by Di Morrissey
If Jamie noticed her staring he didn’t react. He was probably used to it, she thought. He was around the same age as Eddie, though slimmer and looked a lot fitter.
‘You’re the tourist, take in the sights,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I’m going to get a bit more shut-eye. Let me know when you want to trade places, Eddie.’
‘I’ll be right for a couple of hours. Maybe switch at the roadhouse.’
‘Right.’ Jamie pulled his worn, well-shaped bush hat over his face and leaned his head back on the seat.
‘So what did you make of Bonza?’ asked Eddie.
‘Colourful. But I think Reg is the more interesting character. He fits in better with our story.’
‘Your group wouldn’t have come across an Aborigine like him back in the fifties,’ said Eddie.
‘No. Which, based on the descriptions that Colin gave, makes the comparison interesting.’
‘So have you filmed this Colin person, relating all this?’ asked Eddie.
‘Not yet,’ said Veronica shortly. ‘There’s also an interesting woman who was in the expedition who’s still alive. She was an actress. I think she lives overseas, we just have to find her.’
‘This trip to Brolga Springs sounds a bit of a wild goose chase, but what the heck. Does me good to get outta town,’ said Eddie.
‘Do you miss Sydney?’ asked Veronica.
‘Nah.’
He didn’t elaborate so she didn’t ask about friends, girlfriends or his trips to Bali. None of her business now anyway.
When Eddie pulled into a roadhouse that served as a pub, petrol station and fast food outlet, Veronica found that she had dozed off. They ate egg and bacon rolls washed down with unpleasant coffee. Jamie handed her a large bottle of water.
‘It’s a good idea to drink plenty of water in this climate.’
It was now Eddie’s turn to doze in the back seat. Jamie took the wheel, pushed a CD into the player and turned back onto the highway. The powerful sounds of the Aboriginal group Yothu Yindi drifted through the car.
‘Their voices are wonderful. I love listening to them in Sydney, but here it seems more appropriate,’ said Veronica as the red earth and stands of acacias and mulga trees swept past against a background of distant ranges stark under the blue sky.
‘That’s because they’re singing about their country,’ said Jamie quietly. ‘East Arnhem Land. You been there?’
‘No, but I want to . . . It sounds magic.’
‘You can’t miss Kakadu,’ he said. ‘Lot of tourists prefer Litchfield Park, which is great, well planned and set up for visitors. But I prefer the wild country. Can I ask what the story is that you’re chasing in the Territory?’
‘Well, I found out that a group of people came to the Northern Territory in the mid-fifties to make a film and I’m trying to find out what happened to them and to film some of the places that I know they saw. The film group were headed to Arnhem Land, but I don’t know if they ever got there. The whole expedition fell apart in Darwin.’
‘Do you know what happened?’
‘That I don’t know. I’m still unravelling the story.’
‘What are you hoping to find here at Brolga Springs?’ he asked.
Veronica couldn’t make out Jamie’s expression behind his dark glasses. While he was polite and friendly there was a reserve about him like a sheet of glass mounted between them.
‘I know that the party stayed at Brolga Springs and filmed a corroboree there, according to Colin, my main contact. Anyway, I found out what’s become of Brolga Springs today and so the contrast is valuable. Colin said it was pretty basic and isolated when they called in, but it was very beautiful country.’
‘That it is. So they stayed at Brolga Springs? Well, it certainly would’ve changed, you’re quite right. It’s taken a while for the tourists to get out there. And even now it’s for the more adventurous.’
‘Do you know Brolga Springs, then?’
‘Yes, I certainly do. As a matter of fact I know the Hodges well and I go there quite often. They’ve done a terrific job.’
‘It sounds like it. I suppose other properties will start copying them.’
‘A few have,’ said Jamie. ‘But they haven’t been as successful. Rick and Vicki Hodge are born and bred Territorians. Their hearts and souls are here and the local people, including the traditional people, respect them.’
‘What’s happened to the other stations that haven’t been successful?’ asked Veronica.
