My Place (23 page)

Up until now, if we thought about it, we'd both thought Australia was the least racist country in the world, now we knew better. I began to wonder what it was like for Aboriginal people with really dark skin and broad features, how did Australians react to them? How had white Australians reacted to my grandmother in the past, was that the cause of her bitterness?

About halfway through that year, 1973, I received a brief note from the Commonwealth Department of Education, asking me to come in for an interview with a senior officer of the department. I was scared stiff.

Two days later, I sat nervously in the waiting area. I had pains in my stomach. I always got pains in my stomach when I was nervous. I'd been for interviews before, but always with more junior staff of the department. The senior people never usually concerned themselves with trifling matters like students, they were more concerned with important things, like administration. Several people walked past and eyed me curiously. I suddenly had the distinct impression that something was very wrong.

‘You may go in now,' the woman at the reception desk suddenly said.

‘Thanks,' I smiled and walked slowly into the office.

‘Mrs Morgan,' the senior officer said as I sat down. ‘We'll get straight to the point. We have received information, from what appears to be a very reliable source, that you have obtained the Aboriginal scholarship under false pretences. This person, who is a close friend of you and your sister, has told us that you have been bragging all over the university campus abut how easy it is to obtain the scholarship without even being Aboriginal. Apparently, you've been saying that anyone can get it.'

I was so amazed at the ridiculousness of the accusation that I burst out laughing. That was a great tactical error on my part.

‘This is no laughing matter! This is a very serious offence. Have you lied to this department? I want to hear what you have to say for yourself.'

I felt very angry. It was obvious I had been judged guilty already, and I knew why. It was because Jill and I were doing well. The department never expected any of their Aboriginal students to do well at tertiary studies. They would have considered it more in keeping if we both failed consistently.

‘Who made the complaint?'

‘I can't tell you. We promised confidentiality.'

‘It was no friend of ours.'

‘This person is a student and knows you both extremely well.' ‘But that doesn't add up. If they know us really well, they would have been to our home and met my grandmother and mother, in which case they'd never had made this complaint.'

‘Is that all you have to say?'

‘You've obviously already judged me guilty, what else can I say?'

‘I expected more than that from you. You don't seem very keen to prove your innocence. You do realise that this is a most serious offence?'

I'd had it by then. ‘Look,' I said angrily, ‘when I applied for this scholarship, I told your people everything I knew about my
family, it was their decision to grant me a scholarship, so if there's any blame to be laid, it's your fault, not mine. How do you expect me to prove anything? What would you like me to do, bring my grandmother and mother in and parade them up and down so you can all have a look? There's no way I'll do that, even if you tell me to. I'd rather lose the allowance. It's my word against whoever complained, so it's up to you to decide, isn't it?'

My heart was pounding fiercely. It was very difficult for me to stand up for myself, I wasn't used to dealing with authority figures so directly. No wonder Mum and Nan didn't like dealing with government people, I thought. They don't give you a chance.

The senior officer looked at me silently for a few minutes and then said, ‘Well, Mrs Morgan. You are either telling the truth, or you're a very good actress!'

I was amazed, still my innocence wasn't to be conceded.

‘I'm telling the truth,' I said crossly.

‘Very well, you may go.' I was dismissed with a nod of the head. I was unable to move.

‘I'm not sure I want this scholarship any more,' I said. ‘What if someone else makes a complaint? Will I be hauled in here for the same thing?'

The senior office thought for a moment, then said, ‘No. If someone else complains, we'll ignore it.'

Satisfied, I left and walked quickly to the elevator. I felt sick and I wasn't sure how much longer my legs would support me. It was just as well I'd lost my temper, I thought. Otherwise, I wouldn't have defended myself at all. It was the thought that somehow Mum and Nan might have to be involved that had angered me. It had seemed so demeaning.

Once I was outside, I let the breeze blowing up the street ease away the tenseness in the muscles in my face. I breathed deeply to steady myself and walked slowly to the bus stop.

