PINJARRA - BATTLE OR MASSACRE?

IN 1997 AT CURTIN UNIVERSITY I EXAMINED THE ABOVE QUESTION. THE FOLLOWING SHORT STORY, WRITTEN BY ME IN 1970 IS SELF EXPLANATORY.                      

Maninya

The Punishment at Binjareb

The Battle of Pinjarra

The Massacre of Binjarup

28 October 1834

                                                                             

Peter Harries ( Ph.D.)

                                                Copyright July 1970 & May 2012

                                              

        Maninya

                                                                      -1-

Maninya snuggled closer to his Mother, enjoying the warmth of their possum-skin coverings and innately aware of the fecundity of her swollen belly. For, like all of his people, Maninya was a lover of babies and each event was a keenly anticipated happening.

It was ending of  The Time of the Rains and he was three more Times from becoming a man. The coming Time of The Plains, The Time of The Honey and The Time of The Fish. Before the end of that last Time he would have left his Mother, to join the men by their fire, to learn of The Dreaming and listen to the stories of Calyute. Calyute, what a strong name for a strong man. Calyute who hated the Pale People and had promised to drive them from the ancient tribal lands, at which time there would commence a New Time. The Time of The Great Dogs, when the Nyungah would again control their heritage and hunt down the huge animals. Both the ones that the Pale People sat upon to travel; those with their other hard ears set upon their heads, and unlike the usually silent emu and kangaroo, uttering their strange plaintive calls. They would also catch the big white possums that could not climb trees, made noises like babies, but tasted very good.

Maninya knew his lore. Back in the Dreaming the Wise Ones had decided that killing between members of the tribal family was wrong, except as punishment for the breaking of Tribal Law, but let anyone from a neighbouring group offend by entering their territory without permission, then their killing was sure to happen. This applied equally to fellow Nyungar and the Pale People. However, during the Times when Nature’s abundance meant the sharing of the harvest, boundaries were no longer operable; overcome by ritualistic invitation, when the gathered greater Nyungah came together to salute the Great Spirit in dance, song and feast.

It was indeed the start of The Time of The Plains, for the dark clouds had ended their  blanket  of constant saturation and the natural grasses and flowers were in profusion. Before the full passage of Father Moon’s recurring birth, life, death and renewal in the night sky, the Mother Sun -Trees would show their golden glory to the blue canopy of the sky. The emu and kangaroo would roam the open areas in vast numbers, neither bordered nor fenced, experiencing no hazard to their continual survival, because the owners of these naturally husbanded wonders of animal oddity, although men, only took that which was necessary for food. Sport-killing was unknown to a people whose sport was living and whose life was sport in every sense.

Then would follow The Time of The Honey. Exciting days in the forest, with Mother Sun sometimes almost shut out by the rough, sullen trees. The coarse-barked towers with their thick, red, blood-like drips, crowned by clouds of white blossom, about which the buzzing workers of another world slaved, to fill hollows in other trees with a golden tribute. The condensed life of Mother Sun herself. Once again there would be heard the squealed excitement of each new find. The climbing figures, thrusting bundles of burning, heavily smoking green leaves into the domains of the angry insects; although not armed with the sting of some other insects, they could form a suffocating mass to invade eyes, nose and mouth. There would follow the chopping of stone on wood and finally the luxuriance of the sweet, sticky liquid, with the extended ecstatic oral destruction of the ash-coloured resilient containers. Happiness at that Time was the taste of honey

The Time of The Fish had passed before the rains came, when Maninya with his tribe had gone to Barraghup, The Place of The Fish. For weeks the fat food from the sea; myriad smooth bodies had moved into the waters of the Winding Snake. The men had repaired the Mungah of stones and stakes, imprisoning the water creatures for easy spearing. The Law of Territory was suspended, so that the adjoining tribes gathered there in great numbers and it had been a wonderful time. After the feasting, the hunting continued, until huge piles of fish lay on the river’s banks, as if any escaped they would tell those still in the sea and none would return for the next Time of The Fish, thereby stopping the repetition of this event in the annual calender of forever. Or so Maninya believed at that time.

