Mt Dunbar Station Revisited

Lucy and Peggy settled into station life quietly and comfortably. Nothing had changed, the routine remained the same, unchanged since the establishment of the pastoral station in the early 1900s.

Peggy became the companion to Patricia Forbes, the “boss’s” fourteen year old daughter. She was glad too. She didn’t have to live in the “camp”, the “Native Camp” across the creek where over a hundred Aboriginal people lived. Their homes were built of cast off sheets of iron, one-roomed with a bough shed of wire netting on two sides and on the roof. There was no running water. Water was carried in four-gallon drums from a tap fifty yards away.

The people at the camp suffered as a result of the unhygienic conditions. The poor nutrition and the lack of fresh fruit and vegetables in their diet contributed to complaints such as malnutrition, chest infections, trachoma, and infected ears.

The usual weekly station rations for the camp contained: 3 bags of flour, 2 bags of sugar, 6 packets of tea, 4 tins of jam, 2 tins of golden syrup, 2 tins of treacle, 4 tins of milk, 2 tins of curry powder, 4 packets of rice, 6 plugs of tobacco, pieces of salted beef, and occasionally fresh beef. To supplement this station-introduced food, the people camped out every weekend and lived on traditional “bush tucker” cooked in the traditional way. This was one thing Peggy enjoyed, going out with the old people to forage for minyara (wild onion) and kulyu (wild yams).

She liked the winter days here. The clear bright warm, sort of lazy, days. This is the time when the honey flowers are out. These bunches of golden yellow flowers are collected from the desert oaks. The nectar from these flowers is shaken into the palms of the hands or soaked in a bucket of water to make a sweet refreshing drink.

All the game caught was cooked in hot ashes. Peggy agreed that this was the only way “bush tucker” should be cooked and eaten. She really looked forward to the weekends—if only for the chance to camp out under the stars. The night sky seemed brighter somehow, and the stars bigger. This was certainly the part of Aboriginal culture she enjoyed the most.

One thing she could not understand. “Why do the old people keep all those dogs?” she asked her mother. Some were alright, but a few of them were the mangiest dogs she ever saw.

“The old people always had a lot of dogs. They tell them if anyone, you know, stranger fullahs, come close to camp,” explained Lucy.

“They tell the old people if ‘dgingarbil’, feather foot man, come too close,” said Lucy. “Dginagarbil are mans who chase and kill people who break Mardu Law. They move nighttime in the dark.”

In the summer months Patricia and Peggy rode to the various windmills around the property to swim in the windmill tanks or the small pools in the surrounding creeks. The girls were inseparable.

During the milder weather when the wild flowers were in full bloom the pair packed picnic lunches and rode to different locations each time so that Peggy could enjoy the seasonal changes.

Lucy was justly proud of her seventeen year old daughter. She had grown into a beautiful woman, reminding her so much of Mick. Only yesterday she had a very private talk with “the missus” and asked her to act as matchmaker to find a suitable husband for Peggy.

“I don’t want a Mardu (fullblood) boy to marry with my daughter,” said Lucy, her voice barely audible, fearing others may overhear her conversation with Mrs Forbes. Everyone, including Dr and Matron Callahan, Mal and Anne Forbes, convinced Lucy that her beautiful intelligent daughter deserved much better, by their standards obviously. Lucy’s own marriage had been both enriching and fulfilling and she imagined and hoped for the same for her only daughter, Peggy.

“I want Muda, Muda (half-caste) boy—same as my girl—you know, one read and write, or a good Wudgebella (white man)—not Mardu,” she added quietly.

Mrs Forbes promised to help. Mrs Forbes was in regular contact with women on neighbouring stations who could have suitable half-caste station hands working on their properties. She would begin by contacting other stations and making discreet inquiries over the pedal set (wireless/radio).

Lucy’s Auntie Minda, a bad tempered old lady, admonished her for letting “the missus” try to make Peggy into a Wudgebella Wandi (white girl).

“You bring ’em back to camp. This place here,” she said, pounding the ground with her warda (digging stick) for emphasis, “and sit down (stay) here.”

