Who were the Aboriginals of Beaumaris?
Arrival
Economic Life
Social and Spiritual Life.
"Summer Camp at Table Rock"
The Calamity (of the Invasion) and Its Causes
The Impact of Colonisation
Violent Deaths
Aboriginal Birthrates
The Last Days of the Aboriginals
Appendix

The first recorded human inhabitants of the Beaumaris area were the ancestors of the Ngaruk willam clan of aborigines - one of six clans that made up the Bunurong Tribe. This tribe occupied the areas of Port Phillip and Westernport Bays from the Werribee River in the west to the Tarwin River in South Gippsland (see map, Fig. 1).

The Bunurong Tribe may have numbered about 300 people and formed a sort of confederacy or nation with three other tribes to the north and west. They all spoke a similar language and carried on largely friendly relations as they exchanged marriage partners, bartered goods and met for ceremonial occasions. ‘The name given by the aborigines themselves to this nation was Kulin from their word for man. This was one way of saying that they considered that anybody who was not a member of this nation was not the same sort of human being as themselves’.

Another group like the Kulin Nation lived to the east in Gippsland, and called themselves the Kurnai. They spoke a completely different language from the Kulin and almost the only time the two met was to fight.

The precise time of arrival of the Bunurong is uncertain. Human remains have been excavated at Keilor near Melbourne and dated at up to 45,000 years old, which gives us an indication of the great antiquity of aboriginal presence in the Port Phillip region.2 Future discoveries may show that they have been here for much longer than 45,000 years, but even on that conservative estimate, their existence goes back nearly twice that of the American Indians (25,000 years) and over twenty two times the period since, according to Christian tradition, Christ was on Earth. Forty two years after settlement in Victoria, the Bunurong had been wiped out.

The European assault on the natural environment over the next one hundred and fifty years led to multiple breakdowns in the web of life, and is now giving us pause to consider whether our economy and lifestyle are sustainable. An indication of the losses on the Beaumaris Peninsula has been given in Chapter One. In this respect it is interesting to note that students of Beaumaris High School have closely monitored the local shellfish populations over the last twenty years. During that period they were observed to plummet so disastrously as to place the local marine ecosystem in danger of collapse. The Bunurong on the other hand, harvested shellfish and other marine life in the same coastal waters for perhaps 6000 years, yet apparently left the ecosystem fully intact.

Indeed the aboriginal way of life generally sustained nature, and its practices, so far as we understand them, are now being examined more closely. A small contribution to this understanding is offered below, as we look at the Bunurong life style and its intimate relationship with the land.

As has been indicated in Chapter One, the natural habitats of the Beaumaris Peninsula were extremely diverse and offered a wide variety of plants and animals from which the Bunurong could obtain their material needs. Most of these came from plants. Foods included, for example, fruits and berries from the Kangaroo Apple, Seaberry Saltbush and Pigface, tubers from the Yam Daisy, young shoots from the She-oak and so on. Sweet drinks were made by soaking Banksia flower spikes in water overnight, whilst nectar could be directly licked from the long flower stalks of the Grass Tree. Plants were put to all manner of other uses - fish poison from the Austral Indigo, glue from the Needlewood and medicines from a wide variety of species. Bunurong mothers would use the leaves of the Hop Goodenia, which still grows in profusion along the coast, to put restless children to sleep at night. The oil from the leaves of the Lemon-scented Gum was used for coughs and colds, the Snow Gum for burns and Clematis roots for headaches. The Juncus Rushes of the wetlands were fashioned into string, bags, baskets and clothing. The timber from She-oaks made sturdy tools and boomerangs and is excellent firewood - no doubt the reason why the early Europeans eagerly sought this coastal species.

As was common in hunter-gatherer societies, women and children did most of the work associated with collecting from the plant world. They also collected small animals such as lizards, mice, molluscs and grubs, and all together their efforts provided most of the daily needs of the clan.

After about age six, boys would leave their mothers and sisters and go out hunting with the men. This was a labour intensive activity with a relatively small yield per man-hour, but the catch was highly prized not only for the feast it provided, but for its feathers, fur, fat, sinews, skin, teeth and bone. Kangaroos, wallabies and emus occupied the coastal plains that stretch to the foothills of the Dandenongs. It took much knowledge and great skill to put a spear into one of these animals - remember they had been hunted for thousands of years and the mere scent of a human would alert them to danger. One technique was to stampede these animals into the trap of a waiting hunter, who was camouflaged by foliage. At the right moment, he would leap out and hurl his spear ‘an amazing distance and with great force, seldom missing his aim at a kangaroo when bounding past, and at fifty paces distance’.1

In the summer months when the bush was dry enough to be burned, these animals could be flushed out by fire - a technique which might also yield possums, koalas, wombats, bandicoots, snakes and lizards. The use of fire was necessarily limited though and very often the hunters would return with little or nothing to show for their efforts.

When the Bunurong were near streams or swamps, water birds, eels, fish and frogs might be added to the diet whilst crabs, crayfish, shrimp, fish and molluscs were obtained from the sea. Layers of shells up to a meter deep can be seen today on the high points of the coast between Table Rock Point in Beaumaris and Half Moon Bay in Black Rock. Interspersed with charcoal from their fires, these Aboriginal ‘kitchen-middens’ show that the larger shellfish such as Green Turbins, Mussels and Abalone were favoured

We may be sure that the Ngaruk willam were contented during their visits to the shores of Black Rock and Beaumaris. In the summer months a simple mia of boughs and bark would suffice for a dwelling, and all together the working week would probably have amounted to no more than thirty hours. The rest of the time could be devoted to social and spiritual activities.

In addition to the knowledge and skills associated with material needs, a child growing up in aboriginal society had to learn a bewildering array of customs and practices which governed all aspects of social and spiritual life.

For the first few years, young children were given much attention and were never far from their mother’s breast. After toddlerhood they learned games which were often associated with the skills they would need in later life, and they were usually played in the spirit of personal achievement rather than with any sense of competition.

Following toddlerhood was a period of continuous tuition about the social order - such things as that a girl must always sleep in a certain position around the camp fire, that she may eat only specified parts of a game animal, and so on. In due course she must make the complex preparations for her (pre-menstrual) initiation rites, learn to bear pain, become well-versed in the stories of the Dreamtime, the significance of ceremonies and rituals, and laws which would governed such things as whom she could and could not marry. The tuition for boys was, of course, equally rigorous.

