Saltwater People of the Fatal Shore by Saxon Duke

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saltwater people

sydneyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sOUthern beaches of the fatal shore John Ogden

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Dedicated to all those creative souls who have made this book possible through their generous contributions of stories, knowledge, photographs and illustrations. In a material world it is this community spirit and social capital that allows local history books like this to exist. I encourage all readers to note their contributions and support their enterprises.

In Honour of the Rights of Indigenous People

With deep respect we acknowledge the Aboriginal custodians and elders, past and present, of Sydneyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s coastline. We acknowledge the people of the Eora, Darug and Dharawal Nations, and in particular we acknowledge the clans of the Gadigal, Birrabirragal, Murro-ore-dial (Murro-ore), Gameygal (Kamey-gal), Gweagal and Gunnamattagal who, over tens of thousands of years, cared for this shore where we live and play. We live on Aboriginal Land. Always was, always will be.

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“It was not the sea itself which was to be explored and charted; the goal was to first establish and then realize the potential of the islands and coastlines which provided its margins.” John Mack, from The Sea–a CulTural hiSTory, 2011

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Mortuary warning and spelling discrepancies It is customary for some Indigenous communities not to mention names or reproduce images associated with the recently deceased. Members of these communities are respectfully advised that a number of people mentioned in writing or depicted in images in the following pages have passed away. Users are warned that there may be words and descriptions that are culturally sensitive and not normally used in certain public or community contexts. In some circumstances, the terms and annotations of the period in which a text was written may be considered inappropriate today. A note on the text The spelling of Aboriginal words in historical documents is inconsistent, depending on how they were heard, interpreted and recorded by Europeans. As per standard academic practice, the original spelling in quoted texts has been retained, while names and place names have been standardised, based on the most common contemporary usage and also to indicate the correct pronunciation. The word ‘lore’ is used to describe a set of customary practices, ways of living, storytelling and tradition.

Page 2 Cronulla. Photo Ray Collins. Pages 6–7 Photo Mark Seabury. Right Fishman rock carving, Beacon Hill. Opposite Rock carving of two fish. Photo Oggy. Page 10 Perth Standlick. Photo Bill Morris. Pages 12–13 Night surfing at Ours. Photo Bill Morris.

contents 22

foreword by linda burney

introduction

the first people the saltwater people 38 the first boat people 48

cetaceans

the fatal shore

126

136

saltwater seafarers

150 156

south head bondi tamarama and mackenzies bronte clovelly coogee, south coogee and lureline bay maroubra malabar, long bay and little bay botany bay

outlaws

174

saltwater resistance

188

outlaws

198

ocean outlaws

212 maroot the elder

the australian crawl

220 240 258 264 270 274 284

kurnell peninsula cronulla port hacking royal national park petroglyphs arts planning and architecture

288

the surfing tribe 290

world champions

293

talented others

297

surf-side board builders south-side media courtesy in the surf watermen and mermaids woggan-ma-gule â&#x20AC;Ś

303 310 312 314

the meeting of the waters

316

sea country

318

ocean pollution

320

the fishing industry

322

the future

324

saltwater descendants

326

acknowledgments

327

sponsor

328

notes

333

select bibliography

334

contributing writers

335

photographer biographies

“The cure for anything is salt water—sweat, tears, or the sea.” Karen von Blixen–Finecke (1885–1962)

foreword The long summer days of my childhood down in the Riverina of New South Wales were filled with catching yabbies, building mudslides and swimming in the irrigation channels and canals that served as the town swimming pool. There were trips to the beach. Us kids would be bundled into someone’s car (no seat belts in those days) to make the exciting trip to the big sandy bend in the river near the Darlington Point Bridge. That Murrumbidgee beach was a far cry from the beaches represented in this extraordinary and beautiful book. My first experience of an ocean beach was not until I was much older and, of course, it was Bondi. For a girl from Channel Country it was stunning. I had never seen so much water. The idea that this was the Pacific Ocean and it reached all the way to another country enthralled me. It fired my imagination and I loved it, but for a Freshwater girl it was also daunting. Aboriginal culture and society is ancient, complex, ordered and tenacious. We fall into two broad groups— Saltwater and Freshwater people. I am Freshwater, a member of the mighty Wiradjuri Nation. Three inland rivers—the Galari, Wambuul and Murrambidya, crafted by the spiritual being, the Rainbow Serpent, during the time of the Dreaming—flow through Wiradjuri territory. Their more recent names are, respectively, the Lachlan, Macquarie and the Murrumbidgee rivers. I am of the Murrambidya.

