Indigenous Elders Share Stories of Survival and ResistanceTITLE Victorian Aboriginal Elders Fight to Preserve Culture and Heritage

The Indigenous Elders of this land have lived through an extraordinary
range of experiences. Since colonisation, they have struggled with strength
and determination to ensure the survival of their people, land and culture.
They have fought against racism and made Australia a fairer place for
everyone.
ABORIGINAL ELDERS’ VOICES: STORIES OF THE ‘TIDE OF HISTORY’ is a
collection of Victorian Indigenous Elders’life stories and oral histories. The
Elders share their stories in an attempt to ensure that both sides of
Australia’s history are finally heard. These stories tell of cultural resistance
on missions, of defying assimilation laws, of forever moving around to save
children from the welfare. They document the development of both fringe
and urban communities and work in the Aboriginal rights movement. They
clarify the ways in which these experiences have affected the individual
authors along with the Indigenous population in general.
Also included in the book is a brief history and analysis of the legislation,
policies, attitudes and strategies that have affected the lives of the authors
and their families since colonisation. This aspect provides an historical
perspective, encouraging a deeper understanding of the Elders’stories.
Reconciliation can only eventuate with an understanding gained from
hearing and including the voices of Indigenous Australians. The time has
come to listen...

Aboriginal Elders’
Voices:
Stories of the
“Tide of History”
Victorian Indigenous Elders’
life stories & oral histories
The Aboriginal Community Elders Service (ACES)
& Kate Harvey
ACES — Aboriginal Community Elders Service
Language Australia Ltd.

Aboriginal Elders’ Voices: Stories of the “Tide of History”
VICTORIAN INDIGENOUS ELDERS’ LIFE STORIES & ORAL HISTORIES
Aboriginal Community Elders Service, ACES 2003
The National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Harvey, Kate, 1955- .
Aboriginal elders’ voices: stories of the “Tide of History”:
Victorian Indigenous Elders’ life stories & oral histories.
Bibliography.
ISBN 0 731126 78 5.
1. Aborigines, Australian. 2. Aborigines, Australian - Legal status, laws, etc. 3. Aborigines, Australian
- Land tenure. 4. Australia - Race relations. I. Language Australia. II. Aboriginal Community Elders
Service. III. Title.
305.89915
Project Writer: Kate Harvey
Aboriginal Elders
Reference Group: Fay Carter, Manager, Aboriginal Community Elders Service (ACES)
Reg Blow, Aboriginal Community Elders Service (ACES)
Artwork: Elders
Photography: Maree Clarke
Editing and
Desktop publishing: Language Australia Ltd
Cover Design Gabrielle Markus, Language Australia Ltd
Cover Photo Stephanie Tout, Language Australia Ltd
Published for the Aboriginal Community Elders Service, Melbourne by Language Australia Ltd
©2003 Copyright on this document as a whole is owned by Aboriginal Community Elders Service
(ACES). No parts may be reproduced by any process except with the express written permission of the
manager, ACES or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act.
©2002 Artwork: ACES Elders
©2002 Photography: Maree Clarke.
Copyright on the individual stories is owned by the authors/story tellers:
Olive Jackson Growing Up Running from the Welfare
Lola James Respecting our Elders
Les Stewart If Your Mother didn’t Tell You, Then Your Grandmother Did!
Audrey Critch Don’t Dwell on Trouble
Gwen Nelson These are My People
Iris Lovett-Gardiner We were All Cousins, More or Less
Dianne Phillips Aboriginality is about Culture, not Colour
Frances Gallagher Take Up the Opportunities We Struggled to Make
Eileen Alberts Home
Gwen Garoni We Were Supposed To Forget Our Aboriginality
Brian Kennewell-Taylor Not Enough Heart to Say Sorry?
Portrait photograph of Iris Lovett-Gardiner courtesy of the Koorie Heritage Trust Inc.
Newspaper photograph of Iris Lovett-Gardiner by Heath Missen — courtesy of The Age.
Photograph of Kate Harvey courtesy of Richard Walker.
Photograph of Lola James courtesy of Pete Smith and ATSIC.
Requests and enquiries concerning reproduction should be addressed to:
ACES
5 Parkview Ave
East Brunswick, 3057
Funded with assistance from the Adult, Community and Further Education Board and the Northern
Metropolitan Council of Adult, Community and Further Education.

iii
Contents
A note about ACES, the title and the cover vi
The writing team 1
Aunty Fay Carter, Uncle Reg Blow and
Kate Harvey
Indigenous Elders: keepers of knowledge; 7
custodians of land and culture
Aboriginal lands 11
Maps of land boundaries
Missions and reserves 13
Elders’ stories
Growing up running from the welfare 17
Aunty Olive Jackson
Respecting our Elders 37
Aunty Lola James
If your Mother didn’t tell you, then your
Grandmother did! 51
Uncle Les Stewart
Don’t dwell on trouble 67
Aunty Audrey Critch
These are my people 77
Aunty Gwen Nelson

iv
We were all cousins, more or less 87
Aunty Iris Lovett-Gardiner
Aboriginality is about culture, not colour 93
Aunty Dianne Phillips
Take up the opportunities we struggled 107
to make
Aunty Frances Gallagher
Home 115
Aunty Eileen Alberts
We were supposed to forget 125
our Aboriginality
Aunty Gwen Garoni
Not enough heart to say sorry? 137
Uncle Brian Kennewell-Taylor

v
Contents
Learning from Indigenous Elders
Keeping the traditions — keeping the 157
culture strong
Since time immemorial 163
Invasion: the tide ran red 167
The flood of legislation 177
Stolen children 191
Cultural resistance: holding on to children, 199
traditions and land
Organised resistance: a movement is born 207
The 1950s: community resistance to 219
race laws
The price of assimilation 223
The Aboriginal rights movement 229
After the flood: self-determination 235
Turning the tide 245
Bibliography 251
Appendix: Cultural custodianship: 255
developing an Indigenous methodology

vi
A note about ACES, the title and the cover
In 1998 and again in 2002, land justice was denied to the
Yorta Yorta people on the grounds that their rights had
been washed away by the "tide of history". The
Aboriginal Elders' stories in this collection tell of standing
against the "tide of history" and the flood of legislation.
They are stories of survival, of living culture and ongoing
connection to land.
The image on the cover was painted by the Elders in this
book in a community arts project with Aboriginal artist
Sharon Hodgson-Riley. The hands are their hands, the
turtle, lizard and eagle are their totems, and the colours
represent their land.
The Aboriginal Community Elders Service (ACES) is located
in a bushland setting on the banks of Merri Creek in East
Brunswick. It provides a range of services to Aboriginal
Elders, including day care, hostel accommodation, a
nursing home and a cultural centre. Aboriginal values
and respect for Elders are the guiding principles.
Aboriginal Elders' role as cultural custodians has always
been of central importance. This book was written as one
of the many ways that today's Elders continue their role
of passing on knowledge to the next generation, now also
sharing that with the wider community in the spirit of
reconciliation.

1
The writing team
Aunty Fay Carter is an Elder of the Yorta Yorta and Dja
Dja Wurrung people. Following in the footsteps of her
Elders, she has been involved in the struggle for rights for
her people over the past 30 years. She has held a variety
of positions in both government departments and
Aboriginal community organisations, always with a
commitment to self-determination.
Aunty Fay has been involved with ACES from its beginning
and worked as manager for the past ten years. She sees
these years as very rewarding, allowing her to give
something back to the Elders who paved the way through
their struggle before her. She sees the Elders' leadership
role as one of Aboriginal society's greatest assets and is
keen to see that role strengthened today. She has guided
this book through all stages from the outset.

2
Uncle Reg Blow is from the Tribelang Bunda
people of Queensland. Over the past 30 years,
he has worked in many ways for the Victorian
Aboriginal community and is recognised as an
Elder. Since the early years in the development
of Aboriginal organisations, he has worked in
both paid and unpaid roles and been
instrumental in establishing a variety of
innovative programs. His life work has ranged
from Aboriginal run organisations such as the
Aborigines Advancement League to senior local,
state and commonwealth government positions.
As co-ordinator of Day Care at ACES, he
directed all aspects of this book. In particular,
he saw an understanding of government
legislation as essential background to the
Elders' life stories, and envisaged that this book
would enable Aboriginal Elders' knowledge to
be available as an education resource to all
people.

The writing team
3
Kate Harvey is a non-Aboriginal woman who
has been involved with the Victorian
Aboriginal community for many years. She
has worked in various Aboriginal run
programs, including the development of the
Koorie Women's Studies course at the Institute
of Koorie Education at Deakin University. She
has been at ACES for a number of years
working with Elders as they record their oral
histories and Aboriginal knowledge. The
process of writing this book with the Elders is
outlined in the appendix. As the Mother of
an adult Yorta Yorta Wiradjuri daughter, Kate
sees Aboriginal cultural values as vital to the
future of all Australians.

5
"To truly turn the tide,
some land must be returned."
Aunty Fay Carter, Yorta Yorta Elder,
Aboriginal Community Elders Service.

7
Indigenous Elders:
keepers of knowledge; custodians of
land and culture
Since the British invasion, the Indigenous Elders of this
land have lived through an extraordinary range of
experiences. They have faced situations that most
Australians are unaware of. They have wisdom that comes
both from knowledge passed down from their Elders and
from the many hardships they have survived. Today’s
Indigenous Elders are the living link to the knowledge of
their Elders. Stories, values and knowledge imparted to
them as children provide access to over 100 years of
knowledge and history.
Since colonisation they have struggled to ensure the
survival of their people and culture. Indigenous people
today know that their very existence is due to the
strength and determination of their Elders.
Today’s Elders are the survivors of two centuries of
cultural and racial domination. Through all the hardship,
traditions of resilience and courage were established and,
despite detention on missions, removal of children,
banning of Aboriginal languages and spirituality, enforced
Christianisation and European education, south-eastern
Indigenous people still maintain their culture and identity
— and a sense of humour!
Indigenous Elders still continue the traditions of their
foremothers and forefathers in south-eastern Australia

8
today. They are the heads of large extended families and
kinship networks and central figures in Indigenous
communities. They hold the family histories that define
each individual’s identity and the land to which they
belong. As always in Aboriginal culture, Elders are loved
and respected.
Improvements in Indigenous people’s lives are due to the
struggle and work of today’s Indigenous Elders. They are
the ones who fought long and hard to abolish the
Aborigines Protection Board and the Aborigines Welfare
Board. They worked for the 1967 referendum, which
finally gave Indigenous people citizenship rights. They
worked at the Aborigines Advancement League and
established organisations such as Aboriginal Legal Services
and Aboriginal Health Services. They changed laws and
paved the way for further social change. They not only
had immeasurable effect on Indigenous communities
across the land, they also fought against racism generally
and made Australia a fairer place for everyone. All this is
owed to the Elders’ determination to care for their people,
land and culture.
This book is a collection of the stories of Indigenous
Elders from south-eastern Australia, mainly Victoria.
Their stories tell of cultural resistance on missions, of
defying assimilation laws, of forever moving around to
avoid the welfare stealing the children. They tell of the
development of both fringe and urban communities and
work in the Aboriginal rights movement. They tell the
history of race relations, a story long suppressed but now
coming into view.
The Elders tell their stories so all Australian people can
gain greater understanding of the history of this country,

Indigenous Elders
9
a history that has been hidden from most non-Indigenous
Australians. But the book is not only a collection of life
stories. It also provides a brief outline of the legislation
and policies that have affected the lives of the authors
and their families since colonisation. The inclusion of
both personal and historical perspectives provide readers
with insights into our past, a history that has often been
hidden from view.
This book, written at a time when the Australian Prime
Minister, John Howard, continues to refuse to apologise to
the Indigenous population for the way they have been
treated by white governments since the British invasion,
is also an attempt to ensure both sides of Australia’s
history are finally heard.
Reconciliation can only come through understanding
gained from hearing Indigenous voices. The time has
come to listen, with open hearts and minds.

