Arnhem Land

Memories

it a time when many of the eyes the world are on places like New inea, it is often forgotten that one the largest “uncontrolled” areas the world is Arnhem Land, in north of the Australian con mt. At the time Victor Charles 11, ex-member of the Northern ritory Mounted Police, writes mt in “Dreamtime Justice,” it was n less controlled than it is today. f 1930, when the story begins, the 32,000 square miles of Arnhem id native reserve was not so much reserve, in the usual sense, as a npletely uncontrolled wilderness ere savages held sway. There re no patrols through it; the ives had never been shot up, or midated, or given any other cause respect the law.

Kt the same time, nothing was done keep anyone entering from the ward side, and this was usually ere trouble began for the Mounted [ice, as it did in this case, n Caledon Bay in September, 12, Wonggo and his followers rdered a party of half-a-dozen tanese trepangers, plundered their ger and burnt it to the waterline, is was not new, it had happened ore, but this time the Japanese nsul made a big fuss. At about same time, two Australian traders re lured from their cutter further vn the coast and murdered by )ther party of natives.

Tall was a member of the party lered to bring the culprits in; his ry is an account of how this was

omplished including the fatal

faring of one of his mates—and what comes after. When primi p savage comes before the full aopoly of British Justice, the latter usually made to look foolish, be ise there appears no meeting >und between the labours of the lice and what punishment can given these natives in whose eyes

)st things can be tribally jus

ed.

Hall is English-born, arrived in istralia in 1920 and joined the NT Bunted Police in 1924. While serv -5 with the Army in Darwin during f war, he was wounded in the eye the first Japanese raid and this bsequently led to total blindness.

His book is written in a bright id easy style and with obvious ad iration of the black trackers of the orthern Territory Police to whom i dedicates it.

They devoted their lives to sacri

fice and service, he says, often with a clash of loyalties within their hearts.

Their devotion often terminated in death at the hands of their own race, past-masters at the art of waiting to achieve revenge. When Police troopers took to the bush on opera tional patrols in the 20’s and 30’s, they were out of contact for months and their safety rested in the sure hands of their trackers.

“Guides, philosophers and friends, the trackers saw their bosses through, ‘minded’ them faithfully and taught them to read the book of the wilder ness. The fame that the Police enjoy today rests on the foundation laid by

the support of the trackers. . . Many times, deep in unknown bush, I wakened as the pre-dawn wind rustled my mosquito-net, and heard my tracker drawing together the ashes of the fire to fan them into flame. I heard the lonely sound of the billies being put on the fire, and then the clink of the bridle and the soft fall of retreating footsteps. My tracker had gone off into the bush to round up the horses, scattered as they were over miles of unfenced night grazing grounds. I was, I knew, secure in his care.” (DREAMTIME JUSTICE. Published by Rigby Ltd. 22/6.)