More Tales From Old Ng

By Old Timer

The Camel Who Savvied

Too Much

WANDERING through the Wein some years before the War, on a weary quest for recruits, I came to the village of Koitmunun, one Saturday afternoon. I decided to have a clean-up and spello over the week-end.

Sunday morning found me sitting on the tiny verandah of the House-Kiap, watching the villagers assemble for the early Sabbath service. There was no doubt as to who would conduct it.

The native missionary was already parading up and down in his Sunday best, carrying a couple of prayer books under his arm and evidently enjoying a mouthful of betel-nut. Following the usual custom, he was not a native of the village but “another talk” who had been schooled at the Mission headquarters.

The meeting place was just in front of the House-Kiap, and I had a dress circle seat for the performance.

The service commenced with two or three hymns sung in the soft, melodious voices of the villagers. Then the catechist commenced his sermon. His text was one familiar to us, but strange to the assembled kanakas: “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, etc.”

He started off by asking the villagers in pidgin if they savvied “dog.” They all savvied.

“Dog ’im e small fellow, ’e no got plenty savvy. Now, you fellow savvy needle? ’

They savvied all right.

“Now, eye belong needle ’e lik-lik (little) too much." The congregation nodded agreement.

“Now you fellow savvy horse?” Some who did explained to the others what a horse was.

“Now, horse he big fellow, that’s all ’e no got plenty savvy, ’im e no can go inside along eye belong needle.” They were prepared to accept that as gospel.

“Now you fellow savvy camel?” That had them all stumped. Nobody savvied what a camel was. He explained; “Camel, e big fellow too much.”

According to the catechist this par ticular camel was at least 40 feet high. ‘ Camel, ’e big fellow more, ’e no small fellow alia same horse, alia same dog, ’e big fellow too much. Now this fellow camel he got plenty savvy, ’im e savvy too much. Him ’e can go inside along eye belong needle!”

Monsters!

OLD George, who built a few miles of the Markham and Edie Creek roads before the war, was fond of telling yarns, but suspected of pulling the long bow.

He was telling a few new arrivals of the time he was riding a push-bike into Lae one night, when he bumped into a large crocodile sprawled across the road.

We had heard the yarn so many times before and the only variation this time was that it occurred just out of Salamaua instead of Lae.

Then George’s mate, Joe, chipped in with his story about the time, near Nadzab, when he was walking along the track and sat down on a thick log for a smoke and a spell.

“I’d just got comfortable when I noticed the peculiar markings on the bark of the log. I’d never seen any timber like that before, so I got out my knife and started to cut a piece out. You can imagine the shock I got when the log started to crawl away. Yes—it was the biggest python ever found. A couple of

months later a fellow shot it and it measured over 118 feet long!”

“Fair go, Joe, ’ says George. “What are you giving us? There’s never been a python that long yet.”

“Look here, George,” said Joe. “If you can stretch a blanky crocodile over 20 miles, from Lae to Salamaua, you re not *oing to object to me stretching a blanky python a lousy 100 feet!”

Joe Sloane’S Turkish Bath

OLD Joe Sloane, who was having a holiday of the wild and woolly variety in Sydney, after making a ‘packet’ on one of the smaller Papuan strikes, was enjoying a couple of re /ivers in Belfield’s one morning when ax: )ld pal walked in.

Joe complained of feeling off colour is a result of bashing the grog a bit toe hard. His friend suggested a Turkish cath.

Joe reckoned he didn’t need a bath; ;hat he’d already had one that morning.

His friend explained the difference, and, m the principle of being ready to try mything once, Joe went along to the iddress given.

It was too early for the habitues and Joe had the various hot rooms to him ;elf. Before long, Joe became hot, uncom ‘ortable, and thirsty, and looked around 'or some attention. In his birthday suit, le went looking for someone to attend o his requirements, but could not locate he attendant. Time went on and Joe be :ame much hotter, more uncomfortable md more thirsty.