If minor rules were broken, the child would feel the scornful demeanour of the adults, but if the transgression was more serious, the child’s shadow may be beaten and this act was associated with much shame. There was one taboo which concerned a relationship which troubles some European families - that of the married man and his mother-in-law. The rule was that a young aboriginal, once married, may never again speak with his mother-in-law. The origin of the taboo seems to have been lost in antiquity, yet the reason for it may well be imagined.

In such ways as these, all aspects of aboriginal life were highly ordered. Each member of the clan at all times knew how to act and what was expected. Thus, their society was firmly based on consensus rather than individuality, and we may imagine a deep sense of security that everyone felt as they went about their daily lives. They were not free of danger however, and often experienced anxiety. One reason for this was their belief in sorcery - the power of hostile people to harm them by the practice of black magic. Many of the ills that befell the tribe or its individual members were attributed to this source. In the case of the Bunurong, there was also the danger of attack by the Gippsland Kurnai. A Bunurong band may be sleeping peacefully by its campfires, when the hostile warriors would descend on it. In all likelihood, everyone would be slaughtered save the young women, who would be carried off. Mercifully, such attacks were infrequent, but one occurred just prior to the arrival of Europeans. A milder sense of insecurity was felt when the clan journeyed outside its area of intimate association, perhaps to attend an inter-tribal meeting. No longer would the tracks and byways, the sources of food and water and features of the land be familiar. In addition to this was the religious belief that one’s spirit dwelt in one’s own tribal lands both before birth and after death. It was therefore important to die in one’s spirit home, and while an aborigine was outside it, he or she may have felt a sense of unease.

Generally though the spiritual beliefs of the aborigine were a source of great comfort - and quite literally of awesome significance. Whilst knowledge of the land was of great economic importance, its natural features were also the setting for great events of the Dreamtime ancestors and their legendary exploits. According to Richard Broome1, during the great creative period, Superbeings such as

‘ ... Bunjil and Mindye, the great rainbow serpent performed marvellous deeds and gave life and shape to tribal territories. These Superbeings lived on in a spiritual form at sacred sites where they continued to generate life. These powerful places were visited solely by the initiated for secret ceremonies, and then only with great caution. For instance, a mountain northeast of Westernport where Bunjil often resided, was considered to be so dangerous that it could be viewed safely only through a screen of leaves. As the aborigines moved across their territory, they saw a richly symbolic and religious world. These were not simply rocks, trees and lakes where food could be found, but places which their great ancestors had created and where they still resided.

‘The essence of this religious belief was the oneness of people, the land and all that moved on it. Humans and the natural world were all believed to be part of the same ongoing life force’.

This sense of unity was nowhere more apparent than in the adoption by an individual of a personal totemic animal (or plant). Spirits of dead ancestors may dwell in the totemic animal and it would at all times be protected. Rituals were performed to influence its wellbeing - and thereby the wellbeing of the whole group. When an aboriginal made a supplication to the animal, he may be talking to his ancestral spirits as well as to the animal itself. Thus an individual did not have a totem animal anymore than a totem animal had the individual - they were part of each other.

Did the clan or tribe feel that they possessed their territory? Susan Horne doesn’t think so. She points out that the Bunurong would have little use of the notion of land ownership....’It is closer to say that the Bunurong belonged to the land rather than the land belonged to them’.2 The aboriginal was neither separate from nor superior to the environment; on the contrary he or she was fused into an existential physical and spiritual entity with it which was so fundamental and complete that they could not possibly have conceived the Western notions of ownership or custodianship. One cannot own or have custody over that of which one is an integral part. By the same token it is not possible, by the simple return of land, to resurrect aboriginal society, for the aboriginal psyche dwelt not in our notion of land, but in high places of spiritual experience, where only the unpretentious can enter.

Can we, the progeny of the white invaders, ever hope to restore the cultural life force of the aborigine? Unfortunately, the answer must be, in large measure, no. We cannot turn the clock back anymore than one can unscramble an egg. And perhaps an even more fundamental barrier exists in our generally arrogant stance towards nature and our abrogation of the spiritual values that so characterised aboriginal society. We cannot restore to them what we don’t possess ourselves.

Yet there are many that wish to make some atonement for the irretrievable spiritual and temporal losses that have left the aborigine in a no man’s land. Money and rights to land can help, but it is of greater fundamental importance that the path of reconciliation be informed by the fullest understanding of aboriginal culture. Trying to grasp what it was like to live as an aboriginal can foster such an understanding. To this end, what follows is a construct of daily aboriginal life, fictional in detail, but based as far as possible on archeological evidence and the accumulated knowledge gleaned by the early European settlers who recorded their contact and experiences with the aborigines.

This story is a construct of daily aboriginal life, fictional in detail, but based as far as possible on archeological evidence and the accumulated knowledge gleaned by the early European settlers who recorded their contact and experiences with the aborigines.

In 1764 - just six years before the arrival of James Cook, the Kurnai had stolen down from the Gippsland mountains and attacked the Bunurongs of Westernport under the cover of darkness. Only the old and some of the children were spared. The non-humans carried off the young women and teenage girls. Everyone else was in the band was speared or clubbed to death. Kulin messengers carried the news of this terrible event to all clans of the Bunurong. It deepened the already depressed feelings of the Ngaruk willam which was wintering near the upper reaches of the Mordialloc Creek. Forlorn and skinny dingoes wandered from one mia to another looking for food scraps, or at least a relatively dry spot in which to curl up. The plant world yielded few fruits and berries at this time of year and since game could not be flushed out by fire, emu fat was scarce just when it was so desperately needed as insulation against the cold. Women and men sat at the entrance to their leaky mias, hungry, yet too discouraged by the incessant drizzle to go out.

As the days lengthened, their spirits lifted and the clan began to approach the day with new energy. In due course it began to move westward towards the sea, and by early summer it divided into two bands, one going southwards to Mount Martha and the other northwards to Beaumaris Bay. This latter group consisted of fourteen members. As can be seen from the family tree, it comprised three related families. Of the third family (Family C) only the Grandmother and mother survived. A stillborn son was killed by sorcery - the work of the Gippsland Kurnai. Because of this, the men of family C mounted a revenge attack, but alas none returned. The others died of natural causes or married into the Woiworung tribe.

