Australian Dictionary of Biography

Nangar (Jimmy Clements), Canberra, 1927

Mitchell Library, State Library of New South Wales

Nangar (c. 1848–1927), Wiradjuri walamira (clever man), also known as Jimmy Clements and King Billy, was born around 1848 near the foot of Gaanha Bulla (Mount Canobolas), an important bornung (initiation) place. The son of King Billy Lambert, whose Country stretched between the Belubula and Cudgegong rivers, and the nephew of Queen Nellie Hamilton (d. 1897) of the Canberra/Queanbeyan region, he is associated with Wiradjuri clans from Mudgee in the north to the upper Murrumbidgee in the south. His country included most of the eastern border of Wiradjuri Country.

When Nangar was around twelve years old and considered ready by Elders, he stood alongside other boys from his clan at bornung. Waiting in line for an elder to expertly remove a front tooth to mark his ascension into manhood and a higher level of knowledge, he prepared to be brave and bold and show no fear. The ceremony marked his promise to fulfil a sacred oath to Baiame (great teacher) to represent and protect his people and Country.

Although he went through bornung alongside his peers, Nangar’s early life had been different to most of the other initiates, as it had included additional intensive training. A walamira had identified him as someone who held exceptional intellectual abilities at a very young age and had invited him to be trained—a great honour for his family. Nangar dedicated the first decades of his life, possibly into his thirties, to doing the additional training required to qualify as a walamira talmai—someone who had cleverness passed on to him from his forebears.

Nangar kept up his cultural responsibilities while working on the stations that Europeans built on his land. He was a horse-breaker, a job he performed well into his seventies, and an expert tracker for the police; he also travelled to local shows where he gave exhibitions of boomerang throwing and sold boomerangs. Staying mostly within Wiradjuri Country, he travelled to places such as Wellington, Bathurst, Cumnock, Brungle, and Orange to work, perform, sell artefacts, and conduct ceremonies.

Moving around allowed Nangar to see what Europeans were doing to his people and Country. He witnessed the threats to families and the destruction of culture that followed the forced movement of Wiradjuri onto missions and stations and the forced removal of children to training institutions. In addition, he saw how the new type of farming scarred the landscape, including the damage done by introduced animals. As an initiated man he was responsible for his people and Country and these were not things he could ignore.

Nangar came into the public eye in the first decades of the 1900s when the ‘last of the tribe’ trope was common. Newspapers frequently claimed that certain Aboriginal people were the last surviving members of their tribes. These men and women, usually designated ‘king’ or ‘queen,’ were asked to help Europeans to memorialise Aboriginal people and culture. Nangar was described as the ‘last of the Eugowra branch of the Lachlan tribe’ (Wellington Times 1912, 5), but his flair for storytelling made him an interesting personality beyond this trope. Journalists quoted him on a range of topics, from stories about the bushranger Frank Gardiner, to tribal fights he had witnessed, to his travels in search of a lost gold reef. He named parts of the landscape, provided the meanings of Wiradjuri words, and was outspoken on issues of land ownership and what was happening to his people and Country.

In May 1912 Nangar attended an Empire Day celebration in Orange, New South Wales, proudly walking in the procession. He was there to represent his people and that was how he was introduced to the crowd at the official ceremony. A white friend told the crowd: ‘The black man never got a fair deal’ (Leader 1912, 6). The following week, on a trip to the Shoalhaven, Nangar confronted a magistrate about what was happening to his people. He damned Captain Cook as an invader and told the magistrate that if ‘Cook had kept away from Australia’ (Forbes Times 1912, 4) his people would not be in the position they were in. Some years later, on a trip to Sydney, he was quoted as saying that his father Billy Lambert was a king—‘the same as King George’ (Leader 1926, 3). After confirming that he, too, was a ‘king,’ he described himself as a ‘fair dinkum Aussie’ with a ‘distinguished family tree’ (Evening News 1926, 7), a reminder to readers that the land had belonged to him and his family for generations.

Due to his striking physique and personality—‘well built … beaming smile and tangled mat of beard, whiskers and hair’ (Cowra Free Press 1926, 4)—Nangar was sought by artists and ethnographers. Around 1925 he modelled for George Rayner Hoff, a British-born sculptor who was commissioned to create a diorama of an Aboriginal family, and in 1926 he posed for ‘Captain Cook’ pictures (Cowra Free Press 1926, 4).

With his fellow Wiradjuri man Ooloogan (George John Noble), Nangar is best remembered for representing Aboriginal people at the opening of Parliament House in Canberra, the Australian Capital Territory, on 9 and 10 May 1927. Both men travelled on foot from Brungle Aboriginal Station to Canberra, a three-day walk, to attend the event. Importantly, before leaving Brungle, other Wiradjuri men had witnessed Nangar lose his dulaga—a walamira’s essential spirit passed on from his teacher. His dulaga travelled to Queensland with another Wiradjuri man where it was seen and recognised by Jualarai clever men.

Whereas at previous European celebrations Nangar had featured in parades and been acknowledged as an owner of the land, at the opening of Parliament House police officers attempted to lead him away. Standing his ground, he demanded the right to stay as a sovereign owner of the land. With the support of bystanders he won a prominent place to watch the ceremony. On 10 May he joined a procession of people being presented to the Duke and Duchess of York. He saluted the royals who cheerily responded. Despite seeming to enjoy himself, a few days later he was dismissive of both the ceremony and the building, telling a reporter: ‘I have opened your Parliament House on my own ground … now you can go and look at it’ (Daily Telegraph 1927, 2).

Nangar passed away on 29 August 1927 at Queanbeyan, New South Wales, and was buried there. Men from Brungle said he died because he had lost his dulaga. Three days after his death, in the way of his Wiradjuri people, his jir (soul) left his body and travelled the land visiting the Old People he knew when he was alive. A death notice in the Sydney Morning Herald (1927, 5) described him as ‘one of the most predominating personalities throughout the Commonwealth’ and calls were made to erect a statue in Canberra ‘as a lasting memorial’ to his race. While such calls went unrealised, he was not forgotten.

To the white community Nangar was a curiosity, the last of his tribe, a good-natured disruptor. Among his own people he was an initiated man, a teacher, and a walamira talmai—a distinguished holder of ancient knowledge passed on by his forebears. Duty bound to represent and protect his people and Country, he showed that it was possible to live a Wiradjuri life in a colonised landscape. A photograph taken at the opening of Parliament House in 1927 shows him staring back at white Australians, his gaze fixed and unwavering. An iconic image, it is held in the hearts and minds of young Wiradjuri men and women, giving them confidence to represent and care for their kin and Country.

Laurie Bamblett is Wiradyuri (Wiradjuri) and wrote this article on Wiradyuri Ngurambang. He is a descendant of Nangar’s aunt Nellie Hamilton.