Woororal
THE DUFF CHILDREN
| There's a story in Australia Told so many times before It happened during winter In eighteen sixty four The Duffs lived in a slab hut Behind a shearing shed The shack didn't have a tin roof It had sheets of bark instead They lived far out in the country Beyond the city's creeping push It was mostly untamed country That Australians just call 'bush'. Hannah's husband was a shepherd They had meat and milk supplied He was also paid a one pound wage And they felt satisfied Hannah's children fetched the water And sprigs of broom each day The broom was used by Hannah To sweep the hard floor made of clay Young Jane had now turned seven And Isaac had reached nine The youngest, Frank, was almost four They thought their life was fine While the children gathered broom for mum They picked some wildflower too They loved living in the country It gave them lots of things to do Sometimes they'd look for possums Or watch kangaroos at play But one day after wandering They found they'd lost their way It was not until late afternoon That Hannah felt concern Nervously she waited For her children to return She left the hut to search for them Deep fear now grasped her mind Trees and shrubs she'd once thought pretty Now looked harsh and so unkind When husband, John, came home from work They searched into the night But the bushland kept its secret The children weren't in sight In the early hours of morning The husband carried the alarm With a heart so near to breaking He rode to every farm To be lost in this bush country Usually had such dire results Through exposure and starvation Death claimed children and adults Though the Australian bush is beautiful To be lost in it is hell So many wanderers never found Bones mark the place they fell Tall growth can block the sunlight And there's dead-end tracks that tease A maze of thorny brambles And stunted Mallee trees Thick stands of golden wattle Press closely in array They can block the view of anything A few short yards away A search party hastily gathered And the search was under way For three small outback children Whose direction went astray Three days they tracked the children Then cruel fate released its might A thunderstorm brought pelting rain That washed all tracks from sight Newspapers told the story It filled Australian hearts with gloom 'Three children lost in bushland While collecting sprigs of broom.' With despair that seemed to smother them The search continued on But without a sign of any track It seemed all hope was gone The bushman knows the bush so well But though his skills are grand The aboriginal trackers Are the finest in the land One searcher then suggested "We need an aboriginal man If anyone can find their tracks An aboriginal can." The others nodded their agreement And a messenger rode then In search of badly needed help From aboriginal men Three aboriginals volunteered And quickly found some tracks Some searchers claimed the tracks weren't there They called them 'crazy blacks' An aboriginal named Woororal Was a kind of tribal king He used his skill with such intelligence He didn't miss a thing The search was now into its fifth day And at times some strong men cried They felt the search was now for bodies Of small children who had died The aboriginal trackers Find clues that we let pass They said the children had been thirsty They'd sucked dew from leaves and grass Then from their observation From the clues they had acquired They said the children's tracks were staggered Proving they were very tired The children had no food or water And the nights were thick with frost The searchers feared that through exposure Each child had paid the fatal cost Woororal found where they'd been sleeping Some leaves were stacked in piles They had already tracked the children for almost forty miles The aboriginals told the searchers Where a tract of land was clear The children started running They must have thought their home was near Though exhausted and so hungry Their fighting hearts would not succumb They had paused where broom was growing To take some sprigs home for their mum When they found they were mistaken Their grief would be beyond compare Their discarded sprigs of broom Now looked like bouquets of despair Some men became impatient As each weary day passed by They said the aborigines failed them And the children's deaths were nigh The aboriginals ignored the taunts And the occasional mocking sneer They knew the taunts and sneers were harmless They were only born from fear A pitiful sight confronted them When near some shrubs and rocks The searchers found a scattered trail Of discarded shoes and socks As the searchers gazed on little shoes They felt each child's despair The children's feet were tortured They struggled on with feet now bare Then Woororal held up just two fingers It filled the searcher's hearts with dread He'd found the tracks of just two children That meant the other child was dead The father's grief was tragic He'd lost a daughter or a son One child was gone forever He couldn't bear to think which one Then Woororal called the father And pointed to the ground Though the searchers could see nothing A revealing clue he'd found "The young girl carries little boy." He told them with a frown "The young girl is so weary And here, young girl falls down." From tracks that seemed invisible So much Woororal could discern "The older boy now carries little one They're taking it in turn." "The children are so weary Their tracks show how hard they strive They can not last too much longer But all three are still alive." The aboriginals tracked the children From each dawn 'til setting sun Sometimes they walked so slowly But where tracks were clear they'd