White accounts of the lives of Australian Indigenous people are usually condescending, especially those written while the ethnic cleansing of Aboriginal people was in its later stages. I don’t intend to offend with that choice of words, incidentally. I hope that fair-minded and objective white readers will understand my meaning: that whatever motives any particular white people may have had, the overall effect of the takeover of the country easily met modern definitions of genocide.
That’s not to say that cordial relationships did not occur, nor that good intentions were absent. History doesn’t deserve to be so oversimplified. But you only have to stop and imagine the situation in which Aboriginal people found themselves in early post-contact years to recognise the shattering impact and the extreme obstacles facing those who survived and tried to adjust to a way of life founded on utterly alien principles.
One person in this situation in the Dungog area of NSW was an Indigenous man known to the whites as “Brandy”. I had read a little of Brandy, and was pleased to find a little more about him in a slim publication produced by the Shire of Dungog in 1975. The article, titled Brandy – last of the Gringhi – was written by A. P. Forster. I’ve transcribed the article in full below:
By A.P. Forster
The life of “Brandy” is surely an indictment of the white people for their neglect of our sable brethren.
In 1830, Mr Walter Windeyer and Sir James Dowling were visiting an Aborigines’ camp at Tillegra, where they were shown a piccaninny only a few days old.
When Mr Windeyer sought his name the gin replied “Sair, Baal, that fellow got no name”. Whereupon Mr Windeyer took the babe in his arms and in the orthodox manner christened him “Brandy” – a name that stuck.
Brandy’s father was named Boorangong – a fine, strong aboriginal. He belonged to the Gringhi tribe which lived in the district extending from about where Brookfield now is to the headwaters of the Chichester and Williams Rivers. The aborigines were distributed in local groups, at places such as Burnt Gully Creek, Dungog and Tillegra. Their abodes (mia mias) were primitive, either a few sheets of bark put against a convenient log or bushes along a huge tree.
A census taken in the early 1830s by Dr McKinley indicated about 230 aborigines in the valley of the Williams. They were experiencing hardships when “Brandy” was young; at this time they were working for the white man and becoming familiar with his food. Dr McKinley said that in their native state the aborigines lived well and happily about Dungog. They mostly lived on possums, wallabies, birds and fish.
The chase was a big part in the life of the males; the spoil was always equally divided among the tribe. Cooking was primitive. A possum would be placed on top of a glowing fire, and when half cooked one of the older men would start to dismember it. The flesh was never more than half roasted; sometimes it was almost raw. Men took the first share and the women and children made a meal of what was left.
The food situation was grim when Brandy was about 10 since the source of natural food had almost disappeared. Captain Thomas Cook, Commandant for the area north of Newcastle, asked the Colonial Storekeeper for a flour grant for distribution among the aborigines. His interest in their welfare was shown by his voluminous correspondence before relief was given. He met with the same frustration when he sought blankets. Officialdom had to be fought every inch of the way. A blanket was a prize possession for an aboriginal.
Two years later, Captain Cook had the same trouble; action by the authorities was so slow that Captain Cook directed the Chief Constable (Mr Abbott) to arrange supplies to the destitute. Yet authority did not give up. When the modest account for provisions was submitted Mr William Lithgow, Auditor General, took the commandant to task for unauthorised expenditure. It was disclosed 29 aborigines had been fed for three weeks at a cost of £1/11/4, whereas only 10/- had been allotted for that purpose. The captain’s reply won the day: “The amount charged is trifling for such seasonable supplies to our sable guardians”.
Capt. Cook told the Colonial Secretary (Mr. E. Thompson) blankets were needed for women and children who otherwise would be left naked and comfortless. Though Sir George Gipps had made a total withdrawal of the issue, Capt. Cook got half of the former quantity supplied. These he gave to the most deserving.
In the following year all the local aborigines got their blanket, but those at Port Stephens got none. Capt. Cook successfully resisted a move that the supply be equally divided, and eventually the Port Stephens group got blankets. In April, 1848, he was still fighting the blanket issue. He bitterly attacked withdrawal of the issue in 1847. The withdrawal had proved fatal to many gins and more than 30 children, he claimed. Capt. Cook maintained his stand and was rewarded with regular consignments of blankets and rations to “that homeless race”.
Brandy had developed into a fine strapping young man. The flat nose, a marked physical feature of his race, was considered to be handsome by his people. He married a lubra named Mary, and their only child, Eddie, died when he was five from a gastric condition due to eating green peaches. This happened at the home of Mrs. John Irwin, Tillegra, where the boy was a favourite. He sneaked out unripe fruit she was using to make jam. Nothing further is recorded of Mary.
Paid in flour and meat
Brandy organised a team of his tribe to do ring-barking and grubbing for settlers. They left ironbarks alone because of their toughness. As a result, this left timber became valuable in the past half century. The aborigines were generally paid in flour and meat.
