were then collected in Dharldiwarldu and returned to the island (Graham pers. comm. 3 July 2013). Fred Graham’s humorous and insightful personal story, rich in detail of daily life on the island, is an example of the intangible trajectories—​such as pathways and sailing routes—​away from transit points like the Little Jetty to a wider seascape (Fowler et al. 2014:18–​19). The Waraldi launch visited on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays, providing transport for both the BHP company and the Aboriginal population living there (Heinrich 1976:89). Herbert Holding and Jack Doyle ran the launch until 1937 and William ‘Billy’ Ritter, Russell Ritter and Charles Anderson, amongst others, ran it after 1946 (Heinrich 1976:89; int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). One of the BHP company vessels is Silver Spray (1944–​at least 1954), the sister ship to Silver Cloud, which was also used as a supply launch for Waraldi (The Recorder 1949:3). BHP was still using Silver Spray as late as 1954 (The Recorder 1954:1). The mining activity resulted in more contact within the maritime domain than would have otherwise been the case. For example, in 1934, Burgiyana children living on Waraldi received new toys from Father Christmas, who flew to the island, alongside the children of non-​Indigenous mining families (The Barrier Miner 1934:3). Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) remembers Barney Warrior living on the island (he was elected to the school committee in 1938 [GRS48/​72/​1/​T]) and the Warrior children going to school there.

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Territorial landscapes 147 Cross-​cultural contact not only resulted in tensions between Indigenous and non-​Indigenous peoples, but also between Aboriginal people. The relationship with the gunyas on Waraldi resulted in those Burgiyana people who worked there thinking they were ‘a bit higher’ than those on Burgiyana (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). Clem O’Loughlin (int. 14 November 2012) states: Wardang Island people were like that, stuck together all the time. I suppose others did too, but they had more to do over Wardang I think and made them a bit cocky, you know. Dad was the mechanic over there; he was the headman, you know, for the sheep and shearing sheds. He kept in charge of all those things. Differential Aboriginal involvement in the pastoral domain is evidence for individual, as well as group, agency (Paterson 2003:52, 63). Not all Aboriginal people had equal access to, and knowledge of, ‘white’ people and, also, some had specific responsibilities to pastoralists as well as to their own society (Paterson 2003:63). The Burgiyana maritime landscape reveals the changing cultural structures and technologies brought about by the contact and post-​ contact periods (Rönnby 2007:79). In relation to agency, a range of pre-​existing social institutions and practices were important to cross-​cultural engagement, for example ‘power and prestige structures, survival tactics, social distinctions such as kinship, and location of one’s country’ (Paterson 2003:63). Liminality Missionaries aimed to create boundaries where they do not exist in nature through the spatial layout of mission settlements, by imposing new forms of settlement organisation and space and time routines (Griffin 2000:22; Keating 2012; Lydon and Ash 2010:2). Yet, the location of buildings at another Aboriginal settlement, Wybalenna in Tasmania, undermined the sense of a cohesive village because, except for the church and terraced houses, buildings were distant (Lydon 2009:21). Given the geographic location of Burgiyana, it is useful to question how the proximity of the sea, as a ‘natural’ feature, influenced the spatial boundaries put in place by missionaries, by considering the ‘large scale mosaics of lands/​seas outside the reserve boundaries’ (Brown 2007:36). As mobility is the principal feature affecting all maritime-​related operations (Steffy 1994:8), did the authority of the settlement fade when Aboriginal peoples left Burgiyana and crossed the sea to Waraldi and other nearby islands? Islands are beautiful places, they do things to us. They are seductive, they are romantic. They have an aura about them, their isolation, because not many people can get across. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013)

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148  Territorial landscapes But, Waraldi was a restricted place due to its geography, as an island. Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013)  also conceptualises Waraldi as isolating, which is interesting as this is often a Western notion; isolation is a powerful image in Western literature and historical European thought (Hiscock 2008:129). A  false sense of freedom, because of the isolation Waraldi provided, may explain this correlation of Aboriginal expressions of worldview with Western ones (Nicholas 2001:11). A post-​contact liminal zone is, thus, an apt description of Waraldi. Waraldi and the Burgiyana community living and working there are part of a liminal zone, caught between the maritime environment of the sea and the terrestrial environment of land. The lack of interest given to the living quarters and conditions on Waraldi by the mission superintendent indicates an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ mentality which further supports the island’s liminal status. Like the boat as a liminal space (Westerdahl 2009a:316), Waraldi is a liminal place as it allows certain freedoms as well as certain restrictions. Oral history recollections provide direct insights into how people have conceptualised their relationship with the environment in the past, such as islandscapes, and feelings relating to mobility and connectivity across seas and islands. The maritime landscape of Burgiyana allowed for many opportunities for waterborne transport and travel, crossing borders created by authorities. Many memories of Waraldi relate this sense of travelling, such as this recollection of Cecil Wallace Graham: It was a working holiday I  suppose. It was a lovely place, nothing modern, but we enjoyed it. You could see right through the big old windows, that we’d prop open with a stick. Wardang was a very nice Island. … But, like I said, Wardang was a wonderful place. There were fish and plenty to eat. … Fishing and rabbiting and swimming, that’s what they’re going over there now for. It’s really restful over there. (Graham and Graham 1987:53) Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) explains that although denuded of some of its natural vegetation and ravaged by rabbits, goats and sheep, Waraldi is still held as a beautiful location, people’s reminiscences of the beaches are fond; it is pristine with no noise and light pollution. Fred Graham (int. 19 February 2013) recalls it as ‘a lovely place, Wardang Island, you know, beaches and shacks [houses in the BHP Village] and them things that’s there’. The permit system, described in Chapter  2, played a part in cognitive conceptions of Waraldi as permissions to travel around Waraldi were not required, unlike on the mainland: On the island … they had the freedom to go where they wanted to go. On Point Pearce they didn’t have the freedom. … On the Point Pearce

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Territorial landscapes 149 Mission, you had to have permits to go to Adelaide, permits to come back. On the island, you had nothing. You could wander around … freedom. (int. Graham 19 February 2013) Fred Graham (int. 26 February 2013)  had further recollections while on Country at Waraldi: You know what we had here? I’ll tell you what we had here: Enjoyment, of life. That’s what we had here. We got away from all them things and we enjoyed life over Wardang; we did fishing, we worked, we done rabbiting, we done things and we was free persons, and that was the reason and the good luck we had on Wardang Island and away from all the stuff where you couldn’t do this, and you had to have permits for this. No doctors, no one to bring the kids into the world (and it went on and on). And as I said we had the freedom of mind over here, we done what we wanted. Run around the island. I’ve been over every inch of this island and I walked it, I run, and rabbit, I done all the things, I was free and then we were free persons. As Clem O’Loughlin (int. 26 February 2013) stated, people were ‘always happy to get off Point Pearce’. While you were ‘still under the same sort of thing’ as at Burgiyana, Waraldi provided a break, freedom and a refuge (int. Graham 26 February 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) explains this further, ‘I think when you look at the old people and the early days of Point Pearce’s settlement and Point Pearce, they didn’t feel like they were locked up, even though there were permit systems and restrictions … because it was self-​sustained, because it was their own’. He states that Waraldi did not represent an aspect of freedom so much as a place of relaxation and spirituality. From a cognitive perspective, maritime life represents ‘freedom’ which is of high value to those people from a maritime culture, although this ‘freedom’ is an illusion (Westerdahl 2008b:225). It is interesting to note that there was no church on Waraldi, so those people living there were not subjected to the same religious regimes as those at Burgiyana proper, where the church, and particularly the bell, controlled many aspects of the residents’ lives (Fowler et al. 2019). The toponym Adam and Eve Beach, at the south-​eastern extremity of Waraldi, if not reinforcing the Christianising aspects of the mission, certainly points to the islands colonised nature. The sea influenced the spatial boundaries put in place by missionaries. This is another indicator of the liminality of Waraldi—​a zone the Christianising elements of the mission did not extend to. Furthermore, religion governed the lives of the ‘old people’; their rules and morals were outstanding compared to today’s generation (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) explains

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Figure 7.1 Fred Graham off the coast of Waraldi (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

that this relates to fishing, how the fishing was, how the working was and how Indigenous and non-​Indigenous peoples shared Waraldi. Lester-​ Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) summarises the cultural, spiritual, linguistic and economic importance of Waraldi for Narungga people, ‘it’s a part of our cultural progression and knowledge transmission’. Although inland agricultural settlements are the basis for archaeological models of the historic period and are thus linear strips or transects, landscape archaeology has, since its earliest conceptualisations, taken into account links and communications (Parker 2001:28). Mobility is a theme with many overlaps in both post-​ contact contexts and landscape-​ scale analyses. Indigenous post-​contact studies at missions, reserves and fringe camps have explored mobility. Several archaeologists (Byrne 2008; Di Fazio 2000; Smith and Beck 2003:66) have discussed Indigenous settlement and movement patterns within, around and between the geometric or cadastral grid of ‘white’ fences and legal boundaries. Often marginal land along rivers or coasts served as the location for Indigenous reserves, for example ‘no man’s land’ behind the dunes of Corindi Beach (NSW) (Smith and Beck 2003). Plans of missions can show the location of officials’ houses near exits, entries and gates, as well as transport points such as jetties, wharves and roads (Sutton 2003:84–​85). Thus, withdrawing access to mobility, including maritime mobility (i.e., access to boats), served as one mechanism to control Indigenous peoples.

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Territorial landscapes 151 Indigenous peoples access to oceans and rivers, in comparison to the land, provided a subsistence source during the post-​ contact period (Bennett 2007:90). At Ramahyuck and Lake Tyers Mission Station’s, in the Gippsland region of Victoria, the missionary goal of enclosing and domesticating the landscape was unsuccessful due to the simple reason that the location of institutions was on the edge of another spatial landscape, rivers and seas: waterscapes (Attwood 1989:65). Aims to achieve self-​supporting missions through the supplementation of resources by traditional foraging economies further facilitated access to this maritime landscape (Attwood 1989:65). In the case of Burgiyana, different economic factors facilitated access: the island pastoral industry. At Ramahyuck, fishing was a way for Aboriginal women to escape from the order of the mission to a space that reflected traditional practices (Attwood 1989:67). A visitor to Ramahyuck Mission Station once described its self-​sufficiency as ‘like a ship’ (Attwood 1989:8), an ironic statement given maritime vessels actually offered movement away from the mission.

Dharldiwarldu We used to watch the big boats come in, windjammers, you know. (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012) Dharldiwarldu, as a maritime enclave classified by the government within the transport system (i.e., as a port), has also influenced transport routes in the Burgiyana and Waraldi region. Burgiyana’s entanglement with international transport zones centres on the urban harbour of Dharldiwarldu, following the open sea route of the Cape Horner’s and windjammers to Europe. Urban harbour landscapes, comprising specialised infrastructure to service ships and sailors and help the exchange of goods from ship to land and vice versa (e.g., adequate warehouse storage), allow for the examination of communication, distribution, trade and economic systems of harbour towns (Bill and Clausen 1999:9). The location of harbours, while based on natural topography, are a cultural choice and construct (Westerdahl 2012:261). At first considered a non-​Indigenous maritime landscape, given a lack of documentation of Aboriginal peoples’ involvement in port work (such as lumping) in local non-​Indigenous histories (Roberts et al. 2014:29, with the exception of Moody [2016]), envisaging wider landscapes reveals that Dharldiwarldu is as important to the Aboriginal maritime landscape. Given the proximity of Burgiyana and Waraldi to Dharldiwarldu, there are many insights into cross-​cultural engagement and instances of interaction: Every Sunday the sailors off the barques used to come ashore in dinghys and sometimes they’d walk to the Mission Station to have a look around. They were sailors from overseas, from Finland and those far away places. One Sunday one of my little boys was out playing in the

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152  Territorial landscapes yard and one of these sailors came up to the gate and was talking to him. When I came outside, the sailor asked me if I would like to sell him my little curly-​headed boy [Fred Graham Jnr], to take back home with him. I said, ‘Sorry mate, he’s not for sale’. (Graham and Graham 1987:57–​58) Furthermore, Burgiyana people are knowledgeable about the comings and goings of the international sailing ships (Roberts et al. 2014:28–​29). Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013)  details the ballast ground, located near Rocky Island, or what he calls the ‘balance’ ground: They got a ground out here they call the balance ground. You know when the big ships come in? They used to chuck their balance over there and then load up with wheat and that … would balance the boat again. People also utilised the wider intrastate maritime routes to travel from one place to another. In 1905, for example, Mrs R.  Newchurch and her two children took passage on a steamer from Port Lincoln to Dharldiwarldu via Wadla waru (GRG52/​1/​77/​1905). Another connection between Burgiyana and the Dharldiwarldu windjammer’s is Playmate, the first of the Offshore Fishing Company’s tourist launches which arrived at Dharldiwarldu in 1946, captained by Wally Petersen (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013; The Advertiser 1946a:2). It was also part of the mission’s leisure activities as, in 1948, M.A. Walloscheck, the manager of the mission, took a group of tourists from Clare (SA) out on Playmate for a viewing of the sailing vessels Viking and Lawhill which were at anchor at Dharldiwarldu (Northern Argus 1948:7). Clem O’Loughlin’s (int. 15 October 2012 by Amy Roberts) brother, Alfred ‘Locky’ O’Loughlin Jnr, also took his boat out to Lawhill and drank with the sailors. Port work It’s simply too ridiculous to fathom the notion that Aboriginal involvement in seamanship and on boats, either as workers on boats or as someone that assists, in such a huge port as Port Victoria at the time. But history pays this no mind. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013) Little evidence reveals Aboriginal peoples’ employment on a full-​time basis within the maritime industry. Most occupations including boatbuilding, fishing and lumping at ports occurred on a part-​time or seasonal basis. The racist attitude towards Indigenous employment, both for wages (‘cheap labour’) and unpaid (‘exploitation’), in many aspects of Australia’s economy extends to the maritime industry (Mattingley and Hampton 1992:117, 127). When discussing lumping at Dharldiwarldu, Clem O’Loughlin stated,

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Figure 7.2 At Burgiyana where men lumped bags of wheat onto boats for shipping (Dr Doreen Kartinyeri Collection, South Australian Native Title Services, 2006/​36/​373)

‘Nhangga’s often had to do the low paid jobs anna?’ (Roberts et al. 2014:28–​ 29). Only collaboration with Indigenous peoples can allow a glimpse of the ‘invisible life’ of Aboriginal workers in the maritime industry which is often undocumented in the colonial archive (Hemming 2002:55). Besides going out to different communities for seasonal work, Narungga peoples worked stacking and lumping in and around Dharldiwarldu, and at ports at other places on Guuranda, in relation to shipping (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013; int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013). Lumping was one part of the involvement of Aboriginal people in wider shipping activities (int. J.  Newchurch 25 September 2013; Roberts et  al. 2014:28–​ 29). Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013) describes the transport of wheat and barley onto the sailing ships at Dharldiwarldu: They used to bring wheat and barley, same as everyone else, on horse and buggy. Big thing on rails, put all the wheat on and pull it out to the end of the jetty with the horse, and put it in the boats and dinghies and that sort of thing, and take it out to the big ships. Clem O’Loughlin’s (int. 25 November 2013)  brother, Alfred ‘Locky’ O’Loughlin Jnr, lumped for Passat, Lawhill and Pamir in the 1940s, taking

