Taken from loved ones
Sitting at my desk looking out through the window. The teacher is writing the times table on the blackboard. The sky is blue and the pine trees look so tall. Why do I need to sit in this room all day listening to some white person talking a funny lingo called times table. I should be outside. The scrub is more to my liking.
My dreaming was broken by the sound of an engine – somewhere up in that beautiful blue sky was a plane. I sensed that all the kids in the class were listening to that engine. Maybe the plane was going to FlindersIsland. Once a month the doctor's plane came in to CapeBarren. It wasn't time for the men to come home from the Islands after shearing.
The teacher's voice was loud. Mr Saville seemed nervous as he read from the blackboard. We were told to read aloud from some books. I could only listen.
Mr Saville walked outside and a few minutes later he was at the door calling to Browny. When Browny walked out of that little classroom, that was the last time we ever saw him. Then the Welfare put Browny in the sidecar on the motorbike and took him out to the plane. Later we found out that he was in a home run by the Welfare people.
For a while, whenever we heard the engine of an aeroplane, most of us kids would run and hide in the scrub. Even some of our parents were paranoid. We didn't know what it was like to be taken from our families. Later on I was to feel what it was like to be taken from my family; then I understood how Browny must have felt.
I also was put in a Welfare Home. I can still see my Mum standing there with her hands up at her face, the tears running down. The people from the Welfare saying to Mum, It's the best place for him. I had stolen some food from a golf course kiosk to feed my brothers and sisters, and for that the Welfare said that I was uncontrollable and must be placed in a home for children.
Being taken from the ones that love you is a shocking experience. It's cruel for the child and family. Words cannot describe it.
An Aboriginal child in Tasmania
I remember when I was a child, moving from CapeBarren to mainland Tasmania. It was like another world. So many cars and all those lights, going to the pictures and eating icecream was magic. Well, the move to Tasmania did have its drawbacks for me. The fact that I had to wear shoes – I mean there was no need for shoes on CapeBarren – how I hated those bloody shoes – the blisters – it was unreal.
Going to school at St Thomas More's, a Catholic school run by nuns. It was quite different from the school on CapeBarren. Over there is was only a one room school and we didn't wear a uniform. At St Thomas More's, there I stood with my little cap, blazer, shorts, socks up to the knees and polished black shoes that still hurt my feet.
In my uniform I stood like some midget soldier, too frightened to breathe, my eyes staring at those shoes and how they shined, my hand clinging to mum's fingers, as if never to let go. There before me was this woman dressed in black and her face so white. My first encounter with a nun frightened the daylights out of me.
One day during class, I was asked to talk about where I was from. There I was telling a tale of life living on an island. I was doing OK until I said that I was Aboriginal. The nun frogmarched me outside the classroom and told me that there were no Aborigines in Tasmania.
I was told that I was a 'little heathen' to ever think that I was Aboriginal. I was told that it was a sin to think such a thing. For my sin I was made to kneel in the Church for three hours – a time to be confused. One thing I learnt was never to say that I was Aboriginal.
The above two stories are by Kevin McDonald and are from Adult Literacy and Basic Education (ALBE) Resource Unit 1994, Tunapi Three: From Family to Community, Department of Education, Tasmania, Devonport.
Text talk.
- Would the sound of a plane at CapeBarrenIsland engender such paranoia today?
- What could have been the reason/s for Browny being taken away?
- What happens when people share a voice by writing their stories?