Bunyip

Hello and welcome to this episode of Fab Figmentals! 

I’m Lindsey Morse, your guide through the realm of curious creatures, magical monsters, and beautiful beasts. Each week on this podcast, we explore a different legendary creature by looking at its history and folklore. Each episode begins with a story, and then we take a look at the creature’s origins and how it’s been portrayed throughout the ages. We feature original stories, classic fairy tales, and stories submitted by you, our listeners! If you have a story you’d like to see on the show, stay tuned after the episode. We’ll provide instructions for how to submit your original story in our closing credits!

This week, we’re going to look at the bunyip, a large mythical creature— sometimes described as a spirit— from Australian Aboriginal mythology, which is said to lurk in swamps, billabongs, creeks, riverbeds, and waterholes.

Before we get kick off the show, I want to point out that the stories we share are sometimes more Brothers Grimm than Mother Goose, so please be advised that they may not be appropriate for little ears. 

Each episode of Fab Figmentals begins with a story, and this week’s tale was published in 1904 by Andrew Lang, a Scottish poet, novelist, literary critic, and collector of folk and fairy tales. He’s perhaps best known for his “Fairy Books of Many Colors,” a collection of 12 volumes of fairy tales made up of 798 stories and 153 poems. Our story today is from the “Brown Fairy Book,” and it’s titled— simply— The Bunyip. We’ve made a couple of tweaks to the story to make it easier on the modern ear, but the essence of the story is unchanged. Without further ado, I present to you: The Bunyip.

-Music-

Long, long ago, far, far away in the land of Australia, some young men left the camp where they lived to get some food for their wives and children. 

The sun was hot, and as they made their way to the hunting grounds they ran races and competed to see who could hurl his spear the farthest, or was cleverest in throwing a boomerang. They did not get on very fast at this rate, but before long they reached a flat place that in times of flood was full of water, but was now, in the height of summer, only a set of pools, each surrounded with a fringe of plants, and with tall, grassy bulrushes growing all around. 

Australians are fond of the roots of bulrushes, and one of the young men said that they had better collect some to take back to the camp. They quickly wove some willow tops into a basket, and they were about to wade out into the water and pull up the bulrush roots when a youth suddenly called out: 

“Why should we waste our time in doing work that is only fit for women and children? Let them come and get the roots for themselves; men should hunt, not gather. Let us fish for eels and anything else we can get.”

This delighted the rest of the party, and they all began to arrange their fishing lines, made from the bark of the yellow mimosa, and to search for bait for their hooks. Most of them used worms they dug up from the ground, but one had brought with him a piece of raw meat. Unseen by his companions, he took it out of his satchel, cut off a little bit, and baited his line with it.

For a long time they cast patiently, without receiving a single bite; the sun had grown low in the sky, and it seemed as if they would have to go home empty-handed, without even a basket of bulrushes. 

Suddenly, the youth, who had baited his hook with raw meat, saw his line disappear under the water. Something, a very heavy fish he supposed, was pulling so hard that he could hardly keep his balance, and for a few minutes it seemed either as if he must let go or be dragged into the pool. 

He cried to his friends to help him, and at last, trembling with fright at what they were going to see, they managed between them to land on the bank a creature that was neither a calf nor a seal, but something of both, with a long, broad tail. 

They looked at each other with horror, cold shivers running down their spines; for though they had never beheld it, there was not a man amongst them who did not know what it was – the cub of the awful Bunyip!

All of a sudden the silence was broken by a low wail, answered by another from the other side of the pool, as the mother rose up from her den and came towards them, rage flashing from her horrible yellow eyes. “Let it go! let it go!” whispered the young men to each other; but the captor declared that he had caught it, and was going to keep it. 

He had promised his sweetheart, he said, that he would bring back enough food for her father’s house to feast on for three days, and though they could not eat the little Bunyip, her brothers and sisters should have it to play with. 

So, flinging his spear at the mother to keep her back, he threw the little Bunyip on to his shoulders, and set out for the camp, never heeding the poor mother’s cries of distress.

By this time it was getting near sunset, and the plain was in shadow, though the tops of the mountains were still quite bright. The youths had all ceased to be afraid, when they were startled by a low rushing sound behind them, and, looking round, saw that the pool was slowly rising, and the spot where they had landed the Bunyip was now quite covered with water. 

