Mission-Based Indigenous Production at the Weipa Presbyterian Mission, Western Cape York Peninsula...

Mission-Based Indigenous Production at the WeipaPresbyterian Mission, Western Cape YorkPeninsula (1932–66)

Michael Morrison & Darlene McNaughton &

Justin Shiner

# Springer Science+Business Media, LLC 2010

Abstract Previous research on remote nineteenth-and early twentieth-centuryIndigenous missions in northern and central Australia point to their often tenuousexistence and the complex nature of engagements between Christian Missionariesand Indigenous people. This paper explores the contribution and significance ofIndigenous production of wild foods in the context of one such settlement located atWeipa on Cape York Peninsula, north eastern Australia. It is premised on theassertion that investigation of the economies of these often remote settlements hasthe potential to reveal much about the character of cross-cultural engagements withinthe context of early mission settlements. Many remote missions had a far fromsecure economic basis and were sometimes unable to produce the consistent foodsupplies that were central to their proselytizing efforts. In this paper it is suggestedthat Indigenous-produced wild foods were of significant importance to the missionon a day-to-day basis in terms of their dietary contribution (particularly in terms ofprotein sources) and were also important to Indigenous people from a social andcultural perspective. We develop this argument through the case study of culturallymodified trees that resulted from the collection of wild honey.

Keywords Missions . Indigenous production . Culturally modified trees .Wild honey

Int J Histor ArchaeolDOI 10.1007/s10761-009-0096-8

M. Morrison (*)Department of Archaeology, Flinders University, GPO Box 2100, Adelaide 5001, Australiae-mail: [email protected]

D. McNaughtonSchool of Public Health, Tropical Medicine & Rehabilitation Sciences, James Cook University,Cairns, Australiae-mail: [email protected]

J. ShinerArchaeology Program, La Trobe University, Melbourne, Australiae-mail: [email protected]

Introduction

Anthropological, historical, and archaeological accounts indicate that manyIndigenous missions in remote parts of central and northern Australia had a tenuousexistence, particularly in regards to production of food resources (Bird Rose 2000;Birmingham 2000; Broome 2002; Kidd 1997; Swain and Rose 1988). Indeed, manymissions received little in the way of financial or other support from Government orChurch authorities and so required a high degree of self-sustainability and economicindependence. Consequently, many early mission settlements underwent extendedperiods of hardship, seasonal or longer-term closures and in some cases, werecompletely abandoned (Anderson 1988; Bird Rose 2000; Broome 2002; Kidd 1997;Loos 1988; see also Dalley and Memmott, this volume). Access to reliable andsustainable food supplies was fundamental to the missionary effort. Withoutsufficient food, missions were often unable to encourage Indigenous people toreduce or abandon their more mobile traditional lifestyles, which were lessconducive to the proselytizing efforts of missionaries (Anderson 1988; Bird Rose2000; Birmingham 2000; Loos 1988).

Some accounts point to the commonality and frequency of customary Indigenousforms of production such as gathering, hunting and fishing within the context ofmission settlements (Bird Rose 2000; Birmingham 2000; Kidd 1997). While thereare suggestions that Indigenous-produced wild food was quite crucial to theestablishment and ongoing presence of some mission settlements (Bird Rose 2000;Chase 1988, p. 131), for the most part the role and importance of Indigenous-produced bush foods to missions in northern Australia remains poorly understood.Here, we set out to explore the contribution and significance of Indigenous foodproduction techniques, systems and strategies within the context of one such missionsettlement, located near the contemporary town of Weipa, in north eastern Australia(Fig. 1).

The Australian Presbyterian Church established the Weipa mission on theupper reaches of the Embley River in 1898 (Fig. 2). The settlement wasrelocated in 1932 and closed in 1966 and it is this second settlement that is ourfocus here. We begin by outlining documentary evidence on the mission settlementand its economic basis, before exploring in more detail historical data on the natureand relative contribution of Indigenous production within the context of themission economy. Following this we examine archaeological data and oral historiesto develop a deeper understanding of Indigenous production through reference to aspecific case study: the collection and consumption of wild honey from the nests ofvarious species of stingless Australian native bees. Archaeological evidence forcollection of wild honey comes in the form of distinctive culturally modified treesthat have been recorded throughout the region and which were predominantlycreated during the 1900s (Morrison and McNaughton 2005; Shiner and Morrison2009); oral histories about sugarbag collection and use are most detailed after the1930s.

Like some other recent approaches to the investigation of cross-culturalengagement in Australia, our approach draws on oral histories, documentary recordsand archaeological data in a manner so as not to privilege one particular source of

Int J Histor Archaeol

information over another, but rather, to identify parallels and contradictions in thisdata to address key research aims (Beck and Somerville 2005; Clarke and Paterson2003; Hemming et al. 2000; Patterson 2003; Smith and Beck 2003; Torrence andClarke 2000) . Key issues we explore include spatial patterns in resource use,historical changes in Indigenous production systems over time, and the social andhistorical significance of these practices to Indigenous people in the past and today.Overall, we suggest that investigating systems of food production provide animportant insight to understanding the constellations of power relations and thecharacter of cross-cultural engagements within remote and sometimes marginalmission settlements.

Fig. 1 Location of study area and Presbyterian Mission settlements within the Gulf of Carpentaria


Background

Weipa is located adjacent to Albatross Bay on the western coast of Cape YorkPeninsula in northern Queensland. Four major rivers flow into this bay and theseextend well inland, dissecting an extensive low relief plateau (see Fig. 2). The regionis located within the Australian tropics and has an environment similar to that whichoccurs throughout northern Australia: hot monsoonal summers between Novemberand March alternated by a long, warm to very hot “dry season” during the remainderof the year. Vegetation in the region is typically Eucalypt dominated open woodland;however, coastal and riparian vegetation is far more variable with extensivepaperbark (Melaleuca spp.) swamps, mangrove forests, dune woodland andmonsoon vine forests. These areas and the Bay’s numerous estuaries have veryhigh levels of bio-productivity with a broad, yet seasonally variable range ofresources including shellfish, fish, rays, birds, dugong and turtle, terrestrial mammalsand reptiles, and a wide variety of edible fruits and tubers.

Fig. 2 Albatross Bay, showing location of the two Weipa Mission settlements


Archaeological evidence indicates that Aboriginal populations have lived withinthe Albatross Bay region for about 2,500 calendar years (Bailey 1999; Bailey et al.1994; Morrison 2003). Ethnographic accounts suggest that in the early 1900s theregion had some of the highest population densities in Australia (Sutton 1994) andthe broader western Cape York Peninsula was occupied by variably sized groupsengaged in a gatherer-hunter economy (Sutton 1978; Thomson 1939; von Sturmer1978). Although initial contact between Europeans and Aboriginal people in westernCape York occurred in the 1600s (Sutton 2008; Wharton 2005), Aboriginal groupsare likely to have had only irregular and brief contact with Europeans until moresustained, invader/settler incursions into northern Cape York Peninsula began afterthe 1860s, driven by economic enterprises focused on pastoralism, pearl shell andbêche-de-mer fishing.

