Tropicalities

THIS really happened.

Two traders and recruiters arrived in the port of Gizo (Solomon Is lands) and stocked up their vessel with both dry and liquid provisions, prepara tory to going on a recruiting trip.

After sampling the liquid provisions, to see if they were “fresh stock,” they they discovered that they had omitted to buy benzine, of which necessary commodity they had none. They re turned to the store and asked for sev eral cases—only to be told by the man ager that their credit was overdrawn and none could be supplied. Argument and appeal were in vain. After serious consultation, the two placed them selves outside the manager’s office and began to whistle, neither melodiously nor in tune.

The irate manager; “What are you whistling like that for?”

The benzineless ones: “Wind, of course!”

There was a short respite for re freshments to lubricate dry throats— then back to the office, to whistle for another hour.

The manager, savagely: “What are you still whistling for?”

The persistent ones; “More wind!”

“Oh, go inside and get your benzine!” cried the desperate manager, and slammed his office door.

Later, the benzined, alcoholic and victorious partners put out to sea. * * * WE were guilty, in the March issue, of a discourtesy towards that well known Pacific traveller and en thusiastic photographer, Mr. A. J.

Vogan, F.R.G.S. Mr. Vogan, at the cost of considerable personal trouble, supplied us with the photographs of Bourail (the New Caledonian town partly destroyed by the hurricane) and of Nukulau Island, Fiji—that beautiful picture which was reproduced on the front cover. The least we could do was to acknowledge those photographs as coming from Mr. Vogan—taut, through editorial inadvertence, this was not done. The omission is now remedied, though belatedly. Mr. Vogan is not only a well-known writer on economic and scientific subjects—he is also an old pressman, with a trained eye for news values in photographs. That particular eye has been put to good use in the South Seas. * * * THE editor of this journal acknow ledges, frankly and bitterly, that he was caught napping. There came to his hand a series of photo graphs, from an American agency, and labelled “Village Scenes in the Ellice Islands.” He selected one picture of merit, and it was placed on the front cover of the February issue. He had written reams about the Ellice Islands, at different times, and he ought to have known that no photograph show ing mountains in the background could possibly come from that group. None of the Ellice Islands rises more than a few feet above the sea. Yet the error was not noticed until a reproachful note came in from Mr. A. S. Fraser, of the motor ship “Ralum,” at Tarawa, pointing out that neither kava bowls nor mountains, —shown in the picture— were to be found in the Ellice group,

which Mr. Fraser has frequently visited. On further examination we are inclined to think the photograph was taken in Samoa or Hawaii. * * * A CORRESPONDENT who signs him self “Tulagi Tippler,” writes bit terly:— Drinks in the Solomon Island hostel ries still remain at Rolls-Royce prices, in spite of the fact that Ford salaries pay for them. To make matters worse, glasses are small and are filled—or not filled—in a manner well calculated to exclude waste by spilling—and break a man’s heart. This reminds me of the Englishman who had dined at a fashionable “slimming” restaurant.

“What did you have for dinner?” asked a friend, “Steak,” he replied.

“How did you find it?” “Oh, quite easily! I took up a Brussells sprout and there it was. What!” * * * * Thursday island is throwing out its collective chest and puffing with municipal pride at the fact that it now has electric light. Possibly the most remarkable thing about this in novation is that the new power-house has been installed completely free from debt, a thing which must make South ern aldermen perplexed by the worries of having to find interest charges on debenture issues, roll their eyes in en vious amazement. Most of the credit belongs to the Mayor, Alderman A.

Corran, who has battled indefatigably for this high-water mark of civic pro gress, and many T.I. housewives, form erly caught between the Scylla of the Alien Immigration Restriction Act and the Charybdis of the kerosene stove, now call him blessed. The jetty, along which one formerly felt one’s way in the murk of a tropical night at immin ent risk of a sudden plunge into the tepid waters of Port Kennedy, has be come a meeting-place which the en thusiastic residents in moments of an excess of exuberance, are now wont to liken to the Promenade des Anglaises at Nice. Most of all have the baths benefited and nowadays Islandites are able to enjoy those erratic tides which have a habit of rolling in unexpectedly in complete defiance of the erudite cal culations of the Hydrographic Survey.

Even the flying foxes have been sup plied with a new method of committing suicide and generally Thursday Island may be said definitely to have ad vanced. —Linda Burkitt. * * * * THE “colonel’s lady and Bridget O’Grady” met recently in Torres Straits. Separated from the main land by only three miles of sea, the island of Saibai is a tiny segment of New Guinea but just as completely iso lated from the outside world as though it were some remote mountain village up in the central ranges. The women on Saibai which is under Queensland rule so seldom see white visitors that when a party of four of us landed there recently from Thursday Island they were captivated by the smooth texture of the skins of those of their own sex.

They insisted on running their hands over our arms, while the writer, who was clad in shirt and shorts, took their interest especially. There was much

tittering- and many sidelong remarks in the local dialect, possibly not altogether of a complimentary nature, for the New Guinea native sees nothing more beau tiful in a white skin than a European woman sees in a dusky epidermis. But with those innate good manners which are so characteristic of the natives of New Guinea, they managed to give the appearance of admiration to what, in all probability, was only wonderment that any women could get along all right with such thin and fine skins.— Linda Burkitt.

IN some groups—and, notably, in the Solomons —the natives eagerly pur chase “flash calico” —that is, gaily decorated strips of cotton cloth for use as lava-lavas. Recently, Mr. Ken Bolton, of McLeod and Bolton Ltd., was in the Solomons, and his calcu lating eye noted that the supply of “flash calico” was a monopoly of the Chinese stores, and that as much as 7/- was paid for a vivid specimen.

Back in Sydney, Mr. Bolton launched himself upon certain factories, and dis covered that it was possible to pro duce these lava-lavas in bulk, with brilliant colours, at a mass production price. He made arrangements accord ingly, and now “Bolton’s Flash Calicos’” are going out into the Pacific in scores of dozens, at a c.i.f. price that brings joy to the hearts of the small traders.

Advance, Australia!

flight ever undertaken from Australia, excluding mail flights to England.

“We found the residents of the Is lands genuinely interested in aviation,” says Captain Moody, “and several transport schemes were discussed, to be advanced further when the depres sion has passed. Undoubtedly, the time will come when the aeroplane will speed up the communications in these Islands and become an accepted means of transport.”

Captain Moody has supplied us with a most interesting series of photo graphs, some of which are published herewith.