English on Croker Island: The Synchronic and Diachronic Dynamics of Contact and Variation 9783110707854, 9783110707755

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Robert Mailhammer English on Croker Island

Topics in English Linguistics

Editors Susan M. Fitzmaurice Bernd Kortmann Elizabeth Closs Traugott

Volume 109

Robert Mailhammer

English on Croker Island The Synchronic and Diachronic Dynamics of Contact and Variation

ISBN 978-3-11-070775-5 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-070785-4 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-070794-6 Library of Congress Control Number: 2020949070 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgments I thank my language consultants in the community of Minjilang, who generously shared their language(s) with me and gave up their time for my work. In particular, I would like to thank David Cooper, James Cooper, †Rose Gularrangi, Henry Guwiyul, †Ilijii Lamilami, Isobel Lamilami, Heather Lee, Maggie Maburnbi, Charlie Mangulda, Annabelle Nabigeyo, Philomena Nabigeyo, Matthew Ngarlbin †Rachel Nimilga, †William Noinba, Kenny Ogden, Maureen Ogden, Heleana Wauchope, Shane Wauchope, Christelle Yarmirr, Daisy Yarmirr, and all the children at Mamaruni School. This book is a testimony to their knowledge in language and culture and underscores how Aboriginal people have shaped English, the language of the invaders, creatively, imbuing it with an Aboriginal character, which has resulted in a distinct kind of English that meets other varieties on eye-level. However, this book also reminds us of the fact that the contact with English has oftentimes been painful. In this connection I would like to dedicate this book also to the memory of Dwayne and Rose. Dwayne was a bright young man and Rose an elder and pillar of the community. Unfortunately, their inner pain was so immense that they both could not see another way and they ended their lives. I had worked with Dwayne’s parents and also with Rose. I got to know both highly gifted individuals. Their graves are at Minjilang and in Maningrida, and they remind us of the fact that what is often described as a boon – the bright lights of the industrialised world – is often a peril. This is especially true for fragile indigenous cultures that are perfectly adapted to the harshest environmental challenges, but which often are quickly destroyed by these bright lights and all the baggage that comes with it. I was immensely saddened when I learnt that Dwayne’s and Rose’s lives had ended, and I hope that a part of my work as a linguist helps build resilience and pride in the cultural tradition of Aboriginal people. This book and I have benefitted from the constructive criticism and help from many colleagues and friends. I am grateful to Nick Evans, who was my host and mentor on a postdoctoral fellowship funded by the Alexander von Humboldt-Foundation working on Amurdak back in 2007. We were co-investigators on a project on the many languages (Inyman kalmu) of the Coburg Peninsula, which funded my first-ever field trip to Croker Island in 2010. Nick also suggested this project on Aboriginal English on Croker Island, whose results this book summarises. I’d like to give due credit to Bruce Birch for his generous help in getting me started as a fieldworker on Croker Island, and for his invaluable support and expertise which have been important to my understanding of Aboriginal culture and Aboriginal languages, especially in Iwaidja. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-202

VI 

 Acknowledgments

I also would like to thank my friends and colleagues who have supported this book in various ways, in particular: Eric Anchimbe, Peter Auer, Brett Baker, Rikke Bundgaard-Nielsen, Patrick Caudal, Steffi Hackert, Mark Harvey, Stephen Laker, Bernd Kortmann, Catherine Laliberté, Christian Mair, Hans-Jörg Schmid, Edgar Schneider, Hywel Stoakes, Stacey Sherwood, Theo Vennemann and Ronia Zeidan. Special thanks also go to Jeff Siegel for his very helpful referee’s report suggesting valuable improvements. Thanks also go to the North Australia Research Unit (NARU), Sabine Höng, Mamaruni School, especially Sue Tanner and Adam Dicks, as well as the Northern Land Council and West Arnhemshire Council for logistical support. I also gratefully acknowledge the funding by the Australian Research Council that has supported this project under the Discovery Project scheme (DP130103935). I would like to thank the research support team at Western Sydney University, the School of Humanities and Communication Arts as well as The MARCS Institute for Brain, Behaviour and Development for their invaluable support. In addition, thanks go to the Freiburg Institute for Advanced Studies (FRIAS) and its Director, Bernd Kortmann, for sponsoring two research stays in 2015 and 2017, and the Center for Advanced Studies at the LMU Munich for awarding me a Visiting Fellowship in June/July 2017, which was kindly supported by Steffi Hackert and Ursula Lenker. I thank Bernd Kortmann for opening his series Topics in English Linguistics, and for his support, and everyone involved at De Gruyter Mouton, particularly Barbara Karlson, for all the support in the publishing process. A special thanks goes to whatever saved four people from dying in a car accident in remote Northern Arnhem Land in November 2014. Finally, and most importantly, my heartfelt thanks go to my wife Vanessa and my sons Owen and Anton for their love, support and understanding and for always having my back: I couldn’t do what I do, couldn’t be who I am, without you.

Contents Acknowledgments  1 1.1 1.2 1.2.1 1.2.2 1.2.3 1.3 1.4 1.4.1 1.4.2 1.5

 V

 1 Overview and context  Introduction   1 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia   2 Language loss as a consequence of English arriving in Australia   3 Koinésation   6 Restructuring   7 Aboriginal English   10 Field site and data   11 Croker Island and Minjilang today: Facts and demographics  Data   13 Methodological considerations: How to investigate contact induced change   14

 18 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background  Prelude: Language contact in Northwestern Arnhem Land before the arrival of English   18 2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land   22 2.2.1 Phase One: The British military settlements in Northwestern Arnhem Land (1823–1849)   22 2.2.2 Phase Two: Permanent white presence and new economic regimes   28 2.2.3 Phase Three: Missions, welfare and the intervention   35 2.2.3.1 The first subphase: Protection of Aboriginal people   35 2.2.3.2 Interlude: The Second World War   42 2.2.3.3 The second subphase: Assimilating Aboriginal people vs. self determination   44 2 2.1

3 3.1 3.1.1 3.1.2 3.1.3 3.1.4 3.1.5

 55 Phonetics and phonology  Segmental inventory: Consonants  Stops   56 Fricatives   61 Affricates   63 Nasals   64 Laterals   64

 55

 11

VIII  3.1.6 3.2 3.2.1 3.2.2 3.2.3 3.2.4 3.3 3.4

 Contents

Approximants   65 Vowels   65 High vowels   67 Mid vowels   68 Low vowels   68 Diphthongs   69 Syllable structure, phonotactics and phonological processes  Stress and intonation   72

 74 4 Morphosyntax  4.1 Verbal morphology   74 4.1.1 Person and number marking   74 4.1.2 Tense marking   76 4.1.2.1 Present tense marking   77 4.1.2.2 Past tense marking   77 4.1.2.3 Future tense marking   82 4.1.3 Aspect marking   83 4.1.3.1 Progressive/Habitual vs. Underspecified   84 4.1.3.2 Perfect   87 4.1.4 Mood and modality   88 4.1.5 Passive   90 4.2 Nominal morphology   90 4.2.1 Number marking on nouns   90 4.2.2 Genitive/possessive marking on nouns   91 4.2.3 Pronouns   92 4.2.3.1 Inclusive vs. exclusive first person plural distinction   93 4.2.3.2 2pl pronoun forms you mob and you guys   94 4.2.3.3 3sg subject pronoun him   95 4.2.3.4 He as a generic 3sg pronoun   95 4.3 Syntax   96 4.3.1 Constituent ordering   96 4.3.2 Phrase structure   97 4.3.3 Copula clauses   99 4.3.4 Representation of verbal arguments   100 4.4 The Mouton World Atlas of Variation in English and English on Croker Island   103 4.4.1 The Mouton World Atlas of Variation in English   103 4.4.2 WAVE profile of English on Croker Island   105 4.4.2.1 Pronouns (F1–F47)   106 4.4.2.2 Noun Phrase (F48–F87)   106

 69

Contents 

4.4.2.3 4.4.2.4 4.4.2.5 4.4.2.6 4.4.2.7 4.4.2.8 4.4.2.9

 IX

 108 Tense and aspect (F88–120)  Modal verbs, verb morphology and negation (F121–F184)   108 Relativisation (F185–F199)   110 Complementation (F200–F2010)   111 Adverbial subordination, adverbs and prepositions (F211–F222)   111 Discourse organisation and word order (F223–F235)   112 Summary and comparison   112

 119 5 Lexicon and constructions  5.1 Lexicon   119 5.1.1 Borrowing and code switching: Local Aboriginal languages  5.1.2 Other characteristic vocabulary items   125 5.1.3 Function words   127 5.1.3.1 Mightbe and mustbe   127 5.1.3.2 Polyfunctional where   128 5.2 Combinatorics: Argument frames and constructions   129 5.2.1 Argument frames/complementation   130 5.2.2 Constructions   131

 119

 135 6 The fluidity of variation  6.1 Hitting a moving target   135 6.2 Inter-speaker variation   135 6.2.1 Phonology   136 6.2.2 Morphological and syntactic inter-speaker variation   138 6.2.3 Lexical variation   140 6.3 Intra-speaker variation   141 6.3.1 Selected cases of morphosyntactic intra-speaker variation   142 6.3.1.1 3sg marking in the present tense indicative of main verbs   142 6.3.1.2 Zero copula/auxiliary be   146 6.3.2 Past tense marking   149 6.4 Speakers and their usage patterns of English on Croker Island   156 7 7.1 7.1.1 7.1.2

 165 Layers of contact  Background: Methodology, an instructive case study and Indigenous language biographies   165 Diagnosis of contact and the problem of multilayered contact situations   165 The elusive substratum: An instructive pioneer case study   170

X 

 Contents

7.1.3 7.2 7.2.1 7.2.2 7.2.2.1 7.2.2.2 7.2.2.3 7.2.2.4 7.2.2.5 7.2.3 7.2.3.1 7.2.3.2 7.2.3.3 7.2.3.4 7.2.3.5 7.2.3.6 7.2.3.7 7.2.4 7.2.4.1 7.2.4.2 7.2.4.3 7.2.4.4 8 8.1 8.1.1 8.1.2 8.1.3 8.1.4 8.2 8.2.1 8.2.2 8.3

Linguistic biographies and patterns of interaction   175 Contact features in the grammar of English on Croker Island   180 Overview of features and relevant substrate languages   181 Substrate features in the phonology of English on Croker Island   184 Voice termination time   184 Stop realisation of fricatives   186 Clear realisations of /l/   188 Loss of /w/ before /u/, /ʊ/   189 Linear Lengthening Intonation (LLI)   190 Substrate features in the morphology of English on Croker Island   191 Zero past tense marking   192 bin-past tense   193 Anterior use of the simple past   195 Aspect marked in the past tense vs. present tense   196 Number marking on nouns   198 Possessive marking with preposed noun   199 Contact influences in the pronominal system   201 Contact influence on the syntax of English on Croker Island   203 Word order   203 Structure of the Noun Phrase   204 Zero copula be   206 Representation of verbal arguments   207  209 Theoretical implications  Classifying English on Croker Island in terms of the Dynamic Model   209 Overview of the Dynamic Model (Schneider 2007)   209 The Dynamic Model at work: English in Australia   210 English on Croker Island and the Dynamic Model   213 Why is English on Croker Island not further along in Phase 3?   218 English on Croker Island: repertoires and coherent interpretation of linguistic data   222 Dealing with variation: Linguistic repertoires   223 On another level: Repertories and coherence of the linguistic system   224 Multiple simultaneous and successive filtration processes in substrate influence   228

Contents 

9

Summary and conclusions 

References  Index 

 251

 239

 232

 XI

1 Overview and context 1.1 Introduction The goal of this book is to identify features in the English spoken on Croker Island, Northern Territory, Australia, whose origin could be explained as resulting from contact with local Aboriginal languages. The two key challenges that form the underlying theme of this book are the variation found in the data and the elusive nature of the effects of language contact, both in terms of features and source languages. In both respects English on Croker Island has remained a “moving target” (thanks to Brett Baker, p. c., for suggesting this term, see also Schmid 2020). There are two main conclusions the book draws from trying to deal with these challenges. First, English on Croker Island has not stabilised into one variety, and this is most likely because of long-term fluidity in input and usage patterns. Second, contact features are so difficult to pin down because of a historical layering of contact situations and a synchronic co-existence of contact situations and contact patterns, and all of this in various multilingual settings. These diachronic and synchronic layers all soak up contact features to various degrees, so that effects of contact are effectively dispersed and thus diluted. As a result, contact is not only difficult to diagnose and ascertain, but it is often unclear whether features are actually part of the repertoire of English(es) on Croker Island. These conclusions have more general implications for language contact theory, because it is expected that the case described here is not a singular case. Aboriginal English in general, and other, similar cases are expected to share the same phenomena. It is for instance questionable whether Aboriginal English is really so homogenous as e.g. described in Malcolm (2018), and whether non-standard features actually are generally explainable through contact with Aboriginal languages, as e.g. Butcher (2008) thinks. More generally, the variability of English on Croker suggests that language shift scenarios and creolisation may have similar outcomes, which is supported by similar conclusions from other studies. Furthermore, the elusiveness of contact as a result of diachronic and synchronic layering in multilingual settings is likely to be found elsewhere, and it may be a reason for the elusive nature of “substratum influence” more generally (see e.g. Matras 2009). The book lays out these considerations as follows. The remainder of this introduction supplies the context this study has to be seen in, namely English in Australia, Aboriginal English as a label and as a linguistic phenomenon, as well as the theoretical context of language contact and variation. In chapter 2, I present the sociohistorical background of English on Croker Island. Chapters 3 to https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-001

2 

 1 Overview and context

5 provide a linguistic description of English on Croker Island, especially against the backdrop of the World Atlas of Variation in English (WAVE), which is one of the standard typologies of varieties of English. Where possible, I make connections to substrate features. In chapters 6 to 8, I elaborate on the diachronic, synchronic and theoretical dimensions of English on Croker Island, with special focus on variation and contact-induced change. In chapter 9, I summarise the main results of the book and draw conclusions with more general relevance to theories of language contact and language variation.

1.2 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia The history of English in Australia begins in 1788 with the arrival of the so-called First Fleet in what is now Botany Bay in Sydney. The linguistic effects of this arrival and subsequent developments can be summarised with the following three words: loss, restructuring, koinésation. The first term applies to Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander languages, the second to ethnolectal varieties of English in Australia, including Aboriginal English, as well as creoles and pidgins, and the third to Australian English, which developed through the interactions among the invaders, Aboriginal people and subsequent immigrants from diverse backgrounds. In the following I will make a terminological difference between varieties of English, restructured or contact Englishes and contact languages. The first can either refer neutrally to all varieties of English or specifically to varieties of English that have not been influenced by other languages through imposition (see Coetsem 2000 and 2.3 below), e.g. Standard Australian English. The second refers to varieties of English that have been influenced by other languages through imposition, e.g. Irish English (e.g. Hickey 2007). The third refers to languages that are the result of contact between English and other languages, but which would not be seen as a variety of English, e.g. creoles, such as Kriol in parts of the Northern Territory (see e.g. Munro 2004). The distinction between the second and the third type has been the subject of some debate. However, this is largely irrelevant to this book (see chapters 8 and 9 for some discussion). Nevertheless, I will differentiate between Kriol and English, because English on Croker Island is clearly neither Standard Australian English nor Kriol, but nevertheless a variety of English that clearly has been affected by contact. The arrival of English has had three major effects in Australia, language loss and shift, koinésation and restructuring. Of these three, restructuring is most directly relevant for this book, though the other two play a part. I will give brief

1.2 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia  

 3

summaries of relevant backgrounds to all of them beginning with loss, followed by koinésation and ending with restructuring, as this will lead into section 3, which covers Aboriginal English.

1.2.1 Language loss as a consequence of English arriving in Australia The impact of English on the Indigenous languages and, in fact, any other language in Australia, has been devastating (see e.g. Mühlhäusler 1996a: 11–12 for an overview). Most of the about 250 languages spoken in Australia before European contact have become extinct or are severely endangered (Karidakis and Kelly 2018). Despite some efforts to maintain and revitalise Indigenous languages, perhaps 20–25 languages are in a healthy state and will make it into the next generation and possibly beyond (see data in Karidakis and Kelly 2018: 116). Generally, languages in more remote areas are healthiest. Among the most viable languages with relevance to this book are Kunwinjku (a dialect of Bininj Gunwok), Yolngu Matha and Mawng, spoken in Arnhem Land; see Map 1 for languages traditionally spoken in Northwestern Arnhem Land, which are particularly relevant for this book. There are two main reasons for this steep decline over a relatively short period of time (less than 250 years). First, there is the decimation of the speaker base as a result of annihilation by war or disease, which has directly contributed to the loss of languages. This decline in the speaker base is all the more serious as speaker numbers in Australian languages have traditionally been rather small. Many languages were probably stable for millennia with speaker bases of less than 500 people (Evans 2010: 7). For example, the Northern Australian language Gurr-Goni probably never had more than around 70 speakers (Green 2004). The reported number of Iwaidja speakers in 1938, at a time when the language was still viable, was estimated to be around 50 (Capell 1962: 129). In several cases, such as Tasmania, extermination of the local population was systematic and resulted in the almost traceless loss of languages (Bowern 2012). As a result, very little is known about Tasmanian languages (Bowern 2012: 4591). Many other languages vanished leaving nothing but their name behind, such as Manangkari on North Goulburn Island off the Arnhem Land coast, and it is likely that a considerable number of other languages have vanished without any record at all. On Croker Island, decline in speaker numbers is a significant factor that contributes to language shift, especially if key community leaders pass away. Such is the case for Iwaidja, where key elders have passed away in a relatively short amount of time over the past ten years, leaving the community vulnerable to language shift.

Wuna

Tiwi Melville Island

Limilngan

Van Diemen Gulf

Gonbudj

Greenhill I.

Wurrugu

Port Essington

ARAFURA SEA

Field I.

Iwaidja

Gaagudju

Ngaduk

Endyalgout I.

Garig

Giimbiyu

0

Bininj Gunwork

Mawng

50

Kunbarlang

kilometres Scale: 1:911,100

South Goulburn Is.

North Goulburn Is. Manangkari

Oenpelli

McCluer I. Grant I.

Amurdak

IIgar

Oxley I.

Darch I. Marrgu

Minjilang

Croker I.

N

4   1 Overview and context

Map 1: Traditional languages in Northwestern Arnhem Land (Mailhammer and Harvey 2018: 330).

1.2 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia  

 5

Second, languages have ceased to be spoken as a result of language shift. Patterns of shift are somewhat diverse (see e.g. Fishman 2001; Clyne 2003; Hickey 2010; and more generally see Winford 2003; Thomason 2008; Thomason and Kaufman 1988). Often the process of shift is gradual and slow, taking multiple generations, but sometimes it is very quick. For instance, the shift to English in Australia by recent immigrants can be almost instantaneous, i.e. within one generation, but it can be slower, taking more than three generations (see Clyne 2003). In some cases, shift takes centuries, as e.g. in the case of the shift from Punic to Latin after the demise of the Carthaginian empire or in the case of local languages in Italy after Roman conquest (Adams 2003). In Australia, language shift probably started soon after the arrival of the First Fleet and continues today. Sometimes the shift was rapid, e.g. in the case of displacement (see for example the case of Kayardild related in Evans 2010), but in other cases it is ongoing, e.g. in Iwaidja. In the context of Croker Island, shift is a significant factor. Iwaidja has gone from a relatively safe language 15 years ago to an endangered language, as acquisition by children is uncertain. The traditional language of Croker Island, Marrku, has ceased to be spoken, and it is unclear what knowledge is still accessible. Basically, the same can be said for Ilgar, a language formerly spoken on neighbouring islands to the east, and its sister language Garig, traditionally spoken on the Cobourg Peninsula opposite Croker Island to the south-west. Other languages spoken on Croker Island are endangered or critically endangered. For example, Amurdak, a language further to the south is spoken by a handful of people, two of whom live on Croker Island. However, there are also Indigenous languages that are targets of language shift, and which have actually increased in terms of speaker numbers, e.g. Kunwinjku and Mawng (Karidakis and Kelly 2018: 112). In fact, Kunwinjku and Mawng are probably the strongest Indigenous languages on Croker Island at the moment, and some Iwaidja families show a degree of shift to these languages in addition to English. The shift to English is, as in most parts of Indigenous Australia, an ongoing process. This has to be seen in the context of the dominance of English in Australia more generally, with 79% of the population speaking only English at home, according to census data (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2017). However, as this book argues, it is not clear what the result of this shift is. It is not obvious that children now speak a more stabilised and standard version of English. What I will attempt to show is that the shift to English results in the adoption of English elements into an already rich linguistic repertoire. Thus, shift to English is an important dynamic on Croker Island, but it is less clear what the outcome of this shift is.

6 

 1 Overview and context

1.2.2 Koinésation A good general definition of a koiné is the following by Jeff Siegel (see also Kerswill 2010; Kerswill 2013): A koine is a stabilized contact variety which results from the mixing and subsequent levelling of features of varieties which are similar enough to be mutually intelligible such as regional or social dialects. This occurs in the context of increased interaction or integration among speakers of these varieties. (Siegel 2001: 175)

Mainstream or Standard Australian English is the result of koinésation (Fritz 2012: 60; Cox and Fletcher 2017: 13). Within the first 50 years this process produced a variety of English that was observed to be different than the varieties spoken in the “mother country”, the UK (see quotations in Cox and Fletcher 2017: 14; Fritz 2012: 58–60). Historically, the strongest dialectal influences on Australian English are said to be Southeastern English, Cockney English and Irish English (Fritz 2012: 29–35; Burridge and Musgrave 2014; Bradley 2003). In general, koinésation results in the creation of a new variety (Kerswill 2013: 521). Often, this new variety shares features of its “parent” dialects, but it is in toto different from them. For example, Australian English has a pronunciation of the face vowel that is more similar to Cockney English than to the so-called Received Pronunciation (RP): compare StAusE [ɑ͜͜e] (Cox and Fletcher 2017) in words like face to Cockney English [a͜ɪ ] vs. RP [e͜ɪ ] (Cruttenden 2014: 86). But then, Australian English typically has an alveolar tap pronunciation of /t/ in intervocalic position, e.g. [ɾ] in butter (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 148–149), where e.g. Cockney and many other English varieties have a glottal stop (Cruttenden 2014: 173), which is not common in Australian English in this position (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 150). Conversely, the flap in this position is not common in British English, though a voiced pronunciation [d] seems to occur (Cruttenden 2014: 173–174). However, koinésation is not just relevant for Standard Australian English, but for other varieties of English in Australia as well, because they were also subject to it. That is, what is commonly called Station English, a colloquial variety of rural Australian English, and also different stylistic registers of Australian English have undergone koinésation and dialect levelling (Schneider 2007). Koinésation presumably also affected Aboriginal English, at least in those cases in which more or less homogenous varieties formed (e.g. Malcolm 2018). This is important in our context because koinésation eliminates variation progressively (Kerswill 2013; Kerswill 2010; Trudgill 2004) and thus might have eliminated contact features over time. It is also important because contact features may show up in varieties that had no direct contact with the source language, but which acquired the feature in a process of koinésation.

1.2 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia  

 7

Of course, after the establishment of a koiné, when dialectal differences of the input varieties have been levelled, there is increasing variation, mainly due to social differentiation and also due to new linguistic input, for instance through immigration. Australian English entered this stage during the second half of the 20th century (Schneider 2007: 124–125), and is currently diversifying. This includes stylistic and social variation but also regional variation (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 18–21; Collins 2014; Bradley 2008). Compared with US-American and British varieties, however, and excluding “broader” versions of Aboriginal English, Australian English is still relatively homogeneous (Bradley 2008: 111; but see Collins 2014: 449 arguing for “fluid heterogeneity”). The significance of koinésation for Aboriginal English and English on Croker Island lies in the main prediction it makes for the long-term development of contact varieties and creoles, which is essentially homogenisation and focusing (see e.g. Winford 2013; Schneider 2007). In addition, it is relevant in terms of the target variety of English for Aboriginal people in Northwestern Arnhem Land. It is quite likely that koiné varieties other than standard or even colloquial Australian English were target varieties and continue to do so to some extent.

1.2.3 Restructuring One frequent result of language shift is restructuring of the language that is the target of the shift. In this context, restructuring means that the structure of the language undergoes long-term changes under the influence of another language (Mühlhäusler 1979). The mechanism that causes this change is crosslinguistic influence in the acquisition or use of a target language (L2) by speakers of another language (L1). There are two chronological points where this influence occurs. First, the bulk of it happens when the first generation of shifters acquire the L2, usually as adults, producing a version of L2 that differs from the L1 as spoken by monolingual native speakers, often called interlanguage (Selinker 1972). This interlanguage may become stable and the main input for the next generation of speakers, who then often end up speaking a version of L2 that differs from the L1 by monolinguals, albeit not as much as that of their parents. The L1 features that show up in the alternative version of the L2 are commonly called substratum features, because the L1 is often a social substratum. Even though such a social stratification between the L1 and the L2 does not have to hold for all cases of restructuration – the case of Manchu and Mandarin is a good example (see Wadley 1996) – it is appropriate for the case discussed in this book, because English assumes the position of a superstratum in all contexts. Consequently, I will use the term substrate features to refer to elements that have come from

8 

 1 Overview and context

Indigenous languages or vernacular varieties of English, including contact Englishes and contact languages, such as Kriol. That is, substrate is understood in a social sense describing the relative social position of a language. Second, another point where crosslinguistic influence can occur is in early bilingual speakers of subsequent generations. The main difference between crosslinguistic influence at both time points lies in the mechanisms that produce them. In the first case the mechanism is imposition (Coetsem 2000), which is basically a feature of second-language acquisition, but in the second case we are dealing with online crosslinguistic influence (called “(free) transfer” in Coetsem 2000) in early bilinguals. Imposition targets the structure of the language, especially the phonology and the syntax, also grammatical categories and semantics, but only to a lesser degree the lexicon itself. This is the main source of restructuring. Note, however, that restructuring does not necessarily have to occur during language shift; it is more generally a result of bilingual language acquisition. Whether and to what extent this influence has a lasting effect on the target of the shift, depends on a variety of factors. In settings where the target language sets a strong community norm, e.g. as a result of language policy or because its speakers vastly outnumber the shifting speakers, or where the language that is shifted from ceases to be spoken quickly, there may be practically no influence on the target language. In other cases, there may be significant influence. For example, if the input from the target language is limited, where perhaps the original languages continue to be spoken, pidgins and creoles are typical outcomes of shift. Crosslinguistic influence in early bilinguals can affect virtually any subsystem of a language (Kroll et al. 2015; Serratrice 2013), especially in children (Peristeri et al. 2017; Luk, De Sa and Bialystok 2011; Waldron and Hernandez 2013), but adult early bilinguals tend to be good at controlling crosslinguistic influence (Luk, De Sa and Bialystok 2011; Declerck, Lemhöfer and Grainger 2017). Consequently, influence resulting from imposition, which fossilises and becomes a feature of an interlanguage that then becomes the input for the next generation, thus leading to a different version of the L2, is much more frequently a source of restructuring. However, if there is no dominant version of the L2 and usage patterns of L2 are not stable, it is possible that crosslinguistic influence becomes a major source of restructuring. English in Australia has clearly been affected by restructuring as a result of both mechanisms in many ways, and Indigenous languages have played a significant role as the source of restructuring (Mühlhäusler 1996b: 143), see Map 2. However, it is also important that varieties of English have also been a source of restructuring. This is especially so for vernacular varieties of English in rural

1.2 Macro context: Linguistic processes affecting English in Australia  

Port Essington

Fort Dundas Bathurst Is.

Cobourg Pen.

Melville Is.

Fort Wellington

Darwin Belyuen

Bagot

Jabiru

Finniss River Batchelor

Port Keats (Wadeye)

Islands

Maningride

Dhuwaya

Ramangini

Adelaide River Weemol

Tipperary

Bulmaa

Pine Creek

.

Daly River Peppimanarti

Oenpelli

Jim Jim Creek

R ly Da

Murinh Patha

Wessel

Burarra Njebbana

Van Diomen Gulf

Beagle Golf

 9

Bickerton Is.

Mountain Valley Mainora Katherine Manbaloo Scott Creek

1945

Eva Valley Beswick

Nembulwar

Anurugu

Urapanga 1910 Bamyili Five Mile Ro p er R. Ojimbra Boner Valley Ngukurr

Mataranka

Creole English speaking areas Central Australian Aboriginal Pidgin English (Poorly documented) Aboriginal English used as principal Lingua Franca

Umbakumba

Groote Eylandt

Gulf of Carpentaria

D h uwaya Aboriginal Lingua Franca

Goldmining area Stock route

Darwin Pidgin English 1869-1915

Highway

Pidgin English of early British settlements

Secondary Highway

Centres of creolization

overland telegraph

Kriol bilingual schools

Town

Kriol used for educational purposes

Aboriginal community

Map 2: Outcomes of restructuring and language shift in the north of the Northern Territory (from Map 12 in Wurm, Mühlhäusler and Tryon 1996).

areas or in work-environments, such as the buffalo industry in the Northern Territory (Mühlhäusler 1996c: 126), but also for contact-varieties, such as the so-called NSW Pidgin (Troy 1990), which was the main target language for Aboriginal people that proxied for English and has provided features for varieties of Aboriginal English by way of restructuring, as it became one of the early acquired languages of Aboriginal people (O’Shannessy and Meakins 2016: 8–11; Meakins 2014: 403–405), see also Map 2. In the context of this book, the influence of these varieties is particularly important, because often features that are found in English on Croker Island either originated in varieties of English or in contact languages, such as Kriol, or were filtered through them. In fact, one of the main arguments this book makes is

10 

 1 Overview and context

that one of the reasons why Indigenous influence on the structure of English on Croker Island is often hard to pin down, is because they percolated up through an intermediate layer of contact. In spite of this, Indigenous languages have shaped English in Australia through restructuring in addition to considerable lexical transfer (see e.g. Leitner 2007 for an overview). First, shift to English has been an ongoing process since the beginning, and consequently continuing restructuring is to be expected. Second, in many cases the contact between Indigenous languages and English was in fact direct or Indigenous features can be clearly identified.

1.3 Aboriginal English Aboriginal English commonly describes contact varieties of English that are mainly spoken by Aboriginal people (Eades 2014: 417; O’Shannessy and Meakins 2016: 11). This definition categorises Aboriginal English as an ethnolect, i.e. a variety that is conditioned by ethnicity. There are at least two problems with both the term and the definition, which have also been pointed out in the literature. First, ethnicity as defining criterion is generally problematic in cases where the speakers’ ethnicity is different and in cases where ethnicity is difficult to define (Benor 2010; Eades 2014) For instance, what is phenomenologically described as Aboriginal English, can also be spoken by non-Aboriginal people. Second, and more to one of the main points of this book, Aboriginal English gives a false sense of homogeneity as a variety. This is a problem for ethnolects in general (Benor 2010), and for Aboriginal English in particular, because the variation within what is called Aboriginal English is considerable. This pertains not only to linguistic features, but especially to inter and also intra-speaker variation, and also to the degree of code switching and code mixing that is found (Eades 2014; O’Shannessy and Meakins 2016). Consequently, in her seminal chapter on Aboriginal English, Eades (2014) convincingly argues for replacing the idea of Aboriginal English being variety with the idea of an ethnolectal repertoire in the sense of Benor (2010). As will become clear in the remainder of this book, this is the approach that I think fits best with the data I will present for English on Croker Island. However, the use of the term Aboriginal English with reference to a variety is also found, most notably in a recent monograph by Ian Malcolm, one of the pioneers of work on Aboriginal English, where it is asserted that despite all variation Aboriginal English can be seen as one variety (see Malcolm 2018). Historically, this perspective originated in early work that observed differences between the use of English by Aboriginal people and Standard Australian English. It is the

1.4 Field site and data 

 11

merit of the development of this perspective that it has led to Aboriginal English being recognised as a variety of English in its own right and not as a deficient version (Eades 2014), but if the term itself is useful even as a cover term (O’Shannessy and Meakins 2016: 11) is questionable. The most acceptable use of the label Aboriginal English seems to be in general reference to English restructured by the contact with Indigenous Australian languages. In this book, I will speak of English on Croker Island instead of Aboriginal English on Croker Island.

1.4 Field site and data 1.4.1 Croker Island and Minjilang today: Facts and demographics Croker Island is located off the coast of Northwestern Arnhem Land. It is separated from the mainland by the Bowen Strait, which is narrow enough so it can be crossed even by a small boat in about 30 minutes at its most narrow point. Croker Island is 43 km long and 15 km wide at its broadest point, covering an area of 331.5 square kilometres. Apart from so-called outstations, which are very small settlements consisting of a couple of houses and which are usually only temporarily inhabited, there is only one major settlement on the island, Minjilang. Today, ca. 250 people live in Minjilang (247 in 2016, according to the latest available census). In 2016, 90% of the population were Aboriginal people (ca. 48% are male), and over 40% were under the age of 19, and only (average age in the community is 25%) and less than 15% were over 50 years old, according to Census data.1 The mean age of the community was calculated at 25 in the 2016 Census. The community is administrated by a local council run through West Arnhemshire Regional Council. There is also a shop managed by the Arnhem Land Progress Association (ALPA), a small clinic, a primary school and a crèche (preschool), see Map 3. There is a regular church service by the Uniting Church. Officially ca. 52% of residents work at least part time, usually for one of the institutions just mentioned or as part of a social work programme. All primary-school aged children are enrolled in the local school though attendance varies significantly. Not all older children attend secondary school, for which they would have to move off the island, and only some residents seek further education. Consequently, the 1 It is not clear that the Census does in fact provide accurate information on birth dates, especially for people born before the government took over the administration of Minjilang in the late 1960s/early 1970s. For example, there is at least one resident of Minjilang for whom the mission records and earlier census data give a birth year of 1935 and yet the 2016 Census does not list anyone older than 74.

12 

 1 Overview and context

Map 3: Satellite map of Minjilang (Google Maps).

most frequent education level is Year 12 or below, accounting for over 75% if the population. Census data is generally to be approached with caution, but even more so when languages are concerned, in particular in a traditionally multilingual society. According to the 2016 Census there is a roughly even split between households where Iwaidja, Kunwinjku and Mawng are spoken. This is incomplete and misleading on several accounts. First, there are languages missing from the Census, most notably Kunbarlang. Second, this completely ignores the fact that frequently all three languages in addition to English are spoken by individuals and in households. Consequently, the complexities of multilingualism make it difficult to map bodies to languages. One outcome would be that there are inevitably more speakers of languages than residents. It is more useful to think about how many people can speak a particular language. However, determining this is not straightforward, and there is really no reliable method except for actually testing whether someone is fluent in a given language. Given that this is in most field situations not practicable for various reasons, self-reports and observation are really the only available methods. Both are unreliable, however, as both overand under-reporting are common. Third, there is also the difference between language affiliation and language proficiency/usage. In most cases identify with one language but that is primarily a social group identification. Oftentimes this

1.4 Field site and data 

 13

captures the fact that someone really speaks a particular language, but it usually is at least incomplete information. For example, someone might be Mawng in their affiliation; they may in fact speak Mawng, but then they also speak Iwaidja, English and Kunwinjku. Or someone may be Amurdak as affiliation, but they probably do not speak Amurdak and then often adopt e.g. Iwaidja as their language in addition to other languages that they speak. For these reasons, language data in a census of any kind or even a survey of the community, as was done for this project, has to be read with caution. The case of Iwaidja is instructive. The number of Iwaidja speakers in Minjilang is reported to be 69, according to the 2016 census. It is unclear whether this comprises people who can actually speak Iwaidja and use it productively as opposed to in formulas or as opposed to “hearers”, i.e. people with mostly passive competence. Surveys at various points in the project yielded different results, and this was also because of the significant fluctuation in residence patterns. Most adult speakers who are asked about the situation of the language usually say that the use of Iwaidja is decreasing, and that especially the children are not learning Iwaidja and the relevant cultural knowledge. And indeed, oftentimes it is not easy finding reliable informants. But then, observation of conversations in the community often yield that Iwaidja is used by a lot more people than according to the results of the survey. And if production tasks are carried out in the school, as e.g. translations of classroom instructions or traditional narratives, then a good number of children can actually produce these translations quite effortlessly. Consequently, even after having worked in Minjilang for ten years, it is not clear to me how many community members actually speak Iwaidja. The 2016 Census figure seems a bit too optimistic, but it may well be accurate if it includes people with a more passive competence. Similar statements could be made about Kunwinjku and Mawng, the other Aboriginal languages mentioned in the Census, except for the fact that no-one would say that either language is in any danger. It is unquestionable that both are passed on to children. Other Aboriginal languages spoken by members of the community include Kunbarlang, with probably a sizeable number of speakers and also Amurdak with two confirmed speakers in Minjilang. The traditional language of Croker Island, Marrku, is allegedly spoken by one person and understood by two or more people, but this has never been rigorously verified.

1.4.2 Data The data for this book were collected between 2013 and 2018 on Croker Island, NT, Australia. Data were collected over seven field trips of 2–3 weeks duration each, recording audio and video according to best practice. In total 28 speakers

14 

 1 Overview and context

(15 female) were recorded, which is over 10% of the population. The age range is from 7 to 78 at the time of recording (mean: 36.2, stdev: 23.7). The data comprise 40 semi-structured interviews and narratives, (total of 40,710 words), experimental data (phonetics and verb semantics), as well as elicitation. Interviews usually had a researcher present even though in a number of cases the sessions were dyadic, i.e. two speakers communicating with each other. The researchers involved were not new to the community and had spent significant time in the community prior to the project beginning. All data were transcribed by research assistants and the author and verified with speakers. In addition to linguistic data, also information about language use and linguistic biographies was collected.

1.5 Methodological considerations: How to investigate contact induced change The aim of this book is to investigate if and how contact induced change has influenced English on Croker Island. For this purpose, the following methodological considerations are relevant. The fundamental framework to conceptualise contact-induced change I applied, was that of Frans van Coetsem (2000). This framework is now standard in its basic determinants of the outcome of contact induced change being the relative dominance of the languages of a bilingual speaker as well as the domains of the languages involved (see e.g. Lucas 2014; Matras 2009; Winford 2005). The terminology used differentiates a recipient language (RL), which is the language that is changed, and a source language (SL), which is the language exercising the influence. The different basic types of influence depend on whether the source language or the recipient language is dominant, and hence, active in a bilingual. If the source language is dominant/active, the basic scenario is called SL-agentivity or imposition in van Coetsem’s terminology. A common outcome of imposition is restructuring, due to the imposition of structural elements of the SL.2 However, in van Coetsem’s model (Coetsem 2000: 75–79, 181–183), and also more generally (see e.g. Siegel 1997; Winford 2003), there are also processes that often occur under SL-agentivity but are not always due to imposition. They either part of the acquisition process (reduction in van Coetsem’s terminology) or independent phenomena (internally induced change in van Coetsem’s terminology). Reduction

2 For Lucas (2014) restructuring is distinct from imposition, because in there is no transfer. In my model both are part of the same process, in some way concepts and abstract structures are in fact transferred in the process of restructuring.

1.5 Methodological considerations: How to investigate contact induced change  

 15

typically refers to the loss of distinctions or a decrease in the number of forms, and this can be a result of a lack of distinctions that is imposed under SL-agentivity, or it can be a part of partial acquisition. The two processes of internally induced change that van Coetsem mentions as particularly frequently occurring in cases of SL-agentivity are regularisation (reduction in the number of exceptions a rule has) and unformisation (number of categorical distinctions made). Reduction and internally induced change are often incorporated into the more general notion of simplification (see e.g. Winford 2003: 223–225).3 The existence of processes and outcomes of SL-agentivity that are not in fact due to imposition means that the term imposition in van Coetsem’s model has a wider and a narrower sense. The wider sense is synonymous with SL-agentivity but the narrower sense is a kind of process that frequently occurs in situations of SL-agentivity. In this book I will use imposition in the narrower sense to denote a type of SL-agentivity and SL-agentivity for the more general sense. If the recipient language is dominant, then the basic scenario is called RL-agentivity or borrowing. I will use both terms interchangeably. In this book, borrowing does not refer to a more general notion of transfer. There is a special case that is relevant for this book, and this is when dominance relationships cannot easily be determined due to high levels of early bilingualism. Van Coetsem calls this neutralisation, and there effectively the difference between SL-agentivity and RL-agentivity is lost. Consequently, it is not possible to speak of processes like imposition or borrowing; instead, the term (free) transfer is used here to refer to the process (Coetsem 2000: 239) and following Ross (2013: 6), I call the result of this kind of influence bilingually induced change. This situation is particularly relevant for English on Croker Island, as speakers are generally early bilinguals with English being acquired in childhood. Generally, there is a correlation between type of contact process, especially in cases of imposition and borrowing and outcomes of contact-induced change. These are broad generalisations, but they are useful as first diagnostics and for the formulation of hypotheses and predictions. Imposition mainly targets the

3 SL-agentivity can also result in complexification, and this as a result of imposition and as a result of reduction or internally induced change. The history of Afrikaans, for example, is characterised by all of these processes. However, despite the frequent regularisation of participles belonging to irregular verbs (weak inflection of historically strong verbs), the resulting system has actually become extremely complex to the point where speakers are frequently unsure about the correct form (Donaldson 1993: 172–174). Consequently, using the term simplification juxtaposed against imposition suggests that complexification would have to be always due to imposition, because it would be odd if a process of simplification could lead to complexification.

16 

 1 Overview and context

structure of a language, especially phonology and syntax, and, to a lesser degree, morphology, whereas borrowing targets the lexicon, especially nouns (see e.g. Lucas 2014). There are also non-linguistic factors that influence the result of contact-induced change, especially identity, education, language attitudes, language policy and number of speakers. For the purpose of English on Croker Island, the socio-political dimension is particularly important, as English is not only socially and economically dominant, it is also institutionally enforced, and it does enjoy some social prestige. These factors effectively have created a kind of a diglossic situation, in which English assumes the role of the “high” language, occupying some official domains – though not all. In the long run there is a high probability of language shift towards English, and this is what is already observable in many Iwaidja families, where English is also at least sometimes in the home domain. Diagnosing contact induced change and reconstructing relevant processes follows a standard methodology. Generally, the first step is the diagnosis, i.e. a hypothesis that a particular item originated from contact (see e.g. Ross 2013; Mailhammer 2013). This is often connected to the second step, which is ascertaining that the existence of a particular word or structure in a language is actually the result of contact induced change (Poplack and Levey 2010; see also Thomason 2008; Thomason 2001; Mailhammer 2013; Mailhammer 2014a). To build a compelling case, the following has to be shown (quoted from Mailhammer and Vennemann 2019: 38): – there exists a plausible scenario in which the proposed change can be situated; – a contact language can be established; – the feature in question shows similarities in the source and the recipient languages; – the feature in question did not exist in the recipient language variety prior to contact; – the feature in question did exist in the source language variety prior to contact; – and that internal or other reasons are less likely. Following this method is important to build a rigorous argument and to avoid over-diagnosing imposition (“substratum influence”). Features in which Australian Aboriginal Englishes diverge from the standard have routinely been attributed to substratum influence (see e.g. Butcher 2008; Malcolm 2018). However, on closer scrutiny, most of these claims are not well-enough supported to rule out independent developments (see e.g. Meyerhoff 1996) or cannot pin down the

1.5 Methodological considerations: How to investigate contact induced change  

 17

contact language (see the discussions in Meakins 2014: 383–389; Mailhammer and Caudal 2019: 52–53). This issue will be taken up in chapter 7. In conclusion, processes and outcomes of contact induced change are influenced by linguistic dominance relationships in bilinguals. There are generalisations about these outcomes that in turn underpin the methodology to diagnose and reconstruct contact-induced change. This method ensures that proposals have sufficient rigour to establish a compelling case.

2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background 2.1 Prelude: Language contact in Northwestern Arnhem Land before the arrival of English The linguistic history of Australia in general and of Northern Arnhem Land in particular featured multilingualism and contact-induced change to a significant degree, even before the arrival of the Europeans. This included other Australian as well as non-Australian languages. Contact between Australian languages is a hotly debated issue. Traditionally, levels of borrowing, and diffusion in general, were considered so high that the historical investigation of Australian languages has largely done without using the standard method of determining genetic relatedness, the Comparative Method (see Campbell and Poser 2008; but see Harvey 2008; Harvey and Mailhammer 2017; Mailhammer and Harvey 2018 for recent applications of the Comparative Method). Currently, the consensus view is that borrowing among Australian languages historically was not widespread and that multilingualism in Australia is not generally a factor that increases borrowing (Harvey 2011). Nonetheless, as a recent study of flora and fauna terms has shown, there is evidence for borrowing over significant distances in Arnhem Land, often correlating with innovation and trade (Si 2019). This study does not suggest that borrowing was rampant in Australia, but it makes clear that Australian languages, like languages in general, show influences of contact in precolonial times. Whether this extends to other parts of the language, e.g. the grammar, is less clear. It is noteworthy that the phonologies of Australian languages are remarkably similar (see e.g. Fletcher and Butcher 2014), but whether this is a product of contact, specifically early bilingualism, is currently unclear. In addition to contact amongst each other, many Australian languages spoken in Northern Arnhem Land also show traces of contact with Austronesian languages spoken by traders coming from what is now Indonesia, which are commonly called the “Macassans” (see Harris 2007: 133–6, MacKnight 1976 for an overview of the history of Australian-Macassan contacts). The relevant languages are usually taken to be Makassarese and Malay (both subsumed under the cover term “Macassan”, see Evans 1992: 45), in addition to possibly others, such as Chinese and Arabic (Harris 1986: 77–83). There is evidence for a considerable linguistic impact of Macassan on the local linguistic landscape, for instance in the form of historical Northern Arnhem place names and loanwords in many northern Australian languages in different chronological strata (Evans 1992, 1997). There are https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-002

2.1 Prelude: Language contact in Northwestern Arnhem Land  

 19

also many accounts and attestations of Indigenous people speaking varieties and pidginised versions of Macassan (Evans 1992: 46, Harris 2007: 135–6, Urry and Walsh 1982), all of which shows that non-Australian languages were spoken in several varieties adding to the existing multilingual repertoire before European contact. In the context of this book, contact with Macassan and other languages is relevant, as contact features may have percolated up into local Englishes and other contact languages. This is clearest for loanwords such as jaliwarra ‘trousers, pants’ which is used in Aboriginal languages and also English spoken on Croker Island, see (1). (1)

You got short-one jaliwarra. you’ve got short pants ‘You have short pants [i.e. shorts].’

