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  Too Afraid to Cry

  Memoir of a Stolen Childhood

  Ali Cobby Eckermann

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  this is a poetic memoir

  a story of healing

  not burdened by blame

  for the adopted children

  Christopher, James, and Karen,

  and especially Jonnie

  The actual events of this memoir are a true account of my life. The Stolen Generations story is replicated by thousands of survivors across Australia. For this reason, some of the names of persons and locations have been modified, in an attempt to share my emotional healing with my Stolen Generations brothers and sisters, and the reader.

  You look at me and do not see

  And you shame me

  And I shame myself

  Because I am not nowhere

  I am everywhere in my belonging

  I am still here

  Samia Goudie ‘I Am Here’ 2011

  Bundjalung

  Part One

  a fading sky

  Elfin

  An unknown woman

  wove song

  in my heart

  Chorus that came

  grew loud with

  a magpie morning

  An owl flew free

  the doll grew new

  fingers and shiny eyes

  One

  When Aunty went to sleep, Uncle would sit next to me and rub my chest. I think he was looking for my bosoms. Fat chance! I was only seven years old and hadn’t grown mine yet.

  I sort of minded, and sort of didn’t. Aunty and Uncle used to buy me lots of nice things, clothes and books and jewellery, that made me feel like a grown-up. They even let me get my ears pierced! And at night-time I was allowed to stay up and watch TV till really late. Aunty always went to bed before me.

  They lived in the city. They weren’t really our family; we called them aunty and uncle because we were told to. They used to visit us on the farm sometimes, and were friends of my foster brother’s real parents. Sometimes Big Brother and I stayed with Grandma and Grandpa who also had a farm like us. But we only stayed with them for weekends because they were old.

  The first time I had been away from my family by myself was because Mum was going in to hospital. All us kids had to stay several weeks with different family members and friends. Mum and Dad had told me she was getting the bad veins on her legs stripped with a bottle brush. I hoped the purple worms that lived under the skin on her legs would be gone too. I wanted her to have long, smooth, brown legs like mine. Uncle used to tell me I had lovely legs. His legs were short and hairy.

  One night after I had been there for a few days Uncle was different. His face was different, and I felt a bit scared. Aunty went to bed earlier than usual, and she forgot to say goodnight to me. When he sat down, he started rubbing my legs. I felt the icy wind inside my head begin to blow. I could not move. The icy wind is very dangerous.

  Uncle started to kiss me. His chin was all scratchy from not shaving. It felt funny, and I felt like laughing. But when he pushed his tongue down into my throat I screamed. No noise could come out, and I couldn’t breathe. He had put his body on top of mine, and I couldn’t move. And the icy wind was screeching around and around inside my whole body. Ice cold tears forced their way out of my eyes down my cheeks.

  It took Uncle a long time before he noticed I was crying. He looked into my eyes, and he looked surprised. Then we couldn’t look at each other anymore. He put a blanket around me and went to bed.

  I just stayed in one spot for ages. Then I sat in the lounge chair and tried to watch TV. I didn’t feel like a grown-up any more. I felt like a little girl who just wanted their mummy. But my mum was in hospital. I watched the TV screen for a long time.

  Seven

  I remember the morning

  rainbows raced the sun

  over the horizon

  prism shards shattered

  silent around me

  it was a day of deceit

  sacred red turned to hatred

  the courage of orange deflated

  yellow seared my mouth shut

  green light erased tranquillity

  as I drowned in a sky too blue

  new violet grew a nasty haze

  that morning as rainbows

  raced the sun

  a silence shifted

  a muted heart hammered

  in a black and white world

  too young to read

  Two

  The next few days felt very lonely. I could feel that Aunty and Uncle did not want me around anymore. Aunty spent a lot of time cleaning the house, and she wouldn’t let me help her. I tried to watch TV, but I couldn’t. When I sat in the lounge chair, the wind came back. I went for a walk outside. Uncle was in the shed. When he saw me, he told me to go back inside the house. I didn’t argue because I could smell the beer. I could hear the beer in his voice. I hid in the garden.

  My thoughts filled with images of the farm and my big brother. I longed for the special places that we shared when we were not feeling good. Together we would wait to hear the breeze through the pine trees, and we said it was God’s voice. When we saw flashes of golden light through the leaves, we thought we had glimpsed the halo of God. When we rode our pushbikes together in the bush, we felt God was close by; it was a feeling of safety. I wished my family was close by right then.

  I watched the nearby trees, but there was no movement. I hoped God hadn’t left me alone. I liked being one of his ‘special children’. The people at our church prayed for us often, and Big Brother and I felt special. Mum would smile, happy on those days. We didn’t mind that we looked different from her. Our friends from Sunday school looked the same as their parents, and no-one called them ‘special’. I wonder if they felt they were special.

