When The Matua Comes In

By Amel

EVERYBODY goes a little crazy when the dear old Matua calls at Pago Pago—once every 6 weeks or so.

It is so good to see the neat, trim lines of her coming into the harbour, and to see new faces, and some familiar ones, and to hear the latest gossip from Suva; and of course it’s very nice to get fresh eggs and things.

Lots of visitors drop in to say hello; and, somehow, we local inhabitants gravi tate towards the Matua, about an hour before sailing time, no doubt to the exas peration of various officials, who never theless are very polite, probably think ing that we are only savages who don’t know any better.

On one trip to Pago Pago, she was sup posed to sail at midnight. So naturally we went on bpard at 11 p.m., in the wake of a genial soul who tempted us with the promise of some luscious New Zealand beer.

There were Ronnie and Mary, Alec and Mabel, Val—and I don’t know who all.

Well, you know what these cabin parties are. One chair for 12 people, so some body sits on a suitcase, somebody on a bunk, somebody in a wash-basin, some body on top of the wardrobe, half a dozen on the floor, and everybody happy. Sand wiches and liquid refreshment vanished like bubbles in a breeze.

Time flew. A sepulchral voice on the loud-speaker said “Attention please—all visitors are requested to go ashore.”

We stood up, milled around, trod on

each others’ toes and sat down again.

Must have another beer or you’ll never get down the gangway. Sure. So we sat there, shooting the breeze, for an other half hour. A romantic looking man in a straw boater strummed a uku lele, while Mabel danced.

Then Val —a tall, youthful, lovely blonde from Auckland—who had been eyeing Ronnie’s Aloha shirt for some time, said suddenly, “I like your shirt.”

“It’s yours,” he replied, gallantly, tak ing it off and giving it to her. Amid howls of laughter, Val tried it on. Though it was four sizes too large, we reckoned she’d be a sensation on the Auckland beaches this summer.

Time marched along. A small man put his head in the cabin door and barked, “All visitors ashore!” We went right on talking. The Chief of Police came and bawled, “All visitors ashore!”

Nobody took any notice. It was really disgraceful. It’s a wonder the Captain didn’t come and put us all in irons.

We decided to take ourselves off at 12.30 a.m. and wandered down the gang way, with Ronnie busily explaining to everyone en route just what happened to his shirt!

As the Matua, ablaze with lights and crammed with passengers, pulled out at 1 a.m., I had a kinky feeling that next time she hits Pago Pago, there will be a great big beautiful notice displayed in a prominent place, and on it will be printed, for all to read, “NO STRAY

Visitors Allowed On Board.”