By the 1880s a number of small cattle stations had been established throughoutnorthern Cape York, including several in the vicinity of Albatross Bay (Wharton2005). The Native Mounted Police—a unit of the Queensland Police force made upmostly of Aboriginal men—were used to set up or expand pastoral activities byforcibly removing or “dispersing” local Aboriginal groups (Richards 2008). Oralhistories suggest that violence (including massacres and murders) was enacted by theNative Mounted Police and local pastoralists on Aboriginal groups from theAlbatross Bay region during the late 1800s (McNaughton 2006). Torres Strait based(see Fig. 1) pearl shelling and bêche-de-mer fishing boats also sought Aboriginalpeople from the coastlines of Cape York as laborers (Kidd 1997, p. 39; Loos 1982,p. 123; Saville-Kent 1890). Reports of illegal recruiting, kidnapping and generalmistreatment of Aboriginal laborers are documented in northern Cape York as earlyas 1884 however appear to increase after the late 1880s (Harrison 1974, pp. 37, 42).

The violence and mistreatment reported to be associated with these industriesprovided the justification for establishing Aboriginal reserves and missions on thenorthwest coast of Cape York Peninsula (Anderson 1988; Harrison 1974; Kidd 1997;Loos 1982; Wharton 2000, 2005). In 1891, the Presbyterian Church of Queenslandtook the advice of the Queensland Government and established a mission at PortMusgrave, later known as Mapoon in 1892 (Kidd 1997, p. 39; Wharton 2000) (seeFig. 1). In 1898 a second mission was established on the Embley River at a locationknown to contemporary Anhatangaith Traditional Owners as Waypanden, referred toas “Weipa” by missionaries (Wharton 2005). This mission settlement was moderatelysuccessful and within a few years supported a small, semi-permanent population ofAboriginal people along with a dormitory for young Aboriginal children. In 1932, thesettlement was moved downstream to Jessica Point, on Albatross Bay; according toKidd (1997, p. 94) this was prompted by a combination of poor access for boats,insufficient water, major crop failures and outbreaks of malaria, blackwater fever andhookworm. The new settlement operated here until it was closed down in 1966 and itis this settlement that is the focus of this paper.

Weipa Mission, Jessica Point (1932–66)

In terms of documentary history, our knowledge of the mission settlement at JessicaPoint is based largely on a series of diaries kept by mission superintendents during


the period 1933 to 1942 (Anon. 1933, 1934, 1935, 1936, 1937, 1938, 1939, 1940,1941, 1942) as well as plans, photographs and notes resulting from an inspection ofmissions in the region commissioned by the Queensland Presbyterian Church in1936 (Nelson 1936). Reports by the various Queensland Government departmentsfor Aboriginal Affairs also provide information about the nature of the settlementand its economic and social conditions during this period (Bleakley 1931, 1932,1933, 1934, 1935, 1936, 1937, 1940).

Key Features of the Settlement

The dominant feature of the mission settlement at Jessica Point was the compound,which comprised a large fenced area that encompassed most of the buildings,gardens and other key activity areas associated with the institution (Fig. 3). Thecompound was constructed on an area of high ground adjacent to Albatross Bay,with the manse (mission house) occupying a central position overlooking the sea.Other buildings were located to the rear of the manse and included kitchens,workshops, assistants’ cottages and girls and boys dormitories. Photographs from theperiod suggest that the mission compound fence was approximately 1.3 m high andconstructed from a combination of timber and wire (Nelson 1936). A promenade ofcoconut trees lay immediately before the gate that provided the central access pointto the compound. The promenade and the gate were positioned directly in front ofthe manse so that anyone walking toward the compound would have been visiblefrom the veranda of the manse. The girls’ and boys’ dormitories were also positionedso that they were directly observable from the mission superintendant’s office, at therear of the manse.

Fig. 3 Sketch plan of Weipa Mission Compound, ca 1936 (after Nelson 1936)


While the mission compound was on a naturally elevated area 10–15 m above sealevel, a separate village was located some 800 m away on a low sandy dune ridgeonly slightly above sea level (see Fig. 3). This village was where adult members ofthe mission-based Indigenous population resided and included those who hadmarried and left the mission, as well as infants. At the age of five, children were takenfrom the village and placed in the dormitories where they lived until married or hadfound work outside the settlement. Those living in the village constructed their ownhouses from bush materials which typically consisted of an unsawn timber frame, barkwalls, earthen floors and a bark or corrugated iron roof (Nelson 1936). Village residentsbuilt these dwellings with equipment loaned from the mission and by 1936 some 52dwellings had been constructed (Bleakley 1937). Like other mission settlements inQueensland during this period (Blake 2001; Kidd 1997), Weipa Mission appears tohave been designed to enable maximum supervision of both dormitory inmates and, toa lesser extent, the village population prompting suggestions that the settlement hadsome of the characteristics of a total institution (Sutton 2003).

Daily Life

Historical sources are replete with details on day-to-day activities at the mission. Thesettlement was managed by the superintendent and his wife with support from asecond couple who are referred to as “assistants.” A small number of Aboriginalpeople who were themselves former dormitory inmates also worked within themission compound helping care for the children as well as undertaking domestictasks. Nelson (1936) reports that approximately 175 people resided in the village in1936. Church services were a daily occurrence though mission diaries suggest thatattendance varied considerably and rarely involved more than 80 or 90 people perday. The mission also provided schooling to dormitory children.

The labor of village residents was of ongoing importance to the operation of themission. Tasks commonly performed included gardening, cutting timber, clearingland for new gardens, domestic duties, or helping with mission improvements. Thoseworking for the mission were paid with credit at the mission store where they couldobtain a range of European goods. In 1933, the superintendent outlined the details ofthese working arrangements which indicate that each “man” would be expected towork one day each week so that there would be workers available every day(Bleakley 1934, p. 21). A typical payment for a day’s work equated to two pannikinsof flour and a stick of tobacco.

Little documentary evidence exists about the experiences of children in thedormitories. The girls’ and boys’ dormitories were constructed almost immediatelyfollowing the establishment of the new settlement and in 1936 when Nelson visitedthese housed a total of 22 children. Although dormitory children attended schoolfour times per week, much of their time was spent working around the compound.Reports from the Aboriginal Department during the 1930s suggest that the missionstaff saw this as an important opportunity for inculcating certain attitudes and skillsthat ultimately might lead to employment (Bleakley 1934, 1935, 1936, 1937). Theseduties were highly gendered and segregated. Domestic chores, childcare, gardeningand sewing were undertaken by girls with yard work, cleaning and manual labor inthe mission gardens undertaken by the boys.


Changes in State Government legislation in the 1930s extended the powers of themission superintendent and left Aboriginal parents with no recourse to prevent theirchildren being removed and held at the dormitories. Dormitory children’s lives wereentirely governed by the mission staff: contact with village residents was extremelylimited and typically under the supervision of mission staff while in the compoundinteraction between boys and girls was also heavily controlled. Outside of school,chores and occasional recreational activities, dormitory children seem to have spentmuch of their time within small fenced yards around their respective dormitories. Instark contrast, the adults and very young children who lived in the village were ableto spend significant amounts of time on their own homelands and away from theinfluence and interference of mission staff. Indeed, the extent to which villageresidents are reported to be away from the mission is one of the most significantfeatures of the mission diaries from the 1930s through to the 1950s.

