Goodbye Lullaby by Jan Murray - Chapter Sampler

7/31/2019 Goodbye Lullaby by Jan Murray - Chapter Sampler

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J A N M U R R A Y


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On conscription

I am no saint or would-be martyr and I live as I have to live. Yet I am

convinced that life is not worth living if one is not, at least on the impor-

tant issues, the master of ones own decisions. If others can make me kill

and maim against conscience, I am less a man, a beast to be used and

manipulated. Thus I could fight in Vietnam only if I considered it a just

cause ...From a letter written by a conscript, Geoff Mullen, addressed to

the Australian Government in 1967 and published in his Sydney

Morning Herald article of March 30, 1969

* * *

On the stolen children

At the age of four, I was taken away from my family and placed in [a]

Home where I was kept as a ward of the state until I was eighteen years old.

I was forbidden to see any of my family or know of their whereabouts

While I was walking through the bush the police and Welfare were going

out to the camp which they had found in the bush. I was so upset that

I didnt walk along the Highway. That way the Welfare would have seen

me. The next day I knew that the Welfare had taken my brothers and

sisters

From the Australian Governments Bringing Them HomeReport, The Report of the National Inquiry into the Separa-

tion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Children from

Their Families.

* * *


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On forced adoptions

I believe that a good environment will make a better job of bad genes

It is [a bad] environment which pushes the sinfulness into these babies.

Adoption brings joy to the adopting parents and the prospect of a better life

to the child The last thing the obstetrician should concern himself with

is the law in regard to adoption.

D.F. Lawson M.B. F.R.C.S., F.R.C.O.G. Medical Society Hall East

Melbourne August 19, 1958 in Overview of Adoption In Australia

http://www.dianwellfare.com/id22.html

Upon the adoption order being finalized the original Birth certificate

was sealed away forever and was never to be released. The mother and child

were forbidden by law to ever know each others names Dian Wellfare, Adoption Rights Campaigner (19512008) in Overview of

Adoption In Australia http://www.dianwellfare.com/id22.html

Between the 1950s and 1970s, approximately 150,000 Austra-

lian unwed mothers had their babies taken against their will by

churches and adoption agencies. The report by a Senate inquiry

investigating the Commonwealth governments involvement in

past forced adoption practices was tabled in the upper house on

the 29th February, 2012.


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9

Chapter One

The Daintree, Far North Queensland, September 1971

She had been aiming for a shot of the enormous Ulysses butter-

fly, not daring to breathe for fear of scaring it off. Suddenly, from

somewhere up above the rainforests canopy, she heard them.

Choppers!She flung the Leica into her rucksack and took off in a panic,

crashing through the undergrowth and leaping the slippery logs

blocking her path. A quick sign of the cross on her chest. No more

than a flick of her wrist. From habit. A lapsed Catholic unable to

let go a lifetimes conditioning.

Shed told the boys to be careful, called out to them about crocs

and the box jellyfish. It was the Coral Sea, not Bondi. But she

hadnt warned them about army surveillance helicopters. Idiot! she

screamed at herself as she pushed a spiky palm away from her face and

stumbled forward through the tropical denseness. They were three

ordinary city kids, one from Sydney, the other two from Brisbane.


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10 Jan Murray

Would they even be conscious of threats from overhead? Theyd put

up with a bitch of a road trip, eaten lots of dust hiding under the

hessian bags whenever theyd caught sight of a vehicle coming atthem that might spell trouble. But even before shed brought the Jeep

to a halt theyd leapt out and taken off through the bush, headed for

the beach. Like ferrets out of a cage, she figured as she kept running,

listening for the chopping sound of the rotor blades.

What would happen once she breached the rainforest canopy?

It was an endless stretch of white sand beyond. Miles and miles ofthe damned stuff. A person had nowhere to hide. Anyone running

down the beach would be highly visible. And someone running

and gesticulating to three conscription-aged youths would be of

particular interest to the men up there in those army helicopters.

