I felt like I’d stepped into another world - a place so far removed from the dusty laneways of home. In this part of town, the avenues and streets were lined with red-flowering poinciana trees. Their branches stretched out across the bitumen, creating an elegant floral arch. At the end of most driveways were grand homes, bordered by manicured gardens. From high on their hillside perch, the residents had sweeping views of Moreton Bay and the broad Brisbane River, and then down onto the city folk below – the homes and gardens of the Cherbourg officials no longer seemed impressive. Here, everyone looked different, too. Children went about in smart uniforms, blazers and felt hats, as most attended private schools. Their fashionable mothers wore glittering rocks on their fingers and their fathers drove shiny cars.
Mrs Roberts, her businessman husband and their three well-behaved young children lived in a large two-storey house. I was overwhelmed by its style, lit by chandeliers, furnished with antiques, and gleaming with silverware and finely painted porcelain. My boss was a breathtakingly beautiful and vibrant young woman in her early thirties, about twelve years older than me. Her tall, slender frame and fair features made her a regular in the social pages of the local newspapers. Everything about her oozed elegance and class – she was the closest thing I’d seen to a movie star. She was so graceful she almost floated across the plush carpet while showing me around their home.
I trailed behind like a shadow – pulling my shoulders back, trying to glide like her, although it didn’t feel the same. I felt intimidated in her presence and among the finery. I was too nervous to touch anything. I worried about what they’d do to me if I broke an item and couldn’t replace it. Even if my family were to sell all of their possessions, it’d never be enough to replace a single antique. I thought of the Brodies in Taroom – mere middle-class folk. If they were fussy about how I should behave in their country farmhouse, how would this toffy socialite boss and her family treat me? I didn’t have to wait long to learn what they expected of me.
It was early evening, on my first day at the residence, when Mrs Roberts asked me to join her in the kitchen.
‘Lesley, how should we do this?’
‘D-d-do what?’
‘Prepare dinner with two cooks in the kitchen!’ she laughed, taking pots and utensils out of the cupboard. ‘Why don’t you look after the vegetables while I cook the meat and make the gravy?’
‘Th-th-that sounds real good,’ I beamed, not quite believing my glamorous boss was going to help me with the job I was paid to do.
In the days that followed, it took a while to get used to Mrs Roberts’ genuine warmth and humanity. The way she treated me was unlike anything I’d experienced before. It was so much different from what I’d learned on the settlement. We were two different people, from two worlds seemingly poles apart. We came from different cultures and social classes. She was white; I was black. She was rich; I was poor. She was a stylish and elegant woman about town. We couldn’t have been more dissimilar. But to Mrs Roberts, it didn’t matter – everyone deserved to be treated with dignity and respect. Even me.
Sure, in the past, I’d received small acts of kindness from some of the white officials at Cherbourg and my employers. But it’s not the same as being in a relationship, and living in a home based on these virtues. Mrs Roberts was adamant my role was to ‘help’ and not ‘serve’ her. Instead of delegating all the chores to me, we’d both decide what housework needed to be done and split the work between us. Sometimes, without her noticing, I’d watch as she’d clean the bathtub or polish the furniture by my side. I was amazed at how she still remained classy and elegant, even with a cloth in her hand – but always a hint of Estée Lauder perfume.
After a fortnight of working with her, Mrs Roberts noticed I was still tense and guarded, despite her best efforts to coax me out of my shell. As I’d grown used to working silently in Condamine and Taroom, I didn’t talk unless I was invited to and, even then, I didn’t say much.
‘Lesley, I want you to understand, this is your home too. So if ever your family or friends want to visit, they are welcome to stay here. There is more than enough room.’
‘Really?’ I was astounded by her suggestion.
‘Of course. I’d love to meet them,’ she assured me. ‘Oh, and one other thing, can you stop calling me “Mrs Roberts”. None of my other friends call me by my married name. Besides, you make me feel old,’ she teased.
