In Our Own Right - Black Australian Nurses’ Stories

In Our Own Right Black Australian Nurses’ Stories Dedicated to Indigenous Australian nurses who have passed before

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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hrough CATSIN’s membership and networking, names of Indigenous nurses and assistant nurses were obtained. Many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses were approached to submit or tell their stories; several declined. Telling their stories might have been too confronting – painful issues would have opened up old wounds.Their right to refuse was respected. To those who have chosen to share their story, thank you. It would have been quite painful for many of you as your stories are very powerful. It has taken great courage for you to speak and write about your memories, experiences and feelings. Although the purpose of this book was to collect the stories of registered nurses, there are, however, stories from Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women – excluded from undertaking nurse training – who worked as assistant nurses and untrained carers.These women are also recognised for their contribution. This publication was initially funded by the Australian Government Office of the Status of Women (OSW) under the Women’s Development Programme project grants 2003–2004. Our thanks go to Senator the Hon Kay Patterson for her generous support for this project. We are indebted to Caroline Oakley from OSW, for her invaluable support, guidance and great patience with this publication, assisted by Carolyn Paisley-Dew. Jeannine Bevan was the Senior Adviser at the time with Kerry Flanagan heading the Office as First Assistant Secretary. CATSIN would also like to acknowledge Associate Professor Kim Usher, School of Nursing, James Cook University, Townsville [see also Contemporary Nurse 19/1–2 (2005) pp. 17–31], for her significant contribution and assistance in writing the proposal. The editorial, design and promotions team at Contemporary Nurse has crafted these materials into expression as a book. In Our Own Right: Black Australian Nurses’ Stories was distributed to every Contemporary Nurse subscriber in August 2005. Acknowledgement and gratitude is due to all the Indigenous nurses who submitted their stories to make this publication a reality. To all those who were approached and did not submit their stories, thank you for considering doing so. We all appreciate your contribution to Indigenous nursing and health care. Sally S. Goold OAM CATSIN, June 2005

In Our Own Right Black Australian Nurses’ Stories Edited by

SALLY S. GOOLD OAM and KERRYNNE LIDDLE

e C ontent

PTY

management LTD

Sydney • Amsterdam • Palo Alto

Project development supported by Project development of In Our Own Right: Black Australian Nurses’ Stories was funded by the Australian Government Office for the Status of Women (under the Women’s Development Programme project grants 2003–04) Developed by Congress of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Nurses (CATSIN) 14 Cassia Ave Banksia Beach, QLD 4507 Tel. 07 3410 7236 Fax 07 3410 7235 E-mail: [email protected] Web: www.indiginet.com.au/catsin CATSIN supported by BUUMAL Records, ‘State of the Heart’: www.buumal.com Production and promotion by Contemporary Nurse (distributed as a supplement to Volume 19, Issue 1–2, 2005)

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Published in Australia by eContent Management Pty Ltd PO Box 1027 Maleny, QLD 4552 Australia Tel. +61 (0)7 5435 2900 Fax +61 (0)7 5435 2911 E-mail: [email protected] ABN 87 091 432 567 Affiliates in Sydney, Amsterdam, Palo Alto National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data In Our Own Right: Black Australian Nurses’ Stories ISBN 0 9757422 2 1. 1. Nurses – Australia – Biography. 2. Women, Aboriginal Australian – Biography. 3. Women, Aboriginal Australian – Employment. 4. Minorities in nursing – Australia. I. Goold, Sally. II. Liddle, Kerrynne. 610.73092 © 2005, eContent Management Pty Ltd SAN 902-4964 This publication is copyright. Other than for purposes of and subject to the conditions prescribed under the Copyright Act, no part of it may in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, microcopying, photocopying, recording or otherwise) be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted without prior written permission. Inquiries should be addressed to the Publisher at: [email protected] Publisher: James H. Davidson, eContent Management Pty Ltd (QLD) Editing, internal design and desktop publishing: Karen Enkelaar, Do Write (NSW) Cover design: Southern Star Design (NSW) Printed in Malaysia by Vivar Printing Sdn Bhd, Selangor DE

FOREWORD

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he intimate, private, and heart wrenching stories told in this book, the first of its kind to be published in Australia, will penetrate the hearts and souls of even the most hardened reader.Told with incredible dignity and humility, each of the individual and deeply personal stories recounted in this book stands as a powerful testimony to the gross inhumanity and brutal capacity of white people in Australia selectively to destroy and humiliate, without remorse, the lives and souls of their fellow black Australians. Each of the stories told in this book exposes the nasty and dehumanising effects of racism even in ‘caring’ environments.What is particularly confronting about this exposé is that individual nurses, and the nursing profession as a whole, were complicit in this racism and its soul-destroying consequences to Indigenous nurses – whose stories are only now being told, for the first time, decades after the experiences related occurred. This book provides a powerful catalyst for questioning and calling into question the taken-for-granted humanity of us all.When it is considered that the nurses depicted in this book had ‘done nothing’ other than be of a different colour and culture, bewildering questions arise as to why it was necessary for their white counterparts to treat them so cruelly? Also bewildering is that, in a social context which claimed to be ‘egalitarian’, how it was possible for the cruel and dehumanising manner in which these nurses were treated to be ‘justified’ in the name of charity, benevolence and the ‘social good’? Enslavement, cruelty and dehumanisation has only ever privileged those who have the power to impose their will and value systems onto others; the cases of Indigenous nurses presented in this book serve to underscore this point. The experiences described in this book also recount acts of human sensitivity. Without the few ‘good’ human beings who supported them, the lives and aspirations of each of the Indigenous nurses, reflected in this book as ‘colonised outsiders’, would perhaps have been different. They may have remained silent and unrecognised, as so many other lives have been, due to the destructive influences of white Australian culture at the time they were trying to develop their nursing careers. The nurses’ courage, determination, resilience, persistence, dignity and ability, to achieve what they have – against all odds, so graphically presented in this book – makes my soul tremble and ask ‘how?’. How did they endure all the brutal indignities, violation and insults that they suffered? How did they remain focused? How did they come to achieve what they did within such a hostile and dismissive society? My answer to this question is that these individuals are what

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the ancient Greeks would call υπερανθρϖποζ ηµιθεεζ, ηµιθεοι (superhuman god-like persons) who are endowed with unique qualities – who know who they are, who know what they are worth and value, and whose identity cannot be taken away by any one or means. The courage and dignity of the individual nurses who have come forward to write their stories, has established a firm and profound basis upon which Indigenous nurses today can stand proudly and with dignity, to create a brilliant affirming future.This can be done without any obligation to anyone. The nursing profession in Australia has been called to action for many years now. The transcultural nursing movement, which began in the early 1970s, attempted to raise the consciousness of its members. At the centre of this movement were calls for changes to the health care system to make it more responsive to the needs of people from different cultures and who spoke different languages. This call required changes to take place in the minds, hearts and practices of nurses and other health care professionals. Just how effective this call has been, I will leave to individual nurses, nursing organisations and others to judge. The stories in this book demonstrate how humanity can operate at its worst and at its best. They show all of us that, when at its best, humanity can inspire, encourage and empower us; when at its worst, however, it can also demoralise, discourage and devastate us – both as individuals and as a people.The lessons are clear: we cannot and must not condone humanity at its worst, and the immoral acts that it seeks to justify. As the stories in this book remind us, so long as racism, discrimination and intolerance of difference govern our public service systems – and the minds, souls and hearts of people who comprise those systems – the nursing profession and society at large will remain impoverished, tormented and not at peace with itself or its humanity. As a colonised people, Indigenous Australians have a profound interest in reclaiming their self-determination. In respect of this interest, members of the nursing profession need to open their hearts and souls – and the doors to the systems they control – to welcome other voices, other views, and other ways of doing, perceiving and advancing the profession. This book shows us a way forward. Our task and responsibility now is to adopt and follow the path to the future that it has identified. By doing this – together and in partnership with Indigenous nurses and colleagues – the nursing profession too can move forward. Olga Kanitsaki AM Professor of Transcultural Nursing RMIT University June 2005

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

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Foreword Olga Kanitsaki AM

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Preface Sally Goold OAM

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Sadie Canning MBE 1 My story:The beginning, childhood, ambitions and achievements Joan Winch A vision for our people Jilpia Jones The history of my nursing

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MaryAnn Bin-Salik 23 EDD (HARVARD) Beyond expectations: From nursing to academia Ros Pierce 36 Nursing: In my heart and in my blood

Karen Atkinson Mum and Dad’s fighting spirit inspired me

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Barbara Browne I never forgot my dream

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Roslyn Lockhart The power of education

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Kerrie Doyle I have been a nurse for 30 years. I love it!

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Vicki Bradford I would not trade it for quids

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Sally Goold OAM (nee Bamblett) Keep your eyes on the prize!

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Alecia McKowan Why I wish to become a nurse

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Gary Torrens (MR T) A sense of understanding

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Faye Ryan (nee Clarke) Something that helped others

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Ellie Gaffney Determination to succeed

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Shane Mohor A focus on men’s health

43

Emily Marshall My story of the red cloth

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Lowitja O’Donoghue AC, CBE Racism often came from patients, not colleagues

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107 Noela Baigrie (nee Fogarty) The foundation for caring is respect and dignity

Janine Cox Investigate our heritage

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Carmen Parter Beyond nursing

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Sharon Dennis I made it; I am a nurse!

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Diana Ross The birthing tree

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PREFACE

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he Congress of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Nurses (CATSIN) was formed following the historic National Forum for Development of Strategies to Increase the Numbers of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Peoples in Nursing, held in August 1997 in Sydney.The forum was attended by 32 Indigenous registered nurses. During CATSIN’s inaugural meeting, those who attended shared their stories. One of the recommendations was to write a book of those stories and to have them published.We accounted for 0.5 per cent of the total registered nurse population of Australia, so this was seen as important to increase recruitment and retention of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses. Other recommendations and strategies were developed that flowed from that initiative. One was to honour Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses who had undertaken their nurse training in the early days – for us, during the 1940s and 1950s. Many were excluded from hospital-based training programs in various states because of their Aboriginality. Excluded from undertaking nurse training, they worked as assistant nurses and untrained carers. Such a rich source of information on the historical experiences of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses should not be lost. Tribute is paid to the trailblazers who had the courage to challenge a system which has excluded Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people from undertaking nursing.They are role models and an inspiration to those considering undertaking nursing, student nurses and those registered nurses following in their footsteps. Those trailblazers, who endured many physical and emotional hardships, deserve to be shown recognition and respect. Knowledge of our Indigenous and colonial history will help to raise the profile of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses. It will certainly highlight our struggle to be recognised within the current dominant cultural group, and outline our contribution to health care in this country. By collecting Indigenous nurses’ stories and having them published in In Our Own Right: Black Australian Nurses’ Stories, we give those people overdue recognition for their wonderful contribution to Indigenous health and to the nursing profession.Those trailblazers have acted and continue to act as role models.They are an inspiration to all women and men in health care who follow in their footsteps. Sally Goold OAM CATSIN, June 2005

Sadie Canning

MBE

My story: The beginning, childhood, ambitions and achievements

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Me, enjoying the company of friends

n 11 April 1930, I was born in the bush according to traditional Aboriginal custom, under a tree, on the outskirts of the mining town of Laverton in the north-eastern goldfields of Western Australia. Laverton is almost 300 kilometres north-east of Kalgoorlie. There were no hospital births for Aboriginal mothers then.There was a curfew for Aborigines, which meant they were allowed in town only during the mornings. At midday, they were then rounded up and told to get out. At dusk, the police often whipped and chased them out. Our people feared the authorities. Part Aboriginal children, ‘half-caste’ as we were known then, like myself, were always on the move with our parents to avoid being caught by police and government officials.They were always on the lookout to take ‘half-caste’ children and send them off to the Moore River or Carrolup Native Settlements.These were the institutions Aboriginal people feared most, and for good reason. The government of Western Australia operated the settlements and those two were notoriously run institutions. Aborigines from the Kimberley through to the centre of Western Australia and across to Albany feared them. Hundreds of ‘half-caste’ Aboriginal children were caught and sent there to serve life sentences for being ‘half-castes’. My cousins were sent to Moore River. They escaped and tried to make the long journey home on foot. Fortunately for me, I was never sent there. I was put into the Mt Margaret Mission run by the United Aborigines Mission from Melbourne. Mt Margaret was only 40 kilometres south-west of where I was born – LUCKY ME!

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My mother was a full-blood Aboriginal who lived a traditional lifestyle. She could not read, write, nor could she speak English.They tried to hide us from the authorities, but when my sister, a ‘full blood’, as she was called then, was taken during a raid, I was told to stay under a blanket. Of course, I didn’t, and they took me, too. I was taken at the age of four years and placed in Mt Margaret Mission, which was in the area my parents traversed. I still had contact with them during my time at Mt Margaret and they were welcome to visit. I was placed in the Graham Home for girls with about 59 others. I entered the home speaking and hearing Wongatha, as English was completely unknown to me.We were allowed to speak our language anytime other than in the classroom.We were not treated cruelly, but we were disciplined. I remember, too, hiding the strap and cane, but there was also another one somewhere. We grew up as sisters, with the older girls looking after the little ones. My mother visited me on occasions when she returned to the mission after going on their traditional and cultural practices. Our house-parents were an English couple, Mr and Mrs Jackson, whom we called mum and pop. I have very fond and affectionate memories of them. They came out from England separately after completing their Bible training, and arrived at Mt Margaret Mission as single people. They met, fell in love and married.They never had children of their own. I suppose we were their children and there were about 150 of us over the years. They had never moved out of Mt Margaret, not even for holidays.Their holidays were spent with us, so it really wasn’t a holiday.They worked long hours and were devoted. They dedicated their lives to the care and well being of Aboriginal girls. Mrs Jackson knitted a new jumper for each girl every year from the wool donated by her prayer partners.We had only basic food; there were no luxuries, whatsoever. What we perceived as luxuries were bread and butter with Nestlés milk. From time to time, we used to pinch from the Jacksons’ fridge. One day, a group of us decided we would like to have some, AND we were doing exactly THAT, when a quiet but deep voice from the darkened lounge room said, ‘You had better hurry before mum catches you.’ You can imagine our horror and surprise at being sprung; we were out like a shot! We all had our chores to do and my most humiliating experience at the home came when my team was tagged with a ‘LAZY’ sign. The sign was pinned to our backs and the children from the boys home who were delivering wood would tease us terribly.

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This was my first introduction to the media. This photo was taken when I was preparing to go home to Mt Margaret for my first holiday. My nursing friends were (left) Betty Taylor and Joan Moore. This holiday was after my second year of training Reproduced with permission of the Author

We looked forward to Saturday nights because we played Monopoly with the Jacksons. It was great fun, as we would try to outsmart them by ganging up and trying to cheat. They cared for us until they retired to Leonora where we, the ex-home girls, cared for them in their old age.They had no one of their own to care for them.They had never been back to England to visit relatives.We ex-home girls were their family and we buried them. I said before that I have many fond memories, and you may be wondering why I’m talking of the Jacksons. Well, they were the kind missionaries who devoted their whole lives to the cause of Aboriginal children. Missionaries might not be the flavour of the day, but I can thank the Lord for the missionaries of Mt Margaret. All my school education was at Mt Margaret and I was taught by caring missionaries.We had only one teacher. She was also English, and her name was Mrs Bennett. She came straight from English aristocracy and left that way of life to teach Aboriginal children in the outback of Western Australia. She was a good teacher, who believed that Aboriginal children could succeed, and always encouraged us with stories of successful black Africans. We had only two hours of lessons each day because she juggled to teach 100 or more children of all ages with varying needs and learning capacities. She was very strict in the classroom and believed that if we were there to learn English, we must also speak it correctly. She never allowed us to speak Wongatha in the classroom, but as soon as we walked out of that room, we could speak our own language. It was just not permitted in class. Mrs Bennett was also known for organising the highlight events of the school calendar. School concerts and school exhibitions were the end-ofyear grand finales, and were organised by Mrs Bennett. She prepared us

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during the year with work that she could display so our parents could see what was achieved by their children. Our parents were all straight out of the bush and we were proud. We took our parents around to see all our work and they were very proud, even though they could not read or write. Food, fancy work, clothes made in sewing class, woodwork, etc., were displayed for all to see. While at Mt Margaret, we were taught a wide range of skills that included sewing, knitting, and cooking.We also sang in the Sunday School Choir and, boy, could we sing! Each song we sang we learnt by heart, verse for verse. Mrs Bennett would also host dinner parties for traditional people, and was strict on table etiquette at these gatherings.We had to set the tables for her, and she taught us to do it the right way. Sport was another area we excelled in: tennis, cricket, football, table tennis and basketball, later known as netball. Mr Jackson tried to teach us his type of football, which was in fact SOCCER.Whoever heard of hitting a ball with your HEAD? Many full-blood Aboriginal people sent their children to Mt Margaret Mission willingly and, because the mission was meant only for ‘half-caste’ children, when the government officials visited, the full-blood children were ushered away until they had left. It wasn’t easy going; we missed our parents. Each Christmas holiday we ‘half-caste’ girls were not allowed to go out with our parents because of the assimilation policy of that era.We were part of the White Australia Policy, where it was believed that we would become lighter and the black Aborigines would become extinct. But, we had news for them: our black race did not die out! If it wasn’t for the care and encouragement given to me at Mt Margaret, I would not have had the opportunity to become a trailblazer in nursing. While still going to school, I was placed in the care of the mission matron, Sister Mildred Murray, who was my teacher and mentor. I was, I guess, an assistant to her. She taught me to take temperatures and to help out with the patients and with duties that are very similar to a nursing assistant. I was sixteen. While the other girls were interested in boys, I was instead focused on nursing. In 1947, an application was made for me to train as a nurse in Perth. At that point in time, Aboriginal girls were not accepted to train in Western Australia, so another application was made to Bethesda Hospital, in Richmond, Victoria. I was accepted for training and commenced my general nursing in 1949. It was an experience and a half, to say the least. I had never been out of the mission except for trips to Esperance for holidays with the girls from the home. And, it was traumatic in a sense that I had

Sadie Canning

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never mixed with white girls, except for the mission superintendent’s daughters. During the first few months I was very stressed, but friendship shown by other nurses in my school made life a lot easier. I soon settled in with the other student nurses and finally graduated in 1952. My midwifery training was done at the Haven Hospital in North Fitzroy. This hospital was run by the Salvation Army and was affiliated with the Queen Victoria Hospital in Melbourne.The Haven was a small hospital and, with only two students to a school, we did most of the deliveries.The Haven was a place where unmarried mothers delivered and, for these mothers, the midwives did all the deliveries except for the complicated ones. One incident that is still very clear was my first day on the ward. The sister in charge of the labour ward asked me to stand in with a patient while she went out for a minute. I had no experience whatsoever, and then suddenly the patient started to have a fit. PANIC hit me hard and I rang for the sister. Luckily, the young mother and the baby survived, but for me, the experience made an impact. Several years later, in a country hospital on my own, I was able to identify with the experience of the past; that yes, I knew what it was all about! We had excellent training at the Haven and it prepared me well for my experience with maternity cases in the bush, where I delivered many babies. Throughout my career, I have delivered many hundreds of babies, and many sets of twins. There is a point in time where there are so many deliveries, you simply stop counting. My infant welfare training was at the Presbyterian Babies Home in Campberwell,Victoria. I graduated in 1954. I was now a Triple Certificate nurse. I had achieved my General, Midwifery and Infant Welfare Certificates. It was a significant achievement, because I was the second Aboriginal trained nurse to gain such recognition. I believe another Aboriginal nurse, Nelly Lester from South Australia, graduated from Bethesda Hospital before me. I would, however, have been the first Aboriginal nurse from Western Australia to graduate with these qualifications. I was so proud. I was now able to wear the veil – the starched piece of voile – the pride and prize of graduating as a fully fledged nurse! After post graduate nursing in Perth, I applied for a position as a nursing sister at the Leonora District Hospital in the north-eastern goldfields town of Leonora. In 1956, I was accepted to that position. Leonora had a population of 2000 and is 250 kilometres north-east of Kalgoorlie. It had no bitumen roads until 1970. I was the first Aboriginal nursing sister in a somewhat racist town. It was a small town and it was a time when whites and Aborigines did not

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General layout of the old Leonora Hospital

mix. To take up a position in that atmosphere was daunting, especially when there were still segregated wards: the white women had a maternity ward, but the Aboriginal women birthed in a tin shed. Aboriginal mums delivered in a tin shed just a few metres away from the maternity block of the hospital, and all Aboriginal patients were treated in a small shed away from the general wards. As soon as I started there, my first and foremost desire was to, in some way, help our Aboriginal population of that town, but I had to also prove to the white community that as an Aboriginal nurse I could do the duties that were required. I could tell they were not sure of me and I found myself having to constantly prove that I had the ability. It was very stressful to see Aboriginal patients having to wait until the very last to be seen by the resident doctor and to be treated as second rate. As a nurse, our code of conduct was to treat everyone the same, regardless of colour or race. So, I soon began to plan in my mind how things could be changed. First of all, my own professional integrity and ability to care for all patients, be they black or white, had to be such that I could not allow any criticism of anything I did. My strong desire was to integrate the patients on the maternity and general wards. But how? Segregation had been practised for so many years. My chance came in the form of resignation of the matron. I applied for the

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position of matron in 1958, and was accepted as matron of the Leonora District Hospital. Changes were made very gradually, and fully integrated wards were achieved by the end of 1958! Many people were unhappy, but they accepted it after a while. Ending segregation of maternity patients was I believe my biggest achievement. It may well be an integral part of many decisions that I made for the well being of all my patients, and I was spurred on by a particular incident involving one of my patients that I will never forget. I remember it clearly today. My first Aboriginal mum was in labour in the tin shed and it was very hot and even more so in that little tin shed. It was then that I witnessed my first stillborn birth. I considered at that time it was an unnecessary death of an Aboriginal baby. I cried for the loss of that baby.Today, at Leonora, Indigenous Australian people enjoy the same treatment as the rest of the community. I was in charge of Leonora Hospital for 34 years. Nursing in a remote area is very rewarding, despite the shortages of trained nursing staff and at times having no resident doctor. In those days, in a small hospital, we did everything.We sterilised equipment and in those days we had to boil our equipment.We would set up theatre and then work the anaesthetic and later assist in recovery.We did X-rays, and even had to convert the power from DC to AC before we could operate it. Sparks would fly everywhere during the conversion, and I remember how one day there was a loud bang as well as sparks and we just ran – leaving a patient, a heavily pregnant woman on a bed – before quickly realising what we’d done and returning to reassure her everything was all right. We also worked in outpatients and we would travel in ambulances to road accidents along some very rough dirt roads. At times when we had no doctor we would have to diagnose and treat people and often make critical decisions. In the hospital we often had to also kill snakes that had wriggled in. For fifteen of the 34 years, there was no resident doctor at Leonora. Nursing staff had the responsibility of running the hospital.The Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS), based at Kalgoorlie, was our saviour.We had clinic days twice a week serviced by the RFDS, and communicated via phone. In emergencies, patients were flown to either Kalgoorlie or Perth. The plane could be anywhere in the vast outback, and waiting for emergencies was a tremendous stress for the nursing staff, but somehow we managed. For me, it was both challenging and rewarding to have worked in such isolated circumstances. In the hospital, there were no luxuries. In those days, we had horse hair mattresses.They weren’t very good and were terribly uncomfortable.We had only two mattresses that were inner sprung, and these were in the single rooms for the white patients. I saw my opportunity when a board mem-

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

ber’s wife became an inpatient and I switched mattresses.When she complained about how uncomfortable it was, I advised her to talk with her husband.We soon had more inner-spring mattresses! I set my sights, too, on a new hospital and fought for it. It was eventually built in 1980 and I was pleased to have had some involvement in its design. I thought about resigning once. It was after a dispute with a doctor over the safety of a patient; and for the record, I was right to have challenged him. I always argued with doctors and always did if I felt they were wrong about a diagnosis, or if my patients’ well being was an issue. I was a strong advocate for my patients. I was awarded an MBE in 1964 for nursing services to Leonora. A Recipient of the Queens Silver Jubilee Medal in 1977 and, in 1981, an RFDS plane was named Sadie Canning in my honor. A road leading to the Leonora District Hospital was named Sadie Canning Drive in 1982 and, in 2003, I received the Centenary Medal. I retired from nursing in 1990. Personally, I feel Indigenous Australians need to press forward collectively and we must not dwell on the past.We cannot blame governments and a society (who have detrimental policies) for all of our problems; instead, we must strive to achieve, and to get on with life as best we can. That’s not to say we can just wipe away things that have happened to us in the past, and we can’t blame others for things that happen to us in life. I believe we have to pull ourselves out of this never-ending syndrome of blame and of the poor black fellow. Today, we have many choices, choices that our parents never had. It is up to us to succeed or not. The past policies for Indigenous Australians have been horrific, especially the removal of children, but I can look at it in two ways. One can never imagine the hurt and betrayal one must feel, and how unjust and cruel it was, but it was because of this that I was given the opportunity of education, for which I am truly grateful. I made a choice at the age of 16.Today, I am living proof of that choice. I came from a very disadvantaged background only one generation from the bush, and I have made it because I grabbed the opportunities with both hands and said to myself,‘I can do it.’ You can make it, too.Today, you are privileged to have so many unlimited opportunities.Take what you can, and DO IT. In closing, I just want to say, from the bottom of my heart, to encourage students and other fellow Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people to get up and move forward, don’t look behind, and never say,‘I can’t.’ Only that ‘I can.’ God bless you all.

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Joan Winch A vision for our people

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Director of Marr Mooditj College

have always had a vision for our people: a vision that one day our health status would be equal to, or better than that of non-Indigenous Australians. While I know there is a long way to go before that vision comes to fruition, I believe that it can be achieved. Most of my life has been dedicated to Indigenous Australians’ health, and I am lucky to have been able to make that contribution. Perhaps my greatest achievement was the establishment in 1983 of the first primary health care training facility for Aboriginal people in Perth, Western Australia. As the founder of Marr Mooditj College, my vision was to ensure that Indigenous Australians had access to world-class training. The education programs that we have established at Marr Mooditj are internationally acclaimed. Its focus is on preventative and holistic medicine, ensuring that programs incorporate and encourage community participation and integrate Aboriginal practices and values. The name Marr Mooditj means ‘good hands’ in the Noongar language of Western Australia. Mooditj means ‘good’, and marr means ‘hands’.

