Shirley Lewis Story. Part #1

All yours. It's your time.

Well, my name is White Man Way Shirley Lewis. Blackfellow Way I was born. Had a name before I was actually born, and that's Nungare. I'm Nungare. Namikili Warumungaway. Same Namikili. You got Jungare.

Yeah.

I'm Nungare, brother. And I'm I don't know, happened to be born. Universe made me born here, um, 1967. All started really from my great-grandmother. Great-grandmother who, um, they were all rounded up at the time, put in all the different missions.

Really?

Mission blocks, and that's, um, 7 Miles Hurst, Phillip Creek then.

Yeah.

But from Phillip Creek, she didn't end up in Hallucarung. She ended up— they were looking for someone to guide them from Phillip Creek to Brunette Downs to meet the first managers that was coming across from Queensland. And my great-grandmother, she had 2 kids at that time. She had had my grandmother from another tribe. Kaidij.

All right?

The song, through song. Because that grandmother of mine, when she was born in Phillip Creek, Jalburri, that's a flying ant. So that flying ant come from Migambi, come around and Budandena, Phillip Creek. That's when my grandmother was born. So her bush name is that flying ant.

Really?

She walked with my great-grandmother and her brother Frank. She was five. That other pup was three. Along Billy Billy, we walk now from Phillip Creek with them white people. They were looking for thing. Yeah, I'll go. And all them women, Warramunga women that were sitting around, and we look there Larry Larry. Them call him Larry Larry, you know, from Larrykin.

Really?

That one Larry Larry. That one Larry Larry, you know. And the white man heard Larry, and so they named that old woman.

Really?

And she was known by white people throughout because she helped open up that pastoral industry for people.

Really?

As Larry. And you'll find poems written about her in the Stockman Hall of Fame in Longreach.

Really?

One story there, manager for Longreach around there, he got lost in the bush. Tell him to get that old woman now. There, them little smoke, she found him.

Yeah.

That evening, she was the only Black person that ever sat at the kitchen table with that manager's family.

Really?

Wow. I believe that she's part of the message stick, letting all the other tribes know that white people were coming.

Yeah.

You know, just letting people know. Opening herself up to make it easy for white people to walk through. So I got families out there from that old woman who had babies. The black ones stayed there. The white ones were sent to Sherborne Mission.

Oh, really?

And yeah, I got a big old family over there. And I tell you what, we come from remarkable women that were remarkable. Just knew what was ahead. They envisioned what was ahead. white dominant envisioned it, installed it in their kids that this was going to be the way we needed to learn it.

Yeah.

And yeah, she just kept roaming, man, right up, you know, right up north, everywhere. She had kids, we had kids. Mum, I ended up going for a trip over there in a Sherpa, you know, I'm going cruise line. Yeah, go Sherpa. And she wrote lists The names of all these men as sisters and brothers.

Yeah.

I was in Glasshouse Mountains. I pulled up because Shemaya and the 3 girls I had with me at the time, solo travel.

Yeah.

I pulled up at Glasshouse Mountains to change and give them kids feed, and there's one blackfella sitting on the table and chair, you know, for the bus stop.

Yeah.

Sitting on the table. So I've done my business and I'm going, I'm going to sit next to him, you know, a Perry Cobbo. And he looked at me, yeah, why? And I said, uh, that's my cousin, I come from Tennant Creek, Northern Territory. I've been told to go look for family in Cherbourg. And he turned around and he said, That's my father.

Really?

Straight away, boom! I ended up in Cherbourg Mission from Glasshouse Mountain.

Really?

I met families. I went to one house and everyone came there.

Really?

They took me to that cemetery there and a few of our family members that was taken from Alexandria Station, Brunette, there. And they were the ones that helped to make Cherbourg Mission, you know, with their Wow. And those days, and I'm part of that Cherbourg Mission, well, now family thing, and we're just finding families everywhere there.

That's incredible.

