Chapter 4 – The King of Melville Island, Robert Joel Cooper’s amazing story

When the Commonwealth government assumed control of the Northern Territory, (Sir) Walter Baldwin Spencer was commissioned to lead an expedition to study aboriginal welfare in the Territory. In 1911, Spencer, as part of his commission, visited Melville Island as Joe Cooper’s guest to conduct studies on the aboriginal occupants of the Island.

To hear the remarkable story of my relative, Joe Cooper, I have decided to visit him at his lodge on Melville Island in the year 1911.

I will accompany Professor (Sir) Walter Baldwin Spencer as his assistant when he visits Joe Cooper. At the time of our visit, Sir Baldwin Spencer has just been appointed as the Special Commissioner and Chief Protector of Aborigines in the Northern Territory.

Spencer is a university scientist and anthropologist who has accepted Darwin’s evolutionary theories and abandoned conventional religion.

An infected leg severely restricts his field-work and is a permanent source of discomfort to him ensuring that my role as his assistant will be valued.

By accompanying Spencer on his expedition I will be able to learn first hand about my relative, Robert Joel Cooper, and at the same time assist Spencer in the recording of his findings which are to be submitted to the Commonwealth Government when Spencer returns to Darwin.

The King of Melville Island

It was just after noon when the launch arrived at its destination.

We had proceeded along the southern coastline of Bathurst Island north of Palmerston (Darwin) until a gale had forced us to shelter in Apsley Strait. We waited until the gale had died down and then sailed along the calmer waters of the Strait until we reached the southern point of Melville Island where we anchored opposite Joe Cooper’s landing and some distance from shore.

A group of aboriginals in four dugout canoes came to meet us. Each canoe had two aboriginals on board. They paddled up alongside our launch, flashing their white teeth in dazzling smiles and gesturing for us to hand down our supplies and equipment for them to ferry to shore. As each canoe was filled the natives paddled back to shore, quickly unloading and carrying our gear up beyond the high-tide line.I worried whether we would see our luggage and equipment again but Spencer assured me that we would.

To my relief when everything was unloaded one of the dugouts sped back toward us and brown arms reached up and helped us down the side of our launch and into the dugout below. Once settled the aboriginals swiftly paddled us to shore. When our dugout ground to a halt at the shoreline the natives lifted each of us out onto the dry sand, so we didn’t even get our feet wet.

Joe was nowhere to be seen. One of the natives, the head of the group, gestured to us to sit down under a palm just beyond the high tide line and then the whole group disappeared off into the scrub beyond the beach, hopefully to advise Joe of our arrival.

“How long do you think we will have to wait?” I asked Spencer who was settling his back against the trunk of the palm and within its shade.

“Could be a while. Joe’s lodge is quite a way from here and the natives have to go back on foot to get him.”

“I am glad that I have packed some food and drink then – a glass of wine even, if you like.”

Spencer and I settled in for what might be a fairly lengthy wait. The white beach curved in either direction into a shallow horseshoe-shaped bay. Dense scrub rose up to meet a line of white cliffs behind us. Only the footprints in the sand of the departed aboriginals gave evidence of human presence on this isolated beach. Over the sea-corridor was Palmerston (Darwin). I handed Spencer a pack of sandwiches and poured him a glass of wine and we ate companionably.

“Can you tell me some more about Joe, Spencer? I know he hunts buffalo on the island and is a timber-cutter, but what is he like as a person, what sort of a man chooses to live out here in such isolation with only natives for company?” I was curious.

Spencer took out his pipe and filled it and tamped it, lit it and readjusted his damaged leg to a more comfortable position.

“Well, in my view, though I know Joe would disagree with me, I think Joe’s motives are mainly mercenary. He is an adventurer and he came to the Territory to make his fortune and that is certainly what he has done on Melville Island. What with hunting buffalo, trepanging, woodcutting and such, he has made, and continues to make, a pretty penny here in the Territory.”

