One Anzac Night

ON April 25, 1938—probably as a result of the menacing inter national situation—Anzac Day was celebrated with more than usual fervour. There were scenes of great feeling and public tenseness; but, later, the crowds relaxed and, led by the now middle-aged ex soldiers, engaged in all kinds of irresponsible and harmless horse play. For several hours, the cheery old “Diggers” took possession of the city of Sydney, and did everything their fancy dictated, from arresting policemen to running a two-up “school” on Central Railway Sta tion.

In the following article, an anony mous correspondent describes an amusing and typical incident in the Solomon Islands.

ON Anzac Day, 1937, the steamer “Malaita” anchored at a port on a large island in the Solomon Group.

The day was celebrated, and celebra tions continued well into the night. But by 11 p.m. most folk had turned in and, by midnight, there was no one about at all.

The tropic night was alluring and beautiful. The stars shone out and not a breath of wind could be felt. It was cool and glorious. The only sound that broke the stillness of the night was the “tut-tut” of the engines of the “Ma laita”, which supplied electric power on board. Then!

Several deck-hands had been ashore celebrating Anzac. In the middle of the night they decided to get aboard their steamer. No boat was available. The launch had long since ceased to run be tween land and steamer. But there was a native canoe tied up to the wharf.

There is no one so venturesome as he who is filled with John Barleycorn. But, halfway to the steamer, it occurred!

One, whom we will call Bill, fat and heavy, upset the frail canoe. A native canoe will support quite a heavy weight when kept free of water. But, sub merged, it takes only a few pounds weight to sink it out of sight.

In the middle of that glorious Anzac night we were rudely awakened by horrid yells, babbling oaths and frantic splashes. We heard: “Keep still you d . . . fool! Keep st . . bbbbbbl. Oh, help! Gawd, he’s gone. No, here he is!

Keep him up. Gawd help us!

Then, evidently, when they had settled down and were allowing the canoe to merely help them to keep afloat, we heard, “No, Jim, you stop on the out rigger and splash all the time with that paddle. There’s sharks here!”

And all through what followed there was that rhythmic splash splash, of poor Jim on the outrigger of the canoe, do ing his bit on Anzac night for the sal vation of himself and his friends.

Then the talkative one organised a community shout and appeal for help.

We heard: “Now, altogether, boys! ‘Ma laita’ ahoy! Rescue! Rescue! ‘Malaita

bridge ahoy! Rescue! ... The b.. b.. b.. cows! They won’t hear us!”

But they were heard by many. A head, here and there, popped out of a schooner cabin —and wisely popped back again.

The writer began to suspect that out of the comedy there might emerge a tragedy. But just then help appeared.

Another canoe, manned by a native and a European, carrying a lamp, shot out from the shore and approached the drowning warriors. Then we heard: “No don’t try to come aboard, because I won’t let you. I told you not to go and this is your own punishment. I’ve come to help you, but I won’t take you out of the water. You deserve all you’ve got. I’m just going to stand by and see that you are not eaten by sharks!”

Imploringly the talkative one pleaded: “Take Bill. He’s nearly drowned us, and he will drown us”. But the visitor, as soon as he saw Bill moving towards him, got the boy to paddle the canoe well away.

Hastily a couple of boys on our boat

were awakened, and we sent them over with a lamp in our very small dinghy.

The little dinghy reached the three, and immediately Bill, fifteen stone or so in weight, grabbed the side of the cockleshell and tried to clamber in.

Over went the dinghy, rolling completely over and over as Bill, silly with his cargo of booze, tried to clamber up on top.

The shouts of the boys, the gurglings and oaths, and calls for help, resounded all over the bay. Fearing that some thing serious had happened, we shouted to the boys on a launch nearby to take their big dinghy over; and, after a lot of grumbling and remarks about “long long white men”, they went over.

Bill was the first in. Fortunately they guided him over the big tuck stern.

“Good black boys”, we heard. “I give you plenty bacca soon”. But we learned later that no boy received the promised reward. The capsized dinghy and the submerged canoe were taken in tow to the wharf.

Then Bill received two smart punches on the eye and jaw from the talkative

one, and was carried aboard the “Ma laita” in an unconscious condition. Next day a Iqvely black eye and a swollen jaw were explained naively—they had been frightening the sharks away with a paddle when they capsized and poor Bill got in the way of the descending blade!

But the “Malaita” folk are very jealous of their prestige in the Islands and, next trip, the trio were missing from the crew, having been promptly dismissed in Sydney.