‘Ah, it goes back a long time. Once the Aboriginal people were dispossessed, kids taken away and tribal people lost the right to their land to do ceremonies, hunt, care for it, as they always had, the whole system broke down. Places where they’d been born and worked and lived with their families were taken over, leased by big corporations from down south or overseas as tax write-offs. White managers were put in, none of them local or necessarily experienced, so often the places were mismanaged. A lot of the cattle stations were run down, went bankrupt, but the big bosses in the cities down south didn’t care as it was a tax loss.
‘Then came change. There was a push for Aborigines to control and run stations and some have been very successful. Local indigenous people were hired to run them and training for the young people was introduced and often there was sophisticated tourism marketing and promotion. In a way some of them have been too successful, or else they’ve taken their eye off the ball.’
He paused and Veronica waited. ‘The neighbouring place, three hundred Ks to the west of Brolga Springs, was doing well, so well that the corporation sold its lease a few months ago to one of the biggest hotel chains in the world. It fired the indigenous trainees, but kept a couple of token traditional people as “cultural guides”, added a health and wellness spa and it’s now losing everything that made it the special place that people wanted to see.’
Veronica heard the tension in his voice and realised this was a subject he felt strongly about. ‘What made it special? What did it lose?’
‘You mean apart from its spirit, its dreaming, its heart?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘You can’t create five-star-plus luxury accommodation for spoiled, old, rich tourists without carving into the landscape. Wheelchair access to art sites that now have cement steps built and wire fences around them for security.’
‘Is it true that Aboriginal rock art paintings and carvings have been vandalised, chopped up and stolen?’
‘Yep.’
‘It’s catch twenty-two, isn’t it,’ said Veronica thoughtfully. ‘When something is precious, interesting, of great cultural significance, everyone wants a piece of it but as a result, its original importance is lost.’
‘Y’know these people you’re following, when they came through in the fifties, they might have seen examples of an almost pristine Aboriginal culture.’
‘They may not have realised that,’ said Veronica.
‘Exactly.’ Jamie waved a hand out of the window towards the expanse of seemingly empty landscape. ‘Isn’t it nice to think that out there are untouched landmarks, ancient tools, totems, art that depicts life and history and Dreaming along with sacred sites, significant places that are meaningful and spiritual. A living cultural heritage that’s been unchanged for thousands of years.’
‘But it’s like the pyramids and tombs, the Sistine Chapel, the Roman roads, Pompeii – you have to be able to see tangible evidence of the past to appreciate how it was.’
‘Was!’ Jamie reacted. ‘This isn’t a culture that was, it’s a culture that’s still with us now, despite all the attacks, the despoiling, the dismissal of it as an inferior civilisation, it still survives.’
‘And will it continue to survive?’ asked Veronica.
He gave a slight smile and didn’t answer.
‘Can you say all that again, on camera?’ she asked.
‘You need to talk to my mother,’ he said finally. ‘She’s knowledgeable and also something of an activist. She’s a teacher but she sits on a couple of boards dea
ling with these issues.’
Eddie woke and stretched. ‘Are we there yet?’ He looked out the window. ‘Veronica, why don’t we take a couple of shots of this. If you lose the road, the landscape is just as it was when your group drove through.’
‘Good idea. I’d like to stretch my legs, anyway.’
The turn off to Brolga Springs was well marked and the dirt road, suitable for small tour buses, was quite different from the road Colin had described. The country was rugged with flat-top ochre jump ups and dark green gorges where a hint of a waterfall glinted. They glimpsed heavy-set Brahman cattle among trees to the side of the road and then they spotted the first fence. Soon there was a gate marked by two carved wooden brolgas supporting a tree trunk arch with the words ‘Brolga Springs’ burned into it. Then they passed landscaped trees and bushes, artfully placed boulders and parked by a fence was an ancient bull catcher that looked as though it had been gored and rolled many times over.
‘I bet visitors take their picture in that old thing,’ remarked Eddie.
‘Don’t think it’s driveable anymore, but it’s the real deal,’ said Jamie. ‘Tourists can buy gear at the store, hats, boots, croc-teeth hatbands and belts, souvenirs, if they’re looking for that sort of thing.’
