Matriarch

Chapter 1-3

Fortunately Fritz gave way, and they quickly sorted through his ports, leaving those they could not carry under a tarpaulin. ‘Flood or drought, the Royal Mail always gets delivered,’ explained the mailman, ‘though sometimes I might be a bit delayed. Right oh, mount up, tally ho you cranky old bastards,’ the camel train rose and began to move. ‘Now why,’ he said earnestly, ‘would a young gent like you want to come all the way from the mother country to the outback, and by the way, never mind this mister business, me names Percy?’ This would have been his first major experience with the reality of Australia. ‘I would say curiosity,’ Fritz replied, ‘and to remove myself out of the way of my mother’s new husband.’

‘Fritzhugh, now there is a beautiful name, very la de da, like your accent old chap, beats Percy hands down.’ ‘That is being ridiculous, it is certainly not, but for you Percy, we shall shorten it; I was known as Fritzy at school; how about using that?’ ‘Okay mate, Fritzy it is.’ ‘Percy, how long did you say to travel in?’ ‘Sixteen days in this weather; if we got caught in the wet, well, the truth is we can’t get in. You could add a few days when it is hot. I have done it in thirteen with horses and a light load, and when there was plenty of feed about.’

‘Percival, is a very illustrious English family name; were your pater and mater English, do you know?’ ‘You mean me mum and me dad?’ Fritz began to realize how foreign he must seem. ‘Me great granddad was a sent out in chains,’ Percy continued, ‘don’t know what for, probably thieving I suspect, I think she was also. I didn’t know I had a toff’s name; perhaps I should tell the Royal Mail and they can pay me a bit more per round trip, ha, ha, ha… my dad was on the goldfields, met her there, six kids and lost four, lucky she lived, I reckon.’ ‘And what about your Afghan camel driver?’ ‘I reckon he probably came out with a load of camels.’

That evening Fritz found that any passing doubts he may have had about the wisdom of his journey were dispelled by the twinkling of a million stars, which stretched across the boundless sky and cast their pale light over the landscape, the sheer immensity of which he could only try to comprehend. The clang of camel bells woke him to the soft light of dawn to find that the mailman had already rekindled their camp fire and brewed tea. ‘Here you are Fritzy,’ Percy offered. ‘Have a mug a tea, I like to put a gum leaf in mine.’

Anything further from the green of England he could not imagine; yet there was the delicious feeling of limitless space and that early morning mug of tea tasted very good. After much travel, they approached the boundary of the station, which, according to Percy, began at a stand of trees, and was marked by a faded Arrawatta painted on the side of an old kerosene drum, which had one end cut out and was fastened to a tree. That was the only evidence of white habitation. It was a poignant moment for Fritzhugh, who remembered it as a lonely sentinel, the only sign in all that vastness of the coming of the white man. This was the boundary of his new home in the middle of nowhere.

‘Welcome home old chap,’ Percy said expansively. ‘I head east to see Craig and Jenny Miller on Springdale Station, which is another seven days on. Not long now mate, you can count the days and we will be there.’ Fritzhugh thought it sad his father had never seen it, and he wondered what he might have thought. From that moment, it did not seem to matter how long the caravan took; he had immediately felt a sense of home.

‘Percival, I see the country has changed; it is now just a flat plain stretching to the horizon.’

The mailman had the most good-natured patience. ‘Mate, we are getting into the good country now. You can see how the roos like it; they are the best judges. There they are, camping under the scattered trees, like us, they like to lie doggo in the heat of the day.’ Through the grass, curious emus came to gawk at them, like matrons window-shopping in the High Street. Fritz could not blame them as their own lumbering caravan must appear a very odd intruder. Time had lost its meaning; it was measured in wet or dry seasons, or the weeks or months it took for the swaying camels tethered one behind the other, to make their progress from one isolated station to another.

As their train swayed by, the mournful cry of the local black crows proclaimed the country as their own. Overhead was the bluest sky he had ever seen, where majestic wedge-tailed eagles soared in great circles. White and pink cockatoos, colourful finches, and a myriad of other birds shrieked and squawked and brought their sound and colour to the bush. They saw a party of Aborigines moving through the trees. ‘Lubras and piccaninnies out after tucker,’ Percy explained, ‘they have a great time chasing about, the women teaching the young ones. There is good water in this country and plenty of tucker. Been here forever, they know the story of every tree and rock about the place and how the rivers and the ranges came about. They didn’t like us coming, there is still a very occasional spearing, I never had any trouble meself, and they will come in for tobacco and a mug of tea. But them b****y missionaries want to chase them up, when I reckon they are happier being left just as they are.’