11
NGINTAIT
NGARKAT
WOTJOBALUK
MARDITJALI
JAADWA JAARA
WURUNDJERI
TATUNGALUNG
TAUNGURONG
NGURELBAN
KWATKWAT
JEITHI
WIRADJURI
PANGERANG
MINJAMBUTA
BUNURONG
BRATAUOLUNG
BUNGANDITJ
JUPAGALK
KURUNG
GUNDITJMARA
KIRRAE
Mildura
Horsham Bendigo
Echucha
Cummeragunja
Albury
Lake Tyers
Orbost
Shepparton
Ballarat
Coranderrk
Melbourne
Swan Hill
Hamilton
Lake Condah
Framlingham
LATJILATJI
TATITATIWATIWATI
KOLAKNGAT
KATUBANUT
W
EMBAW
EMBA
BARAPARAPA
YO
RTA
YO
RTA
DUDUROA
DJILAMATANG
NGARIGO
BIDAWAL
BRABIRALUNG
BRAIAKAULUNG
KRAUATUNGALUNG
JAITMATHANG
JARIJARI
WARKAWARKA
Aboriginal lands
Map of Victoria and some NSW Indigenous nations.

13
Cummeragunja
1889–1953 (Stn)
188313present (Res)
Lake Tyers
1861–present
Wallaga Lake
1891–present
Town
Station
Reserve
Coranderrk
1863–1924
Acheron
1863–1924
Ramahyuck
1862–1902
MELBOURNE
BARRABOOL
GEELONG
FRANKLINFORD
PORT ALBERT
GIPPSLAND
MONARO
WIMMERA
WESTERN DISTRICT
RIVERINA
BACCHUS
MARSH
COLAC
Lake
Condah
1867–1918
(Stn)
1861–1951
(Res)
Framlingham
1865–1890
(Stn)
1861–present
(Res)
Moonahcullah
1910–1852 (Stn)
1898–1962 (Res)
Maloga
1874–1888
Ebenezer
1858–1904
Warangesda
1880–1926
Darlington Pt
c. 1938–present
Balranald
1892–1966
Wahgunyah
1891–1937
V i c t o r i a
N e w S o u t h W a l e sM
URRAY
RIVER
GOULBURN RIVER
LODDONRIVER
Missions and reserves
Locations of Victorian and some NSW
missions and reserves.

Story1
17
OLIVE JACKSON
Yorta Yorta Wiradjuri
Growing up running from the welfare
I was born on my Grandfather’s land, the land of the
Wiradjuri people at Griffith in NSW in 1930. My Father
was Jim Smith and my Mother was Muriel Charles, a Yorta
Yorta woman born at Cummeragunja. I have a sister,
Blanch, and a brother, Artie Charles, born to my Mother.
I’m known as Aunty Ollie.
When I was a baby, we lived at the
Sandhills at Narrandera, a big Koorie
camp on the Murrumbidgee River. We
also lived near Griffith at Three Ways,
a Koorie camp with houses made from
hessian bags for walls and tarpaulins
for the roof. I was very young there,
so it’s hard to remember, but we lived
with all my Grandmother’s people —
Aunties and Uncles, the Coombes, the
Lyons, all the Wiradjuri people there.
But when I was only twelve months old my Mother died,
so I never knew her. Over the years I searched and
searched for a photo of her, and I finally tracked an old
one down. This is all I have of her and it’s very precious
to me.
Four generations: (left to
right) Aunty Ollie's Great
Great Grandmother Louisa
Briggs, Great Grandmother
Elizabeth Briggs, Grandfather
Henry Charles, and her
Mother, Muriel Charles holding
Blanch Charles.

18
Living with Gran on the move
After Mum died, well Dad ran around wild — you know,
he really couldn’t cope for a while. So his Mother, Kitty
Smith (nee Lyons), took me and Artie. She was known as
Granny Smith.
Us kids were in big danger of being stolen by the welfare
when Mum died. The government was really stealing a lot
of Koorie kids in those days — no one was safe from the
kidnapping. With us, they had the excuse that we didn’t
have a Mother and so Gran was very worried. Word had
got around on the Koorie grapevine that the welfare were
watching us. So Gran left her husband, Jim Smith, and
took to travelling around as a way to keep us safe from
being kidnapped. We had our cousin Jim Boy with us and
we lived on the move, never staying anywhere long,
always moving on before the welfare caught up to us.
Lots of Koories lived like that back then as a way to try
to keep their kids from being stolen. It just wasn’t safe
for us to have a settled home. We travelled to wherever
Gran could find work, and when she’d saved enough we’d
move on again. She’d get work as a cook for shearers or
doing domestic work in hotels. Hotel jobs were good
because she could bring us the left-over food.
We had a horse and cart and we camped out, sleeping in a
tent and cooking outside over a fire. We’d make damper,
and Jim Boy would shoot rabbits and kangaroos. We’d
trap possums by putting flour up the bark of a tree trunk
and the possum would come along, licking the flour up.
We’d hide rabbit traps in the dirt at the bottom of the
tree, and in the morning we’d have two or three big fat
possums. Possum has a strong eucalyptus taste.
Sometimes we’d just cook it under the ashes, and
sometimes steam it by wrapping it in wet brown paper

23
Growing Up Running from the Welfare – OLIVE JACKSON
Story1
Uncle Eddie Atkinson,
captain of the
Cummeragunja football
team, who became a pastor
and community leader.
there was fun there, there was excitement there. And
there was Sunday school — I loved Sunday school.
Uncle Eddie Atkinson was our minister. He was my Grand
Uncle, the brother of my maternal Grandmother, Charlotte
Atkinson. Oh, I used to stand at that church door and
listen to him giving sermons. He’d have us all up
clapping and “Lord” this and “Lord” that. And I’d hang
around the church door when they had funerals. I was
curious, and I wanted to meet people and see what this
church was all about. It was real good times. It was a
good place and I was picking up with all my people on my
Mother’s side of the family. You could see why Gran
brought me back to Cummeragunja — she was a wise old
woman.
One night when the Elders were sitting talking around the
fire outside, telling old Dreamtime stories and all these
things, I went away on my own in the bush. My life must
have been changing, I was going through a lot. I found
like a ring-a-rosie, a circle of young gum saplings, and I
laid in the centre of it. Cummeragunja, that was where
my family was from, that was my home. I looked up at
the sky and I said:
My land, my land.
This is mine, this is mine.
This is my ground. This is my place.
This is my country.
They can’t take this away!
This was my ground on Cummeragunja! Marking my own
circle of land, it was like a homecoming for me ... a
homecoming it was. Oh, it’s good to talk about old times!
When I got up in the morning, that little part I’d marked

30
The Flats. We were married there and we couldn’t afford
to have a honeymoon, so we just went to stay at Granny
Smith’s place. Well, they stayed up all night singing and
kept us awake!
Looking out for the Doolagah
Violet Harrison, my Mother-in-law, was one of the Elders
who kept up the old Koorie beliefs and she had great
influence over my kids. She was strict about the kids
being home by dark, and if they wouldn’t stop their
playing and get inside she’d sing out “There’s a doolagah
behind you! He’s got a sugar bag on his back, just ready
to pop you in it. Come on, get inside!” The kids would
be really frightened and do as they were told real quick.
It rubbed off on all my kids — they were all frightened!
Nanna Harrison and other Koories have seen the hairy
legs of a doolagah in her house in Shepparton. They just
saw the legs. They say you can still hear him walking
around that house today. They’ve got used to him over
the years.
Living in the white man’s world
After a while Eric and I moved to Healesville where his
brother Roy was working at the sawmill. Well, that was a
move that would either make us or break us — having to
live in the white man’s world! There were Koories living
scattered around there, people who had been at
Coranderrk Aboriginal Station before they closed it, but
mostly we were living amongst Gubbahs — and it was
really hard.
I had always lived in Koorie communities before and now
we had moved into town. My husband was working hard
in the sawmill and I kept on having baby upon baby. Oh

33
Story1
Working at the Aborigines Advancement League
My husband was a sawyer at the timber mill in Healesville.
That was the top job — you’ve got to be good to do that.
But he injured his back badly and couldn’t work anymore,
so he ended up on a pension. Some time later he was
killed in a car accident, and I was left alone with nine
children who were all still young and at school. That was
a very hard time. Eric had been a good husband. He’d
taken care of all the bills and lots of the worries, and now
I had to do it all alone. My Father passed away at that
time too, so I was really battling.
The Aborigines Advancement League used to make part-
time work available for Koories who needed a hand, and
so I got a job working on their newsletter, Smoke Signals.
I’d get up early and get all the kids off to school and then
get the train down to the League in Northcote. I ran into
Aunty Marge Tucker and Aunty Geraldine Briggs there and
heard all the stories they told, all about the campaigns
they fought. Working at the League was a great support
for me at that time of need. I was back with my own
people.
I don’t want to carry bitterness
Looking back on my life, I’ve lived a lot of different ways
and battled through hardships that many white people
wouldn’t even know about. I always struggled to do the
best I could for my children. I made sure they didn’t go
through what I did — I wanted it to be better, easier for
them.
They are all grown now and I’m really proud of their
various achievements. I have twenty-eight grandchildren

