The Sausage Tree (12 page)

14

Old Mother Brooks grew raspberries and gooseberries near her house. She also had a dog called Laddie, two cows—one named Biddy—the other Daisy—and some chooks. When the fruit was ripe we were the unlucky fruit pickers. At the time, even though we absolutely hated picking her raspberries, we didn't mind the gooseberries, and we felt rich because we were paid one penny a pound to pick them.

During the Christmas holidays when Mrs Brooks went to the beach for two weeks holiday, there was always one cow to milk by hand. After the milking was over, the milk was carried into the little dairy where we put the cups in the correct position in the separator, put it all together properly, tipped the milk into the big bowl on top and kept turning the handle at a good even speed until the cream came out one spout and the skim milk out the other. Sometimes we put the separator together in the wrong
order and it wouldn't work, so everything had to be pulled apart so that we could start again and hopefully get it right. At the end of the week we used the cream to make butter in the wooden chum. Turning that handle was hard work, especially when the cream became very thick just before it turned into butter. After Joan and Valda left home, the twins took over the chores which also included feeding the dog, the chooks and giving hay to the cows.

One day the twins had finished the routine and were going to feed the cows. Firstly they needed the wheelbarrow which was in the shed, then they went to another shed to get half a bale of hay. With the hay on the 'barrow they struggled to the cow paddock. As it had been raining and the cows' drinking trough near the gate had overflowed, there was a lot of mud to plough through. They were having quite a battle so Rosalie decided that a “run-up” would be appropriate to maybe get them through the quagmire, so she went back a little and without telling her sister made a sudden charge, pushing the wheelbarrow further into the mud where unfortunately it got stuck. Barbara screamed at her, “What d'ya think you're doing charging at it like a bull at a gate?” That sentence in the situation they were in struck Rosalie as being so funny she was flat out stopping herself from falling in the mud because she couldn't stop laughing.

Along the lane towards the farmhouse there was a horse-watering trough where, when we were younger, we went to catch tadpoles. We went armed with some of Mum's jam jars and took tadpoles home where we placed them in a kerosene tin of water. The tin was opened lengthways around the side, and we covered the opening with flat boards from the woodheap to try to stop them from getting away when they turned into frogs. Many of the tadpoles died within days but we thought we were doing them a favour by giving them a new home. In fact, they faced a dreadful end by being slurped up by a thirsty draught horse.

Mrs Brooks and her husband owned two farms. In the summer when the oats were cut for hay and chaff, the haystacks were built in the paddock that was between their house and ours. The stacks would sit there for months with their thatched tops protecting them from the weather. We would always hope that the men with the chaff-cutter didn't arrive while we were in school. All the children in our road got quite excited when we heard the noise of the steam engine chug-chugging as it pulled the chaff-cutter and the owner's humpy where he slept while at the various farms cutting chaff. To add to the excitement the whistle would blow and steam would be escaping making the whole train look like some prehistoric monster. The activities surrounding the chaff-cutter prior to commencing work seemed to take forever as we waited to commence our self-appointed disgusting task of disposing of the hundreds of rats and mice that lived in the stacks.

Other children would join us, each armed with a stick ready to slay those smelly little creatures as they darted out of their homes in the hay. Taking care not to get in the way of the workers, we would dash all over the place chasing the rats and mice as we didn't want them running into our place and setting up house there. There was great rivalry to, see who could kill the most; rats in one heap, mice in the other. How did we ever do that? That question will remain unanswered, except to say that at the time we thought it was an exciting pastime.

One year when we had killed an exceptionally high number of rats and mice, Old Mother Brooks came to Mum with the demand that we kids bury every last dead and decaying rodent in the heaps. Mum sided with her and we had to make an effort to dig the hole in the hard-baked earth, all the time seething with resentment because our efforts to stop a rat and mouse plague had not been appreciated. We made up our minds then and there that, for all
we cared, the whole town could be overrun with them. That was the last year we exhausted ourselves for the good of the neighbourhood.