[Field notes, 27/09/2013]

Non-lexical influence from Macassan is much harder to ascertain, and less likely given the nature of the language contact situation and given that there were relatively few Macassans with relatively limited contact so that the potential for structural influence, e.g. through second language acquisition was probably limited. However, there is indication that the borrowing of loanwords led to some limited influence on the phoneme system, at least in local Aboriginal languages. For example, especially older speakers of Iwaidja pronounce certain Macassan loanwords, such as bukithuku ‘one-pronged fish spear’ and darriba ‘trepang’ with a dental stop [t̪], even though Iwaidja does not normally have this sound in its phoneme inventory (see most recently Mailhammer and Harvey 2018). Evans (1992: 55) says that this has led to a “marginal lamino-dental series” in some languages. According to this view, the Iwaidjan dental stop reflects the adaptation of an alveolar Macassan [t].4 I have not noticed these two words occurring in English on Croker Island. Commonly the English word trepang is used, and though it is conceivable that bukithuku could be used to denote this particular type of spear, given that the three-pronged fish spear is in fact called by its Iwaidja and ultimately Macassan name, jalakaraj, I have not come across it being used in English. Suffice it to

4 Mark Harvey (p. c.) points out that this replacement is curious, since loanwords from other Australian languages with dentals do not normally show dentals in Iwaidja, e.g. Iwaidja Duwa ‘moiety’ from Yolngu Dhuwa. He suggests that it is therefore more likely that the pronunciations of the originally Macassan words with initial dentals is attributable to some foreigner register. However, in the absence of tangible evidence of such a register and its linguistic specifications, the replacement of alveolar stops with dental stops, at least in some cases, is supported by recorded pronunciations of the relevant words.

20 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

say, that non-lexical influence from Macassan on English is a possibility, but it remains to be investigated. In addition to Macassan, it is likely that Macassan-based pidgins had developed in Northern Arnhem Land, as a language of communication with the Macassans and possibly also as a lingua franca between Aboriginal people in Northern Arnhem Land (Harris 1986: 83–85; Urry and Walsh 1982). The common term to refer to Europeans in Northern Arnhem Land, balanda, apparently goes back to a Macassan Pidgin (Harris 1986: 102). It is probable that some Macassan loanwords actually were borrowed from the Macassan Pidgin or that Macassan Pidgin was actually more often the contact language instead of Macassan (Harris 1986: 107). The linguistic influence of Macassan is apparent from these examples. However, apart from other cultural and potentially genetic influences (see e.g. Powell 2000: 39–42; Harris 1986: 83–85), the regular visits by the Macassans also had three other effects on the Aboriginal people in Northern Arnhem Land, and especially in the northwest, the Cobourg Peninsula and adjacent areas, to which also belongs Croker Island. First, like the Europeans, the Macassans also brought two things to Australia, diseases and attractive goods. Diseases were often fatal and resulted in decimation of the local population. Goods attracted local Aboriginal people to the places where the Macassans stayed. Depopulation and migration often resulted in population shifts and considerable disruptions of existing tribal structures and land tenure regimes. For example, George Windsor Earl, who came to Cobourg Peninsula in 1838, and who studied the land and its people carefully concluded after obtaining intelligence from interactions with local Aboriginal people. This last [group, RM] appears to have only recently acquired territory upon the peninsula; indeed it would seem that at no very distant period, the pressure of a powerful people in the interior of the continent had driven one tribe in upon another, until several distinct communities have been crowded up within the Cobourg Peninsula, where, until very recently, they have been making war upon each other so such an extent, that two of these have, within the memory of natives now living, been reduced from numerous bodies to mere scattered remnants. (Earl 1846: 242)

In his 1982 paper, the historian Alan Powell claims that “the attraction of the Macassan trepang camps may well have played a greater part than war in decimating Aboriginal groups” (Powell 1982: 91), and that “malaria, leprosy, smallpox and veneral disease were all endemic in the Indonesian islands and could easily have been passed from the Macassans to the Cobourg tribes” (Powell 1982: 91; see also Campbell 1998; see e.g. Arthur and Morphy 2005: 157 for a map of introduced diseases in the 19th century). In the late 19th and early 20th century it has been asserted, for instance, that Iwaidja-speaking clan groups were dominant in

2.1 Prelude: Language contact in Northwestern Arnhem Land  

 21

northwestern Arnhem Land, including the Cobourg Peninsula (Powell 1982: 93). It is thus possible that language shift was perhaps already a phenomenon before European settlement in the Northern Territory, with the target languages being dominant Aboriginal languages and, potentially, also Macassan Pidgin. Aboriginal people seem to have spent time at Makassar (Powell 2000: 40; Harris 1986: 92–96). There are accounts that Macassan or a Macassan-based pidgin was a lingua franca on the Top End coast in the 19th century (MacKnight 1981: 138 n 17; Powell 2000: 41; Harris 1985: 148). Second, the recurring and often longer term presence of the Macassans meant that Aboriginal people in Northern Arnhem Land became used to foreign ways of life and interactions with foreigners (Powell 2000: 41; Harris 1986: 83). Consequently, when the British came for example to the Cobourg Peninsula, the local population was in many ways better equipped to deal with the foreigners, and in many cases interacted more successfully with them than in other areas (Powell 1982: 98). The third effect has to do with the economic effect the Macassan trade had on Aboriginal people. The Macassan trade posts attracted Aboriginal people from further inland, which affected settlement patterns. Moreover, the goods brought in were injected into a growing trade network that extended a considerable distance inland as far as e.g. Roper River (see Mitchell 1995). The effect was a much-extended area of operation as a result of Macassan trade, which foreshadowed what would happen after the arrival of the Europeans. This also becomes evident from the records of Ludwig Leichhardt, who met Aboriginal people much further inland – at the South Alligator River – who “spoke to him in a mixture of ‘Macassan’ Pidgin and English Pidgin” (Harris 1985: 166). All three effects of the Macassan visits have implications for the linguistic impact on English in Northwestern Arnhem Land. They support the assumption that English was learnt early on and gained some foothold, albeit as just another language in the repertoire of already multilingual Aboriginal people who were quite accustomed to dealing with foreign people and their cultures (see 2.2 below). Whether Macassan was the only outside linguistic influence on Australian Aboriginal languages in Northern Arnhem Land is unclear. It is not unlikely that other Austronesians had visited Australia before the Macassans, and there is Yolngu oral history of earlier visitors who even seemed to have established settlement and practiced agriculture (Evans 1992: 66–68; Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 32–39). The Yolngu name for these earlier visitors, bayini, may itself be a pre-Macassan Austronesian loan (Evans 1992: 66), and there may be other early loans. Evans (1992: 86–88) contains a list of possible Austronesian loanwords without clear affiliation to Macassan, and he suggests that these may have been pre-Macassan borrowings. However, without clear etymologies, these must

22 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

remain tentative, despite the plausibility of such as suggestion (see Harris 1986: 82–83 for a brief discussion). Consequently, it is unknown whether there were any external contacts of Australian languages in Northern Arnhem Land before the Macassans. This makes Macassan the only pre-European linguistic contact that can be securely identified, and, as mentioned above, some of this influence shows up in local Englishes by way of what Theo Vennemann (2002) has called “transitive language contact”, i.e. channelled through another, in this case an Australian Indigenous, language. In addition to the Macassan contacts, there were also pre-English contacts in Northern Arnhem Land, especially with Dutch explorers (see e.g. Powell 1982: 88–89), but these contacts were so brief that it is quite safe to assume that they left no lasting linguistic traces.

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land The history of English in Northwestern Arnhem Land begins in the 1820s and can be divided in three phases (see similarly also Leitner 2007: 199–200). The first phase is characterised by the fact that the presence of English is mainly connected to British military settlements. The second phase is characterised by English being connected to a presence of Australian businesses and employment opportunities on a larger scale. The hallmark of the third phase is the presence of English in institutional form, e.g. through missions and government institutions. On Croker Island, the third phase starts somewhat later than in other places in Northern Arnhem Land, as the Croker Island mission became established only in 1941, whereas for instance a mission was set up on South Goulburn Island already in 1916 (Powell 2000: 159). Each phase provided different circumstances for the contact between English and the local Aboriginal languages, see chapters 7 and 8 for more details.

2.2.1 Phase One: The British military settlements in Northwestern Arnhem Land (1823–1849) The precursors to the arrival of English in Northwestern Arnhem Land were visits by explorers such as William Dampier in 1699 and Matthew Flinders in 1803. The first more permanent presence came in the shape of three British military settlements between 1824 and 1849, Fort Dundas, Fort Wellington and Victoria at Port Essington, none of which was to stay. These three military outposts were very different from each other and had different effects on how Aboriginal people came into contact with English.

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 23

Melville Island was the location of the first of these outposts, Fort Dundas. Established on the northwestern side of the island in 1824 (see Map 4), it boasted around 100 people, about half of them soldiers, the rest convicts and some of the soldiers’ wives (Harris 1985: 149).

Map 4:  The locations of the three British military outposts in the 19th century (Harris 1985: 149).

Fort Dundas was not successful. It was founded on the mistaken assumption that trade Macassan trade would let it flourish, and on the hope that some kind of relationship with the local population, the Tiwi, could be established. Neither of these foundations proved realistic though (Powell 2000: 54), and the harsh environmental conditions and the isolation added to this (Powell 2000: 56). In 1829, Fort Dundas was given up (Harris 1985: 151). As there was practically no contact with the local population, there was hardly any linguistic consequence

24 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

of the British presence on Melville Island. The only trace that has been identified is the name of the fort – Punata in contemporary Tiwi (Harris 1985: 151). Interestingly, there is some evidence that the Tiwi had been in contact with outsiders, possible Macassan traders. At least two words that were collected from a Tiwi prisoner by the commander of the fort, Campbell, piccanini ‘children’ and pake ‘peace’ are probably Portuguese in origin (Harris 1985: 151). The first of the two is a common word for ‘child’ in broad versions of Aboriginal English and in creoles. To sum up the net impact in cultural, economic, material and linguistical terms of the first British military settlement was virtually nil. The second attempt to set up an outpost took place two years after Fort Dundas had been established. After initially considering Croker Island, the British settled at the opposite coast, at Raffles Bay, calling the settlement Fort Wellington (see Map 4). Even though the outpost was already abandoned in 1829, and even though its initial population was smaller than that of Fort Dundas, its cultural and linguistic impact was ultimately greater. The short period during which Fort Wellington was manned by a garrison can be divided into two sub-periods. The first, under the command of Captain Henry Smyth, resembled what was happening on Melville at about the same time: minimal contact with the local population, though apparently a little more than at Fort Dundas, as some Aboriginal people found some kind of casual employment at Fort Wellington (Harris 1985: 152–153). The second, under the command of Captain Collet Barker (from September 1828), was drastically different, as Barker pursued an entirely different, much more enlightened policy towards the locals. Instead of a “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, Barker treated Aboriginal people with “consistent tact and respect” (Powell 2000: 57). Relations eased and became even friendly, on a much more equal footing than previously. This was also due to a more trusting leadership on the Aboriginal side, as a local leader befriended Barker (Harris 1985: 156). There was regular contact between the fort and the local Aboriginal people, and that news travelled, it seemed. On a visit to Croker Island, Barker was greeted in a very friendly way (Powell 2000: 57; Harris 1985: 155). In early 1829 the Macassan traders came back and the economic situation improved. However, in spite of all this success, the British government had lost its optimism and ordered the abandonment of Fort Wellington, and in August 1829 the British left Raffles Bay (Powell 2000: 57–58; Harris 1985: 156). In his 1985 paper, John Harris assesses the communicative situation between the British and the locals and the linguistic impact of English and draws the following conclusion: It appears, therefore that the era of communication at Raffles Bay under Barker was too short to enable a stable pidgin to arise. Indeed, given the degree of communicative equality that seemed to have characterised the situation, the eagerness on both sides to learn each other’s language and the small numbers of people involved, the contact language which

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 25

was beginning to develop may eventually have been based on both languages had the settlement not been so hastily abandoned. […] The most important factors are that there was verbal communication, and that this communication spanned a larger range of subjects and was more personal and amicable than is normally said of communication between settles (or invaders) and natives. In the long-term, the linguistic significance of this type of communication between Europeans and Aborigines lay not in the nature of the contact itself but in the positive attitude to communication of which it was the product. This attitude survived and determined the atmosphere in which communication was to recommence ten years later at Port Essington. (Harris 1985: 160–161)

The third attempt to establish a British military presence in Northwestern Arnhem Land was the settlement Victoria at Port Essington, further to the west on the Cobourg Peninsula (see Map 4) in 1838 (Powell 2000: 59). Though this outpost lasted until 1849, and despite the rather peaceful and good relations with the locals, Victoria suffered from the same inherent problems as Fort Dundas and Fort Wellington. It was off the beaten track, did not really attract any commerce and was in the end just an outpost rather than the beginning of a more substantial British presence with more developed infrastructure. However, there was much more interaction between the British and the local Aboriginal people, who were a permanent part of the settlement, traded with the British and were employed in various capacities. This included work on ships and travel as far as Sydney (Powell 2000: 63). The result of these interactions was an increasing proficiency in English on the part of the Aboriginal population. Harris (1985: 163–167) reviews the records and shows convincingly that, while Aboriginal people began to communicate with the British using Macassan Pidgin, they gradually but quickly started learning English, so that a stable pidgin had formed by the time Victoria was abandoned in 1849. In addition, it is clear that “some Aboriginal people had command of the English language as well” (Harris 1985: 167). Knowledge of the English pidgin, and especially of English, appears to have been most widespread at Port Essington, where the Macassan Pidgin had largely been phased out by 1849. However, the Macassan Pidgin was still in use when Ludwig Leichhardt came through inland Northern Arnhem Land in the second half of the 1840s, and, more importantly so was already – at least partially – an English pidgin and English about 300 kilometres to the south east of Port Essington (Harris 1985: 166; Powell 1982: 92). To sum up, the period of British military settlements in Northwestern Arnhem Land came in phases; it was relatively short-lived, but it had lasting effects on the local population. Apart from cultural and economic contacts, increasing and regular communication led to the acquisition of English by Aboriginal people not only in the immediate contact zone but also in other parts of Northwestern Arnhem Land. By the 1850s English meant two things: English-based contact languages for which the cover term English Pidgin is used and English in various

26 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

forms, probably non-standard even though some of the quotations reported suggest that at least some Aboriginal people on Cobourg Peninsula had acquired English to a very high level of competence, as suggested by the records of Henry Keppel, the captain of the ship Meander, which transported the inhabitants of Victoria off when it was abandoned in 1849. When riding through the jungle on a shooting excursion, I gave my gun to a naked savage to carry: I was rather astonished at his addressing me in very good English with “should an opportunity offer, sir, I shall fire”. This man was frequently with me afterwards. One day he said to me “If you English could thrash Bonaparte whenever you liked, why did you put him on an island, and starve him to death?” (Keppel 1853: 158)

From the Aboriginal perspective it seems that the British at this stage were seen as a kind of Macassans, i.e. as traders, who were useful for resources and whose company was attractive because of that. The immediate linguistic impact seems to have been that English in various shapes but with an increasing level of proficiency was added to the already rich linguistic repertoire of the local Aboriginal people. Croker Island was in the sphere of influence of English in this first phase. There are specific mentions of Croker Island inhabitants in contact with the British, and it is clear that at least some individuals must have had some knowledge of English in some form or other. However, it is important to mention that there was no significant continuity between the early 19th century and today in terms of its inhabitants. That is, the Aboriginal people who greeted Collet, the commander of Fort Wellington, in 1828/1829 (Harris 1985: 155), were not only speakers of one or more different languages than residents of Minjilang today, they were also not their ancestors, at least not in the majority. This is because Croker Island was quasi resettled from the mainland in the 1950s, but by that time Marrku had already ceased to be a vehicle for daily communication and was spoken only by a handful of individuals who lived in different places in Northwestern Arnhem Land (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 2). The majority of people who were connected to Croker Island and who came back in the 1950s spoke Iwaidja and Kunwinjku (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 2). Consequently, considering Croker Island specifically during this phase is less relevant than looking at the Aboriginal languages that were in contact with English. However, identifying language-speaker associations and for Northwestern Arnhem Land in general and in the 19th century in particular, is not trivial, as Harris points out speaking about local Aboriginal languages around the Raffles Bay outpost, Fort Wellington: The historical distribution of language and land-holding groups on the Cobourg Peninsula is highly complex and poses many problems (Powell, 1982b:91). Changes had been taking

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 27

place before the era of British settlement (Earl, 1846:242) and it should not automatically be presumed that there is direct historical continuity between the language spoken at Raffles Bay in the 1820s and the language known today as Iwaidja. (Harris 1985: 160 n 11)

One reason for this are of course the sources. Although there were some Europeans in the 19th century who recorded information about languages, locations and speakers, it is not straightforward to map these onto the modern linguistic landscape. One reason is that land-language associations have been subject to change (Harvey 1999; Harvey 2002). Another is that languages have become extinct in the meantime (see e.g. Evans 1997 for some names). This is clear for the historical language of Croker Island, Marrku. 19th century records for Croker Island mention a language called Yako (Earl 1846). This was identified as Marrku by Norman Tindale (Powell 1982: 95) and others – it is clear from Earl’s word lists (see e.g. Evans 1997) –, and this is likely to be correct. Yaku is the word for ‘no’ in Marrku and there is at least one other language name that is mentioned in 19th century records and that aligns well with a word for ‘no’, and that is Yarlo (Earl 1846). The language is almost certainly Ilgar/Garig – actually two very closely related languages or even dialects – where the word for ‘no’ is yiharlu /jiɰaɭu/ (Evans 2000a). Consequently, using the word for ‘no’ to label languages is plausible. The example of Yako illustrates another reason for why it is highly problematic to assume continuity between language groups and land associations from the 19th century until today. The land association given by Earl for the language he terms Yako is Croker Island and Raffles Bay, but the commonly assumed historical association for Marrku is Croker Island. The language of Raffles Bay is commonly assumed to be Garig (see e.g. Evans 2000b: 200) but Bruce Birch’s sources in the early 21st century claimed that the language association of Raffles Bay is at least partially Iwaidja (Birch 2011). Doubtless, the Cobourg Peninsula – and possibly Northern Arnhem Land in general – was somewhat in flux already in the 19th century, and as discussed above, this was not just the impact of the British but also that of the Macassans. It is not known whether such fluctuations were common before the arrival of the Macassans, but it is possible. As the more recent history of Croker Island will show, a major language group that is to be associated with Croker Island is in fact Iwaidja. Now, it is not necessarily clear how close Iwaidja speakers were to the English “epicentre”. In fact, the name Iwaidja is only recorded in later sources, namely in the records of Paul Foelsche, who was the head of the Northern Territory police and who recorded a great deal about the local Aboriginal population including information about languages (Powell 2000: 122). There the land association given is neighbouring to the language spoken around Raffles Bay (Powell 1982: 93). This would in fact fit with the general opinion, which associates Iwaidja traditionally with Mountnor-

28 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

ris Bay and the mainland south of it, i.e. not actually with the Cobourg Peninsula in a narrow sense (see e.g. Evans 2000b; Lamilami 1974: 6), but it would be at odds with Norman Tindale’s view, which equates the Iwaidja with the name Iyi, given by Earl for a language spoken west of Port Essington (Powell 1982: 91; 93; Paddy Cahil also associated Iwaidja with Port Essington, see Mulvaney 2004: 90), and with that of eminent anthropologists R. M and C. H. Berndt, who thought that Iwaidja historically was spoken around Raffles Bay (Powell 1982: 95). Following that the common assumption that Iwaidja was spoken east of Raffles Bay, would mean that it was more peripherally involved in the contact with English, though it is of course likely that speakers of Iwaidja were in contact with English in various forms during this first phase of contact, given the high degree of mobility on the Cobourg Peninsula and in Northern Arnhem Land more generally. In fact, Iwaidja is repeatedly mentioned as a lingua franca at least since the early 20th century by speakers interviewed in the 20th and 21st century (see e.g. Evans 1997), and it is certainly known to have been around at places as far west as Cape Don (Powell 1982: 95). This suggests that by the late 19th century or early 20th century Iwaidja was probably the major language on Cobourg Peninsula, but also that its speakers were in regular contact with various forms of English. So, when the majority of Iwaidja speakers moved to Croker Island, English had been part of their historical and synchronic language repertoire for some generations. To sum up, English in various forms was a contact language for the Cobourg Peninsula and Northwestern Arnhem Land. Of particular relevance from the perspective of English on Croker Island are Iwaidja, Mawng and also Kunwinjku, and to a lesser degree also Marrku and Kunbarlang. All of these languages were probably exposed to kinds of English and English-based contact languages in the 19th century, even though perhaps the Cobourg languages a bit more than the more eastern languages because of the British presence on the Cobourg Peninsula. Aboriginal people clearly spoke English and English-based contact languages in Northwestern Arnhem Land in the early to mid 19th century even before a more substantial English presence.

2.2.2 Phase Two: Permanent white presence and new economic regimes Phase Two is characterised by a permanent physical and substantial economic presence of Europeans in Northern Arnhem generally. In Phase One, Aboriginal people were attracted to British military settlements to obtain goods, but the British were similar to the Macassans in terms of the effect they had on the life of Aboriginal people; they did not substantially alter the traditional lifestyle (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 4; Mulvaney 2004: 52–53). Phase Two con-

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 29

tinued this trend but at a much-increased scale, so that the disruption was much more significant. One particularly dramatic effect was the depopulation of whole areas, as people moved to where employment in the new industries were located, and as people were killed by disease or violence (see e.g. also the report by Police Inspector Paul Foelsche in 1880 saying that there were only few Aboriginal People around Port Essington, see Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 127). This disrupted the traditional land tenure system. This is particularly true of the Cobourg Peninsula; all contemporary sources agree that the area had been fragmented in terms of traditional land tenure (Powell 1982: 94–95), and this seems to have been true of Western Arnhem Land more generally: In the 1880s, a buffalo-hunting industry was established in the Darwin-Oenpelli area, and the Aboriginal people worked in this industry from the beginning. By the 1920s, most of the surviving traditional owners of the northern Kakadu-Oenpelli area had shifted their primary residential focus westwards towards Darwin, working in the buffalo industry in that area. For much of the period 1920–1980, large parts of the northern Kakadu-Oenpelli area were effectively depopulated. Most people with claims of primary ownership over particular areas either visited those areas infrequently, or not at all. (Harvey 2002: 27)

In contrast to the traditional nomadic lifestyle, where people would go back to areas of primary ownership, the increasingly sedentary lifestyle in their new locations, e.g. Darwin or Oenpelli, meant that the old system of land tenure was also increasingly lost, which has been adding to a frequent disconnect between Aboriginal people and their communal groups and ancestral culture (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 104–105). Increased time spent having to use English in some form and less time speaking Aboriginal languages had two significant effects: first, the number of Aboriginal people who spoke English increased. Second, the number of Aboriginal people who ceased to speak Aboriginal languages also increased. Thus, linguistically, Phase Two is characterised by increasing shift to English and the attrition and loss of Aboriginal languages. However, despite this general tendency, the northwest, and Cobourg Peninsula saw less violence and oppression, and consequently somewhat less abrupt and forced disruption, even though the end result was similar (Powell 1982: 98). After the abandonment of Victoria settlement at Port Essington in 1849, there was a lull in British and then Australian interest in the Northern Territory and for the next 20 years it was mainly explorers like John McDouall Stuart who came through over land. However, in the 1860s the Northern Territory became a pawn in the land development “game” of Australia. In the end it was South Australia that won control over the Northern Territory by rule of the British colonial masters in 1863 (Powell 2000: 76). Initially, interest from the people of South Australia in developing the Northern Territory was lacking with the exception of the pastoral

30 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

industry, but in 1863 the South Australian government started the development with systematic land sales (Powell 2000: 80). However, before settlement could begin, more surveying had to be done, and so, for the next five years that was what happened mainly in the area southeast of modern-day Darwin. But in 1869 the South Australian Surveyor-General George Goyder arrived in Port Darwin, carried out an extensive survey and by December 1869, Darwin had been founded (Cole 1975: 12). The next move by the South Australian government was to build an overland telegraph line to Darwin, and although this was an enterprise fraught with problems, it was completed after two years construction, in 1872. It subsequently drove the exploration of the Northern Territory and brought white development. One industry that developed on the back of the telegraph was the mining industry. After minor accidental finds in the 1860s, bigger finds of gold were made in Palmerston and at other places in 1870 (Jones 1987: 3). There was hope for a Northern Territory gold rush and an initial boom, but the situation never really approached what took place in other states, and even when other metals were mined from the 1880s onwards, mining in the Northern Territory did not turn into a money-making machine like it had, for instance, in Victoria. Nevertheless, and this says a lot about the economic situation in the Northern Territory in general, “mining and particularly the mining of gold, was by far the most stable and profitable enterprise in the Northern Territory during the nineteenth century and if brought development where none had existed before” (Powell 2000: 97). One part of the development Powell mentions is the railway. In 1889 a line between Darwin and Pine Creek was opened. It was infrastructure that ultimately brought more white people to the Northern Territory. And the railway and mining also brought the Chinese to the Northern Territory. Chinese labourers started coming to the Northern Territory in 1874, by 1888 they peaked at over 7,000 and outnumbered Europeans almost seven to one (Powell 2000: 99). Though the numbers of Chinese workers had halved by 1890 and was eventually reduced to 1352 in 1910, when they still outnumbered white people (Powell 2000: 99; Cole 1975: 13), they had contributed immensely to the development of the Northern Territory infrastructure: The Chinese largely built the Pine Creek railway, they dominated the goldfields, their industrious market-gardening gave the first reliable supplies of fresh vegetables to Darwin and they were well established in business. […] yet the Chinese had still to endure white racism more virulent then they had before they won an honoured place in the north. (Powell 2000: 99)

The industry that shaped the traditional image of the Northern Territory, however, was the pastoral industry. Starting with sheep in 1866 – unsuccessfully –, cattle

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 31

proved tough enough to survive in the harsh conditions of the north, see Map 5. Pastoralism expanded during the 1880s (see e.g. Cole 1975: 13), but then a drastic downturn followed from which the industry never fully recovered. In particular, the Top End, i.e. Northern Arnhem Land, was pretty much abandoned by pastoralists (Powell 2000: 103).

TIMOR SEA Darwin

ARNHEM LAND

Gulf of Carpentaria

Katherine Wyndham

KIMBERLEY

Murran

ji

Gu

lf

Newcastle Waters Burketown

Derby

BARKLY TABLELAND

Halls Creek

Broome

Cape York Peninsula

B ark

Tennant Creek

ly

Camooweal

nn

i

Lo

Great

Ca

ng

N or

Cloncurry

ng

Richmond

re

ac

h

Longreach

Birdsville

Ro

ad

Wiluna

Alice Springs

CHANNEL COUNTRY

th

Stock routes 1830–1900

PLAINS OF PROMISE

Oodnadatta

Map 5: The spread of the pastoral industry in northern Australia (from Map 12 in Wurm, Mühlhäusler and Tryon 1996).

Nevertheless, the impact of pastoralism was connected to the huge landmasses it took away from the Aboriginal people and the settlements that were associated with it. Cattle stations were permanent white settlements that interfered with the local way of life in considerable ways. They seized Aboriginal territory, which robbed Aboriginal people of their traditional way of subsistence and cultural foundations. They also employed Aboriginal people as workers, which disrupted their traditional culture. Increasingly, there were townships and settlements in which Aboriginal people concentrated and mixed, and consequently became more and more alienated from their traditional lifestyle (Stanner 1965: 18; Powell 1982: 93; Lamilami 1974: 4). Cattle were brought

32 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

everywhere, even temporarily to Northern Arnhem Land, where stations were established. On the Cobourg Peninsula the “Cobourg Cattle Company” nominally held a lease over half of the peninsula, but effectively this amounted to little more than buffalo shooting (Powell 1982: 93). Nonetheless, these buffalo shooting camps attracted a significant number of people, most of whom were not locals, as local structures of land tenure and language groups had fragmented to a considerable degree (Powell 1982: 93). Apart from being disruptive, the pastoralists were also significant in killing Aboriginal people (see e.g. Harris 1986: 189–199). Either Aboriginal people were killed by the advancing pastoralists because they were “in the way” or otherwise perceived as resistant, or as part of retribution for the killing of a white settler. These killings were often even illegal, though the police were often also involved in killings, and usually disproportionate; they were almost never punished, and they caused depopulation and decimation on a large scale. There is also clear evidence of systematic extermination, i.e. genocide, in the Northern Territory (Harris 1986: 215–229). And because Australian Aboriginal languages were traditionally spoken by small groups, a couple of hundred people were not rare, these killings could effectively wipe out entire groups or drive them to the point where they were no longer viable. In addition to pastoralism and mining, the two main industries in the Northern Territory in the late 19th and early 20th century, there were other attempts at building up economic enterprises, timber, trepang, pearling and buffalo shooting. Pearling and trepanging were significant local industries on the Cobourg Peninsula, where Aboriginal people were employed (Powell 1982: 94). There were for instance temporary trepang camps on the peninsula and even on Croker Island (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 5). The Macassans were also still frequenting the coasts even though they had to pay taxes on what they collected until 1907, when all trade activities ceased due to the significant problems introduced by Australian policies, which made the trade completely unprofitable (see e.g. Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 28). However, even though their long-term success was limited, timber and buffalo shooting were especially important in Northwestern Arnhem Land. Water buffaloes had been introduced to Melville Island in 1824 and from there they rapidly spread (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 5; Cole 1975: 3). Temporary and somewhat mobile buffalo shooting camps were set up outside Arnhem Land as well, but for Northern Arnhem Land the buffalo camp and later the cattle station that Paddy Cahill established at the Oenpelli in 1910 (Mulvaney 2004: 35) is probably the most significant, because it became the major settlement in the area; it is now also known under the name Gunbalanya. Buffalo shooting was a major employer for Aboriginal people in Northwestern Arnhem Land. Camps, and espe-

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 33

cially Oenpelli, were magnets for Aboriginal people pulling groups westwards. Locally, on the Cobourg Peninsula, timber was also significant, even though it really became prominent in the 20th century, but it was also a considerable pull factor (Powell 1982: 94). One particular location with significance during Phase Three on Cobourg Peninsula was the lighthouse at Cape Don, which was built in 1917 (Powell 1982: 94). It also attracted Aboriginal people, notably Iwaidja speakers. Croker Island during Phase Two seems to have been participating in the general activities. It was frequented by Macassans, there was a temporary buffalo camp there, and Europeans were also involved in trepanging (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 126). Croker Island people must have travelled frequently both within Northwestern Arnhem Land but also further, e.g. to Darwin (suggested e.g. in Lamilami 1974: 154). There is some indication that Marrku, which is, according to all reports, the traditional language of Croker Island, was already in decline in terms of speaker numbers and affiliated people. It seems that at the beginning of the 20th century Croker Island was already associated more with Iwaidja than with Marrku. This can be inferred from a report by Dr Cecil L. Strangman (Protector of Aborigines for the Northern Territory) in 1908, which is one quantitative data points for Croker Island in Phase Two. Strangman asserts that a “powerful tribe” lived on Croker Island, however, whose numbers had decreased to 40 from 150 in 1902, and that the traditional group associated with Croker was down to 14 (cited in Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 102). Though Strangman’s report did not include any names, it is plausible that he was referring to Iwaidja and Marrku, which would mean that a significant number of Iwaidja speakers had already been living on Croker Island. However, it is clear that Marrku people continuously lived on Croker, even though the use of Marrku declined during the 20th century, and that the traditional language of Croker Island is Marrku (see e.g. Lamilami 1974; Powell 1982). In terms of contact with English, it is clear that the people who lived on Croker Island, even if they did not travel extensively, would have been exposed to English in some form or other and it is to be expected that community members who were employed in one of the industries or worked in white households or even in Darwin, which was probably less likely than in places further south, would probably have achieved significant proficiency in at least one form of English. One good example of the close involvement with white people is the case of the Iwaidja speakers that supported Joe Cooper’s enterprise on Melville Island. Joe Cooper, father of Reuben Cooper, who ran a saw-mill at Mountnorris Bay in the 1930s, started a buffalo shooting camp with his brother Harry on Melville Island in 1885. When Harry way killed by the locals, Joe had to flee but later on returned with an unspecified number of Iwaidja speakers, who stayed there with him and

34 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

seem to have been instrumental in establishing a peaceful arrangement with the local Tiwi (Powell 2000: 94). Even today there is a close connection between Croker Island and Melville Island, and there are a number of cross-marriages. This example suggests that Iwaidja speakers were in close contact with English in the late 19th century, and it is to be expected that at least some could speak English and/or a contact variety, though it is also to be assumed that they learnt Tiwi in the traditional way of societal multilingualism. Also, as indicated in 2.2.1, Iwaidja speakers seem to have had a fairly large range of periodical settlement and mobility in general, being associated with multiple location around the Cobourg Peninsula and Croker Island, and they were often members of the crews of white trading ships (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1951: 39), all of which would have brought them into contact with English and other languages early on. For Croker Island in particular, but also more generally, we cannot forget about the many children with one white and one Aboriginal parent, who often grew up speaking English as their native language, often also in addition to Aboriginal languages. Although part-Aboriginal children were often ostracised, especially in the white community, they were in many ways conduits, particularly of language contact. They are of special relevance to Croker Island because the mission settlement established there in 1941 was initially reserved for partAboriginal children. To sum up the historical developments in Phase Two, the hallmark is an increased and permanent white presence in the Northern Territory. This presence was felt on many levels, but linguistically it was felt strongest by an increased contact between white settlers, other immigrants such as the Chinese, and Aboriginal people. The consequences were severe. The most relevant for the purposes of this book are the following. First, there was a drastic decrease in Aboriginal population. Second, a significant change in land tenure and management regimes, as white settles robbed Aboriginal people of their land and repurposed it. Third, a strong population pull towards white settlements; for Northern Arnhem Land, this means westward. The result is depopulation of traditional Aboriginal land. Fourth, an increasing dependence of Aboriginal people on white people, as their traditional resources become unavailable to them. Fifth, an increased contact between speakers of languages that would not normally have come into contact with each other. This includes immigrants, such as English-speaking settlers and Chinese immigrants, but also Aboriginal people in contact with these groups and with each other (there are clear indications of mixed Chinese-Aboriginal people, see e.g. Mulvaney 2004: 63). The last consequence is most relevant for this book, because it a priori suggests that English became an increasingly important language. This ultimately led to language attrition and language loss on part of the Aboriginal population,

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 35

but it also led to the establishment of contact languages. There is strong indication that a Northern Territory Pidgin English developed early on and that it was spoken almost everywhere to some degree, eventually creolising in a significant part of the Northern Territory, even if this part does not include Northwestern Arnhem Land.5

2.2.3 Phase Three: Missions, welfare and the intervention Phase Three in the history of English in Northwestern Arnhem Land is characterised by the institutionalised presence of English in the shape of missions and government institutions, especially schools. This phase really began as the extermination of Aboriginal people and the depopulation resulting from extermination and the increasing movement of Aboriginal people to white settlements reached levels that alarmed many white people. The consequence was that Aboriginal “welfare” was put under the control of the government, though until the 1950s this was really left to the churches through mission settlements. The main effect in the long run was institutionalised and systematic white influence over Aboriginal people, especially linguistically, as schools taught English to Aboriginal children. In terms of how Aboriginal people were affected linguistically, two main subphases of Phase Three can be differentiated. The first subphase lasted until the Second World War and is characterised by the basic approach to protect Aboriginal people. The second subphase begins in full after the War and is characterised by a policy of assimilation, which, despite brief periods of more enlightened approaches, and despite current policies, continues today. 2.2.3.1 The first subphase: Protection of Aboriginal people An important precondition to the developments in Phase Three was that South Australia sold control over the Northern Territory to the newly founded Commonwealth of Australia in 1907 for £6,169,548, even though the ratification of the relevant bill took another four years (Powell 2000: 138). In 1911 the Commonwealth of Australia took over the administration of the Northern Territory from South Australia under Dr J. A. Gilruth, a Professor of Vet-

5 Mark Harvey (p. c.) reminds me of the fact that Aboriginal people from Northern Arnhem Land would have spoken Kriol as part of their repertoire if they had been working in Darwin or in the buffalo camps. This is certainly true, but Kriol was not established as a major language in Northern Arnhem Land.

36 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

erinary Science at Melbourne University (Cole 1975: 14). At that stage, the Northern Territory, as far as its new owners were concerned, was in a dismal state: The Commonwealth had acquired a small port town and a scattering of hamlets, a railway that ran to nowhere, the care of a few industries, mining, pastoralism, pearling, all badly run down. Of nearly five million white Australians only 1729 lived in the Northern Territory, according to the census of 2911; a mere 456 of them were women. There were 1177 Chinese men and 125 women. […] Aboriginal numbers were anybody’s guess. Baldwin Spencer could do no better than to say ‘probably … more nearly 50,000 than 20,000. (Powell 2000: 139–140)

In subsequent years, Darwin and also the Territory went through significant economic and political turmoil. Most of the Northern Territory industries had been failing: agriculture, pastoralism, mining, none of the economic “pillars” actually developed sufficiently, and a quasi-rebellion in 1918 was symptomatic of the political instability, showing that the Northern Territory kept posing tough challenges to white people (Powell 2000: 143–155). As far as Aboriginal people were concerned, Commonwealth control brought about drastic changes. The main reason was a shift in the way the white mainstream – including the majority of politicians and also academics – viewed Aboriginal people. In contrast to Phase Two, where it was expected that Aboriginal people would become extinct–a “dying race” (Powell 2000: 157; McKenzie 1976: 6) –, during Phase Three it became increasingly clear to the white world that this was not going to happen, at least not quickly. For instance, census data in the 1930s indicated that the Aboriginal population was not decreasing anymore (Powell 2000: 174). In addition, the extermination and the general plight of Aboriginal people led to increasing public outcry. It was public outcry that finally brought an end to revenge massacres in 1933, which were still being carried out routinely by Australian police in the 1920s and early 1930s (Powell 2000: 175). Early anthropological work sparked interest in and sometimes also some respect for Aboriginal people and their culture. As a result of this, a change in the political approach to Aboriginal people took place and it was now thought that Aboriginal people needed protection. Protection was instrumentalised in the government position of a Chief Protector, who had considerable powers to control the lives of Aboriginal people, but this position was already abolished in 1916 (though reinstated in 1927), which was indicative to some degree of the government’s indifference toward its nominal responsibility. In analogy to other reserves, e.g. in South Australia, reserves were discussed and in 1931 Arnhem Land Reserve was established to protect Aboriginal people (Cole 1975: 1; Powell 2000: 179; Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 6), as depopulation was still a major issue (Cole 1975: 36).

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 37

In addition to the mainstream and politicians viewing Aboriginal people as being in need of protection, most notably the Christian churches became strong proponents of this idea. A mission had already been established at Roper River in 1907. In 1912 an Interdenominational Committee of churches divided up the Northern Territory between the churches, and Arnhem Land fell to the Methodists (McKenzie 1976: 7; Powell 2000: 159). After the position of the Chief Protector was abolished, the Churches took over the main responsibility of Aboriginal welfare. After a survey by the Reverend James Watson, South Goulburn Island was chosen as a sight and in 1916 a Methodist mission was established there (Powell 2000: 159; McKenzie 1976: 9; Lamilami 1974: 256), and others followed, Milingimbi (1921), Oenpelli (1925), Yirkala (1935), Croker Island (1941) and Elcho Island (1942), see the detailed history in McKenzie (1976) and also the summary in Powell (1982: 179–180), see Map 6. Port Essington Bathurst Island

Minjilang

Roman Catholic 1847–1849

Roman Catholic 1910

Methodist 1966

Northern Territory

Goulburn Island Methodist 1916

Snake Bay

Maningrida

Bagot

Milingimbi

Elcho Island

Methodist 1921–1922

Methodist 1942

Delissaville

Port Keats

Roman Catholic 1935

Daly River

Numbulwa

Beswick Creek Anglican 1952

Roman Catholic 1886–1899 1955 Roper River Anglican 1907

Yirkkala

Methodist 1931

Umba Kumba Anglican 1958

Groote Eylandt Anglican 1921

Borroloola

Hooker Creek

N O R T H E R N

T E R R I T O R Y Warrabri

WA

QLD

Yuendumu

Haast’s Bluff Areyonga

Santa Teresa

Jay Creek

Hermannsburg

Letheran 1977

Roman Cathbolic 1937–1942 Bungalow

Aritunga

Roman Cathbolic 1942–1954, 1954

Map 6: Missions in Arnhem Land and adjacent areas with date of establishment (from Map 21 in Wurm, Mühlhäusler and Tryon 1996).

38 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

The establishment of the missions profoundly affected Aboriginal people, their lifestyle and their languages. In Phase Two the lifestyles of Aboriginal people were impacted on by the effects of depopulation, by white settlements which they were attracted to and by work contacts with white people. The presence of the white invaders did not specifically target Aboriginal people and their way of life – except for concentrated extermination efforts – the detrimental impact on Aboriginal people was mainly a side effect. By contrast, in Phase Three, Aboriginal people were specifically focused on in the establishment of the missions, and this is particularly valid for children. One special target were children of part-Aboriginal and Croker Island Mission was initially established for the exclusive education of such children. The critical way missions were influential lies in education, which did not only affect children but everyone in the mission community. Education did not only take place at school, where children were of course taught English – outside Arnhem Land Kriol was often the reality – and other points of western culture, but also in the community generally as part of community life. Adults also worked at the mission and were trained in western professions; they were subject to western rules about marriage and other customs. This was underpinned by an ideology that had shifted away from the “dying culture” narrative towards first protecting and later, especially after the World War II, assimilating Aboriginal people. Perhaps even the strongest impact of mission life was linguistic. Missions institutionalised English and brought it to remote Arnhem Land as an omnipresent and often oppressive language into the everyday lives of Aboriginal people. Whereas in Phase Two one could theoretically choose not live at Oenpelli or at Cape Don – if one was not originally from that area – or could choose to learn English for the purpose of obtaining employment with white people – much like it had been with Macassan – this was considerably harder in Phase Three, as people were concentrated in mission settlements and effectively forced to learn English. Cole (1975: 18) points out that despite of all issues, the missions did protect the lives of Aboriginal people, and cared for people where the government did not see a responsibility. This is a realist’s perspective though, because presumably Aboriginal people would have just been fine without white interference in the first place. It is clear that the missions had a strong impact on Aboriginal culture, language, way of life and mental wellbeing that was often not additive but subtractive, as it led to the loss of traditional culture and identity (see e.g. Lamilami 1974: 4), even though missions, especially from the 1930s onwards, were more or less actively engaged in the documentation of language and culture (Cole 1975: 39; McKenzie 1976: chap. 25). In some cases the outcome may have been a happy marriage of traditional and western values (se e.g. McKenzie 1976), but this is clearly not correct for the vast majority of Aboriginal

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 39

people, and there were also critical voices even in the early years (see e.g. Cole 1975: 37). As Aboriginal people with different linguistic backgrounds were increasingly concentrated on missions and stations, they would increasingly use “bigger” Aboriginal languages or, more frequently, English or Kriol as their lingua franca. This was supported by a disconnect to their traditional culture either because of displacement or because their customs were discouraged by the Church educators. The main linguistic result was language loss and language shift. For example, Roper River mission was instrumental in the genesis of Kriol (Harris 1986), and in other missions the use of English at the expense of Aboriginal languages was often quite brutally enforced. To some degree, there is a correlation between the use of Kriol, the loss of Aboriginal languages and also the use of creole/pidgin varieties in missions. For instance, on the Roper River Mission English was certainly not the only language of instruction – in fact the missionaries often used “Pidgin English” (Harris 1986: 237) – and most traditional languages were already no longer used or critically endangered in the 1980s (Harris 1986: 232). By contrast, on the mission of Oenpelli, English was used exclusively (Cole 1975: 34), and even today, traditional languages – though not necessarily those historically associated with the area – are strong in Oenpelli (Gunbalanya). Another pattern is the shift to other Aboriginal languages. For example, in the Oenpelli area Aboriginal people increasingly used bigger languages, which, however, changed over time. In the 1930s Gaagudju was a major language and e.g. many Amurdak speakers working for instance in the Buffalo Industry were mainly using Gaagudju (Mark Harvey, p. c.). Today the major language in Gunbalanya (Oenpelli) is Bininj Gunwok, and Gaagudju is no longer spoken. Similarly, while Iwaidja was a major lingua franca in the first decades of the 20th century in Northwestern Arnhem Land, it is now an endangered language. As a result of these developments, even though at least in Northern Arnhem Land Aboriginal languages are still spoken by the majority of Aboriginal people, the overall pattern is marked by the dominance of English, language shift and language loss. While some languages have shown resilience and are being passed on to children, e.g. Murrinh Patha, Mawng, Bininj Gunwok and Yolngu Matha, the vast majority of Aboriginal languages in the Northern Territory and also in Northwestern Arnhem Land are either not spoken anymore (e.g. Gaagudju, Limilngan, Erre and many others), critically endangered (e.g. Amurdak) or endangered (Iwaidja), see Map 1 for where some of these languages were historically located. In many cases, it is not clear what the exact status is, and it is possible that there are still a handful of speakers, but the overall trend clearly points to the loss of most Aboriginal languages over the next couple of generations. Kriol, mixed languages (e.g. Kriol and Light Warlpiri) and contact varieties of English have to some degree replaced

40 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

Aboriginal languages as markers of Aboriginal culture and identity, and thus incorporated Aboriginal linguistic elements in areas where Aboriginal languages have become moribund. This is, however, not (yet) necessarily the case in places with viable Aboriginal languages, e.g. on Croker Island. Apart from the establishment of missions, the general development of the Northern Territory and especially that of Northwestern Arnhem Land was stagnating, despite efforts to revive the key industries, agriculturalism (peanuts became an economic asset during the 1930s), pastoralism and mining, and despite new developmental avenues, especially pearling, not much changed economically before the second world war. There was a significant improvement in communication, infrastructure and transport, but that did not have immediate effects in terms of non-Aboriginal population growth, and it was of little benefit for Aboriginal people (Powell 2000: 177–179). However, one cause of change for Arnhem Land in particular during the 1930s and 1940s was the military. There was an increasing military presence in Northern Arnhem Land in the years leading up to the Second World War, but the war itself brought significant change, especially for Aboriginal people. Bases were established everywhere, also on the islands and the army became a major employer for Aboriginal people and their bases became attractive for economic reasons just like the British military settlements in the 19th century. People would travel large distances and many stayed (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 29). In addition to working in traditional industries, buffalo shooting, timber, pastoralism, pearling, Aboriginal people also worked for the military, and also as soldiers. The war also led to at least temporary displacement, as Aboriginal people were evacuated from coastal areas, settlements and missions in the north, including Darwin (Powell 2000: 207–209). The evacuation of Croker Island mission in 1941 became famous, but the other islands were evacuated as well (see e.g. the detailed accounts in McKenzie 1976: 118–134). Northwestern Arnhem Land and Croker Island were affected in similar ways as the rest of Northern Arnhem Land, but with one important difference. Mission life started on Croker Island only from 1941 onwards, and the Cobourg Peninsula never received a mission at all. Consequently, life went on largely as it did in Phase Two, i.e. with Aboriginal people interacting with non-Aboriginal people (white people and in the 1930s also Japanese) mainly for economic reasons, and similar trends continued: there was a general trend towards a decrease of the Aboriginal population in the traditional areas, as people oriented towards the south and southwest. This led to disruptions of land tenancy, so that knowledge about land tenure became somewhat vague in places (Powell 1982: 95). The main attractions were settlements like Cape Don, economic “hubs” such as Reuben Cooper’s sawmill, and especially the Buffalo Country southwest of Oenpelli and Darwin.

