by Sally Morgan
‘No, there was nothing. He wasn’t a wealthy man, there was no money to leave. You know Roberta?’
‘Yes, Mum’s been out to dinner with her a few times.’
‘Well, she’s the daughter of Jack’s brother, Robert. She’s Gladdie’s first cousin.’
‘Mum doesn’t know that, does Roberta?’
‘Yes, she knows. She asked me a year ago whether she should say something to your mother, but I said it’d be better to leave it.’
‘Perhaps Mum could talk to her.’
‘Yes, she could.’
‘Can you tell me anything about Nan’s mother?’
‘Not a lot. Her name was Annie, she was a magnificent-looking woman. She was a good dressmaker, my father taught her how to sew. She could design anything.’
Our conversation continued for another half an hour or so. I kept thinking, had Mum lied? Did she really know who her father was? Was she really against me digging up the past, just like Nan? I had one last question.
‘Aunty Judy, I was talking to Arthur, Nan’s brother, the other day and he said that his father was the same as yours, Alfred Howden Drake-Brockman. Isn’t it possible he could have been Nan’s as well.’
‘No. That’s not what everyone said. I’ve told you what I know; who Nan’s father is. I’m certain Arthur’s father wasn’t Howden, I don’t know who his father was.’
‘Arthur also told me about his half-brother, Albert. He said Howden was his father too.’
‘Well, he went by the name of Brockman so I suppose it might be possible, but certainly not the other two.’
‘Well, thanks a lot, Aunty Judy. I suppose I’d better be going. Mum will be here any minute. She’s picking me up.’
‘You know who you should talk to, don’t you? Mum-mum. She’s still alive and better than she’s been for a long time.’ Mummum was a pet name for Aunty Judy’s mother, Alice.
‘She must be in her nineties by now,’ I said. ‘Do you think she’d mind talking to me?’
‘No. I don’t think so, but you’d have to go interstate, she’s in a nursing home in Wollongong. You could probably stay with June.’ June was Judy’s younger sister, Nan had been her nursemaid too.
‘I’ll think about it, Aunty Judy. Thanks a lot.’
‘That’s all right, dear.’
I walked out to the front gate and, just as I opened it, Mum pulled up in the car.
‘How did you go?’ she said eagerly.
‘All right,’ I replied. ‘Mum, are you sure you don’t know who your father is? You’ve lied about things before.’ It was a stupid thing to say, Mum was immediately on the defensive.
‘Of course I don’t know who my father is, Sally. Didn’t you find out, after all?’ She was disappointed. I felt ashamed of myself for doubting her.
‘No Mum, I found out. It was Jack Grime, and Roberta is your first cousin.’
‘Oh God. I can’t believe it!’ She was stunned.
‘Can you remember anything about him, Mum? You’re supposed to look a lot like him.’
‘No, I can’t remember much, except he used to wear a big gold watch that chimed. I thought it was magical.’
‘Judy said he used to visit you when you were working as a florist, can you recall any times when he did?’
‘Well yes, he popped in now and then, but then a lot of people did. I was a friendly sort of girl. Sometimes, I would go and have lunch with him at Ivanhoe, that was after Nan had left there. To think I was lunching with my own father!’
An overwhelming sadness struck me. My mother was fifty-five years of age and she’d only just discovered who her father was. It didn’t seem fair.
‘Mum, are you going to say anything to Nan?’
‘Not now, maybe later, after I’ve had time to think things over. Don’t you say anything, will you?’
‘No, I won’t. Does she know I’ve been to see Judy?’
‘Yes, she knew you were going. She’s been in a bad mood all week. Did you find out anything else?’
‘Judy says Nan’s father was a bloke called Maltese Sam. That he came from a wealthy family and wanted to take Nan away with him.’
‘Maltese Sam? What an unusual name. I’ve never heard anyone talk about him. Arthur’s coming tomorrow night, I’ll ask him what he thinks. Of course, you know who he says is Nan’s father, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I know. Judy doesn’t agree with him.’
