Memories Of Old

Samarai

By “Wakilobo Of Vilirupu”

NO. 1.

WHEN I first visited Samarai, still sometimes referred to by the older folk as Dinner Island, there were a few of the present residents already there.

But, prominent among those now gone may be included Mrs. Wisdell, whose husband was then known as “Billy the Cook”, the Rev. Ramsay of the Anglican Mission, Mr. W. B. Patching, auctioneer and ginger-pop maker, old Captain In man, etc., etc.

Life on the island in those days (1909- 10) was certainly full of thrills, and it was quite a novelty to one who had only heard of the place. Samarai was the chief commercial centre for the territory, it was from there that the miners did all their recruiting—if not by themselves then through some recognised agent. Of the agents, I should say that Les. Joubert and Ernie Oates were the leaders. Al though others could claim to having the ability to get the boys, Les. and Ernie had the better name, and large numbers of Orokiwais (or Buna Bay boys) knew these two men years before they had ever heard of other recruiters.

A number of alleged illegal methods were fired at Leslie, but he was able to refute them all and in one case, where a bright young Government officer thought he had it all over L.J., the case could not be finished. I wonder if Joubert re members the short speech he made in the Cosmopolitan bar, when the result was known. As at least two of the principals are still living, I am afraid I cannot give it here.

His greatest asset on these recruiting expeditions was little “Sindbad”, his Orokiwai boy. This little fellow was al ways with Leslie, and could almost claim to be his mouth-piece. “Sindbad” was al ways neatly dressed, and took great care of all his master’s equipment, and took care also to see that no one else did.

After the Joubert and Oates partnership.

I think Leslie joined forces with Gus. Nel sson, of Kulumadau and finally linked up with Frank Pryke.

On Samarai itself there was little to do, except at week-ends, when the local whites played the Kwato mission at cricket. Some good games were played, the results being about even. The Kwato boys owed their ability to the training by Mr. C. W. Abel, head of the indus trial side of the mission and he certainly knew how to teach them bowling, at any rate.

There were three hotels—“ Billy the Cook’s” the Cosmopolitan (run by Tom Elkington), the Clunn menage. There was also a School of Arts, overlooked by Mr. Patching. Most of the social life centred naturally around the pubs. Each, one had its turn for parties, and Clunn’s had its regulars. A number of miners al ways made Mrs. Clunn’s their head quarters, also a number went to Mis.

Wisdell’s, the Cosmopoitan being con sidered a bit better class. Joe Sloane, Jack O’Toole and Matt Crowe divided their time between Clunn’s and Wisdell’s.

As the evenings closed in, some would wander off to their rooms, whilst others would make up the gambling set. Poker was the principal game, and some of the

miners certainly enjoyed a few hours’ play each day they were in port.

A “Planteroo”

I RECOLLECT a heated discussion taking place one evening in Tom Elk ington’s. Joe Sloane, who had looked fairly well on the wine, was arguing l with a planter on a number of items, the principal being that, if a small station owner in Australia was called a “jack aroo”. why shouldn’t a small planter be called a “planteroo”. The planter did not feel comfortable and looked round for some support. Coming from the bar was Jack O’Toole, who took sides with the planter, and immediately requested Joe to quit “razzin”. This sort of interference did not help, and O’Toole was asked to mind his business.

But OToole persisted, until finally Sloane lost his temper, hit O’Toole on the nose and knocked him up against the stair rail. The planter, a small man. ran to the end of Whitten’s jetty, jumped into his dinghy and got on board his schooner.

Jack O’Toole was put to bed—he had a room next to mine in Wisde.ll’s. Next morning, as I was dressing, I heard him call and although I never had much love for him, I was moved to sympathy.

He had two real black eyes, and he asked me to feel his ribs. This I did. and told him he must have several broken. He

went to hospital where they found three broken and two fractured.

