Bicentennial Trust
or Forgetting and Remembering

Chapter Seven

Putting a large bath towel over the kitchen table, Kev sat the tape recorder on it, bringing also a well-padded cushion for more comfortable seating.
No rooster crowing today, he thought, recalling yesterday's interruptions.
Clunk.
For Catherine. Catherine of Canberra. 
“It's August twenty, nineteen eighty-seven.”
He took a deep breath, expiring slowly.
“In nineteen fifty-six, I became a shearer. Strange how it happened. As a kid dad had told me to stay away from shepherding, gets lonesome minding herding and protecting sheep from dingoes. One of the few things I remember about him. He hated being alone at night. Got just one pound a month for it, and only if the manager felt like paying. 'Better off shearing', he said. ‘A blackfella can go shearing now. The union's OK with it.’
“He said that he would never have married if he stayed shepherding, only stars for company. Meaning- no wife, and no Kev I suppose. Only met and married mum when he'd left it behind.
“Anyway, first chance there's a shearing job I take it. And the night before starting, these blokes approach me in the shed, and grab me, both arms pinned down. I'm a bit worried now. I'm expecting a beating or something, like on the mission. They held me hard, and Artie, the union guy, pulls down my pants, and grabs the little fella. Someone else ties the string to it and hands it to him.
“'You a union man Kev?’ he says, yanking the string.
“'Sure.’
“'One hundred percent?'
“'Sure.'
“'Never rat on your brothers?'
“I nodded.
“'Jimmy. Take one pound from Kev and give him his membership card'.
“Jimmy comes out of the shadows so I'm expecting to be robbed. Instead, I had a membership card shoved in my pocket, and a glass of brandy before my eyes. A fellow koori says 'Open your mouth', and pours the brandy down my throat. Damn near killed me! Inside a minute, my legs are jelly.
“'Welcome to the brotherhood', says Artie. Have your union card on every job. Look after it mate. Tonight, you were good. Real good.
“I'm too stunned to say much.
“'Sorry about the boys holding you down', said Artie. 'One bloke landed a punch on me after our little ceremony. Double brandy slows them down'.
“Anyhow, a year later, Artie's marriage is in trouble, and he's got to return to Broken Hill. He takes me aside and says 'It's your job now Kev'.
“'Me?'
“'Kev. You're a union man, and besides, you don't drink. You're always keeping an eye on things. And anyhow, most of these blokes aren't so reliable.'
“So I take the job- only temporary like. Artie teaches me the ropes. 'It's simple' he says, 'Everyone's union. You get to the property, form a ring, and tell them it's All-for-one, and one-for-all. The cocky bastard agrees to the contract or it's all out. You only start when the rates are signed off. Any problem, you call headquarters from the nearest town.
“'What if they set the dogs on me?'
“'No heroics mate. Just back off and call us. Fixed rate or all out, simple.'
“'What about the initiation?'
“He just grinned.
Remembering.
Kev took a bite of his Scotch Finger biscuit, watching the reels go round and round, hearing its soft brushing sound, like Bess combing her hair. He bowed his head, arm supporting his forehead.
A breath.
“That job lasted couple of years. You learnt that those cockies treat their dogs better than us. Their kids go off to private schools. Some of them own thoroughbreds, go the city races, society balls while we live in rusting sheds, away from our families. At least the dogs had warm kennels. Better fed and better bred we used to say.”
Kev's lips sealed off the next few words, like the lick of an envelope. The spool wound on, once, twice, three times, his face taut and still, eyes closed.
Another breath.
“I don't hate cockies. They have their problems too, like when a drought comes along, or when the kids no longer recognize them, or the town disowns them.”
He bowed his head again, perhaps catching himself too close to hate. Perhaps he felt obliged to say something in the cockies favour. Perhaps he felt cursed by indecision?
“My mother was light-skinned. She told me once that her mother was a white girl living amongst blackfellas for too long. Said she lived away from her family for weeks and months on end, until she became one of the mob; an Irish family with seven or more kids; too many, and the problems that come with it; one less, a blessing. Since then, she spoke Gundabarri. Mission people couldn't understand them, and never took the trouble to learn. Her and the blackfellas would all go-bush, living along the river, and turning up to the mission for rations. It pleased most mission managers, having them off their hands and saving expense. As long as the inspector or district medico didn't come along, they’d pocket the difference.
”Anyway, we weren't allowed into town without permission. So when someone died, or took ill, I volunteered to drive the dead, dying and diseased to town. I looked forward to it. One time an old Gundabarri- they called him Teddy- had gangrene I think. They allowed him a hospital visit, and in the waiting room, I spotted an Astronomy book with big star charts. The nurse told me to keep it- guess I looked keen. Anyway, some white folk objected; they didn't want blackfellas in the ward. Well that nurse gave them a good roasting. Told them one person is as good as another; told them that in their case, they could be an exception. Blow me down, I'll never forget.
“I had another big surprise in town, meeting black fellows living illegally on the river, one of them Charlie Loneghan. He said he knew my father. He were cagey though; didn't mention gaol or courts or anything like that. He said my mother moved out when she found out that dad was a Blacksmith- Jimmie Blacksmith's son!  Jesus Christ. Everyone knew Jimmy had murdered seven whites in 1900; went completely berserk and slaughtered them, the last black man they could shoot on sight.
“Mum didn't want anything to do with Blacksmiths- with him or anybody like him. That’s why she left dad. It spoilt my day a bit. Instead of digging around, I got busy forgetting, reading my Astronomy book- Orion, Southern Cross, Gemini, Lepos and Monoceros- took my mind off things. Proper forgetting.
“Later, I asked mum about our name 'before', because I thought mother would never lie to me. And because she said 'Never you mind,' I knew it must be 'Blacksmith'. She was ill even then, in her forties, so I didn't press.
“Weeks after that, I asked about the Blacksmiths again. I regret it now. It stole her spirit. She said: 'Kev. You mustn't worry. You aren't like that. The Lord will protect you.' She wouldn't say any more, except to ask who told me. 'Some things are best forgotten', she said.' The Blacksmiths are best forgotten'. But I can't.”