Born in the Cattle: Aborigines in cattle country 9781742696584, 1742696589

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‘Born in the Cattle’ 437

‘BORN in the

CATTLE’ Aborigines

in Cattle Country

Ann McGrath

ALLEN & UNWIN

Sydney London Boston

Io my parents, Betty and Brian and to Milton

© Ann McGrath 1987 This book copyright under the Berne Convention. No reproduction without permission. All rights reserved. First published in 1987

Allen & Unwin Australia Pty Ltd 8 Napier Street, North Sydney, NSW 2060 Australia Allen & Unwin New Zealand Limited 60 Cambridge Terrace, Wellington, New Zealand George Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd 18 Park Lane, Hemel Hempstead, Herts HP2 4TE England Allen & Unwin Inc. 8 Winchester Place, Winchester, Mass 01890 USA National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication McGrath, Ann (Ann Margaret). Born in the cattle. Bibliography. ISBN 0 04 150084 9.

1. Cowboys—Australia, Northern—History. [2]. Aborigines, Australian—Australia, Northern—History. 3. Ranch life—Australia, Northern—History. 4. Frontier and pioneer life—Australia, Northern. I. Title. 994.29°0049915

Set in 10.5/12 pt Garamond by Graphicraft, Hong Kong Printed in Hong Kong

Contents

Acknowledgements v1 Abbreviations vil

Introduction Vill 1 The Battle for the Waterholes 1 2 Men, Horses and True Grit 24

3 Stockcamp and House 49 4 ‘Black Velvet’ 68 5 ‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 95

6 Workin’ Longa Tucker 122

7 No Shame Job 145

Aborigines 176 Endnotes 179

Appendix: Oral History and Writing About

Index 195

Select Bibliography 193

Acknowledgements Thanks everybody! Special thanks go to all those, black and white, who were ‘born in the cattle’, for it is your story that is worth telling. My interpretation was only made possible by those who generously shared their station experiences: through words, and by taking me to special places. Friends Amy Laurie, Shiela

Williams, Joy White and the Bagot kids next door taught me ‘biggest mobs’ about Aboriginal people. Librarians and archivists around Australia helped me find a wealth of relevant documents to fill out the picture: my appreciation is extended to the Mitchell, Latrobe, and Fryer libraries, the Northern Territory Archives, the Australian Archives in Darwin and Canberra, the Archives of Business and Labour at the Austra-

lian National University, and the Northern Territory Pastoral Lessees Association.

For practical support, I am pleased to acknowledge Latrobe and Monash Universities and the University of New South Wales, the North Australian Research Unit, the Northern Territory government (for its Annual History Award), the Walkabout shops and the Bureau of the Northern Land Council. Julie Prince and Joy Karton were efficient typists, who gave me hope when they

wanted to buy the book! John Iremonger and Venetia Nelson shared their talents at the later stages.

Warmest thanks are due to the great academics who kept me going on this lengthy trek: Lenore Coltheart for over-thepartition enthusiasm and behind the wheel support; to Alan Powell for always believing in me and the importance of this work: he provided consistent encouragement in a sometimes hostile atmosphere. John Hirst deserves showers of appreciation: he

was the dedicated and creative supervisor of my PhD thesis, which has shrunk and grown into this book. John always knew the appropriate balance of sensitive criticism and praise. v1

Abbreviations AA Australian Archives, Canberra. AAD Australian Archives, Darwin. ABL Australian National University Archives of Business and Labour.

AFA Aborigines’ Friends Association AIA Australian Investment Agency BAE Bovril Australian Estates BNLC Bureau of the Northern Land Council.

CLC Central Land Council CPP Commonwealth Parliamentary Papers DAA Department of Aboriginal Affairs

ML Mitchell Library NL National Library of Australia NLC Northern Land Council NTHP Northern Territory History Project NTPLA — Northern Territory Pastoral Lessees Association

S shillings SAA South Australian Archives SAPP South Australian Parliamentary Papers

VRD Victoria River Downs

Vil

Introduction e

In Australia’s cattle country, Aborigines tell of lives spent in an historical landscape which combines two worlds—the bush and the cattle station. The cattle industry created a landscape different to that crossed by Aborigines hunting and gathering. The white intruders wore boots, rode horses, travelled different roads and were ignorant of the paths where spirits had left their mark. To protect their country and its people, Aborigines had to teach station whites many things. Aborigines worked the stations; they managed the land in new ways, though following old principles. They have made the cattle industry their own; they are still

the majority of those living on northern pastoral stations, and their dynamic culture leaves a distinctive mark on bush life. The Aboriginal stockman in cowboy hat, bright silk shirt, jeans and

elastic-sided riding boots is a familiar sight in much of rural Australia. Yet so far he has been excluded from our national legends because of racism and his position in the story of colonialism. White male bush workers were transformed by our pastoral frontier into a glorified ‘nomad tribe’, while Aboriginal pastoral workers have been dismissed as a sedentary group who had con-

sequently lost their Aboriginality. Further, the important role of black female stockworkers is virtually unknown as the cattle station world and its stockman or cowboy ethos is generally viewed as a male preserve.

Aborigines wanted their story to be told. I interviewed a number of Europeans and Aborigines involved in the cattle industry. As Aborigines were key participants in the drama, their voices are given prominence. But I am not merely a passive observer or

mouthpiece; I have listened with as open a mind as my values would allow, but then stood back and used my sources critically, and in conjunction with a rich variety of contemporary historical documents. Weight has been awarded to views which fit in credibly with the broad picture growing from my data and analyses. vill

The version of the cattle station world which emerges is thus from

a variety of vantage points: mine as historian and a particular person, and that of the many different participants in the cattle industry. Aboriginal oral traditions are both collective and individual: some are like national sagas, reflecting group memory of regional-

ly specific experiences of colonialism. Others are personal and family narratives. Both must be tested and probed for underlying assumptions and mythology. All Aboriginal stories, like all stories

of the past, are richly interpretative, revealing as much about present socreties and worldviews as about past. Aborigines now see the work they performed on stations as an important feature of their lives. Their identity as station workers does not detract from the strength of their identity as Aborigines. They maintained self-esteem in a typically racist frontier, and through the life they created on stations, ensured the physical and cultural survival of their people, and a rich heritage of bush

and station worlds which their children may enjoy today. But with the introduction of equal wages for Aborigines, greater mechanisation such as helicopter mustering, and more fencing, fewer Aborigines have been employed since the early 1970s, and

many new managers have encouraged Aborigines to leave the stations. Some have been forced to become urban fringe-dwellers, but many resist leaving if they can. Very few Aborigines currently own cattle stations. A grow-

ing outstation movement throughout northern Australia reveals Aborigines’ eagerness to set up autonomous camps, and run their own cattle businesses. A few properties have been purchased by the Aboriginal Development Corporation, but for most Northern Territory Aborigines associated with the cattle industry, their only hope of any secure tenure is if small living-area excisions are agreed to by pastoral companies. The Land Rights Act (Northern Territory) 1976 offers them very little, as only unalienated Crown land may be claimed, and pastoral leases rarely qualify. Nevertheless, in several traditional land claims over the past five years, male and female claimants have stated their intention to use the land for pastoral enterprises. Aboriginal excellence and desire for continuing work in the pastoral industry contradicts the popular image of Aborigines as bludgers and misfits. It also challenges the myth that Aboriginal culture was unable to change; we may think the cattle economy 1X

swamped Aborigines, but in fact they have incorporated cattle life into their world, consciously adapting and integrating it. Cattle management has become ‘traditional’: the Lingarra mob of the

Victoria River district want to use a footprint symbol for their cattle brand. This signifies an important dreaming site, where the spirits first stood on the earth, leaving a large imprint in the rock.' This book deals with Aborigines in the northern half of the Northern Territory and the east Kimberleys, from around 1910 to 1940: a relatively stable time, sometimes considered by Aborigines a ‘golden age’-—‘before grog, before wages, before the Japanee

war.

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Another bushman insisted on using an ordinary axe to cut 40 ironwood posts a day. White stockman Ted Yates who worked at

Koolpinyah and Humpty Doo told of how he sometimes got carried away: Ted takes off his hat and puts it between his teeth and goes through the bushland as fast as he can. He comes out covered in blood. There is blood all over his arm and down his face.*®

Aborigines remember their work in the stockcamp and droving as constant and arduous. Kaiser Bill Jaluba remembered the grind of working as the horsetailer on a droving trip: You gotta fillem up canteen, bringem back, go gettem wood, look

afterem horse, hobblem up, and catch your night horse, tiem up with the halter, keepem ready, bullock get along camp. You havem supper, finish, you gotta go watch. First watch, right up,

42 ‘Born in the Cattle’ I think about eleven, twelve, ten half past ten. Finish. Callem up nother feller. No good! Humbug! Oh, big job, that, yeah.

The horsetailer had to wake early in the morning to find and saddle the horses for daywork. At night they watched the herd in

shifts, two men at a time; when the mob was very restless, stockmen sang soothingly to prevent cattle being startled by nocturnal animals. The stockman’s shifts stuck clearly in Jaluba’s memory: ‘Ride roundem, round and roundem, singing corroboree ... finish alright, go back sleep, callem up nother one.’ Special night horses were kept saddled, ready for use. The ‘boss drover’

took the last shift of the night, and after finishing woke the horsetailer and cook. At daybreak, Jaluba said the herd ‘smelt’ the change: ‘Now they wantem feed, just lettem go. They walk away now, feeding.’ A stockman went on either side of the mob, one

rode in front, and a few behind. They would ‘just huntem up, slow’. During the hot part of the day after lunch the men slept; they started the bullocks moving again in the later afternoon. The cook would go on ahead to prepare dinner; they all met for the meal, then shifted camp again.

During the night watch there was always the danger of a

stampede or smash, which might happen if the herd was frightened by a mook mook (owl) or dingo. One night, as Jaluba

exclaimed, ‘they just boom! Walk ... walk ... walk ... walk. We hear it. Well some fella gotta get up and gettem night horses— afterem!’ >? Drovers had to sleep with their boots on so they were ready to hop up immediately. Ngabidj told a story about a stampede caused when the cook threw his plate, accidentally clanging it on a tree stump. Stockmen chased the bullocks for several miles,

and one man was killed when his horse fell. Ngabidj also described a droving trip to Wyndham, where he got tired of spending so much time on horses. Riding bareback, he arrived at a large billabong off Sturt Creek. When Billy Weaber told me, I mustered some horses, took them to the water and put in two or three. They walked a little way, then swam. My word, that billabong was very deep all year round. It was made by the Snake in the Law and was called Balibong by Djaru and Nyining people there. Then we mustered up those horses we brou ht. A big mob of white men and blackfellers went Out to the three paddocks and brought in all the horses to the yard. We draughted the mares, stallions, horses

Men, Horses and True Grit 43 and geldings and when it was all right we took off from there, camping on the road, and looking Por water.*°

Aborigines combined traditional skills and knowledge with those necessary for station work. In the stockcamps, Aborigines followed a similar rhythm of work and nightwatches to drovers. Arriu explained: In the morning, I used to yell out to them, bout daylight, we’ll go out and hunt the horses back! ... we bin learnem that way. It might be four o’clock in the morning ... you go out after cattle ... Leave horses, you put hobble on them, leave it, put saddle on, go an’ have your meal, and go on again.*!

At about five o’clock, they might go back to sleep. Part of Arriu’s job was to be able to get up unassisted. White stockman Tommy Skewes of Tipperary and Litchfield said his Aboriginal staff did not mind working day and night, or being woken in the middle of

the night.*? During the day, cattle were mustered and horses attended. They needed to graze adequately, to drink, and be yarded. At night, stockmen would ‘Yellem up and sing around’. Arriu sang his own corroboree, and frequently played his didjeridu. Aboriginal stockmen claim they did not object to separation from their wives and children: “We never used to worry much for our home—we stick to our job. Might be coupla months, three, four months in the stockcamp’, but then they would go on holi-

days with their families. They had corroborees, singing, dancing: : as Arriu explained, to ‘make us happy too’. When they ran out of tucker, they would return to Tipperary Station.” The outback stockman image parallels that of the American cowboy, who was ‘independent, loyal, impulsive, generous; he had a hot and hasty temper and a strong sense of right and wrong; and he took his liquor straight’. The Edison gramophone brought American music to Territory stations. Like the black American cowboys, Aboriginal stockmen have been excluded from national legends, which like the cowboy myth, attempt to glamorise and applaud the Anglo-Saxon achievement of ‘opening up’ frontiers. The autobiography of a ‘negro’ cowboy, Nat Love, expresses the familiar cowboy ethics. He claimed the ‘best of a cowboy’s worth is in his gameness or his nerve ... One of the favourite sports was roping and riding steers, which is done more for the sport’s sake

than anything else, and the love of showing off’. Australian

44 ‘Born in the Cattle’ rodeos were performed purely for entertainment and prestige. Both cowboy and stockman were physically fit, agile, courageous, competitive and often reckless. Each was in a ‘supermasculine’ game, and anyone failing to compete had not proved manliness. Many Aborigines were initially compelled to work on stations, but later when they started to excel at the work, it took on positive meaning, including a way to regain lost pride. Mustering and other work on horseback allowed stockmen a certain sense of

self-esteem. The outdoor, seasonal nature of the work and the travel coincided with some traditional values and gave a feeling of space and liberty. When it suited them, Aborigines could often retreat to remote corners of the station, or, like the roving cowboys, could move on to another station in the district. Because of the diffuse nature of grazing across large stations, constant sur-

veillance of the workforce was impossible. Lack of overseers contributed to a sense of freedom for stockmen, as it had for cowboys. It also meant Aborigines had to be self-motivated and derive some personal satisfaction out of doing their work well.

It was not the western work ethic, but rather a unique mixture of ‘cowboy complex’ values and distinctive Aboriginal values— especially land-related—which motivated Aborigines to work with cattle. Traditional Aboriginal skills were often useful in cattle station life. Aborigines were accustomed to outdoor work and camping and possessed excellent orienteering skills. Johnstone of Alexandria proclaimed that if European stockmen had not been able to

rely on Aborigines while mustering, ‘God knows how many people [would have] perished in that country’. Europeans were expected to value Aboriginal expertise on the stations: one exarmy sergeant insisted on using his compass, despite being allocated Aboriginal stockmen who knew the station thoroughly. Johnstone was infuriated: ‘He tried me out to the limit!’

Aborigines had their own work style. James White of Brunette commented: ‘My first experience with Abos as stockmen was somewhat startling but one soon gets used to them and their

antics ... They were wonderful stockmen, even in their own peculiar way. They were always laughing, always on the lookout

for game or food and how skilled they were in the art of hunting.’*? They knew how to identify the poisonous plants unsuitable for the herds, and they could complement the stockcamp

Men, Horses and True Grit 45 fare with bush foods. Sometimes they chose particular dinner camps because big plum trees grew nearby; on Beetaloo, they filled old cashew tins with the black plums for later snacks. When

droving along the Murranji in the 1930s, Jaluba fitted in some hunting, catching goannas at the Bucket Waterhole. On Tipperary, Arriu taught young Creed and Ian Lovegrove how to track, kill and cook goanna and kangaroo.*®

The presence of skilled food hunters and gatherers made bushwork safer for Europeans. But in a plea for higher wages for white stockmen the North Australian Workers Union argued that

the Aborigine could be a liability: he was ‘simply a child of nature and is quite likely at any moment to leave his work duties to chase lizards or obtain bees’ nests or have a blow-out on flying

foxes, and he frequently does so ...’ In one instance, their appetites led to conflict between manager and staff. When ordered to fetch a beast by Skewes, an employee replied ‘Go get bullock yourself!’. A heated argument ensued, and the Aborigine stormed

off. Later the offender returned with 34 fish; the prospect of a

good catch meant he could not waste time explaining to his ‘srowling’ boss.*”

There were many areas of overlap between the life of the hunter and herder.*® Territory Aborigines use the same terminol-

ogy when referring to the hunting of native game and cattle management: ‘chasem round’, ‘huntem down’, ‘roundem up’ suggest conceptual similarities. In traditional hunting techniques, game was frequently surrounded and chased into a corner; drink-

ing or grazing habits provided valuable clues about time and places to sneak up on an animal. Aborigines were skilled noise mimics, and planted themselves downwind from their quarry. Keen tracking skills and the ability to observe the minute details of animal behaviour were extremely useful qualities to the stockman. Conversely, some outstanding wildlife trackers reputedly acquired their skill from following cattle. An intimate knowledge of the land, its waterholes, rocky outcrops, hills and flood plains proved crucial in cattle management. Knowledge of the habits of cattle and horses, and methods of catching and killing them had already been gleaned by some bush Aborigines, and rapidly disseminated over wide areas through corroborees where humorous hunting incidents were re-enacted. Bush survival skills, developed

from centuries of living in the northern environment, were an

46 ‘Born in the Cattle’ indispensable asset to cattle station life: for example, the location of water during the dry season, knowledge of poisonous snakes,

spiders and plants, signs (often through animal behaviour) of imminent seasonal changes, and problematic weather.

Despite the hard work, most Aborigines have positive memories of their days on horseback. Not only was there an attraction in riding for its own sake, but horses also provided an effective means of travel. Their speed and relative ease of move-

ment allowed journeys to particular hunting areas during the working year, though walking was preferred during holiday time.

Stockyards and outstations were spread throughout the cattle station area, and work often entailed visiting more distant loca-

tions, such as a neighbouring town or station. Such activities could provide opportunities to move to familiar locations for foraging purposes, or to camp out in the bush. The mobility necessitated by stockwork complemented the traditional seminomadic and seasonal nature of the Aboriginal lifestyle. Station work sometimes allowed Aborigines to visit and pro-

tect their sacred places. While working for Dorisvale station, Nipper Mick Brown mustered around Collah Waterhole, or Kalay, a very important site representing the red ochre and ‘sore’ dream-

ing and associated with the dog dreaming. A cattle yard was constructed at Bernang, a billabong west of the Daly River, which

was the white crane dreaming site. Nipper Byrne used to ‘footwalk’ along the track which linked Collah-Kalay, Fletcher’s Gully

and the ant bed dreaming site. Harry, a man who worked at Dorisvale, remembered his trips to Fish River (Kwadjamwuy) and Collah when a stockman on Tipperary. This enabled him to keep in touch with his dreaming and maintain ownership rights: consequently, he explained, ‘We no bin losem that place’.*? Aboriginal stockmen were usually able to check and ‘look after’ men’s sites in the process of stockwork. Fred Muggleton, a Wagiman man, said

his group mustered near their traditional land and would not trespass on the country of other tribes: “When they are riding past

paintings ... they notice it, that nobody been around that place ... that they are looking after it ... you can see if tree been chopped or ... stone been moved ... some stranger been here, this sacred place ...”° Aboriginal men used cattle work to regain or retain their pride as men, in a colonial context. Their use of this work to continue ritual ties with land challenged colonial ownership and

Men, Horses and True Grit 47 the domination of white Australian culture. When Aboriginal men describe their cattle work, they do so with pride; they speak with

a sense of propriety, as though describing something of deep significance. They reminisce with a ritual solemnity: “We bin born

in the cattle’, ‘We know cattle we know horses ...’!

48 ‘Born in the Cattle’

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— — — — Linguistic boundaries

ye Main stations where Douglas Jack worked -_ Main stations where George Huddleston worked

Wagiman Land and stations worked. (A similar map has been tendered as Exhibit 83 of the Upper Daly Land Claim. As evidence it is subject to consideration by the Land Commissioner, and its inclusion here is not intended to pre-empt his decision.)

— 3 —_——

Stockcamp and House A sex imbalance in any society has dramatic implications, and in the Territory cultural differences, the peculiar nature of colonialism and its racial ideology were complicating factors. The relations between women and men influenced cultural conflicts between groups and within them. The stresses of the situation wove a changing and intricate web of power relations between ‘races’ and sexes, affecting both labour and social arrangements.

The proportion of European women in the Territory was very much smaller than in any of the States during the first half of the twentieth century. Around 1910 there were almost five men to every woman in the white population of 1729. The proportion of

Asians was also much higher than anywhere else in Australia, numbering 1542 and with only a sprinkling of women among them. By 1937 Asians had dwindled and the European population increased, but men still outnumbered women by more than two to

one. Among the rapidly declining Aboriginal population there was also a significantly higher number of men to women, but the imbalance was nowhere approaching that of the migrant population.’ So-called masculine qualities of brawn, courage, toughness and durability were demanded in establishing and running Territory cattle stations. Yet the crucial nature of Aboriginal women’s role challenges the ‘masculine’ image of the cattle industry and its

pioneering roots. When commissioned to investigate Northern Territory conditions in 1928, J.W. Bleakley, Queensland’s chief protector of Aborigines, concluded that Aboriginal women were the real pioneers, reasoning that without them the white man could not have carried on, especially in areas where there were no white women. Even where the few white women had actually ventured, he reported that ‘the lubra has still been indispensable to

make life possible for her’.* Henriette Pearce, an employer of Aboriginal women for many years in the remote Daly Waters 49

50 ‘Born in the Cattle’ area, explained that every Territory family was ‘indebted to the faithful help of dark-skinned women. Without them the white

woman would find her work too exhausting in that tropical climate’. Nevertheless, white women perceived Aboriginal women as a threat, not only sexually, but because they were in many ways better adjusted, more knowledgeable and capable in their environment. Despite the vital labour role played by Aboriginal women, they were viewed by policy-makers as the main obstacle to desired ‘progress’ for the Northern Territory.* In an attempt to minimise the reliance upon black women, administrators repeatedly emphasised the need to attract white women. Occupations: a wider range?

On stations, many Aboriginal women earned a living through domestic service, or by casual or semi-permanent sexual services for white men. Most pastoral properties were managed by single men, who required black women to perform basic domestic and sexual duties. When a white woman was present, more domestic labour was required, and the Aboriginal woman’s sexual function

was somewhat reduced, or at least driven underground. The homestead domestics scrubbed, cleaned the house and verandahs, did the laundry—bleaching, starching and ironing—cooked meals or helped the cook, sewed, washed dishes, polished the silverware and cutlery, and cared for the manager’s children. Other women

worked on outstations or stockcamps as ‘camp cook’, ‘camp cleaner’ or in general domestic duties as ‘camp lubra’. Black women performed a wider range of duties than white Australian domestics, especially in more isolated areas. A number

were engaged in various types of stockwork. Bett-Bett (Dolly Bonson) became famous as the little ‘orphan’ in Gunn’s We of the Never Never and The Little Black Princess. She became the leading stockworker on Bonrook in the late 1910s: her duties included checking neighbours’ paddocks for their bullocks, mustering and tailing cattle and procuring killers for beef. A skilled and trusted worker, she supervised other staff.” A renowned cattleman of the north-west, Matt Savage, claimed that during the 1910s 50 per cent of stockriders in the Kimberleys were women recruited or ‘snaffled’ from local ‘tribes’. In later years, increased communications, more established settlements and their accompanying ‘civi-

Stockcamp and House 51 lising’ influences meant fewer female stockworkers. Unfortunately

the number employed cannot be estimated as no official tallies were recorded. Savage preferred women because they ‘seemed to have more brains than the men, and were more reliable in the mustering camp’. More importantly, they performed a dual role: ‘They would work all day with the cattle, then all night in the swag. In 1911 a new ordinance to the Aboriginals Act made it an offence for an Aboriginal or part-Aboriginal women to be ‘in male attire and in the company of any male person other than an Aboriginal or half-caste’. It had been fashionable for employers to

disguise black women as ‘boys’ on approaching towns—as an attempt at ‘respectability’. This law was impossible to enforce, especially since police themselves often transgressed. In 1933 a new regulation stipulated that unmarried men could not employ a female Aborigine without employing her husband, but this law

was easily evaded by the employment of a ‘boy’ or dummy husband. One man had thus boasted of having a fresh ‘lubra’ every week.°®

Amy Laurie, whose mother was Dyaru from the Ord River and father an Aranda from Hermannsburg, was born about 1913. She was brought up by a white drover of Scottish ancestry, Jim McDonald, who leased Kirkimbie station, her birthplace. As a teenager, Laurie worked with Aboriginal men in general stockwork. When she married Alec Smith, they went droving; Laurie worked the bullocks the ‘same as the boys’. She reminisced: ‘All the women from every station went droving. Women like it, liked to be alone, droving.’ She left this type of work when she gave birth to her first child, Phyllis, because it was too dangerous and inconvenient to carry a child in the saddle. As she explained, drovers changed their horses every day—‘might be a wild horse or quiet horse, you don’t know’. Other jobs she performed in pre—

Second World War days were salt-carting and stockwork for Norm Finlay at Spring Creek. In later years she worked in the house at Rosewood Station where her third husband, Dougie Green, was a stockman.’

Mary Yunduin (or Yundebun) worked as a drover in the Territory and Kimberleys. For some years she was a horsetailer, travelling behind the bullocks, keeping them in order, taking them to water and so on. Like Laurie, she accompanied her husband in

this activity and was childless at the time. Maudie Moore of

52 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Dunham River Station eventually became a head stockman. A very proficient rider, she became expert at mustering, chasing cattle and

throwing bullocks. Other black women rode horses, but Moore was the only boss stockman there. She also taught the manager’s wife and two sons to ride. Moore remained childless.* Bill Harney used female stockworkers on Seven Emus Station: his companion Taylor’s tracking skills aided their searches for stray cattle. She shared half the workload, including the night watches, caught and cooked an assortment of fresh game and found wild fruit as they travelled. Harney found her invaluable, commending her as ‘a representative type of Aboriginal woman who helped to make this land what it is today’.? When young, many girls were eager to be taught horseriding though fewer followed it up as adults. Aboriginal women who worked for extended periods at cattlework were either childless or did not bear children until their later years. Once child-bearing and rearing was over, most were too old for stockwork.

Women such as stockcamp cooks and assistants had to be skilled riders, but a woman rarely worked singly with a group of men. In all-female groups social relations could be more relaxed than in a male-dominated stockcamp and so women preferred them. Even when a husband and wife were in the same team, daily work was alongside other women.

Aboriginal women did numerous other jobs usually performed by men in the contemporary white society. They accompanied camel teams, acted as shepherds, went on buffalo-shooting expeditions, worked at road and fence building and repairing and mining. They helped in the construction of settlers’ homes: sinking the posts for the frame, and pounding the antbed floors (dirt from termites’ nests was used as a cement substitute). On stations, women often worked in a group, sharing a specific responsibility

such as caring for the mules, or taking charge of the goats or cows, which included feeding, milking and transporting them to distant outcamps. They slaughtered, skinned and butchered the goats and on some properties also the cattle. Female employees prepared horsehair for the saddler and hides for tanning, chopped wood, and disposed of rubbish and night-soil.'° Women established and maintained vegetable and tropical gardens, pulled the punkah fans which cooled the manager’s residence, and occasionally worked in the manager’s office. Aboriginal men generally

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>, qe The Aboriginal man was usually seen more as an object of derision

than a physical threat. In 1938, however, some rare’ incidents where Aborigines had allegedly made sexual innuendoes to white women temporarily changed the situation. A lay preacher from Goulburn Island mission, Elijah, was in the habit of exposing his genitalia and ogling at white women. Once he lay across the path of Mrs Mabel Lilian Weedon, asked her if she wanted him, then

started preaching from the Bible. Neither of the two offended women could identify him, but Elijah was charged because the Crown Solicitor feared public indignation, and an acquittal, it was thought, would encourage others. Sentenced to six months’ gaol, the magistrate recommended that ‘some action’ be taken by the surgeon ‘to restrain his sexual abnormality’.'* In August another mission man, Packsaddle, allegedly assaulted two Darwin women

in their homes, and attempted to rape one of them. There were rumours afoot that the woman most seriously attacked had encouraged the man by treating him as a ‘pet pussy-cat’ and getting

about naked or scantily clad in his presence. The immediate response, however, included serious threats to lynch the culprit, and anthropologist A.P. Elkin was quick to warn against ‘race hysteria’, recommending an educational policy to counter the ‘evil effects’ of detribalisation.'’ The official response was to impose greater restrictions on the movements of Aboriginal men: they

were forbidden to act as messenger boys, enter the houses of Europeans, and a strict sunset-to-sunrise curfew was to be rigidly

enforced. Soon afterwards the excitement of the war and the introduction of hundreds of soldiers diverted public attention from such race fears.

It was not fear of black men but the lure of ‘black velvet’ which was to cause most concern for white women. Friction on this issue frequently destroyed otherwise amicable relationships. White women were shocked by the black women’s more open approach to sex and felt threatened by white men’s interest. In those days, virtually any white woman who openly admitted to

74 ‘Born in the Cattle’ enjoying sex was typecast as a whore. Hill thus claimed that ‘the lubra has no moral ethics whatever ... The black woman understands only sex, and that she understands fairly well’.'® Aboriginal women did have a reasonable knowledge and awareness of their

sexuality, but there was nothing unusual about their libido. Sex was a normal part of life, providing they followed the strict laws dictating the correct ‘skin’ or kinship relationship of permissible lovers. Most probably had more sexual experience than the average white woman. In many tribal groups, both male and female underwent a puberty ritual which involved a form of sex education. They were also able to speak freely about sex among older women, and were thus able to acquire wider knowledge of techniques. They took pride and a competitive delight in their ability to excite and satisfy men. Aboriginal ‘wife lending’ under certain circumstances was an

accepted practice providing that the husband’s permission and some payment was received. Did Aboriginal women thus lack control over their bodies when it came to bartering or sale for sexual purposes? Anthropologists R.M. and C.H. Berndt argued that the ‘matter of consent is incidental where a wife has been brought up to regard this as one of her duties’.'’ Although an

Aboriginal woman may have had the right to refuse to go to certain white men, it would certainly cause problems to ignore her husband’s instructions. Sometimes she welcomed the variety— depending of course on the man to whom she was assigned. Anthropologist Diane Bell reported that women of the western desert claim that their grandmothers entered into liaisons with white men ‘because their sexuality and their feelings were theirs to bestow as they wished’. Aboriginal women often went willingly as ‘they enjoyed the love making and the payments they received. Women exercised their own initiative, secured goods, admiration and pleasure tor themselves’. But later Bell noted that ‘Aboriginal women were expected to return and when they did not Aboriginal

males expected the proper exchange of goods and services to occur’. It follows that their freedom was conditional: the men were being paid for women’s services. ‘Ultimately it was the Aboriginal men who were dissatisfied because they were not being recognized properly’, and consequently they became more protective of the women: “Their menfolk wished to retain a basis to their claims that they had the right to bestow women’s services.’ Bell

| ‘Black Velvet’ 75 thus argues that women’s power has been eroded in post-contact

days.’ , It is extremely difficult for an outsider to judge the relative degrees of violence and power within another society. In some spheres, Aboriginal women had far more autonomy and power in this period than their white counterparts, but they also had fixed obligations to Aboriginal men and had to defer to their judgments in numerous important spheres. They were certainly not awarded the same type of ‘respect’ that middle-class European mores demanded, however dubious we may now consider its value. White male and female contemporaries frequently described Aboriginal women as chattels because, they claimed, Aboriginal men had control of the ‘hiring out’ of their wives. Joe Somerfield’s recent account of the soliciting process 1s fairly typical. He is an elderly man who lives with an Aboriginal woman at Kingston’s Rest, in the Kimberleys. He is a confirmed ‘combo’, unusually proud of the mounted ‘burnt cork’ he was awarded by one of his mates. While droving a mob of 1200 bullocks from Bradshaws Station to Wyndham he explained that an old blackfeller met me and he’s got three of the best-looking girls ever you did see ... He told me I could have the pick of the girls, this fish and this watermelon for a stick of tobacco, but I was too busy. I had to keep going with the silly-looking bullocks.

This yarn encapsulates the bargaining situation as perceived by the white man—that the Aboriginal man owns his wives and is able to sell their services for his personal profit. The classic argument of

the white man as expressed by Somerfield was that Aboriginal girls were always happy to see the white man coming: The native truly is the cruellest animal in the world with women ... Anything you can do is nothing compared with the natives ... The women were glad to see the white man come, because they stopped that sort of thing ... The girls had protection.’”

White men often mocked Aboriginal men, as typified in this ballad by ‘Woody’, once a telegraphist on the overland telegraph line: The Australian nigger’s a lazy beggar, he sits in the shade all day,

76 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Won’t hunt tucker, his wife is clever, you'll give your tucker away. He sits in the shade his lubra made, far better than the whitefeller man.”°

It is misleading, however, to view Aboriginal women as chattels, for it ignores the differences in social norms, power and autonomy between Aboriginal and European societies. When women proclaimed they were sent by their husbands this was partly an indication to the white man that the intercourse would not result in retaliation. It was also a gesture of respect for their husbands. It is tempting to dismiss some of Somerfield’s thinking as biased, for such reasoning obviously provides a useful rationale for the white men who looted the tribes, and who competed with Aboriginal men for women. But white men did possess particular attractions, not least their novelty value, food and other useful goods. And as Somerfield suggests, they could provide an escape from tribal

restrictions and rigours. White men thus provided the women with new choices which enabled them to evade due punishments,

or avoid marrying a man they feared or disliked. But the new option presented as many bitter disappointments as advantages.

Trade, kin and compulsion

From the viewpoint of many Aboriginal groups, the ‘lending’ process enveloped the white man into the kinship network with its many reciprocal obligations. But because few white men met

their long-term commitments, the exchange probably became standard and immediate, with goods such as flour, sugar, or clothing being handed over simultaneously as a gift exchange. Protector Dr Cecil Cook interpreted the relationship in economic terms: So as far as he [the Aboriginal husband] was concerned if she could get him a bag of flour by spending the night or a few hours, a few months, that was a perfectly logical way to get flour; it’s her job to get food anyway. But we didn’t like it. The white society didn’t Eke it.7!

Nor did they admit that women may have wanted sexual gratifica-

tion and not viewed it as work. Ngabidj conveys his understanding of the transaction: Every woman when they saw drovers coming in with the bullocks would go to their camps for sugar, tea, flour and

‘Black Velvet’ 77 walawalap [sex] and from that they got Jerry and one of Alfie’s half-brothers.?

In early phases of contact, the recent history of violent conquest flavoured the nature of sexual relationships between black and white. At first the white men used any form of compulsion to achieve their ends, but once they were reliant on black labour, the

Aborigines were able to exert more control over the situation. Female concubines were the first to learn the language and social norms of the alien intruders. They were the first to be allowed into their houses, and to glimpse their mortality—to see them as less than spirit ancestors or devils. Aboriginal women acted as agents of ‘civilisation’ on the frontier; they taught the young boys how to communicate with the white men, who in turn taught the older men; they acted as intermediaries in the ‘taming’ of ‘wild blacks’.

Numerous Aborigines from north-east and north-western pastoral areas sum up the process with striking consistency. A middle-aged man of Dagaragu explained in words handed down from his grandparents: The old men told the white bloke—‘Alright, you wantem this young girl you can havem. You can live with him.’ They’d say ‘Yes, I’m too old now, you can take him’. They used to grow them up. The blokes gave them everything —blankets, clothes, things like that, though they did not know how to use them.”?

Aboriginal men most commonly attribute violent clashes with whites to ‘woman trouble’. For instance, Brigalow Bull, who established Humbert River Station in 1908, asked an Aboriginal man if he could borrow his wife (Aborigines always say ‘borrow’

or ‘loan’ rather than ‘sell’) to manage the station, offering him food in return. The ‘old feller’ proudly explained that he did not want flour or tea, and refused to loan his woman, for, with her labour, the bush could amply supply all his requirements. His reactions were narrated by Riley Young Winberr:: What will I do myself? How am I going to get bush food? How many years have you been travelling round in this bush ... You should bring your white lady up here to do this sort of thing. Me, I’ve got no reason to give my Aboriginal woman to you. That’s my problem. I’ve got to hold her. If I went to your place, [ wouldn't ask you to give me your missus ... I might get shot.

78 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Brigalow stole his wife Judy, and narrowly avoided death when an assailant’s spear missed him. Later, under the guise of obtaining

water, Judy went down to the creek with a bucket but she had concealed Brigalow’s pistol in the container. Winderan killed him with a spear. Then a ‘big fat blackfeller’ named Ooray cut his neck

like a bullock’s and dragged him to the creek. Judy pulled his whiskers and said ‘Good job me no more bin likem’.” This suggests the woman’s story may have been different from her husband’s.

Bandy of Dagaragu told me it was common for men to fight in retaliation if white men stole their promised wives. Frequently

the husband was ‘not very happy with that man, might go out, sneak up, see him one day, put a spear on him’. He related a typical incident which occurred near Sturt Creek, where the manager of Birrindudu had taken a certain man’s wife: ‘Aboriginal was

thinking all the time, “che was a working girl, he never letem that | girl go back to husband’, man get bit wild’. At an opportune moment when branding was under way, cattle in the yard, and bullock dust blocked clear vision, he picked up a .44 rifle and shot the manager.*° Many such stories have become legends in their respective regions. A better-known murder is that of Fred Brooks

and Nugget Morton, who according to local Aborigines were speared because they failed to meet certain obligations in return for women. This resulted in the Coniston River massacre, where a party of settlers led by police carried out a ‘punitive expedition’ in 1928. Chief Protector Cook claimed that every year two or three white men would be speared, and people invariably blamed ‘gin trouble’ as the cause.*’ Sometimes it was the Aboriginal woman who was punished

for her failure to return to a promised husband. In December 1935, Topsy, an Aboriginal woman, was murdered after she visited

workers at Florina Station. According to one of the witnesses, Aboriginal Peter wanted to marry her but she refused because of her white partner, Alexander Gorry. Two kinsmen grabbed her

by the throat and choked her, breaking her windpipe, and then they took her kidney fat. During the hearing, Gorry, who had lived in remote areas for many years, asked if the defending barrister could speak to him in ‘pidgin English’ because he could not understand the questions. Gorry epitomised what middle-class people labelled the ‘degenerating influences’ of associating with Aboriginal women, because he was now at ‘black

‘Black Velvet’ 79 standard’.*® Aborigines would probably have considered him a closer kinsman.

