Fashions Of

Polynesia

Memory of Halley's Comet

By A. C. Rowland

WHEN we old residents of the South Pacific see photographs of our Islands beauties arrayed in the latest creations of the Rue de la Paix and Queen Street, Auckland, it is borne upon our minds how—during recent years—civilisation has infiltrated into our once primitive paradise, seized upon our Islands womenfolk, and reduced them to that standardised dead-level where the Colonel’s Lady and Judy O’Grady can be distinguished only by their escorts.

We do not think our Tahitian women are improved by this change of fashion.

Their old costumes were distinctive, and they had rare good taste in the choice of colours, that blended with and set off to advantage the golden beauty of their complexions.

This encomium cannot, however, be bestowed on the apparel of Islands groups more or less distant from the Society Archipelago.

Many years ago, when we were so journing at Raiatea, a princess of one of these distant islands, with a numerous retinue, came on a state visit to the high chiefs of the Leeward Group.

Solomon in all his glory, the bird of paradise of the New Guinea forests, the drum major of the Guards’ band, would have become dim, drab shadows beside this royal lady and her handmaidens as they landed, in the full glare of the mid day sun, arrayed in green, yellow and purple of shades, which caused retina shock followed by flashes of fire before the vision, lasting for hours.

This dazzling display was the sunset glory of an ancient custom. True, there have been other royal visits. But never since that time have the Islands wit nessed the ceremony and ritual, the gaiety and carnival which attended a royal progress of the olden time.

Mingling with the crowds gathered to see the stately ceremonies of reception and exchange of gifts; the joyous aban don of the native dances; and to hear singing by the massed choirs: the writer gained his first perception of the im maculate cleanliness of. the Tahitians Vivid memories of miscellaneous assem blies in his native land, generously leavened with the Great Unwashed, caused in him an uneasy expectation of olfactory discomfort when he entered that closely-packed company of Raia teans on a hot tropical night. To his surprise and delight the air was sweet with the fragrance of island gardenia, the native pua blossom, and nothing else.

Civilisation has since introduced the nauseous, synthetic perfumes derived from coal tar elements, and one now needs a gas mask in a massed assembly.

But at Raiatea, when the princess was there, one seemed to be in the Garden of Allah.

The singing on that occasion surpassed anything we have ever heard in the Islands; both in the perfect blending of the voices and the melodic substance of the music. The majestic, original leit motif woven and interwoven through the fabric of polyphonic harmonies have long been forgotten.

Once only have we heard singing in the Islands which matched the perfec tion of that festival at Raiatea.

It was at the time Halley’s Comet was at the maximum of its brilliance. The night before it passed around the sun those who were in the Southern Hemi sphere at the time will remember the splendour of that spectacle—the broad band of the comet’s train, arching the zenith from the eastern to the western horizons; an appearance not unlike, per haps, the celestial aspect of the rings of Saturn viewed by a watcher on that unique planet.

Some ghoul of a scientist had alarmed the world by broadcasting the state ment that the world was about to pass through the train of the comet and the deadly lethal gases of its composition would so poison the atmosphere that our planet would emerge from the transit as a vast mausoleum. This egregious non sense had penetrated to Tahiti.

The. average Polynesian does not fear death. He looks upon it with the same composure as he contemplates the mir acle of birth, the marvel of sleep and the mystery of dreams. But this im pending destruction, rushing in from the outer void like a Day of Judgment, stir red within him a profound awe and reli gious ecstasy. There was no panic.

Quietly, the natives assembled at their meeting-houses.

Some of us went to Mamao —the assembly place of our district, where we spread mats on the lawn and lay—re flecting on the age-old history of that portent in the heavens and listening to singing by massed choirs, whose raptu rous excitement so coloured their voices that they sounded like companies of archangels—until the angry red nucleus of the comet glaring in the eastern sky heralded the rising of the sun.

Then through the silence which fell as everyone watched the comet fade be fore the glory of the dawn, came a high, cracked voice from a region of fire and smoke far in the background: “E haere mai e inu i te taofe” (Come and drink the coffee). Someone laughed.

The tension evaporated and the world was normal again.