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 41

Travel could involve comparatively large distances. For example, Darwin had prostitutes from the islands, also Croker Island (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 27). There were also large-scale incursions into the Arnhem Land Reserve by Japanese and Europeans in the 1930s with detrimental effects on the locals also in terms of numbers. In their 1951 book Sexual Behavior in Western Arnhem Land, the Berndts estimate the total figure of Aboriginal people in Arnhem Land at 4,000 (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1951: 32). For Western Arnhem Land the records of the Welfare Branch suggest that Aboriginal people on the mainland (i.e. excluding Croker Island) numbered ca. 700 (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 3). Zooming in on the languages most relevant to the contact situation English has been in on Croker Island, Marrku seems to have been a little-used language since the beginning of the 20th century, and it is also possible that their general cultural heritage was being lost at this time. The Berndts assert that, Marrku people have been “culturally submerged by more dominant groups” , and they assert that there were only few of them (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1951: 34). An absolute number given for 1939 was five, but this is likely to be an underestimate, as researchers recording Marrku in the 1960s could still draw on a pool of six speakers (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 2). Nonetheless, Marku probably was of very little significance in terms of contact between Aboriginal languages and English on Croker Island. This is similar for other languages, such as Amurdak. Speakers of Amurdak eventually ended up living on Croker after the war, but Amurdak was probably not used much since the 1930s, and similarly for Garig, Wurrugu and Ilgar. The biggest and most viable languages in Northwestern Arnhem Land since the beginning of the 20th century have been Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku. These languages are also relevant for Croker Island, though not all at the same time. For the first subphase of Phase Three, Iwaidja is probably most relevant. Spencer (1914: 46) seemed to think that Iwaidja people and probably then also the language was dominant in the Port Essington area, which could indicate a number of things. First, it could suggest that Iwaidja speakers had moved from their original locations. Second, it could mean that Iwaidja speakers had extended their estate control. Third, it could mean that Iwaidja was used widely on the Cobourg Peninsula then. There is indication that the last of these possibilities has the greatest likelihood of being an accurate reflection of history. Up until the 1970s Iwaidja was seen as a lingua franca of the Cobourg Peninsula and in Northwestern Arnhem Land more generally (Powell 1982: 97). There is credible evidence that Iwaidja was spoken not only at Port Essington but also at Cape Don. In 1939 the number of speakers of Iwaidja was given at 55, but this is probably very conservative and also not primarily drawing on actual linguistic information (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 37).

42 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

To sum the pre-WWII developments up, while the white world in the Northern Territory and also in Northern Arnhem Land was relatively static, the living conditions for Aboriginal people changed dramatically, as the white world started seriously determining their way of life. Although there were still remote areas in the 1920s and 1930s where Aboriginal people had not been in contact with white people, and although Northern Arnhem Land was not a place many white people were seen, the invasiveness of white culture as increasingly dominating the lives of Aboriginal people was a hallmark of the beginning of Phase Three, which then continued after the war, in an even more strategic way. 2.2.3.2 Interlude: The Second World War The Second World War belongs to the pre-war era and the postwar era at the same time in terms of how Aboriginal people and how Northwestern Arnhem Land, in particular Croker Island, were affected. On the one hand, the way Aboriginal people interacted with white people, in particular how they were drawn to white settlements for economic reasons, continued in similar ways except that businesses were replaced or added to by army camps. In this respect the war years were similar to the preceding period. On the other hand, however, there was a turn in the policy towards Aboriginal people that pointed directly to forced assimilation rather than protection and possibly education, and the first group to be affected were part-Aboriginal children. This foreshadowed a major development after the war, the so-called welfare period, and in this regard the time of the Second World War connects with the post-war period. In the overall history of the Northern Territory, however, the war years were really like an interlude during which there basically was nothing that contributed to the overall development of the Territory. During World War II, the military controlled all of the Northern Territory (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 6). Army camps were created. The airstrip on Goulburn Island and at other mission locations was used as military airstrips, that on Goulburn was even bombed during the war (Cole 1975: 47). There was a significant increase of amount of soldiers in the North, Australian, British and especially US-American. At the same time white civilians were leaving the Northern Territory, female residents of the area north of Katherine were even ordered out (Powell 2000: 197), even though many moved back after the war. Aboriginal people largely stayed except for part-Aboriginal children from the missions and some urban residents, who were evacuated. In addition, Aboriginal people living in coastal areas were moved to “supervised inland camps” (Powell 2000: 208). Army Camps attracted Aboriginal camps and labour, and people would cover significant distances, sometimes to the other end of the Territory (Powell 2000: 208–2011; Cole 1975: 47; Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 29). The

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 43

main camps in Western Arnhem Land were in Oenpelli and on Goulburn Island (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 29). Aboriginal men also served in the military. This contact had a significant effect on Aboriginal people, as they had come in contact with much of a wider world than they had previously (McKenzie 1976: 153; Cole 1975: 47ff; Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1954: 29). Particularly their interaction and work for the military had at least one positive effect, namely that of a positive appreciation for them (Cole 1975: 47–48). This was especially true for Arnhem Land, which was seen as a centre of defence against Japan, and navigating through the rugged country, the bush skills and the knowledge of the land in general made Aboriginal people very valuable to the military for which they were gained at least some appreciation. Before the war, a hot topic among politicians involved in Aboriginal affairs and the Church was the fate of part-Aboriginal Aboriginal people and especially children. The main goal set out in the critical 1937 final report of a native welfare conference was to assimilate part-Aboriginal people to the white mainstream. The measure to be adopted was to remove part-Aboriginal children from their homes and raise them in a white environment, isolated from Aboriginal people. The way this was supposed to be done was to place them in the care of the Church. After some debate, on which also the renowned anthropologist Elkin weighed in, Croker Island was chosen as the place to create a mission settlement for the part-Aboriginal children of Darwin and Alice Springs. In 1941, mission staff, including several Pacific Islanders, e.g. the ordained minister Fuata Taito, and ca. 100 children took up quarters on Croker Island, at the place where the community of Minjilang exists today. Croker Island Mission was not the only place where children of the so-called “Stolen Generation” ended up, but it was the major centre in the Northern Territory. The vast majority of the Croker children left Croker Island at a later stage, so that their lasting effect on the population of Croker Island has been limited. Shortly after the children had arrived, they were evacuated to the south-east for fear of a Japanese invasion, so that Croker Island was virtually depopulated during the war except for the men working on the mission and people working for the military, as the airstrip was used for war purposes. The children returned between 1944 and 1946, and in 1947 Croker Island Mission resumed its full activities when a new reverend was appointed. The establishment of the mission had been accompanied by a general displacement of Aboriginal people, including traditional owners, from Croker Island (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 1), as the Methodist policy was to separate part-Aboriginal and full-blood Aboriginal people from each other. Thus, no full-blood Aboriginal settlement was allowed on Croker Island after the establishment of the mission (McKenzie 1976: 165). Some Aboriginal people were allowed to stay, e.g. the Yarmirr family, some of whose children were even edu-

44 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

cated at the mission school, most notably Mary Yarmirr, who later on became the first trained Aboriginal teacher in the area and served as the principal of the government school in the 1970s and 1980s. However, the number of people on Croker Island was probably already relatively low at that stage, due to the effect of diseases and due to people moving to the mainland (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 1). Mission records indicate that in 1970 there were only three people who lived on Croker Island and were born there before 1941. In conclusion then, the war years had significant overall effects in the Northern Territory and also in Northwestern Arnhem Land, but specifically on Croker Island, where the establishment of the mission was tantamount to an invasion and a displacement or most prior occupants. In terms of the contact of Aboriginal people with English, the situation was not much different from the pre-war years, only perhaps that things intensified with the increased army presence and the concentration of coastal people in army camps. There was significant population movement across the Northern Territory, and as a result probably most Aboriginal people had come increasingly in contact with English in one way or another. People on missions would have been learning some form of English early on. The prestige and usefulness of English kept increasing, and thus English became more and more a target of language shift, especially in settlements, in addition to bigger Aboriginal languages, such as Gaagudju in the Buffalo Country in the 1930s and Kunwinjku in the second half of the 20th century. 2.2.3.3 The second subphase: Assimilating Aboriginal people vs. self determination After the Second World War, there was a general population boom and economic growth in Australia after the War due to increased immigration and this did eventually also percolate up into the Northern Territory (Powell 2000: 213). The pastoral industry recovered and was in better shape than ever before, though this did not affect Northwestern Arnhem Land much – except, of course, in attracting people for work, especially in the Buffalo country to the southwest of Oenpelli (Powell 2000: 215–217). The same cannot be said for other pre-war industries, however, except for mining, which boomed and became the Territory’s most profitable, yet also contentious, industry. Agriculture slumped, the trepang trade was not taken up again and pearling, though enjoying a short-lived boom, did not make much of an impact. Crocodile farming has been a developing industry since crocodiles became a protected species in 1972, and, more recently, tourism is also increasing. A major change in government was the creation of a “fully- elected Legislative Assembly in 1974” (Powell 2000: 225). Before, in 1947, a Legislative Council existed, which gave Territorians some self-determination, but the Commonwealth

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 45

government retained control over important matters, such as the finances, which did much to alienate the politicians and the people living in the Northern Territory. Since the 1970s – briefly interrupted by the destruction brought about by cyclone Tracy in 1974 – the Northern Territory has developed economically and politically. By 1998 the population of Darwin had reached 70.000, and 55% of the Northern Territory population lived in cities. In the 2016 census, Greater Darwin had a population of 136,828, but interestingly the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander proportion is at only 8.7%, which is far below the average for the Northern Territory (25.5 %), but much higher than the Australian average (2.8%). The other major urban centre is Alice Springs with a population of 23,726 but with a much higher proportion of Aboriginal people (18.1%). As a tendency, Aboriginal people tend to live in more remote locations and communities, such as Gunbalanya (Oenpelli), Maningrida and Minjilang on Croker Island (Powell 2000: 236). Aboriginal people were affected by these wider developments, for example in the way employment opportunity and general infrastructure and support developed. One important element was the development of government settlements for Aboriginal people, such as Maningrida in Northern Arnhem Land, and an increase in funding for Aboriginal affairs, though this was not without problems. By 1970 there were twenty government settlements in the Territory. the missions and some pastoral properties received support to provide education, health, housing and job training services. Expenditure on Aboriginal affairs (excluding salaries) rose from $843 000 in 1955–56 to more than $8 million in 1971–72. More importantly, the long decline in Aboriginal numbers was decisively halted and reversed. The 1956 census showed 15 211 Aborigines in the Northern Territory. At the end of 1971 they numbered 22 258 […] The presence of the settlements raised new difficulties. Most settlements contained more than one tribal group. Unnatural proximity led to intertribal tensions and open fighting, worsened by the sense of loss felt by those whose homelands were far away. Pressures to learn new skills and new ways may have been too great for some and the pace of change too fast. (Powell 2000: 230–231)

This increase in development came on the back of a new policy that came into effect in 1953, namely the Welfare Ordinance (McKenzie 1976: 168; Cole 1975: 69). The ideological core of this Ordinance was outlined by the chairman of the conference that developed the Ordinance, Paul Hasluck. Assimilation means, in practical terms that, in the course of time, it is expected that all persons of Aboriginal blood or mixed blood in Australia will live like white Australians do. The acceptance of this policy governs all other aspects of native affairs administration. (Powell 2000: 229)

This ran against an increasing recognition of the significance of Aboriginal culture and language, also on the part of the Churches. For example, the Church Mission Service drafted up an education policy that very clearly put forth the importance

46 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

of education of Aboriginal people in their own cultural matters including language. The policy even demanded that white teaching staff would learn the local languages (Cole 1975: 54–55). The policy was not implemented officially, but it is clear that at least some missions after the Second World War went about their business in a more enlightened way than the official policy. Language study and translations became more important the maintenance of Aboriginal culture and languages was, although often indirectly, supported, foreshadowing the fundamental change of perspective that took place in the 1970s (see the accounts in McKenzie 1976; Cole 1975; Lamilami 1974). The Ordinances had far-reaching powers and effectively placed the vast majority of Aboriginal people under the immediate care of the government in the shape of the Welfare Branch. Aboriginal people were moved to newly created settlements where they were on the one hand provided with schooling, education etc., but on the other hand often became alienated from their traditional culture, which is what the goal of the policy was. Linguistically, this means that contact with English was intensified and because often Aboriginal people from different areas with completely different language repertoires lived together in the same settlements, English or a bigger Aboriginal language often took over as medium of communication, which increased the rate of language loss and the rate of language shift. In Northwestern Arnhem Land, a number of languages ceased to be used for regular community communication as a result and became moribund. Relevant to Croker are the traditional language of Croker Island, Marrku, and languages of the northwest, such as Garig, Amurdak and Ilgar. Reports from the early 20th century already say that Iwaidja was taking over on Croker Island, and it is generally believed that Marrku was practically no longer used in the 1940s. This is probably true, though the fact that around half a dozen speakers were recorded in the 1960, together with the population data (see below), suggests that the general view is probably too negative (see also Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 1–2). Not much is known about the fate of Ilgar and Garig. Amurdak probably ceased to be used as a means of daily communication in the 1930s (Mark Harvey, p.c.), though individuals did acquire it even in the 1940s. Today, Amurdak has three known speakers, who live on Croker Island and in Darwin, though cannot be ruled out that there are others. The bigger languages that were targets of shift were earlier Iwaidja, then increasingly Mawng and Kunwinjku. After most of the restrictions on part-Aboriginal Aboriginal people had been abolished, the 1958 Child Welfare Ordinance also abolished segregation of children by race. This move had considerable consequences for Croker Island, because subsequently, the Croker Island Mission was opened for all children (McKenzie 1976: 170). The main significance lay in the fact that Croker had been virtually depopulated, as far as full-blood Aboriginal people, including traditional

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 47

land-owners, were concerned. It is difficult to ascertain exactly how many Aboriginal people lived on Croker Island outside the mission. McKenzie (1976: 165) speaks of “the remnants of the Iwaidja tribe”, but it is unclear who that might be (for instance, King Billy, whom McKenzie mentions, is reported to be the “headman” of the Marrku “tribe” Lamilami 1974: 178) The records mention the Yarmirr family (cf. above), whose children even went to the mission school (McKenzie 1976: 165). According to mission records, Mick Yarmirr and his wife Medig had five children by 1958 (with another three to follow). Other people mentioned in the literature are King Billy, Bob Mangano and Timothy Buruwaiju, but it is not clear if their families were present as well (for example, King Billy was married and had three children). The 1979 mission records, list at least seven Aboriginal community members of Minjilang who were born on Croker Island between 1941 and 1958 (excluding the children of the Yarmirr family), i.e. when the mission did not accept full-blood Aboriginal people. Given that only two of those community members had the same mother, a conservative estimate is that ca. 20–30 full-blood Aboriginal people lived at least semi-permanently on Croker Island during that time (“very few”, see Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 190). Together with the ca. 100 mission children and staff, this means that in the early postwar years of the mission perhaps a maximum of around 150 people lived on Croker Island. However, even after separating part-Aboriginal and full Aboriginal people was abolished, the Aboriginal camp was still segregated from the mission, and even after the segregation was attenuated in the 1960s and even after the mission was gone, many Aboriginal people still camped outside the mission settlement in the 1970s (McKenzie 1976: 199). And even within the camp different language groups lived in different areas – most notably the Kunwinjku speakers, who arrived in greater numbers after the war and who lived at the bottom of the hill towards the beach (though there must have been Kunwinjku speakers even before the war, judging from mission records). As elsewhere, the fact that different groups lived together in essentially the same settlement caused tensions and to some degree these tensions have persisted until today. Contact with white people was largely confined to school, work and other similar relations, such as shopping and medical visits. Almost nothing reliable is known about the languages spoken on Croker during the early years of the mission, except that English was of course the official mission language. It seemed that the mission children largely spoke English among each other, judging from anecdotal evidence and eyewitness accounts. At least some of Aboriginal people who camped at the beach must have been able to speak some form of English given that some of them worked for the mission and also the army during the war. All schoolchildren, and Aboriginal children also went to school in the 1960s, as census records reveal and as eyewitness

48 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

accounts confirm, and consequently those children often acquired a mesolectal and, in some cases, acrolectal forms of English. What Aboriginal languages were spoken in the camp is unknown and there is no reliable information. However, given what is known about the relevant people and families from later records, it is fairly certain that largely the same languages were spoken as today: Iwaidja, Mawng, Kunbarlang and Kunwinjku. Perhaps Marrku was still used by individual families, but it had almost certainly lost its use as a means of daily communication.6 After the war and especially after the 1958 ordinance more full-blood Aboriginal people moved back to Croker Island, including many of the traditional land-owners. Some were asked or even pressured to return by the authorities, as there was a preference for Aboriginal people to live in settlements where they could be controlled more easily (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 2). Judging from the significant number of Aboriginal people born on Croker Island, according to mission records, there must have been a considerable increase in population during that time. In the 1950s and 1960s the mission continued to take in “Stolen Generation” children but full-blood Aboriginal children were also taught in the mission School even though they did not live in the mission settlement, where the community of Minjilang is today (McKenzie 1976: 199). A census taken in the late 1960s lists 187 people for Croker Island, presumably in 1969, given that it does not list any mission children, the last of whom left at the end of 1968. Many people who returned came from the Cobourg Peninsula, especially Iwaidja speakers from Cape Don, though there were also Kunwinjku speakers from further east  – especially what used to be Reuben Coopers sawmill – who ended up on Croker Island. By 1970 the Cobourg Peninsula was virtually devoid of people as a result of it having been wilderness conservation area in 1961, see Map 7. Reportedly, the last family left in 1970 (Evans, Williams Malwagag and Marrala 2006: 2). Local residents moved mainly Darwin or Croker Island (Powell 1982: 96). After the settlement of the Cobourg Land Claim in 1981 (lodged in 1979), the entire area was turned into an Aboriginal National Park, the Gurig National Park (Powell 1982: 97). But the people did not come back, at least not on a permanent basis.7 6 For example, even confirmed speakers of Marrku, such as Mick Yarmirr, a community leader, normally used Iwaidja and did not seem to have promoted the use of Marrku. When the late Rose Gurlarrangi came to Croker Island in the early 1990s, Mick taught her Iwadja rather than Marrku (AbESL20151110RoG @ 21:02). 7 There are outstations on the Cobourg Peninsula, where people stay on a temporary basis, e.g. at Irrkul, on the mainland opposite Croker Island.

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 49

Map 7: The Cobourg Peninsula and Croker Island in Northwestern Arnhem Land.

The mission school on Croker Island closed in 1968, but it took some time before the Methodist Mission left Croker. For example, Lami Lami (1974: 232) says that his daughter was “working at the mission on Croker Island”, and McKenzie (1976: 199) says that the Aboriginal people “live some distance from the mission buildings”. The key event that changed the political situation considerably, was the election of a Labor government under Gough Whitlam in 1972 whose broke radically with the assimilationist policy of its predecessors, and introduced the goal of self-determination for Aboriginal people. This and the Land Rights Act, which the conservative successor of Whitlam’s Labor government passed, and which became law in 1976 meant the end of mission activity. This is documented for Gunbalanya (Cole 1975: 93), for example. On Croker Island, the mission school became a government-run school, the shop was taken over by the Arnhem Land Progress Aboriginal Corporation (ALPA) in 1972, and the administration was handled by a regional shire board. In the 1970s reportedly some 200 Aboriginal people lived on Croker Island (McKenzie 1976: 199). The documentation after the 1970s is a great deal patchier. It seems that during the 1970s and partially through the 1980s, some Aboriginal people worked as school teachers. Iwaidja was being taught and used at the school and the Summer Institute of Linguistics invested considerable resources in documenting and describing the language (see e.g. Pym and Larrimore 1979), as well as in Bible translation and in the development of teaching materials. For over ten years the church minister was also Aboriginal, the famous Lazarus Lamilami, and Aboriginal people were involved in the economic activities on the island. These

50 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

Figure 1: Croker Island mission and the settlement in the late 1960/early 1970s (Lamilami 1974).

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 51

did not just comprise local activities but even the export of oysters (McKenzie 1976: 199). In many ways Minjilang seemed an example of a remote community that was able to capitalise on Western society without completely losing its Aboriginality. Contemporary descriptions of Minjilang as a community mention the relative sophistication of Aboriginal people in terms of their engagement with the white world (Berndt 1970: 13), but also their close connection with their Aboriginal identity (Berndt 1970: 53; Lamilami 1974). This picture has changed over the last 20–30 years, as in the Northern Territory more generally. However, at the end of the 1990s a Native Title case was lodged, and despite the fact that exclusive rights over the sea adjacent to Croker Island were not granted, the title ruling did confirm Aboriginal ownership of the island. The most recent big event to affect the Northern Territory more generally was the so-called Northern Territory Emergency Response in 2007. This was a series of laws passed by the Australian Federal Parliament that were the foundation for severe Federal intervention in the self-government and selfdetermination of Aboriginal people and also in the governance of the Northern Territory. Parts of the Native Title Act were suspended, so that communities, such as Minjilang, could effectively be administered and policed by the government. Similarly, application of Aboriginal law and the consideration of traditional customs in legal contexts were suspended. Moreover, financial support to communities and individuals were controlled and scrutinised by the government. In addition, the system of obtaining permission to enter Aboriginal land was suspended, the use of alcohol, kava and pornography was restricted and controlled more tightly. Perhaps one of the most visible effects certainly in Minjilang was the arrival of Northern Territory police and the establishment of a police station. These measures – collectively known as “the Intervention” – were prompted by reports of wide-spread child abuse and a report that recommended some form of intervention, though this was only one of the many recommendations made in that report. The Intervention has been hotly debated since it came into force, especially since it disregarded the principle of self-determination and the Racial Discrimination Act from 1975. It was repealed in 2012 and replaced with a new policy under which food and alcohol provisions are still controlled, and which included a land reform that stipulated federal oversight of the use of land. On Croker Island the Intervention together with a return of a more assimilationist approach to education has caused much alienation that has exacerbated a general decrease in the participation of Aboriginal people in the management of the community. All key positions in the community are presently occupied by white people, and there is a general sense of disempowerment in the community. In its effects, the Intervention has to be seen in the context of the general

52 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

development since the 1970s, even though the general political frameworks are very different. The events and developments of the 1970s were a watershed for Aboriginal people in general. For Northwestern Arnhem Land, which really means Croker Island, given that the Cobourg Peninsula is practically devoid of permanent settlements, there were many positive outcomes. The most important one perhaps was that Aboriginal people, at least to some degree, had a claim to their land. Croker Island had a title claim that only just fell short of total victory (the exclusive right to the sea areas adjacent to Croker Island was not granted), and everywhere else in the Northern Territory successful land claims meant that by 1997 ca. 40% of the entire Territory was given back to Aboriginal people. However, there was a catch to all of this, and this was that Australian (white) laws still applied to all of Australia, including Aboriginal settlements. These laws had still far-reaching influence on people’s lives. Goods and groceries in the shops, electricity, water and housing were sold for Australian Dollars, children were obliged to go to school, marriages were only recognised by the law if done by a government official. The entire economic system was white, and this made it necessary to have money. This was of course nothing new. In pre-mission times, Aboriginal people worked for white people, in mission times, the mission was the main employer and created infrastructure. In the 1970s the world of the white man had already closed in on Aboriginal people to a degree that it was difficult to escape it, and this made it necessary to be able to work within its frameworks. And in most cases, this meant that remote communities needed the relevant economic and social infrastructure. Aboriginal people had to deal with the white legal system, tax returns and everything else, and they were in most cases not equipped for this. In Minjilang, on Croker Island, and in other places this caused a significant down turn: the lack of know-how, infrastructure and economic opportunities, combined with welfare payments and an utter lack of investment on the part of the government, has created a situation in which many residents of remote communities almost fully depend on the government for their subsistence. There are exceptions, such as royalty payments, work in the community, e.g. in the local administration, or if community members leave the community to obtain a western education and effectively participate in the white society. But for the majority of residents in Minjilang and elsewhere in Northwestern Arnhem Land, this is not the reality. There are differences between communities and between people, and there are encouraging signs of change, as for example Aboriginal corporations create economic opportunities, and in some places, such as Goote Eylandt, mining money has been flowing into communities, but in Minjilang the development since the 1970s has been a decrease rather than an increase in economic activity. Available reports from the 1970s suggest that Minjilang was

2.2 English in Northwestern Arnhem Land 

 53

economically quite advanced, and that residents were quite able to deal with the white man’s world (see e.g. Lamilami 1974; McKenzie 1976). Residents confirm that they built roads, the airstrip and did the general maintenance on the island even in the 1980s, whereas today all these activities are done by white contract workers. This is relevant to this book not as an evaluation – it may be debated this development has been completely negative, as for example, the maintenance of Indigenous languages and some of the traditional activities have perhaps remained stronger than in some other places because of this – because of its connection to English. The workplace traditionally has been a contact point with English. Education, which is the other significant context where Aboriginal people have come in contact with English, has also undergone significant changes, especially on Croker Island. First the mission school specifically excluded fullblood Aboriginal people (with a few exceptions made), then the school was open for all children, and children were taught together (Berndt and Berndt, Catherine H. 1970: 198–199). Then, when the mission closed in 1968, Aboriginal children went to a state-run school and that had implications that have become more serious especially since the “Intervention”. In general children at school have been taught in an English-only environment even though some communities have or have had bilingual programs, and bilingual education was also part of school in Minjilang for a period in the 1970s and 1980s (JC, p. c.). The emphasis of English, which was attenuated during the 1970s and 1980s, has increased again since the late 1990s in an effort to “close the gap” in terms of English proficiency between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal children. In the early 2000s, English was mandatory for the vast majority of school. More recently, there has been more space for Indigenous languages and culture, but in many places, including Minjilang, there are often problems in implementation, e.g. because of the lack of qualified staff. There is another element and that is the fact that for the largest part school in Minjilang has been a primary school only. This means that children wishing to continue school after the age of 13 have needed to relocate, and currently children go to boarding schools not only in Darwin but as far as Queensland or Melbourne on the other side of the country. This fact is often a reason why children do not go to secondary school at all. Often parents are reluctant or unable to send their children away. School attendance in remote communities is a general issue, and a powerful factor in the linguistic biographies our informants. Attendance is not only affected by the kind of attitude parents or the community have towards the school, and that was a problem in Minjilang in the past, but also by family commitments and cultural obligations, such as attendance at funerals. The net effect of the historical developments on Croker Island since the establishment of the mission but especially during the second half of the 20th century

54 

 2 English on Croker Island: Sociohistorical background

is that Aboriginal people on Croker Island have been acquiring English in their childhood. There is probably little in terms of continuity in terms of how English was used before and after the mission was set up on Croker Island. This is a major factor in the development of English on Croker Island. The two most stable environments for contact with English have been the school and the workplace, although, of course, not all community members have been exposed to these environments in the same way. However, while English in the school has been a form of Standard English (not always Australian), English in the workplace exhibits the full range of sociolinguistic variation, and contact with Kriol, e.g. via the buffalo industry or work in Darwin, would also have not been uncommon. The second environment of contact with English is communication with other Aboriginal people. While English is still not the dominant language in Minjilang, it is used among Aboriginal people, and also in the home domain. In some cases, language shift effectively has taken place, but usually English is only one of the languages in the repertoire. However, in this context English is used in a much less consistent form, as far as both input and usage are concerned. Generally, the use of English in Minjilang has increased in many ways, but this is especially valid for non-Standard forms of English. Many families use English mainly or exclusively and English is heard today more often than even ten years ago. In this sense Minjilang is developing similarly to other communities where forms of English and creoles have become a major form of communication rather than Standard English. However, Aboriginal languages are still very strong and the first choice for most adult community members. It is not clear how well children learn certain languages, especially Iwaida, but Mawng and Kunwinjku are definitely being acquired and used by children. It has to be assumed and sociolinguistic interviews have confirmed this, that the vast majority of community members are early bilinguals and often multilinguals. And even though English has its domains, the community administration (West Arnhemshire), the shop, the hospital, the preschool/crèche and the school, Iwaidja is still the language of official community business, e.g. at funerals and for announcements. For instance, when a general community meeting was called after a break-in in the shop a few years ago, the relevant announcement and associated debate were in Iwaidja. However, in spite of this, social success and economic opportunities and education are the strongest pull factors towards the use of English, and they are the reason why English, like elsewhere, is attractive. In order to participate in the white world, and that includes simply being employed, the knowledge of English is pivotal. Given that there are few opportunities for employment in remote communities, especially on Croker Island, the acquisition of English is usually also connected to moving away from the Island.

3 Phonetics and phonology 3.1 Segmental inventory: Consonants The Standard Australian English consonant phoneme system is shown in Table 1. Table 1: Standard Australian English consonant inventory (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 32). Bilabial Labiodental Dental Alveolar Postalveolar Palatal Velar Stop

pb

td

Affricate Nasal Fricative

Glottal

kg tʃ ʤ

m

n fv

θð

sz

Central approximant Lateral approximant

ŋ ʃʒ ɹ

h j

w (labiovelar)

l

I will use the phonological system of Standard Australian English as the main acrolectal reference system, for two reasons. First, it is the target system that is propagated through schooling and the media. Second, as in other parts of its grammar, the phonetics and phonology of English on Croker Island shows a large range of variation with respect to the realisation of categories. This is true for the phonetic variation of phonemes and the variation in suprasegmentals. However, variation stays commonly within the categorical range, i.e. the majority of variation, especially in the phoneme system, is within categories, i.e. allophonic. There are some cases, however, especially in the fricatives, where the result of variation is a phonemic merger. In the following sections, I discuss the various phonological classes and the variants that are found in speakers. It is important to realise that the variation cannot be described in one community system. Rather, there is variation both within speakers and between speakers, and while the realisation of phonemes shows partial overlaps between speakers’ repertoires, there is no uniform system that could be called the community variety. It is currently not clear what factors exactly condition this variation, and this is outside the scope of this book. In addition, the phonetic differences between English on Croker Island and the standard system are for the most part relatively minor so that it is sufficient to note the https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-003

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 3 Phonetics and phonology

major variants rather than depicting individuals’ consonant inventories. They would look very similar to the standard phoneme system, though allophones may differ considerably from the standard. The primary goal of this investigation is not to account for the variation found in the data in a sociolinguistic sense. Consequently, there is no data specifically on variation relevant detailed analyses. In the following sections I will try to illustrate the range of variation to demonstrate that what we find is not one community system, though there are overlaps.

3.1.1 Stops English on Croker Island differentiates two contrastive series of stop phonemes at three places of articulation, labial, alveolar and velar. All speakers in the corpus make this distinction irrespective of language background or linguistic biography. That is, unlike other variants of Aboriginal English reported in the literature (Malcolm 2008: 134; Disbray and Loakes 2013: 288; Burridge 2004: 1096; Butcher 2008: 627) and Gurindji Kriol (Jones and Meakins 2013), English on Croker Island, like Kriol (Baker, Bundgaard-Nielsen and Graetzer 2014) shows no neutralisation of the stop contrast that is traditionally called “voicing”. A targeted study substantiates this statement. Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) report on a production experiment with 15 speakers of English of which eleven were from Croker Island and four from Sydney. They measured Voice Onset Time (VOT) and constriction duration (CD) for stops in initial, medial and final position of a total of 2,613 tokens across four groups of participants: (i) Standard Australian English (control group), (ii) Aboriginal English (Aboriginal Croker Island residents who speak no Indigenous language), (iii) Iwaidja English (speakers of English and Iwaidja), (iv) Kunwinjku English (speakers of English and Kunwinjku). The results can be summarised as follows. First, none of the three English samples from Croker Island differ significantly from the Standard Australian English sample with respect to the feature investigated. That is, all samples showed a bimodal distribution of the stop phonemes according to VOT and CD. The first series, /p, t, k/ was characterised by a positive VOT with a relatively longer lag in initial position than in medial position and by a higher CD. The second series, /b, d, g/ was characterised by a negative VOT (Figure 2) or a short lag and a lower CD (Figure 3). Though the difference in VOT may appear clearer from a visual inspection of the plots, especially for initial position, also CD shows a bimodal distribution, as indicated by the kernel density information in the violin plots. Both distributions are statistically significant (see Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2020 for details). Second, the phonetic pattern of differentiation between the two stop series – one series with long lag vs. another with short lag or leading VOT – matches

3.1 Segmental inventory: Consonants 

 57

Figure 2: Initial (left) and medial (right) VOT for the four English samples. Duration is shown in milliseconds (ms) on the x-axis. A  higher value indicates a higher VOT. The y-axis shows the individual phonemes as labelled from the orthography. The kernel density plot indicates the likelihood of occurrence. Wider plots indicate a higher probability of occurrence. Australian English = Standard Australian English, Kunwinjku English = English as spoken by a Kunwinjku L1 speaker, Iwaidja English = English as spoken by an Iwaidja L1 speaker, Aboriginal English = English as spoken by an L1 Aboriginal English speaker. (Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2020: 175).

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 3 Phonetics and phonology

Figure 3: Initial (left) and medial (right) constriction duration for the four English samples. Duration is shown in millisecons (ms) on the x-axis. A higher value indicates a higher constriction duration. The y-axis shows the individual phonemes as labelled from the orthography. The kernel density plot indicates the likelihood of occurrence. Wider plots indicate a higher probability of occurrence. Australian English = Standard Australian English, Kunwinjku English = English as spoken by a Kunwinjku L1 speaker, Iwaidja English = English as spoken by an Iwaidja L1 speaker, Aboriginal English = English as spoken by an L1 Aboriginal English speaker. (Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2020: 176).

3.1 Segmental inventory: Consonants 

 59

with what is reported for English more generally in the literature (see e.g. Ladefoged 1971: 10; Cruttenden 2014: 164–165). Traditionally, this distinction is conceptualised in terms of [+/– voice] (see e.g. Cox and Palethorpe 2007; Cruttenden 2014), but it is generally known that the “voiced” stops /b, g, d/ are usually not phonetically voiced but actually unaspirated voiceless stops, even though they can be phonetically voiced, especially in medial position. Nevertheless, the labels “voiceless” and “voiced” are generally used descriptors for the defining property differentiating /p, t, k/ from /b, d, g/. I follow this traditional use of these terms and disambiguate if necessary. Third, this phonetic pattern also matches the phonological classification of two stop series, /p, t, k/ vs. /b, d, g/ in that all segments are phonemes in English. Though Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) do not report results from word-final stops, there is no indication that the basic contrast of two stop series is not upheld. What the violin plots also show is that there is significant variation across speakers both within and across Aboriginal groups (“Aboriginal English”, “Iwaidja English” and “Kunwinjku English”). This is because violin plots also show the probability density. Violin plots basically overlay a box plot with a kernel density plot, which estimates the probability density function. That is, violin plots contain information about the summary statistics (median, quartile range) together with an estimate of what the probability of a given observation is in the data. They thus depict variation across the data in in the shape and length of the “violin”. The longer the lines, the more variation in the duration values. The kernel density (“violin”) plot overlaid in colour represents the probability of occurrence for each value. Conversely, the broader the “violin”, the more likely it is that a particular duration measurement is observed. In terms of place of articulation, there is little observable variation in the stops that would be seen as divergent from more standard Australian English. Similarly, manner of articulation is generally not deviant from what is found more generally in Australian English. There is a tendency to lenite intervocalic stops in English, as can be seen from generally shorter times for VOT and CD (see Figures 2 and 3 above), and occasionally, medial stops show atypical phonetic features, such as lack of burst and a more approximant-like realisation, but this is also found occasionally in the Standard Australian sample. Part of the work for Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) was to investigate whether there was a pattern with respect to whether the samples of Aboriginal Englishes did in fact show more lenited stops and whether this would be mirrored in the samples taken from Iwaidja and Kunwinjku. The hypothesis was that both Kunwinjku English and Iwaidja English would perhaps show more lenited realisations than the two other English samples, because both Kunwinjku and Iwaidja generally have lenis stops, and they often have approximant-like stop

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 3 Phonetics and phonology

realisations, especially for the velars (Stoakes 2013; Shaw et al. 2020). However, after running the analysis using the method proposed by Ennever et al. (2017), two things became clear. First, Kunwinjku and Iwaidja do not have a significant difference between the intensity abatement in initial and medial position – unlike English in all four samples. Second, all English samples patterned together; there was no difference between Iwaidja English and Kunwinjku English on the one hand and Aboriginal English and Standard English on the other. Moreover, there was no difference between Iwaidja English and Kunwinjku English with respect to medial stops. Given that in this position Iwaidja has only one stop series and Kunwinjku two, it was originally hypothesised that this could show up in terms of different patterns of lenition, but it did not. The only feature that was found to show a) a consistent difference between “Aboriginal” samples and Standard Australian English and b) a significant parallel with local Aboriginal languages Iwaidja and Kunwinjku, and that consequently could be a potential contact-induced feature is Voice Termination Time (VTT) or prevoicing. Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) show firstly that Standard Australian English has no VTT for any of the stops, in contrast to their samples of Aboriginal English, Iwaidja English and Kunwinjku English, all of which showed VTT on their voiceless stops. That is, these voiceless stops actually show phonetic voicing, although this is not perceived as phonemic, i.e. there is no neutralisation of the stop contrast in phonemic terms. Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) conclude that prevoicing on “voiceless” stops is what makes the Aboriginal Englishes in the samples auditorily distinct, but this does not interfere with the phonetic differentiation of two stop series, because English uses VOT and CD rather than VTT. Secondly, what Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes (2020) show is that both Iwaidja and Kunwinjku show VTT, especially Kunwinjku in its long stops. This can be interpreted as a significant parallel between Iwaidja and Kunwinju on the one hand and the respective Englishes on the other. Consequently, it could be concluded that the prevoicing on voiceless stops in Iwaidja English and Kunwinjku English is due to crosslinguistic influence. There is a “spill over” in terms of phonetic features but not enough to neutralise the phonemic contrast. Unfortunately for this hypothesis, however, the Aboriginal English sample also shows VTT in the voiceless stops. Given, that the respective speakers do not speak either Iwaidja or Kunwinjku, it would have to be explained why VTT shows up there. There are at least two explanations. First, it could be that VTT on voiced stops is a feature of English on Croker Island, where Iwaidja and Kunwinjku and languages with similar phonologies (Mawng, Kunbarlang) are substrates. The origin could then be in those local languages and VTT on voiceless stops could be a genuine substratum feature in the English on Croker Island. This is possible but

3.1 Segmental inventory: Consonants 

 61

would have to be investigated separately with a larger sample. Second, in a variation of this scenario, it could be that VTT on voiceless stops is a feature of a target variety of English that was acquired on Croker Island. In this scenario, the feature would then have originated on the mainland, possibly as substratum feature or as a feature coming from another variety of English. Available work on Kriol does not specify whether Kriol voiceless stops show VTT, but it is in principle possible that this is a contact feature from Kriol as well. In addition, it could be that there is a separate reason for why the Aboriginal English sample shows this behaviour. This sample is comprised of two parents and a daughter. The parents learnt English in Darwin and other places and it could be that they acquired the feature from there and passed it on to their daughter. As a result of these considerations, it is unclear whether stops in English on Croker Island show substratum features. VTT on voiceless stops is a likely candidate, however. Even if other sources proved to be more significant, it is likely that that the existence of prevoiced stops in Iwaidja and Kunwinjku would have strengthened this feature in English.

3.1.2 Fricatives The literature on Aboriginal English generally mentions fricatives as a prominent area of divergence from Standard English (see e.g. Butcher 2008; Malcolm 2018; Fletcher and Butcher 2014). Given the history of contact, this is to be expected, as Australian languages generally lack fricatives (see e.g. Fletcher and Butcher 2014). Most typically studies report that there is variation in how fricatives are pronounced: labiodental and dental fricatives in Aboriginal English can be replaced by corresponding stops, and sibiliants are often reported to merge or to be used interchangeably (see e.g. Butcher 2008: 628; Malcolm 2018; Fletcher and Butcher 2014: 107; Disbray and Loakes 2013: 289), but none of these phenomena are reported for all varieties. The pronunciation of English fricative phonemes is complex, as there is a significant amount of inter-speaker and also intra-speaker variation. Not many speakers in our sample have exactly the same inventory. Table 2 shows the inventories of a subset of 20 speakers, excluding the phoneme /ʒ/, which is insufficiently attested in our corpus. These inventories are qualitative assessments of ca. 10 minutes of a sociolinguistic interview with the speakers. In spite of the considerable variation in the data, some generalisations are possible. First, it is noteworthy that sibilants are relatively stable, except for /z/, which is usually voiceless, especially in coda position, where it merges with /s/. Both /ʃ/ and /s/ appear like they do in Standard English. Some older speakers

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Table 2: Fricative inventories of 20 speakers from the corpus. Birth year

Initials

/f/

/v/

/θ/

/ð/

/s/

/z/

/ʃ/

/h/

1935

CM

[ɸ]; [f]

[β]; [v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[d]; [ð]

[s̘]; [s̘]

[s] /_#; [d]

[ʃ]

[h]; Ø

1943

DY

[f]

[v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[ð]

[s]

[z], [s] /_#; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

1954

RN

[f]

[v], [b]

[θ]

[ð]; [d]

[s], [s̘̙]̘

[z], [s] /_#; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

1959

MM

[f]

[β]

[θ]

[d]; [ð]

[s]

[z], [s] /_#; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

1963

HG

[f]

[v]

[θ]; [t ]̪ (rare)

[ð]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

1963

SW

[f]

[v]

[θ]

[ð]

[s]

[z]; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

1969

RG

[f]

[v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[d]; [ð]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

1972

JC

[ɸ]; [f]

[b], [v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[ð]; [d]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

1973

IL

[f]

[v]

[θ]

[ð]; [d]

[s]

[s] /_#, V_V

[ʃ]

[h]

1973

HW

[f]

[v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[ð]

[s]

[s]; [z]

[ʃ]

[h]

1974

AN

[ɸ]

[v]

[t ]̪

[d]; [d̪]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]; Ø

1975

MN

[f]

[v]; [b]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[d]; [ð]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

1987

PN

[f]

[b]; [f]; [β]

[θ]

[d]; [ð]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

1998

CY

[f]

[v], [b]

[t ]̪

[ð]; [d]

[s]

[z], [s] /_#; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

2002

NL

[f]

[v]

[t ]̪

[ð]; [d]

[s]

[s]

[ʃ]

[h]; Ø

2002

DN

[f]

[b]

[θ], [t ]̪

[d]

[s]

[s]

[ʃ]

[h]

2004

RL

[f]

[v]

[t ]̪

[ð]; [d]

[s]

[s]; [z]

[ʃ]

[h]

2004

WL

[f]

[v]

[θ]; [t ]̪

[ð]

[s]

[z]; [s]

[ʃ]

[h]

2004

JN

[f]

[b]

[t ]̪

[d̪]

[s]

[s]

[ʃ]

[h]

2007

YL

[f]

[v]

[θ]

[ð]

[s]

[s] /_#

[ʃ]

[h]

have a slightly protracted or retracted /s/, but everyone born since 1959 has [s] as the core allophone. Second, /h/-dropping is very infrequent, occurring sporadically across all generations, in contrast to what is reported for other varieties of Aboriginal English (Butcher 2008; Malcolm 2008; Malcolm 2018). Third, while there is a tendency for speakers to replace /v/ and the dental fricatives with a corresponding stop, this tendency is particularly strong for /ð/, but it is not found with /f/. The biliabial fricative allophone has also been reported for Kriol (Baker, Bundgaard-Nielsen and Graetzer 2014: 337), but it is rare in our data. Fourth, for the most variable phonemes /b/, /θ/, /ð/ and /z/, there are no indications of a move towards a more standard realisation as speakers get younger or that there is a reduction in variation in terms of what allophones are found. It is possible to create a “consensus inventory” based on the most frequent realisations, but it would not represent a community standard, and thus would not be very informa-

3.1 Segmental inventory: Consonants 

 63

tive. Such an inventory would have [f] for /f/, [v] and [b] for /v/, [θ] and [ t̪̪] for /t/, [ð̪] and [d] for /d/, [s] for /s/, [s] (especially in coda position) and [z] for /z/, [ʃ] for /ʃ/ as well as generally [h] for /h/. Crosslinguistic influence seems a likely reason for the stop realisation of /v/, /θ/ and /ð/. As previously noted, all Aboriginal languages that are possible substrates lack fricatives, and many of the possible contact varieties of English and creoles that could have been targets or input varieties show similar stop realisations. Consequently, it seems plausible that those stop realisations found in English on Croker Island are due to substratum influence or are enhanced by it. However, the absence of stop realisations for /f/ is noteworthy, given that this is not a gap that is generally reported for Aboriginal English, though a similar situation has been reported for Roper Kriol (Baker, Bundgaard-Nielsen and Graetzer 2014: 337). In addition, the fact that the sibilants, with the exception of /z/, seem to be consistent with what is found in Standard English is also remarkable, given that this is also widely mentioned as an area of divergence. One reason for this could be that Aboriginal substrate languages really have nothing in their inventories that they could replace sibiliants with. For the fricatives stops with fairly consistent place features are available but not for the sibilants. Consequently, there is nothing to transfer, but it is still interesting that the different sibilants do not merge as they do in other varieties of Aboriginal English. Consequently, it seems that while the voiced labiodental and the dental fricatives appear to have been affected by crosslinguistic influence, the voiceless labiodental fricative and the sibilants have not.

