Archie Roach - Tell Me Why ; The Story of My Life and My Music

Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are warned that this book contains images of people who are deceased or who may now be deceased.

TELL ME WHY: The Story of My Life and My Music

First published in Australia in 2019 by Simon & Schuster Australia

Simon & Schuster (Australia) Pty Limited

Suite 19A, Level 1, Building C, 450 Miller Street, Cammeray, NSW 2062

A CBS Company

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Visit our website at www.simonandschuster.com.au

Archie Roach 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the publisher.

Jacket design by Christa Moffitt/Christabella Designs

Front and back jacket photography by Adrian Cook Photography

Endpaper photography by Bill McAuley

Author photo by Pierre Baroni

Typeset by Midland Typesetters, Australia

I dedicate this book to my mother, Nellie Austin, and my father, Archie Roach, whom I never knew. To my sisters, Alma, Myrtle, Gladys and Diana, and my brothers, Johnny and Lawrence. And to Ruby, and all those stolen and scattered, who found their way home, and to those who never did.

To Mum Dulcie and Dad Alex, the Coxes, who showed me love.

Lilydale, Melbourne

1970

Sometimes you can go years without really changing as a person. Maybe you get a little rounder, a little balder, but inside youre the same man. Same values, same hopes, pretty much the same bloke.

Sometimes, though, it can all change in a day. In the morning you have one life ahead of you and in the afternoon another.

That happened to me once, when I was a boy.

I was in Mrs Peterss English class, one of my favourites, minding my own business, which was something I used to be very good at. Then that moment came, through the rickety old speaker in the classroom.

PSSSSSHT Could Archibald William Roach come to the office, please? Archibald William Roach. Thank you.

The message didnt mean much of anything to Mrs Peters or the other children there was no Archibald William Roach at the school but it had me squirming around in my seat like it was a stove. Archie Cox had been my name for as long as I could remember, or so I thought.

I tried to go back to my work after the message, but couldnt. My eyes glazed over and all I could hear was that name Archibald William Roach. Afterwards, something deep in me started to take over.

This something had been in me pretty much as long as I could remember. It had tried to take over before, when I was alone in the bush, or when I was listening to certain sad and lovely music. It whispered in my ear, trying to tell me about another world and another life. I was usually good at ignoring those whispers, but on this day I couldnt.

I wanted to stay in my seat and finish my day, live Archie Coxs life.

I think that message is for me, I said, standing.

Mrs Peters was a lovely old lady. She loved my writing especially my poetry and would encourage me to share my work in front of the class, but I would stumble through it, embarrassed. She saw something in me, though, in my love of words. She still had her Canadian accent but had been living in Australia long enough to know something wasnt quite right.

You better go then, she said.

When I got to the office, the secretary asked if I was Archibald William Roach. I dont know why I knew that name was mine, but by then I knew it was. I told the secretary that was me and she passed me a letter that seemed to vibrate in my hands.

Across from the counter was a wooden bench for students awaiting punishment, and there I sat, staring at the envelope. The front read:

Archibald William Roach

C/O Lilydale High School

25 Melba Avenue

Lilydale, Victoria

The boy I started the day as would have handed the letter back and explained that hed made a mistake. He would have said this letter wasnt for him and he would have gone back to his class, back to his schoolwork, back to his house where his guitar and supper and parents were waiting for him.

I took the letter out of the envelope and unfolded it.

Dear Brother,

Your dear old Mum passed away a week ago. Her name was Nellie Austin and she had been living in Sylvan. Your other brothers and sisters are Johnny, Alma, Lawrence, Gladys and Diana. Your dad already passed away, and his name was Archie too.

I thought it was time to get in touch with you.

Love,

Myrtle

The world started to spin with names and faces and thoughts and songs and feelings that were brand new and also old and familiar. I saw a dormitory packed with beds and black children. I saw two girls. Big girls, bigger than me, anyway. I saw their names, Gladys and Diana. These were my sisters. It was all so suddenly vivid.

I flipped the envelope over and saw a return address:

Myrtle Evans

1 Toxteth Road, Glebe

Sydney, NSW

I folded up the letter, tucked it into my school bag and dragged my feet to a classroom that was no longer mine. In Archie Coxs favourite class, I stared past his essay and thought of my dead mother. I thought about my father, too, also dead. I thought of the brothers and sisters I knew nothing of, and about my name.

I thought about Toxteth Road, Glebe, Sydney.

Is everything all right, Archie? Mrs Peters asked quietly.

It took me a little while to reply.

Im not sure.

I reckon that was the last thing Archie Cox ever said.

This storys right, this storys true

I would not tell lies to you

Like the promises they did not keep

And how they fenced us in like sheep

Said to us come take our hand

And set us up on mission land

Taught us to read, to write and pray

And they took the children away

Children away

Children away

Snatched from their mothers breast

Said this is for the best

Took them away

The welfare and the policeman

Said youve got to understand

Well give to them what you cant give

Teach them how to really live

Teach them how to live they said

Humiliated them instead

They taught them that, and taught them this

And others taught them prejudice

They took the children away

The children away

Breaking their mothers heart

Tearing them all apart

Took them away

One dark day on Framlingham

They came and they did not give a damn

And my mother cried Go get their dad!

He came running, fighting mad

Mothers tears were falling down

My dad shaped up and stood his ground

He said You touch my kids well you got to fight me

Then they took us from our family.

Took us away

They took us away

Snatched from our Mothers breast

Said this was for the best

Took us away.

Told us what to do and say

They taught us all the white mans ways

Then they split us up again

And gave us gifts to ease the pain

Sent us off to the foster homes

As we grew up we felt alone