The Training Of Dorika

Short Story:

By E. M. Fry

FINGERING a sharp sea-shell in her supple brown hands. Dorika cut defiantly into the tough bark of a fringing coconut palm.

Picturesque as a faun in her scarlet handkerchief sulu, with a cheap glass bead necklace adorning her undeveloped little torso, she stood sullenly silent as the storm of words broke around her.

She must have heard how hard the work at the vavalagi’s house was, how many were the plates to be washed in hot water that bit the fingers sorely; tables to be scrubbed until white, floors to be swept twice a day and every day too!

These things were contemptuously snorted at by her lazy sister Salote, be tween biting off long lengths of mending twine while squatting companions raked over the fishing nets for defects.

“Eeo, eeo,” acquiesced the women in

chorus as they sat in the shade of the village mango tree with the cool Trade breezes rustling the leaves above them.

Then, as usual, the discussion became everybody’s business, for amongst this contentious group was Dorika’s widowed mother, her grow-up sisters, her numer ous aunts, and tribal mothers whose age old communal customs brooked no individuality amongst the younger genera tion.

“What was Dorika thinking of?

Vavalagis are silly to want one to work in a hot kitchen, when food packed in leaves, placed on hot stones, covered with soil and sand and cooked to perfec tion without further attention or con fusion of flavours,” cackled old Sara, — who, because she was the mother of the village chief, was always listened to with some respect. “Tobacco!” she demanded, irrelevantly; and, appropriating her neighbour’s tobacco leaf and suluka, pro ceeded to make herself a cigarette.

“Perhaps it is to see all the pretty things in the vavalagi’s house, to beg for this and that,” said sixteen-year old Martha; and, excitingly: “To be given a vavalagi dress, I should like that,” stretching up her slim arms and dis playing the charms of her lithe young body, “but 1 do not think that I should want to work for it.”

“No, far from it!” the rest gabbled.

“Dorika must be going to be stupid. She must learn that there are other ways of getting what she wants, especially in the way of a dress.”

“Many other ways,” said the older girls knowingly.

BUT Dorika heeded not. Disarming all arguments with an assurance that was at once amusing and some what attractive, in so small a person, her smiling insistence finally won favour; and, as one dreamy tropical day gave way to another, Dorika’s quaint atten tions to her chosen mistress became a habit and, later, a necessity. This initial behaviour, subtly emphasised to create a pleasing effect, held all the intriguing mannerism of her kind. She had not learned the art of exploitation as her companions knew it; but Dorika was not as stupid as they thought.

Impishly she would pretend that for the life of her she could not remember how to lay a table. Knives were easy: one must have knives for most things, although teeth and fingers were much better; but spoons and forks she scattered heedlessly, contriving that repeated cor rections should make this fascinating game greater fun as she watched things slip into their proper places under the manipulation of accustomed fingers.

Placing her small brown hands against the snowy whiteness of the tablecloth she ardently wished that her skin was white, too —as white as her mistress’s neck was, where sometimes hung the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen. From the depths of her little adolescent being, the longing to possess such evidence of superiority over others continued, until it became an obsession.

Confiding her longings to none not even her greatest friend Jakope, the kitchen boy, she fingered the coiled chain as it rested carelessly on her miistress’s dressing table. Once, she even dared place it against her warm mahogany tinted body, where its elegance made her gasp with admiration for herself so adorned. It was then as she let her imagination run riot that the few scruples she had acquired flew to the winds.

Turaga! She would be the envy of all the girls in the village. She would have to lend it sometimes, of course, but she would gain by the small gifts that usually accompanied such requests. It must be missing, if possible, without in volving herself; and, at once, plans for its strange disappearance came naturally 1 1 0 j 110 1" badly-trained mind. As if already a culprit, she pressed one finger to her lips and tip-toed back to the kitchen.

Dorika had learned from the mission aries that it was wrong to steal and if round out by those who did not directly benefit, she would be severely punished, as well as fined so many mats. She had a keen remembrance of one such official punishment, when everyone forsook her, even her foolishly fond mother for whom she had sobbed loudly and angrily away m the bush where she had run to hide.

Dubiously, she recalled the painful welts caused by the stinging vine, visible for days afterwards.

But, like a flash in the dark, her smile came and went, the sparkle of which was paramount in her cheery black eyes, ages-wise, under a dome of frizzy hair.

Thus was Dorika when she set out to learn the way of the vavalagi.

