Magazine Section

We're Happy To See You

—Says Sydney to the Fijian Footballers.

ROSE BAY flying-base, Sydney, is not built for handling a multi tude; a flying-boat of passengers and a friend a-piece, and that is about all.

But on the night of July 2, it ac commodated several hundreds— scores of small boys with autograph books, a Suva Knight, a NSW Judge, top-brass of the Methodist Mission, a bull-dog on a leash, a Silkie terrier in a monogrammed dog-blanket, a near relation to the Hound of the Baskervilles without benefit of leash or dog-blanket, a tall, black pooch, plain football fans, residents, ex and otherwise, of Fiji, members of the Polynesian Club, what looked to be the entire crew of WRC ship Lakem ba, then in port, the Press and pho tographers.

The reason: The impending ar rival of a flying-boat carrying the 22 members of the Fijian football team, Fiji Government representative, Ratu George Cakobau, the team’s manager, Mr. Les Martin, and its coach, P. T. Raddock.

The night was clear and cold, and sharp at 8 pm the flying-boat roared overhead and slid off into the dark ness of Rose Bay. The crowd surged through the inadequate waiting rooms onto the wharf outside. The

crew of the Lakemba got a step ladder, removed an electric bulb and plugged in their electric guitars.

Everyone prepared to enjoy them selves.

Ten minutes slid by; twenty. Crash boats tore about, fire-floats came in to their berths. Still no Fijians. The Lakemba crew sang several songs with spirit, and Isa Lei twice. The crowd was still determined to be happy. Officials, crowded into odd corners around the place, looked de termined on business-as-usual and one spoke through a microphone to the effect that the flying-boat was from “Noumea, Port Vila and Santo” (most everyone could have told him otherwise) and for visitors please not to try to communicate with passen gers before they had been through Customs.

Then Australian officialdom cracked down. Visitors were sternly ordered back inside the waiting room. Two sour-faced individuals pushed all the Press photographers into one corner and the Lakemba boys and their guitars back from the strategic positions they had taken up, into another. Some of the crowd obediently tried to get back into the waiting room; most stuck to their guns. Officialdom pushed at the

crush of bodies in one place only to see it bulge out in another. In the general fussing and shoo-ing the launch sneaked in almost unobserved, then there was a shout of “There they are!” and even officialdom had its attention momentarily distracted.

In single file the lads came off, black-and-white leis around their necks, dark grey sulus, black blazers —and bare legs on one of Sydney’s coldest winter nights. Some looked as self-assured as seasoned diplo mats; others as embarrassed as pro hibited immigrants. One, dodging the arm of a ducky official, embraced a Lakemba friend, wreathed in smiles.

There were shouted greetings from the. Lakemba musicians (who forgot to play) cheers from the men, sighs from the ladies that didn’t they look big —and look at that hair—and that they should have overcoats.

A minute perhaps, as a reward for waiting hours—then the whole 25 were swallowed up in the mysterious maw of Australian Customs.

The next three-quarters of an hour developed into a business of peering through windows and glass doors, of craning over someone else’s shoulder to catch fleeting glimpses of a huge bush of hair or a dark face or a large smile. The crowd moved

Kalivate Cavuilati and Sailosi Valewai, both members of the Fiji police force are now in Sydney with the Rugby Union team. Photo taken in Suva by Public Relations Office.

though to the leeward side of the building and milled around the bus that would carry the visitors to the city.

As the weary formalities dragged themselves to an end behind locked doors, a Sunder land, pulled up on an adjacent vacant lot, burst into life.

First one engine; then two; then the whole four, at the limit of their capacity, until the air shook and shrieked and vibrated. And in the middle of this mad maelstrom of sound the 25 ambassadors from Fiji were deemed fit to mingle with free Australians. They came out quietly and got into their bus, the doors were slammed and they were whisked from sight.

Anti-climax? Well, public welcomes are largely a matter of that. The important thing was that they came up to ex pectations; it seemed that they might be all the sporting writers had said they would be.

They were, as the papers said the next morning, impressive. -IT.

Between immigration formalities. Press photographers with the persistence of their kind, managed to get the Lakemba boys and some of the team together long enough to take this photo. Mr. Les Martin, manager of the team, is shown in centre holding tortoiseshell shield presented by Mr. Noel Levy of Suva for competition between Australia and Fiji.

Block by courtesy Sydney Daily Telegraph.