Tropicalities

MANY would-be Australian authors have tried (and failed) to break into the American magazines. It has taken an “incensed Territorian” to make the grade effortlessly.

In the September issue of “PIM” we printed a picture of movie star Carole Landis (then touring the Pacific) light ing a cigarette for a “Fuzzy-wuzzie” and underneath it the acid comments of the Territorian who had sent in the clipping.* After Carole Landis had returned to the States she thoroughly catted Aus tralian girls in general and got herself more publicity this side of the water than any of her movies had been able to do.

This is what “Newsweek” (the Ameri can weekly) had to say about Carole in October; and here, too, enters our incensed Territorian: “In New Guinea last summer, during her entertainment tour for American troops, Carole Landis invited one audience to come up for a kiss. The first few just pecked, but one husky GI wrapped his arms around the film actress in a wrestling-match embrace from which she emerged tousled and enraged.

“In Sydney and Melbourne last week, Australians who had already raised their eyebrows over the New Guinea kissing party turned on Miss Landis in full cry.

The point of departure was a chummy interview with Earl Wilson, self-styled saloon editor of ‘The New York Post.’

Miss Landis told Wilson she was worried about the immodest, revealing clothes worn by some touring stars ‘because it worries the Gl’s. . . . They want sweet, representative American girls. Take the boys in Australia—where girls go up to them and say: ‘Come on, sweetie.’ They have to beat them off with clubs—and clubs are hard to find in some parts of Australia.’

“In all parts of Australia—where only streetwalkers say: ‘Come on, sweetie’— the reaction was quick and hot. Mrs.

Jessie Street, president of the United Women's Association, said: ‘The views of Carole Landis . . . aren’t very important.’

“Meanwhile a magazine called the ‘Pacific Islands Monthly’ carried on its anti-Landis campaign. Alongside the picture of a well-rounded Miss Landis lighting the cigarette of a native in New Guinea, it printed a letter from an ‘ln censed Temtorian’ that ran: ‘Knowing the native, it will take a lot to convince me that the coon in the picture has his eye on the match. If this sort of thing is allowed by Canberra officials, what re spect are white women going to get from the natives when they return to the Territory.’ ” * A LITTLE man in a big temper marched indignantly into this office in Janu ary—Major E. B. Ayris, formerly of Wau, New Guinea, and now doing good service in the seas that lie between Aus tralia and the Pacific war front.

It seems that the “PIM,” in a recent reference to him, reported he was serving on the Small Ships. That is not so— this veteran of World War I says he is engaged on a big ship, and sleeping com fortably—and correction is made accord ingly.

But we add, in self-defence, that the Major started out on his World War II career on little ships, and narrowly escaped drowning when one was sunk under him in Milne Bay in 1942; and the big ship on which he now wears gold braid seems to have been running sup plies and men into every sticky landing party organised by General MacArthur

from Hollandia to Leyte. The Major, en joying well-earned leave in Sydney, has missed the Manila show, however. * THIS little incident will be appreciated by those who are trying to under stand what is happening in Papua.

A senior Papuan official —call him Brown—visited the Sydney residence of another Islands official. The latter has an intelligent daughter, aged 11.

Intelligent daughter listened attentively to a discussion by her father and Mr.

Brown, concerning the Barry inquiry and the possible return of civil government.

Then she chipped in: “Mr. Brown, when this inquiry is finished, do you think that civilised administration will go back to Papua?” ♦ rE 50th anniversary of the death of RLS has brought forth a flood of Stevenson stories. Someone in Sydney recalls how Sydney women so scared him when he had to address an audience on missionary work in the Pacific, that he wrote out what he had to say, and his mother read it for him. The original manuscript is now housed in the Mitchell Library, Sydney.

From New York comes the story of how Stevenson deeded his own birthday to a young girl, then a resident of Samoa.

She was the daughter of Henry Clay Ide, United States Land Commissioner in Samoa in 1891. As RLS himself put it; She was born “out of all reason” on Christmas Day and because he knew she felt the disadvantage of a Christmas birthday keenly, deeded her his own birth day in this quaint document: “And considering that I, the said Robert Louis Stevenson, have attained an age when —Oh, we never mention it! —and that I have now no further use for a birthday of any description. . . .

