Have They Taught The Territorian Anything?

Three Years In The Wilderness

By Judy Tudor

J'O-DAY is December 7. Three years ago, the Japs without warning, and while their envoy talked peace in Washington, bombed Pearl Har bour, and at one stroke brought war to the Pacific, and the United States into the Allied family.

Those were the big things “ that came in the wake of December 7, 1941, but of the millions of smaller things little is recorded. Life for thousands then, for a brief moment, jangled to a standstill. And when it took up the beat again it was not in the slow, placid tempo of the Pacific, as we had known it, but in a frenzied timing suited to a world plunged suddenly into a total war for which it was un prepared. It was a timing that

tangled the even threads of Pacific

existence into a snare that has yet to be completely unravelled.

IN that December, the Australian Gov ernment committed one of its saner actions of those first muddling months—it ordered the evacuation of all women “and children from the New Guinea Territories and thus saved them, at the eleventh hour, from the misery of a Japanese internment camp.

And so, in most of Australia’s capital cities to-day, groups of New Guinea women have clubs for mutual aid which have shown a community spirit that has caused some brow-raising by observers who placed little faith in the durability of any women’s organisations—and par ticularly of TNG women’s organisations.

In the early months of 1942, the women evacuees were followed by most of the over-age or medically unfit men of the Territories who had escaped the Japs.

They also have overcome Territorian tra dition to the extent of forming a com posite body to present N. Guinea to Aus tralia and fight Australian officialdom.

Perhaps in the ultimate analysis it will be found that these three years—and whatever of durance vile yet remains to be got through—have served a purpose: that of allowing New Guinea people to get to know themselves and to know each other. I am convinced that they knew little of either in the days of peace.

Such was the rugged individualism of the average Territorian that he much preferred to sink alone than to swim in

a crowd. Had that not been so, New Guinea undoubtedly would not have been colonised in the first place—Territorians as a tribe do not sit around waiting for “Them” to do something, as their Aus tralian brothers are so fatally apt to do.

They did them themselves and bitterly resented any yea or nay from outsiders.

The isolation in which they found them selves very often strengthened this fun damental characteristic and in time they grew into hide-bound egotists with rabid ideas on pet subjects.

FOR example: I know several other wise charming Territorians (men) who, because they have lived away from-it-all and have not been exposed to Hollywoodism, say they can’t abide movies. Now, it Is pretty certain that with the best will in the world one can not entirely escape that form of enter tainment in Australia.

But, when the inevitable happens, does the gentleman of the piece put on his social grin and bear it? No, sir! He leaps around in his seat as though he has ants in his pants and says, at frequent Intervals, “This is bluddy! What’s it all about, anyhow?” And, finally: “I can’t stand this —come on, J’m going." Where upon he ups and leaves, tramping across the feet of other movie patrons who are probably deep in the big love scene—and liking it.

And on the controversial subject of natives. At the most recent meeting of the Pacific Territories Association there arose the question of plantation villages— thai is, artificial villages established close to plantations by owners. The meeting was told that the recent Sydney confer ence on indentured labour did not favour them; one Territorian asked why. He was given the reply that this would tend to break up village life and undermine native customs; and immediately, from here and there over the hall, came sniggers.

Maybe the function of the native, apart from his labour does seem humorous to some Territorians, but it is that attitude that gives some basis for the accusations which have been levelled against us by theoretical reformers un the past two years.

IN the years before the war, I said, and believed, that thb New Guinea women, taking them by and large, were a “queer lot.” I am convinced, now, having seen these women—warm, friendly

and human—at work in Sydney, that I, too, was a social porcupine, content to go my way alone, adhering to the tradi tional individualism of the Territory.

When I made my first trip to my land of promise, I had been solemnly warned that, as I was heading for the big bush, no feminine frills were needed or permit ted—there were no spare boys to carry my goods and chattels about the country.

My outfit consisted of such things as stout boots and khaki shorts and a set of camp crockery and cutlery (ex-Woolworths). I was off to be a pioneer—the hard way.

My complacency was therefore shat

tered when I found myself bedded down with a bride—off to Wau, with all the fix ings for a full-blown wedding. White satin gown, cake, imitation orange blos som—and 15 boxes of household goods in the hold.

In my ignorance I failed to appreciate

the subtle difference between Wau and the back of Wewak; and,*in those first torrid days between Sydney and Port Moresby, when she had recounted the whole story of her romance many times, and had draped out innumerable sugar spoons and butter-knives, cut-glass dishes and silver sandwich trays from odd places, I began to wonder if, after all. I were heading for just another suburbia and not-the stern reality for which I had prepared. Covert examination of other women travelling told me nothing. Per haps they were deep-dyed pioneers; but outwardly they differed little from any flock of sophisticated Australians such as one might round up any afternoon in the Hotel Australia lounge.

