In Fiji

From Notes Made In Fiji

By R. W. Robson

“W / ELL >” 1 said, fatuously, having been TT greeted by a couple of old friends, “Suva looks attractive—just as if it had been newly washed.”

Without respect for my g*rey hairs, they made offensive answers in plain words of one syllable. Was I not aware that Suva had four feet of rain in fifteen weeks (or something equally fantastic)?

Did I not know that the whole damned peninsula had just about floated out to sea? Newly washed!

I tried to tell them about Sydney’s rainfall since Christmas —equally phe nomenal—but they had started on Suva’s favourite subject, and I could not get a word in edgeways.

But, for a week after the Conference opened, the weather behaved well—'more sunshine than showers. But only for a week. During my last day in the at tractive little town, Jupiter Pluvius sent in everything he had. The following morning, the rain still was falling in lumps, and we literally waded across the tarmac to the plane. * * * WHEN the next South Pacific Confer ence assembles —whenever and wherever it is—the VlP’s of that region will find themselves hard put to it to maintain the standard of hospitality set by the Suva people between April 25 and mid-Mhy. Fiji always is famous for the welcome it gives to the fortunate stranger within its gates; and, when it met the Conference and Commission dele gates and officials face to face, it simply outdid itself.

As I have said, the weather co-operated.

The sun was as kindly as the smiles of Suva’s ladies; and the breeze nearly as cool as the Australian draught beer, available as usual in quantities that a Sydneysider merely dreams about.

The dances, dinner parties and cock tail do’s were so numerous that they col lided in mid-air. There was a traffic jam on Tuesday evening as the people tried to attend, in the one hour, two delightful cocktail parties—one given on his hill-top by the ever-popular Tui Johnson, and one at the GPH by Mayor Alport Barker, who certainly did his share in implanting happy memories of Fiji in the minds of overseas visitors. The dinner parties were very happy func tions. But where, in a world tortured by lack of domestic service, do the Suva women get these splendid cooks and well trained house staffs?

I was struck again, for the umpteenth time, by the charm, sophistication and conversational cleverness of the ladies, young and old, who preside over the households of Suva’s tycoons, depart mental wallahs and plain, happy citi zens. I suppose there are social and budgetary problems in the Fiji world, as elsewhere; but these Suva hostesses bring to their well-managed luncheon and din ner tables a suggestion of well-groomed freshness and a love of laughter that is a delight to the overseas visitor —and a comnliment to their hospitable husbands. * * * /"CONFERENCE delegates and visitors were taken to Makogai, from Suva, by a NZ Air Force seaplane. The plane could carry ten passengers. There were some 20 visitors, so the organiser arranged two parties, of equal numbers.

The first party was ferried across, with out incident, and the plane returned. The second party walked down the jetty. The captain of the aircraft nearly had a fit, when he saw it. In the front rank were the two Tongan princes, each weighing 25

stone: and immediately behind came the amiable Samoan High Chief, Tamasese who is about 26 stone.

“Holy cats!” wailed the pilot. “What do they think I’ve got here —a Constel lation?”

Fortunately, there were a couple of absentees—but, even then, the seaplane’s run was long and struggling, before she was air-borne.

There was much of interest on Mako gai, and I should have liked longer there; but I panicked when someone suggested that I linger on, and go back with the second partv. Now my kind hosts know whv. I am no featherweight, myself. * * * MORE than one Suva citizen ex pressed personal pleasure at the re-appearance in the Islands metropolis of Sir Hugh Ragg, after a hospital spell in New Zealand. Com parisons are odious —but I think I may venture the opinion that Sir Hugh and Lady Ragg are among the most highly esteemed couples in the Colony.

Sir Hugh, under the surgeon’s knife, lost some little part of his interior economy; but he left NZ with a net gain. Even while convalescant, he was on the warpath: he smelled out, tracked down, surrounded and finally captured a hundredweight of nails, and brought them back in triumph to the Colony.

“Thank God for Sir Hugh’s op,” Indian carpenters were carolling, as I passed the Sigatoka Hotel, en route to Suva. The saws were going hard, and the precious nails were being driven into the shapen wood.

