by Jack Davis
NEVILLE: Well, he’s certainly not on his own. Unemployment’s hit thirty per cent according to the West.
MISS DUNN: There’s some mail for you, and an urgent internal one from the Minister’s Office and one from the Northam Town Clerk.
NEVILLE: Goodness me, the West’s scraping the barrel for a bit of good news. Results of the ‘Most Economical Housewife Contest’… What next?… I’m afraid you’re not the lucky winner, Miss Dunn.
He shows her the paper.
MISS DUNN: ‘Mrs Hill of Greenmount on two pounds five shillings a week…’ Rent, seven shillings; light, one and threepence.
MISS DUNN reads to herself.
NEVILLE: She’s ingenious, alright: makes tap washers out of old car tyres.
MISS DUNN: Yes, and slippers from her husband’s old felt hats.
NEVILLE picks up the mail and starts to read it.
NEVILLE: Perhaps the West could run a contest for the most frugal civil servant… Could you get me Sergeant Carrol in Northam on the line, please?
He gets out files and makes notes while MISS DUNN dials the exchange.
MISS DUNN: Trunks please… Hello… Northam nine please… Yes, BM nine-seven-oh-seven… Thankyou operator.
She hangs up.
NEVILLE: Can you take down a note for the Minister, please?
He shuffles through the files and documents.
My dear Minister, herewith the information requested. I know I don’t need to remind your good self of the extreme budgetry constraints under which this Department operates. Item one: the native weekly ration currently costs this Department two shillings and fourpence per week. Perhaps this bears comparison with the sustenance paid to white unemployed which I believe is seven shillings per week.
The phone rings in the Northam Police Station. SERGEANT CARROL answers it.
SERGEANT: Hello, Northam Police Station. Thanks, Sybil.
NEVILLE: Item two: off the cuff, the proposed budget cut of three thousand one hundred and thirty-four pounds could be met by discontinuing the supply of meat in native rations. Soap was discontinued this financial year. Item Three: of eighty girls from the Moore River Native Settlement who went out into domestic service last year, thirty returned—
The phone rings in NEVILLE’s office. MISS DUNN picks up the receiver.
MISS DUNN: Excuse me, Mr Neville… [Into the receiver] Hello, Chief Protector of Aborigines Office… Thankyou, operator. [To NEVILLE] Northam.
NEVILLE takes the call and MISS DUNN hangs up.
NEVILLE: Sergeant Carrol. Neville, Aborigines.
SERGEANT: Hello, Northam Police… Hello.
NEVILLE: It’s an awful line, Sergeant. Are you on the line?
SERGEANT: Yes, I can hear you.
NEVILLE: Good. We seem to have encountered a few obstacles with the new reserve. The Guilford Road site isn’t acceptable to the Council. Apparently the adjoining landholders have lodged objections.
SERGEANT: I thought they might. What grounds? Did they say?
NEVILLE: [looking at his letter] A Mr Smith…
NEVILLE: Oh, yeah.
NEVILLE:… Claims he wouldn’t be able to go out and leave his wife home alone at night.
SERGEANT: And he’s generally down the Shamrock Hotel till stumps.
GRAN and MILLY approach the Police Station.
NEVILLE: Well, the upshot of it is that the Lands Department won’t be able to gazette it, so you as the local Protector of Aborigines will have to recommend an alternative site… The Council’s concerned that it’s well away from any residences.
GRAN: Chergeant!… Chergeant!
NEVILLE: What’s that terrible racket?
GRAN: Chergeant!
SERGEANT: [to NEVILLE] Ration day.
GRAN: Chergeant.
NEVILLE: All right, letter to follow, I’ll leave you to it.
SERGEANT: Thanks, Mr Neville.
NEVILLE: Cheerio.
The SERGEANT and NEVILLE hang up.
SERGEANT: Alright Gran, come in.
NEVILLE: Where was I?
MISS DUNN: Of eighty who went out in the domestic service last year…
NEVILLE: Thirty returned to the settlement in pregnant condition, yours etcetera… If you could type that straight away I’ll run it up to the Office myself.
The SERGEANT places flour, sugar and two small packages on the bench and marks them off in his ration book.
SERGEANT: Flour, sugar, tea… And how you been keepin’, Granny?
GRAN: I’m awright.
SERGEANT: Been behavin’ yourself?
GRAN: Have you?
SERGEANT: There’s your butcher’s order, meat and dripping.
