Harking Back—A Decade In Fiji

The first of two articles by “NA MATANIVANUA” who spent the 30’s and early 40’s in Suva , Fiji.

HARKING back to that sticky Decem ber day when I arrived in Suva, my thoughts go to the first Fiji official I chanced to meet—the late Sub-Inspec tor William Flower, of the Fiji Con stabulary, as it was then. Flower’s job was a combination traffic officer-immi gration officer; he was a man with a very strict sense of duty, and a gentleman to his fingertips. He was Commonly known by the Fijian name of Ratu Senikau and was so incredibly tall that the fact that he was very powerfully built was liable to escape notice.

But despite his size, officialdom decreed that Flower should use a car of the “baby” type, and to see him jacknifing himself into that diminutive vehicle was a never-to-be-forgotten sight. So also was the sight of that same car turning a comer with the driver’s huge hand meticulously signalling his intention. On one such occasion an American seaman could not resist the temptation to shake the hand so temptingly waved in front of him.

William Flower was far too good a man for the Fiji Constabulary. His sense of duty was too high, and the fact that he was no respecter of persons so far as his duty went did not make him popular in official circles. No matter who broke a traffic regulation, he would be informed, with the utmost courtesy, that he would be reported and prosecution recom mended. Official influence was usually too strong, however, and prosecutions of the higher Government set rarely even tuated. It is alleged that that was one

of the reasons why Flower resigned and returned to England, where he became Chief Constable of Rutlandshire. He died a few years later at an early age. r INKING of the old Constabulary reminds me of the wife of a one time Inspector-General, who could never park her car within the regulation 18 inches of the footpath. More often than not, the vehicle was closer to the middle of the road than the kerb—a con stant thorn in Flower’s side, for he could never successfully institute proceedings against his chief’s wife!

THOSE were the piping days of peace; days also of depression, when Gov ernor (Road Builder) Fletcher ruled Fiji. Fiji’s reading programme went on, despite the depression, and to-day the roads of Viti Levu are a perpetual monu ment to the foresight of Sir Murchison Fletcher. His name is commemorated at a point on the Queen’s Road (Suva to Sigatoka), which is known as Fletcher’s Lookout.

IN the pre-war years, before Fiji was “occupied” by those “impossible colo nials” from New Zealand, who were followed by even more “impossible” people from the great United States, the Colony, was insularly English, with English offi cials doing their utmost to reproduce the atmosphere of their upbringing. To them, anyone who did not come from Great Britain was a “colonial”—a senti ment liable to rouse the worst in Austra

lian and New Zealand residents. The local-born was an even greater outsider, in most cases.

However there were some locals, who, in the old days of easy promotion in the Civil Service —before the Reorganisation Committee forever blasted the hopes of anyone who was not appointed from England—had risen quite high in the Service; and, in the rising, tried desper ately hard to forget that they had been born in the Colony. It was their sincere hope that others, in the effluxion of time, would forget it also. Which calls to mind the classic case of one such official: With his very carefully tended accent he was speaking to a junior clerk, who happened to be English-born, but had joined the Service locally. Learning the facts of his junior’s birth for the first time, the graduate of “Oxford on the Rewa” was thunderstruck. “But you don’t talk like I do,” he bleated.

LOYALTY has been the keynote of Fijian life since Cession in 1874, and the King’s birthday was always an occasion for visible expression of that loyalty. On the great day, the native troops, resplendent in scarlet and white (which they have since exchanged for jungle battledress in the Solomons), and the European “conscripts” in khaki, paraded at Albert Park, fired a feu de joie (usually someone’s rifle went off too soon), cheered His Majesty to the echo and, led by officers in full dress, com plete with clanking swords and spurs, marched past, while His Excellency took tllo SB/llltG “Led by their officers” is perhaps not quite accurate. More often than not the parade was led by one of Suva’s inevit able stray dogs.

A levee at Government House always

followed this ceremonial parade Then dutiful citizens—Civil Servants because they ought to, and got a black mark if they did not—trooped up to Government House, joined the queue and filed through the ballroom, where they had their names mutilated by a bored ADC, speaking as though he had a plum in his mouth shook hands with the Governor, signed the visitors’ book, and departed.

Usually, the day’s functions did not end with the levee. In the afternoon those who had been bidden by a gilt edged, embossed card, presented them selves again at Government House were perfunctorily greeted by His Excellency and proceeded to the grounds to sip tea munch uninteresting cake, and indulge in the small-talk of a garden party.

FROM Vice-Regal functions to the Royal' visit is. figuratively, but a step. Early in 1934 Prince Henrv, Duke of Gloucester (now Governor- General designate of Australia) stooped off for a few days on his way home from Australia and New Zealand. For our little “England of the Pacific” it was indeed an occasion. There was a tre mendous flurry both in official and socially-minded, unofficial circles. Various edicts went forth on what would be considered correct dress for the main social function—the grand ball to be given by the Government at the Grand

Pacific Hotel. First it was to be white tie and tails, and nothing but; but prob ably due to the fact that this would have debarred many otherwise quite eligible another decree was issued to the effect that the übiquitous white “shell’ jacket would be permissible dress in which to hobnob with Royalty. However, white gloves must be worn.

Local retailers had not had such a demand for white gloves for generations and many were the curses of male Suva on that hot and sticky February even ing as, with perspiring hands, they bor rowed wife’s or girl friend’s powder and struggled into recalcitrant gloves.