34
and eight great grandchildren and we all get together
often. We are a close family and so I don’t know if I’ll
ever get back to Cummera because the family all lives
around Melbourne. I wouldn’t want to be too far away,
and anyway, they wouldn’t let me either.
As I look back over the years, the one thing I always
think is that I don’t want to carry bitterness or hatred. If
that happens, then how the hell will we go on? When
times were really hard and I wondered how I could go on,
I’d think
“We shall overcome … we’ll see the answers to
all these things one day.”
All my life I’ve struggled with all the things that
happened to us, and now as I get older I’m finally able to
accept it more. A lot of good changes are happening.
Reconciliation has to happen, somehow, someway. Of
course, the Prime Minister refusing to say sorry doesn’t
help.
The greatest mistake the government ever made was
trying to take our culture away, herding us around like
cattle and taking us from our land, trying to disconnect us
from the spirit of the land.
My Father could speak his Wiradjuri language and when I
was a child I often heard my Elders speaking Yorta Yorta.
Aunty Geraldine Briggs still speaks our Yorta Yorta
language, and her grand-daughter Aretha Briggs teaches it
at Worawa Aboriginal College in Healesville where my

35
Story1
grandson Chris Harrison studied. He’s a beautiful dancer.
When the boys danced for us Elders and he spoke of the
meaning of the dance, I felt so proud!
I’m thrilled now to see our culture growing stronger and
stronger.
the end

37
Story2
LOLA JAMES
Yorta Yorta
Respecting our Elders
In my story I want to talk about the importance of Elders
like my Grandfather, Shadrach James. Grandfather
Shadrach was well known amongst our people and a great
inspiration to me.
Great Grandfather Thomas James
My Great Grandfather was Thomas James. He was a
Mauritian of Indian descent who spoke Tamil, French and
a number of other languages. At the age of twelve, he
stowed away on a ship leaving Mauritius and travelled to
Australia and later somehow put himself through medical
school. In 1881 he was approached by Daniel Matthews,
who had set up the Maloga Mission on the Murray River
near Echuca a few years earlier. The mission was
struggling to survive due to lack of funds and government
co-operation, so Matthews had brought a group of Yorta
Yorta people to Melbourne to tell of their plight and try
to raise money. My Great Grandfather offered his services
free of charge — school teacher, minister, doctor, dentist
— and they say he was also accomplished in music and
art. He went to Maloga, took charge of the school and
began his long and close connection with the Yorta Yorta
people.
Thomas married one of his former students, Ada Cooper,
and this meant he was accepted by everyone. The Yorta

38
Yorta said “Now he’s ours, now he’s ours.” The children of
Thomas and Ada were Shadrach, my Grandfather, and
Rebecca, Miriam, Louise, Priscilla, Carey, Garfield and Ivy.
Grandma Ada was the daughter of Kitty Cooper, a well
known matriarch of the Yorta Yorta at the time of the
invasion. Many people today are the descendants of Kitty.
Both Kitty and her daughter Ada were well known
midwives, and had a lot of traditional women’s knowledge
and skills in Koorie medicine. Grandma Ada delivered
many white as well as Koorie babies. There was a white
doctor who used to go to the mission, but he always
called Grandma Ada in to give him a hand. If he had a
white Mother to deliver that he was worried about, he’d
send a rider to the mission to give Grandma Ada a horse
to come and help.
I wish I’d known my Great
Grandparents and been able to learn
from them. They had many skills
that would have been invaluable in
the early mission days when
malnutrition and lack of health care
meant our people were really
suffering, with very high mortality
rates. Grandma Ada died long before
Grandpa Thomas, and Grandpa
Thomas died in 1942 at the age of
94, the year after I was born.
Thomas James taught a generation of
human rights campaigners at
Cummeragunja: Sir Doug Nicholls,
who became the Governor of SA, and Marge Tucker MBE,
another famous Yorta Yorta worker. Aunty Marge Tucker
told me she remembered when some of the young girls

39
Respecting our Elders – LOLA JAMES
Story2
were stolen from the school at Cummeragunja, and how
my Great Grandfather argued with the welfare out in the
school yard while he told all the girls to run. There is
more about Thomas James and Cummeragunja in Living
Aboriginal History of Victoria by Uncle Alick Jackomos2,
and I’d recommend that book to anyone interested in
reading about Koorie issues from the point of view of the
people themselves. Lousy Little Sixpence3, a Koorie made
film with Aunty Marge Tucker and Aunty Geraldine Briggs,
tells the story of our struggle back then. Thomas James
was the brother-in-law of William Cooper, the founder of
the Australian Aborigines League, and Thomas’s son
Shadrach James worked with Doug Nicholls and Marge
Tucker on many campaigns.
Knowing Koorie family history
The old Koorie tradition of knowing extended genealogies
is still going. Koorie women held this knowledge of kin
before the invasion, and keeping it up since then is very
important to our identity as Indigenous people. I keep up
the tradition of teaching family history, and my children
will do the same with their children. It’s necessary to
help stolen children find their relations when they return
to our communities. It’s also important so that we know
which land we belong to and have to care for, which land
we can finally claim native title to.
Whilst I’m talking about native title, as a Yorta Yorta
woman, I have to say I am furious that in 1998 we were
still told we have no culture or connection to our land!
Washed away by the “tide of history” — that’s what that
Family portrait: Uncle
Thomas James (left),
Aunty Ada James
(seated right), Aunty
Miriam Morgan nee
James (top left),
Uncle Theo Morgan
(top right), Uncle
Trevor Morgan
(centre).
2 D Fowell and A Jackomos, Living Aboriginal History of Victoria: Stories in the
Oral Tradition, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK; Melbourne,1991.
3 Lousy Little Sixpence, film, Sixpence Productions with assistance from the
Australian Film Commission, Chippendale, NSW, 1983. Directed by Alec Morgan.

50
Koorie Elders
I feel the Elders can teach the young ones a hell of a lot,
and respect is one thing that needs to be taught. I’d like
to see the Elders programs at ACES linked to programs at
ACCA. The Elders could guide the young ones, help them
with their families — teach them the ways and beliefs
that got them through life. Elders know how to hold a
family together, how to maintain Koorie cultural values.
They know how to guide their extended family and other
community members. All those young Koories who didn’t
have a Mother or a Grandmother because they were taken
away, they could get a bit of that input from an Elder.
The Grandmothers could be the Grandmothers of all the
kids, just like in the old days. Grandmothers are very
important in Koorie culture.
The most important thing is respect. If you want respect,
you’ve got to give it out. We need to bring that respect
back to the young ones coming up now. Respect was the
thing that made Koorie culture strong and fair. The most
important thing we were taught was Respect your Elders.
the end

51
Story3
LES STEWART
If your Mother didn’t tell you, then your
Grandmother did!
There’s so many things that I’ve done in me life, I just
can’t remember it all. I’m 89 now — that’s a lot of livin’!
Now I got too many stories to remember! Well, I’ll tell
you a few yarns, ay.
When I was a little fella we lived at the La Perouse
Mission in Sydney. This is what me Mother and me
Grandmother told me. “You was born in Sydney, Son, and
your Mother wasn’t allowed to take you home for three
months.” She couldn’t handle me, she couldn’t wash me
or do anything with me. I must’ve been born premature
and it was three months before they got me home. They
had me wrapped up inside cotton wool and carried me
around in an old size 8 shoe box.
All those Uncles and Aunts
I don’t remember seeing me Father. He went to the First
World War and he never returned back. Then me Mother,
Edith Pitman, got married to a Stewart and so they called
me Les Stewart. My Grandmother was Margaret Campbell
and she’d married a Pitman and had eight or nine kids.
All those Pitmans was my Uncles and Aunts. Oh, I
remember all them — it was hard! They was very strict
with us — you wouldn’t be game to swear or anything.
We didn’t even know how to be cheeky. The first thing

58
Plenty of learnin’, plenty of yarns
I got no education but I done
plenty of learnin’. I got plenty of
knowledge, don’t you worry, ay.
Oh God, I’ve got that many stories
that I just can’t remember them
all! Well, I’ll see if I can
remember a few yarns.
Well, you see, Blackfellas are very
windy people, ay — full of scary
stories. Some of these stories are
to keep the kids safe. See, we
wouldn’t so much use discipline
to keep them in line. No, we’d
tell them what to look out for
instead, and that usually did the
job real well. Koorie kids knew
all the stories about spirits and
ghosts and all that. If your
Mother didn’t tell you when you
was goin’ to sleep, then your
Grandmother did. The kids wouldn’t forget the rules then
— they’d be too bloody scared!
A spirit looks after you, sees if you’re all right, that’s
what I believe. Don’t be frightened of spirits — they
won’t hurt you. But I don’t think we can touch them.
Well, I never tried it! (laughing) But if you try to touch
them, there’s nothing there. It’s a funny feelin’ all right!
But see, we don’t really know what a spirit is, do we? We
only hear about spirits, ay. We hear about spirits, but
who’s seen a spirit? Well, I can say I’ve seen a spirit —
my wife’s spirit.

65
If your Mother didn’t tell you, then your Grandmother did! – LES STEWART
Story3
just lookin’ away from the foot of the bed and then she
went out the door. I knew straight away “That’s me
missus!” It’s a funny feeling, ay!
Three times she come back over the years, but I’ve never
seen her since. She’s been dead about ten years now.
That’s what makes me believe in spirits — that was my
wife’s spirit.
Koorie people see things all right!
the end

67
Story4
AUDREY CRITCH
Kurnai Wotjoballuk
Don’t dwell on trouble
My Mother was Alice Pepper and I think she
grew up at Lake Tyers Mission in East Gippsland.
She married Bill Atkins and we lived at the
mission when I was little. I had an older sister
Pat and a younger brother John. Then when I
was about three my parents split up and my
Father, who was white, brought us to Melbourne
to live with his elderly parents in Little Hanover
Street, Fitzroy. When I was about eight, John
and I were put in the Melbourne Orphanage at
Middle Brighton until we were sixteen and old
enough to go to work.
Finding my Mother
During my childhood I didn’t realise I was Koorie, as our
Father and Grandparents never told us. I suppose we’d
been taken from our Mother too young to realise. I had
no memories of my Mother. We actually grew up thinking
we didn’t have a Mother. We never seen any Koories
around Fitzroy as kids, maybe because the Grandparents
kept us away from them — I don’t know. They were
English and looking back now, I wonder whether we were
deliberately kept away from our culture and people. In
some ways, it was the same as being taken away by the
welfare.
Away from their culture and
people: Aunty Audrey, John
and Pat with Nan and
Pop Atkins.