Shed been a fool to let them run off like that. It was her job

to deliver them safely to the Blackburns camp. She cursed again,remembering her own situation, which was every bit as precarious

as theirs. She would be no good to anyone behind bars. She put

on more pace, dodging fallen logs and taking the sprawling roots

of the ancient figs at a leap, avoiding being torn to shreds by the

treacherous wait-awhile vines hanging down in her path.

The choppers were getting closer. About three or four minutesaway from the coast, she estimated. Definitely two of them up

there. Iroquois. Following the line of the Bloomfield. The line of

the Mekong, she was thinking when her boot caught in a vine,

sending her flying face-first into a clump of fungi. Brushing red

spores off her khakis, she staggered up and took off again.

She pulled up just short of breaking through onto the beach andhurtled along its fringe, over tangled roots, stamping bleached corals

and shells into the hot sands as she neared the part of the beach

where her charges, distant figures down at the waters edge, were

unaware of the near and present danger. Once she was lined up with

them, she called out. But they were too far down the beach and


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Goodbye Lullaby 11

having too good a time mucking about to hear her or the military

helicopters heading in their direction. She picked up a couple of

coconuts from among the dozens of fallen ones at her feet andconsidered hurling them down the beach to gain the kids attention

but hesitated even a couple of coconuts would stand out against

the whiteness of the sand and were sure to be spotted from the air.

There was a tap on her back. Jesus! She spun around, the blades

of her hands already up in front of her body, a defensive instinct

honed years ago. She dropped them to her side and snappedangrily, Dont ever do that again, Jimmy! You scared the hell out of

me! She hadnt heard him come up behind her but ought to have

known he would be in the rear. He would have heard the choppers,

too, an old army man like Jimmy.

A bloody man wouldnt want to get on the wrong side of you,

girly. Whered you learn that stuff?Long story. You wouldnt want to know.

Reckon the bastards didnt see em yknow? The old man took

a few steps towards the water, put two fingers to his mouth and

gave a piercing whistle, signalling to the swimmers. It worked.

He tossed his head back in the direction of the choppers. Headin

back to Townsville.Thankfully, the choppers had turned short of the delta and were

flying south. Her attention returned to the three youths running

up the beach towards them, fooling about, kicking up sand and

flicking their shirts at each other, behaving like the kids they still

were. You think they spotted us?

Any bastard comin for us got a shitload of ground to cover,said Jimmy Blackburn, World War II veteran, survivor of the Burma

Railway, one of a kind and a person she loved without reservation.

Seeing him stripped to the waist which was most of the time

because that was how Jimmy dressed she had often wondered

whether his frame had ever been anything but skeletal and leathery.


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13

Chapter Two

The Daintree, Far North Queensland, September 1971

Stretching time, welcoming the warmth of the afternoon sun on

their back, the two women one black, one white sat together in

silence, a calmness born of familiarity. Dozy, comfortable, their long

friendship wrapped up in the stillness. Their only activity as they satthere was to make occasional tracings in the sand.

She was aware they should be heading back, helping Jimmy

and the boys pack up the last of their camp, but this was precious

time and she wanted their solitude to last as long as possible. After

they shipped out it would be a long time before they would see

each other again: Bernie Blackburn; Jimmys wife, a Wujal Wujal,

woman and her friend, her connection to Cooktown. The three

of them, partners in crime these past few years, were an odd trio,

she reflected; a skinny old digger who hadnt made it any further

south than Cooktown, his wife from the Kuku-Yalanji and herself,

Caroline Patrick, known to her friends as Miki, a 36-year-old


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woman with a price on her head, in hiding from the Queensland

Police.

She etched 38 in the sand beside her thigh, noting how theafternoon sun highlighted each grain of sand sticking to the hairs

on her leg. Like head lice, she thought, recalling how in fourth

class they were marched to the washroom by Sister Redempta to

have their heads drenched in a putrid rinse and sent home with a

note. They all knew whod given them nits but it would be eternal

damnation for them if they so much as mentioned the scruffyHomes girl. Not that Sister Redempta or the other sisters threats

had carried as far as the bus stop.