First impressions die hard; and thence forth, although my own bit of New Guinea contained more pioneering than I could comfortably digest at times, my whole conception of New Guinea women outside my orbit hinged upon that travel ling bride.

MINE was a world in which men, mud, mountains, boys and gold played a part, but not women. Two years went by; and then, when down at the newly-constructed aerodrome one day suddenly from around a bend came a most extraordinary procession of boys that put an additional crimp in my ideas.

The first two carried between them a dressing-table lashed to two poles, and behind were four more lugging a full sized wardrobe. Now, if the Archangel Gabriel had suddenly appeared before us

out of the kunai playing on a grand piano, we could have been no more sur prised. Meat cases with a lap-lap frill domg duty for cupboards, and limbohm tabies, were well enough known there abouts; taut honest to heaven furniture no.

“Boy belong whos’at?” we asked “Boy belong Master X,” they replied.

It appeared that Missus belong Master X was on her way, but that a Junkers plane had preceded her from Wau with all her furniture.

Dourly I went back to camp over the mountain and dourly reflected. I had been content enough with affairs—a la man, life was singularly uncomplicated If women were now to move into the place complete with furniture, and start something that could only end in a vici ous keeping-up-with-the-Joneses circle then life was not going to be worth the candle.

The reign of Missus belong Master X, however, was short, and our trails did not cross; but by now my ideas of my fellow-female pioneers were firmly fixed.

I was well on the way to being covered with the “I’m me and pleased about it” shell of the, complete Territorian which preduded me from finding out that a different state of affairs could exist. 1 SPENT most of the year prior to the war in Rabaul. Here was civilisation; here too, presumably, were the women with the crystal whatnots of my “Macdhui” bride. And there was I living in one of the hotels.

As far as the women and their what nots were concerned, they might not have existed. Rabaul’s human component parts revolved as they always had done; and so did I. Everyone was well content To me they appeared to radiate a veiled hostility; they probably thought— if they thought—that I was a pain in the neck. It was a nice, self-reliant set-up but not exactly friendly. In all those months I succeeded in getting behind the facade of only two women sufficiently to find that they were human. They prob ably had even less success with me.

That this feeling was not mere morbid imagination I am convinced. A Rabaul woman who had gone there from the New Hebrides, and whom I have grown to know well since this war forced us both into other latitudes, tells me that she probably would have gone crazy with loneliness had she not been able to build a life within herself; and that she felt that Rabaul women actually hated her It is only since coming South that I have learned of, and met some, of the fine pioneer women who set their seal on New Guinea and for whom New ' Guinea was not just another suburban tea-party, but a. real job. And only since then have I learned that behind that mask of indifference which I used to imagine was the badge of being a Terri torian female, is, quite often, a wealth of kindness, humanity, loyalty and purpose

equal to anything in our Empire’s pioneering records.

FOR three years now, instead of seeing the great outside world as a place in which to spend a three-months’ leave, Territorian civilians have been forced to live in it. And Territorians in the forces have been forced to sink their identities in the Australian Army. No Territorian was conditioned for life in a wartime city—one and all, they long for their own bit of township, bush or coco nuts, where they can walk abroad with out being trampled underfoot; where they can make up their own minds to some line of action without being pushed around by Canberra bureaucrats. And no Territorian, Army or otherwise, likes to sink his identity in anything.

But although those years have not been happy ones, they will not be wasted if the new spirit of co-operation which has come of it continues when civilian life is restored to Papua and New Guinea.

IN the days to come, will It be possible for a woman from the outports to exist unknown in a Rabaul, Moresby or Wau hotel? Or will there be some place after the pattern of the New Guinea clubs in Australia to-day, where she can go for the companionship, help and under standing that she wants—and needs — after the Isolation of the bush, if she is not to become a social casualty?

Will the men forget the worth of col lective security—and collective bargain ing—or sink back into the old stand alone and damn-all philosophy?

We are fatallv inclined to see ourselves as a small group of people who are “not understood” by the outside world;' and with much justification. But if seeing ourselves as others see us has taught us nothing, then it is a poor outlook for New Guinea’s future. There will be less of

the isolation we knew in the post-war world, and therefore less room for the rugged individualist who is incapable of seeing any other angle but his own. The world is getting to be mighty crowded.

Territorians will have to keep hanging together—or else.