This kept O’Toole out of trouble for sometime, but he always managed to find some sort of entanglements during his stay in New Guinea. He once fell foul of the Rev. Ramsay, and realised that a parson can also use his “dooks” when necessity arises.

Rev. Ramsay was a real man. Al though not brilliant, he had a way with him which appealed to everyone. His church was just a little place, but to find a vacant seat on Sunday evening was impossible. Both he and his wife helped in the social side of affairs, and he was a bright spot on the island. For several years he did all the commercial work for the Anglican Mission, and the field workers, who had to rely on him for their mail and merchandise being taken care of, could never have complained.

His right wing was Jimmy Inman, who in those days had charge of the “Albert McLaren”, and she made some fast trips out of Samarai to Buna.

Anyone who has travelled with Jimmy must remember his usual morning greet ings. At 5.30 a.m. one would hear. “Al bert! Albert! Make some tea!” Later “ Albert! Albert! Make some stew r and put an onion in it.” Day after day, Jimmy used these terms, and day after day, Albert carried the orders into effect.

The Inman family are part and par

cel of the island, but I do not know how many of them are yet alive. They lived on the point, almost the last house to the left of the wharf. Here Mrs. Inman could look right down the straits, and see whether the “old man” was coming in on time. He had a number of boats, the most famous being the “Makaia”, and his sailings and arrivals on time were uncanny.

Another family whose name will always be allied with Samarai is that of Evenett. They did great work in the recruiting days, and Fred—or Brassy, as we

knew him—was and may still be, a part of Samarai history. Others who will al ways be remembered are the Platts, Flo.

Brabson. Charlie Whitehead, Charlie Arbouin, the Bunting family, Von Brem mer, Leach, Owen Turner,

Fascination Of Samarai

"ITIOR such a small island, there is no I 1 other part of the world where names help so much to make history.

Unlike Port Moresby, all the early set tiers in Samarai seem to have gone there

with a definite idea of settling, and when one looks back on the years, this is more fully realised. What is there on such a small area of land, 56 acres in all, which keeps people there? There is nothing at tractive about the place, except its Cro ton paths. The mainland is decidedly un inviting, and the other large islands nearby, such as Saibei and Rogeia, have nothing on them to help pass the time.

Yet some of the families mentioned have lived on Samarai upwards of 50 years, and their descendants are still staying on.

A number of names keep cropping up before me, and one is that of Hobart Spiller. Hobart was a born wit, his re partee being just so, and oftentimes al most got him into trouble. He was, for a time, supercargo on one of the first BP. coastal boats. Then he came ashore in Samarai. In those days, the Customs closed at 4 p.m. and the clerks were quite autocrats in their own way.

Red tape was their middle name.

But Spiller was more than a match for them on a number of occasions. He was loading a schooner for sailing at day break. and had, so he thought, got all the freight from the customs shed, and clearance papers, etc., fixed. The landing waiter was an English Public School boy call him Smith—and Mr. Smith was in a big hurry to close the shed and go play cricket. At about 5 minutes to 4 Spiller found he could not possibly comple f e the shifting of the cargo in time to allow the shed to close, so applied for permission to pay overtime, which was given. He then saw the Collector, and had the per mit signed, and told his boys they need not hurry, as the shed would not be closed until 5 p.m. Mr. Smith fussed and fumed and told Spiller he could easily have the freight out by 4.10 p.m. Spiller agreed, but, as he had to pay for one hour’s overtime, he was seHnsf that fhe Customs Officer earned that overtime.

Had Smith agreed to the extra few min utes, he could have got away at 4.15, and enjoyed his game of cricket.

How many, I wonder, remember “Flo” or Miss Brabson? She was about the only white who could neither read nor write, and when she got mail from her home in England, she would display such real joy, that everyone, who knew of her in ability must have felt very deeply for her.

However she managed to get to a place like Samarai, and stay there, is one of those mysteries which are unfathomable.

(To Be Continued)