Christmas On The

Watut

By “Peter The Hermit”

AN invitation had gone up-river to gather at Sid’s camp on the Sun day, and celebrate.

By 12 o’clock, only two of us had ar rived, and things looked glum. The local Patrol Officer had sent word from his mountain post that he had fever, and would not be along. The others, from near the ’drome, were expecting a visitor out from Wau, and were notoriously averse from walking anyway, so we feared the worst. But Sid told the “boy” to hang off with the kai-kai.

“Looks as if it’s going to be another party like Hartley’s,” said Sid. Hartley had put on a huge Christmas spread, one year, but nobody turned up; and, in New Guinea, there are no guests to drag in from the highways and byways.

We explained our late arrival. Dick had been sharpening some picks in the black smith’s shop, and had set fire to it, and destroyed his camp completely. We had saved most of his gear, still, it was a big loss. Dick had got burned a bit, too.

“Shouldn’t have been working on Sun day,” he said, with a note of raillery in his voice which deceived nobody.

To fill in time, we started on the hors d’oeuvre. There were seven large plates of them —one for each guest expected— and we helped them down with a spot, now and again.

Talk turned on dogs, and old Speed received his due share of praise. He was recognised as the best dog on the river.

“Great old dog, but getting on now; all his teeth are broken. Yes, he’s just on seven; good age for a dog in New Guinea, and the old devil has knocked himself about fighting and hunting. Wasn’t he a tiger in the bush, after pigs and walla bies!” And old Sneed, knowing well that he was the subject of conversation, thumped his wiry tail on the floor, and grinned up at us.

Said Sid, “What about having a lock at my pups”. So we went downstairs to the kennel, built under the verandah. The mother was almost a bull terrier, and the pups were just animated roly-polies, with pug noses—six of them. Each was ex amined with care, and its points dis cussed in detail, while the mother watched us anxiously.

“Should have their eyes open to-day; this is the ninth day; everything runs in nines with dogs.”

BACK inside, and quite unexpectedly the Patrol Officer walked in. He had heard of the fire, and our “boys” had told him that Dick and I had gone to Wau. Thinking that Sid’s party would be spoiled, he had come down, despite the fever. He was surprised to see us. “Boys will tell you anything that enters their head, as gospel.”

Just back from a patrol up the river, he told us that ours was the most pros perous part of it.

“Ye Gods! What! Aw, fair go!”, we came back; but he stuck to his statement.

“You can’t say that, Ted. We’re all broke, and if you’re bust, you’re bust, and that’s all about it.”

Time passed as a succession of hors d’oeuvre and whisky-sodas.

“The crowd from the ’drome won’t come now,” we decided. “The Stinson went

back to Wau over two hours ago.” So the cook-boy was told, “Work ’im kai-kai now”.

Before the table was set they arrived — four of them. Two, slightly merry, had anticipated the celebration. All were saturated with perspiration, of course, so there was a great deal of bustling and shouting for “wash-washes” and clean clothes. When our host’s clothes gave out his pyjamas were commandeered.

Then the dogs—there were seven of them —started to fight; five on to one, with one sitting out, very much against his will. They gave us some hectic mo ments, until they were hoisted out bodily.

There was much commiseration with Dick over the loss of his camp. Talked skipped from gold, to the floods, the in ternational situation, the wireless—aptly designated “the static manufacturer”— then to some of the old identities of the river.

“If you gave ‘Old Bill’ an open go in the bank for half an hour he’d come out with his pockets empty; he’d still be arguing with the door-keeper at ‘time’s up’.

“Once, I went up to his camp to have a yam, and found him sitting on one of his boys. He was holding a big stone over the coon’s head, stuttering with rage: ‘For two pins I’d bash your brains out, b-b-but you haven’t any go-damn brains!’ ”

We’d about recovered from that when the boy announced, “Kai-kai ready now.”

“And about time, too,” we came back.

IT was three o’clock, and we were all as hungry as hawks. Sid suggested another drink first—he didn’t drink after kai —but he was howled down.

He was very proud of his skill at carv ing poultry, and this prompted him to suggest that someone else should do the job. He allowed himself to be persuaded, though.

“The host must carve, Sid.”

“Your house, old feller: vour job by rights.”

So he planted the fork confidently deep in the nearest bird’s sternum, and flourished the knife with elan.

“Never move the fork once it’s in. If it’s a flier take the wings off first; if it’s a runner” —neatly severing a leg—“take the legs; otherwise it might get away from you.”

Our host didn’t get much to eat, be ing too occupied in replenishing every body else’s plate and glass; but it was obvious that this gave him more plea sure than a full stomach. The poultry was helped out with salads and vegetables, in this case mostly home grown. Sid was a noted gardener and cook; and the plum-duff that followed was a beauty.

After the meal, everybody abandoned the table to lie about on the fine patch of couch grass in front of the house; to yarn and smoke and consume an occa sional glass of beer. Sid and Dick gave a very poor display of wrestling, which left Dick with raw patches instead of blisters on his arms and hands.

We took a few snapshots to perpetu ate the occasion and then, for an hour, discussed the desirability of an immediate departure for home. The Patrol Officer had brought his bed, and Rob, who was a bit the worse for wear, decided to stay the night. The rest of us eventually meandered off after many “cheerios”, at five o’clock.

We gradually strung out along the

rough track: four men; three “boys”; and five dogs. Soon the sweat began to stream, though the evening was cool. Talk is not appreciated on the road in moun tain country, so all “The Politician” got in reply to his observations were a few breath-saving grunts. So on we went till the “turn-off”, where Dick and I left the main track. Dick went on down to the camp, but I sat on the side of the road to see the last man pass.

To-morrow, I was leaving the river for ever and I fel f —and so did the others, I k now _that Sid’s celebration was more a farewell party for me. “I hope the gods smile on you, old friends.”

The tail of the line shows up. Bill sat down and rolled a smoke, though it was almost dark and the road ahead was dangerous. We sat there, silent, each re luctant to make the final gesture, while the dark crept closer and closer around us. At last Bill threw the butt away and rose wearily on stiffened joints.

“Aw, well, suppose I’d better get along.

So long, Peter.”

“Cheerio. Bill.”

He ambled mellowly away, and I turned down the spur that led to the camp.

A light burst out in the house ahead.

The cooking fires were glittering at the “boys’ ” houses. It was full night.