‘Exemption certificates’ were a special type of government document that freed certain people with mixed Aboriginal and white heritage from the Protection Act – as long as they could produce references saying they were able to manage their own affairs, handle money, and remain sober, industrious and clean. The certificate, like a passport, allowed the holder to move freely around the state without fearing removal by the police. So exemption was an advantage – despite being revocable with little warning. But exemption also came at a high price: anyone who was released was not able to associate freely with the Aboriginal community. This meant they were often cut off from extended Aboriginal family and friends and, in doing so, they virtually had to give up their Aboriginality.
I wasn’t game to ask the government officials at Brisbane’s head office about my status. Even Andrée discouraged me from contacting them and risk alerting them to my whereabouts. Instead, it was agreed that keeping beneath the radar of the Department of Native Affairs was the best chance Willie and I had of building a good life for ourselves.
We chose the Gympie area because it was close to both of our parents. Cherbourg was only an hour and a half drive west, and Willie’s parents had relocated to the small forestry village of Imbil, on the outskirts of town. Although I’d met his mother and father several times before, at family gatherings, I didn’t really know my in-laws that well. For a start, I couldn’t figure out what on earth to call them. I couldn’t call them Mum and Dad – as I’d already had two mothers and three fathers – and even among the parents I had, I couldn’t figure out which one of these I should call ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’! Nor did I feel comfortable calling them by their first names, Victor and Elizabeth, as they’d introduced themselves to me. Granny had always sternly insisted while we were growing up in Cherbourg that we respect our elders, and we never called them by their given names. However, after I had given birth to Dan, their grandchild, the naming problem was solved. I began to call my parents-in-law by their new title – ‘Grandma and Grandfather Williams’, even though they treated me as if I were their own daughter.
Grandma Williams was the perfect mother-in-law. She was never overbearing and never hovered over my shoulder waiting for me to fail; rather, she allowed me to find my feet as a new mother and wife – giving advice only if I asked for it. Whenever I was in her company, Grandma always made sure I was included in the conversation. As I spoke, she’d focus on me with her sky-blue eyes, showing an interest in what I was saying. She’d remember the smallest detail from a conversation long past, and if she knew that the detail was important to me she’d politely refer to it in a future conversation. It made me feel as though I was the most important person in the room.
Grandfather Williams was a big strong man with an olive complexion, and I could see where Willie inherited his good looks and physical strength. When it came to providing for his family, Grandfather was the type of man who wasn’t frightened of hard work. Like most fathers and sons, Willie and his Dad didn’t always see eye-to-eye. But Willie nonetheless respected him and showed his love in typical Willie fashion – by doing odd jobs for him, asking for advice or occasionally inviting his father to accompany him on short day trips in the truck, which both men enjoyed.
My father-in-law wasn’t the talkative type, especially in large groups, where he’d much prefer to leave the talking to others. Yet whenever I was alone with him, he was quite chatty, if not cheeky, as we shared the same dry sense of humour. And just like his son, he could be very thoughtful at times. On one occasion when we took Dan to visit his grandparents, Grandfather Williams greeted us at the back door. Next to him, on the ground, lay twenty huge bunya pods, the size of soccer balls, he’d collected earlier from the forest, where he worked.
‘They’re for you,’ he gestured. My mouth watered at the sight of this traditional Aboriginal bush food. As children, we used to hang around the bunya tree at the front of our house in the camp, waiting for the odd pod to fall off the tree.
‘What – all of them?’ I’d never seen so many bunyas gathered before.
‘Mmmm,’ Grandfather nodded. ‘I wanted to get enough for all of your family.’
I was very touched by the way the Williams family accepted me, and the fact that their dear son had chosen to marry this Aboriginal girl from Cherbourg. Even the members of their extended clan were accepting of our relationship. This was remarkable to me, especially for those times – particularly after the problems Willie and I had encountered as a bi-racial couple in Brisbane, and occasionally in the broader rural community. It was Grandma Williams who set the tone. Although she was as fair as they come, with her blonde hair, blue eyes and fair complexion, she always made sure everyone in her home was made welcome and treated with kindness, no matter their racial origins or social status.
Willie was the second youngest of five children – Alan, Beverley (Bev) and Lynette (Lyn) were older than him, and Jill three years his junior. He was close to his siblings and I can understand why. They each had gentle, caring natures, which they’d inherited from their mother. In turn, they married spouses of a similar ilk, and so being with them at family gatherings was always a pleasant and warm experience.
Willie’s paternal grandmother, whom the family affectionately referred to as GG (Great-Grandmother) Minett, also featured prominently in his adult life. This was especially so when she later relocated to Gympie in her retirement years, living next door to Grandma and Grandfather Williams. We’d visit her nearly every weekend, until she was in her early nineties, when she had a fall and had to move out of her home and into a full-time aged-care facility. She was a matronly woman, whose wit reminded me a little of my own grandmother, Granny Chambers. Given her seniority in the family, I insisted that my children treat her with the utmost respect, the same as I’d have wanted them to show Granny had she been alive. Being a woman of ‘the old school’, I think GG appreciated this.
