My Place (25 page)

‘No, it won't. I'm going to teach myself how to type, it's just practice. I'll get quicker.'

‘What are you typing, anyway?'

‘I'm putting down what I know. It's not much, but it's a start. Then I'm going to try and fill in what I don't know, and I expect you to help me.'

‘I can't help you. I don't know anything.'

‘You only THINK you don't know anything. I'm sure if you searched those hidden recesses of your mind you'd come up with something.'

‘It's no use counting on me, Sally.'

‘You're as bad as Nan, sometimes! You've got to help me, you're my mother, it's your duty.'

‘No need to be so dramatic. You know I'd help you if I could.'

‘But you can help me, Mum. You've spent all your life with Nan. You must be able to tell me something about her. What seems unimportant to you could be a really good lead for me. For example, how come Nan and Judy are so close?'

‘I've already told you, Nan was Judy's nursemaid. Judy was quite sick as a child. I suppose that drew them closer together.'

‘How come Nan was their nursemaid and not someone else?'

‘Oh, I don't know. I told you Nan came from the station that Judy's father owned.'

‘Yeah, that's right,' I said slowly. ‘You know, I think I'll go and talk to Judy. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. There, you see, you've given me a lead already!'

‘Goodness, I don't think that's much of a lead. Judy won't tell you anything, her and Nan love secrets.'

‘No harm in trying.'

‘What are you going to ask her?'

‘Oh, I'll ask her about the station and why they chose Nan to come down to Perth. I'll ask her about Ivanhoe too.' Ivanhoe was
a grand old house in Claremont situated on the banks of the Swan River, where Nan had spent much of her working life.

‘I went to Battye Library the other day, Mum.'

‘What for?'

‘It's a history library. Western Australian history. I wanted to read up about Aborigines.'

‘Oh,' Mum said keenly, ‘did you find out anything interesting?'

‘I sure did. I found out there was a lot to be ashamed of.'

‘You mean we should feel ashamed?'

‘No, I mean Australia should.'

Mum sat down. ‘Tell me what you read.'

‘Well, when Nan was younger, Aborigines were considered subnormal and not capable of being educated the way whites were. You know, the pastoral industry was built on the back of slave labour. Aboriginal people were forced to work, if they didn't, the station owners called the police in. I always thought Australia was different to America, Mum, but we had slavery here too. The people might not have been sold on the blocks like the American Negroes were, but they were owned, just the same.'

‘I know,' Mum said. There were tears in her eyes. ‘They were treated just awful. I know Nan …' She stopped. ‘I better get going, Sal, I've got to go to work early tomorrow.'

‘What were you going to say?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Yes, you were.'

‘It's nothing, Sally, nothing. You make a mountain out of a molehill.'

‘No Mum, you make molehills out of mountains.'

‘I don't want to talk about it now. Maybe later. You'll have to give me time. If you want my help, you'll have to give me time.'

I could see Mum was quite upset.

‘Okay, I'll give you all the time you want, as long as you help me.'

‘I'll try,' she sighed, then added, ‘You seem determined to do this.'

‘I am.'

‘I'm not sure it's a wise thing. You don't know who you might offend, you go barging in, you've got no tact. You might find yourself in deep water.'

‘I can swim.'

‘If you want to talk to Judy, it'll only upset Nan. She's getting older, when she finds out you want to write a book, she'll be really upset, and she'll make my life hell. Can't you just leave the past buried? It won't hurt anyone then.'

‘Mum,' I reasoned, ‘it's already hurt people. It's hurt you and me and Nan, all of us. I mean, for years, I've been telling people I'm Indian! I have a right to know my own history. Come to think of it, you've never gotten around to telling me why you lied to us about that. About being Indian.'

‘Oh, let's not go into that, I've had enough for one night.' Mum rose quickly to her feet. ‘See Judy if you like, but don't upset Nan.'

‘You want to come with me when I see her?'

‘No.'

‘Just thought I'd ask. Hey, I meant to tell you. I got a copy of your birth certificate the other day.'

Mum sat down just as quickly. ‘How did you do that? I didn't know you could do that.'