The camp at Table Rock Point had been carefully planned. The headland beckoned in the late afternoon sun as the band rested for a moment on the beach before the last traverse via the cliffs (of what is now known by whites as Beaumaris Bay) and home. At least that is how TibTib thought of the Table Rock camp. He was eleven years old and very proud of his growing prowess as a hunter, for he already showed uncanny accuracy with a boomerang. Together with the other children and three gleefully yelping dogs, he hurled himself into the sea and began splashing and shouting with unbridled joy. He chanced by a piece of floating driftwood, and, of course, couldn’t resist aiming a few stones at it. Everyone joined in this game, which was played out with astonishing accuracy. But none of the children’s games seemed to last very long, and now Talgegal, the oldest boy, fashioned a ball out of kelp that was tightly bound around a piece of sandstone. The idea was to roll it down the beach and try to hit it with a throwing stick before it reached the water. The agitated dogs stood near the girls and watched from a disceet distance, their frustrated yowls joining with the children’s shouts and laughter. The cacophony must have alerted every animal within ‘cooey’ and momentarily at least, destroyed the tranquility which had hitherto prevailed all the long year at this beautiful place.

The women already had the fires going on the cliff top and came down to gather abolones and mussels for supper. The children immediately joined in and it wasn’t long before the basket was filled to overflowing. Meanwhile, in the swales behind the cliffs, the men had erected mias from the bark of River Red Gums - the trees from which they had also built a canoe during their last visit to the camp. The mias were used only when it was wet, but this night they would sleep by the fires, the weather being fine and only the last breaths of a dying sea breeze remaining. Not long after the evening meal, the men went fishing from the canoe. Great Grandfather saw nothing of this. Exhausted by the days long march, he put aside the bone spearheads he had been sharpening, and drifted off to sleep. Meanwhile in the half-light of dusk, the glowing coals illuminated the women’s faces as they exchanged stories by their cliff-top fires. Every now and then they would see a spear thrust into the sea, and, a moment later, catch a glimpse of the frantically wriggling fish on its barbs. The fish were attracted by the light of flaming tapers held out over the water by the hunter at the bow. The operation requires considerable skill. Because light bends as it passes from water to air, the spear is not aimed directly at the fish. Lillerook was the unrivalled master at judging the correct angle, and time after time he hit his target.

Had the fishing been unsuccessful, the band might have risen to a lean breakfast the next morning. As it was, the skinny dogs had a feast from the entrails of the fish, which were then carefully stored for the following morning. It wasn’t long before both the dogs and their masters each took their allotted sleeping position around the fire and followed Great Grandfather’s path to dreamland.

The old man, though frail with age, was the much-loved ‘wise one’ of the band. So when Mingaragon called a meeting after breakfast the next morning, all listened very carefully. He was concerned that preparations begin immediately for the forthcoming Great Gathering of the tribes of the Kulin nation. It was critical to gather possum skins to complete the robes that would be traded there. Possum hunting should begin that very afternoon. He also pointed out that if the weather held, fire should be used in a hunt for larger game the following day. Kangaroo would provide the much-needed meat and bone for tools and spearheads and its long sinews were particularly good for stitching the possum skins together. Emu feathers would also be needed for ceremonial purposes at the Great Gathering. So it was agreed that emus, along with kangaroos, would be the main target game.

As usual, Mingaragon‘s ideas were well thought out and, though he was too old to hunt anymore, he was still held in great respect.

By way of tradition, however, the first morning of the camp was always spent at Long Hollow Swamp. Here the men cut shields from the River Red Gums that grew around the edge of the water, while the women gathered Juncus Reeds for weaving into baskets and clothing. Small animals and birds were also caught. Eels were located in the mud by feeling with the toes, and then speared. Ducks and swans were left to the two boys. Talgegal, the seventeen year old son of Lillerook, could hold his breath for an incredibly long time. He would submerge about twenty paces or so from his quarry. Some moments later, a duck would noiselessly disappear beneath the surface. Nothing would be seen of either until he came up clear of the flock with the drowned bird. The whole operation was carried out so quietly that Talgegal earned the nickname of Dimboda, which meant ‘Silent Death’. There were frogs too of course, but you had to be very nimble - a job well suited to the girls.

Enough game was caught for lunch and when the well-laden band returned, Mingaragon had the fires stoked. He had also been busy sharpening and repairing stone axes for the afternoon’s possum hunt. Nor did the misdemeanor of one of the band escape his notice. Someone’s faeces had not been properly buried. The band had to be very careful to fully cover such waste, and not only for reasons of hygiene. If it were found by a Kurnai worrior, he would certainly use it to practice his black magic on the band member. The result could be a serious illness or even death. Mingaragon therefore voiced his annoyance in a manner not soon forgotten.

The Possum Hunt.

Possums are both nocturnal and nimble, so they are most easily hunted during the day when they are asleep. This means, however, that they will be hidden away and must first be located. The party set out with high hopes and went about the task of examining likely trees for signs of the presence of their quarry. There were droppings around some likely trees - weeks old - but certainly an indication that the animals were about. The group pressed on through the woodland. Other signs were there too, but when likely trees were climbed they were found to be empty. As the afternoon wore on, hopes faded and eventually it was decided to turn for home. At least there was some of food left over from the morning’s work at the swamp - and besides, the women could be relied on to have gathered plenty of greens as well as a basket of shellfish. The party plodded on home. When it was about a kilometer from the camp, Grenning stopped the party while he listened. Everyone held his or her breath for moment, but nothing could be heard. Yet Grenning thought he picked up sounds which could have been the grunts and snores of possums coming from a cluster of nearby Swamp Gums. One in particular bore telltale scratch marks on its trunk. Excitement rose as Lillerook noticed some fresh dung on the ground. He notched toeholds into the trunk with his axe as he made his way up to where the dead centre of the old tree had been hollowed over the years by termites. Though it was too deep for him to reach down and grab the furry animals, he was sure they were there. He returned to the ground. One option was to set the tree alight, but the hollow did not appear to be very deep, so instead, a fire stick was dropped in on them. Almost instantly the startled creatures scurried for the exit. As they emerged, Lillerook, hanging on precariously with one hand, knocked or threw them to the ground with the other. The stunned animals were quickly seized by the men waiting below and dispatched by a deft wrench of the neck.

