For our Elders, by Desley Rosas

My Dad was born in Queensland, Atherton Tablelands, home of the Yidinji (yid-in-gee) Traditional Owners. My Dad’s Grandad, Simeon Rosas, had fled from the Philippines to Australia during war time and ended up in Kuranda, Queensland where he met my Great Gramma Guluyama. They fell in love and wanted to get married, although to get married, my Great Gramma had to change her name to “Annie” (for the Register), and she then became Annie Rosas. My great grandparents then moved from Kuranda to Tinaburra and began a maize field there. All the other Aboriginal families thought we were the richest “blacks” on the Tablelands - this was because our family were the only ones who had lights attached to the horse cart.

My Great Grandparents then had one son whom they named George (my Grandad) and he married my Grandma Anne Tanna. They then went on to have seven children, including twins, John and Peter. Peter was my Dad.

Dad was such a strong man, and he knew exactly who he was. He would take his kids and grandkids out camping most weekends and show us how to live in the bush. I didn’t understand then that he was teaching us culture – I just thought it a normal part of our lives. He brought us home witchetty grubs, eel, taro, possum, wild turkey and, my favourite, kangaroo. My Dad knew his language although never spoke it because in those times, Aboriginal people could get placed into jail for speaking language, and he loved us kids too much to speak language. My Dad has now passed but left a legacy of ‘bush’ knowledge that his children still use today.

My Mum was born in Queensland in Watsonville – Herberton, home of the M-Barbarrum Traditional Owners. My Grandad was born Patrick Atherton (descendant of the great John Atherton) and was titled as a half-caste as he was both Aboriginal and white. Later in life, he met my Grandma, Elizabeth Congoo, who was one of the toughest women I ever met. Together they had ten children and there began the life of my Mum. Mum lived with her parents and siblings and grew up in a ‘settlement’ established for Aboriginals. She lived there for most of her early years, went to school then left to go to work at the age of 14 years young. My Grandad worked at many different places around the Herberton and Atherton area to support his family and then one day he went to work for a local ‘migaloo’ employer whose surname was Walker. That employer decided he would change my Grandad’s name to Patrick Walker. My Mum then became Jean Walker.

As I began to get older and learn about the Assimilation and Segregation acts that were placed on our Aboriginal Elders, I began to wonder how and where my Mum and Dad met and, in particular, how my Mum got to stay on country and wasn’t removed. I asked this as my Mum is quite fair and Aboriginal troopers and policemen would come and collect the ‘fair’ children and remove them from their parents and send them down south (The Stolen Generation).

I remember the day when I asked, “Mum, how come you wasn’t taken down south like all the other fair Murri’s who got taken?”

My Mum looked sad and thoughtful, although with a sneaky glint in her eye. She turned towards me and said, “My Dad would throw us all up in a tree and hide us (her and her siblings) and all the Elders would wail really loud so the troopers wouldn’t hear us crying up in the trees, or he would paint us with charcoal so the native troopers would ride on by.” Me and my Mum both began to laugh as it seemed such a funny story and thinking of her stuck up in a tree crying and painted ‘black’ was so funny to me.

As I sit here and think of my Mum and how she raised me and my siblings, I think of how she handled it with such grace.

I saw my Mum put on an air of poise ‘in town’, and saw her dancing around the campfire, entertaining her grandchildren, while they waited for her damper to cook in the coals. I saw my Mum tin-mining with my Dad, the old-fashioned way with the tin pan and constantly washing it out until they ‘struck tin’, then gather all of us children, bathe us, cook a feed in the stove oven and dish it out.

I saw my Mum strong and fierce, calm and elegant, in whatever life threw her way. At times I thought my Mum had a split personality as I watched how she changed her interactions for each of her twelve children’s character and personality, mine included. I think at times I tested her, just to make sure she knew which child she was dealing with. I thought it so fascinating to see how a Mum could do that.

I’ve seen my Mum low when sickness struck her, then bounce back up as if she wasn’t just laid up sick the last two weeks. I saw my Mum drive any type of car you would put in front of her and ‘show off’ because she said she could drive anything. Now that Mum can’t drive much anymore, she makes us all drive and fly her around. She’s one big adventurer my Mum, she’s been to a lot of places that I have yet to see.

I remember my Mum would love dancing for her children and showing us her moves and I’m pretty sure I got them moves now. My Mum is now 88 years old and still loves to dance, and she will still get up on the dance floor if you asked her now!

I’m grateful my Mum and Dad met because they came from a great lineage. I’m so grateful them troopers never took my Mum away. Without her, I wouldn’t have the courage or the sassiness I have today. And without my Dad I wouldn’t know my way around the bush or have work ethics.