Which is another way of saying that builders’ hardware is as hard to get in Fiji as elsewhere, and Northern Hotels, Ltd., could not proceed with alterations at their new purchase in Sigatoka until Sir Hugh’s nails arrived. Even as it is. building operations are very re stricted. Indications, however, are that the new manager, Mr. Reardon, and his attractive wife —two industrious Queens landers—will make Sigatoka a bright link in the Northern chain. Mr. and Mrs.

Monk, popular owners for long years, have settled down in private life in the Sigatoka district. * * * WITHIN Fiji, everything possible is being done by Government and pri vate individuals to foster tourist traffic; but all plans lose their impressive ness when they meet the hotel bottle neck in Suva. The total accommodation available for travellers in Suva’s six hotels is almost wholly taken up by Suva’s normal through traffic. Tourist traffic, to be worth promotion and organisation, must move along in substantial parties; even one partv of any size causes convulsions in Suva accommodation.

“What do they know of Fiji who only Suva know,” someone paraphrased; but no Fiji tourist feels that he has accomp lished his destiny unless he has spent a few days in colourful Suva. Northern Hotels, Ltd., are all ready to put a sub stantial chain of tourist parties through their chain of hotels; but the thing can not be worked without a suitable link in Suva. ♦ * * SINCE' they took over the Grand Pacific Hotel for the Union SS Co., a year or more ago, Mr. and Mrs. Johns have made a remarkable transformation.

In the course of the long years, and war time conditions, this beautifully situated (Continued on Page 81.)

hotel had lost its glitter, and become a trifle shabby and untidy. Now it has been re-furnished, re-decorated and re-organised; it has been given most of the amenities that modern travellers want; and now it is easily the most at tractive hostelry in the South Pacific Islands. Everywhere—especially in will ing service and quick -attention to the comfort of guests—there is evidence of an efficient and alert management.

Some people are urging that the Union SS Co., having done such a worthy job of face-lifting, should help the Colony a bit more, and build a series of one storey verandah-rooms, in the hotel grounds, and near enough to allow the occupants all the hotel amenities. In this way, accommodation would be pro vided for perhaps 100 guests; and thus would the tourist problem be partially solved.

We cannot blame the Union Co if it is shy of the proposition. For a very long time, its GPH was a hungry white elephant, and Fiji did nothing towards feeding the insatiable animal. Now, the GPH is or should be returning a worth-while profit. So, why disturb the present set-up? The Union Co. might be responsive if most of the hoped-for tourist traffic were to be sea-borne. But the majority of the tourists probably would travel by planes, which a com pany interested in running ships can not be expected to nurture.

I WAS a guest at the luncheon-table of Mrs. Austin, the medical superin tendent’s wife, on Makogai, and chatting to the lady on my left, the Makea of Rarontonga, Mrs. Cowan.

“Do you know, this is the second time on earth I have lunched with the Makea,”

I said. “I had that privilege in 1914, when, as a youthful reporter from New Zealand Herald, I was in Rarotonga.”

“That was my grandmother,” said Mrs.

Cowan.

“And, by the same token,” I said, turning to the man on my right, “on that same trip, at Nukualofa, I was a guest at a picnic luncheon arranged by King George 11, of Tonga.”

“Mv grandfather,” said the Prince of Tonga.

A combined example of the long arm of coincidence and the march of time. * * * HERE is a good example of the con tacts and friendships that were made behind the official facade of the first South Pacific Conference.

Delegates from many countries were' chatting together, one evening, when Gina, a Melanesian from the Solomons, happened to notice a carved and decor ated swagger-stick in the hands of Tuiso sopo, a high chief from American Samoa.

He examined the stick, and exclaimed in wonder. He knew the stick well—he had owned it, once; and, in the war, he had given it to an American naval officer who had done him a service.

The Samoan took up the tale. The American had come to Samoa; the high chief had noticed and admired the stick; and, before he returned home, the Ameri can gave it to him. “I was very happy to have it,” said the Samoan, “because my mother’s father was one of the first Christian missionaries to go to the Solomons.”

Tuisopopo and Gina became firm friends.

THE ceremonial drinking of kava is an important part of life in Poly nesia, including Fiji. Therefore, it was a real sign of the times to hear

Prince Tugi (premier of Tonga), at the South Pacific Conference, denounce some of the practices associated with kava drinking.

This enlightened young Polynesian was laying emphasis on the need for fight ing infectious diseases—especially TB— in the Islands; and he pointed to kava drinking as one of the things needing attention.