To some she was a decisive member of the family, and one who had her favourites. Willie was fortunately on that list, and as his wife, I also became a beneficiary of that affection. There were times, however, when that fondness became embarrassing. She was forever giving us furniture, linen and toys for the children, while other family members received a pittance from her. Once when GG had returned home from her most recent P&O cruise to the Pacific Islands, she privately presented me with a string of pearls she’d bought at the duty-free store.
‘A little something for you, Lesley,’ she beamed, as I opened the red velveteen box. I was grateful, but where could I go to wear a string of bloody pearls? I no longer had an outfit in my wardrobe that was good enough to wear with it.
Blackfullas were often stereotyped as ‘going walkabout’ – we supposedly can’t sit still and constantly move camp. In our case, we didn’t move because of me. I hated moving. It was my white husband who wanted to move about like a nomad but, of course, he needed to follow the work.
Willie worked on short-term contracts hauling logs from pine plantations to the timber factory, clearing land for sugar farmers, and moving demountable houses and equipment to mining sites. We moved to wherever the work was. A new town, another temporary home, and we’d have to start all over again. Each time, Willie’s parents, siblings and their spouses pitched in and helped us to move. In all we moved nine times, and by the end of that our family had got moving down to a fine art.
While on the move our accommodation was pretty basic. The caravan parks we stayed in were poky and cramped, but at least there were no mice. The farmhouses we rented were infested with mice, which then attracted snakes, but at least I didn’t have to mix with the gossiping cliques of caravan parks. Sometimes we set up camp in the middle of the bush. These were located in gorgeous natural settings, with very few people around to bother us, and, best of all, there were no mice. The downside was no electricity – and no bloody bathroom! Wherever we went, Willie did his best to provide us with some sort of shelter. It was
my job to turn it into a home, which I took great pride in doing.
Some places where we lived were so isolated, I’d go for at least five days without talking to or seeing another face during the day, except that of my baby, Dan. There was no television or telephone to keep me company, only a transistor radio that didn’t always have reception. I would count down the hours and then the minutes until Willie walked through the door at night. I was desperate to be in the company of another adult and have a conversation.
The isolation didn’t help my social skills and I started to regress back into the shy and insecure girl I once had been. Grandma Williams became worried about me spending so much time alone. When she could – if we weren’t too far away – she’d drive out to visit Dan and me during the day while Willie was at work. She’d bring freshly baked goodies with her for morning tea, which I absolutely loved.
There were also times when Willie worked alongside his brother-in-law, John Harold. I looked forward to this, mainly for selfish reasons. It meant that I’d have the company of John’s wife, Lyn, and Dan had a playmate in their toddler son Mitch. Despite Lyn having many of her mother’s qualities, it was still hard for me to overcome my insecurities. Once she asked me to join her at one of those ‘buy at home’ social events – a Nutrimetics party – but I flat out said no. I couldn’t bear being with strangers.
‘There’s no one to look after Dan. I’ve got housework to do. We’ve got no money.’ Willie, though, wouldn’t accept any of these excuses and practically ordered me to go out with the girls.
‘While you’re there, buy something for yourself, Lello. You deserve it,’ he said, shoving a bundle of notes into my hand.
In the end, I was glad he made me go. It’d been a long time since I’d dolled up and felt like an actual person – not just the filler of a role – wife, mother and homemaker. But as soon as I’d start building new relationships, it’d all have to end. When Willie’s work contract finished it was time to pack up and move on to the next job. And that would mean I’d be back by myself again.
Our Christmas plans for 1976 were thrown into chaos when Willie came home early from work one summery afternoon. He found me sitting on the front steps of our little cottage, watching Dan play with his toy trucks in the front yard. He was about three years old and by now he had a little brother, Rodney, born earlier that year.
‘Lello, we need to talk.’
I didn’t like the tone of Willie’s voice. It was quiet and hesitant, and immediately I knew it was time for us to move again. I’d worked hard to make our little farmhouse in the Calico Creek valley cosy for our two children. Sure there were the standard problems of mice, snakes and outdoor toilet, but no other place had felt as much like home as this one did. Although I was juggling the demands of a toddler and caring for a baby, I’d just settled into a routine and enjoyed the certainty that came with living in the one place. If we had to move again, all that work would be undone and I’d have to start over, creating a new home for us and the kids.
‘I’ve been asked to work in the Granite Creek Forestry for six months, driving a bulldozer,’ Willie explained. I knew what this meant – and the risks involved. My husband would have the dangerous job of snigging logs down the side of an impossibly steep mountain range, so they could be loaded onto trucks and taken to the mill. If Willie miscalculated the angle, the dozer could roll; he could be seriously injured, even killed. As a mother of little ones, raising them alone without their father was what I feared most.
‘When are you supposed to leave?’
‘In a few weeks time, in the New Year.’
I took my time before responding. I knew what was ahead for me.
‘Well then I suppose we better start thinking about what to pack.’ I stood up and started to walk back inside the house. It’d be ages until we needed to move, but subconsciously I was already packing.
‘What – you and the boys would come with me?’ Willie leapt up from the step and followed me.
