Imagine discovering a hero you’d never heard of, right in your own family’s history. That’s exactly what happened to country music star Troy Cassar-Daley when he stumbled upon the name Windradyne, a First Nations warrior, tattooed on his cousin’s shoulders. 'Who’s Windra-dyne or Windra-deen? I didn’t even know how to say it,' the Gumbaynggirr and Bundjalung musician recalls. His cousin’s response? 'A great warrior from the Bathurst region, a staunch freedom fighter.' That moment sparked a journey of discovery for Cassar-Daley, who felt both shocked and ashamed to have known nothing of this pivotal figure. He dove deep, reading Windradyne, a Wiradjuri Koorie, written by his cousin’s mother, Mary Coe, and uncovering a story that demanded to be shared.
But here’s where it gets controversial: while Cassar-Daley isn’t Wiradjuri himself, his deep connection to the land and its people, forged through years of traveling and making music in the region, compelled him to honor Windradyne’s legacy in the way he knew best—through song. 'Storytelling is a huge part of my life,' he explains. 'I’ve just added music to the stories I’ve inherited from my elders.' And this is the part most people miss: Windradyne wasn’t just a warrior; he was a diplomat, a man who sought peace even in the face of brutal colonization.
The story begins in what is now central New South Wales, a land the colonizers described as 'parkland-like'—a landscape shaped over millennia by the Wiradjuri people through firestick farming. Windradyne, a leader in this region, initially welcomed the first white settlers, guiding them to areas that wouldn’t disrupt hunting grounds or sacred sites. For seven years, there was peace. But as the trickle of settlers turned into a flood, tensions rose. Governor Thomas Brisbane’s 'tickets of occupation' handed over 100,000 acres of Wiradjuri land, displacing wildlife and threatening food sources. Two horrific incidents—poisoned damper left at 'Murdering Hut' and the killing of Wiradjuri people harvesting potatoes—ignited the Bathurst War.
Windradyne, dubbed 'Saturday' by the colonizers, led raids in retaliation, but the settlers responded with brutal violence, including the murder of three Wiradjuri women. By August 1824, martial law was declared. Yet, in a move that defies stereotypes, Windradyne didn’t just fight. In December 1824, with a bounty of 500 acres on his head, he walked 200 kilometers to Parramatta, wearing a hat emblazoned with the word 'peace,' to negotiate a truce. 'He was not only staunch but a political man, a negotiator,' Cassar-Daley reflects. This nuanced portrayal challenges the one-dimensional view of Indigenous resistance often taught in history books.
Fast forward to today, and Cassar-Daley stands on the very land where Windradyne is buried—a patch of Brucedale offered by the Suttors, a settler family who sought to live peacefully alongside the Wiradjuri. Here, alongside descendants like Dinawan Dyirribang and David Suttor, Cassar-Daley performs his song, a moment of healing and homage. 'This song was a little part of my healing,' he says, cloaked in possum skin, his voice heavy with emotion. 'My journey with it is complete when I deliver it back to this land.'
The song, available on YouTube, is more than a tribute—it’s a call to action. 'As an artist, you have a responsibility to keep the fire burning for the next generation,' Cassar-Daley asserts. But here’s the question: How do we ensure stories like Windradyne’s aren’t lost to history? And more controversially, should artists like Cassar-Daley, who aren’t from the same Nation, be the ones telling these stories? Let’s discuss in the comments.
As the final notes of 'My name is Windradyne' echo across the land, Cassar-Daley’s words linger: 'It’s arrived. Finally.' To experience this powerful story, watch When the War is Over on ABC TV or ABC iview (https://iview.abc.net.au/show/when-the-war-is-over).
