A Ballad of Wau

LIST to me now, while I tell you of Wau, And the types that are there to be seen; For I’ve been a-laughing and merrily quaffing In the year or so here that I’ve been.

The primal requisite should you pay us a visit, Is slickness at calling out “boy!”; For the slightest exertion calls forth the objection: “White prestige you’ll surely destroy.”

So you must have a boy in your constant employ, Your monogram sewn on his lap-lap; He’ll carry your fags, umbrella, or bags, While you have your afternoon nap-nap.

For to be in the swim, and do the right thing, One really must speak local jargon.

Things are “def’nitely so”; “cheers and beers” when you go— Or else you’ll be quietly sat on.

But the crowning technique of Wau’s quality street, For people who really aspire, Is that slow easy stroll and expression so droll— Never hurry for fear you’ll perspire.

Beware of the shrewd heads, who prey on the wood heads— All their mining is done in the bar-room; With their “mug” at their heels, they talk of big deals, And “rake-off” without a beg pardon.

To be sure they use guile, lots of tropical style, Big boots, gallon hats, mining parlance; They know where there’s ground, worth a few thousand pound, And some “sucker” hands over the finance.

He’s the recognised leader, this parasite bleeder.

And his species in plenty abounds; And in much smaller fry they spider their fly, A “soft mark” they’ve caught out of bounds.

But three cheers for the miner, the real “forty niner,”

Who still braves the jungle and savage— Yes, I’ll take off my hat to that sort of chap, And willingly dance at his marriage.

Wau, New Guinea.

T.N.G.