change shape at will in order to move around freely. This was also one of the abilities of Luma Luma.
In the 1920s and 1930s many Aboriginal people were sent to Palm Island from around Laura, in southeastern Cape York. Near Laura there was said to be a giant who ate people, called Turramulli, as well as many tall spirits, good and bad, who, like the mimihs, were rock spirits. These spirits were called quinkans, and were said to have stone axes extending from their knees and elbows that they would use while flying down and striking enemies. Laura elder Tommy George explained:
Quinkans are malevolent spirits. They hide in dark places and come out at night. That’s when they are active. Our stories say they live in the sandstone, the cracks and narrow places. It’s dark there and you can’t get in. They come out at night and sneak around over the rough country. That way they can hide quickly if they have to. They just slide into a crack in the rock. Those long legs and arms let them hide easily behind and in the trees too. That night work they do can be evil. It still make people worry a lot. That
purri purri
belief is still very strong.
Fifty thousand years ago, the Aborigines did live among giants. The megafauna included three-metre-tall kangaroos, and giant wombats, koalas, snakes, crocodiles and lizards. Their bones found across the land were readily explained as evidence of the giant Ancestral Spirits of the Dreaming.
Elizabeth led Paula and me down a steep embankment covered in long grass. At the bottom stood a mahogany-coloured horse straight from a young girl’s fantasy. As we picked our way through the rocks and deep grass it stared at us, quizzical. In a shallow creek bed, taro grew: tall green stalks with wide leaves on which mud and water ball like mercury. Elizabeth put on her boots and began to loosen the roots with the shovel.
Then she stood back, expecting me to pull the roots out—and I did. The job was ridiculously primal. I squatted and clutched the stalk, pulling as hard as I could, sliding farther into the mud. An enormous tuber sprouting muddied roots slowly emerged. As it came free, mud splattered all over me, giving off an intense vegetable smell not unlike manure. It was overwhelming, the whole thing. Before long Paula and I were both roiling in mud trying to birth these bulbous taros. Elizabeth’s mother had taught her to do this, and perhaps her mother before her.
For Elizabeth, traditional food gathering was one custom the Palm Island missionaries could not destroy. The same was true for men on the island: her brother had been much admired for his hunting.
The Christians had tried to stamp out “tribal sorcery and superstition … savage life … medicine men and rainmakers of barbarous nations”. Like a lot of people on Palm, Elizabeth had her own way of reconciling traditional spirituality with Christianity. She worried that the Rainbow Serpent, her grandmother Lizzy Daylight’s totem, was the snake in the Garden of Eden, but she still believed the Ancestral Spirits were all around.
I passed the taros to Elizabeth, who sliced off the stalks with the blade of the shovel. The tangled roots looked like hair. It was as if I were filling our bag with human heads. Paula and I were now completely covered in mud, while Elizabeth remained spotless. I realized how far we would have to carry the bag and stood staring at it gloomily.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked suddenly. “It’s the Warning Bird calling!”
I strained to hear birdcall.
“It’s warning us it’s now time to leave.” She moved quickly and I picked up the heavy sack and followed. Elizabeth was strict but warm, wily but protective. It was impossible to tell if she was teasing us. “Thank you very much,” I heard her say to any resident spirits. “We’re going now.”
The people in Elizabeth’s church had been searching for grace. Elizabeth was searching for grace and for answers. Father Tony, the island’s
In the 1920s and 1930s many Aboriginal people were sent to Palm Island from around Laura, in southeastern Cape York. Near Laura there was said to be a giant who ate people, called Turramulli, as well as many tall spirits, good and bad, who, like the mimihs, were rock spirits. These spirits were called quinkans, and were said to have stone axes extending from their knees and elbows that they would use while flying down and striking enemies. Laura elder Tommy George explained:
Quinkans are malevolent spirits. They hide in dark places and come out at night. That’s when they are active. Our stories say they live in the sandstone, the cracks and narrow places. It’s dark there and you can’t get in. They come out at night and sneak around over the rough country. That way they can hide quickly if they have to. They just slide into a crack in the rock. Those long legs and arms let them hide easily behind and in the trees too. That night work they do can be evil. It still make people worry a lot. That
purri purri
belief is still very strong.
Fifty thousand years ago, the Aborigines did live among giants. The megafauna included three-metre-tall kangaroos, and giant wombats, koalas, snakes, crocodiles and lizards. Their bones found across the land were readily explained as evidence of the giant Ancestral Spirits of the Dreaming.
Elizabeth led Paula and me down a steep embankment covered in long grass. At the bottom stood a mahogany-coloured horse straight from a young girl’s fantasy. As we picked our way through the rocks and deep grass it stared at us, quizzical. In a shallow creek bed, taro grew: tall green stalks with wide leaves on which mud and water ball like mercury. Elizabeth put on her boots and began to loosen the roots with the shovel.
Then she stood back, expecting me to pull the roots out—and I did. The job was ridiculously primal. I squatted and clutched the stalk, pulling as hard as I could, sliding farther into the mud. An enormous tuber sprouting muddied roots slowly emerged. As it came free, mud splattered all over me, giving off an intense vegetable smell not unlike manure. It was overwhelming, the whole thing. Before long Paula and I were both roiling in mud trying to birth these bulbous taros. Elizabeth’s mother had taught her to do this, and perhaps her mother before her.
For Elizabeth, traditional food gathering was one custom the Palm Island missionaries could not destroy. The same was true for men on the island: her brother had been much admired for his hunting.
The Christians had tried to stamp out “tribal sorcery and superstition … savage life … medicine men and rainmakers of barbarous nations”. Like a lot of people on Palm, Elizabeth had her own way of reconciling traditional spirituality with Christianity. She worried that the Rainbow Serpent, her grandmother Lizzy Daylight’s totem, was the snake in the Garden of Eden, but she still believed the Ancestral Spirits were all around.
I passed the taros to Elizabeth, who sliced off the stalks with the blade of the shovel. The tangled roots looked like hair. It was as if I were filling our bag with human heads. Paula and I were now completely covered in mud, while Elizabeth remained spotless. I realized how far we would have to carry the bag and stood staring at it gloomily.
“What’s that?” Elizabeth asked suddenly. “It’s the Warning Bird calling!”
I strained to hear birdcall.
“It’s warning us it’s now time to leave.” She moved quickly and I picked up the heavy sack and followed. Elizabeth was strict but warm, wily but protective. It was impossible to tell if she was teasing us. “Thank you very much,” I heard her say to any resident spirits. “We’re going now.”
The people in Elizabeth’s church had been searching for grace. Elizabeth was searching for grace and for answers. Father Tony, the island’s
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