Warrigal's Way

Edward Warrigal Anderson was born in 1948. As was the custom of his mother's people, he was named Warrigal after a dingo that witnessed his birth on the ground in the Wimmera district of Victoria. At the age of ten, he fled from his home in Moonee Ponds to avoid capture by government officers. He never saw his mother again and still hopes to re-unite with the sister he has not seen for forty years. His life has taken him all over Australia and New Zealand where he has worked as a drover, meatworker, commercial fisherman, and crane operator. In 1982 he settled in Katherine where he lives and writes full-time.

1

I don't remember my old man, I was much too young, but Mum told me about him one night when she was down in her cups and drinking wine. He was her second husband. (Her first husband and my half-brother died in 1930—something of measles.) Mum said the old man was a top bloke, but the war had turned him strange and he did terrible things. Like bashing her something terrible and scarring her for life with his stockwhip. Breaking bones and kicking her for such crimes as not going to bed with one of his drunken mates when he was feeling generous, or serving up his tea cold when he came home from the pub at some ungodly hour. And other small petty things, like breaking my brother Gordon's nose and cheekbone when he ran to the door and was greeted by a casual backhander, just like you would swat a fly.
It didn't stop there.
Mum said he tried to rape Pauline, my oldest sister, when she was about nine. That was the last straw for Mum.

You would have to be Aboriginal and my age to understand how hard it was for my Mother with three young kids, me a babe in arms, to walk out and try to make a life of her own, and raise us. Particularly in the days when you were considered less than a white man's dog. (At least they had to be registered.) From what I've been told we shifted into
a shack on the outskirts of Swan Hill. That's where Pauline was taken from. I was too young to remember her, so we have never met. (So if you're about sixty, have green eyes and remember being called Kylie as a child, get in touch, Sister.)

Among my early memories is a policeman and a big bloke in a black suit, taking Gordon away in a black car. Mum said the Black Suit was from the department and that he had a warrant. I didn't know what a department was, or a warrant, but that big bloke in the suit put the fear of God into me for years. I have no idea why they didn't take me. Maybe I was too young, or they didn't know about me. Anyway, Mum and I took off. We played hide and seek with that department all over the place, endless towns, staying two to three weeks. Sometimes Mum got work in a pub and I would have to hide in a room. We even camped in a big dry water tank for a week before we went back to Swan Hill. Mum got a job picking grapes, but the old man found us and gave her a belting until the local people bashed him and she got away. You know, for the life of me I can't remember it, although Mum says I was there.

We went to Melbourne from there. I was about to turn ten. Mum wasn't sure of the date but this was the year. “Early in March ‘48. March, that's your birthday, love. Dunno the day. We had no calendar on the road that year. 1958, yeah, you be ten this March.” So with no trumpets or drums my birthday came and went. We were living in a shed in the backyard of Cobby and Marge's place, friends of Mum's. Mum was making really good money and killing herself working two jobs. The city was full up for some reason, and there was plenty of work about. We went back to rooms after Mum had a row with Cobby, as he wanted to put the rent up on the shed. So I spent the next nine months hiding in rooms, flats, friendly houses. I was rarely allowed out to play and we were always ready to flee in an instant. Mum as usual was working in a pub housemaiding or doing washing. I was
at home, pretty young and dumb. I had never gone to school. Being classed as a government ward, with an arrest warrant on me, it wasn't a good idea to go wandering about if I wanted to stay out of a welfare home. “Like a jail, love, with locks and bars on the windows and iron doors. That's where they got Pauline and Gordon, the Department welfare home.” The Department, Mum called them. I didn't know just what a department was, but I knew it was big and the people wore black suits and hung around with police. Any big bloke in a black suit could trigger fear in me, because of the one who took Gordon. Even to this day, I'm uncomfortable around authority.

One day Mum came running in through the door of the flat we had over the top of a shop on the main street of Moonee Ponds. “Quick love, grab your port, they're coming.” She didn't have to tell me who. “I can't come with you, and there's no time to go to the bank, so take this.” And she gave me her pay, five pounds. “Go to Halls Gap and ring Fred. He'll take you out to Auntie Rose. Wait for me there, alright?” I gave her a hug and put my sandals on, grabbed my port, one last hug, and Mum said, “Don't come back here, love. You bolt and keep going. If they catch you they will lock you away in a big room, so you hit the frog, keep out of trouble and tell Fred I'll ring him.” With that I was out the door and off, not realising that would be the last time I would ever see my Mum.