Food Production

Although a limited variety of foods were produced by the mission settlementhistorical records rarely provide details of quantities. Vegetable gardens and fruittrees appear to have been the principal source of mission-produced food and effortsto establish and maintain gardens was almost a daily activity. Regular crops includedsweet potato, cassava, pumpkin, and arrowroot although a broad range of othervegetables were grown on a much smaller scale or on a seasonal basis. It is estimatedhere that by the late 1930s less than 1.5 ha of land was under regular cultivation.Cattle were also an ongoing and important source of food with the total herdestimated to include 75 animals by the late 1930s and almost a third as many horses,which were used for stock work and transportation (McNaughton 2006). Thesuperintendent’s diaries mention the existence of a small milk dairy, consisting ofseveral cows, as well as a small fowl run used mainly for producing eggs. Some foodand other items were purchased externally and transported in by sea, including flour,wheat meal, rice, maize, sugar, tea, syrup, jam and condensed milk.

Assessing the overall diet of mission residents is to some extent made difficultdue to the lack of detail in documentary records. For the most part, entries in themission diaries are short and focus on mission improvements, financial or otheradministrative matters: mention of either bush trips or contributions of bush food aretypically rare. However, there is nevertheless some documentary evidence that bushfood produced by village residents made up a proportion of the diets of dormitorychildren and mission staff, as well as village residents. Diaries reveal that the systemof exchanging credit at the mission store for the labor of village residents alsoextended to the contribution of bush foods to the mission. These included sea turtles,dugong, wallaby and kangaroos, emu, ducks, fish, crabs, shellfish, and wild honeyalong with a range of seasonally available fruits, nuts and tubers.

One of the most detailed insights into the relative contribution of different foodscomes from 1939 when the superintendent compiled a list of foods consumed in themission over a period of approximately six months (Anon. 1939). Summaries of thisdata are provided in Table 1 which indicates that vegetables from the mission gardenwere the primary item of mission-produced food, while only one bullock per monthwas used for meat (also see McNaughton 2006). Foods purchased externally by the


mission and transported in by sea typically included those with high carbohydratecontent such as wheat products, maize and rice—all of which were used in largeamounts—along with other items such as tea, sugar, jam, and condensed milk. Incontrast, bush foods appear to have principally included a range of high proteinfoods such as birds, turtles, terrestrial animals, fish, and crab, while localcarbohydrate sources, such as those obtained from native bulbs, tubers, or fruitsare not reported (Table 2). In short, the data from 1939 suggests that at this time atleast, bush foods represented a major part of the mission economy, particularly interms of protein.

The broader applicability of this data for the period 1931–42 is supported by otheraccounts in the superintendent’s diaries. For example, Table 3 highlights the foodused during a 12-day camping trip with dormitory children and mission staff in 1939and bush foods are well represented. At other times, diaries refer to the exchange ofitems of bush food for credit at the mission store, as the following statements fromearly 1934 indicate:

04/01/34. Billy one got one med[ium] wallaby…drew 3d tea 3d sug[ar].10/01/34. Y. Henry got 4 ducks—drew 3d tob[acco].21/02/34. Killed turtle purchased from the community for 5/-. Salted a portion.

This type of information is irregularly found in the diaries, however this is morelikely to reflect the fact that it frequently went unrecorded by missionaries. Forexample, in 1939 when the above-mentioned food lists were compiled, there are

Table 1 Foods produced or externally purchased by the mission, 1939

Resource Amount Availability or duration of use

Flour 14 Tons For 9 Months

Wheat Meal 28 bushels For 6 Months

Wheat 15 bushel For 6 Months

Maize 18 bushel 6 Months

Rice 1 ton 6 cwt 6 Months

Sugar 1 ton 6 cwt 6 Months

Tea 168 lbs 6 Months

Syrup 2 cases 6 Months

Jam 2 cases 6 Months

Condensed Milk 2 cases 6 Months

Fresh Milk Not specified Available daily

Baking Soda 1 cwt –

Bullock Meat 1 bullock per month

Sweet Potatoes, Pumpkin,Watermelon

Plentiful when in season –

Other foods (amounts/season not specified)

Cassava Arrowroot Bananas

Mangoes Coconuts Mandarin (fruit transported from original site)

Custard Apples Paw Paw


almost no references to actual exchanges of bush foods for credit at the store, despitethere clearly being large amounts being produced. Thus, it is likely that exchanges ofbush food for credit occurred regularly, but were not consistently recorded in themission diaries.

The 1934 diary provides good data on the destination and duration of forays byvillage residents to collect bush resources. Frequencies of visits to specifiedlocations are shown in Fig. 4; the duration of these trips varied considerably andcould range from day trips or overnight trips, typically to locations close to themission, through to excursions of four to six weeks in duration to more distantlocations. While these trips are likely to have been for a range of purposes, it is

Table 2 Bush foods purchased by the mission from village residents, 1939

Food Amount/Number Availability or duration of use

Turtle 17 individuals at 150 lbs each In 6 months

Wallabies 18 individuals In 6 months

Emu 13 individuals In 6 months

Ibis (bird) 72 individuals –

Ducks ‘Innumerable’ –

Fish ‘Sufficient at all times’ –

Crabs Not specified When in season

Sugarbag Not specified ‘All the year round’

Dugong Oil 8 gallons In 6 months

Dugong One In 6 months

Other foods (amounts/season not specified)

‘Punjak’ (unidentified rootstock) ‘Swamp bulbs’ (Eliocharis dulcis,a type of water chestnut)

‘Yellow fruit’ (possiblyMorinda citrifolia)

Table 3 Foods used during 12-day camping trip with dormitory inmates, 1939

Item Amount

Turtle eggs 900

Native companions 4

Emu 1

Ducks 3

Wallabies 5

Fish Not specified

Flour 3.5 bags

Rice 1 bag

Syrup 1 tin

Jam 1 tin

Sugar 24 lb

Soda 6 d


likely that one activity people engaged in was obtaining food, both for themselvesand for the mission.

Documentary sources thus appear to indicate that Indigenous productionrepresented an important element of the mission economy, particularly in terms ofprotein. Like labor, these resources were exchanged in return for credit at themission store, allowing people to purchase items such as flour, tea, sugar, tobacco aswell as non-food items such as files, hatchets, fishing lines, and so on. Although theavailable historic data is insufficiently detailed to derive quantitative estimates of therelative importance of different resources, they do suggest that this system ofexchange was in place at least between 1931 and 1942. There is also a strongindication that this system was developed at the first mission settlement as indicatedby earlier diary entries between 1911 and 1917. A lack of detail in the documentarydata prevents the compilation of accurate quantitative data, however if the relativeproportions of bush foods used in 1939 are more broadly applicable then we suggestthat Indigenous production was a major source of protein for both village residents,dormitory children and mission staff. We now turn to the case study of theproduction of wild honey in order to tease out a more detailed and nuanced pictureof Indigenous production, drawing on an emerging body of archaeological and oralhistory data.