Saltwater and Freshwater people are bound to each other through ceremony, custom and kinship. We are also bound together through the landscape. Freshwater creeks and rivers flow and spill into the sea. Wogganma-gule is the Gadigal word that describes the meeting of salt- and freshwater. The river I live close to now is not at all like the waterways of my childhood. The tidal Cooks River was once magnificent, with its ample food supply for the Wangul and Badigal and other Aboriginal Clans who lived along its catchment. It eventually spills into Botany Bay. Sadly, it has been made so putrid by years of spillage from factories on its foreshore that no one will ever swim in it again. Remarkably, the footprints of its first custodians can still be found. Of an early morning I walk along its banks, watch the mist rise off the water and wonder at the prospect that, in ancient times, families lived here, holding ceremony, swimming, taking their canoes out and fishing this grand old survivor. The middens along the Cooks are a testament to those people and their times. Place is an important concept for Aboriginal People. To place me, let me share a little of the Wiradjuri story and how it fits into the overall narrative of Australia. It is the story of the first inland nation to experience the brutality of British colonial rule, which of course began in the land of the Dharawal on the shores of Botany Bay. The mighty Wiradjuri warrior Windradyne led the resistance. Governor Brisbane declared martial law in Bathurst in 1823. The price my ancestors paid was high. More than 1000 men, women and children were systematically slaughtered over the four months of martial law. The dark art of poisoning flour and water holes began in Wiradjuri territory.

We cannot mention Windradyne without paying due respect to the hero and resistance fighter who took up his cause much earlier, on the leeward side of the Blue Mountains. The Rainbow Warrior Pemulwuy, a Badigal man, waged a twelve-year battle against the invading British that ranged from the shores of Botany Bay right out to the Hawkesbury River. Pemulwuy and Windradyne both gained mythical status amongst their people because of their capacity to survive the white man’s muskets, but they were also powerful examples of Aboriginal resistance. One Freshwater and the other Saltwater. Crafting this foreword for John Ogden’s magnificent book was an overwhelming and humbling task. I drew on the fact that water has always been important to me. It heals and takes away pain and sadness. Water comforts and cleans. It can be a source of freedom and joy, but it can also create sadness and fear. I often wonder with a little whimsical smile on my face if I could without trepidation swim in the river and irrigation channels I swam in as a child down in the Riverina. Back then I thought nothing of diving into murky water, sluicing through the regulators and giving red belly black snakes the right of way. In and around the ocean has been the place where some of my family’s most significant and happy moments have been. The ocean is where I let go of the ashes of my late husband Rick Farley. I will never forget it. The day was hot, the water cold. I stood on the beach watching the twelve or so board riders take him out. As the ashes tumbled into the salty water, they looked like diamonds. A school of dolphins appeared magically, diving through the sparkling, sun-dappled water.

When my time in this realm comes to an end, it is into the waters of the Murrumbidgee and Botany Bay at La Perouse I will rest. La Perouse and its community embraced me and my children at a time of great need in our lives. They took us in, were kind and made us one of them. My daughter Willurai started kindergarten at La Perouse Public School under the special care of a deeply loved member of that place, the late Aunty Joyce Woodberry. One very funny story from our days at La Pa was when Aunty Chris Ferguson and Uncle Micky Riley decided to take the kids to one of the local beaches. Off they headed, nieces and nephews in hand; they dropped in to watch the famous Snake Man, then headed down to a beach they could see below. No one told them that Little Wongi was not known for people wearing swimsuits. They were all back before you knew it. The kids’ eyes were as big as saucers. This tale is told every summer when we are planning a trip to the beach. It was very funny. Aunty Chris and Uncle Micky are no longer with us but they are remembered with love and through their visit to one of the southern beaches. Australia is a country that has the precious inheritance of its First Peoples, civilisations that have been in existence for tens of thousands of years. One of the wonders of being Koori is our place in the story of humanity. Saying out loud ‘We are members of the oldest continuous culture on earth’ to a group of young Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people never ceases to make my chest swell with pride; the feeling of awe and connectedness to country and kin washes over me. The beauty of this notion is the inheritance of all of us on this island continent.

Our country defines itself in many ways, but none more so than by our landscape—the red of our vast and arid centre and the emerald green and lushness of our coastline. John Ogden’s Saltwater People of the Fatal Shore explores the physicality, history and people of the beaches, from South Head down to Port Hacking and the Royal National Park. This is the part of our coastline where the British Invasion took place and the legal fiction of Terra Nullius was born. As a child I was taught that Captain James Cook discovered Australia. He planted the Union Jack, claiming the lands of the Dharawal, Darug and beyond in the name of king and country. They say history is written by the conquerors. It has only been in recent times that the truth has finally been taught in our classrooms and universities. Truth is a fundamental part of a country coming to terms with its past. Truth builds a nation with a shared purpose and identity. This book is part of the truth telling. I have never stood on the shore of Botany Bay without thinking of that day in 1770 when the first tall ship came over the horizon. I remember so well standing on the shores of Botany Bay, cradling my children, who were 2 and 4, into my body, and watching the tall ships sail by on 26 January 1988, the Bicentennial year. The event was the re-enactment of Captain Arthur Phillip’s landing. What must those old people have thought? Did they know what those ghost ships would mean to their life, culture and very existence? Towards the middle of the day, tens of thousands of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people collected at Redfern Park and marched for Freedom, Justice and Hope. We linked together with thousands of non-Aboriginal fellow travellers in Belmore