68
After we left the
orphanage we were
able to find Mum,
but I can’t
remember how. It
turned out she was
living in Fitzroy too.
We discovered we
had younger
brothers and sisters,
Percy, Betty, Vincent
and Val. We met all
the Aunts and Uncles and cousins — all the Pepper family
from Lake Tyers mission.
There were Mum’s sisters, Aunty Dora Green, Aunty Gwen
Hudson and Aunty Lena Fitzclarence. There was Aunty
Allie Connelly and her daughter Alice Young, my cousin.
Aunty Maude Pepper was married to Mum’s brother Sam. I
met Uncle Phillip Pepper, Mum’s brother and his kids,
Eileen and Jumbo, who live in Gippsland still. Uncle
Phillip Pepper became an author in his later life.
When we met all the relations we realised we were Koorie,
but I don’t remember that being any issue. I know it can
be a difficult time for Koories who’ve been taken away
from their people — it can be really confusing to come to
terms with a completely different identity. Often
institutions and foster homes drummed into kids’ heads
that Aboriginal people were inferior and that made them
feel ashamed to associate. Somehow all that didn’t seem
to affect me — it just didn’t worry me. I got on fine
with Mum. They say I am very much like her, both in
looks and personality. She could be a stubborn old devil,
same as I can be.

69
Don’t dwell on trouble – AUDREY CRITCH
A good feeling at The Flats on the riverbank
As a young woman, I went to live in Shepparton and
Mooroopna for a while and worked picking peas, beans,
tomatoes and fruit, and then came back to Fitzroy. After
I was married, we moved back to Mooroopna and lived on
the Goulburn River banks in a tin and bag hut at a Koorie
camp called The Flats. Gubbahs may have seen these
Koorie communities as eyesores, but I liked it there.
There was a good feeling, good friends and I got to know
a lot of people. Iris Lovett-Gardiner, Gloria Nelson, all the
Atkinsons and Fay Carter, Ollie Jackson, Aunty Cissy
McGuiness, Myrtle Muir — we were all there together back
then, and many of us are still together at ACES now.
We had to pull the water for cooking, washing and
bathing up from the river in a bucket on a pulley. I
cooked over an open fire and done the washing in a kero
tin and bath tub. In the winter when the river rose and
The Flats flooded, everyone had to move over the highway
to another Koorie camp at Daish’s Paddock until the water
went down. Then we would all move back again. That
was the hardest time living there. There was mud
everywhere then and you’d just have to clean up. The
huts were cold in winter but the newspaper lining we put
on the inside walls made them warmer. We’d keep a fire
going and I bathed my children in a tub in front of the
fire in winter.
Just keep going
We came back to Melbourne after about three years and
lived in Fitzroy with Mum until we got a house in
Broadmeadows. I had six children, some named after my
brothers and sisters, and now I have fourteen
grandchildren and ten great grandchildren. I lost my
husband when my youngest daughter was twelve years
Aunty Audrey (right),
with her sister, Pat
and brother, Percy.
Aunty Audrey with her
first two children in
Fitzroy.
Story4

74
Aunty Alice was the NAIDOC Elder of the Year in 1999,
the United Nations Year of Older Persons, when Aboriginal
people chose “Respect Our Elders” as our theme.
I’m still learning about my culture and all the things that
happened to my people since our land was taken over.
There’s so much to learn — so much that was kept from
us. I always made sure that my kids understood their
Aboriginality, that it wasn’t denied to them as it was to
me as a child, and it’s the same with all the grandkids.
We’ve got a lot to be proud of.

75
Don’t dwell on trouble – AUDREY CRITCH
Because she is my Mother
There is this lady I know
who is not a model
and not a heavy weight wrestler
but she is somewhere in between.
This lady I will call Audrey
is a geriatric
past her prime
but not ready for the boiler yet.
This lady Audrey
can be happy one minute
and the next a sook.
Upset her and she won’t talk.
This lady Audrey
loves her cigarettes and beer
even though she isn’t to do either.
And if this lady Audrey
likes you,
she’ll always help you.
So you see, this lady Audrey
is like the weather, changeable.
But I love this lady
because she is my Mother
of forty-one years.
Kelly, 1994.
the end
Story4

77
Story5
GWEN NELSON
These are my people
My name is Gwendoline Nelson, nee Wilkie and I was born
in 1922 in Adelaide. My Mother was Lilly Newton, an
Aboriginal woman born at Strathalbyn and my Father was
George Wilkie, a white man born in Scotland.
Mum was a nurse in a hospital in Adelaide when she met
Dad. He’d been in the First World War and was all
smashed up — his arms were broken, he’d had a terrible
time. They married and our family lived at Renmark, SA.
I had five brothers and sisters. There were twin boys,
George and Bob, two sisters, Jean and Loretta, and Carol,
a relation whose Mother had died so my Mother took her
in. I was the youngest.
Dad was a train driver and worked the line from
Melbourne to Adelaide. Tragedy hit our family when I was
five when Dad was killed in a train accident. My Mum was
left with us children to raise alone and she had to go out
and work to keep us for ten shillings a week. To help
out, us kids used to go out collecting eggs for two
shillings. We’d give my Mother two shillings, each of us,
to keep the place going and she’d give us some change.

78
I grew up moving around
Mum later married a white man called Jack. My Step-
father wasn’t a very nice type of fella — he always used
to get drunk. None of us children liked him — he used to
beat us all. Then one day when I got big enough I beat
him back. I broke his nose and arm, and he was walking
around like a sick cod fish!
We lived in the bush when my Mother married Jack,
moving around in a buggy and setting up camp where he
could get work. Jack had six children of his own, so now
Mum had twelve kids to raise. Jack did farm work:
milking cows, shearing and dipping sheep, stock work,
whatever was needed. We didn’t always have an income
and in between Mum would just have to manage the best
she could to keep the family going. She was a very
capable woman.
We moved every couple of months when Jack’s work ran
out. We travelled around in a horse and cart and lived in
tents. We had a wooden floor which we carried with us so
we’d have a dry floor if it rained. We slept on stretcher
camp beds and had an outside fire where my Mother
cooked in a camp oven and made damper and cooked
potatoes and apples in the coals. When we moved, we
couldn’t all fit in the buggy, so half of us kids would run
behind. Well, we’d run for miles. I was little and I’d get
tired, but the others would go right on — they loved it.
One time we went up to Moree in NSW to work on a farm.
We’d get up at four o’clock in the morning to look for
little baby lambs and bring the babies and Mothers in
because crows would pick out their eyes. We’d be up
before dawn every morning. I’ve done a lot of hard work.

85
These are my people – GWEN NELSON
Some people didn’t like us getting married because I am
Aboriginal and Gordon is white. They said it wouldn’t
work. They didn’t know what to do or say! But I’ve got a
mind of my own and I say what I think. They said we’d
only be married a few months, and that was 39 years ago.
These are my people
My husband and I are at a white home for the aged at the
moment, and over there they don’t like me because I’m an
Aborigine. I can feel it. I got sick of this so I up and I
told them straight. I can look back on my life and see all
the things that they wouldn’t see — the many
achievements of mine, all the different experiences I’ve
had. There are things they just wouldn’t understand, and
I’m getting too old to have to battle prejudice.
Now Gordon and I are moving to ACES and I’m very happy
to come here. These are my people.
Sadly, Aunty Gwen passed away not long after she
recorded her story. We made sure it went into the book
because that was what she wanted. She was very keen to
record her life and was the first to tell her story for the
project. Her husband, Gordon, and her dog have stayed at
ACES with the friends they made through Aunty Gwen.
the end
Story5

87
Story6
IRIS LOVETT-GARDINER, AM
Gundit-jmara
We were all cousins, more or less
In 1999 I got my Masters of Science
for work recording the history of my
birthplace, Lake Condah mission. I
also wrote Lady of the Lake: Aunty
Iris’s Story7 and made a video to go
with it. But my greatest achievement
was my work in establishing ACES, the
Aboriginal Community Elders Service.
Elders are highly respected in our
culture — they are the keepers of our
knowledge.
ACES was created for people to come
and spend the rest of their days in.
It’s a true caring place. As I always
say, you know those old ones, it’s a
part of their Dreamtime. The
Dreamtime is all through our lives,
and before and past our lives on
Mother Earth. The last part of life is
a particular Dreaming time. The Elders
at ACES, their faces are calm, their faces show their
Dreaming. They’re living in their Dreamtime. They can
7 I Lovett-Gardiner, Lady of the Lake: Aunty Iris’s Story, Koorie Heritage Trust,
Melbourne, 1997.
A newspaper clipping from
The Age showing Aunty Iris,
with Wendy Brabham, after
her graduation ceremony.

88
just sit and dream about what they have done, all the
journeys and all the stories … they can dream about life
and live in their own memories.
These are some of my childhood memories.
Springtime at Lake Condah
Spring time was a lovely time at the mission. All the
wildflowers came out in the bush, harbingers of spring,
greenhood orchids, chocolate flowers, egg and bacon,
early nancy … they were all there. Fresh green grass lent
a mantle of colour to our Mother Earth. At the mission
there were daffodils, jonquils, snowdrops and crocuses.
Down at the old orchard, the fruits trees were covered
with beautiful blossom and the bees humming around
made music. It was a joy to lay on the grass under the
trees and listen to the humming. A lovely spring day!
We used the fruit of the apple, pear and quince trees for
apple pie and quince dumplings, which we loved. There
was an abundance of blackberries too, so blackberry pie
was always welcome when Granny Tina Foster could afford
to make it. The church had a Harvest Festival and people
brought whatever they could afford to be blessed and
later sold. Fruit from the orchard was always brought to
the altar to be blessed, especially when we children
brought it.
The old swimming hole
Summertime was a great time for swimming in the Darlot
Creek that ran along the bottom of Lake Condah Mission.
As children, we were always looking for summer to come.
We knew hot days were always swimming days. Aunty
Jessie Taylor and Aunty Nora Nobby Lovett kept an eye on
us swimming and we were not to go near the river
without them.

91
We were all cousins, more or less – IRIS LOVETT GARDINER
Then cousins were taken away
The time of childhood
was great for us all.
Brothers and sisters and cousins,
playing, always playing,
all together on the mission.
Extended families
kept us together.
Then cousins were taken away.
By the welfare.
Put in institutions.
Our world collapsed.
We felt such pain.
Torn from loved ones.
We were just little children,
we couldn’t understand.
It was like death in the family.
So much pain,
so much grieving.
We thought we were safe
within the family.
All those Aunts and Uncles,
surely we were safe?
But that didn’t work
in the white man’s law.
Stolen children
didn’t come back.
Our childhoods passed
without them.
Story6

92
With only our grief for them.
And their grief for us.
Then nearly grown up,
still yearning,
they looked for family.
Happy reunions,
but we’d missed so much.
Missed growing up together,
missed a part of childhood.
These things bring memories
that last
forever.
the end

93
Story7
DIANNE PHILLIPS
Gundit-jmara
Aboriginality is about culture, not colour
My Mother was a Gundit-jmara woman from Lake Condah
Mission. Her name was Mary Phillips
(nee King) but she was always known as
Possie.
Mum had a tough childhood. There was
often not enough to eat and she had a
three mile walk to school with no shoes,
and it’s really cold down there. All the
Koorie families at the mission would
hunt for bush tucker to keep themselves
alive, ‘cause if you relied on the rations
they gave us, well you just starved. We
got kangaroo, rabbits, eels, whatever —
and we’d share it with the other families.
Koories always do that — we had to
stick together to survive back then, but
we’ve always shared because that’s one of
our traditions and we still do it today.
Eels are a favourite food. The Gundit-
jmara had all the fish traps around there before the
invasion when our people used to do fish farming. There
was a semi-permanent village with stone houses and
hundreds of people living there sometimes. Eels have a
real rich meat. They’re very oily, very greasy, so you
cover them with flour and fry them so the rich stuff
Sticking together:
Aunty Alice Lovett
and Aunty Dianne’s
Mother, Mary
Phillips (nee King).

