The great flood of 1852
In Wiradyuri country, the life-giving waters of the rivers can make or break dreams. When the floods come Wagadhaany survives, but is her life now better than the fate she escaped?
Wildwind and torrential rain thrash the Bradley home. The pitter-patter of the first drops to fall has been quickly replaced with a pelting that hits the windows so hard they risk smashing. Wagadhaany shivers with fear as a bitterly cold draught comes through a gap in the door frame.
‘We need to sandbag,’ Henry Bradley says forcefully, his role as patriarch of the family never more tested than now. ‘Others have already done it. We’re going to lose everything if we don’t take action now!’
It’s an announcement and an order in one, his four sons jumping to attention instantly, as does Wagadhaany, waiting for her instructions as their servant.
‘No!’ Mr Bradley’s wife, Elizabeth, has never raised her voice in their home and her challenge to her husband comes out with a tremble. She is fighting back tears and is visibly shaken by the torrential rain that is drenching their town. ‘We should just leave now, we should go to higher ground.’
She looks pleadingly at her husband as she keeps a firm grip on her Bible and prayer beads, shivering in the winter cold as it has been impossible to keep the living-room fire alight. By the look on Henry Bradley’s face, he isn’t happy being chastised by his wife. Wagadhaany is reminded of her father saying White men never listen on the day that she first saw Mr Bradley.
So much has changed in the fourteen years since – the size of the town, the number of shops and houses, so many new townsfolk, and more Aboriginal people working for White families. Her own father is one of many men who have become stockmen and shepherds on the Bradleys’ and other local stations, riding horses with skill to herd cattle and sheep, like her Uncle Badhrig said they would. The one thing that doesn’t seem to have changed is Henry Bradley’s refusal to listen to people who know better. Wagadhaany has vivid memories of her father saying it was a bad idea to build here. Her ears are filled with his wise words as the rain continues to fall without mercy.
‘Only those families in the lowest part of the town, over on the north bank of the river, have moved,’ Henry says, looking at each family member in turn, but bypassing her altogether. ‘We are fine here, I think. Those living above shopfronts are still there.’ He strains to see the lights on buildings either side of their home. ‘The river will not reach us.’
The four Bradley sons move in silence as they follow their father outside, falling naturally into order of age from eldest to youngest. The bossiest, James, she believes to be twenty-six years old. The physically strongest, David, is only a year younger. The usually chattiest of the four, Harry, is twenty-two, while the kindest of the brothers,
Andrew, she thinks is probably only a couple of years older than she is, but she can’t be sure. Andrew is the son always by his mother’s side, though all four of the brothers adore their mother.
‘I don’t think we have enough gunny sacks,’ Harry sings out to no-one yet everyone. ‘We need to get more!’
His brothers don’t respond, perhaps because there are no more bags to be had. Wagadhaany continues to watch the men quickly but carefully placing the sandbags lengthwise and parallel to the rainwater that is already flowing past their home and rising by the minute.
‘Faster! Faster!’ James orders.
As the men work on protecting the house, Elizabeth Bradley works through her prayer beads, one at a time. Wagadhaany stands in a corner, watching her and waiting for instructions. She asks Biyaami to keep them all safe – the Bradleys, her own family, the townsfolk – and without wanting to be selfish, she asks twice for herself.
The Bradley brothers re-enter the house, shouting at each other about what they should do next. David Bradley paces furiously back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, as if he is in a trance and doesn’t know where he is. His brothers notice but no-one says anything because they are still arguing about whether they should stay or leave.
Wagadhaany wants to leave and get back to her family, but she has no right to say that, to say anything. She is without a voice in this house.
When Henry Bradley finally returns indoors, the men continue to debate how to manage the flood. Elizabeth Bradley looks to Wagadhaany for support but she knows that her husband would never consider what the Black girl might think they should do, and tonight will be no different. Support, humanity, friendship . . . These are not qualities that have existed between the two women before, but tonight Wagadhaany recognises that she and Mrs Bradley are essential to each other’s survival.
‘We are not leaving the house!’ James Bradley says. Known to share his father’s stubbornness and temper, he thumps his fist on the dining table.
There is shocked silence in the room.
‘Well, I am,’ David declares, and he stops pacing the room he has walked around and around in for hours.
‘You are not going ANYWHERE!’ Henry Bradley grabs his son by the front of his shirt. ‘We are a family and we will stay together. Make some tea, Wilma!’ he barks.
And in a most uncharacteristic response, her own emotions rising like the water level, Wagadhaany responds just loud enough to be heard, ‘My name is Wagadhaany, wogga-dine.’
She turns swiftly, shocked at her behaviour, but also angry that even after years of Henry Bradley giving her orders he still can’t use her name. She knows she will pay for the disobedience; Henry Bradley has only slapped her once, but there is nothing to say that he won’t do it again.