Park near Central Railway. As we came through the Eddy Avenue underpass, a roar of love and pride and the demand for truth went up. Tingles ran down our spines, goose bumps formed, tears flowed. We joined together and went on to Hyde Park. That evening thousands of us made our way to Kurnell to attend the corroboree led by our brothers and sisters from the north. The singing and dancing lasted all night in order to clear the bad spirits from that place and to strike a new beginning for all Australians. I vividly recall entering the National Park to go down to the beach and reading the sign proclaiming that place as the birthplace of our nation. I have watched and been informed by our senior members and Elders in many ways. The thing that has the most impact on me is their sense of love and generosity to all people. It is truly magnificent. These are people who probably have the most reason to be bitter. It is their generation who lived under truly awful government policies, yet their gentle generosity defines them. For this great gift we must all be grateful. For the final words about the First Peoples of the Southern Beaches, I will hand over to Captain James Cook. He wrote: "They live in a Tranquility which is not disturbed by the Inequality of Condition. The earth and Sea of their own accord furnishes them with all things necessary for Life." What Cook did not know is the sacredness of the land and the sea, and the reverence the people had for them, and that they themselves were of the land and the sea. A notion that can join us all together …

The Hon. Linda Burney MP

Photo Bill Morris.

Opposite Photo Alex Marks.

“… they are far more happier than we Europeans, being wholy unacquainted not only with the Superfluous, but with the necessary Conveniences so much sought after in Europe; they are happy in not knowing the use of them. They live in a Tranquility which is not disturbed by the Inequality of Condition. The earth and Sea of their own accord furnishes them with all things necessary for Life. They covet not Magnificent Houses, Household-stuff, etc.; they live in a Warm and fine Climate, and enjoy every wholesome Air, so that they have very little need of Cloathing; and this they seem to be fully sencible of, for many to whom we gave Cloth, etc., left it carelessly upon the Sea beach and in the Woods, as a thing they had no manner of use for; in short, they seem’d to set no Value upon anything we gave them, nor would they ever part with anything of their own for any one Article we could offer them. This, in my opinion, Argues that they think themselves provided with all the necessarys of Life, and C J C , 1770 that they have no Superfluities.” from T J he ournalS of

apTain ameS

ook

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“The Sydney language word ‘man’ means both ‘fisherperson’ and ‘ghost’, a link which may have been suggested by the ghostly figures of people fishing and cooking in their canoes by moonlight.” Jakelin Troy, from T S l , 1994 he

ydney

anguage

introducion Saltwater People of the Fatal Shore refers to the place on the vast Australian coastline that marked the sharp end of impact between the British interlopers and one of the oldest continuous cultures on the planet. Within two years of the First Fleet arriving at Kamay— now Botany Bay1—in 1788, it is estimated that 70 per cent of the Aboriginal population of the Sydney Basin had been wiped out. When Robert Hughes titled his groundbreaking history The Fatal Shore, he was inspired by an early convict ballad about being transported to Van Diemen’s Land, but this title is just as appropriate for describing the sea-based invasion of the Australian mainland and its impact on the Aboriginal people of the Sydney Basin. The east coast of Australia was the last piece of the puzzle for the explorers mapping the ‘newly discovered’ Great Southern Land. Following the Dutch expeditions, which had already charted most of the coastline of the new continent known as New Holland, the HMS Endeavour arrived at arguably the most attractive and fertile shore of Terra Australis. Lieutenant Commander James Cook2 promptly claimed all he surveyed in the name of the King of England and called it New South Wales. Cook apparently did not feel a need to consult with the Indigenous people about this development, although he had been ordered to do so by the British Crown. Even if he had communicated with the locals, the Aborigines would have had difficulty comprehending the colonial concept of land ownership: “No two people could have been more different in their concepts of the world and the meaning of human life than Europeans and Aborigines.”3 Opposite Joseph Lycett (c1775–1828), Fishing by Torchlight, Other Aborigines Beside Camp Fires Cooking Fish, c1817. National Library of Australia, Canberra.