Fig. 4 Destinations of village residents during bush trips recorded in mission diaries, 1934–36


Wild honey (Sugarbag)

The reasons for our choice of wild honey as a case study here are twofold. Firstly, asnoted earlier, there is a substantial amount of archaeological evidence for wild honeyextraction in the form of culturally modified trees that likely span the pre-and post-mission periods. This data provides important insights into the quantities of wildhoney obtained and the spatial extent of Indigenous production and as we will argue,also highlights evidence of significant changes in the nature of production practicesover time. Secondly, oral histories on the nature of wild honey production and useafter the 1930s are rich in detail and scope and provide important insights into theeconomic, social and political significance of Indigenous-produced food, both forvillage residents and their young kin within the dormitory system.

Various species of stingless native bee occur atWeipa and include Austroplebeia spp.and Trigoma spp. The native bees are black, brown, or dark grey in color, less than 5–8 mm long and more closely resemble small flies than the European honeybee. Theirhives are usually made in the hollows of living or dead trees within 1,000 m of watersources. These hives and the honey they contain are commonly referred to as“sugarbag” by Indigenous people today and the small native bee are referred to as“sugarbag flies” (Morrison and McNaughton 2005). Although only producing arelatively small amount of honey, wild honey is a highly sought after and relishedbush food that is still collected by people today during visits to their homelands.

Oral History and Ethnographic Insights

Wild honey and wax were of high economic and social importance in pre-contacttimes. Ethnographic and oral history accounts from western Cape York point to wildhoney as a prominent and much sought after food source that occurred in relativeabundance in a range of different environments, most notably woodlands (Sutton1994, p. 39). The wax from the nests of native bees was also an important resourceused in the manufacture of various items of material culture and in ritual activities,including those associated with birth and with mourning (McConnel 1953; Sutton1978, 1994; Thomson 1939; von Sturmer 1978).

Native bee nests are extremely difficult to find, particularly for the inexperienced,as the hives are completely enclosed within hollows and the entrances areinconspicuous and marked by little more than slender mud tunnels 5–8 mm wideand 4-5 cm long. While wild honey is said to be available for most of the year, manyelders suggested that the best time of year to look for sugarbag is in the early dryseason when several key species of tree are in flower. Flowering events of some treespecies are said to be indicative of the land and its spirits communicating to peoplethat the sugarbag is ready and both good quality and “fat” (i.e., at its most flavorful)(Morrison and McNaughton 2005, p. 16). The methods elders use to locate thesenests are those taught to them by their parents and grandparents and they bear astriking similarity to the following description recorded by the anthropologist UrsulaMcConnel in the 1930s (1953, p. 8):

As they travel through the bush, especially in spring and summer, the eyes ofall are on the look-out for the tell-tale bee, coming in and out of its hole in tree


or log. The shading of the eyes with the hand, looking upwards this way andthat as they travel, is so characteristic an attitude, that it is used in corroboree tosignify a journey through the bush.

One elder explained the process of finding sugarbag as follows: “In the mission timewe would go out very early with our parents, when the sun was coming up, look into thesun and see where the flies were and follow them to the nest. A lot of flies coming in andout tells you it’s a big one.We took the young ones too, but mostly we took the big one.”Another elder added, “they [her parents] put their hands up like this, up in front of theireyes and look up into the sky, towards the sun, looking for sugarbag flies.”

Oral history accounts suggest that there were two main methods of obtainingsugarbag honey and wax at Weipa and as discussed below these have specificcorrelations with the archaeological record. The first method involves the use ofsmall, portable steel hatchets during hunting and gathering forays from either themission or preferred camps. Many elders were involved in these trips as youngchildren or in the years after they left the dormitories. As such, they were able torecount in detail the specific activities they engaged in and at times, the destinationsthey visited. Trees harboring native bee hives were not cut down, instead the nest’ssize was determined by tapping the tree or placing ones ear against it to listen to thenumber of bees before the honey was extracted from the standing tree.

Steel hatchets were used to cut small apertures above or below the hive. In manycases it was necessary to climb the tree using toe holds or a fallen branch to assist inorder to access the hive. Once the small aperture was created, honey and wax could beextracted using a small length of thin fibrous timber that had been pounded at one end tocreate an expedient sponge-like tool. This tool was inserted into the aperture and into thehoney and wax thereby soaking up the honey allowing it to be extracted and transferredto a container (or waiting mouth). Our informants recalled that the resulting aperture wasoften resealed or blocked with mud or tightly packed grass to encourage the hive’ssurvival. As such, the person who had invested their effort in locating or creating anaccess point to a nest could return to it at a later date and extract more honey.

Certain protocols were also associated with this method of harvesting. Oneprominent example is that trees that had already been used or those that had beenlocated and marked by a “cut” were “owned” and could not be used by otherswithout permission: to do so was to invite serious repercussions. As one informantexplained: “if someone steals from your tree you can feel it in your stomach, you getbinghi [a twinge] and that person gets ottipee [a sickness associated with stomachcramps, swelling and diarrhea].” Another elder commented that she could stillpicture herself as a young girl in the 1940s going out with her parents looking forsugarbag. She explained that each time they found a tree her father would put axemarks on the base of it after which they would continue looking for more sugarbagand for more flies. Once a number of trees had been located, they would attend toother activities such as hunting, fishing, or collecting yams and shellfish. Her familywould “come back when it was cooler and then cut them” to retrieve some, but notnecessarily all, of the honey, carrying it home in tins or bark containers. This accountepitomizes the ways in which a large proportion of the foods that contributed to themission were collected: that is, by small groups of kin travelling to favored areas inthe company of young children and often at some distance from the mission. Some


accounts describe travel by foot while others describe the use of bark canoes. Awiderange of resources were collected, some of which were consumed on location, whileothers were transported back to the settlement.

Oral histories also reveal a second quite different method of accessing sugarbag. Thismethod involved the use of larger, long handled steel axes to create much largerapertures through which access to the hive could be more easily gained. Informantssuggest that these larger, heavier but far more effective axes were rarely carried on foot-based foraging trips, but we are told were commonly used by Aboriginal men travellingon horseback in the cattle industry (primarily post 1930s) and by men travelling invehicles during the era of mining exploration from the mid 1950s onwards. These axeswere more efficient and elders suggest that they enabled much more honey to beobtained from a single hive because a larger aperture could be created. Further, when thehive was high in the tree and out of reach, the tree was simply cut down so that it couldbe accessed. The resulting aperture was usually large enough to accommodate a person’shand and enabled the removal of the wax and the honey, which was then transferred to acontainer for transport. However, while more efficient, when this method was used itwas intrusive enough to kill the hive and cause serious, if not irreversible damage to thehost tree. Where trees were felled both hive and tree were killed.