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154  Territorial landscapes bags on and off the jetty to the boats (Roberts et al. 2014:28). John Francis Milera, Donald Miles Newchurch and Clarence ‘Clarrie’ Bryan Newchurch also lumped wheat at Dharldiwarldu for shipping to Port Adelaide on SS Nelcebee—​which traded from 1883 to 1982—​in the 1940s and 1950s (int. C. O’Loughlin 15 October 2012 by Amy Roberts). Lyle Sansbury (int. 30 November 2013) says that Richard ‘Dick’ Sansbury also worked on ketches and schooners, fishing from those big boats. In 1916, Burgiyana men did all the wheat lumping at Balgowan Jetty (South 1916:12; The Register 1916:4) and in 1919, Superintendent J.B. Steer documented that Burgiyana men did most of the wheat lumping at Balgowan, although the port shipped very little wheat that season (South 1919:11). The Port of Balgowan often gave work to men from the mission as wheat lumpers, including in 1920 and 1921 (Garnett 1920:10, 1921:10). Indeed, in 1936 at Balgowan, ‘all the labor is done by aborigines from the Point Pearce Mission’ (Edwardes 1936:33), and according to Moody (2016:19, 106)  for many years Balgowan was the only South Australian grain port at which the grain buying agents employed only Aboriginal labour to undertake the entire bag handling work. Clem O’Loughlin used to live at Balgowan when his father, Alfred O’Loughlin, was lumping wheat there and the ketches ‘used to come round to load up off the jetty’ (Liebelt et al. 2016:101; Moody 2016:19). Robert ‘Bob’ Wanganeen was the head lumper of the team of Burgiyana workers (Moody 2016:117; The Kadina and Wallaroo Times 1952:1), while Harold James Weetra (Snr) worked the wheat trucks on the jetty for many years (Moody 2016:106). Lumpers also included Cecil Wallace Graham, Arthur Lennox Wanganeen, Glen (Anzac or McKenzie) Wanganeen, James McKenzie Wanganeen, Leslie Norman Wanganeen, Shine Wanganeen, Stanford Malcolm Wanganeen and Robert Wilson (Snr, Thomas Jnr or George) (Moody 2016:19). Lumpers built the stacks on the shore and lumped grain to the jetty, ‘riding the jetty truck down the jetty, one foot on the brake to stop it going over the end’, as well as working on the jetty to assist in loading ketches and other vessels, sliding the bags down the planked chute (Moody 2016:19, 106, 108, 110, 114–​115). Captain James Gillespie (in Moody 2016:108) recalls playing with Aboriginal children during his childhood, including a Wanganeen, on the beach and in the water while loading was in progress. Burgiyana men and their families camped on the beach or near sandhills, at the southwest corner of town (Moody 2016:19, 108). Some Burgiyana people built huts from old galvanised iron, while Robert and Leslie Norman Wanganeen lived in a stone house on the main street (Moody 2016:19, 110). Working at Balgowan from Monday to noon on Saturday, lumpers returned to Burgiyana at the weekend, travelling along the back of the sand dunes in sulkies (Moody 2016:19, 106). Fishing was never far from the minds of those Burgiyana men working at Balgowan. Indeed, David and Peter Hill (in Moody 2016:114–​115) recall

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Territorial landscapes 155 seeing Robert Wanganeen drifting around the bay on flat calm days in an old dinghy, spearing butterfish with a long spear. Harold Pearson (in Moody 2016:117) also recalls Robert Wanganeen keeping a hand spear with an attachable extension laying on the jetty, spearing many butterfish feeding on the kelp and growth around the jetty piles. Frederick Warrior, who grew up at Burgiyana, also did ‘wharf work’ in the 1960s (Warrior et  al. 2005:113). The coastal vessel Annie Watt employed Darcy Power to lump at Pine Point and Port Adelaide (int. Power 30 November 2013). Darcy Power (Moody 2016:117) was also a horse boy at Balgowan, attending the horses used to pull the jetty trucks up the hill from the jetty to the stack. Clem O’Loughlin recalls Wanganeens, such as Arthur Lennox Wanganeen, and his half-​brother Edmund Lewis O’Loughlin, lumping at Pine Point (Liebelt et al. 2016:101). Indeed, Edmund’s son, Kevin Francis O’Loughlin, recalls spending the summer months of his childhood at Pine Point in the mid-​1950s while his father lumped (Krichauff 2017:197). Burgiyana people were also lumping wheat and barley off the coastal ketch Falie at Port Adelaide (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013), as well as camping at Port Giles and Wadla waru for the lumping season before returning to Burgiyana (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013). Export Agricultural surplus, which is necessary for the sale of wheat and wool (both of which occur through the maritime network), substantiates the capitalist system of the mission. The purpose of this agricultural surplus was to create a self-​supporting mission, rather than get power and wealth within the sea and land domains. Although at Poonindie, another self-​ sufficient agricultural mission in South Australia, rather than being set up as a training institute for agricultural labourers, the real aim was to indoctrinate Aboriginal peoples into the capitalist, European, class-​based society (Griffin 2010:157–​158). The capitalist nature of the mission is again revealed through maritime archaeology as ‘ships were, after all, the primary vehicles for exchange of material goods’ (Meide 2013a:13). The export of mission produce, such as wool and wheat via coastal traders to major centres, connected Burgiyana and the trading ships at Dharldiwarldu. The pig breeding activities at Burgiyana contributed to the international sailing ship economy by acting as a supplier of meat. In 1933, the wheat ships loading at Dharldiwarldu purchased some pigs from Burgiyana via the local butcher (McLean 1933:9), presumably for the consumption of the ships’ crew. The ketch Alert shipped the wool from Waraldi’s 1918 shearing to Port Adelaide (GRG52/​73/​1), and it is reasonable to assume that Alert took the wool from either the Little Jetty or Big Jetty. The coastal ketch Lurline (1873–​1946) dispatched the shearing from 1932 (GRG52/​70). Grain and wool from Burgiyana were usually lumped to Dharldiwarldu for transport

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156  Territorial landscapes by ship, but at times the direct transport of goods from Dolly’s Jetty saved on the long cartage through to Dharldiwarldu (GRG52/​1/​8/​1916). In ca 1927–​1928, George Simms used his cutter Naomi to tow barges or boats to the beach next to Dolly’s Jetty (Moody 2012:84). Grain loaded from wagons onto barges, was towed to the ketch Evaleeta, at anchorage in deep water (Moody 2012:84). Correspondence in 1916 refers to the Point wheat (GRG52/​1/​92/​1916): We have always in the past shipped the wheat grown there from our Point jetty. Selling it to Bell & Co. whose agent in Port Victoria, Mr L. McArthur—​has taken delivery from us at the Point, and been responsible for the shipping. We have let him have the use of our Motor and dingey to assist him in taking the wheat out to boats lying out off shore in deep water. He found all labour. This is practically our only way of getting our wheat away from the Point. … Our jetty at the Point is a tidal jetty, so the rate of removal [of wheat] would be affected by the tides. … The slight extra cost of shipping from the Point being covered by the absence of jetty charges. The boat purchased in 1919 was also described as ‘just the sort we need when shipping wheat from the Point’ (GRG52/​1/​86/​1919). In 1926, the farmers in the district proposed a deep-​ sea jetty for Dharldiwarldu (GRG52/​1/​38/​1926). Chief Protector of Aboriginals Francis Garnett stated: The proposed jetty would be a decided advantage to Point Pearce Aboriginal Station. All wheat, barley and wool grown on the Station are shipped from Port Victoria. (GRG52/​1/​38/​1926) But, when he asked the Hon. Commissioner of Public Works whether he should sign the agreement the reply was ‘no’ (GRG52/​1/​38/​1926). Import Besides providing business for coastal trading vessels through export, Burgiyana was also part of a wider network of trade and economics, creating business through importing goods from major centres necessary for the running of the mission. During the wreck of SS Investigator off Waraldi in 1918, the mission lost a large shipment of goods (except for some tins of tobacco) (GRG52/​ 1/​ 29/​ 1918). Questions arose surrounding who to charge for the loss given they were not insured. Although some of the goods, including tinned fruits and timber, were salvageable (the purchasers of the cargo of the wreck only bought the insured material), salvagers recovered no material as SS Investigator completely broke up. Other goods were also shipped from the Public Stores to Burgiyana, for example in 1922 the coastal

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Territorial landscapes 157 steamer SS Quorna brought brooms to Dharldiwarldu (GRG52/​1/​43/​1922). In 1928, a shipment of 1,000 building bricks landed at Dharldiwarldu. Shipped on the ketch Yalata due to a strike—​rather than in crates on a steamship which was the usual method—​they arrived in very poor, unusable condition and the mission was unable to claim for damage against the vessel (GRG52/​1/​56/​1928). Shipping mishaps Wreckage has always been a source of income for coastal communities and so it is unlikely that they were responsible for instigating the construction of lighthouses (Westerdahl 2010:107). Yet it is difficult to see how the Burgiyana community, or the missionaries for that matter, benefited from the many wrecks around Waraldi. When SS Nelcebee (1885) became stranded northeast of Waraldi near Reef Point in 1885, the mate rowed ashore to report the stranding to the mission (Moody 2012:186). Following the wreck of Aagot (1907), Narrunga transferred the crew, stranded on Waraldi, along with their belongings to Dharldiwarldu (The Advertiser 1907:10). Dharldiwarldu pilot, Hector Orlando James Ximnez Simms, skippered the vessel and collected the crew from the landing at the northern end of the island, the crew having travelled across the island in a horse and dray owned by the mission (Moody 2012:81). Leo Simms was assisting with the salvage of Songvaar (1912) in February 1915 when the boat he was travelling in sank due to rough weather off Burgiyana. Two fourteen-​year-​old boys from Burgiyana rescued Simms and the other crewman (Moody 2012:81). ‘Stanley Smith and Clifford Edwards, saw the boat go down and put to sea in a small dinghy from the Point Pearce jetty and rescued the two men’ (Moody 2012:261). The wreck of Songvaar is well-​known to the Burgiyana community, including its origin, wrecking event and location (int. C. O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The community has used it as a drop for night fishing of ‘tommies’ (tommy rough, Arripis georgianus) (int. C.  O’Loughlin 14 November 2012). The Point Pearce Aboriginal School donated a bell off the vessel Songvaar to the Port Victoria Maritime Museum in 1972. So, it is likely that the mission had a series of bells, one or more of which could have been from a shipwreck in the Waraldi region (Fowler et al. 2019). Mobility—​ though recognised as part of traditional lifeways—​ was considered unacceptable by the missionaries during the mission period (Fowler et  al. 2014:20). One object that attempted to curtail it was the mission bell, which may have had maritime—​and so mobile—​origins (Wood and Westell 1998:12): The mission bell that was tolled by the missionaries every morning for wake up and rise to work, morning tea or smoko, at lunch, afternoon tea or afternoon smoko and knock off time from work. (int. Rigney 18 July 2013)

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158  Territorial landscapes Eileen Wanganeen (1987) details further reminiscences about the bell at Burgiyana. This bell had maritime origins, as explored by Fowler et  al. (2019), recording it as salvaged off a shipwreck at Waraldi, the barque Notre Dame D’Arvor (1920) (Moody 2012:157). Lester-​Irabinna Rigney (int. 18 July 2013) also suggests that Narungga assisted during the wrecking event, although this is not mentioned in other sources; the technical knowledge of the maritime landscape held by Narungga retrieved the bell from deep water. The bell located at the Point Pearce Hall at present, embossed with ‘John Danks & Son Pty Ltd Melbourne Sydney’, denotes a company established in 1859. Anglican bishop John Stead donated this bell, a spare from a church in Gladstone (SA) (Perry 2013). On several instances shipwreck rescue events, particularly in the waters around Waraldi, involved Burgiyana, its boats and the Aboriginal people living there. While oral histories did not mention salvage activities at these vessels for reuse, it is likely to have happened, the mission bell being a case in point. Recognition of these Aboriginal connections must occur when celebrating anniversaries of such wrecking events (e.g., 100th anniversary of the wrecking of Songvaar in 2012). Similar celebrations in recent years, such as the 2002 bicentenary of the meeting of Matthew Flinders and Nicolas Baudin in South Australian waters, have lacked Aboriginal participation or an interrogation of the Aboriginal presence in such events (Rigney 2002:xii–​xiii). Thus, Dharldiwarldu illustrates the wider mission economy, including Aboriginal work in the urban harbour landscape and the transport of mission goods. The production of wool and wheat at Burgiyana, and the Aboriginal labour in both of these industries contributed to Australia’s coastal trading economy and by extension the international distribution of Australian goods.

Fringe camps Historic fringe camps around Burgiyana include Hollywood and Reef Point. Several Burgiyana families lived in about a dozen tin shacks at Hollywood, located on the bushy (especially bluebush) coast next to the northern mission boundary (int. R. Newchurch 29 November 2013; int. Weetra 28 November 2013). Families included the Smiths’ (Fred Smith Jnr, (Stanley) Garfield Smith Snr, Claude Smith and Claudia Smith), the Power’s, Wellesley Sansbury and Thomas Newchurch (GRG52/​1/​18/​1939; int. J.  Newchurch 25 September 2013; int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013; int. Lyle Sansbury 30 November 2013; Jones 2009:29). Jeffrey Newchurch (int. 25 September 2013) describes the situation: Hollywood, they used to live on there. They used to have a permit system where certain people weren’t allowed, you got kicked off the mission, so people lived here, families and all.