Saltwater People of the Fatal Shore looks at the coastline stretching from ‘Burrawara’, the South Head of ‘Tuhbowgule’4 (Sydney Harbour) to the Royal National Park below Kurranulla (Cronulla). This famous strip of dramatic cliffs and golden beaches is intersected by a place that is referred to as the birthplace of the modern Australian nation. When ‘discovered’ by Captain Cook in 1770, Kamay—first given the English language name Stingray Bay, then Botany Bay—had already seen tens of thousands of years of human occupation, so attempts to restart the clock of history with the arrival of the British colony are both offensive and insulting to Aboriginal people. It is no wonder that Australia Day, the official national day that commemorates the arrival of the First Fleet on 26 January 1788 at Sydney Cove, and the proclamation at that time of British sovereignty over the eastern seaboard of New Holland, is usually referred to by Aboriginal Australians as ‘Invasion Day’ or ‘Survival Day’. In writing this book I have drawn from a great variety of sources, including historical documents; official and oral histories; archaeological and anthropological accounts; popular culture; and environmental studies. Apart from its claim as the birthplace of modern Australia, the southern coastline of Sydney also played a large part in the birth of Australian beach culture. This history of Sydney’s south-side beaches examines some fundamental myths of our nation, from the deconstructed truths behind the foundation story to the mythology of the beach as a ‘great social leveller’. These myths have been deeply shaken in recent times, but the Above Natives Fishing in a Bark Canoe, Inscribed lower left 'New South Wales 1819'. State Library of New South Wales.

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ability of the beach to be both a healing place and a source of renewal should not be overlooked. Although the city beachside suburbs now rate among the most expensive real estate in Sydney, Bondi and the coast south of Coogee were initially favoured by the working classes. Early attempts to establish an exclusive ‘middle-class ghetto’ were frustrated by the government ‘dumping’ institutions such as the Randwick Asylum for Destitute Children, Long Bay Gaol and the Coast Hospital on the large expanses of Crown land, and by “brave initiatives” to help the working class and unemployed.5 The Labour Depot and Refuge for destitute men was a forerunner of the housing commission estate at Maroubra. La Perouse became home to many Aborigines dispossessed of their land in other parts of New South Wales. Many struggling European families, priced out of the market in boom times, such as pre-World War I, or unemployed during the Great Depression, built shacks near Long Bay and La Perouse. To this day Maroubra still has a high rate of battlers living in housing commission homes. Well intentioned government initiatives did not always solve the social ills of poverty, family dysfunction and crime; these problems are ongoing. The south-side beaches are also currently overcoming an image problem, created by such events as drunken backpacker beach parties and the Cronulla riots. Many Anglo-Celtic Australians were clearly displeased about immigrant cultures displacing their values but also equally sickened by the mob violence during the riots. It is somewhat ironic that these events occurred just around the headland from where the first ‘boat people’, with their strange ways, arrived; they serve as a reminder of that earlier clash of cultures. Although now despoiled by pollution and other human interference, Botany Bay remains a major gateway to this wide-open land of promise and freedom. The focus of the book is on the shoreline, that high-energy intersection between sea and land where waves whipped up by wind and storms—possibly originating thousands of kilometres

“The tossing waves, the foam, the ships in the distance, The wild unrest, the snowy, curling caps—that inbound urge and urge of waves, Seeking the shore forever.” Walt Whitman, from ‘From Montauk Point', 1888

out to sea—pound the coast in a final dramatic explosion, or caress it with a gentle cascade. This constant hypnotic dance on the shore is repetitive but never exactly the same. It adds excitement and energises the coastline, but also confronts us with a sense of danger. The lure of the ocean attracts and influences all manner of people. Some of the world’s most recognised surf beaches are found along this coast, where many lifesaving and surfing champions were raised. But it is not just surfers who are drawn to the energy of the surf zone. World recognised painters, potters, writers, poets, filmmakers, photographers, musicians and architects, inspired by the ocean’s many moods, call the south-side beaches home. Like the Saltwater People before us, residents and visitors alike fish, dive, swim, surf and sail these waters, or just bask on the sandy shores. These beaches have produced some unique individuals and some incredible stories. The European occupation of Australia, determined by the ships that connected us to the rest of the world, began on its edges, and 90 per cent of the population has remained near the coast. It is interesting to note that Australia’s first industry, well before the establishment of the pastoral industry, was the then dangerous trade of harvesting the wild creatures of the sea. Whaling and sealing brought economic stability to the new colony. The downside was that wholesale slaughter reduced these once teeming populations to the brink of extinction. It is also worth noting that although the great maritime nation of Britannia ruled the waves, the art of swimming was alien to its people, who perceived the sea as vexatious, even

introduction

perilous, concealing monsters and predators.6 Shipwrecks and drownings were common. It would take many generations of waterpeople until Anglo-Celts were as comfortable at play in the ocean as the original Saltwater People had been. When asked, very few Sydneysiders know about the culture of the Aboriginal people who lived here for many millennia before the Europeans arrived. On the beaches the lack of information is even more obvious. One common misconception about the First People of the Sydney Basin is that they were somehow frightened of the ocean. This is far from the truth. The Aborigines along the beaches were true Saltwater People, at home not only in the sparkling estuaries and rivers but also in the ocean waves. Theirs was a canoe culture. It is estimated that the fruits of the sea and estuaries provided up to 80 per cent of the Eora and Dharawal diet. They fished with spears, or lines and hooks, and were known to dive off rock ledges into the surf and emerge with lobster and abalone. The geology of the Sydney Basin blessed the land with rivers, bubbling creeks and beautiful lagoons, where sweet fresh water meets salt water, forming fertile estuaries and providing both life-giving water and a variety of food. This abundance at the meeting of the waters was celebrated with ceremony and honoured with ritual and respect. If we had taken the time to listen, the Saltwater People would have taught us much about protecting the land, waterways and ocean. They would also have taught us valuable lessons in preserving resources such as fresh water and fish stocks. The British sense of destiny subverted all else, and a smug sense of supremacy blinded us to the environmental sustainability practised by the original custodians of the land. But the natural beauty of the area is now under threat. The First People protected this country and, as they did for many millennia before us, we need to preserve the area for future generations.