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Graduation in nursing, West Australia Institute of Technology, 1978

I am a Nyoongar-Martujarra woman, born in 1935. Like many Aboriginal people of my generation, I grew up in a world where many people disguised their Aboriginality in a bid to try to overcome oppression. My mother died when I was fourteen and, as a teenager aged sixteen, I rebelled and ran away from my father, who was very strict. I had a range of jobs as a young woman, including working in an Aboriginal children’s home and psychiatric hospitals. I married and had a daughter, Lillian. She was the light of my life. Lillian passed away January 2005. When Lillian was only six weeks’ old, I made the difficult decision to leave and bring up Lillian on my own because my marriage had fallen apart due to my husband’s drinking. Life as a single working mother was tough, but I was determined to make a success of her life, and mine. When I’d earlier worked at St Josephs Psychiatric Hospital, I developed a taste for health care. It was an experience that prompted me to study at night school so that I could enroll in nursing. Nursing set me on a life-long course of helping Aboriginal people. It also taught me about studying and learning for life. Through nursing, it seems there is always something new to learn. I was a Triple Certificate nurse, and went on to complete both Diploma and Bachelor courses in Applied Science at Curtin University of Technology in Perth. I completed a Masters in Public Health and Tropical Medicine at James Cook University in Townsville. I have received many honours. In 1986, I was named Western Australian Citizen of the Year, was Australian Woman of the Year in 1988, and Aboriginal Person of the Year in 1987. In 1987, my work was given international recognition when I was

Joan Winch

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Australian poster presentation,WHO conference on health, Helsinki 1991. It caused a lot of interest because the material was so colourful

awarded the World Health Organisation Sasakawa Health Prize for Primary Health Care Education Programme Development. It is an achievement of which I am very proud. In 1989, I received the Australia Medal from the Australian Government. I retired in 1995. I did take some time out for myself, and for a few years I took life easy; until 1999, when I took on the role of acting head of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University. I was also awarded an Honorary Degree of Doctor of Laws in 1999 by the University of Western Australia. In 2003, I received a Centenary Medal Award for my contribution to Aboriginal health. I have a strong commitment to my community and to contribute to society as much as I can. I have been a member of the Western Australian Parole Board, an advisory member of the Marr Mooditj Foundation, and patron of the Centre for Aboriginal Studies at Curtin University. In the course of my career, I have spent many hours assisting Aboriginal women and children in life-threatening situations to find emergency accommodation. During 1982, I lobbied for the upgrading of the Mobile Medical Unit that operated among Perth’s homeless community. At this time, the Unit consisted of just a station wagon and it was impossible to treat patients inside the car. I wrote many submissions for funding, organised an Aboriginal open day, and appealed to the public and the Lotteries Commission for donations and funding. As a result, enough money became available to fully equip a mobile van with room enough inside to examine and treat patients. The Mobile Medical Unit became a model for other services in areas rang-

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Working in community child health nursing, Aboriginal Medical Service, 1980

ing from the goldfields in Western Australia to New Mexico, where a similar service assisted homeless American Indians. I have a passion for the rights of isolated Aborigines living in the outback regions of my home State of Western Australia. One case in particular reminds me of how uncaring white society can be of Indigenous Australian people. When a cyanide dam (used for gold mining) leaked cyanide into water running into the Meekatharra Aboriginal Reserve, causing extensive health problems there, I fought to have the State health department remedy the situation. I sometimes wonder what would have happened to that community if no one had acted. I have never been one to tolerate racism and, in the early days of my career, I frequently brought to the notice of the health department cases of discrimination by doctors in isolated communities against Aboriginal people.These days there is much less discrimination, in part due to a program I developed to ensure graduating doctors are more sensitive to the needs of Indigenous Australians and aware of the cultural differences. My life has been a rich one, driven by a deep desire to help others. Along the way I hope I have assisted in the healing of many of my people and provided opportunity and the means for Indigenous Australians to study health care.

”

Jilpia Jones The history of my nursing

This history was written by Jilpia Jones about her own experiences in the nursing profession. Her name at the time was Marjorie Baldwin, but it is now changed to her childhood name by deed poll to Jilpia Nappaljari Jones. General nursing training at Cairns Base Hospital, 1962–1966

I

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entered nursing school to complete my General Nursing Certificate in the early part of 1962. It was necessary to wait for a birth certificate from Western Australia before I was fully accepted into nursing training. However, no such certificate could be found. I did not have one.You see, I was born in the sand of the Great Sandy Desert in the 1940s, so instead my father recorded my birth in the station horse book. All of the other trainees could produce their birth certificates. It took a lot of explaining to the authorities that all I could produce was a rather battered baptismal certificate to show that, although I had not entered this world as a little Christian, five years later the Presbyterian Church claimed me as their own. I don’t think this was a matter of choice for my foster

In Cairns in the 1980s

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Early nursing portrait Photo courtesy L. Baldwin

parents; it was just that the travelling Presbyterian Minister happened to be visiting Normanton. I was not the only Aboriginal girl doing my training at Cairns Base Hospital.There were others who were older than me, like Margaret O’Shane, and girls who came from local areas in far north Queensland, like the Jacob sisters, who were South Sea Islanders. Some trainees were from as far away as Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Malaysia. I enjoyed my nursing training and accepted most of the rules and regulations that we junior nurses were expected to follow. Besides, spending the last two years of my school education at a church boarding school helped me to adjust to the way of life that ‘Nightingale’ trainees were expected to follow. In many ways, it closely followed that of the nuns who taught me. There were dispensations. We were allowed to go to the pictures (movies) and be back before the curfew. The rule was to be back in the nursing home by 11 p.m., and then our bedrooms were checked to make sure we did not have company sharing our beds! Our lectures were given by nursing tutors or doctors. I can remember on my first week, a tutor took me aside and pointed out that there were two sides to becoming a nurse; one was to be a bad girl and skip the lectures, the other was to learn all I could and be a good girl. Of course, these were the days in

Jilpia Jones

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Queensland when there were two types of blacks; ‘good blacks’, who cooperated with the white authorities, and ‘bad blacks’, who did not.The lecture times were adhered to by strict orders from the administration. The work timetable included broken shifts; for example, 6 a.m. to 12 p.m., then back to work at 4 p.m. until 10 p.m. If we did night duty, we still had to be awake to attend lectures, regardless of the hours we worked. I don’t believe the unions were around at that time; if they were, we nurses were not informed, nor encouraged to become union members.We even woke and went to work early just to bath our patients before breakfast, and then we’d go about making sure the beds were made and the wards were neat and tidy before the rounds. The ward rounds were accorded the right rituals such as neatness and tidiness. As well as making sure we were well groomed ourselves, we made sure the bed sheets were made with the corners tucked in and that the bed wheels were pointing straight in line.The first specialist physician at Cairns Base Hospital told me years later that he did not even notice. We even made sure that the flowers had clean water in their vases. I detested the smell of the gardenia flowers then, and I still do. I can remember one nurse who always looked as if she had just stepped out of Vogue magazine. Her hair and uniform always seemed immaculate, but her perfume reminded me of that smell. On night duty we were placed to work either in the wards or the casualty department. Some of us night nurses learnt to cook, but I was never told how the meals tasted. Sometimes the meals were of steak variety or just tinned food like baked beans. The baked beans or spaghetti reminded me of my boarding schools days. I enjoyed the drama of the casualty department, which might have brought excitement because of assisting patients in a situation of helplessness, at times covered in their own blood, gave us some control and power over them. However, we didn’t forget to administer the caring touch and comfort to those who needed it. Experience of death came early to me. In fact, I was just seventeen years of age when an old man died in my arms.That was when I learnt that death makes no distinction for age.When we are called by Our Creator, we go. One of the places I remember is the operating theatre where the medical superintendent was the chief surgeon as well as being in control of administration.Through that experience I had thought of becoming a theatre sister, but the long working conditions that included working weekends turned me off. I can remember the chief surgeon asking me if I came from a whaling station, to which I answered no, then he said, ‘By the looks of the needle and thread you are handing to me, I thought you came from

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Tumbarumba!’ He was the doctor who always stood up for us nurses, especially the Aboriginal ones. For example, there was one patient in the private ward who objected to being nursed by a black nurse, and when the incident was reported to Dr Ivan Lester, his immediate reaction was to discharge the patient, and inform the patient he did not accept racist remarks being made to his nurses. In those days, the surgeon–superintendents of Queensland provincial hospitals were all-powerful within their institutions. Dr Ivan Lester was determined that Aboriginal trainee nurses would not fail to complete their training through any lack of support and encouragement from him. During his time I can recall as many as five of us ‘blacks’ gaining our certificates in general nursing. It was an impressive achievement compared with numbers from the rest of Australia. One of those moments people never ever forget happened during my time as a nurse. On 23 November 1963, I had come off night duty and was at breakfast, when I was told that President Kennedy was shot in Dallas. I thought someone was joking. However, I soon heard on the radio that the story was true. Many nurses burst into tears. So did I.We were devastated because we were part of a generation that looked to him for a better world. During the first phase of the Vietnam War, I did not follow the war much because I was not a political thinker, and instead just thought about my career and about getting a job. In early 1966, I was invited up to Mareeba and told to bring up a nice dress and good shoes. I did not know there was to be a 21st surprise party put on by my foster mother and great friend Phyllis Gordon. It was such a happy evening. Many people there knew me as a little girl growing up in Normanton. However, the next day was to change my life forever. It also made me think that I had to finish my training and pass my exams to proceed in life. On the way back to Cairns, I was in a car accident on the Mareeba Road. I feel I was saved from death after I had earlier swapped seats to the front seat with a young boy who took my place in the back. It was an horrific smash and he had no chance of survival. He died in the Mareeba Hospital soon after the crash. On reflection, that was the turning point in my career and I guess I matured to face other obstacles. I remember the matron, although I have forgotten her name. She had such lovely skin. I think she came from a European climate. In remembering her as she was, I made sure I did not succumb to peer pressure to smoke, and to limit my alcohol intake and maintain my skin, so it remained wrinkle free. Of course, as young people we didn’t believe we were going to age! I can remember on my graduation day putting on my first nursing veil, which my dear grandmother bought for me. She attended my graduation

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with great pride. I was now a ‘Sister’. It is interesting how much prestige the term ‘Sister’ carried in those days. I remember how the late great Shirley Smith (Mum Shirl) in my Redfern days would always insist on addressing me as ‘Sister’, no matter how well we got to know each other. This was a time when we Indigenous Australians had none of the titles that came later, like Doctor, and Professor. Even Sir Douglas Nicholls and Reverend Father Dodson were in the future. On reflection, I wonder how much a confidence booster the title ‘Sister’ gave us; we certainly needed that boost in a society that didn’t always encourage us. My dear grandmother was the exception to this and encouraged me into the profession and also to raise high my ideals. Back to my graduation. Before the event, I was given a swig of brandy by one of my peers. I guess she saw it as a medicine for my nervousness, but I coped with the ceremony and was proud to wear the insignia on that day with my graduating colleagues. When the medical superintendent of Cairns Hospital handed me my certificate, he remarked that ‘the world was my oyster’. I have not forgotten that because I have made sure in my travels that those words remain true to me.‘I was not a victim’ under any circumstance. Midwifery training 1966–1967 After graduating in general nursing, I went to Port Moresby in Papua New Guinea to visit an old boarding school friend in Port Moresby, as well as a family friend down at Milne Bay.While in Milne Bay, I happened to meet a nursing sister from one of the Pacific Islands who was married to an Australian. She was working among the village people.This day we did a village visit and she went to see a patient in another part of the village.While she was away, a near-term mother’s waters broke. I panicked and ran to inform her. She threw her head back and laughed and said, ‘My dear girl, these women have been having babies this way for centuries.’ It was then I realised that I had to do my midwifery if I was going to be working among women. Later, in 1966, I entered midwifery training at the famous Crown Street Women’s Hospital in Sydney. I had also applied to the Canberra Hospital, but I was told that I did not fit their criteria. In those days, those at Canberra hospital probably regarded Cairns as the equivalent of Oodnadatta, rather than having a general hospital with the same number of beds. But then, growing up as an Aboriginal, one learns to suspect racism is really involved in any such refusal. I am sorry I did not keep that refusal letter, because 30 years later while a council member on the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies situated on Acton Peninsula,

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

I found myself meeting on the site of the hospital that had rejected me. It was a meeting place of the Ngunnawal people in the old days. In Sydney I was just a raw country girl, but soon learned the ropes of the hospital. I met many interesting girls, some were classy, while others thought they were. In fact, one of the girls later married Kamahl, the singer. On one of my days off I thought I could tackle going into this strange, huge city. I got lost and my bewildered expression must have showed on my face, because a shiny Jaguar motorcar pulled up and thank goodness I recognised the driver as one of our consultants from the hospital. He drove me back to Crown Street. I was very relieved. I soon learnt that city birthing was different to my traditional birth in the Great Sandy Desert. I felt that there was more to midwifery than mothers popping out babies under the control of the obstetrician. More disturbing for me was when we midwives were expected to delay the baby’s expulsion until the doctor arrived and how, once delivered, the infant was whisked away to the nursery – a process which inhibited any emotional contact between mother and child. There was no ceremony; the births lacked ritual to make them an important part of the human family. I, however, was born in the Great Sandy Desert and was delivered by the appropriate women of my tribe such as my grandmothers and aunties. Special rituals went with birthing that honoured the significance of grandmother’s law and grandfather’s law and the importance of belonging and being owned by that land. Training in midwifery in the major hospitals was a numbers game.You had to have 20 deliveries, and no more.There was much competition from the medical students, who were mainly men, who took up most of the deliveries. There were a lot of them. In many cultures it still is ‘women’s business’, but not in ‘mainstream’ Australia. I was on duty when one of the consultants, who happened to be my lecturer, ordered me to deliver a baby from one of his private patients. I knew that the hospital rules did not allow nurses to deliver private patients’ babies, but in that circumstance, I could not avoid his directive. The poor women had a tear and bled. I felt pretty awful about it. Besides, nurses could only do 20 deliveries and I now had 21, and had to face the music from the nursing administrators.When those administrators knew the full story, they were more sympathetic. In the end, I found it too stressful, so I transferred to the Lady Chelmsford Women’s Hospital in Bundaberg in Queensland. There I did over 100 deliveries. In fact, one of the babies that I delivered back then turned up to see me with her own child three years ago. In studying midwifery, not only did I pass my subjects, but I also felt I’d

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learned more. I believed I could work among expectant women and had social knowledge to be understanding of their predicament. Staff nurse in New Zealand I’d made friends with a New Zealand nurse at Crown Street, and went to New Zealand to spend a year with her in 1969. At the Wellington airport, I was held up for over an hour by Customs. In the end I gave them an ultimatum. I said, ‘I have friends waiting for me through that door, or there’s that Qantas plane there that just brought me, and I can go home on that.’Well, they let me through. I guess they had never seen an Aboriginal person before. After obtaining my registration from the nursing board, I found employment at Wellington Public Hospital. I was a curiosity at the hospital and on appointment it was requested I attend the matron’s office. She asked all about my background and my country. It was an exciting time for me. I was working in the cardio-thoracic unit, in which I learnt heaps. I enjoyed meeting new challenges and attending to pre- and post-operative patients. The social life was good, such as being invited to a wedding at Gore in the South Island, where I tasted for the first time smoked eel and mutton bird. I found the mutton bird very oily. As an Indigenous Australian, I did not automatically relate to Maori people, but was impressed by their ability to be on equal terms with the Pakeha. I returned to Sydney in 1970 and worked at what was then the Eastern Suburbs Hospital. That was in the 1970s when the Vietnam War was still on, and it coincided with the second wave of feminism and black radicalism in Australia inspired by the civil rights movement in the United States of America. While working at the hospital, it was requested I join a nursing corps to go to Vietnam to work with the Australian Medical Hospital. I refused the offer and told them that I wasn’t prepared to die in another country for something that as an Aboriginal person did not concern me. I had not yet developed a political consciousness. For example, the South African Springboks were in Sydney to play and they occupied a hotel/motel in Bondi Junction. I used to pass that place going to work at the hospital every day, and wondered why police were there protecting them from protestors. It didn’t take long before my consciousness was aroused and the connections between apartheid, imperialist wars in Vietnam and the conquest of my people soon became obvious. In late 1971, I was asked to work in the first community controlled Aboriginal Medical Service (AMS) in Redfern, Sydney. I was replacing another black nursing sister, Sally Goold, who had gone to Queensland.

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Before starting, I had to be interviewed by the late Fred Hollows, who at the time was one of the directors.Wearing my best designer gear, I went into the interview and met the great professor. He took one look at me and barked, ‘Have yer ever been in a blacks’ camp?’ He probably thought this too well-groomed, genteel creature would retreat from her application. Instead, the creature barked back that she was born in one! His jaw dropped. I got the job. It was a shock to move from the atmosphere of a large public hospital to a run-down, rat-infested, inner city building in poverty stricken Redfern. However, any challenges and struggles were faced head on.The AMS was assisted by many dedicated black people who realised this was the only way to take control of their lives. Names like Mum Shirl spring to my mind. She gave me sound advice. ‘Sister Baldwin,’ she would say, ‘if a women comes up to you to mind her child, don’t be sucked in. I was, and I am still waiting for the bastards. I reared fourteen of those kids.’ She had a heart of gold and I loved working with her, as she taught me much about the social aspects of Redfern life. Many dedicated white doctors such as the late Professor Fred Hollows and Dr John Thompson, who later became my husband, worked at Redfern. Many people, black and white, worked voluntarily to address the needs of black health and social justice. The Indigenous Australians in all of their lands were suffering from the ills of white dispossession, but those ills were not being addressed by the current health system. At that time, governments had no intention of diverting funds to organisations run by ‘black radicals’.We had no money. I can remember I rang up a drug company to order antibiotics and then had to tell them we had no finances to pay for them.That was the introduction to many drug reps coming in and stocking up my supplies each week without asking for money. Multinational drug companies certainly helped us a lot back then. At Redfern, a breakfast programme was established, and many cereal companies gave supplies of breakfast foods for the children before they went to school. Other charities delivered goods.The Sydney Markets, then at Newmarket, would give us free vegetables. In fact, some Aboriginal women we dealt with did not know how to cook vegetables; or if they did, simmered them in a stew for so long that many of the essential nutrients were destroyed. One poor woman left a green capsicum on the windowsill for a week to wait till it turned red. Responding to a real need, I delegated the chore of teaching about cooking to a lovely women from the north shore named Kim Simmons, nee Dwyer, who assured me she could cook. On Saturday mornings, she and

Jilpia Jones

In 1972, while working at the Aboriginal Medical Service (AMS) in Sydney, I entered the Miss Australia Quest to raise money for the AMS

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Mum Shirl would go around the Redfern suburbs and show women how to cook vegetables, as well as supplying them with fresh fruit and vegetables. I also remember when an old white man dressed in old ragged clothes come into the clinic, asking what we were doing. After being showed around and being given a cup of tea, he handed me a cheque. I refused, as I thought he looked as poor as the people here, but he insisted. I did not look at the cheque until the afternoon. It was for $1000. I guess you should never judge a book by its cover! I also ran for the Miss Australia Quest that same year because half the money raised would go to the AMS. During this time, I met all types of people and saw all sorts of lives and it provided the social and political education I needed to prepare for the future struggle that I was to encounter. Later in 1972, I had the privilege to attend Inma (corroboree) in northern South Australia at a place called Mimili, along with Dr Ferry Grunseit and Dr John Mackay. The Aboriginal people requested that they had their own Aboriginal medical services to work for their health, and so began a collaboration between us and Northern Territory Health.We worked quite well with the Northern Territory staff day and night. It was very hot, but we coped. This was my first corroboree since I was removed from my country as a child.The more I saw the old people performing their dances and rituals, I began to remember my childhood and to ask questions of an old man from the Kimberley about my people. I became aware that something strong was stirring me, and the more I saw the Inma and the rituals, I knew I was going to meet my people, but not just yet. While there I met an old white man sitting down on the ground eating kangaroo. I did not know him at the time but he offered help saying, ‘Any time you need financial help, call me.’ A month later I applied for a bank loan to pay for my airfare to Europe, but was refused by the branch manager. He needed a guarantor for me. After all, being a woman in those days suggested relative unreliability, and being black as well meant absolute unreliability.Then I remembered the old man at the Inma, so I mentioned

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

his name to the bank manager. His face went ashen and the drug rep who was with me said, ‘Marjorie, do know who he is?’ ‘No,’ I said, ‘I just met him at the Inma.’ Then the rep told me that he was the Governor of the Reserve Bank! The next day, the manager rang me to say I could have the loan. He offered me more than I asked for, but I told him I did not want a penny more than I had requested. Now, I always remember that old man on the ground eating kangaroo when I sit in the Coombs Lecture Theatre at the Australian National University. On return from my overseas trip, I applied for a job at the St George Hospital. In my interview, I was asked what school I attended. I replied that I went to a church school run by Church of England nuns and the University of Life.With that I was given a nursing job. I enjoyed working in surgery and each surgeon had their own set way to apply procedures to their patients, but after three years I was ready to move on, so I bought a ticket for an overseas holiday. I did not need to see any bank manager! On reflection, my nursing provided me with the tools of dedication, discipline and commitment. Nursing at the AMS provided me with a sense of the social and political history of my people, as well as being part of a new beginning of making choices and being in control of all that we do.

”

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

ED D (HA RVA RD)

Beyond expectations: From nursing to academia

M

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Professor MaryAnn Bin-Sallik EDD (HARVARD)

atrilineally, I am of the Djaru nation. Our land is in the east Kimberley region of Western Australia and includes the famous Bungle Bungles tourist attraction. My Aboriginality is one that has been constructed from lived, shared, cultural and historical experiences, which have been both rich and proud, though painful at times, but very peculiar to Indigenous Australians. I am currently a professor of Aboriginal Studies and the Dean of Indigenous Education and Research at the Charles Darwin University in the Northern Territory of Australia. I left Darwin in 1974 as a nursing sister and returned in 2001 as a professor. My journey into higher education and success as an academic was made possible through the rigors of my nursing background. The regimental nature of nursing taught me discipline, how to stay focused, how to be task oriented, reach goals and celebrate accomplishments, irrespective of how big or small they are. Nursing gave me the start I needed professionally and the courage to do whatever I wanted to and succeed. I now live and work in Darwin permanently. My two daughters, their husbands and my six grandchildren are all living here and life for me could not be better.

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Community background I was born in Broome on the land of the Yaharu people as a result of my grandmother, her siblings and other relatives and members of the Djaru language group being forcibly removed from their families and community early last century, to be placed in Catholic institutions run by the St John of God Irish nuns and German Palatine priests. As my grandmother remained in the Kimberly region, contact with her kin and clan was made much easier than other members of the Stolen Generations, who were sent to lands unknown to them across Australia. This led to our family being able to maintain family and kinship relationships. My mother and her two sisters were also institutionalised in Broome into the same institution as their mother, Mary Sariago, upon her early death, while her two brothers remained with their Filipino father, Dorotheo Sariago. I spent the first nine years of my life surrounded by my immediate and large extended family in Broome. In 1950, my family moved to Darwin, which is located on the land of the Larrakia people, where a significant number of our biological and classificatory kin had been integrated into the Darwin Aboriginal community. Moving to Darwin was no accident. My father was an Asian pearl diver who came to Broome to work in the pearling industry under the indentured labour scheme, like hundreds of other Asian men. My father was born in Java, Indonesia, and as a young child accompanied his parents to Borneo and then to Singapore where he was raised. Because he was indentured to the pearling industry, he could work only in that industry and consequently could live only in one of Australia’s three pearling towns of Broome in Western Australia, Darwin in the Northern Territory, and Thursday Island in the Torres Strait. My parents decided on moving to Darwin because it was the closest to Broome. However, it was not unusual for the Aboriginal peoples of the northern regions of the Northern Territory and the Kimberley to interact because of their geographic proximity. Interaction commenced well before European presence in Australia. More important, however, are our kinship ties from the Dreaming, which have bonded many of the language groups. Because of this, and the fact that I spent my formative and early adult years in Darwin, many of the people within the Indigenous Australian community here, as well as in Broome, consider me as being part of their community through classificatory, sanguine and affinitive kinship ties coupled with shared cultural and historical experiences. Growing up during both the segregation and assimilation eras, I was not allowed to speak my own language, or any other Aboriginal language. A lot of the subject matter taught to me at school was a contradiction to what

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was taught to me at home and within my community.We were constantly being told that we had to emulate the non-Aboriginal people and customs, as our ways were primitive.This was an everyday dilemma of growing up as an Aborigine at that time. As an Aboriginal child and adolescent growing up in Darwin, I also witnessed that the adults from our community, including my parents, were not allowed to join in many of the social activities of the wider community. Therefore, our community formed its own club called the Sunshine Club. This club was also politically motivated and had an alliance with the Federal Council of Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders (FCAATSI), which was a major force in bringing about the 1967 referendum that resulted in Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people being counted in the reckoning of the Australian population, and in the responsibilities for Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders being given to the Federal Government of Australia. Schooling I started my primary education at the Catholic school run by the St John of God nuns in Broome and continued with a Catholic education in Darwin with the Sisters of the Sacred Heart where I completed primary school. In Darwin in the late 1950s, all the boys sat for apprenticeships and we girls were expected to go into domestic service. I had seen so many Aboriginal women, some of whom were my relatives, spend most of their days cleaning up white people’s houses, and do their washing and ironing, too, and in between times they tended to their own homes and family.This was during the time when there were no washing machines in Darwin, and I had trouble helping my mother doing the family washing, especially carting firewood for the copper to boil our clothes. I had to do this in between doing my school work and playing netball and hockey. When I told my mother that I did not want to be a domestic servant, she assured me that domestic service would not be my fate as I was going to be a secretary. She then told me that she and dad had decided that they were going to send me to boarding school so I could get a better education, and realise her dream for me to be a private secretary. I had other ideas. I wanted to be a nurse. By the time I was ready for high school my father was no longer working in the pearl diving industry (though this is another story); he was driving trucks, and my mother, whose decision it was to send me to boarding school, had to find a way to increase our family income, because there were no Aboriginal education grants in those days. Mum, who had her own milk bar, called a squash shop in Broome, and who also ran a small fishing business there, came up with the idea of turning our family car into a taxi. She

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

was the first Aboriginal women owner taxi driver in Darwin.We were living at Winnellie, a very poor part of Darwin that did not have a corner store, so she turned a part of our house into a smaller version of the corner store. Mum worked the shop and taxi with the help of some of our relatives during the day, and when dad got home from driving trucks all day, he drove the taxi.With this extra income my parents were able to send my foster brother Albert and me to boarding school in Adelaide. Albert went to Rostrevor College and I to Mercedes College run by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy. My mother was a very resourceful and determined women and I have drawn my strength from her. My parents also told me that I was as good as anyone else and this was something that I am grateful for as I internalised this at a very early age, and believe this has been one of my major strengths. Although, at times it did waver under pressure, but I am very resilient. Nursing I loved boarding school. I had three wonderful years there and made some very good friends and was to return for a fourth year when my father was taken ill. So, both my foster brother and I decided we would leave school to get jobs to help our parents should dad’s condition worsen, which it did. I told my parents that I had made up my mind to train as a nurse. Much to my surprise, my parents would not give me their consent and, because I was not yet 21, I had to live by their rules, as life was different in those days. I was absolutely devastated. Mum said that they did not lovingly save and slave to send me to boarding school to make a living out of cleaning up other people’s mess.What she really meant was cleaning up the body waste of strangers.They had had their hearts set on me being a private secretary. This was in the 1950s when very few Aborigines had what were perceived to be nice, clean desk jobs.This was my parents’ dream for me. Some of my close friends from primary school had got jobs in the typing pool of government departments and my mother had tried to encourage me to do the same. I was determined not be a ‘private secretary’, which is what is now known as a personal assistant. I did nothing about seeking employment. I tried so hard to explain to my parents, to no avail, that I was not the type to sit at a desk all day. I had to move about, otherwise I would get bored. My mother in turn tried to explain to me that nursing was no different from domestic service and the very thing I said that I would never do. Of course, I disagreed with her.We came to an impasse. So, I sat at home and ate icecream after ice-cream from our shop, and spent my days talking on the telephone and playing my favourite songs from The Platters album, as well as Elvis Presley’s hit songs ‘Heart Break Hotel’, ‘Jail House Rock’ and ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ on the stereogram. It must have driven my parents mad!

