Radio Worries In

Fiji

By Amel

rpHE break-down occurred with startling J. suddenness. The heroine’s angry father thundered, “Yes . . and what is more, young man, never let me see your beer-sodden face down my chimney again!” But before the heart-broken lover could plead his cause, silence had descended upon him.

There is, perhaps, nothing so baffling as a wireless set when it gets out of order. And when you live in the Fiji bush, many miles from a competent re pair shop, the situation becomes desper ate.

We twirled knobs, to no effect. As soon as I heard them go plink, instead of plonk, I knew that something was wrong.

We sat and looked at the thing. Radio repairs were bevond us. But suggestions) were not lacking. ‘ Perhaps it is short-circuiting some where.” I murmured helpfully. “Perhaps there’s a cockroach in the works? Or a beetle in some vital spot? Maybe one of those nasty little what-d’you-call-’ems has bitten through . .

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Oh yeah.” hooted Dad. “I wish you’d keep quiet for a minute. Your ideas only confuse me. This • requires a lot of concentration. Let me think.”

As a result of his thinking, he went outside and climbed up on the roof. After stamping around for ten minutes and disturbing all the rats in the loft, he returned with triumphant mien.

We thought he had done nothing less than dismantle the wireless mast. Instead of which he announced that he had re moved a big spider from the aerial.

“If it doesn’t go now”, he stated, “I’ll have to take it to pieces.”

It didn’t go. So the following morning, he disembowelled it.

“I wonder where you begin on this con traption?” he cogitated, scratching his head with the screw-driver. “Never seen the inside of one before. However, first I’ll remove the loud-speaker ... so. Now, if I unscrew this thingummybob, and poke that whirligig, and wiggle this gazooka a bit, something might fall into place.

The main thing is to keep everything under control, and not to forget where you put things.”

“Fr . . . yes”, I agreed, with a confi dence which I did not feel.

After a morning of painful toil, Dad had surrounded himself with the “in nards” of the radio, and, as he straight ened up and surveyed the tangle, he panicked.

“Jumping Jupiter!” he exclaimed. “This is awful! Where am I to look for the trouble, now I have the set in pieces? I wonder if I can put it together again?

Just go away for a few more hours, will you? I want to be alone!”

At mid-day, the set had been restored to normal, and. with some trepidation, we tuned-in on Suva. A lovely soprano voice drifted over the wireless waves.

“There you are!” said Dad, smugly.

But, to this day, he does not know how he fixed it!

Mr. R. P. Garrity, who has been stationed at Vureas, Lolowai, New Hebrides,, for the Melanesian Mission, has returned to N.Z : .

Rev. D. L. and Mrs. Francis, of Raga, Solomon Islands, passed through Sydney in October en route to their home in New Zealand. He has been a worker for the Melanesian Mission at Lamalana for some time.