Wild honey was procured in significant quantities and transported to the missionsettlement or bush camps where it was consumed by village residents. It was alsoexchanged with for credit at the mission store, where the missionaries transferred itto a corrugated water tank located under the mission house, referred to by elders andby the missionaries, as the “sugarbag tank.” This tank was estimated to be 1.5 mhigh and several meters in diameter, with a tap in the side (Morrison andMcNaughton 2005); the use of a water tank to store the honey gives some senseof the quantities of wild honey being procured. Wild honey was especially popularwith the children, who would sometimes sneak under the mission house and relieveit of a little honey when working nearby. The quantities of sugarbag stored at themission were such that honey was a daily feature of children’s diets either with theirmorning porridge, on bread or damper, or mixed with water as a sweet drink thatwas regularly consumed (see also Akerman 1979; McConnel 1953, p. 8 on wildhoney as a drink). Thus, wild honey produced by Indigenous people was a consistentpart of the diet of children living in the dormitories.

Elders regularly cite the limited contact with parents, grandparents and other kinas a significant feature of their lives whilst in the dormitories. Within this context itwould appear that providing bush food to the mission in some cases also provided abrief opportunity for parents and grandparents to see their children. On set days eachweek the superintendent would permit village residents to come to the mission storeto hand over food parcels to children waiting behind the mission fence. Dormitoryinmates would form a line inside the mission compound while village adults wouldline up outside the compound to hand small parcels of food over to their youngerkin. Children were prevented from speaking with or physically touching their elderkin, though the parcels of food and the brief opportunity to see older kin are fondlyremembered (see also Dalley and Memmott, this volume). There are numerousaccounts of children receiving food parcels with medicinal properties or items thatwere a child’s favorite food. Indeed, today many former dormitory children viewboth the regular provision of these food parcels and the incorporation of wild honey


and other bush foods into their dormitory diets as one of the ways older kinparticipated in “growing them up” and keeping them strong and healthy despite theirhighly regulated lives.

Archaeological Insights For the most part archaeological research around Weipa hadfocused upon shell matrix features that occur throughout the region (Bailey 1999;Bailey et al. 1994; Morrison 2003). More recently, development-driven culturalheritage management activities have generated a large body of data on the regionalarchaeological record, particularly in areas away from the coastline (Shiner andMorrison 2009). Culturally modified trees, most notably those scarred through theremoval of wild honey, represent a major element of this database. Ethnographicaccounts indicate that a wide variety of trees were used as resources on western CapeYork (see Sutton 1994; Thomson 1939) and oral accounts from Weipa indicate thatsugarbag was most commonly procured on trees with softer wood. However,archaeological evidence of such activities are only preserved on one species of tree:the Cooktown ironwood (Erythropleum Chlorostachys).

“Ironwoods,” as they are locally known, are among the slowest growing speciesof tree in the region. They have extremely hard wood and investigations elsewhereusing tree ring counting and radiocarbon dating suggest they can live to as much as400 to 500 years old (Taylor 2002). The robust nature of ironwoods means that theyhave a potential to preserve evidence of cultural modification from both immediatelybefore and after the arrival of Europeans in the 1800s. However they likely representa small proportion of the range of trees from which sugarbag was collected but forwhich no archaeological evidence survives.

Trees scarred during the extraction of wild honey are usually very distinctive withthe key diagnostic criterion being the presence of an axe cut aperture as small as5 cm in height and 2 cm in width. Before the arrival of Europeans these apertureswere likely created using edge ground stone hatchets but these were probably rapidlyreplaced by steel axes and hatchets from the late 1800s onwards (Morrison andMcNaughton 2005; see also Sharp 1952). Some stone hatchet scars have beendocumented in the region, however these are generally rare. Given that the missionwas the only population centre on the Weipa Peninsula, it is argued here that themajority of trees scarred as a result of wild honey collection were created byIndigenous people whose primary residential base was the mission village.

At time of writing, 911 individual sugarbag scarred trees had been recordedacross the Weipa Peninsula area (Shiner and Morrison 2009) with each tree havingevidence of at least one but as many as six individual apertures. These all occur onironwood trees in various states of preservation, including 482 examples (52.9%)where scarring was made while the tree was still standing. These include 172 onliving trees, 240 intact but dead trees, 70 on intact but naturally fallen trees, and 429examples (47.1%) where the tree was felled in order to extract honey. These include395 examples of a stump (90–120 cm in height) and the remains of the fallen logwhere sugarbag scars are found, and 34 logs with sugarbag scars but no evidence ofthe stump preserved (Figs. 5 and 6).

In addition to those trees which are clearly the result of sugarbag extraction, afurther 379 isolated axe-cut stumps have been recorded with no preserved log. Dueto the absence of the associated log it is difficult to know whether the stump resulted


from pre-chainsaw timber harvesting or from sugarbag extraction. Felled logs in thelandscapes around Weipa are highly susceptible to destruction by frequent grass firesand many examples of fire damaged logs with sugarbag scars have been recorded.One method for assessing the likely origin of the isolated stumps is to compare theirheight and girth to stumps associated with sugarbag-scarred logs. As Table 4highlights, isolated stumps have similar average height and girth as those with clearevidence of sugarbag scarring and the differences between the averages are notstatistically significant. This would suggest that many of the stumps without logsalso represent trees that were cut to harvest wild honey and that the logs havesubsequently been destroyed by fire. Thus, in summary it is likely that a largeproportion of the 379 isolated stumps are likely to be the result of cutting down treesto extract sugarbag.

Spatial data on the distribution of both sugarbag scarred trees and axe cut stumpsare shown in Fig. 7. While large areas of the Weipa Peninsula have been surveyed,there are nevertheless large gaps in survey coverage and these broadly correspond toareas where no culturally modified trees are shown. Importantly, this data indicatesthat the extent of mission-based forays were far wider than suggested by the missiondocumentary record (see Fig. 4). It is clear that activities of Indigenous peopleextended across the Peninsula, rather than being restricted to coastal areas, asimplied by the historic data.

Fig. 5 Sugarbag scar on axe-felled tree


As noted earlier, the presence of axe marks is the principal diagnostic feature ofsugarbag scar trees. Previous research (Morrison and McNaughton 2005) indicatesthree distinctive types of axe mark which can be identified in the field through visualexamination. These include (1) stone axe scars. These consist of very small apertures(typically less than 10 cm long and 5 cm wide) cut into the tree. Axe cuts are few butbroader and less distinct compared with the distinct, sharp marks left by steel blades.Stone axe scars are also typically more weathered in appearance; (2) steel hatchetscars. Apertures are small and similar in morphology to stone axe scars but withdistinct short sharp cuts preserved on the tree. The cut marks on these scars are less

Fig. 6 Sugarbag scar on standing tree

Table 4 Comparison of heights and girths of isolated stumps and felled sugarbag trees

Isolated stumps Felled trees with sugarbag scars

Stump height Girth Stump height Girth

Mean 109.5 87.1 111.7 86.4

Standard deviation 23.1 30.3 28.7 27.1

Number 364 345 367 352


than 5 cm in length and removed very little wood (Fig. 8); and (3) long-handled steelaxe scars. These are very different in form to both previous scar types. The longercut marks (> 8 cm) are distinct with each axe strike removing large areas of woodand the trees are frequently killed as a result (Fig. 9).