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

Left : Student nurse Bin-Sallik, 1958, aged 17 years Right : Sister MaryAnn Bin-Sallik, aged 21, graduation, 8 December 1961

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However, on weekends I wasn’t to be seen, I was out jiving and rock ‘n’ rolling with my friends. I had come back from boarding school carrying a few extra pounds and by the end of two months of ice-cream eating and idleness I was steadily growing rounder. My poor parents did not know what to do. One day my father said to me, ‘You need to go to the hospital to see the matron.’ ‘Why? I’m not sick,’ I replied. Dad replied, ‘No, but you need to get a job.’ Absolutely flabbergasted, I asked, ‘Am I now allowed to go nursing? If so, I don’t want to nurse in Darwin, I want to go to Adelaide and train at the Royal Adelaide Hospital where some of my friends from boarding school are going to train.’ Just then my mother came bounding around the corner and in no uncertain terms said to me, ‘MaryAnn, if you are determined to make a living out of cleaning people’s backsides, you will start with your own people in Darwin. Otherwise you can forget it, girl!’ I wasn’t going to argue with her. I had already pushed my parents to the limit and just getting their permission to go nursing was a big win.That was the last time I was ever disobedient to either of my parents. Within a week I had an appointment with the matron of the Darwin Hospital. The matron was impressed. I’ve always been a good talker, who knows when, and when not, to lay it on! I told her that I had completed an intermediate certificate from Mercedes College in Adelaide, but I did not

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

tell her that I had my results and they were not so good. Mum and dad didn’t even have this information. The matron told me to come back as soon as I had my results and I could start my training. I then told her that I was willing to sit the nurses’ entry exam, which I already knew I could pass with no effort as I had done my research. The matron said it would be a waste of my time and why didn’t I just wait until my I got my results? I had to think quickly. So I told her that my mother did not want me to be a nurse and that she had only just given me permission to go nursing a few days earlier after two months of tension, and that she was likely to change her mind and withdraw permission. This worked like a charm. Matron arranged for me to sit the entrance exam the next day, and within a week I was Nurse MaryAnn Bin-Sallik at the age of seventeen years, and started nursing on 3 February 1958 – or so I thought. Some four years later, on receiving my nursing certificate, the finish date read 8 February. When I questioned the date, I was told that for the first week the hospital was monitoring my work to see if I was suitable to nursing. They never did this to the other nurses. But then, they were not ‘black’. It obviously was a given that they would be suitable. I can remember my parents taking me to the nurses’ quarters. It was to be my new home for the next four years. It was on a Sunday night after mass. I was to start work in the children’s ward at 9 a.m. the next day. On arrival at the nurses’ quarters, I was shown to my room, given some uniforms and shown how to fold my nurse’s cap for the next day. I was so excited. I was floating on cloud nine. Mum wasn’t happy. She had tried to talk the matron into letting me live at home, but in those days it was compulsory for nurses to live at the designated nurses’ quarters.This suited me. I was not about to live at home any longer than I had to. I had been at boarding school for three years and had become quite independent, and nothing or nobody was going to stop me from achieving my goal to become a nurse. My life as an adult was about to begin. But, I was in for a big, big, shock. I had been sheltered by boarding school, and by a very conservative Adelaide for the past three years, and here I was starting my training in Darwin, Australia’s frontier capital.The Darwin Hospital did not have the mandatory six weeks’ preliminary training school (PTS) like other training schools. Therefore, everything was learned on the job, so to speak. For instance, it was not uncommon for nurses to ask patients how the previous nurse did their wound dressings. I remember giving my first injection. I was shown by a nurse who was junior to me but who had obviously been shown how to give injections before I got to that particular ward. Anyway, I was so nervous, I kept worrying that I would hit the patient’s sciatic nerve

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

29

and render him paralysed in the leg. I was so relieved when the injection was a success and needless to say it gave me confidence. I never worried about hitting a patient’s sciatic nerve until about fourteen years later while working as a nursing sister in the outpatients’ department at Darwin Hospital. I had to give a patient a muscular injection in the buttock. He was a shy, middle-aged man who refused to lower his trousers to the ideal level for giving injections and, because he was shy, I did not insist and managed to give the injection comfortably, or so I thought. However, as I watched him leave the cubicle I noticed he was dragging his leg. Obviously I had an obsession with sciatic nerves, and I thought to myself, ‘Oh no! I’ve hit the sciatic nerve!’ Panic set in immediately. I rushed up to him and said, ‘Are you okay? You are limping.’ He looked at me and said, with a smile, ‘It’s okay sister, I have a wooden leg.’ I was too relieved to be embarrassed, but I certainly dined out on that story for a long time and got mileage plus, plus! I can, to this day, vividly remember my first day as a student nurse, and arriving at the children’s ward at 9 a.m. and the night sister asking me if I knew how to bath a baby. I told her that I had lots of little cousins whom I had bathed over the years. She said, ‘Good, you can bath the baby in cot eleven. I was so excited until I found cot eleven.The seven-month-old baby girl was covered from head to toes in faeces. She must have been in that state for hours as it was caked to her delicate baby skin. All I wanted to do was to be sick. I dry retched like it was going out of fashion, but successfully bathed the infant without disgracing myself. The memory and smell of that incident has never faded. I soon realised that starting work on my first day at 9 a.m. would my first and only luxury for the next six months. I was rostered on from 6 a.m. to 3.30 p.m. for my first six months. Not to mention, none of the other nurses were subjected to such a gruelling roster. In my second week, I had my first lecture scheduled for 10 a.m., so I brought my textbook back to the ward after breakfast and asked the sister where to store it. She replied, ‘In the pan room; that’s your office for the next six months, nurse.’ And so it was. To get a better appreciation of the frontier culture, and primitiveness of the hospital in the late 1950s, one needs to know how patients were segregated in the hospital wards, especially the Aboriginal patients.Ward 3 was referred to as the ‘native ward’ or the ‘full-blood ward’, meaning that it was only for Aboriginal patients who were not of mixed ancestry. In reality, hospital personnel sent many people there on the basis of their dark complexions, some of whom I knew were of mixed ancestry but preferred to be in Ward 3. But, of course, the white health professionals thought they knew everything. One of the saddest things I witnessed happened to a dear

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

old Aboriginal woman who was an absolute lady, and lived near my parents. She was admitted to Ward 3, but she had what was called her ‘citizen rights’, which meant that she was exempt from being classified as an Aborigine, and in turn exempted from being placed in Ward 3. She was so upset and kept appealing to me to do something about it. At that stage, I was just a first-year nurse with no authority.The only thing I could think of doing was to tell my mother as she was a very assertive woman and was not afraid of anyone. Within no time, the patient was transferred to Ward 4, which was the women’s ward where she should have been admitted in the first place. After she was discharged from hospital she delivered a huge bunch of native water lilies that she picked from one of the lagoons near Darwin to my parents’ home for me to enjoy on my day off duty. Ward 3 consisted of three buildings.The first and largest building was for medical, surgical, antenatal, postnatal, and infectious disease patients, including leprosy, with men up one end and women the other and children in the centre of the building.The second building was very primitive in that it was made of corrugated iron and was designated for tuberculosis (TB) patients. It was walled down the centre, and accommodated men at one end and women at the other, and was locked at night so the patients could not abscond.The third building was really a one-room cellblock called the refractory and was able to take one violent mentally ill patient at a time. It was not until about early 1960 that Ward 7 was officially opened to accommodate the male patients, including TB patients, while Ward 3 retained the women and children. All other patients, including Aborigines who were of mixed ancestry, were housed in the other wards, because this period was the period where it was predicted that the ‘full-bloods’ would die out, and to make this easier, it was an offence for anyone else to consort with them. On the other hand, those of us who were from interracial marriages or unions were expected to be assimilated into the wider society and hopefully marry into the lower class white people, according to Charles Rowley’s (1972) book Outcastes in White Australia. But, of course, this did not happen. In fact, I believe that Indigenous Australians’ biggest victory ever was to resist the government’s assimilation policy. Ward 1 was a men’s ward for patients who were suffering from mental illness or infectious diseases;Ward 2 was for the male medical and surgical patients;Ward 4 was for the female medical and surgical patients;Ward 5 was the maternity ward; and Ward 6 was for children, whether they were medical, surgical or suffering from an infectious disease. In the first two years, I spent most my time working in the ‘native ward’ and the children’s ward. I enjoyed working in these wards, but I must admit that there were things in the ‘native ward’ that I found very upset-

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

31

ting. For instance, Aboriginal women were sterilised without their permission.Very few of these women could speak English and therefore did not understand what was happening to them, and yet, after giving birth to their babies, they were sterilised on the basis that some of their previous children had died from gastroenteritis.This was not their fault. It was the living conditions provided to them by the then Department of Native Affairs. Another horrible thing I had witnessed was that, in most instances, when Aboriginal children died in the middle of the night, the doctors would not get out of bed to examine them and certify their death. What used to happen was the child would be placed in grey army blankets and left on the cement floor in a corner of the ward until the doctor came on duty at 8 a.m. Despite all this, I continued to enjoy nursing and especially all the things I learned practically and academically.‘Anatomy and physiology’ was my favourite subject, and what I learned in this subject has been useful to me ever since. In my senior years, when I got to work in the operating theatre and the casualty department, I was in my element.Theatre was another new world to me; peering into the human body and actually seeing live functioning organs was awesome. But, my favourite part of nursing was the casualty department. Because the hospital was always short staffed, the student nurses were able to undertake duties that our southern counterparts were not permitted to without the strictest of supervision. For instance, we sutured wounds (and, in particular, facial wounds), syringed ears, and removed foreign objects from eyes in our second, third and fourth years without supervision, as well as doing a whole host of other duties. In many instances, we had to teach the new nursing sisters who came up from southern hospitals some of these tasks. Consequently, Darwin Hospital had the reputation of training very good practical nurses. In essence I have to say that I really enjoyed my training at Darwin Hospital. It had its moments but gave me good discipline and it toughened me up in terms of not letting anyone or any incident get in the way of me completing my training. I often smile to myself when I reflect on how naive I was at seventeen years. I remember one day sitting in the nurses’ quarters talking to the other nurses and, to my surprise, I learned that at the end of my four years’ training I would be a nursing sister; somewhere in the back of my mind I thought that there was another four-year training episode. This new piece of information was so encouraging. One of my strengths, I think, is that I am good at discipline and at focusing on tasks, and setting incremental goals and celebrating each goal along the way. My goal for completing my nursing was the eligibility to live in the sisters’ quarters, as it was the newest and most modern building in Darwin back then. So,

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

every time I passed it, which was often, I used to say to myself, ‘That is where I will be living soon, very, very, soon.’ I always saw myself as an average student, so you can imagine my surprise when I topped my class in the surgical nursing exams in my final year and went on to become the first Aborigine to graduate from the Darwin Hospital as a general nurse. My nursing certificate, which I still have, is Number 17. Nursing in Darwin was the best decision my mother had ever made for me, because three weeks after I started nursing, my father was hospitalised for eleven months, and I was close at hand to visit and keep an eye on him and how he was being treated. It was not long before both mum and dad were glad that I had chosen nursing as my profession. I shall always be grateful to them for allowing me that freedom. I loved nursing and I was especially at home among my own people. Further, as most of the domestics, gardeners and grounds persons were Aborigines or Torres Strait Islanders, I was given so much support.There were times when the racism had got the better of me and I had these people who gave all the love and support that I needed to stay the distance. This is what being Aboriginal meant to me.This is when I learnt how much love there is in our community. There was no way those people were going to let me drop out. For example, my aunt, mum’s sister, and her friend, who were the domestics in the nurses’ quarters, made sure my room was spick and span and my bed made properly for matron’s weekly inspections. Another Aboriginal lady who worked in the children’s ward used to make sponges for morning teas on those mornings when I had to start work at 6 a.m. Others would say, ‘No, you are not going to drop out.You have to keep going.’ On completing my training, I got a job as a nursing sister at Hooker Creek Aboriginal Reserve, now known as Lajumanu, in the Tanami Desert. There were only two of us working there. By the time that I arrived, the other sister had already started training the women from the community to help dress wounds in the clinic.They were the early version of the Aboriginal health worker.The clinic was part of a six-bed hospital, but we had no doctor, so we had to make some very hard and fast decisions.There was no telephone or television, and we communicated with the Katherine Hospital by two-way radio.Working there was a rich experience in that there was no resident doctor there and all patient negotiations had to be done via the two-way radio.This meant that doctors had to rely on us to make the decisions about a patient’s condition being critical enough to warrant air evacuation to either the Katherine or Darwin Hospitals by the Royal Flying Doctor Service. I have very fond memories of working there among the Walpiri people during 1962. I visited Lajumanu in 2003, and renewed many acquaintances.

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

33

Some of the old women, who used to bring me witchetty grubs after a hunting and gathering expedition when I lived there, wanted to know about my eldest daughter, who was conceived there in the area of the Mosquito Dreaming.They gave me a T-shirt of that Dreaming. In 1963, I returned to work in the casualty ward, outpatients’ department and clinics of the Darwin Hospital, where I worked until 1972. I was hooked on the drama of casualty, where every shift was full of surprises. You did not know from one minute to the next what would happen, and we had to think quickly on our feet. I thoroughly enjoyed the adrenaline rush it gave me, whether it was working with patients in cardiac arrest, with severe burns, or in bad accident cases; you name it, I enjoyed it.This was a skill that I mastered and has held me in good stead ever since. In 1972, I was invited by the resident neurosurgeon to work as his receptionist nurse in his new practice. I had worked in his clinics in outpatients and enjoyed that type of work. I was lucky, because he was excellent to work for and a brilliant surgeon from whom I learned so much. In late February 1974, I arrived back in Darwin after spending two months in Europe, and decided it was time for me to leave Darwin and make a new life for my two girls and myself. At first I thought it would be easy to get a nursing job in Adelaide, but I was in for a rude awakening! For nine months I was unable to obtain a suitable nursing position, let alone any jobs cleaning, washing cars or even cooking fish and chips.The girls and I shared a dilapidated house, which was about to be demolished, with a friend and her children. We even sat on the floor to have our meals. This was all too much for me. I was not used to this sort of lifestyle. Consequently, I decided to give up nursing, but only temporarily, until I got on my feet. I had spent seventeen years in the nursing profession and loved every minute of it and was not about to throw it down the drain permanently. But it was not to be. I never returned to nursing. My mother was so disappointed that I had given it up. She tried to get me to reconsider my decision, but there was no going back for me. Academia In 1975, I commenced working at the former South Australian Institute of Technology (SAIT) as the counsellor to the first Aboriginal higher education programme in the country, and consequently I was the first Aborigine employed full time in this sector. I have been involved in Indigenous Australian higher education ever since. After a year working within the higher education sector, I realised that I could make a better contribution to our plight as a people within higher education than I could do nursing. Together with a number of other Indigenous Australians, I was in the

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Left : Sister MaryAnn Bin-Sallik, Darwin Hospital, 1960s Right : Professor MaryAnn Bin-Sallik at Charles Darwin University in her Harvard Doctoral robes

forefront of the development of a totally new field of endeavour. I have structured my career around attempting to overcome the effects of social and political disadvantage of Indigenous Australians through higher education by successfully working towards: (a) increasing the numbers of Indigenous Australian enrolments within the higher education sector; (b) contributing to the development of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander studies as a multidisciplinary area of study, including the development and incorporation of their knowledge and ways of knowing and doing; and (c) giving encouragement and provisions to increase Indigenous Australian enrolments in the sciences. I commenced work in academia as a lecturer A, which is the bottom range and have systematically worked up to the position of professor. I have both a Masters degree in education administration and a Doctorate from Harvard University. I remember when I was accepted into Harvard University to undertake my Masters degree, I phoned my mother in Darwin all excited about my news. At first there was silence over the phone, and then she said, ‘How more high you want to go now? You still can’t make up your mind what you want to be.’ This response was from a person who usually spoke the ‘Queen’s English’, so to speak, except for occasions when she really wanted to make a point. I just accepted that she did not understand me and I did not understand her position. Immediately before leaving Ade-

MaryAnn Bin-Sallik

35

laide for the United States, I went to Darwin for my eldest daughter’s wedding and, on returning to Adelaide to pack up to leave for the States, my mother and other members of my family came to see me off at the airport. Well, I have to say, this was the first time I had seen my mother lose composure in public. She wailed like I had never heard before. We were all dumbstruck; this was not typical behaviour for her. I was to spend four years in the United States. After the first year, during the northern hemisphere summer vacation, I visited Darwin to see my daughter, first grandchild and, of course, my mother. She was happy that I had come home with a Masters degree, but was not so happy that I was going back to continue with Doctoral studies. Anyway, on leaving Darwin, I asked her not to come to the airport because I did not want to have to witness her wailing like the previous year, and her response was,‘Oh, that was because I thought you might fail and I was feeling sorry for you.’ So, this is when I realised that she really did not want me to go to Harvard University because she thought I might fail and was worried how I would cope with failure. She was only trying to protect me. Anyway, she made it up to me in her own way by saving up to buy me my Doctoral robes. So, every time I don them, which is usually at graduation ceremonies, I think of her and how lucky I was to have such a strong mother, loving parents, and was raised in a community that cared about me.

”

Ros Pierce Nursing: In my heart and in my blood

My story is dedicated to my husband, daughter and granddaughter.

I

“

I am passionate about my work in promoting sexual health within our communities

am a Ngarrindjeri woman, and my people are traditional owners of land around the Coorong in the upper south-east of South Australia. Since a very early age, I have had it in my heart and blood to do nursing. I left school at the age of seventeen and entered the nursing profession by undertaking a hospital-based program at the South Coast District Hospital. I absolutely loved hands-on hospital-based nursing. I formed many friendships through my work, but have also worked with racist and judgemental co-workers. As a student nurse, I sometimes found myself fielding accusations based purely on race. There was one nurse who held the view that if anything went wrong, or went missing, the focus should be on me. I always had to justify where I was and what I was doing. I was hurt and felt oppressed, but I continued my training. However, for me the straw that broke the camels back was when I was accused of stealing a bracelet. I had actually found that bracelet in the washing machine and was about to return it, when I was falsely accused of taking it from another nurse’s room. I was called to the matron’s office and given the third degree. I was angry and upset that no one believed me, including matron. I told her to stick her hospital, and left. My experiences meant that I strived to work extra hard to prove that I was a good nurse. The clients and patients, though, loved the little extra care I gave to them.

Ros Pierce

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From the South Coast District Hospital, I packed up my gear and went to Adelaide to meet and get to know my family again. I had been removed from my family when I was very small and was fostered out to a nonIndigenous family. Life in this foster home was not easy. If any rules were broken, I would be beaten with anything that was in reach. That included the old copper stick. Later in life, I spent about two to three years in limbo, trying to get to know my Aboriginal family. I had been bought up being told all my life that Aboriginal people were ‘no hopers, drunks and useless’. My blood family may have had a few too many drinks at times, but I was able to see the other side of my people.They were so caring, and they shared. I learned the importance of family and what being part of a family meant. About eight years ago, I found out that my blood family wanted to take over my care when I was small. The fact that the welfare system did not allow that made me bitter and angry. During my stay in Adelaide, I met a guy with whom I lived for a few years. I broke off this relationship due to violence. I was pregnant, and at the age of nineteen gave birth to a beautiful daughter. My baby was premature and very sick and remained in hospital for about two months after birth.While in hospital, her father came to bathe and feed her. He fell in love with her. He asked me to marry him for the sake of his child, but I said ‘NO’ because of the violence and, at that time, he was living with another woman. I reared my child virtually on my own. When I went out, my family would care for her. My drinking eased, but it was still a big part of my life. Eventually, I got tired of being stuck in a rut, and nursing was still in my blood. Right or wrong, I wanted to be a nurse. I applied to the Royal Adelaide Hospital (RAH) to do my enrolled nursing. I completed my training at the Northfield Wards, which were then part of the RAH. I worked as an EN for a few years. However, caring for a child, still drinking regularly and trying to work, all got too much for me. I eventually gave up my job and stayed at home with my child and with family members. I remained in this situation (a rut) for about ten years and drank heavily. During this time, I was allocated housing. My brother’s two children were in my care. They were around my daughter’s age, with only a couple of years between all three of them. One morning, I woke up looked around me and said, ‘What have I got?’ My answer was, ‘Nothing.’ Yes, it was true that I had a roof over my head, there was food in the cupboard, clothes for the kids and we had gas and electricity. To some people that was okay, but to me, it wasn’t. There was something really missing. Then it hit me.We had accumulated all the

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

material things in life, but one important thing wasn’t there. What was missing was love, understanding or truly caring for myself, and for my kids. I got up one morning, still sick from drinking the day before, walked to the phone box and rang my older brother at Murray Bridge. As soon as I heard his voice, I broke down and cried. I told him that I was ready to make some major changes in my life. He came down and picked us all up and took us to the Aboriginal rehabilitation farm known as Kalparrin. I lived at Kalparrin for about fourteen months. During this time, I did a lot of voluntary work. I had forgotten when I went to Murray Bridge to put my name down at Centrelink for work. One day, after returning to the farm from Murray Bridge, the director said to me that I had been contacted by a woman in Murray Bridge. I rang and found out that she was the manager of the community housing and family violence centre. I made an appointment to see her the next day. She took one look at me and said, ‘You will do.’ I worked there for about two years and loved it. One day my cousin came to see me and told me that there were places put aside for Indigenous Australians to do degrees at university. I enquired, applied and was accepted to do a Bachelor of Nursing degree. I could see my life moving forward. I moved to Adelaide and stayed in a hostel for about eighteen months. During this time, my daughter, at the age of nineteen, gave birth to her daughter. My daughter had been in a relationship with her daughter’s father for about four years. There were a lot of social issues. I supported my granddaughter whenever I could. I would have her with me when I didn’t have to go to university. I then moved into a two-bedroom flat near the university.When I got the flat, I tried through welfare to get custody of my granddaughter. I wanted my ‘granny’ with me all the time, so I got myself a lawyer and we went to the Family Court. This was the most hurtful time I can remember in my life, but in the end, I got custody. The Aboriginal legal service in South Australia would not assist me because it presented a conflict because two Aboriginal people were fighting each other through the courts. I ended up forking out over $6000 for legal representation. It caused conflict between myself and my daughter. Here I was, caring for my ‘granny’, going to university, and maintaining a flat, but this time it was different. I had grown. I gave my ‘granny’ the love and care she deserved. I wish I knew how to love earlier in my life when my daughter was small. I continued with my studies, graduated, and started my nursing career at the Brian Burdekin Clinic located in the inner city area. I worked as a community nurse with the homeless and with people with addiction prob-

Ros Pierce

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Here I am with a colleague, Frances Rigney (right), at SHine SA. Together we work on promoting sexual health within our communities

lems. Again, I loved the one-to-one care of my patients. I left there and worked in a remote community for about six months. Once again, I enjoyed the one-to-one work, but felt that I was not reaching our people and that the key was education. I was forever dealing with ill people. I guess that’s all we see as nurses when working in institutions or in our communities. We rarely see our patients or clients when they are well. I wanted to do something different. Later, I came to work at SHine SA (Sexual Health information, networking and education SA). I am still here today. Although still a nurse, the focus of my career is dramatically different from where I began. My job is co-ordinating the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander female sexual health course for workers for our communities. It is a six-day accredited course. I love this work because I am able to see changes within our communities after workers have completed the course and gained their ‘Statement of Attainment’. Even if they do not complete the assessment, I still know they have learnt valuable information, and I know that if they see or hear something in the community that is fictional, they will speak out and instead state the facts.We must eliminate the myths. I am very grateful to my co-workers, team leaders and our CEO (Kaisu Vartto) for their understanding and support over the years. SHine SA is a great place to work, and I know through this organisation, and through my work, I can help to make a difference. Thanks for enabling me to share my story with you all. I feel it is important to tell most of my story because a lot of people think that I have had an easy life and things were handed to me on a platter.The truth is, I had to pull myself together. I had to work hard for what I have today. My advice to our communities and our young people today is that you can do anything, and be what you want to be in the world today. I am proof of that.