3.1.3 Affricates While the pronunciation of the voiceless affricate, /tʃ/, is unremarkable (it is simply [tʃ]), the realisation of /dʒ/ appears to be affected by the existence of a palatal stop in the phoneme inventories of all substrate languages. Given that allophones of stop phonemes in the relevant languages, such as Iwaidja and Kunwijnku are generally voiced (Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2020; Shaw et al. 2020), it is not surprising that the English voiced affricate is mapped onto the palatal stop. Consequently, the standard allophone of /dʒ/ on Croker Island is [ɟ]. The only exception to this generalisation is the group of speakers who did not acquire an Indigenous language as children or speakers with an exceptionally high level of education. These speakers normally have [dʒ]. Speakers with a palatal stop realisation often also have a lenited version, i.e. an approximant realisation [j]. This can be explained as the result of crosslinguistic influence: /ɟ/ in Iwaidja, Kunwinjku and other local Aboriginal languages is, like that of

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 3 Phonetics and phonology

all stops, often realised as an approximant, especially intervocalically, and consequently it seems likely that this realisation is transferred into English as /ɟ/ is mapped onto /dʒ/.

3.1.4 Nasals The realisation of English nasal phonemes on Croker Island does not diverge in any noteworthy way from that of speakers of Standard English. This is not surprising, given that the nasals found in English as a whole do not differ from their counterparts in any relevant contact language. An alveolar nasal in English is for all practical purposes acoustically identical to an alveolar nasal in e.g. Iwaidja and the same is true for the other two nasals. All possible substrate languages differentiate nasals in more places of articulation than English, and consequently it is not likely that there is crosslinguistic influence that manifests itself as “negative transfer” but rather as “positive transfer” (Odlin 1989), i.e. the successful matching of phonemes between two languages.

3.1.5 Laterals The only English lateral /l/ is generally realised as a “clear”, i.e. alveolar, lateral rather than as a “dark” /l/, i.e. a velarised lateral, in the data. In simplified acoustic terms, there are significant differences in F1 and F2 between these variants: the dark /l/ usually has a higher F1 and a lower F2 so that both appear almost together at the bottom of the spectrogram. Though velarisation is a continuum, studies that examined laterals crosslinguistically have found that dark /l/ usually has an F1 value of around 1,000 Hz compared to ca. 1,500 Hz or higher in clear /l/ (Recasens 2012; Rodrigues et al. 2019). Velarised [ɬ] is also acoustically distinct from retroflex [ɭ ] (Kochetov et al. 2018). In Standard British English it is generally assumed that clear and dark /l/ are in complementary distribution: clear before vowels and dark in all other positions (Cruttenden 2014: 214–215). For Standard Australian English, the distribution is believed to be similar except that the realisation in intervocalic position is more variable (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 157). It is possible that the clear realisation of /l/ in English on Croker Island is a result of crosslinguistic influence, as this phoneme typically has only clear allophones in substrate language. Local languages usually have at least one other lateral phoneme, a retroflex lateral, which sounds more similar to a dark /l/. That is, these languages make a phonemic distinction of what is an allophonic distinction in English. Because of the complementary

3.2 Vowels 

 65

distribution of these allophones in English, however, there is no risk of a phonemic split, and speakers can simply select one allophone as the representative.

3.1.6 Approximants The three approximant phonemes of English are usually also found in any of the likely substrate languages, and consequently no problems are to be expected. The only phonetic difference is that /r/ is normally a retroflex approximant [ɻ], as in local Aboriginal languages, rather than an alveolar approximant as is standard in Australian English (Cox and Fletcher 2017: xiii). There a sporadic tendency to delete word-initial /w/ when followed by a high back vowel, e.g. in woman [ʊmən], occurring mostly with older speakers who are late bilinguals. This can be readily explained by a similar, albeit stronger tendency in local Aboriginal languages. For example, Iwaidja wubaj ‘water’ is typically pronounced [ubaɟ].

3.2 Vowels The Standard Australian vowel phoneme system is given in Table 3. Table 3: Vowel phoneme symbols used for Standard Australian English (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 55) together with relevant example words and lexical sets (Wells 1982). IPA symbol

Example word (lexical set)

IPA Symbol

Example (lexical set)

i:

beat (fleece)

ɪ

bit (kit)

e:

bared (square)

e

bet (dress)

ɐ:

part (bath, palm, start)

æ

bat (trap)

o:

bought (thought, north, force)

ɐ

but (strut)

ʉ:

boot (goose)

ɔ

pot (cloth, lot)

ɜ:

pert (nurse)

ʊ

put (foot)

æɪ

bait (face)

ə

the [unstressed]

ɑe

bite (price)

oɪ

Boyd (choice)

æɔ

bout (mouth)

əʉ

boat (goat)

ɪə

beard (near)

This system shows allophonic variation in English spoken on Croker Island. This variation is discussed in the following sections. Overall, it is noteworthy that allophones

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 3 Phonetics and phonology

in lexical sets that are seen as iconic for Australian English (see e.g. Cox and Fletcher 2017: 18), especially face and fleece, are either rare or not found at all in English on Croker Island (see Butcher 2008: 57 for a similar observation). This is noteworthy, as this realisation is common in varieties of Australian English that have historically been described as “broad”. This especially true for rural varieties, which have been target varieties for Aboriginal people in the Northern Territory for generations. And the fact that historically ethnolectal varieties of Australian English did also contain such “broad” realisations (see e.g. Horvath and Sankoff 1987; Cox, Palethorpe and Bentink 2014), shows that it is not unreasonable to expect that these realisations are found in Aboriginal English in general and also in English on Croker Island. It is also worth noting that, overall, English vowel systems found on Croker Island do not appear to be using a reduced set of vowels, as reported for some samples of Aboriginal English (see e.g. Butcher and Anderson 2008; Jones, Meakins and Buchan 2011). Individual speakers show mergers, e.g. of dress and trap (Butcher and Anderson 2008), but overall, phonemes are kept distinct. In addition, it is not the case that F1 is generally lower than in Standard Australian English, i.e. vowels are higher, as has been reported for samples of Aboriginal English (Butcher and Anderson 2008; Jones, Meakins and Buchan 2011). If any generalisation can be made, it is that F1 is higher, i.e. the vowels generally lower than in Standard Australian English. Overall, vowels in English on Croker show clear phonetic differences to Standard Australian English, but there is very little that could be attributed to an Aboriginal substrate. One possible substratum effect, which has also been noted in the literature, is a monophthongal realisation of diphthongs (see e.g. Malcolm 2018; Butcher 2008). This sounds plausible, given that Australian languages are generally described as not having diphthongs (Fletcher and Butcher 2014). However, while at least the relevant substrate languages lack diphthong phonemes, they certainly do not lack phenomena that are phonetically similar (“phonetic diphthongs”). For example, if a back vowel is followed by a palatal consonant, the transition is often so long that it sounds like a diphthong. One example is Iwaidja malany ‘why’, which could be transcribed as [malaɳ] but possibly also as [mala͜ɪɳ] or even [malaɪn]/ [malajn]. Consequently, it is not inconceivable that relevant learners of English can at least pronounce the diphthongs in face, price and choice. In addition, a number of English varieties have monophthongal pronunciations of diphthong phonemes, including varieties that did not develop on Australian Aboriginal substrates or on substrates that did not have diphthongs. And the fact that diphthong pronunciations of diphthong phonemes are frequent in English on Croker Island casts further doubt on the significance of crosslinguistic influence of substrates lacking diphthongs as an explanation of monophthongal realisations of English diphthong phonemes.

3.2 Vowels 

 67

The following sections describe the range of allophonic variation of vowel phonemes in English on Croker Island. Similar to consonants, it is not the case that this range can be described as one system. Rather, this range applied heterogeneously and inconsistently by speakers and across the entire community. It is outside the scope to provide a detailed and quantitative account of the variation found, but this is clearly a desideratum for future research.

3.2.1 High vowels These are the vowels in the lexical sets fleece, kit, foot and goose. As opposed to Standard Australian English, where the vowels in the sets thought, north, force are classifiable as high vowels, English on Croker Island generally has a mid-open back vowel, as discussed in 3.2.2 below. Consequently, I will exclude this vowel here. The high front vowels behave differently with respect to how variable they are both across speakers and within speakers. The kit vowel in stressed position can generally be transcribed as [ɪ], though individual speakers can have [i] realisations. In unstressed position the vowel varies between [ɪ] and [ə], similarly to Australian English more generally (Cox and Fletcher 2017: 118). The fleece vowel shows greater variation than the kit vowel, oscillating between [i:] and [ɪ:]. There may be an age effect, as speakers born before 1970 appear to have [i:] whereas speakers born after 1970 generally have a lower variant that can sometimes even be transcribed as [e:]. A realisation of fleece with a schwa-onglide is generally not found on Croker Island with the exception of one elderly speaker (female, DOB 1943), who uses this variant occasionally. A more monophthongal and lowered pronunciation of fleece is in line with what has been reported for Aboriginal English elsewhere (Malcolm 2018), but it contrasts with the data from Butcher and Anderson (2008), where both fleece and goose had a lower F1, i.e. a raised articulation. The high back vowels behave similarly to the high front vowels in terms of their variational pattern: while foot is relatively consistently realised as [ʊ], goose is more variable: the most frequent realisations are [u:] and [ʊ:], [ʉ:] is found only rarely, and there are also more idiosyncratic allophones, such as [ɵ:] (one speaker, female DOB 1954). However, the general fronting of the goose vowel that is found in Standard Australian English (/ʉ:/), is not observed in these data. As with the high front vowels, F1 is generally a bit higher than in Standard Australian English: [u:] is found more rarely than [ʊ:]. A possible substratum effect is the lower F1 of fleece and goose. As noted in Fletcher and Butcher (2014), Iwaidja and Kunwinjku have F1 values that are

68 

 3 Phonetics and phonology

generally more consistent with [ɪ] and [ʊ] rather than with [i] and [u].8 It is not clear whether other relevant substrate languages, e.g. Mawng and Kunbarlang, also have similar high vowels, but there is a good chance that they do. In addition, there is often no qualitative difference between the vowels of fleece and kit on the one hand and those of goose and foot on the other, which is not in line with the general trend in English where long vowels are tense (more peripheral) and short vowels lax (more central). Consequently, it is possible that the higher F1 values of fleece and goose in English on Croker Island are results of crosslinguistic influence.

3.2.2 Mid vowels The vowels in this category are square, thought, north, force, nurse, dress, cloth/lot and /ə/. The most consistent and closest to the standard are nurse and cloth/lot. The former is usually realised as [ɜ:] (less commonly [œ:] and [æ:]), and the latter as [ɔ]. The square vowel is most typically [ɛ:], thus sitting a little lower than in Standard Australian English; some speakers show a continuum between [e:] and [ɛ:], and individual tokens can even have a diphthongal realisation [ɛa]. As in Standard Australian English, thought, north and force pattern together. The realisation varies between [o:] and [ɔ:], often within the same speaker, but [ɔ:] is clearly the most frequently found pronunciation. Similarly, for the dress vowel, a pronunciation lower than in Standard Australian English is the most common realisation, i.e. [ɛ], sometimes even [æ]. In my corpus, a close-mid realisation [e] like in Standard Australian English is generally only found with speakers born before 1950, and some speakers born in the 1960s show a continuum between [e] and [ɛ]. Schwa (/ə/) is most commonly realised as schwa.

3.2.3 Low vowels The lexical sets in this category are bath/palm/start, trap and strut. All display significant variation. The first, bath/palm/start, varies between [a:] and [ɑ]; the most common variants are [a:] and [ɐ:]. Generally, trap varies between [e] and [æ], and the most frequent variants for older speakers (born before 1970 is [ɛ]. Younger 8 Fletcher and Butcher note that in Bininj Gun-Wok – a variety of Kunwinjku – both /i/ and /u/ have a lower F1 in focus position, but it is unclear whether this is the case in Kunwinjku on Croker Island. For Iwaidja, such a lowering in focus position does not seem to take place; rather vowels become more centralised (Birch ms.).

3.3 Syllable structure, phonotactics and phonological processes 

 69

speakers are more likely to have a more standard-like [æ] for trap. This means that for some speakers trap and dress merge in fact, e.g. RN (born 1954). However, there are speakers which appear to have [ɛ] for trap and [æ] for dress (e.g. JC, born 1972). The main variant of strut in the data is [a], which is more front than in Standard Australian English. However, [ɐ] does occur, and so do more raised central versions, even [ə], particularly with older speakers (CM and DY, born 1935 and 1943).

3.2.4 Diphthongs In contrast to Aboriginal English more generally, English on Croker Island has a comparatively rich inventory of diphthongs. While monophthongal realisations are found, diphthong phonemes are frequently phonetically realised as diphthongs. The face vowel is most typically realised as [ɛɪ] or as [e:], but not as [æɪ] like in Standard Australian English or even like in broader varieties. In fact, most realisations of diphthongs in English on Croker are not similar to Standard or broad Australian English realisations. The price vowel is most frequently either a monophthong ranging from [a:] to [ɐ:], or a diphthong with a fronted first component, i.e. [aɪ], [ae] or [æe]. There are more typical Australian variants, e.g. [ɑɪ], but they are comparatively rare. In the case of choice, the situation is similar: [ɔɪ] is or [ɔe] are the most common realisations, i.e. with a lower first element than Standard Australian. However, for choice, older transcriptions actually have [ɔɪ] (see e.g. Mitchell 1946), so it may be that at least some of the variants found on Croker Island can be explained historically. The vowel in mouth is most frequently a low, front monophthong, [æ:], [a:] or a diphthong comprised of a low, front first element with a back or even high back second element, e.g. [æɔ] or [æʊ]. The diphthongal pronunciations of mouth, which are less frequent, are actually similar to that of Standard Australian. The vowel in goat is most frequently either a monphthong, [o:] or [ɔ:], or a diphthong [ɔʊ], in contrast to contemporary Standard Australia English, which has [əʉ]. Again, the diphthongal realisations are consistent with older transcriptions of Australian English (Mitchell 1946). The near vowel is most frequently a monophthong [ɪ:], and more rarely a diphthong with a fronted second element, [ɪɛ].

3.3 Syllable structure, phonotactics and phonological processes Perhaps prima facie somewhat surprisingly, given the differences between English and Australian Indigenous languages, the syllable structure and the phonotactics of English on Croker Island and that of Australian English more generally do not differ

70 

 3 Phonetics and phonology

significantly. Even the oldest speaker, whose acquisition history is most similar to second language acquisition, does not show significant differences. The syllable structure and the phonotactic restrictions of the relevant substrate languages are relatively typical for Australian languages more generally (see Baker 2014), but they differ considerably from English. Typically, the maximum syllable that is allowed in Australian languages is CVCC, and this is obviously much more restricted than in English. However, words in most Australian languages, especially if they are inflected, are usually longer than in English, particularly if highly frequently occurring and everyday vocabulary is concerned. The higher length of words in Australian languages is perhaps not a difference that would lead to deviations as a result of crosslinguistic influence, because it is largely a case of positive transfer (see Odlin 1989). However, the relative simplicity of syllable structure and do not seem to influence English on Croker Island either. This is perhaps somewhat surprising, given frequent simplification of syllable structures in varieties of English with contact histories in the Asia-Pacific area, including Aboriginal English (see e.g. Uffmann 2017: 74; Butcher 2008: 629). In addition, early loanwords from English clearly show adaptations that are consistent with simplifications that can be explained as resulting from crosslinguistic influence, e.g. bikibiki ‘pig’ and bulliki ‘bullock’ (Butcher 2008: 629). The situation with respect to phonotactics is somewhat similar to that of syllable structure more generally. The following main points about the phonotactics of local Aboriginal languages are important for the contact situation found on Croker Island. First, none of the local languages allow consonant clusters in the syllable head and consonant clusters in codas are extremely limited.9 There is a difference between tautosyllabic and heterosyllabic clusters. While the former type of clusters is very restricted, the latter is common and allows a fairly wide range of consonant clusters. Second, the range of consonants allowed in different syllabic positions depend to a large extent on their position in the word. In Iwaidja, for example, the range of allowed consonants in the syllable head in word-initial position is different from that in medial and final positions. This is similar for coda positions as well (Birch ms.). In addition, it has to be borne in mind that the consonant phoneme inventories of Australian languages and English are significantly different. In particular, that none of the relevant local languages have fricatives is important, because the largest consonant clusters in

9 Following Vennemann (1988), I use “syllable head” instead of the more common term “syllable onset”. The term “onset” refers only to the first sound of the syllable head. For instance, in sport /s/ is the onset and /sp/ the head.

3.3 Syllable structure, phonotactics and phonological processes 

 71

English involve fricatives. As with syllable structure in a broader sense, it would not unreasonable to expect that the differences in phonotactics are reflected somehow in English on Croker Island, as reported for Aboriginal English more generally (Malcolm 2008; Malcolm 2018; Butcher 2008). However, by and large the phonotactics of English on Croker Island does not differ from that of Standard Australian English. My corpus contains isolated and sporadic differences, see (2), but no large-scale or systematic cases. (2) Examples of phonotactic differences in English on Croker Island a. translating [thɻ ɛnsəˈlɛɾɪŋ] b. ask [a:ks] (2a) shows an anaptyctic [ə] breaking up the tautosyllabic cluster /ns/ in translating. This could be understood as an effect of the phonotactics of Australian languages, which lack /s/, but because this effect is only found with another speaker (albeit with a different vowel, namely [ɪ]), this is not very well supported. It is probably better explained from the acquisition history of these two individuals, but it might ultimately be a substratum feature, just probably not an “online” case of bilingual influence. (2b) is common in dialects of English more generally, and may thus also be a feature of acquisitional history rather than crosslinguistic influence in one bilingual individual. One speaker with this variant does not speak any Indigenous languages fluently, so that this is probably a lexical variant that the speaker acquired when learning English as a child. As the phenomena in (2) are lexicalised, they are best not subsumed under phonological processes. However, English on Croker Island displays some phonological processes that I will discuss here. First, there is devoicing of obstruents, especially in word-final position. With the exception of /z/, which almost every speaker devoices at least word-finally (see also Table 2), all obstruents can appear devoiced word-finally. This mirrors a similar tendency in local Aboriginal languages that has been noted occasionally (e.g. for Bininj Gun-Wok see Evans 2003:  79). Second, it is worth revisiting lenition (see 3.1.1 above). English on Croker Island has the same lenition process that is found in English in general, which is to lenite intervocalic stops. This lenition process contrasts with some of the local Indigenous languages where lenition can occur everywhere in the syllable, and where there is no significant difference in intensity abatement between initial and medial stops (Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2016). To sum up, on the whole, the syllable structure, general phonotactics and phonological processes are for all practical purposes the same as in Australian English in general. Consequently, there appears to have been very little in terms of possible substrate influence.

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3.4 Stress and intonation Similar to syllable structure, stress (lexical stress) and intonation in English on Croker Island do not seem to differ greatly from Australian English more generally. The local Indigenous languages generally have stress towards the left edge of the word, and this is also the case for a significant part of the most common words in English. The literature on Aboriginal English mentions a tendency to indicate word stress more to the left edge, thus producing deviant patterns for words not stressed on the initial syllable (see e.g. Butcher 2008: 631). This is found in individual cases in English on Croker Island, e.g. ˈpatrol, ˈinside and also in acronyms, e.g. [ˈsi:dɪ] for CD (see also Butcher 2008: 631). However, it is not a strong tendency and there are numerous attestations of words with an unstressed first syllable, e.g. police, community, Aboriginal. Another phenomenon that is mentioned in the literature is deletion of a first, unstressed syllable (Butcher 2008: 631; Malcolm 2018). This finds a parallel in what is generally known as “initial dropping”, i.e. the loss of initial consonants, and in some cases entire syllables, in local Aboriginal languages, especially Amurdak and Iwaidja. It presumably also occurs under the same circumstances as in English, namely in unstressed, unfooted position (see e.g. Harvey and Mailhammer 2017 for an overview). However, such deletions (including syncopation) do not occur more than in other varieties of English. And if they did, most of the variants quoted by Butcher (2008: 631) seem entirely unremarkable. As with stress, intonational patterns largely seem to be congruent to Australian English in general. There are two exceptions to mention here. First, English on Croker Island does not seem to have High Rising Terminals, i.e. raise in pitch accent at the end of declarative clauses, which is widespread in Australian English but found also in other varieties (see e.g. Fletcher and Harrington 2001). Second, one intonational tune that is frequent in Iwaidja and other possible substrate languages is the so-called Linear Lengthening Intonation (LLI), a “prolonged stretch of high F0 or high pitch – either in a plateau or as a rise – concluded by a high boundary tone, typically with lengthening of the final syllable nucleus” (Mailhammer and Caudal 2019: 41), see (3).   (3) Linear Lengthening Intonation in English on Croker Island (Mailhammer and Caudal 2019: 41) Baki, they bin look it. Karlu, they bin throw’im away. tobacco they looked at it [Iwaidja] No, they threw it away. ‘They inspected the tobacco [loanword from Iwaidja]. [Then they said: “No!” [code switch: Iwaidja]. They threw it away. [AbE_Narratives_CM_140914_01, 04:03]

3.4 Stress and intonation 

 73

Here LLI on it signals that there was a longer or more detailed looking event than usual. That is, LLI has primarily a quantificational meaning. English, including Australian English, has similar tunes but there are two major differences, as Mailhammer and Caudal (2019: 42) point out: First, the quantificational meaning is applicable to more different types of words, including verbs and nouns. Second, the contour can be extended in length without limit, whereas similar tunes in English tend to be iterated. Closest in terms of form and meaning comes a pattern that has not been described in the mainstream literature but that is common in cases where the continuation of an event is encouraged until a stop point. Commonly, the continuation is indicated by a high plateau intonation, usually iterated with optional lengthening of the final word, whereas the stop indication is expressed with a downstep. … In contrast to English on Croker Island and in contrast to Iwaidja, this tune is usually iterated and limited to imperatives.

The quantificational meaning of LLI in English on Croker can be illustrated with (3), where the quantification of temporal duration as prolonged is a likely reading, or also the case of bit with LLI to mean ‘a really small quantity’ (Mailhammer and Caudal 2019: 50–51). LLI also exhibits familiar coercion effects, such as that stative verbs receive a durative and perfective reading, as in (4) from Mailhammer and Caudal (2019: 51). (4) We bin camping there on top:: and getting down. [AbE_narratives_Eng_CM_140924_01] Mailhammer and Caudal (2019) argue that LLI in English on Croker Island is likely to be due to crosslinguistic influence from local Aboriginal languages, as the parallels especially between Iwaidja and English on Croker Island are too close to be altogether accidental. However, as they point out, it is possible that local substrates are only one source. It could be that this tune was acquired from varieties of English that have or had this tune where it is possibly due to crosslinguistic influence, and it could be that both factors play a role here. At any rate, the phenomenon itself is interesting, and it is noteworthy that at least one of the substrate languages shows an identical phenomenon.

4 Morphosyntax 4.1 Verbal morphology Verbs generally show inconsistent patterns in terms of which grammatical categories are expressed. The most consistently marked grammatical category is the past tense, for which a variety of options are available, see 4.1.2.2. The following grammatical categories can be marked on the verb. – person – number – tense – voice The following sections discuss each category with examples, presenting information on morphological patterns and meaning ranges as well as on the degree of consistency in marking. 4.1.1 Person and number marking Person and number marking for main verbs in English is generally confined to the 3rd person singular present indicative, e.g. he cook-s, she construct-s, it fall-s vs. I cook, you construct and they fall. Moreover, in Standard English be shows person and number marking for 3sg.pres.ind, in addition to a more ambiguous marking in the past tense where the first and third singular are expressed by was vs. were for the remaining forms. Modal verbs, of course, do not show person or number marking at all. However, there is significant variation across varieties of English, and a complete lack of marking in main verbs is found as well as different marking patterns. English on Croker Island shows variability in person and number marking, and differences for different verb types. For main verbs, person number marking in the present tense is a little more frequent than no marking. There are 76 attestations of main verbs with personnumber marking in the present tense in the corpus and 62 without, which corresponds to 55.1% vs. 44.9%, see (5) for examples. (5) Variation in 3sg.pres marking a. But Iwaidja he listen. ‘But he can understand Iwaidja.’ [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 20:59] b. It stays there for ever and ever. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 37:57] https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-004

4.1 Verbal morphology 

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Marking is found only with a subset of speakers. There are speakers who never mark a 3sg.pres.ind. on the verb, but speakers who do also have forms attested that are unmarked. The sentences in (5) were said by the same speaker in the same communicative setting and in the same genre (sociolinguistic interview). However, for do, the pattern is different: First, there are not many attestations of present tense do, either affirmative or negative, i.e. do/don’t/does/doesn’t. The corpus only contains 19 instances in total, see examples in (6). In five cases there is no 3sg.pres marking; these are all cases of he don’t, and all but one come from the same speaker. In the remaining nine cases 3sg.pres is marked. In all attestations the external NP representing the subject is a pronoun. (6) a. He don’t speak back.

[AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 26:41]

b. What he do, is speak back in English. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 27:24] c. Sometimes she doesn’t listen. d. What does it look like?

[AbE_20151116IL_2 @ 3:10] [AbESL_20141111WLRM @ 10:02]

For be, the 3sg.pres is marked if the clause contains a copula at all, which occurs in 40 cases, or if it is part of a periphrastic verb form. The remaining personnumber cells in the present tense paradigm of be are usually filled in the same way as in Standard English, i.e. I am, you are, etc. In the past tense, the situation is similar: 1st and 3rd person singular are usually marked with was, the 2nd singular and the entire plural with were. However, there is a significant number – actually more than 50% of corpus in which a plural is not marked, presumably as a result of the paradigm having been levelled, so that was is the only form. (7) a. And that second round, we was walking up, me and her. [AbESL20141125CYPM @ 32:51] b. And they was telling the story, like you. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 11:455] As a lexical verb, have occurs in the 3sg.pres only 23 times in the corpus (plus four cases of has got).10 14 of these are instances of has, though three of these are from the only non-Aboriginal speaker in the corpus. The remaining nine attestations are instances of have in combination with a 3sg pronoun; there are no instances with a proper noun.

10 The far more frequent way to express ‘have’ is got.

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(8) a. It have big teeth. b. Bruce has been down there.

[AbESL_20141111WLRM @ 02:33] [AbESL_20160609SW_bio @ 15:00]

To sum up this section on person-number marking, generally the 3sg.pres is unmarked, but for be, have and do it is actually more common to show 3sg.pres marking. It is unlikely that this pattern is due to language contact with Aboriginal languages, as person and number are marked obligatorily in Iwaidja, Mawng, Kunwinjku, which are the most relevant contact languages. It is possible that contact with Kriol and other pidgins or creoles has exerted some influence. Many inhabitants of Minjilang have had contact with Kriol speakers or speak some Kriol. Contact with Kriol could also have happened historically, since Aboriginal people of Northwestern Arnhem Land have been in contact with Kriol and other creoles and pidgins, even though Kriol is not widespread in that region. Kriol does not mark person on main verbs (see e.g. Schultze-Berndt, Meakins and Angelo 2013).

4.1.2 Tense marking In principle, there are three temporal relations that are marked grammatically, the present tense, the past tense and the future. However, tense is not always marked morphologically, and this includes periphrastic marking (e.g. bin + infinitive as a past tense marker). But there is a clear tendency to mark tense – the future is almost always marked – even though there is significant variation, especially in the past tense. This variation will be discussed in more detail for the past tense in 4.1.2.1, but it occurs both on an inter- and an intra-speaker level. (9) gives examples of zero marking in both past tense and future contexts. (9) a. And so one day, he ask me. b. I don’t know when I’m going.

[AbESL20151111RoG @ 45:26] [AbESL20151111RoG @ 11:43]

(9b) could also be analysed as the future use of the present progressive, which is also common in Standard English. But as it is the only example in the corpus, and as the form that is called present progressive in Standard English has more frequently progressive or habitual readings, it is not certain that the use in future contexts is actually a meaning of the present progressive or if the future is in fact unmarked. Given that the future is usually marked, the second interpretation is perhaps more likely, but zero marking is a possible analysis of (9b).

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4.1.2.1 Present tense marking Verbs in their basic form, which equals that of the verb stem, or in a periphrastic construction with the auxiliary in the present, generally have a temporal anchoring in the present tense, though zero marked past tenses are formally identical, and this can result in ambiguity. (10) a. We play basketball here. b. Only little bit, like I’m talking now. c. They know what is expected of them.

[AbESL_20151106DN @ 09:26] [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 17:28] [AbESL20151109MO @ 30:43]

Thus, without context (10a) is potentially ambiguous, and given that roughly 20% of all forms occurring in past tense contexts are not marked for past tense, this is not an infrequently occurring scenario. 4.1.2.2 Past tense marking The corpus contains a number of forms that are found in past tense contexts. The following types of forms occur frequently. (11) a. I bin lose television, but I claimed for it, and they give me new one. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 05:31] b. I don’t know what he brought it and then give it to him. [AbE_213-09-22_CM_eded @ 27:48 ] c. And then they pick up that bike; one of the boys picked up his bike. [Pear Story_140429_RN @ 02:50] The first type are periphrastic past tenses with bin + infinitive, see (11a). Bin is the spelling for what is been in Standard English, as there is no form with a tense vowel /bin/. It occurs in a little more than 10% in the corpus. The highest number of those are from one speaker, the oldest in the corpus, but others, right down to school children use this form frequently enough, so that it cannot be said that this is a form that is practically obsolete. In some cases, there is an impression that bin + infinitive is found when the speaker is emotionally involved. The following examples illustrate this.

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(12) a. Balanda bin buy the land and all that. ‘White people have bought the land and everything else.’ [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 24:01] Context: Conversation about the high importance of Aboriginal languages and culture, where the speaker laments the influence of white people, which is an emotional topic for most people in the community. b. I bin get married, I went that way, I was going to school. ‘I got married, I went in this direction, I went to school.’ [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 14:67] Context: Interview about the speaker’s biography; this part of a narrative synopsis and marriage is obviously an emotional topic. c. But that cyclone, like, bin pull that root out. ‘But that cyclone really uprooted the tree.’ [AbESL20141125CYPM @ 38:44] Context: The speaker is telling a narrative of when the last cyclone hit the island and had been reminiscing of big tamarind tree in front of her house. That tree was uprooted by the cyclone, which is a measure of how severe the cyclone was. Cyclones are often traumatic events – which is even said by one of the community members in an interview – and hence speakers often get emotionally involved. This form of a past tense is common in creoles of Australia, and it is the standard past tense marking strategy in Kriol (see e.g. Schultze-Berndt, Meakins and Angelo 2013). It is likely that this marking strategy is an old contact phenomenon. There are three possible scenarios. First, this past tense was already in the variety that Aboriginal people acquired when they first came into contact with English. Second, Aboriginal people transferred it from a variety that had this feature. Third, bin-past tenses developed independently in English on Croker Island. It is unlikely that this is a recent contact phenomenon. The form is found also with the oldest speakers in the corpus. For one speaker it is even the main past tense form used. These three scenarios are not necessarily mutually exclusive. However, the hypothesis of independent development seems the least likely. Aboriginal people on Croker Island generally have been acquiring English as an L1, and it would seem odd that they innovated such a past tense completely independently. This issue will be taken up in chapter 7, but suffice it to say at this point that it is likely

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that the bin-past tense is a feature of the target varieties, and that it was introduced into English on Croker Island that way. The second type of past tenses are regular past tenses with a suffix . These forms are common, e.g. claimed in (11) a. In the corpus they occur in a bit less than 20% of all past tense attestations and with all speakers, even with the oldest speaker, whose main past tense form is bin + inf. Except for three attestations, the regular past tense is in fact a non-standard marking; these exceptions flied for ‘flew’, falled for ‘fell’ and blowed for ‘blew’. These examples could easily be speech errors, or they could also simply be regularised forms. Third, there are past tense forms that are called “irregular” in Standard English (ca. 25% in the corpus). This term refers to a group of verbs showing a variety of past tense marking strategies, all of which have in common that they are not of the “regular” type with (see preceding paragraph). They range from semiproductive strong verbs, such as sink, sing, spring to wholly irregular verbs, such as be. There are about seven times as many attestations of strong verbs than there are of irregular verbs, such as bring – brought. Fourth, unmarked infinitive stem forms can be used in contexts that demand the past tense in Standard English, see (11). This marking strategy is found in over 20% of all past tense context attestations, and with verbs that do not have zero marking in Standard English (e.g. set – set), see (11). Consequently, it is not a marginal strategy. Fifth, forms that look like Standard English past participles are found in past tense contexts. (13) a. Uncle Charlie, he come out of Nelly too. b. They done it theirself. c. A kid got up in the morning and seen the ... .

[AbESL20151109MO @ 19:48] [AbESL20151112JC @32:24] [AbESL20151116LaSe @ 11:21]

d. When I got up next day, I seen: where the hell this tree came from, you know? When I seen this tree from that house. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @03:08] e. He went and seen the manager.

[AbESL20151109KO @ 11:24]

There are less than ten instances in total, but all except for two involve see. Two speakers also have attestations of the corresponding past tense that would be found in Standard English, see (14). But this could be a coincidence.

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(14) a. That’s where my mum and Uncle Charlie came out of [AbESL20151109MO @ 06:02] b. [I] did halfway because still Sorry Business.

[AbESL20151112JC @ 12:06]

It is not clear what conditions the variation of past tense marking. A preliminary investigation showed that the speaker as a variable is the biggest factor in what conditions the use of past tense form (Mailhammer et al. 2018), but a deeper investigation is beyond the scope of this book. What is clear, however, is that all four forms are found with readings that correspond to those of a simple past tense as in Standard English. In addition, they are also found with relative tense function, namely where Standard English would use the present perfect and the pluperfect. (15) a. After it finish, you could see our water tanks. ‘After it had finished, you could see our water tanks.’ [AbESL2060609SW_bio @ 08:01] b. I think it’s really good to learn now from old people because we’re losing bit more old people, you know … we lost one already. [AbESL2060609MN_bio @ 27:10] The forms of the past tense, or of a category more appropriately termed anterior, cannot be linked to the local Aboriginal languages. However, the perfect and pluperfect readings documented in (15) at least find parallels in local languages. Iwaidja has an impferfective past tense and an anterior (Caudal and Mailhammer 2019). The “past perfective” in Kunwinjku and also in Mawng has perfect readings suggesting that “anterior” would perhaps be a more appropriate label (Evans 2003: 368; Capell and Hinch 1970: 122). Consequently, it is quite likely that multilingual speakers use the English simple past as they would use the anterior in their Aboriginal languages in their repertoires. This would be quite a typical case of cross-linguistic influence. But other explanations for this usage are of course not less likely to be correct. For instance, it has to be noted that the use of the past tense as an anterior has also been proposed as a general feature of creoles (see already Bickerton 1981). First, there are other varieties of English in which the simple past can at least be used as a perfect, so that an independent development cannot be ruled out. Second, it is possible that other varieties of English or creoles spoken in Northern Arnhem Land influenced English spoken on Croker Island. As a result, the anterior use of the past tense in English on Croker Island could well be an outcome of contact-induced change, but it is unclear what the source language would have been or perhaps if all of these contact scenarios are relevant to some degree, given that they point in the same direction.

4.1 Verbal morphology 

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There are three attestations of forms that look like a Standard English past perfect (pluperfect). In two cases these are also have a standard pluperfect meaning. Both come from the same speaker, whose English in general is relatively close to the standard. (16) a. We found out all this stuff dad had been doing. [AbESL20151109MO @ 40:17] b. She had a Fijian father, but they, um, had adopted her. [AbESL20151109MO @ 17:23] The third case is a bit more interesting because the meaning is less clear. (17) Consultant: We speak Iwaidja, but … sometime when you go there, sitting down when they’re having a tea and they’re having a yarn, there’s nothing but speaking in English all the way … sometime I don’t even go there, see I sit back – go back home. Researcher: You don’t see them? Interesting. Consultant: They bit older than me but … to tell you the truth that – I don’t know why – they had bin speaking before me. [AbESL20151112JC_2 @ 25:24] It is not immediately clear what the consultant means when he says they had bin speaking before me. The context is about who in the community speaks Iwaidja and about the influence of English. The consultant explains that some older relatives of his speak English a lot, even when there is no communicative need to do so, because they’re all Iwaidja speakers. He expresses his bewilderment as to why his relatives choose to speak English, especially since they are older and thus less likely to shift to English in general. The form (had bin speaking) is that of an English pluperfect progressive. However, is not obvious that this is actually the meaning. There is no clear temporal anchoring in the past that this pluperfect can be oriented towards, i.e. there is no concrete occasion where these relatives spoke before anyone else. Nonetheless, I think that a pluperfect progressive is actually more or less the intended meaning. The consultant says that he cannot understand why these relatives had been speaking English prior to him leaving. He imagines the situation where he left because of too much English being spoken, and before me can more accurately be translated as ‘with me being present’. Consequently, it is likely that this is an actual attestation of a pluperfect. Thus, English on Croker Island seems to have a pluperfect form in its repertoire, at least for two speakers. But it is not a very frequently occurring form, as its functions can and are usually be expressed by the past tense.

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To sum up, past tense marking in English on Croker Island is variable with individual variation being a particularly significant factor. The main forms found are bin + infinitive, zero marked forms, as well as standard past tense forms. All these types of forms have similar proportions of attestations in the corpus, with bin + infinitive being the rarest. The meaning of these forms corresponds to that of an anterior which basically combines the meaning of a Standard English past tense, resent perfect and pluperfect. This spectrum of readings finds parallels in local substrate languages, and is likely to be explained, at least to some degree, by language contact. 4.1.2.3 Future tense marking There are two main forms found in the corpus in future tense contexts, be + gonna and will/’ll.11 (18) a. I’m gonna ask him. b. I thought crocodile was gonna dump her.

[AbESL20151109MO @ 36:06] [AbESL20141125CYPM @ 32:55]

c. They’re gonna be maybe proud of their colour. [AbESL20151112JC @ 06:53] d. They said: ”Okay, we’ll ask you boys and girls. [AbE2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 33:39] e. I listen to something, then I’ll understand. [AbE2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 7:44] Both occur with about equal frequency in the corpus and with a range of readings that is not significantly different than in Standard English. As in many other varieties of English, gonna occupies space which historically was occupied by will, especially future predictions without concrete existing planning or indicators. In future tense contexts, gonna or will usually occurs, that is, future tense marking appears obligatory. There is one instance in the corpus where the present progressive is used in a future context. (19) I don’t know when I’m going.

[AbESL20151110RoG @ 11:42]

11 There are good semantic arguments for why the future should be seen as mood rather than as a tense, but in line with the tradition in English linguistics and also in order to facilitate comparisons, future is discussed under tense.

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Consequently, it seems possible that one reading of the present progressive is that of a future tense or that it is possible not to mark the future, though it is probably rare. The consistency of marking in future tense contexts is paralleled in local Aboriginal substratum languages (see Capell and Hinch 1970; Pym and Larrimore 1979; Evans 2003). Thus, it is conceivable that the local usage of consistent future tense marking is a result of a transfer in terms of frequency of use. Accordingly, speakers mark future tense consistently, as it mirrors the consistency in marking found in the other languages in their repertoire. But this is of course speculative, even though present tense usage in future tense contents is not very widespread in varieties of English, reported for only 36% of varieties of English, according to eWAVE (Feature 117), but, of course, it occurs in Standard English. The corpus also contains attestations of future in the past constructions with gonna (18). On interesting aspect of future tense meanings is that in elicitations speakers frequently use a gotta-construction to translate an Iwaidja future tense, i.e. I gotta go can translate Iwaidja janara 1sg.dist.fut. This is understandable, given that deontic modality is one reading of the Iwaidja future (Caudal and Mailhammer 2019). Thus, Iwaidja janara can mean I’m going to go (away)’ or ‘I must go (away)’, among other things. However, gotta is not found in my corpus of English on Croker Island with a future tense reading, and gonna is not attested with a deontic meaning.12 Both would be explainable as effects of crosslinguistic influence if the Iwaidja meaning of the future were transferred to English. To sum up, the verb generally is marked by gonna or will/’ll in future tense contexts, and it has readings that basically match those of the Standard English going-to and will futures. This is interesting because the readings found for the past tense diverge from those in Standard English. Moreover, those readings can be motivated from the perspective of the substrate languages as effects of language contact. But although the prerequisites for such a transfer are there for the future tense as well, and although there is evidence for such a transfer in elicitation, there is no evidence in the corpus.

4.1.3 Aspect marking Aspect presents a view on events that either shows the event in its totality (perfective) or only partially (imperfective). Languages differ significantly as to how aspect is encoded. In some languages, including Standard English, aspect is

12 Butcher (2008: 632) gives an example of gotta with future reference, but the ultimate source is unknown.

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marked morphologically (see Smith 1997 for a standard account). English on Croker Island shares much with Standard English, though there are differences, especially with respect to the meaning of the progressive form in the present tense and the perfect. 4.1.3.1 Progressive/Habitual vs. Underspecified Verbs can occur in the base form (with optional -s in the third person, see 4.1.1). In the majority of cases this form is found in present tense contexts. It is usually underspecified for aspect, as in Standard English (see e.g. Smith 1997: 170–171), and it has a similar range of meanings. The only exception of the base form but not the -s-marked form is that it can be found in past tense contexts, as described in 4.1.2.1. Consequently, a verb’s base form is formally underspecified with respect to tense, even though the default is that it is present tense, given the fact that it occurs in present tense contexts in the great majority of cases. However, formally and without context, the verb stem occurring as a word form is underspecified for tense and aspect. Of course, it must be pointed out that the only kind of aspect that is obligatorily marked is the progressive/habitual aspect. In fact, the only aspectual meaning a base form does not have in the corpus is that of a progressive. Apart from the aspectually unmarked forms of the verb, in the present and the past tense there is a periphrastic form consisting of an appropriate form of be (including bin in the past tense) plus an appropriate participle. Interestingly, this form does not occur in the corpus in negated form. (20) a. Only little bit, like I’m talking now. b. Iwaidja mightbe is dying.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 17:28] [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 24:08]

c. When they’re having a tea and they’re having a yarn. [AbESL20151112JC_2 @ 25:24] d. It was cold at night, because the wind was blowing. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 06:33] e. Patrol boat bin chasing us.

[AbE20130923_CM_bio @ 11:11]

There is a sizeable number of instances (ca. 25% of all cases) in which the present participle appears without the auxiliary, see (21). Sometimes the same speaker uses the same verb in the same context with and without the auxiliary (21c). This is widespread across the corpus, though there are a few speakers who always

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have an auxiliary in this progressive construction. There is also a bias towards no auxiliary occurring more frequently in the present tense than in the past tense.13 (21) a. Even the old people couldn’t sleep, because the wind blowing and the roll doors – just constant bang, bang, bang, all night. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 10:57] b. Like you sitting there, and me sitting here. [AbESL20160609MN_bio2 @ 25:09] c. But we’re talking Kunwinjku, hard one. … Different they talking from Maningrida mob. [AbESL20160506ANPN @03:55] There are also attestations of be as an auxiliary followed by a base verb form rather than a present participle. (22) I was speak Iwaidja.

[AbESL051120WLSL @ 10:16]

Moreover, there is a notable imbalance of forms occurring in the corpus. Of 140 attestations of this construction, only 36 are in the present tense and the remaining 104 are in the past tense. This asymmetry in frequency of occurrence between the present progressive form and the past progressive could be a reflection of the tense-aspect systems in local Aboriginal contact languages, all of which have imperfective past tense forms of some sort, but not two different aspectual forms on the level of the past tense (Pym and Larrimore 1979; Caudal and Mailhammer 2019; Evans 2003; Singer 2006; Capell and Hinch 1970). Thus, it could be that the usage of the past tense progressives reflects the imperfective past tenses of Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku. In all of these languages the progressive is one recorded meaning of the imperfective past tense. Similarly, because the present tense forms in these languages represent the entire spectrum of present tense meanings, it is possible that the “present progressive” represents all of these meanings, not just that of a progressive. The imbalance in attestations, i.e. the fact that the “present progressive” in English on Croker Island is attested more with a habitual or a generic meaning (see below) may have to do with the verbs that are attested. That is, it may just be the case that there are more verbs with aktionsart types that prototypically do not combine well with progressives, such as statives and achievements.

13 Thanks to Pia Anhäupl (Munich, p.c.) for drawing my attention to this observation.

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As just mentioned, it is worth pointing out that of the 36 present tense attestations actually only very few are actually typical progressive, i.e. an activity verb expressing an event in progress at the time of speaking. One example is (20a), referring to someone actually speaking now. In addition, there are some cases in which a less prototypical verb type occurs in this form, exhibiting familiar coercion effects. One case in point is (20b), where an achievement verb is coerced into an accomplishment, which is to be expected. Furthermore, there are stative verbs, such as posture verbs that can be found in the present progressive, but these are also relatively rare. The majority of present progressive forms in the corpus have in fact habitual readings. (23) a. I never split going somewhere else, like they are doing it now [AbE_20130923CM_bio @12:29] b. Some of them go to culture course, but we don’t know what they are learning. [AbE20151109MO @ 31:16] c. They’re talking Iwaidja, they’re talking Mawng. [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 56:49] d. He [their father] is teaching his kids to speak Kunwinjku and Mawng. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 09:59] In none of these cases there is an event in progress. Rather, the events described take place regularly or not at the time of utterance. Needless to say, in Standard English, the progressive can be used to convey other meanings than events in progress. In particular, examples such as He’s always taking the car to work! come close to the readings in (23). However, in contrast to the Standard English use, the cases represented by the examples in (23) are not emphatic, and that is a clear difference. There are also other readings of the present in Standard English, e.g. if there is a limited temporal extension, such as I’m living with my parents until I’ve saved enough money. However, these readings are different from those in (23), though (23a, b) possibly stand out less than (23c), which shows the habitual use of an ability, and (23d), denoting a regular activity.14 In English on Croker Island, present tense be + present participle denotes at least a progressive as well as a habitual and a generic present tense. In terms of a

14 Jeff Siegel (p.c.) points out that the examples in (23) are not significantly different from what is found in Standard English. I take the point, perhaps less so with respect to (23c) and (23d), but whether English on Croker Island differs more or less from Standard English is immaterial to the basic description of the facts about the present progressive in English on Croker Island.

4.1 Verbal morphology 

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general architecture of the aspectual marking, it seems that the two main present tense forms, the simple present and the periphrastic form with be + present participle, show a high degree of overlap with only the progressive being a distinct meaning of the be + present participle construction. In the past tense, the situation is a little different: the form with the present participle, i.e. what would be a past progressive in Standard English, can also have habitual readings, see (24d), but this is rare. This rarity may be due to the strong competition with the main habitual construction with used to. This construction is not significantly different from Standard English. In the overwhelming majority of attestations this form, which can occur without the auxiliary, as in (24c), has the same meanings as in Standard English. (24) a. Yesterday bin cooking bread and he got stuck. [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_eded_Eng @ 11:50] b. There was a little girl coming and passing him, and then she bumped him. [PearStory_140429_RN @ 01:54] c. It was like we had war, ... all trees folding.