What if I had been too shy to defend myself, I thought. What would have happened then? I had no doubt they would have
taken the scholarship away from me. Then I thought, maybe I'm doing the wrong thing. It hadn't been easy trying to identify with being Aboriginal. No one was sympathetic, so many people equated it with dollars and cents, no one understood why it was so important. I should chuck it all in, I thought. Paul was supporting me now, I could finish my studies without the scholarship. It wasn't worth it.

I wanted to cry. I hated myself when I got like that. I never cried, and yet, since all this had been going on, I'd wanted to cry often. It wasn't something I could control. Sometimes when I looked at Nan, I just wanted to cry. It was absurd. There was so much about myself I didn't understand.

The bus pulled in and I hopped on and paid my fare. Then I headed for the back of the bus. I just made it. My eyes were becoming clouded with unshed tears and if the bus had been any longer, I would have probably fallen over in the aisle. I turned my face to the window and stared out at the passing bitumen. Had I been dishonest with myself? What did it really mean to be Aboriginal? I'd never lived off the land and been a hunter and a gatherer. I'd never participated in corroborees or heard stories of the Dreamtime. I hardly knew any Aboriginal people. What did it mean for someone like me?

halfway home on the bus, I felt so weighed down with all my questions that I decided to give it all up. I would telephone the department and tell them I wanted to go off the scholarship. I didn't think my family would care what I did, they'd probably be relieved I wasn't trying to rock the boat any more. They could all go on being what they'd been for years, they wouldn't have to cope with a crazy member of the family who didn't know who she was. That's what I'd do. And I'd do it as soon as possible. I wasn't a brave person.

Just then, for some reason, I could see Nan. She was standing in front of me, looking at me. Her eyes were sad, ‘Oh Nan,' I sighed, ‘why did you have to turn up now, of all times?' She vanished as quickly as she'd come. I knew then that, for some
reason, it was very important I stayed on the scholarship. If I denied my tentative identification with the past now, I'd be denying her as well. I had to hold on to the fact that, some day, it might all mean something. And if that turned out to be the belief of a fool, then I would just have to live with it.

When I told Jill about my interview, she was amazed. ‘I'm glad it was you and not me,' she said. ‘I couldn't have said what you did. I'd have let them think I was guilty. I can't stick up for myself like that.'

‘I don't know how I did it, either,' I replied. ‘But you know what, I'm really glad I did. From now on, I'm going to say more, be more assertive.'

‘Heaven help us!'

‘Who do you think dobbed me in?'

‘Dunno. It makes you suspicious, though.'

For the next few weeks, we watched all our friends closely, searching for any small signs of guilt and betrayal. There were none.

‘I give up,' I told Jill one lunchtime, ‘if we keeping watching everyone, we'll never trust anyone again, better to forget it.'

On the weekend, I told Mum what had happened. She was very upset, much more upset than I had anticipated. She took it as a personal slight on herself.

Nan took an interest in the proceedings as well. She wasn't angry, just very pessimistic. ‘You shouldn't have done it, Sally,' she growled. ‘You don't know what they'll do now. The might send someone to the house. Government people are like that. Best to say nothing, just go along with them till you see which way the wind blows. You don't know what will happen now, you mark my words.'

‘Oh don't be stupid, Nan,' Mum yelled. ‘She did right to defend herself. No one's going to come snooping around. Times have changed.'

‘You're stupid, Glad,' Nan grunted, and before Mum could reply, she shuffled out to her bedroom.

‘You're going to be in for it tonight, Mum,' I sighed. ‘She's
going to be in a real lousy mood.'

‘I don't know why she gets like that,' Mum said. ‘She's frightened, you see. She's been frightened all her life. You can tell her things have changed, but she won't listen. She thinks it's still like the old days when people could do what they liked with you.'

‘Could they, Mum?'

‘What?'

‘Do what they liked with you?'

‘Oh, I don't know. I don't want to talk now, Sally. Not now.'

