Namatjira

Namatjira
For Albert Namatjira
Words and Music Geoff Drummond August 1999

Related Editorial : "Reconciliation in Australia: A Way Forward"

Geoff's Note: At the beginning of the 20th century, an aboriginal couple walked out of the desert to take refuge at the Hermannsberg mission in Central Australia. The woman was heavily pregnant, and would give birth to Albert Namatjira, one of Australia's most respected watercolour artists. Namatjira was so talented that white Australia couldn't ignore him he was given Australian citizenship at a time when other aboriginal people were not even included in the Census. However, one of the worst things an Australian citizen could do in the 1950's was to give alcohol to an aboriginal person. Namatjira was convicted of this, and served a prison sentence as a result. He died shortly after his release, a broken man.

I became aware of this story in the middle of a scorching Adelaide summer. I had taken refuge in the cool interior of the South Australian Art Gallery on North Terrace. One of Albert's paintings was on display in the back hall, and amid the more traditional colonial paintings it stood out like a beacon. Sadly, his paintings are not often on display, though the Gallery guide told me that the basement held many more of his works.

I don't hold a black armband view of history, but I do think there are some things that need to be addressed if reconciliation is ever to be a reality in this country.

They walked out of the desert
seeking shelter with the ones
who would graze the country bare
and curse the rain that wouldn't come
And the babe as yet unborn would know
that when two worlds collide
Peace cannot be known by those
unowned by either side

But sweeten the cup of life whenever you can
Make the most of the years at your command
For those that paint the desert know
Where they're from and where they'll go
And as the dreaming of the Honey Ant draws nearer
We are calling out your name
Namatjira

There was splendour underneath the curse
of rock and heat and sand
And you called those spirits forward
through the brush beneath your hand
As the city swells adorned themselves
with your mountain, trees and plain
They placed upon your head a price
your heart could not contain

But sweeten the cup of life whenever you can
Make the most of the years at your command
For those that paint the desert know
Where they're from and where they'll go
But as the babble of the city crowd grew clearer
They were calling out your name
Namatjira

So we made of you a citizen
And to everyone's delight
The newsreels told the story
It was a tale in black and white
But when you dared to drink with your brothers
Though we toasted you in champagne
You were cast out of our Eden
broken and in chains
We made of you our Abel
So that we might be your Cain

I came in from North Terrace
seeking shelter from the sun
In the shadow of the Streetons,
the McCubbins and Meldrums
in a corner of the Gallery, soft beneath the light
I saw the outline of a ghost gum, etched in white

And Albert spoke in line and form,
in landscape near and far, he said
if any good's to come from this,
then you must share my scars
For if your fathers had not shackled me
You could not know this shame
And you would not know
about my people's chains

So I will give to you the ranges on a clear September morn
Show you all the colours of the desert after dawn
But as you gaze across that country, yours now to command
Know this...
Here resides my spirit
For this is still my land

So sweeten the cup of life whenever you can
Make the most of the years at your command
For those that paint the desert know
Where they're from and where they'll go
And as the dream that we might share this place draws nearer
Our history calls your name
Namatjira
We are calling out your name
Namatjira

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