The ball was a great success. When the first arrangements were made it was planned that all guests should be pre sented to HRH, but evidently he had had enough of that sort of thing elsewhere for mass presentation was vetoed and only half a dozen or so of Suva’s bright young things made their bows to Royalty as debutantes. There being, of course, no little parental heart-burning over the selection of the debs so honoured.

HRH himself, seemed to enjoy the function. After formal duty dances with the “leading ladies” of the official and social world, his eye lighted on one of the younger set—a quite junior stenog rapher in the Civil Service—but tall dark, and not hard to look at. withal' An ADC quickly disengaged her from her partner (was it not a Royal Command?) and she had the satisfaction of dancing several numbers with HRH. while others who. perhaps, considered themselves much socially superior looked on with envy. Neither that, nor the fact that he was keeping his host, the Governor waiting for supper, meant anything to Prince Henry. There was an extra, and unexpected, suest at the exclusive Roval supper party, too HRH’s dancing partner.

On one evening during the Royal visit there was a small private dance at Gov ernment House—all very proper and exclusive. But towards its close, some one dropped a hint to the Prince that a party was to follow in the Cadets’ quar ters. a short distance away. HRH was all for it: and after being seen safelv to his bedroom by his guardian angel, elderly Major-General Howard-Vyse, he locked the door of his room and went out via the fire escape to the party, the main feature of which appeared to be bacon and eggs. This was the memorable occa sion when the young ladv presiding at the frying-pan, asked by HRH for another helping, cheerfully informed the scion of the ruling house that if he wanted any more he could damn well cook it himself. This, so the story goes, Royalty proceeded to do. Another tale of that same party relates that HRH high spiritedly broke a plate over the head of an ADC just to demonstrate how it could be done without injuring the victim That it was heavy, crested Government House china was immaterial.

On the occasion of his visit to Fiji the Duke travelled in HMAS “Australia,” and many people in Fiji will remember what grand fellows there were in that ship’s company, both among the officers and other ranks. I wonder how many Fiji residents remember the very bright cock tail-party the officers gave on board.

NAVAL .parties used to be a tradition in Suva in pre-war years. Every winter, the ships from the New Zea land naval station came over on their annual island cruise, “showing the flag.”

In the early 30’s the ships were the “Dunedin,” “Diomede,” and “Veronica”: they were later succeeded bv the now famous “Achilles,” “Leander.”

“Leith” and “Wellington.”

The smaller naval fry always gave

cocktail-parties. Jolly shows, with the officer hosts all out to give every guest a good time, and hard-working officers’ stewards, whose main object in life seemed to be to keep everyone’s glass filled.

Apart from the formal parties given by the ships of the Navy, there were those pleasant, informal stag affairs in the wardroom, usually about 11 a.m„ when the ships were in port, when the locals used to call on their Navy friends and swop yarns over pink gins.

The days of peace saw also visits from the ships of those nations now our enemies. In 1933, the German cruiser ‘ Koin” spent a week in Suva in the course of a “goodwill” cruise. Local residents were impressed by the spick and span turnout of the ship and her company. They were also impressed with the fine qualities of good Munich lager.

When antique hulks of Japanese train ing ships visited and entertained, guests were served with tiny cups of sake while little yellow men swarmed round the town clicking cameras and poking their inquisi tive noses in wherever they wished. Jap ships were anything but spick and span.

Their obvious filth—and smell—was much commented upon.

Our allies visited us, too: the USS “Astoria,” just out of the builders’ hands, on a shakedown cruise, and now, like the German “Koln,” at the bottom of the sea. French sloops from the nearby French possessions were quite frequent visitors.

IN the days before the fear of future Indian domination caused Sir Mur chison Fletcher to make a change, Suva was a municipality, complete with Mayor and Councillors, mayoral robes and chain and a mayoral hat, which no one ever saw donned by his Worship. On the few occasions when the Mayor wore the robes and chain, he carried the hat in his hand.

Several worthy citizens held the chief civic office at various times, with more or less dignity. Sad to relate, Govern ment officials did not always give the Mayor and Councillors all the deference the latter thought their due. On one memorable occasion the Mayor and Mayoress were invited to a school prize giving in the Town Hall. Someone in the Education Department blundered. His Worship and his good lady were assigned seats in the second row; the front row was occupied by some senior Government officials, and if memory serves me. some members of the Board of Education.

His Worship was insulted. Accom panied by the Lady Mayoress, he stalked out of the function, complaining bitterly that he had been put in the second row instead of the front, and “in his own Town Hall.” . , .

Suva’s mayoral robes and chain later made local legal history: when the Muni cipal Council gave place to the nomi nated Town Board, a final meeting of the Council was held and a majority of the Councillors voted to present the chain, robes and hat to their Mayor, the last of his line.

The Town Board, nominated by the Government, took over, and a stock taking revealed that certain assets of the town —a mayoral chain, robes and hat, to wit—had been disposed of illegally, the Government, represented by the new Town Board, claimed. Writs were issued aerainst the Councillors who had voted the assets away, and the Magistrate decided against them.

Faced with paying the value of the sil ver bauble and the old clothes out of their own pockets, the worthy Councillors appealed to the Supreme Court, and after much learned legal argument, the Chief Justice decided in their favour. The local

press, very vocally on the side of the Councillors, screamed the triumph in big headlines, and, as far as I know, Suva’s last Mayor still* has the badges of his defunct office, including the hat he never wore in public.