DORIKA was not an unusual product of her race. As the novelty of her new surroundings wore off, she became the child of caprice and disobe dience. She would disappear for hours when her presence was most needed; and then reappear with a peace offering of fish, or such-like, broadly smiling her excuses. Dorika’s ways were hard to resist.

She had only a dim understanding of the vavalagi’s code of behaviour. In spite of her wish to conform to it, her own habits and ways of thinking natur ally came first. Much as she had grown to love her mistress, and to wish to please, her continued associations with her own people held her little custom bound soul in subjection to them.

“1 told you so!” snapped disappointed Salote. “Dorika has no sense. If she had she would know that the vavalagis can be easily overcome by pleasing lies, a few well-chosen words and flattering attention. Let me go in her place and I will see that you all benefit.”

“Stop talking,” demanded her mother, fearing that she would soon be over ruled by her restless daughters, who were learning the ways of the vavalagis 100 readily for her liking. Had not Dorika already ridiculed the way she had spoken the one or two English words she knew!

It was at the time of the presentation of native mats for the Red Cross funds, for which Dorika’s mistress was organ iser. She, herself, had been a member of the native committee in connection with it.

“Say Red Cross, mother, not Rej Krose,”

Dorika had corrected. Then again “It’s Ra-deeo, not Raijo.” That decided her.

Dorika must return to the village. She must speak to Aunt Sanie and the others about it.

So it gradually came about that Dorika gave up pouting bouts of pretended stupidity and the go-slow methods of her kind, which she knew provoked her mistress. Instead, she was allowed to occupy a favoured place on the floor of the verandah, close ito her mistress’s chair, and given pictures to look at, because it was compassionately thought that she missed the companionship of her village mates. Many of the pictures showing the manner of presentations to the Royal Children so caught Dorika’s fancy that when the master of the house had a birthday he was surprised, as he sipped his morning tea, to be offered an exceedingly large bunch of flaming hibis cus by a smiling small person. Kneeling

(Continued on Page 42)

before him Dorika solemnly proffered the flowers with both hands in the native ceremonial fashion, saying in her own language: Good morning Sir I hope you are w €. on y°u r birthday.

Very well, thank you, Dorika. What a lovely bunch of flowers! Thank you very much indeed.”

Retreating a few paces, she gave a most taking but very funny little curtsey.

She had practised this many times in the kitchen, arousing Jakope’s open derision. Then, sitting cross-legged on the floor, she clapped her hands once or twice as the proper finality to a gift offering and said, “May I have your permission to go now, sir?”—which is always the manner of a courteous native’s leave- , f his little episode, so spontaneous and unexpected, combining the frills of civilisation with the tribal courtesies of a barbaric age, was intriguing. Dorika’s mistress, who had amusedly looked on, sensed that transitory something that promised to be worthwhile in her maid’s make-up. She hoped that, if she could only keep communal interference away, there still was hope of training Dorika.

In an incredibly short time. Dorika had learned to turn out crisp loaves of bread, to make the lightest of cakes, to brush and dust quite efficiently. She was considered quite a find, and viligance reaxed accordingly Only she knew of the continual small supplies such as soap, sugar, and tea that dribbled through several hands to the village huts. increasing her popularity there once Dress being her passion, stilus fantastic and gay sombre or just useful, adorned her developing curves in succession; but fn 1 by hBr “ rela * ion s” , Ga P s m a wardrobe so constantly depleted, uniform S ° & workaday uniform was substituted.

Never had she known such distinction!

To heighten the effect of black and white. she secretly blackleaded her bushy mop of hair, until it shone brightly, much to blwii°Hprm!nt ISfaC ° n and her mistress s bewilderment.

Otvitt 1 . , , ,

NE da>, a white-winged yacht appeared out of the blue, bringing visitors to the Islands home, redroofed against a feathery green background Padding the matted floor with bare feet, and interspersing her own native politeness with sundry bows and curtseys, she knelt and offered cakes of her own making. She could now wait at table fairly well; but never could she remember, that ladies must be served first. Always, amid much good-humoured laughter, did she naturally gravitate to th f*T equirements of the male - When the evening meal was on, and there were toasts to be drunk. Dorika watched with fascination the flow of red wine of strange sweet odour; but especially was she attracted by the glistening rival to her mistress’s gold necklace, that a nu d around the neck of a young guest.

All her longings came back with a rush.

