Brother Fish Read Online Free PDF Page B

as our own White Australia Policy existed I had little cause to feel superior. Though, I confess, back then I wasn’t even aware such legislation existed. Around eighty-five per cent of Australians live in one or another city on the eastern seaboard where it is not common to see a full-blood Aborigine; that is, someone who is actually black in colour and not someone of mixed race who is basically unrecognisable from the white population. Often the children of a black–white relationship will be as white as the Caucasian parent; moreover, the second generation will be indistinguishable from the general population. In any case, there weren’t any Aborigines of any caste on Queen Island so that, like most of my fellow countrymen, I had no experience of people of a different colour. The first time I really became aware of racism in my own country was after I’d joined K Force and we were sent for training to Puckapunyal, the military base just outside the town of Seymour in Victoria.
    We’d all but completed our training and were given a weekend leave pass before returning to pack up and get ready for embarkation to Japan to join the remainder of 3RAR. The island was too far to travel home and so I’d spent the weekend with Jason Matthews, who lived in the Melbourne suburb of Fitzroy. We’d left Melbourne to return to camp and arrived in Seymour at ten-thirty a.m. with three hours to spare before we were required to report. Naturally we made for the local pub, which was already crowded with K Force troops. I joined a mob where I knew most of the blokes except for one of Rick Stackman’s mates named Dave McCombe, and an Aborigine I’d seen previously at camp but hadn’t yet met. Rick introduced me to McCombe, a real big cove, and then I went over to the black guy. ‘G’day, Jacko McKenzie,’ I said, sticking out my hand.
    â€˜Johnny Gordon. ’Ow ya goin’, Jacko?’ He had a chest full of campaign ribbons and looked a fair bit older than me, perhaps in his early thirties.
    We proceeded to get stuck into the grog and it didn’t take long before the beer loosened our tongues and the usual subject came up – our personal reasons for joining K Force. Some blokes admitted it was to get away from their wives, but most, like me, simply couldn’t settle down after the Second World War. When it came to Johnny Gordon’s turn he seemed a bit hesitant, and took a quick gulp from his glass before speaking. ‘I was brought up on a mission outside Condabri. That’s in Queensland, up north some. It’s one of those places with whites-only toilets – a one-pub town that doesn’t serve blacks except out the back next to the rubbish bins and the boss’s pig pen. They won’t let you in the front door but they’ll take your money, no worries. First thing I found out as a kid, money don’t have no skin colour.’
    â€˜You fair dinkum?’ I was genuinely surprised. While the others may have heard of Australian pubs that didn’t allow black people to drink on the premises, it was a first for me.
    Johnny nodded.
    â€˜So this mission – like a hostel, was it?’ I asked.
    â€˜Nah, we had a house – two rooms, kitchen outside. I lived with me granny.’
    â€˜And yer mum and dad?’ Jason Matthews asked.
    â€˜Me mum got the polio and . . .’ he paused, and grinned self-consciously, ‘me daddy was someone I didn’t never know.’
    â€˜Sometimes that’s better, mate. Me old man was an alky, come home pissed and beat the crap outta me most days of me life,’ Dave McCombe said in an attempt to cover Johnny’s embarrassment. Then he asked, ‘How’d yer live? You know, make a crust?’
    â€˜Me granny got a permit.’
    â€˜What, that like the dole?’ Tiger Anderson asked.
    Gordon shook his head. ‘They called it a Certificate of Exemption, and it meant she