The Clay Dreaming by Ed Hillyer Read Free Book Online Page B

shifted slightly, a frown on his screwed-up face. Those nearest to him turned and laughed.
    ‘ Bripumyarrimin ,’ they cooed.
    ‘Him dreaming.’

CHAPTER VII
    Monday the 25th of May, 1868
AT THE OVAL
    ‘But for their colour, which is decided enough, the spectators might have believed that they were watching the play of some long established club eleven. The best argument that could be adduced in favour of the aboriginal race, it shows of what the native race is capable under proper tuition and care.’
    ~ The Australasian
    With three lusty cheers to announce themselves, and a warlike whoop in salute of their opponents, the Aborigines swept onto the cricket field at the Oval. Startled birds took flight. Like the rumble and crash of a great wave, the massive crowd roared back from the stands. In the stadium ground’s short history, its enclosures had never been packed so full. The whole of London, or so it seemed, had turned out to see them play.
    Carriages without number ringed the pavilion. Grand four-in-hands pressed in against dogcarts; springy and elegant phaetons nestled close to lumbering stagecoaches; barouches, gigs, chaises, trucks and hansom cabs.
    More women than usual could be counted among the spectators, from common serving-wenches to fine ladies. The cautious watched from the seclusion of their carriages. The bold sat side-saddle on their horses, perfectly poised, programme in one hand and reins in the other. A great many more mingled freely on the stands.
    The newspapers were having a field day. ‘A New Epoch in the History of Cricket!’ screamed one headline. ‘Decidedly the Event of the Century’ pronounced another. Scattered throughout the crowd, vendors cried out their own, often scurrilous variations.
    A festive atmosphere prevailed, more sensational than strictly sporting.
    The instant the Black Cricketers had appeared, synchronous motion created a blinding broadside – the flash of sunlight reflected in a thousand spyglasses. Everyone was determined to take a closer look, the majority interested morein the physical confirmation of the Aborigines than they were their cricketing acquirements.
    Their skin colour seemed to vary in shade, but they were most assuredly as advertised: ‘Very Black: virtual photographic negatives of White Cricketers’. Lithe and athletic, slight of limb yet standing straight and upright, they appeared tolerably broad in the shoulders, if rather weak in the chest. Hair and beards were worn long, whiskers luxuriant. Particular remark was made of their broadly expanded nostrils. Some patrons found them handsome, others ugly.
    As for their dress, the Aborigines wore white flannel trousers held up with blue elastic belts. Their Garibaldi shirts were of a fine military red, adorned with a diagonal flannel sash, and a necktie pinned under a stiff white linen collar. Beneath this finery they sported undershirts of French merino wool. A peaked cap, bearing the silver emblem of a boomerang crossed with a cricket bat, completed the ensemble.
    Charles Lawrence had initiated the idea of a uniform, supplying the ‘corps’ with suitable raiment for their long campaign; he saw it as a means of fostering tradition – the team taking pride in itself – but also, of fashioning them into playing-field heroes. His chief inspiration was the system as first introduced, at Rugby school. Individual colour schemes further distinguished each player, caps ostensibly matching their flannel sashes. Pre-printed cards, offered for sale, tabulated names alongside corresponding tints. In this way spectators might tell one Black from another, even at distance; and a very good arrangement it was agreed to be.
    The Aborigines of course had their own ideas, and swapped their caps around continually.
     
    In the Reading-room at the British Museum, within the main Salon, Sarah Larkin sat upright in her usual seat. She looked high overhead, to where the light streamed in through the enormous dome. It was