The passing of more than forty years has not diminished the memory of that vibrant, delightful bush girl whose positive aspirations and contributions to life were never realised. Her parents, the Cassidys, were employed on a sheep and cattle station adjoining the immense Macquarie Marshes, over a hundred kilometres from Warren along the Carinda road. Colleen's father - I think his name was Joe - was a ringer (station hand) and her mother acted as a 'domestic' for the manager and his family in the main homestead not far from where they lived in the married-couples' quarters. There was the usual cluster of buildings scattered around; other than the two residences already mentioned there was the old shearing shed with its yards and an aged steam-driven traction engine, a rusting relic from a bygone era, at the southern end of the shed. The machinery shed and shearers' huts were also nearby. The buildings were not spread out as much as on other stations probably because of occasional threats from the east when the marshes flooded. For accessibility reasons the Warren/Carinda road was nearby to the west. The cattle yards were positioned on the Carinda side of the buildings and the shady, mature peppercorn trees gave the area a long-settled and substantial feeling.I had some experience with this area and was to know it more intimately in the future. The marshes were a herpetologist and ornithologist's dream and it was also good cattle country. Unfortunately these cumbungi-choked wetlands provided a haven for feral pigs which played havoc with nesting birds and were known to eat cattle alive when they became bogged when the marshes refilled following a dry period. Some of the birds were seasonal migrants from overseas. The previous year, 1956, had seen many floods throughout the country and the marshes were lush and full from the benevolent waters of the mighty Macquarie while the surrounding sheep-carrying red country was experiencing a lingering dry spell. My uncle Jack Davies, his son David, my brother Dennis, another cousin, John Hawke, and I were visiting the station for a week of horse riding, pig shooting, fishing and other general holiday activities. I was the oldest cousin at 19 and David was the youngest at 14. The manager's wife was a distant cousin of Jack's, which made her an even more removed cousin of the rest of us. (Jack was a celebrated character himself. Big and totally bald with cauliflower ears, in his youth he had won gold medals in amateur boxing and had played front row forward for the old Newtown Rugby League Club between 1928 and 1940. Even in 1957 the old warrior was still a special person to many, particularly his nephews.)  We were allocated the shearers' huts in which to sleep. Our cooking was to be done in the shearers' kitchen which was attached to the rear of the Cassidys' quarters and was connected by a door which probably provided more living space for station workers like the Cassidys during those long periods between shearing and crutching.Most people in isolated places enjoy the company of others and this is particularly so with children as they naturally crave interaction with other young people, wishing to learn things, have their worth recognised and develop self esteem. So it was with this vital young Aboriginal girl of about eleven years of age. Though she was hungry for companionship she always respected our meal times, not wanting to intrude, but demanding to assist with the washing and drying up afterwards. She had impeccable manners, a great zest for life and soon became part of our little group. Colleen had a constant companion in the form of a beautiful blue flyer - the female of the western red kangaroo - which followed her around the place, hopping slowly behind, and would have been her main friend in the absence of visitors such as us. At the end of our week we reluctantly said farewell to the station and our new-found mate, David and I promising to write to her and keep in touch. The sad but smiling Colleen was anxious for this correspondence and was eager to exchange letters. Both David and I wrote letters and anxiously awaited news from Colleen but never received a line. Over a period of time our enthusiasm slowly waned until disappointment gave way to reluctant acceptance. A couple of years later I was working in the bush and heard the tragic story that smiling, intelligent, promising Colleen Cassidy had been murdered. The Cassidys had left the station as it was the manager's policy to employ workers for no more than three months. After that period they would be entitled to benefits under the appropriate award. Colleen's family was in a camp somewhere and her father who was apparently a bad man in drink, became violent. Colleen, who had probably witnessed this behaviour on too many occasions, hid his rifle. I don't know the exact details but Cassidy found the rifle and Colleen was shot dead. Many years later, in 1990, I received a letter from David's sister Tonia who told me that our distant cousin had not forwarded our letters to Colleen (and probably withheld Colleen's) as she was a 'half-caste' and did not want to see her encouraged! Through the power of a person who had no right to play god with others' lives, and who should not have interfered with other people's mail and emotions, a young person, who, as it turned out would not enjoy too much more in this life, was denied the happiness of sharing ideas, personal news and companionship through correspondence. I can still imagine young Colleen's excitement when the mail truck called on its twice a week run and anxiously waiting while the mailbag was sorted out in the homestead. I can still feel her disappointment when told by the lying 'misses' that there was no mail for her. I may be related to the one-time 'misses' of that station, but I know whose company I'd prefer. |