J.W. Bleakley reasoned that female prostitution was ‘a deplorable result of the semi-starvation that often exists’ among camp dependants on cattle stations which were often depleted of ‘bush tucker’:

As practically all public roads lead through the stations, and the camps are of necessity in the vicinity, these simple women are an easy prey to passing travellers, who, at times, are low enough to cheat them by paying them with bogus money, in the way of ainted coins, advertisement coupons, and worthless cheque

forms.2?

In areas where government rations were available, these were frequently distributed only to the old and indigent. Missionaries such as Gribble agreed that Aborigines frequently had no alternative to prostitution. Because of Tennant Creek’s 1930s mining boom, Aboriginal food resources were depleted, but the two groups at the Telegraph reserve had contrasting attitudes to prostitution. The Warramulla, a

desert group who had recently moved there, encouraged it, whereas the local landowners, the Warramunga, firmly opposed it.

Yet twenty years previously, they also had a reputation for soliciting. In the 1930s, the Warramungas frequently had to tolerate troublesome men seeking prostitutes. When they refused to supply women, they had to cope with regular violence and other harassment.°° Despite pressures of hunger and fear of retaliation, the monogamous Warramungas refused to engage in the trade with itinerant miners. They certainly needed their wives for food and labour, but past experience with itinerants was probably an equally important factor in repelling them from the trade. The miners had few lasting rewards to offer: they were seldom wealthy, had little control over land or intention of staying. Aborigines thus recognised that there was little point in attempting to tie them through the kinship network to their land. Their station background had attuned them to longer-term arrangements with white men via the

arranged marriage system, and the elders had probably made a conscious decision to pursue only relationships they could ‘control’.

Black women were viewed as a side benefit of working on remote cattle stations. Some station managers used their authority

80 ‘Born in the Cattle’ to exploit the young women of a tribe as ‘bait’ to attract or hold single men to their jobs. An employee of the Victoria River depot complained bitterly that it was unfair that some white men had their black women taken from them, while managers of larger stations ran brothels. Many white men were lured to employment by being offered the pick of the best ‘black velvet’. One employer informed his employees that there were plenty of women down in the camp if they wanted them and that he would go down and procure them for a small fee. Xavier Herbert told me they had to be there; without available women, men would refuse to work on

remote stations. Because station staff in remote areas was so difficult to procure, Bleakley felt it would ‘require more strength’ than most station managers possessed to prohibit offenders.*' Bleakley pointed out that motorcar loads of men from bush townships and construction camps bent on ‘ginsprees’, or drink and prostitution orgies, raided the station camps for women. A stanza from a ballad sung to an Irish drinking tune and entitled the ‘Combos Anthem’ hailed the custom: So hail Borroloola, the Ord, V.R.D. The Nash’ and the ‘Hill’ for a cracker old spree We are riding with cheques and we sing as we come For a sut-full of wooing, a gut-full of rum.

These black women—euphemistically referred to as ‘spinifex fairies’ or ‘pandanus fairies’ in the ballads—were regarded as ves-

sels to be used and then discarded. This is not to imply that the women were not sometimes willing parties to these ‘sprees’, for they often awaited them as a source of income. But if they had not, it is doubtful whether the drunken men would have taken any notice of their non-compliance. Since the strong younger Aboriginal men were engaged in stockwork and often spent long periods of time away from the homestead, the women left behind were especially vulnerable to rape. Some managers tried to prevent white men’s visits to station camps, but they were often threatened with violence and told to mind their own business.** These working-class men hated protective station managers, labelling them ‘gin shepherds’. This song typifies the interclass rivalry over black women: Let gin shepherds watch when the rain clouds appear And the ring of horse-bells tells his ‘girls’ when we’re near He will lock up his ‘studs’ but we’ll steal them away To our paper-bark fires till the breaking of day.*°

‘Black Velvet’ 81 Part-Aboriginal men were also forced into behaving as whites in order to obtain women. As Jack Sullivan explains: We had to sneak round to get a bit of girl, the same as the white man, instead of camping with them. You might go over and tell the girl to go down and meet you, for you could not go into

their camp ... You were sacked ... In those days white men and we half-castes treated the blackfeller like a dog. We could go in and belt him or take his stud away for the night.**

In later life, Sullivan lived with the Aboriginal community. Aborigines sometimes attempted to control the exchanges,

and obtain goods over the longer term, through incorporating certain white men into their kinship network. More importantly, through attachment to women, the white men were virtually tied to the land and local community. They also had a sense of belonging not so common among other newcomers. Sandy McDonald, the son of a Dyaru-Nyining mother, was born on Inverway Station in 1908. He explained that his father, Jim McDonald, had a lot of natives in his camp and through their custom they gave my mother to him. That was why in those days a lot of the whites did not have any trouble with the full-blood Aborigines. The elders gave them wives, promised them just like in their custom.>°

The white man concerned was thus given a ‘skin’ name. It followed that he was then incorporated into the kinship structure, with its complex reciprocal obligations. He was obliged to supply certain goods to the woman’s relatives; by fulfilling these obligations he was able to avoid trouble. The Aborigines could then maintain a certain control over the situation, despite their subordinate position. Whites who intended to settle permanently in an area sometimes agreed to negotiate for women with the Aboriginal men. This was partly a measure to ensure their own safety in a country where there were few white settlers. When the Herbert brothers, Oscar and Frank, settled as lessees of Koolpinyah Station, they

negotiated with the elders for women. The diary entry for 9 December 1912 read: ‘Oscar and Frank go to black’s camp at Bridge Creek—cannot obtain lubra for latter, but one promised.’

A week later, ‘Kitty and Annie arrive looking for hubbies’. In | July the following year, Oscar wrote of Annie, ‘at present cook and housekeeper of this establishment, and a Princess in her own

82 ‘Born in the Cattle’ right’. In August the young men of the Aboriginal camp paid ‘a nocturnal visit’ to the women’s beds at the homestead in a bid to claim them back, but nothing eventuated. Oscar suffered badly when Annie was absent. He conscientiously reported the various phases of Annie’s illnesses, and without her company became depressed, and in her absence proclaimed he was ‘Sick of Life’. On 12 October, 1913, Frank was again trying to ‘secure a bride’

but reported the venture ‘unsuccessful’. The following day he made another attempt, but was stalled off by the Aborigines.*® Here was a situation where white men asked the elders’ specific permission to obtain black women and—at least in their diaries— they made little attempt to disguise the bonds of mutual affection and dependency between themselves and their ‘wives’. European drover Matt Savage explained meeting his Mudbura wife at Montejinnie around 1930: ‘Before very long I had

snaffled her for my own ... I got her young and treated her rough and she thrived on it.’ Despite such a crude exposition, Savage speaks very favourably of his wife Ivy for her ‘honesty, truthfulness and loyalty’, tor she cared for him when he was lame,

and, as many Aboriginal women did for their white partners, looked after him in his old age. Aboriginal women thus filled the western expectations of a ‘wife’, but did not object to bush life, and had much to contribute: as Savage wrote, Ivy was ‘a part of that life in a way no white woman could ever have been’.*’” This theme is developed in Xavier Herbert’s Poor Fellow My Country in the relationship between the central character, Jeremy, and his Aboriginal wife Nan,’® whose strength, adaptability, simple wisdom and patience are admirable, although somewhat idealistically drawn. Perhaps Nan is meant to symbolise the quiet resolution of Aboriginal women generally in the Territory. Aboriginal women learnt how to manipulate the system: they were astutely aware of the extra personal and family advantages of being the boss’s ‘stud’, for it could mean protection and economic

security. Jack Sullivan claimed that women were pleased to achieve such status, citing his sister Wongala as an example. The woman’s husband similarly expressed pride about her association with the manager. Nevertheless, as Sullivan explained, the Aboriginal woman agreed to fulfil her part of the deal, but did not allow the man to completely dominate her if she could help it.” Wongala boasted of humbling a ‘big fellow boss’ who wanted to have sexual intercourse with her on the kitchen floor: ‘No matter him

‘Black Velvet’ 83 big fellow boss and me just nothing; I bin say must be longa big bed all-a-same white fellow missus.’ It should not be forgotten that through the sexual pleasures they provided, the women could exert a great deal of control over white men. Bill Harney wrote nostalgically of his McArthur River Station days: after a night of boastful yarns and philosophical discussions around the campfire with his mates, the women’s appearance from the nearby camp acted like a magic spell: “The sages of yore slink back into their musty covers; the bush oracles falter over their words; their minds are elsewhere.’*°

The exchange—what we would term ‘prostitution’-—worked better on stations where there was a permanent paternalistic man-

ager; in such cases Aborigines were often protected from the unwanted advances of lecherous employees and unwelcome intruders. On Burnside Station during the late 1930s, the domestics

became fed up with a demanding cook they nicknamed ‘Blue Trouser’. When two spokeswomen complained to the manager, the cook was dismissed.*' Aborigines could therefore sometimes make their own terms and conditions. Through close female contacts with the boss, Aborigines could dictate their own terms of employment and occupancy of the land. In order to maintain this

control, however, promised husbands often had to relinquish rights to their wives. So in other ways ‘casual’ prostitution had its advantages, being more temporary and sometimes less disruptive.

Legislation and other official controls

When the Commonwealth took over control of the Northern Territory in 1911 it viewed Aborigines as a vulnerable group in need of protection; the anthropologist W. Baldwin Spencer was

concerned about the Aboriginal women who were being unofficially kept by white men for sexual purposes, and in order to bring this under some form of control he recommended that the

‘using or detaining a female for immoral purposes’ should be classified as employment. But his draft clause for the Aboriginals Ordinance of 1911 was never officially sanctioned, on the grounds that it was ‘vicious in the extreme, and strikes at the root of the

great “White Australia” policy’.*? No protective measure for Aboriginal women could be permitted if this meant sanctioning

84 ‘Born in the Cattle’ ‘race pollution’. Concerned for the preservation of race and the morality of single white men, Administrator Gilruth commented in 1915 that the tropics undeniably stimulated the sexual appetites of white men. He made no reference to the Aboriginal women concerned and did not recognise the power structures which made it easy for white men to pursue their sexual demands. Like the Minister for External Affairs, Gilruth stressed that the remedy for problems of northern development was the immigration of more white women.*°

Suggestions to exclude Asians from employing Aborigines were readily acceptable to the Commonwealth politicians of the Fisher Labor government. Inspectors Beckett and Kelly blamed Chinese for making Darwin’s blacks ‘vicious, cunning and untrustworthy’. Women had been ‘physically and morally’ ruined: at the instigation of some of these unscrupulous people who regard native women merely as instruments for sating their lust, the lubras quite commonly resort to a brutal and perverted method of procuring abortion.**

Aboriginal depopulation near mining locations was blamed on Chinese, who destroyed them with opium and drink. The production of non-white racial strains was considered abhorrent. The 1910 Act ruled that employers of Aborigines must hold a licence, normally issued by police, but in 1918 it was stipulated that no licences to employ male Aborigines could be granted to a person of ‘Asiatic or Negro race’ except by the chief protector. Asians, negroes and other races which were specified by regulations were

totally excluded from employing female Aborigines.*? Areas where Chinese conducted business were consequently declared ‘prohibited areas’ for Aborigines or part-Aborigines. Influential Chinese evaded the law and the scattered population of the Territory meant that the small police force had to patrol vast areas and adequate supervision of such legislation was difficult.

Virtually all the evidence available concerning the relationships between Chinese and Aborigines records oppression and

cruelty.*° Chinese clearly proved a convenient scapegoat for Aboriginal problems; they were at least an ideal distraction from the more embarrassing and difficult-to-solve problem of white men’s interference. Legislation aimed at controlling black-white sexual relations was extremely unpopular with white men. The provisions of the

-

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y the road’ droving a mob of cattle, (evident 1 ack round encompanion ean : ; .na. dr y ° y S1922 againstM er tire landscathousands e€tesStbecame route 1 which seriously eroded and devegetated due to the mobs of. StOC of cattle edStan through.Brown (Ph ‘ ; tot . ‘ Pp c 4 ° ( oto who ran orisvale Sta on OCa , ” tl : tion unknown e

—_— CU Left: Two toddlers, - : Alexandria Station, c.

, |FRen nae : 1917. The photoand was are | . entitled ‘Black eg White’. Having a lot of Mm | j pretty might arr oy a. Mire «ae anclothes advantage, but be

&. sR Ft RR fun, Because they

“Mes. a,| B. Spent so much time in a Cet a = = Aboriginal company, Cr yp. the station manager or ae oy ieee ra Owners children often i se meee )=6olearnt Abori pinal es Bames, and the local

Soe Ao RRR sa guage before

NE gf English, (Davies

fe A ee “! t Below: Helping with ieaex| r:the gardening, | c. Alexandria Station, oan | FE 1917. White children o grew up under the care

2 E of Aboriginal women - | | whom they

aas| |:| ;—duties accompanied their aroundonthe homestead. (Davies collection, N.T. Archives)

os " 7 + eae . | 1 ed ~ Gk ~ &. ve —~\ 4 *, ~ nN , “ 2 6 a + i ao) - en a wi : © .| id : Yine , » *4 s. “ iygho~nal veet pe, ye Th Was.

way , \ ’ , . ae a . ” . 2 te, ~~ *~ = . er A , ‘ , ° -‘ ;‘. ta p a . .Cx ae »* ; _. 4: .;. ,. :aw t 3: "h. so .™ s \\ ¥ | Mar Puget « teas \ jaan d if J 9 we il

- 4 a. * fmome \\ be:a ‘’ a x :Ppa |4we : q a r ~: ;y4) my

i a dpe of we yi | y a wo

7 ee . | P f ; ‘} ed a _

¥,4~7 Aborigines looking at ease on the homestead verandah at Flora Valley, c. 1920. Two of the women wear stockworkers’ hats; all are barefoot. Such housestaff worked independent of white supervision, with an Aboriginal woman in charge. (AIA)

neti yes fg omg ee » at jo, ME

Pr od area 3- a wm % &e ; 5 , Brg ¥ se as . 43 x Bee? cei nie | CO inn 4 ’ e , es 2 7 je re oe : “ *

LS a ,. eee r na Pe . ve i an a hye Fs hu ye ® : - . a \ . . . ‘ - : Fl ‘i e+ en age a an

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Wes? Meee ; = SC ~ i aan CoG me)

3 co nor’ es ‘_o te coal "| QEw-~ ae na L.

eR ‘ ae , & > = ao WA . , oe } . TS ae . n 5D vo “5 nS y : ; oe get a 8 og ST SNe ’ Be Pe Raa ace ee are —O

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+ or ae ’ i a Ose v

oF, Mae RO 3 Sag ante ae oe 6 ” 5 ——

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a= ne. : BOOS p a a > > 2 | a ma Se oor * . at’ oe , ba CS wy O YO wy . _ a . ; ) . < . “TG ° “eS Oo >

;|*| Baa ‘ A we 4. ~~ & ; ee, e RB Sar. nd xn; -. .2)ca & Ses ON ¥

I| ‘ad UV 2 eewere 4a4 P 2oOo .oe paneGe cS !aa CS » * ~ SF UV wy 77)cS es & - “Zs a

“ ' ~# ” are &

ie i ws ~ “a i ,. " da ii a é ) | “ ' ‘) * A. ee: ; "

. ec. vd 4 d ; ‘ % ) , 4 ’ a a . 4 J . ty

ae as :. Fr a eee nee.

ot | Be Pi 2.) ae Vetta) j we an - j ' } ’ | ¢ by ; he & ad a . : 4 Be ( ° che | gf vo , a ; 4

Poo, ‘ bk a me, i z fy “ey ;

y by , Pp

Its photographer entitled this ‘N.T. Bevy of Beauty’. It was taken on Alexandria Station, c. 1917. Clothing was not commonly worn by station dwellers, only by house and stockworkers. For this photo the women have gathered together the scanty materials available to cover themselves for modesty.a(They did notnecktie. see exposed breasts as erotic.) woman is left also wearing stockman’s Note the women fourth One and fifth from have tribal markings between their breasts. The children’s bellies suggest malnourishment. (L. Jones collection, NL)

‘Smithy’ or A.T. Smith and horse at Jindare Station. The man exhibits a larrikin pride as he shows off his horse, while an unidentified Aboriginal woman, his other companion, stands inconspicuously in the background. (P.M. Chapman collection, private)

“e a | £ay? 4a wi Pasee|

2 Lhe premaates if all CE PRE CN MED, 6 y c W4 ee ae . socideioner piace - , -

‘+” he alee + 4 -sa.2 |:,~~ —_ = i a ° -. eB _& * 4,. ,yr" of oe+Ls% ry, °: : 7 aa - ia \, 6. ~: o ° ——— : . "

{ ~. re ha 7 ~ ‘ 4

’ . ysoe, < in? of Pe4 ‘*" { "¢g FS.a aaex { . oa ¥e: 4 | ome \ , & Ns! A oe x ba t. Me tien > \. ¢ \\ eee >e -: ,y‘a ;y .(, :» -é- = . 7. 4:roe7 A' 4 eo’ “' 8, zg iff dita owl ee Se nid 5 cot f* Le aaa oe a ied Poe = ral : a 4

es e. ‘ee¢|° :

eas 5 yo { cok “la a . ‘ . . %

2 “a 3 . ., ae: co “ my = ‘ oe e

The Farquharson brothers at Inverway Station homestead, 1923. These rough and weathered frontier types were a far cry from the often respectable southern squatters. They look like characters from the Wild West. The Farquharsons spent much of their lives in the north and some of their descendants are well-known in the Wave Hill district. (AIA)

e»°e

aeos pt Se goa. :ne 7 oy-ae°. . a ° rn eo : eo rreee reeee ee oe ER GRR RG RRR 3 es RS a oe Fe ee we oN seheiace nSxe *& os8 . Ske beh the a EL go ESR EES: Seb anes kes OSS, fal var SURES aS he Sa eo ite RR x.

7 ue Jo a whe es : - aoa * oe “ hs obey . Mt iy et oars wat . SESS > wo ; . ‘s: . aN

, ,YORI . — aneSREP aay 2 , a a Ys woo . 7 oF es Oo ke fe. iw . re ee Sig aeem, . aa gh |SE, a;aSOASe ee ES EES SS A ER I ea vent. oe® oa n t$ eae, a Serr CG SG ae te aa aso ‘Sh M :

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: . ve - : 7 Be. . ah hd ton ‘ . - " ‘ ' ;

MESS Ea SR ORE om RM ogBT Ri-«PR ee4 OD so Steeae $*% F.. j . : : 7Co ais rnEE a oe . BE * BOSSoa Yehe, oes oe at2 pe 2 ‘ iegi Wie-%APRS a:

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rr UI oS Sa eon BEES Se) se Br reios a ae RE ES REGES REE Se, ET er CES Serer CR BeghctLetS. eck. HE "a Ys Re$,: Th - ae . 7 aye oe ESea PR"eg holyORE Matte ee re he ig aPR ABs! oe eee 2 abe

Bh¢ e b )e° e bdoe ry e

osses often ‘reared up’ Aboriginal boys. Set amidst the wild beauty of a northern river, this depicts the affectionate side of paternalism. It was entitled, ‘Digby fishibetriended boy befriended byDate Ji not ing’ , ‘Digby fishing—boy by Jim Fleming’. given. (P.M. Chapman collection)

y, r | ae 4, xe. i a bane

a ae: + ve “ee

So, : a i en 4 , ee . Rede eM oo tee Ee a _ee we \ a hes m4 ; ee . %. — ne a . ; if 0 . ‘ os As eee ek fly, a ‘yO an nS 3 Za. ) a

aG ee — ie ee a7

ae ; 3 we es i a yeh Ey

SS . : rie a Wisi omeEsa ee . Ee ee wa,

a. cn ey. ‘ aa .

| Al a

The Vesteys manager, two employees rest on verandah at Wave Hill C.W.D. Station, Conacher 1922. Theand conditions are humble, butthe the squatter’s chairs allowed some comfort and dignity. Note Conacher’s surprisingly shiny shoes. (AIA)

| : : “4 xoy% gEly eera % Re—_— a4

~ =cv b1 *e .SS, SO|.man xTh APRA B. o ~ =~ eee

re a (ae if = |ra ee wy Sep 7 eB af . | . we a 4 3 \ bess a oa ws . | - ; 4 ‘

re . ie . ae

I * = seh . é; 7; an ” . - Pea

5 &e “gael “a a: ae Gna Se 5 ak

ae w\ ey ra:- .SJ Fi aewe ay?ae aslawt | | ow ./ : * | rax‘ es ; ar‘ L-R: A.E. Moray (Vestey’s ‘travelling manager’), H. Loder, Dunn (jackeroo), unidentified Aboriginal boy and stockman, and McGordon, bookkeeper, Hill, 1920. A ‘superior air’,stockboy especially on the the jackeroo,atisWave evident here, though the young is not toopart shy of to be part of the group. (AIA)

: 5 ine! ge EE alk BSE, ~ Oe? : “Hy. BAL Ts. gy , | ao ae NN tt li ™ ™ ee } ; a ee rn “ily. ER. ’ ae %

eeSe2AROS ea iTA a Ry eee > oege REaSN: AR MR eeCt ME ge al Pe .,aaCe. ya Re ee RisPoe | ee ae RRiy OgNM "Sa Ae ae 8iBin 4.0:A PE a a: : ae: LS RY ee y's kee REECE EMSS, Tay ame to? acn = us ir|hive 4 oe i arn Satee “ :ha RS Ree ~art.ge ,UeaEs

oy nes oy ~~aetawe iiier a8 waooneS ,; a, e; = bet so, Py ae eat ava. ¥ ety, “agi On red wee xe ; le) ONE Aa ‘ : Be gh Be ee 45% ~ om % aan | ee SO em | > 9 is ak go | a’ ae: f oo wor wt Fo, tn fi ee 2 a y be § , 2 “al PDB Me "a , «go. oF * 1 ¥ > Sa heat: aa oe i le, 5 ar i 4 RY . wos D Ae, S Ee ; ae macs ain te ‘~~ - so j ah ra *. as . veo A . ag a wo

a EGE EE a al a ee a. re ee ar cn

ccd es ne :eRe aH. ae eee ar" | . we a .‘ Mi a ana. ae +.7=eC

"ok. : . eh >i ce te ona * "A G3 ’ if 4 ’ be LoF * ea se sa . i 7 “* . . 4 et ae

rn oe . ote “~ aa | ri or ot ee. fost ; , I oe a . . . oN ‘ , ; ; oe 7 wg ar ae .Co Pag a : * Dal “t \ if yA ot San bi ai ae ae pao it ae ee a eee - ye Lntp

ee ees ee ee. eee

a ee Bi , Ae mest"=ou wr:eon , rer. «8 of! ne. age exhoeogg Pact ot OR WD © —_ eeA ah wel one . f 234 nf - ” . i ¢ *% im ; oon i wes > . 4 cde “ oe,

“~ an : ee‘i ie ot a on oo+.:_e

Drinking tea out of enamel mugs, Nicholson Station, no date given. In an apparent attempt to imitate European-style table practices, this unidentified group sit on makeshift log chairs. But they still find it most comfortable to squat as if on the ground, including the man (far right) wearing riding boots. (P.M. Chapman collection) “*+ sam vwreaeuceeentaaneeonniieseeotia NOIRE TIT IENOUU TRS CS. CH

i. SP OReeinoe,2re PRISER RENCE DR eben. ot. sees . .

.ne*| Awe J _ SEA SAVE RT: a, ete al . + as “ .A. Se ry ‘ . “. ¥we aa ;lg; .,

Beis SP Si on | BSR TC RONAN SIE SEES UWS ca cacae ae ti ,

oc aE — — aa aes ; ° eek eRe we 55 ick 5 - ° ane e ‘ >

:¢a .“,‘\) +: amare se N . , 3 : t ‘’|SMe < SR - ; S. . S.. - ‘ {t. ‘+ f a ’: aint

ae ' . nd %! a SPER .7 Van : “ samen nan

- 4~~. 4j ;4:2hee . Ss. 7a 4 -, eo s . _ ees or 7. | ee yo . -3 my » ak . \ 7 rd z"7 y ~ i = ' A — “os uy ° * hs, 4 . “ar £% ane “‘ cS_* . * ‘ . 2 “* Bg km - ie 4 i

tier , “ ; ‘ “amy * a ~~ « he t

Ee ae ae ; 4 Two women workers at Wave Hill wearing Vesteys standard issue clothing, probably 1920s. (NL)

‘Black Velvet’ 85 Northern Territory Aboriginals Act were carried over to the Commonwealth Ordinance of 1911 which embodied protective policies

intended to control Aborigines and ‘half-castes’. ‘No person’ could marry a female Aboriginal without the permission of the protector. In the 1910s and early 1920s some white—black unions

were approved. As it was beyond the imagination of anyone concerned that a white woman would want to marry a male Aboriginal, legislation there seemed unnecessary. The 1911 Ordinance contained no direct reference to other sexual relationships, though Section 42 stated that it was illegal for anyone to enter or remain in an Aboriginal camp ‘without lawful excuse’, while Section 34 stipulated that female Aborigines should not be dressed in

‘male’ clothing while in the company of a non-Aboriginal person.*” It was compulsory for all Aborigines to be clothed in the towns. No specific references were made to cohabiting or consorting with Aboriginal women, so the offence was inapplicable if the woman was dressed in ‘female’ clothing of the day. This may be part of the long western history of women having to wear

male clothing to defy the contemporary social order. A major target group in the Territory were female stockworkers. An amended Aboriginals Ordinance of 1918 declared it an offence for a white man or Asian to ‘habitually consort’ with an Aboriginal woman or half-caste, ‘to keep’ one as ‘a mistress’, and in 1933 to procure a woman for ‘carnal knowledge’ also became illegal, though police rarely charged anyone with this offence. In fact, they seemed somewhat confused about its meaning, and in at

least one instance referred to it as ‘cardinal knowledge’. The maximum penalty for this offence was three months’ imprisonment, £100 fine, or both, though this was repealed in 1936, and replaced with the wording ‘cohabits with or has sexual intercourse with’— perhaps to avoid further terminological confusion. In 1933 it also

became an offence for a female Aboriginal or part-Aboriginal to ‘solicit prostitution’. The punishment was three months’ impris-

onment, with no option of a fine. In 1941 the wording of the section was again amended, and unless married or an Aboriginal, a man who ‘habitually consorts, keeps company or associates with, or who is found between the hours of sunset and sunrise’ with an

Aboriginal woman, except with permission from the director of native affairs, was guilty of an offence.*®

From 1932 to 1936 in the northern part of the Territory, there had been fourteen men charged with consorting, four with

86 ‘Born in the Cattle’ entering an Aboriginal compound, three with entering an Aboriginal camp, one with carnal knowledge (charge withdrawn) and one with attempting to procure a female for carnal knowledge. No white man was charged for raping an Aboriginal woman.* Laws against cohabitation were extremely difficult to enforce; police and whites were often single men who sympathised with offenders. A policeman and protector of Aborigines lived with several women on the Roper River, and in 1919 charges against him of serious ill-use of native women were dismissed because the judge claimed all fifteen Aboriginal witnesses were liars. Cecil Cook recalled that ‘no self-respecting man’ or ‘girl’ would live at the substandard police stations ‘so they got to be living at black standard’.°° By 1932 police were required to be married; improved facilities were eventually provided, and police were encouraged to ‘go on leave and bring back a wife’. It was common for police to

turn a blind eye to cohabiting, though it did depend on the individual policeman concerned. When a police station was proposed for Victoria River Downs in 1930, the manager hoped that a ‘broad-minded man’ would be in charge, no doubt fearing em-

ployees might be prosecuted.?’ Other men were charged only because the local policeman had a grudge against them. Although single men were prevented from employing Aboriginal women by 1933, this proved a relatively minor obstacle as women accompanied the Aboriginal men employed. Cook admitted that most white men on a pastoral station or a telegraph station ‘could have their favourite lubras and possibly a couple of half-castes’ and that ‘this was not conspicuous’. In the presence of official visitors they worked around the house but did not sit at the table to have their meal.°*? The women played down their familiarity with the man concerned. The laws framed painstakingly by the social planners were thus evaded, often with the assistance of the law enforcers who understood what it meant to miss female company, and followed the mateship ethic. The women adapted to interracial sexual restrictions as another peculiarity of the white man’s culture. They responded quickly to glimpses and

men evade the law.”° :

sounds of police approaching from a distance, thus helping their .

The whole thrust of the legislation penalised men in long- : term, overt relationships with Aboriginal women, yet it was | toothless in relation to casual clients. In 1915 Gilruth acclaimed the ‘healthy attitude’ developing in Darwin against the ‘combo’.

‘Black Velvet’ 87 In April 1932, Alfred Anderson of Seven Emus Station, Borro-

loola, applied to the chief protector for permission to marry. Cook replied that ‘all applications made by white men for permission to marry female Aboriginals are unequivocally refused ... you may regard this as definite and final’. Anderson sought legal advice and found there was no legal bar ‘provided the woman in question has no tribal ties [presumably a husband] is of age and

willing’. Another man in the district requested permission to marry an Aboriginal woman in order to protect their child, but was told that only an application to marry a ‘half-caste’ woman would be granted. He was threatened with the loss of his permit to employ Aborigines.” Like Baldwin Spencer years earlier, women’s groups such as the Women’s Christian Temperance Union lobbied the Minister for the Interior, Paterson, to appoint female protectors of Aborigines in the 1930s. But their demands met deaf ears: either it was feared that the scenario was too grim for white women’s eyes, or that the women would publicise the situation. The women were especially interested in ‘racial hygiene’ and the humiliating plight of the part-Aboriginal women who had recently been ‘rounded up’ and publicly notified that they were venereal disease suspects. They blamed the ‘Kupangers, Malays, Macassars, Aroe Islanders, Japanese and other races of coloured peoples’ who frequented homes of half-castes on their stays in Darwin. They accused police

and customs authorities of failing to ‘control the flotsam and jetsam of the Pacific who are over-running the town’. Whereas white Australian society hoped that part-Aboriginal women would conform to ‘respectable’ norms, the underlying assumption was that Aboriginal women were a lost cause, especially where there were large groups of single white men, such as in railway construction and mining. In July 1915, H.E. Carey, the chief protector of Aborigines, affirmed the administrator’s rather vague fears: “The possible effect on our non-moral native population of a large number of single men engaged in railway construction cannot be viewed with equanimity.’ But in keeping with the attitudes of his day, he was more fearful that ‘the results to the

men themselves, in a country where venereal diseases are too common, may be deplorable’.””

Venereal disease was one of the most destructive conse-

quences of interracial—especially casual—sexual relations. Women suffered and many became infertile; suspected patients were often

88 ‘Born in the Cattle’ treated as social outcasts—carelessly, and often brutally. (Gonorrhoea was the main problem as past contact with granuloma had rendered Aborigines immune to syphilis.) Aborigines suffering from contagious diseases were taken to Darwin, where they

were housed in a lock-up in the Aboriginal Compound, as no Aborigines were permitted into the general hospital unless eligible for admittance into the half-caste maternity ward. In a recent land claim hearing, Xavier Herbert described the conditions of the compound when he took over around 1927 as ‘hideous’. Worst of all was the plight of women suffering from gonorrhoea. They were kept in an old building made of whitewashed iron which was ironically once a chapel: this was occupied by six to ten women all fairly advanced in age. They had iron beds and they were chained to posts in it by the

leg and they had been there for years like that. There was no : treatment for them ... but the trouble was, what was the use of treating Aboriginal people with VD?

Herbert unchained the women and allowed them out at night. One night he told them to go to the pictures, and they never returned. Cook blamed white drovers travelling across from Queensland for spreading the disease to remote areas.”® In retro-

spect, the callousness of white men who spread the disease is infuriating.

The more humane men were horrified by the behaviour of

certain “gin-cranks’ as they called them. Of a cook at Negri station, one of Bill Harney’s acquaintances tastefully explained: ‘The “Plucked Hen” wouldn’t give you the wind from his back-

side ter cool yer porridge ... the gins have got him as silly as a wheel ... he’s that greasy yer eyes slip off him.’ The head stockman was known as old ‘Gonner’, short for gonorrhoea and the advice was ‘He’s that crooked he can’t see straight. Keep away

from him mate.’°” It is unlikely that Aboriginal women understood the concept of transmittable sexual disease. Their understanding of illness was

that it was punishment for breaking a law or trespassing on a sacred site. Less adventurous people preferred to tolerate terrible

pain rather than be trucked off to unfamiliar Darwin with the prospect of never being returned. This, combined with the white man’s fear of being ‘caught’, meant that official efforts failed to quell the spread of gonorrhoea. During wartime, military officials

‘Black Velvet’ 89 consequently attempted to keep their men away from Aboriginal women.

Looking back

Aborigines today do not use the term ‘prostitution’; the notion does not seem relevant, though some men in fringe camps out of Darwin refer to an unmarried woman who solicits as a ‘working girl’.©° Aboriginal women speak of their earlier liaisons with white men in a matter-of-fact sort of fashion. In 1979 a group of elderly women in Katherine laughingly reminisced of the various ‘welfare men’ they once had as boyfriends in their younger days. Biddy, a

white-haired childless widow whom I met on a north-east Kimberley cattle station, lived in a hut of galvanised iron and rags. Her

face was hard and blank as she looked over at the rambling homestead and remembered that as an attractive young woman she lived there with the manager. Aboriginal men and women had differing responses to black—

white sexual liaisons. When asked their views, Aboriginal men emphasised that women were stolen by whites and consequently met violent resistance. Women usually reminisce that they enjoyed the exchange; some remember ‘the blokes’ who were cruel to the women, while others do not like to say much.’ There is an obvious logic in the dichotomy sometimes encountered in their viewpoints: the men like to think they have control over their women, especially for egotistical reasons, but that a strong outside group used coercion. Women prefer to reminisce about their past lovers, and know that they had a certain amount of freedom in their younger days, though they know it is not advantageous to convince men of their perceptions. Let the men think what they like. It’s irrelevant—the females know ‘the truth’. Both views have been generalised over time, and with the benefit of hindsight.

Oral evidence shows that Aborigines of both sexes tend to agree that women were initially taken by coercive means. Men and

women alike explain how they helped organise prostitution for profit. It is more common for men to speak of violent resistance used against the white men rather than of the advantages of the trade.** This is probably because women gained more from the transaction than the men: economic rewards for the family plus

90 ‘Born in the Cattle’ personal extras and an alternative to their Aboriginal husbands. In more long-term relationships it meant many things were ensured:

the right to remain on tribal territory, security for children and older parents. The men have less to reminisce about. Men tempor-

arily, and sometimes permanently, lost the services, companionship and prestige of having a ‘fully devoted’ wife. The social damage prostitution caused may be more easily seen today, and

consequently the men simplify matters by referring to women being stolen, which symbolises and encompasses the wider impact of colonial conquest and illuminates the limited remaining options

which ensued. Women, on the other hand, wish to romanticise their past love affairs, attractiveness and freedoms and also wish to defend rather than lay any blame on their men, whom they know have suffered many humiliations—one of the worst being the loss

of so many of their women to white men—and who today cope less satisfactorily with the impositions of the dominant culture. _

Part-Aboriginal, part-white

The state lacked power to cure the economic problems which deterred white women’s migration, and grassroots resistance pre-

vented the control of sexual relations between white men and black women. Neither Aboriginal women, police or other white men complied, and the lack of state action suggests an unwillingness to extend the arm of the law into the swag or the bedroom. When coupled with the pressures of the racism and nationalism of White Australia, sexual relationships between Aboriginal women

and white men drew the coloniser and colonised both closer

together and further apart. The convenience and attractiveness of these liaisons were usually clouded by a blanket of denigration by

the white man. Any benefits the women gained were usually marred by the later horrors of trying to cling onto their children, who were usually lost to the coldness of a state institution. When sexual unions led to the production of mixed-descent offspring, the forces of racism, sexism and colonialism reached their zenith. The white government was obliged to act, and with a heavy-handed approach it legalised a racially based form of childtheft. The state took over from the deserting white fathers, acting as the embarrassed legal guardian of these powerless children.

| The mixed-descent population was rapidly increasing: in 1911

‘Black Velvet? 91 there were 58 ‘half-castes’ and 3310 white and Asian people and by 1922 about 500 ‘half-castes’ and 3729 other non-Aborigines in

the Territory. Growth in this sector of the population was outstripping the whites. In 1934, a total of 924 part-Aborigines were listed. Known as ‘half-castes’, ‘quadroons’ and ‘octoroons’

according to proportion of non-Aboriginal ‘blood’, they were some years counted in the census according to the nature of their ‘mixture’—lumped as Asiatic, British or Greek. Other years they were included in the ‘coloured’ non-white population, while in the late 1930s they were lumped in with Aborigines.© Figures

rose and fell in strange patterns, complicated by ‘exemptions’ whereby the government allowed some to attain ‘citizenship’ and

be counted with the white population. They were categorised according to current government whims, reflecting the orphan status to which they were relegated. Initially the appearance of ‘coloured’ children also posed a

problem for the Aboriginal communities, who interpreted the strange hue as signifying deformity or evil spirits that could harm their world. Infanticide was sometimes practised, but gradually the children were accepted and the influence of white men was explained according to Aboriginal conception beliefs. Different groups made conscious decisions to cease infanticide customs. Abalak, an elder of the Kungarakany people, claimed that they chose to keep and rear the children partly because of depopulation. Once the children were accepted, their mother’s Aboriginal husband automatically took over fathering responsibilities.

