No Sugar (2 page)

Government Well Aboriginal Reserve, Northam, morning, 1929.
SAM MILLIMURRA
prepares mugs of tea, lacing them generously with sugar. He passes one to
JOE
who is absorbed in the special centenary edition of the Western Mail.
GRAN
and
MILLY
sort clothes for washing.
DAVID
and
CISSIE
play cricket with a home-made bat and ball.
JIMMY
sharpens an axe, bush fashion.

DAVID
: Bowl overarm!

CISSIE
: I can't.

DAVID
: Well, try.

She does, clumsily.
JOE
bashes the paper into shape and reads aloud falteringly. His father,
SAM
, listens with great interest.

JOE
: ‘The— blood— was stirred as if by a trumpet… by the historical…

CISSIE
bowls again.
DAVID
bashes the ball out of sight.

DAVID
:
Woolah!
Don Bradman.

DAVID
and
CISSIE
scamper after the ball.

JOE
:… Headed by a tableau…

MILLY
: David, where you goin'? Gimme that shirt, it's filthy.

DAVID
removes it and inspects it but continues after the ball. He and
CISSIE
exit.

JOE
:… Commemorating the pioneers whose lives…

GRAN
: [
to
JIMMY
] James, you put that bucket a' water on?

JIMMY
: Yeah, Mum, boilin' and waitin' for you by now.

JOE
:… Were a steadfast performance of duty in the face of difficulty and danger. With them was a reminder of the dangers they faced, in the shape of three lorries… carrying Aborigines.

They all stop what they are doing and listen.

Aborigines, incong… incongruously…

SAM
: Come on.

JOE
: All right! ‘… Dancing… to a brass band.'

SAM
laughs.

SAM
:
Koorawoorung
! Nyoongahs corroboreein' to a
wetjala
's brass band!

JIMMY
: Ah! That beats everythin': stupid bloody blackfellas.

GRAN
: Ay! You…
dawarra
you
mirri
up and get them clothes down the soak, go on!

JIMMY
gets up, but can't resist the final word.

JIMMY
: You fellas, you know why them
wetjalas
marchin' down the street, eh? I'll tell youse why. 'Cause them bastards took our country and them blackfellas dancin' for 'em. Bastards!

He nicks his finger with the axe and watches the blood drip to the ground.
GRAN
gives him a piece of cloth for it.

MILLY
: Don't worry, if you woulda been there you woulda been right with 'em.

JIMMY
: No bloody fear I wouldn't have.

He drives the axe savagely into a log.

GRAN
: Eh! Now you take them clothes down the soak, you 'ear me?

JIMMY
reluctantly obeys,
DAVID
and
CISSIE
return with the bat but no ball.
DAVID
wears his shirt inside out.

DAVID
: You're the fielder; you're supposed to chase it.

CISSIE
: Well, you shouldn't hit it so hard.

DAVID
: Yeah, well it's lost now.

MILLY
: Come on, you two, get to school.

Reaching into a pocket
.

Here's twopence, you can buy an apple each for lunch.

She gives it to them.

DAVID
: Aw, can't I have enough for a pie?

MILLY
: It's all the money I got.

CISSIE
: Aw mum, Old Tony the ding always sells us little shriveled ones and them
wetjala
kids big fat ones.

JOE
: Here's thrippence each.

JOE
flips them sixpence.

DAVID
: Aw, thanks, Brudge.

MILLY
: Where's that shirt?

DAVID
: [
tapping his chest
] 'Ere.

MILLY
: Take it off.

DAVID
: But it's clean on this side.

MILLY
: Come 'ere.

She tugs it off him and swaps it for a clean one.

And you go straight down the soak after school. [
To
SAM
and
JOE
] And you fellas, we got no meat for dinner or supper; you'll have to go out and get a couple of rabbits.

GRAN
and
MILLY
exit.
JOE
continues to read to himself.

SAM
: Ba, ba, what else?

JOE
: ‘The pag… page… page – ant pre – sented a picture of Western Australia's pre-sent condition of hopeful optimum – optimistic prosperity, and gave some idea of what men mean when they talk about the soul of the nation.'

SAM
: Sounds like bullshit to me. Come on, let's get these rabbits.

JOE
springs to his feet and walks off. Dogs bark.

Bring Ruffy and Moonie; don't bring Spring, he's too slow.

JOE
returns with a dowak. He picks up the camp oven.

JOE
:
Allewah wilbra
,
gnuny barminy barkiny
.

He mimes throwing the doak at a rabbit and runs off after his father.

A street in Northam, day.
FRANK BROWN
rolls a cigarette from stoopers.
SERGEANT CARROL
enters from the police station and approaches him.

SERGEANT
: Hey, just a moment you!

FRANK
: Yes?

SERGEANT
: How long you been in Northam?

FRANK
: About a fortnight.

SERGEANT
: Where are you camped?

FRANK
: Down near the saleyards.

SERGEANT
: By yourself?

FRANK
: No, there's about ten other blokes.

SERGEANT
: White blokes?

FRANK
: What?

SERGEANT
: Not abos or half-castes?

FRANK
: No, why?

SERGEANT
: Your name Francis Brown?

FRANK
: Yes.

SERGEANT
: You've been seen hangin' about with natives.

FRANK
: It's not against the law.

SERGEANT
: No, Mr Brown, it's not, but it is an offence to supply liquor to an Aboriginal native under the Aboriginal Act.