Brandy had big, wide feet and never wore a boot in his life. His feet were as hard as nails. One day Brandy wandered into the blacksmiths shop run by John Hunt and Ted Scanes in Brown Street. A red hot piece of rod flew off the anvil as Tom was making horse shoes. As Brandy trod on it, both Tom and Ted yelled: “There’s something burning”. At first they thought the shed was alight, then they turned to Brandy: “You old devil, can’t you feel your feet burning?” The native sole proved too great for white man’s fire. A standing joke in Dungog after that was: “Who half-soles Brandy’s boots?”
Brandy was an expert hunter, whether for pigeons or wild bees’ honey. An expert fisherman, he taught my father and others how to catch mullet with green river moss. He often watched the aborigines fishing at Seaham.
Brandy would act as a guide for pigeon shooting in New Jerusalem, now called Chichester State Forest. This was treacherous for a new chum: no tracks or roads, and all ridges alike. It was easy for a man to spend a night in the forest and come out down the Karuah in the direction of Stroud. But Brandy, if necessary, would backtrack himself out.
The spread of white settlers changed the hunting life of Brandy and other members of his tribe.
Then came the great excitement: a conglomerate mass of 14in. by 12in. assaying more than 56oz. and worth at least £500, was found on the Little Mountain, at Fosterton. Prospectors rushed to the site to peg out claims, but no more colour of gold was found, suggesting that the gold must have been deposited there by volcanic thrust.
Brandy often related how he heard older members of the tribe speak of seeing large quantities of “this yellow stuff” in the bush, but to them it was valueless. The scene changed: some parts of New Jerusalem overnight became a legendary Lassetter’s Reef; and Brandy and his brethren became explorers of the “yellow stuff”. But the bonanza eluded them, no matter how hard they tried while accompanying hunting expeditions or making their own exploration. During this period of gold fever Brandy lost his enthusiasm for pigeons, much to the disappointment of shooting parties.
At this time, aborigines at Gresford and Singleton had become very troublesome, and the authorities feared Dungog would be raided. Captain Thomas Cook asked Brandy to visit the tribes and act as peacemaker. This task Brandy performed painstakingly, earning the goodwill of the captain and white population, avoiding much suffering and loss by raids.
Brandy was now spending most of his time with the whites and several of his brethren accepted odd jobs from settlers. They would accept work on a contract basis, get paid for it and then go to Dungog to spend it.
Brandy never forgot to bring honey and some fish to Mrs W. 0. Skillen, Messrs. J. A. Jones and Bill B. Downey (carrier for George Robson), all of whom were good to him. He used to say: “Everybody love Brandy. Some people give Brandy hot tea, some cold tea, but all love Brandy.”
After a few days in Dungog he would return to the country. He knew he was always assured of a meal at Rody Moylan’s, John Moylan’s, Eddie Smith’s, Sam Forster’s, Sam Smith’s, John and Tom Irwin’s or the Dowlings’.
A walkabout to Bandon Grove was always profitable to Brandy. This was near his birthplace and held all his childhood memories. By standards of the period, it was a progressive locality, boasting a tobacco factory, post office and store conducted by W. A. Smith. There was a large room for political meetings and functions.
Brandy was an inveterate pipe smoker and the tobacco factory was a drawcard. He never failed to swipe figs of newly-pressed leaf. Any damaged leaf was acceptable. The factory functioned until 1875. Mr Smith Imported two cigar twisters from England – Edward Curr and Harry Osmond – who remained with him until the closure. The leaf produced was coarse and would have little appeal today.
Brandy made one important walkabout south from Dungog on a mission to Dunmore House on the Paterson River, just across the Woodville Bridge; Owned by Dunmore Lang, head of the Presbyterian Church in the colony, his land embracing 850 acres.
Accused of murder
A shepherd had been murdered and an aboriginal employed as a houseboy was accused. Escaping before troopers arrived he took refuge on a small island in the river south of the bridge. His lubra swam out each night with food. Learning of the man’s plight and believing him to be innocent, Brandy decided to save him from the summary justice of the period. He swam out and persuaded the man to end his self-imposed exile. He hurried him towards Dungog, keeping clear of the roads. He left him with the Gardiner family ot Mt. Douglas, who gave him shelter until he was able to mingle with the Port Stephens tribe.
Brandy’s action was vindicated later when one of the shepherd’s drunken companions confessed to the murder and was duly punished.
The attractions of town life began to appeal to Brandy. Mr. J. K. Mackay presented to him the first pipe, and Mrs. F. A. Hooke gave him his second.
The Gringhi tribe was gradually dwindling in numbers: drink and white man’s food were taking their toll. “Doughboy Billy”, “king” of the tribe, died under a tree in the police paddock, Dungog, aged 68. He was buried in the old Church of England Cemetery in Mary Street. (The dedication was. revoked some years ago and land acquired by the Housing Commission. The grave is located exactly under T. McDonald’s lawn). The king’s death left only Brandy and a few other members of the tribe. Within four years, Brandy was the sole survivor and the people hailed him as “the last of his tribe”.