Out ot a growing respect to her employers, the impulse to take other than food had been kept in check; but the act was that plans for concealment were at last taking shape, and now that small brother Moto and other child accomplices were word-perfect the longing to possess was once more upon her with redoubled

xtS™ u • . ,

Now, the chairs were empty. Absentmmdedly gathering up the decanter with the wine glasses, she took it away to !£«^ kltCl l en: , then - with the She . be f an clearing the table.

S & h aL ba u t a e 1 f to . uch ed something hard and cold. She glanced down.

A little shining heap winked up wickedly at her Oh no, it couldn’t be! It was the visitor’s necklace. Although in full sight of those at the other end of the verandah, she picked up the trinket with toes as useful as fingers, slowly, slowly to the height of her hand; and. with a quick movement, to the inside of her bodice. Then, with beating heart she lost no time in getting to the kichen where she surprised Jakope helping him self in no niggardly style to the port wine so opportunely placed “You steal! You steal!”’ she accused him. at the same time terribly conscious of the cool slitheriness of the necklace against her pulsating breast Then greatly daring, she seized another of the wine glasses and. filling the ruby liquid to its brim, gulped down the unaccus tomed stuff.

“Ough! No good, no good!” she told Jakope, aping his stupid face transfixed in wonderment. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she was about to retrieve the coffee cups, when a tap at the kitchen window startled her into alertness. That would be Moto.

CIPEAKING softly, she warned the un- O seen one to wait at a nnint tnnwn ?o them both for there w r temot j n g scraps to be divided tonkrht !t

native bolrd Ignoring jlkoLe entirelv

she hastily swep! ?hesl frorTLf dishes

into a handy palm-leaf basket and was about to deoart to the rendeyvnn?

Jakope came P to his senses inno uncertain manner. Grasping f surl hand Mot her

fiSf!” he“ sharply abound 0 ™!?

the same time grabbing a good portion of the spoil p The resulting scramble looked very much like turning into a real fight when Dorika, hearing an unusual outburst of activity on the verandah of the house and guiltily suessins what it was ali about. hastily g recovered the basket and made for the 7 outside * Here tall palms bowed low around her dihead. A sudden sick feeling made her senses swim. What had she been going to do? Oh, yes, she remembered —Moto would be waiting to carry away the food. He would not know about the necklace. She felt glad, somehow, that it was not her mistress’s, yet couldn’t have explained why. She went on with but one object in view, and that was to get away as far as possible from the house with her treasure, now held tightly through her dress.

But, as her legs weakened, panic seized her. She already knew that the devils of her ancestors were after her. They were the evil shadows that darted behind sketchy oleanders, or waited menacingly in the black shadows of mango trees A rushing of wings and the devilish screeching of flying foxes above her head sent her sprawling over knobbly roots in

gibbering fear.

Oh, where was Moto! Little she knew of the delight of that watching imp of darkness, comfortably ensconced in the branches above, with a borrowed torch clutched in his grimy paws, Then, as a globule of light began play ing among the branches, her guilty heart almost stopped its beating. This, she was sure, was no other than the dreaded spirit of Ratu Diki-diki. whose fleeting ghost appeared only to wrong-doers. ° h - dear, why had she taken that necklace! Resentment against her voluble relations rose in her. Then, with all the instinctive methods of appeasement uppermost, she thrust her hand inside her dress and, withdrawing the necklace, cast it into the basket with the scraps, and floundered wildly along the familiar track

to the village, where she hoped to feel safe from the terror that had come upon her.

Swaying like a reed before the wind, she came to where sounds of revelry and the thumping of feet brought her up unexpectedly in front of a large hut.

Within, looming before her blurred vision, first in fantastic shapes, then becoming small and unreal, were familiar and com forting figures, advancing and retiring to the thin strains of a twanging ukelele.

Away with fear—she too would dance the tra-la-la! But the welcome sounds seemed suddenly to die away as she sank to the sandy soil, overpowered by the compelling drowsiness that had so in explicably come over her.

CAUTIOUSLY Dorika opened her eyes, in response to a rough shaking.

Focussed on her were the accusing looks, she observed, of everyone that mattered in her small world.

There was the troubled face of her kind mistress, the sternness of her master’s, and the anxious ones of the strangers, to say nothing of the ominous presence 9f town officials, one of whom promptly jerked her to her feet, question ing her sharply.