On the other hand, because of popular and state-backed racism, very few white men supported their coloured offspring. In 1921, an Aboriginal protector reported that only one white father officially supported his ‘illegitimate half-caste child’. That year a man was sued for maintenance; in court he admitted to fathering the child and promised to pay for its support, but afterwards he declined to pay, arguing it was not really his child.©’ As Aboriginal women were typecast as whores, alleged promiscuity became a standard excuse, and usually convincing enough for the white male magistrate. Early protectors such as Baldwin Spencer and Beckett had felt that the ‘half-castes’ should be treated as a separate category. From the late 1910s onwards, it became customary for coloured children to be taken away from their parents by police, who were appointed as Aboriginal ‘protectors’. J.T. Beckett, the chief in-

92 ‘Born in the Cattle’ spector of Aborigines in 1915, reasoned that ‘half-caste’ girls were more likely to become ‘degraded’ than white girls.°° ‘Half-caste

homes’ were established at Darwin and Pine Creek but they offered little protection. Those in the Darwin institution in the 1920s and 1930s asked to be locked in at night as protection from sailors and other transients. As chief protector of Aborigines, Cook brought the growing

part-Aboriginal population under stricter control. Fearing they might ‘swamp’ the white population and enthused by scientific discoveries that Australian Aborigines did not produce throwbacks when intermarried, he embarked on policies to ‘outbreed half-castes altogether’. His plan at first was to train and ‘raise’

them to white standards so they could marry into the white population and consequently ‘breed out colour’. As an incentive, government-built houses were available for white men who married ‘half-caste’ women. Probably inspired by perceptive Aboriginal comments, Cook referred in private to this as the ‘puckem

white’ policy. It was short-sighted, however, for there was no chance for the Aboriginal men of mixed descent. As these people

tended to marry their kind, they gradually formed their own subculture. While it was hoped they would be an asset to Territory development” as cheap, locally produced labour, inadequate funding was available to house, feed and clothe them; accommodation was crowded and unhygienic, and education appalling. The little schooling they received was directed at producing cheap

domestics and menial workers. When Chinnery took over as director of native affairs in 1939 he was shocked by the high incidence of consorting between ‘half-caste girls’ and Europeans. Refreshingly, Chinnery actually mentioned the words ‘sexual relations’ and seemed to worry about the girls rather than merely the danger of infectious diseases and the proliferation of an unwanted racial strain. Many children were sent to more remote mission

stations such as Bathurst and Goulburn Islands and Groote

Eylandt. Others were sent to Melbourne or Adelaide to work for white middle-class families.°® Here the separation from their community was extreme, and their vulnerability greatest. The children were taken away from their parents once they

matured beyond infancy. Countless poignant stories tell of mothers who tried to hide their children from police. Dolly Huddleston went to great lengths to keep her son Robert. His brother Paddy explained:

‘Black Velvet’ 93 My mother got them corkwood, you burn it make it black, from the tree rub it little Robert with little bit fat, and Robert he really black, he was more black than me.

In order to avoid whites they camped in hills or jungle during the day, digging roots to dampen their thirsty tongues, for they had to wait until night before sneaking down to the waterhole for a billy of water. When cooking they had to ensure that no smoke escaped, and they regularly applied charcoal in case they encountered whites who reported the child. Once institutionalised, other women went to extreme lengths to ‘hold on’ to children through surreptitious communication, but this was only possible where children were located near traditional land. At least one Kungara-

kany granny secretly visited Kahlin compound in the dark of night to pass on information about children’s skin names, kin and dreamings. The children thus had an identity and knowledge of family and some even knew their local language and rituals.°” ‘Half-caste’ policies could be described as the ultimate racist act. This was not mere neglect, the inevitable results of frontier conflict or a surrender of Aboriginal welfare to market forces. It was a conscious decision to conduct state interference in this most fundamental human relationship between mother and child. The

mother had carried the child, and laboured to produce it, then suckled and nurtured it. Protectiveness, dependency and love for children are among the strongest human feelings, and the right to reproduce and nurture a basic human right. State intervention in the reproductive sphere grew out of a collective attempt to grab

back the products of the white man’s spilt seed for the white ‘race’. In a paranoid reaction to Aboriginal women’s power in Territory society, they were consequently to be denied the right to rear, influence and make decisions about their children, and forced to suffer and sometimes be crushed by the psychological trauma of the loss. Lack of empathy for their plight reflected the power of racial stereotypes which assumed Aboriginal women had no feelings. Preconceptions about the white nuclear family meant non-recognition of the Aboriginal family structure, where the child already had a mother and father and was nurtured in a warm environment by various kin.

After being abducted from their families, the children of mixed descent were brought up to deny their aboriginality, and not to associate with people of darker skin. Despite the rhetoric

94 ‘Born in the Cattle’ of uplift, children in the ‘half-caste’ homes were treated terribly. This sad hypocrisy stemmed from the colonisers’ racial neuroses.

Coloured children were the fruit of the greatest social evil— ‘miscegenation’. In the 1910s, the ‘half-caste’ was popularly stereotyped as ‘morally worthless’ and ‘tainted’, supposedly possessing the ‘vices’ of both races, the virtues of neither and thus a ‘blot’ on ‘civilisation’, a ‘sin against creation’. Panic and guilt led to a confused attitude to the children, who were thought to be too

good for the Aboriginal camp but not good enough to spend money on. They were blamed for their colour, and consequently must have become very confused about their identity. They were taught that their relatives were dirty and primitive, but were given little to like in their new environment, and although learning to ‘think like whites’, were not accepted by them as equals. However well-intentioned state disruption of Aboriginal families may have

been, in retrospect it can only be judged as irresponsible and destructive.

In many ways, then, the children suffered most from the coloniser’s hang-ups. Few of them are thankful for the administration’s actions as their adoptive guardian. Some have become

powerful spokespersons: valuing Aboriginal culture highly, they condemn the continuing colonial relationships of northern society.

° >]

Tame Blacks’?

Paternalism and Control @

The relatively recent settlement, remoteness, isolation, and the small scattered population of white people meant that Europeans continued to be in a vulnerable position until the 1940s. They were still fighting to maintain their hold over the land, to define ‘order’ as they saw it: the establishment of a comfortable position of power, and Aboriginal acceptance of a ‘conquered’ status. The ‘wild’ blacks would be ‘controlled’ while the ‘tame’ ones worked harmoniously as the labour force. Employers had very little government interference or support; it was assumed that they would manage matters of control and any necessary ‘welfare’ of Aborigines.

The winning of authority : Station men and women exchanged certain ‘advice’ about ‘how to

handle’ Aboriginal employees. The codes of etiquette were not unlike those used by the middle classes in dealing with white domestic servants, but racial arguments conveniently justified social inequality. Recommended tactics for controlling Aborigines paralleled those used in the British colonies such as Fiyi. Strategies were required because of ‘racially determined’ deficiencies. Em-

ployers were not trying to compel Aborigines to provide cheap, servile labour but were ‘taming’ them to be ‘civilised’. This was

supposed to be for their own good, and reference to ‘ractal’/ cultural characteristics added a convincing edge to the stereotypes.

A typical employer’s argument was that Aborigines were ‘like children’, responding best when treated as such. 95

96 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Although the influence of Aboriginal culture was important

in shaping their responses, Aboriginal reactions must also be understood in the context of the station system, with its particular Status structures and psychological dynamics.

When Jeannie Gunn arrived at Elsey Station in the early 1900s, she was advised that there was ‘an art’ to handling black employees. Not having much success at first, she dressed up to make herself attractive to the ‘camp lubras’, explaining: ‘The power of inspiring others with a sense of superiority is an excellent trait to possess when dealing with a black fellow.’ The ‘superior’ air had to be consciously achieved. A standard practice was to avoid publicly showing fear.’ Guns were always kept on hand by

the whites, but even in emergencies the employer would try to remain cool and collected. Because they had to earn their way to gain the Aborigines’ respect, the whites would not dare to display __-

‘weakness’; this facade thus shaped the personalities of station managers, head stockmen and overseers, and station women. It was important for Aborigines to ‘feel out’ or test their bosses to determine how much leniency would be allowed. They refused to respect or obey ‘weak’ bosses, demanding a ‘good missus’ or ‘mullaka’ and not someone too easily rattled or manipulated by them. When a new boss entered the scene, he or she would be ‘tried out’. This happened to Mrs Schultz on Humbert River Station, with catcalls and other provocations designed to test her breaking point. Noel Hall was ‘tried out’ when he first arrived at VRD as head stockman. The Aborigines ensured that nothing went smoothly at his first branding session. New bosses were sensitive about their vulnerability: according to Lulu Talpalngali they got wild easily because they were ignorant about the work; Aborigines had to teach them.”

Harold Knowles, who employed numerous Aborigines around the Daly River, said ‘firmness’ was essential, hence orders

should be given rather than requests. Newcomers who used ‘pleases’ and a polite approach were advised that Aborigines would soon ignore him, or possibly even tell the newcomer to do the work himself. Wilson reasoned that ‘if you showed kindness

Or too much consideration ... they took it for weakness’. Employers claimed they needed to be firm but ‘fair’.> Alleged differences in mental constitution supposedly led Aborigines to misconstrue kindness as fear. As J. Roberts advised readers of the Northern Territory Times in 1919:

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 97 if you pander [to] a native, he will soon get cheeky and want to do just as he pleases—which means ‘nothing’. It is better to dispense with his services, which is generally done, except by those who are satisfied to allow him and his Missus to be boss.*

Employers often made a practice of being firm and consistent in the payment of rations. Aborigines were said to take generosity or lavishness as a sign of weakness, probably suspecting the overindulgent boss of being easily duped. Knowles and Skewes made a practice of never saying ‘good work’ or complimenting Aborigines, reasoning that they would expect more rations or goods. There are several cases where ‘good’ Aboriginal workers had allegedly deteriorated and become ‘useless’ when a new boss took over who did not know ‘how to handle’ them. For example, work

quality allegedly plummeted when Martin took over VRD in 1926. Noel Hall, who started there as a stockman in 1912, explained: It’s the ones in charge who can ruin them ... If you promise them something, give it to them, even a punch in the nose ... never break your word. If they can trust you they'll do a lot for you, but if they find you’re wishy washy, well they’re wishy washy too.”

A parallel psychology is used in the classroom between teacher and students: the ‘weak’ or easily swayed leader will not command respect or authority. Almost identical tactics were recommended to colonials employing coloured labour in similarly ‘unfree’ situations, such as bonded plantation labourers. In such a tense management situation, it was important that the roles of master and servant be clearly defined. The Territory master and mistress had to earn or win their authority over the Aborigines. As a station manager’s son explained, ‘It’s not ... “I’m the white man therefore I am king of all

you survey” ... no way—you had to earn your way’. In the stockcamp, the boss had to prove his ability as a horseman, and avoid being ‘shown up’ by black workers. Bob Nelson, one-time head stockman at VRD and manager of various Vesteys stations, said that if he gave the wrong advice the boss would be chastised by the Aborigines. New bosses were insecure about their authority and unfamiliar with the work, so cracked easily. Aborigines appreciated a boss who knew his job; if a horse was difficult and no one else could handle it, the boss was expected to take over.

98 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Reg Wilson, who spent much of his childhood among Aborigines on various northern stations, believes that the winning of authority in station employment paralleled the way Aborigines worked

this in their own culture—by winning their way into a central controlling group, and then maintaining this position. The boss, especially the manager, had to work hard in order to encourage the Aborigines to work energetically. It then became a sort of competition, as the blacks would be keen to gain status by outdoing the boss. Sometimes the young men tried to provoke a fight with the boss. Territory whites learnt the importance of becoming

skilled boxers as their physical prowess was under constant scrutiny.° The boss had to be ever alert in case of any murder plots. Young men gained prestige if they could kill or maim a white authority figure. In dealing with Aboriginal employees some practical knowl-

edge of their culture could be useful. Aboriginal concepts of quantity, for example, clashed with European. Local languages usually provided for only three numerals, and the blacks did not think in calendar dates, inches or feet. This led many employers to become impatient and irate. The more effective bosses attempted

to understand the Aborigines’ way of thinking and find ways around the problem. For instance, when asking an Aborigine to give an estimate of water at a bore or river he could request an approximate water level according to his horse’s height; for what was ‘plenty’ of water for a group of people was not necessarily

adequate for a mob of cattle. When the boss wanted to know specific numbers he told Aborigines to mark notches on a piece of bark or wood.’ In accounting for animals, especially horses, Aborigines could usually name each animal, so that strays could be detected by omissions rather than numerical tallies. To promote more harmonious relations some employers took an interest in Aboriginal ways of thinking. The boss or ‘missus’ thus avoided offending employees by making mistakes such as speaking the names of recently deceased relatives. Paternalism ‘Quieting down’ and ‘taming’ processes aimed to achieve a subservient, docile and obedient workforce. Writing on American slavery, Eugene D. Genovese stressed paternalism as emerging

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 99 essentially from class relations, with race tension heightening the conflicts of an unjust social order. While encouraging kindness, it also encouraged cruelty and hatred.® Northern Territory paternal-

ism grew out of a need to control the workforce, and was accepted by both master and servants. For managers and lessees, it helped justify the appropriation of black labour. For Aborigines, it was a promise of protection for themselves and their community, allowing them to stay on their traditional lands. It encouraged

the acceptance of class relations of patronage and dependence, with all their material and psychological implications. Territory station managers did not have the same pretensions to a genteel life as in the American south. While in the homestead some observed etiquette such as wearing suit and tie at the dinner table, they generally lived a jagged and unrefined existence, working outside, and alongside the Aboriginal workers. Nor did they impose the restrictions of a closed institution: existing Aboriginal bonds with the land meant that station workers were not likely to want to ‘escape’. Paternalism helped to fill and explain the tensions arising from the wide cultural and social gap between master and servant. But whites were aware that in many ways the coun-

try remained Aboriginal, for they knew and understood it best. This factor threw whites into a significantly deeper dependence on their black servants.

Romanticised perceptions of north Australian paternalism are contained in Gunn’s We of the Never Never, The Little Black Princess, and Mary and Elizabeth Durack’s All-about.’ They are patronising, delight in viewing Aborigines as troublesome, though entertaining pets or children—full of fun, carefree, and happily

ignorant. These works by talented and rather atypical station women idealise the position of Aboriginal servants, trying to convince the southern reader that Aborigines are a duty and a burden for the whites, who are helping them out of kindness. Prichard’s Coonardoo depicts the undying loyalty which stemmed from the paternalistic ethos, though it presents the main character as a more feeling and somewhat more adult human being. Most managers and their wives did not glamorise their Aboriginal servants as ‘cute pets’, but rather treated them with an earthy kind of aloofness or gruffness. In keeping with the character of the ‘typical’ hard, tough and frequently embittered Territory settler, employers used abusive language and condescending tactics,

as Herbert depicts in Capricornia. Black servants undoubtedly

100 ‘Born in the Cattle’ understood what lay underneath such a veneer, which was often a strong dependence on Aboriginal labour and women. Sometimes consideration was proven in actions rather than words, impressing Aborigines far more. The possessive pronoun worked both ways within the paternalistic relationship: as well as ‘my boys’ from the father/mother figures, the Aborigines refer to ‘my missus’ and ‘my boss’. Their strong identification with boss figures led them to take the surnames of white employers or overseers. In many cases a ‘skin’ name was given to the boss, who was then able to be incorporated

into the kinship system—at least superficially. For example George Huddleston, a Wagiman man, called Tom Liddy father because he ‘reared him up’, and Liddy’s brothers were incorporated in the kinship network.'°

Bosses were viewed as protectors by employees. For one thing, they did not stand for police coming onto the station and interfering with ‘their’ Aborigines unless consulted first. Durack, the manager of Newry Station, lodged an angry complaint when an Aboriginal woman and her part-Aboriginal child were taken

away by Mounted Constable Fitzer. Although mainly out of self-interest Durack also promised to rear and educate the child at the station, which saved the mother the anguish of totally losing her child. Similarly, Kilfoyle, manager of Rosewood Station, tried to dissuade the mounted constable from taking a part-Aboriginal girl, Alice, explaining that she planned to marry a ‘half-caste’ boy

on the station when old enough. He later refused to reveal her

whereabouts. !'

Employers often helped good stockmen get off charges re-

lated to tribal murders, and attempted to obtain the release of those in jail. The master or mistress protected their servants according to European standards, often interfering with Aboriginal laws to do so. When young women were married to decrepit

old men the whites sometimes intervened, and they retaliated when one of their employees was hurt by another Aborigine. On VRD a ‘bush native’ threw a boomerang at a woman carrying a

bucket of water, splitting her head open in full view of the Europeans. Evidently there was a tribal reason for the slaying, but unhesitatingly the whites ‘gave him a surprise’-—shooting him dead.'? The manager concerned himself with the physical welfare of Aborigines. A. Wilson, Burnside manager in the late 1930s, drove

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 101 the twenty or thirty stockmen to the Daly River, where they could

have a more ‘worthwhile’ holiday than the opium binge of the previous year.'> The boss or missus treated their workers’ illnesses, and doctored wounds caused by work accidents or incurred for tribal reasons. Sometimes the missus assisted at difficult births or cared for weak babies. She often took an interest in the young children of the station, providing them with nutritious foods such as goat’s milk. The interaction between master and servant was organic. The black women reared and even suckled the manager’s white chil-

dren, some of whom were later to be bosses, and left a deep impact on them, even if later rejected by them. The white children learnt indigenous languages and developed an understanding of Aboriginal law and thought patterns. The loyalty and trust intrinsic to the paternalistic relationship is perhaps best illus-

trated by the white missus entrusting her young children to the

care of Aboriginal women for extended periods. Aboriginal women repeatedly insisted they had a ‘good missus ... she look after us properly’. Very rarely was any criticism made. Gratitude and loyalty apparently stemmed from an acceptance and internalisation of the paternalistic relationship. It is difficult to decide whether apparent respect was merely

an outward show of behaviour to satisfy European demands. When I (a white woman) asked a group of women at Moongoong

Darwung for some assistance, they responded as if I was an authoritative boss figure, calling me missus, offering me their only mug for tea, the chair normally reserved for an old man with high status, and later the front seat position in a utility truck while they all sat in the back. They agreed to comply with my requests even

though I later discovered that due to other commitments, they could not actually do so. I should have realised that a likely cause for their extreme hesitancy to say ‘no’ to the request of a white person was past station experiences, where this was considered ‘cheeky’ behaviour. All whites represented authority, but not all had to be obeyed.

Once accepted, bosses became enmeshed in their superior role. They commonly bestowed the title of ‘King’ upon a favourite employee, which was supposed to make him king of the station’s blacks. The boss even wielded his power to persuade ‘clever men’ or sorcerers to withdraw their magic, sometimes successfully. Tom Skewes, ex-manager of Litchfield Station, took

102 ‘Born in the Cattle’ back the clothing of Tamarai, the sorcerer, and ‘threatened him with everything’ because he had caused severe illness in one of his

wife’s favourite servants. Tamarai withdrew the spell and the woman recovered.!* Other ‘clever men’ such as Boxer, who had worked on Argyle Station, became folk heroes among Aborigines because they refused to bend to white authority. Aborigines ap-

plied traditional understandings to the master-servant relationship, enabling them to locate it within an Aboriginal context

of proper behaviour and status structures. The boss may have been viewed as akin to their ritual leader figures who are expected to look after their ritual subordinates.

Northern Territory Aborigines use the word ‘mullaka’ to refer to the manager. ‘Mullaka’ could mean ‘boss’ but it could also be used when speaking with equals as a sign of respect, like the word gurang which means ‘old man’. ‘Mullaka’ was probably a

friendlier, more familiar, term than ‘boss’.'? Aborigines thus accepted a dependency status similar to a relationship with one of their own leaders. Station employees felt threatened by the presence of constantly changing employers, and sometimes invited

the boss to participate in corroborees and share knowledge of bush foods. This was designed to encourage the boss to become attached to the land—to ‘tie him to the country’—and make him more understanding of its people and their needs. Such whites also

had a sense of ‘belonging’ to the country, and could be more relied upon by the Aborigines.

Control strategy Employers used an elaborate web of social controls to ensure that Aborigines were aware of their status and would be effectively restricted and compliant in their behaviour. Althoygh Europeans and Aborigines worked together, rigid segregation was enforced

when it came to eating and sleeping. The manager and white workers generally ate together in the dining room of the homestead. Where there were part-Aboriginal stockmen, they might be permitted to eat in the kitchen, separate from the full-bloods, but

not actually with the Europeans. A separate kitchen run by Aboriginal women under the jurisdiction of the ‘missus’ normally provided meals for the black workers. Aborigines ate back at the camp or woodheap. When they saw whites dining, they were constantly reminded

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 103 of their servile position: one woman had to pump away at a punkah while the whites ate in the cool, or waited on them in a crisp dress and waitress cap while they lazed on squatters’ chairs, under the shade of the pawpaw groves, pouring tea from their silver service into fine china cups.'® In the stockcamps, we might imagine it would be impossible

to maintain this kind of distance and segregation, but not so. Herbert illustrated these practices in Capricornia: the whites ate separately, and drank the water carried in ‘white man’s packs’. The ‘blackboys’ ate with their fingers off tin plates, and sat well

apart. The ‘half-castes’ ate either at a little distance from the whites, or with the Aborigines; they were allowed to drink water carried on the saddles. Sleeping arrangements, though inevitably close in a stockcamp, observed the social distance of the station hierarchy. Aborigines were very sensitive to the way most whites maintained a strict social distance. One black stockman described an exceptional white boss as an extremely ‘good bloke’ because he slept on the same bed as a black man.’” Aloofness between master and servant best exemplifies status demarcations. The giving of ridiculous or condescending names to Aboriginal workers might have been another way of expressing and maintaining social distance, though white workers of Territory stations also had similarly uncomplimentary nicknames. In the exceptional case, a certain closeness and bond would grow up between the male or female boss and one of their servants. Such relationships posed a threat to the management’s control tactics and thus had to be carefully handled.

White settlers who refused to conform to prescribed behaviour risked social ostracism. Murders of whites by Aborigines were spuriously blamed upon ‘inexperienced white settlers making free with natives and treating them as equals’.'* Newcomers who did not follow the usual behavioural codes were not ensuring that blacks be ‘kept in their place’ as subordinates.

The prime contradiction was the white man’s sexual and emotional involvement with Aboriginal women. Europeans argued that when whites became too ‘mixed up’ with Aborigines (by taking black wives) they lost control of their workforce. This was said to be the downfall of a Daly River settler whose black employees reportedly ‘moved in, took over and did very much as they damn well pleased’.!? There were many more cases, however, where employers lived openly with an Aboriginal woman in the homestead and maintained authority: for example Bathern ran

104 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Beetaloo Station effectively for over 40 years. The pastoral inspector’s report was guarded in its approval for a man whose property

was run and co-owned by his part-Aboriginal offspring: ‘In the circumstances, the position of control can be said to be compara-

tively satisfactory.’“°

Very few attempts were made by stations to educate their workers in anything but job skills. Literacy, numeracy, money handling and such capacities would have enabled them to cope better in the towns. Sometimes a ‘missus’ held school for white children and allowed their Aboriginal friends to attend, but with little encouragement as it was thought Aborigines were incapable

of learning. Pidgin English was spoken to black workers, even though employers knew they could understand ordinary English.*! This was an effective mechanism to ensure that blacks stayed in ‘their place’ in the wider world, but among themselves it was becoming a uniquely aboriginalised lingua franca. Managers wanted to prevent Aborigines from becoming wage workers, arguing that if wages were paid, they would not work for very long. Martin, the manager of Victoria River Downs in the 1930s, complained that unionists, or ‘red rags’ as he called them, were causing discontent among his black employees, who were demanding wages.” Employers warned travelling whites not to camp near Aborigines for they feared outsiders might ‘spoil’ them. American soldiers were later accused of making the blacks lazy, because they handed out expensive foods, and did not demand labour in return. The self-contained nature of stations tended to restrict Aboriginal social mobility. Non-payment of cash wages restricted their buying power in towns and limited their contact with other urban influences. The 1937 Payne—Fletcher Report stated that Aborigines who worked on the stations were offered the greatest opportunities. They saw ‘some really skilful workers, delighting in their work and the conditions under which they lived’. The best were station-trained and not exposed to ‘outside influences’.*’ It was

hoped that if contained in station environs Aborigines would remain ‘content’.

Incentives

In his 1928 report, Bleakley reported surprise on the few incentives offered by station employers. He thought that attempts to

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 105 ‘elevate or educate Aborigines ... should enhance their value as machinery’. As it was conveniently accepted that Aborigines were beyond redemption and that education spoilt them, ‘there was little encouragement for ambition’. Consequently, Bleakley asked, ‘Is it any wonder that he sometimes has little heart in his work and is branded as lazy and unreliable?’?* Wages were not usually paid to Aborigines: in exchange for their labour power, they received only some basic supplies. But

sometimes bonuses were used to encourage good work. Employers such as Gunn and Mrs Turner made their servants ‘shareholders’ in the garden produce to encourage a practical interest.

The ‘missus’ occasionally gave the women beads or cast-off clothing or the manager lent a gun and supplied a couple of cartridges to facilitate the men’s hunting. ‘Head stockboys’ were often allowed to carry a gun permanently. This prestigious item could also have acted as an incentive. Sometimes after a hard day’s work, the boss discreetly gave the workers a nip of whisky.

In 1913 the Herberts of Koolpinyah Station reported that they killed ‘various fatted calves for the men who have worked so long and well for us this year’.*? ‘Pocket money’ was given to favoured servants, normally when they had the opportunity to visit a town. Although supplying of opium or alcohol to Aborigines was prohibited, these were sometimes used as payment or as employment inducements. Opium was frequently distributed by Chinese cooks on stations in return for the black women’s sexual services. Many women were addicts, and some pastoralists found it diffi-

cult to secure labour without supplying methylated spirits.*° Rewards of addictive substances like alcohol, opium and tobacco tended to bind Aborigines to their white employers. Recreational activities organised by the management also provided a form of incentive. These included annual sports, races, and Christmas celebrations, where special foods and presents were distributed. Such festivities reinforced a sense of station community akin to an enormous extended family under the paternalistic boss figure. Once such extras were given, the workers came to expect and demand them, so they became part of station life. Possibly one of the most important concessions for Aborigines was their being allowed to remain or travel on what was often their tribal territory, and to continue much of their traditional life. Most workers were allowed to go on ‘walkabouts’ of several months’ duration in the wet season, since there was little

106 ‘Born in the Cattle’ work required or possible. Before they departed, most employers supplied workers with a large quantity of rations. Some managers transported them to their destination, while others permitted them to take station packhorses or donkeys and drays. Station managers complained, however, that Aborigines left for walkabouts whether required for work or not. When stations were first set up, they left en masse for ceremonies, often at crucial times of the working year. Aboriginal resistance over this point forced the bosses into the compromise of the off-season holiday. The walkabout thus became institutionalised, with the boss having the final word on the departure date. Only one ‘mob’ was permitted to leave at once, though Aboriginal staff decided which tribal

or family group went each time, an arrangement which suited them. Europeans often remarked that Aborigines were ‘true unionists’, refusing to work on Sundays and holidays, and always asserting their ‘rights’.

Punishments Masters dreamed of a docile, obedient and productive workforce, but they realised that more than ‘kindness’ was required. They frequently claimed that Aborigines had no ‘natural’ inclination to work or were ‘lazy’. Manager W.J. Byrne wrote in 1919 that ‘the average aboriginal has a greater inclination towards sitting in the shade than anything ... that resembles work’.?” Traditional work patterns certainly differed from those required in the cattle indus-

try. Whites realised they could only maintain their dominant position by perpetuating the fear of the gun which had been such

an effective control in the past. Some Europeans argued along racist lines that physical force was the sole argument of this uncivilised ‘stone-age’ man who was ‘a physical adult and a mental child and must be treated as such’.

Workers were also punished by non-violent means. Some employers limited food supplies, claiming that ‘a hungry boy is always a better worker’.*® Aborigines especially disliked bosses who tried to make them work too speedily or distributed insufficient food. The most common means of punishment according to Bleakley was complete withdrawal of rations. When supplies ceased Aborigines sometimes decamped, especially when they considered the punishment unfair. Their departure forced the boss to either change his ways or find new workers. But even where

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 107 bush foods were readily available, Aborigines suffered from the absence of tea, tobacco and other European foods, which often led to their return. The humiliating punishment of forcing Aboriginal men to wear women’s clothes and do women’s work has been

referred to earlier. This was used on Nicholson Station in the 1930s.°”

A fairly common punishment was to be sent ‘bush’, the equivalent of dismissal, a fate which a person accustomed to station life resented. In 1915, the Herbert brothers sacked two Aborigines because they stayed at a corroboree beyond the stipu-

lated time. Tommy and Maudie, the offenders, sent word that they would return ‘next moon’, but the management refused to allow them to dictate their own terms. On another occasion when the stockmen were late arriving back, someone was sent down ‘with [an] ultimatum to the effect that if boys don’t return they can go to hell’.*° Bush banishment was final, unlike violent reprimands. ‘Roll ’em up swag’, the boss’s instruction, could mean leaving relations in the camp, and being thrown into a bush life now considered hard and dangerous. Abusive language was used by bosses to rebuke their black workers. It frequently included violent threats and racist language to remind them of their powerlessness and supposedly inferior racial status. Employers swore and cursed their ‘niggers’, picking faults because of a foul mood or hangover. On other occasions

abuse was intended to frighten servants into working harder. Clyde Fenton, the first doctor—pilot of the Territory, referred to an ‘unintentional comedy’ over the pedal-radio on a ‘well-known cattle station’. A manager who employed an Aborigine as pedaller accidentally transmitted to the public (including to white women’s supposedly unaccustomed ears)—‘Pedal faster there, you lazy black bastard’.*! Such language was accepted as normal by Aborigines, who in turn regarded over-polite Europeans with suspicion, even classifying them as ‘mad’. Vicious dogs were often used as a control measure against Aborigines. In the 1910s Tanumbirini Station, which had only two white staff, noted that the homestead was protected by ‘bull terrier guards’. John O’Keefe, an ex-station cook at Manbulloo in

1930-31 described an old trick to get dogs to attack blacks on sight. A dog was tied in a bag, belted around a bit’, then an Aborigine would be made to release it. Dogs were also used to smell out blacks during ‘nigger hunts’.**

Corporal punishment certainly had its place in station life,

108 ‘Born in the Cattle’ especially during the initial socialisation process and training of children. Gunn became flustered by her ineffectual attempts to punish Bett Bett for chewing tobacco, complaining, whipping her was no good, for I couldn’t hurt her a little bit. I only seemed to tickle her. “You too muchee little fellow, Missus’, she explained, cheerfully. Any other punishment she got nothing but fun out of.

Gunn knew that she could send her bush as a last resort.*’ Jack Sullivan told of his childhood treatment by Ambrose Durack, a ‘strict boss’. He never used to belt me, but by God he used to drive me round, watch me and chase me up when I did something wrong ... He never gave a hiding except with some cheeky boy. Then he would get some big boy to grab him and tie him up, but he would not belt hard like, just deal with him with a rope.”*

Some employers cruelly punished young boys for trivial misdemeanours.*”” A stick, boot, whip or bamboo was used for beatings.

Winnie Chapman described her childhood at Ivanhoe Station. Because she had grown up beside the whites, she had ‘got brains

like a gadia brains ... What they used to tellem us to do this an’ that y know. We been grow up like that’. She did not discard her identity as a Miriwong woman, but learnt to cope by fulfilling a servile role. She was proud that the ‘missus’ did not have cause to ‘growl’ or hit her, though the manager sometimes gave her a whack if she got up late. If Helen Sullivan forgot to do something

or made mistakes, she got a slap from Mrs Byrne or missed dinner: ‘I used to get a hidin’ ... if I wasn’t listening to what she tellin’? me.’ But when fully grown, ‘she never touched me’.*® The coercive use of Aboriginal labour inevitably produced tensions which easily sparked off violence. The power of force had continuing significance as a mechanism for whites to assert

and maintain their dominance. It was thought that Aborigines should have a ‘healthy’ fear of whites, and be occasionally reminded ‘who was boss’. As the ‘shooting days’ were fresh in Aboriginal memory, they needed little jolting. Threats were used to remind workers that the whites were in charge. Threatening tactics were usually sufficient for Bob Nelson to maintain order, but work was stopped as he doctored wounds caused by intertribal fights: ‘I threatened them with all sorts of

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 109 violence if it happened again.’ He felt those tactics partly explained his success in managing employees. Knowles commented

that he could not employ Aborigines in the 1970s, because he would be jailed. He used to ‘bash’ blacks who ‘gave him cheek’ and these days claimed he would ‘punch their heads in’ within half an hour, although at another point he denied knowledge of blacks

having been bashed, except by the occasional sadist. Nelson claamed he had heard many stories of bashings, but never witnessed one, though he did admit to giving a female cook ‘a few smacks across the rump’ to chastise her, causing loud screams.°’ In 1919, a Methodist minister, Watson, compared cruelty suffered

by Territory Aborigines with the ‘atrocities of the Huns’; these ‘white devils’ must have consciences with the ‘lash of scorpions’ if they had any at all. The editorial columns of the Northern Territory Times became the centre of a heated debate. A ‘pioneer’ of 40 years endorsed every word of Watson’s, stating that he had seen many tragedies committed by ‘white savages’.°® Others reacted defensively, claiming that violence only occurred when ‘necessary’ or that ‘natives’ were only ill-treated after giving very grave cause, for ‘pioneers had to take the law into their own hands’.*’? Those objecting to cruelty allegations did not attempt to deny violence, but to justify its use for maintaining ‘order’, or black subjugation.

In 1919, T.J. Cahill, assistant protector of Aborigines at the government-run cattle station, admitted that the Aborigines at Oenpelli were occasionally flogged. He was unaware that ‘no one’ had the right to flog blacks; in fact he had seen his father do so.*° In the contemporary atmosphere of extreme racialism, flogging an Aboriginal was considered trivial. A certain level of violence was tolerated and wanton bashings by sadistic types occurred relatively unnoticed. Territory life caused anxiety and stress for many Europeans: numerous deaths in the registers of this period were reported as suicides. Dissatisfied or highly strung men and women frequently

took out their frustrations upon their Aboriginal subordinates. Employees were shockingly treated by white bosses who seemed to be on the verge of nervous breakdowns. A number of the male overseers were ruffians or misfits—the so-called ‘low whites’— who allegedly came north as a refuge from the law or for ‘black velvet’. Many of the managers’ wives had been ‘slaveys’ in the

city, working in hotels or restaurants. Unaccustomed to their newfound authority over a number of servants, they could be very

110 ‘Born in the Cattle’ difficult mistresses. As Prichard argued, white women, especially

those with young children, found station lite rough, and some deteriorated to a neurotic condition, as illustrated by the character Mollie in Coonardoo.*! Such tension, combined with the racial/ cultural and class conflict, and the insecure numerical position

of the whites, contributed to the high level of anti-Aboriginal violence.

When Aboriginal workers deserted their employment, violent

reprisals often followed. In March 1914, the manager of Alroy Downs, F. Story, returned home to find the blacks had left their camp. He sent out those he could find to force the others back: we had a very hot kick up soon after. When they got over the odds Beasley [the head stockman] belted a couple of the ringleaders and I hunted the most dangerous one and that night we went out along their track to the desert but we intercepted them and brought them all home.

The violent tactics probably used to ‘intercept’ and compel their return are not described, but Story commented: “They are all quite settled down now and doing splendid work.’ In an earlier letter, Story had applauded Beasley as good at stockwork and ‘also a

good Blacks worker’.** At Willeroo, a Vesteys property, the workers deserted the station in 1936. Bartlam, the overseer, went to the blacks’ camp and fired shots at them. One of the workers, Brumby, claimed that Bartlam was a ‘cheeky fella’; he had not talked but merely began firing. Brumby alleged that Bartlam requested they meet in the saddle room. There Bartlam picked up an axe handle and struck Brumby twice on the head, then kicked him

and hit him with a revolver under the eye, cutting it open. A white employee, Matthews, testified that he saw them fighting but

the case was dismissed. The local policeman, Sergeant Wood, remarked on the good character of the ‘Willeroo boys’ and commented on their usual ‘good behaviour’, but they received twelvemonth sentences for ‘assault’.** Aborigines sometimes absconded after harsh beatings, but if their boss could catch them, he would hunt them back with a rifle. A number of managers chained and flogged their employees for absconding. Aborigines who fought with white or Chinese employees in self-defence were also punished. In one such instance the manager made two Aborigines tie up an offender, then flogged him until too exhausted to continue.”