Pretty incredible, right? You've got to thank the white man for some sort of thing. That's technology, I guess, that they brought out very slow in time. But anyway, it's better than nothing.

But, um, it must feel nice to find them.

Oh, look, look, I, I, you know, like Well, '67, now that referendum, you know, like gave all the blackfellas freedom. They could go back though. So the station, station mob, they had trucks and they, all these people would get on this truck and go back to where they go. And so there's a truckload that come back to Tennant Creek.

Really?

With my mum, my mum's sister, my nana, and a few, a few other old ladies that connected to Gulf, that was connected to Olderman through my great-grandmother.

Really?

They would come back and we all in the village camp And I looked at that village camp list back in the days and I could see our family there amongst all the other family members.

Wow.

And that village camp has got one family there that's living from back them days and it's the Rickies and their families through great-grandmother. Again, it's just a remarkable connection that, um, we really have and how it's been diluted or just how people have been separated and segregated over time from when I was born, '67, and how we grew up in that camp, Mulga Camp. It was communal. It was family.

Really?

It was family-knit. It was like a white man communal, you know, like how the hippies live. That's how we lived.

Yeah.

So my mum was a Nagamara. Every Nagamara in that camp was my mother. So every household either had a Nagamara and all the grandmothers and whatever. So we all looked after— everybody looked after each Yeah. I remember going to school from there, to Area School, being the only little half-caste white one in that little group.

How did you find that?

I didn't find it. We didn't grow up with racism or color or anything like that. We just grew up like that. None of that was in us. And this whole town, at the end of the day, you know, Mum Made it really easy for us because her father was Alex MacDonald, and he was a Māori-Scottish— came from New Zealand, welterweight champion. Uh-huh.

That's where you get the fighter from, is it?

It comes from the mothers, mate. True story. But him too, him too, because his— what I found out about him, Mum's father, was that, um, his great-grandfather put his daughters on the ship in New Zealand to save the bloodline and send them across to Australia.

Really?

So we come from descendants from them that was the king over there.

Yeah.

And he saved his bloodline. He sent 3 daughters to Australia, and I come from one of them.

So you were saying that back in the day racism wasn't an issue?

Not, not with us here in this town. You know, like the hardcore racism and shooting and killing was experienced by our great-grandmothers, our grandmothers, everything like that. And because some of them learned to work with the white people, and then when my mother was born, because he was a prospector, miner, you know, like, and cattle rustler, they were all part of that pastoral industry in those days. My grandmother and my great-grandmother were like the driver's boy.

Ah.

Driver's boy. Right. So first, first step for the head stockman, manager, whatever. Then the last cast one for managers was sent to save their bloodline, but in another— Another way.

Yeah.

But that, that old woman had a lot of kids. Um, she made us related to all of Australia. True story.

Yeah, really?

Yeah, she was. And I just find it quite remarkable because just reading some of the stories that white people wrote of her. Yeah, apparently she lived to over 100.

Really?

Story for Erna Burnett there, because she'd been the first to start, help start up the place. They got a new, new— she was old enough to be sitting in a camp, but new manager in the store. She'd go in there, start getting things and whatever, and the store manager come up and say, oh, you can't get that. They reckon they seen that store manager being thrown out, but the store, she can just get what she needs and then go back in the camp. You know, that's the sort of respect they had earned in those days.

Wow.

Wow. And yeah, so '67, women all come back. Mama came back beginning of '67 and I was born in November '67. Born into that life. But I had the privilege, and I must tell you, to be still alive today, I had the privilege to sit with some special, remarkable, special, beautiful souls.

Yeah.

Can't find them much anymore. You see the descendants of them that are doing just in that rap, you know, like a— and what that English— Mum been say, go learn Mandaji. You got to learn the Mandaji way, Babalangi way. You got to learn how to speak, live, because that's the way it's going to be. I'm grateful for that because now I can understand white men. I can understand their bullshit.

