ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

BENNALONG


Nearly two hundred years have passed since you were laid to rest
though no one seemed to know where was this site.
A spit of land on harbour shores now bears your name forever
and an edifice was built there with sails white.
But where you rested no one knew. Where were your last remains ?
Did they think you just one more face in a crowd?
None were left to tell that you were resting quietly here
with suburban roses acting as your shroud.

They found your grave at Putney close to Gladesville and to Ryde
on a house block in a small suburban street.
Two hundred years ago it was just a grassy paddock
where sheep and wallabies grazed on grasses sweet.
Where tall gums grew, and clean winds blew and white cockatoos roosted.
Footsteps very seldom ventured where you lay.
Oh how its changed now Bennalong - you couldn’t have imagined
black bitumen festooning fields of clay.

And how the skylines changed since then, towers taller than trees
are reaching skyward towards the bright yellow sun.
Where once there was just darkness at night fall, save for the moon
now it’s all lit by harsh, bright light, and traffic runs.
Would you think it was better? You who sailed to foreign shores,
with Arthur Phillip, he who thought to rule your lands.
You dressed in white man’s clothing that your people never wore.
Learnt the white man’s tongue to help them understand.

You taught them about your country, and the native people there -
you were a link between two cultures at that time.
A man who is remembered now in History books at school,
or associated with real estate somewhat - prime.
The white man’s ways though you embraced them, loved not in return
for the alcohol they say caused your demise .
Your people are the Wangal – and no doubt they’ll find a place
for you to rest in land that’s under clear blue skies .

So find your spirit ancestors Woollarawarre Bennalong
Go find eternal rest – your spirits call you home.
Does the Burramattagal river perhaps call out your name?
Though today as Parramatta it is known.
You knew your land was given as a gift by your God Baiama.
You were duty bound to help protect the earth.
May the Mother now protect you – let you in her bosom rest,
in the tribal lands – country where you were birthed.

Maureen Clifford ©

G'day Maureen,

If you don't mind me asking - what is your connection with Indiginous Australia? Tell me to pull my head in, if you wish, or pm but you have written so many poems with Aboriginal stories in them, it made me curious as to your connection.

I don't mind at all Zondrae it is no great mystery.

No skin or blood connection Zondrae that I am aware of, but a deep affinity and appreciation of their culture, their love for country and an empathy with their history. Probably my interest was sparked out on the property where we occasionally found spearheads and other items. Many, many years ago it would have been land that the Aboriginal people travelled, on their journey to Boonoo Boonoo sacred sites. We were not far as the crow flies from there and Red Rock Gorge and Ooline creek all areas known as aboriginal meeting grounds. Our property overlooked Sundown National Park.

I have aboriginal neighbours one who is an Elder and I am fascinated and interested by the stories I hear from him. I find them to be spiritual people, with a simple take on life that appeals to me.

I think too as an Australian who was Pommie born the historical side holds for me great appeal. In UK where I was raised, English history was taught (way back then) the good and the bad and I was involved in archaeological digs at one of my schools Drapers Mills that was over an old Roman site. We were blessed with a history teacher who taught us to have enquiring minds, to search for the truth behind the stories and I have had a love of history going back to then when I was about 8 years old. This same teacher also taught us about dinosaurs and prehistoric times. To this day I am a fan of the writings of Jean Auel - The Clan of the Cave Bear, Mammoth Hunters, Plains of Passage, Valleys of Horses. Fascinating reading.

English history does not in many cases have much to commend it – I get somewhat incensed with their use for example of Colonials as being seen as expendable cannon fodder in wars. . The major stuff ups made at the Gallipoli landings that cost so many Australian lives – it was only a courageous battle of note because the Australians fought and died so heroically or so history tells us – in actuality it was a major military mistake. History tells us that as well. The way they lied, claiming that Australia was ‘terra nullius’ or uninhabited and thus claimed for England despite the fact that Aboriginal people were clearly seen to be living here. All history, all old news, all unable to be changed, all seen as ‘not our problem’ but it is our history nonetheless
To me history is important, it is what has formed us, made us the nation that we are and whether it is good or unpalatable it cannot nor should be hidden from view or sanitized. IMO that is what has happened here – our Aboriginal history is rarely spoken of or if it is, it’s the sanitized version, and that I guess goes against my beliefs. Plus my old Dad always used to say that I always wanted to know the ins and outs of a ducks bum – and I do.

Nothing more, nothing less.

I caught the news yesterday that Bennelong’s grave site had been found 198 years after his death located on a residential property at Putney - which used to be called Kissing Point. Prior to that it was thought he was buried on the banks of the Parramatta River in an old apple orchard. I think in fact he was not too far from where they believed him to be. History indicates he was a fascinating man with many facets to his personality. I yearn to know more.

Cheers

Maureen

Thanks for that Maureen,

I am a curious cat. Hope it doesn't get me.

If you don't ask Zondrae you never know....Knowledge is power or so I've was always led to believe. . It can bite you once I learnt a bit ( quite a bit) about sheep farming because I read and studied and wanted to know - it seemed my days were numbered, because it then appeared that perhaps I had learnt more than the other half.

Que sera