I do hereby transfer to the said Annie Ide all and the whole of my rights and privileges in the Thirteenth of Novem ber, formerly my birthday, now, hereby and henceforth the birthday of the said Annie Ide to have, hold, exercise, and enjoy the same in her customary manner by sporting of fine raiment, eating of rich meats, and receipt of gifts, compliments, and copies of verse, according manner our ancestors. . . .”

That “little girl” died recently in New York—a widow of 68, having used November 13 as her birthday in the inter vening 53 years. * LIFE in the New Hebrides has been little affected by the war—except that it has brought such prosperity to the natives that labour of any sort is now very difficult to obtain. This was the opinion of Mr. R. D. Blandy, British Resident Commissioner of the NH, who recently was in Australia with Mrs. Blandy and their twin six-year-old sons, Billy and Dicky.

Mr. Blandy had been in the New Hebrides since 1929, and, although the Blandys in general agree that Australia has something—they were all happy enough to be returning to their Island home. * Y'HREE stories by Kim Keen, Mel bourne “Herald” correspondent with the Australians in Northern New Guinea ; LAST week, a small Aussie patrol was working along under the lip of a ridge. It was a long pull, and when

they reached a village they worded the natives, found things pretty secure, and sat down for a mid-day meal.

An hour later, as they were finishing their break, an excited native arrived. He was carrying what they call a tanjet—a piece of string with knots in it, the local calculating machine. In the tanjet were five knots. “Jap man he come," said the native. The tanjet indicated five of them.

So the patrol, who were also a company of five, pushed cautiously on, ready to handle the situation. They went half a mile, then a mile, without meeting any one. Jap ambush? Possibly. They took more care than ever.

Then, round a bend, they met a native.

There was a minute of cross-talk. A$ the end of it the Aussies relaxed.

What had happened was that, while they were eating their meal back at the village, word of their presence flew around the environs. By the time the news got back they were being reported as Nips.

That was why for two solid hours they had been cautiously preparing to meet, not Nips, but themselves.

THEN there was the first-lass police boy, Tul Tul, every inch a man of authority, supernatural on the track.

Tul Tul’s 12-year-old son came to the Aussie bivouac one day, determined to follow in pop’s footsteps. Tul Tul took up the matter gravely with the command ing officer, and both father and son were full of dignity and satisfaction when the lad was taken on.

For three days, the boy looked as if he were going to be as good as his father.

He did countless odd jobs, carried meals, fetched water. Pin-up boy for 1945.

Next morning he disappeared. Tul Tul, who had also disappeared, returned in an hour or so downcast.

His explanation: “Mary belong me she cross too much. Picaninny he lik-lik too much. He no work. He rouse him strong.” ( Translated: “My wife is very angry. The boy is too small to work.

She scolded him severely.”) Tul Tul, the intrepid, every inch a man of authority, did not wear the trousers after all.

AFTER a while in this sector nothing can surprise you. They’re dropping pigeons by parachute now.

A RAAF Beaufort bomber went out the other day with two cardboard boxes in its bomb bay. Each box held two pigeons (classified as “birds, operational”), and was attached to a 20 lb. parachute. Over a distant patrol, deep in the mountains, the Beaufort slid down. The bomb bay opened and the parachute was released.

The birds came to earth four feet (dis tance certified) from the man in the jungle who had been sent out to meet them.

The first two birds carrying identical messages to allow for any forced land ings, covered the long stretch to the coast, through river valleys and ravines, at 30 miles an hour. They checked in at their loft. The messages were passed on.

Belonging to a special pigeon section attached to Army Signals, the birds are mostly of South Australian parentage.

They are divided into two categories— stock and operational. Special personnel look after them.

Somewhere in the mountains at this moment, awaiting jiis first operational flight is a pigeon known as To jo. He was bred from three pigeons captured long ago from the Japs.

People are wondering whether he may be a Fifth Columnist. Time, no doubt, will tell.