As Nicholas Shakespeare alludes to, Tasmania has a deep dark past. From its strong convict heritage, as told in tales such as ‘For the term of his natural life’, to the barbaric truth of the treatment of its Indigenous people. Sometimes I feel like their spirits rush through as a reminder of what happened in this place of pristine wilderness. In the form of a wild wind - a torrent of ice cold air encircling the land, in what we have now come to know as ‘the roaring forties’.
I've learned quite a bit about Indigenous Australians at Uni, but nothing gave me such as insight as reading "Coonardoo" (a novel by Katherine Susannah Pritchard) - get hold of a copy if you can & read it.
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