Territories Talk-Talk

By Tolala

.. Here’s wishing all Territorians a happy and a peaceful 1955. May a s^ und smooth co-ordination in the working of all sections of the community for the progress and prosperity of the Territory as a whole.

Full Circle

As a result of the reorganisation of the P-NG government depart ments, along the “Secretarial system”, the wheel of the Depart ment of Native Affairs has turned full circle during the past thirty odd years. It was started off when Civil Administration took over from the Military after World War I and Harry Cardew was appointed “Pro tector of Natives.” Came then the Department of District Services; followed by District Services and Native Affairs. And now, where do we go from here? ... A Dept, of Non-Native Affairs?

8.0. P. in England

A “Greater Bird of Paradise” hit the headlines recently in London papers when it was released by an unknown “marauder” from the Manchester Belle Vue Zoo, and eventually recaptured by firemen with ladders and searchlights. It was valued at £2OO. It is reported that there are only three BOP in Britain —not including, of course, those on ladies’ hats. Apparently Mr. Frost (PIM, Dec., p. 19) hopes to gather in another 20 after his trip to the Territory.

Repeated attempts in the early days to keep BOP in captivity proved unsuccessful. Birds must be getting tougher—or captivity more congenial.

Give Vanilla Beans a Go Encouragement by an Australian firm to grow vanilla beans (Dec.

PIM, p. 30) might give some of the Territory’s planters an idea. I have seen prolific growth in a small area on a Bainings (NB) plantation, and also at Matanatar (Kokopo), which was Queen Emma’s experimental station where, at one time, every thing tropical was tested out.

Bad Publicity and Editorial

Ignorance

The libel on indentured labour in P-NG, mentioned in PIM, Dec., p 97, is indeed dangerous and gives critics in the UNO menage an opportunity to fire some arrows at Australian administration. In this instance the Age was firing the missionary’s bullets, perhaps un wittingly. Editorial ignorance is to blame.

Another instance—and more pro nounced —appeared in a Sydney paper, penned by its “own staff re porter who recently returned from New Guinea.” It was a feature article with a bold heading, “Pro fitable Trade in ‘Black Ivory,’ ” starting off with “Trade in human beings is still one of NG’s best busi nesses,” and its final lines: “. . . there’s lots of money to be made in the human-being business.”

Such stories constitute an phatic disservice to the Terr: as a whole and the planter in ticular. There are implication black-birding, African slave-s: forced labour; none of which es as is well known to the initu It is this type of libel which fc the Administration—in order to tect itself from the barbs Trusteeship critics—to increase load to be carried on the back the planters and native labour ployers in general.

If these copy-hungry repoi realised the cross they create, i which planters are unjustly ci fled, they might take more car the selection of facts for t “stories.”

Old German (?)

Landmark

Reference in the Moresby p; to a truck being found “at the of Namanula Hill, in the vici of the old German Residency” se a bit off-centre, if it refers to old Government House, where 1 tralian Administrators had bee] residence since 1914, and was of the last buildings to be bli in the extensive bombings of 1 It commanded a magnificent i of the town and the harbour. I member once standing with J, Curie, author and world trave on the verandah gazing out ( the scene and remarking on view.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully, ‘ of the grandest scenes in all travels. But I mean that,” he ad' as he noticed my rather scept expression. And then he went to explain how many miles he travelled throughout the world well as enumerating the nun of games of “Miss Milligan” he played during that time.

When bidding “Good-bye” to host and hostess (Sir Walter Lady McNicoll) he accepted his from the very solemn-faced na house-boy, threw it in the air caught it on his head —much the amazement of the “boy” the amusement of the 011 guests. . . .

Yes, the old Government Hous< Rabaul was the meeting-place many interesting and notable cl acters, and not the least of tt during the time when the Milit Administrator entertained, w i Mrs. Kaumann (a niece of Qu Emma) as hostess.

“German Residency” is definr a misnomer.

Ego Boosting?

It seems to be becoming practice in P-NG publications to tend the courtesy of the pn “Mr.” to indigenes now, which me—old-fashioned and conservai —appears to be carrying the to of trusteeship and Bill of Hun Rights just a trifle too far. It ma

he action ludicrous as applied to iur NG natives, the best of whom, [feel sure, do not subscribe to this fetuous boost to their ego.

In time, presumably, we shall see ffrs., Miss and Master applied to he other members of the native leasehold. And the next step will e—as adopted by the Javanese elite

-a procession of “Drs.”

Prazy Water

The argument over the permission 3r natives to drink alcoholic .quors is still being waged and everal organisations deplore the administrator’s attitude in support ig this very doubtful privilege to atives. I cannot see the Minister apporting this “freedom,” when it as not been extended to Aus ralia’s own aborigines. Surely it is ishing our fences with the prospect E suicidal results.

In the Tolai language, booze is filed Tava na log-log— crazy water, nd that about sums up its effects.

ypt—No

Europeans?

I have just been reading the ifficial Commemorative volume of le “Royal Visit” descriptive of our lueen’s visit to Australia last year, nd a very nice production.