“Isn’t the term ‘mercenary’ a little harsh?” I asked feeling slightly annoyed at his description.

“Maybe I am being a bit harsh, but I find it hard to understand why anyone would live out here in isolation unless it were for monetary gain. But in fairness to him I believe he has done a lot for the aboriginals since he has been here. Before he came the five tribes were constantly at war with each other. Now everything is peaceful and for the the first time white men are able to visit the island, and that is only because of Joe’s strength and the respect he has achieved in the aboriginal’s eyes.”

“So what did he do to achieve such respect and acceptance in such an alien culture?” I asked.

“Well, it is quite a long story. Joe comes from South Australia and his father’s name was George Alfred Cooper, and his grandparents were William and Judith Cooper who came out from England in 1849. Sometime around 1878, Joe and brother Harry and father George traveled overland to the Northern Territory. They followed the route taken by John McDouall Stuart. I think father George Alfred Cooper went with them to keep an eye on them, and to keep them safe. They arrived in the territory around 1879.”

Spencer settled his pipe once more and moved his leg again.

“What did they do when they first arrived?” I asked.

“Well, that’s a bit unclear, but I believe father George having seen them safely through the interior to the Territory became ill and returned home. He had to travel by ship because he was so unwell. It was a year later before he was heard of again. He lived only two years after that and then died of heart failure whilst breaking in a horse at Wildeloo. He was buried in the old Port Lincoln cemetery, I believe, and his second wife Emma Cooper died only a year later in 1913 and was buried at Cummins.”

“How do you know all this about Joe, Spencer?” I asked curiously.

“Joe gave me an outline of his history in a letter he sent me.”

“So what else do you know about Joe?” I urged. I really wanted every last bit of information I could squeeze out of Spencer.

“Well he’s quite famous, you know, he has been written about quite a lot by people such as FH and JB Bauer the historians and others,” he replied.

“And what do they say about him?”

“The usual stuff, that the two brothers became famous as buffalo hunters on the Cobourg Peninsula; and in time Joe became so famous that the Aborigines began calling him ‘Jokuppa.’”

“And what does that mean?”

“I think it is our equivalent of the word ‘King’ or ‘Master,’ at any rate it is a title of great respect.”

“How interesting,” I exclaimed, ‘And how did it all come about, what did he do that caused them to give him that title?’

“In May 1893 a group of men including the two Cooper brothers and a Mr EO Robinson, the Melville Island pastoral lessee made a foray into Melville Island to hunt the vast buffalo herds on the Island. They were initially very successful but the aborigines were not impressed with their presence and attacked them and they had to flee the island. Later in 1895 while working for Robinson Joe returned and set up camp on Melville Island but in June the natives again became hostile and drove Joe and his party off the island. Joe’s brother Harry was speared and died. Joe also received a spear wound to his shoulder and had to get off of the island, but before fleeing back to the mainland Joe managed to abduct four Tiwi aboriginals including two women and take them back with him to the mainland.”

“After he had been speared?” I said incredulously.

“Yes, that is the sort of man Joe is. He always thinks ahead and manages to keep a step ahead of everyone else. He knew that if he was ever going to succeed on Melville Island he had to be able to communicated with the inhabitants. He needed to find a way to learn the Tiwi languages. By taking native hostages he made them his language teachers. I understand that there is hardly a dialect between Darwin and the Gulf of Carpentaria with which Robert Joel Cooper is unfamiliar.” Spencer shook his head from side to side, contemplating Joe’s temerity.

“How could he go back on the island after he had abducted the four aboriginals?” I asked “I would have thought the tribe would kill him the moment he set foot on the island?”

“When Joe returned to the Island he firstly sent his hostages ahead of him to act as peace makers. This proved successful. Then when he went onto the island himself, he was able to communicate with them and won their confidence.”

“How extraordinary,” I mused.