”

Faye Ryan

(nee Clarke)

Something that helped others

M

“

y name is Faye Clarke and I am a Koori/Nunga woman. I was born in Melbourne, but my family came from elsewhere. My grandfather came from the Gunditjmara and Wotjaboluk people and my grandmother from the Muandik and Ngarrindjeri people in the south-east of South Australia. My grandmother had grown up in times that were a lot more difficult. When her mother left them, grandma had to raise her younger siblings for a while until an aunty took them in. All the while they knew to keep a low profile and keep out of the way of the welfare so the younger ones wouldn’t be taken. I think this had a big influence on her view that we didn’t have to tell anyone about our Aboriginality and to just keep our business to ourselves. It would have been a bit hard when all the kids were black as anything! My mum was born at Numerkah, near Shepparton, which is where her family were living at the time.They later moved to Creswick. With conflicting ideas about my Aboriginality and growing up in the 1970s when there was a lot of racism and rednecks in the country, it took a while to really understand and be comfortable with my identity. Growing up in Creswick near Ballarat I was often on the edge of fitting in. Not quite white enough, not quite black enough, to fit in anywhere. These days it doesn’t matter because people are much more ready to accept Aboriginal people, and are less likely to stereotype you. However, given that I am not obviously Aboriginal I am often privy to a few less than choice comments ignorant people make in public about our people.That affects me, too. Since a teenager I had wanted to do something that helped others. I initially set out to do social work or psychology and completed a Bachelor of Arts in 1984. I never went any further with it. I got a job in the public service because I was sick of being broke and then married and had three beautiful children. The public service fitted my needs, which included being able to work part time, and it kept me going financially. For ten years I worked for social security and then left to work in home and community care for our local

Faye Ryan

Left : On duty during training Right : The wonderful reward for all the hard work came on graduation day

41

Aboriginal co-operative. I soon realised that I could contribute so much more to my community than vacuuming floors. At about this time my marriage ended, and when the time was right, I went back to school at the age of 36 and started my Bachelor of Nursing through the Australian Catholic University. It was pretty tough at times. Learning science for the first time was excruciating and I thought I would never understand chemistry and physics, but with the help of other students and a tutor, I got through. What a boost to know that I achieved a pass in science! I found the essays and things not too bad as I had studied before, and knew what academic writing was all about. However, I never really felt confident until I got that pass mark back. I was really pleased that, by my last semester, I was getting high distinctions. I think study was easier for me as a mature age student because I was really clear about what I wanted and I had a plan on how to get there, and how long it was going to take. Some of the younger students would spend time socialising, but with a family, I simply couldn’t waste time, and so spent every spare minute buried in my books. Studying was a real challenge, and there were many things that influenced my ability to remain focused, including experiences of loss and grief. My brother had schizophrenia and often refused treatment and that meant I spent a lot of time worrying about him and helping mum out when things

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

My sister Leanne (left), brother Jeff and me, aged six

got really bad. My brother hanged himself while I was in my second year of study and mum had renal failure and needed my support. She was on peritoneal dialysis and, when that failed, was changed to haemodialysis. Mum died a year after my brother. I have certainly learnt a lot about renal problems and mental health after having considerable life experience. I lost my father following a stroke, and my sister committed suicide. As with so many Aboriginal people, my experience of loss and grief are a huge part of what has made me the person I am today, and for these reasons, as well as others, I think I have a lot to offer my community when I eventually get to work as a qualified nurse. I am keen to try a lot of different areas of nursing, but know I would struggle with working in the area of mental health because of my brother’s personal experiences and my disappointment with how the system treated him. I believe there is a great deal of opportunity for positive change. I am now working at the Ballarat Hospital in my twelve-month graduate program. The learning curve is still steep, but I am enjoying the challenge. Some days I wonder what on Earth I have gotten into and I rush around till I am exhausted; but when I think about it, I love the challenge of learning new things. When I did my first lot of nurse training, I made a decision to get fitter as I struggled in those first few days with being on my feet all day. I now ensure that I walk regularly and take care of myself, so that I can be the best I can be. Although I love my job, I look forward to the day when I can work part time so that I am not missing out on my children’s lives.They are aged nine, fourteen and seventeen and, with me as a single mother, it is particularly difficult for them growing up around my shift work. But we are working through it. Looking back, I am not sure that I would have been able to cope with nursing if I had entered the profession as a 20 year old, because life experience and interpersonal skill has already helped me deal with the many stressful situations and individuals that are just part of nursing. I am also looking forward to feeling confident about what I am doing. It won’t happen overnight, but it will happen, and I will keep trying. When I have gained plenty of experience, I hope to work as a community nurse for my own community.

”

Shane Mohor A focus on men’s health

M

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I completed my Bachelor of Nursing in 1993 and am keen on a career in management

y first introduction to the idea of a nursing career was through watching an uncle who worked as a nurse. I also remember, as a primary school student, standing up in a class and announcing that I wanted to work in social work and welfare. I thought initially that meant I wanted to be a social worker, but I later realised that nursing was what I wanted to do. I moved from school to school for most of my primary and secondary schooling. In total, I went to nine different primary schools and three different high schools. It was at Heathfield High in the Adelaide Hills that I became very settled through regular contact with an Aboriginal support/ education worker, who liaised between school staff, my mother and me. I completed Year 12 at Heathfield High. After finishing school, I briefly worked in the restaurant trade, but all the time still had a driving ambition to do nursing. It was always in the back of my mind. In 1990, as a mature age student, I began study nursing at Flinders University in Adelaide.

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

I remember it was hard as a student making ends meet. I had just got engaged, and had moved from Queensland into rented accommodation, but got by with a part-time job as a nurse assistant at an aged care facility. In the days while I was studying there was also not the strong support network there is at the universities for students today, so for me it was a real challenge getting through the course and the many assignments and exams.There was also the systemic institutional racism, and as a student I experienced it myself. I know that little has changed. I completed my Bachelor of Nursing in 1993 and was ecstatic with the achievement. My adopted family was supportive of my decision to take up nursing and that helped to keep me motivated.When my Aboriginal family realised what I had achieved, they were equally very proud. My Aboriginal family is Ngarrindjeri. I am one of the Sumners from Raukkan in South Australia. At the time of graduating, I did not realise the opportunities and experiences that nursing would create for me. My first job was as a registered nurse at the Flinders Medical Centre in Adelaide. When I first went into nursing practice, I made sure I was exposed to as many different experiences as I could. I put my hand up for every relief shift and got to work in wards like accident and emergency, surgical and medical. I loved working with patients and nursing them back to health, but it was the long hours that in the end forced an end to clinical nursing for me. I also got sick of seeing people die and going through the process of someone dying. Some nurses have found a way to be rigid and regimented in their approach to sadness, grief and loss. However, I could not do it. It was very difficult for me to detach myself and, as a male nurse, too, there was always pressure not to be emotionally affected by things. But the reality was, these things did affect me. As a male nurse in a major hospital, it was an environment dominated by women. I had to also get used to the idea of pecking orders and the issue of increasing levels of stress in the workplace caused largely, in part, by the ever-increasing pressure on the health system. In 1995, I left to spend three years working in the prison medical service at the Adelaide Remand Centre. Nothing could have prepared me for the challenges of working with inmates in the harsh confines of prison. I found it difficult, but learnt to be very disciplined, independent and autonomous in decision making regarding client care. As a nurse, I had always believed that the human factor was an important part of nursing, and that nursing is as much about sensitivity and caring as it is about administering drugs and about clinical procedures. In a prison environment, however, that was difficult. I learnt about the value of honesty and having respect for everyone,

Shane Mohor

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regardless of circumstance, and I was initially surprised at how positively inmates responded to that. I now know they appreciated these values. For many, the issues of domestic violence, illness or mental health on top of dealing with life behind bars were unresolved, and being a man and a nurse gave them a chance to talk more openly and to begin the process of working through them. I can actually say that I formed friendships with some of the inmates. On my last drug run, the inmates were clapping and cheering and wishing me well through the little slots in their cell doors. I was sad to be leaving and it was an emotional time for me, but I was also very glad to get out. After three and half years at the remand centre, I packed up and spent almost another four years in an Aboriginal community controlled health service in the Kimberly.The isolation and adjustment to working with people in a very traditional cultural environment was a new challenge for me, and it meant I had to be prepared for anything. I tended to some horrific injuries – some caused by accident and others through family violence – and sometimes the senselessness of it all made it difficult, but the people of the Kimberly are so very generous and I loved my time there. Without doubt I look back on this period as a highlight of my career as a health professional. My work in the Kimberley region also involved profiling remote Aboriginal communities and working alongside communities to establish clinics and to secure health worker training. It included planning a new health care facility. In the Kimberly, I was exposed to the direct impact of policy on the delivery of health care, and I wanted to learn more about how decisions are made about money and how priorities are determined for spending and the delivery of programs. As I learnt more, I realised that it was essential for Indigenous Australians to get more involved at the policy level and to be part of determining future directions, rather than allowing others to do it for us. In 2000, I returned to Adelaide to work in the State Government’s Aboriginal Services Division in one of six community development positions based around the State.The position required advocating on behalf of the Aboriginal community on issues such as access and equity, policy, health and welfare systems. In November of 2003, I moved to the Office of Health Reform, Major Projects Unit and am presently a senior consultant to the Aboriginal Health Reform Project Team working on identifying and developing strategies needed to improve the health of Aboriginal people in South Australia. The Office of Health Reform focuses on strengthening the shift to personal and community empowerment and the right of Indigenous Australian

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

communities to take responsibility for their own affairs, at a time and pace suitable to them, and which is supported by the necessary resources and training, as well as acceptance of the obligation of governments to change the way they engage with Indigenous Australian communities in the provision of health services. I am passionate about change in South Australia, and would like to see a shift to a bigger focus on men’s health issues. I believe men’s health has been off the agenda for a long time – and even more so in mainstream health. My future plans are focused on higher management in the health care system, whether in a government department or a health service. I believe detailed understanding of management theories and principles and their application to health services is important, not only in my current role, but also in being effective in influencing change. I have worked extensively at the ‘coal face’ of health care, and therefore am acutely aware of, and understand, the issues confronting health services and their workers. I also believe a focus on legal and ethical issues are paramount for many health services and must be addressed if we are to see any improvement in health outcomes for Indigenous Australians. Aboriginal people have experienced inequities in service delivery because of a lack of understanding, and I see developing knowledge in this area as a priority for management practice and for me as an individual. I work effectively and co-operatively with both on-the-ground and office-bound health sector workers to achieve progressive outcomes, and believe further understanding and the development of critical and analytical skills are fundamental to influencing change to health service dilemmas.

”

Lowitja O’Donoghue

A C, C B E

Racism often came from patients, not colleagues

Professor Lowitja O’Donoghue AC, CBE is a member of theYankunytjatjara peoples of Central Australia and has devoted her life to the welfare of Indigenous Australians. She worked as a registered nurse, mental health nurse and welfare officer for over 30 years, and then in various capacities in Indigenous affairs. She was the inaugural Chairperson of ATSIC from 1990–1996. She is currently a Trustee of the Rio Tinto Aboriginal Foundation. In 1977, she was made a Member of the Order of Australia and in 1999 was honoured as a Companion in the Order of Australia. She was Australian of the Year in 1984 and named a National Living Treasure in 1998. She is a patron of a number of health, welfare and social justice organisations. She is currently an Honorary Professional Fellow at Flinders University and holds Honorary Doctorates and Fellowships from eight different Australian Universities and Colleges. She was awarded Fellowship of the Royal College of Nursing Australia (Hons) in 1995, and Fellowship of the Royal Australasian College of Physicians (Hons) in 1998. Lowitja O’Donoghue began her extraordinary career as a nurse.

I

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was born in 1932, at De Rose Hill Station in South Australia’s far north. My mother Lilly was a Yankunytjatjara woman, and my father Tom O’Donoghue was station manager. I was removed from my mother when I was two. It was 1934 when I was taken by the United Aborigines Mission with my two sisters, Amy and Violet, to Colebrook Children’s Home for Half-Caste Children at Quorn in the Flinders Ranges. My other siblings, my brother Geoffrey and sister Eileen, were already there. I stayed there for nine years before being shifted to another home in Adelaide. Like many other children in the Anangu Pitjantjatjara Lands, I too was taken from my family as part of the assimilation policies of the time. I remember in my very earliest days standing up for what I believed in. One of the earliest memories I have is of coming between the matron and the strap. I would often stand in the way when the strap was intended for others, with the result being that I, too, got a beating. There were good and bad memories, but we had one another. I was

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

always a fighter and always stood up for others in the Home who were treated unfairly; without doubt some children were picked on more than others. I remember, in the early days, I would ask questions about my mother and where I came from. I got no answers. It was mission policy that we were to forget the past and not ask questions.We were told continuously that the culture was of the devil and that we were in fact here to be Christianised.We were not allowed to speak our language; if we did, we were punished. We did retain some of the language, though, because new kids would come in all the time. In 1943, at age eleven, we left Quorn to transfer to Colebrook Home Eden Hills due to a water shortage. At Quorn we went to the local school, but when we moved to Eden Hills in Adelaide, we were not allowed to attend the local primary school because Aboriginal kids were not welcome. We were instead taught at the Home, until the education department made a decision to accept us. On completion of my Qualifying Certificate, I went to Unley Girls Technical High School, travelling every day by train. After three years, I got my Intermediate Certificate. They were good times. I never failed anything, but sport was what I was really good at. Most children were forced to leave the Home at sixteen years of age. At sixteen, girls would be presented with a case, which held a change of clothes, and we would be sent off to start work the next morning. I engineered my own future and made my own enquiries about finding a family to work with. I found a family south of Adelaide. I was there for two years. The mother was pregnant with her sixth child and I knew nothing of sex or pregnancy.We never talked about those things at the Home. I hated domestic service, so it wasn’t long before I took my first steps towards a career in nursing. Every Sunday, the family went to a Baptist fellowship in Victor Harbor and that was where I met Matron Tuck of the South Coast District Hospital. She was a member of the Baptist fellowship. I registered my name on the waiting list to train as a nurse. When I was eighteen years of age, I was invited to start my training. There were no questions about my Aboriginality. For matron, it was not an issue. In fact, matron followed my career development for many years. I knew I had earned some money from my work as a domestic servant. My wages were thirty shillings. One pound of that went into my trust account and I got ten shillings. I assumed that I could use this to buy my uniforms, but was told that I could not have it until I was 21. I never did access that trust account and they never offered to pay the money to me, and I never approached them again. So, with little money, I started with one uniform, which I would wash every day.The next payday, I bought another one, and each payday I would

Lowitja O’Donoghue

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buy another, until I had everything I needed for my work. Getting everything right was so important.The reason I did nursing was because it was a job, it was paid – though not much – and it was a roof over my head. For those of us who were institutionalised, accommodation in nursing quarters, and the strict rules, were not difficult. I wanted to be good nurse, the best I could be, and I think I was. I had also made enquiries to the Royal Adelaide Hospital, but I already knew they did not take Aboriginal nurses and that getting in would be difficult. With my name on the waiting list at South Coast District Hospital, I was just happy to have begun my training, but I wanted to keep the RAH option open. As a country transfer, I could automatically transfer to the RAH after two years to complete my training. However, the harsh reality was that I was black and training at the RAH was simply not an option. I was eager to finish my training as soon as I could. I knew that at the RAH I could graduate in three years, as opposed to four years training, made up of two years training in the country and another two at the RAH. In those times, people made a big deal of the fact that you were a country transfer. So I focused on being a trainee nurse at Victor Harbor, all the while continuing the fight for entry into the Royal Adelaide. I was knocked back several times; I think at least half a dozen times. I knew the reason I was being knocked back, but I kept trying, anyway. On my many visits to matron’s office, not once did she ask me to sit down. Matron Scrymgour was not interested. I remember Matron Scrymgour told me, ‘This is not the place for you Aboriginal girls.You should go and nurse your own people in Alice Springs.’ I thought that was ridiculous at the time, as I knew my people were not from there, and because I didn’t really know my people. So, with no chance of getting into the Royal Adelaide, matron at South Coast District Hospital took me back and I did three years training at Victor Harbor, while all the time still lobbying the Royal Adelaide Hospital. In my fourth year, I made the decision to go to Adelaide with the express purpose of being in a better position to lobby to get into the RAH. It was certainly a lone struggle initially, but I soon realised it was bigger than me, that it was about entry, and the boys and the girls getting into professions and apprenticeships. All us children in institutions were close.The Colebrook children and the boys from St Francis Boys stuck together.We had much in common. That is why my fight became, really, a struggle for our place in the community as young Aboriginal people. As a group, we joined the Aboriginal Advancement League. At the time it was the only organisation that cared about Aboriginal issues. Dr Charles Duguid was a big part of that.

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

It was difficult in those days to be a nurse and then continue to lobby. I didn’t have anyone whom I looked to, or got guidance from.Victor Harbor was a long way from Adelaide then, so on my days off I would get on the bus and go to Parliament House. I would lobby anyone I could think of, including the Premier Tom Playford, to help me achieve my goal. I can’t remember him being that sympathetic, but I continued to keep lobbying. Throughout this period, there were other girls from Colebrook Home who were also training in country hospitals.They all wanted to transfer to the RAH. So, collectively, we decided they would stay at their respective hospitals and we made sure they got the message that the Aboriginal Advancement League would continue to lobby the Royal Adelaide, and the League supported our struggle and that this was about equal opportunity for all of us. At the same time, the League was also pushing for Aboriginal men to get into apprenticeships and for women to be accepted into a range of professions.These nurses transferred to the RAH and actually graduated before me. Everybody who knew me in those days knows I was a ‘goody two shoes’. I didn’t do some of the things the other girls got up to. I didn’t stay out at night. In those days, all of us in nursing were referred to by our surnames, so my colleagues called me ‘O’Donoghue’. I remember dances at Victor Harbor during my trainee nurse days when we would all go out at night – sometimes dancing. I never danced. I still remember how, as soon as the dance was over, the other nurses would all be parking with their boyfriends, but not before taking me home before curfew so that I could let them in.They would say, ‘Who will take O’Donoghue home?’, and I would get up each time they knocked on my window and let them in. My young life was about behaving better than anyone else. In Adelaide I did some private nursing – not through an agency, though, and got work through contacts through Colebrook – Christian people. I got most of my private nursing jobs in the homes of church people. At that time, I was still not fully trained. I continued my association with the Aboriginal Advancement League. Eventually, the League had a big rally in the Adelaide Town Hall. There were a lot of whitefellas, church people and trade unionists, and they were there to talk about our place in the community. After the meeting in the Town Hall, there was a lot of publicity about racism. It was 1954 when matron made contact with me inviting me to start at the RAH. It was a complete surprise. At that point, I had just about given up hope and had just bought uniforms for Wakefield Street (a private hospital). But my dream was still to be trained at a major teaching hospital like the RAH because it was known to be the best. I jumped at the invitation.

Lowitja O’Donoghue

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It was the year that Queen Elizabeth came to town and of the big Adelaide earthquake that I finally got approval to start at the RAH. Despite three years training at South Coast District Hospital, I was allowed no credit for my previous training and had to start from the beginning. However, to be considered by the nursing profession as having the very best training, I was prepared to do that. I was not good at academic studies. I would put off every exam until the last minute. I was always afraid that I would fail and knew that failure would create problems for those that were to follow in my footsteps. I didn’t excel, but I passed. At the RAH as a trainee nurse I was known as a ‘black pro’. A black pro was a nurse in preliminary training school. We used to make jokes about being a ‘black pro’ by name and nature – but the name had nothing to do with skin colour – everyone was a black pro. As a nurse, I had to have the shiniest shoes, the whitest uniform, and absolutely everything in its place. My uniform was pink check with a white apron, black stockings and black shoes. The trainee nurse uniform had stiff cuffs and a stiff collar.The nurses’ apron was the same, no matter what your position.They were starched by the hospital laundry and because they went through the laundry mangle they came out all stuck together.You would have to sprinkle them and iron all the creases out. I think I was the only one who did that, and the other nurses would laughingly tease me about it. I would spend so much time making sure everything was perfect. I even sent my laundry to a little Chinese laundry in Hindley Street, because they did a better job at starching than the hospital laundry. Despite my competitive nature, I had lots of wonderful friends among the nurses and there was no discrimination among us. Many of the nurses from the South Coast District Hospital and the Royal Adelaide Hospital are still good friends with me today. As a nurse, one of my most memorable moments was when the Queen came to Adelaide. I got all my patients and wheeled them out in their beds so that they could watch the Queen pass by. We were all lined up ready when Matron Scrymgour came up to me and ordered me to go back to the ward. Instead, I defied her and said, ‘No, these are my patients; I brought them here, and I will take them back.’ Many years later, I got the opportunity to meet HRH Queen Elizabeth in person at Buckingham Palace on a visit to talk with her about Aboriginal rights and the British Government’s responsibility to act on our shared history to coincide with the Centenary of Federation in 2001. The nurses’ quarters on North Terrace were a row of historic townhouses and the building known as Ayers House.The townhouses were home

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Me with fellow nurses at a barbeque on the lawns at Ayers House, which was used as the nurses’ quarters in those days

to nurses until they were damaged in the earthquake, but amazingly, they still stand today. At RAH I never did a junior nurse’s duty, even though that was my classification.The sister on the ward would always roster me for senior duties. After all, I had the experience, but not the official recognition for it. At that time, I cared for about 35 to 40 patients at a time. Matron also insisted that I did the ward rounds with her on a regular basis.That meant she was testing me. She was really trying to catch me out. As part of rounds I had to give the name of the patient, the diagnosis and treatment, and because of my previous training, it was easy. I never failed. I also played on it from time to time and would ask, ‘Why am I doing it? I am a junior nurse,’ and would say,‘After all, I am just a black pro.’ During training, you got rostered to ensure you got experience in everything. I didn’t miss out on anything. I worked in surgical, medical, thoracic, tuberculosis and ophthalmic wards. I had fabulous training, and was well equipped to be the very best nurse. I remember racism coming from patients. Some would say they didn’t want a black nurse.When that happened I wouldn’t make a fuss, but would tell the ward sister who would just transfer my patient’s care to another nurse. I never made anything of it. Anyway, I didn’t want a patient that didn’t want me. I thought they were missing out on getting the very best nurse on the ward. When I graduated after three years, I became a staff nurse.That was in 1957. It meant I went from pink checks with a peaked cap – it looked like an ice-cream cone – to staff nurse with blue checks and a flat cap that fitted over the forehead more. I didn’t stay in blue check for long. I was promoted quickly to the position of a charge sister.

Lowitja O’Donoghue

Left : Matron Huppatz and Sister Joan Durdin, my tutor sister Right: As a charge sister, Royal Adelaide Hospital, 1958–1960

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As a charge sister, I got to wear the Victorian uniform. It was a fawn frock worn with a stiff collar.The cap was shaped a bit like a shovel – and we called it a shovel – and it had a chin strap. We would crochet the rosettes on the side of the cap as a tie to hold it in place. Becoming a charge sister was by invitation only and you never knocked it back. I was therefore surprised when it was offered to me by Matron Huppatz, who was the new matron. Doctors were fabulous. I never experienced racism on the part of doctors, specialists, or registrars. As a nurse, I was always driven to serve and hoped that one day I would be able to help my own people. I remember every week the Protector of Aborigines would contact me to become exempt.That meant that I would become white – just like that. I said, ‘No, I am an Aboriginal person and would not have a dog medal of any kind.’ What eventually drove me out of the Royal Adelaide Hospital was the change in nursing. It was when the position of nurses’ aides came on. Previously, trainee nurses did everything. As a bedside nurse, I did everything from bedpans and menial tasks. It was what I wanted to do.When nurses’ aides came in, they were the people who did all the dirty work. I didn’t like the changes and the hierarchy of positions that it created. I didn’t like it, and for me it was time to move on. I left the Royal Adelaide in 1960 and decided to travel overseas to India. I was interested in India because they were a group of people who suffered under a colonial regime. I did a midwifery course to equip me with

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

the skills to deliver babies – something I knew I had to do in India. In India, I delivered many babies. I did an awful lot of difficult deliveries in India where there were very few live births and many complications. However, like nurses who trained in country hospitals, I had experience in this area and could deliver babies. In country hospitals, the doctors rarely got there for births. The visit to India reignited my determination to find my mother. I came back from India in 1962 and on my return to Adelaide I chose to go to the Repatriation Hospital. It was not a training hospital, and therefore I didn’t have to deal with the nursing hierarchy within the wards. I later responded to an advert for nurses at Coober Pedy and Koonibba Mission and began the search for my mother. I joined the department in 1967 because they were employing nurse welfare officers, and I wanted to find my mother. I had the choice of two jobs. One job was at Koonibba Mission on the west coast and the other at Coober Pedy. I chose Coober Pedy because it was close to my mother’s country. I got that job as a nurse welfare officer and went to Coober Pedy. On my first day, I went to the supermarket and recall a group of Aboriginal people sitting in a circle outside the supermarket. I knew only a little language, but I understood them when they said, ‘That’s Lowitja, Lily’s daughter.’ I went over to them and they were happy and crying and said, ‘You should go straight away to Oodnadatta.’ I had to explain that I had come to work.That was the first time I heard the name Lowitja. I think we brought the town to a standstill. We were so excited. For three months my mum was known to have stood out on the side of the road waiting for me. Finally I got to meet my mother. It was, however, a very difficult meeting.We were looking forward to it, but we were also nervous because we didn’t know whether we should embrace her, kiss her, or how to respond to a mother that we had never known. Mum, however, rescued us from that difficult moment because she herself began to wonder whether in fact we had come to stay. She did not know how to deal with that and disappeared into the night into her camp on the edge of town. I gathered there were some tensions, so I told my uncles to tell her that we were staying in the hotel. She came to the hotel every morning with the express purpose of keeping us away from the camp; she took us about town proudly introducing us to everyone. And, when she had enough, she would take us back to the hotel, which indicated to us that was the way she wanted to deal with it.We didn’t get to see her living conditions. Mum was so proud. Eileen was the first born and I remember thinking I was going to be the important one because I was the baby, but I soon found out Eileen was the favourite.