At evening meal that night, a little of the possum meat supplemented the berries and nectar collected by the women, the remainder being preserved over a smokey fire. The skins were scraped clean with mussel shells and stretched out on bark to dry. A good supply of stout wooden pegs had been prepared for the purpose by Mingaragon and his younger Great Grandson Tib Tib. In a day or two, when the skins become dry, they will be scarred to make them flexible and treated with a mixture of ochre, ash and fat. A long tooth of the kangaroo will be used to puncture the skins ready for stitching together into a cloak. The band itself was happy enough to wear Kangaroo skins in the cold weather. These possum skin cloaks would be traded for new axe heads that came from Kulin quarries some four-day’s march to the north. The cloaks, which each comprised 50 to 60 pelts, were highly prized items and decorative markings were often added to further increase their value.

As always, the first few days of camp were feverishly busy, but the Weather Gods had been kind and the harvest bountiful. The little band, which had known much sorrow in the past, was at peace with world and enjoyed together the colourful farewell of the sun - all except Great Grandfather, who this time had fallen asleep before supper. They did not wake him to eat, for he was less and less interested in food these days.

Bigger Game

Beyond the sandridge country of the Beaumaris Plateau, bush and grass covered plains run inland to the forested slopes of the Dandenongs. On the third day, the three men and two boys of the band set off early to hunt for big game there. As they left, each touched the outstretched hand of the old man who must remain behind. He was content to do so, happy to have contributed to the preparations for the day. Talgegal lingered for a moment, sad that his Great Grandfather was now too old to hunt. Eschewing the boy’s doleful expression, Mingaragon said, "Talgegal, you are not the most accurate thrower yet, but you have the fastest legs. How often have you seen a wounded animal escape? Wait for your moment."

Their eyes engaged for an instant, then with long, rhythmic strides, Talgegal loped after the party as it made its way into a rising sun. After trekking for an hour or so, a site was chosen for the operation. Three fires were lit - one behind and two either side of the patch of eucalyptus bushland. The hunters made ready in the shrub and grass country downwind. White clouds of smoke billowed up into the sunlit sky, creating a filmy shadow as it passed overhead.

It wasn’t long before a flock of startled emus ran ahead of the flames at great speed. Grenning, the most powerful of the hunters, leapt from behind a bush twenty paces from the nearest of the bounding birds. His spear flew truly and wounded the animal in the thigh, but it kept running in the path of a limping arc. Remembering his Great grandfather’s words, Talgegal’s body bristled into action and his lean legs carried him swiftly across the browning grassy plain. At first, he made ground on the bird, but then the spear worked free and the emu out-sped him and drew away. Talgegal settled into a loping stride, content to keep in touch with his quarry. The chase drew them down country and out of sight of the hunters. It took him across the tussocks and on into the glens and rises of the sandy uplands. In an attempt to shake off its relentless persuer, the emu skirted an extensive outcrop of wattle and eucalypt scrub, but the hunter soon had the big bird in sight again. It now pushed southeastwards towards the distant coastal heaths. As time went on, the bird’s incredible stamina began to tell on the man, who appeared to be dropping back further. The emu though had lost a lot of blood and it too was tortured by the chase. Pained with fatigue, each was pushed to the limit. But both were driven on - the one by terror and the other by sheer determination. The injured bird was growing weaker, and now the straining man began to take back some ground. When the emu tried to change direction, its wounded leg gave way and it went sprawling. Frantically it regained its feet, and pounded on, now forcing Talgegal to push himself beyond pain, to the point of near collapse. If anything though, the bird was in even greater distress. Its limp was much more pronounced, and its falls became more frequent. With each one, Talgegal was able to close the gap. Now fifteen paces. Now ten. Now five. He could hear a gasping hiss coming from the bird’s heavily panting lungs. Terrified by the man’s closeness, the emu was consumed by panic, and its evasive movements became ineffective, almost bizarre. Talgegal made a desperate lunge. The animal sidestepped instinctively, only to crash once more to the ground. It was Talgegal’s last chance. Knowing he himself could endure no more, he threw himself over the last few paces and collapsed on the victim as it struggled to regain its feet. His axe came down.

Mercifully, the emu’s valiant struggle was over.

For a long time they lay there - the one, dead and the other totally spent. The contest was settled and ever so slowly the pain of Talgegal’s enormous effort began to subside. Gazing at the dead bird lying beside him, he wondered what man, wounded with such a gash, would run so far, so fast? It was sad that such a creature had to die for his titanic struggle was deserving of great admiration. ‘What if I was the one that was wounded?’ he thought. ‘Who would have won the contest then?’ Telgegal, far from feeling a sense of personal triumph, was filled with reverence his adversary. So much so that a strange sensation overwhelmed him, as if he had entered a mystical world, a new realm of awareness. At that moment, in a surge of revitalizing strength, the spirit of the emu passed into the spirit of the young hunter.

Elsewhere in the ‘escape funnel’, Barruck, the Grandfather of family A, clubbed a Brown snake and a few Bluetongue lizards, but Grenning had missed a skittish wallaby with his first spear. Now a full-grown Grey Kangaroo burst from the bush, bounding straight towards them in its panic. Grenning readied his spear, but by this time, the kangaroo had spotted them. It veered off and bounded past some 50 paces away. Grenning threw his spear with a force generated by the intense frustration of his earlier miss. With a calculation based on long experience, he aimed above the animal’s head and fully sixteen meters in front. In its flight, the spear lost height and the speeding kangaroo moved into its path at the precise moment of impact. Other hunters might make a throw like that very rarely, but Grenning had performed the feat many times before. His skill was unrivalled in the clan, and all the Bunurong new of his exploits. When he approached his quarry, it was dead.

Grenning‘s older daughter, Darenet, was high in a Banksia tree collecting some of its flower spikes, when she spotted the hunters coming home.

Breathless back at camp, she yelled from a distance. "They’re coming. I think Talgegal’s got an emu, and father has a kangaroo." Darenet knew the value of the kangaroo’s long sinews in stitching pelts and her eyes were alive with excitement. "That means we can finish sewing the coat. Mumma, can I do it? Please," she pleaded. Her mother was well acquainted with the difficulties involved in stitching possum pelts so that they hung well together. She wanted to be sure, because these coats would be examined very carefully by the Kulin quarrymen before they traded their axe heads for them. Darenet, on the other hand, was anxious to prove herself as a woman - as her brother had just done as a man. Her mother, Koorunderry, understood her daughter’s feelings but was of two minds. At length, she rose and walked down the cliff-top track, towards the homecoming hunters. Darenet, gripped by some compelling force that emerged from deep within her blossoming body, was soon by her mother’s side, her eyes eagerly searching her mothers’ for an answer. Koorunderry, always unhurried in everything she did and said, was at length moved by her daughter’s entreaty, and her impassive countenance softened into a consenting smile.

