Remembered By Heart: An Anthology of Indigenous Writing (11 page)

Abridged from
Karijini Mirlimirli
edited by Noel Olive, 1997.

At the beginning of the 1950s, in line with the changes in government attitude and legislation about social programs for Aborigines, a scheme had been introduced so Noongar students could go to high school in Perth.

How it worked was that officers of the Native Welfare Department identified boys and girls capable of taking up the opportunity, and after a selection process involving the officers, teachers and parents, a committee in Perth made the final selection. Those who were doing well at school and were willing to leave their families were selected first.

This was a great opportunity for Noongars. At that time, living conditions, school costs and the general marginalisation Noongars experienced in the country were factors, we believed, that made it almost impossible to be successful in regional high schools. Few Noongars in the country were achieving results comparable to Wadjalas',
and this new opportunity gave us a chance to do so. So, many Noongars thought the idea of kids going away to better themselves was a good one, and, certainly, parents knew they would never have been able to pay for what was on offer from the Native Welfare Department.

But some parents wouldn't allow their children to be sent away. Our communities had experienced many years of forced child removals, and even then children were still being removed from their parents, and so much doubt remained that the program was ‘for their own good' rather than just another way to take their kids.

Grandfather Williams had had plenty of experience of Noongars being taken away, and my mother talked to him about allowing kids and teenagers to go away for work or school.

She remembered: ‘He was visiting one time and since we began to hear about this education thing for our kids going to high school away in Perth, we talked about it. I wasn't sure about sending my kids away, but I knew deep down that we had to do something to help our kids do better at school. “Wadjalas,” he said, “aren't to be trusted with our young ones. Too many have been taken away. Be careful Lily,” he told me, “they may never come back. We don't want to lose any more of our people.”

Mum understood what he meant. She, too, had almost been taken away by the Protector of Aborigines, and had some reservations about whether going away for schooling would turn out good for her kids and for the
family. Uncle Len and Aunty Elsie had their doubts, too. Years before, when their son Jack had been a little boy on the Gnowangerup reserve, he was fearful of being taken away by the authorities. Jack had a fair complexion and was a target for the officers. At the first inkling that the van to take them away was in town, all the fair Noongar kids would run away to the bush and hide. Jack was as scared as hell of being taken away and was one of the first to head for the bush.

Mum said he used to say: ‘Why am I so fair? Why do they want to take us fair kids? We are all the one family.'

That stuck with me. I was fair too and could understand how Jack probably felt about being chased down to be taken away. They nearly got away with taking me, so what happened with Jack I never forgot.

It wasn't forgotten by the Williams family either. Like Mum, they had reasons to be reluctant to let their kids go in case they didn't come back. But more Noongars began to believe it was okay and a good thing for their young ones, as some kids went for work or schooling and came back.

In the very early days, many of our women were domestics on sheep stations and farming properties, and then Mum and her mates did that type of work at Gnowangerup. Then younger ones in our families continued similar work. At least six close relations went to properties in the south-west part of Noongar country to work as domestics. Vernice, Dawn and Barbara Williams worked for Egerton-Warburtons in the South-West,
and my sisters Norma and Edna worked for Hesters and Muirs there as well. These property owners were among the early settlers of the South-West. Then a lot of young women got work at the Homes of Peace, in Subiaco, as nursing assistants. My sisters Joan, Norma and Wilma worked there, and so did cousins Vernice, Dawn, Barbara, Judy, Treacy, Averil and Rhona. Several of Aunty Elsie's daughters went to Alvan House and on to Homes of Good Peace to work in nursing. As it became apparent they could return home as they wished, our families became more confident in allowing their young ones to venture out on their own.

Not that I lacked confidence about returning. Mum certainly encouraged me, and I knew that Ted Penny, Uncle Bill's stepson, had been in the first group to go to McDonald House, and my brother Bevan attended the following year. And Norma had gone and returned too.

It wasn't as a result of my mother's own schooling that she emphasised the value of education to us — she had never been to school. But she did observe others well and could see the potential in her kids, and of course she knew, as I did from an early age, that Noongars most often got the rough end of the stick in dealings and opportunities in our town and an education was the way this might be changed.

So in February 1960, I got on the train, travelled through the night to Perth, was picked up by Miss Styles, the hostel manager, at the Perth Railway Station and was taken to McDonald House. I had made it. I knew then it
was up to me to do the best I could to survive in a new environment — to me, it was a new world.

Living in the city was nothing like I had experienced before. McDonald House was in West Perth, about three kilometres from central Perth, in an old semi-industrial area. The house was above average size and big enough to accommodate a manager, a maid and eight boys. I shared a room with two other boys and had my own bed and a small wardrobe. There was plenty of space. I had come out of a crammed, uncomfortable shack and I thought this was perfect. Three other boys were in a second bedroom, so there were six of us who stayed there for that year.

Most of the boys in the hostel had lived in humpies on reserves, and so it was totally new to live in a spick-and-span home where we were regimented by rules and regulations most of the time. You were told to keep the noise down and be respectful to those in charge. Things were totally different from back home, and learning to be different was hard. But I think that with all the requirements and standards of conduct set for us, we did manage it quite well, considering.

Native Welfare provided us with a set of school, home and social clothes at the beginning of the year, along with football gear and shoes. Generally, clothes and shoes were handed down from one boy to another, though we did get some new clothes at times.

Native Welfare also provided us with five shillings a
week pocket-money for our own use, which seemed like a fortune to us.