William Alexander Smith invited Brandy to make his Mt. McKinley home his headquarters. But Brandy had by now acquired a taste for white man’s grog. Daily he would come to town and sit on a lemonade case outside the Bank Hotel and beg for “frippence”. Sgt. Preston and Const. R. B. Jago never interfered. He often succeeded in creating small hotel credits. If he got his small silver coin, he would spend it in the bar on a 3d beer. If he could muster only 2d he would plank the two “crowbars” on the bar and ask for a beer. Sam Brady the licensee would say: “You’ve got only 2d”. Brandy would retort: “You makem threepence.” Sam was usually generous and would remind “Brandy” he owed a penny, “Brandy” would counter: “No you owe me a penny.”
H. A. Smith, a nephew of W. Smith, was clerk of the Commercial Bank opposite He said: “Every day about dusk Brandy would drink the drip tray and wander home drunk. My job was to make his fire in the backyard, take out his blanket and his tea. He would sleep alongside a log even during the coldest night.” Though shed shelter was available, Brandy chose the open air. He refused to make a big fire. Poking a few sticks together he would comment: “Makem small fire; no usem too much wood”. This was a tribal instinct of preservation, developed over countless generations.
Often after Sam Brady gave him dinner, Brandy would have a siesta under some trees in Lord Street.
Brandy was a believer in Coen; in one form an aboriginal but also an evil spirit responsible for storms, floods, droughts and fires, and who had carried off many aborigines for offences against tribal laws. One story concerned his carrying off a lubra caught spying on a secret bora ceremony. The woman was walking near the river when Coen came in a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning, hurling branches of trees over her, and then she was carried off. It is likely the gin was killed by the tree. Brandy, who claimed he was a witness, said none of the tribe went to this spot afterwards.
There was plenty of excitement at Dungog on February 28, 1900; the bells of every church rang to celebrate the Relief of Mafeking. Seeking to escape the noise of the celebration Brandy made for Bandon Grove. Mrs. Jim Garrett, who lived at Canningalla, was returning on horseback after music lessons when she met the Smith family driving to Dungog. She advised: “Brandy is walking along Myall Creek with his trousers over his shoulder and he is on his way to your place for dinner”. At Bandon Grove Bridge he put on his trousers and went to the house, exclaiming “People going mad in Dungog, ringing bells. Makem too much noise.”
He had a curly-haired dog called “Gimbee” who accompanied him everywhere.
On this occasion Brandy visited most of his friends in the area, extending his walkabout a whole week. He was fascinated by the underground wells of Sam Smith and Sam Forster. He loved icy cold water.
But he could not reconcile the change from the old order to the new. He was intrigued when told that the old Bandon Grove house, post office and store was to be demolished to make way for a brick residence for Sam Smith.
He decided to see for himself what the “silly whites” were doing. Mrs. Bertha Lock (nee Smith), though very young at the time often recalled seeing tears well in the old fellow’s eyes as the tobacco factory was pulled down. He wiped his eyes with a red twill handkerchief as he watched a bricklayer and carpenters at work.
Brandy bad a sense of humour, shown after he had delayed his return from a visit to the St. Clair encampment, near Singleton. The local paper announced: “Old Brandy the well-known aboriginal celebrity has died at Singleton”.
Some days later, be put his head through the doorway of the Chronicle office and said: “I say, you blooming paper fellers, what you killem me for? By jove, I see Sgt. Preston. You tellem lie about me.” He then huckled his way into a small monetary settlement. He emphasised he aimed to live until he was 100.
His future was affected by a big fire in 1902, that swept from Singleton to Dungog, destroying among 200 dwellings the Mt. McKinley home of W. Smith. His main refuge gone, he was continually at the Bank Hotel, where Mr. Brady helped him.
In between visits to the hotel he helped Paddy Lycett, a blacksmith in Lord Street, to rope and handle fractious horses and heavy draughts for shoeing. He slept in a shed behind the smithy.
Making another foray in the country to look up old friends, he got a lift in Mr. Smith’s dray, and was jolted out. He was treated in Dungog Hospital, which was poorly equipped.
Referring to the indignity of being scrubbed, Brandy vowed he would never go there again. But life was closing in.
One evening he was taken to the hospital full of liquor and making strange noises. Though responding to Dr. Bowker’s treatment, Brandy decided to remove himself from the strange surroundings. He cleared out one night and made for St. Clair encampment. But he developed pneumonia and died amid people of his ancient race on August 20, 1905, aged 75.
He was buried near St. Clair. Miss Dixon, Missionary Director of the Australian Inland Mission, conducted an impressive funeral ceremony.
James Boydell, of the property Camyr Allyn at East Gresford, wrote a short tribute to Brandy in The Maitland Mercury of August 25, 1905, noting that Brandy had been “very industrious in his young days and spent a good deal of time in the employ of Mr Sivyer, sen, of Eccleston, who made him very useful.”
“Amongst other things, he was a very fair ploughman and many a day’s ploughing he has done for me,” Boydell wrote. “He married Princess Judy, who was the whip of the camp. They were much attached to each other. She died over 20 years ago and, as far as I know, he never sought another wife. He was here for some weeks quite lately, very old and infirm.”
In The Dungog Chronicle of June 29, 1943, Gordon Bennett referred to Brandy, noting that he “would often mention, with apparently genuine fear, the possibility of a raid by the wild blacks from the west”.
Really enjoyed the story about Brandy and his Singleton connection. Thank you. RoyPalmer