In a quiet yarning circle at Holmwood Public School, the sound of young voices rises gently into the air. One by one, the students repeat words in Wiradjuri one of the original languages of this land guided by their principal, Beatrice Murray.
“Yiradhu marang,” she calls out. Good day.
With laminated sheets in hand and focus in their eyes, the children are learning to acknowledge Country in Wiradjuri not just to memorise words, but to say them with yindyamarra: kindness, respect, and strength.
“The kids are beautiful. They’re more open, more accepting of different cultures,” Murray says. “As a teacher, that gives me hope.”
A Language That’s Always Been There
According to the 2021 Census, Wiradjuri is the most commonly spoken language in Cowra after English. Thirty-five households officially reported it, but Murray is sure that number’s far too small.
“If Wiradjuri people sat down and listed all the words they already know, they’d be surprised,” she smiles. “It’s part of the way we talk it’s always been there.”
Murray herself grew up hearing snippets of Wiradjuri here and there. But it wasn’t until she listened to respected community leaders like Uncle Stan Grant Sr. that she felt moved to study the language more deeply.
“It helped me understand just how powerful language is. It builds our identity, strengthens our culture,” she says. “The more of us that learn it, the stronger we’ll be.”
Learning to Speak, Teaching to Lead
A short drive away at the former Erambie mission, tiny voices at Yalbillinga Boori day care are busy counting to ten in Wiradjuri. Today’s “word of the month” is marras meaning hands, and fittingly, also the word for five. Five fingers on each marras.
Language teacher Erin Lambshead visits the preschool every week. She didn’t grow up fluent she only knew a few words but after studying Wiradjuri at Charles Sturt University, she’s now passing it on to the next generation.
“I don’t know everything,” she says honestly. “But I can explain how the language works, and how one word can carry so many meanings. That’s the beauty of it.”
The preschoolers love learning new words. Today’s favourite? Gugubarra the kookaburra. Their classroom bursts into laughter as the kids try to imitate the bird’s iconic call.
“They go home and teach their parents,” Lambshead says. “They’re already becoming language keepers.”
A Language That Was Punished Now Being Celebrated
Back in Dubbo, Michelle Crowe is helping train the next generation of Wiradjuri language teachers at TAFE. She’s seen interest in Aboriginal language courses grow dramatically.
“In the beginning, older people were hesitant,” she explains. “They were punished for speaking language. But now, things are shifting.”
A big part of that change, Crowe says, is the formal recognition of the course as an accredited qualification.
“It’s not just a group of Blackfullas sitting around anymore people see it as something real, something important,” she says.
Murray agrees. Offering formal language courses not only brings the community closer to fluency it brings deep, spiritual connection.
“When we speak language, we connect with our ancestors. That’s why it has to be done properly. Our language is alive.”
Holding On and Letting Go
Some still worry that sharing the language too widely could water it down. That it might lose something sacred if given to the wrong hands.
But Crowe gently disagrees.
“If we keep it too close, we risk losing it again,” she says. “Our elders say our language never died. She was just sleeping. Now we need to keep her awake and that means sharing.”