They passed neat wooden signs pointing to the homestead, the bunkhouse, the Sunset Bar and barbecue, toilets and ‘The Springs Dining Room’. Jamie swung past the gravel parking lot filled with dusty four-wheel drives, campervans and a nine-person troop carrier and stopped in front of a log building that was marked ‘Reception and Office’.
‘It’s quite elaborate,’ said Veronica, slightly disappointed. The building like all the others looked new and not like the old-style homestead and cattle station she’d imagined.
Jamie sensed her reaction. ‘There’s more to it than this. Like I said, once you open to tourists you have to cater for them.’
Behind the reception desk they were greeted by an attractive Aboriginal girl in a black and white uniform with a red insignia of a brolga with ‘Brolga Springs’ printed underneath it. An Aboriginal man in a matching T-shirt and black pants could be seen at a computer in the office behind her.
‘Hello. You must be Miss Anderson. Hi, Jamie. And you’re Eddie Jarman?’
‘That’s right. Are Rick or Vicki Hodge about?’ asked Veronica.
‘They’re out of contact at present. They suggested that you get comfortable in your accommodation and they’ll meet you later at the Sunset Bar for a drink. But if there’s anything you want to do in the meantime, like going to the lagoon, or horseriding.’ She handed them a brochure. ‘This might give you a few ideas.’
‘Where are we staying?’ asked Eddie.
‘We have you in the Castle Cabins or, if you prefer, the Castle Tents are very comfortable. They face the river.’
‘What river is that?’ asked Eddie.
The girl smiled. ‘It’s a creek really, though it can get pretty full in the wet. Comes down from the gorge. Rick has it stocked with fish. There are canoes if you want to go for a paddle and a fish.’
‘Thanks but it’s a bit hot for me right now. Think I’ll wait for it to get cooler before I walk around and get the feel for the place,’ said Veronica.
‘Very well. I’ll have one of the boys drive you over to your cabin and he’ll be happy to take you in the buggy for a look around.’ She pointed to one side where several all-terrain vehicles, like golf buggies with large wheels, were parked.
‘I have a few things to do. Shall we meet round five-thirty in the bar?’ suggested Jamie.
‘Sounds good. Am I taking the car with me?’ asked Eddie.
‘Yes, follow Roly in the buggy. You can park by the cabin and walk or take one of the buggies further afield. There’s a pool, a hot-spring bathing area, picnic place, all kinds of facilities.’
‘They’ve thought of everything,’ said Eddie.
Veronica’s cabin was airy with large push-out shutters, all fly screened, a polished wood floor and a tiny verandah with a view towards a distant lagoon. There was a small shower and toilet, a comfortable bed with a mosquito net above it and a large fan in the middle of the room. It was simply but tastefully furnished with no unnecessary frills. She splashed water on her face, took off her shoes and sat on the bed.
What would Colin make of this she wondered? It sure beat the rough camping Marta and Helen must have endured on their trip here. But how unspoiled it must have been then. She wondered if the original homestead was still standing. All the buildings she’d seen so far looked to be only a few years old.
Roly appeared in the buggy at three pm as she’d arranged and she grabbed her hat, sunglasses and camera, and got in beside him.
‘Okay, give me the tour,’ said Veronica.
The young Aborigine looked confused. ‘We have many tours . . .’
‘No, I meant just drive me around. I’ll take one of the tours tomorrow. Which do you recommend?’
‘Oh, we have the bush tucker tour, the ladies like that one. As well as finding bush foods you can learn how to make dilly bags or baskets and find out about bush medicine. There’s fishing, riding, canoeing, swimming in the springs and hiking up the gorge to see the rock art. The men like to go with the stockmen when they bring in cattle, or get a killer – a beast that they butcher for station meat. A lot to do here.’
‘That certainly sounds like a full schedule. How long have you been here?’ asked Veronica.
‘About nine months. I’m in the training program. There’s a term of twelve weeks and a TAFE instructor comes out here to teach us how to look after the tourists.’
‘Where are you from?’
