Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander readers are advised that the following article contains names and possibly images of people who have died. Readers are warned this story discusses issues that might be traumatic.
Harry Mills was taken from his family twice.
As a boy, he was removed from his parents on Yindjibarndi country in Western Australia's Pilbara region and placed in the Carnarvon Mission more than 700 kilometres away.
In the mid-1970s, as a young man with a wife and three children, he was working in the Gascoyne region when a senior elder connected to the Yindjibarndi mob told him he must return to the north to be with family and learn their culture.
Mr Mills refused, and says he cried for his wife and kids as he was bundled into the back of a Bedford truck.
He jumped out as it drove away, but was spotted in the rear view mirror.
He was tied up, chucked in the tray and driven north.
It was the last time he would see any of them for decades.
Searching for his sons
Sitting in the front garden of his brother's Wickham home, Mr Mills sings in the language of Yindjibarndi country, sometimes meandering into his second language, English.
He holds time with the rhythmic tapping of a water bottle.
Now 80 years old, his hearing and eyesight is fading, but his voice is clear — he calls to see his children. All he wants is to see them before he dies.
"I've gotta cry for them and when we've finished crying, we will stay there together, and I've gotta tell them the story of what happened," Mr Mills says.
"Then if the kids want to follow me back to my country, we can have a look around, and then I'll follow them back to their country."
Mr Mills says he reconnected with his daughter Jean Mills in Perth about six years ago but hasn't seen his sons Robert Mills and Trevor Flowers since he was taken about 50 years ago.
He believes his wife Hilda Flowers is buried in Perth.
With help from family, Mr Mills has tried to find his sons over the years, approaching local police and using social media.
"Oh I tried to find them, but I couldn't find them," he says.
Mr Mills has a wangka (story) that spans decades and many thousands of kilometres of red northern country.
Born Arkie Watkin in the 1940s, he was taken from his mother's grasp at about 7 years old — a child of the Stolen Generations.
He spent a few years at the Carnarvon Mission, before escaping with a friend called Nicholas.
Mr Mills says they decided to walk home, and over the next few years followed rivers, fed on goanna and damper, and were helped by Aboriginal families.
The boys walked for weeks, which turned to years, travelling from Carnarvon to Onslow in search of their families.
But authorities were looking for the two young fellas.
A kindly man lied to the police and said he hadn't seen the boys, but hid them under a bed. He encouraged them to go back to the mission — the police would keep looking for them otherwise.
Mr Mills says after he aged out of the mission, he found work on stations surrounding Carnarvon and started a family with a woman from Meekatharra.
"Hilda Flowers asked me, 'You want to marry me?' and I said 'yeah,'" he says.
Elder's responsibility
Mr Mills's cousin Pansy Sambo (nee Cheedy) says the elder felt he had a responsibility to reconnect him with his culture, because he had been taken away so young.
"Being a very strong elder in his culture, in his language, in the ways of the land and recognising the land is your connection for everything — he had the responsibility to teach him, or get him to his nearest skin group families to be able to carry on and learn the cultural way," Mrs Sambo says.
"He felt that this was the road for Harry to get back on … come back, learn about his family kin and also his language and where he was born."
Mr Mills lives with his younger brother Kevin Guiness in a house lined with family portraits.
Next to the fridge is a wall with the muddled markings of many grandchildren growing in height.
Mr Guiness thinks the dispossession of his brother left him very heartbroken.
"To be stolen two times, it'd be painful," Mr Guiness says.
Mr Guiness would like to witness the reunion of his brother and children, and says it would be an opportunity for Mr Mills to share his side of the story.
"I'd like to see that and close the final chapter of the book," he said.
Hopeful for reunion
Ngarluma Yindjibarndi Foundation chief executive officer Sean-Paul Stephens says he was blown away by Mr Mills's life story.
"It tells a story of resilience, but also sorrow and trauma, and the tragic thing is, we know that's not unique to Harry," Mr Stephens says.
"Harry, being Stolen Generation and taken away from country and home, is not an uncommon story, but it's also an incredibly powerful epic of surviving and maintaining culture."
Next month, Mr Mills intends to meet with link-up group Yorgum Healing Services, which will be in Roebourne connecting survivors of the Carnarvon Mission with long-lost family members.
Mr Mills can't describe the feeling of being disconnected from his children for all of these years.
He says he has been okay in Roebourne, surrounded by family, but he knows if he sees his children again his emotions will flow.
"When I see them, I have to cry for them," Mr Mills says.
"When they get good with me, they might follow me back this way. If they don't follow me, then as long as they see my face before I pass away."
