Where Wild Black Swans are Flying

Where

Wild Black Swans

are Flying



LYNNE CAIRNS

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Quokpress



Copyright © 2019 Lynne Cairns

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-0-6484376-2-8

Cover design and artwork by Lynne Cairns

DEDICATION

Dedicated to all those Australians who work for reconciliation.

This is a work of fiction. All the main characters are fictional, but some real events and people are mentioned

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wish to acknowledge the traditional owners of the land on which this book was written, and on which the story takes place



SWAN RIVER COLONY c. 1840

This map has been compiled from modern and historic maps. Ten years after the white settlers first arrived, the capital Perth and its port, Fremantle, are established, while small settlements have sprung up on the Avon and Murray rivers, and at coastal places suitable for access by ship. However, though some exploration of the hinterland has been done, it remains Noongar country, with only small outposts along the recently marked track to Albany.



Chapter 1

A wild shrieking stabs my ears, and there’s my ma, hair all aflame, running from the kitchen shed that burns behind her like a great candle.

I try to reach her, but someone grabs me.

Let me go! Let me go! I screech, scratching and kicking, fighting to get away. But he holds me tight; presses my face against his coat so I can’t see. There’s a smell of meat roasting.

Steady lass, he says, steady now.

I escape and run to where Ma lies on the ground. A man beats at her clothes, trying to kill the flames. Through the smoke, I see her poor face, all red raw and blackened, before they drag me away. Missus Lawson gives me something to drink and I cry myself to sleep.

***

Missus Lawson was our mistress. Her husband brought us out to this new colony at Swan River in Western Australia, after Ma and Pa agreed to work for him for seven years. The seven years was nearly up when Ma died in the fire. Pa was away with the sheep, and she was buried in the ground before he got home.

He wept something awful, but he was terrible angry. The Lawsons said I could stay and work for my keep, but Pa blamed them for what happened to Ma. They worked her too hard, he said, and made her live in a humpy while they built themselves a proper house.

I’ve worked out my time, he yelled, so y’ can keep y’ kind offer. I’ll be glad to be quit of y’. An’ I’m takin’ my Becky. You’ve killed my wife, y’ll not get my girl as well.

So I went with my pa, Harry Lees. But night after night, I dreamt of my ma. She called to me and walked away. Then, when I ran to her and she turned, she had no face, just that horrible, blackened, raw-meat thing. When I woke screaming, Pa comforted me, but nothing he said would take away the horror, and it hurt me so, that I couldn’t remember her face.

What was Ma like? I asked Pa, over and over. What was my ma like?

Real pretty with blue eyes and yellow hair like you, he’d say.

So I kept trying to put that pretty face over the horrible burnt one of my dreams, and after a while, it worked. I still don’t know if I really remember her face, or just the one Pa’s words put in my mind. But I could think of her alive, and remember.

She’d always been busy, working for Missus Lawson. I trailed after her while she cooked for everyone on the outside campfire, washed the clothes, cleaned the big house and helped care for the mistress’ children. She also milked the cow, made butter and cheese, looked after the barnyard animals, and helped with the harvest. In between, she looked after me.

When all the other chores were done, there was always the sewing. I remember, when I was little, going to sleep on the dirt floor beside her while she sewed by candlelight. Nothing could be bought ready-made in the colony, so she and her mistress did all the sewing for the family and the servants.

When I got bigger, I had my own chores to do, like minding the geese, feeding the pigs and hens, or weeding the gardens. I minded Missus Lawson’s little ones too. That was mostly fun, except when they were very naughty.

Mister Lawson’s big grant of land in this new colony was all thick bush, so Pa and the other men were always out chopping down trees, building fences and minding the stock. Even the master worked hard. The only one who didn’t was the mistress’ sandy-whiskered cousin, Mister Edward. He treated the servants like dirt, Ma said. She didn’t like the way he would come into the kitchen to filch some of the cake she’d baked in the big Dutch oven buried in the coals. Then Missus Lawson would scold her because there wasn’t enough.