104
green if you like, as long as you treat me right, I’ll treat
you right. I’ve often given Gubbahs a hand too — I’m not
prejudiced, it doesn’t matter to me what colour people
are. That’s my life philosophy.
What’s wrong with saying sorry?
I’ll like to see all this racism
and misunderstanding
cleared up in my lifetime,
but that won’t happen. It’ll
still be going on and on and
on … But there have been
enormous changes too,
improvements which Koories
have made themselves, when
we compare it to the times
when my Mother was a
hungry child.
My Mother, Mary Phillips,
was once chosen as NAIDOC9
Elder of the Year. She always
talked about our culture and
the importance of passing it
down. I’ve done that with
my daughter and she does it
with her daughters. This is
very important to keep Aboriginal culture alive. The
government tried to get rid of our culture and we’ve
turned that right around since the seventies. Native Title
is very important to keeping our culture and connection
to our land, but we have to consider others’ concerns in
9 NAIDOC — National Aboriginal and Islander Day Observance Committee.

105
Aboriginality is about culture, not colour – DIANNE PHILLIPS
that too. We aren’t asking for all our land back, just the
bits that are significant to us, like the missions and sacred
sites. On one hand, we can’t go around blaming people
for the past, but on the other hand, they have to
understand what we’ve been put through.
Time heals, and the Prime Minister should help us all get
over it by saying sorry. A lot of people, including white
people, will feel better then. I know a lot of Gubbahs do
support Koories and they want to hear that one word too.
Then it will be better on both sides. It’s important for
reconciliation — you can’t have reconciliation without
saying sorry for all the wrongs done.
the end
Elder of the Year:
Aunty Dianne’s
Mother, Mary King
with her NAIDOC
award.
Story7

107
Story8
FRANCES GALLAGHER
Gundit-jmara
Take up the opportunities we struggled to
make
My Mother was Ella Violet Winters but I
don’t know where she was born. You see,
she was stolen from her family and raised
by a white woman. As a child she didn’t
know who her people were or even that
she had brothers and sisters. Eventually
she found them but I don’t know how. As
a little child I didn’t know I was
Aboriginal. My Mother was still unsure of
her identity and so I didn’t understand
mine.
The Elders didn’t like the mission managers
We moved to Framlingham Mission near Warrnambool
when I was three and then I met all my Aboriginal
relations, including my Grandmother, Ella Winters. My
Mother didn’t stay at Framlingham and I lived with her
sister who raised me and her own eight children. My
Aunt was very strict and always kept a close eye on us. It
was school then home, and no wandering around allowed.
The Elders didn’t get on so well with the mission manager
because they didn’t like to be told what to do. Elders
hardly ever seemed to discuss cultural things in front of
us — the mission system had drummed that out of them.
Aunty Ella Violet Winters,
Aunty Frances’s Mother.

108
The women would weave
baskets but they didn’t
teach us. Unfortunately I
never heard the Elders speak
our language, thanks to the
mission system. The Elders
weren’t able to teach us
much about our culture at
all, and what I know now
I’ve learnt myself since.
When I was about sixteen I
moved to Hamilton where
my Mother lived and I
started work in the flax
mills. The flax grew around
Hamilton and I worked in
the paddocks doing what’s
called retting. After the
tractors had cut the flax, we had to lay it out to dry for
three weeks and then come along with a big stick and
turn it over for the other side to dry for another three
weeks. Then the tractors would bale it and take it to the
factory, where it’d be put through a machine and it’d
come out like fibre — like silk, beautiful. I also worked
in the factory on the machines, and I had another job in a
fish cafe.
It was like we had escaped from somewhere
You could feel the racism around towns back then. You
could always feel it, you always knew. I’d just walk away,
try to ignore it and get on with your life. You know
within yourself that you are born here; Australia is your
home and as an Indigenous person you have every right
to be here. You try to rise above the level of people who
make racist remarks.

111
Take up the opportunities we struggled to make – FRANCES GALLAGHER
teenagers. That’s named after Aunty Marge Tucker who
did so much work for our people. Eleanor Harding ran
that place — she was another person who worked very
hard for the Aboriginal community. I also worked at
Elizabeth Hoffman House, the Aboriginal Women’s Refuge.
It was pretty hard going, raising my eight kids alone and
then managing another mob of families at work, especially
with all the stresses that go with refuge work.
I’ve been involved with the Aboriginal
Community Elders Service since the
beginning when we were fighting to
get the funding, and my poem on the
following pages is about our
demonstration in Canberra in 1992.
I’m currently on the Board of Directors
at ACES, a very important place to
care for our Elders.
I enjoyed working in Aboriginal
organisations where we can do things
our way, according to our culture and our beliefs. Our
community is much stronger now that we manage our own
affairs and the next generation will have opportunities we
never had. I feel education is the key to their future —
they have to take up the opportunities we struggled to
make for them.
When I saw the refugees from Kosovo on the TV, my heart
went out to them. Aboriginal people understand what
they’re going through because we’ve experienced the same
terrible things — thrown from our land, ethnic cleansing,
it’s all the same. I wrote to them to welcome them to our
land as an Indigenous Elder, and here’s the letter:
(left to right) Aunties Rose
Donker, Ollie Jackson,
Frances,
Iris Lovett-Gardiner
and Sissy Smith at ACES in
the 1990s.
Story8

112
To The People Of Kosovo,
I would just like to convey this message to all
of you:
“A Big Welcome to Australia”
I watched your suffering and tears and the
pain and agony of it all on TV every night. I
prayed to God to help stop this terrible
onslaught in your country. Now you are all
free — freedom at last in Aussie land, and I
hope it happens soon in your country.
As an Aboriginal person I would just like to
say something about the way I see it and feel
it, and I hope it makes you feel much better.
As your plane touched down on Aussie land, I
felt a great joy, for Mother Earth will hold you
close to her bosom and keep you safe. The
Spirits of our Ancestors will watch over and
guide you to a safe journey home in the near
future.
My prayers and thoughts are with you.
Frances Gallagher,
Elder of the Gundit-jmara
P.S. Take the children to see the animals in
the zoo.

113
Take up the opportunities we struggled to make – FRANCES GALLAGHER
For our Elders Caring Place
Up there in Canberra,
our demonstration strong,
I could see our people’s needs,
a caring place for our Elders,
their journey nearly done.
I heard the people’s chant,
a cry from us all,
a cry for understanding,
for our Elders’ place of peace.
I saw their fighting spirits,
young and old alike,
sitting in the shade of the parliament trees,
holding flags and banners
flying in the breeze,
sending out messages,
calling out their needs.
Suddenly a hawk flew by
and young faces they lit up,
enthusiasm stirred.
Old faces, tired,
showed a glimmer of hope.
Travelling back to Melbourne,
wide open spaces
as far as the eye could see.
Suddenly I saw spirits,
walking tall and free.
Then white men on horseback
riding through the trees,
mad on a wild rampage
shooting and killing with glee.
Story8

114
Our people lay dying,
their blood running red,
staining the green green grass,
marking the colour of our flag.
How can their spirits be rested?
How can they find some peace?
Maybe their spirits can join us
as our Elders make a place.
All our fighters together
from the past and from today.
All our Elders together,
returning to our land.
One spirit again,
Together in the Dreaming.
the end

115
Story9
EILEEN ALBERTS
Buanditj
Home
I’m going home!
Where?
I’m going home!
But where?
Just home.
No place in particular.
Just home.
From anywhere, home.
These few words describe my feelings of home.
Heywood,
the Old Place,
Lake Condah.
Just home.
After being away for any time,
just touching on home
will appease my soul.
To know that I belong
to this land
and to touch it,
even for the shortest time,
is enough.

116
Growing up at Little Dunmore,
the Old Place,
was an experience
I wish my children had enjoyed.
Little Dunmore,
some 12 miles east of Heywood.
A small parcel of land given to my people
when they were moved off the mission.
This land was exchanged for land closer to the road,
the original block too swampy.
Uncle Billy Carter,
my Grandmother’s brother,
rebuilt an old weatherboard house
and extended it to meet
the growing demands of the family.
I recall my bedroom windows
were the windscreens of several cars.
I remember there was a front room, the lounge,
a kitchen, 6 bedrooms,
a small back porch,
a big shed and a wash house.
The shed was converted to bedrooms
depending on needs at the time.
My strongest memory of the back porch
is Nan and Pop hanging honeycomb from the roof
to catch the honey in a basin beneath.
Two large pine trees guarded our home.
Bats and possums had their homes in the pines,
and under the shelter of these trees
so much of our lives took place.