Then Joe started to bellow, and an ittendant came at the run. “Yessir, yessir, mything I can do for you?’ he asked; “Yes,” said Joe, “Get me a fork.”

“A fork, sir, ’ asked the astonished

attendant. “What do you want a fork for?”

“I want to prod myself a few times,” said Joe. “I want to know if I’m rooked vet! '

Operation Beer

DURING the early days Of the war, an Australian Naval vessel Tiad been wandering around the Pacific for several weeks keeping an eye open for raiders. The crew were well and truly “browned off” with sailing many thous ands of miles of blue ocean with never a sight of land.

Then on one day a rumour started around the “heads’ that, in a day or two, they would call at an island where the beer was reputed to be the best, the coldest, the cheapest, and the most plentiful of any place in the Pacific.

Sure enough, two days later, they tied up at the end of a jetty, and there, only a few hundred yards up the white coral road, was the pub of their dreams.

But, alas, the orders were “No shore leave.” The duty men could only gaze longingly up the road to the pub, and imagine the delectable pleasures that waited therein.

Then one bold spirit, after a quick glance round to see that' no one was watching, set off along the jetty. The keen eyes of the officer on watch spotted him, however.

“Go after that man,” he ordered a rating standing nearby.

The runaway had a long start, but the second rating had a fair turn of speed.

“He’ll never catch him, ’ said many of the sailors lining the rail. “Yes, he will.

Look at him travel,” said others.

“He’s catching him,” said one after a moment or two; and then, in quick succession, “he’s almost up to him; he’s up to him; he’s past him.”

Never Drink Water

rpHE Papuan and New Guinea goldfields * fook R heavy toll of life both native alld European, through epidemic disease. Many of the miners were careless or ignorant of elementary hygienic pre cautions. „ On the Lakekamu goldfield, in Papua, many deaths occurred through dysentry and the Government sent a medical officer along to check up. He put the “third degree” on Dick Berriman.

“Now, with regard to your drinking water, Mr. Berriman, both for yourself and your boyfe. Would you mind telling me what measures you take to purify it?”

“Yes,” said Dick. “First of all I boil it.” ‘‘Very good, very good indeed,” said the MO. “And then what do you do?”

“Then I clarify it with wood ashes.’

“Good, very good,” said the MO. “And then what?”

“Then I purify it with Epsom salts. ’

“bplendid, splendid, Mr. Berriman.” said, the MO. “And then ”

“Then I throw the damn stuff away and drink beer!’ said Dick, s»TiPFi? i vf atv* fre'"i. ”* . , . . rpHE riches Of the Edie Creek and Bulolo JL River produced the usual crop of mining companies, most of' which were very quickly relegated to limbo when the big crash came in 1929.

A well-known identity of the time was “Hoppy” Clarke, who had floated mining companies all over Papua, and had then turned his attention to New Guinea. He pegged the New Guinea Gold and Osmiridium Company’s leases, which are now incorporated in Golden Ridges. Alas, few, if any, of his other ventures had much success.

While the Montoro was at a goldfields

port unloading cargo, a heavy piece of machinery slipped from the sling and plunged to the bottom of the harbour.

The mate’s language was almost equal to the blast from Mount Lamington.

Then a gentle voice came from the boat deck: “Don’t get excited, don’t panic.

We’ve got Hoppy Clarke on board. Send for him. He’ll float anything!’

The engagement has been announced of Miss Elizabeth Exon, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Frank Exon, of Suva, Fiji, to Mr. lan Cottee, member of a well-known Brisbane family. The wedding is fixed for next April. Elizabeth, one of Fiji’s prettiest girls of the present generation, went to Melbourne in 1950 to be trained as a nursing sister at the Alfred Hospital; but romance crept in and dislocated the plan in the manner described.

The Australian Department of Terri tories has called applications for (two Anthropologists—one as a lecturer for the Australian School of Pacific Administra tion at Mosman, Sydney; and the other for research work in Papua-New Guinea.