One study that involved analysis of a subset of 168 of the 911 sugarbag scar treeson the Weipa Peninsula (Morrison 2007) provides a number of insights of specificrelevance here. Firstly, of 76 trees felled to access sugarbag, 42 had distinct large axemarks while the remaining 34 had been sufficiently damaged by fire and weatheringto make identifying the specific axe type impossible. Importantly, no small hatchetswere observed to have been used on these felled trees. Secondly, of a further 67cases where trees were not felled to access sugarbag, 29 were made with large steelaxes, a further 29 with steel hatchets while the remainder were indistinct. In short,there is strong indication that the use of steel hatchets was restricted to accessingsugarbag on standing trees.

Finally, data on the length and width of apertures on trees where the axe type ispreserved suggest that small axe scars have a mean length of 18.56 cm and width of8.32 cm while for large axe scars the mean length is 32.48 cm and width is14.37 cm. Large steel axes saw the creation of much larger scars compared with steelhatchets indicating this was a more intensive and invasive method of honey

Fig. 7 Distribution of scarred trees resulting from wild honey harvesting activities


extraction. This is further supported by data on the mean number of apertures pertree; those created with large axes had a mean of 1.79 scars per tree while thosecreated with small steel hatchets had a mean of 1.22 scars per tree. These findingsare also consistent with preliminary results of analysis of the entire scarred treedatabase for the Weipa Peninsula.

In summary, archaeological evidence on the distribution and attributes ofsugarbag scarred trees supports to two key findings. Firstly, the spatial data providesan important physical record of the extent and locations of historical activity areasassociated with primarily mission based forays. While the data is not complete andthere are large areas where no surveys have been carried out, it is clear thatIndigenous forays involved visits to a wider range of destinations—and presumablyfor a wide range of reasons—than the documentary historic record indicates.Secondly, the archaeological data points to the likelihood that use of large axes wasassociated with more intensive exploitation of sugarbag resources. Scars made withlarge steel axes were, on average, much bigger than those made with small hatchets,saw more numerous access points created on each tree and finally, made up a muchlarger proportion of the overall database. The implication is that this method alsoreturned much greater quantities of honey than the use of small steel hatchets.However, once cut the hive and the tree were unlikely to survive. Conversely, themethods surrounding use of small steel hatchets are likely to have produced smaller

Fig. 8 Sugarbag scar created with steel hatchet


quantities of honey, though data presented here suggests that individual hives werereused and thus able to produce additional honey at a later date.

The Character and Significance of Indigenous Production

In this article, we have argued that documentary evidence from Weipa indicates thatIndigenous production was important to the successful operation of the settlement,particularly in terms of protein sources. Bush foods were exchanged for credit at themission store enabling Indigenous people to purchase flour, tea, tobacco, and otherdesirable items. We argue that this system was of sufficient importance to themission that it was used on a day-to-day basis at least between 1931 and 1942 andthat it was most likely established at the earlier mission settlement sometime after1898. Indigenous produced foods were likely to have had greater significance attimes when external supplies were delayed, mission finances were low or whencrops failed as they sometimes did. For example, in the late 1920s and during WorldWar II the mission encountered specific periods of economic hardship and forseveral months in both periods the mission population—including dormitorychildren—were “sent bush” to be cared for and fed by their families for shortperiods (Kidd 1997).

Fig. 9 Sugarbag scar created with large steel axe


Archaeological data on the distribution of culturally modified trees supports theproposition that foraging trips carried out by Indigenous people were more wide-ranging and extensive than the documentary evidence suggests. While the missionsuperintendent recorded the general locations of some of these trips, the distributionof sugarbag-scarred trees across the Weipa Peninsula provides a more detailed recordof patterns of landscape use during the 1900s. In addition, the data presented heresignals broad increases in the intensity of production over time through theutilization of methods that enabled extraction of larger amounts of honey.

While there is some potential for the application of chronometric dating methodsto scarred trees (such as a combination of tree ring counting and radiocarbondeterminations), this has yet to be trialed at Weipa. As such, it is not possible toaccurately place specific scars into a neat chronological framework. Despite this, wesuggest that the available evidence strongly indicates a broad pattern of historicalchange during the 1900s. Oral histories point to historical changes in mobility andland use practices and suggest that the use of steel hatchets was more widespreadprior to the 1940s while those associated with use of large axes mostly post date thistime. Steel hatchets appear to have been used by people in a manner that in somerespects was a continuation of land use practices employed by people living in pre-contact times. These were oriented around small family-based groups engaged ingathering and hunting activities, travelling large distances on foot and visitingpreferred places presumably of cultural or economic importance (Morrison andMcNaughton 2005). Steel hatchets are also more likely to have been used by peoplewho were highly dependent upon travelling large distances on foot.

Conversely, the ongoing presence of the mission and dormitories appears to haveled to marked changes in the way that Indigenous people—and men in particular—were able to engage with the landscape. The introduction of a local mission-basedcattle industry—which only became fully established on the Weipa Peninsula afterthe 1930s—facilitated the widespread use of horses by Indigenous men and in rarecases, women (McNaughton 2006). Since the 1950s, Indigenousmen from the missionwere also involved in mining activities which required the regular use of large axes(Morrison and McNaughton 2005). We know from oral history accounts that meninvolved in both forms of employment routinely collected honey and other foodstuffsduring these activities and often bought them home. Of importance here, however, isthat these new ways of engaging with the landscape only commenced after the 1930s.

We tentatively suggest that mission-based Indigenous production—in this case theharvesting of sugarbag—changed significantly in the early to mid-1900s. It is unlikelythat the method of sugarbag harvesting involving the use of small hatchets was rapidlyreplaced by those methods involving large axes. Rather, we suggest a gradual increase inthe use of the latter in response to new ways of engaging with the landscape, initiallyfrom the 1930s and on a more widespread basis from the 1950s as mine explorationcommenced. Significantly, archaeological evidence strongly suggests that extractionmethods associated with large steel axes were far more intensive and produced greateramounts of honey compared with the use of small hatchets. Thus, in the case of sugarbagat least, production methods were gradually changing towards more intensivetechniques since the 1930s. We argue that this change in intensity of sugarbagproduction was primarily the result of its changing economic value within the context ofthe mission. It is also possible that there were social and political dimensions to


seemingly intensifying levels of production, namely the desire to care for and providefood and medicine to children residing in the dormitories.

