Excerpt from The Song Of Cicada Wings

From the street opposite, Yarran a young Aboriginal man, watched with fascination. His gentle face smiling all over. He carried two sacks full of fruit and vegetables which he had bought for the workers on the reservation where he lived. Every Saturday he came, wearing his possum skin cloak over his day clothes, white linen trousers and cotton shirt. He was all of eighteen or so and sturdy on his feet. Yarran was a proud young man of the Wiradjuri nation of New South Wales. He was a long way from home. Coming up alongside him was a tall white man with manicured sideburns and lanky, slicked back hair. His face was gaunt and serious. He was a man with a mission. A man whose thoughts travelled at a thousand miles an hour. He watched Yarran as he watched the yo-yo demonstration and he had an idea, which like all his ideas, would soon become a plan.

On the council for Aboriginal protection, Archibald Meston was also an astute business man. He was attempting something none had attempted before and, to achieve his end, was in the process of combining the tribes.The Turrbal and Durambal people from Brisbane Queensland,  Wurundjeri and Kulin people from Victoria, Kaurna people of South Australia and many more people of different tribes from all over the country were being collected by Archibald Meston for his Wild Australia show. In fact he collected indigenous people as one would collect stamps. They were enticed from reservations, from their own lands and even from their own bush huts deep inside dense forest areas near creeks, hills and valleys, where many still hunted and fished for a living. There were rumours that some had been taken by force. Black Birding usually applied to the taking of South Sea islanders during the 1860s. It happened in Australia too with the stealing of children.

Yarran was a stolen child. Taken by Anglican missionaries, he was moved to an orphanage for Aboriginal children on the outskirts of New South Wales, to be brought up a Christian. He never forgot where he came from or his mother who was probably still searching for him. His home had been Wagga Wagga, which for some strange reason the white people called, The Place Of Crows. They took him to a schoolhouse in Murwillambah on the banks of the Tweed River, the place of the Gudjinbarrah people, and told him this would be his place of learning. Behind the schoolhouse was the orphanage and for the next five years that was home. At fifteen he was moved to a reservation outside Brisbane and put to work as a fruit picker. He worked long hours but never seemed to have enough money to make his way back to Wagga Wagga. 

Mesmerised by the yoyo, Yarran barely noticed Meston, who was now just as interested in Harold’s demonstration, as he was. 

Maybe we could use one of these in our show. The yo-yo comes back just like a boomerang eh? Meston suggested.

Yes Sir.

Should we buy one?

Yes Sir. Yarran replied, still not taking his eyes from the yo-yo.

All right. Come on. Follow me. Meston agreed.

Meston crossed the street, followed by his young Aboriginal friend, and picked up one of the yo-yos from the display shelf. 

He gave one to Yarran too which immediately got Harold’s attention as he thought they might be about to steal from him.

So can you teach me how to do this Mr …?

Harold. Sir! Call me Harold. 

Harold took the yoyo from Meston, stood in the middle of he and Yarran, to demonstrate the wrist action needed to manoeuvre a yo-yo.

I’m impressed. My friend here is also impressed. We’ll take them all.

As he watched them walk away from his stall, Harold thought it odd, that the young Aboriginal  man wore a possum cloak in such warm weather and even more odd that this distinguished, yet gaunt looking white man with a long moustache and neatly combed sideburns, would buy thirty yo-yos.

Turning toward Millicent, who was still ironing curtains in her pretty apron, Harold looked at his fob watch motioning that it was time to close. There was a queue of women ready to buy both the iron and even the curtains. 

Well, Milly you can stop now. Time to pack up and head off home.

But look at all the customers we have.

They can come back next week.

You won’t believe how many yo-yos I just sold!

Between them they had sold twenty sad irons, fourteen aprons and even the drapes which had been only for display. His sister was such a good assistant that Harold wished he could take her interstate with him.This would not be possible for two reasons. Milly liked to stay close to home and Milly was soon to start school again. Tasked with taking care of Madoline, who would also be going to school, Milly would certainly have her hands full.

Harold would be off to New South Wales in the next two weeks and then to Victoria and South Australia with all his goods loaded onto a cart. This time he would be selling herbal remedies and medicines obtained from the apothecaries on commission. The small towns he would be visiting often had no access to these. He could count on very good profits.

Archibald Meston, with one arm about Yarran’s shoulder, used the other to practice the yo-yo all the way back to the reservation. Yarran, with both arms full of fruit and veg, could not do the same. He could not wait to get back and take out his new object of interest.  How could Meston compare it to a boomerang? He wondered.  The boomerang had no string. It came back of its own accord. Not like these two round pieces of wood with a piece of string between them. How strange the white man was.

The Song Of Cicada Wings: Excerpt from Chapter thirteen

By Renee Dallow