Presented At Court

A Trader’S Tale By “Tukapa

Koko"

SO long ago that it is now possible to tell of such goings-on without being shot by “Old Granny” (as the “PIM” denominates the dear old lady Government which runs our islands) the laws against immorality and insobriety were very strongly enforced on this enchanted isle of Mangaia.

Court, held every Thursday by the then Resident Agent, was often as good as a play. The inquisitor was a very deaf and irascible gent, and a rigid moralist—for the other chap!—and defendants often had occasion to shiver in their bare feet as they breasted the dock.

There was the case of Toko and Tutana, for instance.

These two sinners of the deepest dye came up before the Beak on the morning after a Wednesday dance, held in the big cargo-shed.

It was a frightful scandal. The zea lous, khaki-clad protectors of public mor ality had caught them kissing each other on an up-turned canoe, all by themselves in the moonlight.

The Beak’s face was like a fiery fur nace seven times heated, as he listened to the indictment, alternately roared in his ear, and enacted in dumb show, by the cops who had arrested the guilty pair.

He addressed Toko, the male malefac tor.

Toko had nothing to say.

“Two pounds!” roared the Beak.

The sinners, though doomed and sen tenced, made no move to make way for the next victims.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” irascibly inquired the Bench.

Toko smiled cheerfully. “Please, Mis ter, I waiting the two quid,” he replied.

On another occasion, Kake the baker, of local fame, was “presented” at this renowned Court, charged with using his yeast for other purposes than life-staff ing requirements.

Kake was, if anything, deafer than his tormenter, and the famous scene in Vic tor Hugo’s book, where the deaf prisoner faces an equally deaf judge, was repeated.

“Do you plead guilty to drunkenness?” asked the Bench.

“Oh, yes, sir, I assure you my bread is the best,” replied the ill-hearing Kake.

“Do you plead guilty?” howled the Vessel of Wrath.

“Certainly,” said the unhearing baker.

“I can supply any quantity.”

The Beak, undesirous of delay, passed sentence. “Ten shillings!” he vociferated.

Kake had not heard his preceding re marks; but the latter portion of the dis course would have got response from him out of the cold, cold ground at Judgment Day.

“Ae e te Akavanui!” (“Yes, O Resi dent”) he replied obediently. “Ten shillings worth it shall be, and I’ll send the boy along with it to the Residency at once!”

The Court was so convulsed with laughter that the malefactor slipped away in the confusion, still quite sure that he had made an excellent deal with His Excellency, Suva at last has some new air-raid sirens—there were many bitter complaints that the last ones could not be heard — and they are being tested regularly at noon on Wednesdays. It was piously hoped in official circles in October that these 1942 models would emit “the desired screaming note/’