123
Home – EILEEN ALBERTS
In the mornings,
it was a basin wash outside the back door,
and cold tank water to rinse your hair.
I hated Jack Frost mornings!
The cold water made your teeth ache
as we cleaned them with charcoal
instead of toothpaste.
I remember going to sleep at night
with the smell of bread baking
and all the sounds of the night.
The frogs in the swamp,
the night birds calling,
owls hooting
as they flew about their business,
kangaroos thumping through the bush,
the sounds of the fox as it hunted,
the sheep and cows as they settled for the night,
bats as they flew out of the pine trees,
possums jumping from the pines onto the roof
of the Old Place.
These are just a few of my memories
of home,
the Old Place,
Little Dunmore.
No matter what you call it,
it was and still is
HOME.
the end
Story9

125
Story10
GWEN GARONI
Taungurong
We were supposed to forget
our Aboriginality
For most of my life I was pretty much unaware of my
Aboriginality. I knew my Great Grandfather was an
Aboriginal man, but I didn’t give it much thought. Then
over the years various members of the extended family
have been researching our past and putting the picture
back together. Much of the family history had been lost
so we used museum research to add to the picture made
up of memories. For me it is important to reconnect with
my Koorie forebears, for our family’s Koorie identity was
all but lost. I realised we were one of the fair skinned
families that the assimilation policies were aimed at,
expecting us to forget our Aboriginality and become
white. I’m getting on now and I need to know the real
story for myself. I feel far more connected to my Koorie
heritage now and I’m keen that this is passed on to my
grandchildren and great grandchildren. Anyway, here’s
the story we’ve unearthed so far …
Going back to my Great Grandfather,
John Franklin
My Great Grandfather was called John Franklin. I don’t
know his Koorie name. He was found by a drover
wandering in the bush near Healesville when he was 3 or
4 years old. This would have been in the 1840s, not long
after the invasion. It’s believed that he was separated

132
to do a bit of farming, but he was refused. That seemed
so unfair — Coranderrk meant so much to the Koories
from there, but they gave it all to white returned soldiers.
It wasn’t until 1991 that Koories gained a very significant
but tiny piece of land — the Coranderrk Cemetery — half
an acre returned to the Wurundjeri Tribe Land Council.
We visited there recently with ACES, and I’m glad we at
least have that.
Too busy roaming around the bush
My Grandfather was the third born to John
and Harriet Franklin, and he was also named
John. He married a white woman named
Isobel Cox. My Father, John William, was
born in 1904 in a tent at Muddy Creek, as
Yea was called back then. He married a
white woman, Hazel Moran, and I was born
in Melbourne. My Father was a farm labourer
and later worked at Fowlers and Vacola and
other dried fruit places around Mildura. We
grew up moving around a great deal.
As kids we were seen but not heard. We
were never allowed around when Aunts and
Uncles came to visit, but were sent to the
backyard to play. We didn’t seem to have
time to talk to our Elders as we were too
busy roaming around the bush.
Us kids would gather wild flowers and birds’ eggs and
sometimes raid orchards for cherries, apples or peaches.
I just remember running wild. We sometimes went to
Phillip Island in a horse and cart and we’d get mutton
birds, fish and rabbits and collect shells. It’s interesting
that we ate mutton bird, because that’s an old Koorie food

133
We were supposed to forget our Aboriginality – GWEN GARONI
and I don’t think white people ate
them. We spent a lot of time playing
in the bush, making Tarzan swings up
in the trees, digging mud slides in the
hills and sliding down. We went
mushrooming and yabbying, and we’d
light a fire and cook the yabbies and
throw potatoes in the coals and have a
lovely feed. We went hop and grape
picking and we hated it, preferring to
swim in the river — it didn’t matter if
it was in flood or not.
I was never a real good pupil at school — I preferred to
play sports and I won most of the running races. After
school I had to bring our cow home and milk her and
gather the morning wood for the fire and feed the chooks.
I left school when I was thirteen and got a job digging
thistles from paddocks on a farm. I had a few other jobs
and then I met my late husband. We had three children,
John, Lynette and Michael, who I’m very proud of. John
was named after my Father, and so on going back to Great
Grandfather John Franklin.
Assimilation couldn’t obliterate our Koorie heritage
Looking back now, I wonder whether we moved around a
lot when I was a kid because Dad may have been copping
prejudice. Maybe he just moved the family on and said
nothing to us kids, protecting us from any idea that we
were seen as second class citizens because people knew he
had Koorie blood.
The family’s Aboriginality was never discussed. As kids,
we never thought to worry about something like the
colour of our skin — we were much more concerned with
play! So I grew up quite unaware of our Aboriginality.
Aunty Gwen’s Great
Grandfather, John
William Franklin.
Aunty Gwen with
her children by
the river.
Story10

136
interested in their Koorie history and heritage and will
make their own choices as to how they identify.
A strong connection to our land
White people today often assume that I’m white because
I’m fair skinned, but I know I’m Koorie. I have my family
history, with my Father and Grandfather both being
named John Franklin after my Great Grandfather, the first
Koorie John Franklin, son of Mary Ligomunning. I can
trace my family roots right back to the land around the
Yea, the country where my ancestors were once the
owners. I feel differently about that land to how white
people whose families have been there for just a few
generations, for I know my connection goes back over
thousands of generations, thousands and thousands of
years.
Learning with our Elders
I attend ACES Day Care Club which I enjoy very much. I
love to meet all the Koorie community members who
come. I have learnt a lot from them and hope to learn
more. There’s so much to learn about Koorie culture and
history that I’ve missed out on. And I see how Koories
look after our sick Elders and Day Care people, how the
tradition of caring for each other still goes on today. I’m
on the ACES Board of Directors and I’m very proud to be a
part of the Koorie community.
the end

137
Story11
BRIAN KENNEWELL-TAYLOR
Not enough heart to say sorry?
When I was growing up it was a time of great uncertainty
for Aboriginal children. The government stole as many
Koorie children as they could, particularly fairer skinned
kids like I was. They had a policy that we should not be
allowed to grow up within Koorie communities but were
to be raised as whites. This policy changed the course of
my life. Although I was not taken by the welfare, the
steps my Grandmother took to try to protect me from
them had drastic effects.
I wasn’t stolen, but the policies got me anyway
My Grandmother was caring for me and my sister when we
were young while our Mother, Violet, worked away on
sheep stations in NSW. There was little work around for
Koorie women and Mum had to take whatever she could
get, which often took her far from home. Earlier we had
lived with Mum and her boyfriend out in the bush, about
sixty miles from anyone else. We lived in tents and
moved camp every couple of weeks. He cut wood for a
living and as the wood ran out, we moved on to the next
spot to work. There was no school out there — there was
no one at all. The welfare came to see us and threatened
Mum about us going to school. So she promised she
would find us board in town and get us into school. We
then stayed with various families, but we’d just get
Uncle Brian’s
Grandmother, Daisy
and his Mother,
Violet.

152
cousin through Link Up, but he
wanted nothing to do with us Koories.
I don’t think he was ever told he had
Aboriginal in him.
I get hurt when people question me as
to whether I have a right to call
myself Aboriginal because I’m not dark
skinned. This happens all the time,
and it makes you feel that you always
have to justify yourself — just as we
always had to because we were seen as
inferior. The government wants you
to prove your Aboriginality, and the
trouble I’ve had to go through to do it! It is precisely
because I am Aboriginal that I was put through all this in
my childhood! You cop it both ways — treated really
badly because you’re Black, and then told you’re not Black
enough! My sister struggled with people denying her
Aboriginality right up until her death, but at her funeral
there were hundreds of Koories. This is an important
issue for reconciliation. Our Aboriginality and what we’ve
been through must be understood for reconciliation to
happen.
Now as I hear so many stories of other Koories taken away
from their families, I can understand their feelings. I’ve
been there too, and I still ask myself, “Why me?” I am
finding out about thousands of other people who went
through the same thing. Such great suffering was caused,
lifelong pain that is impossible to understand unless you
have experienced some similar tragedy … a pain that
always seems to stay with you. So now I take a day at a
time and make the most of the life that I have left.

153
Not enough heart to say sorry? – BRIAN TAYLOR
Remembering my people
I am telling my story in memory of my Aboriginal family
who are no longer with me. They’re all gone now — my
Grandmother who struggled so hard for us, who tried to
keep us near her, my Mother who ran from the welfare
and lost her children anyway, and my stolen sister Esma.
When I go to Mildura, I return to the river and walk along
the banks where we used to live … and I feel that my
Aboriginal family are with me in spirit. A part of me
never left that place on the riverbank. I thank God for
giving me a wonderful Aboriginal family, and precious
good memories amongst the sad ones. I sit under the big
old red gums and listen to the birds and remember the old
days.
And I can still hear the words my Grandmother would say
when us kids’d get upset about the way we were treated.
We’d say we hated this or we hated that. And Nan would
always say “There is no such word as ‘hate’ in this world”.
And I think, well, there is another word, a word the Prime
Minister just doesn’t have enough heart to say …
… Sorry.
the end
Uncle Brian has
struggled with
people questioning
his Aboriginality.
Story11

Learning from
Indigenous Elders

157
History
Keeping the traditions — keeping the
culture strong
As we look back through our shared history and understand
more about the legislation and living conditions that
Indigenous people have survived, we can see the stories of
the Elders with a new perspective.
As Uncle Reg Blow says, this collection illustrates the
ways Aboriginal people held on to their culture against
the flood of legislation designed to suppress it.
Strong living cultural themes run through the Elder’s
stories. The stories tell of the importance of keeping
traditions, of keeping culture strong, of holding on to
land, of respecting Elders, of being together and
maintaining kinship. But the stories also tell of the fear
and pain of losing children to welfare and of the sadness,
dislocation and disempowerment caused by the repressive
race laws.
Oral traditions continue in many forms, all ensuring that
culture is passed on. Whether it be telling the children
about spirits and doolagahs as Uncle Les Stewart and
Aunty Ollie Jackson mention, or teaching them the
history of the invasion as Aunty Dianne Phillips’s Elders
did, or the importance of handing down political history
and genealogical knowledge as stressed by Aunty Lola
James … the tradition of cultural maintenance through

162
For over a century, dominant belief decreed that
Aboriginal people needed to be controlled and changed.
Assimilation became so basic to the national mindset that
it was taken for granted by most people — that is, by
people who did not live under such laws.
Current legislation repeats some of the mistakes of our
past, still denying rights by imposing outside definitions
onto Aboriginal people and culture. In 1998 and 2002 the
Yorta Yorta people were denied rights to their land under
native title legislation. This landmark case effects all
Indigenous people who faced the most severe genocide —
that is, all Aboriginal people from Victoria, Tasmania and
many other groups across the country. Land justice was
denied on the grounds that Aboriginal culture and rights
had been washed away by the ”tide of history”. As Aunty
Lola James says, this decision continues the attempted
cultural genocide of previous legislation.
In looking at Aboriginal Elders’ lives and the knowledge
they hold, we come to see how terms like the ”tide of
history” can white-wash the truth of our shared past.
From an Aboriginal perspective, the “tide of history”
represents the time when the land was stained with blood,
symbolised by the red in the Aboriginal flag. After the
massacres came a flood of legislation which continued the
genocide.
The following section of this book provides a brief history
of the policies, legislation and government strategies that
shaped the lives of the authors and their families. This
section also outlines the struggle of Aboriginal people to
take control of their lives, to gain personal and political
freedom and to establish and run their own community
services. This struggle for Aboriginal rights not only
shaped the lives of those whose stories are in this book,
but also positively affected the whole Australian
community.