  I stared at the statue trees. I tried not to think about my uncle and my legs that he said he liked. I concentrated on the farm and the calves and the chickens and the kittens. Dad liked it when I helped him with the animals. He was real gentle with the animals and never raised his voice to anyone or anything. Mum yelled at us sometimes. She hated any mess in the house and preferred us to play outside. Big Brother and I would play in the sheds and on the haystack. And one day Dad helped us make a cubby house, and that was our special place. I wished I was there.

  Aunty and Uncle didn’t come looking for me. I stayed in the garden until it was dark. The next morning Aunty was happy. She said Mum was out of hospital and back on the farm. She said she was looking forward to the weekend. We would pack some nice food from the city to take with us. They were taking me home.

  Ashes

  At the special place

  near the cave

  by the river

  press face into tjamu tree

  wait for the listening

  cut the stone

  bleed lust on paper bark

  burn waru

  wait for the listening

  cut the stone

  bleed ego on paper bark

  burn waru

  wait for the listening

  cut the stone

  bleed fear on paper bark

  burn waru

  smear kami ashes

  stand free

  wait for the warrior

  tjamu – grandfather

  waru – fire

  kami – grandmother

  Three

  Excitement filled me the morning we drove back to the farm. I pressed my face to the car window to smile whenever I recognised one of the small townships we travelled through. I played memory games using the familiar farm houses scattered amongst the scrub. I counted horses and cows in
the paddocks. There were too many sheep to begin to count. The trip flew fast. I didn’t need to speak much to my uncle and aunty.

  When we arrived at the farm house, I dawdled near the car. My feelings felt all mixed up. Then Mum came rushing out of the house with her biggest smile and hugged me. Big Brother came running and hugged me too. Dad said it was good to see me. I was happy to be home again, and not to be staying with Uncle and Aunty anymore.

  Dad carried my small suitcase into the house. Mum held my hand and told me about the hospital. I saw she had white bandages wrapped around her legs, like Grandma’s old stockings, but thicker. She walked a bit slower than usual. Happy feelings were filling my body when Mum announced, ‘I’m just about to serve dinner.’ I got to sit next to Dad at the top of the table. I knew my brother was jealous. He kicked me under the table when Dad was saying grace.

  I felt safe sitting next to Dad. Uncle was a long way away, right down the other end of the table. I was happy, and watched everyone eating. I could see in Dad’s eyes that he was glad to have Mum home. You had to really watch Dad’s face to know what he was thinking because he didn’t talk much. He was always busy working on the farm, and most days we only saw him at the table at suppertime. Mum taught us not to talk with our mouths full, so we couldn’t talk to him when we were eating. But today was different.

  I felt very special when Dad asked me about the city, because I knew everyone around the table was listening. I used my best manners, and I told the best story, about all the good things I liked that were different from the country. Dad said he was glad that I was home. I beamed with happiness.

  I looked down the table. I was sure that Aunty and Uncle were glad that I was home too. They finished their meals before everyone else, and Aunty said she wanted to start doing the dishes, but Mum said not to worry, that I could do them later. Uncle said they should make a start on the return trip, as he had a big day at work at the railway yards the next day.

  I didn’t go outside to wave them off. I was too busy staring at the huge pile of dishes!

  Short Poems

  1.

  I sang out loud

  there was no echo

  in the cave

  I ran away.

  2.

  I-found-a-bike

  early morning chatter

  of red tail black bird

  echoes the joy

  of every bush boy’s dream

  I-found-a-bike

  3.

  old kungka weeps

  in the morning

  kuka malu gone

  as crows perch

  in nearby trees

  waiting.

  kungka – old woman

  kuka malu – kangaroo tail

  Four

  We lived on a farm called ‘Mallee Brae’ in the mid north of South Australia. Dad had lived there all his life. His parents started it, and he had grown up there as a boy. Dad was fourteen when his brothers left the farm to enlist to fight in the Second World War. Grandpa and Dad kept the farm going. Dad’s brothers called him ‘The Colonel’ when they returned from fighting overseas.

  He married Mum after they met at church. She was working at the local hospital. Mum says it was ‘love at first sight’, and she remembers clearly the day she saw Dad—a young handsome man leaning against the church wall. Dad didn’t say anything about meeting Mum. Dad, always a man of few words!

  After a while they realised they could not make babies of their own. So they found out about adoptions. Mum and Dad adopted four of us—two from the mission, and the two babies from a special house where babies are given away to families. Big Brother had the darkest skin, and Little Sister had yellow hair and blue eyes. Little Brother and I were somewhere in between, although my skin was still darker than his. They also had another boy, who looked very different to us and was much older. He was fostered from people that Aunty and Uncle knew somehow.

  On the farm Dad had sheep, cows, chooks, and pigs. Us kids loved playing in the sheds and helping out with the animals. We learned at a young age to work hard. There were always chores to do on the farm. After school we would help walk the cows from the paddock into the dairy for their afternoon milking. Then we would scoop and carry jugs of fresh milk and cream out of the vat to put in the fridge. We would also collect and clean eggs, bag chaff for the cows, drive hay out to the paddocks, and mix ‘foster milk’ for hand feeding calves from a teat and tube that Dad had designed. Often we would race home from the dairy on our pushbikes to finish our school homework before dinner.