We were allowed to set rabbit traps on one of Mr Brooks' farms. We had seen the skin merchant come to buy the rabbit and wallaby skins Dad had dried, so we knew there was money to be made. There were some old rabbit traps in the shed so one day off we went to “the top farm”. After walking for miles searching for likely “runs” we set the traps, hoped we could remember where they were, and returned home. After struggling out of bed very early next morning, we went round our traps. We had caught one rabbit but didn't have the heart to kill it, so we let it go and re-set the trap.

As we weren't going to let all that expected money slip through our fingers, next morning we dragged Peter out of bed and took him with us. We were sure that, being a boy, he could do the dirty deed and knock the rabbit on the head. Another disaster. We handed Peter the hunk of wood and the rabbit but he couldn't bring himself to kill the poor little thing. Our expectations were a little high as Peter was all of seven years old.

As the classes at our school went through to Grade 9 most children stayed at Lilydale Area School throughout their education, although some parents were rich enough to send their children to high school in Launceston. Geoff was among the lucky ones because he won a scholarship that paid for the textbooks that he needed. He left home and went to town to live at Granma's. Unfortunately after the first year he dropped out of school because he couldn't study at Granma's house. There were always too many people there, too much noise and too many messages and odd jobs to do so he returned home.

In the meantime Joan had left home when she was fifteen to become cook-housemaid in a private home in Launceston. Within the next two years Valda also left home when she also turned fourteen to do housework, so only four dependent children remained at home. Wilma left home in early 1955 to begin her teacher training in Launceston but returned home most weekends.

Peter spent most of his spare time playing on the woodheap. As he was absolutely obsessed with cars and trucks he had dozens of winding roads crisscrossing the chips. He constructed bridges and garages and crawled around making engine noises. It was no surprise that he studied to be a motor mechanic and owned his own thriving automotive business. Peter married and had three children, his older daughter working in the office and his only son becoming a motor mechanic who took over the business when Peter died of cancer in 1985, aged just 46 years.

In 1967, the debilitating bone disease that had caused so much pain and suffering over the previous thirty years claimed the life of our beloved mother when she was fifty-nine years old. We were all devastated, but in our sadness we knew that the pain could no longer cause her to suffer.

As time went by, our father's temperament mellowed considerably. He remained in Lilydale until seven years before his death at the age of 80. During these last years he lived on the north-west coast with Wilma and her husband and family. Although Dad suffered with asthma and emphysema, he helped around the nursery, doing small chores until the day he became ill and was admitted to hospital where he passed away three days later.

Over the years our games and activities were gradually forgotten and faded into insignificance as one by one we matured, discovered new friends and different lifestyles and moved away from home, allowing childhood memories to slowly slip away.

As we reflect on the past, we know in our hearts that in a strange way our parents loved us. Perhaps the treatment we received stemmed from the fact that there were too many children and not enough money. This, combined with the stress and worry of Mum's illnesses, caused them to be so harsh in their treatment of us. We are compensated in the knowledge that Mum and Dad had a special love for one another that remained throughout their lifetimes.

We may have been underprivileged children who endured harsh punishments from our parents, but this only served to make us determined to improve our circumstances in life as adults.

Our childhood years instilled in us right from wrong and respect for our parents and other adults in positions of authority. We all married and raised our children through good times and bad, and had the satisfaction of seeing them grow through a childhood that was in no way like our own.

Geoffrey, Rosalie and Wilma were employed by the Education Department. Geoffrey was the only one of us to settle in Lilydale and for over thirty years worked as manager of the school farm, which he combined with driving a school bus morning and afternoon. While raising their three children, he and his wife built their own home and a holiday house at the beach. In leisure times they have, on several occasions, travelled Australia in their camper-van.

Rosalie was a primary school teacher and following the early death of her husband, worked very hard in other areas to raise five of her six children. She is currently employed in the north-west of Tasmania as the Aboriginal Studies resource teacher with the Education Department.