Lowitja O’Donoghue

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The nursing patrols used to go to the Pitjantjatjara Lands, so I was asked to do it. In a Toyota, I would go out by myself, knowing that making a similar journey at about the same time each week was a patrol officer travelling to the same spot.We would usually meet in a dry creek bed where I would run the clinic and he would do the stores. In those days I mostly treated sores. There was no malnutrition; kids were generally healthy. It was a beautiful experience because most people were well. All the confinements went well. It was unusual for things to go wrong, because grandmothers delivered babies. We had contact with the Flying Doctor who would help us with diagnosis and we had a big kit of prescriptions, and made many of the decisions about diagnosis and treatment. I had a gun with me, and I would shoot a roo, and take it in to the camps and sleep under the stars. I remember the station owners on all those properties would have ‘high tea’.They would dress up every night for dinner. I would visit to keep the medications in their refrigeration and see them all dressed up. I often thought that they might offer a shower after knowing I was camping out and doing it rough, but they never did. Nor did they invite me in for tea. I would always find myself back in the camp, but I loved it. It was on one of those trips that I went with my uncles to meet my mother. I also nursed at Raukkan and after that I became a welfare officer. It was common in those days for nurses to go into social work. Nursing was a career that stood me in good stead for social work and as such that was the end of my nursing days. I did go and do mental health to equip me to deal with welfare issues of my clients, which, I think, today, more people in departments should do. I tried working in mental health and did work experience at Glenside Hospital in Adelaide. I saw it as a very important aspect of what we should do. I hated it. It was in the days of shock treatments, experimental stuff, and that sort of thing and I didn’t like people being locked up. I do catch up with patients from time to time, and they tell me that I looked after them. I have throughout my career maintained an interest in Indigenous Australian health. I was Chair of Cooperative Research into Aboriginal and Tropical Health and am now involved with homeless people, but purely on an honorary basis. It is ironic that as the Inaugural Chair of ATSIC, I eventually I found myself in Adelaide giving certificates to the last of the hospital-trained nurses at the RAH. Nursing has provided me with a rewarding career.

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Janine Cox Investigate our heritage

I

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In 1959 as a third year student at Spencer Hospital, Wynyard, Tasmania

completed my nurse training and was registered in Tasmania on 12 September 1960. I have worked for almost 28 years in various hospitals in the Melbourne metro area, and in the last sixteen years I have worked in the drug and alcohol field as a telephone counsellor. I also worked in the Westmead Women’s Programme for three and a half years, until it closed. As well as continuing as a telephone counsellor part time, I worked for almost three years as a drug and alcohol assessment worker for De Paul House in Fitzroy, where I had regular face-to-face contact with Aboriginal people. Six months after completing my training, I moved to Melbourne and continued nursing. It was only for a short time, though, before I returned to Tasmania, where I married in the July and returned to Melbourne in September. I continued to work and had four children. I commenced nursing at Spencer Hospital Wynyard (Tasmania) in 1956. I found out about my Aboriginal identity late in life. I was in my second year of nursing working on the female medical ward, when a small Aboriginal woman, Elizabeth Short, was admitted. I do not recall ever hearing her name before, probably because as a family, and as I was growing up, we had very little contact with my father’s family. I believe our Aboriginality was not discussed in the home for our protection. I

Janine Cox

My Tasmanian Registration and Current Practicing Certificate

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think my parents may have been fearful that children may have been taken. A co-worker told me that the patient had told her that I was in fact her granddaughter and that, to quote her words,‘I was very stuck up.’ I was extremely upset and immediately phoned my mother to ask if it was true. She told me that Elizabeth Short was my grandmother. I was shocked to hear this. As a nurse I had to inform the senior sister that I was unable to continue to work on the ward because a relative was a patient. It was hospital policy. It was the only time I recall seeing my grandmother. I did get to meet most of my father’s siblings when I was in my twenties. Meeting that side of the family, though, was rare. Later in my life, my sister commenced looking at our family tree on my father’s side. We found we are part of the north-east tribe known as the Pyemmairrener in Tasmania.We are continuing to investigate our heritage. We found out that my grandmother was born in 1881 at Fingal in Tasmania. Her mother died from complications from childbirth the very same day. Her father was David Vincent, believed to be buried in Mathinna in an unnamed grave. It is unclear who raised my grandmother. I am comfortable with my identity now, and at peace with myself. My dream is to travel back to where my ancestors are buried, and I plan to do that within the next two years. I struggled for many years with trying to determine my identity. I wanted answers because for many years it was never spoken about in our home and I certainly could not approach my father to discuss it. When I reflect back, there were times when things were difficult because of my culture. I have for many years applied for positions in the Indigenous Australian community, but have never been successful. Hopefully, one day I may be able to give back to them in some small way. I am currently back working full time on phones as a drug and alcohol counsellor.

”

Sharon Dennis I made it; I am a nurse!

“

F

Following a career path in nursing led to a significant change and direction in my life

rom when I was young, I always had an interest in nursing. I do not know why; it was just something I thought I would always do. No one I knew was a nurse, but I liked the idea of caring for people and sharing part of my life with them. In high school, a teacher told me that I was not able to be a nurse: ‘You need better grades,’ he said. I never really thought about my grades before. I did not consider myself as one of the smart kids, but I always tried my best at school. I must have had some idea that being nice to people and my caring personality would mean I would become a nurse. I was very unprepared, but remained determined. My mum was a waitress and I often would be asked if I wanted work in the holiday seasons. I was still at school, so I had a good concept of what it was to work.The more work I did, the more of it I was offered, and I soon found my schoolwork was a lower priority, especially later in college. I would work as a ‘check-out chick’ by day, and waitress by night. Earning money gave me a sense of being independent and I soon found out how hard being independent would be. I went to see a band called ‘The Blues Brothers Revival’ and loved the music and lifestyle.The band was heading to Hobart and I liked the idea of moving to

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a faster place than my own town. I was ready for a change and to exercise my independence and moved to Hobart with a friend. I continued working in a large store, but was always on the lookout for something that would suit me better. My opportunity came when a friend told me of an enrolled nursing intake that was soon to be advertised. I was so happy to find out that there was another type of nursing that I was able to apply for and that my grades satisfied requirements for this job. I secured an interview and my friend then helped me to prepare for it. She knew that they were looking for a particular type of applicant; so, with borrowed clothes and a cross around my neck, off I went. I was so excited when I got the job and wanted to do well for my new employers because they believed in me, even though I may have misled them a little. On my first day, I was given a yellow uniform. I was so proud that I caught a bus into the city of Hobart just so I could walk the streets in my yellow uniform, saying to myself,‘Look at me! Look at me! I made it; I am a nurse!’ The reality of being a nurse was certainly different. The hours were hard and I struggled with studies. I had very little money to live by. I was seventeen, but made everyone else believe I was eighteen, and now realise I was the bravest that I have ever been in my life to do what I did. Events that happened around me did not help my nursing career at all, and I am still, to this day, unsure how I ever got through that first year. I mixed with some people who had a heavy party agenda and got swept up in the fun and excitement of it all. Some pretty hairy things used to happen and not all of us kept going in this world. All of these tragic things happened around me, and I was always in the position of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. An example was when I was going out to dinner one night and a man kicked the car I was in while we were waiting for the traffic lights to change.The driver and another passenger confronted him and were stabbed for their trouble.This seemed like an amazing coincidence, but I had eight similar events happen when I started nursing. I was given the nickname ‘Jinx’ when I turned eighteen. What hit me the hardest, though, was when my friend who I moved to Hobart with had to be put into psychiatric care. I went to see her every day after work. Her mum was at the hospital one afternoon and stopped me from seeing her. She blamed me for her daughter’s ill health. I felt an overwhelming feeling of remorse from hearing this because I tried to help her so many times. Her mum was not prepared to listen. I was looking after my friend’s cat for her until she got better. She would ask me every day how her cat was. It died a week later after I last saw her, and I couldn’t even tell her. All of this impacted on my work and I became lethargic because I was not eating. If it were not for my work, I would have got very sick. I spent

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most of my money to help my friend. I used to dish up the meals as part of my duty, and when all meals were served, I would sneak some food. If it were not for great friends, family and some good advice I would have never made it as a nurse. I was approached by my supervisor and told that I needed to improve at work. She never asked me why I was not doing well, and I never told her. I did not really tell anyone, including family. Another nurse got so frustrated when she worked with me that she just stopped what she was doing, looked at me directly, and said, ‘Would you just get organised?’ ‘Organised,’ I thought. ‘Hmm … organised.’ I went home thinking about what she had said and I knew she was right. ‘Organised’ I became; it was not easy at first, but I did it. This became the turning point of my life because it made such an incredible difference just to be organised. It was like sorting yourself out of a jumbled mess and gave me a lot more control of what was happening. I made it through nursing; in fact, I was even offered a position to stay, but decided it was time I went home again for a while. I worked hard as a nurse and tried to be the best at what I did. After a few years’ experience, I applied for a permanent position.To do this I had to go to a remote hospital, as there were no permanent jobs available around the area where I lived. The experience I gained at that remote hospital was superb. You become multi-skilled, and are exposed to a great variety of skills and knowledge. This remote hospital was to become my next life-changing experience; or, for a better explanation, this is where ‘the penny dropped’. I was walking down the long corridor of the hospital and saw a man walk through the front entrance, which was half way down the hall. He wore a miner’s hat, gumboots, and was covered in grey mud. He turned to face me and I saw his expression of horror. Something was terribly wrong. I yelled, ‘Emergency at the front door!’ and ran to him. He said, ‘Me mate – I think he’s dead!’ We started CPR in the back of the four-wheel drive and the doctor was right behind us. He put his hands on mine and said,‘Stop.’ After reassessment, there was no doubt why we stopped.With formalities commencing, I stayed with the man who had died after we transferred him. Nurses often do not talk of a presence of spirit after life, but most of us have felt, experienced, or know someone else who has felt it. I felt it this day. I put my hand on this man’s chest and told him that I was sure his family would be looked after. I did not know his family, but I felt it was something I needed to say.The circumstances that happened after I said this led me to meeting some of his family members. I seemed to be there at the right times. These people had no idea of who I was. This made me realise that I had a place in this community, and I now had a clear definition of what it was even though I cannot clearly express it in words. It is more a

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sense of belonging and how my contributions as a person now fit into a community environment and perspective. I had many other experiences and now had better skills in knowing who I was and how what I did as a nurse affected others.These experiences as a nurse are carried with you in everything you do in life. I got to practise so many of these skills that I learnt in nursing into a business that I brought with my partner.We bought a general store in a rural community and the word soon got around that I was a nurse.We believed in community values and practised them strongly in our business. People had the confidence in the staff and us to come to us for help.We had people who would walk in, covered in blood, and we found out they had walked for miles or driven to the shop.These included people hurt in car and bike accidents, who were burnt, another had a nail in an eye, wounds to the head from falls, and broken fingers.We had people pull up who would express they were feeling unwell and, after having practised as a nurse, I recognised symptoms of heart problems and knew to call an ambulance. I also helped a frantic mother whose child stopped breathing while she was driving. I did CPR on my kitchen bench while she called an ambulance.There was a happy ending to that story. Sadly, a not so happy ending were some people who called in telling us that someone was trying to get them to stop to steal their money.They explained that a person was lying on the road in a pile of red jelly and not moving. I used to also deliver the mail in the mornings as part of the shop duties. It became a daily routine where some of the older customers would greet me as I pulled up at their letterbox. If they were not there, I used to check on them and see if they were okay, because some did not have other family members. I went to see if one man was okay, and he sang out to me to come in. He was in bed and said he was feeling stiff and sore. I asked him what he had been doing to be so stiff and sore, because he was a pretty agile man in his eighties who was still farming. He explained that he had to defend himself against some teenagers who had tried to rob him. I was very concerned, but in the next sentence he told me that he had sore legs because he managed to grab his rifle, fill it with salt pellets, and give chase to the teenagers. He then asked if he would get into trouble because he got one of them. While I was in the shop, I had the opportunity to do further studies towards my Bachelor of Nursing. After completing my postgraduate studies, I applied for a job that led me to be more involved in my Aboriginal community.This is something I have always wanted to do. Something where I could again be a contributor and find out more about myself as a Tasmanian Aboriginal woman. I again had found a belonging, a place where I felt I should be. I am so glad that at seventeen I was brave enough and acted on good advice I got.What transpired was a significant change and direction in my life.

”

Karen Atkinson Mum and dad’s fighting spirit inspired me

I

“

Look at me now! Registered Nurse, Registered Midwife and Nurse Practitioner Candidature

was born in Mooroopna at Shepparton in 1959. Most of my life I remember living in an institution of some sort.There was Allambie Babies Home, Alexandra Babies Home,Winlaton (a correctional facility at Nunawading in Melbourne), and Ballarat Orphanage. I left the orphanage at age fifteen. Some of my younger years were spent with my mum and dad, and we lived in many different places throughout Victoria. I have some pretty good memories of those times, but I also have some pretty traumatic ones, too. I remember both my parents at different times, running. My dad would run from the police because of non-payment of maintenance for children that were taken from them by the government, because mum and dad had children before they married. Mum and dad did marry later and I was the first child born to that marriage. My parents lived with the nightmare of the assimilation policies of the time, which meant that children were stolen

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from their mothers and fathers. I still remember the panic and trauma as mum would run with me in her arms along the river so that the welfare wouldn’t get me. In time, though, they did. In the many institutions I came to call home, life was really hard, tough and frightening.There were some good times, too, although only enough to count on one hand. Punishments were often handed out, and they were mostly directed at the kids who were black. Mum and dad knew where we were and often tried to see us, but they weren’t welcome to visit and often their attempts to see us were denied. As children, we used to excitedly watch them walking up the road to the home, but that is as far as they got. At fifteen, I was still in the orphanage, and my mum passed away.They didn’t tell us for weeks that she had died and, despite the terrible loss I felt, I was offered no counselling and, like always, there was little compassion and comforting. I was devastated, and there was more to come. Once I turned fifteen, and not long after the trauma of losing a parent, I was forced out of the home. It was policy that, once children turned fifteen, they had to get out and get a job. The thought of being on my own was frightening. I was in shock and had no idea what I would do for a job. The thought of leaving familiar routines and the safety of the home was daunting. In the institution, so much was done for me. In the homes there would be a siren telling me when to get up, when to go to bed, when to eat, when to go to school, and people telling me when I could see and speak to my brother (girls were not allowed to play or speak to the boys). At the same time, the idea of new experiences was exciting. The reality, though, was that I was really terrified. How to look after myself? How do I do that? I had no idea! To go to work everyday.Why would people do that? To be able to go into a shop and pay for things myself. How, and with what? To go to the doctor if I was sick. I had no idea! To go to the bank. No idea! To use a telephone. No idea! To use public transport. No idea! Sex education.What was that? To behave in a socially acceptable way. Definitely, no idea! I used to think it was everyone else who was weird and I just couldn’t understand it. It took a long time for me to work out that it was actually me who had the problem caused by all those years in institutions where I was literally treated like a child inmate. My very first job was as a machinist in a factory that made trousers and

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I was paid $26 per week and a small amount from welfare.To me, that was a lot of money, but I had no idea how to manage it. Needless to say, I did not do very well on my own. I was much more interested in doing what I wanted to do, like staying out all night, being with boys, and doing things fifteen year olds had no business doing! I had to report to a welfare worker once a month, but nobody thought to tell me what would happen if I didn’t report, or the implications of not reporting. Before long, a missing persons report was put out, which led to me being picked up by the police, handcuffed, put into a police van and taken to Melbourne, finger printed and sent to a juvenile detention centre for young girls. My crime was ‘being exposed to moral danger’. The centre and its familiar routines were a source of comfort to me, but at sixteen I was released into the care of an Aboriginal girls’ hostel where I went to TAFE to learn office skills. It didn’t last long. I was simply not interested in secretarial skills. I did think about being a nurse in my early childhood, because I’d remembered that when I was thirteen I had to have my appendix out and, while in hospital, one of the girls who was raised in the home was a nurse and she looked after me. I was in awe of her. When I was at school I was still thinking that I could be a nurse, but the vocational officer had written in one my school reports that I might be good enough to be a nurses’ aide. Growing up in such an unsupportive environment, I began to think that maybe all the staff were right, and the only thing I was ever going to be was a prostitute.When you get told that often enough, you really do start to believe it. Of course, they were wrong! I also recall being fascinated by a medical book that my grandmother used to keep. I would always go looking for it at her house and I loved reading about anatomy and about bones. When I was in hospital, too, I was always playing with syringes and medical things and was captivated by the hats the nurses wore.They were beautiful, and the nurses were really kind to me. My experiences with nurses were always good ones. After working some time, I ended up in Geelong, where a former holiday host, who was a doctor, asked the matron at the hospital if she would take me on as a student nurse. Matron took one look, looked down her nose and said, ‘Oh, no, no. She’s much too young, and she doesn’t have her Matriculation Certificate.’ That was that, or so I thought at the time. The irony is that I met her nearly a decade after my 1993 graduation and she told me she was glad that I got through. In 1979, at age 20, I married and gave birth to my daughter the same year. My husband left eight months later, and life as a single black mother, with all its challenges, began.

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For many years, I drifted from one secretarial job to another, but all the time I was wishing that I had done nursing. Unfortunately, I had been convinced by those who were not prepared to encourage and support me that I was not ‘brainy’ enough.When nursing went into college training I thought that maybe I might be able to do it, but knew I needed to improve my numeracy skills, so I enrolled in Year 10 maths at night school at TAFE. My daughter was about nine years of age when I had made up my mind that I was going to do nursing. I marched in, five months’ pregnant, and said, ‘Where do I sign?’ and went straight back to my job and gave two weeks’ notice. I knew it would be difficult and that I had to work hard, and I did. When everyone else was on holidays or days off, I was still studying just to get the basics of what everyone else already knew. I had never sat an exam, let alone a test, before. Needless to say, I failed my first test. Assignments were a nightmare. I always had to have extensions for time because they weren’t finished. But I got through. I went from a full-time wage to a single mother’s pension and it was a real struggle, but somehow I managed.With extra tutoring and choosing to study when everyone else was not, I graduated in 1993, and I remember thinking,‘What now?’ With a Bachelor of Nursing from Deakin University I got a temporary position as an Aboriginal liaison officer at St Vincent’s Hospital in Melbourne and then went to work in the rehabilitation ward. I finally got a position as a nurse in the hospital where I wanted to be working and in the area I wanted to work, which was mostly in cardiac services. I gained enough experience in cardiac services to be recognised as a clinical nurse specialist. I really loved it. I then decided I would do my Graduate Diploma in Midwifery through Deakin University, which I completed in 2002. I am now working in the Sunshine Hospital in the Bamin Boorai Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Women’s Maternity Programme. My journey started out rough and there have been many potholes; the road is by no means smooth – even now – but I keep going because I think of mum and dad’s fighting spirit.They didn’t stop because it got a bit hard, and they have played a big part in inspiring me to be where I am today.

”

Barbara Browne I never forgot my dream

Friends speak of Barbara Browne as a woman with a deep sense of loyalty, commitment, and a friend to everyone in need.They describe her as a person whose personal life does not interfere with her work, but who does not stop nursing and caring for others when her shift ends. They recognise her enormous contribution to their community; telling how on days off she drives people with no transport to medical appointments, which are at times several hours’ drive away. She is known to be truly special, and for treating her patients the same, and is known to on occasion provide manicures, pedicures and hair shampoos for those whom she considers need a special touch!

“

W

ith little formal education, I embarked on a life of studying and nursing. I was attracted to nursing because I saw it as a way that I could remain in the country and work. I liked caring for people. Born in the New South Wales rural township of Balranald in 1948, I was the second of ten children to Elsie Hawkins, nee Black. Mum was a drover’s labourer, and while she set up home in Bourke, she often needed to pack up her brood and follow the work of droving cattle through Queensland.What my brothers, sisters and I missed out on by way of formal education we made up through life education. When I was just twelve, our family moved to a tiny railway siding between Narrandera and Jerilderie in New South Wales called Widgewa, where my stepfather worked on the railway. Back then we had to pay school bus fees and we lived seven miles from school. Sometimes if there was no money we’d have to walk or we would miss out on school. As one of the eldest, I would miss out on school if mum needed someone to look after the younger children while she worked. Widgewa Public School had one teacher for all the students. Sometimes there were only twelve, but on a good day when everyone turned up, there were 24 of us. Our school only catered to Year 6. I stayed at that small school till I was sixteen. I had a desire to nurse long before I actually did my training. In 1964, I tried desperately to get into nursing as an assistant in nursing (AIN). I tried

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five hospitals in the local area – Leeton, Narrandera, Urana, Lockhart, Jerilderie and Westmead – but despite being interviewed for a few jobs, I was not successful. My mother told me that I was black and that’s why I didn’t get the job. It was her way of consoling me.Times were hard in those days, and I could see that it was a strain on the family budget getting me to job interviews. So, when I received a letter from a school friend telling me that there was plenty of work in Sydney, I jumped at the chance. I invited myself up to Sydney and lived with my friend’s family for a while. My dreams of nursing were put on hold for a time as I began work in a factory, making boxes. Despite years of factory work, I never forgot my dream of becoming a nurse, and when my younger sister joined me in Sydney, I had the courage to try again.We decided that together we would try our luck at getting into nursing. We both went for an interview at Westmead Hospital, but after the interview, matron asked us to bring our mother to the next interview.We explained that it was impossible for her with a young family and being so far away.We didn’t get the jobs. However, my luck changed in February 1968 when I attended the Royal South Sydney Hospital for an interview. I almost couldn’t believe it. After the matron gave me a tour around the hospital, she asked me to start the next day as an AIN. I had to explain that I had to give a fortnight’s notice at the job I was employed, and luckily she was okay with that. My farewell present from my fellow factory workers was a complete nursing outfit, including uniforms, shoes, cape and watch. I was set.

Me in 1975 in my enrolled nurse uniform

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

This photo of my two sisters and I, who are enrolled nurses at Jerierie Hospital, was taken in 2002. Myself (left), Pat Godfrey and (Dolly) Loreen Hawkins

I started nursing in February as an AIN, and by August, the matron asked me to go into the next nurses’ aide intake. I was afraid I would be asked to produce my level of education, but wasn’t asked. I was fortunate to go through with a great bunch of girls, all much younger than me, and they gave me a lot of support with study. I got my enrolled nurse qualifications in 1969. Since those early days in nursing, I have gained lots of experience and made many friends along the way. Never once have I regretted my decision to become a nurse. It has been a very big part of my life. Despite once being rejected by Jerilderie Hospital, I returned there after my training. I remember in the hospital that the morgue was outside and the path that you took to take a deceased person to the morgue was along the side of the highway. It was a job that we did at night, and it was always done by two nurses. The path was uneven and windy and we often worried about spilling the person off the trolley into the vegetable garden. In those days, there were no sides on the trolley, and the morgue was not refrigerated. At midnight and again at 4 a.m. in the morning, we used to go outside to stoke the donkey (a coal fired water heater) so that the hospital had hot water. The hospital cooking was done on an Arga stove, which was also fuelled by coal and it had to be keep going at all times, and nurses did this as well. There was theatre once a week, which I scouted for, and before each session nurses scrubbed the theatre from floor to ceiling and boiled the instruments. After each nursing shift it was also our job to scrub the bathrooms from floor to ceiling. Only one staff member was on duty at night; either an enrolled nurse (RN Div 2) or an AIN.They had responsibility for fifteen patients ranging from the elderly through to newborn babies and mothers.

Barbara Browne

My children: Madeleine Browne (left) is a bank manager and has an agricultural business degree; Michael Browne is a civil engineer; Gina O’Shea is a primary school teacher; and Roslyn Lockhart is a registered nurse and works at CATSIN as a research/ project officer

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I have been an enrolled nurse at Jerilderie Hospital since 1969 and been there long enough to have worked through the building of two new hospital buildings and through parts of old buildings being refurbished. Nursing has become quite a family affair. Two sisters work here as enrolled nurses, another sister is a personal care assistant and a niece is also employed at the Jerilderie Hospital. Although I had little formal education, I have since completed a conversion course for enrolled nurses who trained before 1990, an enrolled nurses’ emergency course, a basic foot care course, a wound care course, and courses in gentle exercise for the elderly and Tai Chi for arthritis sufferers. I have a strong belief in the importance of education, and have taught the value of education to my four children. All of them have tertiary degrees. One daughter followed in my footsteps and took up nursing, while the others have qualifications in teaching, agribusiness and civil engineering.

”

Roslyn Lockhart The power of education

I

“

Photo taken at the time of my graduation, with my grandmother Elsie Hawkins (nee Black), who is Barbara Browne’s mother

was born and raised in the small rural community of Jerilderie in the Riverina district of New South Wales. I have three great children, a good husband and supportive family. As one of the few Aboriginal families in Jerilderie, we stood out, but I don’t recall much racism. My mother believed very strongly in the power of education. She was a nurse, and I remember how, as kids, we often joked that if we could convince mum that a toy, trip, or activity we wanted would help us to learn, and that somehow it was linked to our education, then she’d get it for us.

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Education really was the most important thing to my mother.We had a big win when computers first came out because we convinced her that we needed a computer. As a working class family, at times on one income, our parents used to forgo things so that we could have things that helped us with education. As a single mother, my mum had the support of her family and a nursing career, and she later married and had three more children. All of us completed university degrees in nursing, teaching, agribusiness and civil engineering. If not for my mother’s interest in learning and education, I believe I would still not be able to read. As a child I really struggled with learning to read and write and so mum got a tutor in to help me. I remember it was when I was about twelve years of age that I could actually understand the language of the written word. I got through with the support of my mother and a wonderful teacher, Mrs Ellis. I needed tutoring right through high school and writing is something I have to really work at, even today. Despite the obstacles, I identified and put in place strategies to overcome any challenges, and that meant getting help when I needed it. On finishing secondary schooling I was accepted into university and that is where I developed a real love of learning. I started out studying for a science degree, but soon followed my heart and switched to nursing. Computers were really useful and the Indigenous student support units within the universities provided support. Some lecturers were also really supportive.The lecturers were helpful if you showed an interest and the Indigenous unit made university life feel much less alien. I recall a lecturer one day actually saying to me,‘I could do it.’ And, I did! Nursing was, and is, a career where there is a great demand and it is a career that also has lots of rural options. A career in nursing meant that I was able to work and live in the country. I liked also that I had many choices about what I could do as a nurse, and I got to try palliative care and aged care. Palliative care is my area of choice and I love it. I remember one of my first experiences with a patient who was dying. I was working in a small hospital and I had the job of caring for him. I think my supervisors chose me because I was older than many of the other nurses, and they felt, having more life experience, I would be better able to cope. I believe that, unlike working in accident and emergency or with children, there is less stress and more personal care and attention required in palliative care, because it is more about taking the time with people – not just with patients but also with their families – and communicating with them during what might be the toughest time of their lives. It is about more holistic care.

