Listening to others' stories renew Uncle Tunny Murray's life

He tells of a lifetime of knowledge, as uncomplicated as "knowing what's happening around you".

"Knowledge is knowing the people you meet," says the West Albury man, who guesses he has at least "60 or 70 grandkids".

"I'm pretty people-wise. Anyone that's got a fair dinkum story," he says.

Returning to his own past isn't always an easy thing: when your parents died young, when you lived in fear of being scooped-up by the frightening madness of the Stolen Generation.

While born at Griffith, his early years were centred around Darlington Point.

It won't be long though until he makes his way back home.

The visit will bring back many sad memories, he says, tapping his head as a guide to what he is about to say.

"My memories are getting fuzzy. The old fella up here goes for a walk and they've got to send a black tracker to find him to get a message back and say 'yep, I remember that'."

Uncle Tunny can deal with past trauma because while he is happy to remember, he's not forever stuck in a pattern of constantly looking over his shoulder.

"I think it's half the reason why I'm still here, it's because I've outlived the past," he says.

"I've overcome my bad times. I'm going through a bad time now, but the way I look at it is I'm happy."

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Uncle Tunny's story of his here-and-now is one widely shared. He's got cancer. It's in his bones and it's in his prostate.

It's been a part of him for three years.

But Uncle Tunny feels no bitterness, rather his cancer is something he can grab hold of to try to help people confront and accept the disease.

Nevertheless, he also accepts his experience is very much his own.

"This is my story; my cancer is my story, no one else's. They don't know what I'm going through from daylight to dark, I'm so tired."

Uncle Tunny moved to Albury 15 years ago with Kathleen, his beloved wife of 58 years.

"She's so lovely," he says. "We met when we were only 17 - I didn't like her at first," he laughed.

"It was love at first sight. We went on to have five kids of our own, but three girls have gone by."

The 79-year-old remembers being a bit of a loner growing up, but not now as he speaks to people daily at the Albury Wodonga Aboriginal Health Service Men's Shed.

"The shed is my community. I'm here every day, teaching people whatever they want to learn," he says.

"Carving emu eggs calms me, it teaches me to be patient. If you can sit here and carve one and not smash it, then it's a good feeling."

He was 14 when his parents died and decades later their loss still haunts him.

"Back in the days there was nothing in the world I was frightened of because I was free to run around," he says.

"We were still under the thumb of a white man, but we had boundaries. People would say 'don't go over the fence because the migaloo (ghost, of a white man) will get you'.

"It wasn't until later that I found out what that meant - the inspector would grab you and take you away. It's hard living in a black fella's shoes."

Uncle Tunny next moved from Darlington Point to Griffith, into a shack where "we were happy".

"But then they put us in a white person's home; I didn't like it there so went back to a mission."

Being on the Warangesda Mission was another traumatic experience, as it was all about assimilation.

"That's where everything started," he says.

"My mum became a drunk, my dad became a drunk and my siblings and I weren't allowed near them when they were drinking.

"They later finished off as drunks in Griffith. I later went down that road, too."

Uncle Tunny reached a desperate low at just 18 when he was admitted to Kenmore, a now decommissioned psychiatric hospital at Goulburn.

"I was pretty bad with drugs and alcohol. I couldn't cope with all the stuff in my head. I still have it, I won't ever forget it," he says.

At one point, Uncle Tunny felt like he had lost his identity, but for the past 15 years his life has been renewed.

"I'm an old fella but I've got a big heart. The beauty is having the will to live. I hope I get to 90," he says,

"I've had a mixed-up life, it's not been a bed of roses. But I'm still here, aren't I?"

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