‘I was in Darwin, but I originally come from Katherine. This is my first job,’ he added proudly.
Roly looked to be around nineteen or twenty. ‘What were you doing before this?’ asked Veronica.
‘Ah, nothing much. Didn’t finish high school and just hung around. Then I met Rick and he talked me and some other blokes into doing this course.’
‘Do you like this? Do you see yourself moving up in hospitality or tourism?’
He shook his head. ‘More money in the mining jobs. Reckon I might head out that way when I can.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Veronica. ‘I guess its not too exciting driving the buggy around and looking after visitors.’
He shrugged. ‘No, it’s okay. The rules are strict here. No drinking on the station, no cards, y’know, gambling. Got to look clean all the time. And the money is put in the bank for you.’
‘Well, that’s not a bad thing. Will you finish your program here?’
He gave her a huge and disarming smile. ‘Yep. Sure. But you can make a lot more money in mining.’
There were around thirty people in the bar when Veronica went in at sunset after her tour of the complex with Roly. She was surrounded by foreign accents, young backpackers and older retirees. Eddie was at the bar with a couple she assumed to be Rick and Vicki Hodge. Rick was dressed in a blue shirt embroidered with the Brolga Springs logo and mud-stained moleskin pants. Vicki was in a simple cotton dress but had added sparkly earrings.
Vicki turned to Veronica and with a smile said, ‘Welcome. Great to meet you. I’m Vicki Hodge. Been hearing all about you from Eddie. And we’re big fans of Our Country. This is Rick.’
Rick shook her hand with a firm calloused grip and his big smile extended to his warm blue eyes. ‘’Scuse my outfit, still on duty. Been out with a group of visitors at the gorge. Glad you got here. We’re keen to help you any way we can. Now, a drink?’
‘A white wine please. How was your afternoon, Eddie?’
‘Amazing. Two of the trainees took me out to get dinner.’
As everyone laughed, Veronica raised an eyebrow. ‘You took the camera of course?’
‘Of course.’ Eddie downed his beer and pushed it towards the bartender for a refill. The pretty girl, a backpacker, thought Veronica, refilled it quickly.
‘Where’s Jamie?’ s
he asked.
‘Dunno. Haven’t seen him,’ said Eddie. ‘He’s in one of the tents. Probably crashed.’
‘No, he’s around, he’ll be here soon,’ said Vicki. ‘Now, tell us, how can we help with your show? Eddie says you’re here about the old days but you’re interested in what we’re doing here today. Of course, we’re keen to show that too,’ said Vicki candidly. ‘I mean, we always like publicity but I know your show isn’t into travel fluff stuff. But we’d really like to promote our indigenous program.’
‘No, the second. Indeed. It’s nice to have a positive story,’ said Veronica. ‘Is this the first group to go through the program?’
‘Yes. It’s taken a while to get it up and running. Lots of reasons,’ said Rick. ‘It’s not one of those things you can just push out there and let it run on its own. Needs constant supervision, guidance, hand holding and adjusting to cultural issues.’
‘And lack of them,’ added Vicki. ‘Many of these kids have never had any serious connection with their culture. Been brought up in the towns, because they lost contact with the land when their families were broken up. Often they find it hard to fit into both worlds, neither of which they know properly.’
‘Listen, I’m going to go and clean up. We thought we’d throw some steaks on the barbie at our joint as we’re slightly away from all this. We have two little kids. Suit you guys?’ said Rick.
‘Wonderful,’ sighed Veronica who could see a country and western band setting up in the outdoor area.
‘Have another drink on the house and I’ll get one of the lads to fetch you,’ said Vicki.
Veronica watched the two of them stop and chat to a customer, speak quietly to a staff member, talk to the chef putting food on the buffet, check the bar and make a quiet exit.
Eddie had watched them leave also. ‘Reckon this’d be a twenty-four seven job for those guys.’
‘Yeah. This isn’t quite what I expected.’
Eddie took a swig of his beer, eyeing the blonde backpacker at the end of the bar. ‘Been fifty-plus years, Vee. ‘’Course it’s going to change.’