The following evening, Mum and I sat chatting to Arthur. After we’d finished tea, I said, ‘I visited Judith Drake-Brockman the other day, Arthur.’
‘What did you do that for?’
‘Oh, I thought she might be able to tell me something about Corunna Downs and something about Nan.’
‘You wanna know about Corunna, you come to me. I knew all the people there.’
‘I know you did,’ I paused. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘You ask what you like.’
‘Judy told me Nan’s father was a chap by the name of Maltese Sam, have you ever heard of him?’
‘She said WHAT?’
Arthur was a bit hard of hearing sometimes, so I repeated my question.
‘Don’t you listen to her,’ he said when I’d asked again. ‘She never lived on the station, how would she know?’
‘Well, she got the story from her mother, Alice, who got the story from her husband, Howden, who said that Annie had confided in him.’
Arthur threw back his head and laughed. Then he thumped his fist on the arm of his chair and said, ‘Now you listen to me, Daisy’s father is the same as mine. Daisy is my only full sister. Albert, he’s our half-brother, his father was Howden too, but by a different woman.’
‘So you reckoned he fathered the both of you.’
‘By jove he did! Are you gunna take the word of white people against your own flesh and blood? I got no papers to prove what I’m sayin.’ Nobody cared how many blackfellas were born in those days, nor how many died. I know because my mother, Annie, told me. She said Daisy and I belonged to one another. Don’t you go takin’ the word of white people against mine.’
Arthur had as both nearly completely convinced, except for one thing, he avoided our eyes. Mum and I knew it wasn’t a good sign, there was something he wasn’t telling us. So I said again, ‘You’re sure about this, Arthur?’
‘Too right! Now, about this Maltese Sam. Don’t forget Alice was Howden’s second wife and they had the Victorian way of thinking in those days. Before there were white women, our father owned us, we went by his name, but later, after he married his first wife, Nell, he changed our names. I’ll tell you about that one day. He didn’t want to own us no more. They were real fuddyduddies in those days. No white man wants to have black kids runnin’ round the place with his name. And Howden’s mother and father, they were real religious types, I bet they didn’t know about no black kids that belonged to them.’
We all laughed then. Arthur was like Mum, it wasn’t often he failed to see the funny side of things.
When we’d all finally calmed down, he said, ‘You know, if only you could get Daisy to talk. She could tell you so much. I know she’s got her secrets, but there are things she could tell you without tellin’ those.’
‘She won’t talk, Arthur,’ I sighed. ‘You know a lot about Nan, can’t you tell us?’
He was silent for a moment, thoughtful. Then he said, ‘I’d like to. I really would, but it’d be breakin’ a trust. Some things ’bout her I can’t tell. It wouldn’t be right. She could tell you everything you want to know. You see, Howden was a lonely man. I know, one night at Ivanhoe, we both got drunk together and he told me all his troubles. He used to go down to Daisy’s room at night and talk to her. I can’t say no more. You’ll have to ask her.’
‘But Arthur, what if she won’t tell us?’
‘Then I can’t either. There’s some things Daisy’s got to tell herself, or not at all. I can’t say no more.’
After he left, Mum and I sat analysing everyt
hing for ages. We were very confused, we knew that the small pieces of information we now possessed weren’t the complete truth.
‘Sally,’ Mum said, breaking into my thoughts, ‘do you remember when Arthur first started visiting us and he said Albert was his full brother?’
‘Yeah, but that was before he knew us well.’
‘Yes, but remember how he almost whispered when he told us the truth about Albert? He didn’t want to hurt the feelings of any of Albert’s family and he loved him so much I suppose he thought it didn’t matter.’
‘Yeah, I know. You think there might be more to Nan’s parentage.’
‘It’s possible.’
‘There’s another possibility. Howden may have been her father, but there could be something else, some secret he wants to keep, that is somehow tied in with all of this. Perhaps that’s why he didn’t look us in the eye.’
‘Yes, that’s possible, too. And I can’t see why he wouldn’t tell us the truth, because he knows how much it means to us. I don’t think we’ll ever know the full story. I think we’re going to have to be satisfied with guesses.’
