palm island

'I was holding on to Mum's dress'

13 Feb 2008: Lola Edwards remembers being removed from her Aboriginal family

This is a partial repeat of a blog which seems to have been censored by MSN Internet Explorer. You can find the story where it originally was at 03/18-03/27 (7). The article of the police officer who killed a man on Palm Id, recently while he was in his custody and his exoneration by the Queensland Court has been omitted also in the MSN Internet Explorer version. It seems to be there in the Mozilla Firefox version. An Urgent Family Matter (repeat because it is omitted inn this blog if you use MSN Internet Explorer). PALM ISLAND. I was born in 32. When I was about 24, and that would be in 1956, I was in Townsville. I had been working in nearby sugar mills and tried cane-cutting, but I had this urge to get into journalism. I didn’t know how, but decided to try at the Mercury office. I wrote a short article about radio markers the air force was dropping in the sea stating that it was a waste of money. That was the theme. I took this article to a journalist at the newspaper stating that I would like a job. I did not actually see the journalist but left it for him at the desk. He did not contact me so in a few days I managed to see him and he gave me short shrift. I was very despondent and having heard about the terrible conditions of Aborigines and Islanders on nearby Palm Id I decided to try again. I dressed in khaki shorts long socks and tan shoes, with a crisp white shirt. This was standard uniform for public servants in North Queensland at that time. There was a launch run I think by the native affairs department going in the morning to Palm Id. It was restricted to government personnel and police generally. I went aboard at the right time and a man approached me who appeared to be in authority. I later found out it was Bartlam the superintendent of Palm Island which was a detention centre for aborigines.. This man asked me “Are you official?” “That’s right.” I replied. He went back to his seat and it appeared he was with his daughter, a rather arrogant looking girl.. The trip did not take I think more than an hour. Reaching there I did not go to the administration building but slipped along a lane towards the beach. I saw a group of Aboriginal people and said “I’m a journalist.. Is there anything you want to say about conditions here? “ They were eager to talk and I found out a lot of shocking information. There was one man I remember. He said his name was Harold Blair the same name as his nephew the famous Aboriginal opera singer. I told them where to contact me, but I was told that the mail was censored. Just then a couple of native police ran up and told the others to go away and they lead me to the administration building. Here Bartlam stormed at me that that I was trespassing and that I had I had given him false information. I said I was doing an article for the Townsville Mercury. He said I would be returned on the afternoon launch to Townsville. I was placed in a bare room with a native guard. Later I was escorted to the launch. Some brave natives called goodbye to me from the beach and I saw they were dispersed by native police. Arriving at the Townsville wharf I was taken into custody by the Queensland (white) police who asked me harshly who I was, etc. There was a phone conversation between them and the Mercury office, who must have told them I was known but I was not in their employ. I had my notes taken and was made to strip and was searched. I was then told I would not be charged with various offences “If you bugger off back to Sydney. “ We’ll give you 24 hours mate! If yer still here then, well, it’s Bogga Road for yer.” Though I wasn’t roughed up, due probably to that they were a bit uneasy about giving “ Queensland Justice” to a journalist., I took them seriously. Once out of custody I immediately went to the room I was renting on Castle Hill and found it ransacked and my old portable missing, as well as a novel I had roughed out. This novel I’m sure had little potential merit , but it did contain some romance between the hero and a native girl and having sex with a native or islander in Queensland at that time was an offense punishable by gaol. Even advocating relations between the races was an offense in that state.. I wondered where I could get the use of a typewriter and though I was not a communist I went to the headquarters of the Communist party of Australia, North Queensland Branch. A couple of people talked to me. They were very suspicious, because they had been harassed a lot by authorities. I told them I just wanted to write the story while it was fresh in my mind and they agreed. I think I mentioned Harry Reed an artist in Sydney, who was a known C.P. member and later went to Cuba under Castro. I also said my mother had been invited to attend the Moscow Institute when she was 17 and she was a friend of Agnes Witcher, a member of renown. I also trotted out the names of several of my relations on the O’Keefe side who had been parliamentarians for Labour. I remember that a woman who was sympathetic had an eye missing . I wrote an article headed “Prison Camp in Australia.” When they read it they were so pleased they wanted it to go in the communist paper, “ The Tribune”. I demurred, saying I was going to try for the Brisbane “Sunday Truth.” I was at Townsville station to get the Brisbane train and sure enough a couple of cops were there to see me go. One told me “and don’t fucking- well come back, you commo bastard.” Luckily they did not search me so the article was safe. First thing in Brisbane I went to the Truth office and my reception was much easier. They accepted the article. I waived payment and by-line just to get it in. I then decided to leave Queensland and took the train to slightly more liberal N.S.W. I was in Sydney when I saw the front page article “Prison Camp in Australia.” I couldn’t tell my friends it was my article because it was under a journalist’s name. That didn’t matter .I had a lot of satisfaction. I hoped that Bartlam squirmed. I heard he was replaced. About a year later I got the reward that has stayed in my mind. A letter came from the elder Harold Blair thanking me on behalf of the people on Palm Island. He stated that conditions had got a bit better and the mail was no longer censored. For years I treasured that letter. To my mind, my grandmother’s spirit had made me do it. Cedric (Ric) Siddie Williams. Written at Vancouver, B.C. Canada, 22nd Sept. 2004.. I really would like to know the circumstances of the death of my brother, Patrick Denis Williams of the Gold Coast Queensland about four years ago. I was told of his death by a cousin, Michael O'Keefe, proprietor of O'Keefe's hotel, George St Launceston, Tasmania. I had hunted Michael's email and finally got it from the son of another cousin in Launceston. On further contacting them, asking for circumstances of my brother's death, no one replied. In fact, the email addresses were changed and the website of my cousin's son was either discontinued or changed.This is a mystery I would like to clear up.My brother Patrick was four years younger than myself and died in his early sixties. Being now 75, I would like to know how he died.Would some relative please tell me?I have not seen him since I was near death in a Brisbane hospital in 1984,after hitting a car with my motor bike, and then it was only for twenty minutes. It seems bizarre that I recovered and am still here, while he is dead.My memory has faded a bit but I recall he had a wife named Jill and three sons by her, the eldest named Richard. I had heard that Richard became a deep-sea diver. Then there were twin boys. I know nothing of them either.I guess he got divorced because he had his young secretary living as his wife and had some boys with her. I think her name was Allyson. her family was from Wollongong. I can't remember the boys' names. The last time I saw them was in San Jose, Costa Rica in the early seventies and I remember the boys spoke Spanish much better than I did.I suppose there is no hope finding out if my mother Marjorie Williams, nee O'Keefe, is still alive, (born Jan 1st 1914). Maybe my dear brothers and sisters think I am after something from the will.Well I am not, Ric Williams. Posted by Ric at 14:54 0 comments Links to this post ...