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Territorial landscapes 159 Hollywood was a coastal fringe community that also sourced its own water. Clem O’Loughlin (int. 25 November 2013)  lived at Hollywood and he recalls digging his own well, examples of which remain today: I lived down in Hollywood for a while, you know Hollywood? I had a little one room shack there cos I wasn’t allowed on Point Pearce. (Liebelt et al. 2016:100) The local council demolished the Hollywood shacks in the 1980s and few material traces remain (int. J. Newchurch 25 September 2013; Jones 2009). There were few boats kept at Hollywood because it was a poor place for moorings due to the many sand banks, although knee-​deep water allowed fishermen to walk smaller vessels to shore (int. L. Newchurch 29 November 2013). Four poles, used for mooring boats (int. Weetra 28 November 2013), are extant. Besides the four poles positioned in a square, two wooden poles and one metal post form a line from the four poles towards the shore. There are also pieces of concreted iron in the water—​likely small machinery parts—​ and concrete bricks nearby the four poles likely associated with moorings. Charles ‘Charlie’ McDonald Stuart, Iris Matilda Kropinyeri and Nat Kropinyeri lived at Reef Point, south of Hollywood and where the Boundary Fence, constructed of wooden and metal posts, runs (int. C. O’Loughlin 25 November 2013). Peggy Weetra (int. 28 November 2013) explains why her grandparents, Iris and Nat Kropinyeri, chose to live there: They wanted to live like ‘white’ people, so they come down here. They didn’t want to live with the rules and regulations, you know, of the Aboriginal Department. The mission attempted to control aspects of transport and mobility by requiring permits for exempt Aboriginal people to travel across mission land to access traditional fishing grounds for their livelihood. In 1941, a Burgiyana man, exempt from the mission and living at Hollywood, applied for the ‘privilege’ of travelling through the mission to carry out his occupation as a fisherman—​a privilege already afforded to the ‘white’ fishermen. Granted this request under the same conditions as those applied to ‘white’ men, he was able to pass through the mission but not permitted to camp at Gunganya warda (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940). E. Sansbury, G.S., F.J. and E.A. Smith, and Theo Mitchell, also exempt from the Aborigines Act and living at Hollywood in 1946, sought permits to travel through the mission en route to Dharldiwarldu, to buy food and sell fish (rather than travelling around the boundary), and Gunganya warda. The Aborigines Protection Board denied both requests (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940). Hollywood and Reef Point are also particular boatbuilding places. Ships in the past, in different places of the world, have represented symbols of power (Westerdahl 2008a:25). The building of a ship in particular contexts

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Figure 7.3 Clem O’Loughlin on a visit to Hollywood (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

Figure 7.4 Peggy Weetra during a visit to Hollywood (J. Mushynsky, 2013)

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Territorial landscapes 161 can also exemplify an act of defiance (Westerdahl 2009b:21). For example, in Sweden, restrictions on shipbuilding and resulting revolts caused some shipyard locations to represent freedom from authorities (Westerdahl 2009b:21). It is thus useful to question the choice of a particular site, such as Hollywood (Westerdahl 2009b:26). Are power and resistance key factors? Or, was it a suitable location for timber resources? Unlike the mission workboat Narrunga, independent boatbuilding (i.e., for private use rather than community/​mission-​owned), occurred outside the mission—​in places such as Hollywood or nearby towns like Dharldiwarldu and Munda. It is thus possible that the mission had an unfavourable view of boat construction. At Burgiyana, Hollywood and other boatbuilding locations might have symbolised freedom from such mind-​sets. This perspective is consistent with European colonial perceptions in other contexts, for example British attitudes towards the native Irish population in the nineteenth century (Meide 2013b). The 1836 Inquiry into the state of Irish fisheries reported, ‘the people are careless about fishing … they are farmers as well as fishermen. Fishing is a secondary consideration’ (Meide 2013b:11). Both colonial powers considered Indigenous coastal economies to be unproductive—​indeed, Indigenous modifications to the landscape through resource use still resulted in res nullius (empty space) (Meide 2013b:10, 13). The mission also controlled non-​Indigenous fishermen by requiring permission to access some locations via their land. From at least 1947, non-​ Indigenous fishermen including the Munda Johnsons, Ritters, Caves and Kemps applied for permits to travel through Burgiyana to Gunganya warda. These fishermen then motored to their Green Island fishing camp, for which they were also required to have a permit (GRG52/​1/​69/​1947). The Simms’ avoided the latter rule by living on their boats and requesting a permit to leave a vehicle at Gunganya warda for running their catch to the fish market. Travelling through Burgiyana en route to Chinaman’s Wells also required a permit. Some fishermen sought to renew permits granted by the Commissioner of Public Works before World War II when they returned from service (GRG52/​1/​69/​1947; GRG52/​1/​120/​1940). The Kemps and another non-​Indigenous family camped on the mission property in 1946, assisting in towing the mission launch back to its moorings after engine failure, taking the mission overseer to Waraldi at shearing time when the missions’ boats failed, rescuing a dozen bogged lambs from the beach and taking BHP’s Aboriginal employees to Waraldi if they missed the morning work launch (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940). These fishermen, assisting the mission by reporting station boat problems or distressed winter stock, reportedly did ‘not have any contact with the natives on the reserve’ (GRG52/​ 1/​69/​1947). Gunya fisherman Donny Ritter living with Aboriginal people at Hollywood (int. Lindsay Sansbury 26 November 2013), deconstructs this idea of segregation. Lionel Ford (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940) acknowledged his relationship with the mission’s Aboriginal people when applying for a permit to pass through the mission to Green Island:

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162  Territorial landscapes I can well remember when I was a lad, 16, at Roachfield the shearers were Point Pearce men, John Stansbury (Wally & Eddies father), … Willie Adams, [and others] fifty-​two or three years ago. Superintendent A.H. Bray (GRG52/​1/​120/​1940) expressed concern about the non-​Indigenous fishermen: These irregulars come in when the Bay is open for netting, clean up the fish, then clear out. Consequently, the Natives have difficulty in getting any fish in this area. A non-​ Indigenous couple’s application to travel through Burgiyana for pleasure boating and fishing—​denied due to insufficient permits to cater for those engaged in fishing for livelihood—​is an example of the desirability of Burgiyana for recreational fishing (GRG52/​1/​69/​1947).

Conclusions Since contact, settlers have used Indigenous knowledge of the coast for navigation; knowledge which non-​Indigenous fishermen continue to use. This complex fishing relationship mirrors another maritime layer—​ the BHP mining on Waraldi. While the benefits of the mining industry were mutual in an economic sense, this industry was also fraught, both between and within the Burgiyana community. The liminal space of Waraldi influenced the mission’s spatial boundaries and affected mobility, providing a freedom through isolation. Yet, the urban harbour of Dharldiwarldu, and lumping at ports, exporting and importing mission goods, and involvement in shipping mishaps, enmeshed Burgiyana in the international transport zones. Fringe camps were another spatial domain where the issuing of exemptions and need for permits controlled mobility. The boatbuilding that occurred here, and engagement with non-​Indigenous fishermen accessing and aiding the mission, provides further examples of the multi-​layered maritime landscapes at Burgiyana.

References The Advertiser, 1886. Death of King Tommy, 27 December, p. 36. The Advertiser, 1907. Wardang Island wreck:  Vessel breaking up, 15 October, p. 10. The Advertiser, 1937. Reports from rural centres, 24 June, p. 17. The Advertiser, 1946a. Big crowd going to Port Victoria: New beach shacks popular, 24 December, p. 2. The Advertiser, 1946b. Shipping to Wardang Is. New launch now operating, 29 October, p. 3. Anderson, R.J., 2016. Beneath the Colonial Gaze: Modelling Maritime Society and Cross-​cultural Contact on Australia’s Southern Ocean Frontier—​the Archipelago

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Territorial landscapes 163 of the Recherche, Western Australia, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, School of Social Sciences, University of Western Australia, Crawley. Attwood, B., 1989. The Making of the Aborigines. Allen & Unwin: Sydney. The Barrier Miner, 1934. Flying Father Christmas, 14 December, p. 3. Bennett, M., 2007. The economics of fishing:  Sustainable living in colonial New South Wales, Aboriginal History 31:85–​102. Bill, J., and Clausen, B.L., 1999. Maritime Topography and the Medieval Town: Papers from the 5th International Conference on Waterfront Archaeology in Copenhagen, 14–​16 May 1998, National Museum of Denmark, Copenhagen. Brown, S., 2007. Landscaping heritage: Toward an operational cultural landscape approach for protected areas in New South Wales, Australasian Historical Archaeology 25:33–​42. Byrne, D., 2008. Counter-​mapping in the archaeological landscape. In David, B., and Thomas, J. (Eds.), Handbook of Landscape Archaeology. Left Coast Press: Walnut Creek, pp. 609–​616. Di Fazio, B.C., 2000. Living on the Edge: An Exploration of Fringe Camp Occupation in Beltana, Flinders Ranges, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Duncan, B.G., 2006. The Maritime Archaeology and Maritime Cultural Landscapes of Queenscliffe:  A Nineteenth Century Australian Coastal Community, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Department of Anthropology, Archaeology and Sociology, James Cook University, Townsville. Edwardes, A.D., 1936. Wheat stacks at Balgowan, Adelaide Chronicle, 27 February, p. 33. Fowler, M., Roberts, A., and Rigney, L.-​I., 2019. The sounds of colonization:  An examination of bells at Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission/​ Burgiyana, South Australia. In Äikäs, T., and Salmi, A.-​ K. (Eds.), Indigenous Perspectives on Historical Archaeology of Colonialism. Berghahn Books: Berghahn. Fowler, M., Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., and Graham, F., 2014. ‘They camped here always’: Archaeologies of attachment to seascapes via a case study at Wardang Island (Waraldi/​Wara-​dharldhi), South Australia, Australasian Historical Archaeology 32:14–​22. Garnett, F., 1920. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1920. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. Garnett, F., 1921. Report of the Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1921. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. Graham, D.M., and Graham, C.W., 1987. As We’ve Known It: 1911 to the Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Griffin, D., 2000. ‘A Christian Village of South Australian Natives’:  A Critical Analysis of the Use of Space at Poonindie Mission, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Griffin, D., 2010. Identifying domination and resistance through the spatial organization of Poonindie Mission, South Australia, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:156–​169. Griffiths, T., 1988. The Life and Adventures of Edward Snell: The Illustrated Diary of an Artist, Engineer and Adventurer in the Australian Colonies 1849 to 1859. Angus & Robertson Publishers and The Library Council of Victoria: North Ryde. Hamilton, E.L., 1868. Report from Protector of Aborigines, for Half-​Year Ended June 30, 1868. Aborigines Office: Adelaide.

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164  Territorial landscapes Heinrich, R., 1976. Wide Sails and Wheat Stacks. Port Victoria Centenary Committee: Port Victoria. Hemming, S., 2002. Taming the colonial archive:  History, native title and colonialism. In Paul, M., and Gray, G. (Eds.), Through A Smoky Mirror: History and Native Title. Aboriginal Studies Press: Canberra, pp. 49–​64. Hiscock, P., 2008. Archaeology of Ancient Australia. Routledge: Abingdon. Jones, S.M., 2009. The Anatomy of a Relationship:  Doing Archaeology with an Indigenous Community on a Former Mission—​A Case Study at Point Pearce, South Australia, Honours Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. The Kadina and Wallaroo Times, 1952. Point Pearce’s oldest resident passes, 14 August, p. 1. Kartinyeri, D., 2002. Narungga Nation. Doreen Kartinyeri: Adelaide. Keating, C., 2012. ‘We Want Men Whose Hearts are … Full of Zeal’: An Investigation of Cross-​Cultural Engagement within the Weipa Mission Station (1898–​1932), Master’s Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Krichauff, S., 2008. The Narungga and Europeans:  Cross-​Cultural Relations on Yorke Peninsula in the Nineteenth Century, Master’s Thesis, School of History and Politics, University of Adelaide, Adelaide. Krichauff, S., 2017. Kevin ‘Dookie’ O’Loughlin, OAM. In Brock, P., and Gara, T. (Eds.), Colonialism and its Aftermath: A History of Aboriginal South Australia. Wakefield Press: Mile End, pp. 196–​199. Liebelt, B., Roberts, A., O’Loughlin, C., and Milera, D., 2016. ‘We had to be off by sundown’: Narungga contributions to farming industries on Yorke Peninsula (Guuranda), South Australia, Aboriginal History 40:89–​117. Lydon, J., 2009. Fantastic Dreaming:  The Archaeology of an Aboriginal Mission. AltaMira Press: Lanham. Lydon, J., and Ash, J., 2010. The archaeology of missions in Australasia: Introduction, International Journal of Historical Archaeology 14:1–​14. Mattingley, C., and Hampton, K., 1992. Survival in Our Own Land:  ‘Aboriginal’ Experiences in ‘South Australia’ since 1936: Told by Nungas and Others. Hodder & Stoughton: Rydalmere. McLean, M.T., 1933. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1933. Harrison Weir: Adelaide. Meide, C., 2013a. The Development of Maritime Archaeology as a Discipline and the Evolving Use of Theory by Maritime Archaeologists, Dissertation position paper no. 2, College of William & Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia. Meide, C., 2013b. Economic Relations on a Contested Maritime Landscape: Theoretical Framework and Historical Context, Dissertation Position Paper No. 1, College of William & Mary, Williamsburg, Virginia. Moody, S.M., 2012. Port Victoria’s Ships and Shipwrecks. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Moody, S.M., 2016. Balgowan the Outport:  A Captain’s Nightmare—​ Farmers’ Delight. S.M. Moody: Maitland. Nicholas, G.P., 2001. The Archaeology of Alien Landscapes, Odyssey of Space: 34th Chacmool Conference, University of Calgary, Alberta. Northern Argus, 1948. A trip to Port Victoria, 5 February, p. 7. O’Connor, S., Balme, J., Fyfe, J., Oscar, J., Oscar, M., Davis, J., Malo, H., Nuggett, R., and Surprise, D., 2013. Marking resistance? Change and continuity in the recent rock art of the southern Kimberley, Australia, Antiquity 87:539–​554.

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Territorial landscapes 165 Parker, A.J., 2001. Maritime landscapes, Landscapes 1:22–​41. Parsons, A., 1987. Reminiscences, Journal of the Anthropological Society of South Australia 25(3):3–​5. Paterson, A.G., 2003. The texture of agency: An example of culture-​contact in central Australia, Archaeology of Oceania 38:52–​65. Perry, N., 2013. New bell ringing at Point Pearce, Yorke Peninsula Country Times, 30 April. The Recorder, 1949. Half a million miles round Spencer Gulf, 27 May. The Recorder, 1954. ‘Fishers of men’ try their skill on the sea, 1 December. The Register, 1913. The country, 2 June, p. 15. The Register, 1916. A prosperous mission station, 3 November, p. 4. Rigney, L.-​I., 2002. Foreword. In Chittleborough, A., Dooley, G., Glover, B., and Hosking, R. (Eds.), Alas, for the Pelicans! Flinders, Baudin and Beyond. Wakefield Press: Kent Town, pp. ix–​xiv. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and “Hidden Histories”: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches:  Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Rönnby, J., 2007. Maritime durées:  Long-​term structures in a coastal landscape, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 2:65–​82. Silliman, S.W., 2010. Indigenous traces in colonial spaces: Archaeologies of ambiguity, origin and practice, Journal of Social Archaeology 10(1):28–​58. Smith, A., and Beck, W., 2003. The archaeology of no man’s land: Indigenous camps at Corindi Beach, mid-​north coast New South Wales, Archaeology of Oceania 38(1):66–​77. South, W.G., 1909. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1909. C.E. Bristow: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1915. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1915. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1916. Report of the Protector of Aborigines for the Year Ended June 30, 1916. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. South, W.G., 1919. Report of the Chief Protector of Aboriginals for the Year Ended June 30, 1919. R.E.E. Rogers: Adelaide. Steffy, J.R., 1994. Wooden Ship Building and the Interpretation of Shipwrecks. Texas A&M University Press: College Station. Sutton, M., 2003. Re-​examining total institutions: A case study from Queensland, Archaeology of Oceania 38:78–​88. Taylor, R., 2008. Unearthed:  The Aboriginal Tasmanians of Kangaroo Island, Revised Edition. Wakefield Press: Kent Town. Wanganeen, E., 1987. Point Pearce: Past and Present. Aboriginal Studies and Teacher Education Centre: Underdale. Warrior, F., Knight, F., Anderson, S., and Pring, A., 2005. Ngadjuri: Aboriginal People of the Mid North Region of South Australia. South Australian Studies of Society and Environment Council Inc: Prospect Hill.