Yeah.

I'm not afraid of it. I'm at a time in my life now where it doesn't faze me. It doesn't worry you anymore. Yeah. I'm open for more new things.

Yeah.

You know, um, truth. I'm open for that.

Truth would be nice.

You're telling me.

Wouldn't it be nice? Just have honest conversations.

Yeah.

Yeah.

Oh God. Anyway, growing up. Yeah. So growing up there till I was about 6 and then Because Mum was connected to people in town that were prominent, that ran the town.

Yeah.

Her father ran the town with his fist.

Ah.

It was like cowboy and Indian days.

Really?

He was a cattle rustler, he was whatever, miner, whatever.

Yeah.

And he ran, like that Tennant Creek Hotel there?

Yeah.

You got that Rocky's Pizza across the road?

Yeah.

That end where, not where the entrance is, but the other end. is where the old Department of Aboriginal Affairs office was.

Yeah.

And yeah, people, you know, that was the sort of hangout. And he'd hire people, old grandfather would hire people, and if he didn't think that they worked hard enough, then he wouldn't fucking pay them. So, um, he pulled up there once in a while in front of the Tenny Creek, and everyone knew that he'd go there after work, just go there, have his beer and whatever. But he pulled up after work and he's Looked in the rear vision, he seen that bloke he didn't pay across the road and he seen him have a gun. Our man always carried a gun. It was cowboys in Indian days, man. So he adjusted himself, got himself ready, and then opened the door, got out of the car, and turned around and fucking shot him dead and then went into the Tenerife Creek Hotel and just continued his everyday stuff. But anyway, um, Wild West. Well, because of him, mum ended up getting jobs with government people, cleaning police, cleaning teachers, all that. Yeah, she became good friends with a lot of the women in town because she actually ran the town with her fist too, as well, with women.

Really?

True. And so all the white women just loved her. But, um, yeah, she, um, yeah, so she, she was pretty lucky. And so 6 years at the camp, then she got a— she was working for Warramunga Pabulu, which is Gilalakari now.

Yeah.

That used to be Warramunga Pabulu, which is Warramunga Housing. And that was started out by the old people that came from the mission at Alikiro. Because after Phillip Creek, Alikiro, Yeah. That's all the Plumbers and all them, you know, the old people. Old Man Plumber was actually the mediator of all the different tribes that was rounded there.

Really?

And there was like the Warramung, Kedi, Walpiri, and Yawarra, Aliwari, them 4 tribes. He was the mediator. He ended up being mediator, stopping fights and conflicts because they're all the different tribes together.

Yeah, conflicts, yeah.

Yeah, so '67, then, when that thing, them all sent back, and by that time, Wara-Mungur married into the other tribes. So when the old people came back and they're turning to the village camp and that Wara-Mungur Pabulu started up, they envisioned, you know, ahead. They was thinking ahead. They was thinking, all right, we're gonna make them different camps for the different tribes.

Just pull your chair off the, um, it's just squeaking on the bus. There we go, perfect.

For the different tribes to avoid conflict and to lay down. So that's how the town camps all started.

Really?

From the days from Ali Kurang in '67.

Wow.

Yeah, Mum get— because she worked for them cleaning, she and one of the ones out of a handful of them all that got house in town, mainstream. We grew up. Every year, I remember growing up too, but we'd go to Brunette for 3, 6 months, it depended.

Really?

At a time, and that was to do cultural business.

Oh.

Because I had brothers, you know.

So business would take that long? 3 months, 6 months?

Yes, that would have it there, yeah.

Just take whatever time it took.

And I'd be just going to school there.

Oh.

That person we buried yesterday, we were all schoolmates at Brunette, man.

Were you really?

Yeah. So we'd— I'd go to school there, you know, like for 3 months or whatever until the business was finished and then come back again. And every year that was the same.

Yeah.