I hurried down the street, looking back over my shoulder for a mob of blokes in black suits trying to catch me. I got to the Moonee Ponds railway station just as the train came in, so I shot in and jumped aboard. Although I had been to town on the train with Mum, I had never bought a ticket in my life and didn't know how. I got off at Flinders Street station and a bloke asked me for my ticket. “Mum's got it,” I said and kept walking. It was late afternoon, half past three or thereabouts. The streets were crowded with people knocking off and going home from work—cars, trams,
buses, trucks,
noise
like I never heard before. It was so confusing. I was feeling lost and a bit frightened, and I walked around looking in shop windows till dark. I really didn't know what to do, but as luck had it, I found myself at Spencer Street station. I went into the station and bought an orange drink and a packet of sandwiches, tomato they were, and they had gone all soggy. I ate them because I was hungry, then sat and watched the people walk past. I noticed a fat bloke in a black suit who was eyeing me off, and I was convinced he was a spy from the Department. (I have no idea, to this day who he was.) He scared the hell out of me and shot me into instant action. A lady was going through the ticket barrier with a heap of kids, so I tacked on behind. Once on the platform the handiest place to hide was the train standing at the platform. We came to Melbourne from Swan Hill on the train, so this one would take me back again, I reasoned, so I jumped on to it like a drunk finding a bottle of whiskey.

Walking along the carriage looking for somewhere to sit, this real old lady (she must have been all of twenty-something) said, “You can sit here, love. Are you going to Sydney on your own?”
Sydney!
I thought. I'm goin' to Swan Hill. This Sydney must be on the way. So I told the lady “Yes,” and sat quietly. The train moved out and ran for a bit. Miss Twenty had nodded off, and the guard came through, “Tickets, all tickets please.” I told him Mum had mine up front and he was happy. He gave Miss Twenty a shake, and she gave him her ticket, and he moved off happy. I never got asked again. It was a good trip, but I started to miss Mum real bad. I was feeling sad and a bit down in the mouth. Miss Twenty, who said to call her Nancy, had a big basket full of tucker and a tube full of hot tea (she said it was a flask). She fed me and looked after me a treat, but kept asking questions I couldn't understand. When she asked me why I was going to Sydney, I told her I was going to see Uncle Fred and Auntie Nellie who would take me to see my Nana Rose.
They were no relation really, but Wemba Wemba people, and probably my Mum's oldest friends. But Lady Twenty was happy and she said to call her Nancy again. She told me about her boyfriend Peter (the pig), who had been telling her lies (lying pig) and reckoned he wanted to marry her (lying pig), but he was already married and had been telling her big porkies all the time (big lying pig). She was a pretty girl, long black hair and blue eyes, so I think he's also a silly pig.

We got to Seymore and a big mob of soldiers got on, and as I had never been close to many drunk blokes before, I thought they were all mad. One was a loudmouth who fancied himself quite a bit. He tried to chat up Nancy who didn't want a bar of him. He told me to shift, but she told me not to, then he got real nasty and started calling her names and yelling at her. Another Army bloke came and asked Nancy was this Herbert bothering her. She said yes, and this bloke went
wallop!
and knocked the Herbert rotten, then carted him away. Well, that scared the crap out of me and I headed for Nancy's lap. She met me halfway, and soon as she opened her arms I was there. I must have fallen asleep, because when I woke Nancy said, “Come on, let's go for a cuppa.” We were at Cootamundra, I think. We got a cup of tea and some sandwiches and got back on the train. I was thinkin', this Sydney's a long way.

I asked Nancy, “Are we nearly there yet?”

She smiled. “We're about three-quarters of the way but we won't be there until breakfast.” So I snuggled up and went back to sleep.

I woke with Nancy shaking my shoulder. “Wake up, Ed, we're nearly there. About another five minutes.”

I sat up and combed my hair with my fingers and looked out the window. I'm not sure what I expected to see, but the sight of all the big buildings crowded around made me wonder if we had left Melbourne. To me it looked the same.

“Is this Sydney?” I asked Nancy.

“Yes, Why?” she answered.

“It doesn't look any different to Melbourne.”

The train pulled in and I gathered up my little port, and we walked down the platform to the lobby. Nancy asked, “Are you being met?” I didn't know what to say, so I said yes, but I had to wait. So she gave me a great big hug, and wrote her phone number and address on a bit of paper for me, and told me to come and see her any time, made me promise. What a nice lady. I waited awhile in the lobby, then picked up my port and walked out of the station, straight into chaos.