Fox. Bill Robertson
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people in my organisation think we’re doing the wrong thing. I don’t. As far as I’m concerned, these kids are up for a new life. But, I’ve been directed to look at the effect on families when the kids are taken. That’s why I’m here. So,’ she said acidly, ‘leave it.’ Mullett’s skinny frame, constant body odour and thin, reddened features repulsed her as much as his niggling attitude of self-importance. Truly, she felt like whacking him.
Bemused, Rogers listened to the exchange. He had been on these trips with Mullett a few times and thought him a strange coot. He was sleazy and rough with the kids. Not that Rogers cared too much about that. Shit, they were only coons!
‘Yeah, well, nothing like first-hand experience Brigitte. I reckon you’d best stop with the mothers – they’ll be kickin’ up a right bloody fuss. Mullett and me will chase the little buggers. And Mullett, if you have any trouble with the bucks, I’ll deal with it. Keep out of it. Right?’
‘Skinny, why does it have to be like this every time?’ Mullett whined. ‘I’m in charge! I’m the one with authority from the Commissioner of Native Welfare. I’m the one with the power to take these kids. You’re just here to see I’m okay. But, seein’ as you’re so bloody smart, we’ll just go in and grab ’em now. They should all be in for tea anyway.’ Pissed off, Adam’s apple bobbing in his scrawny throat, Birmingham accent thickened by emotion, Mullett started the truck, threw it into gear, spun the wheels in the sand and fishtailed down the track.
They roared into the camp sliding to a stop in the main clearing. Dust billowed around them. Women, bent over their cooking fires, straightened in fear. Children slid closer to their legs. The men stiffened but stayed under the trees.
Mullett stepped from the truck, pulled a crumpled paper from his hip pocket and began reading, his voice cracked and irritated. The hasty words were meaningless because at law, Aboriginal parents with children of mixed race had no rights or protection. Mullett had all the authority he needed to seize the kids. The Aborigines Act of 1905 gave it to him. Nevertheless, while reading the warrant appealed to his perverse sense of decency, his tone made the women nervous. Then, when he and Rogers marched over to the camp fires and seized four little ones at their mother’s sides, all hell erupted!
Women screamed and cried, children ran and the men charged from the trees. Hurriedly, and none too gently, the white men dragged the shrieking, struggling children to the truck, threw them into the cage and locked the gate. Mullett saw the little girl he’d spied on his January trip squatting unobtrusively beneath a gum at the clearing edge. He made a beeline for her. As he reached her, a woman dashed across and swept the child into her arms. Mullett clutched at the girl, trying to tear her from the woman’s grasp. Terrified, the child bawled. The battle was ferocious with the younger woman proving stronger than the older, slightly built Mullett. Suddenly, drawing back his fist, Mullett belted her on the jaw. As she staggered, he kicked her legs from under her and tucked the child beneath his arm. In the same instant, he slipped his hand beneath the little dress, hard against her naked crotch. His eyes dilated and darkened with pleasure — it was just as he had dreamed.
Fuck! He became aware of the nun bitch screeching at him.
‘Mullett! Mullett! What are you doing you filthy bastard. Put that child down!’
Reluctantly, he moved his hand to the child’s knees. ‘She’s old enough to go,’ he growled defensively, ‘I’m puttin’ her in the truck.’
Brigitte said no more. Mullett’s sordid behaviour had confirmed the need for her presence.
‘Mullett!’ Rogers roared from the other side of the clearing. ‘Round up those bloody kids while I deal with this pack of bastards.’ He stood ringed by five or six men, some bearing waddies. Completely fearless, he shuffled forward and rendered the man nearest him unconscious with a massive blow to the head. Whirling, he repeated the assault on a man behind him and then cut loose with a flurry of fists and kicks until the last man ran from the clearing.
Mullett zigzagged around the settlement. Three more children were caught and thrown into the truck, another three ran into the bush. The air was riven by sobbing, screeching, keening mothers and the terrified howling of children.
Looking on, Brigitte felt ill. If this was standard practice, no wonder the kids complained of violence when they reached the Home. She watched, retching, as Mullett viciously thumped two small boys who had valiantly tried to outrun him.
Flushed with success, Rogers returned to the truck.
‘Have you got ’em all Mullett?’
‘No. Three of the little shits got away. Still, we got eight from eleven, that’s not bad. The boss’ll be happy with this lot.’
He leaned into the cabin to get a padlock for the cage gate. Looking up, he found two furious unblinking eyes glaring at him through the passenger side window. It’s the brother, Mullett thought. The boy showed no fear and continued glaring.
‘Skinny, grab that bloody kid!’
‘No need, he’s decided to come with us.’
Unusually, the boy had moved to the corner of the truck. About seven, he was lean and sinewy and his stormy, silvery-grey eyes smouldered angrily from a fine, intelligent face. Mullett stomped to the back of the truck and opened the gate. Unable to contain himself as the boy moved to enter the cage, Mullett unleashed a mighty backhander. With a deft sense of anticipation, the child swayed to his left and Mullett’s knuckles hit the iron door with such force that he roared in pain. A sly smile slid over the boy’s face. Nimbly, he jumped into the cage and went straight to the tiny girl Mullett had assaulted.
CHAPTER 2
Friday, December 5, 1963, the eve of Lucy Fox’s seventh birthday. Or so she claimed. Lucy wasn’t absolutely certain when her birthday really was. Three years had passed since that terrifying day at Turkey Creek. Life since had been a gyre of pleasure, pain and despair. Initially, they had gone to the Forrest River Mission near Wyndham. Lucy vividly recalled the bumpy three hour drive. Huddling together for warmth, they had received precious little food – a pannikin of water each and some stale bread.
Miss Brigitte had been kind and Lucy heard her scold Mullett because of the lack of food and rugs. Even though the days were hot, nights in the Kimberly were cold and they had all nearly frozen in the cage as they rumbled along. The policeman had done nothing to help them. Mullett was the one who was creepy and had leered and touched and rubbed. Not just Lucy, all the girls. He was careful in front of Miss Brigitte though. When she was around, the girls were safe. Lucy was also safe with Colin about. Though she had only been tiny then, Lucy remembered Mullett had always been wary of him.
That didn’t surprise her, the kids loved Colin. He wasn’t the oldest but he was their leader. They respected his hunting and tracking skills, he was afraid of nothing and seemed wise beyond his years. He stood square to Mullett, never backed away, was polite and exuded a force that Mullett was reluctant to tackle. Colin had watched over Lucy and the others too. As she got older, she realised Colin had chosen to be on the truck with her. Lucy loved her big brother and missed him terribly.
After arriving at Forrest River Mission their heads had been shaved and their clothes burned. Lucy and Colin stayed only a couple of months before being transferred to Sister Kate’s in Perth, thousands of miles from Turkey Creek. The nuns said they were too white to stay at the mission. At Sister Kate’s they quickly realised they would not be seeing their mother or family in a hurry and, as though it might compensate, they had been forced to attend church three times a day: before breakfast, at lunch and after school. They quickly learned it was unwise to cross the nuns — that understanding was instilled with religious fervour and a wet ironing cord.
At Sister Kate’s boys and girls slept in separate dormitories. Even that was scary. Lucy and Colin were used to shelters under the stars, their family sleeping around them for warmth and comfort. But here, in this new world, they were separated by corridors, slept in beds high off the floor, petrified of falling out. Most nights, Lucy cried herself to sleep.
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