Melchisédech Thévenot (c1620–1692), Hollandia Nova Detecta 1644: Terre Australe Decouverte l’An 1644, 1663. Map of the fifth continent based on the discoveries of Abel Tasman. State Library of New South Wales.

the first people, 22

the

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;No two people could have been more different in their concepts of the world and the meaning of human life than Europeans and Aborigines.â&#x20AC;? Keith Willey, from When The Sky fell doWn, 1979

Opposite Bronte. Photo Brad Malyon. Above Unidentified portrait of an Aboriginal man. Plate 28. State Library of New South Wales.

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A Land of Plenty The lands surrounding ‘Tuhbowgule’, said to mean ‘meeting of the waters’—the eastern side of the deep harbour named Port Jackson by the European invaders—was home to many Aborigines living in harmony with the environment, as they had for tens of thousands of years. Their history predates the harbour itself, once a deep river valley carved out of the ‘Narrabeen’ sandstone about 20,000 years ago, at the height of the last Ice Age. Now an estuary, it gradually flooded until the sea reached its present level about 7000 years ago. The First People of the Sydney Basin moved through a landscape steeped in spiritual significance. With heathland and forests providing plenty of game, lagoons and rivers alive with fish and wildfowl and deeper indigo ocean waters filled with bounty, this land was close to paradise. The word ‘aboriginal’ comes from the Latin ab origine, meaning ‘from the beginning’. It emerged in seventeenth century English to mean ‘the original habitants of the land’, but was not at first used in Australia. Early explorers and colonists used the term ‘native’ or ‘Indian’ after their encounters with Native Americans in North America. On the frontier the First People were often referred to as ‘blacks’, and the words ‘aboriginal’, ‘aborigine’ and their plurals did not gain currency until the 1840s. It was only in the 1960s that the words were capitalised and the term ‘Aboriginality’ adopted to address the politics of identity. The Aboriginal occupation of the Australian continent is now conservatively dated at approximately 60,000 BP but, mainly due to the impact of rising sea levels, carbon dating along Sydney’s coastline can only record occupation dating to the relatively stable environment towards the end of the last Ice Age. Early coastal occupation sites, some 10 kilometres east of the present coastline, have been lost beneath the sea. Due to the rapid and devastating impact of European settlement on traditional life, as well as the lack of records, there is an ongoing

“Our laws are about living things and we must obey them. They help us with our morals, our ethics and discipline, and they help us live a natural life, closer to the natural and spiritual world.” Uncle Max Dulumunmun Harrison, from My People’s Dreaming, 2009

discussion about the correct boundaries, spelling and even names of the various groups of Aborigines and clans who inhabited the Sydney region, a vast area of some 4662 square kilometres, stretching from the Hawkesbury River in the north to the Georges River in the south and west. These people of the Sydney region have collectively become known as the Eora Nation, with Eora basically meaning ‘from this place’ or ‘ours’. In the late eighteenth century, local Aboriginal people used the word to refer to ‘people’ when they were speaking to the British, so the word has been used to refer to the Aboriginal people of this region themselves. According to one theory, the Eora were a coastal subgroup of the Darug, a language group who inhabited the area from the coast in the east to the Blue Mountains in the west, speaking a coastal dialect of Darug. There were perhaps only a few dozen clans who shared the common language of the Sydney region, and the name Eora is proudly used today by the descendants of those same people. The name Darug—also spelt Dharug, Daruk, Dharuk, Dharuck and Dharruk—is commonly used to refer to only those people who occupied the Cumberland Plain west to the Blue Mountains. The coastline discussed in this book, extending south from South Head in Sydney Harbour to the Royal National Park, also incorporates another language group neighbouring the Eora in the south—the Dharawal (Tharawal, Turawal or Thurrawal). The Dharawal moved freely through the area, ranging from the south side of Botany Bay and the Georges River through to Wreck Bay, near Jervis Bay, and west to Appin and south as far as Goulburn. Rather than use the term ‘tribes’, as the late eighteenth century British colonists did, it is now accepted practice to refer to smaller groups of people, usually numbering about 50, as ‘bands’ or ‘clans’.1 This book is only concerned with the coastal clans who inhabited the south-side beaches. From Burraware—the South Head of Sydney Harbour—to ‘Warrane’ (Sydney Cove) and the land south towards Kamay (Botany Bay), the traditional owners were called Gadi and

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From 11 separate plates contained in Voyage de Découvertes aux Terres Australes, Second Edition, 1824. State Library of New South Wales.

