The Song Of Cicada Wings

Healing Herbs And Corroborees

While Madoline had been away, Rudolpho had been hard at work too, trying to find alternative treatments for his sister. He had gone with Harold to the reservation to speak to Yarran. Maybe this healer could share some of his ancient remedies with them so that they could better help Madoline, if and when she took another turn. This would ensure that she would never again have to endure Potassium Bromide, Friars Balsam, Elixir of Vitriol or Tincture of Myrrh, which were just some of the foul tasting medicines she had been prescribed. What’s more she would never have to go through the torture of electric therapy, a treatment which was abhorrent to him and went against everything he believed in. Surely God would never condone something so completely unnatural.

They found Yarran tending to the communal gardens on the grounds and approached with hope. For Harold it was the hope that Yarran would help him with his next money making venture and for Rudolpho the hope that a cure could be found for Madoline. Yarran recognised Harold and smiled from ear to ear.

You the one sold me yo-yo. It no good for nothing. Can’t hit  kangaroo. You try boomerang?

I did, thank you, but it didn’t come back.

That because it not part of you.

Ask him! Rudolpho urged, jabbing Harold in the side with his elbow.

Harold came straight out with it. We need some of your medicine.

Rudolpho explained less abruptly. What he means is that we need your know how, your advice, for my sister.

She sick again?

No, but she’s had treatment. Electric …

That no good.

Can you help?

I not sure. Yarran thought about the prospect of helping the white man learn about years and years of ancient wisdom in one showing and decided to teach them a lesson. A tour of the garden and then a walk through the bush and down to the river should do the trick.

See this yellow flower? It come from the acacia tree. It good for colds, headaches and fever.You come with me. I show you. This tree here. This yellow wattle and Blackwood. We soak the bark in water and place on the body for when you feel nervous or too much worry make you think too fast or make you fall over. We crush the wattle flower to make cover to draw out bad feeling. Wattle used for many things but white man don’t like it. They believe when brought into the house it unlucky. Some plants, like goat’s foot, we squeeze with our hands, like this. He took some goat flowers from the bush and squeezed them so that the petals fell to the ground. Then we heat on fire and put on skin. Other plants we boil and breathe inside, like this. Yarran demonstrated taking a sniff of goats foot still on his hand and breathed deeply. He offered his hand to Harold so that Harold too could breathe it in. Harold declined. Sometimes we drink this too. This here is eucalyptus. We use the sap.It is like the blood of the tree. It give life when we put directly on the skin. We smoke and burn bark. This draw out infection. Same with tea tree oil from tea trees. Also used for infection.  Jasmine and lavender good for shaking body.  Same bloodwood and hoop pine. You know where to find these?

Do you store these plant medicines?  Harold asked.

Nah! Yarran laughed. Why we store them?

How do you expect to find them when you need them?

We go walk about.

You mean you pick them fresh and prepare everything in the spot?

That’s it!

I see. Could I hire people to do it for me?

Nah! That not possible.

Why not?

Because the land now belong to your people. The white man. What grows on the land they say belong to them. 

Then I’ll have another talk with Mr Meston. I’ll go straight to the Governor if needs be.

You can try. 

Just as he had mentioned Meston’s name, Meston came toward them. Ah Mr Richardson it’s you again. To what do we owe the pleasure of this visit? You come to peruse the gardens?

Yes, as a matter of fact. Lovely flowers you have here. Harold answered.

Not for sale Mr Richardson. Im guessing this has to do with your crazy medicine idea. I thought we spoke about this.

You’ve got to admit it’s a great idea.

Think of the medical profession Mr Richardson. Not to mention the land owners. All making a tidy little profit from Aboriginal toil and knowhow. Think you can muscle in on it just like that? What say you young Yarran?

I say great tree spirit not want to be put in bottle.

Well said. Now Mr Richardson, Harold is it? On your way.

But what of my sister? Asked Rudolpho, who had become increasingly embarrassed, by Harold’s questions and had fallen silent.