Her high pitched, loud, rasping voice was heard all over the camp. This is another custom. Individuals are encouraged to exercise this right. This prevents any spreading of malicious gossip. There is no room for secretiveness in a traditional Aboriginal community. Meetings are called where everyone attends, either to listen and learn or to participate, whatever the case may be.

“We don’t want Peggy to go ’nother way (with strangers to a strange land or place) and lose ’em for good (go away and not return), ” said Auntie Minda.

Unaware of the concern she had caused down at the camp, Peggy had ridden out with Patricia towards the old copper mine to the windmill to meet Colin Morgan, the station’s white overseer, and his black offsider, Danny (Dinnywarra) Atkinson. The clay pans were still filled with water and all around them, especially under the mulga trees, the normally red earth was covered in a carpet of pink, white, yellow and mauve flowers.

“This is what makes station life so special,” said Patricia proudly. “The wide open spaces, the stony ridges and the dry red dusty plains.

“For months all you see is the burnt looking country. Then after a good rainfall, it changes into this,” stretching her arms.

“I can’t imagine living anywhere else! When I was away at boarding school in Perth I really missed this place.”

A few miles south, Auntie Minda’s husband Jimbo was out boundary riding, searching for and rounding up stray cattle and driving them closer to the nearest windmill. As he approached the windmill he spotted smoke rising from the creek. This gladdened his heart. He hadn’t had a decent feed for a couple of days—fresh beef and damper washed down with hot sweet tea will go well, he thought. With visions of food he spurred his mount faster.

But when Jimbo reached the creekbed, he didn’t like what he saw. He couldn’t believe his eyes. It was not as he supposed, the two girls picnicking nearby, for what he saw was a trysting place for young lovers. Patricia Forbes, the boss’s daughter, was seated on a blanket in the shade of a big river gum, very close to Colin Morgan. A little further to the right were Danny and Peggy. A Burungu and a Garimara. Alarmed at this sight before him and of the dangerous position those two young people had placed themselves in, he shook his head in disbelief.

“That’s wrong way, this can’t be. Not right, not right,” he said.

What was Peggy thinking of. There was no excuse, she knew the consequences for breaking rules—especially becoming involved with a man of the wrong skin. This was a serious offence. Since her thirteenth birthday she was said to have been endowed with wisdom beyond her years, so she was well aware that this rendezvous, and more importantly the chance of discovery, meant physical punishment for both of them.

So what made her disregard and flout the “Law”? Was it just the love of adventure or was it just sheer youthful abandonment that got the better of her discretion and good judgment? I think not. I think Peggy was a romantic who was passionately in love with Danny even though he was a Burungu, and she was simply enjoying the youthful pleasures of love and excitement.

Jimbo rode on—unseen by the young lovers who were obviously far more interested in each other than their beautiful surroundings—to pass this information on to Lucy.

Lucy was absolutely furious. “Why did my girl have to shame me like this!” She clenched and unclenched her fists and threw her hands up in the air with despair. “Why? Why?” She watched and simmered all afternoon.

“That Danny, he’s the one. He’s the big trouble maker.” She went on in this vein for the rest of the day, blaming Danny for seducing her beloved and only daughter.

Patricia and Peggy arrived home unaware that their picnic had created an incident that was about to erupt like a volcano with effects just as far reaching.

The girls showered and changed into cool looking shorts and blouses, then sat relaxing on the verandah. A few seconds later, their peace and quietness was shattered. A very irate and fuming Lucy stormed on to the verandah and grabbed her daughter by her long black hair and dragged the screaming, frightened girl outside, then proceeded to beat her across the back and shoulders with a long warda (digging stick), the same one she would use on Peggy’s lover.

“Mum! Dad!” screamed Patricia in fear and alarm for her companion, “Come quickly, Lucy’s gone mad!”

Mal Forbes grappled with Lucy who seemed at this moment to be transformed into an extremely strong mad woman. He removed the offensive weapon and calmly asked for an explanation for this unusual display of violence.

Yes, quite out of character for Lucy, thought Anne Forbes. This must be serious. She led Lucy out to the shadehouse and waited for her to settle down and control herself. Lucy then explained quietly what had happened. Mrs Forbes said confidently, “I agree Peggy should be taken from the influences of the native (fullblood) men. She’s too good for the likes of them.” She helpfully suggested that Peggy be sent to the Moore River Native Settlement, north of Perth, where all the half-caste children and young people were trained and educated in skills that would be useful to them when they entered the wider community.