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 111 Matt Savage occasionally ‘clouted’ his workers across the head with a leather whip. Retaliation followed one incident, and Savage was only spared because other whites rescued him, one breaking a rifle butt over an Aborigine’s head. ‘Most blacks were fairly docile and when they became cranky, a belt over the ear was usually enough to settle them down.’ Although he says he never

shot them, there were several cases of cold-blooded murder. A reputation for being ‘hard on blacks’ meant extra money to white overseers.*°

Brutal punishment was sometimes meted out to Aboriginal women. In 1923, James Egan, the manager of Gordon Downs Station, thrashed Polly with a boot because she was late returning from the Aborigines’ camp. He admitted he had ‘checked’ her going to the camp several times, explaining that he gave her about six ‘stripes over the buttocks’ with his boot: ‘I thought that was a very humane way of chastising an aboriginal.’ Visitors Tom and

Jack Laurie reported the ill-treatment of the 14-year-old girl Polly. They described her as ‘a mess of bruises, weals showing on her head, body and limbs’; iodine had been applied to reduce the swelling, but she could only walk with the aid of a stick. Egan was charged with assault, ordered to pay a £5 fine and his licence to employ Aborigines was suspended for six months. At the court

hearing, someone commented: “The man who is alone would never, in his own interests, treat blacks roughly. It is the man safely situated and surrounded who steps over the bounds.”* What was the boundary, however, between ‘acceptable’, expected punishment and ‘rough’ treatment? Most cases of assault and murder of black employees never

became public, unless taken up by lobby groups such as the North Australian Workers’ Union, as in the Willeroo case. The Aborigines’ Protection Society pleaded for humanitarian controls on the treatment of Aborigines. They drew attention to the dis-

appearance of Lalili or Lollylegs. In 1940, the owner and the overseer of Mt Cavanagh station, Central Australia, tethered Lalili to their motor truck with a piece of wire—one end tied around his

neck and the other attached to the truck. They drove to the homestead, a distance of 600 yards, with Lalili being dragged along the ground. Aboriginal witnesses claimed he was dead on reaching the homestead, and led police to a grave where a decapi-

tated corpse was found. The whites denied knowledge of his death, though they admitted having tethered him to the car as a form

112 ‘Born in the Cattle’ of punishment. Elkin, adviser to the Commonwealth government on

Aboriginal matters for many years, described such employer cruelty as typical.*” Managers knew they could act with virtual impunity. Male rivalry in stockwork led to the fixing of certain rules of competition across the colour hierarchy, especially when younger men were trying to assert their authority. Bill Harney described a trick used in the stockcamps of his youth where Aborigines and whites worked and competed together: ‘A sort of mad jealousy came over us to excel one another, to be in with the horses ahead of the others.’ The first to rise tied up the horse bells so the mob

could be driven back to the camp in silence. The others, he explained, would wander around worrying about where the horses had gone, but it was a ‘great joke’ for the first up. When he was caught out, however, he ‘did his block’ when laughed at by an Aboriginal youth. A scrap ensued, but as an inexperienced fighter, he came off badly.** Young men on Burnside were ‘bursting to

show prowess’ so tried to catch manager Wilson at awkward moments to beat him in a fight. At Mt Bundey, they attacked him: as his son Reg explained, ‘when they go for you [they] go to kill you’. Such exhibitions of nerve enhanced status in the tribal group. Another time an Aboriginal man picked up a packsaddle

and threw it on the ground in front of Wilson as a gesture of defiance, to signal ‘right, you’re on’. There had been no provocation; ‘he just did it to assert dominance ... It’s as basic as that’.*” Cec Watts, an ex-manager of William Angliss, advised head stockmen not to enter disputes with Aborigines, for they gained courage and sometimes became ‘worked up’ and menacing: ‘Don’t argue with them, you must break off confrontation ... One must cut it off or act—for example whack someone.’ If hit, he claimed they would punch back; they were not cowardly, but would pick

up a stick, hammer or axe.” In line with the cowboy ethos, fighting ability was one of the best ways for a European boss to maintain his authority. Sometimes Aborigines came out on top. When mustering cattle at Holway in the Borroloola district in 1926 for George

Carter, the Aboriginal stockman, Nobby, rode away, leaving another ‘boy’ to tail the cattle. Nobby was sitting down when Carter arrived, with a commanding air: ‘I am your Boss here you follow me’ to which Nobby replied—‘You white bastard you no more my boss’, threatening him with a stockwhip. Carter escaped

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114 ‘Born in the Cattle’ the scene while Nobby calmly walked away to his horse.°! Sandy McDonald would not allow white men to stand over him. Aborigines of mixed descent like himself, though not treated well, were treated somewhat better than ‘full bloods’. At the same time, when you had a row with [white men] they ran for the rifle. I nearly got shot one time by the man I was working for, but of course when he picked up his rifle I picked up mine. I said to him, ‘What are you going to do with that? You better put it down’, and when he saw me with one he put it away. I said “Never you do that’. See, I always had something in my swag like that and from that time I never worked on a station without a pistol in my shirt. I learnt that lesson.”

In 1933, two Aborigines on Aileron station objected to the behaviour of their new overseer, Winchester. Because stockman Louie refused him a ‘young gin’ Winchester picked faults in his work and abused him. When Winchester called Louie a ‘brainless black bastard’ he wanted to fight, but Winchester refused. Louie

walked off the station, vowing not to return until the overseer left.

A clash occurred between the Aboriginal stockmen of Wave Hill and manager Tiger Goddard in 1935. According to Vesteys’

official statement, Goddard ‘had occasion to reprimand a boy named Captain concerning some neglect of work, and Captain and the boys accompanying him, carrying sticks, seem to have become cheeky and the incident closed’. Captain’s version was that the trouble started when he asked Goddard for more tucker for the stockcamp: He grab the whip. I was only a young fella. I pulled the whip out of his hands and I said to him: ‘Listen, boss, now we have a talk ’tween oursel’s. I said we need more tucker. I reckon we need same tucker as white fella. I don’t know right way to ask but you can’t teach me with a whip. You try to teach native people how to work with a whip. You got no whip now.

Later Goddard unnecessarily criticised Captain’s work. He only grew angrier when Captain tried to explain that his complaints were unjustified. Captain asked, ‘What reason you gonna chain me? I never done no harm to you’. Goddard replied, ‘You know

I’m boss here’. Goddard fetched the chain and revolver, and pointed the gun at Captain, who put his hands up. Goddard brought in the police, who tied up Captain ‘like a dog under the

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 115 sun’. The next time Captain was punished unreasonably a group of stockmen accompanied him to confront Goddard. He pointed a revolver at Captain’s heart: He was trying to shoot me and I said ‘Go on, pull the trigger’. He wasn’t game, he was shaking too. Because all them other stockmen come over with a stick ‘Go on, drop your revolver, put it back, put it back’. And he put it back in his belt.

Goddard was subsequently mocked as a coward by Aboriginal stockmen and soon afterwards dismissed by Vesteys.”* When Aborigines objected to their boss’s behaviour the boss

was sometimes murdered, as in the case of Harry Henty of Hatches Creek in 1921. Henty ordered ‘his boy’ Willaberta Jack to work, but he refused, yelling out ‘Come on you white b—— I will fight you’. Discarding his boomerang, he shot Henty with a

rifle"? Aboriginal Paddy queried the manager’s authority at Walhallow Downs in 1929. When John Everitt challenged him for thieving sweet potatoes, Paddy replied ‘don’t you talk rough to me’, and hit him with a mosquito net peg. They started wrestling;

Paddy tried to choke Everitt, who called out for help. Another

white man, William Faux, joined in and Paddy was killed. (Although accused of murder, Everitt and Faux were found not

guilty by a white jury.) The Aboriginal workers on Oenpelli tried to poison the manager and staff with strychnine in 1917. Romola, the leader of the plot, had worked for manager Paddy Cahill for many years, but was becoming increasingly recalcitrant. One of the female kitchen staff revealed this plot; several other attempts followed whenever Aboriginal men were flogged.”’ An uneasy balance of incentive, punishment and mutual respect for each other’s physical prowess and ‘manliness’ was necessary tor peaceful relations. The occurrence of physical confrontation between male master and servants reveals that violence was

never far below the surface, threatening to boil over if tension increased.

Internal control One of the most effective methods of control was the appointment of Aborigines or part-Aborigines to positions of authority. Bob Nelson explained the advantages of having ‘an offsider’ or

116 ‘Born in the Cattle’ head ‘boy’: ‘Give him a bit of authority ... it goes a long way and they very often work things out amongst the native better than you can do yourself. It creates ambition too.’””*® He chose a man adept at his job, and with existing authority within his group. Charlie Arriu’s expertise with horses, knowledge of cattle, and ability to speak several different languages competently had enabled him to rise to head stockman status. Masters often allotted

Aborigines of mixed descent to positions of authority over the black labour force, thus exploiting colour divisions. Jack Sullivan explained: ‘I had to work them the same as the white man; I had to liven them up.”? The young ‘half-caste’ was usually taken to the stock camp and treated as one of the native stockriders until he reached puberty. As Xavier Herbert wrote, if then he ‘should

... prove to be more intelligent, or rather, perhaps more selfish and purposeful, than a native he would be made a foreman’.®° The young man would be explicitly offered the choice of leaving the © ‘native camp’ and joining the whites. Once made, the decision was irreversible: any backdown meant ostracism from the white station community. Placement of part-Aborigines in positions of authority took

advantage of the pre-existing divisions between full bloods and coloured people. Intertribal hostilities were similarly exploited,

so it became a common practice to mix tribes in the stockcamp. Combinations of language groups with tribal enmities and jealousies were detrimental to group solidarity, and to potential concerted action against the boss. Conversely, the boss sometimes acted as a protector and intermediary in relation to intertribal disputes. Troubles arose on stations when workers were not

near their traditional lands. The mixed group on Nicholson proved difficult to control because of intertribal hostilities which led to deaths, serious injuries, and walk-offs.°!

As Ambrose Durack aged, he used an Aboriginal servant Pompey as a backstop, getting him to deal with troublemakers— even white ones. ‘Pompey would get stuck into the bloke whether he was a half-caste, blackfeller or white man, and belt him to the ground.’ Trusted employees were frequently used to punish recalcitrants. They had apparently internalised certain white values. Jack Sullivan explains: ‘Our old mother used to teach us, bashing us all the time. She was more on the boss’ side. If we kids loated

about she would get into us or go and call the boss.’ When he became head stockman, Sullivan had to ‘drive’ the younger ones to work:

. ; * , , ° . “a by % ‘ ¥ ” oa on ¢ ig %; a | ——. , 0 . ‘ re 4 ty Bs Fl aoe a ‘D. ~ah ”Aation que ki . a. a ~~ ve ’ :oe \ tee —_e . Din) ; “ a“ id 4oF 4 *7“ “aa * -*com “A we. °, _>~ ; J y oe o * ve °

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a pata Vaa aebe err OG oe carer ee” " ee re” Stig zag” piste = . oe ” thot : “* ee Prt TE ar - Ey. Ka ¢ PED ‘ey » ee " "Sige GOO OF ade + Ae i KS ae hE ad cay ae .

ees

Above: Victoria River Downs Homestead, 1927. Below: Homestead, Beetaloo Station, 1927. styles is ofconstructed European station Company-owned VRD Contrasting homestead above in the housing, tropica

lander’), and 1 fessionall

colonial style (often known as the ‘Queenslander’), and is pro essionally designed and finished. A garden of exotic trees is walled oft DY a rough fence, an attempted hedge, and a neat white gate. Beetaloo below, owned by a small-time ‘battler’, is roughly constructed of hewn timber and logs, with nothing marking it off from its environs other than a horse-railing. VRD homestead housed a manager married to a white woman, whilst Beetaloo Bill had an Aboriginal wife; the Beetaloo couple were less Cc e e ® 3 concerned about ‘civilised’ standards. (Bleakley Report, 1928)

‘battler’, 1 hl d of h° imbe d| e eeimee® es e e ° e e ee e

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;~ |‘Left: ) , Bush , foods

2 Ste ee - supplemented station diets.

ee i’RON, ree ee < |% SN NASR ° shot. PgR Ber... wild geese he se has .just ‘ © . eee es §=6Although Aborigines were en it ne fmm 8=©6not entitled to own guns, it

_ . ma =Ss Wass not unusual for station - a os managers to lend a rifle to a a NO . trusted servant for hunting

S, \ | purposes. is somewhere \ in This the Darwin hinterland, possibly Koolpinyah, c. 1930. (NTAC 1981/162,

| ae- eee AAD) Below: Two station §=§=8women from near Tennant | oe Creek, c. 1930. Their sy i a strength of character and | , sO sense of independence are

= | r evident. (W.E.H. Stanner)

a. 4 rs) 4 a wi % . ; _

Poe | yO ae. ‘ s é

;:; \»#a

- i : | : mane 7 WN co

% / 7 MAN \ me a “Yigfeadliees” yg Ee.

7 idee i" a a "4 aid 7 Ld 1A . ae et, s >a oom ¥-» _™

sg &. Left: Kimberley Joe, Northern

_. ar ~ i Territory. Date and place unknown.

- ae He had a reputation for being an mee fF | CR | ~~~" excellent stockman. Note his unusual

ys on A, ay . | oe coat. (NL) Below: Women with a ceremonial symbols, Alexandria

2a. eee | Ree.9’ Station, 1917. The richness of ae ry & a : women’s ritual life is often forgotten,

ey hte: asonwomen did not share ‘women’s ee —— business’ with the male observers

hae ae | who left most available records. Yet

a ch -- --- station diaries are full of instances ae = ee i where women left station work for —_——oo ll corroborees or special ceremonies. aaa aa rn Whensometimes not allowed toill, go,andthey an ee | 2 Nagle became then

“, Pe. Se An wee = managers had to send them off for a

Pee sae eee cure anyway. (Davies collection, N.T.

oe mee = Archives)

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a = Ow u+

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a i . PSO 8. a es : y OO VY co +=2

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. i iS (we

“E ary eZ =: aeocFo) ~YwU aat, : ne PRLS ny“am eS ¥ee a “gp twe Sma ae a0 “pee : 3wa*4 ie ‘ee FS e2con «a aufen .“Be #aps.

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 117 When they did not do what you told them, bang you went, knocked them all over and all that. I was a bad bugger when I was in my time like: ‘Get out an get your bloody Porse up. If you sleep over there well I jump the bloody horse on top o’ you’, and that kind of thing.®

The ‘housegirls’ who headed the house staff were similarly selected according to work expertise and proven ability to exert authority over the other women. Such employees were potentially powerful women with a strong sense of responsibility. They knew how to fulfil white requirements such as well-groomed appearance, bright personality and servile behaviour. Prichard’s character Coonardoo illustrates this: Humble and untiring at the house, Coonardoo in the uloo was a different person. She ruled the camp with an intelligence and authority which were unquestioned ... As the person with influence over Hugh and Mollie [the manager and wife] she was obeyed; her requests were attended to. Had she not the giving of flour and sugar, the issues of namery and tuckerdoo in her keeping ?®

In order to maintain favour in the homestead Coonardoo had to fulfil a subservient role; anything but ‘humble’ behaviour was interpreted as ‘cheeky’. Her power and status among whites was reflected in the Aboriginal camp, but she already had status in the

camp because of an influential husband. The two were often linked. Such ‘reliable’ Aborigines acted as intermediaries between

whites, Aboriginal employees and camp inhabitants. The boss spoke directly to them, giving instructions which they relayed to the others. They in turn informed the boss of Aboriginal requests, complaints or plans. When employers brought Aboriginal concubines, or ‘boys’ from distant regions, they would often be appointed to responsible positions as they were considered more reliable. Out of their own country, they were excluded by local Aborigines, and feared for their safety, so station whites offered them a double protection. Employers were aware of their vulnerable position and knew they could be relied upon to take the bosses’ side rather than the local blacks’. Maggie, an Aboriginal woman from Queensland, was ‘housegirl’ at VRD. She was a perfectionist with the work,

and a strict disciplinarian with staff. But when a new missus, Kathleen Graham, entered the scene around 1919, her power was questioned: ‘She was flattenin’ one of them one mornin’ for not

doing her work and the Missus ... stuck her neck in ... Maggie

118 ‘Born in the Cattle’ ... said “Do it yourself Missus” and walked off.’** Accustomed to having a free hand with the staff, she objected to interference.

Similar collapses of efficiently managed households occurred when a new manager or mistress questioned the Aborigines’ allocated roles or obstructed their internal organisation. Servants with no family were in an equally precarious position; they often won the boss’s allegiance by their desire to please,

thus gaining the protection they required. Cully, Mrs Wilson’s housegirl at Newcastle Waters, developed a close friendship with the missus, but the other women became jealous, demanding that she leave Newcastle Waters for Beetaloo. The story may be more complicated, but she was ‘sung’, and withered away to skin and

bone, losing the power of speech. Mrs Wilson’s authority apparently won out, for after demanding that she be sung the ‘other way’, Cully recovered.” The police role

Station managers, owners and workers received state support in controlling or ‘taming’ Aborigines. Few police stations existed for such a vast area, and these were understaffed. Police were sup-

posed to perform a dual role as protectors and controllers of Aborigines. In 1911, the Aborigines Department was established

under the jurisdiction of the Police Department with a chief protector. Represented by a protector in each protector’s district, he was legal guardian of every Aboriginal and part-Aboriginal child. In 1927 the duties of the chief protector were transferred from the commissioner of police to the government health officer

in North Australia, though in Central Australia they remained within the Police Department. Protectors were usually police; their duties were only part-time, secondary to their ‘full-time’ occupations, which were geared towards maintaining law and order for the benefit of the whites. Police officers furnished quarterly reports on Aborigines which reported the number of Aborigines arrested, their crimes, health and ‘conduct’. Police commented generally that employees looked ‘well fed and content’, rarely commenting on Aboriginal grievances. Police were supposed to ask employees whether they had any complaints, but the image of police with their chains and weapons did not inspire confidence. What is more, the Aborigines

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 119 learnt loyalty from childhood and few complained about their boss. Others feared threatening their station security. Most police,

already overworked, avoided stirring up any issues. Mounted Constable J.T. Turner, who had a humane reputation on Aboriginal welfare, refused to grant J. Cotton an employment permit for a 10-year-old boy because he was being ill-treated. But pro-

tectors could be overruled; they had little power to ‘protect’ Aborigines, as employers had priority.°° The ‘good officer’ to the settlers, the ‘experienced, practical man’, was the one who knew

when to shut his eyes. The common interests held by fellow colonisers in this sparsely peopled land need little elaboration. On

control issues settlers and police cooperated closely. It paid to have a good relationship with the local police, so stations often supplied them with free beef and sometimes generous cash gifts.°” A body of laws and regulations was enacted by the Territory government for control of Aborigines and the settlers’ protection. The white bias of the legal system was undisguised, and employ-

ment conditions under the Aboriginals Ordinance were vague, providing little protection and few rights for employees. Several station managers and other cattlemen were appointed justices of the peace, and acted as magistrates. They tried cases relating to their own or neighbours’ employees and cooperated with police and their black trackers to keep blacks under ‘control’. When the Victoria River Depot and ‘nearby’ Auvergne Stations were robbed in 1925, a team of police was sent to arrest the suspects. When they tried to avoid the police, the trackers opened fire, killing an

Aborigine named Emu and wounding two others. Graham, the manager of VRD, tried the case against the trackers, delivering a verdict of self-defence. He also signed the certificate that an inquest into Emu’s death was unnecessary, so the case was virtually wiped off the books.®® As the Aborigines Ordinance prohibited

Aboriginal possession of firearms, they had limited protection against murderous whites, who frequently got off such crimes, if charged at all. In 1911 W. Baldwin Spencer, head of the short-lived Department of Aboriginal Affairs, sent a police officer to the Daly River to investigate the murder of an Aborigine by a white man. Recognising the limitations of ‘justice’, he commented that, because of

Aboriginal fear, it was not ‘likely to lead to much’.” In 1917 Judge Bevan recommended the public execution of Aborigines who had murdered a Chinese, reasoning that this would have a

120 ‘Born in the Cattle’ ‘wholesome’ effect upon natives, and prove that the arm of the law was far reaching.” Later Judge Wells advocated flogging Aborigines. White juries almost invariably refused to convict whites of crimes committed against blacks, while aggrieved Abori-

gines often refused to give evidence against police, no doubt fearing the consequences. Police encouraged this ‘wholesome’ fear by shows of violence. Police protectors were sent to stations to capture Aboriginal

offenders. Cattle-stealing was the most common offence they were called to quell, followed by robbery and assault. Although police were not permitted to use corporal punishment, it was common in remote areas. Police ‘boys’ or trackers were also instructed to deal violently with Aboriginal offenders. Trackers were commonly engaged by police after serving a spell in jail, being offered shorter sentences for agreeing to work. The use of black trackers against Aborigines exemplified the ‘divide and rule’ tactics of colonialism. Trackers sometimes proved to be murderous individuals eager to monopolise their position and carry on intertribal hostilities. They conveniently served as scapegoats for white police, however, and took the blame for shootings. In 1935, a board of inquiry was set up to examine cases of

ill-treatment of Aborigines by policeman W. McKinnon and others. Evidence revealed that police patrols whipped and thrashed station Aborigines as a disciplinary measure. The board recommended that station owners and managers report all alleged cases of assault on Aborigines by white employees, and also the misdemeanours of Aborigines. In 1936, in response to the Minis-

ter of the Interior’s instructions, the superintendent of police, A.V. Stretton, advised that police should be ‘carefully guarded’ in their actions towards Aboriginal prisoners. This was in response to humanitarian outcries from the south, mainly to prevent further adverse public comment. He advised discretion with firearms and recommended the use of lighter chains; he banned punitive patrols and the use of violence in interrogations.”! A well-judged mixture of incentive and punishment was thus used by paternalistic bosses to control and obtain good work from Aborigines. Probably the most effective means of control came

from within the Aboriginal community: the lessons of survival methods within the paternalistic relationship passed on through parents and elders. From within the Aboriginal community there also grew a love of horsemanship, of rearing white children as well

‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 121 as their own, and of station life in general. They distinguished themselves from myalls or bush blacks, who ‘knew nothing’ about cattle work. Similarly, they described American soldiers who arrived by helicopter on Newry Station as ‘proper myalls’ because they couldn’t ride horses.’ They came to accept their subjection; they were now ‘quietened down’, ‘tamed’ by the gadia, and could live alongside them in relative peace. The paternalistic relationship, with its elements of humanity and harshness, welded master and servant into a continuing con-

tract with complex reciprocal obligations. Paternalism, with its promised protection and concern for the servant’s welfare, was central to control and posed a serious obstacle to group solidarity and resistance. Yet although Aborigines accepted many of its contingencies for their own reasons, they were not blind to the contradictions and injustices of the system. Despite having been ‘tamed’ in their own estimates, and acknowledging some aspects of European power, Aborigines did not view whites as innately superior. Many employers were uncomfortable with this knowledge, but they still had a monopoly of guns, imported foods and desired trade items.

————— 6 —

-.e?

Workin’ Longa Tucker We bin chasing wages longa gadia ... because he got tucker, tea and sugar, some flour, that’s all ... We never bothered for money. (Laddie and Blan, Moongoong Darwung, 1978)

Aborigines rarely received cash for their labour: their ‘wage’ was tucker and supplies, and occasionally some insubstantial housing.

Today they seem relatively unperturbed by this. Charlie Arriu told me they didn’t work for money; they’d never seen it and didn’t worry about it. Cash was rarely used on stations; most Europeans only drew wages before their annual holiday. Aborigines sheltered in kennel-like structures, were fed offal and slept on scraps of material on the ground. Most Australians are shocked by these disclosures; the few that visit camps in the 1980s, days of cash wages and welfare, are appalled. They see the galvanised iron huts that provide a dark, musty space for a bed, the lean-to humpies built of scraps, and the wrecked car bodies

which serve as furniture and the children’s playground. Yet if the same observers viewed a replica of a ‘traditional’ Aboriginal camp in a museum, with similar dwellings constructed of natural materials, they would find it fascinating and safely exotic. The housing question has consequently baffled observers. Noting cases where Aborigines rejected ‘improvements’, one writer concluded that education could overcome culturally based objec-

tions. Such assimilationist frameworks assume that the struggle for equal conditions means identical conditions. The fact that equality does not necessarily mean uniformity or similitude is being increasingly recognised. The debate raises unresolved philosophical questions, but we must avoid making assessments according to our culture’s material expectations.

Aborigines did not think their living conditions harsh, for 122

Workin’ Longa Tucker 123 they were ‘soft? by bush standards. Their failure to demand European-style dwellings can be seen as backwardness, inability

to understand capitalism or lack of interest in adopting white customs and economic structures, but this would be an inappropriate judgment. Western styles of housing, food and clothing are often understood to be universal tastes, but there is substantial evidence that Aborigines rejected them. A travelling people will not make strong demands for permanent shelter: at least this will not be their first priority. In numerous cases, Aborigines snubbed indifferent managers offering comparatively luxurious housing

and pay, instead choosing a familiar employer who respected and communicated with them but could only provide humble conditions. For both parties to remain on the land, some sort of consen-

sus had to be reached. But the employment truce was unlike outside wage relationships: the structures of work differed with

rewards. Pastoralists tolerated more flexible family-oriented arrangements because they needed Aboriginal labour. For continued access to station supplies, Aborigines had to camp near food resources and also apply new styles of hunting and ‘chasing’ which Europeans classified as work. The Aboriginal expression ‘workin’ longa tucker’ links workplace with food-gathering site. It usually refers to a collective work unit rather than to individual wage earners.

Remuneration was not standardised. It varied according to

companies and individual employers and distance from towns and police stations. Nearby competition and availability of bush foods

were influential. Standards were set according to the different values of European paternalism and Aboriginal reciprocity. For Aborigines the more personal, conciliatory approach of owner— managers often led to more satisfying arrangements than those

provided by the more distant companies who did not have to handle discontented workers or watch people starve. Aborigines identified more with the owner—manager who aimed to provide livelihoods for his sons than with the temporary company representative, who rarely set foot on station ground, handing down decisions from afar. Aboriginal pastoral labour was not covered under any Com-

monwealth Arbitration awards. Aborigines had no citizenship rights, were ineligible for Commonwealth aged pensions and child endowment. While the government accepted some welfare

124 ‘Born in the Cattle’ responsibility, it rarely interfered in station affairs. On the local policeman’s quarterly visits he mainly checked on contagious diseases. Economic development, the raison d’étre of the colonial presence, conflicted with what half-hearted government concern there was for Aboriginal welfare.

In towns, the government made cash wages compulsory, while rural Aborigines could be paid only in kind. Pastoralists fought against cash wages, whereas urban employers followed the government’s payment example. From 1918 town employers required an Aboriginal employment licence which cost two and a half shillings. The Aboriginals Ordinance stipulated that town em-

ployees be clothed, fed and paid five shillings per week: three direct to the employee, and the balance into a government trust account administered by protectors and police.

The government agreed with pastoralists that rural Aborigines had no idea of the ‘value and meaning of money’ so were better paid in food and clothing. Country employers required a ten shilling licence from 1918. They were obliged to supply food, clothing and tobacco but no wages or housing. As the regulations were not enforced, /aissez faire prevailed. When a five shillings

wage was introduced in 1927, the pastoralists blocked it on a technicality. Two years later, more substantial details or ‘Aboriginal returns’ were required, listing employees’ name, tribe, sex, age, job description, dates employed, names and relationships of

dependants. If employers could prove that ‘dependants’ were being maintained, they were not obliged to pay. In the 1930s, Aboriginal protectors were given more power; they could insist that a proportion of wages be held in the government account. Employers had to subscribe to a special Aboriginal medical benefit fund according to employment numbers. Part-

Aborigines were to be paid higher wages, and an apprenticeship scheme introduced. From 1933, employment records were required which included details of money, clothing and stores supplied. Wage payments were still to be waived when dependants were maintained. Unfortunately, these measures were not enforced.

In white society the state regulated wages and the unionised male breadwinner earned a ‘family wage’. Aborigines felt that the boss owed something to the traditional landowners; not only the

‘full-time’ workers but the whole community should be given rations in exchange for land and labour. The division between the

Workin’ Longa Tucker 125 key labour force and the wider community, although recognised, was not clear-cut in Aboriginal society. ‘Employees’ as defined

by the stations did not always perform station work but might be away on ‘law’ or family business. ‘Dependants’ often worked casually or part-time. Interpretation of the term ‘dependants’ was left open by the Aboriginals Ordinance. The wife and children of a male employee and the children of a female worker were defined as dependants. An elderly grandparent was sometimes included. Whereas lessees like M.P. Durack and Kilfoyle were willing to maintain numerous

dependants, others refused to take relations seriously, viewing them as cadgers. The manager of Avon Downs complained of a string of ‘Uncles, Cousins and Aunts’.' Aborigines traditionally organised production along kin lines, preferring to operate the cattle economy in like fashion rather than the impersonal cash-wage labour style. Kinship ties meant that Aboriginal families extended into a very wide net; ‘skin’ or kinship classification meant that all station Aborigines were related. The obligations between individuals in different relationships are complex, encompassing social obligations which

range from providing a grannie with a certain type of food to automatic adoption of sisters’ children. Labour was organised also according to land relationships.

Tucker The claim that a community ‘never went hungry’ was the highest accolade to the boss. The good spirits of the land would never let their people starve and neither would the good boss. Tucker, the

bush term for food, was the Aborigines’ top payment priority. ‘Fast’ foods such as flour and station-slaughtered beef were what had often first attracted them to stations. They expected enough for themselves and their extended families. Station workers received daily meals cooked in the kitchen,

plus weekly rations on Saturday or Sunday consisting of flour, tea, sugar and ‘Nicky Nicky’ tobacco. These items were staples of white Australian bush culture. Rations for workers’ ‘dependants’ and the old and indigent people were less generous, and varied

greatly between stations. It is impossible to quantify the exact foodstuffs provided, as only a few pastoralists kept records, and

126 ‘Born in the Cattle’ these lack details of people fed. Pastoral Awards stipulated full keep for white employees with minimum standards and quantities of foods, including vegetables, fruit and a variety of grains, though on many stations (especially those without gardens) requirements were not fulfilled. The quantity and quality of food for Aborigines were not defined, and although Dr C.E. Cook drew up a

‘recommended’ diet scale for Aborigines in 1930, it was not widely circulated.” Tucker depended on the station and the individual employer.

Helen Sullivan did not receive many extras as a housemaid on Tipperary: There was plenty of everything there, but we never got much. Maybe sometimes she [Mrs Byrne] used to make sweets and that for us, the rest of the time it was one piece of meat, one slice of bread and maybe one small potato [laughter]. We used to go back and ask for more, she ... used to growl at us.

Sometimes Mrs Byrne would give the girls a boiled or fried egg for breakfast, but Helen felt that the men got the best food: “They used to get more meat, two slices of bread I suppose, all the veges

... out of the garden.’ Winnie Chapman vividly remembered killing and butchering day at Ivanhoe when she was a young girl. Offal was a prized delicacy. ‘Cook tell us: “you take that dish and bringem that brains and kidney, and ox-tail”. Me two used to go roun yard they used to killem, they cuttem up, cuttem head, me two wait there, bone, nother girl used to cut the tail and the kidney and all the men bring em back longa wheelbarrow meathouse and cuttem.”°

Beef, the produce of the stations, was available all year and workers developed a keen taste for it. A beast was killed at least once a month, salted and preserved. Although Aboriginal staff performed

the butchering, initial distribution was often controlled by the manager.

Station food for Aborigines was very plain fare, but it did not differ greatly from that eaten by most white workers. In the Australian bush tradition, damper and johnny cakes were the most popular camp bread. Such carbohydrates quickly satisfied and satiety signified a successful ‘hunt’. Aborigines often followed traditional preferences, so sugar became a quick replacement for

bush honey, though one with fewer nutrients. When older, Winnie worked as a cook, making bread with

Workin’ Longa Tucker 127 yeast cultivated from hops. At Ivanhoe, as at Argyle and other Durack stations, the Aboriginal employees were served meals from the kitchen. They usually took away a billy of tea, a slab of bread, and a chunk of meat for lunch. They did not use knife or fork, or sit at a table. As Winnie tells us, ‘Just the finger that time,

we used to sit down, puttem down sheet ... we eat tucker on

ground’. Helen Sullivan used to eat with the Maranungu houseworkers on Tipperary, never with the white family, although she was legally under their guardianship.* Alexandria house workers ate ‘leftovers’ as they removed the plates from the dining table, sometimes before they were finished. They also helped themselves to the manager’s larder. Aborigines showed great economy with commodities like tea, which they strained and reused.

Fortunately many workers supplemented their unbalanced station diet with bush foods, which they shared with the old and crippled. In the close vicinity of the station camp bush tucker was rapidly depleted, especially in arid zones. Movement and camping restrictions further restricted hunting areas, but many houseworkers regularly had impressive finds. Helen Sullivan explained of Tipperary: ‘We hardly seen the men, they’re all out in the bush,

workin’ out in the station ... all us girls used to go hunting, walkabout ... fishing, there was a big creek there [a few miles from the homestead] catch bream, everything ...’ They also hunted wild geese, which the Chinese cook prepared, sometimes with cooked vegetables like cabbages, turnips and carrots. Foreign

cooking techniques puzzled Helen’s mother. When Mrs Byrne told housegirls to leave their jobs for a break, they took this Opportunity to fish and hunt goannas with their mothers. At Ivanhoe the women went to the old homestead site and ‘hunted’ yams: they used to go longa hill now hunting ... Kill all the worm, everything, takem spring water ... yams plentycoming there ... afternoon they comethat back, killem all the back. Dog sometimes killem kangaroo—big big dog—All the mother used to cookem and bringem back home.

They viewed the annual walkabout as the ‘really time’ for hunting—‘when the rain come’.° Numerous bush fruits ripened during the wet season, though

in the dry, varieties known as wild grape and apple abounded.

128 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Chinese gardeners sometimes distributed their produce widely. Gardening work was shared among numerous women, probably because it enabled easy access to vegetables. Where barred from enjoying the produce of a garden, Aborigines devised self-serve strategies such as bandicooting where they disguised robberies by mimicking the activities of fruit-eating animals. Some male stockmen report that they were quite satisfied with food supplies, commenting that there was always ‘plenty tucker’. Jimmy, a younger stockman of Tipperary, said that the

‘early day’ workers were supplied with rice, flour, stews and curry.° Stockcamp workers, fencing and bore-contractors returned periodically to the head station to replenish rations, carting foods in drays, packsaddles or by donkey or camel.

On Victoria River Downs, those defined as dependants of permanent workers received a ration, but often they also had to | work. As camp cleaner, Lily or Joora-Goola of the head station Aboriginal camp thus received flour, tea and sugar weekly.’ Dependants were not always supplied with rations by the stations and the old or crippled received little or nothing. M.P. Durack estimated eight months’ provisions for his Newry ‘bushcamp’ of about five aged Aborigines and two ‘gins’ in 1936:

Flour 60 to 80 lbs per month Tea 2 to 3 lbs per month Sugar 25 to 30 lbs per month

Cream of Tartar 17 to 18 ozs per month

Carb of Soda 8 to 9 ozs per month

Tobacco 15 to 20 sticks per month

Beet 140 to 200 Ibs per month

‘with occasional handout cornflour, epsom salts, fever medicine’.® These amounts must be exaggerated, as according to Laddie and Blan their parents at Newry Station received only a ‘small dilly bag

of tea, sugar and flour to last all week. On weekends, working women found bush tucker such as yams, goannas and ‘sugar bag’ or bush honey to share with the elderly. On Carlton and Legune,

Daisy and Charlotte used free time to hunt goannas for the old people.’ Aborigines considered the old people’s support the station’s responsibility, not the government’s. Captain lamented the total neglect of the old people at Wave Hill, who had to rely on

police rations. Some of them had given much of their working lives to build up the stations, and they felt continuing supplies

were deserved.