“While they were on the mainland Cooper treated his captives very kindly and so they spoke well of him to the Melville Islanders. Of course he couldn’t be sure that they would be friendly until he actually ventured back onto the island.” Spencer noted.

“So they did let Joe set up camp on the island?”

“Yes, they did, and then Joe and another man, Barney Flynn, who was with him went with a whole retinue of the Iwaidja aboriginals and began hunting on the Island. They continued to hunt, in fact they decimated the buffalo herds until 1898. They killed thousands! Joe skinned the buffalo and shipped the meat, skins and other products to Palmerston in his boat, fittingly named, ‘Buffalo,’ and made his fortune.”

“What does Joe look like, what kind of presence does he have?”

“Hmm-mm. Well, Joe’s a large man, he stands well over six feet and has a remarkable keen pair of blue eyes. He’s deliberate in action, slow and sparing of speech, he’s intelligent and he’s courageous.”

Spencer paused. “Perhaps his most unusual characteristic is that he is temperate in a thirsty land which is very unusual up here.”

“I’m not surprised about that. He would need to have his wits about him to survive on Melville. He couldn’t afford to diminish his faculties whilst living among such a warlike people.” I paused for a moment, thinking about Joe.

“Is there anything more you can tell me about his character or person?” I asked.

“Well, to sum him up, I would say he is a fine type of Australian, upright and honorable and of a very commanding appearance and he has probably shot more buffalo than any hunter of his generation, plus fishing for trepang and cutting and milling cypress pine.”

Spencer poured some water into his now empty wine glass and drank the cool liquid gratefully. It was hot and steamy even though we were sitting in the shade of the palm. I wondered how much longer we would have to wait for Joe and his retinue to return.

“You have said that the aboriginals respect Joe and call him ‘Jokuppa,’ what do the whites think of him.” I asked.  Spencer laughed.

“The mainland Whites call Joe ‘King of Melville Island.’ They regard him as one of the most remarkable of Australian pioneers, the only white man ever to become the absolute ruler of five aboriginal tribes. They say he is utterly fearless and straight in all his dealings. They call Melville Island his ‘kingdom’ and believe he rules his subjects well and firmly.”

“He sounds amazing. How did he become ‘King’ of the tribes since the islanders are so very fierce?”

“We would not be sitting here now if Joe were NOT their chief. For a white man to be made a chief of native aborigines is an honor not easily won. When the Tiwi made Joe Chief over the Five Tribes he was put through all the secret rites of the aborigines and he never has and never will reveal what those secret rites were. In fact there were two native ‘pretenders’ to the ‘throne’ who challenged him to combat. Both were powerful young athletes famed for their prowess as warriors.”

“Did Joe accept their challenge,” I marveled.

“He would have had no other option. Surrounded by hundreds of natives, he and his first opponent faced each other. They wore loincloths and carried only spears and a Woomera each. They were separated by about 100 yards, and at a given signal each began to creep up on the other. Believe it or not, Joe and his father had practiced throwing spears back in Adelaide, when he was just a boy, and he had become expert in the art. However, the native knew all the tricks, too. The pair were so agile that the first encounter ended in a stalemate and neither drew blood. The old men of the council decided that, as both were evenly skilled, they should come to grips with waddies. These weapons are about six feet in length, and shaped like a straight sword with two cutting edges and are made from ironwood. The handle is carved to give a good grip, and is generally held using both hands. The thickness of the native skull is abnormal; it can withstand a blow which would kill a European. Cooper was well aware of this, but so great was his confidence and fighting skills that he managed to evade his rival’s attacks until he found his opportunity to bring home a tremendous smash on the skull of his opponent. The fight was over. Though the native was not killed, he was knocked unconscious, and Joe, the white man, was proclaimed victor.”

“What about the other ‘pretender’ did he fight him too?”

“No, the native lost heart and confidence, and so ‘King Joe’s’ rule was established in the only fashion understood by his subjects.”

