And The Ships Come Nearer: Heidi Wooldridge
White sand and bright blue ocean,
It’s the perfect scene, Then in the distance, A shadow they gleam. The shadow grows, And the shapes become clearer, Large white sails, And the ships come nearer. The inhabitants gather on the sand, First silence, then the whispers grow, Who are these intruders, With their skin white as snow. The strangers approach, Sail their ships in, Wade to the shore, Creating a din. They have guns, We have spears, The war lasts, For many years. One hundred and eighty years pass, Conditions get worse, Whatever we do, We can’t break the curse. Poor working conditions, Non-existent wages, Beaten regularly, It was truly outrageous. It was time it stopped, It couldn’t continue, The workers were done, The battle was on. Bags were packed, Jobs not done, Workers gathered, Marched into the sun. They finally settled, At Wattie Creek, “Here we will stay, Until we get what we seek”. The nation assumed, That improved conditions would do, But the Guringji people, They wanted land rights too. Vincent Lingiari, Took to the road, Quietly explaining, The idea that he sowed. Eight years passed, With still no right to their land, Before the issue was solved, With the pouring of sand. Prime Minister Whitlam, Announced on that day, That Aboriginal land rights, Were here to stay. |