[AbESL20160609MN @ 02:35]

d. One time I was walking along and this old man [...], Daisy’s father, you know, [...] he said to me, he pointed, “Ngalwuyuk [skin term used to address people]”, he said to me. [AbESL20161110RoG @ 21:03] e. No Balanda, only them, no Balanda, was working trepang. ‘No white people, only they were working in the trepang industry.’ [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 03:59] 4.1.3.2 Perfect The perfect is a kind of aspectuo-temporal category that emphasises a kind of “after” effect of a completed event (see e.g. Smith 1997: 106–109). Perfect meanings in English on Croker Island are more typically conveyed by the simple past, as discussed in 1.2.1. However, there are a few instances of a Standard English-style present perfect in the corpus. (25) a.

The people have stayed here.

b. Bruce has been down there. c.

I’ve heard of it.

[AbESL20160609SW @ 12:18] [AbESL20160609SW @ 14:58] [AbESL041115RLNL @ 13:27]

88 

 4 Morphosyntax

d. I don’t know that much, but I’ve learnt since I’ve been out here. [AbESL20151109MO @ 30:04] e.

They’ve always wanted to work but they had no choice. [AbES20151109KO @ 19:02]

This form can also occur without the auxiliary, but this is found only with see, as in (26) (26) a. Like, we seen lots of them come. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 24:48] b. I never seen my aunty; she passed away when I was little. [AbESL20151105MM @ 06:00] c. Just seen on the video ... in regards to this young man. [PearStory_1404238_DY_Eng @ 01:12] “American Clever Man”, you seen that?

[AbESL20160609MN @ 12:26]

In one instance, this form appears to have the meaning of a past tense rather than that of a present perfect, see (27). (27) When we went to school in Maningrida, they had a bilingual teacher there, so we was learning from there ... all the words, yeah, in Njébbana, and they also had Burarra class, they’ve learnt ... yeah, Nakara. But we were in the classroom speaking Njébbana class. [AbESL20151111RoG @ 34:54) Australian English is well-known for using the present perfect with past time reference (see e.g. Engel and Ritz 2000), but this not generally found in English on Croker Island. The lack of a perfect is relatively typical for a high contact variety of English outside Africa (Hackert 2019: 232). The corpus does not contain any instances of a Standard English future perfect, and the meaning it denotes does not have a paradigmatic representation.

4.1.4 Mood and modality Modality is related to statement about non-factual worlds, involving centrally possibility and necessity (modal force), see e.g. Kaufmann and Kaufmann (2015) In English, traditionally three inflected modal categories are differentiated, the

4.1 Verbal morphology 

 89

imperative, the subjunctive and indicative (Depraetre and Reed 2006). In addition, there are periphrastic forms using modal auxiliaries, which are commonly sorted in two groups, the so-called “central modals” (e.g. can, must, might) and the “quasimodals” (e.g. have to, need to), see Depraetre and Reed (2006), Collins (2009) . The corpus of English on Croker Island does not contain many examples of inflected modal categories, see (28h) for an imperative. Modality is overwhelmingly expressed through periphrastic forms with or without modal verbs. However, it is to be expected that a larger corpus with different texts would show more examples of imperatives, even though it is not expected that they occur frequently, as least some of the substratum languages, e.g. Iwaidja, prefer using other modal forms (Caudal and Mailhammer 2019). There are a good number of both central and quasi-modals attested in the corpus. Generally, Englishes in Kachru’s “Outer Circle” (Kachru 1985) seem to make use of modals more frequently than those in the “Inner Circle”, according to one corpus study (Collins 2009 286f).15 The following examples cover typical examples of some central and quasimodals in English on Croker Island. It has to be noted that modal constructions and adverbs also play a role in the expression of modality. They will be discussed in chapter 5. However, a full analysis of modality in English on Croker Island is beyond the scope of this book. (28) a.

I can hear most of them speak English.

b. You can’t sit near your sister. c.

[AbESL251110RoG @ 48:23] [AbESL20151109MO @ 34:02]

Must have been itchy when scratch himself. [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_eded_Eng 10:35]

d. Because he could be your family.

[AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 24:00]

e.

After it finish, you could see our water tanks. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 07:59]

f.

He would sometime, he would speak Iwaidja. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 14:18]

g.

Look out, cos he might chase you!

[AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL 45:21]

15 There are serious issues with Kachru’s model (see e.g. Anchimbe 2006), but the higher frequency of modals in the corpora Collins (2009) investigated is a fact.

90 

 4 Morphosyntax

h. He should be angry, but he wasn’t. i.

And you should test him out.

j.

You have to settle it with the fist.

[PearStory_140428_DY_Eng @ 05:33] [AbESL20151112JC @ 19:48] [AbESL20151109KO @ 27:26]

There is a notable absence of shall, may, modal will, volitional would, and need to, deontic must are very rare in the corpus. Deontic necessity is almost exclusively expressed with have to, which extrapolates a global trend, especially in postcolonial Englishes (Collins 2009: 288). 4.1.5 Passive There are two principal passive constructions attested in the corpus, similarly to Standard English. This is firstly, the regular passive with a be-auxiliary and a past participle and secondly, the so-called get-passive with a form of the verb get and a past participle. The former occurs considerably more frequently than the latter (34 vs. 8 occurrences). (29) a. We got bogged at Sandy Bay.

[AbESL20151106DN @ 03:15]

b. The store was damaged.

[AbESL20160609MN @ 07:24]

Given that the passive generally occurs in more formal kinds of text, it is perhaps not surprising that this structure is rare in the corpus.

4.2 Nominal morphology The nominal morphology of English on Croker Island is less complex than the verbal morphology. This section focuses on number marking, genitive marking and the pronominal system.

4.2.1 Number marking on nouns Typically, nouns in the plural are marked with a plural marker that is also found in Standard English, even if this is an irregular marker, e.g. children.16 The only 16 There is one attestation of child with a zero plural in the corpus.

4.2 Nominal morphology 

 91

exception are cases of zero marking. This kind of marking is not very frequent in the corpus, especially for human referents. However, it does occur with human referents, see (30a), animate referents, see (30b), inanimate referents, see (30c, d), and without quantifiers, see (30e). (30) a. I’ve only got three brother.

[AbESL20151110HG @ 07:52]

b. There was four croc. ... There was big one. [AbESL041115RLNL @ 20:49] c. He even take all them buffalo hide.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio. @ 31:52]

d. Me two game, he one.

[AbESL0411115RLNL @ 31:20]

e. I mainly play video game.

[AbESL041115RLNL @ 09:43]

The consistency of number marking is contrasts with the lack of consistent number marking on nouns in the substratum languages. In some cases, speakers show a different distinction of count and mass nouns than in standard varieties of English. This is a relatively marginal phenomenon, but attestations such as he threw some sands off ‘he shook a bit of sand off’ do occur.

4.2.2 Genitive/possessive marking on nouns Possession is generally indicated in the following ways. First, the possessor can be a noun marked with the clitic -s (genitive case), see (31a) and (31b). Second, the possessor can be a pronoun in the genitive form (31b, d, e, f). Third, the possessor can be indicated by a postposed prepositional phrase headed by of (31g, h). Fourth, possession can be indicated by an unmarked, preposed noun (31c, d). The first three are found with animate, especially human, referents. Possessor nouns, with or without genitive marking, are even almost exclusively attested with kinship terms, such as mother or father. The only exception in the corpus is this old man in (31c) and the apposition Left Hand, which is the name of a person. Postposed prepositional phrases, by contrast, always have inanimate possessor nouns, except for two attestations, in which the possessor noun is animate (kids). The most frequent way to indicate possession is a genitive pronoun, followed by the of-prepositional phrase. Possessor nouns of both types occur with about equal frequency, and together they are about as frequent as of-prepositional phrases.

92 

 4 Morphosyntax

(31) a.

I’m still happy that my dad’s language is still spoken there. [AbESL251110RoG @ 29:38]

b.

And my grandmother, which is my mum’s mother, is from Nakara. [AbESL20160608HW_bio @ 01:02]

c.

They went to this old man, Left Hand, country. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 02:56] My father language is Marrku. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 09:04]

d. e.

Are they gonna bring our lunch out or what? [AbESL20151109KO @ 21:44]

f.

My mother side is Mawng.

g.

It sort of brings back memories of Cyclone Ingrid. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 09:11]

h.

We speak any kind of language.

[AbE201411145RLNL @ 03:10]

[AbESL20151105MM @ 06:28]

The local Aboriginal languages indicate possession in different ways. Iwaidja and Mawng either use a free pronoun or noun, which is preposed to the possessed noun, or a possessor prefix, which is only used with bound noun stems (Pym and Larrimore 1979, Singer 2006: 16, 69). By contrast, Kunwinjku uses a possessive suffix (Evans 2003: 142–145). Of these strategies only the preposed noun parallels one type of possessor constructions found in English on Croker Island. This type could also be an effect of a general second language acquisition strategey that has fossilised, and is not necessarily indicative of crosslinguistic influence or language contact with Iwaidja and/or Mawng, although the limited use and very particular distributional pattern would have to be explained.

4.2.3 Pronouns The corpus contains a few peculiarities with respect to pronouns. I focus here on the form and meaning of some personal pronouns, as the some of the respective differences between English on Croker Island and Standard English may be explained as the result of crosslinguistic influence and language contact. Two noteworthy features, apart from those discussed in more detail below, are the use of ourself and themself instead of ourselves and themselves, so that the reflexive pronouns always end in -self, and the almost complete lack of possessive pronouns in the data (there are two attestations of mine). The very low frequency of possessive pronouns could be a contact feature, as none of the major substrate

4.2 Nominal morphology 

 93

languages, Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku, has a dedicated possessive pronoun form (Pym and Larrimore 1979: 45–46; Capell and Hinch 1970: 60–61; Evans 2003: 265; Singer 2006: 39–40) 4.2.3.1 Inclusive vs. exclusive first person plural distinction At least two local languages have a distinction of first person plural inclusive vs. first person plural exclusive in the pronominal system: Compare for instance Iwaidja ngarri ‘1pl.incl’ vs. ngarrurri ‘1pl.excl’ and Mawng ngarrurri ‘1pl.incl.’ vs. ngarri ‘1pl. excl.’ (Pym and Larrimore 1979: 45, Singer 2006: 36). Kunwinjku does not have such a distinction in its free “direct” pronouns, where the form (ng)ad- is used in the 1pl generally. However, Kunwinjku has a clusivity distinction in most other forms, e.g. in the oblique pronoun series (ng)adberre ‘1pl.incl’ vs. gadberre ‘1pl.excl’ (see Evans 2003: 263 for further details). For some postcolonial Englishes in Australia and the Pacific deviations in plural categorisation has been observed, and this is also valid for Aboriginal English (Malcolm 2018, Koch 2000). Consequently, it is not unreasonable to investigate whether English on Croker Island also has this distinction, which is absent from most mainstream varieties of English, including Australian English. (32) lists all eight attestations of us mob, which is the form that is used to express a 1sg.excl meaning. (32) a. They had to remove them from that island .. but us mob arlarrarr [Iwaidja ‘nothing’]. ‘They had to evacuate everyone from this island, but not us’ [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 17:38] b. Us mob house, that old one, thirteen. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 35:51] c. All us mob there .. there was a couple of white kids. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 13:48] d. But each of them, like us mob, warrulany ngarri, when we was a kid, our first language was English. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 19:08] e. No, like not really but us mob was speaking a lot . [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 08:56] f.

Archie and his kids and us mob we made DVD. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 41:29]

94 

 4 Morphosyntax

g. That’s why its bit complicated for us mob, you know. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 12:13] h

Us mob too, we do the same, we do something over and over. [AbESL20151106DN @ 12:57]

In addition to us mob, it is also possible to express a 1pl.excl meaning using we all, though the attestations are not unambiguous. In all cases we all refers to a bigger group that excludes the interlocutor(s), but this may be a coincidence, as the speaker explains the habits of a group that they are talking about. It is possible that we all could include the interlocutor(s) if a statement about a group was made that included the speaker as well as the interlocutor(s). There is no counter evidence to this possibility in the corpus. However, it is worth pointing out that the explicit expression of a 1pl.excl meaning is not as frequent as it would perhaps be expected. The same meaning can also be expressed with we in the corpus, see (32h), but we is always ambiguous and can also express the meaning of a 1pl.incl. 4.2.3.2 2pl pronoun forms you mob and you guys The second person plural can be expressed explicitly with you mob and you guys. The former is attested six times in the corpus and the latter seven times. There is a clear correlation with speaker and possibly with addressee. One speaker consistently uses you guys to address the two researchers she is talking to, while multiple speakers use you mob, mainly to address other Aboriginal people. Anecdotal evidence and the general impression suggest that this division reflects essentially a stylistic difference. The normal explicit 2pl pronoun, especially when a group of people is addressed, is you mob. If you guys is not part of one speakers idiolect, then you guys is probably a more standard-like form and possibly used with non-Aboriginal people. However, it is possible to address two people or more using just you, like in Standard English, which shows that neither an explicit form for the 2pl pronoun is not obligatory. Excluding you guys, which may well be an idiolectal feature, the contexts in which you mob is used points to you mob being used for more than two, prototypically a group of, Aboriginal people, who are directly addressed. The use in school by a teacher or an adult is typical, as in e.g. “you mob, listen!”. Other cases from the corpus can be found in (33). (33) a. I am record you mob! b. He bin coming to teach you mob!

[AbESL20151106DN @ 16:166] [AbE20130923_CM_bio @ 21:01]

4.2 Nominal morphology 

 95

It may be the case that the contexts for you mob are actually more frequent if a larger and more diverse corpus is used. It is noteworthy that clear 2pl uses of you are frequently found with know (in you know, addressing two people), think and understand. Consequently, it could be that you mob is in fact the most frequent 2pl pronominal form. 4.2.3.3 3sg subject pronoun him The literature on Aboriginal English and also on Kriol records a 3sg subject pronoun him (see e.g. Malcolm 2018, Munro 2004, Schultze-Berndt, Meakins and Angelo 2013). This form is found in the corpus as well, but only when the verb has a past tense with bin + base form of the verb and only with one speaker. This speaker is the oldest in the corpus and he is a late bilingual, who spent a lot of time on the mainland in contact with speakers of Kriol or other contact varieties. However, he does not use him exclusively. In fact, he as a subject pronoun is more frequent than him for this speaker. (34) a. Him bin sit down, drink, him bin get up. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio 24:52] b. He bin go Adelaide for long.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio 36:04]

As mentioned above, it is likely that this feature is due to contact with Kriol or other varieties of basilectal English on the mainland. But at any rate, it is clear that 3sg subject him is only one variant used by this speaker alongside he. 4.2.3.4 He as a generic 3sg pronoun Another feature that has been frequently mentioned in the literature on Aboriginal English is the use of he and its other forms (his, him) as a generic 3sg pronoun for animate referents. The collapse of masculine and feminine gender distinctions in the 3sg has been explained as the result of language contact, as often local languages have no gendered 3sg pronouns. A lack of gendered 3sg pronouns is the case in Iwaidja, but not in Mawng or in Kunwinjku. However, in spite of this, there are cases of he without reference to masculine nouns in my corpus of English on Croker Island, see (35a). In addition, there are attestations of he referring to inanimate referents, see (35b) and animals, see (35c). (35) a. I don’t know what he brought it and then give it to him ... give it to her. [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_ededEng @ 27:_47] b. That wire, he get hot.

[AbE_2013-09-22_CM_ededEng @ 05:38]

c. Cook the bread, but he got stuck. [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_ededEng @ 11:50]

96 

 4 Morphosyntax

d. This animal comes out at night and it eats in night. ... It upside down wing, when he cover himself he use his wing. [AbESL_20151111WLRM_RZ @ 02:07] However, these cases are relatively rare. The usual way to indicate feminine referents pronominally is using she and the respective case forms. Similarly, non-human referents are indicated with it. There is a bias in terms of speakers (see chapter 6). There are speakers who use predominantly he with animate referents (though there are isolated cases in which she refers to inanimate arguments). The occurrence of he as a 3sg generic pronoun is perhaps due to crosslinguistic influence in Iwaidja speakers, but it would be hard to assume this for Mawng and Kunwinjku speakers. Given that speakers are usually multilingual, it has to be expected that practically all speakers of English on Croker Island who speak Aboriginal languages have gendered 3sg pronouns somewhere in their repertoires. Consequently, it seems less likely that they collapse this distinction in English. However, it is noteworthy that the few speakers in corpus who use he or him to refer to non-masculine referents are all speakers of Iwaidja (in addition to other languages), which has only one 3sg pronoun, janad. Hence, even though they probably have access to a linguistic differentiation of different noun “classes” (genders) in pronominal systems, it is conceivable that – in contrast to what I just hypothesised – that this over-use of he/him reflects Iwaidja influence.

4.3 Syntax This section describes selected syntactic features of English on Croker Island. Particular focus is placed on features that can be discussed in the context of the contact with local Aboriginal languages. The features discussed in this section comprise constituent ordering, noun phrase structure, copula clauses and the representation of arguments of the verb, especially the zero expression of subjects and objects as well as double marking of the direct object. There are also differences in the argument frames of individual verbs. These will be discussed in chapter 5, as they are lexically determined rather than being a feature of the syntactic organisation.

4.3.1 Constituent ordering The basic constituent ordering is SVO, as in Standard English. However, there are divergences from this basic ordering, which are possibly due to more flexible

4.3 Syntax 

 97

ordering in the substrate languages. One such divergence is fronting, often with additional marking on the head, as in (36). (36) a. Baki put’im on bottle, you know. ‘They put the tobacco in a bottle, you know.’ [AbE_20130923_CM_bio 3@ 3: 35] b. Kani [Iwaidja ‘here’] I was born. ‘I was born here.’

[AbESL20151112JC2 @ 11:35]

c. You know, Indian mob, I can’t really understand. [AbESL20151110RoG @ 03:53]

4.3.2 Phrase structure The basic typology of phrases is standard: Noun Phrase (NP), Adjective Phrase (AdjP), Adverb Phrase (AdvP) and Verb Phrase (VP), as illustrated in (37). (37) a. b. c. d.

The other fellow... A nice little film ... everywhere / very often do that example

One area where English on Croker Island differs from Standard English is the structure of the Noun Phrase. First, in some instances them can replace those, as in all them poles ‘all those poles’, which is not different to colloquial varieties of English spoken elsewhere. Second, as in Standard English, the minimum a Noun Phrase can consist of is a nominal or pronominal head, but unlike in Standard English this head can be just a singular count noun, see (38). (38) a. it was baby one b. baby sleeping c. a week we had barge

[AbESL20151106DN @ 04:08] [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 05:33] [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 07:39]

d. put’im in bag and kabala bin coming

[AbE20130923_CM_bio @ 32:15]

e. some can play with ball

[AbESL20151111WLRL @ 02:47]

f.

I thought crocodile was gonna dump her. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 32:55]

98 

 4 Morphosyntax

As can be seen from these examples, a singular count noun can be the only element in the Noun Phrase irrespective of whether it is indefinite, topical, animate or human. These kinds of Noun Phrases occur across the corpus and with all speakers. It is important to mention, however, that in many cases there exist “parallel” Noun Phrases in the corpus – often from the same speaker – in which the same noun is accompanied by a determiner, as is obligatory in Australian English in general. (39) a. Yesterday was sleeping the baby. [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_ededEng @ 01:58] b. There was a baby crocodile. [AbESL041115RLNL @ 27:15] That singular count nouns can be the only elements of Noun Phrases and the fact that this is ungrammatical in Australian English more broadly, does raise the question of how this kind of structure came into being. To be sure, there are varieties of English elsewhere that permit this type of Noun Phrase, for example York English (Rupp and Tagliamonte 2019). That the feature in English on Croker Island is due to contact with York English is not impossible but it seems remote, since this would have to have happened in the 19th century and then persisted in this variational pattern. However, it is possible that this feature owes its existence to contact with local Aboriginal languages. All other local languages allow Noun Phrases with singular count nouns as only members, as shown in (40) with singular count nouns in boldface (see Singer 2006: 49ff, Evans 2003, Pym and Larrimore 1979 for further details). (40) NPs with singular count nouns in Iwaidja, Mawng and Bininj-Gunwok a. Iwaidja: Ngarrubilima -ny balaji. 1pl.excl.A>3sg.O.ant bring- -ant bag ‘We brought a bag.’ (Pym and Larrimore 1979: 212) b. Mawng: Wu- lijap marrik ta karrkpin la wu- lijap. ll- small neg art.ll big but ll- small ‘It was a small [creek], not a big one.’ (Singer 2006: 333) c. Gun-Djeihmi:17 Gun-dulk barri- me. IV-stick 3A>3O- get. ‘They picked up a stick.’

(Evans 2003: 654)

17 As in some other cases, the data for Kunwinjku is from another dialect of Bininj Gun-wok which does not differ from Kunwinjku in this respect.

4.3 Syntax 

 99

It seems plausible that speakers who are multilingual and have Noun Phrases with singular count nouns as only elements in their repertoires use such Noun Phrases in English. The fact that this happens a lot supports this hypothesis. And there are well-known parallel cases: L2-speakers of English whose L1 does not have articles often omit them in English even though this is ungrammatical. This is understandable as a phenomenon of crosslinguistic influence: a phrase structure rule is transferred from the L1 to English. If an entire community shows this phenomenon, and especially if it does not occur only sporadically, it is likely that it becomes part and parcel of the linguistic repertoires in the community. Consequently, even though other possibilities, such as contact with other languages or varieties that show the phenomenon, I consider it very likely that this is the result of crosslinguistic influence in bilingual speakers. However, for the three speakers in the corpus who do not speak any Aboriginal languages, but who still show this feature, I assume this is at least partially due to contact with multilingual speakers in the community where it is the result of crosslinguistic influence, even though other factors could be involved.

4.3.3 Copula clauses As in a number of varieties of English, especially in the Asia-Pacific region, in Africa and the Caribbean, there are attestations of copula clauses that have no VP, see (41). (41) a. They different, you know.

[AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @30:07]

b. ... was kissing his son and now he grown up. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 05:02] c. We lucky, ... nah, no-one got hurt.

[AbESL20160505ANPN@17:13]

d. Some at home ... or here at the school, I was home. [AbESL20160505ANPN@ 13:31] e. Yeah, the speak much ... yeah ... when they at home ... when they with um Balanda, they talk Balanda. [AbESL20151110HG @04:13] Copula clauses without copula verb occur most frequently before locatives (29%), and significantly less before adjectives (19%) and before Noun Phrases (14%), see chapter 6 for further details. This means that in the majority of cases copula clauses have copula verbs. This is perhaps a bit surprising given that copulaless copula clauses are fairly frequent in high-contact Englishes.

100 

 4 Morphosyntax

4.3.4 Representation of verbal arguments In most varieties of English verbal arguments need to be realised as Noun Phrases. Sentences such as ?goes to school or *I hit [Peter] are usually ungrammatical. However, for some varieties of English is has been reported that arguments need to be realised verb-externally. Examples referred to in the electronic version of the World Atlas of Variation in English include Kriol, colloquial Singapore English and also Aboriginal English, though it is not reported as a highly frequent feature in the last variety (“neither pervasive nor extremely rare”). English on Croker Island seems to fit this description. Both, lack of an external Subject Noun Phrase and that of an external Object Noun Phrase do occur in the corpus but relatively infrequently. More usually, verbal arguments are expressed by external Noun Phrases, and there is significant variation. For instance, (42a) and (42b) were said by the same speaker in the same recording session and in the same communicative situation. (42) a. Can’t even pronounce properly.

[AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 27:37]

b. ‘Cos when you pronounce it, this just same. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 17:37] It is interesting that a zero realisation of Subjects is significantly more frequent than that of Object (ratio roughly 3:2). This is consistent with the fact that the subject is more frequently dropped when it is not the topic and the fact that objects generally are topics. In addition, objects tend not be represented by NPs with certain verbs, such as ‘speak’, ‘understand’, ‘talk’ and ‘know’, as opposed to verbs where they are always represented as NPs.18 Both the lack of verb-external object and subject realisation are rare in varieties of English around the world. There is a preponderance of cases in the Asia Pacific region, so that this could be called an areal feature. The blueprint for such structure is given by the local Aboriginal languages, all of which are head marking and do not require an argument to be realised externally to the verb. This is shown in (43), which translates ‘he hit him’ into Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku (see Pym and Larrimore 1979, Evans 2003 and Singer 2006 for details).

18 Thanks to Ceren Kocaman (p .c.) for these observations about the distribution of Subject and Object realisations in a term paper written in the winter semester 2019/20 at Ludwig-MaxmiliansUniversität, Munich, Germany.

4.3 Syntax 

 101

(43) Zero external argument NP in local substrate languages a. Iwaidja: riwu-ng 3sg.m.a>3sg.o.ant hit-ant b. Mawng:

ini3sg.m.a>3sg.m.O

c. Kunwinjku: bi 3sg>3sg.h

wu-ng hit-pst.pfv b-om hit-pst.pfv

One particularly interesting phenomenon is double marking of objects with 3sg objects using the clitic ‘im, as in (44). (44) Tea there; can boil’im tea and put sugar and drink [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 19:25] Superficially, this structure is similar to a structure found in Kriol and other contact languages and varieties in which -im marks a transitive verb, as in (45). (45) Roper River Kriol (Munro 2004: 99) Ai bin deik-im im. 1sg pst take-tm 3sg. ‘I took him.’ In this structure and in the relevant varieties, -im is more or less obligatory with transitive verbs and it is non-referential, which is why it requires an external Noun Phrase to refer to the actual argument. In (45) this is im ‘him’. That is, -im is basically a word formation (derivational) element that marks transitive verbs (Koch 2000, Munro 2004, Schultze-Bernd et al. 2013). By contrast, in my corpus of English on Croker Island ‘im is typically non-obligatory and referential, see (46). (46) a. Balanda, they bin give’im rrirri, you know. He bin drink rrirri. Him bin grab’im and wake’im up; wake’im up all right, they bin give im more rrirri. ‘They gave the European person alcohol, you know. He drank the alcohol. They grabbed him and woke him up; they woke him up and they gave him more alcohol.’ [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 24:38] b. Karlu [Iwaidja ‘no’], they might tease me. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 47:05]

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(46b) shows that ‘im is not compulsory for transitive verbs. All cases of ‘im in (46a) refer back to the initial Noun Phrase, Balanda ‘European’, and the case of drink shows that ‘im is not obligatory for transitive verbs. The external Noun Phrase rrirri ‘alcohol’ demonstrates that drink is really transitive in this example. This suggests that ‘im in this and other cases is like in English more generally, i.e. a clitic version of the object pronoun him. Consequently, cases like that in (44) are in fact instances where the object is double marked, i.e. with the clitic ‘im and an external Noun Phrase, rather than like in Kriol where ‘im just marks transitivity. Although it is theoretically conceivable that those examples are cases of Kriol loan structure, it is perhaps more likely that they emulate a structure that is found in most local substrate languages, e.g. in Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku (example is from Gun-djeihmi, a dialect of Kunwinjku, which is not different in this respect), see (47). (47) Double object marking in local substrate languages a. Iwaidja: Nanguj rildalku-ny kandijawa. yesterday 3sg.m.a>3sg.o.ant cut-ant bread ‘Yesterday he cut [a slice of] bread.’ [own field data] b. Mawng: Atiwu-k pirl ta kantijawa 3sg.m.A>3sg.ed- hit-pst.pfv cripple art.ed bread ‘He cut through the bread.’ (Singer and Hinch no date) c. Gun-Djeihmi: Djilidjilih barridalk-djobge-yi cane.grass 3a>3o grass-cut-pst.ipfv ‘They were cutting cane grass.’ (Evans 2003: 664) In all of these examples the Object is marked on the verb and expressed by an external Noun Phrase at the same time. Consider now the English version of (47a), provided by the same speaker, see (48). (48) Yesterday bin cutting it bread. ‘Yesterday he was cutting bread.’ This example follows the Iwaidja blueprint even in the internal-only representation of the Subject (Subject pro drop). The Object is marked both by an external pronoun and noun, which is slightly different morphologically than in Iwaidja, but the principle of double marking is the same. Consequently, it is likely that the instances of ‘im with an external NP are cases of double marking rather than a Kriol-like use of ‘im as a marker of transitivity.

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4.4 The Mouton World Atlas of Variation in English and English on Croker Island 4.4.1 The Mouton World Atlas of Variation in English The Mouton World Atlas of Variation in English (WAVE) and its electronic version (eWAVE) are large-scale surveys of 74 and 77 varieties of English as well as pidgins and creoles across the globe using a profile of 235 morphosyntactic features. The Atlas contains a profile for Aboriginal English (Malcolm 2012; Malcolm 2013). However, the database for this profile does not contain data from Northwestern Arnhem Land. For this reason and to situate English on Croker Island with the range of variation provided by the Atlas, this section contains a WAVE profile with relevant features and compares this to the existing profile of Aboriginal English (Malcolm 2012, 2013). As also mentioned in the introduction to the WAVE (Kortmann and Lunkenheimer 2012), this profile paints a broad-brush picture of a variety. There are several caveats. First, the term “variety” itself presupposes some homogeneity. For Aboriginal English Malcolm (2012: 596) asserts that “although there is regional variation in the forms of Aboriginal English spoken… , there is enough in common for them to be regarded as a distinctive dialect, or ethnolect”. Evaluating the homogeneity of Aboriginal English across all of Australia is a task well beyond this book, but such statement raises some questions that are relevant in this context. Firstly, variation is of course not only regional but also social and stylistic. Secondly, the database of Malcolm (2012) is not comprehensive in terms of regional representation. Especially in the Northern Territory, there are significant gaps. Thirdly, and most importantly for this book, it is not at all clear that the varieties Malcolm gives data for have been investigated so thoroughly that such far-reaching homogeneity can be asserted. While variation may be somewhat more extreme on Croker Island, it is by no means clear that Aboriginal English in other parts of the continent are necessarily so monolithic that they should be labelled a singular variety (that Aboriginal Englishes are distinct from other forms of Australian English is unquestionable, and it is certainly important to point this out). Second, there are some methodological caveats, which the architects of the WAVE are also aware of (see Kortmann and Lunkenheimer 2012). There is first of all the issue that the profiles of the varieties included in the Atlas were created by researchers who are specialists of the relevant varieties. It is not in all cases clear how they went about in populating the profile grid, and the methodological instructions of the WAVE were not very specific in this respect. For instance, the chapter on Aboriginal English seems to draw its information largely from

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published sources, many of which are by the author of the chapter (Malcolm 2012, 2013). On closer inspection, it becomes clear that not all features are backed up by significant or even sufficient data. In addition, the data are taken from different times and different locations fairly indiscriminately. For a variety that spans a smaller area, this may be less problematic, but for the multitude of Aboriginal Englishes (Eades 2014), such an approach seems very coarse-grained even considering the broad-brush nature of the Atlas to start with. It is likely that in many cases apples are compared to oranges and that anecdotal evidence is used disproportionately. Consequently, it is quite likely that the picture of Aboriginal English that emerged is quite different from reality, and it is not certain that it is useful for comparative purposes. This is connected to the four feature ratings. Again, the architects of the Atlas are aware of issues and say that these are mainly to be taken as indicators or triggers for more detailed investigations. However, in connection with the previous issue, namely that individuals created profiles without specific instructions on how these categories are to be used, it is possible that some profiles are more than a little distorted. Finally, the features themselves are potential methodological issues, but this is also clear to the authors of the Atlas, and it is perhaps impossible to find the ideal description and catalogue of features, so that is less of a problem, also because the catalogue of features (the tertium comparationis) is the same for all varieties in the Atlas. Third, there is the question of whether a feature-based approach is the right way to go about capturing variation, given that even more monolithic varieties show significant variation. It is not clear that label D (“attested absence”) can be confidently assigned to any variety that has not been mapped out in minute detail. Such a level of detail would be available for only a small number of varieties of English, if it is available at all. With large data samples this is perhaps less problematic, because statistically the variation will get “ironed out”, but in smaller varieties that have been less well captured, this may be a significant problem. Also, features are defined in relation to Standard English. Consequently, a feature may be described as deletion of something, because Standard English requires some element in a particular form, e.g. an auxilliary. It is clear that Standard English is simply taken as a reference point and that this must not be taken as a statement of a respective variety as deficient. However, in many cases it is not always clear whether Standard English is really unambiguous with respect to a particular feature, especially since Standard English can have a more regional flavour. For example, the use of the of there is/was with plural subjects is so common in Australian English that it is questionable whether it should in fact be taken as a feature of Standard Australian English,

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especially given that Australian English is less formal in general (Collins and Peters 2012: 589). Having discussed these caveats, however, I still think that filling in the profile of a “variety” – potentially even that of an idioloect – is useful for comparative and theoretical reasons. The catalogue of features provides a stable tertium comparationis that captures most morphosyntactic variables, and consequently it is suited as a comparative tool. Whether comparisons are useful for historical conclusions is less clear, but they can provide a starting point for a more detailed investigation, as Kortmann and Lunkenheimer (2012: 6) also point out. Creating a profile for a database of English is also revealing from a theoretical perspective, because this exercise will tell very quickly whether the term “variety” is at all appropriate. If the inter- and intra-speaker variation is too high, filling in the profile grid using the four frequency ratings will become problematic and it will not tell much about the data. The following section explains how I used the WAVE feature catalogue with the corpus of English on Croker Island and presents its profile compared with the profile of Aboriginal English (Malcolm 2012) in the WAVE, which reports on 105 features that are attested in the sources consulted.19

4.4.2 WAVE profile of English on Croker Island The main method used was to identify features using the concordance program AntConc (Anthony 2019), and the concordance function of the transcription program ELAN, which allows searches across the entire corpus. All 235 WAVE features were investigated.20 For 74 features the corpus contains attestations, for all other features there were either no attestations or not the appropriate data found. These 74 features are discussed here and compared to the profile of Aboriginal English in Malcolm (2012, 2013). 19 There is a discrepancy between the value of features rated A and B reported in Malcolm (2012: 597) and the number of features that can be obtained by counting the feature ratings in Appendix 1 of the paper (corroborated by downloading the feature list from eWAVE). In the paper Malcolm reports 86 features rated A and B, while there are actually only data for 84 features rated A and B. The number of features rated C is 23 as opposed to what is quoted in the paper, which is 22, so that the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English actually comprises 107 features. It may be that there are actually two different profiles; but given the small amount of variance, this is neglected here. 20 I would like to thank the students of my class “Australian Aboriginal English: the dynamics of language contact” at the University of Munich in the winter semester 2019 for their valuable observations and great discussions.

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The four WAVE ratings were assigned as follows. If a feature was not attested despite the relevant structure being in the corpus, or if there was counterevidence, it was rated D (“attested absence”). For example, Feature 1 requires evidence that she is used with inanimate reference. This means there need to be inanimate referents in the corpus that are referred to by other pronouns than she. If there are no inanimate reference in a corpus, this feature cannot be rated D. Likewise, if she is not part of the pronoun system of a language, this feature cannot be rated D. In the former case, the WAVE classification system uses the question mark, then latter a capital X. If a feature had fewer than three attestations, it was rated C (“extremely rare”). If more than three attestations covered less than 80% of relevant cases, i.e. if there were exceptions, it was rated B (“neither pervasive nor extremely rare”), otherwise A (“pervasive or obligatory”). 4.4.2.1 Pronouns (F1–F47) The first three features (F2, 3 and 6) in this section relate to the third person pronouns used. The relevant examples are discussed in section 4.2.3.4. F2 tracks the use of he/him for inanimate reference, F3, whether there are alternative ways to express referential it, and F6 whether there is one generalised object pronoun in the 3sg. All three features are rated B (“neither pervasive nor extremely rare”). This is similar to the Aboriginal English profile in Malcolm (2012, 2013), although the F3 and F6 are rated A there. The remaining features relating to pronouns and the comparison to Malcolm (2012, 213), “AbE”, can be found in Table 4. With respect to F32, this presupposes that you mob is in fact an emphatic 2pl pronominal form rather than a variant of plural you, which is not the only possible analysis, see 4.2.3.2 for further details. The comparison with the Aboriginal English sample shows some interesting differences, despite the limits imposed by the fact that the sample is less complete than my corpus with respect to the features investigated here. For example, the generalisation of one 3sg pronoun seems to be much more pervasive in Malcolm’s (2012; 2013) sample than in mine. Conversely, the overt distinction between a 1pl.incl vs. a 1pl.excl is more frequent on Croker Island than in Malcolm’s (2012; 2013) sample. This may be because of the presumably stronger Aboriginal languages in the speakers’ repertoires on Croker Island. Almost all speakers are bi-/multilingual and speak languages that make such an overt plural distinction. 4.4.2.2 Noun Phrase (F48–F87) There are 12 features attested in the corpus for this topic see Table 5.

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Table 4: WAVE features relating to pronouns (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

2

He/him used for inanimate referents

see (35b)

B

B

3

Alternative forms/phrases for referential (non-dummy) it

in Darwin and get thing

B

A

6

Generalised third person singular pronoun: object pronoun

see (35a, b)

B

A

7

Me instead of I in coordinate S

just me and my son

A

A

8

Myself/meself instead of I in coordinate S

I only got 3 brother and myself

C

–

10

No gender distinction in 3sg

see (35a)

B

A

14

No number distinction in reflexives

They keep it to themself.

C

A

19

S pronoun as possessive pronoun (1pl)

us culture

C

–

21

S pronoun as possessive pronoun (3pl)

they first language

C

B

25

O pronoun as possessive (3pl)

them voices

C

C

28

Use of us + NP in subject function

us arrarrkbi people

B

A

31

Non-coordinated O pronoun forms as S

see (34)

B

–

32

Distinction between emphatic and nonemphatic forms of pronouns

see (33)

B

–

34

Other forms or phrases for the 2pl pronoun

see (33)

B

A

36

Distinct forms of incl./excl. 1nsg

see (32)

B

C

42

O pronoun drop

see (42)

B

B

43

S pronoun drop (referential arguments)

see (42)

B

B

46

Deletion of it in referential it is-constructions

connect it and [it] is on now

B

–

47

Deletion of it in non-referential it is-constructions

[it] gets very hard, hey?

C

–

Table 5: WAVE features relating to the NP (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

53

Associative plural marked by other elements

they bin learn them ride horse and all that

B

A

55

Different count/mass noun distinctions

threw some sands off

B

A

57

Plural marking generally optional (human ref.)

see (30)

C

B

58

Plural marking generally optional (non-human referents)

see (30)

B

B

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Table 5 (continued). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

62

Zero article instead of definite article

see (37)

A

A

63

Zero article instead of indefinite article

see (37)

A

A

64

Use of definite article instead of zero

into the hospital

B

A

67

Demonstratives for definite articles

mustering all that cattle

B

A

68

Them instead of demonstrative those

all them pole [‘all those poles’]

B

A

71

No number distinction in demonstratives

this people

B

C

77

Omission of genitive suffix; possession expressed through bare juxtaposition of nouns

see (31)

B

A

78

Double comparatives and superlatives

more better, the biggest laziest

C

C

In general, the data from Croker Island matches that from Malcolm (2012, 2013) rather closely. The only clear differences relate to F55 and F64, where Malcolm’s Aboriginal English sample has significantly higher frequencies. 4.4.2.3 Tense and aspect (F88–120) There are ten features in this category for which there are attestations in the corpus, see Table 6. The four most frequently found features (rated A and B) relate to the form of the past tense and the use of the past tense as a perfect (see 1.2.1 for details), the fact that, like many varieties of English, including Malcolm’s Aboriginal English sample, English on Croker Island also uses go as an auxiliary to form the future (see 4.1.2.2 for details) and the different aspectual use of the progressive (see 4.1.3.1 for details). The only noteworthy difference between my corpus and the sample on which Malcolm (2012, 20313) are based is that the use of the present tense to express a future is very rarely found. If this is not an artefact of the sample size and text genres, it could perhaps be a result of crosslinguistic influence, as all local Aboriginal substrate languages prefer using a future tense/mood form or some other modal form to express the future (see e.g. Caudal and Mailhammer 2019 for Iwaidja). 4.4.2.4 Modal verbs, verb morphology and negation (F121–F184) Attestations for F165 are confined to tags such as eh, ey etc. In the example eh would be replaced with could they in Standard English. Consequently, it has the same function as this type of question tag, but it is form invariant.

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Table 6: WAVE features relating to tense and aspect (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

88

Wider range of uses of progressive be + V–ing (extension to statives)

they understanding little Mawng

B

–

89

Wider range of uses of progressive be + V–ing (extension to habitual contexts)

see (23)

A

–

90

Invariant be as habitual marker

We be together in Darwin.

C

C

99

Levelling of the difference between present perfect and simple past

see (15)

A

–

108

Ever as marker of experiential perfect

The funny language I ever heard

B

–

109

Perfect marker already

We lost one already.

B

–

111

Past tense/anterior marker been

see (12)

B

B

113

Loosening of sequence of tenses rule

he bin come, he never come

C

117

Present tense forms for neutral future reference

see (19)

C

B

The main differences between English on Croker Island and the WAVE sample of Aboriginal English can be summarised as follows see Table 7 for details. The use of there is/was with plural subjects, the construction of the perfect without auxiliary have and the generalisation of was across the past tense indicative paradigm are more frequent in the former while all other comparable features are more frequent in the latter. In addition, four features found in English on Croker Island are not attested in the WAVE sample. Of these the use of sit, sit down as a copula before locatives is noteworthy. In Iwaidja and other local languages ‘sit’ also means ‘be’ and is routinely used before locatives to simply mean ‘be’. A normal response to something like Iwaidja nganduka Rob? ‘where is Rob?’ would be bani kunak, literally ‘he sits [at] home’ irrespective of whether Rob is actually sitting down at the moment or whether the speaker knows the position of Rob. The best translation is actually ‘he is at home’, thus ‘sit’ fulfils the function of a copula in English. Consequently, it seems conceivable that the use of sit and sit down as copulas before locatives reflects the substrate usage of these verbs, even though this use is also already found in Melanesian Pidgin, as Jeff Siegel (p.c.) points out, and could, conceivably also have been part of a target variety, such as New South Wales or Northern Territory Pidgin.

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4.4.2.5 Relativisation (F185–F199) There are only two features attested in my corpus, see Table 8. Table 7: WAVE features relating to modal verbs, verb morphology and negation (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

124

Want/need + past participle

what I want done

C

–

128

Levelling of past tense/past participle forms: regularisation

it flied

C

A

129

Levelling of past tense/past participle forms: unmarked forms

see (9)

B

A

131

Levelling of past tense/past participle verb forms: past participle

see (13)

B

A

132

Zero past tense forms of regular verbs

see (9)

B

A

133

Double marking of past tense

fish bin splashed at water

C

D

141

Other forms/phrases for copula ‘be’: before locatives

the bin put’im to school and they bin sit down [‘stay, live, be’] there

B

–

154

Multiple negation/negative concord

No window didn’t break. ‘no window broke’

C

A

158

Invariant don’t for all persons, present tense

see (6)

B

A

159

Never as preverbal past tense negator

he never connected wire [‘didn’t connect’]

B

A

165

Invariant non-concord tags

Even the old people couldn’t sleep, eh?

B

A

170

Invariant present tense forms due to zero marking of the 3sg

see (5), (6)

A

A

172

Existential/presentational there’s/ there is/there was with pl S

there’s three everyday stockmen and one white man

A

B

174

Deletion of auxiliary be: before progressives

see (21)

B

A

175

Deletion of auxiliary be: before gonna

who anybody else gonna be listening

B

A

176

Deletion of copula be: before NPs

see (41)

B

A

177

Deletion of copula be: before AdjPs

see (41)

B

A

178

Deletion of copula be: before locatives

see (41)

B

A

179

Deletion of auxiliary have

see (26)

B

C

180

Was/were generalisation

see (7)

B

C

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Table 8: WAVE features relating to relativisation (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

189

Relativiser where or a form derived from where

this word where people can just listen

B

–

198

Deletion of stranded prepositions in relative clause

this word where people can just listen [to]

C

–

The relative rarity of feature attestations in this section may be an artefact of the data collected. It is possible that a larger corpus will reveal more relativisation. However, it must also be pointed out that relativisation is not a very common syntactic strategy in the local Aboriginal languages and there generally is no designated relativiser, so that the paucity of attestation could also reflect crosslinguistic influence. Unfortunately, the WAVE does not contain data for the relevant features, so that a comparison cannot be made. 4.4.2.6 Complementation (F200–F2010) There are two features attested in this category, see Table 9. Table 9: WAVE features relating to complementation (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

205

Existentials with forms of get

You got Audry. [‘there is Audry’]

B

A

206

Existentials with forms of have

you have Charlie Rotuma [‘there is Charlie Rotuma’]

C

–

Both features are rare in the corpus, but my impression is that F205 is perhaps more frequent in speech than it is attested in the corpus. It is also generally a feature of colloquial English and found in the WAVE samples for Aboriginal English and Roper River Kriol. 4.4.2.7 Adverbial subordination, adverbs and prepositions (F211–F222) This section discusses adverbial subordination, adverbs and prepositions together, as these categories represent only 12 WAVE features, of which only four are attested in my corpus, see Table 10.

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Table 10: WAVE features relating to adverbial subordination, adverbs and prepositions (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

213

No subordination; chaining construction linking two main verbs

bin cut that banana, cut it open

B

B

219

Adverb-forming suffixes -way and -time

sideway, longtime

B

A

220

Degree modifier adverbs have the same form as adjectives

real good

C

A

221

Other adverbs have the same form as adjectives

there you speak different.