The same. And when Wombaya Mob came to town, our house was the meeting place.

Oh.

So, um, yeah, it then became a haven. I then started sleeping with my grandmother because Predators.

Yeah.

You were in the school then with all the girls.

Yeah.

But they were around, still around now and fucking doing it more than often, more out in the open, you know? Like, shit, that's— but yeah, then we lived that life there, but still with Nana being alive and that, and Amani, that cultural business still kept going. They'd gone. Then it was just me and my mom, and I was part of the organizations like Aunty Winnie and Jolala Curry, around with them old people that started.

Hmm.

And just attached myself to the old women and just learned a lot of respect, really. It was basic respect. Respect, you know. Anything living, anything living and breathing. I'm telling you, anything living or breathing. I'm, I'm saying when I used to go get wood when we had business, I wasn't allowed to take like them dead wood off attached tree that's living.

Uh-huh.

You know how people break them on a dead one? I wasn't allowed to touch that. I had to— and I couldn't break any of them. I had to collect every wood In its full length too, you know, and just go pile them up. Had to gently put— this is a— somebody asked me, oh, can you explain respect? You know, I use this story all the time because it's so simple and basic, you know. Trees give us oxygen to, to live.

Yeah.

And we need it. So just not allowed to touch anything that's dead attached to a living tree, not allowed to break anything. Have to pick little twigs, make little fire, and then when you want big logs, you Drag that big log over to the center. Let him burn from middle down. And when you're placing wood and playing with fire, it's all gentle. You can't just chuck them but like that. Oh man, I was taught. No more like that. You know, I'd be like. True. And you know, and that to me is like, oh my God, Daddy. That's just simple form of respect.

Yeah, that's very good.

You know, it's just for having some respect for something that's meant to be, we consider dead.

Yeah, it's very good.

Yeah. But yeah, they're all gone now and you go to town and it's chaos because of that. It's no control.

Yeah.

I remember the night patrol started up, that started from here at Tennant Creek, went right around Australia. Them old people, they got that police car donated to them, and the old people with CDP rigs— I was one of the driver CDP drivers for the old women— all they had to do was just talk. We pull up where something's— there's a, you know, something's going on. Them old ones just want, ah, sing out so-and-so and so-and-so, and pages They, they, they got that— they wanted that night patrol because they seen their young people starting to sleep anywhere and find out in the street everywhere, you know, and they were frightened for them.

Yeah.

So they did that, they started. Now look at it. It's, um, it could be so much better than what it is now, you know, so much better. If it went back to basics and everyone— we worked with the police.

Yeah.

It was a good little collaboration with the community back in those days with them old people alive. Everyone was working together because it was them that were part of the organization with their knowledge.

Yes, good.

So it was beautiful.

Yeah.

We all worked together. We even worked with the white community.

Yeah.

You know, it was just a community where we dealt with things.

Holistically. Yeah, good. Now, not so much.

It's chaos in the Timbrels. Chaos reigns. Yeah, government likes chaos.

Yeah, control.

That's why we have police with their policies policing us, to keep chaos under control.

Feeds— it's a beast that feeds itself.

Yeah, feed the monster, right?

Yeah.

There you go. And this is it. This town, I wrote a poem once, I can't remember it, just bits and pieces, but it's about my little old hometown of TC.

Yeah.

Where the east of the wind blows so free. And in there somewhere there's a bunch of greedy vultures that are something monsters, you know. Yeah, it was a pretty cool poem. Really meant something at the time because— where was it, at Jalali? It was at Ninka Nunu. I was running the show in Ninka at the cafe, helped build it, and then was running the show in there. And we had a karaoke night one night.

Did you?

And I'm cooking shit in there. And anybody could get up and say anything. And I was in the back there, I was writing that poem now, My Little Old Home, Tessie, because out there was all white people.

Really?