                                                                        -2-

The voice of Calyute punctuated the noises of the night. The almost constant sounds of wood crackling in combustion, the comforting crooning of the women with their babes and as a background the murmuring of the river and the smaller creek, as they performed their endless nuptials. The voice of Calyute recalling the deeds of the past and promising the adventures of tomorrow. Maninya’s thoughts strayed to those happenings which were covered in terms of time by the constant changes of  Father Moon.

Following The Time of The Fish, the tribe had not, as was usual, commenced the journey inland, but instead ambled to the place where the rivers joined the Great Water, because here the Pale People had built their gunyahs. Not sensible, easy to erect shelters of bush and bark, which could be left behind when the rains ceased, but harsh structures which looked like stones. In truth they were stones. Stones that the Pale People made by mixing the substance of the earth with water, then when dry, placing them one on another. Like most things to do with the Pale People, very hard to understand. The Nyungah accepted the gifts of cloth and coloured stones on strings, but discarded them as useless. They did form an immediate liking for the white powder which when mixed again with water and placed in the fire ashes, became a delight in the mouth.

Within the next three risings of Mother Sun, Calyute, Noonah and a group of strong men travelled to the territory which had once been that of  Yagan and his Father Midgegaroo. They had trusted the Pale People and both were killed by their fire-spears, the dreaded weapons capable of hurling invisible death over long distances. They went to the big river country where the Pale People had built a great wurley, with arms reaching to the sky. Arms which followed each other, first up and then down and then up again; faster or slower as the breezes blew from the Great Water. Calyute had found out that it was there that they used their magic to make the white powder and he promised the Nyungah that they would have plenty. He approached the wurley and called to the men inside and one appeared carrying a fire-spear. Calyute smiled and pointed to his mouth and belly. The man set down his fire-spear and three warriors grabbed him, threatening with their waddies and he became quiet, but trembling all over. The other men appeared and ran off to the river. Calyute stood with his hand raised and the young warriors stayed their spears, then everybody was into the wurley. Laughing, chattering, looking to the strange things of the Pale People, marvelling and detesting. Taking the white powder, Noonah coated himself with it and strutted about, being as one of them himself, to the delight of all. Carrying a large amount of booty in its own dilly-bags, they were all back in their own country before Mother Sun went to rest.

Soon the Pale People came on their Great Dogs and captured Calyute and others, taking them back to their place by the Durbal Yerrigan. They were tied to a tree and skin was stripped from their backs as punishment. When they returned to Bindjarup they had different faces.

Soon afterwards at Barraghup the warriors speared one of the Mother Great Dogs which had escaped from its keeper called Nes-Bit. Maninya liked Nes-Bit, as he had once given him good things to eat, patted him on the head and spoke kindly. But he was one of the Pale People. Calyute sent a message that they knew where the Mother Great Dog was and Nes-Bit came with Bar-Ron, one of their big warriors. At a place in the bush near the Winding Snake, Calyute tried to get them to come down from their Great Dogs, but they became frightened. As they turned to escape, a shower of spears was launched. One took Nes-Bit square in the back, his forming scream drowning in gurgles, as his life-blood rushed from his nose and mouth, staining the ground where he fell. Many spears struck the other man, but he stayed on his Great Dog, running away through the bush. That night Calyute told the story of their revenge over and over before the Nyungah slept

                                                                               -3-

A late spring morning is a thing of beauty in the river country. The air hangs heavy with moisture, shrouding the river trees. Friendly stumpy paper-barks, blue gums and tuarts hold the misty remnants of a cold night close to the river’s bosom, awaiting Mother Sun’s rays, for a while safe within the confines of the clothing banks. The creek, a servant of the river, bringing its constant tribute of finely washed silt, discolouring the junction of waters and eternally rebuilding the long arm of sand, stretching almost with reach of the opposite bank.