With hanging head, she morosely denied over and over again having seen the neck lace. The child witnesses lied as prompted, together with the prank-play ing Moto.

Once, when cornered, she exclaimed angrily: “I did not want to steal. They (indicating the women who. murmering incredulously, had gathered around) made me do it. They always make me do things that are wrong.”

Such a tragic little figure, thought her master, compassionately, realizing how the child had been caught between the old order and the new. Interpreting a look from his wife, he said, gently, “We are very disappointed in you, Dorika do you know that?”

Tears trembled on her eye-lids as she raised questioning eyes, first to him, then to her mistress: and, seeing not the anger that she expected, only pity— something she knew she would not get from her own people she suddenly burst into tears and flung herself down.

“Please do not be cross with me. I am very ashamed. Be kind and take me back with you. I will never be so wicked again.”

At that moment an aged and dignified chief, silencing all contemptuous sniffs from the women with a single command ing gesture, said: “Listen, Dorika, and all you others.

The vavalagis are here to look after us; and whilst keeping the best of our customs it is well for us to acquire the best of theirs. Times for us are chang ing, and most of the old ways are no longer possible. We havte learned to trust the white man’s word, and white men wish to help us. Remember that in future and act upon it.”

“True, true,” came the answer, in throaty chorus from the older men. But the women held their heads down in shame, for they knew the chiefly reproof was intended for them. Dorika, marvel lously recovering her composure, pro ceeded to relieve her feelings by singling out her bewilderd ladcomplices in the theft, smartly cuffing their ears and de manding to know from Moto what he had done with the basket.

Like a little whirlwind of fury she finally descended on no less a person than the nursing wife of one of the accusing officials and, snatching the lost necklace from that astonished lady’s neck, said severely, “There, now you know it’s wrong to steal from the vavalagis”; and, marching back to the waiting crowd, she restored the necklace to its rightful owner, respectfully cupped in her hands, at the same time giving her famous curtsey, as if conferring a favour.

skipper who might call that Finschhafen was dangerous water.

I was pleased to meet Blue Harris and Bill Money again. The latter who, I believe, would crack a joke in the face of the Almighty himself immediately pretended that he was going to take action against me for overloading ships contrary to some New Guinea law.

“Gnair” and “Totol” then went to pick up “Pip” Appel’s party of 74 at Garu, and take thejp to Iboki Plantation, some 60 miles further down the coast. On arrival at Iboki, they discovered that a small party of civilians, including Mrs.

Baker, and H. G. Murray, were already there. These had not gone with the ship “Lolobau” on her trip to Salamaua a month previously, but had remained at Iboki. Here Mrs. Baker immediately set about tending to the many -sick and starving of “Pip” Appel’s party. She worked untiringly and cheerfully, and was an example to all.

OUR target was now Iboki, where I could promise the starving troops that there were 200 head of cattle waiting to be killed. Meat, and plenty of it, seemed like a dream to all; but, in the meantime .there were still soldiers to be brought from Baia 150 miles from Iboki. With Corporal H. McK.

Hamilton, I returned to Valoka at Cape Hoskins and there met Father Weigl of the Catholic Mission and later, the Rev.

Roger Brown, of the Methodist Mission, Malalia.

Frank Holland was now much overdue and I was worried about him.

An attack of pleurisy and pneumonia now suddenly hit me: but a steady diet of sulphanilamide tablets contrived to keep me on my feet. There was to be a kick-back later, however.

At last, Lieut. Donaldson, at Open Bay, came on the air with the welcome news that Frank Hojland had arrived from the south coast of New Britain with a party of troops and residents of Rabaul.

Bill Money, on “Gnair,” now came from Iboki and proceeded to Bialla and Bute olo, where the slowly moving troops were gradually making their way from Baia.

Hardworking Bell and the overladen “Aussi” could now receive help.

In addition, the natives of Talasea were giving help, and many canoes were provided at places along the coast. My native operator, Nelson Tokidoro, had been with us all the time and had ably carried out his duties. He had proved himself an efficient wireless telegraphist all through.

On March 14, Frank Holland and his party at last reached Valoka, and we had the remainder of the troops from Baia as far west as that point.

By using spares and odds of canni balised parts we now had five wireless sets working, so all parties were in contact with them. • The gaunt but still cheerful Holland, had done a splendid job. He had gone back and forth through the dangerous Mokolkol country and had brought back a party of AIF and Rabaul civilians in cluding Lieut.-Col. H. Carr (CO 2/22 Batt.), W. B. Ball (Superintendent of Police, Rabaul), Major Macleod, Captain Ivan Smith, Larry Dwyer, A. L. Robinson, R. Bruce, G. P. Brown, B. O’Connor, J.

