Maralinga

by Judy Nunn

  ‘Good heavens above, no,’ she said. ‘I’m not leaving Australia until I can swim really well. And that means a lot of lessons – it could take some time.’

  He turned to her, but she ignored him and stared out to sea. Two could play at that game.

  ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘the Cold War can’t last forever. Someone’s going to have to write an exposé about Maralinga some day. And I intend that someone to be me.’

  She spoke lightly, but he knew she was serious. Life was not going to be easy, he thought, but he didn’t expect it to be with Elizabeth around.

  1984

  Matilda and Violet are Kokatha girls. They are cousins and have grown up together — they are thirteen years old now. Their families live in Ceduna where the girls go to school. Tilly and Vi are very best friends. They share everything they own, although the balance is not really equal for Tilly has things Vi’s family can’t afford. Tilly’s father is employed by the state railways and makes more money than his brother who is a farm labourer.

  Today is a very exciting day for the girls. Their mothers and other women of their extended family group have called a meeting of the clan. Word has spread far and wide over the past two weeks — the women will gather at the Yari Miller Hostel in Ceduna to welcome a new family member. The hostel, designed to accommodate itinerant workers, is a common meeting place and those who have travelled into town from Tarcoola and Yalata will stay the night. Twenty or more women and children are now gathered in the hostel’s central courtyard. There would be a far greater number if the family’s men and youths were in attendance, but such a gathering is considered women’s business. Besides, the men have more important things to discuss. They are forming a council and gathering information to be presented to the Royal Commission next year. The commission is to investigate the damage caused by the Maralinga experiments.

  As the women’s group waits a number of little boys play raucously around them, but amongst the women themselves, some sitting on benches, others squatting on the ground nursing young ones, there is a feeling of quiet expectation. This is a momentous day for all present, and for a variety of reasons.

  For Tilly and Vi, this is the day they will meet Delaney Wynton.

  Delaney Wynton is their idol. They play her albums endlessly on Tilly’s cassette player and know the lyrics of every single song off by heart. She is an inspiration to them both, but most particularly to Tilly. Tilly writes songs and can play the guitar, and has determined that she too will be a famous singer one day, just like Delaney Wynton. After all, Delaney Wynton is one of their mob, and if one of their mob can make it, then why shouldn’t she? Tilly is very ambitious.

  The women, too, are impressed by Delaney Wynton’s fame, but she symbolises far more than one of their own who has achieved success in a white man’s world. Delaney Wynton symbolises triumph over a fearful time in the lives of the Kokatha, and in the lives of the Pitjantjatjara and the Yankuntjatjara and many others who people the lands of the great southern desert. She symbolises triumph over a time when some amongst them were blinded or suffered mysterious illnesses, when men died prematurely, when women were rendered infertile or gave birth to stillborn babies. Many still suffer the consequences of those fearful times, and their stories will be heard at the Royal Commission. But Delaney Wynton, who was born in the very midst of the mayhem, has lived to become a symbol of survival.

  For the women present, this is the day they will welcome Etta’s child, the miracle baby of Maralinga who has traced her family and returned to meet her people.

  A taxi pulls up outside the hostel where Tilly’s and Vi’s mothers are waiting to greet Delaney. She has flown from Adelaide and will be staying overnight at the Ceduna Community Hotel, but she has travelled directly from the airport to the gathering.

  The two women welcome her, Vi’s mother with a formal handshake.

  ‘Hello, I’m Ada,’ she says. ‘Welcome to Ceduna.’

  Tilly’s mother is less inhibited. Tilly’s mother is the undisputed matriarch of the extended family group and considers it her responsibility to set the ground rules.

  ‘I’m Vonnie,’ she says. ‘Welcome to the family, Delaney.’ And she gathers the young woman to her ample bosom in an embrace.

  It is a wise move, breaking through any awkwardness or self-consciousness Delaney might have felt. She returns the hug warmly.

  ‘I’m Del,’ she says and she smiles her beautiful smile. Like her mother before her, Delaney is a pretty woman.