run Across some rocky areas The slightest clue was small To find any hidden traces The aborigines would crawl They read the clues so carefully A bent twig or dislodged stone In this skill that we call 'tracking' The aboriginal stands alone With uncanny intuition Their concentration never slacks And with intelligence and sharp eyes They can find the slightest tracks Worrall found where they'd been sleeping And he revealed with his trained sight That the children used their bodies To keep the youngest warm at night The searchers didn't know then That to ease the cold and stress Jane slept in her underclothes She wrapped young Frank in her dress This selfless little heroine Possessed a heart of gold While Frank was wrapped up in her dress She endured the bitter cold Before they bedded down each evening This inspirational little child Prayed the prayer her mother taught her "Gentle Jesus meek and mild...." Isaac helped Jane carry little Frank Their feet were cut and sore They'd fought exhaustion and starvation Their bodies couldn't take much more After nine days of searching It seemed the children's fate was cast Without any food or water All hope to save their life was past Some men in their frustration Said the aboriginals were to blame They had pretended to be tracking But were playing a cruel game The aborigines ignored them They had children to pursue They continued with their searching And found tracks they said were new A small hill stretched up before them Worrall smiled with softened eyes As he told the anxious father "Your children just above that rise." Woororal called out to the searchers "There's the children up ahead!" Three bodies sprawled out on the ground They feared all three were dead Young Frank weakly raised his arm But the other two lay still They were almost in a coma They were very, very ill Young Frank mumbled to his father With words that carried blame "We kept calling for you daddy, But dad you never came." In nine days they covered sixty miles Torture in each step they'd walk They were now so weak from hunger They couldn't even talk They had robbed death of its victory Because with courage so profound Jane kept her brother's hopes up By insisting they'd be found She would tell them little stories To keep their spirit strong And at times when she could find the breath She'd even sing a song Isaac also showed great bravery He helped protect his little brother But Jane had been their saviour She had played the role of mother Nine days the children suffered So much agonising pain When the searchers started homeward Woororal carried little Jane The aboriginals and the white men Were now a melded club They shared a joyous victory As they walked home through the scrub Newspapers blazed the story That the children were alive But it took weeks of careful nursing Before their bodies would revive Jane's name will live forever On Australia's history page Australia's youngest heroine At seven years of age K.D. Abbott © 2009 
The Duff children, Isaac, Frank, and Jane posed for this photo many weeks after they had recovered from their ordeal. Newspapers and members of the search party agree that the children had walked in excess of 60 miles (96.56 kilometres) during the nine days. Isaac's trousers became so tattered that he discarded them in disgust. Jane carried Isaac's trousers until Frank became too tired to walk and she had to start carrying him. How a little seven-year-old girl in such weakened condition could carry a four- year-old boy, not only shows the strength of her character, but the depth of her love. Jane died in 1932 and donations from an admiring public paid for a granite memorial stone to be erected over her grave. The inscription on the stone reads: In sacred memory of Jane Duff The bush heroine who succoured her brothers, Isaac and Frank, nine days and eight nights in Nurcoung scrub in August 1864. Died 20th Jan. 1932 Aged 75 years. Such was the admiration engendered by this young girl's heroism, a memorial stone has also been erected near the spot where the children were found. There is also a memorial at the entrance to the Jane Duff Park on the highway to Goroke, and the street where Jane lived with her husband in Horsham, Victoria, was renamed Duff street. Tribute must be paid to the aboriginals who ignored the insults of some frustrated members of the search party, to continue earnestly without being distracted from their task. It is due to their diligence that the children were eventually rescued. The true names of the other two aboriginal searchers are unknown. Only the derogatory nick-names given them By the white men are known and, out of respect, I have omitted them. I have placed Woororal's photo at the head of this poem because it was due to his skill and that of his two aboriginal companions that this story had a happy ending. A miniature statue was sent to Jane from an admirer in England. The school children of Tasmania presented her with a bible, and the Victorian school children raised enough money to pay for a private education for her at Mrs. Bowden's 'Private Boarding School for Young Ladies'. Jane was grateful for the education but said she sadly missed being able to play in the bush and did not like being separated from her family. Jane married a bootmaker at age nineteen. She kept the statue, the bible, and the legendary lilac dress on permanent display until the time of her death. Isaac eventually became a station hand. Frank drifted to Queensland and lost contact with Jane and Isaac. Woororal was a talented sportsman and was a member of the first aboriginal cricket team to visit England in 1868. K.D. Abbott © 2009 |
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