The Editors' Mailbag

Old Papuan Located

The Brisbane reader who sought the address of Mr. W. T. Hughes, formerly of Samarai, probably could get news of him by communicating with his niece—Mrs. Wilma Herriott, of Mumeng via Lae, New Guinea.

She says her uncle, “Bert” Hughes, was at Mudau over 30 years ago. He went to Melbourne when the Japanese invasion forced evacuation in 1942, and he still lives there, in good health.

Up Yonder Greets

Down Under

“Here I go on my seventh year with PIM,” writes former Colonel C. B. Wales, from San Antonio, Texas. “I very much enjoy the news from the South Pacific. Here in my little office, built into my garage, I have rugs from Tarawa, and a lamp from Bora Bora, and I am surrounded by artifacts from Munda (BSI), Fiji, Luzon (Philippines) and Hawaii. I can’t realize it’s been six years since I left the Pacific for home —your PIM keeps me in touch. Best regards to all your wonderful people out there and best wishes for your (and PlM’s) continued success!”

We get quite a number of such communications from the friendly Yanks we met in World War 11.

Only a few weeks ago, we were sur prised and delighted to receive a radiophone call direct from Cleve land, Ohio—it was Attorney John R. Crossen, who held a high com mission down here in 1943-45, mak ing a casual inquiry about a matter of mutual interest. In a subsequent note, he said he first met the PIM in the Tailevu Hotel, in Fiji, and he proceeded: “Thinking back on those days, I wonder if Mr. Gatwood still runs the place, and has the same Chinese cook; 1 wonder about Ryan, the newspaperman in Suva; I am in debted to you for putting me in touch with the Rev. Goldie of Munda (where we once fought quite a battle); it was through PIM that I learned of Father Wobkin at Cawaii, Ovalau, and then visited Malakai, the leper colony.”

Mr. Gatwood Snr. who owned the old Tailevu Hotel, died within the last couple of years. The new hotel, on a different site, was opened re cently. We published a photo of it not then completed, about last No vember and there is another else

where in this issue. The old Gat wood Hotel was a rendezvous for American servicemen during the war.

Auckland’s French Clubs

To acquaint visitors from French Pacific Territories to Auckland of the existence of French club activities there, we published some information in July PIM, p. 89.

Mrs. Germaine Matthews, secre tary of “L’Amicale Francaise” points out that part of this paragraph, dealing with the monthly meetings, refers not to her club, but to the rival “L’Alliance Francaise.”

“L’Amicale Francaise” is the less staid club—most favoured, it seems, by the younger set in particular and apparently in the main by Islands visitors. It meets at the Auckland YWCA building, on the 3rd Wednes day of each month: Mrs. Matthews, Telephone 42.860, will tell you about it.

Beetling in Vavau

Mr. H. Hunter, of Citrus Products Ltd., Auckland, suggests an explana tion for an article about “beetle day” at Vavau (p. 82 of June PIM).

Mr. Hunter says that the “beetling” is not at the employer’s expense, though employers of labour, of course, lose the use of their labour on that day. It was not intended to belittle the efforts of the Govern ment of Tonga in organizing this beetle drive. It has, in fact, been highly successful. When the cam paign was commenced, last March, from 800 to 1,200 beetles were prob ably being caught per person, per day. But latterly the catch has been only from 10 to 50 beetles; so that a day’s beetling does now amount to a picnic.

Fed Up!

AN old NG friend, writing “from a full heart and a wheezy type writer,” says: “I am fed to the teeth with plantations, native labour, copra and the whole box and dice.” (Ever felt that way, gentlemen of the “Isles of Romance?”) He discusses the miseries of life in an isolated tropical place, and proceeds: “I once came across a diary, kept by a city gent who, in the Expro Board days, got marooned out in the Ninigoes as an overseer. He was out of the main food items and, had had fever, wanted his mail, had

his life threatened by the native 1 bourers, and a small tidal wave hs been over one part of the islai (the highest part was three fe above sea level). He wasn’t hapj —not a bit. One item in diary w a quotation which seemed to be a plicable to his sad lot and wen In prison cell 1 sadly sit, A most crestfallen chappie ; And own to you I feel a bit, A little bit — unhappy!

“That verse leapt at me, becaui I knew its origin. It was written I Harry Morant (The Breaker), in h cell at Pretoria Gaol, the night b fore his execution, by British Mil tary heads, for shooting Bo< prisoners. You probably know tl story? Morant was well-known : the part of Queensland where I wj reared, as a reckless liver, a wonde: ful horseman, and for his poen under the name of The Breake Funny I should come across th verses in the Ninigoes.”

Home for Chandos Bar

The bar counter from the Char dos Hotel, London, on which tw generations of Fiji servicemen carve their names, has arrived in Suva an is on exhibition before being give a permanent home in the Defenc Club. The PIM, last year, told ho> Mr. L A. Lawlor, of Suva (himsel a World War I veteran) learned b chance on a recent visit to Londoi that the old Chandos bar was bein dismantled; and, when he disclose* his interest in the carved names, th owners of the Chandos Hotel ol fered him the relic, if he could find ; place for it. The Committee of th* Defence Club co-operated with Mr Lawlor, and the counter was dub shipped from London.

A Fighter’s Grave

I was at Kieta recently—it’s j real South Sea place now, and ven quiet (writes Fred Archer, veterai NG planter). I went to see J. W Campbell’s grave. The marker ha: gone, and it’s just enclosed by stones but the red lilies that Amy, his wife planted on the grave still have then descendants there. It seems strange to think that “after many a foughter fielde” JWC should be lying there so quietly. He was in Boer War Great War and fought in some Afri can turmoils—besides many private wars of his own up here! Well, he was a pioneer hereabouts and now lies in an unmarked grave. I must see if we can alter it—we who ate of his salt and slept under his roof.