The growing paternalism went hand in hand in hand with pastoralists’ increased confidence over their land tenure. Pastoralists saw themselves as entitled to the land they had conquered. Pastoralist Billy Cox who ‘ruled’ the ‘vast’ Louisa Downs Station in the Kimberley for 50 years, and passed it on to his son and grandson, was attached to the idea that the ‘station was theirs by right’.[55] Many pastoralists conceived themselves as lords who bestowed rights over their land and dependent workers. These pastoralists likened themselves to ‘cattle barons’ and ‘cattle kings’, even if their castles were made out of grass.[56] According to pastoralist Albert Wright, it was necessary for Aborigines under the new property regime to conform to station life. The ‘inevitability’ of losing their land meant Aborigines had to transform ‘their very selves’; the choices were ‘to die, or to serve’.[57] Over Aboriginal land and labour, the pastoralists were self-professed feudal lords.
Pastoralists’ conceptions of their supremacy in the property hierarchy spread to the parliamentary realm. They resembled ‘aristocratic squatters’ who exercised political sway over the microcosm of their lease and the macrocosm of colonial legislature.[58] As self-entitled ‘natural rulers’,[59] they pointed to their respectability, affluence and civilisation. Their proprietary status meant large numbers of people depended on them, which qualified them for parliament.[60] North Queensland pastoralist and explorer Oscar de Satge, who served three terms in the Legislative Assembly between 1869 and 1888,[61] wrote that the successful manager of a large station might aspire to fill any position from magistrate to Premier.[62]
However, it was on the landholder’s property that lordship powers would materialise most effectively. These powers were exercised over ‘their’ Aboriginal workers in a multiplicity of guises.[63] On smaller stations, particularly those run by the owner, Aboriginal workers tended to be closely controlled by the manager, who would reward their duty with liberal treatment and incentives. There, Aboriginal workers were more inclined to develop strong allegiances to pastoralists and their wives.[64] On the bigger stations, such as Victoria River Downs, managers tended to exercise more discretion with their workers and treat them as dispensable.[65] When it was owned by the British company Vestey’s, the Aboriginal Protector and writer Xavier Herbert observed forceful treatment and abusive language.[66] These managers were much more focused on meeting budget outcomes set by distant owners.[67]
Nonetheless, on both small and large stations, pastoralists and their wives exercised a lordship over Aboriginal workers. They demanded loyalty and discipline, which they often commanded by virtue of their control over rations and residence on the pastoral lease. From her experience of early Northern Territory stations, Mrs Dominic D Daly emphasised the need ‘to keep the aboriginal in his proper place’.[68] Michael Durack claimed that station managers and head stockmen tried to be ‘kind and just’ to the best of their ability. But any more than that could not be expected in their circumstances, which necessitated productive and disciplined labour.[69]
The paternal quality of pastoralists’ lordship is indicated by their wide use of possessive pronouns. They referred to their Aboriginal workers as ‘our Aborigines’.[70] Imbued with a clear sense of hierarchy, many pastoralists and their wives literally saw their role as one of master over servant. They conceived it as their duty to civilise Aborigines to European standards. Their proprietary position, physically and morally, endowed them with a right and obligation to impose discipline on Aboriginal workers. They exerted their supreme position directly on Aboriginal workers with whom they lived and worked, including domestic servants on the homestead, station hands and stockworkers on droving camps.
The terminology of lord,[71] master[72] and servant[73] seeps into contemporary pastoralists’ descriptions of relations between station managers and workers. It is particularly deeply infused into accounts regarding Aboriginal workers in the homestead.[74] Female domestic servants even had to address the children of their employers with the title of ‘Master or Miss’.[75] By classifying their Aborigines along these feudal lines, pastoralists could justify their ‘firm but fair’ treatment and significant labour controls over inferior workers. The Federal Minister for Home Affairs (1928-29), CLA Abbott, claimed that the ‘faithfulness of blacks’ in the Territory is contingent on a good and kindly ‘boss’ and ‘missus’.[76]
However, the lordly supremacy station masters and mistresses assumed not only endowed them with rights, but also obligations. The responsibilities attendant to their ‘patrimonial jurisdiction’[77] included the maintenance of Aboriginal workers and their dependants, amounting to whole communities of Aboriginal people on stations. Pastoralists provided them with rations, including food, clothes and tobacco, land to live on, and shelter in some instances.[78] Pastoralists took on the government’s official role to ‘protect’ and provide for Aborigines.[79] Pastoralists’ feudal rights over Aboriginal people, therefore, were inseparable to their obligations.
Lordly responsibilities for the welfare and upkeep of workers depended on Aborigines’ conformity to the station domain. This would entrench Aboriginal loyalty and dependence on the cattle station. ‘Adequate tucker’, according to Mary Durack, was assured to Aborigines as long as they ‘played the white man’s game’.[80] With her sister, Elizabeth, Mary Durack wrote of their Aboriginal workers: ‘They work for us because we give them ‘tucker’ and whatever else they need. We give them what they want because we need them to work for us — just a matter of convenience from both points of view.’[81] Michael Durack is even more forthcoming in pointing out the lordly obligations imposed on him as part of his dependence on Aboriginal station labour:
Many seem to imagine that the white man has the big end of the stick in this bargain, but I don’t think this is the case. There are those of us who consider we would fare better with four or five skilled stockmen in place of a dozen not wholly reliable black abos whose lubra and picanninies must be clothed and fed as well. ‘Then why not?’ you ask. It is a big step. The blacks have been at the station for a long, long time. We are, in a negative way, attached to them and they to us.[82]
In northern Australia, the pastoralists rather than the government were the self-proclaimed benefactors of Aboriginal people. Federal Minister for Territories Paul Hasluck wrote that managers of Kimberley stations in the 1930s served as feudal ‘overlords’ by providing their ‘serfs’ with ‘stability and contentment’.[83] Nonetheless, ‘white man’s burden’ on cattle stations furthered the economic interests of the industry. It enabled the pastoralist to express their lordly will over land and labour for a profitable outcome.