“There would be a better selection of young men, more suitable for a girl like Peggy,” said Mrs Forbes.

But once again Lucy’s hopes and desire to control her daughter’s destiny were thwarted. For during those brief encounters Peggy shared with her lover, a spiritual affection between the two was born; an affinity which lasted till her death. No other love could replace that.

Patricia finally pacified her friend, then went out to the shadehouse to speak to her mother. Mrs Forbes and Lucy were seated in the coolest spot, talking softly and rationally now. Not realising the seriousness of the situation, Patricia pleaded and begged them not to send Peggy away. Her tearful pleadings fell on deaf ears, for the decision had been made.

Lucy rose from the chair and walked sadly towards the door.

“Send ’em Peggy down to my camp, I can watch ’em all the time. Can’t run around,” asked Lucy.

At the camp, voices were raised, abuses, insults were hurled back and forth. Lucy took her warda and flayed into Danny. Other members of the clan followed suit.

Early the next morning, before sunrise, a very sore and bruised Danny was taken by his parents in a horse and cart back home to Jigalong.

The following week Lucy and a very distraught Peggy who had to be forced into the back of the mail truck, still weeping unrestrainedly, travelled to Kingsley.

Sgt Andy Miller was pleasantly surprised when he met the mail truck that evening. Here was a beautiful seventeen year old woman with slightly waved jet black hair hanging to her shoulders. When she looked up there was no mistaking those beautiful green eyes just like “the Irishman”. The only thing different from her father was her light olive skin.

It wasn’t so long ago, well it didn’t seem that long, when he and others having a drink at the Kingsley Arms had tried to persuade Mick not to marry Lucy but wait for a more suitable woman, preferably a white one.

And now here was Lucy taking real drastic steps to prevent her own daughter from marrying a man she considered unsuitable. Tomorrow morning she would travel by train hundreds of miles southwest to the Moore River Native Settlement. It seemed like history was repeating itself.

A week later mother and daughter arrived at their final destination, the Moore River Native Settlement.

Eight months later Peggy Muldune gave birth to a healthy six pound baby girl with thick black hair and large dark brown eyes. As she held her baby in her arms, she said weakly, “Her name is Katherine Bridgid Muldune, but call her Kate.” This was the only time all three Muldune women were together. Twenty-four hours later Margaret Bridgid Muldune was dead. The sister-in-charge of the hospital told Lucy that her daughter died of “the fever”. But her friends and workmates said she died of a broken heart, in other words she just pined away for the handsome young Aboriginal stockman with curly sun-bleached hair and flashing smile, the man she left on Mt Dunbar Station, hundreds of miles northeast of the Settlement, a place she was destined never to see again.

Lucy went back to Kingsley bereft of her most precious possessions, her beloved husband and her beautiful daughter, and spent the rest of her days living with her cousin Daisy. In the late afternoons on most days, someone would find her in the backyard, a tragic figure standing motionless, staring silently at the slope on the gravelled hillside, her dark eyes filled with sadness and despair. She seldom smiled.

Some people even say that my grandmother gave up living when my mother and grandfather died. She was the epitome of sorrow and grief, until she passed away one hot summer night, in her sleep. She was buried next to her husband, the Irishman who sang sentimental songs about his homeland, of “watching the sun go down in Galway Bay”, and of the sun “declining beneath the blue sea” and of “valleys hushed and white with snow”.

It seemed so bizarre and yet so poignant. Tears welled up in my eyes and spilled down my cheeks, and through the veil of tears I could see the hillslope with its rows of white crosses and realised that there was just one thing left to do before I returned to Geraldton.

Ten minutes later I stood alone once more beside their graves. This time it was to share an experience with them. And that was to watch the sun sink slowly behind the rugged Kingsley Ranges. I like to think that this is exactly where they want to be—this unlikely couple by divine intervention will remain side by side on this gravelled slope on the hillside watching all the beautiful sunsets for evermore.

The togetherness they shared in life is continuing in death.