Imagine discovering a hero you’d never heard of, right in your own family’s history. That’s exactly what happened to country music star Troy Cassar-Daley when he stumbled upon the name Windradyne, a First Nations warrior, tattooed on his cousin’s shoulders. Intrigued and humbled by his own ignorance, Cassar-Daley dove deep into the story of this forgotten figure, determined to bring his legacy to light. But here’s where it gets controversial: how many of us are unaware of the heroes in our own backyards? And why do their stories often remain untold?
Cassar-Daley, of Gumbaynggirr and Bundjalung descent, admits he didn’t even know how to pronounce Windradyne’s name at first. ‘I said to my cousin, who’s Windra-dyne or Windra-deen? I didn’t even know how to say it,’ he recalls. His cousin explained that Windradyne was a fierce warrior and freedom fighter from the Bathurst region, a figure largely erased from mainstream history. Shocked and inspired, Cassar-Daley embarked on a journey of discovery, reading Windradyne, a Wiradjuri Koorie, written by his cousin’s mother, Mary Coe, and uncovering a story that demanded to be shared.
Though not Wiradjuri himself, Cassar-Daley’s deep connection to the land and its people, forged through years of traveling and making music in the area, compelled him to honor Windradyne’s legacy in the way he knew best: through song. ‘Storytelling is a big part of my life,’ he explains. ‘I come from a family of great storytellers, and all I’ve done is add music to that tradition.’ But this isn’t just any story—it’s one of resistance, diplomacy, and resilience, set against the backdrop of Australia’s colonial history. And this is the part most people miss: Windradyne wasn’t just a warrior; he was a negotiator, a man who sought peace even in the face of violence.
When colonizers first arrived in Wiradjuri country, now central New South Wales, they marveled at its ‘parkland-like’ beauty. ‘Our people shaped the land like that for thousands of years through firestick farming,’ explains elder Dinawan Dyirribang (Uncle Bill Allen). This was the land of Windradyne’s ancestors, a place of harmony until the trickle of settlers became a flood. For seven years, the Wiradjuri welcomed them, sharing their land and knowledge. But as Governor Thomas Brisbane began handing out ‘tickets of occupation,’ granting settlers 100,000 acres of Wiradjuri land, tensions escalated. Cattle and sheep displaced native wildlife, and sacred sites were threatened.
Two incidents ignited the Bathurst War: the poisoning of Wiradjuri people at ‘Murdering Hut’ and the killing of several Wiradjuri, including members of Windradyne’s family, by settler Antonio Jose Rodrigues. Windradyne, dubbed ‘Saturday’ by the colonizers, led raids in retaliation, but the settlers responded with brutal violence, including the murder of three Wiradjuri women. By August 1824, martial law was declared, and the military swept through the region. Yet, what sets Windradyne apart is his pursuit of peace. In December 1824, with a bounty of 500 acres on his head, he walked over 200 kilometers to Parramatta, wearing a hat emblazoned with the word ‘peace,’ to negotiate a truce. ‘He said, ‘I’m still here, we’re still resisting, but we want to find middle ground,’ Cassar-Daley reflects. ‘That’s what drew me to him—he was a political man, a negotiator.’
Fast forward to today, and Cassar-Daley stands on a frosty morning in Brucedale, a property where Windradyne is buried. The warrior had befriended the Suttor family, white settlers who sought to live peacefully alongside the Wiradjuri, even learning their language. It’s a full-circle moment for Cassar-Daley, who sees this song as both personal healing and a call to action. ‘I was broken last year, and this song was part of my healing,’ he admits, cloaked in possum skin. ‘But it’s also about keeping the fire burning for the next generation.’
As he strums his banjo guitar and sings, ‘My name is Windradyne / They call me Saturday / Come Sunday, I’ll be gone / In the bush, I melt away,’ his voice carries across Wiradjuri land, a testament to a man who refused to be forgotten. But here’s the question: in a world that often erases Indigenous histories, how do we ensure stories like Windradyne’s are not just remembered, but celebrated? Let’s continue this conversation—what do you think?