“What could it be?” they asked each other; “there’s not a cloud in the sky, yet the water has risen higher than we’ve ever seen it.” 

For an instant they stood watching as if they were frozen, then they turned and ran with all their might, the man with the Bunyip running faster than them all. When he reached a high peak overlooking all the plain he stopped to catch his breath, and turned to see if he was safe yet. 

Safe?! Why only the tops of the trees remained above that sea of water, and these were fast disappearing. They must run faster indeed if they were to escape. So, on they flew, scarcely feeling the ground as they went, till they were home and flung themselves on the ground. 

Around them, the old men were sitting, the children were playing, and the women chattering together. Then, the little Bunyip fell into their midst, and there was scarcely a child among them who did not know that something terrible was upon them. 

“The water! the water!” gasped one of the young men; and there it was, slowly but steadily rising above the ridge itself. Parents and children clung together, as if by doing so they could drive back the advancing flood; and the youth who had caused all this terrible catastrophe, seized his sweetheart, and cried: “I will climb with you to the top of the tallest tree, and there no waters will reach us.” 

But, as he spoke, something cold touched his toe, and quickly he glanced down at his feet. Then with a shudder he saw that they were feet no longer, but bird’s claws. He looked at his beloved, and beheld instead a great black bird standing at his side; he turned to his friends, but a flock of great awkward flapping creatures stood in their place. 

He put up his hands to cover his face, but they were no longer hands, only the ends of wings; and when he tried to speak, a noise such as he had never heard before seemed to come from his throat, which had suddenly become narrow, long, and slender.

Already the water had risen to his waist, and he found himself sitting easily upon it, while its surface reflected back the image of a black swan, one of many.

Never again did the swans become men; but they are still different from other swans, for in the night-time those who listen can hear them talk in a language that is certainly not swan’s language; and there are even sounds of laughing and talking, unlike any noise made by the swans whom we know.

The little Bunyip was carried home by its mother, and after that the waters sank back to their own channels. The side of the pool where she lives is now shunned by everyone, for nobody knows when she may suddenly put out her head and attack. 

But people say that underneath the black waters of the pool she has a house filled with beautiful things, such as mortals who dwell on the earth have no idea of. Though how they know I cannot tell you. No one has ever seen it.

———

When European settlers first arrived in Australia, they were relative latecomers to the continent; Indigenous Australians had already been there for 40,000 years. From their earliest interactions with the native peoples, the colonists were captivated by stories of a horrible, man-eating creature that dwelled in the country’s waterholes. 

The settlers wanted to know more about this creature, known as the bunyip— especially what it looked like. But this wasn’t quite so easy to uncover. While there were rumors of the creature all across Australia, though known by various names depending on tribal nomenclature, the migrants had a difficult time pinning down an exact description. It seems the bunyip was SO feared by some Aboriginal peoples that they often refused to take notes on its appearance or characteristics. 

Descriptions that do exist vary wildly, and different accounts describe the creature in a number of different ways.

One encounter with the bunyip is described in an 1851 edition of the Sydney Gazette::

“My attention was attracted by a creature casting up water and making a noise, in sound resembling a porpoise … it had the appearance of a bulldog’s head, but perfectly black …”

Another interesting account of the bunyip comes from William Buckley, an English convict who was transported to Australia in 1803, but who escaped custody and lived for many years in an Aboriginal community. He later told his story to a writer named John Morgan, who published it in 1852 under the title: The Life and Adventures of William Buckley. Buckley says of the bunyip:

“He made his home in the deep waterholes and the rain forests, lurking in the gloom by day and roaming the earth by night during the time of darkness. He brought fear to the tribes, threatening to devour any human he might meet.”

Some reports claim that the bunyip has a snake-like appearance. Others describe it as a crocodile-like creature that’s covered in feathers. Most frequently, though, the creature is described as having a horse-like tail, flippers, tusks, and a dark, shaggy coat. Most accounts do have one thing in common, however: the bunyip’s shriek-y, blood-curdling cry. 

Throughout the 19th century, reports of bunyip encounters were rife, and in 1890, the Melbourne Zoo reportedly tried— and failed— to capture a bunyip that had been seen repeatedly near Victoria. 

