Jessica (62 page)

‘Objection, Your Honour!' Richard Runche is on his feet again. ‘If all the children born out of wedlock, be they white, half-caste, quadroon, octoroon or fullblood Aborigine, were to be discounted in this State, the juvenile population would decrease sufficiently for there to be a population crisis. Government statistics show that there are an estimated five thousand children born illegitimately every year, and I dare say this figure is conservative.' Richard Runche throws his hands in the air. ‘Are we to classify all of these mothers as harlots? What is being judged in this court is not the sexual proclivities of my client, but simply her ability to act as a caring and responsible mother. I put it to you that there has not been a single complaint about Mrs Simpson's behaviour in the community in which she lives. She has never been arrested for a crime or named as a prostitute and I challenge my learned colleague to find a single instance when my client has accepted money in exchange for sexual favours. That she is indubitably a good mother has, I submit, been clearly demonstrated by the evidence submitted in this court by people who know her or her children sufficiently well to make a clear judgement.'

‘The objection is sustained. Does the counsel for the defence have anything further to say on this matter?' the judge now asks Codlington.

Codlington clears his throat. He is clearly not happy about finding himself more than well matched by a country barrister with a reputation for being a drunken has-been. ‘Not at this time, Your Honour, except to say that my client, the Aborigines' Protection Board, is highly experienced in the notion of what constitutes a neglected child and they saw fit to remove all four of the Simpson children.' He stops and looks at Richard Runche. ‘Does that not suggest that they had good reason to do so?'

Runche turns to Moishe Goldberg who, without comment, hands him a document. ‘Your Honour, I have here a copy of the committal notice for the four children. I now submit it as evidence for the court's perusal. The reason given in this notice for removing my client's children is written down as,' he pauses and pretends to read,
‘''For being Aboriginal”.
Does this suggest a lengthy and thorough investigation into the children's welfare or their mother's neglect of them?'

The judge returns his attention to Francis Codlington who, in the hot courtroom, has grown increasingly red in the face and reminds Jessica of Beetroot, the largest of her turkey cocks. ‘Does counsel for the defence have anything further to say on the issue of Mrs Simpson's ability to care for her children?'

‘No, Your Honour, though we reserve the right to return to it when we argue the meaning of the law in regard to the removal of mixed-blood children.'

‘Very well.' The judge now addresses Richard Runche. ‘Do you wish to continue to explore the issue of the mother's competence, or do you propose to move on?'

‘Your Honour, as long as we have the right to reply when my learned colleague invokes the law in regard to my client's suitability as a mother or the removal of her children by the Board, I am happy to move on.'

‘Permission granted,' Judge Blackall says. ‘Counsel may continue to state his case for the plaintiff.'

‘Your Honour, my next statement is in relation to the safety of my client's two eldest children. I charge that the State and its instrumentality, the Aborigines' Protection Board, has conspired to place my client's eldest children in a position where clearly their lives are in danger. I shall prove that the Board is not competent to protect the children under its care and I shall ask for them to be returned to their mother. I shall call as my first witness Mr Banjo Carter of the Grong Grong Aboriginal community.'

Banjo Carter is a small man, very black, almost certainly a full-blood. He is neatly dressed in a clean flannel shirt and moleskins and wears a pair of stockman's boots which, though well worn, have received a liberal dose of dubbin. His hair is heavily greased back against his skull, though it threatens to spring away at any moment, and he looks thoroughly uncomfortable as he is sworn in.

‘Mr Carter, thank you for coming. I shall keep you only as long as I have to. Can you tell the judge what happened to your daughter Millie?' ‘She was took by the authorities.'

‘Under what circumstances, Mr Carter?'

‘In the schoolroom of Mrs Cross, sir. They just came and took Millie and said she had to come with them. Then the police sergeant at Grong Grong come around and said we had to sign a paper, that they'd took Millie and we had to sign for her. He said it was the law and to read the paper. I told him I didn't learn no reading, Gladys, me wife, neither. He said, “Never you mind, just sign.” So I signed me name, I learned that in the shearin' shed.'

