The Sausage Tree

Rosalie Medcraft and Valda Gee are sisters.

Rosalie lives in Ulverstone on the north-west coast of Tasmania and works as an Aboriginal Studies resource teacher. She has been involved in writing Aboriginal Studies guidelines for Tasmanian schools. Rosalie enjoys reading and doing crossword puzzles. During the warmer months she bike rides and loves playing tennis with some of her fourteen grandchildren.

In 1987 Valda completed a bridging course with the University of Tasmania and went on to graduate with a Bachelor of Arts degree, majoring in Aboriginal Studies. Valda is president of the Exeter (Tas.) Elderly Citizens Club and is a former committee member of the Aboriginal Child Care Association (Tas.),

Rosalie and Valda are descendants of Manalargenna who was the leader of the Trawlwoolway people in the Cape Portland area of north-east Tasmania.

We have chosen to call our childhood memoirs
The Sausage Tree
to commemorate one of the childhood secrets which binds our now scattered family. The focus of our outdoor games, the sausage tree stood in our front garden in Lilydale, Tasmania. Our imaginations transformed its wide shining leaves into fat sausages. The sausage tree was also a good place to hide.

Many years later when Dad rebuilt the fence he trimmed back the sausage tree as it was in his way. The tree didn't take too kindly to this treatment and in due course it withered and died. We all felt that part of our childhood had gone forever. It now lives on in the title of our book.

After Dad's death in 1985 we finally felt free to acknowledge another deeper family secret: the Aboriginal heritage our parents had fervently guarded from us for so many years. As children who had inherited “cotton hair” from our mother, we were naturally curious as to why our father's family had black curly hair and a darker complexion than we did.

During her teens Valda began to ask questions about the differences, and as she received no answers she let the matter drop. Later in our lives when we again queried Dad about our grandparents' lives and his own childhood, he told us what we were asking was “a load of old rubbish”. Dad's brothers were equally as secretive. They told us we wouldn't find out anything as “it was too well hidden”. That statement spurred Valda on in her quest to unravel our family tree.

Fortunately we had been told the names of our great grandparents and where they had lived. After many years of searching through microfiche at the state library, Valda and her daughter Marianne discovered the reason for secrecy. Dad's family were Aboriginal and they had obviously not wanted us to know. The reasons for secrecy can only be surmised, as the true answers will never be known.

Looking back on our childhood we cannot recall knowing anyone who acknowledged being Aboriginal. Perhaps in earlier years the family had suffered the bitterness of racism that we have since heard the Elders speak of. Because of the harsh treatment received by Aborigines since European settlement of Tasmania, maybe the family thought they were protecting themselves and us from the trauma of prejudice that others suffered. Perhaps the pages of history can supply us with the unspoken answers.

Although acceptance and reconciliation have become ongoing goals of everyday life today, sadly that has not always been the way, as during the early settlement of our island there was an attempted genocide by the government of the day. Our history goes back many thousands of years, but written history began with the arrival of settlers, soldiers and convicts. There was little interest in finding out about beliefs, ideas or the way of life of the original owners.

By 1833, after thirty-five years of conflict between the Aborigines and the new arrivals, 183 settlers had been killed at the cost of between three and four thousand Aborigines. In a misguided attempt to rectify the injustices inflicted on the Aborigines, about 250 people, remnants of the fragmented tribes, were transported to Flinders Island, the largest island in the Fumeaux Group in Bass Strait. Here an attempt was made to westemise, Christianise and “civilise” the group who were denied their natural pursuits of hunting, fishing and performing their tribal customs. The drastic change in lifestyle soon saw them succumb to illness. Ever present was homesickness for their homelands.

In 1847, after just fourteen years, only forty-four adults remained on Flinders Island. They were transported to south-east Tasmania to another unsuitable site at Oyster Cove. Many of today's Aborigines still live near Oyster Cove in the Huon area.

Years before white settlement and for years after, sealers who operated out to the Furneaux Islands had abducted tribal women from north-east Tasmania. Many sealers had two or more women who clubbed the seal pups to death, cooked the meals, dived for food and bore children. These children were the forebears of the Aborigines who today identify Cape Barren Island just south of Flinders Island as their homeland.

We are among the many descendants of Dolly Dalrymple who was born in 1812 and named after Port Dalrymple at the entrance to the Tamar River. Dolly's mother was Worrete-moete-yenner who was married to a sealer named George Briggs, and her grandfather was Manalargenna, leader of the Trawlwoolway people of Cape Portland in the north-east of Tasmania. Manalargenna died on Flinders Island.

At about two years of age, Dolly was taken into care by a Dr Mountgarrett and his wife in Launceston. Dolly left the Mountgarrett house when she was about fourteen years old. She later married an ex-convict named Thomas Johnson and they had thirteen children. Dolly and Thomas became successful farmers and timber merchants in the Latrobe district on the north-west coast. Their home “Sherwood Hall” has been moved from its original site and reconstructed in the popular park area of Bells Parade at Latrobe. Dolly and Thomas were Grandad Johnsons' great-grandparents.