The camp-fires were being worried into new life by the women, the children already playing and the air full of chattering, laughing, barking; with the occasional coo-ee echoing for answer over the undulating ground. For the Nyungah, encamped in a large depression, it was the start of another pleasant day. Maninya watched the smoke, how it rose to the level of the surrounding banks, then flattened to drift in any direction, as prompted by an almost non-existent breeze.

Suddenly, alarm! Children playing not as many spear-throws distance from the camp as fingers on the hand, had seen Pale People mounted on their Great Dogs with others walking; warriors in their green-coloured coats. Calyute questioned them… “How many?” Five hands with five fingers spread and raised…”All with fire-spears?” Nodded assent.

Calyute was not afraid as he knew that the fire-spears only smoked once and did he not have many more warriors than they? He gave his orders quickly. The Nyungah would hurry across the river using the sand-arm; the men would line the far bank; then just let the Pale People follow them. If they did, many would die.

The warriors stood ready as the Great Dogs approached. Their leader called in his strange tongue “Noonah, you villain!” and he replied “Yes, me Noonah!” at the same time flinging his spear. On the instant he was shot dead. A spear point took their leader on the side of his head and he tumbled from his seat, striking the ground heavily. A barb buried itself in the elbow of another of The Pale People, but their fire-spears were too strong and some of them spoke twice.

Maninya and his Mother were in the first mob; wading, legs covered, almost to the sanctuary sought, when the impossible happened. Suddenly, from no-where, materialising like the Spirits of the Dead that the Nyungah had once supposed them to be, the heads and fire-spears of the Pale People warriors. They had crossed the river further up river by the Big Tree Bridge and were lying in wait for their prey. Most of the Nyungah were in the river when the following Pale People made the bank behind them, near their camp. Then from both sides came the death. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Then repeated. Then again, Whistling killers all around them, missing some, bouncing from the water, to rip flesh and destroy bone with horrible crunches. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Then again and again.

Maninya’s Mother gasped and he saw the flesh of her throat slashed open, for an instant white, then spurting scarlet into the brown of the water. She slipped from his grasp, fighting the pliant water; then was gone. The culture within him called,

“Maninya, today you can be a man. This is the time Maninya!”

                                                                                      -4-

He scrambled up the slippery bank, grasping a spear already un-fruitfully thrown. At the top he paused for a moment to sight his quarry; spear arm raised; mouth open to suck the air in deep, trying to stop the impending paralysis of fear and non-comprehension that was filling him. He heard the call coming from the other bank, in words he did not understand,

“Cease firing!” and that was the last thing that he heard. Not even the sound of the last shot. Many Father Moons before in a world far removed; a civilised world; men dug an element from the earth, melted it in a crucible and cast it into round shapes in a mould. One of these messengers of death carried the name Maninya. The boy fell dying, back into the river, as the terrified survivors crouching in the reed were told:

“I, James Stirling, Captain Royal Navy and appointed Governor of this Swan River Colony, do hereby warn all transgressors of His Majesty’s Law, that such transgression will meet with fearful reprisals. If in future, any settler should suffer interference to himself, his rightfully acquired property, his horses, cattle, sheep or any other livestock, we will hunt you down again and not one will be spared!”

A wonderful oration for a boy, floating away to join his Mother in the Dreaming. For Maninya there would not again be The Time of The Rains;  The Time of The Plains;  The Time of  The Honey, nor  The Time of  The Fish. There would be no time of being a man…

                                                                                                         Peter Harries

                                                                                               Copyright July 1970

                                                                                                         and May 2012

Cutting from the Daily News January 1946 or 1947.

I searched the Battye Library for the original printing without success and it is possible that it was only in a country edition.

The Time of The Rains:          Winter: 

The Time of  The Plains:           Late Spring:  

The Time of  The Honey          Late Summer

The Time of The Fish              Late Autumn

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In answer to Stephen Hall, I consider that he is making his judgements of historical records without examining the specific “time frame” of the subject under discussion. Many events that would have been considered the normal course of living in the late 18th and the 19th Centuries are anathema to those who choose to view them through the social prism of that which has in some ways changed for the better in the so-called modern era. Much has also changed to the detriment of morality in general, but that is a different story.

