Making History In

Rotuma

By “Amel”

IN all the years of its existence as a civilised community, Rotuma (Fiji) has never had a telephone. But now, owing to circumstances shrouded in offi cial secrecy, Rotuma has a telephone.

Only a mile or so of wire and a couple of boxes, but a telephone, nevertheless.

And we were going to inspect it.

“I have a book,” panted the Commis sioner, forging ahead with an enviable burst of speed, “that you will anpreciate readmg after climbing this hill.”

“Oh, thanks,” I puffed, feeling a stream of perspiration trickling into the toe of my shoe.

“It tells,” he continued, when he had regained sufficient breath, “how to scale

mountains from a hotel balcony.”

“Wish I knew the technique,” i sighed.

The Scoutmaster blew his whistle and announced that he was taking the better way We wished him joy and, after a simple process of slipping, slithering, gliding, clutching, hauling, pushing, sit ting down and occasionally walking we met him again at the top of the hill’ . The telephone was not quite ready for inspection, but, lost in admiring the view we almost forgot its existence.

We were so high up that the whole of the lovely little island, a dark green carpet from shore to shore, seemed to lie at our feet. It was, we agreed, tropical beauty at its best. Everything—dazzling white beaches, verdant, tangled masses of forest, graceful palms, foaming breakers on the reef, villages nestling along the shore—was there under the blue of the sky.

The surf-ringed emerald islands, sur rounding Rotuma, guarded it like sentinels. Each one had an aloof appear ance and an air of mystery.

Far down in the indigo sea, an object like a brown paper bag wavered for a while and then sank. It was a turtle.

“There’s somebody on the telephone,” said the Commissioner in a matter-of fact voice, and back we came to earth again.

The telephone line was through, ana the ensuing excitement would have done credit to the inauguration of a world encircling telephone service!

The bells would not ring, but that minor fault would be remedied later.

Meanwhile, all of us completed the making of history by saying “hallo” to the long-suffering linesman at the other end.

Then we observed the reactions of a native boy who put the receiver to his ear very carefully, after looking at it once or twice as if he expected the Loch Ness monster to spring out at him.

Linesman: “Hallo!”

Boy: “Hallo!”

Linesman: “Who’s speaking?”

Boy: “Me!”

While this brilliant dialogue was en tertaining to us, it must have reduced the linesman to a gibbering wreck, and he was probably the most relieved person on Rotuma when we called it a day and went home!