MILLY: [inspecting the small packages] You got two cream a tartar ’ere.
SERGEANT: Right, let’s change ’em.
GRAN: Damper won’t rise without no bicarbonate.
SERGEANT: That shouldn’t worry you, Granny, you should remember when you used to grind up jam and wattle seeds.
GRAN: More better than white man’s flour, no weevils in jam and wattle seeds.
SERGEANT: Good tucker, eh?
GRAN: When I was that high we go and get ’em and smash ’em up and get a bag full, that much!
SERGEANT: You can still collect ’em, nothin’ stoppin’ you.
GRAN: Where? Wetjala cut all the trees down.
MILLY: Haven’t got any soap yet.
SERGEANT: I’m afraid that soap is no longer included as a ration item.
MILLY: What do you mean, we got no more soap?
SERGEANT: That’s right.
MILLY: But why? What am I gonna wash with? How can I keep my kids clean and sen ’em to school?
SERGEANT: You could buy some.
MILLY: What with?
GRAN: What about gnummarri? You stop that too?
SERGEANT: No, Granny, you still get your stick of nigger twist.
He gives it to her.
MILLY: Whose idea was it to stop the soap?
SERGEANT: The idea, as you call it, came from the Aboriginal Department in Perth.
GRAN: Mister Neville?
MILLY: I just can’t believe it: no soap!
SERGEANT: Your trouble, Milly, is you got three healthy men bludging off you, too lazy to work.
MILLY: Where they gonna get work?
SERGEANT: They’re afraid to look for it in case they find it.
MILLY: Cockies want ’em to work for nothin’.
GRAN: They not slaves, Chergeant!
SERGEANT: Well, they’ll have to work if you want luxury items like soap.
MILLY: Look, last week my Joe cut a hundred posts for old Skinny Martin and you know what he got? A pair of second-hand boots and a piece of stag ram so tough even the dawgs couldn’t eat it; skinnier than old Martin ’imself.
GRAN: And we couldn’t eat the boots.
MILLY: You wait till brother Jimmy hears about this no soap business. He’ll make you fellas jump.
SERGEANT: Yeah, and you tell that bush lawyer brother of yours, if he comes here arguing I’ll make him jump: straight inside.
They turn to go. As they leave he raises his voice after them.
You hear me?
MILLY: [calling] Yeah, I hear you. Can’t help hearin’ you.
They walk down the street.
GRAN: [calling] You don’t want to shout like that, Chergeant. You’ll ’ave a fit, just like a dingo when he gets bait.
MILLY: [calling] Seein’ you’re drinkin down the Federal every night, Sergeant, you can tell old Skinny Martin to stick his stag ram right up his skinny kwon!
GRAN: [calling] Yeah, an’ the boots too.
They exit, laughing and hooting Nyoongah fashion. The SERGEANT returns to the police station, puts the ration book away and settles down to reading the newspaper. MISS DUNN finishes typing the letter. She hands it to NEVILLE, who reads it quickly.
NEVILLE: [signing it] Thankyou, Miss Dunn. We’d better get a thankyou note off to Mr Neal.
&nbs
p; MISS DUNN: I can do it straight away for you.
NEVILLE: All right; Mr N.S. Neal, Superintendent, Moore River Native Settlement, etcetera.
Dear Mr Neal, just a short note to thank you for your… thank you and Matron for your hospitality on our recent visit to the Settlement. The Settlement is looking splendid, considering, obviously a credit to you both. The conduct of the ceremony was a tribute to your military precision, and the afternoon tea, especially Matron’s homemade lemonade, was splendid on such a hot day. As I mentioned, I was a little concerned to see so many dirty little noses amongst the children. I’m a great believer that if you provide the native the basic accoutrements of civilisation you’re half way to civilising him. I’d like to see each child issued with a handkerchief and instructed on its use. Funds as always are short so I’ve taken the liberty of ordering several bolts of cloth from Government stores. I’m sure the girls in the sewing room could run up the handkerchiefs. I take your point about losing them and suggest attaching them to their sleeves by way of a tape. Likewise, as discussed, the stores branch will henceforth be supplying limited supplies of toilet paper for use in the dormitory lavatories. I think some practical training from yourself and Matron in its correct usage would be appropriate. If you can successfully inculcate such basic but essential details of civilised living you will have helped them along the road to taking their place in Australian society. Again, many thanks to Matron and yourself. Australia Day at the settlement is something I’ll always look forward to.
