IF ONLY EVERYONE CARED

One day when we were at school I was thrilled because an older, boy and I were the only ones to get the answer to a difficult sum" Mrs Hill praised us and as I am not brainy it really meant a lot to me. Between morning school and lunch break, we heard the unmistakable sound of a motor car. ..I cannot remember everything that went on but the next thing I do remember was that the policeman and Mr Hill came into the school. Mrs Hill seemed to be in a heated argument with her husband. She was very distressed.

The children were all standing (we always stood up when visitors came and the police were no exception). My sister May and another little girl, an orphan, started to cry. Then others. They may have heard the conversation. I was puzzled to know what they were crying for, until Mr Hill told all the children to leave the school, except myself and May and Myrtle Taylor, who was the same age as May (eleven years). Myrtle was an orphan reared by Mrs Maggie Briggs. She was very fair? skinned and pretty.

I had forgotten about Brungle and the gang of men representing the Aborigines Protection Board who had visited when we were staying there. But then it came to me in a rush! But I didn't believe for a moment that my mother would let us go. She would put a stop to it! All the children who had been dismissed must have run home and told their parents what was happening at school. When I looked out that school door, every Moonahculla Aboriginal mother? some with babies in arms ?and a sprinkling of elderly men were standing in groups. ..

Suddenly that little group were all talking at once, some in the language, some in English, but all with a hopelessness, knowing that they would not have the last say.

Some looked very angry , others had tears running down their cheeks. Then Mr Hill demanded that we three girls leave immediately with the police. The Aboriginal women :were very angry .

Mr Hill was in a situation he had never experienced before. He did not take into account that Aboriginal hearts could break flown with despair and helplessness, the same as any other human hearts. Mrs Hill, the tears running down her cheeks, made a valiant attempt to prolong our stay. ..

We started to cry again and most of our school mates and the mothers too, when our mother, like an angel, came through the schoolroom door. Little Myrtle's auntie rushed in too. I thought: "Everything will be right now. Mum won't let us go."

Myrtle was grabbed by her auntie. We had our arms round our mother, and refused to let go. She still had her apron on, and must have run the whole one and a half miles. She arrived just in time, due to the kindness of Mrs Hill. As we hung onto our mother she said fiercely, "They are my children and they are not going away with you."

The policeman, who no doubt was doing his duty, patted his handcuffs, which were in a leather case on his belt, and which May and I thought was a revolver. "Mrs Clements," he said, "I'll have to use this if you do not let us take these children now." Thinking that the policeman would shoot Mother, because she was trying to stop him, we screamed, "We'll go with him Mum, we'll go." I cannot forget my detail of that moment, it stands out as though it was yesterday. I cannot even see kittens taken from their mother cat without remembering that scene. It is just on sixty years ago.

However, the policeman must have had a heart, because he allowed my mother to come in the car with us as far as Deniliquin. She had no money and took nothing with her, only the clothes she had on. Then the policeman sprang another shock. He said he had to go to the hospital to pick up Geraldine, who was to be taken as well. The horror on my mother's face and her heart?broken cry! I tried to reason why all this was happening to us and tried not to think. All my mother could say was, "oh, no, not my Baby, please let me have her. I will look after her." , As that policeman walked up to the hospital path to get my little sister, May and Myrtle and I sobbed quietly. Mother got out of the car and stood waiting with a hopeless look. Her tears had run dry I guess. I thought to myself, I will gladly go, if they will only leave Geraldine with Mother. "Mrs Clements, you can have your little girl. She left the hospital this morning," said the policeman. Mother simply took that policeman's hand and kissed it and said, "Thankyou, thank you."

Then we were taken to the police station, where the policeman no doubt had to report. Mother followed him, thinking she could beg once more for us, only to rush out when she heard the car start up. My last memory of her for many years was her waving pathetically, as we waved back and called out goodbye to her, but we were too far away for her to hear us.

I heard years later how after watching us go out of her life, she wandered away from the police station three miles along the road leading out of the town to Moonahculla. She was worn out with no food or money, her apron still on. She wandered off the road to rest in the long grass under a tree. That is where old Uncle and Aunt found her the next day. They had arrived back with Geraldine from the Deniliquin hospital and they were at once surrounded by our people at Moonahculla, who told them the whole story .Someone immediately offered the loan of a fresh horse to go back and find Mother. They found our Mother still moaning and crying. They heard the sounds and thought it was an animal in pain. Uncle stopped the horse and got out of the buggy to investigate. Auntie heard him talking in the language. She got down and rushed to old Uncle's side. Mother was half?demented and ill. They gave her water and tried to feed her, but she couldn't eat. She was not interested in anything for weeks, and wouldn't let Geraldine out of her sight. She slowly got better, but I believe for months after, at the sight of a policeman's white helmet coming round the bend of the river, she would grab her little girl and escape into the bush, as did all the Aboriginal people who had children.

Excerpt from Margaret Tucker's autobiography, If Everyone Cared, South Melbourne, Grosvenor 1977.

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