But before anyone in the room can comment, the crash of a tree against the house captures everyone’s attention.
She hears yelling from outside. ‘The banks have broken! The banks have broken!’
The water will be rushing through the town within minutes, she knows. The surrounding flood plains will soon be well and truly under water. She remembers this happening before and the floodwaters being strong enough to carry heavy carriages and houses downstream.
‘The banks have broken!’ James frantically repeats, and his voice reverberates throughout the house and Wagadhaany shakes with fear. Her heart beats so hard she thinks she can hear it. She wants to scream, but her lips barely part as tears begin to fall again.
There is an unplanned moment of silence until Henry Bradley commands, ‘Everyone to the attic, now!’
Wagadhaany moves as fast as the Bradleys, even though it’s not clear that she is included in the order. Andrew holds a wooden chair firmly on the large dining table, as James helps each onto the table, then carefully onto the chair and through the opening in the ceiling into the attic. When Wagadhaany reaches James there is a moment of awkwardness. For the first time she looks directly and desperately into his cold eyes. He says nothing, just motions for her to climb, and she does. Andrew assists her and then follows. Finally, James uses all his upper body strength to lift himself through the opening, just as there’s the crash of water in the room below. He is visibly disturbed as he looks down to see furniture tossing and turning, the torrent ruining their belongings. His face is ghostly white and when he looks back to his family, his troubled expression makes Wagadhaany even more nervous than before.
She fears for her own family but tells herself they will have moved fast enough to avoid the flooding. In her heart she knows that her babiin and her mamaba-galang will have prepared everyone in time; the Old People, the women and children will have been made safe, because Wiradyuri people know better than anyone what the river is capable of.
Through a small window Wagadhaany sees flashes of light across the way. A lantern is being waved slowly by someone in a tree, a man. The light moves from side to side as if he is signalling for attention. She can just make out that with his other arm he is clinging to a branch.
Can anyone else see him? How long he has been there? Where is his family? Maybe he is not a strong swimmer either. But no amount of strength would be useful tonight, no human can win against the flooding streets.
Suddenly the light disappears. The lantern has been dropped or, worse still, the man has fallen into the icy, raging water. Wagadhaany gasps out loud. She can’t bear to think what has happened. Reluctantly, she imagines his body twisting and turning in the current, and how fear must be choking him, how he may never see daylight again. She hugs her legs as close as possible to her body and closes her eyes tightly, overwhelmed with the fear of falling into the river. Her tears begin to fall again. She sits silently, desperately trying to ignore the blisteringly cold air coming through every crack in the roof. She rocks back and forth slowly, quietly whispering to Biyaami, Please keep us safe, please keep us safe. The Great Spirit is her only hope.
Henry and James are keeping watch from the roof but not reporting back what they can see. It seems like hours before James climbs through the hatch from the roof back into the attic. Wagadhaany is hopeful when she sees him. Perhaps his view of what is happening outside is better than hers through the tiny window. Her optimism is shattered when he declares, ‘It’s time. We need to move to the roof now. Andrew . . .’ He nods to his younger sibling to support their mother in climbing through the small opening that will lead them into the storm.
One by one they awkwardly make their way out. Rain whips Wagadhaany’s face. It feels like it is cutting into her skin. She watches as David grips onto a branch overhanging the roof, and together they sit down close to Mrs Bradley and Andrew. The four link arms and anchor themselves against the gale. She feels safe for the moment.
Then, only seconds later, there is a heart-wrenching screech, the sound of a woman in distress, and not far away. There follows a howling chorus of screams and cries of women and children. Everyone’s ears are filled with the terror the river is inflicting on the townsfolk. Mrs Bradley weeps uncontrollably and as Wagadhaany grips onto David like a frightened child, there is some attempt to shelter them both from the elements under his jacket. She is grateful for this, but his efforts are in vain. Everyone was soaked to the skin within seconds of climbing outside.
‘I can’t swim well,’ Wagadhaany cries, looking directly into David’s eyes. It’s the first time they’ve made proper eye contact, ever. ‘I’m not strong enough.’
‘Hold onto me this way,’ he orders, raising his arm up for Wagadhaany to link her arm through his, more comfortably and securely, as Andrew moves across to the chimney, his arm firmly linked with his mother’s.
She feels him pull her firmly against his body, tighter and tighter. It feels strange to be so close to any man, but being anchored to him makes her feel safer.
They sit and wait. As time passes, Wagadhaany loses feeling in her feet and hands. She rises slightly from her seated position and screams whenever she hears the crash of a building nearby. Her imagination evokes a terrifying nightmare of what dreadful things must be happening to families in the town, and reminds her of the fear she has for her own family, wherever they are.