‘I-I-I can’t just call you by your first name,’ was my immediate response. ‘My grandmother taught us to be respectful. Mrs Roberts, I have too much respect for you to do that.’ It would take another forty years of friendship before I finally felt comfortable calling Mrs Roberts by her first name. Because of Mrs Roberts’ later divorce, remarriage and subsequent change of name, and for the ease of telling this story, I refer to her, still somewhat reluctantly, by her first name – Andrée.
Next door to the Roberts family lived a retired army colonel and his snooty wife. I hadn’t met them yet but got the strong impression from Andrée that she didn’t care much for the woman. I’d already observed from an upstairs window that, even in the garden, the wife had more baubles dangling from her ears, arms and around her neck than a Christmas tree. One sunny autumn afternoon, I joined Andrée outside to help with the weeding. Azaleas were a garden favourite in the neighbourhood and their bright pinks and mauves had quickly made them a favourite of mine. There was a clinking of jewellery from across the fence and the human Christmas tree appeared.
‘Is she your maid?’ the neighbour asked, in the most uppity voice I’d ever heard.
Andrée stopped pulling the weeds from the soil and dusted herself off, before walking over to the fence. Her linen pants bore grass stains from where she’d knelt on the ground beside me.
‘No, this is Lesley,’ she politely corrected. ‘Although she helps me out around the house, she’s my friend.’
I smiled wryly as the human Christmas tree walked away in a huff – with her decorations jangling. I was proud to have my first white friend.
Chapter 11
Lesley
To finalise the details of my work agreement, Andrée drove me into the city so we could meet with the officials at the Department of Native Affairs’ head office.
‘Now, when you have your days off, remember that City Hall is a good place to meet your friends,’ she said, pointing to a sandstone tower. ‘If ever you get lost, just look up into the sky – you can see City Hall’s clock tower from almost anywhere.’
I gazed out the window, intrigued by the sights and sounds of the city. As the car wove through the traffic and turned into streets, the clock tower appeared to skip across the skyline, disappearing for a moment and then playfully poking out from behind another building, only to hide again. Andrée continued to point out other places of interest, but I was distracted, searching out the beige tower with its ever-reliable clock.
Her suggestion that I could have ‘days off’ thrilled me. In all the three years I’d been working – first, as a shop assistant on the settlement and then a domestic servant at Condamine and Taroom – I hadn’t had weekends or regular days off each week. In fact, without Andrée telling me that I was allowed to have a rest, I would’ve kept working all day, every day, just as I’d done in the past. But then I began to worry and was confused by what she’d said. I didn’t know what it was like – to not work. Back home in Cherbourg, the white officials punished those who were lazy. So I learned that the surest way to stay out of trouble was to keep busy; and that’s exactly what I did at Condamine and Taroom. There was little else I’d done but work. No one told me to stop, so I kept working. Yet, now, my new boss was telling me otherwise: that I was allowed, each week, to have days off.
What would I do with myself on those days, if I didn’t work? I had no hobbies to occupy my spare time – except reading those teenage romance magazines, and that didn’t take long. It’d been years sinc
e I was a kid at school, when I last played sport or belonged to any social clubs. Nor did I have any friends or family who lived close by, to help me pass the time. Andrée was surprised by my concerns.
‘Les [her pet name for me], no one should be working every day of the week, for every week of the year. Besides, your work agreement that the government has sent me stipulates that you are to have at least one day off each week, as well as half a day each Sunday.’ I had never been told of such conditions.
Andrée paused for a moment, to concentrate on the traffic ahead and think, I guess. Then she said, ‘When we get back to the house, I’ll make some phone calls and find out if there are any Aboriginal girls working in the area. Perhaps we can invite them over so you can all meet?’
I appreciated her efforts to help me settle in and make new friends. But I still wasn’t convinced that I could have days off work without getting into trouble with the authorities. It sounded too good to be true; after all, it was the opposite of what I’d always known. Andrée sensed my apprehension.