‘It makes me feel so sad to think no one wants to own our family.’
‘I know, Mum, but look at it this way, just on a logical basis, it’s possible he was her father. We know he was sleeping with Annie, and Arthur said that even after he married his first wife, he was still sleeping with Annie, so he could have sired her.’
‘Yes, it’s possible.’
‘Well, that’s all we can go on then, possibilities. Now Judy said Jack Grime was your father, but maybe he wasn’t. He was living at Ivanhoe at the time you were born, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he fathered you, does it?’
‘Oh God, Sally,’ Mum laughed, ‘let’s not get in any deeper. I’ve had enough for one night.’
Part of our history
A few days later, I popped in to see Mum. Nan told me she’d just gone up the shops and would be back in a few minutes. I decided to wait. I wasn’t intending to say anything to Nan about my trip to Judy’s, I wasn’t in the mood for an argument. Uncharacteristically, she began following me around the house, making conversation about whatever came into her head. I suddenly realised that she was anxious to hear what Judy had told me, but I decided to let her sweat it out and bring up the topic herself.
Finally, after half an hour of chatting about the weather, the cool-drink man and Curly’s arthritis, she blurted out, ‘Well, what did she tell you?’
‘Who?’ I asked innocently.
‘You know, Judy. Mum told me you’d been to see her.’
‘Do you want me to tell you what she said?’
‘I don’t care, if you want.’ Nan shrugged her shoulders. We both went and sat down in the lounge room. After we’d made ourselves comfortable, I said, ‘Well, she told me that you were the nursemaid at Ivanhoe.’
Nan grunted. ‘Hmmph, that and everything else.’
‘You’ve always worked hard, haven’t you, Nan?’
‘Always, too hard.’
‘Judy also said your father was a bloke called Maltese Sam.’
‘What did she say?’ Nan looked astonished.
‘She said your father was called Maltese Sam, and that he visited you at Ivanhoe and wanted to take you away with him. Do you remember anyone visiting you there?’
‘Only Arthur, and that wasn’t till I was older.’
‘There was no one else, you sure?’
‘I’d know if I had visitors, wouldn’t I? I’m not stupid, Sally, despite what you kids might think.’
‘We don’t think you’re stupid.’
Nan pressed her lips together and stared hard at the red-brick fireplace directly opposite where we were sitting.
‘Nan,’ I said gently, ‘was your father Maltese Sam?’
She sighed, then murmured, ‘Well, if Judy says he is, then I s’pose it’s true.’ I looked at her closely, there were tears in her eyes. I suddenly realised she was hurt, and I felt terrible, because I’d caused it. I decided to change the subject. I began to talk about my children and the latest naughty things they’d been up to. We had a chuckle, and then I said, ‘Wouldn’t you have liked to have had more children, Nan?’ She shrugged her shoulders and looked away.
‘Think I’ll do some gardening now, Sal,’ she said. ‘Those leaves need raking up.’
She left me sitting alone and confused in the lounge room. What was she hiding? Why couldn’t she just be honest with us? Surely she realised we didn’t blame her for anything. Surely she realised we loved her? I swallowed the lump that was rising in my throat. One thing I was sure of: before this was over, Mum and I would have shed more than our fair share of tears.
When Mum returned from the shop, she said, ‘Have you spoken to Nan?’
‘Yes, but only about Maltese Sam. I don’t think she thinks he was her father, but she won’t say anything. See if you can get her to talk, later.’
‘God, she’s an old bugger!’
‘I know, but the bit about Maltese Sam upset her. Better leave it for a few days before you tackle her.’
‘I tell you what, I’ll get a few days off work and make a big fuss of her and then, when she’s in a good mood, I’ll ask her about it.’
So three evenings later, after they’d finished eating a big roast dinner, Mum said quietly, ‘Don’t go and watch television yet, Nan, I want to talk to you. Sit with me for a while.’
‘I’m not talking about the past, Gladdie. It makes me sick to talk about the past.’