I didn’t like him either. He was always teasing Annie, the little black girl whose ma sometimes worked at the farm. She was real scared of him. When he chased and caught her, laughing his hee-haw laugh, she screamed and screamed. One time he grabbed me too, but the master yelled at him to leave me be.

Then we left, Pa and me. And we camped beside the river for a few nights, while he went looking for a job. At night, he told me stories as I lay listening to the water lapping on the sand, the wind whispering through the trees and the drowsy twittering of nesting birds. At dusk the wild black swans would call as they flew overhead.

This river is named for the swans, you know? Pa told me. "No one back home had ever seen a black swan. People still don’t believe they’re real. The white swans back home don’t call out like that.

The only job Pa could get where I could live with him, was as a hut keeper way out in the bush. It was good that it was still summer, because I didn’t have many clothes, just a skirt, blouse and shawl. So, Pa got me a boy’s smock and I wore it over everything when it was cold. I guess I looked a fright, because I never thought to do my hair, so soon it was a mass of tangles. Pa couldn’t unravel the knots, so he cut it really short. I liked it like that."

His job was to look after the hut during the day and get food ready for the shepherds when they got back at dusk. Then he helped put the sheep in their yard, and had stay up all night to make sure the wild dogs didn't get to them. I slept out there with him and, if I woke from one of my nightmares about fires burning people up, he would sing me the old songs his granny taught him. When the weather started to change, he made us an open shed to sleep in, so he could keep out of the rain while he watched the sheep.

There were only two shepherds at first. The Irishman with pale hair and whiskers was Snowy and the black-bearded one was Bill. I didn’t know what their second names were, but Pa said I should call them Mister Snowy and Mister Bill.

Children must show respect, he said. Even workin’ men deserve respect. So do the blacks, but they don’t get much, poor devils.

The black people had built some of the round huts that they called miyas, up the river a bit. It was like a little village. Sometimes, when the women and children came down to a spot near our hut where the rushes grew thick, I’d watch them digging up the juicy roots with their wanna digging sticks. The children started calling out to me, so one afternoon when Pa was trying to get some sleep, I went to play with them. They played a sort of cat's cradle with string made from hair and used the knobbly round seeds of the quandong fruit like marbles.

Pa was a bit worried about me playing with the black children, and told me never to go if the were men there. I wouldn’t anyway. They scared me, with the terrible scars across their chests, bones in their noses, and long, sharp spears. One very old man, Mister Dtunamarra, was real scary. Pa said he was like their doctor and their priest all rolled into one.

When the men weren’t there, though, I spent a lot of time with the black children. They’re not really black, just a very dark brown. They call themselves Noongar people. There were three girls about my age, Tinjiri, Nunigan and Nondally, but Tinjiri was my best friend. She called me Pecky. I’m not sure I said her name right either. After a while, I learned some of their words, like kaya is hello, koorlangka means children, a baby’s a maawit and a woman’s a yok. Lots of women are yoka. I learned some rude words too - bibi means tit, bum is kwan. I think that means shit too, or maybe that’s goona.

Sometimes, Tinjiri’s ma, Missus Ganiup, or one of the other ladies, would tell us stories, but old Missus Woobertee was the best storyteller. All the children called her Kabarli, so maybe she was everyone’s granny. She drew pictures in the sand, and the tracks of people or animals, to help tell the stories. And she could do birdcalls and the voices of animals so you seemed to really be hearing the little clicky cough of the kangaroos that they call yongka, or the mournful wail of the wild yellow dingo dogs called dwerta. When I was there, she always tried to tell me what the story was about, in the few English words she knew. Some of the stories were about the magical ancestor spirits who made the land, or about how the stars in the sky were people who’d lived long ago.