Workin’ Longa Tucker 129 Under pressure from their company superiors, some managers limited food supplies to the main workers and ignored the needs of all others. In a 1938 article Stanner criticised Aboriginal undernourishment. Government rations were most inadequate, and rations supplied by private employers only a slight improvement. While admitting that white men received ‘very little better’ themselves, he felt that general poverty was not an excuse for ‘ruinous undernourishment’. As one former station manager explained, ‘I’ve seen good black stockmen worked inter the ground and gins used up, then tossed aside like old greenhide ropes ... I was as bad as the rest and the thoughts of what I did sometimes makes me cry’.'° Clothes and supplies

On many stations, Aborigines wore very little clothing, if any. Nevertheless, western clothing, materials and other goods were the next pay component. Manufacturers produced special lines of clothing and equipment for Aborigines. Darwin-based firms such as Fang, Chong, Loong and Company advertised special ‘dress adapted for use of natives’. These were made with minimal styling, from cheap but hard-wearing cloth such as galatea. Dresses of the same simple design in a narrow range of sizes were supplied

to women on north-western stations, while others were given black pin-striped cloth or ‘turkey red twill’ to make up themselves. Station Aborigines often wore drab, ill-fitting ensembles of identical colour and design which soon grew shabby as the one dress had to last for months. Soap was provided to launder clothing, but the outdoor lifestyle, and frequently dusty conditions,

with the ground as seating, wore out the strongest fabrics. As houseworkers had to be more presentable they received clothes more regularly than other women and gained cast-offs from ‘the missus’. On some stations the servants wore special uniforms, but without the stockings worn by white station women. Dress lengths varied according to fashion. Houseworkers did not wear shoes and probably had no desire to do so. Other women wore skirts to cover their thighs, but not tops, as they did not consider bare breasts immodest. Female stockworkers also wore riding boots, shirts, trousers, and hats. When tallied up, supplies can appear generous. The manager of Mataranka, E. Lowe, supplied a kit which consisted of ‘shirts,

130 ‘Born in the Cattle’ , trousers, boots, hats, blankets, mosquito nets, canvas camp sheets, towels, soap whenever they ask for them’ and also tents, whips,

quart pots, spurs, greatcoats, sweaters, handkerchiefs, razors." But this was mainly work equipment since Aboriginal employees had no income for independent purchases. Bookkeepers registered all items which employees drew from station stores. During 1935,

Barney, a stockman of VRD, received two eye lotions, two knives, comb, towel, Aspros, pipe, knife, towel and soap, and some ‘duck’ (durable fabric). Albert Lalka, a 13-year-old stockboy at Montejinnie, got a shirt and trousers every few months. Albert.or Migiman, of Gordon Creek, took a pair of boots, hat, mirror, mosquito net, shirt, trousers, knife, pipe, towel, and two lengths of calico during the 40 weeks he worked in 1935. Joe, the

gardener at Pigeon Hole, acquired a shirt and trousers every month or two, and occasionally boots, hat, a razor or fishing hooks. Some workers received numerous extras, while others only basic clothing. Permanent stockmen and houseworkers received the best deal. In some instances, repeated supplies of long-wearing

goods such as boots, knives and pipes suggest that favoured employees were widely distributing to kin.’ On many stations dependants and casual employees had to scrounge from relations. Captain remembered that only those officially employed on Wave Hill (Vesteys) received clothes, blankets or bedding and that others had to live their ‘own way’—

using bark instead of blankets, and going naked or with loincoverings. Some collected old flour bags and sewed them together for dresses, while younger women found it easier to invite a white man to buy one. Vesteys and other companies made Aborigines return their clothes before walkabout.'> Companies wanted to cut costs and encourage Aborigines to return after ‘walkabout’, but as the clothing was part of remuneration its seizure was a breach of contract; although Aborigines walked without the trappings of clothing on their annual holiday, they needed clothes for gifts.

The camp The comparatively mobile lifestyle of the large Aboriginal popula-

tion, the high proportion of itinerant whites in the Northern Territory, and the travel required in the cattle industry have moulded unique attitudes to housing. The term ‘camp’ has a

Workin’ Longa Tucker 131 distinct colloquial meaning in the Northern Territory. Europeans

and Aborigines use it to describe anything from modern brick houses to the area under a shady tree where they have placed a few belongings. ‘Camp’ refers to any description of shelter where a person may sleep, eat or talk. Galvanised iron buildings were common, and although freight made them expensive, they withstood an environment where termites quickly chomped through wood. While lacking the aesthetic appeal of timber, the larger iron homesteads had high ceilings, wide verandahs, and could be comfortable. Interior partitions were often used instead of walls. The roof was some-

times supported by posts, and thus suspended above the walls for ventilation. Some station homesteads were gracious. Victoria River Downs, Newcastle Waters and Nutwood Downs had large and impressive wooden dwellings, though they lacked the interior ornamental finish of a similar urban dwelling. Many other managers’ dwellings, especially in the earlier stages of a station’s de-

velopment, were merely bush huts or tents. White employees’ quarters were slipshod. Aboriginal stockmen and female houseworkers lived in their own quarters or in Aboriginal-style camps a few hundred yards from the homestead. These were designed to ensure a comfortable night’s sleep for the workers. Their dependants lived with them or in more distant camps. Aboriginal huts were sometimes readily used by younger men as they helped in the necessary segregation of single males. (It was common for young men to congregate and sleep in a separate area of the bush camp, or travel separately for a time, especially during initiation rites.) The unmarried ‘working girls’ and especially part-Aboriginal domestics were sometimes supplied with special accommodation adjacent to or inside the homestead. Helen Sullivan lived with the other ‘working girls’ on Tipperary; four families lived in the iron house once serving as a temporary homestead. This helped segregate the girls from the camp Aborigines. Married employees of

part-Aboriginal descent were also provided with housing. No Aboriginal quarters existed at Newry, Rockhampton Downs, Elsey or Roper Valley stations, despite other substantial buildings

such as homesteads, garages, stores. No particular category of employer was more likely to provide them. Shepherd only recorded ‘blacks’ quarters’ at a third of the northern stations he inspected. Usually men’s huts, they were constructed of galva-

132 ‘Born in the Cattle’ nised iron (sometimes second-hand), timber or local stone with antbed filling. Many were poorly maintained. Whereas houseworkers and dependants spent at least nine months of the year at the station camp, stockworkers were frequently away at camps or on the move. Camps were set up at convenient spots along the road, preferably with a shady tree from which to hang packsaddles and waterbags. Food was cooked with a billy or quart pot over the open fire. European workers, includ-

ing managers, lived under similar conditions when out in the stockcamp. In Aboriginal camps, the shade and protection of trees were used wherever available. Different tribal groups kept a

fair distance between themselves, with dwellings facing in the direction of their home country. Kinship principles and status considerations were also involved in the camp arrangement.

While shelters varied, structures usually followed traditional designs. Aborigines were talented improvisers and experimented with a variety of introduced materials. Tin flattened out from old

oil and food tins, hessian, canvas and flour bags were used in conjunction with local bamboo, brushes, grasses and bark. Their shelters were mainly used as extra shade, food and goods storage and human protection from harsh winds and rain. The main living area, ‘the camp’, was a generous space with understood boundaries around the shelter. Meals were prepared on low fires outside in billies made of old jam tins with wire handles. On dry season nights, parents, young children and dogs slept around low fires. Blankets were prized as a ground cover for seating and sleeping purposes. It was dusty from the middle of the dry season onwards. This was heightened by the pastoralists’ practice of burning off during the dry. Traditionally Aborigines burnt off long grasses very late in the wet or at the beginning of the dry season, when there was still

time for more rainfall. Mustering time led to dust storms which left utensils, clothing and bodies covered in grit at a time of water shortages. During the wet season, devegetated areas became mud bogs. May, June, July and August were free of these hazards. Some people suffered from cold during June and July, but north-

ern Aborigines were acclimatised to the Territory weather; a tropical monsoonal climate was normal, and temperate climes

a dreadful aberration. Top End Aborigines felt sorry for southerners who had to return to ‘cold country’. The long months of predictable sunshine enabled a thoroughly outdoor

Workin’ Longa Tucker 133 lifestyle, while the wet came as a welcome relief from the humid-

ity at the end of the dry. The wet offered the excitement of electrical storms, and then greenness, abundant tasty fruits and plentiful water. It was also the time when station activities ceased and Aborigines left for more distant camps. In their bush lives Aborigines were unaccustomed to the disadvantages of staying on one site for several months, but the station camps were used for at least nine months year after year.

No latrine or rubbish facilities were provided, so excrement and litter accumulated. Camp dwellers excreted in convenient spots nearby, often in a dry creek bed or in nearby scrubby bushes. The polluted stagnant billabongs which remained after rain provided germy drinking water. The ‘missus’ on several sta-

tions tried to teach camp cleanliness and sometimes an older woman was engaged as camp cleaner. Latrines were not built and since Aborigines shunned the ‘dirtiness’ of using the same place, few managers pressed the point. Compared with average white Australian standards—urban and rural—all Aboriginal accommodation on stations was grossly

inferior and less substantial than most other station buildings. Until the Second World War Aborigines did not expect accommodation to be supplied and did not, as we have seen, regard their living conditions as harsh. Unlike tucker, clothing and tobacco,

they did not regard housing as part of the remuneration. As employers and government were not pressured to provide housing, most lessees happily ignored it. In recent decades the state of Aboriginal shelter on stations has been their most heavily criticised feature. Housing is obvious to visitors, and an issue close to the hearts of white Australians. Aboriginal attitudes to housing are, however, changing. The demand for improved housing is becoming an important topic among Aborigines in the 1980s and some elderly women are now bitter because, after having worked all their lives on a station, they never obtained anything better than a makeshift humpy. Bleakley’s 1928 report drew attention to the absence of ‘decent’ accommodation for station employees. In a climate where Europeans preferred the open air, often sleeping on verandahs, he was not surprised that Aborigines refused to use the hot, poorly ventilated galvanised-iron huts sometimes provided. He claimed that the ‘intelligent’ wanted better living conditions, and had tried to build themselves shelters out of scraps such as old tents, tins

134 ‘Born in the Cattle’ and bags. Some were ‘creditable attempts to copy white man’s style of living’ whilst others were ‘mere kennels and most insanitary’. Managers insisted that Aborigines refused to use good huts, and after a death would desert them. But Bleakley described the clean and comfortable dwellings which Aborigines contentedly

occupied on one north-western station.'* In hot, dry weather they might prefer outdoor living, but huts were useful in the cold or wet months, and as storage for possessions. Station experience of building European dwellings of bush materials had given Aborigines the know-how to construct their own. So if they desired larger houses, it is strange that they did

not build them for themselves. Attuned to an outdoor lifestyle, they probably chose their usual dwellings in preference to putting effort into an expanded indoors area; domestics were aware of the laborious extra cleaning involved. Camp dwellings may have been intentionally designed for mobility. Better health might have followed western-style accommodation, but it could have meant greater health hazards if not accompanied by education in principles of sedentary hygiene. Ideally,

health authorities could have discussed hygiene solutions with Aborigines to suit their customs and needs, but real consultation was rare. Existing tensions would have been heightened by different religious and social precepts, such as placement of dwellings,

and abandonment of abode after deaths. Perhaps it was in the interests of community harmony among Aborigines to establish a poor reputation for using such ‘improvements’.

Health Aborigines were facing a health crisis during this period. Diet, clothing, lifestyle changes and low immunity to western diseases caused harmful effects. Authorities accepted the situation as in-

evitable, believing Aborigines to be a dying race. They were primarily concerned about infection of the desired white popula-

tors. Station people were marginally better off than those on missions, where population concentrations and meagre rations had led to depleted bush resources. But the extent of the problem

will never be known as many Aborigines went bush for cures, and deaths went unrecorded.

The first chief protector, Dr Basedow, found high disease

Workin’ Longa Tucker 135 levels among the Aboriginal population, especially tuberculosis and venereal disease. Managers and police were responsible for reporting, treating and providing hospital transport for cases of infectious diseases such as leprosy and gonorrhoea. It is unlikely that local protectors had the knowledge or interest in Aboriginal health to be totally trusted with the responsibility; they had no training to recognise symptoms of malnutrition, gonorrheal infections or tuberculosis. Although the employment licence required that sickness be reported, employers did not want to lose labour, so dismissed serious cases as malingerers. The Health Department

was Darwin-based and understaffed. Although cattle stations were provided with medicine chests, there were shortages of the sought-after medicines for fever and venereal disease. Rail tickets were issued to sick women, and the blind and incapacitated were encouraged to camp near the police station to be supplied with rations. Many employers resisted sending skilled workers to Darwin to be detained, and repeatedly requested their return. In 1927 at Bow Hills Station, Constable Sheridan reported a fatal epidemic of colds. The Timber Creek police reported seven gonorrhoea cases, and numerous Aborigines suffering skin diseases. In the same year, 80 per cent of Timber Creek Aborigines were suffering

from influenza, with pneumonia posing serious problems; the police used quinine as a preventive.'? Managers, wives and police handled basic first aid and treatment such as setting broken bones. They decided when cases warranted transfer to Darwin hospital. Aborigines retained traditional attitudes to sickness, and were terrified of banishment to alien country when ill. When tracker Sambo and wife had difficulty recovering from colds, Constable Sheridan permitted them to leave for a trip to the healing billabong of a local gorge. Women were embarrassed to report illness to the male police, especially when suffering venereal disease. Sick people sometimes told the boss or missus, but many others went bush to await what they believed was inevitable death. Leprosy sufferers frequently evaded police hunts to avoid being incarcerated in unfamiliar country. Leprosariums were located on islands such as Mud Island and Channel Island in the Darwin harbour. They lacked fresh water and facilities, and a local campaign dubbed one the ‘Living Hell Lazaret’. The Aboriginal understanding

of illness as revenge or punishment compounded the anxieties caused by the prevalence of introduced disease. Kungarakany people still believe that anyone who touches the ‘leprosy dream-

136 ‘Born in the Cattle’ ing’ stones is prone to catching the malady, and magic men use them as a punishment.!® The cattle industry was dangerous, and accidents relating to horses, wild cattle or guns were common. Employers were often

slow to report them, and services such as the Australian Inland Mission and the Flying Doctor were geared almost exclusively towards Europeans. Bush medicine was often gruesome: in his 1928 report, Dr W. Walker reported the carving-knife amputation of a shoulder joint done by a station cook. Although no statistics are available, most station. Aborigines had several close relations killed or injured and those with permanent disabilities today have received no workers’ compensation. Dr C.E. Cook had a research background in tropical medicine; he won a scholarship to the London school in 1923 and afterwards was appointed to the Townsville Institute where

he studied leprosy and other Aboriginal medical problems. He insisted on the combination of the position of chief protector and chief health officer as he viewed the control of Aboriginal health

as crucial for white health. Cook saw ‘Aboriginal protection’ as principally ‘a medical and hygiene problem’, arguing that he needed ‘access to the carrier’ to prevent disease. The white population resented Cook’s dual roles, wanting him to stop ‘wasting’ his medical expertise on Aborigines. The Aboriginal Medical Benefit Fund that he tried to start failed because of this

attitude and because of its inherent administrative difficulties, which included Aboriginal mobility and naming customs. Employers continued to neglect their employees’ health, and to avoid the expense of transporting them to hospitals.'”

In 1934 the director-general of health, J.H.L. Cumpston, criticised Aboriginal services and recommended the appointment of a special medical officer whose duties would be solely concerned with Aboriginal welfare, especially the treatment of leprosy. He stressed that ‘natives have far more confidence in the person they know than in any kind of mere medicine as such’, which was in keeping with their traditional view of healers and healing. Cook blamed ‘general national and local policies’-—no

doubt including financial constraints—for retarded progress. Cook felt so alienated from every white Territory resident that he hoped to be transferred to a research position.’® The Aboriginal population was decreasing rapidly from 1900 to 1940, but little data is available. Introduced diseases, especially

Workin’ Longa Tucker 137 venereal, took their toll, leading to a low birthrate. Unionists and

humanitarian groups suspected poor food and _ unsatisfactory hygiene on stations, while the Pastoralists’ Association blamed infanticide. The anthropologists R.M. and C.H. Berndt were engaged by Vesteys in the 1940s to solve the problem of their diminishing workforce. Although primarily expected to coax in bush-dwellers, they preferred to study station health, concluding that malnutrition and unhygienic conditions were responsible for the number of diseases and for depopulation. Malnutrition caused apathy and depression, and the Aborigines’ fatalistic view of illness did not help. They attributed deaths to cosmological factors, including their inability to look after certain sites and European disruption to their land. Medical treatment on stations was spasmodic and insufficient, with a lot of sickness neglected because Aborigines were reluctant to request treatment. Pregnant and nursing mothers lacked any supplement to their bread and beef diet, and as women avoided the homestead

to give birth, little was known of deliveries. The Berndts were shocked by the number of maternal and infant deaths which occurred during their brief stay at Wave Hill. Vitamin deficiencies and psychological malaise were interrelated: ‘Discontentment, disillusionment, distrust of the future—

these factors helped to keep the birth rate low.’ At Limbunya, there were only three young children altogether, only 6 per cent of the total population. The Berndts claimed: ‘Both the men and women have asserted that they see no sense in rearing children

to grow up under such conditions as Aboriginal workers now

| experience ...’

Some younger women did not want to be handicapped by

children and abortion was common. Aborigines confided to some Europeans that they had made a conscious decision to ‘breed out’,

but could this explanation be a later rationalisation of the low birthrate? At Waterloo Station in the 1940s the average number of children per woman was 0.6, at Birindudu it was 1.7, and at Wave Hill 2.3. The number of offspring failing to survive was as high as 52.4 per cent at Limbunya, and 31.6 per cent at Wave Hill.” Earlier infant mortality figures are not known. The destruction or desecration of certain sacred sites probably disrupted the totemic system, and may have crushed the desire of many people to reproduce, or perhaps the death of certain elders or the untime-

ly death of young ones had a catalytic effect. The uncertainty

138 ‘Born in the Cattle’ caused by changing managers, meanness in food distribution, and

the widespread displacement of people of the war years could have contributed to such hopelessness.

Cash

Although Aborigines were generally excluded from the money economy, cash was paid on some stations. Pastoralists near the Queensland border competed with neighbours paying that state’s stipulated Aboriginal wage. At Alexandria, the weekly wage was eight shillings, at Brunette and Avon Downs, five shillings and at Banka Banka £1. But these sums were only credits in the station books; employees drew stores against their wage and rarely saw

any cash. At Goodparla, Newry, Auvergne and Rosewood, _ Aborigines were occasionally given ‘pocket money’ for hawkers, at race time or when visiting a town.”°

Part-Aboriginal stockmen were paid six shillings into an apprenticeship fund, and the remaining four shillings was for living expenses. Pastoralists objected to the scheme on the grounds that such regulated employment was like slave labour, for it detracted from the employees’ freedom. This argument dis-

regarded the payment involved, though this factor may have been uppermost in their minds. Drovers were entitled to wages of £1.10.0 per week with cattle and £1 while with plant. When the Arbitration Court of 1931 reduced wages under the Pastoral Award by 20 per cent, pastoralists demanded a greater reduction for Aboriginal drovers. While their plea was initially rejected, a reduction to ten shillings per week plus keep was allowed the following year.7!

The administration required that earnings of part-Aborigines,

drovers and government employees, urban workers and some pastoral workers be held in a trust account. This was supposed to

protect them from unscrupulous salesmen and deter them from sharing along kin lines, and instead to encourage thrift. Some pastoralists refused to pay and the Aboriginal branch did not follow them up. Most Aborigines missed out because they did not

understand the system and the government made little effort to teach them. In 1918, with 500 Aborigines’ wages unclaimed, £1202

was consequently transferred to Treasury; in the 1930s the credit balance totalled over £3000. Aborigines were unaware that any-

Workin’ Longa Tucker 139 thing more than food and clothing was due to them. Chief Protectors Cook and Carey unsuccessfully tried to transfer these funds for general purposes—to purchase a cattle station at Oenpelli, and for ‘Christmas Cheer for the half caste children’. The government auditor proposed that the money finance picture shows for Aborigines, but this too was rejected. Police were supposed to trace Aborigines with funds owing

and give some ‘a small amount of cash and orders’ until their

balances were eliminated: ‘In no case is the native handed out a large sum of cash.’*? Some Aborigines drew money at walkabout

time, and promptly shared it among relations. The notion of having money in an account was alien to Aborigines; even the use

of cash was quite novel. Those who drew goods probably saw them as direct payment from a particular policeman and when he was replaced, they did not expect or request gifts from a stranger.

Aborigines lost their earnings while the government pocketed their salaries plus interest. The trust fund did distinguish itself by

being one of the few schemes where the Territory government made a profit.

Expenditure and costs How much did employers really spend on their main workforce? Station expenditure records were frequently arbitrary estimates designed to satisfy government regulations, so must be viewed cautiously. Station bookkeepers underestimated Aboriginal em-

ployment numbers and exaggerated the quantity and quality of | sustenance provided. Aboriginal employees were generally taken for granted and no serious attempt was made to calculate their cost-efficiency.

In 1927 the Northern Territory Pastoral Lessees Association (NTPLA) estimated that living expenses of two Aborigines were

equivalent to one white employee. Unlike most Aborigines, a white also received cash wages. Food costs for Aborigines were fifteen shillings per week, much cheaper than Cook’s 1930 estimate of £1.10.0. The manager of Rockhampton Downs estimated the maintenance costs of one Aboriginal employee and dependants at £60 per annum. At this rate the employment of an Aborigine was about a quarter the cost of a white man: the 1927 Pastoral Award for Europeans was £2.8.0 plus keep of £1.10.0 per week.

140 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Nonetheless, expenditure on Aboriginal labour was a signi-

ficant part of station running costs. When tallied up, it could look impressively high. The Northern Agency Ltd, better known as Vesteys, claimed to have spent £5218.2.6 on Aborigines exclusive of rations in a 22-month period from late October 1925 to

January 1928. Connor, Doherty and Durack spent £5000 per annum altogether on employees and dependants—£2000 of this at

Newry Station. Rockhampton Downs spent £294 one year for Aborigines’ clothes, food and tobacco, and Brunette £430.4.1 in 1930.7

Elsey’s expenditure was calculated on the basis of an average nine men and two women employed for a six-month period. At

Hodgson, the cost of maintaining dependants was over onequarter of the total rations, while the old and infirm received only one-tenth of the total. The average annual expenditure per annum for one employee and dependants at Hodgson was about £37. The

greatest outlay was on rations and kitchen food for employees, with somewhat less spent on ‘tobacco, bedding and clothing’. Jack Kilfoyle’s figures for Rosewood provided a clearer breakdown of expenditure.** On some stations, the manager was under strong pressure to spend as little money on Aborigines as possible. In Grief, Gaiety

and Aborigines Bill Harney poignantly described the effects of such policy during the 1930s depression. Cook admitted that some ‘scally wags’ were not fulfilling their obligations. As chief protector in 1926, he issued wage payment orders to Vesteys’ Wave Hill, Manbulloo, Willeroo, Delamere, and Birrinbah stations because they refused to maintain dependants or send in Aboriginal returns.” This did not deter the company. Figures in some books were intentionally misleading, designed to exaggerate the costs of main-

taining Aborigines and dependants. They showed rations and extras received by whites in an aggregate sum, which was then placed on the Aboriginal returns. The dependants list included casual workers and employees on holidays. The Australian Investment Agency—a Vestey subsidiary—had instructed employers to record the lowest possible employment figure and largest numbers of dependants maintained. This tactic helped them avoid obligations like trust fund payments. Aboriginal returns failed to cor-

respond with items actually received by employees. All beet killed and even the manager’s supplies were included in official

Workin’ Longa Tucker 141 returns. In July 1940 Vesteys forwarded instructions warning the

manager not to spend ‘any more than necessary’ on beef and rations for blacks.*° On other large stations like VRD costings were also confusing. Substantially more Aborigines worked than were counted as employees. Workin’ longa tucker Aborigines who pursued new foods and commodities did not get rich, and it is doubtful that this means of acquiring food was faster or more efficient in time or effort than their earlier economy. But they wanted to ensure survival in a colonial world.

Conditions varied slightly between stations, depending on location and management, with Aborigines on western stations generally worse off than those near Queensland. Bush resources and settlement density were also influential. More competitive

rewards were offered in areas near towns or where other avenues of employment such as domestic and mining work were available. During the worst of the 1930s depression, payment dropped when white men desperate for work agreed to work teams of Aborigines

for a pittance. The bush economy was an important part of Aboriginal subsistence, with rations providing supplementary supplies. This meant pastoralists had an economic disincentive to destroy or prevent Aborigines harvesting its resources.

Owner-managers like Jack Kilfoyle and the Duracks had good reputations among blacks and whites. And despite Vesteys’

bad reputation, individual employees such as A.E. Moray, the

| travelling manager,*’ and boss Tom Ronan still receive high approval from Aborigines. Some bosses managed to distribute enough food and goods to satisfy employees, but other factors were equally important in measuring a ‘good boss’ or ‘missus’. Several Aborigines received lousy food, yet said that their boss was a ‘very good bloke’. An important criterion was whether he or she fulfilled reciprocal obligations, such as sharing food. While

the Herberts of Koolpinyah expelled visiting Aborigines when they ran out of supplies, they allowed old people to camp and shared tucker and money when they had it. They also stayed a long time on their station, and eventually died there. Aboriginal yardsticks of adequate tucker were assessed

| according to its wider distribution to kin. Accustomed to few

142 ‘Born in the Cattle’ European goods, they required only a limited range. For many requirements including dwellings, they used bush materials or station refuse. Their only knowledge of the European system was through station experience, so they were rarely familiar with

union organisation or industrial arbitration systems. Yet by the 1930s some Aborigines were becoming dissatisfied with their payment. Managers blamed the influence of unemployed white men camped on stations for politicising the Aborigines and encouraging wage demands.”® When the bureaucratised regime of the supposedly protective

trust fund scheme was introduced, this curbed distribution of wealth according to Aboriginal kinship principles. ‘Protectors’ and some bosses tried to encourage the western ethics of work and thrift, but with little success on cattle stations as Aborigines accumulated few possessions. The system of wage payment and _

trust accounts, for which unionists, missionaries and humanitarians lobbied, failed to provide any greater justice or freedom than the more personalised ration and cash-in-hand system of payment. The improved regulations to tighten up control of Aboriginal labour brought only marginal change to the station world. Before the 1940s, the influence of outsiders and their main

concern for Aborigines—wage justice—remained beyond the station boundaries, not significantly altering the experience of station employees. By the late 1930s a ‘new deal’ was planned for Aborigines,

but this was interrupted by the war, which brought its own momentum of change. Army employment provided superior standards of food, clothing and a higher wage. Servicemen from cities treated Aborigines with greater respect than station whites; Australian and American soldiers indulged Aboriginal assistants with luxury items. To the pastoralists’ frustration, many Aborigines preferred army employment and retained higher expectations after the war.”’ Amy Laurie now believes she could have been rich had she actually received the drovers’ wages owing to her. Like several workers interviewed, however, she boasted that her family could have anything they wanted from the store—‘because we didn’t

have money’. Such claims seem dubious. Store supplies were limited, though shyness also contained demand. Old times probably seem better because expectations and demand were lower than they are now.

: Workin’ Longa Tucker 143 | When droving for Quinlan on Ord River and Mistake Creek | Station, Amy met people who spread the news about the drovers’ wages.

| They said, ‘What’s the matter this one don’t pay you?’ ‘You know money?’ ‘No ...’ After that Quinlan was telling us, ‘Now

| Pm ponnanearly pay you nextdroving year like wethen were there two years with...” himOh, ... and New Yearfor of another year came. I started getting three bob ... and I recognised the money. It was £2 or a £3 note—pounds before,

not the dollar.°*°

Quinlan later lost his Aboriginal licence for failure to conform to the drovers’ wage regulations introduced in the 1930s. Amy gave

her money to her part-Aboriginal husband, Doug (previously

| Darkie) Green, because he was ‘educated’. People who experienced the benefits of a wage became dis-

| satisfied on moving to stations where wages were not paid. Captain | Major received his first wage, £2 a week, when he ran a stockcamp at Brunette (on the Queensland side), but having worked there for

| thirteen years, he felt cheated upon receiving only £8 on depar| ture. Captain also received cash as a drover and, like many north! ern Aborigines, in the army during the Second World War.”! In : 1966 he was a leader of the Newcastle Waters walk-off. Elsey, a | horsetailer from Willeroo, thought wages were much better, for | previously ‘we bin work for nothing ... we bin makin’ money

| for government’.

We can speculate about what might have happened if a cash wage had been introduced. On an everyday basis, bookkeepers would have been most affected. Aborigines would have expected

bosses to continue providing for old people, and spent their earnings at the station store. Cash may have enabled Aborigines to exercise more choice over their clothing, though the wider variety of the mail-order services of southern stores was inaccessible to the non-literate. Earlier cash payment would have provided moneyhandling and budgeting experience and greater access to the outside cash economy, weakening dependence on the station. It may have allowed greater physical mobility with the purchase of horses or cars. Cash would not have improved living conditions or health standards, especially in the short term. It would have meant more rigid employment conditions and fewer people employed, and it may have pulled Aborigines into further dependence upon white resources, especially drugs.

144 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Kinship sharing and other cultural characteristics which clashed with western principles of individual reward and thrift were used by pastoralists in their arguments against a cash wage. The new subsistence system forced Aborigines into dependence upon rather unreliable and even unkind ‘waterholes’. Where bosses frequently changed and company policies were impersonal or stingy, there was little security for the station community. On

the other hand, non-incorporation into the capitalist economy had some advantages, for it enabled station Aborigines to retain important features of their traditional society and economy. Payment in kind insulated Aborigines from the wider economy and

community. The gradual and less encompassing intrusion of Europeans and capitalism allowed them greater control over their adaptation to the cattle economy, and more autonomy to pursue

their own ideals and priorities. Aborigines recognise this, as | shown by today’s outstation movement. Here they have rejected

jobs with independent salaries and opted instead for payment below award rates, but in community-owned pastoral companies where the income is more widely distributed. But here they can

run their own community without European bosses wielding power over their lives. ‘Workin’ longa tucker’ was a strategy which, for a limited time, could be used to meet both material and spiritual needs.

_—____ 7 ___

No Shame Job The cattle station lifestyle has became incorporated into Aboriginal culture, and many Aborigines today do not want to dispense with it. They see the establishment of outstations and their own cattle enterprises as a means of keeping their community together and the Law strong. White historians have tended to assume that Aboriginal culture was destroyed by all forms of white contact and thus acceptance of the cattle station lifestyle was a product of their humiliation, a cultural ‘sell-out’? to the white man, where they became near-slaves under a totally mean and oppressive system. Rather, Aborigines used the cattle station for their own purposes; they managed to secure European goods, as well as maintain links with their land and follow the precepts of Aboriginal law. Their presence on the stations continuously shaped and influenced the nature of these cattle institutions in the Northern Territory. Despite economic exploitation on stations, many Aborigines with cattle station backgrounds are tolerant and friendly towards whites, and express a desire for harmony—‘to live side by side with the white man’. They do not see this as inconsistent with assertion of a positive self-identity, especially if they are able to have increased control over the terms of the relationship. Communities with their own land are pleased to exercise control over who visits and when, and they want their advisers and assistants to take more interest in Aboriginal law and language, and understand them better. The men also demand the equality they see as implicit in gaining white women as lovers and wives. Given the paternalistic nature of employment, infantilising effects on the workforce might have been expected. We have earlier observed the tendency for contemporary Europeans to stereotype Aborigines as ‘childlike’, usually because they were

‘easily distracted’ from their work by novelties in the station homestead, or because in their employer’s view they suddenly 145

146 ‘Born in the Cattle’ went ‘walkabout’ without any reason. But so-called childish behaviour was also a refusal to treat work as a sole priority. Abori-

gines could see the funny side of things, and often liked to do things their own way and sometimes when they felt like it. American historians have long debated the psychological effects of slavery, especially the docile ‘Sambo’ stereotype common to European literature. Elkins accepted that Sambo was the typical plantation slave because of his presence in folk-knowledge

and plantation literature, and used Freud and psychologists of personality theory and role psychology to understand him. Elkins

used the analogy of the Nazi concentration camp to illuminate the dependency relationships and childlike conformity which he argued that both ‘closed’ systems imposed on their inmates. Genovese illustrated the importance of family life and leisure-time

activities in shaping a distinctive and supportive slave culture: members of the slave’s community provided different role models from those prescribed by the master. (Elkins’ and Stampp’s rejoinders discuss ‘male’ role models and the terrible effects of ‘emasculation’ to the virtual exclusion of the female slave; Genovese

does a little better.) Stampp postulates that there were many different slave types, with ‘myriad individual variations’. The Sambo role played at work was not internalised as part of their true personality: it was ‘ritual acting’ with minimal personal involvement. Not really childish or infantile, their behaviour was ‘rational, meaningful and mature’: a form of conscious accom-

modation.' Through purposefully acting the part they reduced sources of friction and limited what would be expected of them. Shades of the Sambo stereotype could be found in managers’ assertions that Aborigines were friendly and biddable, but unable to measure, estimate, understand the meaning of certain tasks, or perform a simple repair without being first instructed to do so. This behaviour can rightly be interpreted as a lack of commitment

to the work, or failure to internalise our style of work ethic. It is probably more useful, however, to view it also as evidence of the persistence of Aboriginal values, for station Aborigines were uninterested in numeracy skills beyond the most basic, viewing them as quite irrelevant. ‘Inefficiency traits’ reflected different cultural interests and values. At other times they could also repre-

sent a conscious ploy to evade certain types of responsibility, which could make employees too ‘tied down’ to fulfil tribal or kin responsibilities. Horsemanship did not seem to present too

No Shame Job 147 many problems, for employers rarely complained about Aboriginal ability in this sphere. On cattle stations, there was a degree of flexibility and freedom of choice for the workers which contrasted sharply with the slave situation of the American ante-bellum south. The surplus of labour in the camps meant station employment was often sought after, and Aborigines managed to divide up the work as widely as possible among their kin. Thus many more were employed than was necessary, and a larger number could share the spoils. Work could be distributed so that hours were shorter, and replacements were available when some wanted or needed to be elsewhere. Some jobs were a great deal more demanding than others, and some of the lighter tasks could be combined with such activities as child-minding and kin business. Degrees of dependency on the white employer also varied according to work role and acceptance within the station Aboriginal community. Those working near or in the homestead had more contact hours with Europeans. Employees most likely to display extreme dependency characteristics usually worked in or

near the homestead, and were not incorporated into station camps because they came from a distant location and spoke an unfamiliar language. Their exile was usually self-imposed, for

they had chosen a life of security under the wing of a white employer in order to avoid the consequences of a tribal misdemeanour, which could involve severe punishment, possibly death.

Younger houseworkers and stockmen sometimes maintained a servile countenance by avoiding eye contact while performing their work. Hung heads and averted eyes were sometimes a conscious accommodation to the expectations of the less friendly, haughtier boss or missus who demanded such forms of ‘respect’. Such mannerisms were not necessarily perceived by the Aborigines as particularly demeaning, for relationships between individuals in Aboriginal society are fairly rigidly defined in terms

of skin and age status, and methods of avoiding eye contact, essential with strangers and in ‘avoidance’ relationships, have been instilled since childhood. A.P. Elkin argued that Aborigines who agreed to cooperate with whites were at a stage of ‘intelligent parasitism’; they took

what they could from employers, but their work was not integrated into their lives. As evidence he cited the use of pidgin in topics relating to white employment, and the profane classification

148 ‘Born in the Cattle’ of the white man’s truth and possessions. After ‘outside’ work, which he classified as superficial and parasitic, ‘they return to their

own world of traditional security, mythological depth, social warmth, and technical efficiency. Here they find life’.* What Elkin

overlooked is that the mobility and status provided by horserid-

ing, stockwork and mustering allowed stockmen and women as individuals, and the station community as a whole, a certain feeling of pride. The vastness of most cattle runs and the outdoor

nature of the work allowed a sense of space and liberty. Most Aborigines knew their bush environment well, and, as we have seen, travelled to different areas of the station when it suited them. Activities such as checking stock and water supplies, rounding up horses, and mustering cattle could provide opportunities to move to familiar locations for foraging, or to camp out in the

bush. The movement which stockwork and droving permitted could thus complement the traditional semi-nomadic and seasonal nature of the Aboriginal lifestyle. Knowledge of land was useful

for cattle work, and this in turn could be extended through stock experience. Familiarity with tracts of country was a highly valued skill in their society. Amy Laurie was proud of the intimate knowledge of the Kimberleys which droving had given her:

Laurie knew every lagoon, stream, hill and valley of lengthy stockroutes, which in turn proved extremely useful when she undertook ‘bush’ journeys without horses.’ Aborigines had a distinctive approach to their involvement in the cattle industry; it was markedly different and probably deeper than the average cowboy or gaucho. Their cosmology remained relatively unshaken, despite the introduction of a capitalist enter-

prise in their midst. They used the industry to facilitate their private, and culturally defined aspirations, combining tasks of cattle management and back-up services with the Aboriginal-

oriented duties to land and kin. Commitment to the cattle industry involved social, religious and historical ties to land, making for an intense level of attachment and obligation, for it allowed the continuation and reinforcement of many aspects of Aboriginal culture.

Cattle and tradition At first cattle and horses had been feared as devils, but station Aborigines grew familiar with them, and skilled in their handling.

No Shame Job 149 They lived with or alongside them, as they did the other creatures of the natural environment. With the totemic system so important in Aboriginal life, it would be expected that cattle would eventual-

ly be incorporated in song cycles or dreamtime stories, like all other animals occurring in their country. The ‘dreaming’ process is not stagnant, but new stories are added over time—often coming by means of a dream experienced by an elder, perhaps transmitted by a recently deceased relative. Nor do Aborigines have a static view of the physical world which would prevent them accepting or comprehending change. Repetition and development

of the creation legends, often peopled by characters much like

ordinary humans, make the beginnings of the world around relatively immediate and tangible.