Yours, etcetera.
I’d better get this off to the Minister. I’ll be back after lunch.
SCENE THREE
Government Well, dusk. Magpies are carolling. CISSIE is preparing a damper. JOE and DAVID play two-up with bottle tops. DAVID has the headers.
DAVID: Come on, set me up. Not beer tops, wine tops.
CISSIE: [calling] Joe! Make a place for the damper for me.
JOE: [laughing, to DAVID] Don’t make no difference.
DAVID: It does.
JOE: Why?
DAVID: Wine cost more than beer.
CISSIE: Joe! Joe, come on.
JOE: Okay. Okay.
CISSIE calls impatiently. The dough is beginning to fall apart.
CISSIE: Joe, hurry up!
JOE: Awright.
CISSIE: Joe, come on!
CISSIE stands by the fire holding the dough. JOE uses his doak to make an impression in the ashes. CISSIE puts the damper in and covers it with ashes.
DAVID: [spinning] Woolah! Heads!
JOE: Let’s have a look.
DAVID: Moorditj, unna?
The dogs bark.
CISSIE: David, git me some more wood. [DAVID spins.] David!
DAVID: Wait till I’ve finished spinnin’.
CISSIE: Shoo-i, tail them.
DAVID spins them high.
DAVID: Have a look at them, Ciss.
He looks. They’re tails.
See what you made me do.
He goes for the wood.
CISSIE: Joe, better chop some more wood up.
JOE: Yeah, okay.
He spins.
Bastard.
He picks up the axe and goes to the woodpile. DAVID returns with a load of wood. He puts it down and begins to count his bottle tops.
DAVID: Boy, look at my boondah.
JIMMY enters.
JIMMY: Wait till I see him tomorrow. I’ll give him no soap.
SAM and FRANK follows JIMMY. The men are slightly drunk. Finally, GRAN and MILLY enter.
CISSIE: About time.
DAVID: Took youse long enough, got any boiled lollies?
GRAN: No. No lollies.
MILLY: Ain’t even got no soap.
JOE: [indicating FRANK] Gneean baal?
JIMMY: He’s our friend.
SAM: Ay! Mate! That’s me eldest boy Joe, and that’s Cissie and that’s the youngest, David.
FRANK: Hello.
The children don’t reply.
CISSIE: Ay, Mum? Why isn’t there any soap? I wanna wash my hair tomorrow.
GRAN: What you got in the camp oven?
She looks.
MILLY: Don’t git soap in the rations no more.
GRAN: [Peering into the camp oven] No onions or taters.
CISSIE: Why? What for?
She feels her hair.
MILLY: Just what I said, darlin’, Sergeant ain’t giving no soap any more.
GRAN: Don’t worry, we can use tjeerung bush. I know where some growin’.
JIMMY: Don’t worry about Sergeant, I’ll give him a piece of my mind.
GRAN: You know what he’ll give you? Six months.
JIMMY takes a drink.
JIMMY: Six months.
He laughs.
Mother, I can do that standing on my head.
He passes the bottle to FRANK.
Here, mate.
DAVID: Ay, Dad, fixed my bike today. Wanna see it?
SAM: Yeah.
DAVID runs off, followed by CISSIE.
DAVID: It’s goin’ real good.
GRAN puts onions and potatoes in the camp oven. JIMMY produces turnips from his pocket.
JIMMY: Here, Mum, chuck them in.
MILLY: Ay! Where d’you git them from?
JOE: He never growed ’em and I bet he never bought ’em.
MILLY takes them, prepares them and adds them to the rabbit stew. JIMMY produces a mouth organ.
MILLY: You lookin’ for gaol awright!
JIMMY: [to FRANK] You been inside?
FRANK: Inside? Inside where?
JIMMY: Gaol. You been in Freeo?
FRANK: No.
GRAN: You’ll be in gaol if Chergeant catch you here.
SAM: Ne’mine ’bout Sergeant, Mother-In-Law; give him a feed.
MILLY: Won’t be long; stew ain’t proper cooked yet.
JIMMY takes a drink.
JIMMY: Ay wetjala. You know how many time I been in gaol? [Holding up four fingers] That many times.
FRANK: [shyly] What for?
JIMMY: Aw, drinkin’, fightin’ and snowdroppin’.
SAM: You know what snowdroppin’ is?