Then one day, when the other shepherds were away, we heard a great bleating and Pa ran to see what was wrong, but it was just two new shepherds bringing lots more sheep. I didn’t know him at first, because he had grown a beard, but one of them was Mister Lawson’s nasty cousin, Mister Edward. I wondered what he was doing there. Gentry people didn’t usually work as shepherds. The others called him Jarvis, so I guess that was his second name.

Fukken Hell! If it isn’t our dear old Harry Lees! he brayed, when he saw Pa. Got your brat with you I see, Lees.

Yes. You keep away from her, an’ watch y’r language.

Pa helped them get the sheep into the fold, and make a second one so there’d be room for all the sheep.

The new shepherds, Mister Edward and Mister Paddy, slept in our hut that first night and when Mister Paddy’s loud snores echoed in my dreams like a great fire’s roar, and I awoke screaming, Mister Edward yelled, Shut up your whining brat, Lees!

I hated him for that. Pa and the other shepherds didn’t like him much, either.

Silly useless barsted! Mister Paddy told Pa. Thinks the world owes ’im a livin’. Never done a hand’s turn in ’is life, so thought to go on spongin’ off his cousin. ’Twas when he got a young maid in trouble and was caught messin’ with a black child, that Lawson threw him out. To be sure, our grand Mister Jarvis has come down in the world with a thud! An’ he don’t like it one bit.

Well, if he thinks he can lord it over us out here, he’s got another think comin’, my pa said.

I was glad when the new shepherds went to live in their own hut and we didn’t have to put up with Mister Paddy’s snores and Mister Edward’s sneers. I liked Mister Paddy when I didn’t get woken by his snoring. He was always smiling and sang us lovely old songs in his soft Irish voice.

I couldn’t like Mister Edward, though. He had a scary way of looking at me like he wanted to eat me. When Pa and the others were around, he’d call me a brat and sneer if Pa cuddled me. But when no one else was there he’d want to stroke my hair, call me sweetheart and say strange words that sounded like swearwords. He’d brought a big tin of hard sugar candies, and was always trying to give me one. Pa said I mustn’t take them if he wasn’t there.

I think I know why Pa and the others didn’t like him. Because he had been a gentleman before he became a shepherd, he still treated them like they were his servants, always giving orders. He never tidied up the hut and only chopped a bit of wood after Pa told him he wouldn’t make him any food unless he did it. And he was always playing silly tricks, like putting prickly bushes in Mister Paddy’s bed or peeing in the empty rum bottle and giving it to someone to drink. Pa got terrible angry when he found sheep’s poo floating in the soup he’d made for dinner. The other men thought maybe they could just pick it out, but it was already dissolving into the soup, so Pa threw the lot out. We had porridge for dinner that night.

Living out in the bush, we never had any lavatories, so had to go in the bush, so I was used to seeing the men pull their cocks out of their britches to piss and knew not to look. Pa was careful to go behind a tree, though sometimes I think the others forgot I was there. But Mister Edward used to call out to me so I’d turn and look just as he did it. He laughed when I blushed and ran away.

Pa and the other shepherds were worried when Mister Edward started going down to the black people’s camp at night.

He’s giving them rum so there’s bound to be trouble, said Mister Bill. They’re not used to strong liquor.

Everything seemed all right, though. Mister Edward gave Nondally’s big sister, Mooyoona, an old red flannel shirt that was faded to a pretty pink. I think she liked it better than her booka, her kangaroo-skin cloak, because she always wore it when she came to see him in the new hut.

I wondered why Pa didn’t like me spending time with her anymore. She’d always been kind to me and taught me lots of stuff about what plants you can eat and which ones you can’t.

I don’t think it was Mooyoona that Pa was angry with though, because I heard him and Mister Snowy talking about her.

The silly barsted’ll get us all speared, said Mister Snowy. First thing I learned when I got here is never to mess about with the black girls.

She’s little more than a child. Only a few years older than my Becky, Pa replied.

Well, I hear he likes them young. That’s what got him thrown out of Lawson’s place.

