Читать книгу Fox - Bill Robertson - Страница 9

Friday, December 5, 1963, the eve of Lucy Fox’s seventh birthday. Or so she claimed. Lucy wasn’t absolutely certain when her birthday really was. Three years had passed since that terrifying day at Turkey Creek. Life since had been a gyre of pleasure, pain and despair. Initially, they had gone to the Forrest River Mission near Wyndham. Lucy vividly recalled the bumpy three hour drive. Huddling together for warmth, they had received precious little food – a pannikin of water each and some stale bread.

Miss Brigitte had been kind and Lucy heard her scold Mullett because of the lack of food and rugs. Even though the days were hot, nights in the Kimberly were cold and they had all nearly frozen in the cage as they rumbled along. The policeman had done nothing to help them. Mullett was the one who was creepy and had leered and touched and rubbed. Not just Lucy, all the girls. He was careful in front of Miss Brigitte though. When she was around, the girls were safe. Lucy was also safe with Colin about. Though she had only been tiny then, Lucy remembered Mullett had always been wary of him.

That didn’t surprise her, the kids loved Colin. He wasn’t the oldest but he was their leader. They respected his hunting and tracking skills, he was afraid of nothing and seemed wise beyond his years. He stood square to Mullett, never backed away, was polite and exuded a force that Mullett was reluctant to tackle. Colin had watched over Lucy and the others too. As she got older, she realised Colin had chosen to be on the truck with her. Lucy loved her big brother and missed him terribly.

After arriving at Forrest River Mission their heads had been shaved and their clothes burned. Lucy and Colin stayed only a couple of months before being transferred to Sister Kate’s in Perth, thousands of miles from Turkey Creek. The nuns said they were too white to stay at the mission. At Sister Kate’s they quickly realised they would not be seeing their mother or family in a hurry and, as though it might compensate, they had been forced to attend church three times a day: before breakfast, at lunch and after school. They quickly learned it was unwise to cross the nuns — that understanding was instilled with religious fervour and a wet ironing cord.

At Sister Kate’s boys and girls slept in separate dormitories. Even that was scary. Lucy and Colin were used to shelters under the stars, their family sleeping around them for warmth and comfort. But here, in this new world, they were separated by corridors, slept in beds high off the floor, petrified of falling out. Most nights, Lucy cried herself to sleep.

Between school times, Lucy and the other girls would spend hours chopping wood, waxing, cleaning or polishing brass. They also cared for the little ones who had to be fed, bathed, toileted and put to bed. And, while they slaved at their chores, the nuns drummed into them: they were white, being Aboriginal was degrading, they had no mothers, they were lucky to be getting such a good chance in life.

Colin said they were lying. They did have a mother and she loved them deeply. He told Lucy to never forget Rosie’s warm arms and big heart, they would see her again. But there were some good times with other kids and food was plentiful, although it did take getting used to. It was nothing like the water fowl, goanna, grubs, yams, fruits, berries and kangaroo they knew.

From time to time, Mullett brought new kids to the home. To her horror, Lucy found that if she was too slow, he would push her into a room, shut the door and stick his hand in her panties and touch her “private” while rubbing himself. If she resisted, he slapped her around the head and once, when she said she would tell the Matron, Mullett had snarled, ‘You don’t tell anybody Missy otherwise you’ll be sent to another state altogether and you’ll never see your mother again. Never! And that smart-arse brother of yours, he’ll be sent to Mount Barker. So, shut up!’ Mullett’s behaviour frightened and confused her triggering a deep sense of shame and abandonment.

She had been so scared of Mullett she told neither Matron nor Colin about the things he did. Until a month ago. Mullett had arrived with new babies and surprised her polishing brass in the church. He grabbed her hard and put his hand over her mouth and whispered harshly in her ear, ‘Shut the fuck up!’ Then he’d put his fingers into her so roughly that she felt a searing pain and began to bleed. He had laughed. The following morning she plucked up courage and told Matron Fisher about Mullett.

‘You filthy little slut!’ Fisher had screamed at her. ‘How dare you speak of Mr. Mullett like that. You’re a shameless hussy and no doubt you led him on.’ Matron grabbed her hair, dragged her into the toilets and washed her mouth with soapy water. For good measure, she delivered five lashes to Lucy’s legs with the wet ironing cord. Then, banished to the dormitory, Lucy was instructed to tell no one of her “filthy, dirty lies”. Ashamed, helpless, lonely and humiliated, she lay on her bed sobbing and eventually fell asleep. The following day, Colin was transferred to Moore River without explanation or goodbyes.