Mik? said Bernie. I been watching you a while, girl. Theres

pain behind them baby blues. Bernie pointed to the numerals in

the sand. Wanna talk?

Miki hurriedly rubbed out the numbers. A tangle of sweatycurls chafed against her back as she sprang up and brushed the seat

of her pants and her sandy limbs. She checked her watch. Cmon.

Better be getting back.

Not likely his numbers gonna come out in the draw. Bernie

was looking up at her. It wont, yknow.

No? You know that for sure?No. But even if it does and its not gonna its not your

fault. Bernie tapped her on the back of the leg, a motherly repri-

mand. It dont do you no good, all that rubbish you got goin on

in that head of yours. Time to start beating up on yourself if it

happens. Mightnt even have registered. It was a long speech for

the normally taciturn woman and having said her piece, Berniereturned to tracing her symbols in the cooling sand.

Miki stood watching over Bernie, thinking of other times, seeing

Bernie as a younger woman sitting in the dust with Lily, both of

them doing their intricate drawings, the patient mother teaching her

daughter the old ways. Painting on the smooth Bloomfield River


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Goodbye Lullaby 15

stones and strips of white bark. He would have registered, Bernie.

Hed have been brainwashed from the moment they got their hands

on him. First in line when the doors opened last month.July, Bernie corrected.

Yeah, okay. July. She tried to blot out a painful scene, one she

knew only too well; the twice yearly procession of nineteen-

and twenty-year-old youths lining up at their local Labour and

National Service office. Filling in those hateful forms. She had

used her fifteen minutes of fame during the previous registra-tion fortnight to torment the government, showing their Birthday

Lottery for the joke it was. But had he seen it? And would it have

made him question his countrys involvement in the war if he had?

Or like everyone else in Australia who didnt want to upset Uncle

Sam, would he have written her type off as the idiot fringe, hippy

protestors?More importantly, how would she ever know?

She squatted down on her haunches and scooped up a handful

of the fine sand, holding it in her palm for a time before she spread

her fingers and watched as the grains slipped through and were

lost among the myriad others on the beach. All our somewhere

children, Bernie? Where do you suppose ?Let it go! Bernie heaved herself up onto her feet, not as adroitly

as Miki had done but it was a graceful enough effort for the large

woman she was. She brushed the sand from her backside. Youve

gotta let it go, Mik. You just plain gotta let it go sometimes.

Bernie was right. Cultivate a mind that clings to nothing. So

said the Buddha. Easier said than done. Why shouldwe let it go?she said.

Because it bloody-well kills you if you dont.

Yes, it kills you, alright.

She checked the sky before leaving the cover of the mangroves

and walking down to the waters edge. Today was a day of trepidation,


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of dark feelings. Resentment. Shame. Regret. Bitterness. Anguish.

Longing. Let her at it she could write the thesaurus on the darker

emotions.Think about it, Bernie said, coming up to her and placing a

hand on her shoulder. Were making fools of the bastards, Mik.

We chip away at things at their power. Were like bloody termites.

An army of white ants.

Despite her mood, she cocked an eyebrow at her friend and

grinned. Whiteants?Bernie got the joke. Well, yeah, some of us arent so bloody

white but yknow what I mean. Bernie ground the heel of her

bare foot into the wet sand, twisting it so that tiny bubbles surfaced

around it, betraying a secret universe below. They cant see us.

Dont mean were not there, though. Were doing the damage, Mik.

With our marches n things. With the kind of stuff were doingup here. Bernie waved her arm towards their campsite then up to

the sky to where the choppers had been earlier in the day. We got

them on the run, thats for sure. Canberras gonna have to rethink

what they doin, I reckon. Jus cant keep sending our kids over

there. Waves of em comin back dead or ruined. The countrys over

it, fair dinkum. The buggers are gonna wake up one day n findtheir games up. Whitlams gonna wipe the floor with em. End the

whole bloody mess, I reckon.