Darenet’s heart nearly burst with pride, and she ran, not to meet the men, but to a lonely spot in the swales which she regarded as her own special place. She was consumed by sexual sensations that rose from deep inside and now threatened to overwhelm her. Soon she would be joined with her Woiworung warrior and live with his clan, far away to the north. She had already met her husband-to-be at the last Great Gathering of the Kulin, and ever since had lived in a state of suspended excitement. Yet she was anxious and afraid, daunted by the prospect of a strange land, of life without her family and all that she had grown to know and love so well. Thus it was, in the quietness of her hide-away, that she came face to face with a conflict that had for so long hidden itself just below the surface of her conscious awareness. On the one hand was a desire for her man that was so strong she could hardly contain herself, and on the other was the fear that she would not be able to cope with the rift from her family and with the new demands on her as a woman.

Yet she knew she had been well prepared for this moment in her life. Before her first menstruation, she bore the pain of her initiation with much courage. As the sharpened mussel shell cut into her flesh, she could remember pressing her jaws together so tightly that her whole face quivered and involuntary tears ran over her cheeks. But unlike some, she uttered no sound. She was only eleven then. And now, as she thought of her Grandmother’s softly comforting hands on her at that time, tears again streamed down her cheeks. Darenet had been diligent in learning all through her childhood years, and she felt confident she could fulfill her husband and succeed as a woman in her new tribe. Yet she was still nervous, still uncertain, and she asked her ancestral spirits in her totem tree to give her the strength she needed. She also prayed that her warrior would be kind and not beat her.

A long pit was dug in the sheltered hollow behind the cliff and a fire made in it. When the coals were glowing, they were lightly covered with sand and the animal carcasses, wrapped tightly in leaves, were placed on top. The whole was covered with earth and left for several hours to cook. The preparation and processing of the animals seemed to occupy everyone in one way or another, but on this occasion, Grandfather Barruck took no part. Instead, he bathed, and afterwards climbed the imposing flat-topped rock that jutted bluntly into the sea. This was regarded as a sacred place, used only when one wanted to access the spirit world of great heroes and ancestors.

For a long time he stood there motionless, looking out over the water. When the sun dipped towards the horizon, he left the rock and entered the woodland not far off to the north. There he searched out his totem animal - the koala, and to it he made an earnest supplication, for in this animal resided the spirits of his dead ancestors, just as the koala spirit also resided in him. He explained that no messenger had come concerning the Great Gathering of the Kulin, that he needed to know the arrangements in order to make sure his band was fully prepared. He chatted on for some time, explaining that the next full moon was only half a phase off, and he wasn’t even sure which dances were being done at the corroberee, so how could they practice? He wanted to know about food arrangements, about Darenet’s wedding, about trading and many other things. At times he spoke so fast it must have been hard for the animal to take it all in. When at last he had said all he wanted, he stood looking up at his totem friend with a very worried expression. At length the koala looked down on him with a gaze of infinite calm. This seemed to satisfy Grandfather and he left feeling quite confident that the matter would be taken care of.

By the time he returned to camp, everything was in readiness for a sumptuous feast. The fickle breeze swung a pall of smoke from the distant fires across the path of the low sun, swelling it into a huge, blood-red ball. The whole band stood on the top of the bluff together, mesmerized by the transformation. Over dinner that night it became clear that everyone had his or her own interpretation of what it meant. The hunters saw it as an acclamation of their day’s exploits, the mother, of her decision to trust her daughter’s hand in sewing, the daughter - that her prayers would be answered, and so on. Everyone had his or her say. Of course, for Grandfather it could only mean an affirmation that his Kulin messenger would soon arrive with all the arrangements he sort for the Great Gathering. In a childlike way, they all looked to Great Grandfather for confirmation of their view. Having slept most of the day, Great Grandfather was unusually sprightly for this stage of the proceedings. He drew himself up and in measured words, gave his ejudication.

"In particular … no one is right. But ... in general ... everyone is right."

This sounded more or less satisfactory to all. Except for little Terren. She screwed up her face and said, "But that’s silly. How can everyone be right if no-one is?" The giggles at her response swelled into general laughter, perhaps because everyone (except Great Grandfather) felt a bit uncertain about it himself or herself. Poor Terren thought they were laughing at her and her lips pouted, as they always did just before she burst out crying. Everyone made consoling noises. Great Grandfather, still chuckling good naturedly, took her on his lap.

"When the sun swells up like that," he explained, "it means he’s pleased with us. And red means he’s very pleased. He’s smiling on us all. Do you see that?"

"Yes, but how come no one’s right then?" she insisted.

Great Grandfather had to think hard for a moment. Experience had taught him that even though the gods might be pleased, it didn’t quite guarantee that every one would get just what they wanted. At length he said,

"The sun. He’s got to look after everybody. Everyone, in all the clans," he emphasised with a sweep of his arms. "It’s not just us you know. When it comes to ‘this human did that, and that human wants this’, well … " Again Mingaragon paused.

"Well what, Great Grandfather?" Terren insisted.

"Well, he’s just too busy!" Mingaragon concluded.

This brought a smile to Terren’s lips, then a giggle, then a laugh so infectious that the whole band joined in. It was a long time before the laughter subsided, and even when it did, everyone went on with animated chatter. And as the dusk faded, the cheerful babble was punctuated by some of Great Grandfather’s favourite songs.

The evening was warm and the sky clear. Soon Venus and the bright blue star Canis Major were visible, followed by the Southern Cross, then Tauris and Orion and myriad other ancestors of the spirit world. The band had seldom been happier, and no one doubted that Mingaragon was right. The sun was very pleased indeed with the little band. And now a healthy tiredness had overcome all its members and, one by one, they slipped into a peaceful sleep.

All except Dindo, the grandmother of family C. She had lost her husband, son and grandson to the dreaded Kurnai warriors and, for her, there was always the uneasy feeling that they might come again one night when least expected. Dindo seldom slept easily. The horror of her experiences with the Kurnai bit too deep.