  How Does a Father Feel

  How does a father feel

  After his child is abused?

  Does he want to kill the man

  Who stole innocence forever?

  Does he want to sit alone

  And hide, pretend, whatever?

  Does he want to hit his wife

  When her crying goes on and on?

  Does he want to go drinking

  With his mates, even that one?

  What does a father feel

  After his child is abused?

  Kill hide hit deny

  Speak to the men, even that one.

  Five

  Two of Dad’s brothers lived on nearby farms. The oldest brother lived further away. He was a pastor in the Lutheran Church. Dad didn’t have any sisters.

  They were wonderful uncles, and talked more than Dad. They were kind and gentle like Dad, and loved their families. We saw them often, mostly on Sundays after church when we shared a big lunch and played tennis. Dad’s brothers had six children each in their families. I often thought there were two kids missing from ours.

  Their farms were different to ours because they did not have cows. I was jealous that they didn’t have to work as hard as we did. Uncle Harold had a horse; Uncle Ray had a colour TV; and we had neither.

  Uncle Harold and Aunty Helga lived closest to us. They were like our second parents, and Aunty Helga was Mum’s sister. She was kind, and often sewed dresses for me to wear to church. Their house had a big garden with a mulberry tree and pet rabbits. Sometimes we played indoor bowls down the passageway.

  We often went to Uncle Ray’s after church, for dinner and to play tennis. Aunty Dorothy grew the best strawberries, and it was hard not to steal them. Every year we all drove over to Uncle Ray’s farm to watch The Sound of Music on his colour TV. Aunty Dorothy always had Tupperware boxes filled with biscuits and cakes for us to eat. The lounge room would be filled with all us cousins in our pyjamas, happy and excited, fighting over the beanbags. Once the movie started we had to keep our noise down. It was Mum’s favourite film, and she knew all the words to the songs.

  We loved our cousins, and they loved us. Some of our cousins were also adopted.

  Six

  Mum’s family used to visit often from the Barossa Valley. They were also German, like her, but very strict, and they often scolded Big Brother and me for our behaviour. We used to hide, watching them from behind the water-tank stand or from down the cellar stairs. In summer we could hide behind the grapevine that grew along the laundry wall.

  Every year Mum’s family would arrive at the family farm for the ‘pig kill’. Dad would have the fire going under the tin bathtub full of water, ready to immerse the carcass for shaving. Then Dad would sharpen his best knife and slit the pig’s throat. It was dangerous because the pig would sense the danger and was very strong. All the younger kids would watch from behind their mothers’ aprons or from behind the rails of the pen. Dishes would be passed out to the yard, to catch the blood. Every part of the pig would be an ingredient in Grandma’s recipes, even the ears and feet. The wooden stove would be covered with pots, bubbling and simmering. Vats would be placed down the cellar for preserving some of the meat in brine. Sometimes I was allowed to turn the handle of the machine that spurted the minced pork into the pig’s washed intestine, to make pork sausages. Big Brother would have to twirl and twist the pig-gut casing to make the separate sausages.

  Weeks late
r we would be sitting outside the smokehouse as the sawdust smell of bacon, ham, Mettwurst, and Fritz, being smoke-cured German style, drifted out. Then Dad would open the smokehouse door, and the meats would be ready to eat.

  Everyone in Mum’s family seemed to enjoy music, so we had many sing-along nights at our house. Grandma’s sisters or an aunty would pump the pedals of the organ, and pump out hymns. The children would be pushed in close, and told to stop mucking around, and to sing loud! Mum used to record us all singing together, and then send the tapes to her brother in Darwin.

  We only saw him during school holidays because he lived so far away. One time he was there when we got home from school. Mum was crying, and told us Grandpa had gone away. Big Brother and I wondered where he had gone. Later Mum and Dad took us to see him. He was lying in a polished wooden box. His eyes were closed.

  Christmas time was the best for singing, and us children knew the words to most of the Christmas carols. Our Sunday school put on a nativity program on Christmas Eve every year. I was shy in those public performances, and wanted to play a shepherd or some other minor role. Instead, I was always cast as an angel, and had to learn to recite heaps of lines. It was a popular program, and the church was always filled to capacity. After the service every child received a story book and a bag of lollies.

  We always opened our presents on Christmas Eve when we got home from church. Mum said that was because the cows made Dad work too much. Each year the presents would sit for weeks under the pine tree Dad had cut. Big Brother and I would be allowed to help Mum decorate the tree with tinsel and baubles and coloured lights. Most years Grandma and Grandpa would come to stay, as well as some of the old aunties. Finally on Christmas Eve we would sit patiently for Mum to make hot drinks and serve special Christmas biscuits and cakes; then Mum would hand out the presents. I always enjoyed getting books; my favourite author was Enid Blyton, and my favourite book was The Magic Faraway Tree. The undies, hankies, and talcum-powder presents got a bit boring year after year.