The alarm was set for an early rising and we were promptly up, breakfasted and out at the bus stop just up the road from the park in plenty of time for the 299. It was late, so late that when it finally did arrive, the driver announced to us and all the other passengers who subsequently joined the journey, “Free today – we are running late”.
It had been our plan to connect up with one free bus on arrival at the central terminal, then transfer to another, allowing us to arrive at the gates of the WACA before 10 am. For those who are not cricket tragics, WACA stands for Western Australia Cricket Association. But we were running late and I doubted the connections would now fit with my cunning plan. So we alighted as soon as we reached the north bank of the Swan River and walked the relatively short distance to the grounds.
Today there were five of us who took the guided tour with Nigel, who had suggested the tour would take about an hour and a half. In fact it took two hours and was most enjoyable; that is really something from me, who is not at all a cricket, or even sporting, enthusiast or follower.
The WACA grounds were established in 1890 and unlike the MCG in Melbourne, is strictly a cricket venue, nor is it lavish, modern or grand. It should be noted however that all manner of sporting activities have taken place here over its life.
 |
| Us at the WACA |
The pitch at the WACA is regarded as one of the quickest and bounciest in the world and has seen many world class matches. The current score board is the replacement of the 1948 one which was destroyed in a cyclone and has been in operation ever since 1954. In the museum there is a video showing the operation of the board during a game; quite a business for the many who rush around swapping painted boards and placing them into the windows. Hard to believe in this day and age that such practices persist.
Unlike the world famous Melbourne Cricket Grounds, we were able to walk right out into the centre of the pitch and stand in the sunshine as we would if we were famous cricketers like Dennis Lillee, Rod March and Kim Hughes, all of whom are immortalised with their names gracing stands and rooms.
Surprisingly the small cricket museum housed in what was once the caretakers residence, managed to hold my attention for more than a few minutes. Only one third of the collection is on display and for the cricket crazy there are plates, cartoons, caps, shirts, balls, trophies and so much more to celebrate everything cricket. Two thirds of the collection is out in a container somewhere waiting their turn for show.
To be fair, the WACA would not be on my personal list of Perth tourist to-dos, but then as I said, I am not really interested in sport, apart from the Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia, the rugby test matches, the tennis grand slam finals…..
By the time we emerged from the rather chaotic setup, chaotic because the whole complex is undergoing a massive facelift, it was well past midday and hunger drove us across the street into Queens Park, a charming oasis in the middle of tall towers and bustling streets. Here coots, ducks and a small family of the elusive black swans share their space with the sandwich eating city workers.
Interestingly this park was once upon a time a brick works, the clay soil seen as particularly suitable for building materials for the growing city. This was back in the 1860s and from here came the building blocks for Perth’s important buildings such as the Town Hall, the Cloisters and St Georges Cathedral.
 |
| Forecourt of the Perth Mint |
But by 1894, the local populace had had enough of such industry being carried on here in their midst and a decision was made to have the area developed into public gardens. The brick kilns were removed and the clay pits were transformed into the beautiful ponds that remain so today.
After lunch we walked westwards into the city centre finding all sorts of architecture hitherto undiscovered; St Mary’s Cathedral, the Perth Mint, the Archbishop’s Palace, Old Perth Fire Station, to name but a few. We continued on to the Cultural Centre and returned to the WA Museum.
Today Chris and I agreed we would meet at an exact spot at a pre-agreed time, thus avoiding a repeat of the lost scenario of last week. Today was a much quieter day at the museum, children at school and most grownups at work.
I returned to the Aboriginal gallery and resumed my
study. I have been fascinated by this whole aboriginal history business since
European invasion, and I do use that term “invasion” because here in Western
Australia it is a word that comes up time and time again. Of course, living
just across the ditch from Australia for most of my life, and being the product
of colonial invaders myself, I have been only too aware of Australia’s own
history and problems with their indigenous people. And aware too that in
Australia it is realistic to consider the Aborigines as indigenous because
60,000 years of habitation really does give people claim to call this home,
unlike the New Zealand Maoris who are immigrants as my own ancestors were,
albeit a few hundred years before.
 |
| St Mary's Cathedral |
Listening and reading stories and opinions over all the years of being politically and socially aware, I had formed one sort of opinion, however as I have travelled about Australia, seen for myself the people and the places, read and listened to all Australians here in their own country, my opinions have disintegrated and become one great big muddle.
Just last week we drove up to New Norcia and were shown through this amazing Benedictine settlement, a place of refuge and education for the so many aboriginal people. We heard about the good that was done and I thought I understood the motivation of the monks and Bishop Salvado.
Today I read another view of the New Norcia Mission; that in the 1870s the mission began seeking Aboriginal children from other areas of the colony after many local children had died from disease. When Bishop Salvado found it difficult to attract children to the Mission, he lobbied for legal powers to remove and detain them.
And yet I had understood that this mission had been a welcome alternative to those who “stole children”. Not so, after all?
I read too that “systematic removal of children first began with the establishment of missions in the 1830s. These were set up by Christianise and “civilise” Aboriginal children and to train them to become humble farm labourers and housemaids.”