Providing bush foods—whether through directly presenting them to children orexchanging them with the mission—afforded parents and other kin an importantmeans of working around imposed restrictions on access to dormitory children. Itcreated an opportunity to care for them by providing traditional foods and medicinesthat aided in growing them up and maintaining their general well being. Theprovision of foods in this way is also significant in terms of both establishing andmaintaining important kinship obligations. Unlike language, marriage, religiouspractices, or other Indigenous social institutions, knowledge around food does notseem to have been targeted by the missionaries for reform. Whether this was out ofnecessity or accident on the part of the missionaries is unclear. What is evident isthat this knowledge was central to many of the practices the missionaries sought toundermine or supplant (see also Rowse 1998). Taking children on camping tripsoriented around hunting or collecting foods—even if under the supervision of missionstaff—provided opportunities for the transmission of all kinds of knowledge, practicesand ideals about family, country, and the skills required to manage it. As such, itprovided a site of resistance to assimilation and attempts to supplant or undermineIndigenous family structures, lifeways, and connection to their homelands. Theprovision of bush foods to children in the mission is highly symbolic of this, and wesuggest is also one reason behind the contemporary perception among communityelders of a close link between eating bush foods, wellbeing and good health.

Conclusion

Sugarbag scarred trees represent an ubiquitous and easily overlooked element of thearchaeological record at Weipa. As Clarke has suggested (2000, p. 145), relativelyyoung or inconspicuous archaeological sites (such as scarred trees) sometimes onlyreveal limited information when viewed individually. When viewed collectively, andacross a landscape they can provide important information about processes ofcultural change within the context of engagements with outsiders. This case studyprovides important support for this argument.

Investigation of the contribution of Indigenous production to remote missionsettlements offers a unique insight into the social and economic conditions of missionsand processes of cultural or social change. In this article, we have attempted todemonstrate the ways in which an approach drawing on documentary evidence, oralhistories and archaeology provides a more nuanced picture of the contribution andsignificance of Indigenous production. These various lines of evidence highlight theimportant, if not crucial role that Indigenous production had within the context of remotemission settlements for both Indigenous people and the mission itself.

Sugarbag was a daily part of the diet of Indigenous children who lived andworked on the Weipa mission. It was collected by elder kin who were regularlytaking part in gathering and hunting forays to destinations that archaeologicalevidence suggests were quite distant from the mission itself. It remains unclearwhether this was an activity that was simply condoned by the mission staff orwhether it was actively encouraged. What is clear is that the quantities of sugarbag


and other resources produced during these forays were of substantial economicimportance to the viability of the mission and that these activities providedopportunities to resist assimilation.

The archaeological evidence suggests that Indigenous systems of sugarbagproduction were not static but were changing and, seemingly, becoming moreintensive. We suggest that this change was the result of the ongoing presence of themission, the arrival and availability of new tools, and the impact of missionaryattitudes and teachings on generations of dormitory children. To some extent thisalso may reflect requirements imposed by the mission for Indigenous people toengage with the landscape in different ways, such as through employment in thepastoral industry. At the same time however, the apparently formal incorporation ofwild foods produced by Indigenous people may also suggest a degree of what BirdRose (2000) has termed “Aboriginalization”: the uptake of Indigenous knowledgeand practices by the missionaries themselves. Although further work is required, wesuggest it is an important avenue for further research that potentially revealssomething of the complex character of cross-cultural engagements within the contextof remote north Australian mission settlements.

This system was not only of economic importance to Indigenous people. Based onoral history testimony, we argue that the act of providing food had strong socialdimensions reflecting a desire among parents and grandparents to actively participate inensuring the wellbeing of younger kin by providing regular and reliable access to bushfoods. Providing bush foods also facilitated increased opportunities for village residentsto have access to young kin held in the mission dormitories; it allowed them to workaround severe constraints imposed by both governments and church. We suggest that thecollection of local bush foods were part of a broader strategy aimed at caring for andenhancing the wellbeing of those kin locatedmore fully within the control of themission.

Acknowledgments This article is dedicated to the memory of Mrs T. Coconut and Mrs A. Heinemann,widely respected senior Traditional Owners of Ndrua’ngaith and Nggoth lands and who sadly passedaway during this research. We are grateful to them and other Traditional Owners for generously sharingtheir time and knowledge with us. We also thank Beatrice Gordon, Stanley Coconut, Ivy Gordon, FlorenceHector, Suzie Madua, Robert Madua and Nicholas Heinemann for working with us. This research hasbeen partially funded by a grant from the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait IslanderStudies (G2007/7266) and we thank them for their support. Data on culturally modified trees has largelybeen obtained through Rio Tinto Alcan cultural heritage management projects between 2003–2008 and weacknowledge the hard work of Eleanor Cooper, Alex Walter, Amanda Woodley, Lavinia Kris, NickyHorsfall, Grant Cochrane and Richard Woolfe. We also thank Cameo Dalley for bringing to our attentionthe Nelson collection at the University of Queensland as well as Annie Clarke and a second anonymousreferee whose comments on an earlier draft have greatly improved the final product.

References

Akerman, K. (1979). Honey in the life of the Aboriginals of the Kimberleys. Oceania 49: 169–78.Anderson, C. (1988). A case study in failure: Kuku-Yalanji and the Lutherans at Bloomfield River, 1887–

1902. In Swain, T., and Bird Rose, D. (eds.), Aboriginal Australians and Christian Missions:Ethnographic and Historical Studies, Australian Association for the Study of Religions, Adelaide,pp. 321–337.

Anon. (1933). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st May 1931 to 27th December 1933, ML MSS 1893/2 (9),CY Reel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.


Anon. (1934). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st January 1934 to 31st December 1934, ML MSS 1893/2(9), CY Reel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.



Anon. (1937). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st January 1937 to 31st December, 1937, ML MSS 1893/2(9), CY Reel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.

Anon. (1938). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st January 1938 to 13th December 1938, ML MSS 1893/2(9), CY Reel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.


Anon. (1940). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st January 1940 to 8th June 1940, ML MSS 1893/2 (9), CYReel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.


Anon. (1942). Weipa Mission Station diary, 1st January 1942 to 27th December 1942. ML MSS 1893/2(9), CY Reel 874, Mitchell Library, Sydney.

Bailey, G. N. (1999). Shell mounds and coastal archaeology in northern Queensland. In Hall, J., andMcNiven, I. (eds.), Australian Coastal Archaeology, Australian National University Publications,Canberra, pp. 105–112.

Bailey, G. N., Chappell, J., and Cribb, R. (1994). The origin of Anadara shell mounds at Weipa, NorthQueensland. Archaeology in Oceania 29(2): 69–80.

Beck, W., and Somerville, M. (2005). Conversations between disciplines: Historical archaeology and oralhistory at Yarrawarra. World Archaeology 37(3): 468–483.

Bird Rose, D. (2000). Signs of life on a barbarous frontier: intercultural encounters in north Australia. InClarke, A., and Torrence, R. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Negotiating Cross-CulturalEngagements in Oceania, Routledge, London, pp. 215–237.

Birmingham, J. (2000). Resistance, creolisation or optimal foraging at Killalpaninna Mission, SouthAustralia. In Clarke, A., and Torrence, R. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: Negotiating Cross-Cultural Engagements in Oceania, Routledge, London, pp. 360–405.

Blake, T. (2001). A Dumping Ground: The History of the Cherbourg Aboriginal Reserve, University ofQueensland, St Lucia.