Features of cattle and other introduced animals appear in spirit creatures of which today’s Aborigines talk. One sighted recently in Ludmilla, a suburb of Darwin, is known as ‘pigman’ and has a pungent smell, a face like a pig, a body like a kangaroo and a man, and tail and feet like a bullock. In Kununurra recently, a devil woman with long red hair visited the local pub, and she was seen turning into a djarinyan (devil) with horns and ‘devil feet’; she was called the ‘bullock-foot girl’.* Cattle analogies may

stem from associations derived from the Christian devil with cloven hooves and horns, but they are more likely a hangover from earlier spirit stories and perhaps from a subconscious recognition that cattle are misfits in a land of lighter-footed indigenous animals; they are foreign, strange, and thus more dangerous. Station blacks have a certain empathy with cattle; they do not view them as a symbol of European usurpation of their lands, but are calmly accepting of their presence. The Aborigines’ relatively non-aggressive attitude to indigenous animals (in the sense that

they rarely kill for ‘sport’) now extends to the non-indigenous. Unlike agriculturalists, they do not mind sharing the harvest of the bush with the animals. They do hold the ‘rubbish’ versus ‘useful’ dichotomy in their attitudes to plants, though ‘pretty’ seems to be a third category to Aborigines today. Animals are viewed somewhat differently, as closer to humans, and some have more sacred connotations than others, depending on the region. When cattle are found bogged in a creek, are injured, or about to be slaughtered, an Aborigine will usually lament with the words ‘poor bugger’ quite sincerely, making the death as quick as possible, as they do with native animals. They acknowledge the eco-

150 , ‘Born in the Cattle’ logical damage done by cattle and buffalo, and try to prevent them fouling sacred sites, but are basically tolerant of them. When

Charlie Arriu, elder at the Daly River, was asked whether he approved of mining on his land, he stated that he did not object, as long as they did not leave holes which a bullock might fall into, or a horse might come across, causing injury to rider or animal.” Another hint of the Aborigines’ relationship with cattle and

the cattle lifestyle comes out of the discussion of a ceremony described by the anthropologist Meggitt. Red-ochred message sticks were usually sent out to invite neighbouring groups to ceremonies such as the Gadyari, which is based in Central Australia and relates to paths walked by dreamtime ancestors and plays a role in the initiation of young men. During the wet season, the younger Warlpiri and Gurinji men return to the camps on leave from their jobs as stockmen, and a modified letter-stick of mapcum-letter is drawn with pencil and charcoal on paper or bark. At Hooker Creek in 1953, a letter was sent, and reply received from Wave Hill. The track between the stations was illustrated, including the creek systems, with symbolic instructions regarding sacred

objects which must be brought and details of who was invited, according to moiety and status. Most significantly to our purposes, the cattle brands belonging to their respective stations were

used in both letter and response to identify each group as a community.° This no doubt signifies a broader group affinity according to residence and employment; on another level it marks

an association with the cattle which ‘belong to their station’ as they as people ‘belong’ to it. If the brand had been used in a matter relating to whites, it would have less import, but in exclusive communication between two groups using traditional map and moiety symbols, it is indeed significant. Information about the first white men having arrived by sea and having brought animals led Aborigines to deduce that cattle originally came to the country by boat. Indigenous animals have legends concerning their creation in the country they inhabit, but the nature of cattle’s introduction probably prevented their incor-

poration into the totemic system. An old man of Halls Creek, Essy, gave as one of the main reasons for his Christianity that Jesus was born ‘in this country, out of the dirt’. This illustrates the link between the sacred, creation and birth in the land expressed

in the traditional mythology. Essy also emphasised that Jesus

No Shame Job 151 was ‘born in the cattle-—among stock, like the Aborigines who grew up on the stations.’ Unfortunately anthropologists have not specifically analysed

the relationship between Aborigines and cattle, or for that matter white Australians and cattle, though preliminary studies exist on the relationship between Arnhem Land Aborigines and buffaloes. In Levitus’ initial survey of the Alligator Rivers region, he concluded that buffalo-shooting remained ‘whitefella business’, although it was exciting and involving for the Aborigines, as ‘no

special ritual seems to have developed around it’. In Altman’s study of buffalo and the Gunwinggu he argues that the northcentral Arnhem Land people have rapidly adapted to the introduced animal, which they once hunted by traditional techniques

and now by the rifle. Today they are an important part of the Gunwinggu economy, providing a food source which may be eaten by everyone, free of the usual food taboos. This was because there was no ceremonial ‘business’ for nganapurru (buffalo) or because it was ‘too big’. Although no ceremonies included buffalo totems, the Gunwinggu bark paintings of the evil manifestation

of the rainbow serpent have ears and horns identified as those of buffalo. Some confusion in the buftalo’s status was evident; it featured in myths, and older men knew the moiety of two main types of buffalo, but the younger men claimed it had no ‘skin’. Their two-moiety system allows them a special category for yirnitja or introduced things from either the Macassans or Europeans. (Aborigines on the inland cattle stations did not have allowance for introduced things as part of the moiety system.) The elders stressed nganapurru had always been in their country, suggesting it was once also integrated in myth.® European information that buffalo was an introduced species may have led to disbelief in the younger generation, or perhaps the elders chose not to pass down the buffalo stories. Cattle employment might be viewed as the northern Aborigines’ first experience of animal domestication. Although Abori-

gines tried to tame and use dingoes for hunting purposes, the association was only ‘quasi-domestication’ because they rarely reproduced in captivity, and were quite independent, returning to the bush for food, mating and breeding.’ Joeys from slaughtered

kangaroos were sometimes kept in the camp and cared for as pets, though once large enough they were allowed to return to the

152 ‘Born in the Cattle’ bush. Injured birds such as brolgas were looked after and became tame, but always as pets or ‘mates’ rather than for food or hunting purposes, and free to leave if they wanted.

Territory cattle were often fairly wild; the animals roamed around large tracts of bush quite freely, being mustered irregular-

ly. Cattle had to be kept quiet and calm when being driven through rugged country, when a storm brewed or when strange sounds were heard at night. But if we were to select a capitalist enterprise which required the least amount of ‘taming’ animals or changing the environment, this type of ‘open-range’ extensive herding would have to rate highly. Horses required more energy in the ‘domestication’ process, and more care. Although grazing animals that could find their own food, they had to be prevented from straying, and saddles and bridles kept intact. The ‘breaking-in’ process was a dramatic form of taming which was quite new to Aborigines. The utility of horses in cattle management would hardly have been questioned by the stockmen, whose usual fitness and dexterity, and keen observation of animal habits, enhanced their ability and interest in the breaking-in process.

Unlike the Indians, however, Aborigines did not adopt horses as part of their bush economy or use them in warfare. Ex-station blacks living in the bush did not attempt to catch or ride the horses which ran wild—at least to my knowledge. This could hardly have been in deference to Europeans, as they hunted horses for meat. When Amy Laurie was given horses as payment for her droving work, she was not interested in keeping and using

them, although she liked travelling, so had them sold for cash. Despite the fact that many Aborigines say they loved horseriding,

they did not take horses with them on bush expeditions. They were competent in hunting and foraging on foot, and propelling large spears from ground-level postures, and the noise and smell of horses frightened off some native game. The responsibility of maintaining the horse was considered a liability, and Aborigines were pleased to have a change from stockwork and enjoy their old ways of ‘foot-walking’, or ‘foot-Falcon’ as the modern expression has it. Horses attracted similar attention and pride from their mas-

ters as cars do today. Station whites became very fond of favourites, and had individual names for all of them. Xavier Her-

bert’s description of the ‘Beatrice River’ annual races in Poor

No Shame Job 153 Fellow My Country underlines the centrality of this animal to station life, for the event was really the carnival of the horse: For this occasion that animal ceased to be a mere accessory to

man’s perpetual harrassment [sic] of the unhappy bovine, to resume that relationship which is one of the few graces of this world given largely to depredation between species, namely the friendship of one species with another, most graceful of all being that between a noble horse and a man worthy of him.'°

Aborigines also respected and grew attached to horses, and years later still remember some by name. Possibly horses—like dogs amongst the Mudbura—were given skin-names according to relationship with their master.

The dual economy

The Aborigines viewed the land, animals and other primary resources on the cattle station in a more egalitarian and holistic sense than non-Aborigines; their distinctive view of the cattle economy persists on pastoral stations which they run today. NonAboriginal cattlemen value their land according to its ability to provide water and pasture for stock. Aboriginal cattlemen assess resources similarly, but also value resources of the hunting and gathering economy. On the property are sites of spiritual significance which must be cared for. Their maintenance contributes to the availability of resources and the welfare of the traditional land-owning community. Cattle are only one of many resources on the land, featuring most immediately as another food resource and on a limited scale as a source of cash income." The nature of pre-1940s stations enabled this distinctive attitude to evolve, and its persistence gives some clue to the success of this land-use style in satisfying Aboriginal needs. The new economy adopted by station Aborigines was thus dual, being a combination of the white-oriented ‘cattle economy’ and the ‘bush economy’. The cattle economy here refers to all work and rewards relating to stock, station and services including beef produce, garden fruit and vegetables. The bush economy refers to the traditional style of hunting and foraging, including the more recently adopted killing of cattle and horses by ‘bush’ Aborigines, or station people on walkabout. In their attitudes and dealings with the cattle economy, Abori-

154 ‘Born in the Cattle’ gines approached and met new situations from the perspective of

their own cultural values. In a style reminiscent of Melanesian cargo cults, whites must have seemed a natural phenomenon. As Kolig argues ‘In the sphere of the Whites, material goods, foods, etc., emerged as raw products not unlike the natural wealth of the land.’ Kin reciprocity, one of the central elements in regulating and ordering Aboriginal society, guided their interpretation of the work transaction. ‘Kinship riding’ is a rather neat term to describe Aboriginal exploitation of kin or bosses for desired goals; through

their affiliation with a certain boss, they could demand favours and have every reason to expect them without any of the derogatory connotations we perceive as akin to begging.'* Goods received

from the boss were distributed, as we have already seen, along traditional lines of kin reciprocity. Bush-dwelling relations regularly visited the camps to obtain tobacco or food, and some went

straight to the boss with their demands. White employers were often surprised by this Aboriginal system, which they sometimes misinterpreted as ‘primitive communism’. Organised, expected

gift-giving amused the Herberts, who undoubtedly ascribed to the view that goods should be earned through hard work; in their diary of 7 July 1913 they noted that Joey and Old Man Tommy returned to Koopinyah Station from an excursion to the Twenty Mile with a bag of flour and two packets of matches ‘left’ or ‘consigned’ to Joey from Jimmy, his piccaninny.'’ In the same year,

the chief protector, Stretton, observed that money was seldom ‘long in their possession. Money they earn is laid out in stores, &c., for them, which they are anxious to give to their friends’. He approved of this because it showed their ‘friends’ (actually kin) that they had ‘been well treated’, but like many administrators to follow, he was frustrated by their inability to understand saving. Baldwin Spencer strongly objected to Aboriginal kinshipsharing ethics: If you give a man, say, a stick of tobacco there are certain individuals, such as men who might lawfully be his father-inlaw, to whom he is obliged by custom to give some; and even if they are not on the spot, he will immediately share it with others. Give a man a shirt in return for work that he has done for you and the chances are that you will find a friend of his, who has done nothing except ask for it, wearing it the next day. On many stations and in many private houses the work is done by a few natives; but every one at hand shares in the proceeds,

No Shame Job 155 whether these be clothes, food or tobacco; and it never occurs to them that the lazy loafer is living at the expense of his more industrious brother. **

Anthropologist Donald Thomson’s Arnhem Land studies of the 1930s and 1940s led him to conclude that ethics of reciprocity provided the ‘drive’ or urge of Aborigines to carry out exacting hard work in the traditional sphere: ‘This feeling of shame and humiliation at failure to reciprocate a gift or to honour an obliga-

tion ... furnished one of the most powerful mechanisms which underlie the production of food and goods, and the circulation of these.’ This ethic was similarly influential in motivating Aborigines to work for Europeans, and may have been relevant to the numbers who volunteered to do odd jobs around the homestead or stockcamp, which were often beyond requirements. The gift

exchange was important: it was not barter but purely gift with no assessed value or deliberate economic importance; the gift was a response to a social obligation dictated by kinship ethics. Nonreciprocation meant charges of meanness and loss of face, while the obligation to repay the gift remained. It could also expose the disgraced person to marr, or evil forces, or to avenging expedi-

tions and interclan feuds. Those unpopular or careless in such matters were more likely to be blamed as the cause of someone else’s death (irrespective of being ‘accidental’ in European terms) and accordingly avenged. Certain items were exchanged through ‘ceremonial cycles’ over wide geographic areas, usually hundreds of miles and sometimes across the continent—always in an opposite position from its origin. The economic aspect of exchange is considered relatively unimportant by the Arnhem Lander, for the meaning is elsewhere: To him it is the preparation for a visit to relatives with the ceremonial exchange cycle to discharge his obligations, the journey, the ritual, the formalities to be observed on arriving at the camp, the niceties of behaviour and etiquette, rather than the actual gerri, the goods themselves, that he values.

Before European contact, trade goods from the Macassans such as axes, wire, calico were traded into the interior. In the 1930s boomerangs arrived in Arnhem Land from the Katherine region and were used for music rather than hunting; members of the Rembarrgna tribe travelled along the overland stock route and

156 ‘Born in the Cattle’ to outlying cattle stations with such items. Spear heads were exchanged through East Arnhem Land and beyond to the Roper River cattle region, and west across the Liverpool. The movement

of introduced goods had changed somewhat by the 1920s and 1930s, as Thomson explained: a considerable quantity of calico, wool, blankets, axes, fish hooks and wire passed north from the

cattle country via the trade route or dukarr of the ceremonial exchange cycle. These goods (now gerri) were known as muadak (Macassan goods) because it belonged to the category of objects from the exchange horizon, kamar muadak. Goods acquired from the cattle economy thus became incorporated in ceremony, and imbued with marr (power in sacred objects); their origin became obscured by magical connotations. Thomson elaborated the main trade routes and trade items during the 1930s. Kunurkarin, or the boomerang trade route to north-east Arnhem Land, also yielded wire for fish spears, iron bars for digging and spear blades, and

kallamba—specially woven forehead fillets for the Kunapippi ceremony, which came from Katherine, Mataranka and cattle stations to the south, via Wilton River and Mainoru Station, and carried by the Rembarrgna and Ritarngo people. Although Thomson viewed European influence as entirely negative, being a strong lobbier for segregation in the late 1930s, he was willing to concede that the Macassan impact had a dynamic effect on social and ceremonial life through the new trade goods.'”

Certainly the European influence was far more permanent and extreme than that of the visiting trepangers, but it is likely that the cattle industry and station-derived goods produced a similar impact, stimulating the exchange of ceremonies such as those associated with the now widespread rainbow snake dreaming and the dissemination of contact stories. The influence of the cattle

station, its work, and its inland cargo was thus spreading north and east to remote and distant regions. When station Aborigines gave away their work clothing, they merely said they had ‘lost them’; employers became especially annoyed when an old ragged shirt appeared on a stockman’s back

in replacement of a brand new one, or when a month’s rations were shared out and eaten within a day or two. Non-Aborigines labelled non-working kin as wasters, bludgers or cadgers. They tried to instil ‘thrift? in some cases, but to little avail, for from early in life Aboriginal children are taught to share with relations; mothers sing songs to their infants inciting them to be generous,

No Shame Job 157 and never to hoard, and the initiation ceremony reinforces and increases food-providing obligations to specified kin. Hamilton does not consider this system as necessarily a matter essential to survival, as food supplies were usually sufficient to supply all. Sharing of food and resources among themselves and with neigh-

bours offered a wider diet and ensured against crisis, but more fundamentally, the relations of material exchange offer the ‘primary means of maintaining and ordering relations of equality and dominance, hence fixing the individual into a social matrix which is further reinforced by exchanges of women and ritual between men’.'®

Aborigines judged Europeans as having abundant wealth, so

tried to ensure they were as indebted to them as possible. They expected goods and foods whenever required, and felt that their visiting relations deserved to be similarly supplied. So strong was the expectation that even the hardest employers bent to the pres-

sures, and although annoyed, provided extra food. The offer of sex with a young wife sometimes helped. There were many stories also of ‘wild-eyed’ elders coming in from the bush and waiting near the homestead or in a dark corner of the house to be noticed

and fed; frightened whites usually chased off such visitors, but their forwardness, particularly in the light of their unfamiliarity with whites, is revealing. A more successful method of obtaining extra food was through a favoured employee, so this status placed station employees in a powerful gift-giving position. It seems that Aborigines took advantage of the European’s gift-giving season,

Christmas, for numbers gathered at stations in anticipation of magnanimous handouts.

One of the special advantages of European food was that it was free of taboos, or restrictions associated with personal animal totems, and the relationship of the hunter, butcher or carrier to the potential consumer. Puberty, pregnancy, menarche, and initiation were accompanied by additional, often numerous

restrictions which sometimes severely limited food intake. Kaberry noted that women had to take more precautions than men, and Cowlishaw’s studies showed that almost all were restricted in their food choices, especially larger game, which especially affected their protein intake during pregnancy. As meat

from buffalo and cattle were not subject to taboos, everyone could partake of them unhindered, with only rare exceptions.'” Flour, rice and other introduced foodstuffs were similarly unre-

158 ‘Born in the Cattle’ stricted. Foods of European origin thus alleviated anxiety relating to food taboos and associated sorcery. While travelling around the station at various tasks, Aborigines maximised any opportunity to ‘look after’ specific sites for which they had individual or group responsibility. This usually involved burning off long grass, checking for damage by people, animals or erosion, or keeping cattle away. They avoided ‘dangerous’ sites, and followed sanctioned tracks where they did not have

full rights to the land in question.'® As they moved about the general countryside in the dry season, they burnt off dry grass for

they viewed this as contributing to an ‘untidy’ landscape, with a predominance of ‘rubbish’ plants. The ‘cleared’ environment is consequently not overrun by speargrass and other nuisance plants which made movement over the country, especially on foot, far more difficult; it also prevented more devastating fires occurring in future seasons. The Koolpinyah diaries give the distinct impression of two economies and cultures meeting at the point of labour and commodity exchange, though they also intersected on a social level. Traditional Aboriginal economic and religious activities co-existed with the culture of the European minority. In February 1912 Joey

and Bob brought in a quantity of goose eggs they had left to procure a couple of days earlier. In mid-April they supplied more

eggs for the Herberts, who obviously found them a welcome addition to their diet. Joey referred to the nest area as ‘my guntry’. When Samson informed the Herberts of a proposed journey to collect eggs, they supplied him with tucker. Circumstances sometimes forced the Herberts to rely on ‘bush tucker’—for example yams when they ran out of flour. Their lease was defined as a mixed farm, and it included buffalo, goats, tropical fruits as well as the cattle, while the bush economy was also supplementing their livelihood. In pre-contact times, Aborigines held ceremonies during the dry season. Cattle station employees readjusted their seasonal patterns to accommodate the cattle industry’s routine, but they insisted upon a guaranteed stay in the bush away from the station

camp. This was not the only time of year when they replaced station work with the bush economy: at Koolpinyah, key houseworkers such as Annie intermittently left ‘for the wilds’ for one or

two weeks during the dry season, or went to camp at Bridge Creek for ‘a spell’. The Herberts were frequently infuriated by

No Shame Job 159 late return of employees, who sent messages during the busy season that they would return ‘next moon’; sometimes they were ‘hunted back’ or threatened with ‘the sack’. Annie had protested that she was ‘no more all same mutter one blackfeller, will come back four feller day’, but she stayed away much longer. Whereas they were quite patient with her behaviour, the ‘boys’ who were staying at ‘the Jungle’ were given the ultimatum that if they did not return by nightfall they could ‘go to hell’.’” Game was easier to hunt during the dry season, as animals gathered near the remaining waterholes, and larger beasts could be procured to supply a large camp. It was wiser to camp near a reliable watersource than to move over wide areas and risk thirst. In the new economy, the need to remain near a lucrative water-

hole had been replaced by the security of food and water at the station camp. There were disadvantages in wet-season walkabouts,

in that larger game was more dispersed, and rain and dampness could prove troublesome, but there was no problem with water, and a wealth of bush fruits ripen at this time.

It has been mentioned earlier that the term ‘walkabout’ is misleading, for it evokes the notion of constant and aimless traversing of the countryside; it could actually involve travelling

to a particularly favourable or significant spot and remaining there. Contemporary Aborigines also called it ‘holiday time’. Usually a variety of locations were visited for bush tucker, and

important sites ‘tidied up’, sung for and looked after by their custodians. Station workers met up with others for ceremonial and social purposes, and sometimes they travelled to locations on neighbouring stations. The disruption to the older patterns of seasonal movement caused alterations in some rituals, but other-

wise Aborigines were free to carry out their own concerns without white interference. Clothes and western foodstuffs were

generally viewed as encumbrances, and ‘walkabout supplies’ were used up near the station before the real travel began. Mud was slapped on for protection from mosquitoes, and bark often replaced blankets for seating and bedding. Fish hooks, ‘witchetty wire’, tomahawks, razor blades or knives were among the scant evidence of contact with new technology. The walkabout affirmed the viability of the bush economy; it provided an educational experience, allowed for kin reunions and ceremonies. The ‘tendency’ for Aborigines to go walkabout was and still is heavily criticised by employers, but for Aborigines this

160 ‘Born in the Cattle’ time of year allowed for a high degree of autonomy and cultural

continuity. They did not need to convince anyone else of the purposefulness of walking off or about, or travelling across their country. The trip or journey was important in itself, for this was how things had ‘always been’: it continued in the tradition of the travelling ancestors who walked across the land during the dreamtime, thereby creating its now sacred features. This was the Law: this was life.

Land, language, station identity Aboriginal affinity with land operates on many levels; Aborigines

have special attachments and responsibilities to their mother’s country, their father’s country, their place of birth, special dreaming places. Certain tracts of land represent a ‘clan estate’ which is owned by the clan-group, while a wider area or ‘range’ is used and travelled over. People may venture further afield along ‘neutral corridors’, or ‘easements’ which exist between clan-estates and which may be used by different groups without having to request permission. When Aborigines today are asked ‘what country’ they are from, station people generally provide the name of the cattle property where they were born, and identify themselves as ‘be-

longing’ to that station, irrespective of years spent there. The square-looking horizontal and vertical lines crisscrossing the pastoral leases map of the Northern Territory reflected an arbitrary

style of land division which virtually ignored geography; this stands in dramatic contrast to traditional Aboriginal methods of land division. Their maps depict the land as seen from below the ground upwards rather than our aerial view approach with its linear boundaries. Aboriginal maps are diagrams of significant

features such as hills, streams and rivers, according to which ownership is defined. They also include ‘dreaming tracks’ or routes walked by ancestors, whose actions created significant landmarks such as billabongs, a line of waterholes, or a long narrow stretch of recurrent outcrops of unusual rocks.?°

Terms and concepts have been borrowed from the cattle industry to translate the land-management practices based on more traditional attitudes. Among the Mudbura, for example, landowners are known as ‘bosses’ and those who arrange and prepare for the ritual and discipline of offenders as ‘workers’ or

No Shame Job 161 ‘policemen’. Two clans in the Mudbura area in an owner—worker

relationship are spoken of as being parnkurla or mutual crosscousins, and the owners see their dreamings as kirta (father) or kaku (father’s father), while the workers refer to the same dreaming as jawtji (mother’s father). In other areas the term ‘manager’ is used synonymously with ‘worker’ as opposed to ‘owner’, while in the Victoria River Downs region ‘manager’ can be swapped for ‘owner’. This reflects the two different types of station enterprise operating simultaneously in the region: Humbert River, managed and owned by the Schultz family, and VRD owned by the Bovril corporation and run by managers. The Mudbura also use the term ‘stockmen’” synonymously with ‘workers’ or ‘policemen’; stockmen could also speak on behalf of the owner for the site.2! The

term is particularly appropriate as actual stockmen were often favourably situated to protect sites. Such activities could well have been disguised from the white boss, but at no stage did Aborigines concede European ownership of their land, and managers were well aware of the existence of tribal territory on their leases. It was possible for Aborigines to permit other groups to forage and camp on their land, provided they respected the sacred sites; similarly they could grant white

men the right to use the land, but not to own it, because their complex and deep-seated land tenure and inheritance systems could never permit this. Albert Crowson, a stockworker on VRD from boyhood, explained in a 1979 land claim: We sons are on top now, we own the country after our fathers, from our fathers. Our fathers were first, now we own the white paint [for ritual decoration] and every home [camp site] where our fathers lived, because our old fathers were living everywhere here, at every spring, and walking up and down ... We sons have taken over now and own this country like we’ve ‘washed away’ our father. They raised us and we watched them, living on kangaroo, goanna, crocodile and yam ... They should give us this Yingawunarri [Old Top Springs] now, our country, Mudbura country.**

Retention of traditional ties to land is demonstrated by the wealth

of evidence in land claim submissions and hearings, and the Borroloola, Mudbura (Top Springs), Murranji, Upper Daly and Mount Alan claims concern people of pastoral backgrounds. The relative stability of land association permitted by pastoral station residence allowed them to transmit knowledge of place names

162 ‘Born in the Cattle’ and associated dreaming stories, and be in a favourable position

to prove ‘traditional ownership’ and continuity of traditional obligations to the land.

Possibly the very notion of ‘tribalism’ is a product of the

post-contact situation, and not deeply rooted in Aboriginal thought.” It is likely that the clan or smaller family hunting units may have previously been a more important division. Pastoral stations probably attracted more diverse linguistic groups than normally gathered together, thus fostering some new interactions between previously unfamiliar groups. Since Aboriginal tribes are exogamous, spouses added different categories when the managers listed ‘tribes’ at given stations. Generally speaking, however, what are termed ‘tribes’ or language groups were roughly distributed Over stations according to their land ownership. On Victoria River

Downs, seven different tribes worked, residing mainly at outstations where they had traditionally camped. Monteyjinnie and Pigeon Hole were predominantly Mudbura, and the head station Heinman and Ngaliwurru, while Mt Sanford was worked by the Billynarra. The local landowners composed the main labour supply for each outstation. In a few cases, whole tribes had migrated away from their traditional territory and come to settle on stations; in 1928 the

Warlpiri first moved to Kalgarin or Wave Hill, and although ‘peace ceremonies’ were held, friction still exists between them and the local Gurinji. The latter emphasise their greater sophis-

tication in the ways of the cattle industry, elucidating that the Warlpiri came to their country only recently and were ‘proper myalls’; the Gurinji taught them the white man’s ways. Rather than empathising with the plight of people who suffered more intensive white contact, less dislocated groups frequently ridicule breakdowns of local law and religion, valuing their own adjustment skills. The Warlpiri developed spiritual relationships with their relatively new locale, learnt its totemic meanings, and gained further ties through conception dreamings, birthplaces and mortu-

ary rituals. The Maranunggu, who claimed land in the Finnis River region, in 1981 proved they had learnt and accepted impor-

tant elements of the local mythology and rituals in a similar manner.** Such cultural knowledge would at first be fairly superficial. Fraternity between different groups can be forged by fusion of religious mythology, which might link up mythical tracks of the dreamtime. Sometimes travel stories are reinterpreted in terms

No Shame Job 163 of the mythology more familiar to the immigrant group. A deeper analysis of transcripts from land claims proceedings would raise many questions about what really constitutes ‘traditional ownership’, and whether in fact its definition in the Land Rights Act (NT 1976) is valid. The Act’s definition implied that ownership was totally rigid and static, but the flexibility described by anthropologists has frightened certain interest groups, and a proposed new

Act purportedly ‘tightens up loopholes’. It seems that one of the main ‘loopholes’ is the historical process which has led to changed conceptions of land ownership and use. Responsibilities have been extended to encompass changes in

land and camping locale brought about by the cattle economy. Station boundaries became important to the life-space of those residing there, and emotional ties were developed with that particular tract of country. Residents thus refer to themselves as the ‘Kildurk mob’ or the ‘Wollogorang mob’. Pastoral and other boundaries such as roads and stockroutes rapidly came to define the range over which a community assumed trusteeship.*? This was confirmed during research for a land claim when one claimant group described the boundary between another language group and themselves as a certain station fence. The lawyer explained to them that since this line had been drawn by a white man, the

judge would query their claim. Other groups decided to prove their legal ownership by building fences around land granted. As George Kulunyjurru of Montejinnie explained: ‘We got to go and

build a fence around our place ... that’s gotta be a block there, belong to Mudbura.””°

Ability to ‘read’ country according to dreaming sites had been a valued attribute. There is now a ‘second way’ to read the country, which is according to its ‘potential for use’, which incorporates the changes to the landscape brought about by station owners and managers. It is interpreted according to fences, paddocks, and other developments required by leasehold covenants. “The white fella improvements are modifications of aspect and terrain that have to be “‘read’’ to make sense of an emergent state of territory.’””” Both methods of ‘reading’ the country, however, represent the land-use accepted in the dual ‘new economy’, with neither necessarily being awarded greater precedence. Aborigines saw sites as having dual significance as centres for the religious

management of the bush economy (sacred sites) and for cattle management ‘improvements’. For example Douglas Jack knew

164 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Fright Pt.

Pt. Glyde

Pt. Stephens Port Daly

NA HE

2244 Ros , open plains & patches 233 sq. mM.

of good grass

LILLKIRK YARD

W, . Jungle

2253 oolybutt Dog dreaming Inundated 2 New Homestead wet season

28 sq. m.Dreaming Louse 7, *. Muna ‘, MA

Stringy bark 1 Fly backs BSNAKE B’BG YARD MEERWAH YARD water Sy BAMBOOSeC sf/Blue | “4% JUNGLES

siey woud CS, IME SS 2°” | poor grass with Sor, ViRDe / SBANKER'’S B’'BG YARD

f ; _ = / AY

a patches of => fair grazing SY

@BEN HOLE YARD

geYARD BBLACK JUNGLE YARD

? 3 10 15 20 Kilometres

Some Aboriginal and European sites on Koolpinyah Station Source: From A.A.D., F658 item 55, with additions of Sacred Sites by D. Ritchie, Aborigional Sacred Sites Authority, Darwin

No Shame Job 165 Ngamayang both as little yam dreaming and the location of one of Burnside’s main yards.”°

In the new language they developed, Aborigines came to understand their own life in terms of cattle management. Cattle station Aborigines acquired knowledge of English rapidly; many were already multilingual in indigenous languages, and parents recognised the value of sending children to work with the Euro-

peans so they could learn English. Urry and Walsh argued that language acquisition was recognised by Aborigines as ‘a key which opens new worlds, establishing significant social, trading and exchange relationships and giving the speaker access to a rich corpus of profane and sacred/secret knowledge in songs, myths, ritual formulae and many other things’. A Macassan or properly Austronesian-based language was used as a lingua franca between

Aborigines from diverse areas, as it spread far beyond regions where trepangers had visited. Its introduction may have contributed to ‘a breakdown of older social forms of differentiation’,”? bringing the Yolgnu of Arnhem Land closer together.

Linguists have only recently taken an interest in recording and analysing English-based creoles. Cattle people of the Kimber-

leys use as a lingua franca a highly developed creole language which is interspersed with some indigenous words. Roper River creole varies from the Kimberley version, but the two have much in common. Many words in widespread use today were originally

derived from Aboriginal languages of New South Wales and Victoria, and were probably introduced to the north by whites. These include ‘coolamon’, ‘billabong’, ‘binji’, ‘bogie’, ‘myall’, ‘picca-

ninny’, ‘lubra’.°° Others, such as ‘savvy’ and ‘nigger’, were popular

American usages towards negroes. Some Victorianisms have been retained in the creole, which reflects the chronology of their adoption, for example ‘tuck out’, ‘humbug’, ‘gammon’. Introduced goods were ‘aboriginalised’ in their pronunciation: tomahawk became ‘tomiyok’, billycan ‘billygen’ and European-

style descriptions of indigenous items were introduced into Aboriginal speech, such as ‘sugarbag’ or ‘jugabeg’ for bush honey, and ‘flourbag’ to describe a grey-haired person.

Language is the main vehicle through which we express concepts about our world. Through Aboriginal creoles, cattle station people reveal that they understand their own life in terms

of cattle management. It is logical that a new language would mirror their more recent perceptions of the changing world,

166 ‘Born in the Cattle’ including their accommodation to the cattle industry. Bovine metaphors are wide-ranging, presenting in some cases an explanation from the processes of cattle-colonisation: for example ‘rounding up’, ‘breakin’ in’, ‘taming’ and ‘runnin’ wild’ are equally applied to human as to animal, in a wide range of situations. In Sansom’s study of a Darwin fringe-camp where English was encouraged (it was a linguistically mixed group) he noted the social dislocation which occurred if someone was ‘running round’ too much rather than staying with ‘the mob’: The person who runs round compromises his mob attachment by acting either in predatory lone dingo style or by exposing self to threat like the unprotected breakaway that leaves the stockman’s mob. Metaphor and simile are local, for whenever people talk in English about their mobs the analogy between the mobbing of cattle on the ranges and social aggregation is implicit.*!

‘Big mob’ is also used to describe a large group of anything, and

‘huntem down’ implies the act of looking for someone, while ‘huntem away’ is to chase or get rid of someone, whereas ‘roundem

up’ is commonly used for gathering people together for any purpose. ‘Breakin’ in’ refers to the boys’ initiation ceremony, and the early experiences of the promised bride; it is applied equally to the person learning to ride the horse and the beast being tamed.

Many creole expressions, and sometimes even intonation, have been adopted by station whites, and some by Territory dwellers generally. When applied to humans, the bovine metaphors seem harsh or flavoured with violence, but Aborigines do not aspire to the European dichotomy between ‘man and beast’. Nor were humans seen as a separate creation, as in the Judaeo—Christian tradition. Dreamtime stories blur the distinctions between the two life-forms, and through the totemic system, individuals have special respect for and identification with particular animals. Through the types of words and expressions used by contemporary Aborigines, we gain a sense of their self-perception as an inseparable part of the station and its life-forms. This association follows the holistic principles laid down in the dreaming. Local Aboriginal languages and dialects were in frequent use in both the stockcamp, around the homestead, and in the Abori-

ginal camps. Though Aborigines taught the white children to speak ‘language’ (i.e. English), very few station managers knew indigenous languages. This allowed station blacks a private world

No Shame Job 167 in which to retreat whenever they desired, and was an indispensable vehicle in transmitting and retaining their culture. ‘Language’ itself was, and remains, highly valued by Aborigines, and central to their cultural identity. Cattle people incorporated the learning experiences offered by the station into the necessary regimen of training which made girls women and boys men. Learning and teaching experiences are nostalgically remembered as encompassing the ‘proper way’ to learn discipline and qualities associated with adulthood. This is probably one of the reasons for the specially valued relationship

with the trainer, who is usually described as ‘my really boss’ or ‘missus’ because he ‘grew me up’.°* The elders encouraged the incorporation of station training and skills into accepted frame-

works; they probably wanted to justify and acknowledge the validity of the move to the station, and the propriety of working for whites. Links thus grew between expertise in the cattle indus-

try and proof of ‘manhood’. Ability with cattle was a highly prized skill, and the potential initiate had to prove himself agile

with horses to be accepted on equal terms, and ready for full initiation. Handling animals was an essential skill to survival in | the changed environment; in the new economy it was just as important as ability with a spear. Bush and introduced skills were

taught to boys and girls by their kin. Aborigines establishing their own cattle enterprises today are concerned that teenagers acquire both sets of expertise, and recognise the urgency of establishing such stations before skills are lost.

Older men and women were replaced by the younger employees on the stations, and it has been postulated that this led to a decrease in the elders’ status. Nevertheless the old still fulfilled important decision-making and ritual functions, and increased leisure enabled them to concentrate on these matters. With the next generation, the older Aborigines could advise on both economies.

During walkabout time, the elders were the ‘only bosses’. Throughout the cattle season, they undoubtedly exerted a more subtle influence, instructing the workers to observe Aboriginal ethics. To ensure employment for a large number and a supply of food to elders and visitors, they must not overexert themselves, and must obtain release for ceremonies. Much is said these days about an Aboriginal loss of identity,

168 ‘Born in the Cattle’ but this problem has not really occurred to those of the Territory stations mob. A critical loss of pride may have followed the impact of violence, and the fragmenting effects of white and Asian contact on tribes through disease, opium, and stepped-up intertribal violence. But it was mainly the lighter-skinned Aborigines taken away from their station-dwelling parents who literally lost information about their origins, and learnt to feel ashamed of their aboriginality. Looking at station communities retrospectively, social cohesion seems to have been retained and redefined irrespective of experiences with frequently changing or brutal bosses. Contemporary anthropologists Kaberry, Stanner and Elkin in fact used their studies of station communities to depict ‘traditional’ culture. Once established, the station communities became a tribal focus;

they provided kinship support networks, and also held sacred objects for ceremonial purposes. Kin and country were both close, providing a positive sense of self-identity often sanctioned and recognised by ritual. Communities had their own law and yardsticks by which they measured an individual’s worth, which militated against employees internalising a sense of inferiority due to a psychologically cruel boss. Only community ‘outsiders’ were at risk.

In pre-contact times, the social identity of each Aborigine was based on such factors as totemic associations with land, kinship relationships with other people, clan or moiety group, sex, age, recognised status etc. This formula continued to operate on the stations, with station, boss, and job emerging as new-fangled

moieties. Thus we have Rosewood Charley, Willeroo Bob and Lucy Inverway, Ringer Tom, Johnny Stockman, Lame Roy Stockman, Goat Mary, Ginger Packsaddle, Mick Horsetailer, Andy Buffalo, Donkey, Galloping Paddy, Jim Camel, Jack Killer, Nellie Milker. Those ‘born in the cattle’ have very different self-perceptions from those reared in the bush, and are sometimes arrogant about their affiliation with the cattle subculture, viewing themselves as superior to mission or government reserve people. Their stationacquired skills enhanced individual prestige in more traditional bushmanship. Similar historical experiences, and the lingua franca

of station creole, has drawn Aborigines together over a wide geographic area. The fringe-dwellers of Sansom’s study derived an important social relationship from past histories in the cattle

No Shame Job 169 industry, which they term ‘twofella bin runnin together for years n years’ relationships.*> The stockman’s hat, boots, belts and more recently ‘cowboy clothing’ identifies those of cattle background.

Elderly men and women still don the garb to proclaim this element of their identity to all.

