THE FIRST ARCHIVES I engaged with were people in my family. My Uncle, who was a genealogy specialist, sat in a plastic chair at family barbecues and held the attention of all of us kids by telling us stories of our ancestors. He would spin the yarn and have us squealing at the exciting adventures and crying at the sad parts. The tough boys would sit there with their lower lips shaking, holding back tears, while us girls would be sobbing. There were always older cousins who had already cried at the story years earlier and knew what was coming – they would be the ones giving us kids a cuddle to take the scary away. The most sensitive of us would get to sit on Uncle’s lap for the sad or scary parts and nuzzle into him for comfort. He told epic stories about our Cubillo family, the eight brothers who left the Philippines (most of whom married Aboriginal women). He would detail their journey and the different jobs they had. The bombing of Darwin was the part where we huddled together and let tears roll down our chubby cheeks. The story of what our matriarchs did after the bombing was a high-light of resilience and strength.

Another Uncle would take us for walks (I am sure in part to give the other adults a short break from the kids). He would show us stories embedded in Country – the stories of animals and plants we would find. We learnt by touching them, seeing them, smelling them. The stories of Country were told when we were on Country, inside the archive. Telling stories has always been a big part of remembering. We remember our family history through story but also come to understand animals, plants and seasons. Each of my relatives would have their own specialist subject with their own crescendos and punchlines. I have a few Aunties who are fantastic at remembering artists and their contributions over the generations. Other relatives have locked into their muscle memory the ingredients and processes to create famous family recipes. I have a cousin who knows his way around the waterways and has taken me to visit the turtle nesting areas and fish traps around our Country. I have an Aunty who worked at CAAMA Radio in Alice Springs in its early days. She knew all the regional bands at the time and still has a collection of T-shirts to prove it.