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166  Territorial landscapes Westerdahl, C., 2008a. Boats apart. Building and equipping an Iron-​Age and Early-​ Medieval ship in Northern Europe, International Journal of Nautical Archaeology 37(1):17–​31. Westerdahl, C., 2008b. Fish and ships:  Towards a theory of maritime culture, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 30:191–​236. Westerdahl, C., 2009a. The horse as a liminal agent, Archaeologia Baltica 11:314–​327. Westerdahl, C., 2009b. Shipyards and boatbuilding sites: Features of the maritime cultural landscapes of the north, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 32:1–​32. Westerdahl, C., 2010. Ancient sea marks: A social history from a North European perspective, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 33:71–​155. Westerdahl, C., 2011. Conclusion:  The maritime cultural landscape revisited. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 331–​344. Westerdahl, C., 2012. The ritual landscape of the seaboard in historical times: Island chapels, burial sites and stone mazes—​A Scandinavian example: Part 1 chapels and burial sites, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 34:259–​370. Westerdahl, C., 2014. The maritime Middle Ages—​Past, present and future: Some ideas from a Scandinavian horizon, European Journal of Archaeology 17(1): 120–​138. Wood, V., and Westell, C., 1998. Point Pearce Social History Project, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia. Australian Heritage Commission: Parkside.

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8  Indigenising maritime archaeology

They got a ground out here they call the balance ground … and that … would balance the boat again. (int. Graham 28 February 2013)

Maritime archaeology has a poor record of involvement with the broader heritage community, particularly in relation to Indigenous peoples’ control of heritage (Flatman 2007:85). What are maritime archaeologist’s ethical responsibilities towards Indigenous heritage? The Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology Code of Ethics (Section A 1.1) states that members must ‘be sensitive to, and respect the legitimate concerns of, groups whose cultural histories are the subjects of archaeological investigations’. Indigenous communities are thus included in an implicit interpretation of this statement. To what extent are maritime archaeologists considering such ethical statements and actually applying them along a collaborative continuum? As an indicator, an account of ethical concerns surrounding maritime archaeology in Australia, undertaken in 2006, made no mention of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples (see Coroneos 2006). On the ground, maritime archaeology has not come up to speed with regards to requiring explicit, careful and appropriate collaboration with Indigenous communities when conducting European and colonial maritime heritage research. Community engagement within maritime studies has not progressed at the same speed as other subfields within the archaeological discipline (Roberts et al. 2013:78). This is likely due to the more recent development of the maritime archaeology field compared to other archaeological subdisciplines and the focus on methods rather than theoretical engagement due to the genesis of maritime archaeology in the study of shipwrecks of the classical period (Meide 2013:1–​2, 7). Early practitioners of maritime archaeology were often avocationals untrained in the profession, particularly classicists and medievalists, who were not aware of anthropological discourses (Meide 2013:7). In the 1970s, academics and politicians considered ‘well-​publicized wrecks, relics and survival stories’ to be their ‘prehistory’ and misbelieved that Indigenous

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168  Indigenising maritime archaeology maritime history was non-​ existent (McCarthy 2011:1045). Indigenous communities’ ownership of intertidal and submerged cultural landscapes is another ethical concept which maritime archaeologists have disregarded (Flatman 2007:85). The issues of decolonising colonial archives and local histories, encompassing non-​ Western systems of knowledge, transforming underpinning Eurocentric attitudes, and recognising intangible cultural heritage, addressed in Chapter 1, all stem from methodological considerations. The development of a series of subdiscipline-​specific guidelines for community-​ based, Indigenous archaeology methods would benefit the existing research and management paradigms within maritime archaeology in Australasia. Maritime archaeological practitioners need a set of innovative, practical, tailored steps employable in academic, consultancy, government or museum contexts in any maritime archaeological project. Rather than creating ‘a rule-​based system of ethics or a compilation of ideal principles’ (Colwell-​ Chanthaphonh and Ferguson 2006:129), these guidelines would need to address the ‘nitty-​gritty’ aspects of negotiating genuine research processes, outcomes and benefits (Smith and Jackson 2006:341). Indigenous archaeology is ‘not only for and by Indigenous people but has wider implications and relevance outside of Indigenous communities’ (Atalay 2006:292). The establishment of such guidelines would thus benefit maritime archaeology more generally—​for instance on other non-​Indigenous community-​based research. Archaeologies control of the representation of the past attempts to justify colonisation (Liebmann 2008:6). But it is now sometimes used in the partial deconstruction of colonial narratives, which have subjugated subaltern groups (Liebmann 2008:7–​8). By acknowledging archaeology’s past, everyday archaeological practice can embed ethics into the future (Colwell-​ Chanthaphonh and Ferguson 2008:6). After over 50 years of the professional practice of archaeology in Australia, ‘there is still a gross underrepresentation of Indigenous peoples participating in the discipline’, an under-​representation amplified in the subdiscipline of maritime archaeology (Wilson 2014:3791). What strategies are maritime archaeology practitioners using to increase Indigenous participation? This chapter introduces the concept of Indigenisation—​institutionalised (normative practice) change efforts towards Indigenous inclusion underpinned by principles of recognition and respect for Indigenous peoples, knowledges and cultures (Rigney 2017:45)—​to the discipline of maritime archaeology. Drawing on the Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation (DEFI) (Rigney 2017), this chapter identifies five change efforts for maritime archaeology: assembling resources, engagement, working together, building confidence and excellence and equity. It recommends the deliberate involvement of Indigenous peoples in the study, research and management of maritime archaeology, while shifting accountability for Indigenous inclusion to maritime archaeology practitioners. Indigenous maritime archaeology is everybody’s business.

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Assembling resources Pursuing change and a vision of equity requires the assembly of a diverse range of practices, resources, stakeholders and partnerships. This assembly must be people-​rich, so as to build an engaged, supportive and collaborative environment, and establish research and Indigenous partnerships. This positive research culture also requires building a leadership team and embedding financial and/​or incentivised support to improve research results (Rigney 2017). Shifting its relationship with Indigenous peoples, since the 1980s the archaeological discipline has confronted ethical, political and historical concerns in the discipline (Colwell-​Chanthaphonh and Ferguson 2004:6). Research has moved away from consultative archaeology, when archaeologists convince Indigenous peoples that their project is of value to get consent; the archaeologist setting the research agenda and the community reacting to it (Greer et al. 2002:267). Community-​based research, in contrast, is interactive rather than reactive, empowering the community by constructing active contemporary community identity (Greer et  al. 2002:268). Community archaeology is often associated with cultural heritage management rather than research and academic agendas (Marshall 2002:213). Yet community archaeology is not only of relevance but, moreover, is vital for academic research, in particular the subfield of maritime archaeology. Australian and New Zealand practitioners are the most vocal in identifying as community-​ based archaeologists and agree on and articulate the definition of community archaeology with more clarity than other parts of the world (Marshall 2002:212). Community is ‘a value, something that includes solidarity, commitment, mutuality, trust, fellowship, and it can involve people that share a common place and/​or are linked through mutual interests’ (Jeffery 2013:30). Recent archaeological studies are beginning to engage Indigenous maritime communities. A  study of the fish traps on Guuranda incorporated traditional Narungga knowledge, involving Aboriginal peoples in the active interpretation of their heritage, and contemporary perspectives of significance in a culturally meaningful way (Roberts et  al. 2016). This research employed a model of collaborative enquiry, including the paid participation of heritage monitors and community participation in research outputs (Roberts et al. 2016). Maritime archaeology research in Yap (Federated States of Micronesia) provided tangible benefits for contemporary people and was ‘formulated by local people who continually drove its aims and objectives’ (Jeffery 2013:30, 54). Besides considering contemporary community perspectives, values and uses, it also sought to understand how fish weirs and traps are currently managed (Jeffery 2013:30). The project’s outcomes have resulted in pursuing apprentice funding for learning the art of constructing aech’s, the traditional Yapese stone-​walled fish trap and weir, and discussions of options relating to

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170  Indigenising maritime archaeology reconstituting traditional marine ownership rights (Jeffery 2013:46). These outcomes are very different from the ‘no further activities … let nature take its course’ strategies employed in many underwater cultural heritage management regimes, instead allowing for ‘restoration, reuse and reinvigoration of the associated cultural practices’ which proved to be effective approaches for site protection and management (Jeffery 2013:54–​55). An international forum (Atalay et al. 2015) raised the issue of ‘no further activities’—​which is often advocated in a Western management framework—​and Indigenous use, where panellists discussed that there is little way to reconcile these different approaches to management (Amy Roberts pers. comm. 1 May 2015). The definition of concepts, such as ‘preservation’, ‘ownership’ and ‘management’, naming of ‘cultures’ and ‘periods’ and other jargon and technical terms exemplifies the ‘locus of power and control in the production and distribution of knowledge’ (Nicholas and Hollowell 2007:65). Situations in which maritime archaeologists must defer to Indigenous languages or practices places them in a very different relationship (Nicholas and Hollowell 2007:65). The consideration of research frameworks, ethical responsibilities, behaviour appropriate to culture and practical outcomes must occur at all stages of research when working with Indigenous communities (Nicholas and Watkins 2014:3783). ‘In all community approaches process—​that is, methodology and method—​is highly important’; respectful processes are enabling, healing and educational, leading towards self-​determination (Smith 2012:218–​219). At Burgiyana, each field-​trip involved community members who acted as heritage monitors to ensure that the field-​work activities were undertaken in a manner appropriate to cultural protocols. Involving Narungga elders was also critical to ensure the research undertaken was appropriate to cultural protocols. Research with the Narungga and Burgiyana communities also involved an economic benefit for community members engaged as heritage monitors. Collaboration has the benefit of documenting sites of significance to the community, providing employment, material for education and recording the past through Indigenous voices (Colwell-​Chanthaphonh and Ferguson 2004:6–​7).

Engagement Engaging with a plurality of knowledges, values and ways of knowing recognises and validates diverse epistemologies. Although, accepting alternative worldviews as valid forms of knowledge is one of the greatest challenges faced by maritime archaeologists (Nicholas and Hollowell 2007:63). Maritime archaeologists can assist Indigenous peoples by seeing Indigenous oral history and traditional knowledge as valid information, not mythology, and of equal importance to research-​based scientific data—​‘the word “science” should define both types of knowledge’ (The Coastal Mapping Laboratory 2015:23, 25). Promoting open and respectful scientific and oral history dialogue with Indigenous participants is the only way to integrate

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Indigenising maritime archaeology 171 Indigenous oral history with research-​based scientific data (The Coastal Mapping Laboratory 2015:43). Collaboration also focuses on methodology (how we do research). What culturally responsive methodologies do maritime archaeologists use? How are academic and community-​ driven research projects engaging Indigenous peoples intellectually? Building a project which provides continuous opportunity for community to redesign the research requires researchers to reflect and support the new alignment of ideas. Only through shared values and vision does a collective responsibility for Indigenous research emerge. The Yapese research also highlighted the importance of pursuing maritime archaeological research for contemporary communities within the present framework of international management of underwater cultural heritage (Jeffery 2013:29). The primary focus of maritime archaeological activities in ‘developed’ countries is on scientific approaches to shipwrecks; yet in ‘developing’ countries maritime archaeology should have a holistic approach to traditional sites, such as fish traps and weirs, and intangible heritage, given their importance to a community’s cultural identity (Jeffery 2013:30). Extending the latter part of this argument to ‘developed’ countries, such as Australia, would allow an equal consideration of contemporary communities and intangible heritage alongside the scientific shipwreck focus. Many different interpretations of Australia’s maritime past exist (Flatman 2003:151). Indigenous perspectives that privilege and represent Indigenous values, knowledges, interests, aspirations and epistemologies, however, inform a decolonised archaeology. A  decolonised archaeology is with, for and by Indigenous peoples (Nicholas and Andrews 1997:3). Decolonised archaeology highlights the adoption of Indigenous worldviews, traditional knowledges and lifeways when developing research methods (Atalay 2006:284). A decolonising framework is greater than the deconstruction of Western learning by an Indigenous retelling; it includes self-​determination and social justice (Smith 2012:34–​35). Archaeologists can no longer overlook ‘Indigenous control over all areas of research’; indeed, among Indigenous peoples there has been a shift away from ‘shared histories’ (as illustrated by Byrne and Nugent 2004; Harrison 2004) to a firmer system of Indigenous control over Indigenous cultural knowledge (Roberts 2003:163–​ 167; Smith et  al. 2018:20). Indigenous peoples themselves have identified spaces through which they can provide control in the archaeological process: generally, choosing researchers, information published in reports and employment in the heritage industry (Roberts 2003:163–​167). Community archaeology should, throughout the seven components of a project: developing research questions; establishing project; field practices; data collection; analysis; storage; and public dissemination, allow some extent of control to remain with the community (Marshall 2002:211–​212). In attempting to make this research as beneficial as possible for the community, it resulted in several publications co-​authored with community elders and members. A poster was also distributed to the

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172  Indigenising maritime archaeology community, which utilised historical photographs to make a site plan of the Old Village on Waraldi accessible for people who are not archaeologists. An exhibition entitled Children, Boats and ‘Hidden Histories’ was also co-​curated with Roberts and the chairperson (Tauto Sansbury) of NNAC and NACRA (South Australian Maritime Museum 1 February to 30 June 2014) (Roberts et al. 2014). This exhibition was finally placed at the Point Pearce Aboriginal School for continuing community engagement and education (Roberts et al. 2014:27). Cross-​disciplinary methods that include the collection of oral histories, in parallel with archival research and archaeological field investigations, provide opportunities for engagement. The collection of oral histories at Burgiyana was also a significant aspect to preserving community knowledge for future generations of Narungga people and researchers (Fowler et  al. 2014:21); although, Narungga systems also ensure the passing on of knowledge (Amy Roberts pers. comm. 1 May 2015). The reality of community research is that referral or snowball sampling, where participants suggest other people who have valuable knowledge to the researcher, is the best way to ensure the recording of all the depth of knowledge the community owns. The community organisations had also communicated the aims of the research through their networks, which assisted the engagement process. Seeking out people other than the self-​attributed experts or local historians, moderating the male view with female knowledge and making the effort of interviewing in person are also relevant where appropriate with the community (Westerdahl 2011:341–​342). Aboriginal community members are intentional in the material they choose to provide and share with specific audiences, including researchers, often holding back information they do not want made public, and hold preconceived ideas about the researcher’s expectations of the type of story to deliver (Smith et al. 2018:16; Westerdahl 2011:341). Community members are aware of the likely differences between their occupation, lifestyle and belief system and those of the researcher, and these underlying and complex expectations and attitudes have implications on the production of oral histories. Identifying a participant as belonging to a maritime culture applies a worldview which the community member, who may regard themselves as a fisherperson, may not recognise (Westerdahl 2008:227). Researchers must actively reflect on these considerations when conducting interviews and take care to avoid theoretical language and leading questions. The collection of oral history requires a deep and personal confrontation with the past and the interview process is thus a collaborative exercise (Frances et  al. 1994:196). A  semi-​structured interview style in initial off-​site interviews allows for flexibility in wording and ordering questions (Minichiello 2008:51). Historical photographs also assist elders, and others, in their reflection. A session in their home using photographs gives an opportunity to organise recollections without the distractions of other memories brought about by returning to particular locations (Fowler et al.

