Wall, Of The Fiji Museum

By Commander William Burrows

ONE of the most interesting and erudite old timers I have ever met was Colman Wall. At the time I am speaking of the Fiji Museum was not in its present position over the Carnegie Library.

The exhibits were housed—one could hardly say displayed—in the upper storey of the Fijian Rest House at Nasova. Here lived Wall in a small back room on the Museum floor, as Curator, or Caretaker as he was called.

He was, at the time when I knew him in Suva, quite elderly and his life since boyhood had been spent wan dering the Pacific. His knowledge of many of the old traders was first hand and there were few of the Poly nesian languages and dialects that he could not converse in.

Whenever I was in Suva, at this period, I made it a point of spending hours with Wall, to get him talking on some of his experiences. One yarn I remember concerned dysen tery, that common curse of the Islands.

Whilst super cargo of a trading cutter he contracted that disease and became so seriously ill that the cap tain decided to take the first oppor tunity of landing him at the next island visited. Fortunately the home of the trader here was large, and Wall was put on the verandah on a mattress protected by a mosquito net, and there left to die or get well as Nature might dictate. Here he lay for some days on a semi-starva tion diet—for that is the usual treat ment—until into the lagoon came two cutters, which anchored off the trader’s home.

A meeting such as this was, of course, an occasion; and the trader prepared for dinner by killing a num ber of fowls.

There was plenty of whisky and gin and the captains, mates, and supercargoes of the visiting vessels were lavishly entertained, so much so that none returned to their cutters but all slept where they were.

Through all this, Wall lay on his mattress, listening to the yarns and

conviviality round the dining table!

Sleep was impossible, and he waa too weak to get up.

Curiously, however, an unconl trollable desire to eat and drink came] over him; and, as it had already beem decided by his friends that he was] going to die, he thought that he would sooner die after a meal tham in his present condition.

When all was quiet, therefore, he crawled off his bed and through thd open door into the dining rooraj where the meal had been left on the table. Although he could not stanq up, he was just able to reach the re mains of a cold roast chicken and half a bottle of whisky. With thesa he crawled back under his mosquito net and there he ate the chicken and] drank the whisky, without any ac companiment; and thereafter he fell into a deep sleep from which he had no expectation of ever awaken! ing.

Late the following afternoon, howl ever, he awoke and, other than a dry and nasty mouth, he felt betteij than he had for weeks. From that day, he slowly regained normal health.

THE last time I saw Wall was an occasion when I was on a shor| visit to Suva. Driving along Victoria Parade, I spotted him walking in the same direction, that is, toward!

Nasova.

I pulled up and asked him if I could give him a lift. He got into the car and my first question was to ask him how he was, for I had hear! that he had been ill. His reply startled me. It was: “No, Dr. X was quite right. He told me a month ago when I saw him that I was dying. But, as he was one of these young know-alls, I didn’t believe him, but waited for Dr. Montague’s return from leave.

I saw him yesterday and he said that the young doctor was right. So I have just been down town to orde| my coffin.”

I took him to his miserable small room at the Museum and yarned for an hour or so. I could not help noticing a photo on his table, that of his wife and daughter, who lived in Sydney, he told me.

He died a month or so later.

Air Vice-Marshal Sir Arthw Nevill, former NZ Chief of Air Staff, visited Nandi Airport from New Zealand in March.