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With my husband and children, who are very supportive and understanding of the demands of nursing

At first attempt, I didn’t complete my degree and instead followed my heart and married my high school sweetheart Steve, who has always been supportive of what I do. I didn’t learn until much later that my mum had made him promise before we married that he would make sure I finished my nursing. He kept his word. Even though I had two children, I went back to university part time to complete my nursing and, while I studied, I gave birth to my third child. I had to work hard to juggle studies with motherhood because I lived 100 kilometres from the university, so I had to drive there up to four days a week, with children in the car, and first drop them off to day care. Despite the extra effort, the commitment I had to finishing my studies meant that it was not much of a deterrent. Nursing and working in the health system is a family affair. As well as mum being a nurse, two of my aunties were enrolled nurses at the Jerilderie Hospital, and other family members have, or are still, working there as personal care assistants, gardeners and cleaners. I have never worked at Jerilderie Hospital, but I have been there as an inpatient as a child and was cared for by family, and family friends. I know my mum struggled with racism throughout her nursing, and I recall hearing stories about her not being able to get into nursing because

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she was Aboriginal, but she persisted.When mum did get in, I remember her telling us how the nuns (nursing sisters) told her not to stay in the sun too long – obviously because she would get darker! She was reminded often that being black was not the best thing to be. I didn’t experience any racism in my nursing until much later in life and, unlike my mother’s experience, I was often faced with the stereotypical view of what being Aboriginal was. Even today people often challenge me about why I identify so much as an Aboriginal person. I am a Baakantji woman, and to not identify as Aboriginal would be to pretend or lie, or present an image that I am ashamed of my mother (Barbara Browne, nee Black), my grandmother (Elsie Hawkins, nee Black), my great grandmother (Eva Knight or Black, now deceased), my great great grandmother (Eliza Knight), my great great great grandmother (Kitty Knight, also known as Biddy Knight, and she was Makwara (eaglehawk)), and the rest of my family. My Aboriginality is something I wear with great pride. I believe my identity belongs to me, and I do not feel it necessary to justify my Aboriginality to anyone. I have a strong belief that being Indigenous is not something you hide if you can. Nor is it something you pull out when it suits. It is just a part of who you are. I proudly identify as Aboriginal because I am proud of who I am, and where I have come from. I believe I have a contribution to make towards making a difference. When I hear of the statistics relating to Indigenous Australian health, I think about how it will affect my family and my community and what can I do about it. I have been nursing now for over five years, most of that being at Seymour District and Memorial Hospital. I have a Graduate Certificate in Palliative Care and am studying for a Graduate Diploma in Palliative Care. I now work full time as a research project officer for CATSIN, but will continue my interest and work in palliative care. I love what I do. I also believe that you can achieve anything if you try and, if you believe in yourself, if you are persistent, then you will succeed. Nursing has proved for me – and I believe it can be for others – to be a career in which the options are only limited by your own imagination. I credit my family with the success I have had. They always set great examples, and I am so very proud of them. I also acknowledge, and am grateful, that the road was made much more achievable because of the Indigenous nurse trailblazers of previous generations.They are some of the people you will read about in this book, and for them I have great admiration and respect. So, believe in yourself, and persist!

”

Kerrie Doyle I have been a nurse for 30 years. I love it!

I

“

Me, nursing Aunty Ester

am a Territorian. I came to the central coast of New South Wales when I was about eight to live with my mother, grandmother and great grandmother. My father stayed working as a drover, among other things. I grew up with them. My parents took us to New South Wales because I am very fair skinned and my parents raised us during the period of assimilation. They were scared we’d be taken and used to hide us whenever the inspectors came to the mission to look for children. My father was taken away, and he was determined not to lose us! My grandmother taught me to read while my mother worked cleaning floors. I wanted to be a doctor, but knew we would never be able to afford it. I could also play violin well, but my mother said I could not make a living out of it, and I had two younger brothers who also needed schooling. I went to the local school. I was a good student, and was dux of the primary school. As a family we kept to ourselves and rarely had other kids come over.We kept a low profile because we were the only Aboriginal family in the school. In those days, if a single parent objected to us being at

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school, we would not have been allowed to go. I used to come home from school the ‘back way’ to avoid being pelted with rocks and stones from the other kids, and being called ‘nigger’, even though I was the fair-skinned one. I left school at sixteen. However, my mother and grandmother had already decided that nursing would be a good career for me. My older sister was a nurse, and it was also what I wanted to do. A career in nursing meant that I would be clothed, fed and housed, and I would also get $20 a week, and could help put my younger brothers through high school. I also wanted to help people and felt that nursing would give me a professional identity and liked the idea of always working as part of a team. I went to the interview with my mother and grandmother. Matrons were thought of as very scary women and I remember being so nervous. The matron said I could start my training as long as I didn’t tell anyone I was Aboriginal. I remember that she said, ‘You couldn’t tell I was Aboriginal, anyway.’ I was only sixteen, but a nursing shortage meant that they let me in; the usual starting age was seventeen. Hiding my Aboriginality was very hard for me. I had to move into the nurses’ home. It was only one hour away from my family, but they did not visit in case someone found out I was Aboriginal. My hospital training began at Gosford District Hospital. Back then it was a 250-bed hospital, but now it is an area health service. I remember at such a young age I was so shy. I don’t think I spoke to anyone for about two years, and because of my shyness, I soon became a victim of bullying. I don’t think there was another Aboriginal nurse in the hospital, and I have not yet met anyone else that graduated from there. How I survived my training is beyond me. The Aboriginal patients all knew my family, yet there was a silent agreement not to ‘dob me in’. Despite the early secrecy around my identity in my early years of training, I have never been ashamed of my culture, or my people. I have always known my family loved me very much, and I have experienced how wonderful it is when you nurse someone and they go back to your community and tell others about it. Grandmother and mother thought it pretty special to have two nurses in the family. My family was so very proud. After my training, I moved to Sydney and worked mostly night shift. On the night shift there were fewer staff and that made me feel safer. I believed that with fewer people around, I was less likely to be exposed. The hours were long and I had so much to learn; not only about the art of nursing, but fitting into a white schema. I even remember sitting in the dining room crying thinking about how I was going to eat lettuce with a knife and fork! Still, I made it through and succeeded in three disciplines of general, psychiatric and mental retardation. I chose, however, to pursue an

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interest in renal because I realised very early that Aboriginal people had huge mental health and renal issues. One of the reasons I loved renal was that I was amazed by what kidneys did.They are amazing things they just go and go and try really hard to keep going and, I think everybody needs to take a break from mental health after a while. And, also, I knew that Aboriginal people didn’t ‘cause’ renal failure, and wanted to be a supportive voice in this area. I got married while I was working in the mental retardation unit hospital and soon after was to experience one of the toughest challenges of my nursing career. One night I cut myself while opening a can of beer for my father. At the time I was working in casualty, and I turned up for the morning shift the next day and unwittingly was exposed to a patient who was HIV positive. This was in the early 1980s when there was a lot of fear around HIV and, unfortunately, there was only one test, and it was not entirely reliable. The first test came up suspect and, in all the panic and stress that followed waiting for the necessary results of the second test, my husband left me and I lost my job. My Uncle Sooty turned up on my door step and I went and stayed with my parents for a long while. It was an awful time. I could not get a job as a nurse, nor work in a psychiatric ward unless it was with a friend, who at that time was the only person who wanted to work with me. The news went through the nursing profession like wildfire, until it seemed that nearly everywhere I went, people knew. I even went to a restaurant and people wanted me to leave, and the authorities wanted to take my son away and put him in foster care because they were concerned about him being at risk of HIV and that I would die. A year after being exposed to HIV, I had the required twelve-month test. It showed that I did NOT have HIV! That twelve months of not knowing for sure was extremely lonely. It also taught me so much. I learnt about what was important in terms of family relationships, and about who your friends really are.With the all-clear given to me, I was just so happy to go back and be a nurse. Although I still had my sights on nursing, my parents encouraged me to go off to do something else. I remember they said, ‘Be something bigger now.’ So while working full-time night shift, and as a single mother, I decided to go to university. I studied very hard at university. I did a Bachelor of Arts (Psychology) Applied Science (Psyc) Aboriginal studies while at the same time doing a Graduate Diploma in Applied Science with a focus on clinical drug dependence studies. Those qualifications were soon followed by a Masters in Indigenous Health, a Masters in Health Administration, a Graduate Diploma

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in Aged Care Management, and a PhD in Aboriginal Studies, with a focus on capacity building in Indigenous Australian communities and leadership and models of care. I worked full time as a clinical nurse specialist, then a nursing unit manager, all the time I was studying. It was tough, but I was a single mother and mature age student, and didn’t want to waste any time. Somewhere in among the study I married a Maori chief, who is the New Zealand Government Te Matatini delegate to Australia.We have three sons. My experience as a nurse and my education means that I am also kept busy as a member of the local land council, a board member of the local Aboriginal Medical Service, an emergency foster parent for Maori and Koori kids, and a clinical supervisor for the Indigenous Mental Health Workers’ Service. I have been a clinical nurse specialist, nurse unit manager, nurse manager, director of clinical services, even an area director of medical services. I started at Sydney University as an Indigenous Australian lecturer at the Faculty of Nursing at Sydney University and, in 2004, was made director of the Indigenous Nursing Unit, a newly formed unit at the University of Sydney, but left because I felt my integrity was threatened. I hope that nursing will be able to adopt and adapt to Indigenous ways. My work now sees me finding ways to increase the number of Indigenous nurses within the profession, and with developing strategies that assist in retaining them through university to the workforce, and, importantly, to equip them with some of the skills they will need to work as Indigenous nurses. I believe that nursing is as much about interpersonal skills and communication as it is about the mechanics of nursing. Good nursing is about teamwork and having empathy with your patients. It is about understanding what they are going through, and thinking about how you can make things a little better. There is nothing finer than giving someone a warm blanket in the middle of the night, or something to alleviate their pain. I also featured in the nursing recruitment video for the New South Wales Department of Health. I have had some wonderful mentors in my 30 years of nursing. I had a wonderful NUM, Sue Evans, who saw through my shyness and encouraged me to become a CNS.Then I had a supportive DON, Mr Mark Kearin, who developed me to DON level and continues to be a support to me. Currently, I have Professor Jocelyn Lawler who is courageous and insightful in her creation of programs for Indigenous Australians; and, of course, we all have Aunty Sally Goold, whose constant support and example of determination is an excellent role model for all our nurses. I have been a nurse for 30 years. I love it! I hope to help make a difference.

”

Vicki Bradford I would not trade it for quids

I

“

Both photos were taken in the grounds of Cessnock Hospital between 1973 and 1974, during my first year of employment as a nurses’ aide. During this period, I was living in the nurses’ quarters

was born in Dungog in country New South Wales, north-west of Newcastle. I am the eldest of four children.We moved away from Dungog when I was five years’ old to Toronto in the Lake Macquarie Area.We moved to Blackalls Park when I was twelve years old, and remained there until I left home. I didn’t know any nurses, and hadn’t thought of nursing as a career before I was faced with looking for a job.When I reached the age of seventeen, I applied to go into the army, but was unsuccessful. My other choice was to be a hairdresser. Hairdressing was a popular profession at the time, but it was difficult to get an apprenticeship, and it was usually the case that people from lower socio-economic backgrounds didn’t get them, anyway. It was hard to gain employment in those days, and even though I applied for many jobs, I was unemployed for a long period of time. One day, my cousin’s wife, who worked at Cessnock Hospital, said that they were employing nurses’ aides and that I should ring up. I got a tip that I should not ask for a ‘job interview’, but an ‘interview for the profession of nursing’. Apparently the matron immediately excluded people who were ‘just looking for a job’.

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I went for my first job interview on a Friday in August 1973. I was successful straightaway, had my uniforms fitted, and a room allocated in the nurses’ home. I was to start the following Monday morning at Cessnock District Hospital. I was so frightened, not only of moving away from home, but of how I would handle someone’s death. I even had nightmares about it. In the nurses’ quarters, the other nurses helped out. Night staff would come around and wake you up in the morning, and what was really heartening was that I had a friend I went to school with who was also nursing at Cessnock. It was nice to see someone I actually knew. During my training, mum and dad would drive up to Cessnock to pick me up on my day off, and take me back ready for my next lot of shifts.They did that for about a year to alleviate the home sickness that I felt until I was able to drive myself.The loneliness and isolation was made worse when dad was sick and in hospital in Sydney. I think the hardest part of the isolation and loneliness was my first Christmas. In those days, you had to have permission to sleep out from the nurses’ quarters, and permission if you were going to be late back. I was working through Christmas, so mum and dad brought the family up on Christmas day to celebrate it with me.We had a picnic in the park. My family was so proud. Dad liked the idea of me being a nurse because he was quite ill and, as his condition deteriorated, he came to rely on me quite a bit. Sometimes I would think that I could nurse him through to a miraculous recovery, but that didn’t happen. After a long battle with his illness, he died. Most of my work has been nursing old people. I fitted in really well and loved what I did. I had a real affinity with my patients. I always enjoyed assisting the elderly, but it wasn’t where I thought I would end up working when I first started out. Back then, I was so frightened of nursing elderly people and having to wash them. At Cessnock Hospital, I thought I was working in the children’s ward, but was instead sent to Cessnock House, which was an aged care facility within the hospital. I remember that I cried all the way to the ward. After the first few days, I got over the shame and embarrassment I felt and built up good relationships with my patients. I also did some surgical nursing, but did not enjoy it because I got really embarrassed by the young men. I was uncomfortable about washing them and caring for them. Nursing was really fun back then, even though it was serious work, and you worked really hard and did long hours. I remember when I had my first death, and this person had been sick for a few days and died on my shift. The male nurse and I had the job of preparing the body for the morgue.We started to get the patient prepared

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and to do things like take jewellery off, and I was left to keep working while the male nurse had a cigarette.When it came time to wash the body, the patient exhaled that last bit of breath, and I thought the patient was still alive! In a panic, I dropped everything. The other nurses thought it was funny, but later explained that the exhaling of air was normal and that the patient was definitely not alive. My formal education finished in Year 9. I did my nurses’ aide training and gained a credit pass in the exams.The deputy matron encouraged me to consider doing nurse training. I did my nurse entrance exam, and passed it.There was a problem with starting my training because people applying around the years 1974 and 1975 had to have their High School Certificates. I did not have it, and so I kept getting pushed back for my starting date. I actually started nurse training in June 1975. I did really well, and topped the class in my first year. In my third year, I fell pregnant. I passed my finals, even though I was in hospital with toxaemia until the day before the exam. I also had other health problems in my last year of training. After I got married in 1976, we lived at Blackalls Park, which was about 30 miles from Cessnock. As I was in the final trimester of my pregnancy, it was very uncomfortable sitting for two hours to do an exam, hence I finished it in super quick time and was pleasantly surprised when I was informed a couple of weeks later that I had passed within 0.25 of a credit. I was really happy with the result, considering the circumstances. After maternity leave, I went back to complete my nurse training, and again had four months off because of health problems. I started midwifery in November 1979, but didn’t finish. I injured my back and resigned in May or June of 1980. It was a bit sad because all I had to do was my exams, but it wasn’t to be. I had another child in 1983 while I was attending business college, and worked in various places and in a number of clerical positions. I also taught at a private business college. I went back into health, working in pathology, private home nursing and with general practitioners. I then went back into the hospital and aged care area, working mostly in aged care. In 1986, I lost my dad after seventeen years of fighting his illness. I still think of him most days, and about how reliant he was on me and the skills I’d learnt as a nurse. I had personal issues and also lost confidence, and so went to TAFE and did something different. I did a dressmaking course, and it helped to give me back my confidence. In 1995, I decided I wanted to go back to work full time to support my children. Bianca was seventeen and James was twelve. It can be quite challenging working full time and being a single mum. In April of that year, I

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was appointed to a position in Aboriginal Health at Central Coast Health, where my role evolved from that of an Aboriginal Health liaison officer to area manager of Aboriginal Health.When I commenced as the liaison officer, I was the only person in an identified position. When I left in 2002, there were fifteen identified positions and an Aboriginal Health Unit. In 1997, I did a Graduate Diploma in Health Science (Indigenous Health).While studying, I worked full time and, during that time, Bianca had a premature baby, Allirah, who was born eight weeks’ premature. It was a difficult time. In 1999, I decided I would go back and do my Masters in Health Science (Indigenous Health), again working full time. At that point, I still had James at home and, as well, Bianca was having another baby,Tyler, who was stillborn.That was a very challenging time for my professional and personal life, but I still finished my Masters in time, and within one year. I think after these experiences, my focus somewhat changed. I became a strong advocate for improving health outcomes for babies and mothers. I felt the system had let me and my family down.While still working within that system, my daughter was taking legal action. It was extremely difficult. Bianca has since had two more children, both premature. Natalia was born at 28½ weeks, and Bodan at 31 weeks. Bianca is coping quite well now, so she does not rely on me as much. In 2002, I came down to work at the Department of Health to establish the Aboriginal Workforce Development Unit. This unit was established to ensure the ongoing provision of professional and culturally appropriate health services to Aboriginal communities in New South Wales, and to assist in improving the overall health of Indigenous Australians in New South Wales. I still sit back and wonder about how far I have come and what I have achieved and the job that I do, and sometimes I want to throw it all in. I miss nursing. I especially miss, like crazy, the client contact. In July 2004, James and his partner had a baby, Illinyah. For the first time, I had a grandchild who was not impatient to be born and went to term! I think, sometimes, as Indigenous people working in Indigenous health, we place a lot of responsibility on each other and on ourselves, and sometimes that means that our families miss out. It is really hard to juggle everything and be all to everybody; but probably I would not trade it for quids, either. As far as role models are concerned, my niece is now nursing (Alicia McKowan, whose story also appears in this book). She has taken a pathway similar to mine and is now doing the conversion course into a Bachelor of Nursing, and she is working while she is doing it. I have been able to have some influence, and been able to point her in the right direction. As far as support, if I didn’t have the support of my family, extended family and friends, I probably would not be where I am today.

”

S a l l y G o o l d (n e e B a m b l e t t) Keep your eye on the prize!

I

“

Doctor of Nursing, 2002, Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology

am a Wiradjuri woman. I was born at Narrandera in south-western New South Wales. Narrandera is situated on the banks of the Murrumbidgee River. My father, Archie George Bamblett, son of Archie (Jerry) Bamblett and Sophia Cornelius Wedge from Yass, was born on Warangesda Mission at Darlington Point. My mother, Eva Lilly Scott, was born at Forbes, New South Wales, daughter of Alice Sloan from Condobolin and Matthew Scott, from Canowindra, New South Wales. When Warangesda Mission was closed in 1924, apparently the manager, according to Archie Bamblett, ordered the people off the mission land, telling them, ‘You are half-caste, and can make your own way now.’ But, wherever they tried to settle, they were moved on by the authorities because no one wanted ‘blacks’ in their area. It is known they settled on what was known as the ‘bottom sand hill’ at Narrandera, south-west New South Wales. After a while they were moved on from there, too, and finally settled on the ‘top sand hill’, an area of land

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that no one wanted. I remember as a child that it was an area between the town rubbish tip and the sewage works. We moved to Sydney when I was young and lived in a rented terrace house on the Princes Highway in the inner Sydney suburb of St Peters.We were the only Aboriginal family in the area, and certainly the only Aboriginal kids at St Peters public school. On speaking with siblings, it is thought that we probably moved from Narrandera so that we would be less at risk of being taken as a result of the assimilation policies of the day. In the early days, our parents did not ever speak of their struggles. I was the youngest of seven children. There were four boys and three girls. I was a much-loved child, many have said very spoilt, by older siblings and parents. But, like most people who lived in the area, and certainly all the Aboriginal people that we knew, both in Sydney and Narrandera, we were poor. When we were at school we were victims of a lot of racism by other students. Hardly a day went by that the three of us were not in a fight on the way home from school. Of course, we three stuck together; one in, all in. Later, though, I was often bashed after school and had my clothes ripped when my two brothers were not there to protect me. My brothers and I learnt to fight and to stand up for ourselves out of sheer necessity in those early school days. I remember when I was five or six years old being absolutely devastated by an act of bullying. My mother had hand-sewn a dress for me and let me wear it to school. I was bashed by other school kids that day and it was ripped off me. I cried and sobbed for a long time, because mum had made it for me and I thought it was so beautiful. Unfortunately, it was beyond repair. I couldn’t understand why they were so mean.Things did improve after a while. Like many Aboriginal children, I had been hospitalised several times with various problems. I suppose as a result of this, I thought nurses were wonderful women. I recall, however, that some of the language and actions of the day were a bit hard for little Aboriginal kids to understand. I remember being asked if I wanted to ‘spend a penny’ and, of course, I had no idea what I was being asked! Instead, I said,‘I don’t have any money.’Why I simply couldn’t have been asked to do a ‘wee’ was/is beyond me. I remember also being in hospital when I was about three years old, and my older sister Patsy was also a patient. I was very fretful and cried constantly and as a result was roused on several times by the nurses. I cannot remember being comforted by them. Apparently, according to my sister, I would say to the nurses, ‘If you just let me get in to bed and have a cuddle up with Patsy, I’ll be a good girl.’ However, that was not allowed.

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For as long as I can remember, I had wanted to be a nurse. It is wonderful when you are a little child and people ask what you wanted to be when you grew up and I would reply, ‘I’m going to be a nurse’, and they would politely say,‘That’s nice!’ I left school at fourteen after achieving my Intermediate Certificate. I worked in factories and worked in a major retail outlet until I was old enough for nursing. When I was sixteen and was applying to undertake my training, I was really stunned to hear people, both black and white, say that I wouldn’t be able to do it. I would say, ‘Of course I will.’When I asked why they didn’t think I would, the reply was always, ‘Because you are Aboriginal.’ Of course, I didn’t believe them. I strongly believed that if you want to do something, you do it. I didn’t know that many people in other States and also perhaps in New South Wales were excluded from undertaking nursing because they were Aboriginal. I continued with my dream and applied to my local hospital, the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. Mum and I were interviewed by the matron, Miss Evelyn Lawrie. I was accepted! How wonderful to be given this opportunity! I will never forget Miss Lawrie for giving me the chance to achieve my dream. I was the first Aboriginal student nurse at Royal Prince Alfred Hospital and, as I understand, in New South Wales. I don’t know if others had applied before me. The joy and happiness of being accepted into nursing was, for me, overwhelming. For my family it was just amazing that I had been accepted and that I was going to ‘do something’. They were so happy and so very proud; every one of my brothers and sisters rallied around and contributed so that I would have everything ‘just right’ to go nursing and to live in the nurses’ home. They bought my nurse’s watch and shoes (they were Halls black lace ups), black lisle stockings, my books, scissors, clothes, undies and pyjamas, so that I would be as good as everyone else! My family was so wonderfully supportive, although they did have concerns that I wouldn’t be able to do it, because I was considered a bit of a wimp! Came the day (2 January, the day after my seventeenth birthday), I lined up in a group with 41 other prospective nurses, feeling very strange and alone and, I am sure, standing out like the proverbial sore thumb. However, the other girls were friendly and probably feeling a lot like I was feeling. We were greeted by the tutor sisters and were given an orientation of sorts.We were shown to our cubicles in our new home, which was actually an old army hut, but which was surprisingly quite comfortable. My mum and dad were not able to be with me on that day, as my brother Ken was in Narrandera Hospital with rheumatic fever. My sister Patsy and brother-in-

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law Mervyn accompanied me for support; but after they had left, I remember I felt terribly alone and afraid. Although we lived only a fairly short distance from the hospital, it really seemed a long way from home. I felt very isolated and alone living in the nurses’ home, with separate rooms and no family warmth and companionship. However, I’m sure everyone felt like that. It was all so new and wonderful and we did have a lot of fun, so it didn’t take very long to settle in, form as a group, and to get used to the routines. After all, I was able to go home each weekend, which many of the other girls were not able to do. I must say that I was treated like one of the girls by the other girls in the group, and was accepted by them all, I think. I wasn’t invited to socialise very often, but then I think that was because frequently I went home on my rostered days off. I am sure I stood out and was very obviously Aboriginal, but I was so happy to be nursing that I didn’t take any notice of this, and I just let any comments that might have been made go over my head. I made good friends and have remained friends with many of my fellow trainees, even after all these years. We lived closely together for the six weeks of preliminary training school (PTS), and were known as ‘probationers’ (pros). During PTS, we learned the important basic skills of nursing and, among other things, anatomy and physiology. Unfortunately, I failed a couple of exams in PTS.The tutor sister sent me to Matron Lawrie, who was away, so I went then to the deputy matron, Sister Williamson. She spoke with me, saying, ‘I won’t contact your parents, but you study hard and pass the supplementary (post) exam.’ I studied and worked so hard. I was terrified that I would fail again and be excluded

I was referred to as Nurse Bamblett at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital

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from the course. It would have been my worst nightmare! The shame of failure would have been absolutely intolerable. At that time, I believed that many people expected, if not hoped, that I would fail. Certainly, not my family, though. I suppose it is very difficult for some people to understand the position that I was in. As the first Aboriginal nurse at the hospital, and the first of my family to have been given the opportunity to ‘do something’, to fail would have been disastrous, and would have brought such ‘shame’ on us all. The pressure was very difficult and the load was heavy. I always felt that I had to walk the extra mile, and that the mile was a very difficult one. There was a strongly implied expectation that I would ‘do the right thing’ so that I would not disappoint those who had placed such high hopes on me. The burden of this pressure was sometimes overwhelming, especially when it came to socialising. I didn’t go out very often in the early years of my training, because the desire to succeed was so very strong.Years later the comment was made that I was considered a ‘Miss Goody Two Shoes’. Two years ago, I had opportunity to read my reports from my training days.The tutor sister had written on my PTS report, ‘This nurse is totally incapable of learning.’ I was absolutely devastated to read this. After all those years, I wept. I wondered how could someone write this. I wept for the child that I was, who had had come from such a disadvantaged background, who had such hopes and dreams, and who had overcome such odds in spite of barriers such as this. As an experienced nurse educator, I was disgusted that clearly no assistance was given to me, when it must have been obvious that I was not coping with the academic requirements. As an Aboriginal woman, I was disgusted that such a broad-sweeping statement could be made. After I had wept and wailed, I gathered myself together and said to she, who had passed on,‘If only you could see me now!’ Nurse training was hard.When I trained, we worked very hard. It was hard for everyone.There was strong discipline that often seemed so unjust. My focus was on doing the ‘right thing’, which meant learning to be a nurse, performing to the best of my ability, and keeping out of trouble. Although I was aware that racism was alive and well, it didn’t seem terribly important to me. I had a goal and I focused on it. I was committed to achieving my dream. I really have to say a lot of racism went over my head. I was doing what I wanted to do, and nothing else really mattered. I had the love and support of my immediate as well as my large extended family, which was just wonderful and it helped me so much. The camaraderie among trainees was really a wonderful support sys-

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tem. When you consider it, we grew up together. There were some very wonderful people at the hospital – other tutor sisters, ward sisters, nurses and doctors as well as ancillary staff – who treated me so well and with warmth and respect. I consider myself very, very fortunate to have trained when I did, and to have met so many truly good people. This is not to say that life was easy, and that there were no difficult times.There was a great deal of teeth clenching and many tears were shed over extremely difficult, unreasonable ward sisters, and sometimes difficult and racist patients. It all seemed so unfair at times. I cried many tears in the pan room, which really was a great refuge, where nurses could take out their frustrations when cleaning bedpans, bottles, bowls and benches. It seems a very unlikely place to find some comfort! But at times it was a sanctuary. I am sure there were times that many of the nurse trainees just wanted to walk away, and many did. I suppose in the main, when the dust settled, we just got on and did what we had to do, the best way we knew how. I need to say that for the few who were very unpleasant, cruel and difficult, there were many more who were wonderful and supportive. Many years later I learnt, too, about ‘reverse racism’. I learnt that was when people bent over backwards to enure that they were not seen as racist. I didn’t have a problem, if that is what it was! When I graduated from general nurse training, my mum and dad, my sister Patsy and my brother Archie attended. It was wonderful.They were all very proud. I had done it! I suppose like many young people, at the time I didn’t really appreciate the sacrifices that my family had made for me, which is a great pity. I recognise that now.