The men did not go out the next day and generally the pace of life slowed, until on the fifth day, a foreign human entered the camp in the late afternoon. He carried the elaborately carved stick of a Kulin messenger, and was duly accorded much respect and a warm welcome. After the evening meal he conferred with the elders about the arrangements for the Great Gathering, which would take place, as usual, on the Yarra bank at the next full moon. The details about corroborees, trade, marriage, rituals, and food were all thrashed out to everyone’s satisfaction - except perhaps that of Great Grandfather, who had dropped off to sleep. No one minded of course, but when Grenning stirred him, he seemed unable to get up. In the end, Barruck and Grenning had to carry him to his sleeping mat. This was a matter of much concern to them, but Mingaragon, stirred from his, stirred from his slumber, would have none of their ‘fussing’. "Legs are fine," he insisted. "They don’t want to wake up - that’s all. Can you blame them?"

The Messenger left early next morning, his skin bag laden with fruits and smoked possum meat for his journey to Mt Martha, and then on to the other bands of the West Bunurong clans. His visit galvanized the band into action, as Grandfather immediately organised practice sessions of the appropriate songs and dances. Great Grandfather’s rickety legs were no barrier to his role as song-master. Throughout his life he had enriched the Kulin culture with his love and knowledge of the music of the corroboree, and over the next weeks his work with the singers gave him much pleasure and satisfaction. The daily needs of the band still had to be met of course, but every spare moment seemed to be taken up with one or another aspect of preparation for the big occasion.

Working with much nervous apprehension, but infinite care, Darenet finally completed the possum cloak of some 70 pelts. When her mother presented it to the gathered band, its spontaneous response was to gather corroboree sticks and beat them together as they stamped their feet in rhythm. The decorated pelts hung together as nation would envy. But this garment was destined for a Kulin elder. Such was its quality that it would fetch seven, perhaps even eight, stone axe heads. By its response, the if they were one and the fur was teased to a silken softness that every one in the band had accorded Darenet the highest praise for a contribution to the Great Gathering.

Though she stood there girlishly, with her lanky legs crossed, and smiling coyly, the acclamation seemed to transport her into a woman, and give her a confidence she had not experienced before. Aware of this wonderful new feeling, the flashing white teeth of a broadening smile now shone out from the smooth, dark skin of her face. Her eyes were positively dancing and her jet-black hair, salty and knotted, was tussled and flung free. Here was a picture of unfettered beauty and joy. She felt it and she reveled in it.

As well she might, for it was not often that she escaped from all the doubts and worries about her future. So often she felt utterly defeated by a host of conflicts. At one minute she was beside herself with joy and the next she was clinging tearfully to her dear ones - especially Great Grandfather.

Though no words were spoken, she knew his legs would not stand up to another trek, and that left alone, there was very little chance that he would survive. It was something she found terribly difficult to accept. She saw her own visible future stretching away to the horizon. She perceived that it went on, over the horizon, to places and events she could not even imagine. Death, if she thought of it at all, was somewhere even further off. Yet for her great grandfather it was only a step away and she could not understand his equanimity at facing what both terrified her and left her with such a deep sense of loss.

The entire band shared her great sorrow, knowing that this time, Mingaragon would have to be left behind.

Apart from a few periods of rain, the weather was benign and preparations proceeded according to plan. When at last the day came to move north, the full impact of separation from Mingaragon was finally driven home and no amount of feverish activity could mask the heavy sadness that weighed down every heart. Tearful sighs and moans at times grew into wails and screams as some bloodied their skin with their fingernails in their torment and sorrow. Great Grandfather sat placidly by the fire, accepting his fate with serenity, content to await his passage to the great spirit world of his beloved ancestors.

At all times throughout the final preparation, one or other of the band could be seen sitting with the old man – some weeping, some holding his hand, some talking passionately to him - all, in their own way, taking their leave of him.

Talgegal had amassed a huge pile of wood for his Great Grandfather - bows of the She-oak, Tea-tree and River Red Gum. He earnestly beseeched Mingaragon to hang on, and assured him that the band would return ‘extra-early’ in the next food cycle. To be sure, Great Grandfather would not die immediately. Less than a kilometer to the west at Ricketts Point the spring was still flowing freely.

"You’ll only have to go up every second day. Yes, and you can collect some shellfish on the way home," he said, trying desperately to encourage the old man. Fruits and berries were still plentiful along the coast too. But as the season wore on and his body wore out, survival would become increasingly difficult, until in the winter months it would be impossible - indeed if he lasted that long.

The time came to leave. The men took up their weapons and led off, with the children and laden women a small distance behind. Despite the wrenching anguish each felt, none looked back.

And so a quiet tranquility returned again to this most beautiful place. The sun had long since slipped below the horizon and the coals glowed in the darkness. Mingaragon sat cross-legged before the fire. All day his heart had been heavy with the parting, but now he laid back and contemplated the starry panorama above. Here was the world of his ancesters and of the great heroes of the Dreamtime. His spirit was lifted as he contemplated the great journey that lay ahead.

Not far off, a koala cocked an ear at the rhythmic chant of an old man’s song.

Aboriginal presence in Australia penetrates the mists of time in an awesome feat of survival equalled by perhaps no other culture on Earth. It spans tens of thousands of years and tens of hundreds of generations. It evolved a heritage of fathomless depth which might have gone on for ever were it not for the ‘white ‘ghosts’ who came in from the sea in ships with white winging sails’.

Aborigines along the Victorian coast who first came face to face with the strangely pale newcomers, could not have known that in two short generations their numbers would be decimated, the heart torn from their land and their spirit broken. That it was a monumental calamity is incontestable. What is uncertain is the number of aboriginals who died as a result of the ‘white invasion’, and the number of aboriginal souls which were never born - but which might have been.

Rough indicators suggest that before 1788, the Victorian population was at least 15,000, but according to recent studies by Noel Butlin,2 the number may have been much greater - perhaps as high as 100,000. Considerations in this higher estimate include the fact that vast numbers died by the introduction of diseases which preceded actual settlement in Victoria, and evidence which shows that food resources could have, and probably did, support far greater numbers than was originally thought possible. Butlin’s conclusions have significant implications regarding the extent of loss of aboriginal life.

We can say with some certainty that by 1869, Victorian aborigines numbered a mere 1,834, for the Board took a census that year for Protection of Aborigines. Therefore it would seem that population fell by somewhere between 13,000 and 98,000 during the years 1788 and 1869. At either extreme, numbers remaining by 1869 were only a small fraction (between 12% and 1.8%) of the original population. In the case of the local tribe, there are some people today claiming Bunurong ancestry, but the ‘full blood’ population has vanished entirely.