Your sister?

Maybe Yarran’s medicine could help.

Meston notices the cross Rudolpho is wearing and the devout purity of his expression.

You are of the faith? A noviciate? Tell me more.

As Rudolpho told Meston the story of how Yarran had healed his sister in the cherry field that day, Meston was transfixed. by his frail featured yet honest, face. He wondered how this spiritual young man, for Rudolpho was now sixteen, could belong to such a forthright family as the Richardsons.

Is this true Yarran? Hmmm. He thought deeply about the prospect of presenting the whole scenario on one of his Wild Australia Shows. He would present the idea to Lord Lamington himself. Maybe the idea could be incorporated into the upcoming Federation celebrations. As for the actuality of Yarran being accepted as a bonified healer, this was something else again. He would go to the protection board and speak to other representatives about this concept. Black and white spiritual healing side by side? Maybe that would sell?

How do you think Yarran can treat your sister? 

I just wanted to learn what plants to use next time my sister takes a turn.

Just what is wrong with your sister?

She has epilepsy Sir. Archibald Meston took a step back as he divulged this information.

So do you think you’ve learned anything today?

I think so.

Right then. If you don’t mind ….

We’ll be leaving then. Replied Harold.

Right you are. You can see yourselves out. Meston put his arm about Yarran’s shoulder and led him off toward the main building.

Shortly after this conversation,  Archibald Meston, had decided to visit the house of the Lord. He had taken his contingent of Aboriginal warriors to present before Lord and Lady Lamington. As Meston and others joined the Governor and his wife for tea they pitched the idea of depicting an Aboriginal healer in their Wild Australia Show. 

The idea was seen as divisive but when Meston explained that a young white girl would be at the centre, Lamington considered again and sent an invitation to William Albert and his wife for tea on the same day. He asked them to bring Madoline with them as he had heard of her troubles and wanted to help in some way.

On the grounds of Government house Lamington’s guard of honour, eighteen Aboriginal men brought together from scattered tribes, stood in single file under the beating sun. They had been organised by Meston for Lamington’s reception as Governor three years before and had been gathered together again to make a statement for Federation. Standing out front, their bodies painted with ochre, wearing loin cloths and holding spears, they had already been noticed and a small crowd had gathered outside the gates. This had been the desired outcome as Meston was anxious to find out if his Aboriginal troupe could still draw attention.

The Aboriginal Protection Board wanted to be seen to be doing the right thing. Responsible for splitting up families, by taking their children away and housing them on reserves to be brought up as Christians, they were of the opinion that they were doing the heathens a favour.  By inviting them to tea Lord Lamington was proving that it was possible to include them in polite society. He and Meston were planning performances and a tableau for the Centenary. After tea Meston’s group were taken outside and asked to stand and sit in different poses, in different group formations, for Lamington’s approval. They were poked and prodded into position for the duration as the white folk including Madoline and her parents looked on. Then the group was asked to stand aside. The guards were asked to form an arch for Madoline to walk under. Her parents walked through the arch behind her followed by Lord and Lady Lamington and then Meston and his team of photographers, newspapermen and props people. Finally Meston’s group also followed. This idea of a human arch was given the thumbs up and would become the forerunner for the federation arch.

As for Madoline, she was made a fuss of by all and would never forget her day with the Governor. Lord Lamington promised substantial donations to the Brisbane Hospital For Sick Children, which was badly in need of renovations, and had offered William Albert the chance to sing on Federation day. 

It had been a fruitful visit for all except, of course, for the Aboriginal groups who didn’t quite understand what it was all about. All they knew was that they were expected to perform some sort of ritual for the pleasure of white spectators. On the first of January 1901 the six colonies would become one and the Richardson family would become an integral part of Australia’s history.

