Papeete

A Sunday In

By Mrs. Lorna Davidge, of Victoria, 8.C., who, with her husband and son, is cruising leisurely in the South Seas. rE celebrations of Saturday night seem barely to have died away, be fore the life of Sunday morning has started. By 4 a.m. the market carts, trucks and wheelbarrows from the coun try are rattling and clattering along the Rue de Commerce; the Chinese carts, drawn by weary little horses, that know their way without guidance, allow the driver and his family to nod sleepily among their garden produce, which fills all available space.

There is a running-light swinging un der the cart, as these early market folk start long before the first rays of the sun touch with gold the distant peaks of

Moorea, or the schooners’ top-masts in the harbour. From each schooner comes the lusty crow of fighting-cocks as they greet the morning; the minah-birds have already started to chatter and sing; while columns of blue wood smoke spiral up amongst the green tree-tops. The church bells are ringing for early Mass.

By this time, people are arriving from all directions, on foot, bicycle or in queer little two-wheeled carts, all carrying baskets, hurrying as much as they ever hurry in Tahiti, to the early market, which opens its gate at 5.30 a.m., an nounced by the loud clanging of a large brass bell.

The market place is an open-air, up to-date affair, built of concrete and iron and is thronged with a gay, flower-decked crowd of Tahitians, Chinese and Euro peans. The hum of conversation and laughter rises above the expostulations of chickens, pigs and ducks, tied by their legs to anything handy.

ALL the stalls attract crowds, but the most excitement seems to be around the fish vendors, where all sorts of odd, fearful and colored denizens of the reef and lagoon are offered for sale.

There are large shrimps threaded on sticks, shell-fish already shelled and strung on strings, neat bunches of cray fish tied together like flowers, sea cen tipedes, big tuna and bonito, strings of oomah (a small herring-like fish), pois sion rouge, hari-hari, and fresh-water eels neatly skinned and cut up. Chopped up shell-fish, mixed with coconut sauce, are sold sealed in lengths of green bamboo. „ , . , All kinds of tropical fruits find a quick sale, being ready to take away in plaited coconut baskets. The Chinese control the garden vegetables and meat departments entirely, leaving the fish and fruit to the Tahitians—who gossip happily amongst their heaps of taro, pawpaws, bread fruit, etc. ..

Brown-clad policemen move amongthe crowds with pencil and note book. They seem to be checking sales, or collecting dues, and often get into an argument with some “Mania”, who has all her rela tions and friends handy to back her up, if necessary. . ..

On a clean floor-space, Chinamen sit on their heels, amongHsttess-lookmg and chickens, tied by the leg, waiting f °The y Tahitians don’t take business as seriously as do the Chinamen but laugh joke and gossip with their friends. But sales go on, just the same. .

The flower section is handled by women, who sell their sweet smelling of ferings, in bunches, or leis. the latter usually made of “Tiare Tahiti .

Smiling vahines are beginning to leave the market now, baskets ioaded with salad and fruit on one arm, while the other may carry a dangling string of fish or a live chicken, or even a squealing piglet A boy on a bicycle with a young pig so tied by its feet to the handlebars

The schooner-yacht Lorna D. lying beside the Quai, Papeete.

that it forms a kind of basket, con taining four coconuts, heads for home with his bargain.

Outside is rather a depressing sight.

There is a grey-painted cart, with a wooden cage built on it, in charge of two prisoners from the “calaboose”, and a gendarme; and stray dogs are pushed into it at intervals by means of a long stick, for this is the dog pound. All dogs without licences find themselves in it, sooner or later, and, after being held eight days, they depart this life, unless their fines are paid.

The business day of the market is finished by 7.30 a.m. The crowds begin to thin out. Many go for their morning coffee and rolls, at the nearby Chinese restaurants; others leave in big trucks seating fifty or more, with food and pur chases piled up on the roof. They might be going to a picnic, or a wedding, for they leave with laughter and singing, as wine and guitars are passed round, rE stone seats along the Quai are crowded with gossiping groups, dis cussing the latest news, hot off the “coconut radio”. Sitting on the business end of one of the up-ended cannon, that serve as bollards along the Quai wall, is a little old man, in police uniform, smoking a long, churchwarden pipe. He is a pensioner, but still has his duties as park guard. All the vahines and children call to him as they pass.

Along the Quai comes a native with a woollen cap perched on top of his curly hair. He is spearing odds and ends, in the harbour water, along the wall; a root of taro, an orange, a fish or eel, anything is grist for his mill.

The church bells begin to ring again and long serpentine lines of young boys and girls, m charge of the Catholic Brothers and Sisters, wind round corners on their way to church. The congregations of other denominations, Mormon, Protestant and Seventh Day, may be seen strolling m family groups or couples; the old women dressed in long black Mother Hubbards, with high-crowned black hats; the girls are usually in well-made white or light-colored dresses. The elderly men affect black, high-collared coats and hats, light trousers and umbrellas. They never seem to use those umbrellas in sun or rain.

Sailors from the Government schooners and gunboats, in their neat white uni forms, and caps with a red pom-pom, stroll by with their vahines, and soldiers in khaki shorts, shirts and helmets, clomp along in their heavy nailed boots.

They all are generally headed for the wine shops or cafes, where they may spend the day, singing and dancing.

From eleven o’clock on, the Quai seems deserted, until about 5 p.m., when the soldiers, sailors and church processions appear again. Groups of girls with flowers m their splendid hair walk by, hand in hand, heading for the dancing, which continues until 11 p.m. Then the crowds pass again, on their way home. The pickets round up those who have to be in barracks, but are making heavy weather of it.

Soon the little town appears to sleep, except for a few white-clad couples sit ting on the stone benches, and the only sounds are the distant thrumming of a guitar, the surf breaking out on the reef, and the nightly song of the crickets. So we go aboard our little schooner, moored at the Quai, and turn in.

Mrs. Leonard Murray, wife of the re cently appointed Administrator of Papua hopes to leave by air for Port Moresby sometime this month. Since her husband’s return to Papua, Mrs. Murray has been visiting friends in Melbourne.