Civilising Brown

Papuans In Boots,

or

Brother

IT was a pretty grey dawn. But typical of any Lae dawn, and it had been with us for 20 minutes.

On the airfield we sat on our personal gear as the plane warmed up, not very interested in the awakening of nature; our thoughts were still back in the beds we had recently left.

Suddenly a voice from somewhere be hind exclaimed: “Where are those blasted Papuans? Twenty minutes late already! Ought to leave them behind.”

Someone got into a jeep and went off, presumably to look for them. We sat on.

“How many going across this morn ing?” I asked.

“Fourteen —including half a dozen Papuans to Moresby,” a fellow voyager told me.

“ ‘Montoro’ went on Monday,” I re marked, but not very interested. “Why didn’t they go on that?”

“What, as deck passengers? Don’t be silly. Only the best is good enough— and all paid for by the poor fool Austra lian taxpayer.” Fellow Voyager warmed to his theme. “D’you know, these birds came across from Moresby about 10 days ago to work for the Administration. But it appears they just didn’t like the work.

So they go back, see? Round trip—£l3 a pop. Can you beat it?”

We couldn’t. Even for a New Order it seemed silly; and somewhat expensive.

WE waited some more, silently—except for F.V., who continued his narra tive. “These Qantas planes,” he said,, “they are the only god-damned civilized thing about New Guinea to-day.

They bring mail and news, and get us away quickly when we can’t take it any more. They are ours—or they were. Now they are converted to the use of natives.

Government round trippers.” If he had been an expectorating gent, I think he would have spat.

“You’re prejudiced,” I said. “Before

the war I often found myself crammed into a Moth plane alongside my personal boy, and I bet you have, too!”

“That’s different,” he said. “We paid for them then by the pound. Now they travel as equals. It makes fools of us and certainly makes fools of them. The poor cows—you can only feel pity for them, after all. Civilization —bah!”

Metaphorically he spat again.

Preceded by the jeep, the Papuans arrived in a truck. We stood up to take a look. Papuans are addressed in straight English. But these were not given that courtesy; they got straight Pidgin. “Hurry up there, you,” they were instructed. “What name this fella fashion me wait, wait along you . . .?”

They tumbled out and —shades of the top-hatted missionaries of old—l saw. A neat array of superior-type natives in clean lava-lavas and, maybe, shirts? Not on your life. Someone in his wisdom has decreed that natives shall, if they wish, go clothed as they wish.

They wished.

RACIAL prejudice vanished like a wisp of smoke in a strong breeze. We sat down and howled with mirth. “The poor bluddy cows!” repeated Fellow Voyager, with greater emphasis.' One lad had done himself up as a sailor. He wore a pair of wishy-washy blue dungarees, a dirty singlet and a much-battered sailor’s cap far back on his head. Another had a violent orange coloured shirt and a pair of very shrunken grey shorts hitched up with an old tie. Two had vari-coloured singlets and dirty shorts. One, sans shirt, had a pair of American sunglasses (at dawn!) and very long shorts falling down over his hips. But all had BOOTS.

What boots! Brand-new, shiny, orange yellow boots of tremendous size to cope with the splay feet of Fuzzy-wuzzy, dangling at the Papuans’ extremities like the manifestation of some strange and horrible disease—for Brown Brother, if his feet are large, has spindly shanks, with little muscle development.

The leather of the issue boots was un forgiving, unbending and unfortunate.

Our Brown Brothers therefore literally clomped along, harried .by Qantas offi cials, as they lifted up the giant boots and put ’em down, not with the free stride of a European used to footwear, but like strange insects that had inad vertently wandered onto flypaper.

But New Guinea democracy, even to day, goes so far and no further. We followed the Papuans into the plane, still chuqkling. The seats in which they were to sit were decently draped in army blankets, apparently to save them from contamination; and when tea and bis cuits were served aloft, the Papuans missed out.

We climbed above the cloud layers and flew smoothly across the Owen Stan leys to Moresby. I was almost sorry about the smoothness. I should have liked to have seen the Flight-steward’s face if our Brown Brothers had been

sick in his speckless airliner.

J.T.