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Indigenising maritime archaeology 173 2014:16). This interview is an important step in the gradual recall of memories rather than an abrupt return to places after periods of absence (Brown 1973:353). ‘Landscapes and material objects act on the body to evoke particular kinds of memories, which cannot be invoked in their absence’ (Harrison 2004:16). Place-​based interviews or ‘story-​trekking’ involves making physical trips to places remembered in oral histories and allows the interview process to become an experience for the community member, recording a more textured and meaningful account of the past (Harrison 2004:54). An on-​site interview with a loose structure allows participants to respond to social interactions with the researcher and the surrounding landscape (Minichiello 2008:53). Lived experiences or ‘landscape biographies’, a combination of spatial and life history information, result from place-​based interviews (Harrison 2005:246). The reliability of an oral history increases if the participant is able to point out a place in the physical landscape (Westerdahl 2011:341). Thus, community-​based archaeology has widened the scope of values or significance attributed to material culture and on Country interviews were integral in identifying archaeological features at Burgiyana (Greer et al. 2002:282). Providing community members with interview transcript drafts gave them an opportunity to alter the knowledge they chose to share in this research. Choosing to name individual community members, as done throughout this book, is one way of respecting the knowledge contained in their oral histories (Chirikure 2014:3838). The collaborative dialogue in this research continues through the ongoing involvement of the community in the publication and dissemination of the results, providing the research data for future use and reference, providing advice and support for future management decisions about maritime heritage at the community’s discretion, and the continuation of archaeological research projects by other researchers, such as on the Holocene coastal economy on Guuranda, particularly island use (Mollenmans forthcoming PhD thesis). Collaboration with the community throughout the research, particularly through oral histories and on Country recording has allowed the broader Narungga and Burgiyana communities to know and understand, as well as accept and ‘own’, the project (Roberts et al. 2014:27).

Working together Increasing the visibility of Indigenous cultures across the maritime archaeology discipline requires maritime archaeologists and Indigenous communities to work together. Indigenous peoples choose to engage with culturally-​compatible environments which reinforce their sense of belonging. What is the commitment of maritime archaeologists and Indigenous communities to this goal, ensuring that the weight of all the work of Indigenisation is not left to one partner?

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174  Indigenising maritime archaeology The task of Indigenisation is often left to a few inside the discipline, placing a higher burden and many demands on a small number of practitioners. Practitioners will either accept or resist particular reforms according to their perceptions and philosophies of who handles Indigenous matters across the discipline. Indigenisation requires maritime archaeologists in collaboration with Indigenous peoples to adopt a ‘whole of discipline’ approach to improve Indigenous outcomes. From a heritage management perspective, the interdisciplinary nature (e.g., history, geography, anthropology and archaeology) of maritime archaeology presents a challenge. Maritime culture has variable boundaries and extents that differ to established political or social boundaries in a region (Firth 1995:5; Vrana and Vander Stoep 2003:24). Despite their use in shaping management, ‘existing coastal and marine boundaries’ are a prescribed extension of terrestrial borders and are ill-​suited to the coastal environment (Firth 1995:5). The point/​list structure of Australia’s heritage management, influenced primarily by the Australia ICOMOS Burra Charter, means it is difficult to define areas or boundaries—​landscapes (Moylan et al. 2009:450). Site significance is also based on the Burra Charter model, originating in built (i.e., visible) heritage, separating social significance rather than employing social significance as the context within which to conceive of other significance categories (Byrne et al. 2001:8, 19). Indigenous maritime landscapes are thus under-​recorded, and only through working together can maritime archaeologists canvass social significance. The inextricable link between maritime landscapes, culture and ecology can identify distinct management environments. Integrating maritime landscapes into ecosystem-​ based management plans for marine areas crosses the gap between cultural and natural heritage management and government departments (Barr 2013). Maritime archaeology must work with other disciplines to increase the visibility of Indigenous maritime cultures. The ‘Characterizing Tribal Cultural Landscapes’ project design aimed to give tribal communities more influence during the planning of coastal, marine and energy developments and the establishment and management of marine protected areas (Grussing 2013:10–​11). The ‘Developing Protocols for Reconstructing Submerged Paleocultural Landscapes and Identifying Ancient Native American Archaeological Sites in Submerged Environments’ (Bureau of Ocean Energy Management 2018; The Coastal Mapping Laboratory 2015) project has taken this a step further, not only developing best-​practices for identifying submerged Indigenous sites, but also developing methods to incorporate traditional knowledge into these best-​practice protocols. Developing a public understanding of an Indigenous maritime culture is not challenging. The concepts behind maritime cultures are often understandable; most people can visualise a maritime culture with ease (Flatman 2011:325–​326). The landscape presented in this book is understandable and accessible for both Aboriginal and non-​Aboriginal peoples.

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Building confidence Building practitioners confidence to enact a collective discipline culture and philosophy of Indigenisation is central to Indigenising maritime archaeology. Empowering maritime archaeologists through professional learning communities will lead to sustainable reform. A  significant obstacle to the goal of Indigenisation is a lack of expertise, confidence and familiarity with Indigenous knowledges, histories and interests among practitioners, tied to the complex history of colonialism in Australia. Building confidence and developing appropriate skillsets is thus key for action. Non-​ Indigenous maritime archaeologists should continue to boost Indigenous research, particularly by expanding the physical profile of Indigenous cultures across the discipline. Holding workshops for the professional community to gain cultural competency and introduce strategies to improve Indigenous outcomes would be beneficial. Indeed, as would creating other opportunities to open a dialogue on how to further envision Indigenous presence in the discipline. It is particularly necessary to improve the confidence of maritime archaeology practitioners concerning Indigenous matters. Higher education should be the target of many strategies towards Indigenisation, needing action at the university-​level. It is higher degree accreditations (honours or master’s degrees) that are the basis for the professional recognition of archaeological practitioners, for example to qualify for full membership to the Australian Association of Consulting Archaeologists Inc. requires an honours degree or postgraduate degree in archaeology. Thus, increasing the understanding of higher education staff of how to leverage and complement their existing resources to fulfil a strategic goal towards Indigenisation, through Indigenous participation and engagement, is critical. Organisations, such as the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology (AIMA), need to exert their influence, such as through an explicit statement on Indigenous values in the AIMA Code of Ethics, Indigenous representation on the AIMA Council, Indigenous sessions at annual AIMA conferences and a dedicated diversity committee. An activity hosted by the Society for Historical Archaeology’s (US-​ based) Gender and Minority Affairs Committee (GMAC) at their annual conference, which many USA maritime archaeologists attend, is an Anti-​Racism Training Workshop—​a model which AIMA could emulate. GMAC also sponsors several diversity, student travel and community engagement awards and competitions; AIMA could take similar steps to recognise reconciliation efforts by maritime archaeologists and maritime archaeology students. The Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology/​Nautical Archaeology Society maritime archaeology training program run by AIMA must also incorporate a module that educates students on Indigenous perspectives. Experienced practitioners within such organisations also need to take on the role of Indigenisation champions and mentors. Maritime archaeologists at universities, museums, government

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176  Indigenising maritime archaeology heritage agencies and private consultancy firms should also engage in the recognition of significant annual Indigenous events, such as the National Aboriginal and Islanders Day of Observance Committee (NAIDOC) Week and National Reconciliation Week.

Excellence and equity Excellence and equity are the basis for strong Indigenisation strategies. Will maritime archaeology rise to the challenge and meet such high expectations? Maritime archaeology must encourage and celebrate diversity, particularly through culturally responsive maritime archaeology curricula, teaching and research that confirm Indigenous knowledges. Indigenous archaeology, as an approach, is as much defined by initiatives led by Indigenous archaeologists and communities themselves as by the practice of non-​Indigenous researchers working with Indigenous peoples (Nicholas 2008:1660). Training Indigenous community members in archaeological method, theory, legislation and jargon may empower communities to articulate their participation in a more effective way (Martinez 2014:3776). Maritime archaeologists can assist Aboriginal peoples by providing opportunities for Aboriginal community members to develop expertise with scientific equipment and data, in addition to training opportunities for Aboriginal youth (The Coastal Mapping Laboratory 2015:23). Indeed, the barriers to maritime archaeology for Indigenous archaeologists and community members are neither identified or well-​documented (Wilson 2014:3791). But Christopher Wilson (2014:3791), the first Aboriginal person to receive a PhD in archaeology (Dayman 2017), states that Indigenous people engaging in cultural heritage within their communities already have cultural and family obligations and commitments to caring for Country and ‘do not have the time or resources to leave the community to pursue academic scholarship—​particularly the sustained study that is required for a doctoral thesis’. Reasons for fewer Indigenous postgraduate students also include their immediate employment in government agencies and other organisations and the attractiveness of private consulting after completing an undergraduate degree (Wilson 2014:3791). Increasing participation and retention of Indigenous peoples in archaeology and cultural heritage management is of critical importance (Wilson 2014:3791). Examples of a ‘Secwepemc First Nation archaeologist working on Secwepemc sites in British Columbia, Canada; an archaeologist of European descent working with an Aboriginal community in Australia; a Ghanan archaeologist conducting ethnoarchaeological research in Ethiopia; and a Native American (Ojibwe) excavating at Çatälhöyk in Turkey’ portray a diversity within archaeology that is not reflected in the maritime subdiscipline (Nicholas 2008:1660). Although, developing an understanding of the barriers to university attendance by Indigenous peoples has been undertaken more generally, especially about Indigenous students’ enrolment,

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Indigenising maritime archaeology 177 retention and completion rates. The rate of Indigenous student school completion and transition to university in Australia remains significantly lower than their non-​Indigenous peers (Rigney 2017:46). Staff at universities that teach maritime archaeology should take time to investigate and understand these barriers, although maritime archaeology outreach programs that target Indigenous high school students may be the first step in alerting Indigenous students to maritime archaeology as a career pathway. Collecting representation data is a measurable approach, the use of which can assess progress in the coming years. In particular our goal is to improve Indigenous participation to parity with the national population. At the 2016 census, Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander peoples made up 2.8% of Australia’s population (Australian Bureau of Statistics). The collection of such statistics could draw on existing surveys such as the ‘Australian Archaeology in Profile/​Profiling the Profession’ surveys conducted in 2005, 2010 and 2015 (Mate and Ulm 2016; Ulm et al. 2005; Ulm et al. 2013); although, less than 5% of 2015 respondents identified as having a maritime primary subject focus (Mate and Ulm 2016:173). Within the survey, of which over 60% of respondents had an Indigenous primary subject focus, 2.8% identified as Indigenous peoples (Mate and Ulm 2016:171, 173). What is required is a stronger commitment to training Indigenous peoples as maritime archaeologists through the implementation of scholarships, cadetships and research awards across all degree programs (Wilson 2014:3792). Outreach activities are currently often isolated and difficult to sustain over time, but such attempts may improve participation. Maritime archaeology programs should take advantage of Indigenous access entry schemes and pathways and pastoral care mentoring for their teaching programs, as well as investigating Indigenous-​identified undergraduate and postgraduate research scholarships. The Australian Research Council’s (ARC) Discovery Indigenous funding scheme, for example, supports programmes led by Indigenous Australian researchers. Indigenous perspectives should be more widely recognised in maritime archaeology courses and curriculum, requiring the redesign of teaching. Indeed, the parameters of the teaching and learning of maritime archaeology should be rethought, re-​elaborated and adapted to follow the paradigmatic changes in archaeological practices and new demands brought about by Indigenous archaeologies at the beginning of the twenty-​first century (Silva 2014:3803–​ 3804). Implementing reconciliation statements and employment strategies may improve Indigenous archaeologist and Indigenous archaeology student access and success. Until the initiation of mechanisms that actively engage Indigenous-​identified archaeologists in broader issues of concern to their community and past, Indigenous archaeologies in Australia will progress without the critical and constructive voices of Indigenous peoples themselves (Wilson 2014:3792). To achieve excellence, the discipline must also reflect culturally-​ appropriate terminology within its work. It is vital that researchers consider

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178  Indigenising maritime archaeology and analyse the importance of the words chosen in the maritime archaeology discourse (Watkins 2006:101). Maritime archaeologists communicate using the same language under which they received their instruction (Watkins 2006:103). Thus, fitting terms may not be immediately clear and need careful consideration. Indeed, maritime archaeology teaching should incorporate an avoidance of the language of colonialism—​terms that emerge from Eurocentric knowledge systems and marginalise those of Indigenous peoples—​in a more active manner. Implications of Indigenous archaeology and decolonising language in maritime archaeology can also reinforce ethics in maritime archaeology (indeed, all archaeologies) more generally, for instance in other (non-​Indigenous) community-​based research (Martinez 2014:3776; Wilson 2014:3790–​3791). If maritime archaeology is to work ‘for’ Indigenous communities, the use of language must respect and not denigrate Indigenous peoples (Chirikure 2014:3838). Reassigning certain terminology, as often used in maritime approaches, to Indigenous contexts requires caution. Some aspects of maritime archaeology, particularly language and terminology, which may be appropriate in Western investigations, are less fitting in contexts relating to Indigenous peoples. The direct transposition of maritime discourse onto Indigenous research requires care, particularly when it comes to word choice. Language can either empower or disempower Indigenous peoples and, as noted before, the privileging of certain languages is a choice (Mollenmans 2014:iv; Smith and Jackson 2006:313). A failure to consider the language used in the communication of archaeological research can impact, in a negative way, the communities about which we write (Watkins 2006:101). Authors should take care when describing the relationship of the researcher and the community (Wilson 2014:3790). Terms used to describe community members within maritime archaeology, such as ‘informant’ or ‘interviewee’, perpetuate the researcher/​researched dichotomy of the past when reassigned to Indigenous archaeology and imply unequal power relations (Bruchac 2014:3819; Smith and Jackson 2006:318). If researchers apply a subject/​object approach to language, an arbitrary division takes place (O’Doherty and Willmott 2001:466) which detracts from the collaborative, intellectual and participatory collegiate partnership of community-​ based Indigenous archaeology. Many maritime studies relate to cultures and societies that are no longer present. Yet in Australia, Indigenous peoples maintain continuing cultures with strong connections to the recent and deep past and it is ‘especially important to use appropriate terms if you are dealing with the cultural material of another people’ (Smith and Jackson 2006:317). The ‘loss’ of cultural values related to the maritime past, both physical and psychological, and other suggestions of the ‘decline’ of maritime traditions (Westerdahl 2008:191, 197), is not reflected in Indigenous Australia. Terms such as ‘rescue’ when discussing the collection of oral histories, particularly ‘fading knowledge’ (Ransley 2011:879), is again not appropriate in Indigenous