Mum persisted, in spite of this protest, and said, ‘I’m only going to ask you one question. Then you can do whatever you like, all right?’ Nan sat still. ‘Now, you know Sally’s trying to write a book about the family?’
‘Yes. I don’t know why she wants to tell everyone our business.’
‘Why shouldn’t she write a book?’ Mum said firmly. ‘There’s been nothing written about people like us, all the history’s about the white man. There’s nothing about Aboriginal people and what they’ve been through.’
‘All right,’ she muttered, ‘what do you want to ask?’
‘Well, you know when you write a book, it has to be the truth. You can’t put lies in a book. You know that, don’t you Nan?’
‘I know that, Glad,’ Nan nodded.
‘Good. Now, what I want to know is who you think your father was. I know Judy says it was Maltese Sam and Arthur says it was Howden. Well, I’m not interested in what they say. I want to know what you say. Can you tell me, Nan, who do you think he really was?’
Nan was quiet for a few seconds and then, pressing her lips together, she said very slowly, ‘I … think … my father was … Howden Drake-Brockman.’
It was a small victory, but an important one. Not so much for the knowledge, but for the fact that Nan had finally found it possible to trust her family with a piece of information that was important to her.
Mum gave Nan a week to recover before tackling her about Jack Grime. She’d been trying to spend more time at home and, in a gentle way, talk about the past.
Finally one evening, she said, ‘Nan, I know who my father was.’ Nan was silent. ‘It was Jack Grime, wasn’t it, Nan?’ Silence. ‘Wasn’t it, Nan?’
‘Judy tell you that, did she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, if that’s what she says.’
‘But was he, Nan?’
‘I did love Jack.’
‘What happened then, Nan, tell me what happened. Why didn’t it work out?’
‘How could it? He was well-off, high society. He mixed with all the wealthy white people, I was just a black servant.’
Nan ignored Mum’s pleas to tell her more and disappeared into her room, leaving Mum to cry on her own.
When Mum and I talked about this later, Mum said, ‘You know, he probably was my father, Nan obviously had a relationship with him. If he was, I feel very bitter towards him. There’s never been any acknowledgment or feeling of love from him. I was j
ust one of the kids. Later, when he moved east with Judy’s family, he never wrote, there were no goodbyes, I never saw or heard from him again. All I can remember is that he used to tell wonderful stories, he was like a childhood uncle, but definitely not a father.’
We hoped that Nan would tell us more about the past, especially about the people she had known on Corunna Downs. Mum was anxious to hear about her grandmother, Annie, and her great- grandmother, and I was keen to learn what life had been like for the people in those days. To our great disappointment, Nan would tell us nothing. She maintained that if we wanted to find out about the past, we had to do it without her help. ‘I’m taking my secrets to the grave,’ she told Mum and me dramatically, one day.
Over the next few years, Arthur continued to visit regularly and to talk in snatches about Corunna. Sometimes, he’d say to Nan, ‘Daisy, come and sit down. Tell your daughter and grand daughter about the past, tell them what they want to know.’
But Nan maintained a position of noncooperation, insisting that the things she knew were secrets and not to be shared with others. Arthur always countered this statement with, ‘It’s history, that’s what it is. We’re talkin’ history. You could be talkin’ it too, but then, I s’pose you don’t know what it is.’
Nan hated Arthur hinting that she might be ignorant, she replied vindictively, ‘You always makin’ out you’re better than anyone else. Well, you’re not! You’re just a stupid old blackfella, that’s you!’
Arthur was incensed. Raising his voice, he said, ‘You’re a great one to talk. Here I am in my nineties and I can read the paper and write my own name, too. I been educated! I’m not like you, you’re just an ignorant blackfella!’
Nan was mortally offended. For a few seconds, she was lost for words, then she shouted, ‘I don’t know why I bother with you! You’re always picking fights. You know they were s’posed to send me to school. It’s not my fault I can’t read or write. It hasn’t done nothin’ for you, anyway. I been listenin’ to you, you can’t even make up a good story!’
