A Nation's Warrior Spirit Rekindled: How a Song Brought a Forgotten Hero Back to Life
It's a story that begins with a tattoo and ends with a song, weaving together the threads of history, culture, and artistic expression. Country music sensation Troy Cassar-Daley, known for his heartfelt storytelling, recently embarked on a profound journey to honor a name he'd never encountered: Windradyne. This First Nations warrior, a staunch freedom fighter from the Bathurst region, remained largely unknown to Cassar-Daley until a chance encounter with his cousin's ink revealed the powerful legacy etched onto his skin.
"I said to my cousin, who's Windra-dyne or Windra-deen? I didn't even know how to say it," Cassar-Daley, a musician with Gumbaynggirr and Bundjalung heritage, shared. His cousin's simple explanation – "he was a great warrior from the Bathurst region, and he was a staunch freedom fighter" – ignited a deep curiosity. This sparked a "down a rabbithole" exploration that led Cassar-Daley to discover everything he could about Windradyne, including delving into the book Windradyne, a Wiradjuri Koorie, penned by his cousin's mother, Mary Coe.
While not of Wiradjuri descent himself, Cassar-Daley's extensive travels and musical endeavors across the region have fostered a strong connection to the land and its people. He felt a compelling urge to share his newfound knowledge and pay tribute to Wiradjuri history in the most authentic way he knew: through music. "Storytelling is really a big part of my life; I come from a lot of old uncles and aunties that are great storytellers," he explained, highlighting how he simply "taken that skill and added music to it."
The Warrior's Tale: From Welcome to War
When European colonisers first arrived in what is now central New South Wales, they described the Wiradjuri country as "parkland-like." Elder Dinawan Dyirribang (also known as Uncle Bill Allen) elaborated, noting the "green pastures and nice open plains for grazing for animals and all that," lands that his people had meticulously shaped for millennia through firestick farming. This was the ancestral land of Windradyne, his four-times-great-grandfather.
Initially, as detailed in Coe's book, Windradyne and the Wiradjuri people extended a welcoming hand to the early white settlers, even acting as guides to ensure their presence wouldn't disrupt vital hunting grounds or sacred sites. For approximately seven years, a period of peaceful coexistence prevailed. However, this harmony was shattered as the trickle of settlers transformed into a relentless flood.
But here's where it gets controversial... Coe poignantly writes, "Kooris always shared and exchanged with people who were guests on their lands, a relationship white settlers didn't bother to learn about and often abused." This fundamental misunderstanding and disregard for Indigenous customs laid the groundwork for conflict. By the early 1820s, Governor Thomas Brisbane's "tickets of occupation" began granting settlers vast tracts of Wiradjuri land – a staggering 100,000 acres. This influx of livestock rapidly depleted crucial food sources like kangaroos and emus, decimating the Wiradjuri's traditional sustenance.
The situation escalated dramatically with two deeply disturbing incidents. At a location later infamously known as 'Murdering Hut,' arsenic-laced damper was deliberately left out, poisoning Wiradjuri people. In another act of brutal violence, coloniser Antonio Jose Rodrigues shot and killed several Wiradjuri individuals, including members of Windradyne's family, who were harvesting potatoes on what he claimed as his land.
And this is the part most people miss... In response to this escalating violence, Windradyne, whom the colonisers referred to as 'Saturday,' led a series of retaliatory raids against the settlers. The settlers, in turn, unleashed immense brutality, including the tragic murder of three Wiradjuri women. By August 1824, Governor Brisbane declared martial law, and a military force was deployed to quell the unrest. Yet, Windradyne's story is not solely one of warfare. In a remarkable act of courage and political acumen, in December 1824, Windradyne led a group of his people over 200 kilometers to Parramatta with the express intention of negotiating a truce. Despite a reward of 500 acres of land being placed on his head, he boldly entered the Governor's annual feast, wearing a hat emblazoned with the word 'peace.' He was formally pardoned by Governor Brisbane.
Cassar-Daley was deeply moved by this aspect of Windradyne's character: "He walked all the way from Bathurst to Parramatta and he said, 'I'm just letting you know that I'm still here, we're still resisting, but we also want to try and find some middle ground.'" The musician found inspiration in the warrior's dual nature: "And I think the thing that really drew me to him was that there was a story of someone that was not only staunch, but he was also a political man, a negotiator."
A Full Circle Moment of Healing and Remembrance
In a quiet paddock on a property named Brucedale lies a sacred burial site, the final resting place of Windradyne. This land was offered by the Suttor family, white settlers who had forged a unique bond with the Wiradjuri people, even learning their language and committing to peaceful coexistence. When Windradyne passed away, the Suttors provided a sanctuary on their farm for him to rest.
It was at this profound location that Cassar-Daley, bundled against the frosty morning air and draped in a possum skin cloak, felt a deep sense of completion. "I reckon I might've almost manifested today in my heart because I was very, very heavy with sorry business last year. I was broken and this song was a little part of my healing," he confessed, his voice filled with solemn reverence.
For Cassar-Daley, the culmination of his artistic endeavor was to "deliver this song back to that man over there; then that means my journey with the song is complete." Beyond his personal healing, Cassar-Daley hopes his song will serve as a beacon, illuminating the story of this remarkable man and inspiring others to learn about his legacy. "You've got a responsibility as an artist to continue that fire. Go and collect the wood, that's the songwriting, and then you gotta keep it burning for the next generation," he asserted.
As Cassar-Daley gently strummed his banjo guitar, his voice echoed across the Wiradjuri land, singing:
"My name is Windradyne
They call me Saturday
Come Sunday, I'll be gone
In the bush, I melt away
I fought for my people
On this country where I lay
My name is Windradyne
Remember me that way…"
With the final notes fading into the landscape, Cassar-Daley simply stated, "It's arrived. Finally."
Do you believe that art has the power to heal historical wounds and bring forgotten figures back into public consciousness? Or is it more important to focus on present-day issues? Share your thoughts in the comments below.