History
163
Since time immemorial
To understand contemporary Aboriginal Elders’ lives, we
need to go back to the time before the invasion and look
at the roles of Elders then.
For over 100,000 years before the British invasion,
Australia was governed by councils of Elders. Aboriginal
society was egalitarian and peaceful, based on values such
as respect and sharing. Strong spiritual beliefs covered
every aspect of daily life and these beliefs were the basis
of Aboriginal law. Elders upheld the law with great care
and dedication. They presided over ceremonies, imparted
wisdom, practised medicine, organised trade, settled
disputes and gave advice.
Elders were the keepers of knowledge and respected as the
highest cultural authorities. Clan Elders who
demonstrated wisdom, fairness and extensive knowledge
of law, spirituality or medicine were often recognised as
authorities beyond their extended family network. They
were held in great respect by neighbouring clans and
beyond. These prominent Elders earnt their place through
years of higher learning and responsibilities to their
people and communities.
In the Indigenous education system, formal education
began with initiation and continued throughout life for
both men and women. Elders spent a lifetime learning
about and enacting the spiritual laws, and they were
responsible for passing this knowledge on to the next

164
generation. Higher learning depended upon passing
rigorous testing. Memorisation and understanding of
complex philosophical, religious and social principles and
practices had to be demonstrated before being admitted to
the next level of study, which gave greater spiritual
responsibilities.
Knowledge was given only to those who had custodianship
rights according to the law. Sacred knowledge was very
carefully protected by laws of secrecy. It was passed on
under guidelines so strict that violation might be
punished by death or exile.
Aboriginal methods of recording culture through song,
dance, art works and oral traditions were highly effective.
They maintained Aboriginal culture over so many
millennia that today it is recognised as the oldest living
culture in the world.
The land holds the law, the spirituality and the history of
the people. This is why land is still so important to
Indigenous people. The spirits of the ancestors live on in
the land and the landscape represents spirituality and
history. Natural features such as rivers, mountains and
valleys tell the stories of their creation by ancestral
spirits. Before the British invasion, the land held the very
meaning of life. It provided Aboriginal people with
everything they needed in both spiritual and practical
terms. In return, Aboriginal law decreed the land must be
cared for and respected.
Many Aboriginal people today continue to honour these
beliefs. One of the most important roles of today’s Elders
is their responsibilities to land. Because most of the land
in south eastern Australia was stolen, Elders’ role in caring

History
165
Since time immemorial
for the land has changed and is now carried out through
their struggle for land justice, as they work to regain
some of their homelands for their people.

History
167
1 R Broome, Aboriginal Australians: Black Response to White Domination,
1788–1980, George Allen & Unwin, Sydney, 1982, pp. 42–43, 56; MF
Christie, Aborigines in Colonial Victoria 1835 – 86, Sydney University Press,
Sydney, 1979, pp. 36–37, 47–49.
2 For a map of massacre sites, see Koorie, Koorie Cultural Heritage Trust in
association with the Museum of Victoria, Creative Solutions, North
Melbourne, 1991.
3 Christie, op. cit., p. 49.
Invasion: the tide ran red
Genocide and resistance
The British invasion had a devastating effect on
Aboriginal people and culture. Introduced diseases such
as small pox wiped out large populations, often spreading
ahead of the white take-over and shattering Indigenous
communities before the invaders arrived. Then massacres
and wholesale sexual violence were used to finish
“clearing the land”.1
The theft of land meant that Aboriginal people were
robbed of the means of survival and left to starve. Just
taking one sheep from squatters often led to what was
commonly called “teaching the blacks a lesson.” Across
the frontier, whole clans were rounded up and massacred.2
“Black hunts” were backed by the government through
the Border Police, a military unit set up to control
violence on the frontier but which became notorious for
abuse of Aboriginal people.3
Last century the “Black hunts” were so relentless that the rivers
ran red with blood. But while the “tide of history” may have
run red, it did not wash away Aboriginal culture.

168
4 M Cannon, Black Land, White Land, Minerva, Port Melbourne, 1993, p. 139.
5 H Reynolds, Frontier: Aborigines, Settlers and Land, Allen & Unwin, Sydney,
1987, p. 55.
One story: The Yorta Yorta
For a closer look at the invasion, the experience of the
Yorta Yorta people from the Murray River tells the story of
events that occurred across the state. In 1998 the Yorta
Yorta were denied land justice on the grounds that the
“tide of history” had supposedly washed away their
culture and rights. Their story reveals a great deal about
the strength of Aboriginal relationship to land and how
current legislation continues the mistakes of our past.
Edward Curr was one of the first whites to take over Yorta
Yorta country. A wealthy Scottish aristocrat, Curr had
many years experience on the frontier as the manager of
the Van Diemen’s Land Company.4 He argued that
Tasmanian Aboriginal resistance was so determined that
colonists would have to either give up or “they must
undertake a war of extermination”.5 This attitude was
common at the time, and genocide in Tasmania was so
severe that nearly the whole Indigenous population was
wiped out.
Curr later moved to Melbourne, taking land on the Yarra
River where the Collingwood Children’s Farm now stands.
In 1841, expanding his already wealthy estate, he claimed
large areas of fertile Yorta Yorta country, and set up the
Moira Station near the beautiful Moira Lakes. In 1842 he
called in the Border Police, complaining that sheep had
been taken and wanting military force to back up his
theft of land. Troopers seized a Yorta Yorta man, chained
him up with bullock chains and tried to force him to tell
where the alleged sheep thieves were. The methods used

History
175
Invasion: the tide ran red
After the tide ran red, there came a flood of legislation.
For the next century, a series of race laws emerged, aimed
at bringing about racial and cultural genocide.
However, Indigenous people continued their struggle with
protests and various forms of cultural resistance. Their
determination to keep their land and culture remained,
and later developed into the Aboriginal rights movement
that still stands strong today.

History
177
22 Reserves, stations and missions are generally referred to as missions by
Aboriginal people and so this term is used here. Government policy
established stations run by managers and staff, funded missions run by
missionaries and set aside reserves for Aboriginal camps.
23 Broome, op. cit., p. 56.
The flood of legislation
Surviving under the race laws
During the 1860s, the Victorian government established
the Aborigines Protection Board and tried to detain the
few Aboriginal survivors on missions or reserves.22 This
was said to be for Aboriginal “protection”, although it was
clearly far too late to protect the majority of people who
had already been killed. The real aims of the missions
and reserves were to control the survivors, enforce the
adoption of white culture, and protect the purity of the
white race. Aboriginal women and children faced
widespread sexual violence from the colonisers, but the
government was more concerned that the white race not
be “tainted” by the birth of mixed race children23 than
with trying to prevent sexual abuse.
Victorian missions or reserves were set up at Coranderrk
near Healesville, Lake Condah near Portland, Framlingham
near Warrnambool, Ebenezer at Lake Hindmarsh in the
Wimmera, and Rumahyuck and Lake Tyers in Gippsland.
In NSW, Maloga on the Murray River and Warangesda on
the Murrumbidgee were established by missionaries in
1874 and 1880. The NSW Board stopped funding the
Maloga mission in 1888 and replaced it with a government

190
We had a school with all Koorie students … a
church, a baker, a butcher, an Aboriginal
nurse.” (p 22)
During the Depression of the 1930s, the men were ordered
to go out and find work, but there was none. Funds were
cut back and what had been a strong Aboriginal
community was further dismantled by the government.
As with Coranderrk, this was partly due to the Yorta Yorta
people challenging injustice, which they were now able to
do through the new Aboriginal political organisations.
Legalised dispossession
Legislation brought about dispossession, herding
Aboriginal people off their own lands in an attempt to
disperse them into the wider community. This forced
removal of Indigenous people from their land should be
remembered today, when some white people argue that
Aboriginal people have “lost” their connection to their
land, implying that they gave it up voluntarily.

History
191
49 P Read, The Stolen Generations: The Removal of Aboriginal Children in NSW
1883 to 1969, Goverment Printer, Sydney, 1982, p. 2.
Stolen children
As Aunty Gwen Garoni points out, kidnapping began with
the invasion, when white people sometimes kept
Aboriginal children as sort of pets or curios and unpaid
labour. As previously mentioned, in Victoria the 1869
Aborigines Protection Act in effect legalised kidnapping.
Similar legislation in other states meant that the stealing
of Indigenous children continued all over Australia for
more than a century, and kidnapping became the
government’s main method of forcing assimilation.
Countless children, particularly those with fairer skin,
were taken from their families to be raised “white”. It
was planned that children raised white would marry white
and have whiter children. Over the generations this
would “breed the race white” and solve the so-called
“Aboriginal problem” by getting rid of the Aboriginal race.
As historian Peter Read notes, this was attempted
genocide:
“Genocide does not simply mean the
extermination of people by violence but may
include any means at all. At the height of the
policy of separating Aboriginal people from
their parents the Aborigines Welfare Board
meant to do just that.” 49

198
they felt they belonged ... They just move
around constantly, just like they were moved
around by the welfare when they were kids.
Then they lose their families through drink and
lose everything. Their whole lives seem to be a
series of losses and grief.” (pp 100–101)
She makes an important point about understanding our
history:
“When you see a drunk Koorie, instead of
judging them, stop and think for a moment ...
There’s often a whole big story and if you knew
it, you’d change from seeing them in terms of
stereotypes and start to understand their
struggle.” (p 101)
Commenting on the stealing of Aboriginal and Torres
Strait Islander children, the report Bringing Them Home
found that
“forcible removals … amount to genocide“ .58
58 ibid., <http://www.austlii.edu.au/au/special/rsjproject/rsjlibrary/hreoc/
stolen/stolen23.html>

History
199
Cultural resistance: holding on to children,
traditions and land
Government regulations meant that Aboriginal people
could not openly teach children their culture or
languages, but they resisted these controls and secretly
passed on their heritage. Cultural resistance took various
forms and experiences varied from place to place. Elders
passed on their connection to land, secretly taught about
spirituality, strongly promoted Indigenous values such as
sharing and respect, continued to eat bush foods, and
educated their children in Australian history, telling of
the invasion and all that followed.
Today we need to understand that both cultural
maintenance and cultural loss occurred at the same time.
Overall, south eastern Indigenous people succeeded in
holding on to far more culture than tends to be
recognised. The Elders’ stories in this collection exemplify
the tradition of holding on to culture and handing down
this knowledge to future generations.
Many Aboriginal people remember their Elders speaking
their languages. Aunty Ollie Jackson recalls her Father
“could speak his Wiradjuri language and when
I was a child I often heard my Elders speaking
Yorta Yorta.” (p 34)
Given that Indigenous languages were effectively banned
in Victoria from around the 1860s, the fact that they were
still often spoken in the 1940s–50s demonstrates

200
Aboriginal people’s determination to keep their Mother
tongues. Some languages are still alive today. As Aunty
Ollie Jackson notes, Aunty Geraldine Briggs59 can still
speak the Yorta Yorta language as well as some Wemba
Wemba and her grand-daughter teaches Yorta Yorta at
Wowora College.
“If your Mother didn’t tell you, then your
Grandmother did”
Uncle Les Stewart’s comment above refers to the
Aboriginal stories women told their children. Storytelling
has always been a form of cultural education and
Aboriginal people have always been expected to become
skilled story-tellers. With colonisation, women often
formed the front line of defence against cultural genocide,
their stories telling the children of their culture, kin and
land. Women’s stories also created a protective barrier
against the racism of the outside world, a world which
hurt their children so much. This tradition continues very
strongly in Aboriginal families today. As Uncle Les
remembers:
“My Grandmother lived with us and she taught
us all the old ways and told us all the old
Koorie stories. They’d always tell us kids all
the stories when we was goin’ to sleep ... I got
no education but I done plenty of learnin’. I
got plenty of knowledge, don’t you worry, ay.”
(pp 52–58)
59 A prominent Yorta Yorta Elder, sister of Margaret Tucker.

