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The Tara-La-La

One Evening in Suva

By “Kai Viti”

IT was Terry who sprang the notion.

“Look here,’’ quoth he, “I’m going native. I’m going to a tara-la-la, and I don’t care if all conventional Suva knows it. Come on, anyone else?”

So it was that at half-past nine that night eight of us were snooping down back-alleys and other places of ill-repute, looking for “sounds of revelry by night”.

All Nations' Street boasted several kava saloons; there was a Samoan lass doing the hula down Naqaqi way—but no Tara-la-la. Then we thought of Flagstaff. And there—ah!—the very thing.

Below us lay a level field, with per haps a tussock here and there, but it seemed to suit the purpose, for there was quite a crowd. An orchestra, con sisting of two guitars, three ukuleles and three kerosene tins, supplied the hot rhythm. Evidently the musicians on the kerosene tins were masters of the art thereof —the general effect was of drums wailing and, in unison with male Fijian voices, the music was strange, barbaric.

A lantern supplied what little light there was. Round it a Chinaman was pacing regularly; Terry suggested he was a light worshipper, and was at his devo tions: but investigations revealed he was the owner of the lantern and was keep ing watch thereon.

The light lent an eeriness and mystery to the scene. This, and the strange music, with its undercurrent of passion, made me feel that the native was still half-savage and uncivilized.

But I soon realised that it was 1941.

The native belles were all clad in even ing dress, very modern and fashionable.

One, with cigarette in hand, made me very conscious of my short frock —even though I had the compensation of not getting any grass seeds in my skirt.

The crowd ambled past us with the peculiar tara-la-la shuffle —one to the right, one to the left—done with that undulating grace that seems the heritage of the South Seas.

A black-eyed belle swayed up to Terry and whispered “Sst”, an invitation to the dance, and soon he was on the green, arm round the lady’s waist, bending and ambling, kicking and swaying. The music became wilder —the crowd began to do a combination of the Palais Glide and the Hula, completely dominated by the music. I felt like joining in, myself, and batted an eyelid to a tall stalwart nearby. Alas! No response!

Soon, the Master of Ceremonies, re splendent in a pair of discarded jockey pants, called a halt for supper. We expected native repast—but, no! Down the hill trotted a fat Indian, basket on head, and the crowd sat down to Indian roti and curry.

The M.C. strolled over to inform us that the pancake, with a spoonful of curry, cost a penny. Terry gave him 5/-. He went off to return ruefully with the whole of the supply. We explained that we wanted sufficient for the party —the rest was baksheesh. Here there were profuse thanks, and a shower of compliments, and a significant remark that our generosity would not go un rewarded—with a sly smirk at Terry.

After all had dined, and spat, after the fashion of Islanders, we were on with the dance.

The MC was busy picking out all the prettiest lasses, and I whispered that

perhaps they were going to do a speciality for our benefit. But they were brought over, with much giggling and coyness, to us; and the MC. with a grand wave of the hand, presented them to Terry, and made him to understand that for the night they were his, and were to entertain him as he wished. beauty lef with" 1 a th yaqona bowl b nearby

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up adoringly into his eyes, at his feet, and another singing languorously at his slGe - Terry is now very tara-la-la minded.

He looks on the Grand Pacific turn-outs with slight contempt—and he always gives the MC five shillings.

Miss L. Lovell-Smith, of the X-ray section of the Suva Colonial War Memorial Hospital, spent March in New Zealand on furlough „ T .„. . , , Dr : William Armstrong, m charge of a hospital at Lenakel, Tanna, New Hebri des, or the Presbyterian Church, is now accompanied 6 by Mrs. Armstrong 6l ThS Xss, with them native gh-1 adopted Wh™Di- Armstrong leaves for the New Hebrides in Rev. Geo.

Anderson, foreign missionary secretary for the Presbyterian Church in Victoria, hopes to accompany them to visit all the mission stations and investigate the work generally.