On "Going Finish"

By “Mowgli”

JIKE most pidgin-English phrases,

J “going finish” is charged with un spoken meaning, and when heard from a friend about to depart on leave we gen erally say to ourselves. “Hello, New Guinea has not come up to Bill’s expectations.”

But, although we are well aware that Bill means what he says, we do not take him seriously, for most of us, at some time or other, have said the same thing ourselves; and. despite Bills avowal to the contrarv. we know that after a few months’ holiday in Australia he will be glad to return to New Guinea, saying as we greet him on arrival. “Man. it’s good to be back”.

The reason, apart from the practical ones of leave and gain, can be only guessed at. Let no one suggest that the “glamour” of the tropics is the reason, for we would be offended and resentful of that word and condemn it to the effeminate world of Hollywood, where it belongs.

People who have never resided in New Guinea talk much about the life of ease that; is led there by its European in habitants. As this is sheer imagination, it is not the reason why we return, time after time. Nor can we blame our few months’ holiday for having drugged our memories into forgetfulness of New Guinea disadvantages—the heat, malaria, un washed natives, exile, loneliness and sep aration from our families. These things we can never forget. What, then, is the explanation?

Can it be that home and Australia appear different from what we antici pated? The old gang is scattered, and with them our long-cherished dreams of doing this and going there in their com pany. The girls we used to know are engaged or married: the theatre parties we fancifully planned for them are dis missed. Somehow we have forgotten that time takes it toll. Instead of the warm welcome of our imagination, we find our selves strangers: and. a, few cas ual words of greeting and requests for New Guinea postage stamps, we are pas sed by.

The people seem to have changed, and we ask ourselves if it really is onlv a few vears since we thought and acted as they do now.

Our thoughts are driven back to New Guinea, to the comradeship of men of adventure—miners, planters, recruiters and patrol officers, who gamble with life, reckina little whether tupv nrjn or lose: men who have a code, but no command ments. We find ourselves thinking af fectionately of them, nroud that in a minor degree we are one of them.

We long for the comfort, conviviality and easy conversation of the club, the nuiet of New Guinea nights, and free dom from publicity and noise All is so cramned in the Australian pities. There is always the person next door, and, niaht and' day, there is al ways noise. There is no escaping it.

For weeks we try unsuccessfully. Then, desperately, we seize upon the onlv out let to peace and contentment —an Islands boat from the Walsh Bay wharves.

Alexander a Samoan mission worker in New Zealand, died recently in Auckland, at the age of 50. He had been an evangelist in N.Z. since 1912. and his racial kinship with the Maori people among whom! he worked, enabled him readily to gain their confidence.