Palmer, R. Feetum, Sinclair, Crawley and Driver W. D. Collins.

The first-named were well-known in Rabaul, while Driver Collins and A. L.

Robinson (the latter a chief clerk in the Administration) were survivors of the Japanese massacre at Tol. Wide Bay.

Robinson and Collins had been ordered to the execution ground but Robinson had escaped en route. Young Collins had been shot several times and left for

dead. Despite his wounds I never heard him utter a complaint.

Robinson bore awful marks of the physical sufferings and mental agonies he had endured. “Robbie” was to re cover and take revenge on the Japanese murderers. Two years later he was with me when we landed at Manus, and I had the honour of recommending him for the Distinguished Conduct Medal, which he richly deserved for many acts of courage.

Holland reported that a large party of AIF had proceeded to Waterfall Bay, on the south coast of New Britain and, under Lieut.-Commander Mackenzie, were there awaiting rescue. Lieutenant J. C.

H. Gill, RANVR, who came out with Holland had further information, and this

was transmitted to Moresby. Soon after, two Papuan residents, Messrs. Timperley and Ivan Champion, were to rescue these men from the Gasmata coast.

At Malalia Methodist Mission I recom mended to my friend, the Rev. Roger Brown, that he should accompany us out of New Britain: he wisely agreed with me and so joined our party. Father Weigl, a German national of Valoka Catholic Mission, however, could not leave his station without the permission of his Bishop at Rabaul.

BY March 15, we had all reached Walindi with men and ships intact.

Things were brightening, and I at last heard news of the “Lakatoi” which we had last sighted on January 23 nearly two months before. It was re ported that she was still anchored at Witu; but that was hard to believe.

Later, at Iboki, we were to find out that the news was true enough.

I had received orders from Moresby to take the troops by schooner through the Vitiaz Straits to Bogadjim a planta tion situated some miles south of Madang. —and from there to march them over land to Port Moresby. To march the starving and sick men another mile would have been a rank impossibility so I requested that I might proceed direct to Australia if we succeeded in getting past the Japanese bases at Lae, Salamaua and Finschhafen. I was told fhat I might use my own discretion.

Many had reached a pitiful, apathetic stage. Sympathetic nature was .drawing a veil over their minds so that their sufferings were lessened. They were in a constant state of coma and only wanted to sink into blessed sleep and there seek a peaceful death. We had been driving our bodies for weeks and now the ravages of hunger and disease were claiming back pay.

At Talasea we picked up Christian Pedersen, of Volupai Plantation. Aged over 80 years, he was a very sick man, but his tough Danish constitution was to see him through. Father Franke, of Bitakara Catholic Mission. Talasea, like Father W T eigl, declined to accompany us without orders of his Bishop.

Two days later, Iboki Plantation was reached and there we met Mr. Lumley, a resident of Papua, and an officer of the “Lakatoi.” He stated that the ship was lying at Witu Island, 50 miles over open sea to the north of us.

I decided to put all my eggs in the one basket and use the “Lakatoi” in getting the troops to Australia. “Aussi” that splendid launch proceeded to the western end of New Britain to pick up the 20 troops there and bring them back.

She returned in a day. to tell us that the “Thetis” had already shifted them to the mainland of New Guinea. We were free to go.

ON March 19, “Gnair” with a party under Rod Marsland and including Lincoln Bell, sailed to Witu, with orders to take over the ship according to instructions I had received from the Navy some week before. Lincoln had now added a Tommy-gun to his arma ment.

The following day “Totol” and “Bav aria” loaded all personnel and reached Peterhafen. Witu, where “Lakatoi” lay at the small jetty.

At the last moment Ken Douglas and Bert Olander decided not to go with us to WTtu. These brave men still civi lians, by the way, although I had given them rank in the Army decided on their own volition to remain behind the enemy lines where they could send in telligence of the enemy to our forces at Moresby. Regretfully and with deep admiration for their courage, we said good-bye. Lincoln Bell at Witu was to make the same courageous decision.

With J. B. McNicol, manager of Iboki Plantation, these men were to remain long in New Britain and set up spotting posts that were to cover the western end of the island. “Blue” Harris, too, was to join them but Eric Feldt has already told their story in his “Coast Watchers.”

