Moresby

Incidents of Early Port Moresby How “Handsome Harry” Met His Death

NOW for a little bit of old Port Moresby history (says J, E. Nixon Westwood, in a letter from London).

We have all heard of C. R. Baldwin, Ltd., and most of us know how Charlie progressed in face of great odds; also how he used to favour the gambling den which was operated near the new hotel. This was a real two-up place, and many a man, both miner and storekeeper, lost a good wad there.

Charlie was usually lucky, and also seemed to have a thirst which was un quenchable. When thus oiled, his friends were legion, and his Motuan about as funny as possible. Even in his normal moments, he would use English and Mo tuan in such a manner that even the bushmen would stand aside and grin. As an example, he would say “Kwatua that b— horse and carraburriga”; or “oi mai and be sharp about it.”

The introduction of a white policeman was looked upon with great disfavour by Charlie. Such a thing could not be toler ated; and he voiced his opinion on the shortcomings of those on the Hill in no uncertain manner. Why should they wish to curtail a man’s liberty? etc., etc.

However, the first policeman did not stay long. He fell off the end of the pier, and was heckled so much that he re turned to Australia on the same boat he came by. The next cop was a “bhoy,” and

he played all the games of chance, with all the players—although he always remem bered his duties.

One night, Charlie was so warmed up that he became a nuisance, and the police man had to put him in the lock-up for his own safety.

Having fully slept off the effects of the night-before, Charlie yelled out: “Boy, bring me my coffee rano, and carraburriga.”

A voice replied: “You’ll not get any cof fee here, your old blighter.”

Charlie said, “What the —do you mean?”

The same voice replied: “Because you are in jail—and you deserve all you are getting.”

Charlie arose and rubbed his eyes, and found that he was cell-mates with a Swiss, known as Handsome Harry, or Harry Baker.

Charlie kept well away from Tom’s for a few weeks.

Handsome Harry was a Swiss, and had lived in Darwin, where he fell foul of the authorities, and was brought before Judge Herbert —the same Judge who was later promoted to Port Moresby. Consequently, when Harry reached P.M., he was ready to be a wellbehaved citizen and did all sorts of odd jobs. He was a good sparring part ner, and only once met his match —and this was an old ship-mate of his, Charles (“Yorkie”) Booth, later well known on the Morobe goldfield. The exhibition of the noble art took place at the “lamp” area, and poor Harry was soon counted out.

Harry was a most irresponsible person, always looking for —and finding—trouble; until a badly aimed bullet found his heart and, like many other hard-bitten globe wanderers, he was laid to rest at that cemetery beyond Hanuabada.

His death was the result of his inter

fering with the woman of a Frenchman and, when it happened, he was, I think, playing poker in Tom McCrann’s little parlour. Two of his player friends were Louie Jones, of Hula, and Alf Greenaway, of Dedele.

The Frenchman, on returning from the Lalcki, was informed by his woman that Harry had been visiting her again; and this news so incensed the Frenchman that he set out to give Harry the biggest scare of his life. On learning where he was, he made his way to the parlour, and told Harry what he was going to do.

The Frenchman aimed at the floor; but Alf Greenaway became alarmed and jumped up, knocking the revolver, which at that moment exploded, and poor Hand some was no more. He sagged in his chair, and the poker players finished their hand.

Tom McGrann’s stepson ran into the street yelling “Murder! Murder!” but he was so excited that he was unable to say where or when.

Thus ended the life of another of New Guinea’s mysterious residents. He came from no one knew where, and the manner of his death seemed to be entirely in keeping wdth his life.