Mum, dad and I on graduation day from general nurse training

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In our own right: Black Australian nurses’ stories

Copies of two of my nursing certificates

I applied to undertake midwifery at King George V Memorial Hospital and I enjoyed midwifery and the study and did well. It was during this time that I learned I was able to teach. During my final exam, I was asked to explain about the placenta. I apparently did it so well that it was suggested by the examiner that I consider exploring a teaching pathway. On completion of this course, I then became a staff nurse (junior sister) at RPAH. While there I worked in the operating theatres and on night duty. I next gained a staff position (now known as a senior sister) at King George V Memorial Hospital, and was promoted to sister in charge of one of the wards soon after. My professional life progressed very well. However, I did find it interesting and somewhat distressing that it appeared to be okay to be an Aboriginal registered nurse, so long as you didn’t really assert yourself too much and if you were fairly compliant. If you did all that, then you were tolerated. I noticed that, as soon as you started to climb the ladder, things become a little testy and the barriers go up with some non-Aboriginal nurses joining forces to keep you out and in ‘your place’. I had a few problems in overcoming those barriers, but they were not insurmountable. An area that I found extremely difficult is the issue of what I call the ‘invisibility’ of Indigenous Australian nurses.There are very few nurses, if any, in senior administrative positions in mainstream health care settings. I cannot recall seeing another Indigenous nurse in all the time that I was at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital. I was approached by Dulcie Flower and Fred Hollows to help set up and run the Aboriginal Medical Service in Redfern. I was there at its inception in 1971. It was my great privilege to work there, with and for my people, and to work with Fred Hollows and the other doctors who worked there on a voluntary basis after they had finished their working day at their hospitals. It was a very interesting and educational time for me. I started on a very steep learning curve in that, although I had grown up at St Peters,

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gone to school at Newtown and trained at RPAH Camperdown, all in a five-mile radius of Redfern and with many of my relatives living in the Redfern area, I was still not accepted by all of the community members. In fact, I was told that I was considered a ‘flash black’. I particularly remember one day at the clinic, a man, who was slightly intoxicated, presented with a sore ear and wanted to see the doctor. Doctors, as I mentioned earlier, came to Redfern only after they had finished their shifts at other hospitals. So, I explained that the doctor was not there, and I examined his ear. I found a small lesion. The man persisted in his demands to see the doctor, and I again explained why one wasn’t in attendance. He stood back, looked me up and down, and said,‘Who do you think you are, just because you’re educated?’ I thought to myself, ‘Well, who do I think I am?’ I think that, really, education was at the crux of this matter. Shirley Perry (Mum Shirl), a cousin, took me under her wing after that and let the community know, in no uncertain terms, as only Shirley could, who I was and that they should attend the service. This was the start of a very interesting time as far as Aboriginal politics was concerned because it was also the time of the black activist movement emerging in Redfern. In Sydney I cared for my mum for several years, when she was ill following a stroke.When she died, my family (my husband George, son Cameron, and I) moved to Brisbane. After a few years in the clinical setting, I undertook a Diploma in Nurse Education. I have specialised in cardio-thoracic and coronary care nursing and worked in that area for many years. I conducted the Post-Basic Cardio Thoracic Nursing Course at the Prince Charles Hospital, Queensland. I moved from the Prince Charles Hospital to another hospital to conduct the Post-Basic Cardiothoracic Nursing Course. I was there for three years, but was told the funding ran out, so I was dismissed! I was devastated, and it came as a shock because nothing had been said to me prior to that fateful Friday. With a Bachelor of Applied Science (Nursing), I eventually moved into the tertiary education sector, to the School of Nursing, Queensland University of Technology (QUT). I also obtained my Master of Nursing Studies (Flinders University). I lectured at QUT for six years. It was another wonderful time of my life; I love teaching and loved being with the students. There are also difficulties in being an Aboriginal person in that position because of the perception that, because you are Aboriginal, you would automatically know all there is to know about Aboriginal people. Many non-Aboriginal people do not understand that, just as there is diversity in the wider community, so too is there diversity among Aboriginal people. It was also wrongly considered that an Aboriginal person could speak for

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My husband George, me, and our son Cameron at my graduation in a Bachelor of Applied Science (Nursing) from the Queensland University of Technology

Torres Strait Islander people. The fact that we are two distinct, different cultural groups was an issue that some people just could not grasp. In response to this gap in understanding, while I was at QUT, for student clinical practice, I organised community visits for students, to increase their awareness of cultural issues, safety and respect. The students and I would live, for two weeks, on Aboriginal communities.The students found this a truly educational, worthwhile experience. Community members also enjoyed having the students there; the sharing of information was a two-way process.The students and I really enjoyed, and learnt so much from the old people telling their stories of the old days and of their experiences, and it was also good for the students to mix with the younger members of the community. It was not unusual to see students walking around with one child on the hip and a couple hanging on to their skirt or trousers.We all felt very privileged to have had the opportunity to be there in whichever community we were. Students also said it was also interesting being in a minority group while they were in the communities.The students learnt so much from these community placements. It was interesting and also disappointing that, when I called for expressions of interest from students to undertake this community clinical practicum, I had no applications from the Aboriginal and/or Torres Strait Islander students.When I asked them why, the responses were that they were not interested. During my time at QUT, I was seconded to the Queensland Health Department as the co-ordinator of nursing services for the Aboriginal and Torres Strait health programme, and then as acting director of that area.

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This was really good, as I was able to visit many Aboriginal communities and I met many wonderful people. I was able to gain first-hand information and knowledge of the issues in communities and the problems confronting the people living in those communities. I could also learn about the really positive things that were being done; which, unfortunately are not focused on by the media. During this time, I also served a term on the Queensland Nursing Council. It was an opportunity to provide input on the relevant issues. When I undertook my Masters degree, I researched, ‘Why are there so few Aboriginal registered nurses?’ I found many reasons for this; mainly, student-to-student and academic-to-student racism and discrimination, as well as inadequate, or a lack of, support systems for students. I thought there was no point in having this knowledge and not doing something about it, so I left QUT because I believed that there were other things I needed to do.The system needed to be changed! Following consultation with the Australian Nursing Federation and, with the support of Robyn Coulthard and Judy Uren, a forum was held during August 1997 that was attended by 28 Indigenous registered nurses. It was at this forum that the Congress of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Nurses (CATSIN) was born! Several recommendations were developed, including the priority to increase the recruitment and retention of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people into the nursing profession. There was also a focus on bringing about changes in the nursing curricula, which included standalone subjects or units on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander history, health and culture. In 2005, I am pleased to report that CATSIN’s voice is being heard and changes are occurring. I was fortunate to have served a term on the Council for Aboriginal Reconciliation, as a member of the council, and was a member of the National Indigenous Advisory Committee for SOCOG. I was also honoured to be a torchbearer and also ‘Mayor for the Day’ at the Olympic Village, 2000.What a wonderful time it was! I was awarded the Order of Australia Medal in 1985 for Service to Nursing Education and Aboriginal Health. How humble I felt. I was awarded the Royal College of Nursing (Queensland Chapter) Distinguished Nursing Award 2000. To be recognised by one’s peers is a great honour and truly wonderful, after all that had gone on before. In 2002, I was awarded a Doctor of Nursing, Honoris Causa, from Royal Melbourne Institute of Technology (RMIT), for service to the community and to the profession. What an honour; our son Cameron and friends shared that occasion with me. I have been awarded Adjunct Profes-

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Receiving the Order of Australia Medal at Goverment House, Queensland

sorships from James Cook University and Griffith University. I also sit on advisory boards/committees of four university schools of nursing, and act in an informal advisory committee for others. I have loved being a nurse and living my dream. Nursing has been very good to me and I believe I have made a very strong contribution to nursing and also contributed to helping my people. I want to give the following advice to student nurses and registered nurses making their way into and through the profession. You are not going to find the road easy, but nothing worth doing is ever easy. That you have to stand up for what you believe in. We as Aboriginal nurses have to work that bit harder for what we achieve, and yes, you will have to walk the extra mile. You cannot be ‘as good as’, you have to be ‘better’ than others, to make your mark, because being as good as is not enough for those who judge you. How fair is that? It’s not fair, but life isn’t always fair, is it? It is not easy. It is certainly not easy to move up the ladder in the mainstream arena, because there are forces at work to keep you down.You need to be a strong person and to rise above those issues and the barriers that are placed in front of you. The best advice I can give is for you to ‘keep your eye on the prize’, and what a wonderful prize it is to achieve your dream! I would like to acknowledge the wonderful support of my family, particularly my parents Eva and Archie, my siblings, and my husband George and son Cameron.

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Alecia McKowan Why I wish to become a nurse

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On campus while studying

y name is Alecia and I am 22 years of age. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to become a nurse. As a child and adolescent, I experienced frequent health problems myself and it was during one of my many visits to hospital that I became aware of the difference a nurse can make, at a time when a person is at their most scared and vulnerable. Due to my ill health, I had to take up study in Year 8 by distance education. I did this for the next two years, to complete my Year 10 certificate. By the age of eighteen, my health had improved and I decided to complete my Assistant in Nursing Certificate Three at Booroongen Djugun College. It was at this time I realised the poor state of Indigenous Australian health and became aware of the lack of health care facilities for the Indigenous Australian community. Being able to make a difference is one of the reasons for wanting to become a nurse. I worked in a nursing home for the next three years, which I dearly loved doing. However, I felt I needed to further my education in order to

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expand my career opportunities. Living independently and supporting myself, I couldn’t afford to go to university, so I applied for the Trainee Enrolled Nurse Programme, run by Hunter Area Health. In 2001, after an exam and interview, I got a traineeship at Maroba Nursing Home. I completed the twelve-month traineeship in October 2003. I achieved a distinction and was ranked in the top 5 per cent in the State exam. At the start of 2003, I began working at Lake Macquarie Private Hospital as a scout in the operating theatre. It was at this time I learned about and applied for the Bachelor of Nursing programme at Charles Sturt University at Bathurst. I knew that if I was to further my study to the level I wanted to, I would have to do it by distance education. Distance learning would allow me the flexibility of working full time so that I could support myself while I studied. I was accepted into the programme and have just completed semester one. It is hard mentally, physically and financially, but I am determined to complete the four-year course and become a registered nurse. Upon completion of my studies, I would like to work in paediatrics, both in a hospital setting and in a primary health care setting within the community. I have already developed an interest in looking at issues such as childhood obesity in the Indigenous population. I want to make a difference as a nurse for the Indigenous and wider community, and to give back some of the support I received in my childhood years to the children of today. The challenges ahead Firstly, as an enrolled nurse, I am aware of some of the challenges involved in nursing. Physically it can be demanding on your body, and mentally it is challenging and at times frustrating. For me, personally, one of the greatest challenges will be converting from an enrolled nurse to a registered nurse. Issues such as autonomy, accountability and the scope of practice of the RN will be some of the changes associated with the conversion. Secondly, another challenge is related to the role of the nurse and the way society has stereotyped the profession.This social stigma, which dates back to the ‘Nightingale’ era of nursing, views nurses as being girls who wore white dresses and a hat with a red cross, emptied bed pans and were seen and not heard.This is a challenge to the modern-day nurse. Lastly, there are many differing opinions on whether nursing is a profession. This in itself proposes a challenge relating to the way nurses are viewed and accepted by society as a whole. Opportunities Becoming a registered nurse will provide me with the opportunity to work in a profession and field I am passionate about. It will provide me with the

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opportunity to work as part of a multidisciplinary health care team to provide holistic care for my patients and the community. A career in nursing will allow me to expand my education and experiences in a number of areas of study such as paediatrics and neonatology, and I believe nursing provides many opportunities to travel within Australia and around the world. Finally, and most importantly, it will allow me to achieve my personal goals and provide me with the satisfaction and gratification that I have made a contribution to the current and future status of health in Australia.

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MR T (G a r y T o r r e n s) A sense of understanding

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I see myself as a nurse who is Aboriginal, not an Aboriginal nurse

y time at the Australian Catholic University was great.The Aboriginal unit based at the university was known as Weemala, which comprised both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal staff.They were just fantastic. The support staff were able to empathise with students, both on an educational and personal level. They provided just the type of support I needed to start and succeed with my tertiary education. Some of the lecturers were tough. In fact, at times ruthless and strict, but it was fair and applied to all students. One of the lecturers was very receptive to my needs and took extra time to go through certain points and assignments. She knew my skills and ability were more than adequate to see me through the course successfully. She was aware of my Aboriginality and wanted me to succeed. All the lecturers encouraged me. I didn’t want favours, or to be wrapped in cotton wool and, as each of the three years progressed, I needed less and less assistance. Proud as I am, I don’t see myself as an Aboriginal nurse, but instead and importantly, as a nurse who is Aboriginal.

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On shift, at work preparing medication

The need for more Aboriginal nurses is clear.With increasing morbidity and mortality within the Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities, Indigenous patients need to feel a sense of understanding, empathy and support. Nursing my own people was a satisfying experience, and I did my best to identify with, and build the link between, my patients and me. In 1997, in my first year as a registered nurse at Princess Alexandra Hospital in Brisbane, I learnt so many new and exciting things. Staff were aware of my Aboriginality, but it was my nursing ability that was most important. I became a respected nurse. I still work in the clinical area of renal health, but now work in London. It is probably the most multicultural city in the world, and I have used the skills I developed in Australia with my own people in my work here. I will eventually come home to Australia; but, even working across the other side of the world, I don’t forget my experiences as a student nurse. These experiences have made me the person I am today.

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Ellie Gaffney Determination to succeed

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ivine intervention or sheer determination; I think perhaps both of these things helped me to make the decision to become a nurse. I was only fourteen years of age when I realised racial discrimination might be a barrier to fulfilling my dream of being a nurse. Like other Indigenous Australian nurses of the era, I encountered discrimination and prejudice, but my determination to succeed was stronger than the hurdles put before me by those who thought, and hoped, I would fail.The discrimination wasn’t just from white people. I didn’t start out with a burning desire to become a nurse. I fell into it. My first job was at a pearling company. I was taught the basic office skills, and perhaps would have continued on there for a long time had it not been for a twist of fate, brought about by the invention and growing use of plastics. The pearling company I worked for was forced to close because plastics began to replace the pearl shell in buttons and other things. So, I went to work at the local hospital as an assistant nurse, which is where I developed a passion for nursing. One of the nursing sisters I worked under, Dorothy Spencer, suggested I should go down south to do my general training, because she said that I had potential. I wrote and made many enquiries. Each hospital I wrote to acknowledged my enquiry, but I soon found out I did not meet the basic requirements for a trainee nurse. So, I set about making sure I met those requirements. It was then I faced my first obstacle to becoming a nurse. Back in those days, when people sought advice and guidance, they went to the parish priest. He suggested that he could tutor me for fifteen shillings a fortnight. I was only earning 25 shillings a fortnight, but my desire to learn was so strong that I accepted the offer. I visited that priest two or three times a week and he would give me books to read. After a lot of work, I received a letter from the Mater Hospital enquiring if I had succeeded in raising my scholastic standard. I showed the priest the letter, and his response was cruel and it crushed me. He said that he wasn’t a teacher and couldn’t raise my scholastic standard, saying surely I didn’t think for one minute that I

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would be able to do the nursing training and become a nursing sister, because he said it is only for certain types of people. His words were a body blow. In other words, only educated white girls were able to do nursing. The rest is history. Heartbroken, I ran into the church grounds of the Catholic church next door and cried my heart out, when the parish priest came out to find out what all the fuss was about. He listened to my story, felt my heartbreak, and introduced me to Sister Mary Florence. She stopped me crying and, with her support and encouragement, I began the path to becoming not only a nurse, but the first Torres Strait Islander to become a qualified nursing sister. It is something I am very proud of. Discrimination also came from within my own family. My father had difficulty accepting my position once I was qualified. As a patient in the Thursday Island Hospital, where I was working, dad told me he was ashamed to see me giving orders to one of the white nurses’ aides. Dad felt that the nurses’ aide should not be doing the menial talks I had assigned her, and said angrily to me, ‘Who do you think you are? Jus cos you bin go south, you think you somebody now.’Those words later gave me the title for my autobiography, Somebody Now. It is a book about my career, which was published in 1989. I was born on Thursday Island in the Torres Strait in 1932. My mother Geti was the daughter of a marriage between my grandmother Dadu, a Torres Strait Islander, and my Scottish grandfather, Jacob Summers, who worked on pearling boats in the Islands.

Me with a mother and baby at Thursday Island Hospital in 1975

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Photo taken in 1958 when I was a fourth year nurse at Royal Brisbane Hospital

My father was known as Tommy Loban, although his real name was Simeon Sadir.Tommy was born in Indonesia on Banda Neira, the Island of Spices. At the age of twelve, Tommy was snatched while catching fish for the evening meal, and taken aboard a pearling master’s schooner. He never saw his family or homeland again. I grew up on Thursday Island and attended the State school for coloured children for three years, before my education was interrupted by World War II. My family was evacuated for safety reasons and spent many years on the mainland.We stayed in Brisbane until the end of the war, then we returned to Thursday Island. In 1954, after passing my exams with a mark of 92 per cent, I was accepted into the Brisbane Mater Hospital preliminary intake. It should have been straight sailing from there on, but it wasn’t. My family used all their savings to pay for the ticket to fly me from Thursday Island to Cairns, and then by rail from Cairns to Brisbane. But, as I arrived in Cairns, so too did the monsoonal rains, and I was stuck there for three weeks. I missed the start of the nursing course. Instead of sitting around waiting for the next course to start, I secured a nurses’ aide job at the Royal Brisbane Hospital while completing a correspondence course to make sure I could be accepted by the Queensland Nurses Registration Board. I passed with a score of 78 per cent and started my general training at the Royal Brisbane in April 1954. When the time came to transfer to the Mater Hospital, I didn’t want to

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go, and I asked to be allowed to stay and continue my training at RBH. I had made many friends at RBH and I wanted to stay. When I completed general nursing training, I did obstetric training at the Royal Brisbane Women’s Hospital and worked in Queensland and the Northern Territory. Luckily for me, I was highly regarded and I never had trouble finding work, wherever I went. Eventually, I did return home to Thursday Island to work as a nursing sister at the hospital. What’s unusual about that? Nothing, normally, but this was Thursday Island, and there had never been a black nursing sister on Thursday Island before. Notices for nursing sisters in the sisters’ home and dining room appeared advising that ‘Nursing sisters must not attend coloured Islander’s parties or homes, nor travel in unauthorised vessels.’ I believe these to be racist. I also made history; I was allowed to live in the nursing sisters’ quarters and have meals in the staff dining room, which catered for the nursing sisters and doctors and all other white staff. However, my time at the Thursday Island Hospital ended rather bitterly, following an incident involving racial discrimination against a young Torres Strait Islander whom I had employed to become a trained and registered enrolled nurses’ aide. I resigned in protest. I was forced to accept a job at the local pub so I could remain on the Island to care for my ailing father and my two daughters. After a while, I sought reinstatement at the hospital. My requests were denied. Eventually I met my husband Tony, who was working at the local magistrates court and doing external studies as an article clerk of law. Our relationship was frowned upon, and inevitably Tony was transferred off the Island to Brisbane. He was told that if he continued the relationship, and married me, it would affect his decisions with respect to Aborigines and Islanders after he qualified. He gave up his studies, and we married. Throughout our married life, we have lived and worked in Cairns, Brisbane and the Northern Territory. We spent many holidays on Thursday Island, and it was during one of these trips that I was approached by the locals to consider applying for the matron’s position. After much discussion with Tony, and with his complete support, I decided that if I was to apply I wanted to be fully qualified and therefore needed to do some more training to obtain a Diploma in Applied Science in Nursing Administration. I was accepted into the course and later received my diploma.When the matron retired, I applied for the position. It was 1979 and the political climate in Australia was such that the government was crying out for self-management.We believed that I would get the job, so in April 1980, the family returned to Thursday Island only to

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Friends from the Philippines, Zambia and Nigeria at Nairobi University in 1985 when I attended the Forum 85 world meeting for women

find the hospital board had employed a white male as the new nursing administrator. It was a surprise. In anger, many of the people of Thursday Island formed an organisation called the Torres Strait Forum that was to be a platform for Islanders with grievances, particularly about discrimination in employment.The Forum requested from the board the reason for their decision against me.Their reason was that the appointee had more qualifications than I did. The Forum disagreed and, unhappy, wrote to the State and Federal Ministers for Aboriginal Affairs and Health and called for the sacking of the Thursday Island hospital board on the basis of discrimination. I am honestly of the opinion that the board was not ready for an Island woman at that decision-making level. My nursing career ended abruptly when I decided to give it all away after failing to secure that position. Even though, at that time, nursing was my love, I became disillusioned about the petty politics and so decided to end my nursing career. I was bitterly disappointed in not securing the nursing superintendent position at the local hospital, because I knew I was an efficient nursing sister with the necessary experience and qualifications. My nursing career was over, but my working life was changing direction. I worked for three years for Aboriginal hostels before becoming involved in bringing media, in the form of radio and newsletter, to the Torres Strait. After a break from health, I later returned to work in the primary health care sector. I was employed at the Primary Health Care Centre as the centre’s manager, to establish and commission the Centre for six months. However, three years later, I had to retire because of ill health. I continued to help out with advice and guidance, when required, with regard to providing health that is culturally appropriate.

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Emily Marshall My story of the red cloth

Dedicated to my dear loving mother.

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always wanted to become a nurse. I was born at Moa Island in the Torres Strait and was the youngest of ten children. My father was born at Mabuiag (Western Island) and lived at Moa. Dad was a sanitary worker, a fisherman, a gardener, and he would cut firewood and sell it to other village people. Whatever my dad brought home, whether it was from the bush or the sea, we had to eat what he caught and not let anything go to waste. My mother came from Yam Island (Eastern Island). My mother was a craftswomen. She would weave mats, baskets, beads, crochet lava-lava and sew clothes from any loose material we got from the missionary clothing box when the mission boat came to Moa Island. My mother was also a midwife. Dad and mum met on Yam Island. It was also where they married before moving to live at Moa. During my childhood years, in the 1940s and ’50s, my mother, Mrs Mair Levi, was a Torres Strait Islander midwife. My mother would always carry me on her back to other family homes whenever a woman needed her help. I can remember an extraordinary event when I was about nine years old.We went to a house, and outside, my mother said to me, ‘Baby, you sit here quietly outside this door.’ Over the door hung a red cloth, and mum went inside and closed the door. At the time, I did not know what was going on, so I waited patiently outside. Other family members of the household would make damper bread with golden syrup to eat and bring me a cup of tea or fresh coconut milk to drink while I waited. All I could remember was a little cry, and soon after, my mum would come out. I would always ask my mother if next time she could take me inside, but she would say,‘You too little to know what’s going on.’ I always wondered what was happening, until my sister, who was a teacher, came home and surprised all the family. She was having labour pain

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and asked me to get her a hot water bottle for her tummy. I was fourteen years old. I said to her, get up, you lazy so and so, as I raced down the steps to attend my work assisting an English nurse, Mrs Hill, at a dispensary and doing kitchen duties at a theological college. At the dispensary, I would check haemoglobin, assist primary school children, wash scabies and infected sores, boil bandages, roll clean bandages, iron linen, make beds and scrub floors and clean toilets with very hot water and Phenyle. I got paid $2 (one pound) for all that work. While I was doing that job, I also had to go to the college to light the wooden stoves.While I was doing that, I saw Mrs Hill hurry to our house. I remember telling the cook that I was going home to find out who was sick. As I climbed up the stairs of our house, I saw the red cloth hanging on the door. I shouted for my eldest brother and asked if mum was alright. My brother whispered, ‘Mum’s okay; she’s inside with Mrs Hill and my sister.’ Without hesitation, I walked in and heard my little angel niece cry. Mum was attending my sister and Mrs Hill was wrapping my baby niece with cotton wool; only her little angel face was visible. It was then I felt sorry for my sister. The baby was small and Mrs Hill said to mum that my sister and her baby had to travel by boat to Thursday Island in the morning for proper hospital care. I had never seen my mother so angry. She told Mrs Hill that she would not allow my sister and her newborn to travel under those circumstances. My mother told her that she had been a midwife on the Island for a very long time, and delivered many babies. I remember her words to this day. My mother said, ‘If you send my daughter on the boat, the baby will die.’ Sure enough, it did happen. Today, these memories remain, and my little angel niece will always remain in my heart. In reflection, I realise what my mother’s role as a midwife was and because of that I believe I developed an interest in becoming a nurse. I continued my work. In 1964, I heard a high school was to be located at Thursday Island and that most of my school friends would be attending. When Christmas came around, my friends came home and said it was really good.They told me of the subjects they studied such as economics, science, mathematics, English, history, French, typing, social studies and physical education. They encouraged me to join them. I had to ask my parents. When I finally came around to ask them, they said no. I was very hurt and continued to work for my $2. However, secretly I went behind my parents’ backs and sent a letter to the school principal asking if I could go to school.

