Psalm-singers Go To Town!

Town!

Joy of Living in the Cooks

Prom Our Own Correspondent

Rarotonga, June 6.

WHEN first we came to the Cook Islands, we went to live in a little house cosily situated 50 yards from an “are uipa anga” (village hall).

This “are” is the centre of local village life. Under its galvanised-iron roof the elders gather to discuss such weighty problems as the next church outing or the coffin insurance fund. The village football team regularly gathers there to offer up a short prayer, with one eye on the silver cup which they trust will con tinue to adorn their “are” for yet another year. Each Sabbath the children gather for Sunday School and render Sankey and Moody’s melodious hymns in sweet childish trebles. But chief among its many virtues, the “are uipa anga” is the scene of the oddest Sunday evening psalminising that we have yet been privileged to see (and hear).

The psalms of the Cook Island Maoris must be unique both in harmony and verse. The former might be compared to that which Gauguin might have com posed had he been a musician. The mighty drone of the men’s voices is imnressive, but fails to comnete success fully with the harsh and blood-curdling shrieks of the supuosedly weaker sex.

The words of the psalms are taken from Biblical texts but sometimes modi fied to suit present-day conditions. For instance, one that we are Quite familiar with deals with the well-known bout between “Koria” (Goliath) and “Davida,” and “Davida” is made to eventually down his enemy with a well-directed burst of machine-gun fire.

The music has a certain rhythm, and as this “hots up,” a little discreet hula hula is permissible, although not, of course, encouraged by fanatical deacons and suchlike.

The whole scene is lively and colourful and at first we felt rejoiced that we could thus observe, at close quarters, the quaint spiritual life of our kindly neighbours.

Then the fly in the ointment reared its ugly head —in the shape of the annual church festival. In three months’ time all the nsalm-singers in Rarotonga would gather for a knock-out competition, win ner take all.

Of course, this necessitated a little practice, and it was quickly borne in upon us that the lively and colourful scene would henceforth be with us not weekly, but nightly.

WE r too, are fond of a little music now and again, and it was not until we proposed to create some that the full horror of the situation dawned upon us.

Our gramophone, the trusted companion of many years, was a shocking second in the unequal struggle.

After hearing Goliath being bumped off 37 times in the first fortnight our nerves, although usually subservient, began to demand their rights. In less than a month our friends edged perceptibly away on meeting us in the street, and we decided it was time to quit. Not being able to wangle the traditional long sea voyage, we recuperated slowly at the mountain lair of a sympathetic friend.

We now live in a little house cosily situated about two miles from the nearest “are uipa anga” and it would be three if we could ever, by rugged determination, climb to such a hallowed spot.