Free Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence - Doris Pilkington

colour and the dull grey sky seemed to be reflected on the rough, choppy sea. But as they drew closer to the harbour there was a break in the weather, patches of blue appeared between the grey clouds.
    After breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast and sweet, hot tea, George Johnson led the way up to the wet deck for the last time.
    “We’re nearly there. See over there,” he said, pointing to the coast. “That’s Fremantle.”
    The small sailor leant on the rail, puffing his pipe. As the ship sailed closer to the shore he removed the pipe to explain what was to happen next. “Here’s the tug boat, the tug master will come on board and take us into port.”
    They watched with interest and curiosity as the tug drew alongside the Koolinda to allow the tug master to transfer from his small boat to sail the ship through the reefs to the safe shipping lane.
    “That man knows these waters like the back of his hands, and he’ll guide us through the channel to dock safely in the harbour,” said George.
    “Ah, there are the wheat silos and do you see the other building north of it, the one with the big dingo on the tower?” he asked. “Well, that’s where all the flour is made. That’s where they grind the wheat that is stored in the silos. They send bags of flour all over the place.”
    As the red dingo became more visible, Molly, Daisy and Gracie felt an acute pang of homesickness. How many ration bags had their mothers, grandmothers and aunts used with that red dingo—midgi-midgi dgundu—on them? Scores and scores when you think of all the dampers they cooked. When the bags were empty the women made them into bags for carrying food and other items or filled them with old rags and used them as pillows. Bloomers and shifts were also cut out of the flour bags. Yes, they had grown up with the red dingo. Tears welled in their eyes as they remembered their families.
    Gwen Campbell’s soft voice brought them back to reality. “Come on girls, get your belongings and I’ll take you all ashore with me. Eh, by the way, you will need these,” she said, as she handed them gaberdine raincoats, which sheadvised them to put on right away, and a comb and a mirror each. These they put in their calico bags.
    After five days of sailing down the coast of Western Australia, they arrived at the Port of Fremantle.
    Ten minutes later the girls were following the friendly stewardess without any hesitation down the gangplank and were very relieved when their feet touched the strong timber wharf. They were totally unprepared for the sights and sounds that greeted them. The atmosphere and activity of the busiest seaport in the state was overwhelming and frightening. They huddled closer to the stewardess, seeking her protection. Men were rushing about and yelling; some were watching the cargo being lowered down onto the wharf by huge winches. There were hundreds of bales of wool and crates of dairy produce waiting to be loaded onto ships for export overseas. The girls had never seen so many white men in the one place before. They were very pleased when Gwen Campbell finally said to them, “Here’s someone now, see over there.”
    Matron Campbell (no relation to the stewardess) from the East Perth Girls Home—now the Jack Davis Hostel—waited quietly near the ambulance for the officers to bring Mimi-Ali down the gangplank and for the stewardess to hand over the three girls from Jigalong. Gwen Campbell greeted the Matron cordially. “There are four of them this time,” she told her. The ship’s crew had done this quite often during the past twelve months.
    Matron Campbell said that the Department of Native Affairs had already been advised of the girls’ removal from Nullagine so she was expecting them. After delivering the three very shy girls, Gwen Campbell returned to the ship to continue her other regular duties on board. Matron Campbell led them to the ambulance that was waiting to transfer Mimi-Ali to the Royal Perth Hospital. All three