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In 1965, I received a letter from the principal giving approval to attend the high school. I showed the letter to my parents and my brothers and sisters. My parents did not believe it, and were shocked at first, but afterwards gave approval for my education. I attended high school to Year 10, then left to work at a local church doing office duties. I left Thursday Island to see my eldest sister in Cairns, but ended up in Townsville working with Queensland Railway as a waitress on the Inlander on the line from Townsville to Mount Isa. I got married to a soldier and raised a young family of my own. We transferred to New South Wales in the 1980s, where from 1982 up to 1989, I started working in a nursing home. I then entered Macarthur University in New South Wales to study nursing. While at university, my clinical placement involved visits to a number of hospitals. It worked at Bankstown Hospital (sterilisation/surgical equipment), Marrackville Hospital (pre-operative/post-operative), Liverpool Hospital (medical/surgical), and Sutherland Hospital (cardiac/respiratory), and Westmead Hospital (day surgery) monitoring and assessing clients. One of my most interesting experiences was when I worked at Sutherland Hospital. Most of the professional health care givers were registered nurses, with whom I got along really well. During debriefing, I was allocated to work in an RN respiratory ward. I was told there was an Asian lady, from whom medical staff had been trying to collect a sputum sample. Apparently, they could not get an interpreter and her family could not speak English. I asked the RN if I might have a go. So, I went up to her room with an empty sputum jar. I touched her lightly on the shoulder, and she looked at me. She appeared amazed and shocked to see me. I used body sign language to introduce myself, and showed her my identification nametag. She gave me a smile, then I communicated with her, using body sign language again, and demonstrated (without actually doing it) how to spit into the jar. She nodded her head and did as required. She then passed the jar to me with a big smile of relief and, after informing the RN, the specimen was sent to the

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lab for testing. Other staff members were surprised and asked me how I managed to get that specimen. I just said to them I used body language. My husband got transferred back to Townsville and I worked at a nursing home while completing my Bachelor of Nursing Science Degree to become a professional nurse. After completing my degree, I worked for three months at the mental health unit at Townsville General Hospital. There I was subjected to discrimination and psychological assessments to prove my ability to practise nursing. It was very disturbing and I felt belittled and it affected my self-esteem. As well, my registration was restricted while I was undergoing psychological assessments, until the CEO and medical officer Dr James supported me by contacting the Queensland Nursing Council and CATSIN Chair Sally Goold. Sally was asked by the Council to reassess me, and I regained my full registration soon afterwards. From the bottom of my heart, I thank Sally, who not only helped me regain my registration, but also my self-esteem. I think back, in reflection, to my mother’s nurturing role as an Islander midwife, and how I, too, have learnt from her about nurturing and caring, and have taken her work in another direction to provide holistic care to Indigenous Australians who need my help. I will never forget the red cloth, and will always remember what happened behind the red cloth.

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N o e l a B a i g r i e (n e e F o g a r t y) The foundation for caring is respect and dignity

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t is a delight for me to share my nursing journey and be included in this book with my ‘sister girls’. It is a wonderful honour to be on the executive of CATSIN; to nurture and guide our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander nurses, and to share my wisdom and knowledge about caring for people. Aboriginal people were not classed as citizens until 1967.This was also the year that I started nursing. Due to my sister’s persuasion and influence with the hospital matron of the time, I was allowed to commence my training at Barcaldine Hospital. Because the hospital was short of nurses, I was able to start when I was only sixteen years old. My family comes from Barcaldine in central western Queensland. My mother’s country was Wadja Wadja and Bidgerra near Springsure, and my father’s country was Wakka Wakka, near Cherbourg.We ended up in Barcaldine because, when the government was rounding up Aboriginal people to take them to Worrabinda Mission, my grandfather said,‘They are not taking us,’ and escaped. Pretty gutsy, eh? The Aboriginals Protection Act was very much in force and active, so we were not allowed to roam free. My grandfather was given an exemption from the government after they had caught up with him. He got the exemption because the white station owner had

I am very proud to be an executive member of CATSIN

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given him employment as a station hand. One of the positive aspects of the exemption was that we were able to maintain our culture and language, even though we had to be secretive about it. When I was born, my mother did not know she was having twins. My sister and I were born a couple of months’ premature and we were only a couple of pounds at birth. There were no humidicribs in those days. It was flooding in Barcaldine at the time, and they had to bring my mother in on one of those rail trolleys.The hospital wrapped us up in cotton wool and hoped and prayed that we would live. My sister Noelene lived for only a couple of hours. My mother said to me that God never had enough time to add more dark colouring to the mix that was meant for me. I was fair skinned, and I had to share the colour mix with my sister. As a result of the assimilation policies of the time, I remember having to hide up in the trees when the authorities came. I was never told why.To me, they were happy times spent climbing and hiding among the trees. I say to my family now that, when I’m old with dementia and go missing, they will know where to start looking for me! As a three-year-old child, I remember playing and dressing up as a nurse. My mum always encouraged me to follow my dreams. My mother and grandmother taught me a lot about the Dreamtime. They also taught me about forward Dreaming. They said, ‘You dream of being a nurse and don’t let anybody take it away from you. Be strong, Girlie, be strong!’ It was at my mother’s side that this teaching and knowledge of caring was passed on and shared with me. She used to look after all these old ‘white ladies’.This work helped to provide extra money to feed our family. When I reflect on those times, I am in awe of my mother and how she provided a holistic model of care to these dear old ladies. Mum was not even classed as a citizen then, and she didn’t see these old ladies as white; instead, she saw them as people first. She treated them with the respect and dignity that they truly deserved. Mum looked after the physical, emotional, and cultural well being of these ladies. She would sit them out in the garden and teach them, in our language, about the land, seasons, trees, and animals, and their significance to our health and well being. In exchange, these women taught my mother to read and write. It’s interesting to note that this was in the 1950s! At Barcaldine, the training was hospital based and I later transferred and finished my training at the Royal Brisbane Hospital. Enduring racism has been so much a part of my journey. People’s values can be so shallow and ignorant. However, every time I encountered racism, it made me more determined to teach people about cultural respect and our ways. As Aboriginal nurses, we always had to do things 110 per cent, and you always had to cover your tracks so that no one had anything on you. It was

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like that all the time. I remember not long after I started nursing that one patient said to me that I looked terrible in my white uniform and that it made me look really black. In contrast, I thought I looked like an angel. My halo soon disappeared. Despite the experiences of racism, I also need to acknowledge that there were very dear people – white nurses, auditors and the like – who were wonderful to me. Each helped me to gain strength and purpose, and I have formed many lasting friendships in the nursing profession and the wider community. I remember, when I was working in 1994 at the Princess Alexandra Hospital in Brisbane, this woman pressed the buzzer and I went to answer it. I was met with the statement that she did not want a black nurse (I thought I was pretty fair compared to some). Anyway, I told her that was all right, and I would get a white nurse. My clinical nurse consultant was so supportive of me and, after she had a lengthy discussion with this patient, I received an apology. One of the hardest things I had to do in the early stages of my nursing career was to look after my grandmother. As a nurse in a small town, it was inevitable that I would eventually end up nursing my family. Whenever I was alone in the ward with my grandmother, and the curtains were pulled, she would hit and bite me because I refused to take her home. She would say, ‘Girlie, I don’t want to die in this place!’ It wrenched at my soul, and my heart ached to take her home. I was torn between two worlds. As a nurse, I had to do block training in Rockhampton, and my grandmother died while I was away.When I went home for the funeral, I did not want to return to Rockhampton, after recognising my loss of family and culture and the need to be near them. My sister travelled to Rockhampton in order to provide me with the family support I longed for, and to ensure that I would continue with my nursing training. I will always be eternally grateful for the sacrifices my sister made for me to become a nurse. It was always a struggle for me to cope with study and shift work throughout my nursing training. In those days, we were very much on our own. During my years as a student nurse, I only came across one other Aboriginal nurse. A lot of my inadequacies and lack of confidence during my nursing years stemmed from the negative and racist comments that I was continually confronted with during my school years from my teachers. Despite this, I failed only one exam and that was one of the first subjects on anatomy and physiology. My mother and my sister were so proud of me the day I graduated as a nursing sister: my dream had come true! My special interest has always been in aged care. Our old people are our living history and have taught us our beliefs, customs, culture, survival

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skills, rituals and sense of being. I am still actively working in the aged care industry and time has only strengthened my desire and resolve to provide and to ensure older Australians, and in particular, my old people, are valued and enjoy a strong sense of community, sharing, caring and belonging. I have had the privilege of managing aged care facilities. It has also been an honour to be the first Indigenous aged care external quality assessor for the Aged Care Standards and Accreditation Agency. One of my special moments as an auditor was at an aged care facility in the Kimberley when an old Auntie was so happy to see an Aboriginal nurse. I remember clearly when she started crying and holding my hand, she said, ‘At long last, the government has sent our own people to see us and check on us!’ Working with my own people at times was difficult and traumatic. So many times, they did not recognise my skills and qualifications and saw them as a threat. On many occasions, my extended family struggled with the fact that I was a nurse.They thought and said to me that I was trying to be white; but I knew that what I was doing was getting an education so that I could come back and help them.That was something I had to come to terms with and that they and I have had to deal with during the passage of time. I believe a good nurse should have many qualities. The foundation for caring is respect and dignity. There must be respect for differences and diversity. Empathy and compassion are also essential elements of caring. The art of service is an age-old and Biblical principle that I have learnt over the years. I survived many a stroppy patient when I remembered that my charter was to ensure that their physical and emotional needs and well being should be met. I have been a preceptor for graduate nurses in the public and private sector and can see that they have access to wonderful resources and knowledge. Don’t get me wrong, confidence can only be achieved with this knowledge. Sometimes, though, I think that nurses need mentoring in building relationships and fostering care for one another. I found that the old girls who have been on the road for a long time need to remember that they are in an ideal position to work with, and coach, graduate nurses. I believe that my achievement as a current member of the Queensland Nursing Council is a result of the forward Dreaming that my mother, sister and grandmother talked about. It is one of the greatest highlights of my career. My career took me to Papua New Guinea, where we lived for about five years. My nursing experience proved to be invaluable there as a missionary. God has played a significant role in my life and in the end I am answerable and accountable to him. He has given me grace and strength to persevere each day. I need to acknowledge my husband Don, and my family. I have been blessed, indeed, because I have been loved by the best.

”

Carmen Parter Beyond nursing

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T

o be a nurse was a childhood dream.When I look back at the challenges, I often wonder how on Earth I survived; particularly being black, a woman, and Aboriginal! I’m a descendent of the Darumbal Clan and was born in Bowen, Queensland. I am the second-eldest daughter of four girls born to Noel and May Parter. In 1967, my family moved to Orange in central-west New South Wales. We were probably one of only a small group of black families in the district, and we experienced a lot of racism. Because of racism, mum found it difficult going to stores because they would not serve her, or made her feel unwelcome. In fact, because of these difficulties, mum only shopped at a menswear store that was very welcoming, and for several years we were dressed in boy’s clothing. I also experienced racism while at school and, to this day, I have horrifying memories of being bullied and continually bashed to the point where I refused to go to school.

I am now studying a Master of Arts in Indigenous Social Policy at the University of Techology (Sydney)

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It’s been only recently that I’ve understood how I have been affected by racism, and how I internalised these racist experiences and responded by feeling somehow unworthy. I know what racism is now and the damage it can do, and I have put my experiences into a strategy that empowers me to work positively through life. When I reflect on my experiences of covert and overt racism, I am amazed at its impact on my emotional and spiritual well being. At times I have felt a disempowerment – felt like a ‘nobody’ and a ‘blob’ – because I fell victim to limiting myself to the views, attitudes and actions of others. The effect that their actions had on my confidence and belief in myself has had a significant impact on my life. As a child, I also lived in an abusive and alcoholic environment, and it was there that I developed a protective instinct. I think it was in 1976 that my mother finally said, ‘Enough is enough.’ She left my father. You can imagine how difficult it would have been, in the late seventies, to make such a decision. She was a ‘black’ Indigenous woman, with no income and four school-age children. I always dreamt of being a nurse when I left school, but I had an appalling HSC mark. Nonetheless, I was fortunate enough to do my nursing at Orange Base Hospital through a hospital-based training program. I was very lucky because my mother would not have been able to financially support me if I had chosen to go to university. My dream had begun! I remember how I felt when I started my nursing training. I lacked significant academic confidence. I had poor literacy skills and wondered how on Earth I would make it through three years of training. Nursing, however, was something I’d always wanted to do, and I found myself completing the tests and competencies. I graduated in 1987. I had achieved my dream! After registering as a nurse, I left Orange and moved to Sydney, where I spent just over a year at Westmead Hospital doing a rotational course in the operating theatres. I enjoyed it, and learned quite a bit. I then went back to Orange for a few months to catch up with family and friends. A couple of girlfriends I trained with decided to apply for midwifery and asked if I was interested. I had not previously given any thought to midwifery, but I too put in an application and was amazed when Nepean Hospital invited me to an interview. The day after the interview, I found out I was successful. I spent the next year doing midwifery through a hospital-based program. Those twelve months were one of the most difficult periods in my life. I battled academically and lacked confidence. I was also dealing with a personal life crisis. Nonetheless, I completed my midwifery in 1990. Drawing on my nursing, I had an opportunity to work in Aboriginal

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health (with NSW Health), focusing on a number of policy areas, including the health of Indigenous Australian children, young people, women and drug and alcohol issues. Initially, I intended to work for six months, but stayed three years. Making the decision to take a break from high-stress work, I went back to Orange and got a job as an Aboriginal women’s health nurse. I undertook a women’s health practitioners’ course through Family Planning New South Wales and, on completion, was able to conduct Well Women’s Health Clinics. I also performed a major needs assessment throughout central-west New South Wales. I stayed in this position for about two and a half years, then went back to work in Sydney with NSW Health to develop their Aboriginal employment strategy. I guess that period was the beginning of working my way up the corporate ladder to working on high-level, State-wide policies, reviews and planning initiatives that involved the management of budgets – at one point, in excess of $10 million – and at times being responsible for managing the resources, staff and activities of an entire section. I am thankful that my time with NSW Health gave me an understanding of how the public sector and governments work. I learnt a great deal about policy and program analysis, development and implementation as well as planning. I have eighteen years’ experience in the New South Wales health sector and, of these, eleven years have been in the area of Indigenous Australian health. Being a manager put me on a steep learning curve. So, to help me gain the necessary skills, I undertook a number of professional development programs and got involved with relevant projects so that I could learn more about management. I also soon found that, to be an effective manager, I first had to learn to manage myself! I have put my experience into a strategy that empowers me to work positively through life. I learnt about my own behaviour, so that I could relearn how to respond appropriately to situations within the workplace and in my personal life. I have grown so much from that. I am currently working with the New South Wales Aboriginal Justice Advisory Council within the Attorney General’s Department, and have just finished writing up the New South Wales Aboriginal Justice Plan. I gained exposure outside of the health sector and developed a greater understanding of the complex nature of government and management of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander affairs, generally.The experience was rewarding. In the next few years, I’m intending to gain the necessary tertiary qualifications that validate the skills I’ve acquired in the public sector. I’m soon to start a Master of Arts in Indigenous Social Policy at the University of

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Technology, Sydney. And, I have decided to undertake the necessary assessments to gain recognition of the many government competencies I have gained working within government. My philosophy has been, to succeed, I need to work ten times harder than a non-Aboriginal person so as to gain the recognition and experiences necessary to be successful in society, generally. I still strongly believe that to be true. My childhood dream of being a nurse was just one of many life goals I set for myself.While I encountered many difficult times, I also had wonderful opportunities that supported my individual growth and development. Gaining my nursing qualifications has since given me the self-confidence necessary to further my career. For me, nursing opened the doors for a career well beyond nursing.

”

Diana Ross The birthing tree

It is possible for me to talk about a successful career in nursing because of the love, strength and support given to me by my parents, my family, and my dear husband Ralph, who passed away.This story is dedicated to them.

O

“

n a river bank under a birthing tree of the Kaanju tribe of Cape York, a baby daughter was born to a tribal woman and a non-Indigenous male.This child was my mother Trixie. For the first few years of her life, mum was kept hidden from the authorities (police on horseback who were employed specifically to keep checking on the Aboriginal tribes and their behaviour), who had the job of removing Aboriginal children from their mothers. After years of being rubbed with charcoal to blacken her fair skin in an effort to more easily escape the authorities, at four years of age my mother Trixie was finally caught and taken away from her family to Yarrabah Mission south of Cairns. My grandmother and mother were Kaanju from Cape York, and were also taken away under the Aboriginals Protection Act of that time. Although they were sent to the same place together, my grandmother and mother were separated and placed in two separate dormitories. Authorities told grandmother that her child had died, and so

As a St John Ambulance officer, 2000–2004

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grandmother went back to Lockhart River Mission and tragically died not knowing that it was all a lie and that her child was still alive. It is hard to imagine the impact that would have had on her life. After a short time at Yarrabah Mission, the authorities also told the young girl responsible for taking care of my mother that grandmother had died. Mum was later transported to Palm Island with other fair-skinned Aborigines from the far north Queensland. She died early, aged 42, without ever seeing her family again. Dad was a Juru man with tribal connections extending from the Burdekin River to Bowen. His family were incarcerated on Palm Island for minor misdemeanours. At the age of thirteen, he was sent to the mainland with others to work in the cane fields for six months of the year. Mum and dad met on Palm Island where their courtship began, but because of the racist policies that were in place at the time, mum told me they could talk to each other only through high wire fencing.That was until they had permission from the superintendent to marry. I was born on Palm Island, and was four years of age when we were finally allowed to join dad in Ingham, where he was still cutting sugar cane for six months of each year. It was very hard work and it eventually took its toll on him. I remember his back pain and how he would get the smaller children to walk up and down his back as he lay on the floor in an effort to ease his pain. Despite the hardship and his hard work, most of his wages were sent back to Palm Island to be managed by the superintendent, on behalf of the government. None of his money was ever given back. When the cane-cutting season was over, dad would supplement the family income by hunting for wild food and maintaining a huge vegetable garden consisting of long beans and peanuts, especially for the children. I loved the long beans! Despite the hardship, mum and dad never spoke badly about any of the atrocities that occurred in their lives, and I will always remember their gentleness and love for others. I often wonder how anyone could treat another human being the way my parents were treated. The stress and impact of separation from family for long periods of time was an action that took its toll on families by weakening the family structure and creating so many health issues. It must also be remembered that it took great strength to survive this inhumane treatment. At Ingham, in far north Queensland, where we lived, there were few Aboriginal families and we were used to being taunted with words like ‘Nigger, nigger, pull the trigger, bang, bang, bang.’ I also remember, when I was about ten years of age, mum took us down to the local shopping centre to buy school shoes. All of our other school needs were second hand and given to us by the church. At the shop-

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ping centre, a police officer stopped us and spoke to mum, who passed him a sheet of paper she had in her bag. He read it and allowed us to continue on our way. After mum died, I found this document she had kept safe during her life. It was the family’s exemption paper that gave her permission to live on the mainland away from the Aboriginal mission of Palm Island. It also stated we were not allowed to associate with other Aboriginal people. Dad always referred to this paper as the ‘dog tag’. Mum always insisted that we had a good education, so we were sent to the Roman Catholic school, where the nuns and the parish priest cared for us. They were extremely helpful with second-hand clothing, books for school, and boxes of groceries. At the age of twelve, I worked every Saturday morning scrubbing wooden floors and washing clothes for a wonderful old couple, and I continued to work on Saturdays to supplement the household income until I was in Grade 12.The church continued to support me through high school studies until I graduated, and I still have contact with the aged parish priest who is now in a nursing home in Brisbane. I have been very fortunate to have such wonderful mentors. I had lots of opportunity to develop a caring and sensitive nature well before I started nursing. I was from a very loving family and often helped take care of the baby and younger siblings.When mum was sick, my older brother and I would take turns walking the floor most of the night with a teething baby.There was no teething gel in those days. Sometimes salt was rubbed on the gums, or a cloth-covered wooden clothes peg was used for baby to chew on to help the teeth come through the gum. The good Lord must have been watching over me when I was guided toward nursing, with no other prospect of work in the horizon. After graduating from school with very high passes in business studies, I applied for many positions and was assured I had the job, until I presented for interviews. Once they saw the colour of my skin, there was always some excuse as to why I didn’t get the job. There were many disappointments, so I applied for a position as a trainee nurse after I was told there was a shortage of nursing staff at the local hospital.The application was successful. The first six months was horrific.Workplace racism and harassment by non-Indigenous nursing staff was rife, but I persevered because my priority was supporting the family income and that was more important to me. After the initial six months of nursing, I found enjoyment, acceptance by patients and staff, and my work became a great love in my life. Working as a nurse made me a better person and helped me to look outside the square we often live in. It also gave me a better understanding of other cultures. I have even learnt to speak Italian, because in Ingham

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there were many older Italians who could speak very little English, and being able to speak Italian helped to reduce their stress levels and anxiety, and they appreciated it. I still believe being able to communicate well with patients is an important skill. I later transferred to the Townsville General Hospital and returned home to Ingham every time I had a few days off.We often worked twelve days on and four days off, which suited me fine as I was starting to become homesick for family. After settling down in Townsville, I met and became good friends with another Aboriginal girl named Patricia, who worked as an assistant nurse at the Mater Hospital. Through this friendship I was introduced to her uncle, who later became my wonderful husband Ralph. Ralph was my soul mate and we had very similar experiences. Ralph’s mother, a Kaanju woman, and his father, a Juru man, met and married at Yarrabah Mission. His father also worked in the cane fields until he died. When Ralph and I married, I was forced to leave my job as a nurse, because it was hospital policy in those days.The first ten years of our marriage was really tough.We had many disappointments with ten miscarriages before our first son was born. I remember Ralph was on ‘cloud nine’ when our two sons Ralph and Langford and our daughter Peta were born. Peta was daddy’s little girl, and they shared a special bond. Our world was complete. Years later, when my dad retired, the family moved from Ingham to Townsville to be closer to us.This was good for everyone because dad and my family were very close to Ralph, and family had always been so important to us. Ralph touched so many lives and he saw good in everything and everyone. On Sundays, Ralph and I indulged in our own sport of cricket and touch football, and sometimes we travelled to other towns to watch rugby league. Our family had a hectic sporting life, and even today I get tired remembering it! When the children started primary school, I decided to do voluntary work at the Aboriginal and Islander health service in Townsville. Each day I worked until one o’clock, so that I would be home to meet the children after school and continued with the routine until Peta started high school. One day she came out and asked me if I would like to go back to nursing full time. My career had begun again. I studied dental nursing while working in the dental clinic and graduated with honours. However, after a few years, I became bored and realised that I needed to feed a hunger for learning, so I enrolled in chemistry and science at Heatley High School and studied at night. At the end of the year, I sat for the Queensland Tertiary Access Exam (QTAC) and, with a pass, I received an offer from the James Cook University School of Nursing. Ralph was now retired from work and I was working full time as a

Diana Ross

Left: Working as a dental nurse with the Townsville Aboriginal and Islander Health Service (TAIHS) in 1986 Right: Awarded with a Degree in Nursing Science in 1996

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health worker. I had applied for a nursing scholarship prior to the QTAC exam, but was not confident of success with the application. I was surprised when I received notification that I was successful in getting the scholarship grant. The family thought I was nuts to want to put myself through all the stress of university studies at my age; but without hesitation, they supported and encouraged me through those years. Ralph would often come downstairs, where I would still be studying until one or two in the morning, to see if I was alright and to encourage me to go to bed. He gave me so much support while his own health was slowly deteriorating. He was keeping his health problems to himself. At James Cook, I teamed up with a couple of students in my age bracket and we studied together and supported one another.There were no semester breaks for us. It was ‘all work and no play’ for three long years.Two of us survived and still remain good friends. During those years, I received a great deal of support from the School of Nursing staff, as they gave me advice with assignments, study technique, tutoring when I needed it, and moral support.Their willingness to help me will stay in my memory for the rest of my life, unless I develop Alzheimer’s before I depart this world. Despite their enthusiasm in helping me to fulfil my dream, the staff could not protect me from the racism and xenophobia I would encounter during those years of study from fellow students, from some staff on placement, and later in the workforce. Racism is still alive and well today.Very little has changed over the last 200 years and, unfortunately, in Indigenous

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and non-Indigenous organisations there are still many small minds that think the colour of your skin still dictates your level of education and ability. My wonderful husband Ralph lost his battle with leukaemia six years after I graduated. I know that the love we shared, his spirit and guidance will be with me for the rest of my life. He was Bungy to my brothers and sisters, he was Dadda to so many small children, and Uncle Ralph to half of Townsville – black, white, or otherwise. Eighteen months prior to his death, he found his father’s grave in Ayr. He had been searching for his dad’s grave for many years without success, so when he eventually found it, he made me promise that I would put him in with his dad. He said he also wanted me with him when my time came and asked about my daughter and sons. I replied, ‘Dad, how big do you think that hole is? We can’t all fit in there!’ He smiled, and we both started laughing. I will keep my promise to him and the children will be near by. Today I continue to work for St John Ambulance as a nursing officer. Each day brings a new challenge when you are the first point of contact for people who need help, and you need to be on the ball because you are often on your own. Sometimes you have to make life and death decisions that can affect a person for the rest of their lives, or sometimes the life of a casualty. At times this is difficult, but the people we treat and their families appreciate the work we do. I have received the award of Sister of St John Australia, which was presented at Government House by the Governor on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. I am also on the Queensland Nursing Council Tribunal and work part time as a clinical nurse at the Townsville Aboriginal and Islander Health Service. I also work at James Cook University as a student support officer for Indigenous nursing students. I want to see these students succeed; for their own future, and for the survival of our people. I will always remember the pain and suffering my parents and other family members endured, and those memories will always be a very sad part of my life. My life experiences also helped make really clear my commitment to continuing to work in the health area, to do whatever is necessary to help our people gain some dignity, self-esteem, equality and hope for the future. My life has been so full and wonderful, filled with love and care. I have been surrounded by such incredible people like mum, dad, my family, my beloved Ralph and his family.Who would ask for anything more? They have always been there for me and I have so many wonderful friends. I may not be rich in monetary terms, but I have more than money can buy!

”