Captured Tahiti

When "La La" Song Captured Tahiti

IN the dear, dead days of long ago, we had at Papeete a theatre named The Casino.

Our earlier exhibition hall had been a long, low wooden building dubbed “Le Moulin Rouge” where, under the direc tion of a native of Martinique (known as Paretuti) and his wife Alphonsine (who presided over the exchequer), entertain ments of primitive moving pictures, inter spersed with wild “hula” dances by ex perts from the market place, brought de light to enthusiastic audiences.

The more sedate members of the com munity looked upon the performances at Moulin Rouge as not quite respectable.

Nevertheless. the place was always crowded to suffocation, the exchequer (under the economies of Alphonsine) waxed and expanded so that, in the course of time, Paretuti found himself able to bring to fruition more ambitious dreams, and The Casino came into being.

The Casino was conducted to appeal to the beau monde. The films of French manufacture, exquisitely coloured by hand, pictured stories of fairies and naiads, gnomes and kobolds, witches and sorcerers, knights and courtiers, fair ladies and troubadours; in gardens glow ing with the splendour of blossoms, in romantic glens and woodland dells, in ancient castles and in mirages of en chantment.

Occasionally, to please the unregener ate (who had moved in a body from the Moulin Rouge to the rear seats and the gallery of The Casino) the programme was varied by a picture from the States recounting the exciting tale of a blonde heroine, fallen into the hands of nefari

ous villains, bound to the slowly moving cradle of a lumber mill and rescued by the hard riding, handsome hero at the very moment the horrible, hissing circular saw was biting into her fifth rib.

Further variety was made available when barnstorming theatrical companies, vaudeville teams or professors of leger demain chanced to be voyaging on ships calling at Papeete. These were usually glad to pick up an honest penny while their steamer tarried in port.

The patrons of The Casino would go to these exhibitions and applaud politely.

But no one of the visitors made any im pression or left behind any memories —until the advent of Happy Harry.

Happy Harry was a hard-bitten knight of the vaudeville circuits of many coun tries. He possessed verve, a very loud voice, and a repertory of songs of the “whoop-hurray” type.

The major number of these songs, while acceptable, were, because the words were English, incomprehensible to his hearers. His “La La” song was the exception.

Now, during 75 years, the Tahitians had constantly heard the French inter jection, “Oh! La La!” When, therefore.

Happy Harry launched his song, consist ing of “La La, La La, La La La La La”, indefinitely repeated to the swing of a catchy tune, and ending with, “One, two three! Sing together with me! La La, La La La La La”—the audience took up the chorus and made the rafters ring.

From The Casino, the song spread throughout Papeete; extended to the dis tricts. Schooners carried it to the neigh bouring islands and to the most remote atolls. Happy Harry’s name was on every lip. Crowds came from the dis tricts to hear him sing, join in the chorus and applaud. The “La La” song

crowded out every other form of music.

Many of the illustrious have visited our shores —from the glittering studios of Hollywood, from the gay concert halls of Paris. They have been viewed with awe and respect in proportion to the measure of their greatness. But no one has been taken to the hearts of the Tahitian people as was Happy Harry.

When he sailed away he was given the greatest ovation ever accorded a departing visitor. He was covered with flowers and cheered until his ship was well without the pass.

Carried on the wings of his song, Happy Harry had achieved almost im mortality in the hearts of the Tahitian islanders; for, during many subsequent years the “La La” song continued as a prime favourite and the memory of him became a jovial legend.—A.C.R.