  ‘Come on inside and meet the mob, Del.’

  Vonnie picks up Delaney’s overnight bag and she and Ada usher the young woman into the courtyard where those gathered wait, respectfully silent.

  Tilly and Vi stifle a longing to squeal and run to their idol with their cassette covers all ready to be signed; their mothers have warned them to wait their turn. Protocol must be observed. Delaney is to meet the women first, and most particularly the one who is closest to her, the sole remaining member of her direct family. The girls squirm with impatience. They’ve watched Delaney on Countdown and she’s even prettier in the flesh than she is on television.

  Vonnie beckons forward the first person who is to be introduced. Bibi is a shy woman in her early forties, plainly in awe of meeting Delaney and uncomfortable at being the focus of attention.

  ‘This is Bibi.’ As always, Vonnie gets straight to the point. ‘Bibi’s your auntie. Etta was her sister.’

  Delaney Wynton is moved, everyone can see it. ‘You are my mother’s sister?’ she asks. She speaks softly, but her voice is clear and all can hear her.

  Bibi nods self-consciously, twisting the thin cotton fabric of her frock between her fingers as she looks down at her bare feet. She has travelled all the way from Yalata with her cousin and her cousin’s family just for this moment. But now that it’s come, she doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘Say hello to Del,’ Vonnie urges heartily. Vonnie can be bossy at times, but usually with the right motives. ‘Come on, Bibi, don’t be shy, she’s your niece.’

  ‘Hello, Del,’ Bibi whispers obediently.

  ‘Hello, Bibi.’

  Delaney takes her aunt’s hands in both of hers and Bibi looks up. Their eyes meet and as Del smiles, Bibi cannot help but respond. She sees her sister in that smile. She’d been twelve years old when Etta had disappeared. Bibi had loved her big sister.

  As the two women embrace, Vonnie leads a round of applause.

  The more formal part of the proceedings is quickly over. The senior women amongst the group are introduced one by one, a hug is shared with each, then the younger women gather for more hugs, and then it is the children’s turn.

  Tilly and Vi lead the troop of children that surrounds Delaney. She personally signs the girls’ cassette covers To Tilly and Vi, as they request.

  ‘Are you sisters?’ she asks.

  ‘No, we’re cousins,’ Tilly says, ‘and we’re best friends.’

  ‘Tilly’s going to be a famous singer, like you,’ Vi adds. ‘She writes her own songs too, just like you do.’

  ‘Sing us a song, Del,’ Tilly says, and the other children take up the chant. ‘Sing us a song, Del. Sing us a song.’

  But Del is apologetic. ‘I don’t have my guitar,’ she says.

  ‘I got a guitar.’ Tilly disappears to return only moments later with the second-hand guitar her father bought her. ‘It’s tuned up good.’ She hands it to Del.

  Del strums a few chords. ‘Yes, it is,’ she agrees.

  ‘Sing “Don’t Look Back”,’ Tilly begs, referring to Del’s latest hit. Del had sung it just the other night on Countdown.

  ‘No, I’ll sing a song you haven’t heard before,’ Del says. ‘A song I wrote a long time ago, when I was around your age, Tilly.’

  She addresses the entire gathering. ‘This is a song about family,’ she says. ‘I knew that one day I would find you. I was twelve when I wrote this, and I was thinking of you.’

  She rests her foot on a bench and p
repares to play. The children gather about her, squatting on the ground, hugging their knees, their eyes bright with anticipation.

  ‘When I was a little girl growing up in Adelaide,’ she says, ‘I learned about the stars of the Southern Cross — the five that form the cross and the two that point the way. Seven stars in all. This is my song.’

  She plays the introduction arpeggio, her fingers expertly picking out each note of a pretty melody. Then she starts to sing:

  ‘Whenever I’m down, when I’m feeling low

  When the world spins too fast and the time goes too slow

  I wait for the evening stars to appear

  And seek out the seven that glitter so clear …’

  She sings without artifice, a natural voice, warm and pure.