“What a story that is, Spencer,” I exclaimed.

“It is indeed, and Joe is a remarkable man. It is said that in buffalo-shooting Joe has outclassed even America’s famed Buffalo Bill.”

“Really? How amazing!”

“Before Joe came to Melville and became chief, the islanders were so warlike that they were avoided by both whites and blacks and trouble was always brewing. Under Joe’s jurisdiction all is now peaceful because the punishment of evildoers he attends to personally. He has brought the weight of enforced law to the islanders.”

“How does he punish offenders?”

“He consults with the tribal elders and administers punishment according to tribal lore. If a native has fled because of something he has done, something serious, such as murder, Joe, will take a spear, Woomera and throwing-stick and wearing only a loincloth, will track and hunt down that native. He is a fine tracker, as well as a first-class bushman and to date, has always returned with the miscreant.”

“Incredible,” I declared.

At that moment, from behind us came a laughing voice:

“It’s all lies, Spencer, all lies, all of it!”

I turned my head and took in my first sight of Joe Cooper. He was as tall as Spencer had said; brown-haired with laughing eyes of a piercing blue. He wore tan colored breeches and an open necked shirt. Grouped behind Joe were about 40 curious aboriginals all with spears and wearing woven bark loincloths. I helped Spencer stand up to greet Joe feeling quite over-awed in his presence and startled by his sudden appearance. We had not heard a single sound to let us know he was coming. Leaning on my arm, Spencer reached out to grasp Joe’s hand in both of his and shook it with feeling.

“Good to see you Joe, we were beginning to wonder whether we might need to hunt a buffalo for our dinner and sleep on the beach tonight.” Joe laughed.

“Good to see you too Spencer. I think we might save the hunting for another day my friend!”

Spencer turned to me:

“Joe, I’d like you to meet my assistant Miss Fay O’Connor. With my ‘Dickie’ leg I don’t think I could manage without her. She is going to act as my secretary and assistant here on Melville.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss O’Connor,” said Joe,  “you’re a brave woman to come to this out of the way place. There are not too many modern conveniences here,” Joe declaimed.

“I’ll manage,” I smiled, my eyes taking in every detail of this tall giant of a man with his dusky bodyguards.

“If you would like to follow me along the beach, there is a pathway up the cliff and I have a horse and dray waiting at the top that will take you to my lodge,” said Joe.

With a gesture from Joe, his bodyguard of natives picked up our gear and strode off along the beach. Not too far ahead we saw a white shell path winding its way up the cliff face. I had wondered whether Joe might suggest that Spencer be carried up by some of Joe’s natives, but he didn’t suggest it and Spencer didn’t ask. However when we reached the beginning of the ascent two of the natives produced from behind a rock a wide piece of wood with handles at each end. Spencer sat down on it and the natives carried him between them for the rest of the distance up the cliff path.  The heat was intense and I was glad of the big straw hat I was wearing. The path was quite wide. Joe must have had the pathway widened to make it more amenable for foot traffic carrying heavy packs. We arrived at the top and as promised there was a horse and small dray waiting for us at the top, which was already loaded with our gear. There was a pile of buffalo skins for us to sit on. The aboriginals helped us up into the dray and we commenced our journey to Joe’s lodge.

Tall timber rose on each side of the roadway which must have been cut by Joe and his men. He was indeed an resourceful and industrious man. Half an hour later we reached Joe’s lodge which seemed to consist of two buildings. We climbed down from the dray and one of the aboriginals led the horse and dray away and we entered the first and larger of the two buildings.  It was a simple dwelling which consisted of one long rectangular living room and one large room for sleeping. In the main room there was a long timber table and some chairs and in the side room a huge bed covered with Buffalo skins. At the end of the room was a wide stone fireplace and chimney for cooking. Joe told us that the smaller building was where we were to be housed. It was built along the same lines as the first building but had two separate sleeping areas. It looked to me as though it had only newly been erected, probably specifically for us, because the timber was not weathered at all. Joe confirmed my deduction:

“I had this built especially for you, Spencer,” said Joe.