MILLY: Pinchin’ things off other people’s clothes lines.
JIMMY: Hey, wetjala, mate, you know when I was a little fella, ’bout twelve, thirteen years old…
JOE: Aw, here we go…
JIMMY Shut up, you. [To FRANK] You know what I was?
FRANK: Ah, no.
JIMMY: Choir boy. I tell you I was the leadin’ choir boy at New Norcia Mission; wasn’t I, Mother?
SAM: Didn’t do you much good.
MILLY: He used to sing ‘Ave Maria’ solo, real good.
JIMMY: Yeah! [To SAM] ’Ow do you know? You wasn’t even there.
SAM: ’Course I was there. [To FRANK] That’s where I met her, unna Mill?
FRANK: Did you get married at New Norcia?
SAM: Too right.
GRAN: In the church too.
JIMMY: An’ engaged under a Government blanket.
MILLY: Shut up! Dawarra, nitja wetjala.
GRAN: [clicking her tongue] Choo, kienya.
JIMMY: I’m only jokin’. Anyways, who wants to ’ear a song?
JIMMY produces a mouth organ and plays ‘Springtime in the Rockies’. MILLY begins to remove the damper from the ashes and dust it off.
MILLY: Cissie! David! Mum, see if the stew’s cooked… Cissie! David!
GRAN checks the stew.
GRAN: Yeah, it’s cooked.
CISSIE and DAVID return with the bike. JOE spreads a wogga on the ground.
Cissie, plates, plates. David, put the billy on.
DAVID: Me bike’s moorditj; we went right down the rubbish dump.
CISSIE: Yeah, an’ I had to push you back through the sand.
DAVID lays the bike on its side and they sit and serve the food. SAM breaks up the damper.
SAM: [to FRANK] You eat this before?
FRANK: Damper? Plenty a’ times.
SAM: Cook
ed in the ashes?
FRANK: No.
JOE: You eat underground mutton before?
MILLY gives him a plate of stew.
FRANK: What? Oh, thanks, missus.
JIMMY: Underground mutton!
JOE: Rabbit.
JIMMY: You try that, dip the damper, moorditj!
FRANK: Yeah, we used to live on ’em when we was on the farm.
GRAN: James, you come an’ get your supper.
JIMMY: No, leave it, I’ll get it dreckly.
He takes a long drink of wine as the others eat.
[To GRAN and MILLY, indicating FRANK] You see that fella there, Mum, Mill? He had his own farm once. You wouldn’t believe it, eh?
JOE: [to FRANK] Yeah? Where?
FRANK: Out Lake Yealering.
JOE: What happened?
FRANK: Aw, between the rabbits and a couple of bad seasons and the bank, the bloody bank, I lost it; the lot, even the crop in the ground.
JIMMY: [drunker] Yeah, fuckin’ gubmet. Fucks everybody up; everybody, eh? Eh? You allowed to walk down the street after sundown? Eh?
FRANK: Yeah, don’t see why not.
JIMMY: Well I’m not. None of us are; you know we’re not allowed in town, not allowed to go down the soak, not allowed to march…?
He mimes handcuffs and gaol by first putting his wrists together and then placing a hand downwards over his forehead with the fingers spread over his eyes.
Manatj grab us like that. Bastards…
FRANK: Who?
GRAN: Politjmans.
JIMMY: They can shoot our dawgs, anytime they want to. Bastards. They shot Streak. [To SAM and MILLY] Eh, you ’member Streak. Kill and show dawg, used to catch meat for every blackfella in Northam and they shot him. [Miming] Just like that. [Maudlin, almost in tears] Ay, Mill, he’s married; got three kids and a wife.
MILLY: [sympathetically] Nyorn, winyarn.
GRAN: [to FRANK] Where they now?
FRANK: When we walked off I sent ’em to Perth, stayin’ with her parents.
JIMMY drags a wallet out of FRANK’s pocket.
JIMMY: Show ’em that photo. Go on, mate, show ’em.
JIMMY gives FRANK the wallet and stands.
[Wandering off] Go on, show ’em.
SAM: Where you goin’?
JIMMY: I’m gonna strain the spuds.
FRANK takes out the photo and passes it around.
MILLY: All girls, eh?
GRAN: Nyorn, winyarn, pretty koolangah too.
SAM: Nice lookin’ yorgah.
CISSIE: She come from Lake Yealering?