Youd like to think so.

Honestly, Mik, were the secret army. The bloody secret army

and they better watch out cause were coming for em! Bernie

locked fingers with her and they started walking along the watersedge, dipping their feet in the coolness of the sea.

Were making fools of the buggers, alright, said Bernie, breaking

the silence. You more than anyone. Oh, yeah, my famous friend.

Infamous friend.

Notorious friend. Bernie laughed. I can just see em, the stupid


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buggers! Caper Cops! She wiped away tears of laughter with the

back of her hand.

And now that young man back in theres off to God knowswhat kind of life in Asia, Bernie she kicked at a wave as it

washed over her feet, for God knows how long, and Ive got a

price on my head. So whos the stupid bugger? You tell me. Sure,

I made fools of em but now that boy and me are on the run.

Makes it one-all, Id say.

She slowed her pace, dropping back from Bernie and dawdlingalong the shoreline, thinking back to that night six months ago

and the rush of blood to the head that had made her risk young

Jamie Richardsons freedom and her own. The kid had been full of

idealism and youthful bravado. But as the adult, she ought to have

tempered that, tried cautioning him about making himself a massive

target. Instead, shed jumped at the idea. It might just be a way to lether son find her and for that, she was ready to sacrifice anything.

Emanuel Sachs could loosely be called a colleague. Shed used

Mannys brilliant production skills on her Mauritius doco back in

67. In more recent times, hed become the enfant terriblebehind

the scene at This Day Tonightand, along with the shows presenter,

responsible for getting Aunty ABC offside with the hawks ingovernment. Hed got straight back to her, saying Clarke had

jumped at the idea, providing she made it look as if she and the kid

had gatecrashed the studio. She had agreed.

Theyd been let in through the back entrance of the television

studio and had waited in the dark behind a Playschool prop. The

segment on the plight of farmers in the Riverina was windingup. As the show went to a station break, shed checked her young

charge and seen the eagerness in his face. Shed also seen some-

thing else there. James Richardsons mother had died eight months

ago. Hed told Miki that his mother would approve, that she would

be on her side, the Save Our Sons side. That was enough.


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While her hands sweated and she laboured to stay calm, shed

observed Adrian Clarke doing facial calisthenics and lip-reading

from his rolling autocue, ignoring the make-up woman fussingaround him. When the woman leant across to tame a stray lock

on his forehead hed nudged her out of his way. Perfect, hed said

impatiently, and brought the autocue back into his line of sight.

But why the rehearsal? Hed known he was about to be ambushed.

Maybe he felt more secure in having the planned segment ready

to fall back on if his surprise guests chickened out. But neithershe nor James would have reneged it was something theyd both

had to do, no matter how scary the political fall-out. And theyd

certainly countered on there being political fall-out, given that

TDTwas the highest-rating night-time show across the land and

was watched by the countrys political decision-makers.

Once the station identification break had wound down, shedbecome aware of Manny up in his glass booth. Shed caught his

wink. Then the floor manager, his fingers held up in front of him,

started his countdown. Fifteen to go.

Clarke had kept his eyes on the man.

Three, two

Now! The make-up woman had whispered, giving her a shove.Grabbing Jamies shoulder, shed pushed him out onto the floor

and theyd seated themselves before the floor manager or the camera

crew knew what was happening. Or at least it had appeared that

way. Later, shed come to believe the whole cast and crew had been

in on the act because subsequent replays showed the pair of them

emerging from the darkness into the light as they crossed the floor,evidence that at least one camera must have been ready for them.

What the ? Clarke said, midway through introducing his

next story, as he feigned shock and looked to his producer for

guidance.

From his glass booth, Manny had ordered the sound boom in.


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A finger motion slicing across his throat would have been all it

would have taken to go to another break while they were bustled

out of the studio. But that hadnt happened and the wheels hadbeen set in motion. Shed glanced at Jamie and nodded. The well-

dressed curly-headed youth in his chinos, blue cambric shirt and

thin woollen tie, looking every inch the Kings School boy hed

been up to a couple of years ago, had leant across and shaken Adrian

Clarkes hand with a firm grip.