‘It’s okay. While you are with me, you aren’t going to get into trouble.’
Andrée’s Mini Minor changed lanes, cheekily finding gaps in the moving traffic. I gawked at the young women on the streets, gathering in small groups, as they readied to cross at the intersections. They were so stylish and confident, with their clutch purses and pretty paper shopping bags. I fantasised about what they’d be doing next. Perhaps they were going to have lunch or see a movie at the local picture theatre? It was hard to imagine that this could soon be me, with my own group of friends on an outing in the city. I just had to trust my new boss that everything would be alright.
Andrée found a nearby car park and hurried along George Street so we wouldn’t be late for the meeting.
‘I-I-I’ll just wait here,’ I said, standing on the footpath in the shadow of the Department of Native Affairs’ building. I folded my arms tightly across my chest, to stop myself from shivering with apprehension. Andrée was surprised I didn’t want to meet with the government officials and be involved in negotiating my own work contract.
‘You can’t stay out here, Les. Look how cold you are,’ she replied, misinterpreting my shivers. She guided me inside the office. When she saw a bench in front of the reception counter she suggested, ‘If you don’t want to come with me, then how about you sit here and after I finish the meeting I’ll tell you everything we discussed.’
I nodded and sat, and my shivering continued, as Andrée sashayed down the hallway, her perfume lingering. I wished I’d stayed in the car.
I was alone, the only dark face in an office filled with white ones all employed to make decisions about blackfullas. They were all looking at me and then away, as did everyone else who walked past me in the foyer. Occasionally the receptionist would peer at me from over the rim of her glasses. I stared down at the lino flooring, wishing I could disappear into its dusky tones.
The minutes ticked by and I wondered what the hell was being said in that meeting. Every time I heard footsteps down the hallway, I looked up, hoping it was Andrée coming back to rescue me. Eventually she walked out the door. I leapt to my feet and followed her down the street towards the car, hurrying to keep up with her. I was waiting for her to report back but she said nothing. There wasn’t even the friendly chatter or funny remarks I’d come to expect from her – just a quietness that made me anticipate the worst.
She eventually sighed, when we got in the car, and then glanced over at me in the passenger’s seat. ‘Les, the department wants me to deposit your pay into a bank account, which the government controls,’ she said, before returning her focus to the car, but by now I realised it was anger that she was containing. ‘It’s ridiculous, I’ve never heard of such a thing,’ she scoffed, as she slammed the car into gear. ‘This is your money. I’m not going to give it to the government to manage. So if it’s all right with you, I’d prefer to just pay it directly to you each week.’
‘Yeah,’ I grinned with dollar signs in my eyes, ‘that’d be good.’
Tammy
It must have been quite a new experience to have money in your hand each week, after all the years of it being controlled by your employers?
Lesley
It was. It was also in February 1966 that Australia converted its currency from pounds and shillings to the decimal value of dollars and cents. When that happened, my wage was raised to $10 a week, plus board and lodgings. It wasn’t a lot, even in those days, but it sure was a hell of a lot to me, especially as I’d never handled so much money before.
With Andrée I was motivated to work because it wasn’t something I was forced to do with little or no reward; whereas before, in Taroom, I had worked only because I feared the consequences if I didn’t. Being paid directly in the hand helps people learn to understand the relationship between ‘working’ and ‘money’. But I didn’t yet understand the value of money or what I should do with it. After years of being denied regular access to my wages, and living my entire life through a hand-to-mouth existence of weekly rations, I had no idea how to save or plan for the future. Nor had there been a need to learn. To date, my employers had dealt with all the living expenses – buying groceries, paying the bills, and so on. Andrée also did all of this, and she even gave me some of her clothes to wear. So what else was there for me to do with these crisp bank notes Andrée was now putting right into my hand?