However, my run-in with the Education Department did produce some unexpected results. Mum suddenly became more sympathetic to my desire to learn about the past. One day, she said to me, ‘Of course, you know Nan was born on Corunna Downs Station, don't you?'

‘I've heard her mention that station,' I replied, ‘but whenever I've asked her about it, she clams up. Remember when David got that map of the north and showed her on the map where Corunna Downs was? She was quite excited that it was on a map, wasn't she? Yet, she still won't talk.'

‘I know. It really upsets me, sometimes.'

‘Mum, who owned Corunna Downs?'

‘Judy's father.'

‘I didn't know that. What was his name?'

‘Alfred Howden Drake-Brockman.'

‘Fancy that. I suppose that's why Judy and Nan are so close. That and the fact that Nan used to work for the family.'

‘Yes. Nan was Judy's nursemaid when she was little.'

‘Tell me the other things she used to do then, Mum.'

‘I remember she used to work very hard. Very, very hard … Oh, I don't want to talk any more. Maybe some other time.'

For once, I accepted her decision without complaint. I knew now there would be other times.

Even though I was married, I saw my family nearly every day. There were such strong bonds between us it was impossible for me not to
want to see them. Just as well Paul was the uncomplaining sort.

One Saturday afternoon, I was over visiting Mum when she asked me to help her with Curly. ‘He's in one of his cantankerous moods,' she said. ‘He won't come inside, see what you can do with him.'

I eyed Curly in disgust from my standpoint on the front porch. He was lying in the middle of the road as usual. All morning, cars had been tooting at him, all to no avail. Curly moved for no one.

‘You'll get run over, Curl,' I called in my Let's Be Reasonable voice. ‘You'd better come in.' Still no response.

‘I don't think he'll come in, Mum,' I replied. ‘I wish Paul were here, he always obeys Paul.'

‘You don't think he's going deaf in his old age?' Mum asked with a concerned look on her face.

‘Naah, just stupid.'

‘He's a good dog, Sally,' she protested. ‘You shouldn't talk about him like that.'

‘I think you'd better go inside, Mum,' I advised. ‘He'll never listen to me with you standing there.' Mum disappeared and I called once again to the flat layer of black fur lying on the road.

‘Curl, Mum's gone now. If you don't come in, I'm gunna drag you in.' Curl raised his head slightly and growled. I knew what that meant. As soon as I touched him, he'd bite me. I'd been through this before.

‘Listen, you bloody mongrel,' I yelled.

‘But before I could continue my tirade, Nan came up behind me and said, ‘Don't say that, Sally, it hurts me here,' she patted her chest. ‘Fancy, my own grand daughter sayin' that. I never thought you'd be the one.'

‘You're as bad as Mum,' I complained. ‘I'm not allowed to say anything.'

‘I been called that,' Nan replied. ‘It makes you feel real rotten inside.'

‘It's no use you going on, Nan,' I said without listening, ‘he is a bloody mongrel!'

‘Don't! Don't!' she said, as though I was inflicting some kind of pain on her.

‘Nan,' I reasoned, ‘someone has got to be firm with him or he'll get run over one day.'

‘What are you talkin' about, Sally?'

‘I'm talking about Curly,' I replied in exasperation, and then paused. ‘Why, what are you talking about?'

Nan gazed towards the oval directly opposite our house. Just where the bitumen ended and the grass began sat a small Aboriginal boy. I recognised him as belonging to a house around the corner from us. He was intent on some sort of game.

‘Nan!' I said in shock. ‘You don't think I was calling that little fella a bloody mongrel, do you? Oh Nan, I'd never call a kid that. That's a terrible thing to call anyone. How could you think I'd do such a thing?'

‘I've heard them called that. It's not right, they got feelings.'

‘Nan, did you say you'd been called that?'

She put her hand over her mouth.

‘Who was it, Nan? What rotten bugger called you that?'

‘Don't want to talk about it, Sally,' she shook her head.

‘You've been called that more than once, haven't you, Nan?' She ignored my question and turned to go inside. halfway through the doorway, she stopped and said, ‘Sal?'