Good evening, Mr Clarke. Im James Richardson. I receivedmy call-up notice recently. I would be happy to discuss the reason

Im about to tear it up if you believe your audience would be

interested. He held the letter from the Department of Labour and

National Service up for the camera and proceeded to rip it, once,

twice, three times then scrunched it and handed it to Miki. It had

been a self-confident performance, rehearsed but excellent, andcouldnt have been easy for him.

And you? said Clarke, turning from Jamie to look uncompre-

hendingly at her as if she were a complete unknown rather than

the mischief-maker who had set the whole scene up that morning

with his executive producer. You are?

Caroline Patrick, anti-war activist.So obviously, you have coached him for this, right?

Can I point out, Mr Clarke, just how gratuitous I find that

remark?

I am my own man, Mr Clarke, Jamie spoke up for himself.

Clarke had simply been pressing her buttons, goading her. She

shouldnt have jumped down his throat. Shed understood fromthe get-go, even if Manny Sachs hadnt already reinforced it,

that the mighty Adrian Clarke wasnt going to give them a free

ride. He had his reputation for macho toughness to uphold.

Her indignant denial had been accepted with a cynical raised

eyebrow, Clarkes signature pose. Theyd carried on, her proselytising


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about the evils of the Vietnam War and the Birthday Lottery

constantly interrupted with Clarkes biting comments. Not a trace

of collusion between them. That was okay by her. Shed held herown. And so had the young man sitting alongside her whose good

looks and articulate manner would have played to their theme of

credibility. He was no long-haired, lay-about dirty hippy draft-

dodger the rednecks loved to drum up to match their bias. Every

mother across the land would have related to this twenty year old

with the straight line of white teeth and clear complexion who wasrespectfully kicking the system in the gut with his concise expla-

nation of why he found being forced by his government to kill so

abhorrent and why he needed to protest rather than simply claim

an exemption, which, as a university student, would be his right.

Not the right of working-class twenty year olds, but his right. Shed

prayed her son, wherever he was, was watching the show and beingimpressed by another youths courage and conviction.

Shed glanced at her watch and panicked. Theyd predicated the

stunt on a three-minute interview and then a dash for the door, but

Manny had played hardball and she figured he would have loved

it; the phones running hot with viewers wailing about the ABC

letting communists run their ABC. Shed hoped he had an exitstrategy planned for when the police came bursting onto the set,

which they could have done at any moment.

Thank you, shed said, as she cut off the next question and

tapped her young charge on the knee. I think its time for us to

leave.

Shed noted that Camera Two was live on Jamie and gave himthe signal.

Oh, by the way, Mr Clarke? Jamie spoke calmly.

Yes?

Perhaps I should explain that my father is Senator Roland

Richardson.


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It had been the killer punch. Richardson was one of the most

strident Vietnam supporters in Cabinet. The fact that his sons

number had been drawn in the Birthday Lottery would not havegone anywhere near troubling Senator Richardsons sabre-rattling

soul. On the contrary, he would have rejoiced, proud that his son

was being given the chance to spill his blood for his country. But

seeing James on national television, denying everything that he,

himself, stood for and urging other young men to resist their call-up

would have received the old boys full attention.As theyd stepped over the tangle of leads and around the big

cameras, she heard Clarke winding up, pretending to have been

gobsmacked by the fact a senators son had chosen TDTto strike

such a damaging blow to the governments credibility.

Theyd been spirited towards the same back entrance theyd

come through less than twenty minutes before. Shed lookedaround for Manny but he wasnt to be seen. An ABC mini van

with its motor running was ready at the door. The van had cleared

the ABC grounds and was in the back streets of Artarmon when

theyd heard the sirens out on the highway.

Cmon, girl. Watch doin? Catch up.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didnt hear Bernie calling outto her from further along the beach. She picked up her pace.

Old slowcoach! Bernie gave her a friendly whack on the

backside. Daydreaming, was we?

