The Sisters’ Seaside

Holiday

Here, from a private letter received in Melbourne, is a description of a holiday interlude in the life of Missionary nurs ing sisters in Papua: A HOLIDAY on a Pacific isle sounds alluring: but count ten before em barking on one, if you have any affection for “mod. cons.”

The Papuan Government has provided holiday homes for its staff when on leave, and these houses, if unoccupied, are placed at the disposal of missionaries. The build ings usually consist of one room, with a 5-foot verandah on three sides and, on the other side, a small bathroom and a kitchen, 12 x 12, opening on to the verandahs.

We two sisters decided to take with us two women teachers and 30 girl students, to give them a holiday, too.

The medical Sister (my companion) told the village women, one day, that she was tired. Her remark was received with peals of laughter. “Don’t tell lies.” they called out. “Dim Dims are never sick.

You’ve got quinine and oil and liniment.”

Maybe, thought Sister, but we haven’t yet got the power of perpetual motion!

This “rest home” is unfurnished; so everything we needed for a fortnight was loaded on the utility truck, with the ex ception of the girls and their beds. The native’s bed and bedding is one grass mat; so each girl, carrying her own, walked the 18 miles, and thought nothing of it.

We modems took stretchers, chairs, a camp oven, a Coolgardie safe, crockery, lamp, tools, kerosene—indeed, everything we might need from a kettle to a comb— and we managed to find a comer for our selves as well on the truck.

Our rendezvous was on the north coast, and on a beach facing the open ocean.

The breeze from the ocean was cool and on two or three occasions we wore cardi gans. The native girls must have spent three-quarters of the time in the water.

They love bathing. A refreshing morning dip contented us.

Sleeping accommodation was simply ar ranged. Our 30 girls spread their mats on the verandah, and slept the sleep of the just—except when rainstorms re minded them, and us, that life isn’t as easy as all that. Then it was a case of pick up your mat and rim to the shel tered side. We persuaded them, at last, to sleep under the house which was built three feet from the ground.

During one heavy downpour the bath room roof leaked. Two native women were in that room, sleeping. They just transferred their mats from underneath them to on top of them. They lost scarcely any sleep.

Cooking was not easy for 34 people under such primitive conditions. The girls can help in cooking, but not many can take responsibility. I have known, for instance, a rice pudding to appear strangely milky and then discovered that the rice had been forgotten. I have told a girl to simmer some fish in white sauce and then found that the sauce had been boiled hard on an open fire and had to be scraped off the saucepan while the fish still lay on the table.

Our ways of cooking are new to them, in £ orn Parision with their centuries-old methods. We arranged that bread should be sent out to us twice a week; and, as |°°d was plentiful in the district, we bought fish and eggs, yams and fruit, and everyone had enough, even with a holiday appetite.

One of our teachers, a young man, had a Station about three miles away; so one day we took 10 girls with us and went to see him. His garden was beautiful: it made me think of public gardens at home —hand-cut grass in the centre looked like lawn, and the winding beds around it were filled with Guinea Golds in pale to deep shades. One corner was filled with red, yellow and green crotons, while in another a beautiful guava tree stood alone. And behind this riot of colour was a background of green trees and palms. The church and houses were beautifully kept.

After showing us round, this clever

young man invited us to dinner. I must say he knew we were coming; taut he had cooked for the 12 of us a fine dinner of soup, roast fowl and yams, and served us with a tin of meat, oranges and tea. Not bad for a bachelor, was it?

On Sundays, we joined in the local ser vices, and the last Sunday evening was, I think, the highlight of our holiday.

About 30 young folk from the district joined our party, and we sat on the beach in the cool of the evening singing hymns.

The rich, full voices of the natives blended wonderfully with their surroundings. The heavy vegetation around us spelled mys tery and wonder, in the soft rays of the

tropical moon, and the unfathomed ocean at our feet beat a rhythmic accompani ment on the white sand. It seemed so fitting that these young and happy brown folk should praise their Father for His world.

Time was up. We went home, and to work. The medical Sister was just having dinner when a call came to an urgent maternity case. The patient was brought in with half-a-dozen relatives as well. A fine baby boy arrived in the evening, but anxious relatives called Sister six times during the night. ‘Thank Heaven there is only one first night,” Sister remarked at breakfast next morning.