Scientists In

New Guinea

Education of the Natives

THERE are few men in the Pacific who are better able to describe the interest, fascination and romance of the Islands than Mr. J. H. L. Waterhouse, scientist and educationalist.

Mr. Waterhouse spent some time recent ly in primitive Bougainville Island as a collector of botanical specimens for Kew Gardens ( London) and the University of Yale, U.S.A. Then that very wise New Guinea Administrator, Brigadier-General Griffiths, requiring a man of unusual qualifications to take charge of an in teresting experiment in the education of natives, selected Mr. Waterhouse for the position—literally picked him out of the centre of gloomy Bougainville.

The following article originally was part of a private letter written by Mr. Water house to the editor. We make no apology for publishing it.

WHERE have I been since we parted on Teop beach, almost two years ago?

After two or three days spent in renew ing old friendships, both white and brown, I headed south again for Kieta, in the Ad ministration auxiliary schooner “Posei don,” spending a night en route at ever hospitable Numanuma. From Kieta, thanks again to Captain Waugh, D.O., I continued on in “Poseidon” along that haunting

Bougainville coast for about 60 miles, to lonely Buin.

Then came the 40 miles’ hike into Siwai, through mile after mile of level jungle country, as wonderful as any that I’ve seen in my Pacific wanderings. The track is such an excellent one that it comes somewhat as a surprise to find great un bridged rivers, like the Miwo and Mopiai, 40 to 50 yards wide. When, as was the case on this occasion, they are in flood, the fording of them is no joke.

There is no time now to give details of my collecting work there for Kew and Yale. But time passed very quickly in that remarkable country of big drums and dolmens and canarium cults and crema tions.

One day last year an armed native con stable arrived at my base. He had come across the great central range of moun tains from Kieta, with an urgent message from the D.O. Briefly, it was a radio’d offer from the Administrator in Rabaul of a position in the Native Educational work, a reply to which had to be despatched next day.

You will be able to realise a little, per haps, of the tantalising position I was in.

An offer of service of just the kind that appealed to me, and yet my work for the two great English and American institu tions not complete. To make a long story short, I accepted the position and then fol lowed a fortnight such as I never wish to have again—radio’d and written explana tions; hurried securing of certain speci mens: quick drying and packing of speci mens; writing up of field notes and then arrangements for a swarm of carriers to

get those same specimens and all my gear to the coast, 40 miles away.

Now, transport between Buin Police Post and Kieta is sometimes very easily arranged, and sometimes more or less of a nightmare. The tramp to the coast was accomplished with but a few minor mis haps and I was fortunate to have a mate for the trip in the person of a very game Manchester gentleman, of 75 years of age!

Just how we managed the 40 miles in two days with all the bother incidental to a long string of carriers I hardly know; but on arrival at the coast we could neither see nor hear anything of any craft bound for Kieta.

Finally, thanks to His Lordship the Bishop of the Northern Solomons, we got a passage on the mission schooner “Rap hael.” It was typical of the genial Dr.

Wade —though he had a crowded little ves sel, with seven Sisters returning from a Retreat —he not only made room for us, but gave up his own bed to my sep tuagenarian companion.

I shall never forget that night’s trip along the South Bougainville coast. Away inland loomed the dark, mysterious heights df the Crown Prince Range, from which, as the night wore on, came puffs of serena. The good Bishop and I were

camped on the forward deck of his little craft —I in old “Mindini,” my “deck-chair of a thousand tales” —and we talked far on into the night. Aft, the little painting of Raphael looked down on the seven Sis ters, grouped in a little semi-circle in their deck-chairs.

We reached Kieta late in the day, after a very nice little farewell lunch that Dr.

Wade conjured up for us.

A few days later “Maiwara” landed me in Rabaul with such a pile of specimens and gear as I never wish to see again.

That was Saturday. On Monday morning I was right in harness.

I wish I had time to give you a proper description of this delightful spot (Nodup) on the shores of St. George’s Channel across which we look to Duke of York Islands and the long, ever fascinating and still little known (so far as this part is concerned) New Ireland.

I have about 80 boys drawn from the villages clustering at the foot of Kabiu (“The Mother”) and almost along to the “North Daughter.”

Then, each day at 3.45 p.m., the police car rattles in to land me at the Native Constabulary Depot in Rabaul, where I have, from 4 till 5 each afternoon, as in teresting a class as will be found In the

wide Pacific. In it are red-skinned Manus lads, contrasting with jet black comrades in arms from Bougainville, and boys from New Ireland, in the east, to the great Sepik in the west —about 125 all told. Their ability varies nearly as much as they themselves, but all are keen to learn Eng lish. Naturally the lessons are very ele mentary—perhaps later the scheme will be developed.

Quite a new development is the Night School. For some months, now, I have had a class of adults, two nights a week, here at Nodup (over 100 on the roll), and it is interesting to see once again the variety of students. Amongst the keenest are several men of over middle age—along side young indentured labourers from Rabaul; luluais and tultuls; catechists and mission teachers and ex-mission workers —representatives of all three missions.

I need hardly say that in all these educa tional jobs the very cordial and sym pathetic backing of General Griffiths means a great deal. In fact, personally, I could not carry on, otherwise, for the strain, after my 26 years of Pacific wandering is very heavy.

There are times when I long for a typist and stenographer. For instance, I have two letters in front of me as I scribble this —one a cheery, provocative effusion from our mutual friend—the other from Coultas who, with his plucky little wife, is still doing great work for the American Museum of National History (New York).

From Rambutyo, away up in the Ad miralty Group (Manus) Coultas writes: “We hope to push on and get to the Her mits and Ninigos before the end of the month (April). Our plans call for a re turn to Rabaul about the first of June, but I don’t know yet whether we shall be able to make it. I was fortunate in being able to get out to the little island of Nauna in between spells of bad weather; and still more fortunate in being able to get off, as the weather changed, and I just missed being marooned. On Nauna I found some very good material and so feel that the extreme discomfort of the trip and the island as a whole was quite worth while.

Mrs. Coultas and I . . . have both been well until recently when we acquired some rather light fevers, which is unusual for us, but seems to be better health than most of the inhabitants of this group enjoy. In fact, this area seems to be fever-ridden.”

Thanks to General Griffiths, I was able to see a good deal of Professor Thurnwald when he was here en route to Buin. That eminent scientist and his gifted wife are like the Coultas couple, “out on the bor der” in the cause of science. The last letter I had from Dr. Thurnwald was writ ten from a Government Rest House in the South Bougainville jungle.