"THE LONELY LADY."

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 12, 15 January 1934, Page 10

"THE LONELY LADY."

REVERED BY SAVAGES. HONOURED BY THE KING. (From Our Own Correspondent.) SYDNEY, January S. In an interesting article on our New Year Honours, the "Sydney Morning Herald" remarks that this year's list indicates a departure from the usual practice "in the direction of restoring to titles their real value as recognitions of genuine service to the people," ami it adds that "a pleasing feature of this year's list is (he inclusion of an unusual proportion of feminine names." There is one illustration of these tendencies which is regarded here as of especial public interest—-the case of Mrs. Daisy Bates, of Ooldea. She has received from the King the distinction of C.8.E., and in the last issue of the Sydney "Sun" Ernestine Hill, who is herself a woman well qualified to speak on such matters from experience, tells the story of this woman's devotion to the cause of our aboriginals. Mrs. Bates came to West Australia nearly 30 years ago. She had considerable means and was attracted by the country. She was alarmed and indig- j nan t at the stories of cruelty and tyranny at the expense of the natives that reached her ears. She tried to investigate the facts, and learned enough to be convinced that the charges against the Government and the had been overstated, and she defended them vigorously against their critics in the public Press. But she became intensely interested in the natives, ird decided to devote her life to the task of studying and helping them. She took lip a station at Nullagine and rode 1500 miles with her drovers behind her own cattle to stock it. Later she sold it and she has expended all her means and resources in thc pursuance of this self-imposed duty. " Spirit of the Dream-time." She lives now at Ooldea, in West Central Australia, but she has journeyed all over the northern half of the continent. She has been "lost to the world for nearly a lifetime," but "from Kimberley in the far north-west to the eastern shore of the Bight, from the Murehison to the Great North Line, our aboriginals revere Daisy Bates as ' ♦he grandmother,'" or as one tribe with the poetic inspiration of these primitive folk has named her "thc spirit of the dream-time." She has learned over 100 different tribal languages and speaks them "like a native." But her accomplishments are such as would be acknowledged anywhere in even thc most cultured and learned circles. "A cultivated little Irish lady with a flair for Latin poetry aiid a gav wit," she can still talk humorously to the distinguished ,guests whom from time to time she has entertained at Ooldea of "the days when she rode to hounds in Ireland, and danced at the Dublin balls in the gay nineties." Invited to Canberra. She is content to tell her time by the sun and cook her food in ashes, b:u she has garnered carefully the fruits of her life—long, intimate contact with the blacks—and competent ethnologists have said that she is one of tlie most reliable living authorities on our aboriginals. Her talents and acquirements have not been wholly unrecognised. As journalist and lecturer, as protector of the aborigines and officer of thc Native Department, she has a definite standing of her own in the Western State. She did valuable service for the Cambridge Scientific Expeditirn of 1014 as assistant ethnologist, and last year Mrs. Bates, invited by the Federal Ministry to Canberra, appeared before members of the Government-r-"in the hat and dress of 25 years ago"—to consult with them on aboriginal problems. No doubt she. will value the honour conferred upon her by the King. But perhaps an even more impressive distinction is the "blood brotherhood"' conferred upon her by one of thc wild tribes of thc North-west, which initialed her into its sacred mysteries and gave her the freedom of its totem —a tribute which no other woman, whito or black, has ever received. No doubt Daisy Bates in her little refuge at Ooldea, where her library is a tank, her observatory (for she is an ardent astronomer), a brcakwind of green boughs—her home is fenced round with brushwood to keep out wild cats and dingoes—has long since ceased to regret the loss of thc luxuries and amenities of life that she has sacrificed for the sake of her cause. She needs neither pity nor sympathy from us, but for our own sakes we may be glad that the day is not- yet past when the name of such a woman can be included in tne list of those whom the King delights to honour.