That’s when they saw me and started talking about sheep. I couldn’t understand why Mooyoona liked Mister Edward, anyway. He was nasty to her sometimes. When he got back with the sheep, if she was playing with us children or talking to her family, he’d make her go into the hut with him. If she wouldn’t come he’d grab a handful of her hair and drag her away. She always laughed, but I don’t think she liked it.

When that happened Pa always called me away.

Time for your lessons, Becky, he’d say.

Pa was trying to teach me my letters. Most servants couldn’t read or write, but he’d learned back in England. He said if I ever had to go into service I’d get a better job if I could read and write. He tried to make me talk proper too, and mostly did himself unless he was real angry.

I seemed to always have to do my lessons when Mister Edward came home. He swore a lot and Pa didn’t want me learning those words. I couldn’t help hearing them, though. I knew dam and barsted, and fukken, but I didn’t dare ask Pa what they meant. I knew it was wicked to say the Lord’s name, though even Pa said Jesus bloody Christ, when he burnt his hand and dropped a pot of stew. He said bloody a lot. That was his only swear word.

One night, I woke to people shouting and dogs barking. I thought a wild dog had got to the sheep, but when I went outside I saw Mister Edward chasing poor Mooyoona with an axe. He nearly caught her as she ran screaming past our hut, so Pa hit him on the head with his shepherd’s crook.

Mister Edward threw the axe at Pa and it just missed. Then he leapt upon Pa and they started fighting. Our dog, Lassie, started nipping at Mister Edward’s heels, but Mister Snowy pulled her away.

Come on girl! he laughed, your master don’t need no help!

I was scared Pa would get killed, but the other shepherds only stood around grinning. When Pa knocked Mister Edward down, they cheered and carried him off to his hut.

Silly barsted! said Mister Bill. Never could hold his drink.

Then, at breakfast time next day, we had a visit from a very angry Noongar man named Weeam. I learned later that he was Tinjiri’s pa. When he marched into our camp, shaking his spear and yelling, Pa sent me inside. But I watched from the door as the black man chased Mister Edward back to his hut. Mister Snowy called to him to stay there, but he came out with a gun.

Don’t shoot! shouted Pa, afraid we would all be killed if a big fight started. Holding his hands up to show he was unarmed, he walked up to Mister Weeam and talked to him until he calmed down and went away. He was very brave, my Pa.

Chapter 2

After that, the black ladies never came around when the shepherds were all home, but I could play with Tinjiri and the other children in the daytime when they were away. I was so glad they were there when Mister Edward went crazy and I was all alone with him.

That morning he hurt his foot. Chopped it with the axe. He was never any good at chopping wood. Cack-handed, Mister Snowy said. The axe sliced right through his boot and he was lucky it didn’t cut off his big toe.

He made a great fuss, even though it wasn’t a bad cut, and lay on his bed moaning. There was no way he could go out shepherding, so Pa had to take his place and leave me behind. He left some damper and rum in Mister Edward’s hut for his midday meal, and told me I wasn’t to go near there.

In the afternoon, I heard him calling my name. He sounded very upset so I went to the door and looked in. He was lying on his bed looking all pale and gasping.

Becky, thank God you’re here. I knocked over the pannikin of water and I’m dying of thirst. Be a good girl and fill it from the water barrel. I’ve got something for you to suck on if you do that.

I would have done it even without the promise of a sweetie, so I took his pannikin out to the barrel and filled it. Careful not to spill a drop, I carried it back to him.

That’s a good girlie,’ he said taking my hand as he sipped. I was surprised he didn’t want more, but he put it on the floor beside his bed. Here Becky, I’ve got something specially for you. Now where is it?" and he started feeling around in the bed.

Ah! It was right here all the time. And he pushed back the blanket and out popped his big cock.

I tried not to look at it, but he pulled me closer and tried to put my hand on it. Just feel it, Becky, it’s all swollen and burning hot. Won’t you kiss it better for me?