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Indigenising maritime archaeology 179 archaeology where Indigenous communities maintain and celebrate traditional knowledge. The shift from the term cultural ‘resource’ management (suggestive of exploitation and dismissive of attachments to heritage by communities) to cultural ‘heritage’ management is one example (Brown 2008:20; Byrne et al. 2001:35–​36). Other loaded terms include the ‘discovery’ of Australia by James Cook (Smith and Jackson 2006:319; Smith 2012:76; Watkins 2006:105), describing Australia as a ‘young’ country which excludes everything before British arrival (Rigney 2015), the ‘abandonment’ of sites which negates the significance of such places to contemporary communities (Watkins 2006:104) and the category of ‘not significant’ on significance assessment scales which implies that sites are meaningless and not worthy of protection (Watkins 2006:113). Written text is itself a colonial practice which States have used in the past to shape the legacy, and reinforce the assumptions, inequalities and power relations, of colonialism (Smith and Jackson 2006:313–​314). Scientific and archaeological language is not impartial, but a deep consideration of the colonialist thinking behind terms allows the interrogation of their legitimacy (or lack thereof) in the present (Smith and Jackson 2006:313–​314). All these terms hold political implications, yet this does not degenerate such considerations to the realm of so-​called political correctness (Nicholas and Watkins 2014:3784). The deconstruction of maritime archaeological discourse has the potential to transform language and the attitudes that underpin such word choices.

Conclusions Indigenising maritime archaeology will reach the institutionalised stage when efforts become routine and natural on the part of maritime archaeologists and organisations. The representation of Indigenous-​ identified maritime archaeologists across all higher education year levels and all maritime archaeology sectors must occur (Wilson 2014:3791). Sustainable change cannot rely on individuals—​although it is the choices made by individual archaeologists that define Indigenous archaeology (Nicholas 2008:1660). The ‘with, for and by’ attitudes that define Indigenous archaeology (as outlined by Nicholas and Andrews 1997) is, after all, ‘just good archaeology’ (Martinez 2010:219). This book has provided insights into the world of Aboriginal peoples in the post-​contact maritime landscape, by approaching this research from the outset as a collaborative, community-​based initiative with the Burgiyana community. Rather than focusing on the archaeology of ‘first encounters’ and ‘early contact periods’, the narrative drawn from the great richness of oral history and archival information of the later period, well into colonialism and settler nationhood, emphasises the present Narungga community and their most recent links in the historical chain (Silliman 2012:115).

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180  Indigenising maritime archaeology Narungga peoples have their own systems to ensure the passing on of knowledge. Yet it is only through sharing in the preceding chapters the personal stories of those generous individuals’ oral histories that Indigenous knowledges can become public histories. Publishing this knowledge provides an avenue for the Australian public to incorporate Aboriginal perspectives into their image of the nation’s past. It also provides a means by which practitioners can integrate Aboriginal worldviews into their image of the discipline of maritime archaeology. The visibility of Aboriginal peoples in past maritime activities and present maritime research is key to building expertise, confidence and familiarity with Indigenous knowledges in our ‘scientific’ discourse. The philosophical value proposition and impetus for this book is that Indigenous maritime archaeology is everybody’s business. Much like the ‘balance’ ground used by international sailing ships calling at Dharldiwarldu and described by Narungga elder Fred Graham (int. 28 February 2013), the discipline of maritime archaeology needs to make room on board to load up with Indigenous knowledges to ‘balance the boat again’.

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Indigenising maritime archaeology 183 Roberts, A., Mollenmans, A., Agius, Q., Graham, F., Newchurch, J., Rigney, L.-​I., Sansbury, F., Sansbury, L., Turner, P., Wanganeen, G., and Wanganeen, K., 2016. ‘They planned their calendar…they set up ready for what they wanted to feed the tribe’: A first-​stage analysis of Narungga fish traps on Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Island and Coastal Archaeology 11(1):1–​25. Roberts, A.L., 2003. Knowledge, Power and Voice: An Investigation of Indigenous South Australian Perspectives of Archaeology, Doctor of Philosophy Thesis, Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, Adelaide. Roberts, A.L., Fowler, M., and Sansbury, T., 2014. A report on the exhibition entitled ‘Children, Boats and “Hidden Histories”: Crayon drawings by Aboriginal children at Point Pearce Mission (SA), 1939’, Bulletin of the Australasian Institute for Maritime Archaeology 38:24–​30. Roberts, A.L., McKinnon, J.F., O’Loughlin, C., Wanganeen, K., Rigney, L.-​ I., and Fowler, M., 2013. Combining Indigenous and maritime archaeological approaches: Experiences and insights from the ‘(Re)locating Narrunga Project’, Yorke Peninsula, South Australia, Journal of Maritime Archaeology 8(1):77–​99. Silliman, S.W., 2012. Between the longue durée and the short purée. In Oland, M., Hart, S.M., and Frink, L. (Eds.), Decolonizing Indigenous Histories: Exploring Prehistoric/​ Colonial Transitions in Archaeology. University of Arizona Press: Tucson, pp. 113–​131. Silva, F.A., 2014. Indigenous collaboration in archaeology education. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer:  New  York, pp. 3803–​3805. Smith, C., Copley, V., and Jackson, G., 2018. Intellectual soup:  On the reformulation and repatriation of Indigenous knowledge. In Apaydin, V. (Ed.), Shared Knowledge, Shared Power:  Engaging Local and Indigenous Heritage. Springer: Cham, pp. 9–​28. Smith, C., and Jackson, G., 2006. Decolonizing Indigenous archaeology: Developments from down under, American Indian Quarterly 30(3&4):311–​349. Smith, L.T., 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous Peoples, Second Edition. Zed Books: London. The Coastal Mapping Laboratory, Graduate School of Oceanography, University of Rhode Island, 2015. Developing Protocols for Reconstructing Submerged Palaeocultural Landscapes and Identifying Ancient Native American Archaeological Sites in Submerged Environments: Summary Report of the Initial Project Workshop. US Department of the Interior, Bureau of Ocean Energy Management, Office of Renewable Energy Programs: Herndon, VA. Ulm, S., Mate, G., Dalley, C., and Nichols, S., 2013. A working profile: The changing face of professional archaeology in Australia, Australian Archaeology 76:34–​43. Ulm, S., Nichols, S., and Dalley, C., 2005. Mapping the shape of contemporary Australian archaeology:  Implications for archaeology teaching and learning, Australian Archaeology 61:11–​23. Vrana, K.J., and Vander Stoep, G.A., 2003. The maritime cultural landscape of the Thunder Bay National Marine Sanctuary and Underwater Preserve. In Spirek, J.D., and Scott-​ Ireton, D.A. (Eds.), Submerged Cultural Resource Management:  Preserving and Interpreting Our Maritime Heritage. Kluwer Academic/​Plenum Publishers: New York, pp. 17–​28. Watkins, J.E., 2006. Communicating archaeology:  Words to the wise, Journal of Social Archaeology 6(1):100–​118.

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184  Indigenising maritime archaeology Westerdahl, C., 2008. Fish and ships:  Towards a theory of maritime culture, Deutsches Schiffahrtsarchiv 30:191–​236. Westerdahl, C., 2011. Conclusion:  The maritime cultural landscape revisited. In Ford, B. (Ed.), The Archaeology of Maritime Landscapes. Springer: New York, pp. 331–​344. Wilson, C., 2014. Indigenous archaeologies:  Australian perspective. In Smith, C. (Ed.), Encyclopedia of Global Archaeology. Springer: New York, pp. 3786–​3793.

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Toponym glossary

Narungga toponym Badhara Burgiyana Dharldiwarldu Dhibara Gagadhi Galadri Gardina Gudliwardi Gunganya warda Guuranda Maggiwarda Munda Mungari Nhandhu-​warra Wadjedin Wadla waru Waraldi Winggara Yadri

European toponym Point Pearce Port Victoria Tiparra Kadina Black Point Boys Point Yorke Peninsula Maitland Moonta Dead Man’s Island The Hummocks Wallaroo Wardang Island

Alternative Narungga usage

Alternative European usage

Buthera

Guggathie Guludrie

Moongerie

Mungery

Wadjadin Wara-​dharldhi The Creek Yudderie

Wauraltee

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Index of Burgiyana people

Biographical information of individuals mentioned in the text is taken from Kartinyeri (2006) and Warrior et al. (2005). Abdulla, Jack Jnr (b.1915) 130 Abdulla, Jim 130 Adams, Charles Samuel (1872–​1944, Poonindie/​Wallaroo)  110 Adams, Gladys see Elphick, Gladys Adams, Lewis (1872–​1941, Poonindie/​ Point Pearce) 110, 112 Adams, Thomas Frederick Jnr (1876–​1940, Poonindie/​Point Pearce) 35, 110 Adams, Tom Snr (b.1849, near Crystal Brook) 35 Adams, William (1868–​1915, Poonindie/​Maitland) 35, 162 Agius, Irene Dorothy (nee Sansbury) (b.1931, Point Pearce) 88, 127–​128 Angie, Albert (ca 1884–​1937, Wallaroo) 113 Angie, Charlie 34 Angie, Eric Charles (1890–​1943, Point Pearce) 110 Angie, Henry (1868–​1937, Point Pearce) 79, 119 Angie, James (1872–​1944, Point Pearce) 110 Angie, William (b. ca 1883) 50 Argent, Joe (b.1905, north of Ooldea) 112 Bewes, Eli Jnr 79 Bewes, Eli Snr 79 Buckskin, Bessie Maria (nee Warrior) (b.1911, Point Pearce) 126 Buckskin, Carrie 128–​129 Buckskin, Howard Lawrence (1924–​1980, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 130

Buckskin, Jack Jnr (1878–​1928, West Coast/​Wallaroo)  119 Buckskin, Leslie John (b.1911, Point Pearce) 111, 126 Buckskin, Ross Mervyn (1922/​1926–​1975, Point Pearce) 130 Buckskin, Sandy 128 Chester, Charlotte Lavinia see Gray, Charlotte Lavinia Chester, Edward Russell (1897–​1977, Point McLeay/​Adelaide)  131 Cross, Estelle Maude (nee Kropinyeri) (1913/​1914–​1945/​1949, Wellington/​ Point Pearce) 129 Cross, Peggy Winifred see Weetra, Peggy Winifred Edwards, Clifford Joseph (1900–​1984, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 104, 106, 157 Edwards, Doris May see Graham, Doris May Edwards, Joseph (ca 1877–​1950, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 35, 77, 106, 110 Eglinton, Louisa (1858–​1938, Marion Bay/​Adelaide) 49–​50, 55 Elphick, Gladys (nee Adams) (1904–​1988, Adelaide) 53, 126 Fudge, Olga 73 Giles, Stanley (b. ca 1889/​1893, Point McLeay) 113 Goldsmith, Garry Jnr 51

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Index of Burgiyana people 187 Goldsmith, Herbert James (b.1900, Balaklava) 112 Goldsmith, Peter 116–​117 Goldsmith, Thomas (1904–​1968, Point Pearce) 115, 118 Graham, Cecil Wallace (b.1911, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 49, 54, 56, 73, 80, 88, 92, 130, 137, 145, 148, 154 Graham, Clement Hugh Snr (b.1938, Point Pearce/​Port Victoria) 63, 91, 93, 107, 107, 117, 129, 137 Graham, Doris May (nee Edwards) (b.1912, Point Pearce) 51, 60, 73–​75, 106, 130, 137 Graham, Frederick Joseph Jnr (b.1932, Point Pearce) 40, 49, 50, 51, 53, 56–​57, 61, 63, 66, 82, 86, 89, 91–​92, 94, 102–​103, 107, 110, 112–​114, 115, 116, 118–​119, 119, 125, 129–​133, 132–​133, 145–​146, 148–​149, 150, 152–​153, 167, 180 Graham, Fred Snr Nukunu (d.1977) 56–​57, 84, 112, 118, 130 Graham, Rayleen see Smith, Rayleen Gray, Charlotte Lavinia (nee Chester) (1917–​2000, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 129 Harradine, Ian Alby Snr (b.1963, Wallaroo) 93 Hughes, Alfred Snr (1869–​1924, Wallaroo/​Point Pearce) 29, 35, 79, 85, 110 Hughes, Lionel John (b.1900, Point Pearce) 111–​112, 130, 145–​146 Hughes, Mary Jane (nee McGrath) (1901–​1950s, Bundaleer/​ Adelaide) 130 Hughes, Susan Lorraine see Walker, Susan Lorraine Hughes, Walter Stanford (1895–​1937, Point Pearce/​Burra)  29 King Tommy (ca 1826–​1886, Point Pearce) 89, 142–​143 Kropinyeri, Clyde Edward (b.1930, Point Pearce) 116 Kropinyeri, Estelle Maude see Cross, Estelle Maude Kropinyeri, Iris Matilda (nee Sansbury) (b.1898, Point Pearce) 159 Kropinyeri, Myrtle see Power, Myrtle Kropinyeri, Nathaniel (1885/​ 1887–​1958, Point McLeay or Wellington/​Adelaide) 112, 129, 159

