Humbugging the Government
Arthur S. Firkins : Alice Springs 2010
She walked to the supermarket every Wednesday after cashing her cheque at the Commonwealth Bank in the main street of Alice. Each cheque marked the weeks of her life, and she looked forward to Wednesdays as she could buy something special for the kids, some chocolate, a small toy, a book, something to keep them amused during the dusty drive back along the Papunya track. This was also the day that she could buy a little something for herself, her favorite magazine, a frock if she had enough left, if the kids didn’t pester her too much, as they liked to pester the old aunties in Papanya, to humbug a little from them, “aunty can we have a dollar, fifty cents”, “any spare coins aunty”.
Each day, the old people waited outside the supermarket, old dresses, flip-flops, some holding kids old smells, some sitting, men half drunk, yelling at the ladies “get me some smokes luv”, ladies yelling at the men “get them your bloody self”, children running barefoot amongst the white Land-cruisers, occasionally yanking of a Toyota badge from the front while nobody was looking, some waiting for the early opener, others just waiting as they have for thousands of years, waiting for a friend, a chat or just to humbug a cigarette or two from a customer returning a trolley to a bay, “have you got a cigarette mate ?”
Groups of people pushing trolleys full of white shopping bags, enough for a community after all the basics cards were pooled together and the babies were buckled into the seats, pushing trolleys of grog, beer, wine a bottle or two of Jack Daniels to the waiting station wagon. As she walked by she saw her aunties, a cousin or two, some familiar kids with grubby faces all echoing a familiar mantra, “hey sister, spare us a couple of dollars”. This was the regular daily scene in the car park at the Coles supermarket, but Wednesdays were particularly busy, for this was the day that the people of the land humbugged the government.
She arrived to recognize the regular chaotic scene, the scene that she had grown up with, the same picture, despite the promise of the many white faces that drove to the town to tell the people that things will be different. The big people still came down from Darwin, flew in from Canberra held meetings then escaped the heat and the flies to the swimming pool at Lasseter’s Casino, while the elders sat in the dust trying to figure out what the department man had just said to them.
Things had changed a little, now they were now sending women, nice dresses, nice phones, nice shoes but they still couldn’t understand what was said, “Ok missus, yep missus, we know… missus”, Yeah missus , sure….. “hey missus can you leave us some of your faggs before you go…” Owe, um no sorry I don’t smoke — smoking is bad for you”…but please fill these forms in and take them back to your family, we will get all of the issues addressed this time”. “Hey missus, I’m seventy two, that fella over there he’s eighty one, my missus she tells me everyday…you know, like you, every –thing is bad for my health.” Yeah and you know even my missus… she’s bloody bad for my health”.
After the meetings the old men would wonder off to the spot, only men could go, and the women sat on the grass beside the Todd, chatting, smoking, painting and dreaming. She remembered the scene only too well, as she and her bother would run in the river-sand and throw rocks at the lizards while her mother, aunties and grandmother sat chatting and afterwards they would visit her mother’s friends and kin in the town camp, where they would all sit and talk all night, cook and sleep. These were great memories, but she also remembered how they never quiet made it back to Papunya , well in time for school that is.
She had four kids, different fathers, who all disappeared with child support following them, like the cloud of dust emulating from behind them as they sped up the Papunya track, some in Commodores, others on foot but things were different now, finally she had money for the children she thanked the government, at least for that, the men couldn’t take her cards. Her first husband had walked out, “fukin bitch, you give money to those brats…” One of them she was glad to see the back off.
He drank at the boundary of Papunya, then would drive to town and drink some more. The church at Papunya never saw a cent, neither did she as all of the money was turned to wine, donated to Dr Lindeman’s and the rest to Mr Foster. He would fall into her arms at night reeking of alcohol, and on other nights the Todd River provided the bed, just down from the telegraph station, other nights were spent in the police lock up in Alice.
Her family had warned her not to get involved with him wrong skin, bad fella, but he had promised to take her away from Papanya, promised her a big city life, but they did not get any further than Alice Springs, loved the kids but could not see the future through the glare of alcohol and the chaos of dust, rubbish and squalor houses that littered the top soil of her country, that littered the town camp where his family lived, on the fringe of Alice.
Tom was the same, a footballer, a dreamer, full of promise, bright future extinguished in an injury. He had gone to Melbourne to play for St Kilda, he understood the rules, but rules were lost on him when it came to the white man’s law. It was with Tom that she had two other kids, twins and they both studied hard.