But I was disappointed in the mission of any reference to Euro eans from P-NG being presented > Her Majesty at Canberra. Natives nd Chinese are mentioned, but so ir as officialdom is concerned, the uropeans just don’t come into the icture. To me, this seems a bit Dck-eyed. Why should Europeans, ho have given of the best years f their lives in developing P-NG, b ignored in such public functions? 5 Posterity to know nothing of leir efforts? Have they done so ttle as to merit this official snub? l Christmas Leverie I was munching the last nut at ly 1954 Christmas dinner, and earing, for the forty-second time, medley of “White Christmas,”

Jingle Bells,” and “Noel” coming ver the air, when the music hanged and the strains of “Stifle 'acht; Heilige Nacht” took me back ver the years to the day I first card that old German carol. . .

It was Christmas Day, 1911. The Bcruiting schooner Samoa lay at le jetty at Mioko, in the Duke of ’orks, headquarters of the Deutchen landels und Plantagen Gesellschaft the “Long Handle Firm”) in Ger lan New Guinea. Manager Hel ritz and his charming wife had taged a typical Islands party for he Samoa’s black-bearded Captain 'eters and his officers, before the hip left for Buka to fill up with

recruits to work on Samoan planta tions.

There was Herr Keidel, the assist ant manager, rosy-cheeked, just out from Germany. There was Auguste Englehardt, the sun-worshipper from the neighbouring island of Kaba kon, intent on breaking every self inflicted law of his creed, for his sole diet was the coconut and he discarded all clothing. (But for this occasion he had donned a lavalava and a white coat). In the back ground, around the Christmas tree, the children played, and from a distance came the beat of kudus and the monotonous sing-sing of the natives.

They were a civilised.people even then, these Duke of York Islanders.

In 1874 a white trader had sold them tobacco and beads for copra, and in the early Eighties, Tom Farrell and Queen Emma had made their home there.

And then , . . amid the laughter of the children, the hearty “Pro sits” at the table, and the distant sing-song, came the blended har mony of a German choir singing “Stifle Nacht; Heilige Nacht,” re corded on an old-time phonograph; and then all joined in the singing, led by the black-bearded Captain, and the hilarious party of seasoned Islanders suddenly became a group of very home-sick, reverent folk under the nostalgic spell of an old time song that momentarily trans ported them back to the Vaterland.

The record ceased; there was a short silence. “Ah, so! Prosit!!” said the Captain and glasses were lifted in a silent toast. . .

“You are listening to the ABC ”

I awoke from my reverie, and was back again in 1954, but . . . Ah, well, they were happy days.

The Good Old Days!

Yes; they were the good old days; peaceful days. In New Guinea, at any rate, there was no audible whisper of “Der Tag!” No sign of the wee, small cloud on the inter national horizon, which was to break in 1914, three years later, A camaraderie existed between all the Europeans, irrespective of nationality; intersectional jealousies had not grown to to-day’s dimensions. A white man was a White man, not looked up<pn by half the world as a potential Simon Legree or black-birder, but one anxi ous to maintain his status in a black country. There was no gaol for Europeans. If one committed a breach of the law he was promptly advised to take the first boat out; if he failed he was appointed an honorary Road-master for a period to fit his crime.

We had no radios; no aeroplanes; no spacious refrigerators and no polyglot assembly telling the gov ernment how to run the country.

Native labourers were —for the most part—a happy crowd of adventur ous “boys” out to see the world and

content to be hewers of wood and drawers of water—in many in stances accompanied by their families. They suffered from no in hibitions. Happy was the house boy, clad in a clean lava-lava, twanging away at a jews-harp in the shade of a water-tank. And the Asiatics? Content to be good tradesmen carpenters, engineers, boat-builders—while some were small-time traders and store keepers.

Congenial living under pioneer conditions was the key-note of everyday existence. Mammon had not reached its present-day height of idolism. Living was a simple matter of commonsense, not a com plex series of scientific adjustments and formulae to control the coming and the going of the individual.

Yes, they were happy days. But then who am I—old-fashioned and unprogressive—to criticise the pre sent Elysian state of affairs?

To Whom Honour Is Due P-NG is too often behind the door when Honours are being given out. But I am glad to see that Dave Crawley, who for so many years has done a great job -with the Police Band, has at last had his persevering services recognised by receiving the MBE. The same honour goes to Captain J. H. Evans, who was manager of the P-NG

Shipping Services in the post-war years at Rabaul. Secretary C. R.

Lambert, of Territories Dept., col lected a CBE.

Oddments

A wedding of some social signific ance took place at Darling Point, Sydney, on November 27, when Miss Helen Mary Lysaght married Mr.

Phillip Street. Phillip is the son of the late J. L. Street, who was well known in pre-War Rabaul and lost his life as a NGVR when the Japs landed. Mrs. Violet Street lives in Melbourne. Father of the bride is a director of the John Lysaght firm.

Phillip is a Veterinary Surgeon and the newly married couple plan to live in New Zealand. ... A recently published book, “The Sovereign People: Analysis of An Illusion,” is another controversial book from the pen of E. T. Brown, who was, some 30 years ago, a legal-eagle in Rabaul.

After leaving Rabaul, “Bruno” toured the world for a while, visit ing Russia amongst other places, and gave the world his impressions of international politics, pulling no punches. He writes well.

Miss Jan Christian, a descendant of Fletcher Christian of Bounty fame, performed Tahitian dances at the pre-Christmas cocktail party held by the Women’s Australian Travel League, at the Hotel Aus tralia, Sydney, on December 20.