“Land cannot be given or taken away, we belong to the land.”

Pat Dodson, (b. 1948)

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New Holland:

Baskets, Weapons and Fishing Gear “The natives of the sea-coast are those with whom we happened to be the most acquainted. Fish is their chief support.” David Collins, from An Account of the English Colony in New South Wales, 1798

1 spears; 2 spear-thrower, side-view; 2a the same, front view; 3 hand spear; 4 fishing spear, supposedly broken; 5 clubs of various shapes; 6 rebounding sabre (probably a type of boomerang); 7 and 7a a shield, front and back views; 8 stone hatchet; 9 bark container; 9a wooden container; 10 shell fish-hooks; 11 paddle, by CA Lesueur (artist), J Milbert (editor), Dien (engraver). DIRECTIONAL Caption lore ium vid quatem

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Reproduced from Péron and Freycinet 1824, plate 30. Courtesy Australian Museum Research Library.

the first people, the saltwater people

their band known as the Gadigal (Cadigal, Cadigàl, Càd-i-gal or Cadi-gal). The ending gal means ‘country’. Càdi, the bay of Cadi, is probably ‘Kutti’, which is the Aboriginal place name for Watsons Bay.2 Around South Head were the Birrabirragal, a name that may “derive from Birrabirra, a place name for Sow and Pigs, a rocky reef in the middle of lower Port Jackson”.3 Around Botany Bay were the Kamay ra gal (Gameygal or Kamey-gal), the clan on the north-western shores of the bay, and the Gweagal (Gweea, Gweagal or Gwea-gal) on the southern shore.4 These coastal clans tended to concentrate on fishing, and “the economy of their society was finely balanced. They depended for much of their food on the sea”.5 Archaeologist Emma Lee gives voice to the view of some Indigenous academics that “the use of individual clan names is a personal history, not open access like a town name on a map”.6 Linguistic ‘correctness’ may in fact be a fanciful idea, since our current knowledge is a mixture of both fragments of Aboriginal oral history and European interpretation.7 In this book I will refer to the accepted practice of referring to the coastal Aboriginal clans as the ‘Saltwater People’. This term suggests a relationship with the ocean and the beaches, and will serve well to separate the coastal dwellers and those who roamed further inland. Each of the coastal clans was “distinguishable by the distinctive decorations on their bodies and hairstyles, tools and weapons, as well as … the songs and dances they performed”.8 The Gweagal, for example, were said to put resin in their hair, which they wore in a mop style, while the Gadigal men were known to wrap their long hair in paperbark. The young colony’s judge advocate, David Collins, noted: “The nets used by the people of the coast for carrying their fish, lines etc. differed in the mesh from those used by the wood natives; and they extend this peculiarity even to their dances, their songs, and even their dialect.” 9 Some people from the inland clans do get a mention in this book. Bennelong was a member of the Wangal clan who lived to Augustus Earle (1793–1838), Desmond, a N.S. Wales Chief Painted for a Karobbery or Native Dance, c1826. Watercolour on paper, 25.7 × 17.5 cm. Rex Nan Kivell Collection, Pictures Collection, National Library of Australia.

“The men also dive for shell-fish, which they take off from rocks under water, and remain a surprising time under: when they rise to the surface, whatever they have gathered they throw on shore …” John Hunter (1728–1793)

Roger Barthélemy (1767–1841), NouvelleHollande, Nelle. Galles du Sud, Jeune Femme de La Tribu des Bous-rou-be-ron-gal avec Son Enfant sur Les Epaules, 1824. National Library of Australia.

Opposite M. Dubourg, Fishing in the Surf, 1813. Rex Nan Kivell Collection, Pictures Collection, National Library of Australia.

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â&#x20AC;&#x153;About 50,000 years ago, Australia was populated by people who could travel a considerable distance at sea. The form of their boats may have changed over time, but watercraft was used in Australia and on its coastal fringes for thousands of years.â&#x20AC;? Dr Stan Florek, Anthropology Collections at the Australian Museum

the first people, the saltwater people

the south of Sydney Cove and westwards. Pemulwuy was a Badigal (Bediagal) man from the country around the area now called Canterbury, and his community “were closely associated with Salt Pan Creek”,10 a tributary of the Georges River. The Badigal were Darug-speakers and lived in a land of plenty, with game-filled woodlands intersected by pristine rivers. Inland to the west, the Cobragal clan occupied the stretch of river around an area that became Liverpool. Waterways such as the Cooks, Georges and Hacking rivers acted as highways to the coast, and the ease with which these canoe-culture people moved along the rivers “raises many questions about whether such a sharp distiction could have existed between these ‘woods’ groups and the coastal clans before European settlement began”.11 Moving throughout their country in accordance with the seven seasons within an eleven-year cycle, the Saltwater People fished in the rivers, lagoons and ocean, using traps, spears and fishing lines with wood and mother-of-pearl hooks. They hunted in the hinterlands, and harvested food from the surrounding bush. Living in a land of plenty, they had no need to travel far from their lands for subsistence, but they did travel, with permission, to the lands of neighbouring clans for trade and ceremonies. This meant that they only had to work about four or five hours a day to meet their needs, leaving a large amount of leisure time available for developing their rich and complex cultural life—especially spirituality and the law—the heart of which was connection to the land.12