B

A

F213 cannot always be diagnosed unambiguously. The asyndetic succession of verbs is common in local substrate languages, but it is not always clear whether this represents subordination or whether this is simply co-ordination. The example in Table 10 is a case in point. Is this to be paraphrased best as ‘CONJ he cut the banana, he cut it open’ or as ‘he cut the banana, and then he cut it open’? The stimulus video clip is not helpful in this case, as it depicts the chopping of a banana tree. In fact, the succession of inflected verbs is a common cause for confusion when translating e.g. Iwaidja into English, because it is not always clear what the syntactic and semantic relationship of the relevant clauses is, as there are often no overt subordinators. It is clear that “chaining constructions”, i.e. the succession of verbs, is frequent – if not pervasive – in the corpus, but as it is not clear in all instances whether this actually represents subordination. Hence, the frequency of F213 was rated B rather than A. 4.4.2.8 Discourse organisation and word order (F223–F235) Of the 13 features in this category, six are attested in my corpus, see Table 11. 4.4.2.9 Summary and comparison The WAVE profile of English on Croker Island consists of 74 attested features. Of these 8 are rated A (“pervasive or obligatory”), which equals 9% of all attested features, 49 or 68% are rated B (“neither pervasive nor extremely rare”) and 18 or 24% are rated C (“extremely rare”). As mentioned in 4.4.4.1, while some issues with the feature-based WAVE approach, one clear advantage is that profiles of different varieties can be compared, so that it is possible to assess their overall similarity. This is what for instance Malcolm (2012) does, and one interesting finding is that his Australian Aboriginal English has more features in common

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Table 11: WAVE features relating to discourse organisation and word order (relevant feature is marked bold in the examples). F

Descriptor

Example

Rating

AbE

224

Other possibilities for fronting than in StE

see (36)

B

–

227

Inverted word order in indirect questions

Then I know who is he.

B

B

228

No inversion/no auxiliaries in main clause wh-questions

Where you live in Sydney?

C

A

229

No inversion/no auxiliaries in main clause yes/no questions

You remember?

B

A

234

Like as a focussing device

when he was working like air and water mechanic

B

C

235

Like as a quotative particle

and she was like “stop screaming at me!”

B

B

with Australian creoles than with Australian English, which leads Malcolm to the conclusion that Aboriginal English is not an “informal sub-variety of Australian English” (Malcolm 2012: 597). This result also has potential historical implications, as it suggests that creoles are an important factor in the genesis of Aboriginal English. This does not necessarily mean that one way Aboriginal English originated from decreolisation (see e.g. Leitner 2004; Leitner 2007), but it might suggest that creolisation and restructuring are more closely related than often assumed. The obvious point of comparison for English on Croker Island is the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English. The WAVE profile for Aboriginal English contains 105 features for which they are attestations (rating A-C), with the rating distribution as follows: 49% rated A, 30% rated B and 21% rated C (see Malcolm 2012; Malcolm 2013 for detaills on the WAVE profile for Aboriginal English). Sections 4.4.2.1 to 4.4.2.8 and the tables included therein give details about the features that are in the profile of English on Croker Island and how they compare to the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English. The area of greatest overlap is the Noun Phrase (F48–F87, see 4.4.2.2 for details), where all features found on Croker Island are also part of the profile of Aboriginal English with minor variations in terms of ratings. It is interesting that half of the 12 shared features in this group concern determiners. Of particular relevance are Features 62, 63 and 67, as they may reflect influence from Australian Indigenous languages. The first two cover the use of zero articles, and the last one the use of demonstratives for articles. F62 and F63 are not frequent across

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varieties of English, they are found in just 53% of all Englishes in the WAVE. What is more, all varieties in which it is found with any significance (A and B ratings) are contact varieties, High-contact L1 variety or Creoles in WAVE categories (Kortmann and Lunkenheimer 2012: 3–4), and there is a geographical concentration in the Pacific. It is therefore plausible that the lack of articles in Noun Phrases is a substratum feature, though acquisition-related reduction effects are also a possibility (see 7.2.4.2 for a more detailed discussion). Generally, Australian languages lack articles and use demonstratives for this purpose (Dixon 2002: 66), and this is also valid for Croker Island substratum languages, e.g. Iwaidja (Pym and Larrimore 1979) and Kunwinjku (Evans 2003).21 Section 4.4.3.2 already presented arguments for this view for English on Croker Island which could also be valid for varieties of Aboriginal English. Moreover, the functional link between Iwaidja demonstratives and English determiners is particular clear in English to Iwaidja translations where speakers usually use a demonstrative to express the determiner in English. However, in naturally occurring Iwaidja speech, Noun Phrases only have demonstratives if these really have demonstrative functions: artayan warrkbi is the normal way to express ‘I see a/the man’, but many speakers will translate ‘I see a/the man’ with a demonstrative: artayan ba warrkbi. Consequently, it is quite likely that the determiner-less NPs found in English on Croker Island and – mutatis mutandis – in Aboriginal English more generally are results of substratum influence.22 The other interesting point in this group of features is the optional plural marking on nouns, F57 (optional plural marking on human referents) and F58 (optional plural marking on non-human referents), both of which are rated B in my corpus and in the WAVE profile. Both features are under-represented in varieties of English globally (F57: 41%, F58: 42%), and the distribution is very similar to that of the features just discussed. It is common for Australian languages to not obligatorily mark plural morphologically on all nouns. The local languages typically have plural forms for some words but not for others. Typically, humans and some animals are more likely to have plural forms than inanimate nouns. The situation in Bininj Gun-Wok, of which Kunwinjku, one of the substrate languages, on Croker Island is a dialect, is typical (see Pym and Larrimore 1979: 56–64 for Iwaidja; and Singer 2016: 32–33 for Mawng): 21 The so-called “article” in Mawng is typologically very different from articles in English (see Singer 2016: 34–35) 22 The fact that English on Croker Island and Aboriginal English also show Feature 64, which is the use of a definite article where Standard English has zero fits with this interpretation: L2 speakers of English whose L1 lacks articles show both a lack of articles in English and an overuse of articles.

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Most nouns have no special plural form; rather, number is shown by a range of sites on the verb, including the pronominal prefix slots, numero-spatial prefixes, and collective uses of the reflexive/reciprocal, as well as the use of plural demonstratives and quantifying adjectives, … However, for some nouns there are special plural forms, mostly formed by some sort of reduplication, and the possibility of using pronominal prefixes with nouns to indicate number also exists; … There is considerable variability across dialecs in this part of the grammar, and the use of the plural forms of nouns is optional rather than obligatory. Reduplication In general, reduplication for plural is lexeme-specific and, unlike with verbs, one cannot apply the various formal types productively throughout the nominal lexicon. However, some guidelines can be formulated: basically, the classes of noun permitting reduplicative plurals are human terms like daluk ‘woman’ or ngal-kohobanj ‘old woman’, some kin terms, clan names (though only attested in western dialects), some terms based on ‘country of origin’, and (in Kunwinjku only) subsection terms. (Evans 2003: 168)

It is not clear whether the Aboriginal English sample the WAVE profile is based on also expresses such an asymmetry with respect to whether the noun is human nor not, as both relevant features are rated the same. Potential substrate languages would also be hard to determine. There is, however, such an asymmetry in English on Croker Island. In section 4.4.2.1, I noted that zero plural marking on nouns is not very frequent in my corpus, especially for human nouns. The B rating for both features in my corpus glosses over this imbalance, and the reason is that zero plural marking for human nouns only just makes the threshold for a B rating, which is more than two attestations. By contrast, zero marking on non-human nouns is robustly attested in the corpus, even though across the entire corpus it is not pervasive. But for the only speaker who was not introduced to English before the age of five, it is actually pretty much the only option. Consequently, it is possible that the specific pattern of zero plural marking on nouns in English on Croker Island is indeed an effect of language contact. This will be discussed in more detail in chapter 8. Whether substrate influence is a factor explaining the ratings of F57 and F58 in the WAVE sample of Aboriginal English cannot be determined, but it is conceivable, given the general morphological typology of Australian languages. Another area with significant overlap between the WAVE profiles of English on Croker Island and Aboriginal English is in the area of verb morphology and negation (F121–F184, see 4.4.2.4 for details). Five features relating to the levelling of paradigmatic stem forms, zero past tense marking and double tense marking are found in both profiles (F128, 129, 131, 132, 170), although F128 (regular inflection of irregular past tenses) is only rarely attested in English on Croker Island (F133). Feature 170 is also part of another complex, the neutralisation of person-number marking on verbs, to which also F158 (invariant don’t for the entire present tense) belongs. The upshot of this feature constellation in both samples is that they both display less morphological variance and exponents for grammatical categories than Standard English. One interesting difference between both profiles in

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this section concerns F141, which is absent from the WAVE profile for Aboriginal English but not rare on Croker Island. As discussed in 4.4.2.4 this feature relates to the expression of copula ‘be’ using other verbs, and it is likely that the verbs sit or sit down, both of which are found in English are calques from local Aboriginal languages which use ‘sit’ or ‘sit down’ for this purpose, e.g. Iwaidja. It is not unreasonable to expect that varieties of Aboriginal English have this feature, even if they use different verbs, as copula verbs with the exclusive meaning ‘be’ are not frequent in Australian languages, so its absence is noteworthy. In addition to these areas, significant overlap occurs in the areas of adverbial subordination as well as discourse organisation and word order. The major differences lie in tense and aspect, relative clauses and complementation. English on Croker Island and Aboriginal English share only four out of ten features in tense and aspect, and Aboriginal English has three additional features that are not attested in the Croker Island corpus. Both share the past tense marker been (bin) and go-based futures but disagree on almost everything else in this section. The three features relating to the perfect in the Croker corpus (F99, 108. 109) are not found in Aboriginal English, while English on Croker Island has a reduced set of habitual constructions. Of the features found in Aboriginal English but not in my corpus of English on Croker Island, there are some whose absence is perhaps less expected. One case in point is the more general use of subject pronouns as possessive determiners. This is attested on Croker Island for 1pl and 3pl but not for the other forms, unlike Aboriginal English. As already mentioned in 4.4.2.2, the local Aboriginal languages can and often do express possession with preposed free pronouns, so it would be expected if this happened in English, like it does in the WAVE sample of Aboriginal English. Another such feature is a generalised 3sg pronoun (F 5), given that e.g. Iwaidja only has such a pronoun. In quantitative terms, English on Croker Island and the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English share a total of 54 features out of the 74 which are attested in English on Croker Island, corresponding to 73.0%. If only features rated A and B are taken into account, then these figures go down to 37 shared features or 50.0%. It is noteworthy that the biggest discrepancy involves ratings A and B. Though their combined value is about the same in both corpora, 75.7% in the Croker corpus vs. 78.5% in the Aboriginal English WAVE profile, the percentage of A ratings is considerably lower in the former (9%) than in the latter (49%). Conversely, the percentage of features that are rated B is higher in the Croker corpus than in the Aboriginal English corpus (66% to 30%). This could be an artefact of how ratings A and B are delineated in both corpora. Unfortunately, there is no publicly available information on this for the Aboriginal English WAVE profile. However, it could also be a correlate of the high degree of variation in the

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Croker Island English corpus. Chapter 6 interrogates this question in more detail. In addition, it is interesting to note that in fact the greatest overlap of features is between features that are not attested in either sample. Since category D is not just the absence from the sample, but in fact a statement about the variety not having a feature, the fact that two varieties share a lack of a feature is actually a variable that can be taken into account when gauging how similar two samples are. Aboriginal English and English on Croker Island share 99 features rated D (“attested absence”). This corresponds to 42.4% of all features in the WAVE. In order to obtain a sense of what these percentages of shared features mean, it is useful to compare the relevant figures with those for other varieties. Malcolm (2012: 597) contains a comparison between his profile of Aboriginal English and the WAVE profiles of Southeast England English, Irish English, Australian English, Australian Vernacular English, Roper River Kriol and Torres Strait Creole. Aboriginal English shares the largest amount of features rated A or B with Roper River Kriol (47%) and Torres Strait Creole (51%). The remaining Englishes are either around the 30% mark (Irish, Australian and Australian Vernacular English) or below 25% (Southeast England English). The overall conclusion Malcolm draws is that Aboriginal English is typologically closer to the creoles than to Australian English (and the other Englishes), and that it is therefore not an “informal subvariety of Australian English” (Malcolm 2012: 611). English on Croker Island shares about the same percentage of A and B rated features with Aboriginal English than Aboriginal English with Roper River Kriol. If C-rated features are included, the percentage is higher than that in any other comparison in Malcolm (2012), as it increases by over 20%. This effect is similar as to what happens when C rated features are included in the Aboriginal English comparisons. Then both Irish English and Australian English share 42% and 45% with Aboriginal English, while the creoles only gain moderately (53% and 54% respectively). Malcolm (2012: 597) notes that Australian English and Aboriginal English share 39% of C-rated features, but does not interpret this finding. If English on Croker Island is compared with the e-WAVE data for Roper River Kriol, Australian English and Australian Vernacular English, then an interesting picture emerges: Comparing robustly attested features (A and B rated features), English on Croker Island share 30 features with Roper River Kriol (40.5%), 17 with Australian English (23.0%) and 23 with Australian Vernacular English (31.1%). These results echo Malcolm’s conclusion about where Aboriginal English sits: English on Croker Island is closest to Aboriginal English and Roper River Kriol, although it is closer to the former than to the latter (A&B: 50.7% vs. 47.04%). However, English on Croker Island is further away from Standard Australian English than Aboriginal English, as they share only 23% of robustly attested features, compared to 29% for Aboriginal English and Standard Australian English. Interestingly, English on

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Croker Island is considerably closer to Australian Vernacular English, and even closer than Aboriginal English. To sum up, despite its broad-brush nature, the WAVE profile of English on Croker Island has yielded interesting results. First, the exercise of creating the profile enriched the description of English on Croker Island. Second, the comparison with Aboriginal English and with other varieties supports the intuition of where English on Croker Island is situated within the varieties of English. It is closest to Aboriginal English and Kriol, but it is also closer to Australian Vernacular English than Aboriginal English is and less similar to Standard Australian English. In contrast to the phonology, where there is reasonable systematicity to the variation in that most of the segmental variation is describable in terms of lexical sets for individuals, the variation in the morphosyntax shows much more speaker-internal inconsistency in addition to across-speaker inconsistency. For example, the same word can show a different inflectional pattern in the same sentence in the same conversation without a discernible difference in meaning. Across the data, individual variation is very high to the point where it is often impossible to give more than a more or less constrained set of possible realisations e.g. for a given grammatical category. The highest degree of consistency lies in the basic syntax and in constructions that are often shared across most of the community. In this chapter I showed the range of variation within a given context and try to give tendencies where possible. The variability and inconsistency can pose problems for understanding English on Croker Island even if one is familiar with Aboriginal English and Kriol but does not know the range of variation. One question that has been asked when confronted with the data is whether people speak the same language. This is more due the morphosyntax, the lexicon and phraseology (see chapter 5) than due to the phonology.

5 Lexicon and constructions 5.1 Lexicon The lexicon of English on Croker Island has been shaped by different contact languages and by different situational determinants. First, there are words that are also find in other varieties of English. Second, words that are originally from contact varieties and languages, such as NSW Pidgin and Kriol, and third, words from local Aboriginal languages. Given that Kriol is not generally spoken on Croker Island, the most likely Kriol influence is a type of borrowing. By contrast the influence from local Aboriginal languages is likely to be a kind of crosslinguistic (online) influence in a highly intense contact situation with high levels of bilingualism. This kind of influence also includes code switching, which is not a likely analysis for Kriol influence as most community members are not normally Kriol speakers.

5.1.1 Borrowing and code switching: Local Aboriginal languages In the case of words and phrases from local Aboriginal languages, it is necessary to briefly discuss two main phenomena that are connected with the transfer of lexical items – and to some degree also structures – between languages, namely borrowing and code switching. Prototypically, code-switching occurs when elements from one language are embedded into a larger frame from another language, borrowing occurs if elements from one language are integrated into another language. Code-switching is easiest to identify if the embedded elements are larger chunks that retain most characteristic features of the embedded language. Conversely, borrowing is clearest if singular lexical items are heavily integrated – also phonologically – to the point where they are no longer identifiable as borrowings (clearest in the cases of calques). However, between those points is a continuum, and the border between borrowing and code switching is notoriously difficult to draw. The main issue is how to classify single, ad hoc “borrowings” or transfers. These transfers are made under the same conditions as code-switching: bilinguals embed a word from one language into the morphosyntactic frame of another language. Consequently, it has been questioned whether a sharp delineation is in fact necessary. It seems best, therefore, to treat lexical switches and lexical borrowings as manifestations of the more general phenomenon of borrowing under RL [recipient language] agentivity. While the results may differ in some way, the same underlying process is involved. (Winford 2010: 182) https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-005

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I agree with this statement with one important modification: in van Coetsem’s model, which Winford uses here, the active language is whichever language is dominant, and dominance equals proficiency (Coetsem 2000: 52). Though proficiency in van Coetsem’s model is not the same as nativeness, it is clear that it is not a necessary condition for recipient language agentivity. It is in fact common for second language learners to code switch and borrow using their more proficient language (L1) as source language rather than this being the recipient language, though the reverse also occurs. Consequently, it seems more realistic not to automatically link dominance to proficiency but instead to what Matras (2000: 577) calls “pragmatic dominance”, i.e. “the language which, in a given moment of discourse interaction, is granted maximum mental effort by the speaker”. But with this modification, Winford’s conclusion makes perfect sense: both, borrowing and code switching are processes in which an active RL accepts elements from a SL. As a result of this brief discussion, I will not delineate borrowing from code switching categorically, even though I will not use both terms as synonyms. I will use borrowing for cases in which a word or phrase has become a more or less permanent and predictable item in English, and reserve code-switching for cases in which there is an ad hoc insertion of e.g. Iwaidja into an English clause for a specific pragmatic effect. For example, the word Balanda ‘White/English’ has been borrowed into English, see (49). (49) We talk to them in Balanda. [AbE_2013-09-16-26MMRN_bio1 @ 09:29] It is the common word for these meanings, even though its connotation is negative, and it is not restricted to bilingual communication. By contrast, in (50) a ngabi buny and kamu ‘my mother and father’ are inserted as NPs into an English frame, and in (50b) an entire clause has been added to an English clause.23 (50) a. Ngabi bunyi and kamu used to bin going back and forth.23 I father mother ‘My father and mother used to go back and forth.’ [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 3: 47] b. I can listen, but karlu ng-alahardama-Ø. I can understand but no 1sg.pres-speak-pres ‘I can understand, but I can’t speak.’ [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 12: 03] 23 The construction used to bin Ving only occurs three times in the corpus. All attestations are from the same speaker, who uses this construction as an alternative to the standard and frequent used to construction and another used to construction with a progressive (there now used to working my mother and father) with now discernable difference.

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In addition to these intra-sentential, (50a), and inter-sentential, (50b), cases of code-switching, we find switches at a new turn in response to the previous turn, as in (51). (51)

Researcher: So you speak Iwaidja as well? Consultant: Ng-aldahardama-Ø Iwaidja burruli. 1sg.pres-speak-pres Iwaidja good ‘I speak Iwaidja well.’ [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 08:12]

There are more complex cases such as those in (52). (52)

a. He’s still with Sabrina? Karlu? Y-awara-n for other warrkbi? No 3sg.dist-go-ant man ‘No? Did she leave him for another man? [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 19:49] b. Researcher: Alidba-Ø inyman? 3pl.pres- listen-pres language ‘Can they understand [an Aboriginal] language?’ Consultant: Sometime.

Some warrulany a-lidba-Ø some children 3pl.pres-listen-pres inyman, language ‘Some children understand [an Aboriginal] language.’

like ngarri, Kunwinjku, they speak Kunwinjku and they like 1pl.incl listen to us, ngarri, 1pl.incl

parents that we speak. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 22:37]

In (52a) the speaker switches from an all-English sentence to an Iwaidja interjection and then to a sentence that is more like an Iwaidja-English-Iwaidja switching pattern than the more common English-Iwaidja-English pattern. (52b) shows this more common pattern, but with repeated switch to an Iwaidja pronoun and the English quantifier some before warrulany ‘children’ (note that Iwaidja does not have a word expressing the meaning ‘some’). All examples in (50) to (52) have in common that there is a bilingual communication situation, i.e. the interlocutors have access to a partially overlapping

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linguistic repertoire (English and Iwaidja), and there is a context in which Aboriginal identity and/or an emotional connection are relevant. In some cases, the emotional connection is perhaps not so clear, but the bilingual communication situation is the same. (53)

a. Well there, now; they bin teach them … everything … bartuwa, they bin learn. ‘Well there, now. They taught them everything, that’s it – they were learning [it]. [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 24:05] b. They bin give’im rrirri, you know; he bin drink rrirri. ‘They gave him alcohol, you know; he was drinking alcohol.’ [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 24:38] c. Balanda kani when we came. ‘White people where already here, when we came.’ [AbE_2013-09-16-26MMRN_bio1 @ 02:26] d. Never eat walij balanda, only bush tucker. ‘[They] hadn’t eaten white people’s food, only bush food.’ [AbE_20130923CM_bio @ 18:48] e. We couldn’t sleep, arlarrarr. ‘We couldn’t sleep at all (lit. ‘nothing).’ [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 14:07]

These examples are noteworthy for a number of reasons. (53a) inserts an important element in Iwaidja discourse into the English frame, which has no exact counterpart in English. This is also true for (53e), where ‘nothing’, even in colloquial Australian English would not do justice to the meaning in Iwaidja, which is an emphasis of the main statement. In (53b) the speaker uses the common Iwaidja word for ‘alcohol’, possibly also because Minjilang is a so-called “dry” community, where the sale, import and consumption of alcohol is generally banned. This word also illustrates how problematic it is to sharply delineate between borrowing and code-switching. Given that rrirri is used across the community as the normal word for ‘alcohol’, it is possible to argue that this word has been borrowed into English even though it has not been phonetically integrated, as the is pronounced as an alveolar tap rather than a retroflex or alveolar approximant. Conversely, Balanda in (53c), though I used it as a typical example of a loanword, may in fact be seen as an instance of code-switching, as it does not have a regular plural. The example above may be a little ambiguous, as Balanda could potentially be

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translated as ‘the white man’, but for the attestations such as in (54) this is not possible. They have to be translated as ‘white person’ and ‘white people’.24 (54) a. Working with another Balanda.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio]

b. These Balanda bin come.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio]

(53d) is interesting because the switch occurs at a position that is ungrammatical in the matrix language, following the head noun. This would argue for an analysis positing that walij balanda ‘white people’s food’ (lit. ‘food white people’s) is the inserted element rather than just walij ‘food’. There are also specific vocabulary items that are borrowed into English, and these referential terms for people, most notably kinship terminology, as in (50a), and the so-called skin terms, which are terms that denote membership of one of the eight moieties, see (55). (55)

This old lady, now … Ngalngarrij. She was a principal. [AbE_2013-09-16-26MMRN_bio1 @ 02:26]

Skin terms are used to address and refer to people in local Aboriginal languages, they function like names to some extent. Consequently, they are borrowed into English. Similarly, names for places and also languages can be borrowed. In (56) the Iwaidja name for the language Kunwinjku, Nainku, is borrowed. (56) But my kamu used to talk Nainku all the time. [AbE_2013-09-16-26MMRN_bio1 @ 03:49] In addition to borrowings and instances of code switching, my corpus of English on Croker Island also contains instances of calquing, specifically semantic loans, i.e. cases where an existing English word receives an additional meaning which is transferred from an Aboriginal language. (50b) and (52b) provide the first example, namely listen with the meaning ‘understand’. This additional meaning becomes clear from the fact that Iwaidja -lidba, the stem in alidba ‘they understand’ also means ‘listen’ (Birch and Evans no date), as in karlu anngalidbang ngartung ‘you weren’t listening to me’. The same polysemy exists in Mawng (Singer and Hinch no date), and in other Aboriginal languages more generally (Butcher 2008: 639). Another likely case of calquing is sit with the meaning ‘be’, 24 Balanda also denotes the English language, as in this example: We talk to them in Balanda. [AbE_2013-09-16-26MMRN_bio1 @ 09:29]´

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as discussed in 4.4.2.4. Possibly, this could be extended to stay with the meaning ‘live’, as this ‘live, stay, camp’ are all meanings of the Iwaidja verb for ‘sit’. Iwaidja bani kani can mean ‘3sg is sitting here’, ‘3sg is camping/living here’ or ‘3sg is here’ (Birch and Evans no date).25 There is one good case of a special type of calque. The expression is buried/ put (him) at + place name. This is a way to refer to someone who has passed away and is buried at the relevant place. (57)

I bin working there too, at that lighthouse. Balanda, one balanda mechanic, and that old man at Arrurru, we bin dig it from all over and we bin dig it and put that wire under and we bin climb on top of the lighthouse. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 05:17]

This expression is rare in the corpus and it is attested mainly with older speakers, but it is interesting because it mirrors an expression found in Iwaidja with the same use, namely to refer to someone who has passed away so that their name does not have to be uttered. Uttering the name of someone who has passed away, especially if they are close relatives or if they have passed away recently, tends to be avoided on Croker Island. In Iwaidja, the relevant expression features the word aju ‘he/she lies’, so aju Arrurru is the Iwaidja equivalent to at Arrurru in (57). Because the English version is neither a translation of the Iwaidja expression nor is it similar in structure – the key item in English is a preposition and a verb in Iwaidja, it is what Betz (1949) in his traditional terminology has called a loan creation, i.e. a word or expression created on the basis of a model from another language but without structural correspondence. Another case may be the use of that/this one as a 3sg pronoun (personal or demonstrative), though the demonstrative use is of course also found in other varieties of English. (58) a. And I had one Indigenous person come to me today and … it was that young Fletcher boy walking down there – well I don’t call his name, he’s my … do you know that one? [AbESL20151109MO @ 30: 17] b. They didn’t even talk English, but that one .. that Aussie bloke. [2014-11-25-16-15-09 @42:37] c. This one was teaching us Iwaidja. [AbESL201670609MN_bio @ 21:03]

25 To be sure, sit(down) and stay are already recorded in NSW Pidgin (Troy 1994: 199), and may therefore be actually ultimately from there.

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In Iwaidja a demonstrative like ruka ‘that one’ can be used in instances similar to those in (58), cf. (59). (59) Wurrwarr. Ruka wara birdaha. ‘Poor thing. He’s crawling around.’

(Birch and Evans no date)

Interestingly, this one and that one are found in contexts, where Iwaidja also uses a free 3sg pronoun, see (60). (60) Janad karnaka kurrambalk. ‘He is building a house.’

(Birch and Evans no date)

The reason for using this one and that one as a 3sg pronoun may be that it is a way to avoid gendered 3sg pronouns, which Iwaidja does not have. An example of phrasal calquing is the use of why that in the following example: (61)

Consultant: Why that? Researcher: I don’t know. I haven’t looked. Why, what’s happening? Consultant: They looking ... little Balanda they that looking for something.

Why that translates Iwaidja malany, which can mean ‘why’ but also ‘what’s up’ or ‘what’s going on’. This is the meaning of why that? in (61). The consultant wants to know what the commotion is about. The researcher confirms this interpretation by saying that they have not paid attention to what is happening. The consultant then looks and reports back. This is a clear case of online crosslinguistic interference; why that does not occur anywhere else in the corpus with this meaning and it is not the usual way to say something like what’s going on? in English. To sum up, this brief overview has demonstrated that the local Aboriginal languages have contributed to the lexicon of English on Croker Island by being the source of borrowings and code-switching. The next section examines other vocabulary items of interest that cannot be linked to local Aboriginal languages. Nevertheless, some owe their existence to language contact, which, in some cases must have occurred a long time ago.

5.1.2 Other characteristic vocabulary items Apart from vocabulary items from local Aboriginal languages, English on Croker Island also contains other characteristic vocabulary, of which some are borrowed. This section presents a brief survey of some iconic items. First,

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there are terms for people, two of the most frequently found are old lady and old man. (62) a. Where old man Khaki used to stay.

[AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 00:17]

b. No, I heard old man speaking Ilgar, Mawng. [AbE2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 11:26] c. That old man use to speak Urrugu, harder than us. [AbESL20151112JC_2 @ 20:46] d. We went fishing at old lady outstation. e. Then this old lady was my teacher.

[AbESL041115RLNL @ 22:34] [AbE2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 13:11]

The two elements differ with respect to their usage. While both are used with and without demonstratives or articles, see (62b)-(62e), only old man can be used preceding another noun that is a co-referent, see (62a). Consequently, it is not surprising that both terms are not attested with equal frequency in the corpus: old man is attested over twice as many times than old lady (64 vs. 26 times). Given that 24 of the 64 attestations are uses as in (62a), this is one obvious factor in explaining this imbalance. However, both terms are mainly found with elderly and well-respected community members that would otherwise be described as elders or community leaders, a use that is also found in other varieties and in Kriol (see e.g. Munro 2004: 102). With a demonstrative as in (62c), it can be used more neutrally: the old man in this example could be any old man, and similar examples exist for old lady. But generally, these terms are honorific in meaning and signify deference, at least to some degree, though they are not used to address people. A group of characteristic vocabulary items can be found in other Aboriginal varieties of English as well as in Kriol and other contact languages. Some of them are likely to be the result of earlier contacts. Examples are longtime ‘for a long time’, which is found all across the Top End, bogey ‘swim, bathe’, which is originally from NSW Pidgin and travelled all the way from the Sydney area with it, cheeky ‘dangerous, violent’, shame and shame job, referring to a concept involving being shyness and embarrassment, sorry ‘sorrow’, business ‘spiritual or ritual affairs’, cf. sorry business (relating to funerals), men’s/women’s business ‘men’s/ women’s spiritual knowledge’, ceremony ‘ritual ceremony’, all of which are found in Aboriginal English more generally (Butcher 2008: 638).

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One example of a complex formation that involves a derivative and that is also part of the WAVE profile (F 219) is the use of -ways to form words that mean ‘in the way of X’, such as mentally-ways ‘in the way/with respect to mental health’.

5.1.3 Function words In addition to content words, English on Croker Island contains also function words that are non-Standard, and for which it is interesting to consider how they came into being. In this section I discuss three examples, mightbe, mustbe and where. The first two will be discussed together, as they are both modal adverbs. 5.1.3.1 Mightbe and mustbe Mightbe and mustbe are used as modal adverbs in English on Croker Island. Mightbe is used as an epistemic modal with a relatively weak modal force. By contrast, mustbe can be used as an epistemic modal or a deontic modal. Mightbe can be paraphrased with might, maybe or perhaps in Standard English, mustbe with must in its epistemic function and with have to or should in its deontic function. Both modals can easily be delineated from formally similar modal verb constructions, i.e. might be and must be. First, they are prosodically one word, i.e. there is no pause or break between might and be and must and be in mightbe and mustbe, but this is often the case in the modal verb constructions. Similarly, while might/ must and be can be stressed, this is not possible for mightbe and mustbe; they are always stressed on the first syllable. Second, mightbe and mustbe occur in different syntactic compared with might/must. They occupy an adverbial position and they are adjuncts, whereas the respective modal verbs are heads of VPs. (63) illustrates this difference. (63) a. I mean, they might be on the internet, eh? [AbESL20151109MO @ 36:17] b. Iwaidja mightbe is dying out. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 24:07] The different meanings of these modal adverbs are set out in (64). (64) a. Yesterday bin lift his foot he was gonna try to kick it: no too hard...he mustbe try again. ‘Yesterday, he lifted up his foot. He was going to try to break it [a branch]. It was too hard. He has to try again.’ [AbE_2013-09-22_CM_ededEng @ 18:57]

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b. Rrupia mustbe was on the floor. ‘There must have been money on the floor.’ [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 13:53] c. Nangila was with his family, but Nangila mightbe had girlfriend, we don’t know. ‘Nangila was with his family, but Nangila might have had/maybe had a girlfriend, we don’t know.’ [AbE2013-09-26MMRN_bio @ 1 15:49] The context of (64a) is that the speaker is describing a short video clip in which a person tries to break a branch with his foot, but the clip stops before the branch actually breaks. The speaker was instructed to explain what happened using the past tense. He concluded that the most likely reason for the branch not breaking is that it was too hard, and then asserted that the person on the clip now has to try again to break the branch if he wants the branch to be broken. This is an expression of weak deontic modality, as also the translation indicates, because there is no strong compulsion or obligation to break the branch, it is to some degree optional. Note that it is unlikely that this is a case of epistemic modality, as the speaker has no reason to assume or infer that the person in the clip will try again to break the branch. In contrast to this, (64b) is a clear example of strong epistemic modality. The example is taken from a narrative about the last time a cyclone hit the island. The speaker describes how badly the shop was affected and infers that money from the tills must have been on the floor, given that other things she saw, e.g. cigarettes, were on the floor as well. The comparatively weaker epistemic meaning of the modal mightbe is exemplified in (64c). The speaker explicitly says that it is unknown whether Nangila had a girlfriend, but in her opinion it is possible. 5.1.3.2 Polyfunctional where Besides its use as an interrogative, where is found in my corpus with a two of other functions. The first is that of a relativiser, and the second that of a preposition and/or a locational adverb, see (65). (65)

a.

Where is he, that Nangila?

[AbESL20160506ANPN @ 19:42]

b. So, that’s where they got all their skills, you know. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ c.

You know where Wilyi is.

[AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 14:58]

5.2 Combinatorics: Argument frames and constructions 

 129

d. But in anger, that’s where he comes up. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 26:26] e.

You know, where us mob house .. that old one, thirteen. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @35:56]

f.

But there is too many crocs at Three Mile. But right where corner. [AbESL041115RLNL @ 25:11]

g.

Where Adbarnay, at the Trepang Bay.

h. He was born where near Cape Don. i.

[ABE_20130923_CM_bio @ 1:25] [AbESL20151112JC2 @ 19:11]

Going forwards where new millennium. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 37:40]

(65a) shows the use of where as an interrogative, (65b) and (65c) as relativiser with the Standard English meaning ‘where’. In (65d) where is used with a bit of an unorthodox reading, denoting ‘when’. Now, (65e) can still be interpreted as a relative clause if it is assumed that the copula is zero: where us mob house is. And this is perhaps even possible for (65f). However, for (65g) and (65h) such an analysis would be odd. There, where is used like a preposition ((65g)) or a locational adverb ((65h)). This polyfunctionality can be explained if it is assumed that the relative clauses with zero copula in (65f) and (65g) are bridging constellations. As they are ambiguous in terms of the function of where, they are prone to being re-interpreted, and the reinterpretation as a preposition/locational adverb is consistent with the lack of a verb in the sentence. Thus, (65f) is ambiguous and while the relative clause reading is certainly possible, where could easily be translated – and that would probably be more appropriate – as a preposition ‘right at the corner’. And for (65g) and (65h) the relative clause reading is not available. Perhaps the clearest example is (65i). However, there is no indication that this polyfunctionality of where represents a diachronic development, as the prepositional use is also found with the oldest speakers in the corpus. Rather, it represents a space of polyfunctionality in which English on Croker Island shows a richer set of meanings and word classes for where than Standard English.

5.2 Combinatorics: Argument frames and constructions Perhaps the most unique characteristics and the variability of English on Croker Island lie in the combinatorics. While there is a certain degree of consistency and comparability in the lexicon and also in the constructions, there is a high

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degree of variability in the way words are put together to express meaning. To some degree one cannot escape the feeling that many collocations are computed online idiosyncratically. This is supported by the fact that in many cases we deal with low attestations and low frequencies of these collocations, to that it seems that they are not entrenched constructions but put ad hoc creations. Nevertheless, there are also recurrent collocations and constructions that are in some way characteristic for English on Croker Island.

5.2.1 Argument frames/complementation Complementation patterns, especially the argument frames of verbs constrain clausal structure to a considerable degree. In some cases, the argument frames of verbs are different than in Standard English or express meanings of particular relevance. One example is the transitive use of work with the object denoting what the area of work or job was. (66) a. They bin working, uh, timber, bin working timber after that. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 34:35] b. We still bin working trepang.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 02:41]

Especially in narratives, speakers will make use of this way to construct the argument frame of work to indicate the different kinds of jobs they worked in. Another example of a different argument frame is the case of speak, talk, understand and listen used intransitively with an implied object that is usually an Indigenous language. Section 5.5.1.1 mentioned the added meaning ‘understand’ for listen, and it is in this sense that listen is used intransitively. (67) a. We speak in Iwaidja but I reckon he can’t even speak to, like, you guys … he might be sort of embarrassed or something. [AbESL20151112JC @ 23:25] b. They don’t know, they don’t understand, no talking. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 52:43] c.

l only listen, but I don’t speak. [AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 29:57]

In all three examples, the implicit object of speak, know, understand, talk and listen is Iwaidja. It is possible that this is built on an intransitive argument frame taken from Aboriginal languages, as all the relevant verbs are for example

5.2 Combinatorics: Argument frames and constructions 

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intransitive in Iwaidja and also in Mawng. For example, an Iwaidja translation of (67c) could be ngalidba, karlu ngaldahardma with an implicit argument Noun Phrase that does not have to be expressed. However, it is of course possible that this is a case of simple ellipsis, as the object is part of the discourse. But the parallelism between local languages and the structure of the relevant verbs is striking, even if this is not a compelling case for crosslinguistic influence. Another frequent pattern is the expression of locational adverbial or oblique locational argument by Noun Phrase rather than a Prepositional Phrase, see examples in (68). (68) a. He bin go Adelaide for long.

[AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 36:04]

b. We supposed to go Kormilda, me and my sister. [AbESL20160609SW_bio @ 15:25] c. But I born Kunbalanya.

[AbESL20160506ANPN @ 04:53]

In addition to differences in transitivity and valency, there are also attestations of verbs with minor changes to verb complications. A frequent type is a different preposition with an oblique argument (traditional term: Prepositional Object) than what is found in mainstream varieties, see (69) with different prepositions marked in bold. (69) a. I went always with my father and mother cos, you know, I never split going somewhere else like they’re doing it now, young fellas but ngabi [Iwaidja ‘I’], I bin just stick on mother and father. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 12:30] b. And when they go in Darwin, they just like Tupac they walk around. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio2 @ 29:03]

5.2.2 Constructions There are a large number of constructional expressions of meaning found in the corpus that differ from Standard English. Quite of these constructions are a unique or very rare in the corpus, and it may be better to call some of them ad hoc collocations. In addition, there are more entrenched constructions that appear to be part of the repertoires of many or even most speakers. (70) sets out some collocations. With the exception of (70a) none of these are frequent in the corpus.

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(70) a. I was home, I was on top.

[AbESL20160506ANPN @ 13:38]

b. First that big rain was going on and off.. because the tide was coming in slowly .. and that walmad [Iwaidja ‘rain’]-that cyclone was standing right in the middle of the sea .. o na, we couldn’t see it, we was all inside the house. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 12:54] c. From night and like this still going .. we got two days that cyclone bin howl us. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 15:08] d. I was there for hid.

[AbESL20141125CYPM_eded_SL @ 33:09]

e. Chuck’im in Darwin with them Chinese mob. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 03:28] That will be biggest embarrassed part, you know, for all them young generation, after that they’re gonna turn around and say alright show us your inyman [Iwaidja ‘language’]. [AbESL20151112JC @ 06:24] I was on top, see (70a), means that the speaker’s home was located on the hill in Minjilang rather than the lower part of the community. In general, to be on top means that the speaker’s location was higher than some other reference point, and this is probably a construction that is also found in a number of other varieties of English. In (70b), going on and off is an extension of the normal use of this phrasal verb with rain rather than with words for e.g electric light or appliances. Also, in the same example, the use of the verb stand with cyclone is clearly an innovative collocation. The use of the verb howl with a direct object us in (70c) is also somewhat unusual with the intended meaning of ‘attacking/harassing us’, seen from the perspective of more mainstream varieties. (70d) is a possibly unique formation. It is built on a purposive for construction, but with a noun that is not attested elsewhere and that is presumably related on the lexical root hide. In (70e) the preposition for Darwin is unusual, but in addition to that the verb is interesting because no actual throwing is involved. I have included (70f) because the ad hoc collocations/constructions in the example make the text very hard to understand. The context is that the preceding conversation is about whether children and young people in Minjilang still speak Iwaidja. The speaker thinks the majority of them do not speak Iwaidja, and wants to say that they will be embarrassed one day, when someone asks them about their language, and they only know English.

5.2 Combinatorics: Argument frames and constructions 

 133

Turning now to a more frequent construction, which is also more widespread areally, consider the examples in (71). (71)

a. But we’re talkin’ Kunwinjku hard one. [AbESL20160506ANPN @ 03:56] b. He bin hit it. Hard one.

[AbE_Narratives_Eng_CM140924_02 @ 05:49]

c. You got short one jaliwarra [‘pants’]. d. And the mother one went in.

(Mailhammer and Birch 2013) [AbESL20151106DN @ 02:13]

e. My father was there, Joe Copper, Reuben Cooper son one, they bin going try to teach team people there but no, they cheeky mob down there. [AbE_20130923_CM_bio @ 20:13] f.

My house survive … the one next door that old Khaki used to be staying – the old house – that fell down, damaged, yeah. [AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 1:23]

g. That was the new one.

[AbESL20160609MN_bio @ 1:38]

In line with Standard English, one can be used as a nominaliser, see (71f, g). The uses in (71d, e) fit with this analysis if it is assumed that mother and son are used as adjectives. This use is conceivable and consequently this interpretation fits with the general pattern. However, (71a-c) are different. Short one and hard one in (71a) and (71c) are actually adjectives, and hard one in (71b) is an adverb. Note that an analysis as Noun Phrases is unlikely for the following reasons. First, there is no pause in the adjectival uses between short one/hard one and the noun it modifies. That is, short one and hard one are not appositional, they are part of the Noun Phrase. Second, the position of short one in (71c) clearly suggests that this is a premodifier for jaliwarra and Noun Phrases are not allowed in this position in English. Third, hard one in (71b) does not modify it but hit, the meaning is ‘he hit it hard’. This reading rules out an appositional analysis, i.e. a Noun Phrase postmodifying a Noun Phrase (‘he hit it, a hard one’); hard one can only be an adverbial adjunct. Consequently, one in examples (71a-c) is not a nominaliser; it is in fact redundant. Now, one (wan) is a standard adjectival marker in Roper River Kriol, and it is plausible that this is actually the function of one at least in (71a) and (71b). Given that it this function is difficult to develop from within English, it is possible that this is contact influence from Kriol. Neither of the speakers in the two adjectival examples in (71) are speakers of Kriol, but they probably have heard Kriol and they would have interacted with Kriol speakers, so that they could have borrowed this type of word formation. However, relevant examples are not so numerous

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and there are plenty of adjective attestations from the relevant speakers in the corpus without one, so that it is more likely that the borrowed individual vocabulary items as a unit, rather than the word formation type itself. This leaves us with the adverbial use. The simplest explanation is that in English the adverb formally corresponding to hard, hardly, does not correspond semantically, and consequently hard can be used as both and adjective and an adverb. No other examples of this type of use exist in the corpus, so that this explanation is sufficient to account for (71b). There is also a purposive construction formed with go for + NP, see (72). (72)

a. Yeah, we went for pig hunting.

[AbESL041115RLNL @22:37]

b. Then he went for cooking for longtime, but not now. [AbESL20141125CYPM @ 11:08] A special instantiation is the idiomatic construction go for ceremony, which basically means ‘take part in a ceremony’. It is possible that the go for construction derives from a more widespread construction go for s.o., as in the dog went for the bone ‘the dog tried to get the bone’, a construction that is also attested in my corpus, e.g. in he [a crocodile] went that little brother. Finally, I just mention the familiar habitual construction with used to, which is used as a general habitual, very similar to how it is used in other varieties of English and in Kriol.

6 The fluidity of variation 6.1 Hitting a moving target One significant difficulty in identifying possible substrate effects on English on Croker Island is the high degree of variability in the data. In fact, an early evaluation was that English on Croker Island is a ‘bundle of varieties’ (Varietätenbündel, Nick Evans, p. c.) rather than a homogenous variety. However, on closer examination it becomes clear just how fragmented the data actually is, how difficult is to get a handle on this variation and how much it is in the way of the investigation of substrate influence. Chapters 3, 4 and 5 gave a flavour of the degree of variability. To an extent, “bundle of idiolects” is perhaps more fitting. In various presentations of the data over the years I was often asked whether the speakers actually speak the same “language”. Of course, this question was not aimed at whether the speakers speak English, that is not the point, but at the degree of homogeneity that is needed to call something a variety. I argue in this book, specifically in this chapter and also in chapter 8, that we are not dealing with a bundle of varieties or idiolects but with a bundle of repertoires. The reason for this is that there is not only a high degree of inter-speaker variation, but also of intra-speaker variation. A particularly important point is that I am not saying that the variability of English on Croker Island cannot be described systematically. Mailhammer et al. (2018) and ongoing work have shown that modern variationist methods can tackle a significant degree of this variability, but there is a residue that is more elusive and that needs to be tackled much more contextually (see e.g. Hackert 2008), probably at the level of the discourse. In chapter 8 I will sketch a theoretical model for this view. In this chapter, I will lay out the arguments for such a view. I begin by summarising the extent of inter-speaker variation in the phonology, morphology, syntax and the lexicon of English on Croker Island (section 2). Then I zoom in on the intra-speaker variation in selected features (section 3). Section 4 discusses factors that may be pivotal in explaining the variability of English on Croker Island.

