Tropicalities

SUCH is fame. At one time we heard rather a lot about the Rev. Dr. J.

W. Burton, President-General of the Methodist Church in Australia, champion of Pacific natives and Australian repre sentative on the South Pacific Commis sion. He has now more or less retired but recently visited Western Australia on Methodist business where we were rather startled to see him introduced as Dr. J.

W. Burton Snr., “the father of the former Australian High Commissioner in Ceylon.”

Young Dr. Burton is now quite well known to Australians. An academic Socialist, he has never lost an opportunity of proving himself loyal to the cause. It was he who left his post as High Com missioner and flew back to Australia un announced to contest a seat at the recent Federal elections. He lost, and we are unable to record what he is doing at present. But there will be other elections and probably we will hear of him again— that is, if the hard-boiled Labour boys don’t consider such youthful enthusiasm politically inept. There -is always the chance that they will hesitate to nurture in their bosoms a second Dr. Evatt—of whom young Dr. Burton is a disciple.

In the meantime, Dr. Burton Snr. says that the Fiji Indians have become a kind of Nemesis and are ousting the Europeans from Fiji. Dr. Burton does not say whether he is happy about this or not.

IT seems that anything is a good enough excuse for a crazy boat voyage—that is, crazy to these unromantic (if sensible) souls who undertake voyages in small boats only as a matter of necessity.

In the last month we have heard of two parties who are bent on setting off across the blue Pacific following in the wake of adventurers of past centuries.

Frederick W. Johnson and Ernest Lamberty, both of whom have lived around French Oceania, plan to re-enact Bligh’s Bounty voyage in an open boat.

They are going one better than Bligh, however. They plan to buy their 23 ft whaleboat in Holland and sail it to New York, just as a preliminary. If Bligh is like Mr. Charles Laughton has made us believe, then we would like to hear that old sea-devil’s comment on this bit of nonsense.

The second set of adventurers are Captain Dod Orsborne (he wrote a best seller, Master of the Girl Pat) and his crew of 12 Yanks who will sail from the United States shortly for the Pacific, where they will emulate the late lamented botanist Charles Darwin and visit the places he saw between 1831 and 1836. As Cap’n Orsborne remarks, there probably have been a lot of changes since then.

The cruise will be of about 80,000 miles but they aren’t doing it in an open boat.

It is a 75-ft ketch called Argosy.

Both adventurers have been described m American papers as “fabulous.” The Greeks probably had another name for it.

THE External Territories Department in Canberra also weighed in with a contribution to P-NG’s Mt. Laming ton Relief Fund.

A ball was held in Canberra’s Albert Hall in early May on which the Governor- General, Mr. McKell, and daughter Betty Me Kell threw the light of their Vice- Regal presence; Mr. J. R. Halligan permanent head of the department, was host.

It isn’t often that a Government

department bestirs itself socially on be half of its public particularly in the midst of Canberra’s winter so, the function deserves to be mentioned.

THESE days, employers of casual labourers in New Guinea over long periods, are required to fill in forms.

To my astonishment and delight the other day a “casual” turned up, seeking employment. Fishing into the odorous depths of his dilly-bag, he produced his “reference” filled in by his last employer.

It was written on the Casual Worker’s Registration Form. Under the heading “Occupation” appeared the succinct phrase "Bludger.” Further down it re appeared with slight variation under the heading “Industry (if any) in which worker employed.” The answer was “Sludging."

Interested, I looked at the bottom of the sheet to see the name of his last “Boss.” The paper was signed bv one, Ima Sucker.

Well, well. There stood the savage smiling triumphantly, obviously waiting to be snapped up as to-day’s special on the labour market.

Before leaving, he insisted on being given back his “reference.” It was lovingly folded, and reconsigned to the depths of his weekend R.

AN interesting visitor to Rabaul recently was Mr. Geoff Charles of Kalubi, New Ireland.

Mr. Charles’ job is to capture the wild zebu cattle which have been roaming the hills of New Ireland since the end of hostilities.’

His experience of cattle and horses has been considerable, but even he was astonished when herding captured animals into the crush, to see a young heifer so determined to escape that she leapt onto the shoulders of her “one talks” and escaped over the walls of the crush.

Mr. Charles, who is in town receiving treatment for sulohanilamide poisoning, has so far managed to capture about 90 of the wild cattle, and said that soon he hoped the waggon wheels would be ‘aturnin’ again.—R. R.

ALLAN VILLIERS, well-known Pacific Islands wanderer and writer, is back in the news, again in London. He was recently chosen for the BBC’s Mer chant Navy programme, to give a roving report on matters of current interest to seamen. We in the Pacific know him best from his books, “The Coral Sea” and “The Set of the Sails.” Going to sea at 15, Villiers served under sail in the Herzogin Cecile and the Parma, among other ships: took the Joseph Conrad round the world in 1934-36; was in the Mediter ranean landings during the war; and served in operations in Burma, Java and Indo-China. Since the war he has com manded the training ship Warspite for the “Outward Bound” Sea School at Aber dovey, in Wales. He was with the Portu guese cod-fishing fleet on the Great Banks and off Greenland in 1950

H.E.L.P.

MOST of us were seafarers; and we were sitting around a table in the tavern, enjoying a few evening drinks. The conversation naturallv was of ships.

One of the group (holding his own, too!) was a well-known and well-liked

member of a New Guinea mission master of the mission schooner. He laid a hand, on the table and announced, ‘Here’s something that’s got all you navigators tricked!”

“Oh?” we answered, every bristle on our professional dignities at the present, “and what might that be, Brother?”

“You’re at sea in a very small boat.” he proposed.

We nodded cautious “go-ons.”

“A storm has blown you miles offshore, and you don’t know where you are; can’t see a thing. The sky is completely over cast, so you can’t see the sun. You have no compass, no radio: no navigational gear of any description.”

More cautious nods of agreement.

“All you possess is a large pocket watch, on the end of a fathom or so of watch chain. Now, if you wanted to steam North, say, how would you find your direction?”

Youthful impetuosity stuck its neck out.

“That’s simple. Simply point the T2’ of the watch at the sun and bisect the angle between that and the hour hand —”

“No!” the Brother objected. “Remem ber, the sky is overcast and you can’t see the sun.”

We were stumped; and sipped our beer thoughtfully. The Brother will be for given in Heaven, I hope, for the way he sat there smirking.

Finally, someone said, “Well, Brother, wot’s the answer?”