Yarran had not been invited to Government House as he had been sent out on that day to help clear the land for grave diggers who were instructed to dig graves for victims of the bubonic plague. The deadly plague, which had spread like wild fire, throughout Kangaroo Point and the outskirts of Brisbane, had even spread to Spring Hill and Wickham Terrace, where Doctor Maloney had set up office. 

The bodies were to be  buried on Gibson island, a low lying scrub area surrounded by mangrove swamps, while teams of rat catchers were sent to clear the wharves of rodents which had arrived on ships. The Colmslie homestead on the river was purchased and turned into The Colmslie Plague Hospital. Tents were set up to treat members of the family or other visitors before they were allowed to enter the hospital. Arriving on The Plague Bus, they were stripped, disinfected and bathed and then moved across. Officials had even begun burning down the houses of victims in a state of panic. 

Teams had gone from house to house searching for the vermin that had brought this deadly disease. Rudolpho had had to surrender his mice and all the bugs that had been in cages near them, to the authorities. He had managed to save Morty, which he considered a blessing, by hiding him under a hollow footstool. He wondered who could have told them about his creatures and guessed it must have been a guest to their house. He had not thought it would be Father Mahoney.

You know you cannot keep these creatures in the current climate don’t you son?

But Father …

You must surrender them!

Why they’ve done no harm?

They are vermin. It is vermin that causes disease. People are afeared boy. With good reason too. God will thank you for it. You’d better do it quick before the officers come so we can at least give them a respectable death.

Reluctantly Rudolpho handed over his beloved mice all running about their cages with not a care in the world. Father Mahoney blessed them and Rudolpho said a prayer over them before they were euthanised with chloroform soaked bandages out the back near the ablutions box. Rudolpho took a deep breath and held back tears as he watched his beloved mice succumb to the fumes before being thrown into the bowl and flushed away. He then went with Father Mahoney to Colmslie to console and comfort the families of the sick and the dying. A small make shift wooden church had been built near by, in which short services, could be given and funerals held before the bodies were ferried off to the island. Once on the island the coffin lid would be opened and lime chloride poured over the victim to help the body disintegrate quickly.

Yarran could not fathom any of it. The mangrove swamps were not a place for death. It was there that that aunties and uncles from other tribes had made canoes and spears. It was there that they had gathered to fish for barramundi and mud crabs and it was there that Mangrove Jack hunted for prawns. It was a place where the tree spirits would gather and dream time stories were told. It was a place where the old ways were respected. 

Three grave diggers were set to live on the island permanently. They slept in a small, hastily built wooden cottage at the top end of the island. Food was brought in from the outside. What did they know of mangrove fruits or of the nectar to be found in the flowers growing in moistened soil beneath the trees? They thought only of the money they would receive for a hard days work. 

Yarran returned to the reservation afterward and heard all the talk of what had taken place at the Governor’s mansion. What was this federation anyway? Australia was already one country. His country. There had been talk of a vote. Of a referendum. He had not been asked to give his vote and neither had anyone who had performed for the Governor that day. What did this have to do with any of them? He would soon learn, however, that he would be one of those chosen to play an important part. As he prepared for bed that night he looked at himself in the mirror. He laughed out loud at the white mans foolish ideas and cleaned his teeth over the sink.

Put spirit medicine in a bottle? What make them think this possible? Like to see them put this spirit in a bottle. Ha! Maybe I go walkabout? Maybe I  go walkabout all the way back my home? He removed his shirt, drenched in sweat and covered in dirt. He covered his chest with the salt and charcoal he had used to clean his teeth, smearing it all the way down to his stomach. This what they want to see?  

He went outside to the fire pit where the last embers were still dying and took handfuls of ash which he added to his chest. He then looked up at the full moon, covered his face with his hands and cried. 

