With A Canoe In Rotuma

By “Amel”

ON days when the wind is from the north and the sea outside our place is calm, a dozen canoes may be seen scattered about on that beautiful green water. Paddled by Rotuman men, women or children, they dart swiftly from one coral patch to another as the natives search for a suitable fishing ground.

Sometimes, the tiny six-feet craft are left quite empty, bobbing idly at anchor, while their owners are overboanl, diving in the clear depths of the sea.

“Aren’t they lovely?” I sighed, envi ously, watching the canoes. “Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have one of our own?

Think how restful it would be. after a hot, sticky day, to drift around languidly in our very own canoe! I’m sure they are easy to handle. We could go and have a look at that beautiful coral, and maybe try our hand at spearing fish. It should be great for riding the surf, and even if it does capsize, you just give a pull here and a tug there, and a push somewhere else, and it’s on an even keel again I’ve watched them do it.”

Tom made sceptical noises, and said “You’re telling me!”

However, four days later, tramping feet and a chorus of laughter heralded the arrival of something interesting, and Tom said, with a big grin: “There you are There’s our canoe. I bought it for thirty bob! ”

I could hardly wait to go for a spin in it. But at last we had it in the water, looking rather small and insecure “I’ll paddle at the stern.” Tdm said “and you sit in the bows. Hop in!”

Gingerly. I lowered myselX into the bows, which sank perceptibly The paddle, and Tom’s 13 stone in the stern made an even bigger hole in the water and when we started on our journey to a coral patch 200 yards away, there was one inch of free-board. In my opinion it was far too little.

I tried to 101 l negligently, in a nass able imitation of Dorothy Lamour but it was difficult while sitting on a board six inches square. Altogether, the trip to the coral patch was no picnic There was no danger, but just the awful uncer

tainty of not knowing whether we would capsize at any moment.

All the Tom grinned happily, waved jauntily to passing canoes and wielded the paddle with a great flourish, which did not inspire me with the slight est confidence. How could I have thought a canoe would be thrilling, interesting and good fun? Why ... it was just a wet, uncomfortable, wobbly, unreliable, unpredictable, precarious . . . hollow log!

Tom rested the paddle across his knees, and remarked, chattily: “Y’know ... if the Japs come here, we could escape to Fiji in one of these.”

“You can go alone!” I declared.

“I don’t think it’s possible to capsize this canoe,”.he stated.

“Don’t cherish such illusions,” I quav ered. “Keep on paddling!”

He gave a tentative wriggle, and water poured over the side. “Stop it!” X shrieked. “Paddle for the shore at once or I’ll dive overboard and swim! And you can sell this canoe again, as soon as you like —I shan’t mind!”