In 1912 the Tasmanian Government passed the
Cape Barren Island Act.
This was to establish a reserve for the Aborigines who lived on the island. One section of the Act dictated that if a white person married an Aborigine they could not live on the reserve or visit it after dark. It wasn't until 1951, the year I went to Teachers' College, that the reserve was closed. Many families were relocated in substandard housing in Launceston where they finally overcame racial hatred, prejudice and rejection.

We were taught in school that all Tasmanian Aborigines were dead, but over the past two decades the fact that there are indeed Aboriginal people in Tasmania has been gradually acknowledged. Despite the attempted racial genocide of Tasmanian Aborigines, almost eight thousand Aborigines now live in Tasmania—including Flinders and Cape Barren Islands.

To us, being Aboriginal is not how we look; it is how we feel from within. We knew we were different and with discovery of our heritage came the desire to interact with other Aboriginal people in the state. Through community organisations, we met other Aborigines who were learning about, and proudly acknowledging, their heritage. Opportunities arose that in previous years would have seemed impossible.

As our personal circumstances changed, our lives seemed to veer onto a different path and lead us in new directions. In 1988 Valda enrolled in a bridging course at the University of Tasmania in Launceston. In her quest to learn more about our people she took an Aboriginal Studies course by correspondence through Adelaide University.

The year 1992 was a memorable one for both of us. Valda graduated from the University of Tasmania with a Bachelor of Arts degree, majoring in Aboriginal Studies. I was appointed Aboriginal Studies resource teacher in the northwest region of the state. During the writing of the Aboriginal Studies guidelines I became aware of the lack of suitable reading materials that have a Tasmanian background. One of my co-workers goaded me into writing a few short stories based on my childhood reminiscences. Memories came flooding back as I jotted down a few ideas. I enlisted Valda's help when I realised I couldn't do it alone, as within three days the short story concept had changed to a book.

The manuscript, which we edited ourselves, was originally written in longhand. As we progressed we began to wonder what we would do with it when we had finished. While visiting a friend at the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Commission office in Hobart I found the answer in a three-year-old entry form outlining the David Unaipon Award, a writing competition for unpublished Aboriginal writers.

Inspired by the thought of entering our manuscript we soldiered on, setting Easter 1994 as the target date for completing our as yet unnamed manuscript. We were afraid that if we waited another year we would tire of our project, lose momentum and perhaps never complete it as each day seemed to bring a new recollection. In May we entered the manuscript in the Award and in August were notified that we had won.

We were also motivated not only by the desire to document a part of our family history for future generations, but to share with a wider audience our memories of growing up in a fiercely devoted family who found fun and laughter, even in social and economic adversity.

1

Join us on a trip down memory lane as we recall the Great Depression and its aftermath when our parents struggled to raise their seven children. Journey with us through our memories of growing up in a different era—a time when ethics were strictly adhered to, punishments for us for misdemeanours were harsh and the ability to enjoy ourselves depended on our initiative and imagination.

We grew up in Lilydale, a small country township whose inhabitants made a living from timber milling, dairying, apple orcharding and small mixed farms.

Our father worked in the timber industry, firstly camping away on the slopes of Mt Arthur where he worked as a bushman felling giant trees with a cross-cut saw and an axe. This was always referred to as “bushing”. The logs would be collected by a man driving a team of horses and dragged through the bush to the mill a few miles away where it was
sawn into timber of varying lengths and thicknesses ready for sale in Launceston.

Dad would leave home at 5.00a.m. on Monday morning with his food carefully packed in a fine jute sugar bag slung on his back like a backpack. His change of clothes were in another bag, shaped like a bed-roll and balanced on the handlebars of his pushbike which he rode from home and up the mountain to his work. The pushbikes in those days didn't have gears so had to be pushed up all the hills. To save the brakes on the downhill ride, Dad cut a small sapling and tied the trunk to his bike, so that the drag slowed the speed as he rode down the rough stony road. Dad was gone from Monday through to Friday in the colder months staying in his tiny one-man hut which was made of rough sawn timber and had a bush fireplace with the chimney made from timber. The only light was from a candle and the fireplace where Dad cooked his potatoes in a tin billy can hung over the flames. Another tin billy was used to boil the water for his tea. Bedtime came soon after teatime. The bed was made from spars strung together and covered with hessian and a mattress was made from dry bracken fern. Wrapped in a grey blanket with more on top for added warmth, Dad slept the sleep of the just.

During the summer months Dad came home on Wednesdays for fresh food because in hot weather even the bread went mouldy before the five days were up.

Some years later he moved down to the lower slopes of the mountain to work in a timber mill closer to home and this enabled him to be home every night.

Dad was a Tasmanian but Mum was from Victoria. In 1922 when Dad was sixteen he left Tasmania because work in the timber industry was not available for single men. He and
his older brother had been working in a sawmill since they were eleven years old. They worked with their father, walking six miles each way through the bush to work, but unfortunately both had been “stood down” in favour of married men and so they went “over the other side” (mainland Australia) looking for work. Dad and Uncle Ern found work in a timber mill in Wonthaggi in Victoria, but after a while Dad thought it was time he moved on.