History
207
Organised resistance: a movement is born
Aboriginal resistance on missions grew into organised
political action in the 1930s. William Cooper, a Yorta
Yorta man from Cummeragunja, established the Australian
Aborigines League in Melbourne in 1932.60 He was joined
by others from Cummeragunja, such as Doug Nicholls,
Margaret Tucker, Shadrach James, Kaleb Morgan, and Eric
and William Onus, and also Ebenezer Lovett from Lake
Condah Mission.61
As Aunty Lola James says, the Cummeragunja activists had
all been students of her Great Grandfather, Thomas James,
who was William Cooper’s brother-in-law. Thomas James
gave them a far better education than was usually
provided on missions and is said to have brought forth a
generation of activists.62
Aunty Fay Carter recalls her family stories:
“Great Grandfather Thomas James had what he
called a Scholar’s Hut which he used to
encourage his students to extend their
education. Lots of people who benefited from
this extra encouragement later became
60 Markus, op. cit. and Victims or Victors?: The Story of the Victorian Aborigines
Advancement League, Hyland House, South Yarra, Vic., 1985, tell the story
of Cooper's work and the Aboriginal rights movement.
61 Victims or Victors? ibid., p. 27.
62 D Fowell and A Jackomos, Living Aboriginal History of Victoria: Stories in the
Oral Tradition, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, UK; Melbourne, 1991,
p. 178.

218
belongings. The people were threatened with kidnapping
to force them to move into town, and then left living in
tents for over a year. Daryl Tonkin remembers how
demoralised they became when forced to live scattered
amongst whites, away from their people.
The Victorian Aborigines Act 1959 provided dwellings for
Aboriginal people on Board land and under Board control.
No longer were Aboriginal people to enjoy the freedom of
their own independent communities.
The Yorta Yorta were moved to the Rumbalara Aboriginal
Reserve on the banks of the Goulburn River, out of sight
of the general public. The government provided two-room
houses made from cement. Aunty Lola James recalls that
“they were like public toilet blocks and about as
comfortable to live in, but smaller.” (p 42)
Once again the government was trying to control
Aboriginal people. Aunty Betty Lovett (nee Jackson) says
they were treated like prisoners, only allowed visitors
until 5pm and then all relations had to leave.80 Aunts
and Uncles would have to hide in the bushes and sneak in
to visit, while police often cruised by and harassed the
community.
80 Fowell and Jackomos, op. cit., p. 186.

History
219
81 Aborigines Act 1957, 6. (1), (2).
82 See Aborigines Act 1957, Aborigines Regulations 1958.
83 Victims or Victors?, op. cit., p. 29.
The 1950s: community resistance to race
laws
The Victorian Aborigines Act 1957 promoted “assimilation
into the general community” for “any person of aboriginal
descent”. It gave the Board the powers to “do all acts and
things necessary to implement its function”.81
The 1957 Act continued to hold the people at Lake Tyers
under the legal status of prisoners. Regulations in 1958
stated “Every aborigine on a reserve shall obey the
instructions of the manager of such reserve”.82
Legislation empowered managers to license those allowed
to live on reserves, to maintain discipline, to evict anyone
who disobeyed regulations or instructions, and to order
the removal of anyone unauthorised to stay or visit.
People labelled as “trouble-makers” were expelled and the
police were used to back up managers’ orders. Those who
failed to comply with regulations could be found guilty
and fined by the manager without the right to defence.83
People lived in poverty, so no doubt a lot ended up in
debt to the Board! It was unlawful to disobey the
manager’s orders and the people were forced to work as he
directed for under award rates to earn rations, and were

220
exploited as unpaid domestic workers for mission staff.84
Refusal meant cutting food rations or expulsion, in effect
making strikes illegal. If someone left without
permission, their permit could be cancelled and they
could be forbidden re-entry. Permission to stay could be
revoked at any time, often causing families to be split up.
Outlaws of the race laws
Aunty Frances Gallagher comments on the devastating
effects of this extreme control and paternalism. As she
says, when they left the mission:
“It was like we had escaped ... Mission life
didn’t prepare us for the outside world, and it
was like coming out of an institution. We
didn’t know nothing and we had to start life
over and learn everything. It was very difficult
... Coming from the mission, you never even
thought about the future, you had no future.
There was no work around for Aboriginal
people. Adjusting to the outside world was
bedlam! Everything was so different and we
were so lacking in education. They kept us
ignorant on the mission.” (p 109)
The government had tried to institutionalise Aboriginal
people and enforce dependency, while racist propaganda
often undermined their self-esteem.
Legislation continued to disempower Aboriginal people
and lock them into the roles of children. On missions
they were given few, if any, opportunities to take control
of their own lives. In the outside world they were often
criticised as being hopeless and lazy, and racist arguments
were used to argue that Aboriginal people were incapable
84 ibid., p. 29.

History
223
The price of assimilation
Until 1966, legislation prevented Aboriginal people
controlling nearly every aspect of their lives and pushed
for their assimilation into the general community. Almost
every extended family lost children and everyone lived
with the “white is right” mentality forced upon them.
Maintaining culture, identity and pride was an ongoing
struggle — but a struggle never abandoned.
Aboriginal children were forced into the white education
system. Racism and alienation meant their identity and
esteem were constantly under attack. Aunty Ollie
Jackson’s experience of mainstream schooling in the 1930s
remained common for Aboriginal students for many years
to come:
“I hadn’t had much schooling at all before ...
the white kids made fun of me, made me feel
really different — that was when I found out I
was Aboriginal! Before then I’d never made a
distinction between people. I’d spent most of
my life with Koories and been protected from
the idea that we were looked down upon. The
white kids teased me ... and called me names.
Anyway, I got sick of the taunts and eventually
belted one boy up, and he never called me
names any more.“ (p 27)
Despite surviving a difficult early life and having great
strength of character, Aunty Ollie Jackson describes her

224
later experience of assimilation as her greatest challenge:
“Well, that was a move that would either make
us or break us — having to live in the white
man’s world! ... it was really hard ... I had
always lived in Koorie communities before and
now we had moved into town ... I missed all
the help I would’ve got from my own people ...
everyone cared for everyone else, Aunties and
sisters and cousins all helped out. But not
with white people — you’re on your own! ...
you’ve got to carry that burden all alone. It
was like surviving in another time and another
place! Living in the white man’s world — I
really missed my people then! ... the kids had
problems sometimes with the white kids
beating them up and of course my kids, being
Koorie, were always blamed. I’d been through
all this myself as a kid and I’d hoped it’d be
different for my children.” (pp 30–32)
Uncle Brian Kennewell-Taylor describes the terrible
loneliness he suffered as an isolated child:
“school days were filled with white children
taunting me with remarks such as ‘nigger’ and
the infamous ‘Abo’ word. I had stones thrown
at me and was bashed up by the older boys.
That’s one of the things you lose when they
take you from your Koorie family — the
support of people who love you and know what
it’s like for a little child to live with racism.
Your Koorie family can teach you how to best
cope with all the put-downs ... But I faced all
this torment alone.” (p 145)

History
229
85 Aunty Fay Carter in discussion with project writer, 1999.
86 Aunty Merle Jackomos in conversation with project writer, 2000; Victims or
Victors?, op. cit., p. 53.
The Aboriginal rights movement
Aboriginal people have always had strong leaders. People
like Jack Patten, Shady James, Margaret Tucker, Doug
Nicholls and Geraldine Briggs, to name just a few. Aunty
Fay Carter recalls the work of Shady James who, in the
1950s, supported the people living in fringe camps like
The Flats.
“Uncle Shady James was my Great Uncle and I
used to visit him every lunchtime from school.
He was always doing something for someone
and the whole Koorie community really
depended on him. His lounge room was like a
waiting room, full of people wanting to see
him, the kitchen was his office and he worked
at the big kitchen table. People would be
getting help writing or reading letters, dealing
with court appearances, campaigning for better
living conditions, writing protest letters.”85
During the 1950s the work of community leaders and
activists gained momentum and in 1957 the Victorian
Aborigines Advancement League (AAL) was established.
Initially Doug Nicholls was the only Aboriginal member,
but others who worked in the Australian Aborigines
League, people such as Margaret Tucker and her sister
Geraldine Briggs, William and Eric Onus and Merle
Jackomos soon joined.86

230
In 1957 a National Aboriginal Day of Mourning was held.
This was based on the National Aborigines Day held in
1938 which had been organised by William Cooper and
Doug Nicholls. This developed into today’s NAIDOC Week;
a week when Aboriginal communities across the country
hold cultural events and celebrate survival, showcasing
achievements made against the odds.
In 1958 the AAL established the Federal Council of
Aboriginal Advancement (FCAA). This created a national
voice for Indigenous issues, campaigning for civil rights
and exposing injustice. FCAA became the Federal Council
of Aborigines and Torres Strait Islanders (FCAATSI) in
1964.87 FCAATSI and members of the AAL campaigned
nationally for Indigenous rights which eventually led to
the 1967 referendum, when 90% of Australians voted to
give Indigenous people citizenship at last.
Victims or Victors: The Story of the Victorian Aborigines
Advancement League outlines the work of the AAL,
documenting the FCAATSI days through to the Black
Power times led by Bruce McGuiness, son of Aunty Cissy
McGuiness from Cummeragunja.
Continuing the fight for land
In 1960, Doug Nicholls and the AAL worked with
Cummeragunja people to campaign for land rights. They
wanted to redevelop the mission into the self-sufficient
community it had once been. Cummeragunja had been
virtually dismantled in 1953 and all but 200 acres leased
to white farmers. The AAL pushed for the Yorta Yorta’s
right to stay on their land, requesting that 1,700 acres be
87 Victims or Victors?, op. cit., p. 57.

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