‘It's easy. You just apply to the Registrar General's Office. I said I wanted it for the purposes of family history. I tried to get Nan's and Arthur's, but they didn't have one. Hardly any Aboriginal people had birth certificates in those days.'

‘Sally …' Mum said tentatively, ‘who did they say my father was? Was that on the certificate?'

‘There was just a blank there, Mum, I'm sorry.'

‘Just a blank?' Mum muttered slowly. ‘Just a blank. That's awful, like nobody owns me.'

I hadn't anticipated Mum being so cut up about it. I felt awful. She'd known all her life that Nan had never married.

‘I'm really sorry, Mum,' I said gently. ‘I got your certificate
because I thought it might give me some leads, but it didn't. Except that you were born in King Edward Memorial Hospital. That's unusual, because I wouldn't have thought they'd have let Aboriginal women in there in those days.'

‘Is that where I was born?'

‘Yep. You sure were.'

‘Well, at least you've found out something, Sally.'

‘You've asked Nan who your father was, haven't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘Maybe Judy would know.'

‘She probably does,' Mum sighed, ‘but she won't tell. I asked her once and she just kept saying, “It's in the blood”, whatever that means.'

‘I bet you never asked her straight out. You beat round the bush too much. Why don't you corner her and say, “Judy, I want to know who my father is and I'm not leaving here till I find out.”'

Mum grinned. ‘I couldn't do that, I'm not brave enough. Anyway, he couldn't have cared less about me or he would have contacted me by now. And when Nan needed help, there was no one. He can't be much of a man.'

‘You know, Mum, just on a logical basis, it must be someone who mixed with the mob at Ivanhoe in Claremont.'

‘You reckon?'

‘Yeah. It makes sense. Did any single blokes ever stay there?'

‘No. Jack Grime lived there for years, but it wouldn't have been him.'

‘Why not?'

‘He was high up in the social circle, an English gentleman. His brother's son is one of the Queen's vets now.'

‘Oooh, perhaps you'd better buy a corgi!'

Mum laughed.

A few days later, I rang Aunty Judy. I explained that I was writing a book about Nan and Arthur and I thought she might be able to help me. We agreed that I would come down for lunch and she
said she could tell me who Nan's father was. I was surprised. I had expected to encounter opposition. Perhaps I wanted to encounter opposition, it fired my sense of injustice. I felt really excited after our talk on the telephone. Would I really discover who my great-grandfather was? If I was lucky, I might even find out about my grandfather as well. I was so filled with optimism I leapt up and down three times and gave God the thumbs up sign.

My day for lunch at Aunty Judy's dawned, and was too beautiful a day for me to fail. Mum had agreed to drop me in Cottesloe, where Judy was now living, and mind the children while we had our talk.

‘Can't I come, Mum?' Amber wailed as we pulled up out the front of Judy's house.

‘Sorry, Amber,' I replied, ‘this is private.' I leapt from the car, all vim and vigour. ‘Wish me luck, Mum.'

During lunch, we chatted about diet, health foods and the impurities in most brands of ice-cream, then Aunty Judy said, ‘You know, I think I have some old photos of your mother you might be interested in. I'll have to dig them out.'

‘Oh great! I'd really appreciate that.'

‘I'll tell you what I know about the station, but it's not a lot. You know, a relative of ours published a book a while ago and they got all their facts wrong, so you better make sure you get yours right.'

‘That's why I'm here. I don't want to print anything that's not true.'

After lunch, we retired to the more comfortable chairs in the lounge room.

‘Now, dear,' Aunty Judy said, ‘what would you like to know?'

‘Well, first of all, I'd like to know who Nan's father was and also a bit about what her life was like when she was at Ivanhoe.'

‘Well, that's no problem. My mother told me that Nan's father was a mystery man. He was a chap they called Maltese Sam and he used to be cook on Corunna Downs. He was supposed to have come from a wealthy Maltese family, I think he could have been
the younger son, a ne'er-do-well. My mother said that he always used to tell them that, one day, he was going back to Malta to claim his inheritance. The trouble was he was a drinker. He'd save money for the trip and then he'd go on a binge and have to start all over again. He used to talk to my father, Howden, a lot. He was proud Nanna was his little girl.'