He said that the use of the same bowl, without sufficient cleansing between drinkers, was a common practice. An other mad thing was the way in which the strainer (usually a handful of fibre) was used. It was used repeatedly in the main bowls, from which many people had received drinks, and it was kept near the bowls, and was not sufficiently cleansed or sterilised. The tendency to ignore these simple, obvious precautions, in lands where TB was rampant, made the campaign against TB very difficult. * * * CARPENTERS and painters have been at the corner of Renshaw and Colombo Streets, in Suva, and the old kava saloon has been swept away.

With it has gone a bit of Old Suva.

When I saw it first, Jimmie Muir sold all sorts of fancy goods, including books and newspapers, in a rather dark shop; and, in the corner, was a room where kava was always on tap. Thirty or more years ago, it was a famous rendezvous: most of the leading men of that time met there regularly, at 11 a.m., to take a bowl of kava. All the old residents of that part of the South Seas found more refreshment in that decoction than in a dozen cups of tea. But the practice has passed—kava-drinking for pleasure has returned almost entirely to the Poly nesians.

One by one, the members of the “old brigade” passed on, and when Mr. Steele took over the premises a year ago from Mr. W. M. Caldwell (who bought out Mr.

Muir a couple of years before that), the kava business had practically disap peared, while the job of distributing newspapers had grown very much. So Mr. Steele has turned the whole area into a well-lit and completely modern store for books and newspapers; and, already has found his enterprise well rewarded. He was an electrical engineer of some standing in New Zealand; but gave it up in order to enjoy the hap piness of life in Fiji. * * ♦ AS we sat in the Sigatoka Hotel, under going refreshment, a car drew up and two obvious strangers came in, panting slightly in anticipation of a cold drink. Both had on only shirts and trousers—and one of them wore black braces.

Then I noticed a commotion on the verandah. There was agitation on a couple of dark faces in the doorway. The citizens of Sigatoka were assembling.

“What’s up?” I asked, as I went out.

“Him,” said a big Fijian, indicating the be-braced stranger. “What he do that for? Only Mr. Costello —Pat Costello — is allowed to wear braces in Fiji. Ugh!”

As we drove on, the indignation meet ing seemed to be really getting under way. ♦ * * ON a trans-Pacific plane I met Aus tralian writer Prank Clune, just back from Europe and headed for Alaska. He told me that the London publishers, Cassells, are now shying away from books dealing with the Pacific islands.

It appears that when Errol Flynn wrote “Beam Ends,” describing experiences in Papua and New Guinea, he referred in a way that was derogatory to a man whom he believed to be dead, but who was still, alive—and sensitive. The state ment was regarded as libellous, so Cas sells paid up and recalled all available copies of the book.

After the war came “Coast Watchers”— Eric Feldt’s fascinating story of how a few score of selected men of the Islands, Australia and New Zealand, for more than two years, kept a ceaseless watch over the Japs, from dangerous hidden places in the jungles and mountains.

Through some unfortunate slip, it was made to appear that a man, who actually had been ordered to leave a particular place, had gone away because he did not like it: and this was considered actionable. With apologies, explanations and what not, Cassells did the right thing; but this spoiled the sale of what mieht have been a best-seller.

According to Clune, both “Beam Ends” and “Coast Watchers” are now valuable as “collector’s pieces.” * * * IN a pleasant bungalow on a Suva hill top, Harold Gatty showed me over his library—an impressive collection of thousands of books dealing with (a) Pacific Islands generally, (b) navigation,

(c) fisheries. It is easy enough to col lect books—but very difficult to keep them in good condition in the tropics and to know what is in them. By means of a most ingenious arrangement of electric lights in the bottoms of his book shelves, and a judicious administration of DDT, Mr. Gatty keeps mould, fungus and insects completely away; while his indexes—representing his own labour of love —have to be seen to be believed.

As a sort of library side-line, Mr.

Gatty collects data on persons famous — or notorious —in Pacific history. I was intensely interested in a large quantity of material that he has about the late Father Rougier, who already is taking his place with Bully Hayes and Queen Emma as one of the most colourful of Pacific Islands characters. The Rougier history has only recently been closed; and a book on the gentleman and his extra ordinary affairs, is due. Gatty has both the material for the book and the ability to write it.