Long, Banks 130 Martin, Thora 129 McGrath, Mary Jane see Hughes, Mary Jane Milera, Douglas Anzac (b.1916, Point Pearce) 131 Milera, Douglas Gerald (Gerald Douglas) (1894–​1972, Poonindie/​ Adelaide or Maitland) 131 Milera, Edward Peter Stanford (b.1938, Point Pearce) 116 Milera, John Francis (1923–​1976, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 81, 108, 154 Milera, John Herbert (b.1891, Poonindie) 81, 83, 85, 108, 111 Milera, John Snr (1871–​1938, Poonindie/​Wallaroo) 78, 83, 85, 108, 111 Milera, Milton Eli (b.1921, Point Pearce) 108 Miller, Elizabeth see Warrior, Elizabeth Mitchell, Thomas Jnr (b. ca 1898) 111, 159 Newchurch, Allan Eustace (1932–​1984, Point Pearce/​Port Broughton) 130 Newchurch, Clarence Bryan (b.1923, Point Pearce) 154 Newchurch, Donald Miles (b.1930, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  154 Newchurch, Eileen Dardanella (nee Stuart) (1916–​1992, Point Pearce/​ Maitland) 73–​74, 130 Newchurch, Francis Victor (1909–​1957, Moonta/​Adelaide)  80–​81 Newchurch, George John Eustace (1915/​1922–​1974, Moonta/​Point Pearce) 130 Newchurch, Jeffrey Thomas (b.1955, Wallaroo) 4, 48, 62–​64, 75–​76, 89, 91, 93–​94, 96, 102, 104, 106, 108, 110, 124–​125, 128, 141, 149, 153, 155, 158–​159 Newchurch, Jennifer Pearl see Wilson, Jennifer Pearl Newchurch, John Snr (1852–​1918, Albany [WA]/​Point Pearce) 110 Newchurch, Lancelot Francis (b.1935, Point Pearce) 60, 66, 73, 91, 96, 103, 108, 114–​116, 125, 130, 152, 159 Newchurch, Richard (d.1917, Denial Bay) 83 Newchurch, Ronald Glen Snr (b.1921, Point Pearce/​Maitland) 102, 108

188

188  Index of Burgiyana people Newchurch, Ronald John (b.1950, Wallaroo) 58, 66, 73, 75–​76, 82, 92–​93, 96, 101–​103, 106–​108, 116, 128, 136–​137, 158 Newchurch, Rose Marie Gladys see Sansbury, Rose Marie Gladys Newchurch, Thomas Henry Snr (1913–​1964, Point Pearce/​ Wallaroo) 76–​77, 80, 81, 108, 178 Newchurch, Thomas John Jnr 76, 125 O’Brien, Lewis William Arthur (b.1930, Point Pearce) 125 O’Loughlin, Alfred Jnr (1923–​1970, Point Pearce) 81, 152–​153 O’Loughlin, Alfred Snr (1893/​ 1894–​1951, Denial Bay/​ Moonta) 95, 110, 130, 154 O’Loughlin, Clement Lewis (b.1934, Point Pearce) 29, 61, 67, 76–​77, 77, 82, 86, 93–​95, 107, 109–​111, 113–​114, 115, 116–​117, 126, 129–​131, 133, 133–​134, 138, 146–​147, 149, 151–​155, 157, 159, 160 O’Loughlin, Daniel Patrick (b.1936, Point Pearce or Wallaroo) 130, 133–​134 O’Loughlin, Edmund Lewis (1916–​1973, Point Pearce) 155 O’Loughlin, Gladys Elizabeth (nee Stuart) (b.1904, Point Pearce) 130, 146 O’Loughlin, Jack Langdon (b.1930, Point Pearce) 130 O’Loughlin, Kevin Francis (b.1947, Point Pearce) 129, 155 O’Loughlin, Michael Victor (b.1945) 40, 113, 118–​119, 126 O’Loughlin, Oswald Huntley (1921–​1988, Point Pearce) 130 Power, Alma Kathleen (nee Taylor) (1900–​1986, Port Lincoln/​Point Pearce) 59, 128–​129 Power, Barry Trevor (b.1942, Point Pearce) 58–​60, 62, 64, 66, 80, 82, 91, 102–​103, 108, 117, 128–​129, 137, 155 Power, Bernard Lewis (Adelaide) 130 Power, Darcy James (b.1931, Point Pearce) 93, 108, 129–​130, 155

Power, George Robert (1923–​1986, Point Pearce) 130 Power, Lewis Charles Joseph (b.1893, Point Pearce) 80, 81, 129–​130 Power, Myrtle (nee Kropinyeri) (b.1923) 130 Power, Timothy Charles (b.1927, Point Pearce/​Barmera) 129–​130 Power, Tyrone Bernard (b.1940, Point Pearce) 108, 130 Raminyemmerin, Nellie (d. Kangaroo Island) 142 Richards, Benjamin (1919–​1949, Hawker/​Point Pearce)  130 Richards, Jim 112, 114, 131 Richards, Oscar (1926–​1984, Hawker/​ Ceduna) 130 Richards, Walter Jnr 130 Rigney, Lester Arthur Snr (b.1923, Point McLeay) 108 Rigney, Lester-​Irabinna 4, 23, 32, 46–​48, 54, 57, 62–​63, 65, 72–​73, 93, 96, 102–​103, 105, 123, 127, 142–​144, 147–​148, 150, 152, 157–​158 Sansbury, Annie Winifred (nee Warrior) (1909–​1988, Point Pearce) 126 Sansbury, Archibald Bevan (1937–​1979, Point Pearce/​Maitland)  108 Sansbury, Darrell (b.1909, Point Pearce) 131 Sansbury, Douglas Parry (Parry Douglas) (1910–​1966, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 75, 81, 103, 108, 127–​128, 131 Sansbury, Edward (ca 1879–​1959, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 81, 110, 113, 159 Sansbury, Frederick Colin (b.1936, Point Pearce) 108 Sansbury, Gordon 130 Sansbury, Irene Dorothy see Agius, Irene Dorothy Sansbury, Iris Matilda see Kropinyeri, Iris Matilda Sansbury, Kenneth 130 Sansbury, Kevin Lancelot Roland (1926–​1975, Point Pearce) 130 Sansbury, Lindsay Ross (b.1952, Wallaroo) 40, 61, 63–​67, 67, 74–​75, 92–​93, 96, 102–​103, 107–​108,

 189

Index of Burgiyana people 189 116–​117, 125–​126, 126, 129, 138, 153, 155, 158, 161 Sansbury, Lyle Stuart (b.1962, Wallaroo) 60–​66, 75–​76, 83, 91, 93, 96, 102–​103, 106, 108–​109, 116, 118, 125, 127–​129, 137–​138, 142–​145, 154, 158 Sansbury, Malcolm Terrence (b.1925, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  130 Sansbury, Mervyn Thomas Snr (1927–​1970, Koonibba/​ Maitland) 130 Sansbury, Myrtle Edna see Wanganeen, Myrtle Edna Sansbury, Richard Alfred (1925–​2000, Point Pearce) 75, 93, 116, 154 Sansbury, Richard Edward (b.1948, Wallaroo) 13, 75, 105, 116, 127 Sansbury, Rose Marie Gladys (nee Newchurch) (b.1938, Point Pearce) 108, 123, 128–​130 Sansbury, Terrence Charles (1910–​1954/​ 1995, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 111 Sansbury, Walter Carl (Adelaide) 108 Sansbury, Walter Snr (1876–​1938, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  35, 79 Sansbury, Wellesley (1931–​1988, Point Pearce) 60–​61, 63, 75, 96, 108, 126, 158 Sims, Ben 74, 143 Smith, Alice Victoria (nee Yates) (b. ca 1881, Poonindie) 76 Smith, Cecil 81 Smith, Claude 76, 80, 81, 102, 107, 111, 158 Smith, Claudia 158 Smith, Clayton 60, 76, 91, 107–​109, 117, 127 Smith, Frederick Joseph Jnr (b.1910, Point Pearce) 76, 107, 111, 158 Smith, Frederick Snr (b. ca 1878, England) 76, 85–​86, 111, 113, 144 Smith, Janet 129 Smith, John 112, 130 Smith, Peter 60, 76, 102 Smith, Rayleen (nee Graham) (b.1945) 60 Smith, Stanley Garfield (ca 1901–​1982, Moonta/​Maitland) 107, 111, 157–​158 Smith, Stanley Garfield Henry (1922–​1964, Point Pearce) 61, 107, 111

Smith, Walter 81 Stansbury, John 79, 162 Stansbury, Walter see Sansbury, Walter Snr Stuart, Charles McDonald (b.1913/​ 1920–​1982, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 159 Stuart, Eileen Dardanella see Newchurch, Eileen Dardanella Stuart, Gladys Elizabeth see O’Loughlin, Gladys Elizabeth Stuart, John Huntley (b.1898) 51, 113, 130 Stuart, John (Jack) (ca 1880–​1953, Franklin Harbour/​Adelaide) 110, 113, 118 Taylor, Alma Kathleen see Power, Alma Kathleen Tripp, Ephraim 129 Varcoe, Nelson Dennis (1924–​1976, Point McLeay/​Adelaide)  130 Walker, George Lionel (b.1956) 1, 53, 60, 63, 67, 101, 107–​109, 124–​126, 128–​129, 137, 142 Walker, Sally 142 Walker, Susan Lorraine (nee Hughes) (1929–​1968, Point Pearce) 129 Wanganeen, Arthur Lennox (1917–​1985, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 154–​155 Wanganeen, Edward John (1927–​1985, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  108 Wanganeen, Glen Anzac (b.1926, Point Pearce) 154 Wanganeen, Glen McKenzie (d.2000) 154 Wanganeen, Irvine McKenzie Jnr (b.1948, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 108 Wanganeen, Irvine McKenzie Snr (1925–​1987, Point Pearce/​Adelaide) 60, 108 Wanganeen, James McKenzie (1915–​ 1970, Point Pearce/​Kapunda) 154 Wanganeen, Leslie Norman (b.1890, Point Pearce/​Farina) 112, 154 Wanganeen, Myrtle Edna (nee Sansbury) (1903–​1984, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 129 Wanganeen, Robert (1868–​1952, Poonindie/​Point Pearce) 78, 154–​155

190

190  Index of Burgiyana people Wanganeen, Shine 154 Wanganeen, Stanford Malcolm (b.1920, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  154 Wanganeen, Terence Douglas (b.1931, Point Pearce) 108 Wanganeen, Theresa Kay (b.1953, Wallaroo) 60 Wanganeen, Wilfred Lawrence (1894–​1976, Point Pearce/​Maitland) 111, 118 Warrior, Annie Winifred see Sansbury, Annie Winifred Warrior, Barney Edward (b.1909, Point Pearce) 112, 130–​131, 132, 145–​146 Warrior/​Waria, Barney (1873–​1948, Orroroo) 110, 112 Warrior, Bessie Maria see Buckskin, Bessie Maria Warrior, Claude Huntley (b.1938) 131 Warrior, Elizabeth (nee Miller) (1906–​ 1957, Koonibba/​Adelaide) 131, 132 Warrior, Frederick (b.1946, Wallaroo) 155 Warrior, Leon Goldsmith (b.1935) 131 Warrior, Thelma May (b.1932, Point Pearce) 131 Warrior, Vera Emily (b.1930) 131 Weetra, Cecil Spencer (b.1910, Balaklava) 112 Weetra, Harold James Snr (b.1893, Point Pearce) 111, 154 Weetra, Hubert James (b.1892, Balaklava) 83–​84, 111–​113

Weetra, Peggy Winifred (nee Cross) (b.1941, Point Pearce) 76, 92–​93, 96, 112, 114, 123, 125, 128–​129, 137, 146, 158–​159, 160 Weetra, Thomas Henry (b.1922, Point Pearce) 130 Williams, Gilbert (b.1911, Point Pearce) 104, 111 Williams, Lawrence Muir (1913–​1986, Point Pearce/​Adelaide)  63, 81 Williams, Stephen Hughes (1931–​1978, Point Pearce/​Maitland)  146 Williams, William Christopher Jnr (1908–​1987, Point Pearce/​ Adelaide) 81 Williams, William Snr (1871–​1947, Weetra Tanks [West Coast]/​Point Pearce) 74 Wilson, Clifford Tony (1890–​1955, Point McLeay/​Adelaide)  80, 81 Wilson, Jennifer Pearl (nee Newchurch) (b.1936, Point Pearce/​Whyalla) 63, 129–​130 Wilson, Mark 110 Wilson, Robert George (b.1876, Point McLeay) 112, 154 Wilson, Robert Snr (1883–​1958, Point McLeay/​Adelaide) 81, 112, 154 Wilson, Robert Thomas Jnr (b.1911, Point Pearce) 112, 154 Yates, Alice Victoria see Smith, Alice Victoria

References Kartinyeri, D., 2006. Ngarrindjeri Nation: Genealogies of Ngarrindjeri Families. Wakefield Press: Kent Town. Warrior, F., Knight, F., Anderson, S., Pring, A., 2005. Ngadjuri: Aboriginal People of the Mid North Region of South Australia. South Australian Studies of Society and Environment Council Inc: Prospect Hill.

