Plantation Blown

To Pieces

Poignant Hurricane Story From New Hebrides

FIVE months ago, Mr. Chris E. Hill, a coconut planter, of Emae, New Hebrides, with Mrs. Hill, was enjoy ing furlough, and undergoing a “medical overhaul” in Sydney, which they had not visited for many years. Then he was called home —his island had been, on February 18, right in the path of one of the worst hurricanes the group had ever experienced—and the rest of the heart-breaking story is told below. It is part of a private letter to the editor, not written for publication; but it is published to show something of what these isolated men and women in the hurricane belts have to face, and their brave, philosophic spirit :— WHEN we departed on furlough I left a man and his wife in charge of the plantation, with a local firm as managing agents. I received advice that the plantation had been badly torn about, and my building and contents, including furniture and store stock, had been swept to sea.

I hurried home by first steamer and found everything in a frightful mess, and my manager missing. He certainly had a bad time during and after the blow. His wife gave birth to a child, a few days after the hurricane had blown everything, including beds, etc., to smithereens. He went to Vila, leaving anything in the way of salvage that could, and should, have been done, to the tender mercies of the native labour.

I could not get home (or what was home) for a month after the blow, so you can imagine what a heart-breaking scene met my eyes. Talk about the agonies and devastation of war, of which I had some experience in the last. There, it is either sudden death, or, if wounded, one at least gets medical attention, and one’s worries are more or less over.

Certainly there were no actual deaths in this litle hell, but one boy was knocked unconscious, and two others are in hospital suffering from wounds inflicted by flying sheets of iron.

I have lost all my buildings, furni ture, stock, etc., and at least three years’ copra production.

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Samoan Defence Volunteers, in a swinging march along the main street of Apia, beside the lagoon, on the King’s Birthday.

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The ways and methods of the Govern ment are strange. Two officials were sent along to inspect the damage. This visit, of course, included my place, where the damage was done, as any one with half an eye could and can see. The natives, who certainly lost their gar dens, were immediately supplied with a considerable amount of rice. My labour, who were here houseless (and, they tell me, actually hungry—l was not here at the time) received nothing, and I, on my return, received sympathy!

Now, this gift of rice enabled the natives to purchase considerable sup plies of grog. The gift of rice made it unnecessary for them to buy food-stuffs; so, with the money received for their /copra, they had all the more cash to spend on grog—much to the satisfaction of the traders concerned.

As for myself, at the moment, I do not know how I can carry on, and build up again. I am not so young, or ener getic as I was some years ago, when faced with a similar position. I have been “home” a fortnight now, and I can tell you I feel pretty run-down. I have spent the time clearing away debris and rubbish, trying to make a house to keep the rain out.

My launch and truck were badly dam aged. The launches were pulled ashore, but a house fell on one and the other broke away, and banged against a tree stump, staving in some planks, etc. The cement walls and timber of a shed came down on the truck, smashing the body work and generally making a mess of it.

The wireless set was left out in the weather, and I guess I miss that piece of furniture just now as much as any thing. I also had an almost complete set of “P.I.M.s” ranging from very nearly the first issue—all these things have “Gone With the Wind”, a picture we went to see before I left Sydney, as I thought the title appropriate, after hearing the news!

To make matters worse, my tools are lost, stolen, or strayed, and Vila is the only place where I might get some, 50 miles away.

Such is life in N.H. Thank God, my wife, who is far from well, remained in Sydney, and is not here yet, to witness the scenes of devastation and ruin of all we possess. It is heart-breaking, after 20 years of struggle and building up after the 1932 hurricane.

When we left on our trip, for medical overhaul and rest, everything was in great order here, and it looked as though we might reap some little re turn for our years of work and worry.

But fate has decreed otherwise.