They also had access to bountiful forests, which were maintained by the use of ‘firestick farming’. There is a tendency to think that there was a single nationwide ‘Aboriginal culture’, but it would be more accurate to describe Aboriginal Australia as a collection of first nations. While many aspects of Aboriginal culture were shared across the continent, the clans along Sydney’s coastline were influenced by both the local environment and the seasonal food supply. The Saltwater People were heavily dependent on the ocean and waterways for the bulk of their diet, but they also enjoyed a variety of game meat and native fruits and vegetables. This was in stark contrast to the limited choice of the average European diet at the time. That traditional lifestyle was broken by the arrival of the Europeans, and the effects were devastating. Many believe that all that remains of the Saltwater People are the shellfish middens (piles of empty shells left over from centuries of seafood barbecues on the beach), rock paintings and engravings. The truth is there is a powerful legacy that is only now being recognised. As is common in traditional Aboriginal Australia, the clans along the south-side beaches moved about in a totemic landscape, steeped with meaning and shaped by ancestral beings. Creation stories were passed down in dance and song, “spelling out the relationship between man and nature”.14 Every person would be given a totem name, taken from nature, that became part of their identity. With this name came a responsibility to protect that totem, whether it was a bird, fish, insect or object. Ceremonies for initiation and burial were supervised by kooringals (elders) and Koradgee (clever men), known for being healers and great warriors. These men had to pass through many initiations—including scarification, a pierced septum and incisor removal—to achieve their status and be respected as “men of high degree”.15 During his survey of the Greater Sydney Harbour at the end of January 1978, John Hunter noted that the Eora people “always

Their way of life was tied to the land, part of it, living off it, but not changing it. They roamed the headlands and sandy beaches and fished in the blue waters. Behind the headlands were lagoons filled with waterbirds. Further in, they hunted the kangaroo and emu on the grassy plains.13 Opposite T. Prattent after Richard Cleveley (1747–1809), A View in Port Jackson, 1789. Engraving (reproduction) from Arthur Phillip, The Voyage of Governor Phillip to Botany Bay, London, 1789. State Library of New South Wales.

Above 'Natives returned from fishing'. State Library of New South Wales.

s a lt w at e r p e o p l e o f t h e fata l s h o r e

appeared cheerful and in good humour”.16 To settlers from eighteenth century Britain, where endemic diseases were rife, the state of Aboriginal health looked very good. Surgeon George Worgan commented on how they “seemingly enjoy uninterrupted Health, and live to a great Age”.17 Whether their muscular build and longevity were due to their canoe culture and seafood diet is unknown, but their skills as water people and their ease with fishing the estuaries and surf beaches were well recognised. Both men and women could dive to considerable depths in the search for crayfish and abalone.

Getting onto the rocks that projected into the sea, they plunged from them to the bottom in search of shell-fish. When they had been down some time, we became very uneasy on their account … At length however, they appeared, and convinced us that they were capable of remaining underwater twice as long as our ablest divers. An instant was sufficient for them to take breath, and then they dived again. They did this repeatedly until their baskets were nearly full.18 In the 1830s William Govett wrote that “the natives are not … Cowards of the Deep; ... they are bold and surprisingly expert, both in swimming and diving”.19 He borrowed a fishing line from an Aborigine in an attempt to emulate his success in catching snapper from a rock ledge, but only managed to snag the line on rocks in the water. In an attempt to reclaim his line, an Aborigine “stood upon the verge of a rock” and in an instant “plunged through a rising wave, and disappeared”. He stayed under the water “full a minute” before he emerged with the line and the hook intact, then rode a “heaving surge” back onto the rock.20 There are similar stories told during the early days of European settlement in Sydney. Perhaps more diaries and letters that shed light on the lives of the Saltwater People will be unearthed.

