I am standing in an office on Thursday Island. It’s November 1978 and I’m seeking a passage on the Queensland Department of Aboriginal and Islanders Advancement’s cargo boat. Their vessel is the only means of passenger transport in the Torres Strait. No airstrips. I’m totally dependent on the manager’s goodwill and I’m on my best behaviour, soberly dressed. 

To my surprise I am offered a free passage. ‘Go down and see the skipper. Leaving tomorrow for Murray Island in the east.’ There’s a pause while I recover. ‘You’re okay,’ said the stand-in for the manager (known as ‘Mr Brisbane’ by the Islanders). I’d been told by the manager in a phone call from Melbourne that the boat is for Islanders. ‘We say that to keep out southern trouble-makers!’ Holding my peace and my breath, with a pale chuckle I board the vessel next morning.