‘Can you tell us what happened next?'

‘Nothing, we didn't hear no bloody thing, not where they took her — bugger-all. And then Mary Simpson come to see us, she said she'd seen Millie in Cootamundra, that she was in the same place as her two girls. We was happy just knowing they haven't took her too far and that one day her mother and me, we might see her again.'

‘Is the woman, Mary Simpson, present in this court, Mr Carter?'

‘Yeah, that her over there,' Carter says, pointing directly at Mary.

Moishe hands Richard Runche a photograph and Runche continues. ‘Mr Carter, I have here a photograph taken of the pupils at the Grong Grong Infants and Primary School. Will you please identify your daughter Millie among the children.' The lanky barrister hands the photograph over to Carter, who immediately points out his daughter. ‘Ain't too hard, she's the blackest one,' he says, grinning sadly.

Runche hands the photograph back to Moishe. ‘Can you tell us when next you heard of Millie?' he asks Carter. ‘Mary, Mrs Simpson, she come over to tell us Millie's dead.' ‘Dead?'

‘Yes, she said that she was flogged and left tied up to a post all night and in the mornin' she was found dead.'

Banjo Carter can't go on and he sniffs back his tears. ‘Millie were a good little girlie,' he chokes.

‘Mr Carter, I shan't keep you much longer, but it is important that you tell the court what happened next.' Banjo Carter sniffs and straightens up. ‘Mary, Mrs Simpson, she brought a lawyer,' Banjo points to Moishe, ‘him. He come and seen Gladys and me and says we got to go to the police and make a statement of a suspicion of murder. We done that like he said and the sergeant says he'll look into it, they'll get onto the Coota police right off. I said to him, “Sergeant, you remember me daughter Millie, the one you took from the school?” He shakes his head. “Banjo, I've took that many black kids you can't expect me to remember them all. I just drives them to the train and hands them over, mate.” , ‘Can you tell me what happened next, please, Mr Carter?'

‘Yeah well, three months ago the sergeant calls me and Gladys and says he's got a report from the police at Coota. “Banjo, they've left no stone unturned, mate,” he says. “They done a big investigation and there's even a letter from the Aborigine Board.” “What's it say?” I ask. “Yiz'll have to read it to us.'” Banjo Carter, now grown more accustomed to his surroundings, is relaxed and, like many people who have to rely on their memories, it is obvious he has a good head for detail. ‘Well, it was a long report orright, full of stuff they done and who they seen and lots of inquiries into, and sworn affy davies.'

‘Affy davies?' the judge asks.

‘Affidavits, Your Honour,' Runche explains. ‘Please will you continue, Mr Carter.'

‘Yeah well, in the end it don't amount to much. The police report said that there was no record of a Millie Carter being in the Coota Girls' Home. Then he reads the letter from the Aborigines' Protection Board and it says the same. “There you go, Banjo,” the sergeant says. “Your daughter's gorn walkabout, she must have escaped from the train.” “Sergeant,” I says, “she were seven years old!” , Tears now run down the Aboriginal stockman's dark cheeks.

‘Your Honour, this is the letter received by Mr Carter from the Board. With your permission, I would like to read it.'

‘Permission granted,' the judge says.

‘I shall submit it as evidence so I will skip the formal appendages. The main text of the letter is brief and to the point.

‘Dear Sgt McClymont,

‘I am charged with the task of informing you that we have no records which show that Millie, the daughter of Banjo and Gladys Carter, ever came under the jurisdiction of this Board.

‘Furthermore, we have examined the register of the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls and they similarly have no records of any trainee by the name of Millie Carter having entered the home, nor is there any member of the staff who can identify the girl in the photograph submitted to us by the' Cootamundra police.

‘I am writing to you out of a sense of the obligation to all Aboriginal children by the Board and ask you to convey our sincerest hopes for the recovery of the Carter girl.