6.2 Inter-speaker variation Significant variation between speakers is found on all levels of the grammar, phonology, morphology and syntax. This section summarises and interprets the results. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-006

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6.2.1 Phonology Chapter 3 presented an overview of characteristic features of the phonology of English on Croker Island, focusing mainly on a description and points of contact between substrate languages and English. It was noted that there is considerable variation in the data, though the differences to Standard Australian English were relatively minor and allophonic. However, it also became clear that this perspective glosses over the range of variation found. The investigation of Voice Onset Time (VOT) and Closure Duration (CD) in chapter 3 pointed out the space of variation. In particular, it is important to note that in some cases there is an actual neutralisation of the “voicing distinction” and this also happens in initial position, where Standard English maintains a phonemic distinction even though the “voiced” stops also vary greatly with respect to their VOT values. Of the remaining consonantal phonemes, the fricatives definitely show the biggest range of inter-speaker variation. The voiced labiodental, both dental fricatives and the voiced sibilant show the greatest variation. It is apparent that age or speaker background do not correlate with the variant found. For example, stop-variants of the labiodental and the dental fricatives are found with speakers born in the 2000s and in all other age groups. Language background as a factor is a bit more promising: Although the stop variants just mentioned are attested with speakers who give Kunwinjku as their primary language (e.g. PN) and speakers who say this is Iwaidja (e.g. MM), it is true that the three speakers who do not report to speak any Aboriginal language have no stop realisations. However, there are also speakers in the corpus who speak a number of Aboriginal languages and use them on a daily basis, yet they do not have stop realisations of the fricatives discussed here. Thus, speaking an Aboriginal language seems a sufficient but not a necessary condition for stop realisations. In addition, not all speakers who show stop realisations do so for all three groups, the labiovelar and the two dental fricatives. There are speakers who have stops for the labiovelar but not for the dentals or for one dental but not the other. Age and circumstances of acquisition of English are also potential factors. However, while it is true that the oldest speaker, who acquired English without formal instruction has the most deviant fricative inventory, with stop allomorphs for the voiced labiodental and both dental fricatives and a bilabial voiceless fricative allophone, a speaker who acquired English early and under formal instruction has an identical inventory. Moreover, at least two school-aged children in the corpus have only stop allomorphs for the voiced labiodental and the dental fricatives. Education, which is often a predictor for how close to the standard speakers are, is perhaps the factor that offers the best explanatory potential for interspeaker variation in fricatives. Of the five speakers in Table 2 with completed sec-

6.2 Inter-speaker variation 

 137

ondary or even tertiary education, four have no stop allophones for the voiced labiodental phoneme. However, things are not as clear-cut for the dentals where those four speakers have stop allophones in contrast to the other speaker who does not. Moreover, there is one speaker without complete secondary schooling who does not have any stop allophones at all. The situation with the allophones of the voiced alveolar fricative is even messier. Biographical variables do not align with the observed variation either. For instance, similar to education, whether speakers are or have been working regularly or how many connections they have to mainstream English speakers and how often they have these contacts does not predict the realisation of fricatives either. The few bilingual speakers who work regularly in mainstream English contexts tend not to have no bilabial stop allophones, though they may have stop allophones for dentals. Even if contexts and text genres are considered, things do not look hopeful. The data for all speakers in Table 2 were collected in similar situations, namely in interviews in which a researcher was the main interlocutor. Consequently, it is unlikely that the observable inter-speaker variation can be explained on this basis. A more fine-grained investigation would perhaps shed more light on factors that condition the variation in the data, but firstly, this is beyond the scope of this book, and secondly, as ongoing work on the past tense forms suggests, individual variation appears to be a big part of this puzzle. The data on the vowels is a bit different in so far as there are better correlations between variants and speakers’ ages. Speakers born after 1970 generally have lower, and thus less standard-like, vowels for the tense high vowels (fleece, goose), the tense close-mid back and the lax front close-mid vowels (thought, north, force and dress). At least for two low vowels (trap and strut), younger speakers also tend to have lower allophones, but this results in more standard-like realisations. Thus, a trend towards lowering may perhaps be seen, though without real-time data it is difficult to say anything definitive. The diphthongs behave differently again, but in at least two cases (choice and goat) it seems that older variants are found on Croker, which could point to the history of acquisition, though it is unclear why only these two vowel variables are concerned. It has to be emphasised that correlations between age and variation for vowels are very limited and that, similarly to the consonants, there does not seem to be a clear pattern, even though it has to be conceded that a targeted investigation taking into account phonological as well as contextual factors may possibly shed more light on possible variational patterns. Yet, the fundamental point remains: if the phonetic realisation of phonemes were to be described in a grammar, it would be impossible to do this without recurring to the variability of the data. And this fact raises the interesting theoretical

138 

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issue of where variability should be or is encoded, an issue which will be taken up in chapter 8 in more detail. Suffice it to say that the task of describing English on Croker Island in terms of its phonemes and allophones is not simply done in terms of phonological conditioning factors, which are the traditional determinants of variation in phonology used in grammatical descriptions. This raises the question whether Croker Island is a special case or whether the variability of the data has often been glossed over and recent models of grammars working with probabilities may perhaps be taken as an indication of variation having been swept under the rug in many cases.

6.2.2 Morphological and syntactic inter-speaker variation Chapter 4 contains an overview of key morphosyntactic features, again focusing on possible effects of contact-induced change. Section 4 of that chapter contains a profile of English on Croker Island that uses the features of the WAVE. The features in this profile were rated in terms of frequency of occurrence. The result is a broad typological picture of the morphosyntax of English on Croker Island that can then be compared with other varieties. However, as already mentioned, this profile glosses over the considerable variation found in the data. One way to demonstrate this, is to create a WAVE profile for each speaker in the corpus. The criteria applied were similar to those used for the entire corpus: if a feature occurred only once, it was rated C (“extremely rare”); if it occurred in less than 80% of relevant cases, it was rated B (“neither extremely rare nor pervasive”), and if it occurred in more than 80% of relevant cases, it was rated A (“pervasive or obligatory”). As in the evaluation of the entire corpus, the relevant cases were defined as the set of structures that could display a given feature (see 4.4.2 for further details). There are significant differences in terms of token size collected for each speaker, ranging from 5213 to 33 tokens (mean number of tokens = 1415.3, standard deviation = 1368.5). After inspection of the WAVE profiles of all speakers, it was decided that speaker corpora of less than 1,000 words simply had too many features with insufficient data, so they were excluded from the comparison. This left 14 speaker corpora out of 27 in the sample (age range 78–11, mean age 48.3, standard deviation 19.3, 5 females) (ca. 5% of the total population of Minjilang, age range: 78–13, mean age = 45.5, standard deviation = 20.8, 6 females).26 In order

26 One speaker’s corpus data was not included in this subset because she is not a permanent resident of the community. For the profile of English on Croker Island this is less of an issue, but given that this is zooming into the community, this is relevant.

6.2 Inter-speaker variation 

 139

to minimise problems resulting from the still significant differences in corpus size (mean token number = 2181.4, standard deviation = 1228.5) and in order to be maximally conservative (maximising the overlap), feature ratings were re-coded in 1 or 0, depending on whether the feature was found or not found in the data. The first result obtained was how many features were shared across all twelve speakers. There were only two features (2.7% of all features): F62 (zero article instead of definite article) and F114 (go-based future markers). The next step was to include features for which there was no data in a given speaker corpus, where the assumption was that these features would be found in a bigger sample. It has to be noted, however, that the biggest and the smallest speaker corpus showed an exact match in all shared features: they were the only ones with all features attested. The others all had at least one with insufficient data. This suggests that corpus size is perhaps not a decisive factor once it reaches a certain threshold. One other feature was confirmed to be absent from this subset of the corpus (though it is attested elsewhere in the corpus), so that the total number of overlapping features across all speakers in the sample is six out of 75 or 8.%. The relevant features, together with the rating for the subset, the whole corpus and the comparison value for the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English can be found in Table 12. Table 12: Overlapping features in the subset (12 speakers, 1=present, 0=absent) vs. the whole corpus and the WAVE profile of Aboriginal English (Malcolm 2012; Malcolm 2013). F

Descriptor

Example

whole

AbE

7

Me instead of I in coordinate S

just me and my son

subset 1

A

A

62

Zero article instead of definite article

see (38)

1

A

A

63

Zero article instead of indefinite article

see (38)

1

A

A

99

Levelling of the difference between present perfect and simple past

see (15)

1

A

–

189

Relativiser where or a form derived from where

this word where people can just listen

1

B

–

Let us examine the shared attested features more closely. First, one feature is very common across varieties of English, and that is F7, which is found in 89% of varieties of English, among them Australian English, Australian Vernacular English, Aboriginal English and Roper River Kriol. By contrast F189 is much rarer (28%). It is not part of the WAVE profiles of Aboriginal English, or any variety of Australian English, but it is rated B in the profile for Roper River Kriol, so that this may be a possible source. Then, there are two related features that are also pervasive in Aboriginal English but not frequent crosslinguistically, and these are Features 62 and 63, which I have already discussed. Finally, there is F99, which

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 6 The fluidity of variation

is the use of the past tense as a perfect. This feature is pervasive in English on Croker Island, but not in Australia more generally, according to the e-WAVE, with notable absences from Roper River Kriol and Aboriginal English. Perhaps this is really a specific contact-based feature in English on Croker Island, as discussed in chapter 4. The fact that less than 10% of the WAVE features that are found in English on Croker Island overlap across the subset of speaker corpora with the largest amount of attestations is suggestive. In other words, over 90% of the WAVE features that are attested in English on Croker Island are not shared by a significant amount of speakers we have data for (14 out of 28 or 50%) and a significant amount of the available data (30,540 tokens out of 39,629 or 77%). This is clear evidence for the significant degree of heterogeneity of the data and raises several questions, which will be discussed in chapter 8. It is obvious that this degree of inter-speaker variation is a significant obstacle to writing a traditional grammatical description of English on Croker Island, and even if it is possible to drill down into the variation and single out some factors a considerable residue of individual variation is likely to remain. This is also the result of ongoing work on the distribution of past tense forms in English on Croker Island (Mailhammer et al. 2018).

6.2.3 Lexical variation The lexicon is somewhat peripheral to this book. Consequently, there is no targeted investigation of variation in the lexicon. In chapter 5 I noted the significant degree of constructional and phraseological variation. Impressionistically, this is very much the locus of variation in the lexicon, variation in actually vocabulary items are much less noticeable. All speakers use key elements such as rrupia ‘money’, mutika ‘car’, Balanda ‘European/white/English’, mightbe ‘maybe, perhaps’, sorry business ‘funeral-related issues’, this one as a demonstrative referring to humans polyfunctional where and other vocabulary items discussed in chapter 5. One area that is obvious but apparent is the fact that language background determines, at least to some degree, the source of code switches. Iwaidja speakers are likely to add Iwaidja terms or code switches from Iwaidja, and to some extent other speakers do too. For instance, some Kunwinjku speakers will use Iwaidja bartuwa ‘that’s it’, but often determining a speaker’s dominant language is difficult to begin with. One loanword from Kunwinjku has gained so much currency that even older speakers are adopting it. This is bobo ‘good bye’; it’s use has – impressionistically – increased dramatically in the last ten years. When I started working in Minjilang in 2010, bobo was not part of the community vocabulary,

6.3 Intra-speaker variation 

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though, of course, Kunwinjku speakers used it. Gradually, it has now become the standard way of saying ‘good bye’. Another factor is specialised vocabulary, may it have to do with topics or an actual jargon, e.g. school vocabulary such as recess ‘break’, or may it be stylistically motivated, e.g. constructions from formal English, such as in regards to. These items and their occurrence are determined by factors such as acquisition history of English, workplace and other factors. Though these factors could and can often be determinants of social variation in that they can define social groups, they do not have this function on Croker Island, largely because they do not reach critical mass. There are simply not enough community members with significant school experience that they would, for instance, form a community of practice, where this would become a systematic and enregistered marker. As a result, variation tends not to be determined by demographic factors that are familiar from other societies. But it is to be expected that perhaps other such factors are relevant. This will have to be left for future research, as it is outside the scope of this book.

6.3 Intra-speaker variation It is evident that the variation observed in the data would be less problematic if it could be accounted for with some systematicity. The preceding section suggested that this unlikely to be possible in terms of static sociolinguistic factors, such as gender, age or language background. It also brought out that the degree of fragmentation is high, i.e. the extent to which attested features are shared across the speaker corpora is low (just under 10% for WAVE features). However, it may be possible that the variation observed can be explained in terms of dynamic factors, such as context or linguistic parameters that depend on the constellation an item is used, on the level of the individual speaker. Such explanations would reduce the amount of non-systematic variation, and consequently this would reduce the level of fragmentation. A comprehensive investigation of these dynamic factors would have to proceed feature by feature and isolate them. Such an investigation would require a sophisticated variationist analysis, but such a research programme is beyond the scope of this book. This section aims at making two points. First, it presents some cases of variation in which the explanation of variation seems particular challenging, so that potential issues for future research can be outlined as objectives. Second, it presents a brief synopsis of ongoing work on past tense marking to show that even though the range of variation can be constrained somewhat by identifying factors, some of which are the “usual suspects”, it is likely that there is still a

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significant residue of individual variation. Both points have implications for theories of grammar and of sociolinguistics. They also underscore that English on Croker Island, and probably Australian Aboriginal English more generally, are understudied in areas that have been well explored in other varieties of English, and that investigations offer interesting perspectives.

6.3.1 Selected cases of morphosyntactic intra-speaker variation This section reviews three cases of variation where dynamic factors can explain some of the variation, but where is also a significant amount of residue that cannot be explained in a straightforward way. 6.3.1.1 3sg marking in the present tense indicative of main verbs As pointed out in 4.4.1.1, there is substantial variation with regard to 3sg present indicative marking of main verbs in English on Croker Island. Marking with the standard suffix -s is found in 55.1% of all attestations of present tense VPs with 3sg verbs, while there is no marking in 44.9%. Six speakers show no variation, either because they never mark the 3sg present or because they always do. The remaining speakers for which present tense VPs with 3sg verbs are attested show various degrees of variation. For instance, there are speakers with an almost 50:50 split and speakers who exhibit one strategy in 80%-90% of attestations. In terms of demographic and static sociolinguistic parameters, there is no obvious correlation to marking strategy. The first nine speakers vary in marking. The following three show consistent zero marking, and the last three show consistent -s marking. Given that there are no obvious static factors that could explain the pattern of variation, let us briefly examine other constraints. First, genre and interlocutor are unlikely constraints. For all texts that are relevant here a researcher was present an in most cases they were the main interlocutor or observer who utterances were directed at. Second, phonological constraints could play a role, given that [s] is not a speech sound that is used in local Aboriginal languages. It could be that speakers tend to avoid this sound and consequently prefer zero marking. Furthermore, based on substrate phonotactics, which does not allow obstruent clusters word-finally it would be expected that marking exhibits a bias against consonant-final verbs. Adding [s] to a consonant, especially an obstruent or even a stop would not only violate substrate phonotactics, it would also be universally dispreferred, as syllable codas with falling sonority are generally preferred (Vennemann 1988: 21). Local Aboriginal languages strongly prefer or even only permit word-final coda clusters with liquids as first element. In addition, words often do not end in vowels

Gender

f

m

m

f

m

m

f

f

f

m

f

m

m

f

f

m

Speaker

CY

HG

KO

MM

MN

NL

RB

RG

RN

RL

IL

JC

WL

MO

SN

SW

52

7

64

11

43

42

11

60

46

ca. 8

13

41

55

69

53

23

Age

E, (Iw)

Kw, Iw, E

E, (Iw)

Mw, Iw, Kw, E

Iw, Mw, Kw, E

Mw, Iw, E, Kw, (YM, KB)

Mw, Iw, E, Kw

Kw, Iw, Mw, E

Bu, Na, Nd, Iw, Mw, E, Kw, KB, YM

?

Kw, E

Iw, Kw, Mw, E

Iw, Mw, Kw, E

E, (Iw)

Iw, Mw, Kw, E

Kw, Iw, E

Languages

completed primary school, high school

ongoing primary school

completed primary, high school

ongoing primary school

completed primary, high school

completed primary and high school, trade

ongoing primary school

completed primary and high school, vocational

completed primary and high school, vocational

ongoing primary

ongoing primary

completed primary school, high school

completed primary and high school

completed primary school, high school, trade

completed primary school, high school

completed primary school

Education

regular

n/a

regular

n/a

casual

casual

n/a

casual

casual

n/a

n/a

regular

casual

regular

regular

casual

Work experience

exclusively

outgroup, some ingroup

exclusively

outgroup, ingroup

outgroup, limited ingroup

outgroup, some ingroup

outgroup, ingroup

outgroup, some ingroup

outgroup, limited ingroup

?

outgroup, ingroup

work, outgroup, some ingroup

outgroup, some ingroup

exclusive

outgroup, some ingroup

?

Use of English

0

0

0

100

100

100

12

74

40

25

33

66

76

25

57

50

% zero

Table 13: Demographics and other sociolinguistic parameters of speakers with 3sg present indicative VPs (m=male, f=female, Iw=Iwaidja, Mw=Mawng, Kw=Kunwinjku, E=English, YM=Yolngu Matha, KB=Kunbarlang, Bu=Burarra, Na=Nakara, Nd=Ndjébanna, brackets indicate passive competence).

6.3 Intra-speaker variation   143

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 6 The fluidity of variation

(see Pym and Larrimore 1979: 8 for Iwaidja; see Evans 2003: 92 for Kunwinjku; see Capell and Hinch 1970: 25 for Mawng). Consequently, it would be expected that bilingual speakers, especially speakers with strong Aboriginal languages and less frequent English usage would be prone to both kinds of influence, and thus show a higher degree of zero marking in general and especially in obstruent-final and/ or consonant-final verbs, but not necessarily verbs ending in liquids or clusters with liquids as first element. Prima facie, the first hypothesis is not confirmed, as there is at least one speaker with a solid Indigenous language background who has consistent -s marking and one speaker who does not speak any Indigenous languages who has at least some zero marking. In addition, there are speakers with a relatively high degree of English education and pervasive zero marking. However, it is noteworthy that speakers with no fluent proficiency in Aboriginal languages have either consistent marking (MO and SW) or relatively low levels of zero marking (KO). The second hypothesis predicts that verbs ending in obstruents and vowels prefer zero marking. Of all verbs that occur in a 3sg VP, eight (swim, mean, fall, smell, struggle, come, tell, listen) would have 3sg forms with -s that do not result in dispreferred clusters (-N/z/, -R/z/). Interestingly, the liquid-final verbs are exclusively attested with 3sg marking including in utterances by bilingual speakers. Moreover, the four nasal-final verbs are attested with marking in nine out of ten (come), one out of one (swim), two out of two (mean) and one out of two (listen) cases. In addition, the two verbs with the most tokens of zero marked forms are speak (18/27) and understand (20/20). However, there are also cases of 3sg marking of obstruent and vowel final verbs and in some cases these verbs are exclusively attested this way. Examples are get-s, find-s, help-s, look-s, say-s, work-s and goe-s. Nonetheless, it has to be said that these verbs are considerably less frequent than speak and understand. In addition, there is one speaker with a very low proportion of zero marking and a relatively high number of tokens among which there are many obstruent or vowel final verbs. Consequently, while phonotactics may not be able to completely explain the presence or absence of 3sg marking, it is evident that phonology is a factor that helps elucidate intra-speaker variation and, to some degree, also inter-speaker variation. It is also very suggestive that the marking pattern of liquid and nasal final verbs is motivated by crosslinguistic influence in that phonotactic patterns from local Aboriginal languages are transferred onto English, which results in permitting s-marking for liquid and nasal-final stems. The third factor that I would briefly like to consider is animacy of the subject Noun Phrase. If the Noun Phrase is [+human], i.e. if its head is either he/she or a noun denoting a human, then the verb is marked for 3sg in 30.6% of all cases. If it denotes an animate entity, i.e. an animal, it is marked in 75% of all cases and if it

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is inanimate it is marked in all cases. One possible reason for this pattern is the prediction that humans are natural subjects and thus do not need to be marked as such (Silverstein 1976). This finds support once human subjects are investigated more closely. There are 57 attestations where the subject is he or she and in 43 cases the verb is not marked for 3sg, which corresponds to 75.4%. By contrast, only 6 out of 14 NPs with nouns as heads are zero marked (42.9%). A fourth factor that needs to be examined is variation in marking as a result of acquisition. The acquisition of 3sg -s is well-studied in L1 and also in L2 populations (see Kelly 2017 with references). Generally, it appears to present challenges for acquisition and even in monolingual L1 speakers difficulties persist until age 5–6 (Johnson, de Villiers and Seymor 2005). Variation is common in L2 acquisition, and there are various theoretical accounts trying to explain it. However, the speakers in Table 13 are not classical L2 speakers, and consequently, it is not clear how those theories could explain the pattern of variation. If L2 acquisition is involved at all, it seems more likely that this is a historical phenomenon. Thus, the variation could have been acquired from a variable input, and that is possible, though it is difficult to verify this hypothesis. To sum up this section on 3sg marking in present tense VPs, it is apparent that, while it seems unlikely that static factors can explain the distribution of marking, it seems promising to examine dynamic/contextual factors. However, there is a significant amount of residue with all factors examined. Of course, such a brief explorative account can only scratch the surface; a more detailed investigation will have to be left to further research. But what it shows is that there is a considerable heterogeneity in English on Croker Island. The experience that variation occurs in the same context, by the same speaker and with the same word is quite common, see (73). (73) a. He speaks Iwaidja.

[AbESL20151110RoG @ 00:24]

b. He speak Kunwinjku.

[AbESL20151110RoG @ 44:11]

c. She speak Mawng.

[AbESL20151110HG @ 18:30]

d. She speaks Mawng.

[AbESL20151110HG @ 2:48]

Both speakers (RoG and HG) say each variant in exactly the same context, in an interview situation talking to the researcher without any interruptions or observers present. The topic is in all cases the linguistic biography and language uses of the speakers. The phonological contexts are almost or even exactly identical. The animacy and syntactic structure of the subjects are the same. On basis of data like this, it is very difficult to write a traditional grammatical description that is useful to the reader.

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 6 The fluidity of variation

6.3.1.2 Zero copula/auxiliary be As laid out in chapter 4 (4.4.1.3.1 and 4.4.3.3), the form that is labelled present/past progressive as well as copula clauses vary with respect of whether they have a form of be as auxiliary or copula.27 In the WAVE, the occurrence of the auxiliary is covered by feature 174, while the copula use is covered by features 176–178 (before NPs, before AdjPs, before locatives). The variation across the whole corpus for each feature is shown in Table 14. Table 14: requency percentages for occurrence of auxiliary/copula be. Progressive

before NP

before AdjP

before locatives

aux/copula

75%

86%

81%

71%

no aux/copula

25%

14%

19%

29%

These figures underpin the relevant ratings in the WAVE profile of English on Croker Island: all are rated B, i.e. they are neither rare nor pervasive, though F 175 (lack of be before NP) is almost rare (C). As noted in chapter 4, and consistent with previous work on Aboriginal English (see e.g. Malcolm 2018: 58), there is a bias with respect to tense. The occurrence of be is significantly more frequent in past tense contexts than in present tense contexts.28 It is also interesting from typological perspective to compare the distribution of zero copula/auxiliary be found in English on Croker Island with other varieties and contact languages. A robust finding is that African American Vernacular English (AAVE) and creoles pattern similarly but differently from L2-Englishes in terms of frequencies across the contexts in Table 14 (Sharma and Rickford 2009 with references), see Table 15. The respective pattern for English on Croker Island is NP3sg.o.ant hit-ant ‘He hit him/her/it.’ b. riwu-ng 3sg.m.a>3sg.o.ant hit-ant ‘He hit the crocodile.’

ba mirrnayaj. dem crocodile

208 

 7 Layers of contact

c. Nawamud riwu-ng skin term 3sg.m.a>3sg.o.ant hit-ant ‘Nawamud hit the crocodile.’

ba mirrnayaj dem crocodile

These patterns are standard in the local languages. However, they are not standard in any variety of English. The most widespread pattern is the dropping of referential subjects (51% of varieties), according to e-WAVE, but this happens in just 58% of all cases on average. Object prodrop is rarer in across varieties of English (37%), but it is a little more frequent (65%). Kriol has both subject and object prodrop as frequent patterns, according to e-WAVE, but this is not confirmed in other descriptions (see e.g. Nicholls 2010: 36; Schultze-Berndt, Meakins and Angelo 2013). Kriol seems to allow object prodrop if the object is third person, salient and “established in prior discourse” (Nicholls 2010: 38), but not in general. Double argument expression is not a feature of English or creoles/pidgins, generally (see e-WAVE and APiCS online), and it seems that the structure of English in general would not permit them, as English is not normally head marking. Consequently, it seems that an internal development or acquisition from a variety of English or a local (historical) pidgin or creole can be ruled out. In addition, the typology of Australian languages permits narrowing down the number of possible substrate languages. Pama-Nyungan languages are normally not head-marking, so they can be ruled out as potential substrates. This means that double argument expression was probably not a feature of NSW Pidgin. Furthermore, it is also not very likely that the more common type of Non-Pama-Nyungan languages was a substrate. This type has only a small number of inflecting verbs, which are typically semantically relatively empty. This is not the case in the languages of the Top End, including Iwaidja, Mawng and Kunwinjku. Double argument expression is found with any sort of verb in English on Croker Island. Consequently, all three phenomena, subject and object prodrop as well as double argument expression are likely to be substratum features that go back to historical imposition or bilingually induced change/(free) transfer.

8 Theoretical implications 8.1 Classifying English on Croker Island in terms of the Dynamic Model The first theoretical question arising from the data and their analysis is where English on Croker Island is to be placed within the typology of World Englishes. I have chosen to frame this question in terms of Edgar Schneider’s (2007) Dynamic Model, given that it has become the standard model. The main issue to examine is at which stage in the model English on Croker Island is situated. Schneider evaluates Australian English in general to be at stage 5, and Aboriginal English as one of the ethnic varieties of Australia. I argue in this chapter that the high degree of variation in English on Croker Island does not fit with phase 4 or 5, but that it is more characteristic of phases 2–3. What makes English on Croker Island interesting is that English has been an L1 English on Croker Island for two generations without having completed stage 3 and undergone a process of focusing. The chapter explores factors that explain this kind of arrested development with ramifications for the Dynamic Model in general.

8.1.1 Overview of the Dynamic Model (Schneider 2007) The Dynamic Model is an attempt to formalise the development of postcolonial Englishes. It is an inherently historical account that provides testable generalisations about the genesis of new varieties of English that have emerged in the postcolonial era. The key thesis is that the way postcolonial Englishes emerge show significant similarities that can be captured in a processural blueprint (Schneider 2014: 10). What makes the model dynamic are the five developmental phases Schneider proposes on the one hand, and the two different developmental foci (“strands”) for the two main group protagonists, the “settlers” (colonisers) and the “indigenous” (colonised) people (Schneider 2007: 32–33). The five developmental phases are listed in (101) The five phases of the Dynamic Model 1. Foundation 2. Exonormative stabilisation 3. Nativisation 4. Endonormative Stabilisation 5. Differentiation https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-008

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 8 Theoretical implications

Each phase has four descriptive dimensions: a) extralinguistic (socio-political) background, b) identity constructions, c) sociolinguistic conditions and d) typical linguistic consequences (Schneider 2007: 33). The Dynamic Model has become the standard model in accounting for the evolution of postcolonial Englishes. In addition to the cases the original book applied the model to, there is a significant body of work testing, discussing and applying the model (see Schneider 2014: 12–18 for an overview with references; Borlongan 2016; Weston 2015; Evans 2015; Haji-Othman and McLellan 2014). In this spirit the model is applied to English on Croker Island.

8.1.2 The Dynamic Model at work: English in Australia Let us now examine how the dynamic model works by applying to English in Australia more broadly (Schneider 2007: 33–56, 118–127). In Phase 1 (Foundation), English is transplanted to a new territory, in this case Australia, by an initially small number of people. Relations with the existing population are friendly initially, but soon become increasingly hostile (sociopolitical dimension); in terms of identity, the newcomers see themselves as British and distinct from the locals and this is reciprocal (identity constructions). Among the settlers, a situation of dialect contact (dialect levelling, koinésation) begins, the local population develops local proficiency in English, contact-varieties (e.g. NWS Pidgin, see the overview of different stages described in Troy 1994), toponymic borrowing (linguistic consequences). Schneider puts the end of this phase in the 1830, but it is clear that it lasted much longer in the Northern Territory and especially in more remote parts, like Northern Arnhem Land, probably until the turn of the 20th century. Phase 2 (Exonormative stabilisation) is characterised by the stabilisation of the socio-political background situation as a colony but with a beginning self-awareness of a distinct identity that Schneider calls “British plus” on the part of the settlers. For the local, Indigenous population not much changes in terms of identity, except for people who are in more regular and closer contact with the colonisers and who perhaps end up working for them. This group may actually feel closer to the colonisers. In the Australian context, Aboriginal “trackers” and other locals working for the British could be cases in point. Sociolinguistically, from the perspective of the Indigenous population, Phase 2 is often characterised by bilingualism, i.e. the addition of another language that is socially beneficial. For Australia, this is characteristic for the period leading up to World War II. The main linguistic effect for the settlers is that their English gradually is perceived as different from that spoken in Britain, and there is no shortage of com-

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ments from the second half of the 19th century to this effect. From the Indigenous perspective the main linguistic effect that Schneider notes is that this is the beginning of the nativisation process (restructuring), as language death, attrition and shift are becoming common among Aboriginal people. As far as timing is concerned, Schneider sees this phase as complete at the beginning of the 20th century. Again, for the Northern Territory, and especially for Northwestern Arnhem Land we probably need to extend this timeframe until the first half of the 20th century. Phase 3 (Nativisation) is in many ways the pivotal stage, as this is where the major shifts take place. In terms of the socio-political background, the debate around independence from the colonial power is probably the determining topic during this phase. This is mirrored on the identity level, as the settler population develop a distinct identity, which also finds sociolinguistic correlates. In some cases, this can actually bring the local population and the colonisers closer together, although rarely on equal terms. In Australia, the pathway envisioned by the mainstream society was first protection and then assimilation, which was the dominating doctrine after the Second World War. The sociolinguistic consequences for Aboriginal people have been described throughout this book: language attrition, language death and language shift in addition to multilingualism. Linguistically, this phase is characterised by the development of distinct varieties on both sides. Nativisation for the settlers means the cultivation of their linguistic differences versus the former colonial mother. For the Indigenous population it means the early and structured acquisition of English, which is characterised by imposition and ensuing restructuring. In the context of English on Croker Island, it is important to point out that this is not to mean that English before this process cannot be a native language. Rather, the point is that in this phase English is appropriated by Aboriginal people. This does not have to be accompanied by language shift, but it often is, because the nativised version of English becomes a way to express Aboriginal identity, which before was done via Aboriginal languages. Schneider (2007: 121) views this phase as complete during the Second World War. I argue below that for Northwestern Arnhem Land some characteristic features of this phase have not happened yet. In Phase 4 (Endonormative stabilisation), the main watershed is preceding political independence, though this is not a condition for entering this phase. The key here is actually an act of identify construction from within, the clear perception to be distinct. This is also true for the Indigenous population, though the defining features may be recast. One sociolinguistic symptom is the use of an identifying name to characterise the new variety, e.g. Australian English instead of English in Australia. This is accompanied by codification and the development of independent literary traditions. The main linguistic effect is the elimination of

212 

 8 Theoretical implications

variation so that Phase-4 varieties often appear relatively homogenous (“focusing”, see Trudgill et al. 2000; Trudgill 2004). In Australia the effects of Phase 4 are visible relatively clearly from the “settler” perspective: An increasing awareness of Australia as distinct from Britain, an awareness of a distinct variety of English, Australian English, and its codification in the Macquarie Dictionary and scholarly work investigating it. That Phase 4 came to completion in the 1980, as Schneider (2007: 122) asserts, is roughly correct, and one symptom is the innovation of a new national anthem distinct from the British anthem in the 1980s. The “indigenous” perspective is similar to some degree. Aboriginal English was discovered both as an object of study and a variety of English from the late 1960s onward, but it has not been recognised by mainstream society as a variety in its own right, e.g. by the education system. To some degree, it came to be used as a way to show Aboriginal identity and this trend is continuing. However, it is important to underscore that this is generally not the case in Northern Arnhem Land, where the ideology still has not embraced English as part of Indigenous identity, though this may be changing for young people (see Singer 2018 for indicative data from Goulburn Island). The other side of the indigenous perspective, which is not focused on in Schneider’s book, but which is relevant in the context of Croker Island, is the question of the extent to which Aboriginal language are spoken. In most of Australia, the number of Aboriginal languages declined drastically during Phase 4 and this trend is continuing in Phase 5. Generally, more remote areas like Northwestern Arnhem Land, including Croker Island, have fared better than the rest of the continent in terms of Aboriginal language use. The situation on Croker Island will discussed in more detail below. The indigenous perspective differs from the settler perspective during this stage in another important aspect, and this is that there is still a perceived identity difference between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Australians, and has continued into the next stage. Phase 5 in Schneider’s model is labelled “Differentiation”. During this stage the socio-political situation is that of a “stable young country” (Schneider 2007: 53). This is certainly true for Australia to some degree, especially considering that even in the 21st century nation-building continues, with the inclusion debate raging on, in which the controversy about date of Australia Day, the official national holiday, being a pivotal topic. Linguistically as well as in terms of identity, this phase is characterised by diversification. It is not clear how this phase is developing in Australia. On the one hand, linguistic differences that align with socially defined groups have been documented, and there is also indication for e.g. ethnically defined identity construction, for instance among Australians of Lebanese descent (see e.g. Clothier and

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Loakes 2018). On the other hand, ongoing work within the Centre of Excellence for the Dynamics of Language led by Catherine Travis (Australian National University), has shown that there is a general trend of stylistic homogeneisation towards a general Australian variety and that this trend includes second and third generation immigrants. The indigenous perspective on diversification is clearly exemplified by the diversification of Kriol (see e.g. Schultze-Berndt, Meakins and Angelo 2013), and the recognition of other contact varieties, e.g. in Woorabinda in Queensland (Munro and Mushin 2016) or Wumparrani English (Disbray and Loakes 2013; Disbray 2016). The diversity of Aboriginal English has been less well explored though there is some documentation (see e.g. Harkins 1994; Loakes et al. 2016; Mailhammer, Sherwood and Stoakes 2020).

8.1.3 English on Croker Island and the Dynamic Model It is not immediately clear where Aboriginal English should be placed within the frame of the Dynamic Model. While Australian English in general is clearly in Phase 5, this is mainly the settler perspective. There are some questions around whether Aboriginal English has undergone the respective steps. The main problem is that we cannot give definitive answers to this question because of insufficient data. The general view is that despite the diversity “it is appropriately approached as a single dialect” (Malcolm 2018: 2). However, even Malcolm’s (2018) impressive overview has significant data gaps, which does not give convincing support to the general evaluation of relative homogeneity. This concerns regional variation, where the data is very patchy, it concerns the data itself that statements are based on, e.g. in the area of phonetics and phonology, and it concerns other aspects of variation, such as social variation. In my view, we do not actually know enough about Aboriginal English to say in what phase it is, because we do not know how homogenous it currently is (much of the data in Malcolm 2018 is more than two decades old). For this we would need a targeted dialect survey at the very least and this has not been done, to my knowledge. This lack of knowledge on the one hand and the knowledge that there is a significant amount of variation, both inter- and intra-speaker variation, which every researcher who has worked in this space will attest to, argues for the application of a different model to “Aboriginal English”, namely a repertoire-based approach (Eades 2014). Consequently, it seems reasonable to hold off on a verdict of the situation of Aboriginal English in terms of the Dynamic Model until the question of variation has been settled with reasonable satisfaction. If it is confirmed that there is a significant overlap in terms of grammar, usage patterns etc., that there is a

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process of diversification, and that Aboriginal English is an expression of identity for significant parts of its speakers, then Aboriginal English should be considered a Phase 4 or Phase 5 variety.38 The question of where to situate Kriol and other Australian creoles as well as new mixed languages such as Gurindji Kriol or Light Warlpiri (see e.g. Meakins 2014) is not settled either. This has partly to do with the question of where creoles belong, but the main question is really whether Kriol and other creoles should be considered varieties of English. This is outside the scope of this book, but the variability of English on Croker Island and the kinds of features present support the idea that the difference between creoles and restructured varieties of English or other languages is a matter of degree and not of category (see already Schneider 2007: 10–11). However, this does not mean that Kriol is a variety of Australian English, as both are mutually unintelligible. Ultimately, there are two different languages, just as German and Dutch are different even though there is a dialect continuum between them. What is clear though, is that English on Croker Island cannot be called an L2-variety. For individual features and for some speakers this may be appropriate, but not in toto, as not everything can be explained by second-language acquisition related processes. Likewise, English on Croker Island is not a learner variety, as the vast majority of speakers (there is one exception) have acquired it in early childhood (see Mukherjee and Hundt 2011 for the distinction between L2 and learner varieties of English). If the criteria of the criteria of the Dynamic Model are applied to Aboriginal English then it becomes clear where the pinch points of uncertainty lie: a) socio-political background: There are serious questions here, especially with respect to the unresolved conflict between Aboriginal people and the Commonwealth of Australia, given that there is no peace treaty or constitutional acknowledgement of Aboriginal Australians. Consequently, it is unclear whether the Indigenous perspective has actually moved past Stage 2 in all cases. But there is even diversity in this respect and there are Aboriginal people whose perspective would align more with subsequent phases. b) Identity constructions: The identity question is tied to the socio-political background and must be evaluated similarly.

38 To be sure, it is possible that a variety exhibits an inconsistent progression along the different stages of the Dynamic Model (see e.g. Mukherjee 2007 for Indian English), but the question here is where Aboriginal English and English on Croker Island should be situated in any of the dimensions of the model.

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c) Sociolinguistic conditions: Phase 4 with widespread language shift, possibly Phase 5, despite some revitalisation and maintenance efforts. d) Linguistic effects: Diversification is not clear, as diversity may be reflective of Phase 2, rather than Phase 5. The application of the model to English on Croker Island suffers from similar problems. Let us begin with the socio-political background. The community of Minjilang on Croker Island is clearly for all official purposes a part of Australia and all relevant laws apply. However, Croker Island is Aboriginal Land with a Native Land Title, and this clearly contrasts with the idea of it being a part of Australia. As a matter of fact, the granting of land rights did not necessarily support the unity of Australia. It has not resulted in the inclusion of Aboriginal people but their marginalisation, especially not if the government can still take Native Title away or force Aboriginal Land Title holders to accept whatever the government wants to do with the land. Consequently, the socio-political background for Minjilang can be captured better with the word “remote”, but not so much with a sense of being part of Australia. Mainstream institutions such as the school seem out of place. If anything, Croker residents are more apt at navigating mainstream society than the other way around. Community members routinely travel to Darwin and other places, they have to deal with mainstream bureaucracy, and they have to communicate with mainstream institutions. By contrast, many members of the mainstream society who work on Croker Island know little about the local cultures and languages, and they generally do not engage with the community. On the whole, the situation is that there is no successful inclusion little sense that the community of Minjilang is part of mainstream Australia. Applying the Dynamic Model from the indigenous perspective, it is not clear if the situation has moved past Phase 2 or Phase 3. The dimension of identity construction points in a similar direction. While there is a strong sense of identity as Aboriginal people, it is not clear that this also includes a strong sense of being Australian. In conversation, the word Balanda, which has a negative connotation (see Consultant 2 in (102) below), is used routinely used for anything that it is perceived as ‘Australian mainstream’ or ‘English’. And even if speakers make a conscious effort to avoid this word, the motivation they give is not that they all are Australians, but that we are all humans (see especially Consultant 1 in (102)).

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(102) Consultant 1:

Yeah, Iwaidja and all that it’s good for our own people, but if you go to a white man, you have to speak, you know, and kayirrk ngarri [Iwaidja ‘today we (incl.)] we don’t say like “Balanda” and all that […] I can’t say that Balanda to you [addresses the researchers], because it’s important, like, you could be my brother, sister, whatever you know? Because of the colour, you think of the colour, but the blood is different, only the colours. You can’t say that to Japanese, Japanese or anybody, no cos each of us got one blood. […] Consultant 2: Yeah, you don’t say “Balanda”, you say “Bidbarran” [Iwaidja ‘he/she/it is white’]. Consultant 1: Your blood and my blood, it’s not different, you see, the different if you cut yourself and I cut myself and what colour the blood comes. Yeah, that’s one but I can’t say, ahh, you’re Balanda, no, or you’re a Japanese or you’re a Chinese. No, we all in one. Only God created the colours are different but the blood is only one blood. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 22:34]

Similarly, English and its culture (Balanda) are perceived to be intruders. (103)

a.

Consultant (in her late 20s): Balanda taking over, it’s not right.

[AbESL20160506ANPN @10:42]

With red and yellow colour – look for that, instead of getting Balanda colour and – that’s not our way, we got our own colour. [AbESL20160506ANPN @27:30] b. Consultant (in her late 50s): Too many Balanda, you know, too much they speak English, they forget, that’s how it’s working now. Even my grandchildren too, and these other kids, you know. That’s where they’re missing out, you know, because they on Balanda side all the time, they speak English you know. That’s why we tell them you have to learn in two culture. [AbE_2013-09-26MMRN_bio1 @ 19:50] Speaking English is a useful skill and a necessity (see first statement by Consultant 1 in (102)) but even if people say it is a first language for them, I have seen no signs of appropriation, it’s a tool rather than a part of people’s identity construction. Consultant 2 in (103b) makes it clear that Australian mainstream culture

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is distinct. This is, again, more consistent with Phase 2, perhaps partially with Phase 3. Importantly, the sociolinguistic situation is not characterised by second language acquisition and shift on a large scale. Community members acquire English as an L1 but rather than replacing other languages in the repertoire, they add it, i.e. bilingualism is common. There is a sense that this is changing, but it is not confirmed that there are Aboriginal children on Croker Island who do not speak any Aboriginal language at all. There is no clear sense of a local linguistic identity, and English is not the main community language. Consequently, determining which Phase English on Croker Island is in on this dimension is not clear. The fact that it is an L1 speaks for Phase 3/4, whereas the lack of shift and appropriation is an argument for situating it in Phase 2/3; the overall situation is perhaps consistent with an early stage of Phase 3. The linguistic dimension is also difficult to evaluate. The relative paucity of clear imposition effects and the fact that English is an L1 for almost all community members with common bilingualism is perhaps consistent with Phase 3, but the lack of shift is not. The high degree of variation and the fact that English has not been appropriated suggest that English has not moved into Phase 4. May the best classification is, like in the sociolinguistic dimension, an early stage of Phase 3. Consequently, it seems that English on Croker Island would be at the beginning of Phase 3 on most dimensions, but the linguistic effects do not match all the predictions. To be a typical Phase 3 variety, English would be acquired rather late, there would be clear indication of language shift and English would undergo a process of appropriation and nativisation. Instead, English has remained one of the languages in the repertoire for most community members even if they acquire it early, and it has remained very variable to the point where it is impossible to provide a straightforward grammatical description. One example is the formation of the past tense, which cannot be described in the typical fashion as the application of a morphological rule or in terms of clear constraints, which is why I chose to simply spell out the space of variation. It would be worth considering a probabilistic approach (Bresnan 2007), as this is compatible with the repertoire model I will present below. The fact that there does not seem any evidence of focusing, either on the inter-speaker or the intra-speaker level suggests that English on Croker Island is not at stage 4, and it does not look like the variation is decreasing. This can be seen from a glance at the distribution of WAVE features across the speakers with substantial corpora (>1,000 words). It is not the case that younger speakers show a) fewer features (closeness to the standard), b) less variability as a group. If always two random speakers from each age cohort are compared in terms of many features they do not share, then it turns out that there is variability in terms

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of how many features speaker do not share but the figures are not decreasing with age: the two children compared have a mismatch or 37% of all speakers, the speakers in the next age bracket (20–30 years), show a mismatch of 45%, the next speakers (40–50) do not agree on 28% and the two speakers (50–60) show a mismatch of 49%. To sum up, the key paradox with respect to classifying English on Croker Island is that has been acquired by virtually all community members as L1 but that there is no significant shift, appropriation with or identification with English and no recognisable focusing. Instead, the impression is that community members speak only very partially overlapping varieties that are also varied within themselves, but have been communicating successfully over two generations. This is suggestive of an early Phase 3, i.e. English on Croker Island has not undergone nativisation, even though it is an L1 for all community members.

8.1.4 Why is English on Croker Island not further along in Phase 3? The question I would like to discuss in this section is why English on Croker Island has not moved beyond Phase 3. First, the fact that it is acquired as L1 or that no language shift has occurred do not tell anything about the completion of Phase 3. The model does not spell this out in detail, but it seems possible that English is adopted with all aspects of Phase 3, except that there is no shift, that is, indigenous languages continue to be spoken and they continue to be expressions of identity. In such a situation, both, English and local languages could be acquired as L1. Such situations of stable multilingualism exist for individuals and for groups, even in societies with dominant languages. In Australia, such a two-way system is even seen an ideal constellation by many. The Dynamic Model could easily accommodate this possibility by developing its Indigenous strand also from the perspective of the Indigenous languages. Of course, this is not the focus of the model, given that it is about the development of postcolonial Englishes. This means, the maintenance of Indigenous languages and the acquisition of English as an L1 are not indicators for whether Phase 3 has been completed or not. As discussed in the preceding sections, in order to complete Phase 3 speakers must adopt English as an expression of identity and major means of communication within their community, even if other languages are maintained. Once this happens, focusing follows naturally, but the pivotal process is interaction amongst community members in English. These two key elements of Phase 3 are not parts of the ecology of English on Croker Island. English is not used as a way to express Aboriginal identity and English is not used as the main community language. It is useful to examine the general acquisition and usage patterns of

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languages in Minjilang to appreciate this. It is useful to differentiate between English and Indigenous languages. First, English on Croker Island is one among several languages, and English is not monolithic. Standard Australian English and Colloquial Australian English are the main varieties spoken by non-Aboriginal people who live – usually only temporarily – and work in Minjilang. These speakers make up less than 10% of the population (usually ca. 15) at any given time. But other varieties are spoken too. There have been, for instance, teachers in the school who speak regional varieties of Britain. In addition, there are learner varieties, spoken e.g. by speakers who immigrated from the Pacific or from East Timor. Community members speak English too, and they do not speak mainstream Australian English. English is commonly acquired as L1, and increasingly in families, as it encroaches onto the family domain. While children now use English with peers and some family members, the traditional domain of English was contact with outsiders, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal. Other domains of acquisition and use are the school and various places on the mainland, especially through secondary schooling, as well as the media. Second, Indigenous languages are acquired in the family and in the community and they have traditionally been used in all domains except in mainstream institutions, such as the clinic and the school. There are at least four languages that are used for daily communication, Iwaidja, Kunwinjku, Mawng and Kunbarlang. Official community statements, such as shop closures or announcements are made in Iwaidja, there is usually no parallel announcement in English, which underlines the position of Indigenous languages versus English. At one occasion I witnessed, there was a break-in into the local shop. The shopkeeper was an outsider, and she was upset. Given that there is no permanent police presence on the island anymore, other ways had to be found to find the culprit(s). So, the Traditional Owner and the shopkeeper decided to close the shop until the culprit(s) had come forward. A community gathering was called, and the Traditional Owner explained the situation in Iwaidja only. Similarly, announcements at funerals are generally made in Iwaidja, for instance, when community members are asked to dance. To be sure, meetings of the local Shire board are held and recorded in English, but the public does not receive an official announcement. This brief overview made clear that English is not the official language of the community. Moreover, even though the use of English is increasing and although it is encroaching on the home domain, the overall situation is almost diglossic, and English does not occupy the majority of communicative space. It is even questionable whether it is appropriate to call English the “high” language, give that its status in the community is actually rather low. It is generally acknowledged that English is a language of power, but not necessarily in the community.