Fritzhugh found Percy to be something of a philosopher, yet it was strange that despite his solitary occupation, he was such a genial companion. He was a boundless source of knowledge about the bush, and went out of his way to teach him the practical things he would need. How to make a bed roll, set a fire, make tea, a damper, and turn the salted beef into a tasty stew using potatoes and onions. So much did Fritz feel in Percy’s debt that he determined to reverse the flow.

‘Percy, you might consider getting a lorry, dashed useful things for getting around; there are plenty in London, carry all manner of things, could take days off the round trip.’

‘Go on, Fritzy. I seen pictures of them. I don’t know, could I drive one, do you think?’

‘Easiest thing in the world,’ Fritzhugh explained. ‘Pater had an automobile and a driver, but now and again he used to take over and trip all over the place.’

‘Mate, you don’t say?’ ‘Just put petrol and oil in and off you go, used to let me drive, absolutely splendid fun.’

That sojourn back to things English had been received very well. Percy wore a look of profound attention, which encouraged Fritz to give an enlightened dissertation on the telegraph and the telephone. To round out this journey into the developments of modern science, he explained about the sending of radio signals in Morse code. Although he had to confess that he had never seen or heard it being done himself, nonetheless he was delighted to find his companion was impressed.

Then, in the early afternoon, they rode out of the scattered timber and there on a gentle rise was a ramshackle slab hut, the Arrawatta homestead standing solitary among the trees. Further away was a set of cattle yards, a few other rough huts, an open iron shed with a blacksmith’s forge, a large flat top wagon, two sulkies, and various pieces of harness and saddlery. This was his new home. If there had been anyone there, they would have heard the camel bells, but there was no one to greet them.

‘Cheer up Fritzy, you will get used to it, and if the weather holds, you will soon have all your ports.’ Percy left Fritz wide-eyed and not a little bewildered. A note had been left on the kitchen table: ‘Boss, out shifting cattle to better feed. Good drinking water south of hut in billabong. Bert.’

Fritz was glad to have arrived, but sorry to say goodbye to Percy. He assured his new friend that the warmest of welcomes would always await him. Now he understood what Percy had meant about him having so much baggage, as in the hut there was not even enough room for those he had, and he laughed and laughed at just how ridiculous he must have seemed.”

The old lady took her time, content to continue her story on another visit to one of our favourite spots. I would carry our tea things while she took my arm and used her digging stick as an aid. We would sit in the sand where the soft wind stirred the leaves above, and she would watch approvingly as I set a fire and when I was settled, she would begin. “Alkina dear, I want to tell you about my growing up and how I met Fritzhugh. I was born some forty miles from the Arrawatta homestead, and being with my lovely great granddaughter rekindles my memories of when I was a girl. My mother was a little rebellious and independent like me, and my father was a young white stockman named Charlie Dickens.

Mum said they loved one another and lived in one of the rough slab huts that serve as an outstation. My father attended my birth; his hands were sure, and he deftly delivered me on to a soft bed of grass, then severing the umbilical cord with his clasp-knife, and handed me to my delighted mother. Just like you, I was called Alkina, and when I was still a child, my father moved on when I was too young to remember him. I doubt my mother even knew his real name, but I have always accepted his going as a part of my life. My mother raised me in the traditional ways of her people, as we wandered across our land, just as our forebears have always done.”

Nan paused, deep in thought, and when she was ready, continued the wonderful story of her life: “I delighted in learning the stories of the dreaming, and how all the animals and birds came to be, why the great rivers cut their way through the mountain gorges, where the geese came from, and how the rainbow snake made the wet. And now I think more than ever, it was very fortunate that I grew up among the women who kept our secrets, and could teach them to me. It was they who showed me how to set the sacred tokens in the ground, and what they meant, and how to paint and oil my body, and the meaning of our rituals.

My mother taught me how to stamp and sing our dreaming into the land, as could most of our people in those days; and when I was older, I became the keeper of the women’s business. I knew who our ancestors were, except those on my father’s side, who still remain a mystery. The old women told me that we had speared white men and had taken their cattle for tucker. The police took our men away in chains, but some of the squatters and their men would cruelly leave bags of poisoned flour lying about for our people to find.

But it was not until the missionaries came that they inflicted the greatest damage of all. They set out to destroy our beliefs, which they did by telling us our dreaming was nonsense. My mother said my father thought that when the missionaries came, it would be less disruptive for us if we just agreed with them. As it later turned out, his advice was a great help, and when I married Fritzhugh, I discovered he held much the same view.

I had seen Fritzhugh well before I met him, which happened early one morning as I watched the mist lifting over the billabong, and there he was, singing songs from Gilbert and Sullivan as he splashed about. He was a skinny young man engrossed in his song, and every now and then, he would keep time and bob down in the water. I had been standing motionless in the trees and thought it was one of the most unusual and prettiest scenes I had ever witnessed. I had heard talk of the new white boss who had come from a land far away.