That had something to do with— well, the answer had something to do with mining, materialistic, monetary stuff, you know? So I just quickly wrote it on one of them paper towels and then was going out to pick stuff up and, oh, I've got something here. Yay! They were clapping at themselves. Stop it. But it was good. Good fun, you know, like good to interact. Because I tell you what, people considered me a racist in this town, the white people.

Really?

I said, yeah, I can race, man, you can race, come on. I'll give you a race in that sense.

Yeah.

Not in that— yeah, so, uh, I was just saying what I seen.

Yeah.

And, um, it offended those people.

Yes.

Yeah, anyway.

Racism isn't about observation. Observation is just something. It's just, oh look, I see this. Do you want to have a chat about that or will we just ignore that?

Yeah, I was considered the racist once because I went to the pub. This is on my break from the minkup. Went to the pub, it was packed. Used to be that front bit at the Goldfields was the white section and the back bit was the black section. Separated. Anyway, I'd make it my business. I'd go in there, man.

Really?

They'd pack, man. I'd be going through. I'm walking through like that, you know, to get to the bar. I get to the bar and there's an old fella, the local, sitting in there with his dog. Only can take a dog in, you know. He's sitting there and I go, how you going, old fella? Ah, you're the racist! So I get on my toes, I pirouette around, look, and then I go down again and go, I'm in the right place then. And he got a visit from me when he was dying on his deathbed because I was walking past. How you going there? Oh, hi. Ended up talking in the end. But yeah, so, um, that when I was— I ended up making good coffee because we had cafe woman come from Melbourne teach us to make all them coffee. We're tea drinkers. We've been shaking like that, man, by the time when they finished making all them coffee. I ended up making good coffee. So when them haters come in, they look a bit worried in there, you know, a bit worried about me. Especially when I had to go out the back and help make the food.

They're poisonous.

And then I make that coffee and then I just smile at them and they came back. Because it was all of— it helped me to deal with whatever I had feelings towards them of what I'd seen them do over time. You know, it helped me deal with that anger for them and I'd make good coffee. coffee, they came back, and then you get to know bits and pieces of each other, you know, like that, that, yeah, it's really quick to judge when we see people first. But yeah, anyway. Yeah, so in that place, all the tribes, just learnt language. We weren't allowed to speak. Mum never spoke it around us. She told my grandmother and my mother Auntie, not to— because I call her mum too, you know. I told them not to speak it around us, so never learned anything from that homegrown language talking. Only later, you know, like when I got involved with the old ladies. And my sister, she actually— the Wambaya language, she can help maintain it.

Really?

The Wambaya dictionary.

Oh.

She's got something to do with that. So she did that, and I just hung out with the old people to learn as much as I could from them. And I tell you what, love, it's fucking missing.

Wow.

That's what's missing, John, is love.

Yeah.

2 of the most powerful English words, love and hate.

Yeah.

We use.

Yeah.

But the hate word, freely it just comes.

Yeah.

Forever pulling up my kids, you know, I use that word.

Yeah.

I don't like this. That word, it's really easy. It just comes out easy for nothing.

Yeah, the other one is harder. It's harder to live love, harder to give love.

I've seen it, mate, with old people.

Yeah, good.

I felt it. Yeah.

Yes.

Yeah. Bloody oath, I don't feel that anymore. I don't think they love like the love for just respect for anything, you know.

Yeah.

Yeah, anyway, I miss them, but I'm grateful that I had time, what they instilled in me, you know. Yeah, yeah, you had a great privilege. Ah, what an honor. I'm one of the most privileged—

Absolutely.

Person in this town.

Yeah.

The others, you know, like the ones that's their grandmother, their aunties, anything, but I had special, special time with them.

Yeah.

I never got it from my own unit. The love I got from my Nana, I could just feel it. She didn't say much at all. Living in town, that would have been special for you. Yeah, anytime I heard language is when she was swearing, Mum, you know, like when pension day, when she take Mum take money and I'd be— she'd be sitting there with us.