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Index

Aboriginal Lands Trust 31, 36, 39–​40, 117 Aboriginal peoples see children; fishing; labour; maritime landscape; Narungga and Burgiyana; toponymic landscape; watercraft; women Aboriginal Reserve 33, 36–​37, 39 Aborigines Act 28, 35, 37, 78–​79, 159 Adelaide 5, 36, 83–​84, 90–​91, 105, 131, 133, 149 agriculture see pastoralism archaeology: of Guuranda 3, 32, 55, 64, 169, 173; language and terminology used in 136, 170, 172, 177–​179; see also capitalism; community-​ based archaeology; cultural heritage management; maritime archaeology; methods, archaeological; mission archaeology; oral history Badhara 32, 46, 49–​51, 50, 125 Balgowan 9, 66, 76, 105, 154–​155 Bay, The (Waraldi) 82, 82, 92, 94, 125, 146 beach picnics 137–​138 BHP 34, 91, 131, 144; history 39–​40; relationship with Burgiyana 39, 61, 79, 94, 144–​147, 150, 161–​162; Village 39, 94, 116, 118, 145, 148; see also BHP boats; Big Jetty BHP boats 39, 59, 93–​94, 115–​117, 144–​146, 161 Big Jetty 90–​91, 93–​94, 110, 155 boat 7, 9, 25, 41, 59, 74, 90, 103–​104, 124–​125, 151–​159; names 46, 58–​60, 59, 73, 117; owning boats 13, 60, 76–​85, 81, 92–​93, 102–​109, 104, 124–​125, 129; see also beach picnics; BHP boats; boatbuilding; fringe

camps; mission boats; Narrunga; port work; shipping mishaps; tin canoes; Waraldi boats; watercraft boatbuilding 7, 13, 31, 37, 72–​77, 97, 152, 159, 161–​162 Boys Point see Gunganya warda Burgiyana: access 41, 86, 92, 124, 150–​151, 159, 161–​162; before 1868 29–​31; control 35–​37, 80, 149, 159; establishment of 16, 31–​34, 72–​73, 143; history 23, 29–​36; life at 34–​36; location of 30, 31–​32, 73, 124, 147, 151; mobility 7, 32–​33, 147–​148, 150, 157, 159, 162; superintendents 27, 31, 34–​35, 56, 78–​80, 83–​85, 95–​96, 105, 111–​115, 125, 131–​132, 134, 145, 148, 154, 162; see also BHP; boat; boatbuilding; capitalism; commercial fishing; crayon drawings; Dharldiwarldu; fishing; fringe camps; Garnett, Francis; Guuranda; Lathern, Benjamin; mission boats; port work; sea routes; seascape; South Australia; toponymic landscape; Waraldi butterfish 2, 47, 53–​54, 63, 65, 142; butterfishing 66, 88, 125, 126, 138, 142, 155 capitalism 6, 10, 12–​13, 23–​24, 26, 72, 77–​78, 96, 101, 109, 124, 142, 152, 155, 158 catchments 39, 52, 112–​114, 118; see also coastal pastoralism; island pastoralism Chief Protector of Aboriginals 28, 64, 74, 78–​81, 83–​84, 105, 114, 144, 156; see also Protector of Aborigines

192

192 Index children 104, 116; Aboriginal 28, 36, 49; fishing 66, 127–​128, 137–​138; Narungga and Burgiyana 31, 37, 76, 125, 129–​131, 133–​138, 146, 154–​155; see also beach picnics; crayon drawings; school; tin canoes Chinaman’s Wells 32, 34, 91, 161 coastal environment and landscape see marine resources; seascape coastal pastoralism 101, 109, 118–​119 cognitive landscape 5, 11, 15–​16, 46–​47, 50, 55, 60, 65, 67–​68, 135, 143, 148–​149; see also Dreaming; seascape; toponymic landscape colonial archive 8–​10, 153, 168; see also Indigenous knowledge; methods, decolonising colonialism 12–​13, 15, 23–​24, 41, 175, 178–​179; see also South Australia commercial fishing 34, 78, 101–​109, 119; see also fishing community-​based archaeology 7, 10, 15, 55, 65, 168–​169, 173, 178–​179; see also Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation; Indigenisation; Indigenous archaeology; methods, decolonising contact 2–​3, 5–​6, 13, 15, 29, 32, 53, 72, 89, 123, 141–​144, 147, 162, 179; see also post-​contact crayon drawings 134–​135, 138 cultural contact 12, 25, 73, 141, 147 cultural heritage management 6–​7, 10–​15, 29, 91, 167, 169–​171, 173–​174, 176, 179 Dead Man’s Island see Mungari Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation 168; assembling resources 169–​170; building confidence 175–​176; engagement 170–​173; excellence and equity 176–​179; working together 173–​174 Dharldiwarldu 6, 9, 30, 73; history 40–​42, 75–​76; as urban harbour 151–​158, 162; see also Dharldiwarldu Jetty; export; import; port work; shipping mishaps Dharldiwarldu Jetty 41, 90, 92, 96, 117 Dolly’s Jetty 13, 32, 39, 66, 90–​92, 94–​96, 129, 138, 156

Dreaming 5, 32, 46–​55, 50, 57, 68, 123; creation story 47–​52, 68; see also Badhara economic landscape 2, 101, 119; see also coastal pastoralism; commercial fishing; island pastoralism European colonisation see South Australia export 155–​156, 162 fish: garfish 53, 63–​64, 91, 108, 127–​128, 137; mullet 5, 54, 63–​65, 105, 129, 137, 142–​143; other species 54, 142; salmon 5, 53, 83, 105; shellfish 3, 32, 63, 65, 125–​126; Snapper 54, 125, 142; tommy rough 54, 157; whiting 54, 64, 80, 91, 93, 105, 108–​109, 129; see also butterfish; fish traps fishermen 11, 53, 60, 63, 65–​66, 76–​78, 83, 88–​89, 92–​93, 96–​97, 101–​109, 125, 128, 142–​143, 159; non-​Indigenous 56–​57, 76, 79, 81, 93, 96–​97, 105, 109, 117, 144, 159, 161–​162; see also fishing fishing: drops 60–​63, 66–​67, 76, 90–​91, 106, 117, 129, 144, 157; families 58, 60, 76, 80, 102, 106–​109, 119, 127–​129; net 3, 5, 62–​64, 66, 78–​80, 82–​84, 101–​102, 105–​109, 123, 125, 127–​128, 137, 142, 162; regulating fisheries 104–​106, 120; for subsistence 2–​3, 6, 10, 32, 52, 101, 103, 109, 119–​120, 123–​128, 138; transit lines 60–​61, 65–​67, 90, 143; see also beach picnics; boat; butterfish; children; commercial fishing; fishermen; fish traps; marine resources; seascape; tin canoes; women fish traps 7, 101, 169, 171; Narungga and Burgiyana 3, 63–​64, 169 fringe camps 33, 158–​162, 160; Hollywood 75–​76, 91, 125, 158–​161, 160; Reef Point 76, 91, 105, 129, 157–​159 Garnett, Francis 56, 79–​80, 84, 156 Goose Island 32, 37, 48–​49, 52, 66, 106, 129

 193

Index 193 government departments 8, 27–​29, 37, 39, 51, 59, 78, 84–​85, 87, 94–​95, 114, 116–​117, 144, 159 Green Island 48–​49, 66, 88–​89, 91, 116, 161 Gunganya warda 49–​50, 60, 67, 81–​82, 86, 90–​93, 96, 103, 105, 107, 128, 159, 161 Guuranda 1–​6, 9, 23, 29–​33, 37, 38, 42, 47, 49, 55, 63–​65, 73, 76, 78, 90, 105, 124, 141–​142, 153, 169, 173 Hollywood see fringe camps import 156–​157, 162 Indigenisation 168, 173–​176; see also Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation Indigenous archaeology 136, 168, 176, 178–​179; maritime 168, 180 Indigenous knowledge 9–​15, 55, 168–​176, 180; see also Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation; Indigenous archaeology; methods, decolonising; oral history; traditional ecological knowledge; worldview intangible cultural heritage 7, 14–​15, 24, 46, 81, 168, 171 island mining see BHP island pastoralism 7, 34, 37–​39, 109–​114, 119, 151; changing times in the mid-​twentieth century 115–​116; pastoral infrastructure 112–​113; shearing 109–​112; water scheme 113–​115 islands 90, 109; Western perceptions of 11, 57, 148; see also Goose Island; Green Island; Kangaroo Island; Mungari; Rocky Island; Waraldi jetty 39, 61, 90–​92, 125, 130, 138, 146, 153–​157; see also Big Jetty; Dharldiwarldu Jetty; Dolly’s Jetty; Little Jetty; Old Dolly’s Jetty Kangaroo Island 26, 108, 142 Kühn, Wilhelm Julius 31, 33 labour 5–​6, 9–​10, 24–​25, 27, 41, 72, 75, 77, 124, 138, 145, 152, 154–​155, 158; see also BHP; Burgiyana; capitalism; children;

maritime industry; port work; women landing sites 88, 90–​92; see also Gunganya warda; jetty; Winggara Lathern, Benjamin 34, 78, 85, 112, 125, 145 legislation 27–​29, 35–​37, 105; see also Aborigines Act leisure landscape 96, 136–​138; see also beach picnics; tin canoes liminality see Waraldi Little Jetty 39, 67, 82, 89–​92, 94–​95, 112, 117, 125, 138, 146, 155 lumping see port work marine environment see fishing; marine resources; seascape; traditional ecological knowledge marine resources 2–​3, 5–​6, 11, 32, 52, 54–​55, 61, 101–​102, 109, 119, 123–​125, 142 maritime archaeology: education and teaching 175–​179; ethics in 167–​170, 175, 178; Eurocentrism and national biases in 6–​8, 10, 12–​13, 167–​168, 178; see also community-​based archaeology; Design and Evaluation Framework for Indigenisation; Indigenisation; Indigenous archaeology maritime culture 1–​5, 7–​9, 11, 13, 15, 57, 74, 103, 109, 123, 128, 135–​136, 149, 172, 174; and archaeology 1, 7, 12–​13, 15; see also Narungga and Burgiyana maritime industry: Aboriginal participation 6–​10, 25–​27, 41, 77–​78, 101–​102, 106, 119, 142, 145, 152–​153, 158; see also labour maritime landscape 2, 5, 7, 9, 11, 13, 32, 40–​41, 46, 55, 58, 61–​62, 67, 72, 77–​78, 90, 96–​97, 109, 124, 128, 135, 142, 147–​148, 151, 158, 162, 174, 179 material culture 13–​15, 24–​26, 32, 72, 90, 104, 123, 132–​133, 159, 173, 178 methods: archaeological 7–​8, 10–​11, 167–​168, 170–​172, 174, 176; decolonising 7–​10, 16, 136, 168, 171, 178 Middle Fence 49, 63–​64, 67, 107, 125 mining see BHP

194

194 Index mission archaeology 7, 9, 23–​25, 27, 31–​33, 124, 141, 147, 150–​151, 155 mission boats 8, 39, 59, 74, 84–​88, 93, 115, 117–​118, 144; see also Narrunga; station barge; station dinghy; station launch Moongerie see Mungari Munda 28, 31, 76, 78, 81, 143, 161 Munda Bay 78–​79, 81, 85, 87, 105 Munda Hole 76, 129 Mungari 40, 48–​49, 56–​58, 90–​91, 125, 137 Mungery see Mungari

Protector of Aborigines 27, 78–​79, 84, 124–​125; see also Chief Protector of Aboriginals

naming see toponymic landscape Narrunga 39, 51, 58, 58, 59, 61, 73–​75, 85–​86, 93–​95, 112, 157, 161 Narungga and Burgiyana: culture 1–​5, 31, 46–​47, 49, 51, 54–​55, 138; families 29, 34, 142, 154, 158; see also children; Dreaming; fishing; maritime culture; oral history; post-​contact; seascape; toponymic landscape; traditional ecological knowledge; women; worldview non-​Indigenous peoples 10, 27, 29–​31, 36, 55–​56, 73, 76, 79–​81, 93, 97, 113, 141–​142, 146–​147, 150, 161–​162

school 31, 33, 36–​37, 108, 116, 129–​131, 137, 143, 146, 157, 172, 177 sea levels 46–​48 seamarks 61, 65–​67, 67, 143 sea routes 63, 78, 88–​92, 97, 141, 146, 151–​152 seascape 2, 7, 9, 11, 47–​48, 60–​68, 90, 143, 146, 168; Narungga and Burgiyana 3, 5, 46, 48, 62–​65, 72, 123; see also traditional ecological knowledge shearing 33–​34, 39, 108–​112, 130, 132, 147, 155, 161–​162; see also pastoralism shipping mishaps 37, 157–​158, 162; shipwreck 58, 90, 96, 103, 105, 107, 116–​117, 125, 156–​158 ships tank 91, 145 social landscape 5, 123, 138; see also beach picnics; children; crayon drawings; fishing; leisure landscape; maritime culture; tin canoes; Waraldi; women South Australia: colonisation 1, 3, 16, 23–​29, 34, 36, 142, 158; government regulations 23, 27–​29, 41, 84; maritime industries 6, 25–​27, 41, 78, 107, 143, 154; pastoralism 24–​25, 41, 155 Spencer Gulf 29, 37, 41, 47–​48, 90 station see Burgiyana station barge 59, 85, 87–​88, 94, 144 station dinghy 59, 85, 88, 144 station launch 59, 85–​87, 144, 161 submerged environment and landscape see seascape swimming 3, 66, 88–​90, 97, 118, 137–​138, 148

Old Dolly’s Jetty 58, 92, 95 Old Village 39, 40, 61, 67, 104, 112–​116, 115, 126, 130–​133, 145, 172; living quarters 35, 39, 114, 116, 129, 131–​132, 148 oral history 1, 4, 7–​10, 13–​15, 26, 47–​49, 55, 63, 67–​68, 76, 123–​124, 148, 158, 170–​173, 178–​180 pastoralism 4, 6, 8–​10, 24–​25, 30–​31, 34, 41, 80, 147, 155; see also coastal pastoralism; island pastoralism Point Pearce Aboriginal Mission see Burgiyana Port Adelaide 81, 83–​84, 117, 154–​155 Port Victoria see Dharldiwarldu Port Victoria Maritime Museum 117, 157 port work 9, 151–​155, 158; lumping 9, 151–​155, 153, 162 post-​contact 2–​3, 5–​6, 9, 12–​13, 24, 46–​47, 72, 119, 142, 148, 150–​151, 179

Reef Point see fringe camps resource landscape: inner 84–​88; outer 72–​84 ritual landscape 5, 46–​55, 61–​62, 64, 67–​68; see also Dreaming Rocky Island 48, 63, 65, 89, 137, 152 Royal Commission into Aboriginal Affairs 28, 35–​36, 79

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Index 195 tank 34, 39, 113–​114, 115, 118–​119, 131; see also coastal pastoralism; island pastoralism territorial landscape see contact; Dharldiwarldu; fringe camps; Waraldi tin canoes 136–​137 toponymic landscape 7, 15, 46, 50, 52, 54–​62, 67–​68, 90, 141; toponym (place name) 29, 34, 36, 40, 49, 52, 56–​58, 66, 93, 118, 145, 149; see also boat, names; fishing, drops traditional ecological knowledge 5, 7, 15, 46, 61–​65, 143, 169–​171, 174 transport landscape 66, 72, 78–​79, 88, 90–​91, 96–​97, 150–​151, 158, 162; goods 77, 85, 91, 151, 155–​156, 158, 162; see also boat, owning boats; boatbuilding; landing sites; mission boats; sea routes underwater environment and landscape see seascape vessel see boat Waraldi 24–​25, 30, 144–​147; history 36–​39, 66; liminality and freedom on 144, 147–​151, 162; living on 35, 39, 40, 110–​112, 111, 116, 129–​134,

138, 147; travel to 3, 88–​90, 138; see also BHP; island pastoralism; Waraldi boats Waraldi boats 37–​39, 59, 60, 73–​74, 85, 94, 96, 116–​118, 145–​146 Wardang Island see Waraldi watercraft: depictions 134–​135; Indigenous pre-​contact 3–​6, 13; Western 6, 13, 25, 30, 72, 78, 90, 102; see also boat Western literature 1, 4, 6–​10, 33, 143, 148 Willows, The 32, 118–​119 windmill 113, 118–​119; see also coastal pastoralism; island pastoralism Winggara 63–​64, 91–​93, 107, 127, 129, 136–​138 women: Aboriginal 15, 25–​26, 78, 151; fishing 128–​129, 138; Narungga and Burgiyana 5, 58–​60, 66, 137, 142 worldview 10–​12, 77, 170, 172; Indigenous 4, 8, 11, 23, 48, 55, 135, 148, 171, 180; non-​Indigenous 11, 55, 148 Yorke Peninsula see Guuranda Yorke’s Peninsula Aboriginal Mission 31, 38, 73, 84

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