“Very thoughtful of you,” Spencer acknowledged. The aboriginals began carrying in our belongings and stacking them up against the wall of the main room of the second building. We quickly put everything in place and within an hour were comfortably ensconced in our quarters. Joe had hung some Aboriginal paintings on the walls; one of them was decorated with hand stencils and depicted a lugger which showed that the Aboriginals had become familiar with seeing luggers in their waters. He had hung buffalo skins as well around the walls to provide some insulation from the heat and our beds were covered with buffalo skins for our comfort. We could not have hoped for more comfort in our new island home.

We were provided with some refreshments and then Spencer suggested we take a siesta for an hour or so and then come over to his lodge for dinner. These instructions were very welcome because it had been a long day. I lay down on the welcoming buffalo skins and drifted off almost immediately. It was dark when I awoke. Spencer was up already and we both walked over to the Lodge for the promised meal. Torches on poles were attached either side of Joe’s door and on the inside walls of the main room to provide light.

“Good evening, Spencer, Miss O’Connor,” greeted Joe. “I hope you feel rested and are ready to eat.”

“We are rested and both of us are feeling quite hungry as well,” I answered Joe.

The meal was roast buffalo meat, stewed rabbit and a variety of bush vegetables and was filling and quite  delicious. Damper and honey and fresh fruit was the desert.

“Now Spencer, tell me the purpose of your visit, I believe there are some politics in it somewhere?”

“Yes, you’re right there, Joe, there is always some politics in everything these days. Did you know that the Commonwealth has this year assumed responsibility and taken over control of the entire Northern Territory?” Spencer asked.

“I have heard that is so,” Joe answered.

“Well the Commonwealth through the Government has instructed me to explore the establishment of a policy to cover all aspects of the ‘Aboriginal Question.’ “

“And what ‘question’ would that be,” asked Joe in a wry tone of voice.

“Well as you probably know, the Government policy-makers generally believe that the Aboriginal people are an inferior and doomed race, holding the view that full blood Aboriginal people will die out within a few generations if left alone. They believe that the best that the government can do for the Aboriginal people and Australia is to provide the aboriginal people with a comfortable existence until they do die out.” Spencer was watching Joe carefully to see what he would make of this assessment of the situation. Joe gave a cynical laugh:

“That philosophy will suit the aboriginal well enough if it means that the white man will simply leave them alone to live as they choose. But if they don’t die out as seems to be required by the white man, what then?” asked Joe.

“If they don’t die out, or even if they do, then what will concern the policy makers is what can be done with the half-caste children with both aboriginal and non-aboriginal heritage. That is where the government will most likely want to intervene,” said Spencer.

“Can’t they simply leave them alone to live out their lives as they choose?” Joe responded. It was very clear to me that the two men held radically different views on this ‘aboriginal question’ they were discussing.

“No, they can’t just leave them alone, Joe! Firstly, the Commonwealth and the government want to actively discourage further intermingling of the races; the mixing of the seed as it were. Secondly, they see the intermingling that has already occurred as a considerable problem and one they must deal with.”

“And how do they plan to ‘deal with’ this problem?”  asked Spencer “and while we are discussing this matter, you are aware, are you not, that I am married to an Iwaidja woman, a full-blooded aboriginal? The woman who served you dinner this evening? My wife, Alice Rose?” asked Joe, his voice a little gruff as he tried to control his emotions.

“I know you live with her Joe, but surely you are not intending to marry her?” queried Spencer.

“I am,” Spencer,”I am indeed.  I married her according to aboriginal custom and as soon as I can I will be making it legal under Australian law as well. Alice is an excellent wife. No white woman could have done better for me than she has done. I love her, in fact I am devoted to her.”

“But Joe, what about your children, Joe?” asked Spencer.

