Graham Wilson - Children of Arnhems Kaleidoscope

Children of Arnhems Kaleidoscope

Memoir by Graham Wilson

Copyright

Children ofArnhems Kaleidoscope

GrahamWilson

CopyrightGraham Wilson 2012

Published atSmashwords

ISBN9780987197139

SmashwordsEdition, License Notes

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I wish to thanka range of people who have contributed to this book. First, thanksto those who encouraged me to write the story of my childhood andlife living in the remote Top End of the Northern Territory ofAustralia.

I also wish tothank the many people who have contributed to this story throughlives lived in this place, particularly my extended family,missionaries who worked at Oenpelli, people who worked for theNorthern Territory Department of Primary Industry and many stationpeople from across the NT and most especially the aboriginal peopleof western Arnhem Land.

Collectivelyyou have given me the rich experiences which make this story livein my mind, and give the colour of the telling.

Prologue

Yesterday,November 23rd, I went to Oenpelli, an aboriginal town in ArnhemLand. It was two days after my father was buried in Darwin, next towhere my mother was buried six years before. A memorial service washeld, recounting his pioneering exploits.

The mostbeautiful part was a gathering of about six aboriginal women,standing in a semicircle around his grave. They spontaneously sanga hymn in Gunwinku, the language of the Oenpelli people. Otherpeople threw handfuls of dirt into the grave. It was a hauntinglylyrical melody, an expression of their private affection.

There wereother people at Oenpelli who could not come in to Darwin but wantedto say their sorrys too. So I drove to Oenpelli and walked aroundthe town, amongst these people, enveloped in a steamy wet seasonbuild up day, as aboriginal people came up and murmured theirregrets at my Dads passing.

Later I walkedout across the Oenpelli plains, to where the first water of the wetseason was spilling from the end of the billabong onto thefloodplains; just myself and a few hundred squawking waterbirdsfeasting on natures first wet season flush.

The afternoonsky turned purple, then olive-black, above the sunlit sandstonehills, as a storm built. Flashes and rumbles increased as I walkedback towards Oenpelli, watching as the sweep of rain blotted outthe view of the hills. A sudden blast of cold air at the stormsleading edge swept me with its fresh rain smell. At the church, onthe edge of the plains, I took shelter. The storm lashed out itsbrief fury, then was gone. Rising steam and a few puddles were allthat remained.

I said farewellto Oenpelli. It was time to begin my return to Sydney. On impulse Idecided to drive back to Darwin along the old Jim Jim Road, anearly road to Oenpelli. I planned to camp out on the plains onceacross the South Alligator River. Here, in my childhood, buffalo bythousands and more, were seen.

Another moremassive storm was brewing. I crossed the South Alligator River,driving through a few inches of water and thought. Well - the bigriver is behind me and the road is clear ahead to Darwin. A shorttime later, tropical sheets of rain began to fall. I pulled overonto a small gravel ridge on the side of the road to sit the stormout. After half an hour, it eased to a drizzle, which continuedinto the night. I slept in the car, thinking morning would be abetter time to travel.

The grey lightof 6 am dawn saw a small amount of high cloud, but the rain wasgone. I proceeded, cautiously at first, but the gullies were dry,other than one or two with a trickle of water. My mind was still onthe events of the last few days, but all seemed well. I sweptaround a bend, and there was a gully with some water flowingthrough it, about a foot deep I thought.

In the splitsecond before I was into it, I had the chance to brake to a stop,but my instant decision was, it's fine, keep going. Suddenly onefoot of water was three, and before I knew it the current picked upthe light four-wheel-drive up. I was floating in the creek, with noengine and water bubbling inside. As the car drifted downstream,away from the road, the water outside was deeper, coming up overthe dash.

I thought;It's time to get out of here, but with no engine and noelectricity, the windows and doors were securely locked. I crawledinto the back and tried to unlock the tail gate. No luck thereeither. Here I was, in a glass encased bubble, slowly flowing downan ever-increasing river towards the sea, while the car slowlysettled ever deeper into the water.

After 30 or 40yards it seemed to catch something on the bottom and movementstopped. My bubble still held me trapped and it really was time toget out, while my head was above the water. Two or three kicks atthe window made no impression on the hardened glass. Not good, Ithought. Then I realised there was a skylight. I couldn't open thateither, so it was time to kick in earnest, two hard kicks andsuddenly the glass shattered.

I retrievedwhat I could find of my possessions floating in the cabin, andscrambled to the shore, none the worse for wear, except for a fewglass cuts to my feet. Two hours of trudging up the dirt road, thena road train came along. I got a lift to Darwin.

Then came theunpleasantness of dealing with destroying a rental car, expensiveand embarrassing, when you have to explain your stupidity.

It was a lessonin two parts, how quickly security can turn to tragedy and that Ishould never have underestimated the fickle power of the NorthernTerritory. The rain, a moderate tropical storm where I was, hadbarely run water. Far upstream 84 millimetres came from this storm,focused in one narrow river channel. I tasted its power in mymoment of inattention. I don't know why my hands and voice wereshaking that afternoon, I was in one piece. Cars can be replaced,people can't.

Back to thefirst beginning. Its over 6 years now since the fateful phone callthat began the writing of this story. My sister in New Zealandrings occasionally, at night or the weekend. So a phone call inmid-afternoon is unusual; Have you heard what happened to Mum? No(I think did she win a prize or something). Theres been a caraccident and shes been killed. Silence!

All the urgent,routine arrangements take place; book a flight to Darwin, deal witha lot of other shocked family and friends, make funeralarrangements; its all a bit of a blur now.

On the morningof the funeral I have a memory of standing there and looking atMums face; still, peaceful, lined with 75 years of living. Later,listening to an Irish song, one line brought that image of mymother flashing into my mind.

her face is awell worn page, and time all alone is the pen

It captured abit of my mothers passing and the rich life that she lived,reflected in her final face; kind, dignified and written with itsown history.

This book is anattempt to share this history with others, and so to leave a recordof the unusual life of her and my father, a richness in which ourwhole family has partaken.

As a child itdid not occur to me that my parents were different from an averagesuburban Mum and Dad. I accepted as normal living in Arnhem Land;where the aeroplane came now and then, or sometimes a boat came upthe river; that most of my playmates were black; that for four orfive months of each year it was a world cut off by water, and atopposite times it was a world of smoke, fire and bulldust,punctuated by intense black thunderheads and lightning.