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The second key element of Phase 3 is a connection of English and identity. Nativisation means in this case that speakers accept English as a means to express their identity or as part of their linguistic identity. On Croker Island, most adults commonly express that English is a threat to Indigenous languages and culture. They realise its significance and often feel powerless to stop its influence. Some parents confess speaking English to their children at least occasionally. This seems to be less the case with Mawng and Kunwinjku families. To some degree, speakers of all ages can be found who say they like English, but it does not go beyond that. That is, English is not seen as a way to express their personal or Aboriginal identity. Even if children really have a little less cultural and linguistic knowledge, their primary identification is with their Indigenous language group. When asked whether they speak English, I have never heard anyone saying that they would speak a distinct form of English or an inferior version. If someone says this then they could say the same thing about an Indigenous language. For example, the oldest speaker in the corpus sometimes says that he speaks “a little bit of English”, but he would describe his knowledge of Kunwinjku, which he speaks very well, or even Amurdak, a language that is an L1 for him in the same way. All this suggests that the status of English is ambivalent, and that some community members have a positive connection to English, but there is no indication that English would be a way to convey their identity in a major way.39 These considerations explain why English on Croker Island has not moved beyond Phase 3. Schneider (2007) does not explicitly mention the possibility of arrested or reverse development in the model. However, among his case studies there are two cases in which the process appears to have stopped. In his application of the Dynamic Model to the case of the Philippines, he makes the following statement. The Philippines appears to be an example of a country where the in-built developmental trends of the Dynamic Model get overruled by changing external conditions, thus coming to a halt. (Schneider 2007: 143)

Similarly, Malaysia may be stuck in Phase 3, due to the strength of the local language, Malay, and due to the small number of actual native speakers (Schnei39 English on Croker Island seems to be in a similar position as on Goulburn Island, where Singer (2018: 110) reports on the results of a language-identity study: “Although English appears on the stomach area in Nancy’s language portrait, many others at Warruwi did not include English in their language portraits, most likely because they did not see it as one of ‘their’ languages. Nancy includes English in quite a central position which could reflect her perspective on her own life, spent working with non-Indigenous people: at the clinic at Warruwi and in her travels around Australia, representing Indigenous people at Uniting Church gatherings.”

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der 2007: 147–148). Schneider’s statement about the Philippines may be in need of some revision in terms of how far Philippine English actually has progressed (Borlongan 2016), but the point is to think about conditions under which the progression of the Dynamic Model could be stopped or even reversed. The case of Malaysia is interesting because there are similarities to Croker Island. First, in both cases there is competition, Malay in Malaysia and the local Aboriginal languages on Croker. Second, the number of native speakers in Malaysia appears to be small. On Croker Island, there is no shortage of speakers who acquire English as L1, but this is not standard or colloquial mainstream English, or in fact any more or less homogenous variety, so that like in Malaysia there is actually a dearth of native speakers seen from a certain perspective. The lack of homogeneity of English on Croker Island is striking, especially on the level of the community.40 The fact that the Dynamic Model predicts an almost inevitable progression through the five phases raises the question where the variation comes from and why it persists. A part of the answer to the second question is that English has not been nativised or appropriated by the local population, and consequently it is not used as the only or at least as the major language of communication. If not enough community members use English with each other often enough, then there is no frequent accommodation and levelling of differences, and thus no homogenisation. But if English is acquired also in the community, so why does that not iron out variation? One factor is that there is significant inconsistency in communication situations in both acquisition and usage. First, in the acquisition process the input comes from different people in similar and also in different situations. The pluricentric parenting approach means that, unlike in mainstream families, the caregivers are not always the same people speaking the same language or variety and they do not always use only one language or variety consistently either. Parents may speak English occasionally, and other caregivers and interlocutors may have different usage patterns and linguistic repertoires. In addition, school attendance is very variable; education is clearly a predictor in terms of similarity to mainstream variety. Children may attend regularly for a while and then only sporadically, and some community members have hardly attended school. Furthermore, there is significant geographic mobility, even for children. Community members may be away from the community for weeks at a time and this is of course connected to different communication patterns. Consequently, while the 40 There is some indication that variation in smaller, tight-knit communities is high (Schreier 2006). It is not clear to me how tight-knit Minjilang is; there is a considerable level of fragmentation, but it is small and biographical differences clearly play an important role in explaining variation.

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English input is not limited as such, it is highly variable and so are the communicative situations and interactional patterns. This situation explains where the variation comes from, but there is still the question of how English as a language system is acquired in this highly variable environment. How can children draw the necessary inferences and generalisations when the input is so variable? One might speak of the “richness of the stimulus” as an issue not of its poverty.

8.2 English on Croker Island: repertoires and coherent interpretation of linguistic data The second issue that arises from the data and its analysis, is the question of how to categorise English on Croker Island. The inter- and intra-speaker variation and the fact that it is not possible to describe the grammar of English on Croker Island in terms of the core of a linguistic system, because pivotal parts of the grammar show significant variation, are taken as argument against using the term variety. I argue that the data can be described more adequately if it is assumed that English on Croker Island is conceptualised as a repertoire, slightly modified from Benor (2010). This chapter also discusses the question of how such a heterogeneous repertoire can be passed on as a natively acquired language drawing on the concept of linguistic coherence (see Wiese and Rehbein 2016). The variability of English on Croker Island may not be exceptional, but it poses a problem for an account of its grammatical system. The reason is that for each assumed category there exists variation, both on the level of the speaker as well as on the level of the community, that is clearly not rule-governed and that is at the same time not minor enough so that it could be disregarded. This does not mean that the variation is random, it just means that in order to be able to predict which variant occurs in a given utterance, linguistic and non-linguistic factors have to be taken into account that are not part of what a grammatical description normally includes. If we want to know for instance whether the past tense of the word play is formed like in Standard English or in some other way a range of factors are relevant, but a large proportion is the speaker and the concrete context. The bin-past is instructive here. Apart from the one speaker for whom this is could almost be called the default, the use of this past tense form appears to influenced by the speaker, the topic and perhaps the emotional involvement (see 7.2.3.2). Thus, the distribution of possible forms to express the past tense is such that the issue cannot be approached by assigning on variant the status of a main form and relegate the others to be variants. This variability is the reason I chose the approach to give the range of variation for each part of the grammar that was described in chapters 3 and 4. For each

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item, allophone, variant form, construction etc. a detailed account of variation and how the relevant form may be predicted would be required. Our ongoing work on the past tense in English on Croker Island has so far shown that great progress can be made that way but also that there is likely to be considerable residual variation that may need even more local approaches (see e.g. Schreier 2006). In the following sections, I examine the theoretical ramifications of the variation found in my data. The first issue is to account for the variation within a theoretical model, given that English on Croker Island is too fragmented to describe it standardly as a variety. The second issue is to account for the successful communication between speakers in spite of the variation. The model that I will use to capture English on Croker Island builds on Wiese and Rehbein (2016). The pivotal idea of this model is not to assume that there is a common reservoir of forms for all speakers, but that coherence and mutual intelligibility is achieved by common patterns of behaviour and interpretation of systematically co-occurring data.

8.2.1 Dealing with variation: Linguistic repertoires The first task, then, is to be able to deal with the variability of the data. In recent work, highly dynamic systems of urban variation have had to address this problem, and one approach that has been used is to assume that speakers can draw from a reservoir of forms and deploy them (see e.g. Quist 2008). Eckert’s (2008) “bricolage”, Cheshire et al. (2011) use of the term “feature pool” and Benor’s (2010) “linguistic repertoire” are all examples of this line of thinking despite underlying conceptual differences. For our purposes the last model is the most useful. Benor’s (2010) linguistic repertoire has been used successfully to deal with pivotal theoretical and descriptive problems of ethnolects. Instead of conceiving of ethnolects as a system or variety, it was proposed that there is a reservoir of linguistic forms that are routinely used by a particular ethnic group but that can be deployed by anyone. This approach solves five important problems ethnolects as a concept, which are, however, extendable to sociolects in general, namely a) the problem of inter-speaker variation; b) the problem of intra-speaker variation; c) the problem of out-group use; d) the problem of defining the group; e) the problem of whether ethnolects are varieties. All five problems are relevant to Aboriginal English, and as Eades (2014) shows, a repertoire-based account is very well suited to tackling these problems in future work: “The focus would be on Aboriginal people and ‘their variable use of

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distinctive features’, rather than Aboriginal English speakers and their variable use of Aboriginal English”(Eades 2014: 437). Such a perspective also gets around an implicit problem with Benor’s concept and this is that in her model the repertoire is “tagged” for a particular group, that is, there is e.g. an Aboriginal English repertoire that contrasts with e.g. a Standard Australian English repertoire. This may well work for elements in the repertoire that only occur in that repertoire, but for elements that occur in more than one repertoire, e.g. copula-less copula clauses, which are parts of many distinct varieties of English, for example, one would at least have to assume multiple tags and, as perception-based work has shown, possibly different tags for different speakers. One and the same feature may be used and understood differently by different speakers. Consequently, it seems preferable to assume that speakers use features from the language as a repertoire, i.e. from all possible variants, and the combination and the way they are deployed may then be characteristic for a particular group or not. But because not all speakers have access to all variants, effectively each speaker has their own repertoire. Speakers may show overlaps in each other’s repertoires, and the more they overlap, the higher the degree of homogeneity within a group of speakers. Applied to English on Croker Island, this would mean that each speaker in the corpus has their own linguistic repertoire and would select forms from it when communicating with another community member, and because they do not always select the same form, intra-and inter-speaker variation is the result. While a repertoire-based model solves the problem to model the variation, it raises the question of how speakers can understand each other, given the significant differences between repertoires.

8.2.2 On another level: Repertories and coherence of the linguistic system Having addressed the issue of variation conceptually, the next issue is the problem variation poses for communication. The variability of English on Croker Island – and English on Croker Island is probably not a singular case – raises the question of how community members can successfully communicate with each other in English. Variation in general is theoretically challenging for linguistics (Honeybone 2011) and also for sociolinguistics (Tagliamonte 2012: 21–22; Åfarli and Mæhlum 2014; Travis and Lindstrom 2016). A cogent account seems even more challenging with a high degree of fragmentation, especially intra-speaker variation (Honeybone 2011: 176). The core of the problem, and this may be an issue for our concept of language in general (Schmid 2020; Höder 2018), is what the relationship between language system and variation is; especially: where in the system

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is the variation encoded both for the speaker and in general descriptive terms? In other words, is there a system and variation or is the variation the system? This has been theoretically approached from two perspectives. First, particularly generative accounts have ignored variation. Second, variation has been described as part of the system from mainly two perspectives, which Honeybone (2011) calls “polylectal” and “dialectal”. The first term refers to an approach that attempts to predict the occurrence of variants while assuming one underlying system. The second term refers to an approach that describes variants, and this includes idiolects, as separate systems. The first approach necessarily needs to assume what is at the heart of sociolinguistics, namely functional equivalence of the respective variants. The strength of this approach is that it can explain how communication across variants works: if it is assumed that speakers have access to the range of variants and the envelope of variation, they can communicate. Its weakness is that functional equivalence and predictability of variants may not be valid assumptions. The strength of the second approach is a detailed account of each system, but it is not necessarily clear how speakers can communicate across varieties. The issue is compounded if multiple languages are involved, because it has become obvious in recent work on bilingualism that the languages of bilinguals constantly interact with each other (see e.g. overviews in Kroll et al. 2015; Deuchar 2016; Matras 2009: 76; Mailhammer and Zeidan 2019), so a separate subsystem approach is unrealistic. Similarly, a dialectal approach may work for a homogenous speech community, but it is questionable if the required level of homogeneity is actually realistic. The challenge for a polylectal approach is to be able to predict all of the variation that occurs. Probabilistic approaches are ways to mitigate this challenge but ultimately the question remains: how can we cope with this variability, particularly if it is on the scale of what we can see on Croker Island? One important point that Höder (2014: 140) draws attention to is that conventions regulate communication. But how are conventions established if a communication patterns are so variable? One also has to bear in mind that children can acquire language in highly variable settings; not all variation is levelled over time. The core of the problem is that coherence, that is the language “system” is typically sought on the level of the linguistic form or category. Either approaches seek to find the underlying system or assume that there is not really an underlying system at all, because it does not seem to exist on the level of the data (Guy and Hinskens 2016: 3; Wiese and Rehbein 2016: 46). Wiese and Rehbein’s (2016) approach argues for a different interpretation of coherence, namely on the level of the data interpretation. That is, by observing what speakers do in specific contexts with their distinct repertoires, how they deploy their resources, and what “choices they make in different speech situations” (Wiese and Rehbein 2016: 47).

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That is, linguistic systems are characterised not by a set of features but by the way they interact in particular situations having been deployed by speakers. Wiese and Rehbein (2016) propose to investigate coherence on this level by systematically examining specific speech situations for recurrent patterns. Figure 8 illustrates this model.

Figure 8: Diversity of speakers’ resources vs. coherence of linguistic systems (Wiese and Rehbein 2016:48).

The little networks represent the linguistic systems that are coherent while speakers may deploy elements from disparate systems. Based on this perspective, we are now in a position to think about how speakers may be able to deal with the variation they encounter in their input. In a way, coherence is actually provided through the situations and the recurrences in speakers’ behaviours. Speakers can communicate despite the variation, because they can “read” the parameters. In some way this goes back to the fundamental assumption of functional equivalence that underlies polylectal approaches to variation, but the point is that the categories that functional equivalence is measured by are formed by the language users in their interactions. Consequently, they can “translate” between variants on their own terms by categorising them according to the typological categories that they have created (Wiese and Rehbein’s 2016 linguistic systems). Such a process must be multilingual, that is, it must work across languages, and by extension, across varieties, because of the constant interaction between the linguistic systems (Höder 2014: 141). These abstract categories are broadly similar to what Schmid (2020) calls “usage types” in his Entrenchment-and-Conventionalization Model and to the constructions in Höder’s Diasystematic Construction Grammar (Höder 2012; Höder 2014; Höder 2018), although they are even a bit more abstract. However, these categories do not have to be the same for each speaker, as different speakers may perform different abstractions. If speakers can translate between variants,

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they can also translate between categories. This is clear from the way we process unfamiliar varieties of a language we speak or when we learn a new language. As a result, speakers who communicate with each other do not need to have access to all variants or constructions in the sense that they can use them, e.g. in a “pool of variants” (Siegel 1997) or a “feature pool” (Mufwene 2001), they must be able to translate them via their abstract categories in a process of pragmatic association (Schmid 2020), i.e. via the context. It then should be possible that speakers have different sets of structures at their disposal but that they can recognise or work out which abstract category in their own and their interlocutor’s systems belong to. The result is not a system of forms, even a dynamic one, but a system of abstract categories and associations embedded in contexts that draws on the different linguistic repertoires of individuals. These are captured in Wiese and Rehbein’s (2016) linguistic systems, but these are really only shortcuts, as speakers can and have to create these categories constantly. To sum up, what drives coherence is covariation and the speakers’ interpretation thereof, rather than one common linguistic system, no matter how flexible it is. Each speaker represents a linguistic system (understood as a repertoire) with diverse resources but coherence is achieved in the routinely practiced act of pragmatic association, i.e. negotiation. Hence, the answer to the question posed initially, how speakers can understand each other is broadly that they are used to having to performing little acts of translations. It is clear that many of these acts are conventionalised (linguistic systems) despite the low frequency of interactions in English, but, by and speakers constantly negotiate a common ground based on the data, which is variable, even within speakers. Linguistic coherence is achieved by interpretations of the data that are “based on evidence of systematic links between linguistic phenomena, as established by patterns of covariation between phenomena that can be shown to be related at linguistics levels” (Wiese and Rehbein 2016: 57–58). This makes it possible to conceive English on Croker Island as a repertoire or, more precisely, as multiple repertoires that cohere by common or at least translatable interpretations of diverse data. It explains why English on Croker Island is an L1 for most speakers but phenomenologically distributed across different repertoires. The situation of English is mirrored by the general multilingual situation, which is in many ways similar, as this results in only partly overlapping linguistics repertoires too. It is probably more realistic to integrate both sets of repertoires so that English is just part of a bigger mulitlingual repertoire (Matras 2009:76), given that both English and local Aboriginal languages are co-acquired and used in the same community in partially overlapping domains.

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8.3 Multiple simultaneous and successive filtration processes in substrate influence The third theoretically relevant point is related to the finding that the demonstrable influence of local Aboriginal languages on English on Croker Island is relatively slight. This was already sketched in chapter 7, but it is elaborated on from a theoretical perspective in this chapter. The main point is that the long contact situation and the multiple situations of contact have created layers of contact which have soaked up influence that would be expected and is attested in similar circumstances. These layers act like filters and what influence is tangible in English is what has percolated up from the substrate languages. In addition, the different layers each contain multiple contact languages, so that precisely identifying the origin of a structure or an item that is suspected to have originated in a substratum is often impossible. It is commonly assumed that the acquisition of a language by speakers of another language results in the imposition of certain features of the original language(s), irrespective of whether they give up their original language(s) or not. There are possibly different prototypical outcomes of imposition as opposed to bilingually induced change (see chapter 7), but the main point remains: there ought to be linguistic traces of the source language. The situation of English spoken by Aboriginal people in Australia has been described in terms of (longterm) shift and bilingualism and in several cases, authors have pointed to substrate features. One result of the investigation of contact traces in English on Croker Island is that the traces are not necessarily copious or clearly tangible. Apart from some clear cases, such as the use of the simple past as an anterior, it is often not clear where a particular feature originated. This is not only at odds with the general expectation but also with what has been asserted in previous work on Aboriginal English, and English on Croker Island should by definition (Eades 2014) be Aboriginal English. Interestingly, in his textbook on language contact Yaron Matras says that “the problem with substrate-hypotheses (or: shift-induced interference) is the difficulty in finding concrete empirical evidence of underlying interference” (Matras 2009: 76). This echoes one main result of this book, and it contrasts with the vast body of work finding traces of collective SL agentivity (substrate influence) in situations of language shift or group L2 acquisition (see e.g. Siegel 2012; Siegel 2015; Jennings and Pfänder 2018), of which Matras is well aware. Matras goes on to say that some varieties of colloquial Hebrew contain clear substrate features, but that not in all cases is it possible to differentiate internal developments and other processes from actual imposition (see Matras 2009: 77). There is a variety

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of reasons for this. First, there may be insufficient evidence because not enough is known about the contact situation or aspects relating to it. Second, it may have methodological reasons, for example if a source structure or the concrete scenario cannot be identified. That a source language cannot be identified is a common issue in multilingual situation, as we have seen throughout this book. In fact, the identification of a source language, source structure and details about the contact-induced change/crosslinguistic influence are common issues, especially if the relevant sources and contact situations have disappeared. In this section I would like to draw attention to an additional issue that has emerged from this investigation of English on Croker Island. In chapter 7, I discussed the layering of contact multiple co-existing contact situations and the fact that it must be assumed that many Aboriginal people early on were early acquirers of English and used to having to switch languages frequently. I concluded that the layering of a number of languages of different kinds that are in contact with each other would mean that after several generations not much would remain in the form of tangible contact influence that can be unambiguously attributed to a contact language and structure. It is as if there are multiple moving shields stacked behind each other and multiple people are trying to shoot at one or possibly more targets with very similar arrows: the few arrows that make it onto board may not be clearly attributable to the individual archer. Or, to use a less martial analogy, a distillery, where the final product contains only very little of the original substance. Figure 6 in chapter 7 is a schematic illustration. The situation in Northwestern Arnhem Land may be a little extreme but the question is whether layering and multiple co-existing contact situations would not be found elsewhere and whether this could explain the statement by Matras about the difficulty to pin down substrate influence (imposition) in historical scenarios. What Figure 9 shows is the synchronic reality of the recipient language, i.e. the language that is the target of language shift, in our case, English. This target language exists in multiple varieties, e.g. an early contact language that becomes the target for early learners of English. It has been in contact with other languages, e.g. Indigenous languages at the same time and also successively. Historically, the target language has been influenced by other languages and bears traces from this contact. The critical part of this model is the fact that there are multiple targets at any given moment, so that the contact features are soaked up by these and if this is layered, then one “slice” of the recipient language several generations down the track may not show many traces anymore. The variety of the RL that is investigated, e.g. Aboriginal English, has undergone multiple processes of “filtration” (Anchimbe 2006) in multiple versions, and so the tangible contact traces appear very faint, diluted and hard to attribute to a concrete source.

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Figure 9: Dimension of the contact layers and multiple targets (from Mailhammer and Birch 2014).

Figure 10: The simultaneous and successive filtration processes (adapted from Mailhammer and Birch 2014).

Figure 10 illustrates this model of successive columns of simultaneously existing filters, which are the contact layers, and which filter out substrate influences. Once the Recipient Language (RL) is investigated, which also exists in several varieties, much of the influence that can be expected theoretically has disappeared. Depending on how homogenous the substrate (Source Language) layer is, and how many target varieties and contact layers (filters) there are, there may be more or fewer substrate features in the observed variety of the RL. This

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model can explain cases like English on Croker Island with rampant multilingualism, but also more textbook-like cases like Irish English with more homogeneity in the input and less heterogenous filtration processes. Such an approach seems particularly fruitful in situations where substrate influence is expected for sociohistorical reasons, but where it has been difficult to find hard evidence. One such case is the influence of Celtic on Old and Middle English, where there is good reason to assume that substrate influence is likely, but where it has remained challenging to really pin down cases. The phonemicisation of voicing in English fricatives is a good example. Celtic influence is very plausible and the parallels between Old English and local Celtic languages are striking, but then there is also French influence, which is the mainstream explanation, and it is difficult to make a definitive statement in one way or the other (see Laker 2009 for full details). Phonological influence is to be expected a priori, given that there was a considerable Celtic substratum in Britain, but perhaps much of it has been soaked up in intermediate contact layers and what surfaces in late Old and Middle English is just the tip of the iceberg. There are a number of interesting questions such a model raises about the nature of the filters and relevant predictions. It provides an answer to the question of why substratum influence is often hard to diagnose even in cases that seem straightforward. Even if notionally only two languages A and B are in contact, and if the shift from A to B is not rapid but takes a few generations, A will not be in contact with B but A and A’ with B and B’ etc. as pidgin varieties, creole varieties, restructured varieties develop and come in contact with each other (see Mailhammer and Vennemann 2019 for a reconstructed example). To sum up, the results of this book have made contributions to our understanding of language contact, especially to imposition and crosslinguistic influence in situations of language shift, and provide an explanation for why substrate influence can often hard to pin down. To capture this, I have used the analogy of a multilayered filtration process embedded in a complex synchronic and diachronic contact situation (see Figures 9 and 10).

9 Summary and conclusions This book set out to achieve two goals. The first was to describe English on Croker Island within its linguistic ecology and from a typological perspective in the context of English across the globe. The second goal was to examine features of its grammar as to what extent their existence may be motivated by Aboriginal substrate languages, especially languages spoken locally. The book began with some preliminary theoretical considerations that laid the foundations. It explained why I called the subject of investigation somewhat cautiously “English on Croker Island”, rather than for instance “Croker Island English” or “Aboriginal English on Croker Island”. This cautiousness stems from the realisation that if we cannot speak of a homogenous variety, i.e. if something has not completed Phase 3 in the Dynamic Model, there is really no gain from using the label “X English” (see also Schneider 2007: 50 for this label being characteristic of Phase 4), and from the general uneasiness about the term “Aboriginal English”, as it seems ill-defined, even in the loose, repertoire-based definition that Eades (2014) offers. However, it seems intuitively clear that English on Croker Island is Aboriginal English, which also comes out in the comparison of WAVE features in chapter 4. Thus, if the caveats around the term Aboriginal English are borne in mind, “Aboriginal English on Croker Island” would also be an acceptable title. Another relevant point, even if somewhat peripheral to the immediate goals of the book, is the delineation of creoles, especially Kriol, from English. I have full appreciation for the line of argumentation that does not see a categorical difference between English-based lexifier creoles and English. Creoles do not seem to me entirely “different beasts”, but I agree with Winford’s (2003: 308) overall assessment that “there is still justification for treating creoles as a separate and identifiable class of languages. The grounds of doing so are primarily sociohistorical in nature”. According to this perspective, Kriol is not a variety of English, even if it shares many features with basilectal Aboriginal English, and even if this makes the phenotypical differentiation sometimes seem impossible. If nothing else, the labels offer points of delineation, but I think they do more than that. Just like the endpoints in a dialect chain can be different languages, e.g. Dutch and German, the endpoints of a creole continuum can be discrete entities. Just like monolingual speakers of Dutch and German have significant problems understanding each other if they do not accommodate or stick to very basic conversation, speakers of Kriol and English cannot really talk to each other. This is why there are interpreters for Kriol and not for Aboriginal English. Consequently, English on Croker Island is not a variety of Kriol, but this is not central what is presented in this book. https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-009

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The introductory chapter also gave an overview of the data and the language corpus. This made clear that the database is substantial enough to make reliable statements, though it is clear that a corpus can never be big enough. Nevertheless, the corpus of English on Croker Island is possibly among the biggest in the space of Aboriginal Englishes, though one cannot be sure due to a lack of publicly available figures. Finally, the chapter outlined the theoretical foundations of how contact-induced change was to be diagnosed. Chapter 2 established the sociohistorical background for English on Croker Island. The key aspects worked out there was that contact with English began in Northwestern Arnhem Land in the early 19th century and that English in some form was probably acquired early also as L1. There is a sharp divide between Northern Arnhem Land in general and the Kriol-speaking area further south in terms of the sociohistorical and sociolinguistic circumstances, so that creoles in general are not a part of the direct history of English in Northwestern Arnhem Land, though, of course, they are indirectly. The linguistic features of English on Croker Island are described in chapters 3 to 5. Broadly, its phonology does not differ radically from English more generally. However, is noteworthy that iconic Australian phonetic features, such as the pronunciation of the fleece and face vowels or the so-called high rising terminal intonation pattern, are not found. This may have historical reasons, but it may also reflect the fact that English is not a projection of Aboriginal identity on Croker Island in general. It was possible, however, to identify some contact features, even if they can be very subtle, e.g. Voice Termination Time on voiceless stops. The phonetic data on fricatives also foreshadowed the general issue of significant intra-speaker and inter-speaker variation. The investigation of morphosyntactic features added more data to the variable nature of English and pointed out some possible contact features even if not all are likely due to Aboriginal substrate influence, such as the bin-past tense. The WAVE profile of English on Croker Island underscored the general similarity to Aboriginal English but also the significant the variability of the data. The last point is a reminder of the fact that feature-based typological classifications are only rough measures, but the results also show that in spite of this the broad result clearly is consistent with the data and it intuitively fits the phenomenology of English on Croker Island. Even though the lexicon is, strictly speaking, outside the scope of this book, which focused on structural features, some aspects are significant both in terms of the structure of English on Croker Island and in terms of charting Aboriginal Influence. Besides loanwords, calquing and also constructional calquing were found. The polyfunctionality and polysemy of some items, such as where and one,

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showcases speaker-creativity but also the different linguistic influences that have been shaping English on Croker Island. The dimension of synchronic variability was mapped out in chapter 6 focusing on inter-speaker and intra-speaker variation and the connection to language acquisition histories and usage patterns. As a rough way to capture inter-speaker variation, individual WAVE profiles of the speakers with more substantial text corpora (> 1,000 words) were created. The fact that only five features overlap between these speakers suggests that there is a high degree of heterogeneity in the data. This was supported with case studies of 3sg.pres marking on the verb, the deletion of auxiliary and copula be as well as the form and marking of the past tense. One main result from this investigation is that while variation needs to be much more carefully studied, even basic statements about the grammar of English on Croker Island seem problematic. Moreover, though some conditioning factors can be isolated even with more sophisticated approaches, there is still a significant residue of individual variation, and it is not immediately clear from looking at intra-speaker variation how this would be accounted for. It is a common occurrence that the same speaker in the same context uses e.g. different inflectional patterns, for no apparent reason. This points to a challenging task for future research that is well worth it, because it needs to be ascertained how big the residue of individual variation actually is. The theoretical ramifications presented in this book depend to a significant degree on such an investigation. While it is possible to model a high degree of variation within a repertoire-based model, I think the perspective of Wiese and Rehbein (2016) to basically trying to find as much coherence as possible, and even if this may be in different areas than commonly assumed. Hence, I am optimistic that future work will shed light on the inner workings of this linguistic repertoire. The impression is certainly that there is a degree of randomness in how forms are deployed, but I remain sceptic that this is the full story. The examination of speakers’ acquisition histories and usage patterns unearthed two important facts. First, there is considerable heterogeneity in the acquisition of English, especially with respect to what kind of English is acquired and how English is used. Second, English is not the main community language, and this is a major reason for why English is so variable and for why it has not progressed in to Phase 4 in Schneider’s (2007) Dynamic Model. The situation is to some extent diglossic, although there is some overlap between domains. On the one hand, English is encroaching on classic “low” domains, its prestige is also not very high, so that it would be questionable to call English the “high” language even though it occupies mostly the respective domains.

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On the other hand, Iwaidja in particular, practically has an official status. It is used for some community announcements, and it is still a reasonable expectation that community members understand Iwaidja, even if this may not always the case. The variability of linguistic biographies is not only reflected by the variability of English, but also by the variability of linguistic repertoires with respect to Aboriginal languages. This is similar to other communities in Northern Arnhem Land, for instance in Warruwi on Goulburn Island (see e.g. Singer 2018). However, as this variability of how repertoires are made up has been an integral part of how language “works” in this part of the world, this results in layers of contact in which different repertoires are in constant contact with each other. And this creates a significant problem for diagnosing language contact and especially for pinning down the source language and source structures. It is common that more than one possibility exists and that despite relatively good parallels between English on Croker Island and an Aboriginal language, there are other conceivable options. The case of Voice Termination Time is instructive here. Despite a clear match between English on Croker Island and the Iwaidja and Kunwinjku samples, it is possible that the phenomenon is due to another substrate, which simply cannot be pinned down. The exploratory study of ‘im is another case in point. Even if multiple causation is likely, and even if the local languages probably reinforced the persistence of the feature (Siegel 1997), it is somewhat less satisfactory than being able to confidently demonstrate that a particular feature is for instance due to Iwaidja influence. There are cases where this is relatively solid, e.g. Linear Lengthening Intonation, but even there, a “known unknown” of other substrates remains, a problem that Matras (2009: 76–77) also point out. The main theoretical ramifications can be summarised as follows. First, English on Croker Island is probably best described as being in the early stages of Phase 3 in Schneider’s (2007) Dynamic Model. Critically, the nativisation process, as Schneider defines it, i.e. the appropriation of English, which entails its use as major language for communication and identification, has not been completed. There are indications that the situation may be moving in this direction, but it is quite possible that stable bilingualism is an outcome as well. A complete shift to English seems unlikely for the community of Minjilang in the foreseeable future. Even if Iwaidja were to fade out – the indicators are mixed in this respect – there are still strong Aboriginal languages spoken in Minjilang. Consequently, the most likely scenario is stable bilingualism and it would be interesting to see if English is nativised in such a situation and if it focuses (Phase 4), or if it remains as it is. It seems possible that nativisation can happen without language shift. For

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example, one speaker in Singer’s (2018) language identity study in Warruwi on Goulburn Island assigned English an important part of her identity but this did not diminish the centrality of her Aboriginal languages in her identity. Nancy puts Mawng on both her head and chest which reflects her claim that it is her language. Although English appears on the stomach area in Nancy’s language portrait, many others at Warruwi did not include English in their language portraits, most likely because they did not see it as one of ‘their’ languages. Nancy includes English in quite a central position which could reflect her perspective on her own life, spent working with nonIndigenous people: at the clinic at Warruwi and in her travels around Australia, representing Indigenous people at Uniting Church gatherings. (Singer 2018: 110)

The other question in connection with the Dynamic Model is whether focusing needs to happen on the level of the individual forms or whether it can be on another level. This level could be the level of the discourse and/or in the linguistic practices of the users with respect to co-occurrences of choices in abstract usage categories, as Wiese and Rehbein (2016) envisage. Thus, another direction of future research could be to replicate some of the investigations that they undertook to see if coherence can be found there. This future work will help refine the Dynamic Model, and while this book has raised some interesting questions, this model is still impressively accurate in many respects. The other theoretical challenge English on Croker Island and similar cases pose is how to model variation and the obvious fact that community members can communicate successfully in English despite the huge variability. I think Wiese and Rehbein’s (2016) approach goes in the right direction. It probably would be useful to work out the determinants and the nature of the interacting “linguistic systems”, whether they e.g. contain discourse elements and how they relate to abstract categories such as Schmid’s (2020) “usage types”, and how abstract they are (e.g. constructions seem too rigid and concrete). The “translatory” model of establishing categorical equivalence is potentially useful in this respect, as is the idea of receptive multilingualism (see Ludger Zeevaert 2007). For now, it seems adequate to conceive of English on Croker Island as consisting of multiple linguistic repertoires (in the sense of Benor 2010, but without all features necessarily being tagged with one and the same label), as it is yet unclear how coherence is established and how strong it is, e.g. whether the label variety would perhaps be applicable on a different measure of coherence, as Wiese and Rehbein (2016) suggest. The third theoretical contribution the book makes is in the area of contact linguistics. The multiple filtration process – to borrow a metaphor developed in Anchimbe (2006) – both in parallel on a synchronic level and successively on a diachronic level may explain why has been so hard to pin down substrate

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influence not just in the case of English on Croker Island, but more generally. Even in apparently simple contact situations, there is bound to be some parallel contact and successive contact scenarios and thus filtration, unless the shift is very rapid and very comprehensive. Otherwise, there are layers and parallel varieties that take some of the influence and as a result not everything that we might expect in the target language actually surfaces. Many contact features do not make it through all of the filters and surface in the variety that is investigated. This assumption suggests that in addition to the “tip” of the iceberg, i.e. the surviving stratum, particular attention needs to be paid to the “underbelly”. For English in Northwestern Arnhem Land, this means the evidence and data on Station Pidgin/English and other contact languages and varieties but also what little there is in terms of historical evidence on Aboriginal languages. For example, in Iwaidja it is possible to verbalise ‘how are you?’ with nganduka angmin, which literally means ‘how are you?’ (Marrala et al. 2008: 32). This parallelism could raise suspicion that we are dealing with a calque, but in order to ascertain this we need information on if and how this meaning was verbalised historically. This book has left much unsaid and undiscovered. Future work, in my view, needs to prioritise good descriptions for local Aboriginal languages and English that make use of variationist methods and that map out the variability rigorously in order to determine its extent. What has become clear, however, despite all shortcomings, that local languages have demonstrably influenced the grammar and lexicon of English on Croker Island, and that English of Croker Island, while fitting the general definition of Aboriginal English (Eades 2014) differs significantly from Aboriginal English as described in the literature. I look forward to not only more work on English on Croker Island but also to more sociolinguistic work on Aboriginal English.

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Index Aboriginal English 1–3, 7, 10, 11, 16, 24, 56–63, 66, 67, 69, 71, 72, 93, 95, 100, 103–106, 108, 109, 112–118, 126, 139, 140, 142, 146, 149, 172, 186, 202, 209, 212–214, 223, 224, 229, 232, 233, 237 Aboriginal language 1, 13, 19, 21, 22, 26, 29, 34, 39–41, 44, 46, 48, 54, 60, 63, 65, 70–73, 76, 78, 80, 92, 96, 98, 99, 101, 107, 111, 116, 119, 121, 123, 125, 130, 136, 142, 144, 156, 159–161, 163, 170, 171, 176–180, 184, 186–189, 191, 192, 195–199, 203–207, 211, 212, 217, 227, 228, 235–237 Aboriginal people 2, 7, 9–11, 20–22, 24–26, 28, 29, 31–49, 51–54, 66, 76, 78, 94, 159, 160, 165, 169, 176–178, 187, 193–196, 203, 211, 214, 215, 219, 223, 228, 229 African American Vernacular English (AAVE) 146, 147, 155 Afrikaans 15 Amurdak 4, 5, 13, 39, 41, 46, 72, 159, 170–176, 184, 192, 220 Anterior 80, 82, 150, 181, 195–196, 228 Arabic 18 Arnhem Land 3, 4, 7, 11, 18, 20–22, 25–29, 31–46, 49, 52, 76, 79, 103, 157, 165, 167–169, 172, 176, 180, 182–184, 193, 194, 210–212, 229, 233, 235, 237 Australian English 2, 6, 7, 54–60, 64–73, 88, 93, 98, 104, 105, 113, 117, 118, 122, 136, 139, 157, 184, 188–190, 202, 209, 211–214, 219, 224 Australian languages 3, 11, 18, 19, 22, 61, 66, 82, 83, 114–116, 208 Australian Pidgin 173–175, 182 Bilingual 8, 9, 14, 53, 71, 88, 95, 99, 120, 121, 122, 137, 144, 157, 177, 198, 204 Bilingual language acquisition 8 Bilingually induced change 15, 167, 177, 181, 185, 186, 188–190, 192, 196, 197, 200, 201, 203, 207, 208, 228 Bininj Gunwok 3, 4, 39, 98 Borrowing 15, 16, 18, 19, 119, 120, 122, 157, 166, 167, 181, 203, 210 https://doi.org/10.1515/9783110707854-011

Cape Don 28, 33, 38, 40, 41, 48, 129, 172, 176 Chinese 18, 30, 34, 36, 132, 216 Cobourg Peninsula 5, 29, 32–34, 40, 41, 48, 49, 52, 159, 172, 176, 183 Cockney 187 Cockney English 6 Code mixing 10 Code switching 10, 119–123, 125, 157, 163, 177 Contact feature 1, 6, 61, 92, 185, 187–190, 193, 194, 196, 197, 199, 200, 203, 204, 206 Contact induced change 2, 14–18, 80, 138, 165, 166, 168, 171, 172, 177, 180, 184–186, 188, 229, 233 Contact situation 1, 19, 41, 70, 119, 165, 167–169, 175, 187, 192, 228–229, 231, 237 Copula clauses 96, 99, 100, 146, 148, 167, 206, 224 Creole 2, 7, 8, 24, 39, 54, 63, 76, 78, 80, 103, 113, 114, 117, 146–147, 152, 155, 171, 174, 175, 180, 182, 184, 186–190, 192, 193, 196, 208, 214, 231–233 Crosslinguistic influence 7, 8, 60, 63, 64, 66, 68, 70, 71, 73, 83, 92, 96, 109, 111, 131, 144, 157, 166–168, 180, 185–188, 190, 195, 198, 199, 201, 204–207, 229, 231 Dialect levelling 6, 210 Diglossic 16, 164, 221, 234 Early bilingual(s)/bilingualism 8, 15, 18, 54, 163, 166, 169, 177, 186, 189, 190, 196 Endangered 3, 5, 39 Ethnolect 2, 10, 66, 103, 223 EWAVE 83, 103, 105, 206 Focusing 7, 209, 212, 217–218, 236 Future tense 82, 83, 109 Garig 4, 5, 27, 41, 46, 176, 183, 184 Goulburn Island 3, 22, 37, 42, 43, 158, 159, 169, 212, 220, 235, 236 Gunbalanya 32, 39, 45, 49, 131

252 

 Index

Habitual 86, 87, 109, 116, 134, 150, 153, 155, 196, 198 Ilgar 5, 27, 41, 46, 126, 183, 184 Imposition 2, 8, 14–16, 166, 167, 169, 176, 177, 180, 181, 184–190, 192, 196–198, 200, 201, 204, 206–208, 211, 217, 228, 229, 231 Indigenous language 3, 5, 8, 10, 53, 69, 71, 72, 114, 144, 169, 171, 177, 180, 182, 202, 218–220, 229 Interlanguage 7, 8, 192, 206 Intransitive 130, 131 Irish English 2, 6, 117, 187, 189, 231 Iwaidja 3–5, 12–13, 16, 19, 20, 26–28, 33, 34, 39, 41, 46–49, 54, 56–61, 63–68, 70, 72–74, 76, 80–81, 83–85, 89, 92, 93, 95–98, 101–103, 109, 112, 114–116, 120–125, 130–132, 136, 140, 143–145, 150, 151, 157, 159–161, 166, 171–173, 175–177, 179, 180, 183–186, 189–190, 194–204, 206–208, 216, 219, 235, 237 Kayardild 5 Koiné 6, 7 Koinésation 2, 3, 6, 7, 210 Kriol 2, 8, 35, 38, 39, 54, 56, 62, 63, 76, 78, 95, 101–103, 117–119, 126, 133, 134, 139, 140, 170, 174, 176, 182, 183, 193–195, 202, 204–206, 208, 213, 214, 232, 233 Kunbarlang 4, 12, 13, 28, 48, 60, 68, 143, 183, 186, 219 Kunwinjku 3, 5, 12, 13, 26, 28, 41, 44, 46–48, 56, 58–61, 63, 67, 68, 76, 80, 85, 86, 92, 93, 95, 96, 99, 101, 102, 114, 115, 121, 123, 133, 136, 140, 141, 143–145, 151, 157, 159, 160, 172, 176, 177, 179, 180, 183–186, 188–190, 192, 198, 202–204, 206, 208, 219, 220, 235 Language loss 2, 3, 34, 39, 46 Linear Lengthening Intonation (LLI) 72–73, 181, 184, 190, 235 Loanword 18–20, 72, 122, 140

L1 7, 57, 58, 78, 99, 114, 120, 145, 166, 186, 188, 209, 217–221, 227, 233 L2 7, 8, 99, 114, 145–147, 186, 187, 190, 192, 207, 214, 228 Macassan 18–24, 26, 28, 32, 33, 38 Macassan Pidgin 20, 21, 25 Malay 18 Manangkari 3, 4 Maningrida 37, 45, 85, 88, 157, 177, 189 Marrku 5, 13, 26–28, 33, 41, 46–48, 92, 151, 176, 183, 184 Mawng 3–5, 12, 13, 39, 41, 46, 48, 54, 60, 68, 76, 80, 85, 86, 92, 93, 95, 96, 98, 101, 102, 109, 114, 115, 123, 126, 131, 143–145, 157, 159, 176, 177, 179, 180, 183, 184, 186, 188, 189, 198–204, 206, 208, 219, 220, 236 Melanesian Pidgin 111 Minjilang 13 Modality 88, 89, 128 Morphological 16, 74, 90, 109, 110, 115, 116, 135, 138, 149, 150, 152, 180, 181, 191, 192, 217 Multilingual 1, 12, 18, 19, 21, 34, 54, 80, 96, 99, 107, 156, 158, 167, 178, 181, 191, 211, 218, 226, 227, 229, 231, 236 Neutralisation 15, 56, 60, 116, 136, 166, 167, 181 Non-Australian languages 18, 19 Northern Territory 1, 2, 21, 27, 29, 30, 32–37, 39, 40, 42, 43, 45, 51, 52, 66, 182, 202, 210, 211 Northwestern Arnhem Land 11 Noun Phrase 96–102, 108, 114, 131, 133, 144, 146, 148, 173, 204–206 NSW Pidgin 119, 124, 126, 166, 173, 174, 182, 194, 203, 204, 206, 208 NT Pidgin 35, 111, 171, 182, 191, 194, 195, 205, 206 Oenpelli 4, 29, 32, 33, 37–40, 43–45, 169, 172, 182

Index 

 253

Past progressive 85, 87, 146, 197, 198 Past tense 74–83, 85, 88, 108–110, 116, 128, 137, 140, 141, 146, 149–152, 155, 156, 162, 163, 181, 191–197, 217, 222, 223, 233, 234 Perfective 73, 83, 153, 155 Phoneme system 19, 55, 56, 65 Phonetic 56, 59, 60, 65–66, 137, 233 Phonological 8, 16, 55, 59, 69, 71, 118, 135–138, 142, 144, 145, 152, 155, 180, 181, 184, 186, 187, 189–190, 213, 231, 233 Pidgin 8, 9, 20, 21, 24, 25, 39, 103, 169–171, 174, 175, 180, 182, 184, 186–190, 193, 195, 202, 208, 231 Pluperfect 80–82, 196 Port Essington 4, 22, 25, 28–29, 41, 205 Present progressive 76, 82, 83, 85, 86, 196–198 Present tense 74–77, 83–87, 109, 110, 116, 142, 145, 146, 181, 191, 195–197 Pronoun 75, 91–96, 102, 103, 106, 107, 116, 121, 124, 125, 170, 200–202

Simplification 15, 70, 192, 207 SL-agentivity 14, 15, 167, 186, 192 Source Language (SL) 1, 6, 14, 16, 80, 120, 167–169, 175, 185–190, 194, 196, 197, 199–201, 203–207, 228–230, 235 Standard Australian English 2, 6, 10, 55–59, 60, 64–69, 71, 105, 118, 136, 157, 184, 189, 219, 224 Standard English 54, 60, 61, 63, 64, 74–77, 79–84, 86–88, 90, 92, 94, 97, 105, 109, 114, 116, 127, 129–131, 133, 136, 149, 150, 157, 170, 171, 178, 182, 186, 196, 205, 222 Station English 6, 157, 182 Substrate/Substratum 1, 7, 8, 16, 60, 61, 63–68, 70–73, 82, 83, 89, 91, 92, 97, 101, 102, 109, 111, 112, 114, 115, 135, 136, 142, 147, 155, 169–171, 174, 175, 181, 182, 184, 186, 189–192, 198, 201, 202, 204, 208, 228–233, 235–236 Superstratum 7 Syntax 8, 16, 118, 135, 180, 181, 203

Recipient Language (RL) 14–16, 119–120, 168, 185, 187–190, 193, 194, 196, 197, 199–201, 203–207, 229, 230 Reduction 14, 15, 62, 114, 201, 207 Registers 6, 29, 157 Repertoire 1, 5–6, 10, 19–21, 26, 28, 35, 46, 54–55, 80–81, 83, 96, 99, 107, 122, 131, 135, 157, 162, 166, 169, 171, 173, 175, 183, 185, 188, 195, 198–199, 213, 217, 221–225, 227, 232, 234–236 Restructured 2, 3, 7, 8, 10, 11, 14, 113, 155, 169, 211, 214, 231 RL-agentivity 15, 167

Target language 7, 8, 21, 168, 169, 187, 188, 192–195, 202, 229, 237 Transfer 8, 10, 14–15, 64, 70, 83, 119, 167, 181, 185–186, 188–194, 196–201, 203, 204, 206–208 Transitive 101, 102, 170, 172–174

Second-language acquisition 8, 19, 70, 92, 181, 189, 190, 204, 214, 217 Shift/language shift 2, 3, 5, 7, 8, 10, 16, 21, 29, 39, 44, 46, 54, 81, 164, 165, 179, 211, 215, 217, 218, 228, 229, 231, 235, 237

World Atlas of Variation in English (WAVE) 2, 100, 103–118, 127, 138–141, 146, 163, 178, 196, 199, 201, 202, 205, 208, 217, 232–234 Wurrugu 4, 41 Yolngu (Matha) 3, 19, 21, 39, 143