Bleakley, J. W. (1931). Reports Upon the Operations of Certain Sub-Departments of the Home Secretary'sDepartment: Aboriginal Department: Information Contained in Report for the Year ended 31stDecember, 1930, Government Printer, Brisbane.








Broome, R. (2002). Aboriginal Australians: Black Responses to White Dominance, 1788–2001, Allen andUnwin, St. Leonards.


Chase, A. (1988). Lazaras at Australia's gateway: The Christian Mission enterprise in eastern Cape YorkPeninsula. In Swain, T., and Bird Rose, D. (eds.), Aboriginal Australians and Christian Missions:Ethnographic and Historical Studies, Australian Association for the Study of Religions, Adelaide, pp.121–139.

Clarke, A. (2000). Time, tradition and transformation: The negotiation of cross-cultural engagements onGroote Eylandt, northern Australia. In Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (eds.), The Archaeology ofDifference: Negotiating Cross-Cultural Engagements in Oceania, Routledge, London, pp. 104–141.

Clarke, A., and Paterson, A. (2003). Cross-cultural archaeology: An introduction. Archaeology in Oceania38(2): 49–51.

Harrison, J. (1974). Missions, Fisheries and Government in Far North Queensland, 1891–1919: A Studyof Conflict and Co-operation Between the Presbyterian Mission Stations, Commercial FishingInterests and the Queensland Government on Matters Concerning the Welfare of Aborigines in CapeYork and the Torres Strait, 1891–1919, Unpublished Honors thesis, University of Queensland, StLucia.

Hemming, S., Wood, V., and Hunter, R. (2000). Researching the past: Oral history and archaeology atSwan Reach. In Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference: NegotiatingCross-Cultural Engagements in Oceania, Routledge, London, pp. 215–237.

Kidd, R. (1997). The Way We Civilise: Aboriginal Affairs, The Untold Story, University of QueenslandPress, Brisbane.

Loos, N. A. (1982). Invasion and Resistance: Aboriginal-European Relations on the North QueenslandFrontier, 1861–1897, Australian National University, Canberra.

Loos, N. A. (1988). Concern and contempt: Church and missionary attitudes towards Aboriginies in NorthQueensland in the Nineteenth Century. In Swain, T., and Bird Rose, D. (eds.), Aboriginal Australiansand Christian Missions: Ethnographic and Historical Studies, Australian Association for the Study ofReligions, Adelaide, pp. 100–120.

McConnel, U. H. (1953). Native arts and industries on the Archer, Kendall and Holroyd Rivers, CapeYork. Records of the South Australian Museum 11: 1–42.

McNaughton, D. A. (2006). ”Real Hard Work”: Oral Histories and Contemporary Cultural HeritageValues at the Diingwulung Cattle Yards, Weipa, Report to Comalco Aluminium, Weipa.

Morrison, M. J. (2003). Old boundaries and new horizons: The Weipa shell mounds reconsidered.Archaeology in Oceania 38(1): 1–8.

Morrison, M. J. (2007). Archaeological Inspections of Proposed Mine Block-Clearance Areas at EastWeipa Mine Site, Unpublished report to Rio Tinto Aluminium, Weipa.

Morrison, M. J., and McNaughton, D.A. (2005). Culturally Modified Trees of the Weipa Region, WesternCape York Peninsula, Unpublished report to Comalco Aluminium Limited, Weipa.

Nelson, N. F. (1936). Record of Visit to Mission Stations (1936), UQFL 57, University of Queensland,Fryer Library, Brisbane.

Patterson, A. (2003). The texture of agency: An example of culture contact in central Australia.Archaeology in Oceania 38: 52–65.

Richards, J. (2008). The Secret War: A True History of the Native Police, University of Queensland, Brisbane.Rowse, T. (1998). White Flour, White Power: From Rations to Citizenship in Central Australia,

Cambridge University Press, Melbourne.Saville-Kent, W. (1890). Report on bêche-de-mer and pearl shell industries of North Queensland. Votes

and Proceedings of the Queensland Legislative Assembly 3: 728.Sharp, L. (1952). Steel axes for stone age Australians. In Spicer, E. H. (ed.), Human Problems in

Technological Change: A Case Book, Sage, New York, pp. 69–90.Shiner, J., and Morrison, M. J. (2009). The contribution of heritage surveys towards understanding the

cultural landscape of the Weipa bauxite plateau. Australian Archaeology 68: 52–55.Smith, A., and Beck, W. (2003). The archaeology of no man’s land: Indigenous camps at Corindi Beach,

mid-north coast New South Wales. Archaeology in Oceania 38: 66–77.Sutton, P. (1978). Wik: Aboriginal Society, Territory and Language at Cape Keerweer, Cape York

Peninsula, University of Queensland, Brisbane.Sutton, P. (1994). Material culture traditions of the Wik peoples, Cape York Peninsula. Records of the

South Australian Museum 27: 31–52.Sutton, M.-J. (2003). Re-examining total institutions: A case study from Queensland. Archaeology in

Oceania 38(2): 78–88.Sutton, P. (2008). Stories about feeling: Dutch-Australian contact in the Cape York Peninsula, 1606–1756.

In Veth, P., Sutton, P., and Neale, M. (eds.), Strangers on the Shore: Early Coastal Contacts inAustralia, National Museum of Australia, Canberra, pp. 35–59.


Swain, T., and Rose, D. B. (eds.) (1988). Aboriginal Australians and Christian Missions, AustralianAssociation for the Study of Religions, Adelaide.

Taylor, R. (ed.) (2002). Ironwood (Erythrophleum Chlorostachys) in the Northern Territory: Aspects of itsEcology in Relation to Timber Harvesting. Department of Agriculture, Fisheries and Forestry,Australia., Darwin.

Thomson, D. F. (1939). The seasonal factor in human culture. Proceedings of the Prehistoric Society 5:209–221.

Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (2000). Negotiating difference: Practice makes theory for contemporaryarchaeology in Oceania. In Torrence, R., and Clarke, A. (eds.), The Archaeology of Difference:Negotiating Cross-Cultural Engagements in Oceania, Routledge, London, pp. 1–31.

von Sturmer, J. R. (1978). The Wik Region: Economy, Territoriality and Totemism in Western Cape YorkPeninsula, University of Queensland, Brisbane.

Wharton, G. (2000). Mission Time: A Guide to Queensland Presbyterian Church Records Relating to theGulf Missions at Aurukun, Mapoon, Mornington Island, Weipa and the Thursday Island MissionAgency, 1891 to 1978, PCE, Fortitude Valley.

Wharton, G. (2005). The Pennefather River: Place of Australian national heritage, Royal GeographicalSociety of Queensland Gulf of Carpentaria Scientific Study Report, Royal Geographical Society ofQueensland, Brisbane, pp. 35–91.


Mission-Based Indigenous Production at the Weipa Presbyterian Mission, Western Cape York Peninsula...

Documents

Transcript of Mission-Based Indigenous Production at the Weipa Presbyterian Mission, Western Cape York Peninsula...