I near threw up at the thought, but I knew what would cool it down. I grabbed the pannikin of water and poured it over the thing. It shrivelled up like an old parsnip.

I’ll kill you, you little bitch! he shouted, leaping out of bed real quick for someone crippled with a sore foot. I ran away while he was trying to stop the water soaking through his bed. I didn’t stop running until I got down to the rush patch where the Noongar ladies were digging yams, and I stayed with them until I heard the shepherds coming home. I knew it was a shameful thing to look at a man’s cock, but it wouldn’t have happened if I’d not disobeyed Pa. So I could never tell him what had happened, but was so scared to stay there with Mister Edward that I nagged Pa until he said I could come out with him next day.

It was fun helping with the sheep. I was lucky I got some good weather, Mister Snowy told me. It’s not much fun when it’s wet and a cold wind blows through you. The sheep are alright in their woolly coats, but we freeze.

Mister Edward must have got sick of lying around with no one to complain to, because he was up and about in a few days. Then, when he was sure I wasn’t going to tell Pa what had happened, he started trying to give me sweeties again, but I was scared he might go crazy again.

Anyway, Pa wasn’t happy working there. So he got another job driving a bullock wagon, taking stuff from the river jetty at Guildford out to settlers’ farms. His master didn’t mind him taking me with him.

Pa had sometimes driven a bullock cart for Mister Lawson, so he soon learned to be a proper bullocky. A boy called Sandy was his offsider. Pa walked on the bullocks’ left side, with Sandy on the other side so they could keep them going the right way. Pa had a big whip, but he only used it when the bullocks played up. A wooden yoke, joined to the wagon by chains, sat across their shoulders.

I was real happy travelling around in the bush with Pa. We saw lots of kangaroos and emus, and there were lots of strange plants and flowers, like the prickly wattles, green and red kangaroo paws and the grass trees the Noongar call balka. Some bushes had flowers like red bottle-brushes or tiny pink roses. Pa said the dainty little flowers like long-legged spiders or little donkey faces were orchids. One little bush had blue flowers the exact colour of the summer sky. They looked like little blue pools lying under the trees.

Sometimes we drove up into the hills where the tall jarrah trees grow. The settlers called them Swan River mahogany, but the Noongar say djara. In the forest lived wallabies, possums, and other strange little animals. And there were birds everywhere. I loved to wake each morning to the sound of the magpies’ song.

But what Pa always wanted was to be his own master and have to answer to no man, so when he’d saved a bit of money, he borrowed some more to buy a pair of bullocks and a dray of his own. He got the bullocks cheap because their owner died before he could get them trained. The wagon was only half-built, so Pa had to finish it and make a wooden yoke himself from bush pine wood. I tried to make the curls of scented wood that he shaved off with the spokeshave into a necklace, but it fell to pieces.

Pa had a lot of trouble getting the bullocks to work as a team. The white one that he called Gog learned quickly, but the brown one, Magog, was always a bit skittish. Lassie was a shepherd’s dog, but she soon learned to nip the bullocks’ heels if they pulled the wrong way. Pa said she was a good offsider. She guarded the bullocks at night too, like the good sheepdog she was.

Soon, the bullocks were so good that Pa could sit up on the wagon with me. As we travelled along the narrow bush tracks, he would tell me old stories his ma had told him. He taught me songs too and we’d sing as we drove along. He said bullocks liked music. It calmed them so they behaved well. We slept under the wagon and lived on crusty damper bread cooked in the ashes, and whatever he could shoot for meat.

Most carters only worked around the settled places, but Pa found that more money could be made taking stuff to far out places, like York and Toodyay. So we made a lot of longer trips, mainly taking food and stores, but sometimes furniture and stuff. Because it cost us very little to live, Pa was soon able to pay back the loan.

Except for helping Pa with feeding and watering the bullocks, gathering wood for the fire, and doing my lessons, I had no work to do, so it was great fun. When we got where we were