“What about them?” Spencer replied, becoming more than a little agitated. “I have one living child already, my son Reuben. Alice and I married in 1890 and our son Reuben is now 13 years old and I am very proud of him. Alice also has so far born my two daughters as well, but to our sorrow they died as infants. Rose has been a devoted mother, as devoted as any white woman could possibly be, perhaps even more so.”

“Look Joe, let’s not make anything of this. Your’s is a very special circumstance, living in such isolation here on Melville Island. I guess ‘the white man’s laws’ can’t really apply to you up here,” Spencer spoke placatingly.

“That’s the trouble, Spencer. The white man’s laws DO already, and WILL in the future apply to me and my family here on Melville, and will affect my family, if not today, then tomorrow or at some time in the future. I am very sure of it! How am I to protect my family from the white man’s law. I want my islander aboriginals left alone. What can I do to protect them, Spencer?”

Spencer was thoughtful.

“Joe, you are my friend and I care about you and I think you have done a wonderful job here on Melville. There is something I can do for you. I have the authority to make you officially the protector of the Melville Island Tiwi people. That is what I am going to do, Joe. I think that will solve your present dilemma. So, Joe Cooper, King of Melville Island, Jokuppa, I hereby appoint you as Honorary Sub-Protector of Aborigines in the Northern Territory and, specifically, of those Aboriginal peoples living here on Melville Island.” Spencer intoned the words very solemnly.

“Can you do that, Spencer? Do you have that sort of authority?”

“Yes, I do. So rest easy. You and your wife and children will be protected. I will have it drawn up and made legal. From this day on you are responsible for the protection of all the aboriginals on Melville Island.”

“Thank you, Spencer. I’ll do a good job of it, too.” Joe said gratefully.

“Now, do you want to hear the rest of my story, Joe?” Spencer asked.

“Yes, I do Spencer. I want to hear everything.”

“When the Commonwealth took over the control of the Territory earlier this year, the first thing they did was to appoint Herbert Basedow as first Chief Protector of Aboriginals. He arrived in Darwin at the start of this year 1911, but left after only a few months.”

“I know. He came here to Melville at the beginning of the year. He didn’t come straight to me but made short forays into the interior accosting the aboriginals wherever he found them. They kept giving him spears as they do to show friendship, but he did not return them as they expected when he left. The tribes were not happy,” said Joe.

“That sounds like Basedow. He quarreled with the Administrator, Mr John Gilruth and so that is why I have been appointed as his replacement. I have agreed to a one-year term as Chief Protector and Special Commissioner. My job is to prepare a report and make policy recommendations on what they term the ‘difficult problem of control, utilization and advancement’ of the Territory’s Aboriginal population.”

“And how will you handle that job, Spencer? ”

“I have some thoughts on the matter which I would like to run past you.”

“Go ahead,” said Joe. It looked to me as if Joe and Spencer may soon be at loggerheads again.

“Well what I have noticed already,” said Spencer “is that on the Mainland many Aboriginal people live in camps on the fringes of towns, just outside white settlements, or they work in rural areas on cattle stations.”

“They can’t do much else, can they, Spencer, because the white man has taken over everything?”

“You are right to a degree. It is not the Aboriginal’s fault, I grant you that, Joe, but the problem still exists. Therefore I intend to devise a policy of protection, encouraging Aboriginal people to live on reserves, control their employment by the licensing of employers, fix minimum wages and by embodying their conditions of employment within written agreements. I believe that town Aboriginal people should be confined. They could be released to do agricultural work and similar tasks. This would benefit black and white – providing employment for unemployed aboriginals and a cheap source of labor for white land holders and white residents.” Spencer was enthusiastic now, and from where I was looking, did not realize that Joe was not.

“I wish you luck Spencer, I know what the aboriginal people will think of that. The one thing they value and will fight for is for their freedom. I know! The proud and fierce Tiwi people on Melville would not agree to such a policy,” Joe stated firmly.

