When I prepared the questions for this project, I began by asking participants what colour they associated with Congregationalism. I hoped that, in searching their memories for a colour, they would engage emotionally with their Congregational past.
All colours were mentioned by participants, but blue was most often chosen.
Ken Blackwell however, chose another colour, and this choice opened out to a story of Congregational practical assistance, co-operation and justice.
Colours of Congregationalism? Opal a very Australian colour, a blend of colours, with iridescence, very beautiful.
When I was a boy, our suburban street had big ruts in it because it had never been properly made, “macadamised.” Then a steamroller came, put down a row of steel spikes, and went up and down the street tearing up the road surface. Then broken rock came from somewhere near in horse-drawn carts. When the driver reached the right place, he pulled a lever and the cart dropped its load by the body falling backwards. Once empty it was easy for the driver to swing the back up and lock it, ready to collect another load. The steamroller went up and down mixing rock and soil. A water-carrier followed to wet it all. So a hard road surface was the result, no ruts or bumps. (No bitumen either in those days).
Because there were so many horses in the street, the milkman’s, the baker’s the grocer’s and the green-grocer’s just to name a few, I was sent with my little cart and shovel to collect manure for our vegetable garden. What did I find? One of the new pieces of rock in the road had a beautiful blue opal looking at me. So home I went for hammer and an old chisel, and with care I cut it out. So I enjoyed it as I grew up. I have it still, but it is in an unexpected place.
War is cruel in many ways. I was in army uniform, travelling on foot with lots of others, in far away North West Borneo, driving the Japanese out of a land they had invaded. Much was destroyed, people had to flee their homes. We passed some carrying bundles and young children. Any empty houses had to be searched, and plundering was common. So I came across two walking-sticks, just flung away, not far from one of these deserted houses. What lay ahead for us was anyone’s guess. I put them in my bed bundle which had a camp stretcher and travelled by truck. So in time they came after war ended to Australia.
The handle end of each walking stick is of a very black wood carved like a bird’s head. Ivory has been used in places like the eyes of the birds. But both birds are incomplete. The top of their heads has a hollow. Probably in haste something of value has been removed. Was it the owner when fleeing, or was it a Japanese using the house? I’ll never know. So, you guessed it, one now has Australia’s beautiful gem, a blue opal, in its top, and the other has two pretty shells from the many I collected on a Borneo beach when we were waiting for a ship to bring us home for Christmas at the end of 1945.
All that is interesting, but it is by-the-way. OPAL means much more to me, and to a lot of others; again very Australian, putting wrongs right. When I was minister in Ipswich (1958−1966), one day I called at the butcher’s in our part of the city. Over the counter, Les Doig asked if I had heard of the latest problem further out along the road.
Ipswich had a smallish population of aboriginal folk living mostly in what was called Churchill. They were of all ages. Some men were employed but more not, except that men went out west to work at ring-barking trees on big properties or in gangs on train lines doing maintenance and then returned to catch up at home. There were plenty of white and black friendships, even some marriages. Some lived in derelict houses which had come down from earlier years. One house I knew had fallen off its stumps, but they didn’t all go the same way, so the floor in parts was hopeless, poked up steeply. A young dark woman lived there. She washed self and clothes with brown dam water. When I paid a visit she was putting washing on a barbed-wire fence. She would not raise her eyes to talk naturally.
But to get to the problem. A white man who owned land there had a dark friend who had a wife and child and they needed a house. The white agreed to let his dark friend build a house using timber that was going begging. He explained that, because the house would be on his land it would legally be his. Out in semi-bush they were not too worried about regulations; the black was aiming high. Instead of a rubbishy house it would be their own making. The white helped at weekends. The community saw it as a step forward. So the time came for occupation. Then a Council inspector turned up. “If they moved in there would be trouble.” Ceilings were not high enough and other aspects were at fault. Action would be taken against the white as the house was legally his.
This was “right” versus “right”. The aboriginal had done his best, the white had been a real friend. But the housing inspector was also right in insisting on accepted standards. So I went to see the Mayor, Mr Finimore, and asked him to stay the Council’s hand. I would get together representatives of the churches and other likely organisations and see what help could be worked out. We formed the Ipswich Coloured Welfare Council. Mayoress Merle Finimore became a member. Most churches joined. Father Brian McMullin became my friend going round calling on ministers. Some said “When Congregational and Catholic come together, this is something to take seriously.” All sorts of matters came before the meetings. Aboriginal children couldn’t do homework because younger ones at home tore up their work. Some did not have a lunch so mates shared. Often a family had little furniture or very poor items. My trailer served as people gave.
In Brisbane a Mrs Muriel Langford, wife of Rev Bernard Langford of the Queensland Council of Churches, started similar help for the aboriginal people. That group found unexpected Government help. For many years the law had been that if an aboriginal did work that required pay, only half could be then handed over, the rest had to be paid into a police station until some future date. The idea was that a black was not able to manage money. Of course lots of money went into the central fund and little went out to the rightful owners. Now the government felt guilty and welcomed a way of using it. Housing strictly for aboriginal people was decided on and the One People Australia League was to be the channel. If Ipswich too would take the OPAL name we could get funds. So we did, and other branches were formed in some Queensland cities. So in due time a house was built, the Daylight family had a house-warming to which quite a good group came, and all were happy and Ipswich Opal went on in a range of directions.
One day Ruth and I were driving at Mount Crosby some distance out of Ipswich where the Brisbane water supply is taken from the river and filtered. We caught up with a dark man walking purposefully with a fairly heavy parcel in his arms. I said to Ruth, “Move over; we’ll see if this chap would like a lift.” In those days the front seat of a car crossed full width. So we pulled up and he said a genuine “Thankyou” as he climbed in. The heavy parcel contained a part for a truck he was repairing. I asked if he had heard of our committee with its range of activities. He said that we would not want him. He was both angry and bitter.
As an example, he said that his young lad was with him recently when the boss talked of work to be done. The lad went to an outside tap and cupped one hand to get a drink. The boss shouted, “Get away from that tap, you black B; there’s a tap down by the piggery if you must drink.” Our passenger added, “As if the child would by his drinking contaminate the tap.”
However Neville Bonner did come to our meeting and had plenty to say. Born under a lantana bush elsewhere, he had been brought up by his Granny Bell in Beaudesert. She instilled in him, “You must in everything you do, speak, work, play, do better than a white man can. That way you will gain respect.” He married Mona, a Palm Island girl, and went to live there. All were fed and housed by the government. After a while he was made foreman of all work. But there was so much in the behaviour of the white staff that was wrong that he chose to take his chance living free on the mainland. In time we became “brothers”. Mona died. Neville married a widow, Heather Ryan, one of our very vigorous members. He became President of Opal Queensland. With Heather’s support he became the first aboriginal Member of Parliament, Senator Bonner in the Federal Parliament, and was outstanding in that role.
Neville was Roman Catholic, Granny Bell a Baptist. Neville moved freely in all churches. His faith was strong. At times he “crossed the floor” with conviction. He preached here in Memorial Congregational Church beside me.
Next: Chapter 21. FAQs: Frequently Asked Questions
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