The Stories Beneath – Maurice Serico

The Stories Beneath

Maurice Serico

The Western Echo is thrilled to present a short series of articles featuring local First Nations stories, history, and culture. This has been made possible through a generous grant received from the Local & Independent News Association (LINA). The following story is the first of the serieswritten by local resident Maurice Serico.

As a neonate, I spent the last twenty-four days of the 1950s in a little two-bedroom house in School Road, in The Gap. I then spent all of the 1960s in that house until Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, then, in a three-bedroom house in Bromwich St until 1980, the year Azaria strangely disappeared. 

During all that time, as well as being a resident of The Gap, I was learning how to come to terms with my Aboriginal heritage. 

Image caption: Maurice (on right) with brother Michael, sister Melinda, and Aunt Jane (2nd from left). 

For those that know me, you know that I’m not obviously Aboriginal, but like many people in Australia our heritage includes a form of Aboriginality that can be complex and mixed and difficult to deal with. As an example of what may be the case for other people let me tell you about mine. I’m doing this not from pride but from wanting to give you an example so that you may understand the experience of others. 

Mum was white and Dad was black. Full stop. As a little kid that was just the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t until about grade two, when I was visiting the home of a school friend that I realised his family was different to mine. I remember asking him, “why isn’t your father dark?” I just thought all men were darker than all women. This was how you think before you get taught about “race”. 

Some time later I came home excited from school because I was going to be the “star” in our class play, Black Sambo. I told both Mum and Dad. The next day at school we were doing a different play. My parents were being kind, trying to shield me from racism for as long as they could. 

So it was for most of my childhood and my siblings’ childhoods until high school. My parents were struggling and obtained Abstudy to assist with school costs. At first this meant little to me but over time it became clearer; despite the shielding me and my siblings were being introduced to a part of our heritage that had been kept from us. 

My father and his sister were the children of two Aboriginal people. We had known Grandad all our lives but Nana only appeared when I was nearly five years old. I learnt their marriage had not gone well. That always made me think about Mum and Dad’s marriage where Mum’s mum, “Grandma” didn’t attend. I am always sad for Mum for that. 

When I was about the age of ten Dad told me his tribe’s name, the Gubbi Gubbi. I giggled and said it sounded funny. He let that sit. Over time I wanted to know more about this tribe. Eventually he told me that Grandad was from a different tribe but because of laws Dad was Gubbi Gubbi. Those laws are hard to learn and neither Grandad nor Dad had been brought up in their jurisdiction because of the fierce prejudice against Aboriginal culture that lasted from the time of Grandad’s childhood until after Mum and Dad married. It was only in the 1970s that it became plausible for most Aboriginal people in Queensland to openly talk about their culture. It was then that I started learning the truth. 

Nana often visited us and regaled us with stories of her visits to Cherbourg. As kids we were fascinated by these stories and begged our parents to take us there. They were horrified and absolutely forbade such visits. It wasn’t until later that I found how Cherbourg was essentially a penal settlement with all rights of the Aboriginal residents being controlled by Managers. Nana had been a girl on Cherbourg when she had lost her mother due to the Spanish Flu outbreak there. She then went into domestic service and although she gained a cultured accent from working in such households she gained nothing else, no education, no proper career. She did gain isolation from all her extended family who were still mostly in Cherbourg. 

Grandad grew up in Taroom. His oldest brother had been sent to Purga Mission in Ipswich as was the practice with “half caste” children then. Grandad asked about his brother until the day he died. He himself was removed when he was nine years old and worked as the roustabout for the West Moreton Rabbit Board. He was attached to a horse team that travelled and maintained the rabbit proof fence in that part of Queensland. He was under the care of Horace Chatterton, the leader of that team. Chatterton must have treated Grandad well because when my father was born, Grandad gave him the middle name of Horace. So for those important years Grandad was away from his people and little knowledge was passed to him. The only solid knowledge he had was the terrible story of the massacre of his people, the Jiman people, following the event known as the Hornet Bank Massacre in 1857. To this day I have been unable to watch the excellent “Rabbit Proof Fence”. 

With these backgrounds, Grandad and Nana worked hard to give my Dad and my Aunt the best life possible. After living in a rammed earth shack on a property past Warwick for three years, they moved to Bardon and remarkably, bought a house there, with the support of T. C. Bierne, who used to be a local retail entrepreneur. The reason for the move? So both of their children could get a good education. Dad and his sister went to Ashgrove State School during WWII. They had a hard time, being the only Aboriginal students there. My father became a champion if scrawny pugilist there and had friends who were just as hard. My aunt gained her revenge through sheer academic brilliance. Both Dad and Aunty Eve were exceptional athletes and their skills in cricket, rugby league, netball, and track and field held them in good stead. 

Dad and Aunty Eve succeeded. They were lucky. Dad became the first person in Australia, white or black, to ever become a Senior Radiographer, and Aunty Eve was the first Aboriginal person to gain a PhD. 

There is a story of achievement here but bear in mind that many people with similar backgrounds have not had the fortune of my Dad and Aunty Eve. Even for myself, I had gained entrance to study medicine but ill health prevented me from completing the course. And that ill health with a sore throat caught at the Ekka. 

I hope you have gained something from this story. I may not be black, actually, I am often mistaken for Lebanese, but there are hidden stories for all of us. For those of us with Aboriginal heritage stories can be complex and sad like this. Me, and you, all need respect. 

Image caption: Maurice (on right) with friends Randall and Gloria, in 1974 at The Gap State High School.  

Author background: Maurice Serico has a BA in philosophy and English literature from University of Queensland, completed in 1979. He is an Aboriginal man with Gubbi Gubbi, Jiman and UK Australian heritage. Maurice has worked in a variety of positions across Aboriginal health, TAFE, education, and human resources; and in Aboriginal Affairs including in the office of the Minister for Aboriginal Affairs. Maurice is currently the Chair of Balaangala Community Group in The Gap. Maurice has a chronic kidney condition and participates in supporting the kidney health community. 

Thanks to LINA for the financial support to feature this story: www.lina.org.au  

Image credits:  
Cover image: Maurice Serico by Colin Bushell Photography 

Other images: Maurice Serico, Melanie Grevis-James