Lucy believed she had caused Colin’s transfer and was racked with guilt. Treated with deepening contempt and suspicion by the nuns, Lucy needed to do little thereafter to taste the sting of the ironing cord. Her world had become oppressive and sinister.

Now, with Christmas approaching and her birthday tomorrow, Lucy felt sad and isolated. She had not seen Colin for three weeks. He had always made a fuss, giving her little presents: a hair ribbon, a grass wristlet he’d made or one of his small paintings. To the contrary, policy at the Home was to ignore birthdays, although most of the kids wouldn’t have known them anyway. Besides, they all had their own problems. Privately, Lucy hoped that somehow Colin would visit.

Colin Fox hated Moore River. Also known as Mogumber Mission, he could feel its dark history as soon as he arrived. It was a place full of voices past, of pain, torment and misery. And that misery was everywhere, especially at night when it oozed like pus from the pores of the place and clung like an evil mist. He didn’t intend staying.

Moore River was about eighty-five miles north of Perth and Fox didn’t know why he was there. A male supervisor from Sister Kate’s had come to school one lunch time three weeks ago and said he was to leave. Back at the Home he found his few things already in a bag. He was given a sandwich and put in a truck with some workmen going to Moore River. He had ached at leaving Lucy, especially with no goodbye. He loved his little sister and hoped she would be alright.

Gradually, Fox learned of Moore River’s history from Aboriginal workers there. Commenced in 1918, the settlement was intended as a farming venture for Aboriginals to educate their children and provide work for adults. There were to be health facilities too. But the land had proven unsuitable for farming. Over time and through lack of care, the settlement morphed into an orphanage, a place for old people, unmarried mothers and sick children. Black people from all over Western Australia were lumped together. Language groups were mixed, problems festered and simmered while hopeless overcrowding bred despondency. Like an endless stream of flotsam, children constantly arriving added to already high levels of misery. Families were sundered by strict rules of segregation as men, women and children were placed in separate dormitories with little bedding or covering. Overcrowding caused health problems and by the early 1950s, more than 340 people had died there. Despair and isolation were rampant. As no-one could leave without written authority, absconding became commonplace. Aboriginal trackers hunted down and returned the runaways who faced harsh penalties — head shaving, transfer, beatings or solitary confinement.

The elderly workmen told Fox they believed Aborigines, particularly the mixed race kids, were treated in ways that no white people would accept, not even under the welfare system.

‘It’s as though,’ said George Morgan to Fox one day, ‘they want to breed us out, like they’re scared our kids will have the worst features of both races and none of their good points.’

At ten years of age, and from this brutal history, Fox learned two things: to rely upon his intuition and to keep his own counsel. His resolve to escape strengthened and he began formulating a plan to collect Lucy and return to Turkey Creek.

A week before Lucy’s birthday Fox heard that a group of boys was being transferred to Rossmoyne Training Centre near Perth. Rossmoyne was a hostel run by the Pallotine Mission where a high school education or trade was offered to Aboriginal boys and girls. The philosophy was to develop leaders who could successfully live and work in the general community. Rossmoyne, Fox discovered, was close to Sister Kate’s. The journey south would be made in Moore River’s ancient 1949 Bedford coach, a coach that Fox discovered held a particular advantage.

Like most kids at Moore River, Fox moved around, poked and pried and learned as much about the place as he could. In his first week he stumbled across the old coach locked in a shed and, by the end of that week, had located an unobtrusive entry point to the shed. In the bus he discovered that its rear bench seat was fitted to a box platform running from one side of the cabin to the other. Three lugs at the front of the seat held it in place and four slotted vents punctuated the frame. If he could find a screwdriver, he could undo the lugs and check the space. Late one night, using a stolen screwdriver, he lifted the seat to reveal a cavity about sixteen inches deep by twenty inches wide. His plan was clear. He knew the trip south was intended for the Friday before Lucy’s birthday and would commence after lunch. He needed to be present for lunch but under the bench seat straight after.

At three o’clock Friday afternoon the old coach arrived at Rossmoyne. Fox’s journey had been cramped, stuffy and incredibly hot. More than once he was tempted to yell to the boys above him to lift the seat, but penalty of discovery didn’t bear thinking about. So he stuck it out then waited a good quarter hour after everyone had left the bus before lifting the seat. All clear. Quietly extricating himself, he looked outside over the seat tops. He was in the grounds of the Training Centre and people were wandering about, playing or enjoying the gardens. He would have to sit it out. By six o’clock, with not a soul in sight, he left the bus, slipped into the gardens and made his way out onto Fifth Avenue. His next task was to reach Knutsford Avenue Kewdale — Sister Kate’s.