For the Saltwater People water was central to their physical and spiritual sustenance. Fishing provided a large part of their diet. Settler accounts in New South Wales noted that women generally fished with a hook and line while men fished with spears.21 Saltwater People were seen fishing in canoes far outside the heads of Port Jackson as well as inside the estuaries. These craft were a source of great interest to early British settlers, who commented on them in their diaries. Among these early records are reports of canoes going out in ‘large surf ’, suggesting that the Saltwater People of Sydney may well have ridden a wave back to the beach, making them the world’s first surfers. Aboriginal men usually fished with a multi-pronged spear known as a ‘fizgig’, “made of the flowering stem of the grass tree, or of wattle acacia, its four barbs fastened in place by gum. The wooden prongs were honed in the fire and headed with animal-bone points, sharp fishbones or teeth, or viciously cutting stingray spurs”.22 Resin is more likely to have been used as a fixer, as gum is soluble in water unless it is mixed with other materials. Research of archaeological evidence by Sandra Bowdler suggests that Aboriginal women became increasingly involved in fishing after the introduction of the shell hook some 600 to 900 years ago.23 Lieutenant William Bradley described the way these shiny crescent-shaped lures or hooks were made in Broken Bay in the late 1700s:

One of the women made a fishing hook while we were by her, from the inside of what is commonly called the pearl oyster shell, by rubbing it down on the rocks until thin enough and then cut it circular with another, shape the hook with a sharp point rather bent it and not bearded or barbed.24 These mother-of-pearl shell fishhooks, known as béra, were most commonly made from the large turban shell (Turbo torquata); remains found along the New South Wales coastline indicate that Joseph Lycett (c1724–c1825), Aborigines Hunting Waterbirds, c1817. National Library of Australia.

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An eighteenth century commentator observed that fishhooks were often made of “mother of pearl, formed by an internal volute of some spiral shell, assisted by grinding it a little on one side only”.25

they varied in length from about 13 to 50 millimetres, most of them having a small notch on the shank end for securing the line. Fishing lines consisted of “two strands evenly laid and twisted hard; made with a grassy substance dark in colour, and nearly as fine as raw silk”.26 Writing in 1929, William Scott described how the Aboriginal women of Port Stephens made their fishing lines from young kurrajong trees.

Béra

(fishhooks) Fishhooks were curved but not barbed. They were usually made from shell but wood, bird talons and possibly some bone was used. The sheen from the pearl-like inner surface of turban shells may have acted as a lure for the fish. The fishhooks were made by women. Finished and partially-made shell fishhooks and ‘blanks’ cut from heavy turban shells, Turbo torquata, for making hooks have been found in several Aboriginal middens in the Sydney region. Les Bursill JP, OAM

The bark would be stripped carefully from the tree and soaked in water until the outer portions could be readily scraped off with a shell. This left a white, flax-like fibre, very tough and strong. The women twisted this fibre to the required thickness and length by rolling it on the front part of the thigh with the hands.27 According to Scott, these fishing lines were incredibly strong, “capable of landing the heaviest of edible fish”.28

The Arrival of the Sea Monsters In January 1788, the sailing ships of the First Fleet entered the world of the Eora nation, inspiring a mix of fear and fascination. The Saltwater People wondered if the ships were giant birds, floating islands, sea monsters or even devils. Mahroot, an Aborigine from Botany Bay, recalled that when the old people saw figures “going up the masts they thought they was opossums”.29 They quickly accommodated the presence of these new and gigantic ‘canoes’, but the arrival of the ships changed their lives forever.30 Within a few years of the appearance of these invaders, the traditional life that the Saltwater People had lived for thousands of years had been virtually destroyed by the impact of disease and the disruption to sustainable food harvesting. Aboriginal culture is resilient, however, and lives on not only in local place names and half-forgotten stories but also in vibrant Far left Aboriginal woman carrying fishing line and dilly bag. State Library of New South Wales. Left Béra—shell fishhooks. Photo Oggy.

the first people, the saltwater people

communities along the south-side beaches. Perhaps the main impact of Aboriginal culture is the way modern Australians view life. The fact that Aboriginal society did not tolerate despots and kings but sought decisions by council is reflected in the broader Australian sense of a ‘fair go’ and egalitarianism. The cult of celebrity is making inroads, but Australians are still wary of ‘big noters’, preferring a sense of quiet achievement and self-deprecating humour. The Europeans remarked on the Saltwater People’s light-hearted natures, even in the face of adversity—a ‘black’ or ‘gallows’ humour the convicts shared. Many contemporary Australians display stoicism and humour when confronted by fire, flood and drought. Fortunately, Aboriginal history and culture are now studied in schools and universities, and a sense of pride in this heritage has developed. The Post-Modern revisionism of empirical history and the nodding acceptance of Aboriginal oral histories have revived the discussion about our nation’s mythology. This new and informed educational drive helps bridge the new waves of migration with our nation’s Aboriginal heritage. With technology continuing to shrink the world, Indigenous values may gradually become homogenised into a world view, but it must be remembered that these values have helped define Australians as a people with a distinct culture and view of life.

Pages 36–7 Wermugga Corroboree, 1892. Kerry & Co., Tyrell Collection, The Powerhouse Museum, Sydney.

Right Portrait of an unidentified Australian Aboriginal woman, from Bombala area, South Coast, New South Wales. Kerry & Co., Tyrell Collection, The Powerhouse Museum, Sydney.