‘However, I regret we cannot help you further in this matter.

‘Yours faithfully,

‘Nathaniel Rose

‘Registrar. ‘

Francis Codlington rises from his chair. His impatience is, obvious as he brushes his hand through his mop of white hair. ‘Your Honour, I am hard put to know where all this is leading. Perhaps my learned colleague will come to the point? With the greatest respect, what does Mr Carter's missing child have to do with this case?'

‘If you will give me just a little longer I think it might become clear, Your Honour,' Richard Runche says. Then he turns to Banjo Carter. ‘Mr Carter, will you tell us what happened next? Let me remind you, you were with the police sergeant. Where was this, Grong Grong?'

‘Yessir, at the police station. The sergeant says, “There you go, Banjo, no point in making trouble, mate. Your little daughter's gorn and nobody's to blame. The case is closed, the police have closed their investigation.” He gives me back me photograph,' Banjo points to the letter Richard Runche still holds, ‘and I ask him for that letter from the Abo Board, he give me that too.'

‘Thank you, Mr Carter.' Richard Runche turns to the judge. ‘Your Honour, I submit this letter for the court's perusal and I would like to call to the witness box Mr Joshua Phillips.'

Joshua Phillips is almost the direct opposite in appearance to Banjo Carter, though both are small. He is a man in his mid-thirties with a weasel-like face and a pink scalp covered with thin wisps of straw-coloured hair lying flat against his skin. His eyes are red-rimmed and of a distinctly watery blue and his face has a strangely scorched appearance, as though he works in a blast furnace. His eyes dart about the courtroom to see if there is anyone he recognises and he pulls nervously at the lobe of his right ear every few seconds. He finally sees Moishe Goldberg and smiles nervously.

Joshua Phillips takes the oath with great solemnity and has to be reminded to return the Bible to the clerk of the court.

‘Mr Phillips, what is your occupation?' Runche asks.

‘I work in a bakery, sir.'

‘And prior to your present position what did you do?'

‘I was odd-job man at the Girls' Home in Cootamundra, sir.'

‘The Girls' Home?'

‘For the Aboriginal girls,' Phillips replies, tugging on the lobe of his ear.

‘Ah, the Cootamundra Domestic Training Home for Aboriginal Girls?'

‘Yes sir, that was the one.'

‘Mr Phillips, did you, while you were at the home, ever come across a young girl of about seven or eight years of age named Millie Carter?'

‘I can't rightly say, sir, they all looked the same to me. They wasn't allowed to speak to us, nor us to them,' he explains.

‘Think carefully, Mr Phillips, a very dark little girl, she could easily have been mistaken for a full-blood.' Phillips shakes his head. ‘I can't say, sir.' ‘Well then, let me ask you another question. On the morning of the fifth of June, shortly before five o'clock, were you called to the courtyard of the Girls' Home where there had been some sort of an accident?'

Joshua Phillips's eyes grow suddenly bigger. ‘It weren't no accident, she was tied up to the bell-post.' ‘Who was?'

‘This little black girl.'

‘And what did you do?'

‘Well, the matron said I was to cut her down.'

‘Was there anyone else present?'

‘Yes, sir, the schoolteacher, Mrs Roberts.'

‘What did you do then?'

‘Well I untied the ropes round her ankles and wrists that was tied to the post and I, you know, tried to pump her chest like.' Joshua Phillips looks at the judge and then back at Runche. ‘I were a stretcher-bearer in the war, sir.'

‘And to what effect, Mr Phillips?'

‘I beg pardon, sir?'

‘Did your efforts to revive the young girl help?'

‘No, sir, she was well dead.'

‘Objection, Your Honour!' Codlington shouts. His face is puce with rage and he shakes his finger at Richard Runche KC. ‘I must ask why you didn't report all this to the police. It is against the law not to do so!' he shouts at the alarmed Phillips.