"Blitzkrieg"

A Fiji Girl in the "Blitzkrieg"

The following letter from a Fiji girl in London is supplied by Mrs. E.

Hennings, of Naitauba, Fiji.

DO you remember my complaint about the tedious waiting for the “Blitz krieg” to eventuate? Well, it has come—right now there is a dog-fight going on overhead. One can hear them, though not see, as it is misty, with very low clouds. I hope they shoot the lot down!

There isn’t a district in London which hasn’t had a dose of it. A lot of dam age has been done, but there are re markably few casualties.

The good old ARP (Air Raid Precau tion) has come into its own at last; we are called out nearly every night. I wondered, after almost a year of prac tising mock raids, what would the real thing be like, being just then on day shift.

Those of the girls on night-duty had some nasty experiences. One found after rushing up to the hospital with her cases that they had died of haemorrhage in transit. Another one was lifted, in her bus, by a blast, from one side of the road to the other; and, as she realised what had happened, she suddenly saw a head rolling across the street in front of her.

Not funny.

I thought I would be scared stiff the first time, when I had to go out in the night, but there were so many things to think of—getting into my gum boots alone prevented me from worrying about anything else. Actually, it was all most exciting. A nearly full moon simplified driving without lights.

There was no traffic, except for ambu lances, fire engines and police cars.

Everything was deadly quiet till I got to Hyde Park corner, when literally all the guns there went off. I jumped about three feet, and landed heavily on the accelerator with my size seven boots, which was all to the good.

When the guns ceased, the silence was almost unearthly. A thick pall of smoke and dust settled down which, with the moonlight filtering through, made the scene distinctly eerie.

Pounding on in my ancient Austin, I reached the bombed area. No casualties, but the police asked me to go round the block to where Queen Anne’s Man sions had received a direct hit.

“Keep well to the right, madam, please,” said the constable, ever so politely. “There’s a lot of glass and debris on the road—thank you, madam.”

Screaming bombs whistled around us whilst we were talking, but I can hon estly say that I wasn’t particularly dis turbed. In fact, now, as long as they don’t drop too close, I don’t mind at all.

There were no casualties there either, and I returned to the station, having had a grand drive there and back, shooting all traffic lights, going round islands the wrong side of the road and generally ignoring all traffic regulations.

Our ARP depot was called in at Buck ingham Palace. We nearly outdid our

selves in efficiency, and the King and Queen sent us a personal message tnank ing us for our services.

HOWEVER, I have had genuine casual ties since, when certain non-mili tary institutions “they” had been trying to get for weeks past received direct hits. A terrible mess.

While I was waiting for the buried to be dug up, there was another alarm, too sudden to take shelter. We just flung ourselves flat on the ground. Luckily, nothing was dropped close.

One soldier beamed at me and said; “You are in the front line now!” True enough, I thought. There were four killed, six wounded and several buried I saw one dug up, the cook, but she was stone dead.

One gets accustomed to the noise of gunfire and bombs, though the horrid grr-grr of the German air-craft getting closer is still rather disturbing. The only real trouble is the difficulty of sleeping with all that row going on, especially if you have to work in daytime and can’t make it up. You’re just dozing off nicely, when suddenly some terrific explosions occur, almost beside you, or else all the Hyde Park AA guns go off. It sounds like hell let loose.

However, this, too, is a matter of organising yourself. I get plenty of sleep, now, even when the mobile guns seem to park right outside the house.

They make an incredible racket but, once gone to bed in the basement, I never hear anything.

Also, I have developed a fantastic appetite, all my spare time being occu pied by either sleeping, or eating the most colossal meals. I suppose there is a certain nervous tension, even if you aren’t actually conscious of it, which makes you hungry.

WE have air raids during the day, too, but I ignore them. I put on my tin hat when out in the street, and otherwise go about in the ordinary way.

If you were to dart into cellars and shel ters every time the sirens moan, I feel sure you’d grow fur and go blind like moles.

There was a terrific lot of gunfire going on the other night, when a friend took me out to dinner, and on our way there we could hear the shrapnel falling through the trees in Berkeley Square, like large hail-stones.

At the Cafe de Paris life was gay, with alcohol and champagne flowing. We had a nice pheasant, with etc.—all very pleasant, and quite the best way of whiling away the time during air raids!

Now and again the band leader announced tha.t the sirens had gone off, or that all was clear, but nobody was

particularly interested.

There was another alarm just when we were about to leave and, with no taxis in sight, my friend proposed to walk me home. Being minus the trusty tin hat, I decided to stay at the hotel, where I slept soundly on a mattress on the floor, until the “all clear” about 5 a.m., whilst he spent all next day at a first aid post, after being hit on the head by a piece of shrapnel! Which goes to show that if you ask for trouble, you generally get it!

Another friend gave me a “siren suit” for wear in the air raid shelters. It’s green, yellow, black and red tartan trou sers, with a black jacket. I decided to wear it going to work and, when I turned up at the ARP station for the next shift, the entire personnel burst into: “The Campbells are coming!” Now they call me “Jock”. What a lot you have to put up with during a war!

I have been greatly cheered during

the last few days. The “blitzkrieg” is nothing like it was. Things look a deal more cheerful all round, and I have a feeling that this isn’t going to be a ten years’ war, after all. I am blooming, and likely to continue so for the dura tion. So don’t worry yourself and keep your chins up—all of them!

Mrs, Emma Elizabeth Garrick, one of Fiji’s oldest pioneers, died recently at the age of 88. Wife of the late Joseph Hector Garrick, she arrived in the Colony in 1869 and witnessed the ceremony on October 10, 1874, when Great Britain took over the group. Mrs. Garrick married twice, her first husband being the late Mr. William Scott, and the surviving family of three sons and one daughter are well-known in the Colony—Sir Henry Scott, KC, of Suva; Mr. A. H. E.

Scott, retired bank manager at present in Sydney; Mr. Godfrey Garrick, of Sydney; and Mrs. Pilling, wife of Mr.

H. G. Pilling, CMG, Governor of St.

Helena.

Rev. and Mrs. W. R. Steadman, who are well-known in Fiji after 20 years of service among the Indian population for the Methodist Mission, have returned to Australia. They will not be returning to the Colony.

THE boy and his Mary, after serving two years on a Papuan plantation, in charge of a newly-married couple, arrived in Port Moresby and imme diately waited on residents in search of work.

The newly-weds, apparently were still* a loving couple, and whenever the wife spoke to her husband she addressed him as “hubby dear”.

The boy, who claimed to understand all that was necessary in housework, in the course of his walk-about, visited the home of one of our highly-paid public servants. After questioning the boy. Mrs.

P. S. decided that he would be suitable, and engaged him to start work the fol lowing morning. As the boy was leaving to pick up his gear and his Mary, his new employer asked him his name. He thought for a moment and said, “You call me hubby dear!” He lost the job. — H.

PRINCE John Gu, the youngest son of Queen Salote, has returned to Tonga from Auckland, where he was at school for three years. He is to proceed to Newington College, Sydney, which his father, Prince Tugi, and his elder brother. Crown Prince Tubouto’a (now a law student at Sydney Univer sity) attended. Taking after the mag nificent physique of his mother’s family, Prince John now stands well over six feet. His great-grandfather. King George Tubou I, was unsurpassed, as a young man, for his athletic prowess. His dar ing, in his youth (when he was called Taufa’ahau, or Ginigini Ofolaga) was a by-word in many islands of the Pacific.

There is a waterfall over a high and dangerous cliff, which the Samoans still point out to-day as that over which Taufa’ahau made a leap during one of his visits to Samoa, and which no one has attempted to leap since.