Charms!

Music Hath

Dan Crawley Takes Over in Papua

FROM “Somewhere in New Guinea” we are told that W/O Dan Crawley has been appointed Bandmaster to the Royal Papuan Constabulary, and that his task will be a difficult one because he must instruct “wild young natives” to play the instruments to be provided.

Don’t correspondents know that “music hath charms to soothe the savage breast”?

W/O Crawley was best known in Rabaul before the war as Bandmaster of the local police-boys’ band; and the local police-boys’ band was the pride of Rabaul. When it played through the streets —approximately once a fortnight— every house-boy who had not the stern eye of authority directly upon him, left his place of business and followed behind it, bemused with adoration, wherever it might lead.

How Dan Crawley, in spite of his ten years’ service with the Ninth Queen’s Royal Lancers’ band, taught these natives (for the most part they could neither read nor write) to read music, was one of the major mysteries of Rabaul.

The band’s repertoire was said to be large; although, having lived on the “Colonel Bogey” section of the fortnightly march, I can vouch for that tune only.

They beefed the “Colonel” out with all they had; the drummer almost beat his arms off; the euphonium player blew until his eyes popped, and the rest of the band until their peaked caps trembled on top of their mops of hair.

Then the cavalcade passed, still blow ing and beating, and the show was over.

W/O Crawley escaped from Rabaul after the Japanese occupation and, after many months’ wandering in New Britain, reached the Australian mainland. He is now back on the job in Papua, and it is reported how, after being transferred to his new job as Bandmaster of the Papuan Constabulary, one of the first people whom he met was his former second cornet player from the Rabaul band. This native, after being impressed for a labour gang by the Japs, escaped to the Australian lines and later joined the police force in Papua.

The islanders of the South-western Pacific have no music comparable with that of Polynesia. They have not —so far, anyway—been responsible for the type of ditty which Mr. A. C. Rowland of Tahiti describes as the “Island lagoon—tropical moon—and ye-e-w” type. But they have their idea of rhythm, and they love to sing. Many a small native church rocks on Sundays to the vigor of their efforts in this direction.

Snake-Charming, A La New

Guinea

REFERRING back to my remark that “music soothes,” here is a New Guinea version of a snake-charmer story:— The man down the river became ill, and departed “South,” and a substitute arrived to look after his place. The sub stitute was a large blond man who had become famous in Wau for having bitten off the local dentist’s ear. This had hap pened during a gentlemanly brawl in a Wau pub; as they struggled on the floor, the LBM hesitated long enough to inquire of the dentist: “Is everything in?” He was told that it was and, honour satisfied, he bit off the ear nearest him.

But that is by the way; and, removed to the sterner atmosphere of the Sepik district, where there were no hotels and no dentists with ears, he became very bored, and his thoughts turned to music.

He strolled in one day and announced: “I’ve ordered a flute from South for the boss-boy.”

“What on earth for?” I asked.

“Oh, he’s a good coon, and he says he played one in Rabaul. Besides, I have always wanted to have a go at a flute, myself.”

I was impressed, and waited with in terest for the arrival of the instrument.

In a couple of months it appeared done up in a long packet.

The LBM disappeared with it down the river. Next morning he stamped in. “I blew that bluddy thing until midnight— and do you think I can get a note out of it? No, I could not!”

I was sympathetic. “But what about the boss-boy—can’t he do it?”

“That fool! After all my trouble he says he doesn’t savvy wind ’im this fella something—he only savvies a ,” and here he gave a realistic imitation of a trombone in full blast.

I called to see him a week later. “How is the flute going? Have you mastered it yet?”

“I threw it over the cliff this morning.

It’s dangerous.”

“How come?” This sounded like a story.

“Well, last night, after the boys had gone to the house-boy, I tried it again for the 99th time, and at last I managed to get two notes out of it. I kept playing them over and over in case I forgot how.

This went on for some time—maybe half an hour —and then I suddenly saw some thing dangling back and forth just above my head. Believe it or not, it was a snake —four feet of it, with its tail around a rafter and its head not six inches off my nose. I’m off flutes for life—and if any of those boys dig it out of the creek I’ll break their so-and-so necks!”—J.T.