“Well, Joe, that IS my recommendation to the Commonwealth and I will be enforcing it – maybe not here at Melville – yet, but certainly on the mainland. I also believe that half-caste children should be removed from the camps and placed within a series of dedicated institutions. If necessary, they should be separated from their mothers.”

“Separated from their mothers? Why would you do that? And what about my son Reuben, would you remove him from his mother and place him in an institution as well?”

“No, not at present, but if I found that he was running around in a loincloth like the rest of the aboriginal children, yes I would! Where is he right now anyway, Joe?” Spencer asked.

“My son is at a boarding school in Adelaide at Prince Alfred College getting the best possible education that I can provide. He is already proving and exceptional student and fine young sportsman. He is playing football for the college and from what I hear he is quite a star.” Joe was defensive.

“Joe, your son has a white father, who cares for him enough to educate him. Most of the half-caste children are abandoned by their fathers who just want a woman whilst in isolation and do not want to own them in white society.”

“Well I am not like them. My son will come back to the NT when he finishes his schooling and I will set him up in business; a sawmill most likely.”

“Then he will be a lucky man. His story will not be the story of most half-caste children. Anyway, I have already chosen the site for two government institutions. The first will be called the Kahlin Compound and will be on the outskirts of Palmerson (Darwin,) which will open hopefully by 1913. It is located in an area known as Myilly Point. The second will be called ‘The Bungalow’ and will be located in Alice Springs, and hopefully will be ready by 1914. I already have arranged for Ida Standley to run it. The school at the Bungalow will probably teach white children in the morning and half-caste children in the afternoon. At least the half-caste will be educated and have a chance in the white man’s world.”

I left Joe and Spencer deep in conversation into the night. I had learned most of the things I wanted to know and now seemed a good enough time to go back home to my own year, 2012. I knew more than Joe and Spencer knew back in 1911. I knew that Joe’s son Reuben was, like his father, tall and well-built and a wonderful athlete. I knew that after his education at Prince Alfred College, South Australia and just before World War I the noted Australian athlete, Snowy Baker, would choose Reuben with some other young outstanding sportsmen to tour the world giving exhibitions of physical culture. I knew that the War would cause the abandonment of this project to Joe’s extreme disappointment because he was so proud of his athletic son.  I knew that Spencer DID set up a series of establishments for the care and education of half-caste children. I knew that these establishments eventually include some of Joe’s grandchildren; so even Spencer’s appointment of Joe as Honorary Sub-Protector of Aborigines did not prevent Joe’s descendants from being re-located in Balaklava in South Australia during World War II. The practice of taking children from their families and from perceived neglect began early in the Commonwealth era and Joe’s descendants along with so many other half-caste children became part of ‘the Stolen Generation’ who spent their days separated from their families and cooped up in the ‘White Man’s Institutions.’

In 1918 the Aboriginals Ordinance was amended to extend the authority of the Chief Protector still further. From birth to death Aboriginal women were under his direct control, unless they were married to or living with a husband substantially of European origin. All police officers were appointed as Protectors in order to assist the Chief Protector.

Robert Joel (Joe) Cooper was a man ahead of his time who would not have been happy with the future imposed on his descendants by White Australian rule. Recently I made contact with one of Reuben’s children and his family who now live on Cobourg Peninsula and run a tourist destination with fly-in fly-out facilities. In Darwin’s Garden Cemetary Joe’s aboriginal people have erected a large plinth with a book face at the top and it reads “Joe Cooper, King of Melville Island’ on one leaf and “Alice Cooper, Joe’s wife’ on the other. On the internet I also found a photo of Joe himself, sitting on his horse, looking very impressive indeed. But something I had not known until I did the research for my story, was that Professor, Sir Walter Baldwin Spencer was responsible for the introduction of the policy which resulted in the existence of the ‘stolen generation’ of aboriginal children that we have heard so much about in 2012.