What factors lay behind this terrible loss of life?

Initial European contact was first made with Victorian coastal tribes by sealers (and whalers) who sporadically set up camps along the shores of Bass Strait around the turn of the Eighteenth Century. Hungry for profits, they processed thousands of animals for their skins and oil. Slaughter on such a scale was totally foreign to the modest Aboriginal economy, and was surely a source of much anger. During hostile skirmishes between the aboriginals and the sealers, the latter would often turn their muskets on the blacks and shoot their way out. In addition, sealers and whalers were without women folk for years at a stretch, and were therefore in the habit of abducting aboriginal women for their purposes, when the opportunity presented itself. Recorded history of these ‘dark deeds’ is very sketchy, but we may assume that their direct effect on actual numbers was very small.

A far more insidious and pervasive impact resulted from disease, which decimated Victorian aboriginal society well before actual settlement. Smallpox epidemics that broke out in Sydney in 1789 and also in 1831 spread through Victoria killing countless numbers. Studies in Africa and elsewhere suggest that between 40% and 60% of the population could have succumbed. Mass burials reported amongst tribes along the Murray River were attributed to the disease. In a visit to Westernport Bay by Surveyor-General Grimes in 1803, pockmarks were noted on the faces of some Bunurong Aboriginals, suggesting that smallpox had already ravaged that community. In general there seems little doubt that the disease spread far and wide and resulted in the enormous depopulation of aborigines in pre-settlement Victoria.

Following Batman’s so called ‘treaty’ with the Port Phillip tribes in 1835, the village of Melbourne was quickly established. Opportunistic settlers flooded in. By 1838 the town’s citizens numbered 600, and in the Port Phillip district in the same year, the population was 3,500. By 1845 it had swelled to 12,000. Land hungry squatters pushed out in every direction, and by 1851 the population in Victoria reached 77,345. Only a decade later, following the first gold rushes, it was over half a million! At the same time, the increase in stock numbers was equally astonishing. In 1838 there were 29,000 sheep and nearly 3000 cattle. By 1851 the numbers were 6,590,000 sheep and 391,000 cattle. Only the northeastern highlands and the Mallee were considered unsuitable for agricultural pursuits. In all other regions, whole ‘nations’ of aborigines were shouldered aside - their land was usurped, and with it went their livelihood, their ancestral homes and their spiritual life force.

During this one critical generation, (from 1835 to 1865) aboriginal society in Victoria was effectively destroyed - crushed by the devastating avalanche of European expansion. Without access to their traditional food sources, many became dependent on handouts of flour, tea and sugar and also of tobacco and alcohol. Some were derided for their abject dependence on these drugs, but they simply sought comfort and oblivion, for their world of the Dreamtime had been transformed into a hideous nightmare, leaving them with a life that was without hope. In 1858, a Victorian aborigine asked,

‘Why me have lubra (wife)? Why me have picanninny (child)? You have all this place, no good have children, no good have lubra, me tumble down and die pretty soon now’

It is difficult to disentangle the physical and psychological impacts which the loss of land had on the aborigines, for as has been noted previously, the two were fully integrated. However, as early as 1838, aborigines in the banks of the Yarra were reported to be suffering from famine and cold as a result of being cut off from their traditional sources of food and clothing. There is little doubt that physical deprivation and malnutrition played a significant role in reducing aboriginal numbers, especially since they would render them more prone to disease. In addition to smallpox, the more common diseases brought by Europeans included respiratory complaints such as whooping cough, catarrh and influenza, tuberculosis, measles, chicken pox, dysentery, yaws and venereal disease.

Aboriginals responded in different ways to the ‘white invasion’. Some realized the futility of direct conflict whilst others defended their territory fiercely.

According to Gary Presland, in the 1830’s...

‘There was an alarming increase in the amount of conflict between Europeans and aborigines in the Western District, but also closer to Melbourne. In May and June 1838, there were a number of conflicts between aborigines and squatters in the area of Mt Macedon. One of the squatter’s huts was pillaged, a number of sheep were stolen and one of the shepherds killed. In a subsequent battle lasting about three-quarters of an hour, seven or eight aborigines were shot dead.’

Not all attacks on aborigines were out of retribution, and were often unwarranted. Presland again,

‘......at Westernport Bay in March 1836, a party of men employed to collect wattle bark, fired on a group of aborigines, wounding six. One of the injured was a young girl who was shot through both legs’.

For the most part, Europeans were approached by stealth and attacked singly, but in N. E. Victoria,

‘About fourteen (Europeans) were killed and their sheep scattered’.

Generally though, European attacks were far more damaging than those of the Aborigine. For example, in the Wannon region, a

‘...Captain Hutton was said, with the help of his men, to have killed forty aborigines in a half-hour’s engagement’.

Some aborigines died at the hands of a few cold-blooded murderers who gave them poisoned flour. Many more died at the hands of other aborigines who had agreed to act for the Europeans as Native Police. The Native Police were particularly feared by their kinsfolk because they were such expert bushmen and trackers that there was no escape from them. Also, in the scramble for ever-diminishing resources from the land, fights between tribes increased.

By 1850, at a conservative estimate, a thousand aborigines had died at the hands of Europeans, but the number may have been much higher - perhaps twice as many. Possibly another three hundred deaths resulted from tribal clashes and the action of Native Police. In the same period, records show that aborigines killed only fifty-nine Europeans.

These figures are disturbing enough, but could have been much higher were it not for the fact that many tribes of the Kulin Nation and others were not particularly violent, and generally adopted alternative means of dealing with the white intruders.

As the aboriginal death rate soared, the birth rate plummeted. This was partly due to the incidence of venereal disease, which may have been introduced by sealers and whalers and certainly became widespread following settlement in 1835. At this time European men - deprived of female company - formed associations with or forced themselves on aboriginal women. In addition, sexual favours were sometimes exchanged for food etc., Thus whether willing or unwilling, transitory or permanent, many liaisons were formed between white men and black women. The end result was that venereal disease was quickly transmitted through aboriginal society - often resulting in death for the carrier in the medium to long term. In the meantime it had a crippling effect on births - gonorrhoea reduces the ability to become pregnant by about 40% and still-born births are more likely to occur as a result of syphilis. The birth rate was further lowered by women who were unwilling to bring children into a world which for them was without hope.

Taken together, these factors had a devastating effect on aboriginal birth rates.