  ‘For I know that my family sees those same stars

  And all of us wonder where each of us are

  And each of us sends all the others our love

  As each of us watches those same stars above …’

  The gathering is enraptured. The courtyard is hushed. Even the youngest and most raucous of the little boys is silent.

  Delaney reaches the end of the verse. The tempo of the song builds, and as she embarks upon the chorus she encourages the children to clap along. She no longer plays arpeggio, the chords are strong now, and her voice rises to match their strength.

  ‘I clap clap my hands, shake the dust from the land

  And smile up at the stars as I dance in the sand

  For I am a child of the great universe

  Who cannot be humbled and will not be cursed …’

  The power in her voice is compelling. The song has become defiant. It is a celebration as she sings to the stars.

  ‘My star family’s with me wherever I go

  And we dance to the rhythms of long long ago …’

  Everyone present has joined in now. They are stamping their feet and clapping to the rhythm, infected by the strength and joy of the song. When finally it comes to its resounding conclusion, there is huge applause.

  Tilly wants to know why Del’s never recorded the song. ‘I reckon it’s one of your best songs ever,’ she says.

  ‘No,’ Delreplies, ‘it’s a private song, a family song. It’s just for us.’

  ‘What’s it called?’

  ‘ “The Song of the Seven Stars”.’

  ‘It’d come in at number one, I’ll bet,’ Tilly says.

  REGARDING MARALINGA

  The British army packed up and went home in 1962. An attempt was made to decontaminate the area, but it was ineffectual. Maralinga closed in 1967, and the site was left to fester in the eternal silence of the desert.

  During the years that followed, growing concerns about the safety standards observed during the conducting of the nuclear trials and the disposal of radioactive substances and toxic materials began to snowball. By the 1980s, British and Australian servicemen and traditional Aboriginal owners of the land were suffering blindness, sores and illnesses such as cancer. Groups including the Atomic Veterans Association and the Pitjantjatjara Council pressured the government until, in 1984, it agreed to hold a royal commission to investigate the damage that had been caused.

  The McClelland Royal Commission into the tests delivered its report in 1985 and found that significant radiation hazards still existed at many of the Maralinga test areas. It recommended another clean-up, which was completed in 2000 at a cost of $108 million.

  During the proceedings, local Indigenous people claimed they were poisoned by the tests. The McClelland Commission could find no evidence of this. However, in 1994, the Australian government paid compensation amounting to $13.5 million to the Maralinga Tjarutja people in settlement of all claims relating to nuclear testing.

  The Commission did find that some British and Australian servicemen were purposely exposed to fallout from the blasts. With regard to these health and welfare matters, an Australian Department of Veterans’ Affairs study concluded that ‘overall the doses received by Australian participants were small … Only two per cent of participants received more than the current Australian annual dose limit for occupationally exposed persons (20 mSv).’

  However, these findings were contested by the Atomic Ex-Serviceman’s Association, which claimed that out of 10,700 personnel who worked in the area over a ten-year period in the 1950s and 1960s there were over 9,000 persons who had died by 2005 and approximately 75–80 per cent of those deaths were from cancer.

  On 6 June 2009 (ironically the anniversary of the D-Day Invasion in 1944) approximately 1,000 ex-servicemen from Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and Britain who were involved in nuclear tests during the 1950s finally won the right to sue the British government over health problems they blame on radiation.

  It is to be hoped the British High Court decision will force the Australian Federal government to finally recognise health and welfare claims by Australian veterans.

  Despite the governments of Australia and the UK paying for two decontamination programs, concerns have been expressed that some areas of the Maralinga test sites are still contaminated.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  My love and thanks as always to my husband, Bruce Venables. My thanks also to those family and friends who continue to offer both encouragement and practical assistance: big brother Rob Nunn, Sue Greaves, Susan Mackie-Hookway, Michael Roberts, Colin Julin and my agent, James Laurie. A big thanks to all the hard-working team at Random House, most particularly to Brandon VanOver for his creative support.

