Alternative WW2 News

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Australian Aboriginals, Australian poet, New Guinea Campaigns, Pacific War, poetry, World War 2

(What would have happened)

𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐖𝐖𝟐 𝐍𝐞𝐰𝐬

In news, the Japs have taken The South Land!
The aboriginals put up no fight.
We’d left this wilderness of scrub and sand
Since its discovery, untouched; no hand
From the outside had guided it — each band
And tribe had been protected from the light.
In news, the Japs have taken The South Land!
The aboriginals put up no fight.

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescue of baby Mary Jane Meehan

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Australian Aboriginals, Australian Outback, Australian pioneers, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, cattle and sheep stations, Formal poetry, Helen Montgomery, Mary Jane Meehan, Moree New South Wales, poem, poetry, Rosewood Mungindi

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐮𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐧

On the 16th of December 1886 in the “Big Leather Watercourse” area of the Gwydir River, west of Moree in New South Wales, a woman, Mary Jane Meehan (nee Heydon), died soon after giving birth to a baby girl. It appears that she and her 3 year old son Edward were living in the bush, no doubt in a makeshift dwelling, while her husband, Timothy Edward Meehan, was away working, probably droving. Tragically, Mary Jane’s mother, Mary Jane Heydon (born in Whittingham, Hunter River, NSW in 1849) had died giving birth to her.

It was summer, but the children were apparently found by local aboriginals and presumably looked after by them until they were found by Helen Montgomery, a grazier’s wife, and taken to their property “Rosewood” near Mungindi. The child was later christened Mary Jane. It’s not known how long the children were in the care of the Montgomerys, or when they were reunited with their father, but when Mary Jane married Queensland drover Frank Epstead Green in Moree in 1904, she gave her residence as “Rosewood, Mungindi”.

Mary Jane and Frank Epstead Green went on to have 16 children. The family lived on properties throughout western Queensland but spent later years at Tulga station and other locations near Longreach. Both died in Darra, Brisbane — Frank in 1957 and Mary Jane in 1975.

Mary Jane was the Grandmother of my wife Helen O’Brien (nee Green).

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞

Here’s a story I’ll tell of Australia’s outback:
Out west of Moree there’s a tumbled down shack
Where died a young woman a long time ago —
Some still talk about it, the few left who know.
And though details vary, most of them agree
She was heavy with child; had a young boy of three.
Her husband away, just the odd friendly black
Would sometimes pass by on a lonely bush track.
One day, as it happened, a new baby cried,
And a little boy clung to the mother who’d died.
She’d told little Edward, whilst words she could give,
That the blacks he must find, for the baby must live.
And the little boy found them and quickly they came
And rescued the baby, and her mother’s name,
With that she was christened. A story of pain,
Of death, and the rescue of babe Mary Jane.

{𝘐𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘑𝘢𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘦𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥,
𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘎𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯 𝘖’𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯}

— D.N. O’Brien

The Rescuer

The natives saved them, she then took them in —
The newborn baby and her little brother.
She cared for them, though they were not her kin,
But helpless little waifs who’d lost their mother.
The girl when she grew up and then was married,
Put “Rosewood, Mungindi” as whence she came;
For in her heart those memories she carried —
Her gratitude burned like an endless flame.
Now as she said her vows the rescuer —
The one who’d acted selflessly that day,
Though there in spirit, could not smile for her;
Five years had passed since she had passed away.

{In honour of Mrs. Helen Montgomery, “Rosewood” Mungindi, died 1899,
RIP}

— D.N. O’Brien

The Hunter

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Australian Aboriginals, Australian bush poetry, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, Formal poetry, Gidgee - Acacia cambagei, Hunter, poem, poetry, Woomera

Stands motionless, with spear haft thrust
Into the desert’s scarlet dust.
Upon one leg, foot on one knee,
Dark eyes through shimmering heat-haze see

Blurred forms towards him leap and bound
Across scorched plains of arid ground.
His muscles flex as ends his wait.
The lance is raised and now too late

The mob explodes in mortal fear
As woomera launches the spear
Of gidgee hardened by the flame;
Its flight is true and so his aim.

One kangaroo, gore-splattered grey;
A feast, his tribe will have this day.
He draws his weapon from the dead;
The jagged point glistens blood-red.

Botany Bay 1770

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australia, Australian Aboriginals, Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Botany Bay, Captain James Cook, Discovery of Australia, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, The British Empire

Botany Bay 1770

Well it was bound to happen – with your undefended borders.
If it hadn’t been the British, following their monarch’s orders,
Then it would have been the Frenchies or the Dutch or Portuguese,
Or the Maoris, or the maniacal murderous Japanese.
When you haven’t any fences and no army – no defences,
Then it’s clear to any sane man that there will be consequences.
When you’re hunters and you’re gatherers in small nomadic bands,
Standing on the bay’s grey beaches with but spears in your hands,
Don’t expect that stronger peoples with their empires all expanding
Will just say: “Hello”, and sail away without making a landing,
Planting flags, and claiming sovereignty to land on which you’re standing.
It’s the way it was back then, and there’s no sense in you demanding
That we change the past – you lost, but look upon the brighter side man –
Had it been the Asian hordes instead, they would have tanned your hide man.