Change and continuity Mining and agricultural activities had quite different effects on the landscape from pastoralism. Land was gouged up and cleared, its features dramatically modified, then the farmers and miners left,

with little remaining but the scars. Mining ventures were by nature short-lived, and Territory agriculture repeatedly failed. Pastoralism was more stable, despite the losses made in some years. The construction of homesteads sometimes destroyed sacred areas, deeply disturbing local Aborigines, who expected consequences such as serious illness or death. In other places, the presence of blacks meant they were able to prevent desecration: the Herberts were persuaded to build their homestead away from the louse or hair-lice dreaming site, where they originally planned to build, and chose a spot near a ‘safer’ site—the dog dreaming. (See Koolpinyah Station map, p. 164.) Women shooed cattle away from Little Chigarranyi, a Malak Malak women’s sacred site in the Daly River area, if they strayed there at mustering time.”*

As well as looking after station country, they continued travelling over wider areas. Aborigines were constantly coming and going from stations throughout the year—not only at official walkabout times. Whereas some workers simply sought a change,

much of this movement was to fulfil obligations to kin living elsewhere, often associated with ritual, or law. Koolpinyah diaries, Alroy Downs correspondence, and the Victoria River Downs and

Banka Banka records contain many references to departures for corroborees. Aborigines frequently left Koolpinyah for stays at Twenty Mile, Bridge Creek and Middle Creek, making rendezvous with relations. On 14 September 1913 a ‘young man ceremony’ was held, which involved a large gathering of blacks at Bankers Jungle Yard on Mulanmarma Plain. Later in September a very large group (the Herberts recorded 200) congregated near the homestead, but the noise and increased food demands, and no doubt the intimidating numbers, irritated the boss, who ‘kicked

170 ‘Born in the Cattle’ them off’.*? Ceremonies were often held on station land, but the proceedings were at a distance from the homestead.

The boss or missus was frequently invited to the workers’ camps for entertainment—for ‘playabout’ corroborees, singing, dancing, music-making with didjeridu and clapsticks. Sometimes such people attended, but usually they did not interest themselves in ‘blackfeller’ activities. There were times, however, when both

groups participated in celebrations; Christmas and New Year were incorporated into the life cycle of many station blacks, and ‘foot races’ were held after a special feast of ‘Christmas tucker’.

Each large station had its own annual race meeting, and some managers cleared substantial race tracks for these occasions. Larger social gatherings such as the Katherine River races were big

events in the station calendar for both whites and blacks. The latter sometimes rode to the races where they were participating, or else in buggies or cars; others walked for days or even weeks to reach the destination. There were separate ‘Blackboys Races’. Xavier Herbert has emphasised the events’ social hierarchy and the virtual segregation of blacks, who were not permitted to drink alcohol.°® Nevertheless Aborigines from a wide area were able to congregate and the races were an ideal venue for meeting lost kin

and planning future ‘business’ or ceremony. This word is an interesting choice as it conveys the Aboriginal perception of the European’s economic activities as being of prime importance to them, as compared with their serious business of religious preoccupations (though they may have thought the two as closely interlinked for Europeans as themselves). With Aboriginal social

networks converging on such a large scale, with accumulated news, law and future plans to discuss, it was hardly surprising that Aborigines were spatially segregated trom the white people, who were using the venue as a rare opportunity to reinforce their own social networks. The blacks were choosing to keep to themselves, just as the whites were.

Card-playing was another leisure-time pursuit Aborigines converted to their own purposes. Whites taught various games to the blacks, who improvised and invented some of their own. They used the cards until their motifs were worn off and only a remnant of dust-ingrained card remained. Card-playing is taken very seriously by Aborigines, not only as an absorbing pastime but also

as a near magical way of redistributing surplus wealth among certain kin. In a 1960s study, Rose found that spade and diamond

No Shame Job 171 symbols were used on pearlshell pubic coverings, suggesting this was evidence that card-playing had entered into their cult life.’

American hillbilly music was beginning to filter into stations before the Second World War, and its references to rural life, returning home, ranching work and travelling enhanced its appeal. Respect for the authority of the elders influenced Aboriginal responses to the cattle economy. In the Territory, the old people

remained on most of the stations, whereas in Queensland the ‘useless blacks’ were ‘removed’ to government reserves. Some elders recognised the importance of continuing the transmission of spiritual knowledge. Albert Crowson of Monteyjinnie explained that his generation were in line to become owners of the land after the initial period of violence and ‘coming in’. They taught their children: Watch out you don’t forget this; Hold on to this dreaming which you inherit from your father; You in turn must use this at initiations; We must not lose this. Our ancestors never lost it, and now we must hand over the dreamings to our sons, otherwise they might get mixed up and say: I don’t know what design to put on at the initiation, I don’t know which is my father’s dreaming.

Among some groups there were insufficient elders to pass on the rituals, which caused a weakening of certain ties with the country. The Kungarakany and Wagait overcame this problem by nominating elders from outside groups to take charge of the rituals.*® In describing their station history, Aborigines stress the fundamental continuity of life; they were even accepting of the white

presence, viewing it as part of the present landscape. Engineer Jack Japaljarri told Peter Read that Warlpiri culture had lost nothing since their move to Wave Hill in 1928, and he found it hard to believe that some Australian Aborigines could not speak their own languages. As Read recounted: The ritual life of the Warlpiri, in his opinion, has transcended the abandonment of nomadic life. The inner life had survived and the continuance of Warlpiri culture has been assured.*?

Ngabidy’s life story reveals the depth and complexity of Aboriginal culture. Ngabidj worked on Ningbing, Carlton and neighbouring

stations intermittently, between other activities with his kin. He

went through the Aboriginal law, like so many other station workers, and knew much about his country, its animals, and

172 ‘Born in the Cattle’ seasonal changes, the spirit world and stories of the dreaming.*° His life story dramatically depicts the cohesion, continuity and strength of the Aboriginal worldview. It conveys the totally divergent preoccupations of the indigenous people from those of its colonisers, illustrating Ngabidj’s interpretations of the coloniser’s

society. Inevitably his concerns are primarily with Aboriginal society; his story stresses family relationships, maintaining the Law, living life in his own way to the full. There is no evident dislocation between station work, spiritual duties and carrying out the Law, which often extended to murder. It is apparent, however, that despite regular and varied relations with Europeans throughout his life, they were peripheral to his world. Karen Blixen’s Out of Africa perceptively and poetically portrays the occasional convergence of two cultures and two worlds which coexisted on her coffee plantation in the hills of Kenya. She likened the situation between the races with relationships between the sexes, and then between lovers: If the lover or the husband were told that he did not play any greater part in the life of his wife or his mistress, than she played in his own existence, he would be puzzled and indignant ... The real old-time men’s story goes to prove this theory; and the talk of the women, when they sit amongst themselves and know that no man can hear them, goes to prove it. If you had told the Natives that they played no greater part in the fife of the white people than the white people played in their lives, they would never have believed you, but would have laughed at you. Probably in Native circles, stories are passing about, and being repeated, which prove the all-absorbing interest of the white people in the Kikuyu or Kavirondo, and their complete dependence upon them.*?

It is extremely likely that we exaggerate our own importance in the eyes of Aborigines. Perhaps the most interesying examples of Aboriginal accommodation are represented in their offers to Europeans of incorporation into their own system. This happened continuously on stations when white men were drawn into recip-

rocal relationships through their relationships with Aboriginal women. In other instances, it happened through attempts to share ritual knowledge, most of which were ignored or misinterpreted by whites. Europeans were surprised that objects of alleged power and significance such as the tjurunga, a plate on which 1s inscribed symbols narrating the history and law of the tribe, were offered in

No Shame Job 173 exchange for food or tobacco. The presentation could well have had religious meaning, as payment for knowledge was obligatory in pre-contact society, and a gift was expected for such bestowal. The elders were attempting to encourage the boss or missus to understand, or even adopt Aboriginal law. They hoped that the boss would be indebted for such powerful knowledge, accept his incorporation into the tribe and become more closely tied and responsible to the land and more generous in fulfilling his reciprocal obligations to his workers and their families. Aborigines also hoped for an exchange of some of the secrets of European culture which they perceived were being kept from them, perhaps because they were not receiving access to the same food and goods as the white people. These station incidents may have been a conscious and important decision on the part of the elders—an adjustment movement,” an attempt at greater acceptance of Aboriginal life-

ways exchanged on Aboriginal terms, and greater unity with components of European cattle station subculture. People like Amy Laurie, Daisy Djunduin and Charlie Arriu obtained workable relationships with Europeans, partly through their station experience and upbringing, and foremost through their past friendships with white people.

Although the cattle industry was an oppressive institution and crucial to the overall colonial takeover of the north, its peculiar characteristics also enabled Aborigines to retain a higher level of autonomy than was possible within other industries. The demand for Aboriginal labour ensured that managers would permit residential camps, and the non-intensive nature of pastoral land-use allowed space for family camps and visitors. Continued reliance

on bush tucker held back participation in the wider capitalist economy, but it enabled independence and cultural pride. Relatively flexible work relationships followed because employers were an isolated minority in a predominantly Aboriginal environment. They needed comparatively few workers, but wanted these to remain. Perhaps the most important factors complementing Aboriginal lifestyle preferences were the cattle industry’s seasonal character and its travelling ethos. The transient nature of European workers posed problems for Aborigines, but it also offered some

advantages. They could obtain work over a wide expanse of country; those working on one station had access to a vast area

174 ‘Born in the Cattle’ and mustered on adjoining stations. Many aspects of cattle work involved travel. Sometimes Aborigines followed traditional routes and combined station travel with journeys for specifically Abori' ginal purposes. During the working year, station employees thus had plenty of opportunity to journey around their land or acquire knowledge of another group’s country. During the wet season, they had their ‘walkabout’, which was not the aimless wandering of landless ‘nomads’ but purposeful travel, along the paths of superhuman ancestors. These ‘holidays’ were indeed holy, having religious significance for all. They were also true ‘recreation’ for, as station workers moved across the landscape, they re-created themselves, their ties with the land, and, on a metaphysical level, the land itself. Through song and ritual, the dreaming stories were relived, the land’s creative powers rejuvenated. Spirit beings were paid homage so they would continue to replenish the resources in

their charge. As women gathered lilyroots or yams, the spiritchildren entered their bodies and became the next station genera-

tion and the next Aboriginal landowning group. By nurturing specific sites, people affirmed their rights to land ownership.

Station work and life was a new way of looking after the country. Through working and living there, Aborigines could make it grow up, like the people coming up through the dreaming to the changed surface of this land. Station Aborigines now consider themselves ‘sensible’ for doing so, and convey their considered interpretations to the younger generation. But they uphold their own Law, which is seen as of vital importance if they are to

stay ‘Aboriginal’, that is, to proudly be themselves rather than aspire to the values of outside cultures. The changes, and the accommodations they have made, have come from within Aboriginal culture; it is part of their experience, and their identity. In no way have they ‘sold out’ because they worked for the ‘white European’ who lived on the land. It was proper, no ‘shame job’,

to have helped the white man look after cattle, or the white woman in the homestead. In so doing, Aborigines ‘grew up’ the stations. They worked not just for tucker, but literally to ‘hold onto’ their land, and keep

it alive. They made it grow in new ways. Cattle station work involved not only managing the new animals ‘on top of’ the land, but also the white people and the products accompanying them.

Station work was intended to confirm their right to land and

No Shame Job 175 sustenance. Aborigines continued to give birth, to live and die, in station country. Generations of Aboriginal station dwellers co-operated with

the white people, but they were never truly colonised. Like the land itself, their relationships with it were being transformed. They incorporated different animals, technologies, skills and kin into their cultural landscape, but it remained their country, their world. In their lives, they knew, and continue to know, great pride and strength. They were born in the cattle.

Appendix Oral History and Writing about Aborigines In ways the debate about oral history resembles that about the oral contraceptive. While the surfeit of information on harmful side effects is worrying, other methods have equally disturbing risks. If our aim is to get away from the victims model and to integrate the reactions of pre-literate or powerless groups, we have

no better alternative. The professional credibility of historians practising oral history is subject to much closer scrutiny than those using documentary sources. Suspicions stem partly from our

cultural belief in the written word, yet this very faith probably leads to a more critical approach with oral sources: the historian’s prophylactic. The influence of nostalgia and the pressures of proving respectability are among the worst problems faced when interpreting oral evidence. Was life really so harmonious; did Aborigines really work as hard or stay as true to their laws as they say? While older people may be more conservative, in Aboriginal society they are the rightful custodians of knowledge. Aboriginal philosophy

holds that things have always been the same, according to the supposedly unchanging Law laid down in the Dreamtime. This view thus reinforces a static social model, and we must be able to separate ourselves from informants’ assumptions, as we do with documents. Once transcribed, oral history becomes another form of document, and discrepancies can be explored by an examination of internal consistency and comparison with other sources. While we will never know exactly how people felt at any given time, oral history provides a close-up, especially of the private and the ordinary, and of the historical self-perceptions of both indi176

Appendix 177 viduals and groups. Oral history offers views of the past as interpreted according to the participant’s present, providing immediate contemporary relevance. In dealing with an outside cultural group we need to glean something about its present reality to understand the implications of its past. This also informs us of questions more relevant to the people studied. Face-to-face contact with people and their historical environment provides additional levels of evidence and teaches greater cultural empathy. As oral historians we are forced to learn something of culture conflict, cooperation, and

the legacy of colonialism, especially as it affects interpersonal relations; we also become more sharply aware of our own cultural baggage.

Some Aborigines feel white academics should not write about them, while others demand better consultation and representation

of black viewpoints. There is certainly a need for more history from the Aboriginal perspective, but I hope that the analysis of a female outsider of predominantly Irish Catholic background also contributes something useful. The Aborigines who agreed to share their life stories drew me into their communities on various levels, but especially as an historian who had accepted the responsibility of portraying people’s private life experiences to the wider world.

They know that white people don’t understand, but think they need to learn. On my first trip to the Territory in 1978, numerous Abori-

gines who worked on stations before 1940 agreed to be interviewed. Contacts were made through mutual European associates,

but sometimes camps had to be visited without introductions. Although most Aborigines were very shy initially (as I was), when tactfully approached, they seemed pleased to reminisce about their working lives, and proved surprisingly trusting and accommodat-

ing to a young white stranger. Interview quality improved once familiarity or friendships were established, or after being given a ‘skin’ or other classification which entitled me to a place in their social networks. My aim was to be as free as possible of preconceptions in order to absorb Aboriginal viewpoints; these could then serve as the framework for future interviews and analytical questions. The best interviews resulted when interruptions were minimised and stories could be selected and told according to Aboriginal narrative styles and historical methods. Sometimes it seemed necessary to steer people back onto ‘the topic’, and my judgments may have been overly shaped by a Eurocentric world

178 ‘Born in the Cattle’ view. Future historians can learn from my mistakes, and historians

of Aboriginal descent will I hope teach me what some of these were. The interview situation is dialectically related to the actors’ past culture contact experiences, and must be interpreted in this context.

Aborigines were rarely interested in exact chronology, and the significance of their terms ‘yesterday’, ‘before’, ‘olden days’ had to be distinguished. ‘Olden days’ or ‘early days’ could refer to

either twenty years ago or the dreamtime creation era. More definite time references could be obtained by referring to particular bosses, the wars, the introduction of wages and alcohol. It took time to become familiar with the sound and structure of Aboriginal English, and there were plenty of misunderstandings before grammatical styles were mastered. It was frequently difficult to make contacts with Aboriginal women. The men were usually introduced as community leaders, the experts, and were articulate in speaking to Europeans. Women were less experienced and some chronically shy. Aboriginal men were sometimes condescending about the women’s knowledge, and women commonly

deferred to the men. The people interviewed varied in age and were from a range of areas throughout the northern half of the Territory, but they were probably people more accustomed to Europeans. They understandably had more satisfactory relationships with whites in the past than those who shun them. Current problems confronting Aborigines such as displacement from stations, unemployment and alcoholism led some to romanticise the pre-1940s period. But this does not prevent critical historical comparisons from being made. Although a diverse range of experiences and reactions were encountered, there was strong evidence of common patterns in the lives and work experiences of Aborigines, and in the attitudes of the European bosses.

Endnotes Introduction 1 R. Shelley, ‘The Lingarra Mob’, unpublished filmscript, 1982, author’s possession.

Chapter 1 Battle for the Waterholes 1. Amy Laurie interview, Kununurra, 17 July 1978.* 2 Bill Parry interview, Daly River, 6 July 1978. 3 P. Sutton, L. Coltheart and A. McGrath, “The Murranji Land Claim’, Darwin, NLC, 1983. 4 X. Herbert, Capricornia, Sydney, 1938, p. 51. 5 W.E.H Stanner, ‘Continuity and Change’ in White Man Got No Dreaming, Canberra, 1979, pp. 63, 65. 6 Government Resident’s Report on N.T. for 1887, S.A.P.P., III, 1888, No. 53, cited in H. Reynolds, Aborigines and Settlers, Melbourne, 1972, pp. 12-13. 7 Government Resident’s Report on N.T. for 1890, S.A.P.P., II, 1890, No. 28, cited in Reynolds, Aborigines and Settlers; B. Shaw, Banggatyerri, Canberra 1983, p. 68. 8 Stanner, ‘After the Dreaming’ in White Man Got No Dreaming, Canberra, 1979, pp. 230-1. 9 C. Arriu interview, Daly River, 27 July 1981. 10 A. Giles, ‘The First Pastoral Settlement in the N.T.’, SAA, TS 1082,

pp. 35-9, 40-3. 11. J. Dymmock, ‘Historical Material Relevant to Nicholson River Land Claim’, Darwin, NLC, 1982, Maps 5-8; Dymmock notes, from Duncan Hogan interview, 11 September, 1979.

12 H. Reynolds, The Other Side of the Frontier, Melbourne, 1982, pp. 121-2. 13 A. Gunn, We of the Never Never, London, 1908, p. 98. 14 E. Hill, The Ternitory, Sydney, 1951, pp. 251, 328; Northern Standard, 23 November, 1928.

15 Ivan Bradshaw, ‘Log Book of Bradshaws Run’, AA, CRS 04, date obscured, April 1896, 19 October 1899.

16 Hill, The Terntory, p. 329. 17 Northern Territory Times, 11 May, 18 May 1918.

* All interviews conducted by author unless otherwise indicated. 179

180 ‘Born in the Cattle’ 18 Peter and Jay Read, ‘A View of the Past’, unpublished typescript, pp. 164, 167. 19 Northern Standard, 10 January 1928; 2 February 1934.

20 B. Shaw, My Country of the Pelican Dreaming, Canberra, 1981, pp. 45-6. 21 C. Dempsey, 1913, Borroloola Letter Book, AAD, F275; Hill, The Territory, p. 329; D. Lewis, field notes, ‘Sites of Aboriginal-European conflict’.

22 H. Reynolds, “The Other Side of the Frontier: Early Aboriginal reactions to pastoral settlement in Queensland and Northern N.S.W.’, Historical Studies, 17, 1976, p. 51. 23. R. Duncan, The Northern Territory Pastoral Industry, 1863-1910, Melbourne, 1967, p. 72. 24 Borroloola police records: Court Books and Charge Book, AAD, F275;

Waters to Police Inspector, 14 June 1913, F275; Policy statement on Aboriginals, 1927, NITPLA records, Aborigines file.

25 Hemmings to Chief Protector, 1 July 1929; Fink, Best and Miller to Minister for Home and Territories, 2 December 1925, AAD, F720. 26 Hemmings to Commissioner Police, 21 September 1927, AAD, CRS F720.

27 Memo by Easton, 23 December 1925, ibid. 28 17 40 Shaw, My4.Country, p. 45. 41. C. Arriu interview. 42 T. Skewes interview, Litchfield Station, 11 July 1978. 43 C. Arriu interview. 44 P. Durham, ‘The Negro Cowboy’, pp. 259, 266-7; D.B. Davis, “Ten

Gallon Hero’, in H. Cohen, The American Experience, Boston, 1968; J.

Calder, There Must Have Been a Lone Ranger, London, 1976; A. Strickon, ‘The Euro-American Ranching Complex’, in A. Leeds and A.P. Vayda, (eds), Man, Culture and Animals, Washington, 1965, p. 243; P. Riviere, The Forgotten Frontier: Ranchers of Northern Brazil, New York, 1972.

45 Strickon, op cit. n. 44, p. 244. 46 C. Johnstone interview; J. White notes, AAD, H. Bathern interview, 8 June 1980, NTHP; C. Arriu interview; P. and J. Read, ‘A View of the Past’, typescript, p. 254.

47 Arbitration Case, Northern Standard, 29 June 1928; T. Skewes interview.

48 H. Reynolds, The Other Side of the Frontier, Melbourne, 1982, p. 141.

49 A. McGrath, ‘Aborigines and Colonialism in the Upper Daly Basin Area’, Darwin, 1983, pp. 47-8. 50 Meehan and Chase, ‘Upper Daly Land Claim’, pp. 40, 48-9 and notes.

51 C. Arriu interview.

Chapter 3 Stockcamp and House 1 Administrator’s Reports and Census for respective years. 2 J.W. Bleakley Report, 1928, p. 7. 3 E. George, Two at Daly Waters, Melbourne, 1946, pp. 27-8.

4 For example, see J.A. Gilruth, Administrator to Minister External Affairs, 22 December 1915, N.T. Memo, Department External Affairs,

Endnotes 183 937/1311, Mahon Papers, National Library MS 937 series 26; also Bleakley Report, 1928, p. 27.

5 Gunn, We of the Never Never; The Little Black Princess; Bonrook station diaries, AAD, 1 July 1917, 13 July 1919, 8 September 1919. 6 Willey, Boss Drover, pp. 11-12. Territory drovers and stockriders regularly travelled through the Kimberley; Rowley, Destruction of Aboriginal Society, Canberra, 1970, p. 219; Regulations under N.T. Abor-

igines Act, 1910, and Aboriginal Ordinance 1911, AA, CRS Al, 12/ 2937; and Aboriginals Ordinance 1918-33, Commonwealth Australia Gazette, 1933, No. 40; Bleakley Report, p. 27. 7 Amy Laurie interview, Kununurra, 17 July 1978; Kununurra News, 2, 16 and 17, 1978.

8 Mary Yunduin interview, Mirima Village, 10 August 1978; Maudie Moore interview, Dunham River, 27 July 1978.

9 Harney, Content to Lie in the Sun, p. 91. 10 Daisy Dyunduin interview, Mirima Village, 26 July 1978; Harrold Knowles interview, Darwin, 24 June 1978; R.M. and C.H. Berndt, World of the First Australians, cited in Rowley, Destruction, p. 334. 11 H.M. Barker, Camels and the Outback, Adelaide, 1964 (1976), p. 187. 12 R. Wilson interview, Darwin, 27 June 1978. 13. C.H. Berndt, ‘Digging Sticks and Spears, or the two sex model’ in F. Gale (ed.), Woman’s Role in Aboriginal Society, Canberra, 1974, p. 71; Wilson interview. 14. Wilson interview, Darwin, 27 June 1978. 15 Northern Standard, 30 August 1937, and W.L. Abbott to Chief Protector, 1 February 1938, AA, CRS A1, item 36/9978; Northern Standard, 15 March 1935.

16 Northern Territory Times, 30 July 1914 contains article by Mrs Gilruth on domestic service in Darwin; H. Drake-Brockman, ‘Coloured Characters’, Walkabout, 1 June 1945, p. 14.

17H. Knowles interview.

18 C.H. Berndt, ‘Digging Sticks’, p. 71. 19 See A. Laurie and A. McGrath, ‘I once was a drover myself’ in I. White, D. Barwick, B. Meehan (eds), Fighters and Singers: The lives of some Aboriginal Women, Sydney, 1985.

20 Cited in M. Rosaldo, L. Lamphere (eds), Woman, Culture and Society, Stanford, 1974, Introduction. 21 A. Hamilton, ‘A Complex Strategical Situation’, in N. Grieve and P. Grimshaw (eds), Australian Women: Feminist Perspectives, Melbourne, 1981, p. 84.

22 Stanner, ‘Durmugam: A Nangiomeri’, in Stanner, White Man Got No Dreaming, pp. 84, 85, 88. 23 Aboriginals Ordinance, 1918, Commonwealth Gazette, 1918. 24 J.W. Kennet to Chief Protector, 4 September 1929, AAD, Police Letter Book Daly River NTRS 277. 25 Fanny Bay Gaol Wall—use of prison labour, AA, CRS A1, 11/1127, and 36/5356; also Administrator’s Report, 1923, CRS A3, NT 24/2482. 26 Daisy Djunduin interview by B. Shaw, Nov—Dec 1973, also by author, July 1978. A very close association exists between Aboriginal groups in

184 ‘Born in the Cattle’ the Kimberleys region; the border becomes irrelevant, as their territorial boundaries cross and intersect it. Station boundaries had to conform, but stations were commonly owned and managed across the borders. 27H. Sullivan interview, Adelaide River, 12 July 1978.

28 Blan and Laddie Barney interview, Moongoong Darwung, 7 August 1978.

29 J.T. Beckett to Administrator, 12 July 1915, CPP, 1915-16, pp. 1437-8; Bleakley Report, p. 28; Conference on Wages for Aborigines and Halfcastes, N.T., 1929, AA CRS Al, 38/329; C. Cook, Chief Protector to

M.C. Hemmings, 12 August 1927, T. Fitzer to Chief Protector, 2 August 1927, AAD, NTRS F720. 30 Biddy interview, Louisa Downs, August 1978. 31 Blan and Laddie Barney interview; Winnie Chapman interview, Kununurra, 28 July 1978. 32 H. Sullivan interview, Adelaide River, 12 July 1978. 33 W. Chapman interview, Kununurra, 28 July 1978. 34 Maudie Moore, Biddy and Sullivan were deprived of aspects of traditional heritage. 35 H. Skardon, “The House Gins’, Walkabout, 1 March 1937, p. 49; Gunn, Little Black Princess, p. 39.

36H. Sullivan interview. 37 R. Wilson interview; Harney, Content to Lie in the Sun, p. 160. 38 R. Wilson interview.

39 George, Two at Daly Waters, pp. 39-40. See AAD photographic collection, outback stations. 40 Blan Barney interview, Moongoong Darwung, 7 August 1978. 41 C. Fenton, Flying Doctor, Melbourne, 1947, p. 73. 42 J.A. Gilruth to Minister External Affairs, NL, Mahon Papers, MS 937 series 26, 937/1311.

43 Wilson interview. 44 Blan Barney interview, 7 August 1978. 45 Chapman interview. 46 Dyunduin interview. 47 Skardon, ‘The House Gins’. 48 Dyunduin, Sullivan, Blan Barney interviews. 49 Kaiser and Elsey interviews, Katherine, 2 September 1978. 50 Moore interview. 51 Northern Territory Times, 30 July 1914; Hill, Australian Loneliness, p. 169.

52 Dyunduin interview. 53 Gunn, We of the Never Never, pp. 74, 137. 54 Chapman interview. In Aboriginal English ‘he’ refers to male or female.

Chapter 4 Black Velvet 1 B. Harney, Content to Lie in the Sun, Adelaide, 1958, p. 50. 2 R. Ward, The Australian Legend, Melbourne, 1958, p. 98.

3 Hill, The Great Australian Loneliness, p. 231. 4 G. Pike, Frontier Territory, The Colourful Story of the Exploration and Pioneering of Australia’s Northern Territory, Darwin, 1972, p. 246.

Endnotes 185 5 B. Harney, Life Among the Aborigines, London, 1957, pp. 172-3. 6 Willey, Boss Drover, Adelaide, 1971, p. 20; Ronan, Vision Splendid. 7 Unknown newspaper, 10 December 1922, Tom Turner Papers, MS Mitchell Library. Complaints made to police re white men and Aborigines, AA, 48/1551, no. 2 file; Daisy Dyunduin interview, Kununurra, 26 July 1978.

8 Northern Standard, 6 March 1928. 9 Herbert, Capricornia. 10 Nugget Coombs, private conversation, June 1981. 11. Northern Territory Times, 15 January 1921. 12 Hill, Australian Loneliness, p. 230; Northern Territory Newsletter, January 1977, p. 9. 13. Amirah Inglis, Not a White Woman Safe, Canberra, 1974. 14. Northern Standard, 18 February 1938 and E.T. Asche, 31 March, AAD, F1 39/408 p. 10.

15 Northern Standard, 8 March 1938. 16 Hill, Australian Loneliness, p. 230. 17. R.M. and C.H. Berndt, The World of the First Australians, Sydney, 1977, pp. 189-90. See A.P. Elkin, The Australian Aborigines, Sydney, 1938, pp. 161-2. 18 D. Bell, ‘Daughters of the Dreaming’, unpublished doctoral thesis, Australian National University, 1980, pp. 167-9. 19 Joe Somerfield interview, Kingston’s Rest, 2 July 1979. 20 B. Harney, North by 23 Degrees, Sydney, 1945, p. 81. 21 C.E. Cook interview, Sydney, 15 March 1979. 22 Shaw, My Country. 23 Bandy Banderson interview, Dagaragu, 23 June 1979. 24 Peter and Jay Read, ‘A View of the Past’, unpublished typescript, p. 51.

25 ibid., p. 13. 26 Bandy Banderson interview, Dagaragu, 23 June 1979. 27. Cook interview, Sydney, 15 March 1979. 28 Northern Standard, 31 March 1936, and Sydney Morning Herald, 15 April 1936, also AA, CRS A1, 48/1551, No. 2 file. 29 J.W. Bleakley Report, 1928, p. 9. 30 Complaints made to police re white men and Aborigines from 1 October 1935 and during 1936, AA, CRS Al, 48/1551, No. 2 File.

31 Northern Territory Times, 17 April 1913; X. Herbert, private communication, 1980; Bleakley Report, 1928, p. 10. 32 Harney, Life Among the Aborigines, London, 1957, pp. 172-3; Bleakley Report, p. 9.

33. Harney, ibid. 34 B. Shaw and J. Sullivan, ‘They Same as You and Me: Encounters with the Gadia in the East Kimberley’, Aboriginal History, 13, 1-2; Shaw, Banggaiyerri, p. 76; A. Hamilton, ‘Blacks and Whites: The Relationships

of Change’, Arena, 30, 1972, pp. 34-49. 35 Shaw and McDonald, ‘They did it themselves’, p. 125. 36 Koolpinyah Station Records, AAD, diary 1912, December. 37. Willey, Boss Drover, p. 114. 38 Herbert, Poor Fellow My Country.

186 ‘Born in the Cattle’ 39 Shaw, Banggatyern, pp. 112, 62-3.

40 Harney, Content to Lie in the Sun, p. 159; North by 23 Degrees, . 80-1.

41 R Wilson interview, Darwin, 27 June 1978. 42 SJ. Mitchell to Administrator, 7 September 1911 and V. Collins to Quinlan, 9 June 1911, AA, CRS A1, 12/2937. 43 J.A. Gilruth, 22 December 1915, Comment on N.T. Memo by Secretary, External Affairs, National Library, Mahon Papers, MS 937 series 26, 937/1311; see Bleakley Report, Rowley, Destruction of Aboriginal Soctety, p. 286.

44 Inspectors Kelly and Beckett to Chief Protector, 20 September, 11 August 1911 AA, CRS Al, 12/10964. 45 N.T. Aboriginals Act, 1918-20, Sections 5 and 6. 46 White men were also charged with supplying opium and liquor. See Northern Standard, 16 April 1921 and 20 April 1921; ‘Particulars of Complaints respecting I[l-treatment of Aboriginals—1st to 28th February 1931’, AA, CRS A1, 36/578. 47 S.A. Aboriginal Act of 1910; N.T. Aboriginals Ordinance of 1911.

48 Aboriginals Ordinance 1918-37. 49 W.B. Kirkland to Administrator, 4 August 1936 in AA, CRS Al, 48/ 1551, no. 2 File.

50 Adelaide Observer, 22 March 1919. This was a case taken up by the Aborigines Protector, October 1936, p. 8, and June 1937, p. 2; Cook interview, Sydney, 15 March 1979.

51 Attorney to Company of Directors, 4 March 1930, no. 22, ABL, BAE, 119/4/1.

52 Cook inverview, Sydney, 15 March 1979. 53 Conversations with various Darwin Aboriginal women (unnamed for reasons of privacy).

54 J.A. Gilruth to Minister External Affairs, 22 December 1915.

55 A. Anderson to Minister Internal Affairs, 27 August 1932, includes extracts Cook’s letter, 11 April 1932, AA, CRS Ai, 32/3578. 56 W.C.T.U. to Minister Interior, cited West Australian, 31 July 1937; The Dawn, 23, 1, 1940. This newspaper agitated for further action to protect ‘half-caste’ girls stationed near military camps, requesting female protectors of Aborigines to be stationed at Darwin and Alice Springs. 57 H.E. Carey to Administrator, 12 July 1915, Report on Aboriginal De-

partment in Annual Report, N.T., 1915.

58 X. Herbert, Transcript of Proceedings before his Honour Mr Justice Toohey, re Finnis River Land Claim, 25 August 1980, p. 542; Cook interview, Sydney, 15 March 1979. 59 Harney, Grief, Gaiety and Aborigines, Adelaide, 1961, p. 66. 60 B. Sansom, Wallaby Cross, Canberra, 1980, p. 257. Married women were

not referred to by this term. 61 Laurie and McGrath, ‘I once was a drover myself’, p. 82. Daisy Djunduin, Helen Sullivan and other N.T. women have recorded their attitudes on tapes held by author. 62 Bandy Banderson, Yunner, George Allan, Kalgaringi, 25 June 1976; Bill Parry, Daly River, 6 July 1978.

Endnotes 187 63 See Census figures for Darwin in AA, CRS A1, 11/16191, also J.A. Carrodus Report on N.T., 1934-35, AA, CRS A1, 34/10021; Commonwealth Yearbooks, Administrator’s Reports, 1912, 1934, 1937. 64 David Ritchie, ‘““We All Bin Mix In Together”: A study of the formation of the Aboriginal Community at Humpty Doo, N.T.’, unpublished B.A. thesis, Latrobe, 1980. 65 Northern Territory Times, 17 February 1921.

66 J.T. Beckett to Chief Protector, Annual Report, 1915, p. 28. 67 J.A. Carrodus report, AA, CRS A1, 34/1002. 68 C. Chinnery to Administrator, 23 August 1940, AAD, F1 39/408; A. McGrath, ‘Spinifex Fairies’ in E. Windschuttle (ed.) Women, Class and History, Melbourne, 1980, p. 248.

69 Wagiman Video Transcript, Upper Daly Land Claim, NLC, 1984, pp. 21-2.

Chapter 5 ‘Tame Blacks’? Paternalism and Control 1 Gunn, We of the Never Never, p. 75. 2 Noel Hall interview, Pine Creek, 28 August 1978; R. Wilson interview, Darwin, 27 June 1978; Upper Daly Land Claim transcript, p. 971. 3 H. Knowles interview, Darwin, June 1978; R. Wilson interview. 4 Northern Territory Times, 29 March 1919. 5 H. Knowles interview, Darwin, June 1978; T. Skewes interview, Litchfield Station, 11 July 1978; N. Hall interview, Pine Creek, 28 August 1978.

6 B. Nelson interview Daly River, 8 July 1978. 7 Nelson interview, also conversations G. Lewis, Darwin, 1979. 8 Genovese, Roll, Jordan Roll, p. 4. 9 Gunn, We of the Never Never; M. and E. Durack, All-About: the story of a black community on Argyle Station, Kimberley, Sydney, 1935. 10 W. Chapman interview, Kununurra, 28 July 1978; C. Arriu interview,

Daly River, 27 July 1978; Upper Daly Land Claim transcript, pp. 1029-32.

11 C. Cook to M.C. Hemmings, 12 August 1927, AAD, NTRS F720; See also T. Fitzer to Chief Protector, 28 January 1926, AAD, NTRS F277. 12 N. Hall interview. 13. R. Wilson interview. 14 Skewes interview; Shaw, My Country, pp. 16, 116, 132-4. 15 A. Hamilton, ‘Blacks and Whites: The Relationships of Change’, Arena, 30, 1972, p. 43.

16 Photo, ‘Morning Tea’ in George, Two at Daly Waters, facing p. 64. 17 Herbert, Capricornia, pp. 258, 262; Bandy Banderson interview, Dagaragu, 20 June 1979; C. Arriu interview. 18 Tom Turner Papers, ML, MSS 1336. Newspaper clipping p. 195. 19 Ridsdale interview by S. Bauer, notes, Item 20.2. Tom Skewes corroborated this story. 20 Report on Beetaloo Station, 14 February 1935, 18, AAD, F658. 21 W. Chapman interview; Durack, All-About, p. 35. 22 BAE, ABL, Correspondence, 119/4/1. 23 Payne and Fletcher Report, p. 285.

188 ‘Born in the Cattle’ 24 Bleakley Report, p. 7. 25 Koolpinyah Station diary, 17 September 1913.

26 Northern Standard, July 1937; Reid to Inspector Police, 22 February 1931, AA, CRS Al, 28/1073.

27 Northern Standard, 6 March 1931. 28 W.D. Walker to Minister Home and Territories, 28 August 1928, AA, CRS A1, 28/1073; Willey, Boss Drover, p. 19. 29 R. Wilson interview, Darwin, 17 June 1978. 30 Koolpinyah station diary, 1 January 1915, 24 September 1913. 31. C. Fenton, Flying Doctor, Melbourne, 1947, p. 49. 32 Tom Turner Papers, ML item 12; J. O’Keefe interview, Katherine, 1 September 1978; Gunn, We of the Never Never; Willey, Boss Drover, p. 91; N. Hall interview. 33. Gunn, The Little Black Princess, p. 29. 34 Cited in Shaw, Banggatyern, p. 38. 35 J.T. Turner to N. Waters, 4 May 1917, AAD, CRS F275. 36 W. Chapman, H. Sullivan interviews; Blan Barney interview, Moongoong Darwung, 7 August 1978. 37. Bob Nelson, H. Knowles interviews. 38 Northern Territory Times, 5 April 1919.