‘Did he ever come and visit Nan when she was at Ivanhoe?'

‘Yes, I think he did, once. But he was drunk, apparently, and wanted to take Nanna away with him. Nan was frightened, she didn't want to go, so my mother said to him, you go back to Malta and put things right. When you've claimed your inheritance, you can have Daisy. We never saw him again. I don't know what happened to him. Nan didn't want to go with him, we were her family by then.'

‘Did you meet Maltese Sam?'

‘Oh, goodness, no. I was only a child. My mother told me the story.'

‘How old was Nan when she came down to Perth?'

‘About fifteen or sixteen.'

‘And what were her duties at Ivanhoe.'

‘She looked after us children.'

‘Aunty Judy, do you know who Mum's father is?'

‘Your mother knows who her father is.'

‘No, she doesn't. She wants to know and Nan won't tell her.'

‘I'm sure I told your mother at one time who her father was.'

‘She doesn't know and she'd really like to. It's very important to her.'

‘Well, I'm not sure I should tell you. You never know about these things.'

‘Mum wanted me to ask you.'

Aunty Judy paused and looked at me silently for a few seconds. Then she said slowly, ‘All right, everybody knows who her father was, it was Jack Grime. Everyone always said that Gladdie's the image of him.'

‘Jack Grime? And Mum takes after him, does she?'

‘Like two peas in a pod.'

‘Who was Jack Grime?'

‘He was an Englishman, an engineer, very, very clever. He lived with us at Ivanhoe, he was a friend of my father's. He was very fond of your mother. When she was working as a florist, he'd call in and see her. We could always tell when he'd been to see Gladdie, he'd have a certain look on his face. He'd say, “I've been to see Gladdie” and we'd just nod.'

‘Did he ever marry and have other children?'

‘No. He was a very handsome man, but he never married and, as far as I know, there were no other children. He spent the rest of his life living in Sydney, he was about eighty-six when he died.'

‘Eighty-six? Well, that couldn't have been that long ago, then? If he was so fond of Mum, you'd think he'd have left her something in his will. Not necessarily money, just a token to say he owned her. After all, she was his only child.'

‘No, there was nothing. He wasn't a wealthy man, there was no money to leave. You know Roberta?'

‘Yes, Mum's been out to dinner with her a few times.'

‘Well, she's the daughter of Jack's brother, Robert. She's Gladdie's first cousin.'

‘Mum doesn't know that, does Roberta?'

‘Yes, she knows. She asked me a year ago whether she should say something to your mother, but I said it'd be better to leave it.'

‘Perhaps Mum could talk to her.'

‘Yes, she could.'

‘Can you tell me anything about Nan's mother?'

‘Not a lot. Her name was Annie, she was a magnificent-looking woman. She was a good dressmaker, my father taught her how to sew. She could design anything.'

Our conversation continued for another half an hour or so. I kept thinking, had Mum lied? Did she really know who her father was? Was she really against me digging up the past, just like Nan? I had one last question.

‘Aunty Judy, I was talking to Arthur, Nan's brother, the other
day and he said that his father was the same as yours, Alfred Howden Drake-Brockman. Isn't it possible he could have been Nan's as well.'

‘No. That's not what everyone said. I've told you what I know; who Nan's father is. I'm certain Arthur's father wasn't Howden, I don't know who his father was.'

‘Arthur also told me about his half-brother, Albert. He said Howden was his father too.'

‘Well, he went by the name of Brockman so I suppose it might be possible, but certainly not the other two.'

‘Well, thanks a lot, Aunty Judy. I suppose I'd better be going. Mum will be here any minute. She's picking me up.'

‘You know who you should talk to, don't you? Mum-mum. She's still alive and better than she's been for a long time.' Mummum was a pet name for Aunty Judy's mother, Alice.

‘She must be in her nineties by now,' I said. ‘Do you think she'd mind talking to me?'