‘Of course we’ll come. I know it’d kill you to be away from us for that long.’
Living in a makeshift camp with no electricity or running water, and miles away from a doctor, wasn’t the best place to be with a three year old and an infant. I wasn’t enthusiastic about going, but it was the least I could do when my husband was willing to take a risky job to provide for his family. Willie never wanted for much other than to be with his wife and children. He was a family man and it was what he lived for. I turned and took a few paces towards the kitchen before Willie stopped me.
‘Hey, Lello,’ he reached out and took my hand, ‘thanks.’ My husband was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it usually meant a lot.
Grandma Williams and I were in charge of packing the supplies, while Willie and his boss Alvin Corbet travelled ahead to set up camp before our arrival. Alvin’s wife Rachel also agreed to relocate their young family once she gave birth to their second child, so at least I’d have company.
‘Don’t worry about it, Lello, I’m gonna make our camp as comfortable for you and the boys as I can … you’ll see. It’ll be right,’ Willie said, planting a kiss on me and driving off in the Toyota truck.
I wanted to believe him, but I had my doubts. After all I had half a decade’s experience living in makeshift homes with him. My expectations of the Granite Creek campsite were low, yet realistic.
A couple of weeks passed and Willie returned to take the boys and me to our new home-away-from-home. We left mid-morning and it wasn’t until late afternoon that we arrived at the forest’s entrance. For the next fifteen kilometres the dirt track wound through the dense bush, taking us over several creeks and up the side of steep mountain ranges. I started to feel frightened and held my boys tight as we travelled deeper into the forest.
The afternoon sunlight struggled to shine through the foliage, creating dark and mysterious shadows. The truck crossed another creek then drove around a bend, before approaching a small clearing. Dwarfed by towering trees I got the first glimpse of our camp. The view of the mountains, shrouded in a delicate white mist, was breathtaking.
Alvin and Willie had taken caravans and converted their annexes into an extra room. They then built a kitchen area, complete with flooring, at the back of each caravan. As there was no electricity, except for a generator that provided power to the camp for a couple of hours each night, the men improvised by installing a wood stove and a kerosene-powered fridge. A small wooden table was also carted from Gympie into the forest to finish off the kitchen fit-out.
I wandered around the site holding Rodney in my arms. I conducted my own version of the white officials’ house inspections, like those back in Cherbourg. Willie held Dan and trailed after me anxiously.
‘And over there’s your bathroom, Lello,’ he said, pointing to a sturdy structure built of wood and tin, away from the caravans. I walked gingerly towards it. Willie sounded a little too cocky and I didn’t know if he was teasing me for being a princess and wanting a bathroom out in the middle of nowhere. But the bloody bathroom turned out to be better than the one we had back at the farmhouse!
With the help of Alvin’s two younger brothers, the men had built a shower recess that was connected to an elaborate hot-water system. A fire-powered boiler and network of copper pipes took the water to the showerhead and drained away the dirty water. As a bonus the pipes served as a towel rack, heating them to a toasty temperature before our use.
‘So what do you think – you reckon you’ll be all right here?’ Willie asked.
‘I, um … I had no idea.’ I struggled to find the right words to convey my feelings.
‘Does that mean you like it?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I beamed, hugging him with my free arm, still holding Rodney with the other. ‘I just can’t believe the effort you and the other men went to, to make our lives comfortable. You guys thought of everything!’
Th
e tension left Willie’s face and he beamed with pride.
Our life resumed in style but it still involved back-breaking work for the both of us. While I appreciated how hard Willie worked driving the bulldozer, he in turn appreciated my efforts to turn our camp into a home. It was no easy feat, carrying several buckets of water up from the stream each day, washing nappies by hand, making sure the little ones weren’t bitten by deadly snakes and spiders or didn’t wander off into the bush – all while doing the usual housework and tending to a baby.
Once the boys were asleep, Willie and I played Scrabble or nestled beneath the covers reading by the faint light of a torch. I’d be on one side of the bed reading romantic novels like Mills & Boon, and Willie on the other side, reading Larry and Stretch, the adventures of two cowboys.
‘So who’s jumping into bed with whom tonight?’ he’d tease, as I’d open my half-read novel and resume the story from the night before.
We may’ve been living in the middle of nowhere with few material possessions but it was there, at that bush camp, where Willie and I were our happiest. But it couldn’t last forever.
Chapter 17
Lesley
Like all marriages, Willie and I had our ups and downs, the good times and the bad. There’s a lot I could say, but is it really helpful? Willie’s no longer with us to explain what he was going through at the time and why he made certain decisions. But in so far as telling this story these are my memories of how it happened.
Our life started unravelling in the early 1980s, when the tough economic times facing the rest of the nation also hit us hard. In early 1978 our little family grew to five, with the arrival of our third and final baby, Tammy. When it came to naming her I didn’t have much of a say. Willie had his heart set on naming our daughter after country-and-western singing sensation, Tammy Wynette. But with her birth it was time to park the caravan for good and provide a stable life for our expanded family.
Not Just Black and White Page 12