He wandered the countryside for a while, working in various sawmills until in 1925 he settled in the tiny timber milling settlement of Noojee. The mill was owned by William Harrison (our grandfather) who remarked “that although George (Dad) was touched with the tarbrush, he was a good worker and worth his money”.

Life was tough and rather primitive in Noojee, and the only people who lived there were the mill workers and their families. There were no shops. Grandfather's house was larger than the workers' cottages which were mostly three or four rooms and a lean-to at the back where the washtubs were and the firewood was kept during the winter. The single men were housed in little rooms joined together in a long row. These men ate all their meals at the “big house” with the family. Set apart from the houses was the school that was also used for social occasions and, like the houses, was built with timber sawn at the mill.

Every two weeks one of the men set off with a team of six bullocks and a wagon to bring all the stores and mail from Nayook which was the nearest town. The track was very rough and the journey usually took three days to complete.

For five months of the year Noojee was completely isolated by snow from the rest of the world. Sometimes if the weather broke early the track became almost impassable with the team up to their bellies in mud and slush, straining to pull the heavily laden wagon through the bog.

Huge quantities of sacks of flour for bread, potatoes and
sugar, wooden crates packed with five-pound (2kg) tins of jam, sides of bacon and four-gallon (20L) tins of kerosene were the main items stacked on the wagon and covered with a tarpaulin for the long trip that could take a week if the rains began early.

The majority of the goods were stored in a special store-house that was managed by Grandma Harrison who was responsible to see that all the housewives ordered sufficient stores to last the long, cold winter.

Early in 1927 Dad married Grace Harrison who was eighteen at the time. After their wedding they travelled to Melbourne and set sail for Tasmania. Dad was taking his bride home to meet his family who lived in the Nabowla district in the north-east where he hoped to find work again.

Their first child, a son named Geoffrey, was born in 1927. Unfortunately work was still hard to find and after the birth in 1929 of their second child Joan they decided to return to Victoria. This time they headed straight for Noojee to Mum's family where they were sure that Dad could get work and a place to live. In June 1930 their third child Valda was born—another mouth to feed.

Because the settlement at Noojee was closely surrounded by densely timbered forests, bushfires caused by either lightning strikes or spontaneous combustion were not uncommon during the summer. As a safety measure Dad dug a hole in the ground about four feet deep and large enough to hold three children and Mum. At the top three sack bags hung on sticks so that snakes could not hide beneath them. The bags were to be taken into the hole to sit on if we had to escape from a bushfire. Near the edge at the top was a large sheet of galvanised iron that Mum was to use as a cover after we were all inside. Dad made a little ladder that we could use to climb in and out of the hole.

One time when all the men were away in the next gully
fighting fires another one started. in the opposite direction and the women and children were caught in a ring of fire. Fortunately the wind turned before the fire reached the houses and the mill. There was no running water, but the high rainfall provided sample tank water for their daily needs.

However, tank water was no help if a house caught fire—as happened to our home in 1933 when a log rolled from the fireplace while Dad was asleep on the couch. In a desperate effort to save what he thought was a drawer containing important papers, Dad grabbed the wrong drawer and all he saved was a lot of old socks. Fortunately only Dad was home at the time as Mum had taken Geoff, Joan and Valda to Melbourne with her where she went to have the new baby. Instead of one baby there were two. The nurse wanted Mum to call them Sarah and Sue, Mum wanted Lynette and Lorraine but Dad didn't like those names and named them Barbara and Rosalie. They were always referred to as “the twins”.

The family was now destitute—no home, furniture, clothes or money. While Mum was still in hospital she was approached by the almoner with the proposition that, in view of the situation she was now in, the twins be adopted out. Of course Mum would not agree. Next she was told that there was a couple willing to pay a hundred pounds for the babies. This was a large sum of money for the times and would have been a great help in getting the family on its feet again. Mum and Dad considered all their options and their financial position but decided that no matter what, they could not let their babies go.

A house was found for us in the Melbourne suburb of Oakleigh and sustenance money of thirty shillings a week was granted from Social Services, of which twelve shillings and sixpence was paid in rent. With donations of a few basic items of furniture and clothing we once again had a home.
We children were very excited when we found a big pile of toys in one of the rooms. Santa had been before we arrived! Wasn't he clever to know that three children and two babies were going to live there.

It was now at the height of the Depression and Dad could only find two days work a week. When Geoff went to school he found that a free cup of cocoa was given to all the pupils at recess time and at the lunch break there was a cup of free soup. Although Joan was only just four, Mum sent her to school, and when Valda turned four she also started school.

We stayed in Oakleigh until late in 1935 when one of Dad's brothers and a sister came from Tasmania on a visit. Uncle Bob had won a lot of money in Tattersall's lottery sweeps and offered to pay our fare home to Tasmania where work in the timber industry had picked up.