The daily routine at the hostel was to get up at seven, make our beds and have a shower. Those on breakfast duty would set the table, make the toast and cook the eggs or whatever we were going to eat, with the help of the maid, Miss Chadd. She was a Noongar lady from Roelands Mission who helped the manager, Miss Styles, run the place. Miss Styles had worked at the mission too. She was a tall and large imposing person who didn't move very quickly but was very aware of how we behaved and made it clear that ‘rules were rules' and we had to stick to them, always. I soon learned that we didn't mess with Miss Styles, but still managed to have problems sticking to the rules.

Following breakfast, two others would wash, wipe and put away the dishes. The other two would sweep the floors and tidy the dining room.

Miss Chadd did the washing on Wednesdays. The boys were required to fold and iron their own clothes, and wash their socks, singlets and undies on that day. Every Saturday morning we cleaned and tidied our rooms and washed and polished the floors.

Jobs had to be done properly. Miss Styles insisted the house was always clean, dusted and polished. We had an electric polisher that was big and very difficult to handle and it took a while for the boys to learn to use it safely.

When us new boys first arrived and had our duties
allocated, I recall the older boys from the year before setting us up for the demon polisher. It had a round disc-shape brush that protruded out the front a little, and there were two small wheels at the back that allowed you to move it from one room to another. The motor, which sat on top, turned the single brush in a clockwise direction. When you were polishing, the brush was the only thing that touched the floor. It spun around very fast. Of course new boys didn't know that, not having seen an electric polisher before, let alone used one. The trick was to balance this powerful machine, and if you didn't, it would run off in the direction it was leaning towards, even if you had a firm hold on it. It was difficult to get it right. If it took off it would smash into whatever was in its path. It must have weighed fifteen kilos. It also tended to go off in different directions as you tried to get the balance correct.

There was no instruction from Eddie, an older boy whose job it was to get me going. With him, it was just trial and error. He was a practical joker and had fun watching others mess up. I had to polish the lounge and passage.

‘There you go,' he said, after he had pulled the polisher out of the passage cupboard and into the lounge room. ‘Switch it on at the switch,' he instructed, as he pointed towards to the switch on the handle.

I had no idea what was to come. I turned the switch on and off it went, whizzing and spinning. I clung to it as that's what Eddie had advised. I hung on in desperation as it went all over the polished boards of the lounge room as
I tried to balance it. Left, right, front and back, the thing went.

‘Keep it up level — level — level!' Eddie instructed.

I had no chance of controlling it and all Eddie did was stand behind me to make sure he wasn't run over himself, watch me, laugh his head off and give a few instructions as I battled the demon. It eventually slammed into the wall with me sprawled on the floor but still attached to it.

Eddie quickly switched it off. ‘You're done for now.'

At that moment the other older boys poked their heads around the open door, splitting their sides with laughter.

‘He's wrecked the house,' one of them yelled. It put a chill up my spine because I didn't want to be sent home.

‘Now he's in for it.'

And that made it worse.

I gingerly got up, not knowing whether to have a crack at Eddie or what.

A clump of plaster had been knocked out of the wall but nothing else was damaged. It was the first week of my stay at McDonald House and I didn't have any idea of what I should do about it.

I did tell Miss Styles and fortunately didn't lose any pocket-money on that occasion.

Eventually I did learn to use that polisher, as the other two new boys, Morgan Williams and Morrie Millar, did, and became quite good at it.

Morgan and Morrie soon became the two boys I most associated with; the fact that they came from my area — the
central and lower Great Southern — was enough to make us a team and helped me adapt to my new life a great deal.

Saturdays were sport days. We all played footy in winter and went swimming at the beach in summer. Saturday afternoons were for going to watch the league football, when not playing sport ourselves, or socialising. Saturday nights were set aside to go to the movies in one of the Perth theatres.

Sundays were for church-related activities. The morning sessions were held at the North Perth Baptist church and the evenings at the People's Church in Perth, or elsewhere. We also attended the church youth club in North Perth on Friday evenings. At Easter we attended Christian conventions at Brookton.

Each boy in first or second year high school was required to study after school for one and a half hours, four evenings a week. Those in third or higher years studied for two hours.

Adapting to this new life wasn't easy for any of us that year, especially for Morrie, Morgan and me. We came from different environments where we'd developed our own set of rules about behaviour.

Of the six boys from the South-West in my first year in Perth, five of us went to Tuart Hill Senior High and one to Mount Lawley Senior High.

Those of us in our first year were in for another big shock, because we had to fit in pretty quickly with the educational system. At that time, no-one ever considered
matters like preparing us for school, the relevancy of course materials and culturally appropriate teaching. Somehow, we just had to cope as best we could. We were receiving a special opportunity.

For me it was the opportunity I'd been waiting for: to continue my education. I knew it was the only way I'd be able to go on to a good education and job. I'd become aware of my own capabilities during my primary schooling and knew I could cope with schooling. I knew I had the ability to do as well as Wadjala kids — in fact, I'd outdone them in several subjects in primary school; one year I even won a biro as a special prize at the Broomehill Anglican Spring Fair for being the neatest and best writer for my age group.

So I knew I was very lucky to get the chance of a high school education. For us Noongar kids, this sort of privilege had an impact on our lives, changing our hopes and aspirations in ways which were just not possible for many others from our communities. At school we dressed the same as everyone else, we carried the same school bags and had all the textbooks and study equipment we needed. Back home it had been considerably different.

The hostel students had lots of friends at school and at Tuart Hill Senior High, students chose three of us five hostel kids to be prefects. Four joined the army cadets. In addition we had opportunities to meet people, visit places and go to events. Once we toured the passenger liner
Oranje,
which was berthed at Fremantle. I also remember
going to meetings of the Aboriginal Progress Association, in Bassendean. It was then, too, that I heard about the Coolbarroo League, an organisation run by and for Noongars. It held dances in Perth and several of us Noongar boys from the hostel went to them. All these experiences were good for our social development, and we began to expect a better deal in life.