Archibald Meston had returned home, disappointed that he could not push through, his idea on the Aboriginal healer. He had wanted to use Madoline, as the little white girl being healed by a tribe member, who is then the target for an attack by a rival tribe. This way he would be reverting to the usual theme with Aboriginals presented as savages. This was what people wanted to see. The fact that her parents wouldn’t hear of it and Lord Lamington would not condone it did not really have any effect on him. He still thought it a good idea. Maybe he could do something with the idea of a triumphal arch featuring the child being taken care of by an Aboriginal family instead. Just as Aboriginal children, taken from their homes, had been cared for by good Christian white families. 

Sitting in his comfortable wing chair in front of his large red cedar desk with the fire burning in the fireplace at the opposite end of the room, it never occurred to him, that any of his tableaux, could be offensive. Lord Lamington had worried about, ‘unrestrained socialism’ with the joining of the six states, but surely Meston’s tableaux, could allay his fears and show him that all could work together.

Yarran had begun his lone corroboree there in front of the fire pit. He suddenly stopped, turned on his heel, and crouching down as low as possible so as not to be seen,  went back into his shed. He grabbed his satchel and possum cloak, took off his shoes and walked barefoot out the front gates, approaching the signpost with silent stealth. Which way to Wagga Wagga, the land of the dancing crows? 

Yo-Yos and Boomerangs

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

The Song Of Cicada Wings

Background To The Novel

The song of Cicada Wings is my latest novel. It’s a work of biographical fiction and is the story of an opera singing family based in Brisbane Queensland at the turn of the century. I wanted to immerse the lives of each member of the family in the wider history of Australia whilst telling their individual stories. The Richardsons are actually my family and William Albert Richardson, alias Alberto Ricardi, was my great, great, grandfather.

Whilst sitting in my flat with my little dog, Lester, a terrible storm was raging outside. I was on my computer doing some research and came across my family history quite by accident. I think I was looking up my grandmother and found her name on a website by a man called Rex Sinnott. Apparently his great, great uncle had married Sarah Jane Richardson, who was the sister of William Richardson, the father of my great ,great, grandfather William Albert Richardson. Ver y complicated but there you have it. Sarah Jane and her brother had come to Port Phillip Bay Melbourne, from Huddersfield Yorkshire England, with their father who was after work in the goldfields. Their father was a well known watchmaker by trade. Anyway while their story is a great one that’s going too far back.

My story has begun with the next generation of Richardsons. The all singing Richardsons. While Sarah Jane married the dashing Captain Sinnott thirty years her senior, her brother, William Albert Richardson married Mathilde Mackarethe, a pianist. Mathilde was Scottish and a Presbyterian, while William Albert Richardson, was Catholic. They had met through the great William Saurin Lyster who had brought an opera company from Boston New York To Melbourne Australia. William Saurin was Irish. Mathilde played piano in his company and her husband sang all the great roles for baritone. They had eight children. Four of them became well known opera singers.

Imagine my absolute euphoria on that stormy day. At last I had pieced together my family tree. At least on the Richardson side. I was most excited to trace my family back to Yorkshire. There it was. The history of Colonialism, of settlers, of Federation, of suffragettes and priests and education and segregation. So much to explore! There was my family right at the centre of it all. It is amazing to me how little Austalians know of their own history. I learned so much writing this book. We are so much more than dirt roads and convict toil. If you think this is just another tale of downtrodden convicts then think again. Australia has always embraced the arts. Yet we have been portrayed as uncultured too often. Probably due to our propensity for sports over everything else.

The Richardsons lived in Melbourne and Adelaide but finally settled in Queensland. They travelled to England and back too. New Zealand also plays a big part in this novel as William Albert sang there many times and Edith, the eldest daughter, married and lived there. My great grandfather was Harold, one of the middle children in this novel. His son, my grandfather, Cyril, moved to New Zealand to marry my grandmother, Moira Dallow. As they say, the rest is history. The photo above is the Richardson family in the 1880s in front of their house in Vulture Street Brisbane, Queensland.

Cicadas take years to rise up from the earth and sing their little hearts out. Yet when they do they certainly make up for lost time. They can drown out everything with their song. Just as those great Australian touring opera companies long ago.