Casual Notes From

Bulolo

SPECULATIONS just now are running hot as to the success, or otherwise, of the “Pou,” or “Flying Flea,” now under construction by three super-optimistically air-minded, would-be aviators. Of course, we’re all quite confident that it will leave the ground in an orthodox manner, but we shudder to think how the landing will turn out! However, we have dredges here which dig to a depth of fifty feet or so. . . .

THE following conversation was over heard between one whose hair is now somewhat conspicuous by its absence, and his personal boy. Which just shows that the British are not the only people who indulge in subtle humor.

Master : “Where stop brush b’long me?”

Boy : “Brush b’long wha’ name?”

Master ; “Brush b’long straight ’im grass.” .Boy: “Grass b’long whose that?” (For the benefit of non-Pidgin people: “Where is my brush?” “What brush?”

“Brush for hair!” “Whose hair?”) WHEN showing your lady friend round Bulolo, be certain to make a loud hoot ing sound as you approach the precincts of the swimming pool. Recently, a lady visi tor from Surprise Creek, rounding a corner in the track, suddenly beheld six stalwart male torsos, gleaming in the afternoon sun light! It is yet to be decided who made the fastest time —the lady visitor, return ing to Surprise Creek, or the six male torsos swimming to the bottom of the pool.

COCKTAILS and wheelbarrows sound worlds apart, but when invited to a party at a popular official’s house, be sure to take a wheelbarrow —and your boy to push it. He won’t have to wait very long!

RECORDS are made to be broken. A short while ago, someone announced that they had just walked from Bulolo to the hotel in Wau in three hours. Very soon, some energetic person reduced the time to two hours and 45 minutes; and, later still, somebody recorded two and a half hours. Now a bright spark claims to have done the trip in two and a quarter.

One wonders if the heer is quite alright in Wau.

THE orchestral activities have ceased pro tem, and will resume when the pianist, who had a brain wave and shaved all his hair off, overcomes his stage fright, or (bright thought) the pianist’s hair re covers its former glory, IT has been noticed that the newest arrival in the Transport Department has quite unconsciously introduced a new form of speech. “What-oh, old biscuit!”

“I say, old crumpet!” “Sam, old bean!” and “Look here, you fruits!” are phrases which the visitor to Bulolo will hear re sounding among New Guinea’s kunai ridges as he steps out of the plane. Who knows, we may yet evolve a language of our own—Bulolian.

Isikeli Daveta, a Fijian mission teacher, arrived in Sydney by the Niagara on January 25 to do deputation work in Australia for the Methodist Mission.

Mr. C. G. Ross, who has been a planter at Undine Bay, Efate, New Hebrides, for 35 years, arrived in Sydney by the last Morinda, Mrs. Ross died in the New Hebrides recently and Mr. Ross has decided to retire from the planting in dustry. He probably will settle down in Sydney or Melbourne.