She was proud of her children and encouraged them, both in the ways of her people and to be part of the nation that had overwhelmed her country. Tom was different, he sent money to her and the kids every week, what he could and the boy went down to Melbourne regularly to see him.
The other children took the pension money off the old folks, humbugged the aunties for their loose change, the young people humbugged the government to fix their lives, which the government men, now woman did willingly, more out of guilt than out of duty. The landlords were collecting rent from the tenants and the tenants paid with the cheques she collected each fortnight. The government men, the government woman, none of them understood that the meaning was in the land, the soul, the spirit, the past, the present, it was all the land, even though the white fellas would never let go of it themselves, they wanted to keep it for themselves and not share any of it.
She wasn’t scared of them white fellas and had met a white boy, young boy, a backpacker, French he was. She loved his face and her smile brought him across to where she stood at the bar that night. He was there to buy the painting, the white dotted canvases that the old men and woman sat selling in Todd Mall, selling their dreaming all over the world. He took the paintings back to France , to Lile, where his family lived.
Funny that all those lost kids had white fathers, Europeans, forgotten fathers of a forgotten generation, who seemed to all disappear up the Papanya track, just like all the lost men, white and black, no difference really, all didn’t seem to care about the children, all drove just as fast down that track, the dust just as thick behind them, as their cars disappeared.
She loved all her kids and they loved her and she forced them to school, firstly in Papanya , the small grotty school, then to town for high school, she did what she could spending on them humbugging a little here and a little there, she made them spend time with the time with the aunties the uncles learning the traditional ways, the bush food, the ways of the desert people, the Arrernte, their language, their customs, their dreaming.
Her youngest kid was half Aboriginal, half French, she at least knew who all her sons fathers were and was proud to tell them about the dreaming of her people, to remind him that he was a child of great warriors who had made their home in the Western Desert, where nobody else could survive, not the white people, not even some other tribes, but for this her smallest one she also told him about his father’s people, who lived far away in France.
No one else seemed to be in a rush that day in the town of the red dust all seemed to be coming the other direction, where the bank, which had opened a new branch, was located and the line was spilling out the door . “Next — come on luv — hi sweaty — yes — yes.. do you have your account — number — ok then — what’s your name ?… do you have some identification ? — some picture ?, something ? ”. “For Christ sake Jane that old lady comes here every bloody week, you know who she is just give her the bloody pension money the queue will be to Darwin if you don’t hurry up … next, NEXT”— and finally it was her turn.
That Wednesday she was buying some new clothes for her son as he was flying to Sydney, unaccompanied, where he was to transit to catch Qantas to Paris, to see his father who would be meeting the boy at Charles De Gaul. His grandmother sent money each year so he could go to Europe to see them. His father had remarried, had other children, half brothers and half sisters, but could never forget his favorite.
Her painting, the painting that she had given him so many years before, her dreaming, the honey ants, hung on the wall of the house in Lile, all the time reminding him of that night in Alice. He was too young, couldn’t explain it to his mother , and it was long ago now, a long regretted past.
She was kind of happy , he was the last one to drop off, all the rest where off doing things for the school holidays and now all she needed to do is get to Alice Airport on time, the last thing and then back to Papunya, where she could relax for two weeks at least — but first she had to negotiate her way out of the Coles car park “Get out of the bloody way”.
“Ok my sweaty, do you have everything? Have a nice time with granny and say hello to dad, you remember how to say hello in French — bonjour — “Owe mum, I’m old enough — but mum… do have you got some money …in case I need a drink”. She kissed him and waved as he disappeared through the gate with the hostess, they turned, she crouched down holding his shoulder, turning him a little — say goodbye to mummy ! “bye, bye love you” , and they all waved intensely.
Crying a little as she walked back to the station wagon, empty seats, full of Coles shopping bags, she started the engine and headed back along the track towards Papunya.
Bibliography
- faggs are slang for cigarettes
- humbugging is an Aboriginal English term meaning to pester or ask for money or things.
- Dr Linderman is a well known Australian Wine and Fosters a well known beer.
- The Stolen Generation was the generation of Aboriginal children of the 1950s and 1960s who were removed from their families
- Papanya is a remote Aboriginal Community in the Northern Territory of Australia.
- Coles is a well known supermarket typically found in Australia and the Commonwealth Bank was one of the first publicly owned financial institutions in Australia.