Cryptozoologists, those who seek out previously unidentified animal species, have taken a shine to the bunyip, and have posited that the creature is real and likely a descendent of a prehistoric marsupial. 

One of the key pieces of evidence in support of this theory is a peculiar skull that was found in January 1846 along the banks of a river in New South Wales. Initial reports suggested that it might belong to a previously unknown creature, and its finder stated that “all the natives to whom it was shown called [it] a bunyip.” The skull was put on display at the Australian Museum for two weeks, during which time visitors flocked to have their very own “bunyip sighting”; however, by the following year, experts had identified it as most likely being the deformed skull of a fetal foal or calf. But feel free to judge for yourself. Photos of the skull are still in existence, and I’ve posted them on our social media pages so you can take a look.

In the 20th century, Australian popular culture embraced the bunyip, and the creature found its way into countless films and children’s books. 

But this often affable, kid-friendly bunyip has been troublesome for some Aboriginal peoples, who see its makeover as a problematic departure from the bunyip’s rightful and fearful place in lore. 

In the late 1900’s, Australian literature saw unique contributions from Aboriginal writers like never before, and many of the stories and poems told in the Aboriginal voice seek to restore the bunyip’s feared image and undo its trivialization. 

One such writer, Oodergoo Noonuccal, also known as Kath Walker, is known for her role in the struggle for Aboriginal rights, and for being the first Aboriginal woman to publish a book. Her poem, The Bunyip, truly captures this fear. In it, a mother warns her child to stay close to the camp fire and away from “Silent Pool” where the bunyip sits, waiting, surrounded by “many bones.” It’s a beautiful poem full of rhythm and cadence. If you’d like to hear it read aloud check our show notes: I’ve included a link to a recording of the author herself doing a reading. 

Whether you believe the bunyip is an Aboriginal spirit, a cryptid, or a mythological creature, there’s one way to guarantee an encounter with one in the wild.

Simply head to Murray Bridge, near Adelaide. 

In 1972 Dennis Newell launched an attraction called the Murray Bridge Bunyip, where for 20 cents onlookers could witness a mechanical bunyip emerge from under the bridge and let out a loud roar. 

The monster has encountered some hard times over the years— 

parts have been intentionally broken off and once vandals even figured out how to jam its voice box so it roared all day and night. To the exasperation of nearby residents, I’m sure. But in recent years the bunyip has been modernized and quieted. The attraction gets over over 20,000 visitors per year, and you can now see the bunyip— named Bertha— emerge from her hiding place under the bridge for free. 

In case you can’t make it over to Murray Bridge to see the bunyip for yourself, I say we let Bertha close out today’s show. Let’s listen in as she roars for onlookers.

[Audio of bunyip howling.]

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Thank you so much for tuning in to this episode of Fab Figmentals!

If you’re excited to discover more figmentals, we drop a new episode every Wednesday. You’ll find us on iTunes, Stitcher, Spotify, and pretty much any other podcast aggregator. You’ll also find the show on our website, fabfigmentals.com. Make sure to subscribe on your podcatcher of choice to get new episodes as soon as they’re available.

Research, writing, and sound editing are done by me, Lindsey Morse. Niall Cooper helps me behind the scenes and assists with writing and editing. Our theme music was created by the incredible Graeme Ronald. 

Do you have an original story about a figmental you’d like to see on the show? Please send it my way! You’ll find guidelines on how to submit your original work on our website fabfigmentals.com. Just click the link at the top of the page that says “submissions.” 

If you’re interested in seeing how artists have portrayed the bunyip throughout history, follow me on twitter or instagram. I’ve been posting different artistic representations, and some of the images are super interesting. My favorite is a 1935 drawing that shows the creature with a long, anteater-like snout that makes it look alien and otherworldly. So cool. 

If you like learning about creatures that lurk in the shadows, perhaps you’d be interested in learning more about humanity’s darker side. If so, please also check out our sister show, Assassinations Podcast. You’ll find a link in the show notes.

Thanks again for listening, and I hope you’ll join me for our next episode, when we’ll explore the mythology and lore surrounding one of the most famous and feared figures from Eastern European folklore: Baba Yaga, an old witch who lives in the woods in a hut that stands on chicken legs.