Papuan Story

(.Dedicated to Sir Hubert Murray, who died during an official visit to the Eastern District of the Territory. By his love and justice, he built up a nation of loyal Papuans— their worth being shown as carriers on the Kokoda Trail, in 1942, and in other areas.) A land of mountains vast and tropic shore, Of foetid jungles, mangrove swamps, and mud, With stone-age race, and prehistoric lore; Dark deeds and sorcery within your blood: A land of unknown wealth in mineral ore, And timbers sound, for white man’s crafts and arts, pilled lavishly from Nature’s bounteous store.

Untouched, unspoiled, a land with golden heart— Such is your country, rich, gigantic, grim; Volcanoes, kunai plains and rivers deep, Where dwelt head-hunters, back in ages dim, While eerie tales still ’midst your moun tains sleep.

Then came the “dimdim” traders with their wares; Blackbirders, miners, planters with new seed, Pearlers, and mission men to ease your cares; Then some to exploit full of selfish greed.

As years passed on, you suffered growing pains, Saw white man’s ways; but God knows what you thought! (Such blots as half-castes bred of mingled strains) You gained where good, but lost where evil wrought.

Next, to your nation, came the White Queen’s rule, To build, to guard, to guide you as a race; A change to iron, for weapon and for tool, Could not traditional customs quite efface.

It gave you schools, and hospitals, and health, Gave you employment, maybe easier life, New goods and clothes, increased your natural wealth; And taught you games, to take the place of strife.

Murray, your guide, so constant, just and kind ’

Schooled you in useful ways, with helpers keen; Gave justice fair, from trained judicial mind; Replaced with good, where baser traits had been.

And though he died, his memory still was there, Inspiring those who acted in his stead.

Your nation grew and prospered in such care, . .

His followers journeying on where he once led.

War reached your shores, came men of Nippon there;

You heard their bombs, and knew both death and pain— Your women raped, homes lost, your gar dens bare.

Spoil and destruction mocked his sweet refrain.

Calm peace will yet return, and time will pass, Memories grow dim, the flags of Mars be furled: War’s weapons rust, lost in your kunai grass, But your race will stand high through out the world!

And when we pay our homage to your brave, Let us in gratitude to him ne’er cease, Remembering the life to you he gave, “On Active Service”—spent in love and peace.

N. A. Brett Young.