FRANK
: Thanks for the information.

SERGEANT
: Oh I've got plenty of information, mate. Last Friday, James Munday, a native, took a bundle of fox scalps to the Shire Office and collected a bounty of three pounds.

FRANK
: Very interesting. And?

SERGEANT
: And, on Friday night he was apprehended drunk in Bernard Park after you were seen purchasing two bottles of port wine in the Shamrock Hotel.

FRANK
: I'm a wine connoissuer.

SERGEANT
: [
intimately
] Listen, mate, don't try being smart. This time I sent Munday back to his camp with a warning; next time I'll nail him and the bloke that buys wine for him. The last bloke I nabbed for supplying is doing three months hard labour in Fremantle.

FRANK
: Thanks for the tip.

SERGEANT
: Why don't you think about movin' on?

FRANK
: Where to? I been on the road already for six months. Kondinin, Merredin, Kalgoorlie: no work. Headed up the Murchison, Mullewa, Northampton: nothing. I got a wife and two kids staying with her parents in Leederville. I can't even raise a train fare to Perth to go and see them.

The
SERGEANT
takes out a packet of cigarettes and gives a couple to
FRANK
.

SERGEANT
: Look, mate, I understand; I hear it every day a' the week, but I got a job to do, so don't forget what I said.

FRANK
: Thanks.

SERGEANT
: Natives best left to keep to themselves.

FRANK
: I was only tryin' to do—

SERGEANT
: [
interrupting
] You might think your doin' 'em a good turn, but you're not. Take it from me, I been dealin' with 'em for years. I got nothin' against 'em, but I know exactly what they're like.

FRANK
carefully puts the cigarettes away as the
SERGEANT
enters the police station.
MISS DUNN
enters an office with a sign displayed, reading ‘Government of Western Australia, Fisheries, Forestry, Wildlife and Aborigines'. There are two desks, each with a telephone. She goes immediately to one, takes a note from her handbag and dials.
FRANK
exits. The
SERGEANT
settles behind his desk and busies himself.

MISS DUNN
: [
into the receiver
] Hell… Hello, good morning. Is that the West? Yes, thankyou… I'd like to place an advertisement, ‘Wanted to Sell'.

NEVILLE
enters. He takes some files from his briefcase and settles down at his desk with the West Australian
.

NEVILLE
: Good Morning, Miss Dunn.

MISS DUNN
: [
into the receiver
] A motorcycle. [
To
NEVILLE
] Good morning, Mr Neville. I'm sorry, it's a personal… [
into the receiver
] sorry. Twelve pounds, in, Douglas, 1923 Model, one forty-eight Stirling Street, Highgate… Please. [
To
NEVILLE
] Sorry, Mr Neville, it's a personal call… [
Into the receiver
] Thankyou… Dunn… Miss E.

NEVILLE
: I didn't know you were a motorcyclist.

MISS DUNN
: No, it's my brother's. He's down the South West, looking for work, and his wife and children are with me.

NEVILLE
: Couldn't find anything in Perth.

MISS DUNN
: No, and not for want of trying. He eventually got work selling wirelesses. Door to door.

NEVILLE
: Doesn't sound very suitable.

MISS DUNN
: He only sold one in three weeks, didn't even cover the cost of the petrol.

NEVILLE
: Well, he's certainly not on his own. Unemployment's hit thirty per cent according to the
West
.

MISS DUNN
: There's some mail for you, and an urgent internal one from the Minister's Office and one from the Northam Town Clerk.

NEVILLE
: Goodness me, the
West
's scraping the barrel for a bit of good news. Results of the ‘Most Economical Housewife Contest'… What next?… I'm afraid you're not the lucky winner, Miss Dunn.

He shows her the paper.

MISS DUNN
: ‘Mrs Hill of Greenmount on two pounds five shillings a week…' Rent, seven shillings; light, one and threepence.

MISS DUNN
reads to herself
.

NEVILLE
: She's ingenious, alright: makes tap washers out of old car tyres.

MISS DUNN
: Yes, and slippers from her husband's old felt hats.

NEVILLE
picks up the mail and starts to read it.

NEVILLE
: Perhaps the West could run a contest for the most frugal civil servant… Could you get me Sergeant Carrol in Northam on the line, please?

He gets out files and makes notes while
MISS DUNN
dials the exchange.

MISS DUNN
: Trunks please… Hello… Northam nine please… Yes, BM nine-seven-oh-seven… Thankyou operator.

She hangs up.

NEVILLE
: Can you take down a note for the Minister, please?

He shuffles through the files and documents.

My dear Minister, herewith the information requested. I know I don't need to remind your good self of the extreme budgetry constraints under which this Department operates. Item one: the native weekly ration currently costs this Department two shillings and fourpence per week. Perhaps this bears comparison with the sustenance paid to white unemployed which I believe is seven shillings per week.

The phone rings in the Northam Police Station.
SERGEANT CARROL
answers it.

SERGEANT
: Hello, Northam Police Station. Thanks, Sybil.

NEVILLE
: Item two: off the cuff, the proposed budget cut of three thousand one hundred and thirty-four pounds could be met by discontinuing the supply of meat in native rations. Soap was discontinued this financial year. Item Three: of eighty girls from the Moore River Native Settlement who went out into domestic service last year, thirty returned—