‘In the ten-year period from 1838, only five births were recorded for the Yarra and Westernport tribes. In the same period, there were fifty two deaths’.1

The aboriginal population of Victoria, which may have been halved by small pox before settlement, may have been halved again by the falling birth rate. If this is so, it would mean that up to three fourths of the fall in population was attributable to these two factors. They were linked to, exacerbated and added to by deprivation of land, various other introduced diseases, and death which resulted from violence, alcoholism and despair.

Four decades after settlement in 1835, the Bunurong Tribe of Port Phillip and Westernport Bays had disappeared. It was not a large tribe - perhaps 300 strong in the early 1830’s. In 1859, only 15 survivors were recorded. The speed of decline is not surprising, for the Bunurong were amongst the first to be contacted by Europeans - by sealers in the late Eighteenth Century, at the first white settlement at Sorrento in 1803, at Corinella (in Westernport Bay) in 1826, and at Melbourne in 1835. As will be examined in the next chapter, their homeland on the Beaumaris ‘Peninsula’ (and elsewhere) was commandeered, and almost ‘overnight’ as it were, they became fringe dwellers of the white settlements and sheep runs which mushroomed around them.

Official Government policy at the time consisted of assisting the remnant population to integrate successfully into white society. The problem with the policy was that it overlooked the glaring fact that the aborigines in most instances did not want to integrate! Little attempt was made either to see or understand this fundamental fact - if anything the opposite was true. The Assistant Protector of Aborigines in the Port Phillip and Westernport region, A.W.Thomas, was however more enlightened than most. He set up his headquarters at Narre Warren, and from there ventured out from time to time to live with the Bunurong in an attempt to understand their way of life. But one man, poorly resourced, could do little to alter the prevailing view of the time, which was that aborigines should give up their traditional way of life and learn to become useful members of European society. Yet the futility of such an approach was clearly indicated by James Cook when he first made contact with aborigines in 1770. He wrote in his journal at the time,

‘All they seemed to want was for us to gone.’ He later wrote, ‘...they are far more happier than we Europeans... they consider themselves provided with all the necessarys of life’.2

Far from giving serious consideration to these observations, there were some that took the extreme view that aborigines were not worth saving and should be ‘allowed’ to die out. Whilst some thought this should happen, others were of the opinion that it would. Edward John Eyre, whose explorations took him across the Nullarbor in 1842, later made the following observation,

‘Whenever European colonies have been established in Australia, the native races in that area are rapidly decreasing, and already in some of the elder settlements, have totally disappeared.... In the course of a few more years.... the whole of the Aboriginal tribes of Australia will be swept away from the face of the earth’.1

Clearly, with such views being so broadly espoused, Assistant Protector Thomas had good reason to be concerned about the fate of his charges. In a six-month period spanning 1839 and 1840, he witnessed seven deaths and only one live birth. This was bad enough but the vitality of the tribe continued to fade. Afflicted by diseases to which they had little immunity, and suffering the trauma of social disruption, the ratio of deaths to births rose from 7 : 1 in 1840 to 10 : 1 in 1849. Despite the efforts of William Thomas and others, it was clear that the Protectorate System was failing to either protect the aborigines or to affect their successful assimilation into white society. Therefore in 1849 it was formally abolished. William Thomas was appointed Guardian of Aborigines in January 1850. He continued to do all he could for their welfare, but from that time on the Government practiced a deliberate policy of segregation. Aborigines were taken from their tribal lands and placed in missions or reserves - a policy which often involved the break - up of families. For the Bunurong as for so many other tribes, it was a blow from which they would never recover. In 1851, an aboriginal depot was set up south of the Mordialloc Creek where several Bunurong and members of other tribes spent their remaining days. For the most part they lived on Government handouts of sugar, flour, tea, tobacco and blankets.

The last living members of the Port Phillip clans were Jimmy Dunbar and his wife Nancy. Jimmy - a one-time member of the Native Police and an expert with the boomerang, considered himself the sole owner of the suburb of Mordialloc, and was in the habit of offering large parts of it in exchange for a little rum or tobacco. In April 1877 Nancy died in her mia mia near the Mordialloc Creek. A week later, Jimmy followed her to the grave.

The legacy left by the Bunurongs is tiny - an occasional skeleton unearthed, a weapon or stone tool found here and there, a few wells and a smattering of coastal ‘kitchen-middens’. That’s not much for a society that has dwelt here since before the days of the Egyptians. With Jimmy Dunbar’s death, it passed almost into obscurity, leaving behind only the faintest shadow of its monumental achievements.

The time of arrival of aboriginals in the Port Phillip region is not known, but according to the archeologist Gary Presland, charcoal from the hearths at Dry Creek near Keilor (just north of Melbourne) has been carbon-dated and found to be 40,000 old. This does not necessarily indicate that the Bunurong as such existed in those distant times, but it does show the great antiquity of aboriginal presence in the region.

Following the last glacial phase (20,000 - 14,000 years ago) the sea level rose to cover the land bridge between Victoria and Tasmania and by 8000 years ago had flooded the coastal depressions of Port Phillip and Westernport Bays. It seems likely that the Bouncing Tribe occupied the coastal region we know today for at least the last six or seven thousand years. More recently, burial sites have been dated by the radiocarbon method - one near the Maribyrnong River at 6500 years ago and another near the Werribee River at 7300 years ago. Aboriginal kitchen-middens along the Black Rock coast have been shown to be 6000 years old.

White settlement began in Bayside during the 1840s with the purchase of the huge holding of Brighton, then the leasing of a large cattle run at Beaumaris and elsewhere with squatters who simply appropriated the land. There was some gardening and good fishing but livestick dominated the early scene. By 1860, however, land speculators saw profit in subdivision - and so began the trend to residential housing. This took place along the coast at first where the lovely beaches and dramatic cliffs also attracted holiday makers and picnickers from Melbourne. By the late 1880s, these developments attracted a rail service to Sandringham that connected to a horse drawn tram to Black Rock and Beaumaris. Imposing hotels sprang up as did shopping centres, sea baths and yacht.

The coastal and sand ridge country was rich in wildlife and supported over 450 species of indigenous plants. Here there lived a 300-strong tribe of aborigines called the Bunurongs, but during the intitial thrust of European develoment, the entire tribe was destroyed – shouldered aside as whites took up their land and gave them their deseases. The last survivor died in 1877 – the same year as the steam locomotive arrived at Sandringham.