  For assistance in the research of this book I am indebted to many, but first and foremost my thanks must go to Leon and Dianne Ashton, who, as on-site managers of Maralinga, offered Bruce and me such a warm welcome and gave so generously of their time and knowledge. Thank you also to David Johns, who granted government approval for our visit to the site, and to the Maralinga Tjarutja, who allowed us to travel their lands.

  A big thank you to all those wonderfully helpful people I met during my research trip: from Ceduna Library, Julie Sim (and husband Bob, whose hand-drawn map was of inestimable value), Chris Blums and Meralyn Stevens; from Ceduna Aboriginal Arts & Culture Centre, Pam Diment and Sue Andrasic; Allan Lowe from the Ceduna Museum; Tanya and Andrea from the Maralinga Tjarutja Land Council Office; Patricia Gunter; Des Whitmarsh; the friendly staff at the Ceduna Foreshore Hotel and many others from the highly hospitable township of Ceduna. Thanks also to June Noble and Dick Kimber of Alice Springs.

  Among my research sources, I would like to recognise the following:

  Fields of Thunder, Denys Blakeway and Sue Lloyd-Roberts, Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd, 1985.

  Field of Thunder: the Maralinga Story, written and researched by Judy Wilks, with Rolf Heimann (Art), Nic Thieberger and Richard Watts (Graphics), Friends of the Earth, 1981.

  Maralinga: Australia’s Nuclear Waste Cover-up, Alan Parkinson, ABC Books, 2007.

  A Political Inconvenience, Tim Sherratt, Historical Records of Australian Science, 1985.

  Fallout: Hedley Marston and the British Bomb Tests in Australia, Roger Cross, Wakefield Press, 2001.

  Maralinga’s Afterlife, John Keane, professor of politics, Centre for the Study of Democracy, University of Westminster, London, The Age Company Ltd, 2003.

  A Toxic Legacy: British Nuclear Weapons Testing in Australia, published in Wayward Governance: Illegality and Its Control in the Public Sector, P. N. Grabosky, Canberra, Australian Institute of Criminology, 1989.

  I’m the One That Know This Country!: the Story of Jessie Lennon and Coober Pedy, Aboriginal Studies Press for the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies, 2000.

  The View Across the Bay, Sue Trewartha, published by Ceduna Community Hotel, 1999.

  Broken Song: T. G. H. Strehlow and Aboriginal Possession, Barry Hill, Random House Australia Pty Ltd, 2002.

  The eagerly awaited new novel

  ‘This town is full of tiger men,’ Dan said. ‘Just look around you. The merchants, the bu
ilders, the bankers, the company men, they’re all out for what they can get. This is a tiger town, Mick, a place at the bottom of the world where God turns a blind eye to pillage and plunder.’

  Van Diemen’s Land was an island of stark contrasts: a harsh penal colony, an English idyll for its landed gentry, and an island so rich in natural resources it was a profiteer’s paradise.

  Its capital, Hobart Town, had its contrasts too: the wealthy elite in their sandstone mansions, the exploited poor in the notorious slum known as Wapping, and the criminals and villains who haunted the dockside taverns and brothels of Sullivan’s Cove. Hobart Town was no place for the meek.

  Tiger Men is the story of Silas Stanford, a wealthy Englishman; Mick O’Callaghan, an Irishman on the run; and Jefferson Powell, an idealistic American political prisoner. It is also the story of the strong, proud women who loved them, and of the children they bore who rose to power in the cutthroat world of international trade.

  Tiger Men is the sweeping saga of three families who lived through Tasmania’s golden era, who witnessed the birth of Federation and who, in 1915, watched with pride as their sons marched off to fight for King and Country in the Great War.

  AVAILABLE FROM NOVEMBER 2011

  PROLOGUE

  The animal approaches the river with stealth; not for fear of predators, but in order to avoid alerting possible prey. It is early dusk and others may be slaking their thirst – a kangaroo perhaps, or a wallaby, or wombat. She hopes for a large kill, she has three hungry cubs to feed, but if necessary smaller prey will suffice. Her keen ears are alert to the slightest rustle amongst the grasses and foliage as this might signal a potoroo or a possum.