Fred Small 1993
Lui Collins: “This song is based on a true story told to Fred when he was touring in Australia. The lyrics stick very close to the story as told until the last verse. Fred himself introduced the idea of the black woman coming to the funeral, allowing her to give voice to a concept that would never have occurred to the family at the time. As Fred told it to me, the story was passed down in the family, and everyone would exclaim what a tragedy it was that the child didn’t dare pass the Aboriginal village to go for help. It was not until after many many retellings that it even occurred to anyone to suggest that Guinevere might have gone TO the Aboriginals themselves for aid.”
Lui Collins: Guinevere and the Fire
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CPD-aL_RKgs
My grandmother was born in 1900 On a farm in New South Wales She wed a dairyman Who liked to raise a pint of ale The first child came when she was twenty Five more babes in seven years That first daughter was my mother They called her Guinevere Little Gwen would play beneath the willow “Yes the queen would like some tea” Helped with chores that never ended Tried to mind tried to please Sometimes she heard the music Wild and strange in the summer night “They’re dirty people” warned her mother “Never go near their campfire light” Chorus: Stay away from the camp of the blackfellas Little white girls have disappeared They drink and dance when the moon is red Better never let ’em see your golden hair” Came the winter of ’27 So cold the milk froze in the pail Her mum hung the nappies by the hearth Her dad in town for a round of ale A spark leapt from the fire that night Wrapped her mother in a gown of flame Flailing dancing in a frenzy Falling down in voiceless pain Stillness and the stench of burning Then so soft ’twas like a ghost “Fetch the Cunninghams” she whispered “Bring me aid or I am lost” The Cunningham house was not two miles away And they the nearest whites Past the camp of the Aboriginals Past the demons of the night “I will run to save my mother I must go now I must fly” Still she heard her mother’s tales Of the Devil’s drums and the evil eye Her mother’s breathing ever fainter Gwen frozen in her fright Seven hours till dawn she waited For the safety of the light Now she runs till her feet are bleeding To the house upon the hill Now comes the doctor’s wagon speeding To her mother cold and still They laid her down in the Nowra graveyard From the Bible read a verse Children sent to aunts and uncles Some to Melbourne some to Perth Gwen packed her canvas satchel could not hold the salt tears back Turned to leave her home forever Faced a woman gnarled and black “Child our hearts are heavy Grieving for your loss We live so close by you Why did you not come to us? We have salves to heal the burning We have herbs to stop the pain We could have helped had we but known To make your mother whole again”