39 Northern Standard, 5 August 1932. Also Administrator to External Affairs, 20 February 1917, AA, CRS A3, NT 17/427. 40 Northern Standard, 20 December 1919, proceedings Royal Commission. 41 See K.S. Prichard, Coonardoo: the well in the shadow, Sydney, 1929, p. 119.

42 Story to J.C.H. Schmidt, 23 March 1914, ABL, Dep. 4, 2. 43 Northern Standard, 14 July 1936; Giles to Department Interior, 23 July 1936, AA, CRS Al, 36/5476. 44 Northern Standard, 25 April 1922, Tom Turner papers newspaper clippings p. 286. 45 Willey, Boss Drover, pp. 57, 60, 52. 46 Unknown newspaper, 10 December 1922, Tom Turner Papers.

47 See The Aborigines Protector, 1937, Summer, pp. 3-7 and November 1941; A.P. Elkin interview, Sydney, June 1978.

48 Harney, Content to Lie in the Sun, Adelaide, 1958, pp. 38-9. 49 Wilson interview. 50 Cec Watts interview, Darwin, 9 November 1979. 51 Northern Standard, 6 February 1926. 52 Shaw and McDonald, ‘They did it themselves’, Aboriginal History, 3, 1-2, p. 127. 53 F.N. Colson to Deputy Administrator, 22 August 1933, AA, CRS A1, 35/11742.

54 A.V. Stretton to Admininstrator, 18 December 1935, AA, CRS Al, 35/11742; Captain, cited in F. Hardy, The Unlucky Australians, Melbourne, 1968, p. 33. 55 Northern Territory Times, 2 August 1929. 56 ibid., 30 April, 3 May 1929.

57 Administrator to Department External Affairs, 20 February 1917; Leighton Jones to Administrator, 21 February 1917, AA, NT 17/427.

Endnotes 189 58 Bob Nelson interview. 59 Shaw, Banggatyern, p. 76. 60 Herbert, Capricornia, p. 51. 61 Bob Nelson interview. 62 Shaw, Banggatyerri, pp. 40, 76-7. 63 Prichard, Coonardoo, p. 130. 64 N. Hall interview. 65 R. Wilson interview, 27 June 1978. 66 Turner papers, diary and newscuttings, ML, MS 1336. Also Outward letterbook, Borroloola, AAD, F275, J.T. Turner to N. Waters, 4 May 1917.

67 Attorney for N.A. to Chairman Directors, London, 23 November 1928, BAE, ABL, 119/4/1. 68 Wilson to Administrator, 12 November 1925, AA, CRS Al, 25/26433. 69 W.B. Spencer to W. Atlee Hunt, 19 January 1912 in Atlee Hunt papers, NL, MS 52, 52/1037. 70 DJ. Bevan to Administrator, 16 September 1916, AA, CRS A1, 17/124. 71 Board of inquiry into alleged ill-treatment of Aborigines by Constable McKinnon and others, and recommendations, 1935 in AA, CRS Al, 35/1613, also Treatment and handling of Aboriginal prisoners, A.V. Stretton, AA, CRS A1, 36/4477. 72 Laddie and Blan Barney interview, Moongoong Darwung, 7 August 1978; C. Arriu interview.

Chapter 6 Workin’ Longa Tucker 1 J.W. Spratt to Superintendent Peel River Land and Mineral Company, 26 November 1936, NIPLA, Aborigines file. 2 Cook interview, Darwin 1982. 3H. Sullivan interview, Adelaide River, 12 July 1978. 4 Winnie Chapman interview, Kununurra, 28 July 1978; Sullivan interview.

5 Durack, All-About, p. 14; W. Chapman interview. Sullivan interview.

6 Jimmy interview, Daly River, 5 July 1978; C. Arriu interview, Daly River, 6 July 1978, VRD diary, 19 March 1920, 23 April 1920, 7 April 1920, 2 August 1920, BAE records, ABL, 87/6/1. 7 Northern Standard, 7 September 1928; Aborigines Register, VRD.

8 M.P. Durack to NTPLA secretary, 27 November 1936, NTPLA records, Aborigines file.

9 Laddie and Blan Barney interview, Moongoong Darwung, 7 August 1978; Daisy Djunduin interview, Mirima Village, 26 July 1978.

10 B. Harney, Grief; Gaiety and Aborigines, p. 63. 11 E. Lowe, Mataranka to NAL, 21 April 1930 in NTPLA records, Aborigines file.

12 VRD Register. 13 Captain interview, Dagaragu, 20 June 1979. Bleakley Report, 1928, p. 7; W.D. Walker to Minister Home and Territories, 28 August 1928, AA, CRS Al, 28/10743. 14 Bleakley Report, 1928, Appendix, conditions section. 15 Katherine police station diaries, AAD, CRS F720; Hemmings to Chief

190 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Protector, 27 July 1927, AAD, CRS F720, F.K. Sheridan to Chief Protector, 1 July 1927, AAD, CRS F588. 16 F.K. Sheridan to Commissioner Police, undated, AAD, Bow Hills Police

Station letterbook; Northern Standard; Private communication, D. Ritchie.

17 Cook interview, Darwin 1982; Letters in Aborigines file, NITPLA records. Numerous employers complained they had received nothing from the scheme, and were unable to procure medicines.

18 C.E. Cook to Acting Administrator, 28 May and 19 June 1934, AA, CRS A1, 34/4888.

19 R.M. and C.H. Berndt, ‘Aboriginal Labour in a Pastoral Area’, unpublished typescript, 1948, p. 48. 20 Arbitration case, Pastoral Award, Northern Standard, 10 February 1928, 17 January 1928; J. White to Secretary NTPLA, 18 November 1936, NTPLA records, Aborigines file; Introduction to Banka Banka station

diary, 1929-30, H. Tuxworth collection, Fryer library; Schmidt to Allen, 1 October 1930, NTPLA records, Aborigines file; Herbert Brothers to Secretary NAL, 24 April 1930, NTPLA records; A.V. Stretton to Chief Protector, 4 May 1927, AA, CRS A1, 26/16386.

. 21 Memo no 31/2578, Home and Territories, AA, CRS A1, 32/2186; J.W. Allen to Minister Home Affairs, 2 April 1931 in NTPLA records, Aborigines file 2. Also AA CRS A1, 32/2186. 22 J. Murphy, Memo to Home and Territories, 13 November 1919, Memo, 29 September 1923, 21 March 1925, J.R. Davis Memo, 1923 in AA, CRS A659, 45/1/1544. 23 NTPLA records, Aborigines file.

24 ibid.

25 B. Harney, Grief, Gaiety and Aborigines; C. Cook interview, Sydney, 15 March 1979; T. Paterson to Acting Secretary, NAWU, 7 July 1936, AA, CRS A1, 38/329.

26 R.M. and C.H. Berndt, ‘Aboriginal Labour in a Pastoral Area’, unpublished typescript, 1948’, pp. 55-9. 27 F. Hardy, The Unlucky Australians, p. 30. 28 VRD records; Koolpinyah Diary; Alroy Downs records, ABL. 29 R. Morris, ‘The War Effort of the N.T. Aborigines’, Australian Territories, 15, 1, 1965; G. Sweeney to Director Native Affairs, 11 January 1944, AAD, F142/461, part 1.

30 A. Laurie interview, Kununurra, 17 July 1978. 31 Captain interview.

Chapter 7 No Shame Job 1 E. Genovese, Roll Jordan Roll, New York, 1976, S. Elkins, Slavery: A

Problem in Institutional and Intellectual Life, Chicago, 1959; K. Stampp, ‘Rebels and Sambos’, Journal of Southern History, 39, 3, pp. 388, 289.

2 A.P. Elkin, ‘Reaction and Interaction: A Food Gathering People and European Settlement in Australia’, American Axthropologist, 53, 2, p. 173.

3 See Laurie and McGrath, ‘I was a drover once myself’.

Endnotes 191 4 Shaw, My Country, pp. 151-2. 5 Charlie Arriu interview, Nelen Yubu, 6 July 1978. 6 M.J. Meggitt, Gadjari Among the Walbiri Aborigines of Central Australia, Sydney, 1966, pp. 43, 30. 7 Essy interview, Halls Creek, 2 August 1978.

8 R. Levitus, “The Social History of the Area and People of Kakadu National Park, N.T.,’ unpublished, 1981, p. 17; J. Altman, ‘Hunting Buffalo in North-Central Arnhem Land; A case of rapid adaptation among Aborigines’, Oceania, 52, 4, 1982, pp. 280, 282-3.

9 MJ. Meggitt, “The Association Between Australian Aborigines and Dingoes’ in A. Leeds and A.P. Vayda, Man, Culture and Animals, Washington, 1965.

10 Herbert, Poor Fellow My Country, p. 66. 11 E. Young, ‘Aboriginal Cattle Stations: strategies for self-management’, unpublished, 1981, p. 3.

12 E. Kolig, ‘Dialectics of Aboriginal Life-space’ in M. Howard (ed.), Whitefella Business, Philadelphia, 1978, p. 67; P. Willis, ‘Patrons and Riders’, unpublished M.A. thesis, Australian National University, 1980. 13. Koolpinyah Diary, 7 July 1913; W.G. Stretton to Administrator, Annual Report, 1913, p. 32.

14 B. Spencer Report in ibid., p. 39. 15D. Thomson, Economic Structure and the Ceremonial Exchange Cycle in

Arnhem Land, Melbourne, 1949, pp. 43-4, 4, 37-8, 53, 64-8, 73, 74, 94.

16 A. Hamilton, Nature and Nurture, Canberra, 1981, p. 149. 17 G. Cowlishaw, “The Determinants of Fertility Among Australian Aborigines’, Mankind, 13, 1, 1981, p. 43. 18 See D. Bell, ‘Daly River (Malak Malak) Land Claim, Women’s Interests’, Darwin, 1981, p. 15. 19 Koolpinyah Diary, 12 and 14 February 1912, 22 February, 10 January, 5 June, 14, 15 September 1913 and 24 September 1914.

20 Stanner, ‘Aboriginal Territorial Organisation: Estate, Range, Domain and Regime’, Oceania, 36, pp. 1-26. For discussion of the dreaming see Stanner, White Man Got No Dreaming, pp. 4, 24. 21 McConvell and Palmer, ‘Mudbura Land Claim’, p. 32.

22 ibid., p. 32. 23. Kolig, ‘Dialectics’, p. 70. 24 Yunner interview, Kalgaringi, 25 June 1979; Report, Finnis River Land Claim, Canberra, 1981, p. 51. 25 Kolig, ‘Dialectics’, p. 70. 26 McConvell and Palmer, ‘Mudbura Land Claim’, p. 115. 27 B. Sansom, Wallaby Cross, Canberra, 1980, p. 146. 28 B. Meehan and A. Chase, ‘Upper Daly Land Claim’, 1983.

29 J. Urry and M. Walsh, “The Lost Macassar Language of Northern Australia’, Aboriginal History, 5, 2, 1981, pp. 91, 92, 102. 30 See Macquarie Dictionary, Sydney, 1981, especially W.S. Ransom, “The Vocabulary of Australian English’, pp. 28-33. 31 Sansom, Wallaby Cross, p. 141. 32. Charlie Whittaker interview, Darwin, 10 August 1982.

192 ‘Born in the Cattle’ 33 Sansom, Wallaby Cross, p. 13. 34 D. Ritchie, personal communication; D. Bell, ‘Daly River Women’s Interests’, p. 15. 35 Koolpinyah diaries. 36 Herbert, Poor Fellow My Country, Chapter 2. 37, F. Rose, Wind of Change in Central Australia, Berlin, 1965, see figures 41-3, pp. 63, 65, 134 passim.

38 Cited in McConvell and Palmer, ‘Mudbura Land Claim’, p. 39; D. Ritchie, ‘We All Bin Mix In Together’. 39 P. Read and Engineer Jack Japaljarri, “The Price of Tobacco: the Journey of the Warlmala to Wave Hill, 1928’, Aboriginal History, 2, 2, p. 147. 40 Shaw, My Country. 41 K. Blixen, Out of Africa, London, 1937, p. 284. 42 T. Skewes interview, 11 July 1978 and M. Durack interview, Perth 1980; R.M. Berndt, An Adjustment Movement in Arnhem Land, Paris, 1962.

Select t eBibliography @ Primary materials on the Northern Territory are scattered throughout Australia, and surviving station records for the pre-1940 period are rare. Climate, the Second World War, cyclones, the absence of a state library or tertiary education institution, plus the dispersed locations of company offices have exaggerated the usual preservation problems. Unpublished materials used in my research came from the Australian Archives, the Darwin Branch of the Australian Archives (recently divided into State and Commonwealth Ar-

chives), the Australian National University’s Archives of Business and Labour, the Fryer, Queensland University, the Oxley, Mitchell, Battye and National Libraries, records of the Department of Aboriginal Affairs, the Northern Land Council, the Australian Investment Agency, the Northern Territory Pastoral Lessees Association and the Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Here some key monographs are listed. Barker, H.M. Droving Days Adelaide 1966 Barker, H.M. Camels and the Outback Adelaide (1964) 1976 Berndt, R.M. and C.H. The World of the First Australians Sydney (1964) 1977

Duncan, R. The Northern Territory Pastoral Industry 1863-1910 Melbourne 1967

Durack, M. and E. All-About: the story of a black community on Argyle Station, Kimberley Sydney 1935 Elkin, A.P. The Australian Aborigines Sydney 1938

Genovese, E.D. Roll, Jordan Roll: the World the Slaves Made New York (1974) 1976

Gunn, Mrs Aeneas The Little Black Princess of the Never Never Melbourne (1905) 1924

Gunn, Mrs Aeneas We of the Never Never London 1908 Hardy, F. The Unlucky Australians Melbourne 1968 Harney, B. Content to Lie in the Sun Adelaide 1958 Harney, B. Grief, Gaiety and Aborigines Adelaide 1961 Harney, B. North of 23 Degrees Sydney 1945 Harney, B. and Lockwood, D. The Shady Tree Sydney 1963 Herbert, Xavier Capricornia Sydney 1938 Herbert, Xavier Poor Fellow My Country Sydney 1975 Hill, E. The Territory Sydney 1951 Hill, E. The Great Australian Loneliness Sydney 1940 Kelly, J.H. Beef in Northern Australia, Struggle for the North Canberra 1971 193

194 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Makin, J. The Big Run. The Story of Victoria River Downs Adelaide 1970

Pike, G. Frontier Territory: The Colourful Story of the Exploration and Pioneering of Australia’s Northern Territory Darwin 1972

Powell, A. Far Country: A Short History of the Northern Territory Melbourne 1982

Price, A. The History and Problems of the Northern Territory, Australia Adelaide 1930

Prichard, K.S. Coonardoo: the well in the shadow Sydney 1929 Reynolds, H. The Other Side of the Frontier Townsville 1981 Ronan, T. Vision Splendid London 1954 Rowley, C.D. The Destruction of Aboriginal Society Canberra 1970 Shaw, B. My Country of the Pelican Dreaming. The Life of an Australian Aborigine of the Gadjerong, Grant Ngabidj, 1904—77 Canberra 1981 Shaw, B. Banggatyerri. The Story of Jack Sullivan as told to Bruce Shaw Canberra 1983 Stanner, W.E.H. White Man Got No Dreaming Canberra 1979 Stevens, F. Aborigines in the Cattle Industry Canberra 1974 Willey, K. Boss Drover Adelaide 1971 Young, E. Tribal Communities in Rural Areas. The Aboriginal Component in the Australian Economy Canberra 1981

Index abduction, 2, 54 Beckett, Inspector, 9, 84, 91-2 Aboriginal administration, 91-4, 118-21, Beckett, Joe, 37 136, 138-9, 142 Beetaloo, 46, 72—3, 104 Aboriginal attitudes, 121, 123, 134, 135- Bell, Diane, 74-5 7, 146, 148-54 passim; to animals, 16, Berndt, R.M. and C.H., 74, 137 148—53; to business, 170; to cattle Bett-Bett, 50, 108 economy, 153-60 passim: to history, Biddy, 60, 66

176-7; worldview, 172 birthrate, Aboriginal, 136-9

Aboriginals Ordinance, 51, 83-8 passim, black velvet, 68—90 passim; see also sexual

119, 124-5, 135 relations; women

Aboriginal protectors, 118, 124, 135, Blan, 59, 61, 63, 128

138-9, 142; see also police Bleakley, J.W., 15, 49, 79, 80, 104-5, Aborigines, bush, see bush Aborigines 133-4 Aborigines’ Protection Society, 111 Bogey, 36

accidents, 41-2, 101, 136 Bonrook, 35, 37, 41, 50

172-3 Bovril, 161

acculturation (European), 63-4, 102, Borroloola, 14, 17, 18, 19, 71, 112, 161

adaptability see cultural dynamism Bow Hills, 14, 135; see also Wave Hill

agriculture, 18, 169 Bradshaws, Fred and Ivan, 10, 11, 25

alcohol, ix, 1, 68, 80, 105, 178 Bradshaws Station, 10, 15, 18, 35 Alexandria Station, 38, 127, 138 branding, ix, 31, 41

Alice Springs, 58 Brigalow Bill, 77-8

Alligator Tommy, 11 Broken-arse Jack, 18 Alroy Downs, 110, 169 Brumby, 110

Annie, 81-2 Brunette, 138, 140 Argyle Downs, 7, 61, 127 buffaloes, 151 army, 89, 121, 133, 142, 178 Bullita, 11

173 burning, see fire

Arriu, Charlie, 38, 42, 45, 47, 116, 150, Bullo River, 59

Asians, 9, 27, 35—6, 49, 60, 84, 85, 87, 90, Burnside, 100, 112, 165

168 ‘bush’ Aborigines, 14-15, 16-20, 27,

authority, Aborigines in, 115-18 128, 153; relations with station Auvergne, 14-15, 49, 119, 138 Aborigines, 19, 20, 21, 77

Avon Downs, 125, 138 business, Aboriginal, see ceremonies Byrne family, 25

banditry, 16-20 Byrne, Mrs, 38, 60, 61, 62, 108, 126, 127 Bandy, 78 Byrne, Nipper, 48 Banka Banka, 138, 169 Byrne, W.J., 106 Barkly, 13, 27 Barney, 36, 130

Basedow, Dr, 134-5 Cahill, T.J., 109, 115 Bathern, ‘Bulwaddy’, 72, 103-4 camps, 5, 14; centre camp, 27-8; Beasley, Jack, 110 outcamps, 27, 31-2; stations as camps, 195

196 ‘Born in the Cattle’

177 3; 145-75 passim

20, 27~34; station workers’ camps, 31, cultural dynamism, vii—viii, 148-9, 172— Captain, 114-15, 128, 130

Carey, H.E., 87 Dagaragu, 77-8

Carlton station, 39—40, 59, 128, 171 Daly River, 2—3, 18, 48, 101, 103, 119, cars, 33, 55, 170 161, 169

cash, 138-9, 143-4, 154 Daly Waters, 49

cattle culture, 25, 148-—53, 168-9 Darwin, 27, 33, 58, 70, 84, 88, 129, 135, cattle industry, 21, 25, 27, 169; handling 149, 166

techniques, 42, 152 dependants, 32, 123-5, 128, 131-2, 137,

cattle, perceptions about, 16, 148-53 139-40; see also elders

passim desertion of employment, 37, 53, 110

cattle spearing, 7, 13-20 passim, 120 devils, 1, 17, 22, 42, 91, 149; see also

Central Australia, 27, 118, 150 spirits

ceremonies, 5, 19, 37, 39, 40, 106, 158, dingoes, 151

168, 169-70 disease, 22, 24, 124, 134-8 passim; see

Chapman, Winnie, 61, 62, 66, 67, 108, also illness

126—7 Djunduin, Daisy, 59, 65, 67, 71, 128, 173

Charcoal, 37 dogs, 15, 107, 153; dog-dreaming, 169 Charlotte, 128 domestic work, see housework children, 38-9, 51—2, 54, 59-60, 63, 70-— Dorisvale, 25, 48, 54

2, 90-4 passim, 101, 137, 147; Douglas Jack, 25, 164-5 childcare, 63—4, 67; child endowment, Drake-Brockman, Henrietta, 50 123; girls, 59; separation from parents, | dreaming, 6, 48

92-4 drovers, droving, 11, 33, 43-4, 51, 55, 76,

Chinese, 3, 35-7 passim, 84, 110, 119, 88, 142-3, 148, 152; wages of, 138

127-9 dual economy, 153-60, 163, 173

Chinnery, E., 92 Duncan, Ross, 13

chronology, ix, 178 Durack, Ambrose, 108, 116

circumcision, 39—40 Durack family, 60, 61, 67, 99-100, 127, ‘civilisation’ and Aborigines, 17, 77 140-1

Claravale, 25 Durack, Mary and Elizabeth, 99

class, 71-2, 78-9, 80, 99 Durack, M.P., 125, 128 clothing, vii, 23, 51, 123, 129-30, 134,

156, 159 education, 92, 104-5

colonialism, 3, 7, 22, 23, 57, 69, 94—5, efficiency, 146-7

141, 165-6, 173, 175, 177 Egan, J., 111

combos, 70, 71—6, 78—9, 80, 84, 87, 111 elders, 20, 59, 79, 128, 137, 169, 171, 173,

coming in , 20-3 176; changing status, 167 compulsion, coercion, 2, 22, 46, 62, 77, Elkin, A.P., 15, 112, 147-8, 168 106-18 passim Elkins, S., 146, 190

control strategies, 95-8, 98-121 passim Elsey, 66, 143

Cook, Dr C.E., 2, 76, 78, 86, 88, 92, 126, Elsey station, 10, 96, 131, 140

136, 139, 140 employment legislation see Aboriginals 102, 107, 127 employment, Aboriginal, 27, 32, 167,

cooking, 31, 32, 34, 44, 50, 52, 64-6, 81, Ordinance

co-operation, 1, 9, 22-3, 145, 173, 178 173; intermittency of 21, 23, 37, 40, 169 corporal punishment, 61-2, 107-16, employment, European, 31-2, 173;

120-1 attitudes to Aborigines, 46

corroborees, 45, 170; see also ceremonies Essy, 39, 150-1

cowboy ethos, 45—6, 112, 148, 171 expenditure, 139-41

Cowlishaw, Gillian, 157-8 expertise, 34—5, 104-5, 167

Crowson, Albert, 130, 161, 171

cruelty, 71, 88, 107-12, 120 fast foods, 3, 20-1, 124; see also tucker

Cully, 118 fear, 7-10, 42

Index 197 fencing, vill, 21, 23, 25, 33, 53, 163 Hill, Ernestine, 66, 72, 74

Fenton, Clyde, 107 Hodgson, 140

fire, 2, 14, 33, 132, 158 Hogan, Duncan, 9 Fish River, 25 holiday, 19, 42, 101, 106, 170, 174; see

Fitzmaurice River, 21 also walkabout Floravale, 9 homestead, station, 27, 30, 54, 60, 169

Florina, 25 horsemeat, 40

food see fast foods horses, 14—15, 23, 27, 31, 33, 34, 42, 48, foods, bush, 17, 27, 46-7, 52, 65, 77, 79, 51, 98, 116-17, 148, 152-3

127-8, 141, 158-9, 173-4 horsetailer, 43-4 125-9, 157-9, 174 housework, 50, 53, 59-62, 63-7, 132,

foods, introduced, 3, 19, 106, 121-2, ‘housegirls’ 67, 81, 117-18

frontiers, 9—10, 21-3 141

Fuller, Irene, 60-1, 63 houseworkers, 50, 59-67 passim housing, 122, 130-4

Gadjerong, 12, 39, 59, 71, 76 Huddleston, Dolly, 92-3

gardening, 128, 130 Huddleston, George, 100

Garrawa, 18 Humbert River, 161

gender politics, 2-3, 49—50, 55-8, 89-— Humour, 146 90, 127, 131, 157; and race relations, Humpty Doo, 43 172

Genovese, Eugene, 146 identity, viii, 5, 167—9, 174 gift-giving, (Aboriginal) 130, 139, 155-7, ideology see racial ideology

173 illness, 6, 82, 169; see also disease; health

Giles, Alfred, 8 incorporation of Europeans, 172-3; see Giles, Harold, 35-6, 41, 43 also acculturation

Giruth, Administrator, 63—4, 84, 86 independence, Aboriginal, 67, 146-8

Gilruth, Mrs, 66 passim, 172-3

Ginger, 36 _ infanticide, 91

Goddard, Tiger, 114-15 initial reactions (to Europeans), 1-4 or don Creek (or Downs), 24, 31, 111, initiation see ceremonies; manhood Innesvale, 25

Graham, Kathleen, 117 intertribal conflicts, 8—9, 22, 116

Gr aham, Thomas, 119 Inverway, 14, 81, 168

Gulf district, 13, 17, 27 | Ivanhoe, 40, 64-5, 108, 126 Gunn, Jeannie (or Taylor, Jeannie), 10,

50, 62, 96, 99, 105, 108 |

guns, 1-3, 7-8, 17-18, 20, 96, 105, 115, Jabiru, 35

119, 120-1 Jackson, 35-7

Gurinji, 150, 162 Jageelyee, 36 Jawoyn, 24 ‘half-caste’ see mixed descent Aborigines | Jimmy, 128

Hall, Noel, 11, 96-7 Jindare, 25

Hamilton, A., 57, 157 Johnstone, Cay, 38, 46 Harney, Bill, 52, 68, 83, 112, 140 Jumbo, 36 head station, 27, 30—1

health, 134-8 Kaberry, Phyllis, 157, 168

health-care, 34, 101; see also medicine Kaiser Bill Jaluba, 43—4, 46

Heinman, 24 Katherine, 6, 24, 36, 71, 89, 156, 170 Helen Springs, 8 Kilfoyle, Jack, 100, 125, 140-1 Hemmings, Constable, 15 Kimberleys, ix, 39, 50, 75, 148, 165

Herbert, Frank and Oscar, 81, 105, 107, kinship, 20, 76-83 passim, 93, 100, 102,

141, 154, 158-9, 169 125, 132, 138-9, 141, 144, 154-7, 168,

Herbert, Xavier, 4, 71-2, 80, 82, 88, 99, 170, 172-3; see also gift-giving

103, 116, 152-3, 170 Kirkimbie, 39, 51

198 ‘Born in the Cattle’ : knowledge, 5, 37-41 passim, 47, 48,148 | McDonald, Jim, 51, 81

Knowles, Harold, 96—7, 109 McDonald, Sandy, 11, 39, 43, 81, 114 Koolpinyah, 43, 81, 105, 141, 154, 158, Mead, Margaret, 56

169; map of, 164 medicine, 22, 31, 135-6

Kungarakany, 24, 91, 93, 135, 171 men, Aboriginal, 24-48 passim; cults, 57;

Kununurra, 149 as interviewees, 178;treatment posingof women, a threat, 54, 74—5; 75-6;

, hood, 39—40; masculinity, 48, 82; Laddie, 128 mano ; yo we work, 24-48 passim, 34-7, 52-3, 127 Lali, 11 men, European, vii, 17, 31-2, 34, 53, 131;

land claims, viti, 161, 163; tenure, 4-6, flict. 110-15: | ds. 43. 56. 68: 16, 24~5, 105, 160, 163, 175 seo ortion of tepubation 49. cinele land relationships, 5, 9, 125, 137, 148, Prop 003 50 6D 84. RE. hee .

153, 160-9. passim, 171, 174-5; new coches mactat ° sco , combos; masculinity 174; nurturance of, 158-9 . methodology, 176-8

1976, viii, 163 1X, | - _,

Land Rights Act (Northern Territory) Mick. Horsetajler. 36

160 . : 3 > 9

landscape, vii, 45, 13, 23, 25, 148, 158, M-BANO | 2 O4: see also coming in Mirrwong, 39, 62, 108

png 34 20 40-298 10% ih 1,8

168, 178; groups, 116; new usages, missus, the, 97-8, 100, 104, 108, 133, 166-7 135; see also, women, European .ne ixed descent Aborigines, 2,Z) 60,ON 70-1 larrikin, 36 mixe BINES) ° . 81, 84-5, 90-4, 100, 103, 114, 116 Laurie, 13, 42,124, 51, 142-3 a9 1zeFti‘i:SCS™S ? , Amy, yom?1-2, , 118, 131,‘ 138, 168

, ae ee ve | 6.7.9. 16.22. 24.39, Mobility, 17, 19, 46, 148

aR 61 138. 1 50 168-9. 17124. 197 —-— Montejinnie, 17, 24, 31, 130, 162-3, 171

pe See ee eee Moolooloo, 24, 31, 37

law, British—Australian, 24—5, 40, 119, M oongoong Darwung, 101

123, 175; see also police Moore. Maudie. 51. 66 Lawn Hill Station, , oe 9 . ? Mountain Home 9 Station,

laws, conflict of, 16, 24 Mudbura, 13, 24, 36-7, 82, 153, 160-3

~ uggleton, Fred, 48 esune, oe So murder, 3, 7, 115, 9-13, 40, 78, 98, 100, 103, . ? ? 7 110-11, 119 Lewis, Darryl, 13 om _ laws, complementarity, 39, 46, 175 Muvel

leasehold conditions, 25 mullaka. 102

Liddy brothers, 100 Murdering To i my A Liddy, Don, 43 10, ET ADYAy Oy fits Oyalso 9 bush , , myalls, 17, 27, 121; see Lockland, Lovegrove, Ted, Creed12 andAborigines Ian, 47 5 Needham, J.S., 15

mailmen, 35 Nelson, Bob, 97, 108-9, 115-16 Malak-Malak, 2, 169 Nemarluk, 18-19

malnutrition, 129, 136—8 Newcastle Waters, 8, 118, 131, 143 managers, station, 25, 27—8, 33, 35, 54, Newry, 35, 40, 60, 63-4, 100, 121, 128,

79—80, 114, 123, 129, 134-5, 142; 131, 138

pretensions, 99 New South Wales, 13, 165

Manbulloo, 107, 140 Ngabid), 12, 38-—42, 71, 76, 171-2

manhood, 167; ceremonies of, 171; see Negarinman, 7

also ceremonies Nicholson, 41, 53, 107, 116

Maranungu, 24, 127, 162 Ningbing, 38, 40, 65, 67, 171

Martin, Alfred, 17, 97, 104 Nobby, 112-13

masculinity, 45, 49, 54—5 North Australian Workers Union, 47,

Mataranka, 129, 156 111

Index 199 Northern Territory Pastoral Lessees Roper River, 13, 86, 156, 165

Association, 139 Roper Valley, 14, 131

Nutwood Downs, 131 Rosewood, 7, 51, 100, 138, 140, 168 routines, work, 32—3, 37, 40, 43-5, 64—7 Oenpelli, 115

O’ Keefe, John, 107 sacred sites, 1x, 6, 44, 48, 137, 153, 158,

Ooloo, 25, 42 163, 165, 169

opium, 37, 68, 101, 105, 168 Sambo, 36; stereotype, 146—7, 168 oral history, techniques, vii-ix, 3, 89-90, Savage, Ivy, 82

176-8 Savage, Matt, 50-1, 72, 82, 111

Ord River Station, 2 Schultz, Mrs, 96 outstation movement, viii, 144-5 Scrutton, J., 9

segregation, 61, 102-3, 170

Parry, Bill, 2, 13 settlement, 6

pastoralists’ approach, 20 Seven Emus Station, 19, 52 ,

paternalism, 61, 95-121 passim, 145, 167 sexuality, 73-4

Payne-Fletcher report, 104 sexual relations, 2, 68-94 passim, 103,

Pearce, Henrietta, 49 157, 172

Pigeon Hole, 17, 24, 31, 130, 162 Shepherd, F., 14, 131, 180 police, 14, 15, 17-18, 27, 51, 86, 90,110, | Skardon, Helen, 62, 65

118-21, 135, 139; traditional Skeehan, J., 10

Aboriginal, 161; see also trackers, Skewes, Tommy, 45, 47, 59, 97, 101

Aboriginal skills, traditional, and cattle industry, 44, pollution, 133 47, 54, 63, 167-8; see also expertise

Port Keats, 10, 18 slavery, 146-7

Prichard, K.S., 99, 110, 117 social organisation, 5, 19, 93, 106, 149-

pride, 1, 18, 46, 48, 55, 66, 94, 120+1, 50, 162, 166, 168, 170

148, 168 Somerfield, Joe, 75-6

prostitution, 68, 79, 83, 88, 69-90 passim sorcery, 1, 12, 22, 102

psychological impact see Sambo Spencer, W. Baldwin, 35, 83, 87, 91, 119,

stereotype; subservience 154

spirits, vil, 4, 20, 42, 77, 91, 174

138, 171 passim

Queensland, 9, 13-14, 49, 72, 88, 107, staff management techniques, 95-121 Stanner, W.E.H., 21, 57, 129, 168

racial ideology, 69-70, 83-4, 87, 90, 92- starvation, 79

3, 95, 134, 145-6; stereotypes, vill stockcamp, 31-2, 97, 103 Rankin and Lorne’s station, 9 stockmen, head, 31—5, 105, 116; see also

rape, 69 stockworkers Read, Peter, 11, 171 stockwork, incorporating bush activities, Renault, Keith, 12 40; routines, 50—2

reproduction, 5, 51-2, 63-4, 110, 136, stockworkers, Aboriginal, 23, 46; female, 174; birth control, 17; midwifery, 63; vil, 23, 51—8; see also men; women

nursing and rearing, 101; see also Story, F., 110

children subservience, 8, 18, 54, 117, 146-8, 168

resistance, 6, 22, 23, 53; attacks on Sullivan, Helen, 59, 61-2, 66, 108, 126—

Europeans, 9-13; see also bush 7, 131 bandits; cattle-spearing Sullivan, Jack, 7, 81-2, 108, 116 resources, new, 21-2 supervision of employees, 34-5, 46, 66—7

rituals see ceremonies superwaterholes, 20, 22, 144

Robin, 17 taming, 77 Rockhampton Downs, 139-40 Taylor, 52 rivalry, male, 112, 114

Rocklands station, 9 Tennant Creek, 79

Ronan, Tom, 71, 141 theft, 7, 10, 20, 39, 53, 128

200 ‘Born in the Cattle’ Thomson, Donald, 155—6 130, 139, 146, 153, 159-60, 167, 174;

Timber Creek, 17, 135 see also holidays Tiger and Barney, 12, 38 Waramulla, 79

Tipperary station, 38, 45—8, 60, 64, 66, Ward, ‘Brigalow’ Bill, 11-12

126-8, 131 Warlpiri, 150, 162, 171

Tyingili, 24 Warramunga, 79 tobacco, 37, 68, 107-8, 125, 128, 140 waterholes, 5—9, 16, 20, 93; artesian, 25 Topsy (Daly River), 78 Waterloo, 14, 137 Topsy (Queensland), 12 Watt, Herbert, 12 Topsy (Wadaman), 63 Watts, Cec, 112

town employment, 58 Wave Hill, 14, 37, 41, 54, 128, 130, 137, trackers, Aboriginal, 18-19, 119-20; see 140, 150, 171; see also Bow Hills

also police Weaber, Billy, 44, 59

traditional culture, impact on, 61, 66; Weaber, Jimmy, 12

| cattle economy merges, 167 welfare entitlements, 123—4

training, 37-41, 60-2 White Australia, 69-70, 72, 83-4, 90 travelling ethos, 4—5, 21-3, 37, 48, 123, White, James, 43, 46

158, 160, 162-3, 171, 173-4 Willeroo, 25, 64, 66, 110-11, 140, 143,

tribe see social organisation 168

tucker see food Wilson, A., 100, 112

Turner, Tom, 18, 119 Wilson, Mrs A., 63, 118 Wilson, Reg, 96-8, 112

sss Winberri, unemployment, vil,Riley 142,Young, 178 , 11, aay77

unionists, 104, 106, 124, 142; see also Wollogorang Station, 12, 18-19, 163 North Australian Workers Union women, Aboriginal, 7, 32, 34, 49-67, 90, 135; as sexual partners, 3, 13, 50-1, 68—94 passim; division of labour, 53-

venereal disease, 87—9, 135 8; interviewing, 178; legislation

Vesteys, 27, 97, 110, 112, 115, 130, 140-1 regarding, 83-8 passim; power, 74-5;

Victoria River district, ix, 13, 15, 17-18, ;rituals, 169

27, 36, 63, 80, 119 women, European, 33, 49-50, 59-60,

Victoria River Downs, 17, 24, 31-2, 34, 64-5, 109; attitudes to Aboriginal 36-7, 41, 86, 96, 100, 104, 117, 119, children, 101; attitudes to Aboriginal

128, 130-1, 141, 161-2, 169 men, 73; attitudes to Aboriginal

violence, 4, 6-13, 24, 79, 108-11, 168 women, 50, 72-4, 109-10 women’s reform groups, 87

wages, vili, ix, 104—5, 122-44 passim, Wyndham, 33 178; payment, 59, 68, 76—7, 79;

supplies, 129-30; see also cash Yarrabah, 18

Wagiman, 24-5, 42, 48, 100 Yates, Ted, 43

Walhallow, 19 Yunduin, Mary, 51 walkabouts, 33, 40-1, 66, 105—6, 127, Yunner, 40-1