For many years Wilma was also a teacher. She has four children and in recent years has been assisting her husband in the running of their nursery business. We are all upset by the recent news that Wilma has Paget's the same debilitating bone disease that claimed our mother's life. Fortunately there is now treatment to slow the spread and ease the pain a little, but there is still no cure.

While raising three daughters, Joan owned and successfully ran her own knitting wool shop in Launceston. She has travelled extensively through Europe, the birthplace of her husband. He encouraged her to learn the German language which she now speaks fluently.

Valda married a farmer and they had four children. When the eldest started high school they bought a small takeaway food shop which kept Valda very busy seven days a week. At the age of 58 she enrolled in the Aboriginal Bridging Course at the University of Tasmania at Launceston and four years later, to the delight of her family, graduated with her BA in General Studies with credits in Aboriginal Studies, History and English Literature. She has the distinction of being the first student to graduate from the university with credits in the newly formed discipline, Aboriginal Studies.

Barbara married a dozer operator and they raised two children. Living in various parts of Victoria in isolated logging areas, Barbara will never forget being snowed-in during winters. It was difficult to cope with no electricity and the demands of caring for two babies in these cold conditions. The family finally settled in the warmer climates of North Queensland. Barbara drove the local school bus and tourist coaches, the latter giving her the opportunity to travel at no expense to herself. Barbara says this period in her life gave her great pleasure and satisfaction that was terminated by her ill-health. Barbara now leads a very quiet life living next door to her daughter and family, although she feels tom between her true home in Tasmania and the sunny lands she now calls home.

We all rose above the adversities of our childhood and proved to ourselves that personal satisfaction is a wonderful achievement. When reflecting on the past, we find memories returning in a multitude of visions and emotions—happy, sad, humorous and beautiful, gently entwining our thoughts together with tears and love.

The aim of UQP's Black Australian Writers Series is to open up new and exciting opportunities in Black writing and to make this emerging literature more widely available.

This significant series recognises the diverse range of writings by Aboriginal and Islander Australians. Launched in 1990, it evolved out of the annual David Unaipon Award which attracts texts by unpublished Black authors across the nation. The Award is judged by well-known Black authors, Jack Davis, Mudrooroo (Colin Johnson), and Jackie Huggins. The late Oodgeroo of the Tribe Noonuccal was a founding judge and series consultant. The Award winners and other Aboriginal and Islander authors makeup the Black Australian Writers Series.

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“This latest collection of poems is, in my opinion, Jack Davis's greatest.”

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From his involvement with the trade union movement of the 1930s through to the black rights movement of the 1960s and 70s, Joe McGinness has often been labelled a troublemaker.

Highly commended in the inaugural David Unaipon Award, this personal journey is also a landmark history of political struggle and achievement in the area of human rights.

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Winner of the 1991 Ruth Adeney Koori Award

From the riotous picnic races in the famous Mt Isa rodeo, from childhood in the yumba to gutsy outback pubs,
Unbranded
presents a strikingly original vision of Australia.

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Profiled in this exciting book by ABC journalist Wayne Coolwell are actor Ernie Dingo, TV journalists Rhoda Roberts and Stan Grant, artist Gordon Bennett, opera singer Maroochy Barambah, rugby union coach Mark Ella, singer-songwriter Archie Roach, and land rights advocate Noel Pearson, teachers, a medical doctor, and a classical dancer. Includes photographs.

Language is power—it can describe and direct events fictional and true. This is a look at the history of its use and the way in which it has conned a nation. Linguist Dr Eve Fesl reveals the invisible text used in perpetuating a false and oppressive image of indigenous Australians.

Winner of the 1992 Unaipon Award for unpublished Black writers, this is a thriller, a historical novel, a story of conflict and triumph. Black and white lives are swept up in an epic tale of romance, greed and murder in 19thcentury New South Wales.

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A story of family struggle and cultural allegiance told by Chris who is a tender witness to poverty and despair. The torment of a young boy living black in a white world is truthfully told in writing both lyrical and wise.