That this was “to assist in cultivating the moral and intellectual improvement of their conditions and in leading then out of their present dark and abject state to the blessings of Christianity and Civilisation”.
Under the powers of the Industrial Schools Act of 1874, managers of Aboriginal missions could detain children until they reached the age of twenty one. Once children were placed in an institution, parents had no say in their future.
Race and racial purity were major concerns in the founding years of the Australian nation. One of the first Acts of the new Federal Parliament was an Immigration Act 1901 limiting the entry of non-white people to Australia. In the context of a white Australia, Western Australia introduced the Aborigines Act 1905, it established a system that segregated Aboriginal families into isolated reserves and children of mixed descent into institutions. The mass removal of Aboriginal children threatened the continuity of Aboriginal cultures. In the long term, it threatened the very survival of Aboriginal people.
The Chief Protector of Aborigines became the legal guardian of Aboriginal and half-caste children up to the age of sixteen. He had the power to take them from their families and place them in institutional care anywhere in the state. Parents and children who tried to resist faced prosecution under the Aborigines Act. Police officers and missionaries appointed as local protectors had the authority to round up half-caste children and send them to institutions.
Apart from the religious missions all over the state there were two important settlements established here in Western Australia; Carrolup, south of Perth in 1914 and Moore River, north of Perth in 1918. Those who emerged from the Christian institutions counted themselves luckier than those who came through these government established settlements.
Of course this is all about social engineering and a small part of me supports some of this, however (and this happens in all sorts of scenarios) the abuse of the system was terrible. Children were disciplined in totally unjustifiable manner, sometimes terribly sexually abused, education was often cursory and quite frankly, it all amounted to legislated slavery.
The whole affair from this end of history is just heart breaking although I do not think it the role of modern people to apologise for the acts of those in the past, and that statement will not go down too well with many, or most, readers.
Despite the further documentation of this history, none of it new to me, but simply making sure I did not forget how guilty I should feel, there was good news in the gallery; stories of many many Aborigine people clawing their way into the current century and standing as proud modern Australians.
These include many who have regained their traditional ties to land in the more than twenty million hectares of conservation parks, regional parks and nature reserves in Western Australia, many now contributing to the management of these lands.
And yet, and yet …. there was nothing of the tragic stories of the people falling victim to the bottle throughout the state, in fact, throughout the country. There was little mention of the distorted percentages of Aboriginal folk in prisons and a disproportionate mortality rate. And in the end, it is my opinion, that the only way forward is to become better educated, masterful of the English language which is the language of this country and join the more recently arrived Australians, the "invaders”. If we imagine that there might be a more sophisticated invasion of our own countries today, we have to realise that after a couple of hundred years we too would merge with the invaders and all become one, although we would still remember our own personal traditions and language, just as we march to Pipe Bands, celebrate Catholic fleet blessings, teach our children Hebrew or whatever we so choose to do in the privacy of our homes.
Slightly off on another tangent, today I read again about a famous Aboriginal rebel who we had learned about when in Fitzroy Crossing, an important part of Australian history which is overlooked but as important as Ned Kelly, if not more so. And I perpetuated this oversight by not recounting it then. So I attempt to make amends here:
Jandamarra, or Pigeon, was a Munaba man remembered today as a Kimberley resistance hero. His life reflects the changes forced on Aboriginal people by European colonisation. Jandamarra grew up on a pastoral station in the West Kimberley and became a skilled shearer, horseman and marksman. As a police assistant in 1894, he helped arrest seventeen Bunaba men, including Ellemara, a lawman who guided Jandamarra’s growth to manhood. However, after being reminded of his social obligations of kin, Jandamarra shot the arresting constable and released his countrymen.
For two and a half years, he led raids and uprisings against settlers, and managed to evade capture. Wounded by police, he was finally killed in a battle with Pilbara Aboriginal trooper Minko Mick on 1 April 1897. Jandamarra’s head was cut off and sent to England as a trophy. Bunaba people remember Jandamarra in narrative songs as a hero. He was only twenty four when he met his demise.
To say he is forgotten is not really fair; his life has been the subject of two novels, a documented history, a stage play and a television documentary, but I bet you had never heard of him?
I have also expressed disappointment in earlier posts about the lack of influence left by the Indonesian sea slug gatherers on the tribes of the north, given that they came year after year for so many centuries. Today in the museum, I read that the galwa, mangrove log rafts, are attributed to the marine ingenuity of those Indonesian visitors by the Blue Water People of the north in the Kimberleys. That pleased me enormously.
Finished with the Aboriginal gallery, I drifted into the exhibitions of birds, animals and butterflies. The museum has a wonderful exhibition of butterflies, most of the one hundred and thirteen species recorded from Western Australia. The exhibits are fresh, very colourful and very beautiful unlike the rather jaded specimens one sees in some other museums.
With our heads bursting with information and ideas,
we made our way down into the city and caught the bus home. It is cold again
tonight and the forecast promises another morning of 8 degrees. The leaves on
the trees throughout the city may still be gold, but it feels like winter,
especially out in the wind, albeit Perth’s version of the season.
No comments:
Post a Comment