Having as a child aged from ten to fifteen, actually lived on the site of the 1834 Aboriginal encampment at Pinjarra; found an almost complete skeleton of an indigenous male victim (including a distorted musket ball) of the so-called Battle/Massacre of 23 October of that year; enjoyed close school-days fellowship with the children of the Walley and Corbett Families, which persisted through adulthood with Michaels, Kearings, Picketts and others; been a founding member of the Murray Districts Aboriginal Association (instituted by my late father John Marshall Harries in 1973); studied matters pertaining to the history and anthropology of those displaced by European occupation for four years at Curtin University, culminating in an Honours Dissertation on the above infamous confrontation, I regard the following to have validity.

The Pinjarra infamy was both by definition a massacre and a battle. It was the product of superiorism, not racism. The controlling elements of evolved society, at the time enforced obedience to their rule and there were various instances in British dominions (including England and Ireland) where the native proletariat were massacred by armed troops, acting upon the orders of their superiors. There is not room to identify all of these happenings, but they included The Boston Massacre and The Peterloo Massacre in Lancashire.

Whilst it is true that human society has always suffered greatly from the two unfortunate failings of covetousness and theft, plus the abomination of killing, they have been practised by all earthly races, including Europeans and Aborigines. They were not introduced to this island-continent by the former  and appear to be inherent. The tenets of anthropology argues the cases of “nature vs nurture” and many subscribe to the thought that evil is not inherited, but taught from generation to generation. Whichever it is, Western Society in general (apart from the constant wars mainly based on the three aforementioned evils) has modified standards of behaviour that are generally visible in the workings of today’s Australia. 

It has become normal in certain circles to observe pre-settlement Terra Australis Incognito as some kind of Garden of Eden, but that is most arguable. The territory of the Nyungar (my late friend Theo Keating’s preferred Pinjarra spelling) the South-West of our state, separated by a boundary termed the Circumcision Line (which ran approximately South of Geraldton to just East of Albany) was in many respects one of the best place to reside, as far as climate and food resources are concerned. However, the many clans, tribes etc., (there does not appear to be an English word to properly describe their structure) were quite small in number and were certainly not just “one big happy family”. They had very well understood territories and except at certain times of the year when “truces” allowed the coming together for reasons of ceremony and feasting. At Barraghup near Mandurah, the early settlers recorded meetings of 400 people congregating by the now Serpentine River to feast on the sea-fish captured by an improvised limestone and wicker-work dam. At other times, intrusion of territory could result in death.

There were (and still exist) various methods of population control including sub-incision (not practised along with circumcision by the Nyungar), totem prohibitions and Australia-wide ritual pay-back. The early Guildford settler George Fletcher Moore recorded the following story in his diaries. He was in the company of “his” local Aboriginal people (for whom he held a generally positive attitude) when a group of warriors from an adjoining tribe arrived and having picked a girl of about nine years of age from the assembly, speared her to death, then departed without interference from “his” people. He was told that as a similar girl from the tribe of the intruders had died, somebody was responsible and it was the accepted custom of retribution. Some of the laws governing existence through these means were harsh and cruel, but necessary for the continuance of the Aboriginal Race for a very long period of time.

It was inevitable that so-called Western Civilisation would interfere with parts of the laws, customs and traditions that would be acknowledged by most of today’s Australians as being appreciated and contributory to our mutual existence. Conversely, it is not a bad thing to have extinguished certain aspects of our Indigenous people’s former existence. As I concluded in my University studies, there is nothing to be gained by increasing the dimensions of ill behaviour by either side in the past. As Australians let us go forward together.

Peter Harries O.A.M.  Ph.D. History and Anthropology Curtin University 2005

26 December 2014

                  

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DAILY NEWS DATE UNKNOWN     JANUARY 1946 OR 1947