In those early days I would blow the lot, buying clothes and books for myself, or give it away to family and friends, whenever they asked for ‘a loan’. I was yet to learn to respect the value of money.
Tammy
That surprises me, Mum, to hear you say this, because you’ve always seemed pretty careful with money.
Lesley
I only got better at handling money later in life, after people started teaching me. For instance, it wasn’t until 1974, when I was twenty-eight years old, that I opened my first bank account. In fact, it wasn’t even in my own name; it was for my fifteen-month-old baby, Dan, with me listed on the account as his trustee. At the time, my sister-in-law Jill Williams worked in one of the local banks in Gympie and she offered to help me open an account. She showed me how to fill in the deposit and withdrawal slips that were necessary when banking cheques or cash in those days.
It was startling to me – the idea that money deposited into my son’s account wasn’t ‘lost for good’ – rather, that it could be accessed or withdrawn as we needed it, without requiring permission from the bank manager or a teller, or from some other important person. And even more amazing was the notion that by saving a little bit each month, the money in the account would grow!
Tammy
So then, what did you think happened to your wages, when they were sent back to Cherbourg from Condamine and Taroom, for the white officials to ‘save’ on your behalf?
Lesley
I used to think ‘savings’ meant someone else ‘keeping’ the money that I’d earned. After all, that’s literally what happened to my wages. I never received the money that the white officials saved – they kept it. I tried to withdraw some money once, when I returned home from Taroom, but was interrogated by one of the white officials in Cherbourg as to why I wanted it. It was such a humiliating experience I didn’t bother to ask again. Therefore it seemed a privilege to be paid by Andrée each week, directly in the hand.
I didn’t know what to do with it. If I wasn’t going to give my money over to the white officials to ‘save’ or ‘keep’, then I may as well give it away to family, or spend the lot on myself. At the time, I wanted for nothing. Unlike Taroom, I had a bedroom and access to a bathroom inside the home. I had money in my pocket. I was safe and was treated respectfully. And best of all, I had a dear friend in Andrée. There didn’t seem much else I needed.
Chapter 12
Lesley
I worked for Andrée for seven years, from 19
66 until 1973, when I married and started a family of my own. Compared to my life at Taroom, it’s little wonder I stayed for so long. I’m not sure who kept renewing my annual work agreement – whether it was the Department of Native Affairs, eager to keep me in employment, or if it was Andrée. Ultimately, those finer details meant nothing to me. I was more than happy to stay put. In fact, I never wanted to leave. Who would?
I realise now how lucky I was to be sent to Brisbane by the white officials and not out west again, to work on another rural property. Aside from the good fortune of having Andrée as my employer – who was keen to see me grow and develop as a person, so unlike any other boss I’d had – my arrival in the state’s capital happened to be amid the energy and excitement of the ‘swinging sixties’. White or black, I think there was no better time to be a young person, exploring the city.
The first half of the sixties decade had not been so swinging for me – living under the government’s rule in Cherbourg and then as a servant on isolated properties. Except for the tunes I’d heard on the radio as I went about my chores, I didn’t really experience the popular culture of the sixties until I moved to Brisbane and had Andrée’s encouragement to join in. This world on the outside was completely different from the one I knew at Cherbourg. There were sights, smells, sounds and experiences that I’d never been exposed to before, like catching a tram or bus by myself, or going into a lounge bar for no other reason other than simply to socialise.
It was at sound lounges and coffee clubs where the trendy set met. It was there they’d listen to music live or from out of a jukebox. Many of the songs had political messages woven into the lyrics. Of course there were the usual boy-meets-girl songs, but there were also ones about war and peace, and something I’d never heard of before, free love. Young people here also acted quite differently. Where I was used to following orders and obeying those in authority, it seemed that in the mainstream world people my age lived in ways that pushed social boundaries. They wanted to stand out and be noticed by the rest of society.
Not Just Black and White Page 8