I was thinking about the TDTbusiness.

Youre a bloody cult figure, Mik. Bernie chuckled.

An enemy of the state, more like it.Youre a hero to these kids, yknow that, dont you?

Bernie, it was never my intention to have a trail of kids beating

a path to our door as theyve been doing since March.

One of those journo snoops was always gonna ferret out your

connection with the bookshop. Soon as you said your name theyd


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bloody know you was the same woman runs that Resistance

Bookshop in Brisbane and writes all them picture books.

I had to give my name. Jamie gave his. But now the shopsheadquarters for every disaffected kid in the country. She smiled.

Rex is wallowing in it, though. His own little gang of political

subversives sitting at his feet. She was silent for a moment. It was

some heavy shit, according to Rex, she said eventually. Some

heavy shit, bringing a Cabinet Ministers son into my fight with

the Draft Board.But that Rex bloke dont know the lot, does he?

No, Rex didnt know about her past. Not that it would matter

if he did. There was only one person in the world who had a right

to judge her. Only one. Where will I be if its Dominic who comes

looking to have a fireside chat with Caroline Patrick?

In your bunker, I suppose.A criminal on the run.

A fighter.

Some mother!

Bernie shrugged and turned to head back up the beach, climbing

in under the mangrove fringe, treading carefully between the low

branches of the unwieldy trees as she moved in and out of theirspindly shadows, searching among the fallen coconuts for the ripest

of the fruit. She picked up a large coconut and weighed it in her

hand, rattling it to her ear, sniffing it then grinning as she indicated

her prize by waving it high above her head.

The white sand, the black woman. The shadows cast by the

setting sun and that triumphal smile of Bernies. The simple pleas-ures of a life lived well, a life that had learnt to mask the pain by

forcing itself to come to terms with history. If only she had brought

her camera with her, she thought as she watched Bernie disappear

inside the denseness of the rainforest.

The water had been lapping her feet for some time before


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Goodbye Lullaby 23

she noticed and decided to strip and lie down in its shallows. She

stayed that way for a while, allowing the gentle waves to wash over

her nakedness, staring up at the sky, trying to capture some of herfriends philosophical approach to life. In her rational mind, she

knew that with 181 marbles going into the barrel tomorrow night

and only around fifty or so needing to come out, the odds were

against number thirty-eight being drawn. But that same rational

mind told her that other kids numbers come out of the barrel, so

why shouldnt his? As she had tried to explain to Andrew Clarke,conscription was a giant maw. It chewed up the nations best, and

thousands of kids were robbed of their youth.

The colour of the sky was changing. To the east, a purple horizon,

ocean and sky blending, and overhead and across to the west, an

exuberant spread of orange cumulus. She wished again for her

camera but the moment passed. She felt invisible to the universe.How long the strange feeling of detachment could last she didnt

know but it felt liberating while it did. In this timeless landscape,

under this exotic canopy of sky, it wasnt much of a stretch to see

ones self as no more than a grain of sand on the beach, no more or

less important than a single speck of this infinite whiteness. And if

it were so, then nothing was worth fretting about. Life ended innothing, anyway. The way life worked out was the way life worked

out. Tomorrow night would come and go. His number would be

drawn out or it would not be drawn out. He would be called up or

he wouldnt be called up. Answer the call or resist it. Go to Vietnam

or not go to Vietnam. There was not a single thing she could do

about it. How could she? Who was he? Where was he? He hadbecome a man and might be marching off to war but she who

had carried him inside her, nursed him at her breast, loved, fed and

cherished him did not have the right to know these things.

She stood up and reached for her shorts. Yes, just grains of sand,

she mused, stepping into her khakis and brushing them down.


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No-one gives a damn that life isnt fair. Whats fair, anyway? She

buttoned her shirt, grabbed her socks and boots and headed back

up the beach to join the others back at the camp, determined toput on a happy face for her comrades.

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Goodbye Lullaby by Jan Murray - Chapter Sampler