At Witu the master (Captain Farrow) and mate (Mr. A. Bommel) were met and after some discussion agreed to sail the ship for Australia. Captain Farrow had spent many years in Papuan waters but had no personal knowledge nor charts of the dangerous Dampier and Vitiaz Straits through which we were to pass.

These two last items we were to supply.

I formerly took over the ship and was therefore free to dispose of her valuable copra cargo. It seemed a pity to pitch the valuable stuff into the sea but the fire risk was too great if we should be

attacked. We filled sand-bags for ballast and protection.

It was arranged that the “Bavaria” would lie at the anchorage which the “Lakatoi” occupied - this to deceive the Jap reconnaissance planes, which had already spotted the idle “Lakatoi.” The empty “Umboi” and “Totol” were to return to Madang, which was still free of Japs.

Bill Money decided to sail the “Gnair” to Australia following the “Lakatoi’s” route. He took as crew W. Blakely, D.

Hallam, A. Gazzard, H. Armistead and D, Roler all residents of the Territory.

He succeeded in reaching Australia no mean feat, even in peace-time.

LEAVING “Bavaria” under the com mand of A. Obst who, with V.

Neumann, was to play his part as a coast watcher and giving “Aussi” to Lincoln. Bell, we prepared to sail from the Witu anchorage to Lutherhafen, an anchorage on the western side of Umboi (Rooke) Island the largest of the Siassi group of islands in Dampier Strait.

At Lutherhafen we did our best to conceal the ship with palm fronds and foliage but as the vessel was nearly 200 tons, the results were not an outstanding success. Luckily, no enemy aircraft came our way.

The greatest risk lay in negotiating the Vitiaz Straits, for here we had to pass under the very noses of the Japs at Lae and Salamaua. On the night of March 21, we held our breath and set out. The luck still held for on that night, I believe, the RAAF raided Salamaua and Lae and perhaps the Japs were too busy to notice us.

Two days later we had reached the Trobriands. At Dobu the following day “Lakatoi” was met by “Laurabada” (the former Papuan Administration vessel) now taken over by the Navy and under the command of my old friend Ivan Champion, Lieutenant. RANVR. Shortly afterwards he took his ship to Waterfall Bay on the Gasmata coast and there picked up a large party of troops.

During the voyage down it was still necessary to maintain the restricted ration scale. There was naturally some grumbling at this but we had 240 men on board and in the event of accident we might need the food to sustain us.

Bill Mason, who I appointed to take charge of the rations, proved a good quartermaster, while Mrs. Baker con

tinued to tend the many sick and wounded. She earned the gratitude of all. Rod Marsland aided Lumley in the engine room, while I passed the greater part of the time on the bridge.

We eventually passed through the China Straits and landed at Cairns on March 23. The people of Cairns, after they had recovered from the shock of seeing so many scarecrows who could scarcely hobble off the ship, were kind ness itself. Led by the Mayor (Mr. Col lins) they did everything possible before the troops were given transport from the town; most of them were to spend long periods in hospital.

Because there were other troops await ing rescue on the Gasmata coast it was requested that no publicity be given to our arrival; as a result, the full story of the evacuation was not published.

THE “Lakatoi” brought out about 240 men. Some were AIF; some were civilian residents of New Guinea, and some were members of the Rabaul detachment of the New Guinea Volunteer Rifles, Among them were: Frank and Joe Conroy, of Langinoa Plantation; Ted Culane; Mrs. G. Baker, of Witu; D.

Anderson; Basil Challis; lan Maclean, of Vunalama; Michael Morgan; H. G. Mur ray, of Unea Is.; Les. Corbett; L. C. Doil; R. Bruce; M. Marlay; A. Sinclair; N.

Geldard; G. P. Brown; B. A. O’Connor; A. L. Robinson; J. Swanson; Bill Mason; W. B. Ball; Frank Pattern; J. Palmer; Frank Holland, and Rod Marsland.

Of the New Guinea people mentioned in this account, Lincoln Bell, “Blue” Harris, A. Obst, L. Pursehouse, Bert Olander, Con Page and Ron Feetum later gave their lives in action against the Japanese.

With hundreds of other men whom we knew in New Guinea, Albert Evensen.

Bill Korn, Latham Hamilton, Roger Ber man and Eric Mitchell were to disappear after their capture by the enemy.