History Of The Tin-Can Mailman

Is Already Obscured Ry Time

AS a lad in Nukualofa, Tonga, in 1890, my brother and I used to wander round to Mr. W. Hettig Snr.’s tinsmith shop and watch him, on behalf of the Tongan Govern ment, soldering the Niuafo’ou mail in a kerosene or a biscuit tin. These biscuit tins had been used for 25 lbs or 70 lbs of cabin bread, and so were just the right thing for packing the mail in.

The mails were only soldered down on the arrival in Nukualofa of the steamers from Auckland, New Zealand. The ships were either the SS Upolu, with Captain Crawshaw in command, or the SS Ovalau. On the outward passage, the captain of the ship would drop the tin over board when he was very near the landing at Niuafo’ou, and natives would swim out and bring the mail ashore.

In those days Mr. W. Tarvis, trad ing for the firm of Messrs. Oste more, Davey & Co., of Sydney, used to attend to the mail. Later, Mr.

Tarvis sold his business to Captain W. Ross, owner and master of the topsail schooner Ysabel, which was, before Captain Ross bought her, the first mission ship Southern Cross. (Captain Ross once told me, when I was going to New Zealand in the Ysabel, during World War I, that he sold the engines out of the Southern Cross for more than he

When Mr. George Quensell died recently in Tonga it was stated in Australia and elsewhere that it was he who had originated the famous Tin Can Mail. In this article, Mr. J. D.

Whitcombe shows that the Tin Can Mail was in existence long before Mr.

Quensell arrived in Tonga—although Mr. Quensell gets credit for putting the mail on a commercial basis and thus earning revenue for Tonga.

Another man, C. S. Ramsay, is usually regarded as being the original ''mail man''. Since the eruption of 1946, of course, Niuafo'ou has been abandoned except by visiting copra cutters.

gave for the ship. That was how money was made in the early days).

After Captain Ross bought out Tarvis, Mr. Arthur Tyndall, of Nukualofa, accepted a position as the Captain’s manager at the Niuafo’ou store. Later the two went into partnership under the name of Tyndall and Ross. While at Niua fo’ou it was Arthur Tyndall who kept his eye on the Tin Can Mail.

It was not until 1921 that the late Mr. George Quensell arrived on Niuafo’ou. He later turned the “Tin Can Mail” into a money-mak ing affair, or commercialised it. The "Tin Can Mail” was in existence long before George Quensell landed in Holy Tonga.

The Tongan boys used to swim out to the ship to take and receive the mail, until about 1931, when one of the swimmers was attacked by a shark. After this the mail was taken out by outrigger canoes. The only European who used to swim out to the ships with the native boys was Mr. C. S. Ramsay.

One of the funniest things that ever happened in connection with the Tin Can Mail was in 1901. It was a beautiful Sunday morning just about 10 am and the church was full of good, native church goers. The SS Horoto, Captain Newton, was in the roadstead, and as there was a small mail, Captain Newton decided to send it ashore by rocket.

The mail was duly attached to the rocket, which was fired and, un fortunately, landed on top of the thatched roof of the church, which was soon in flames. The congrega tion rushed out of the flaming church and went home to their Sunday dinners. That was the last time the mail was sent ashore by rocket. J Mr. W. Hettig, Snr., who used to solder the mail in tins in 1890 still has a grandson living in Nukualofa; he is Mr. August Hettig, local mer chant and photographer. (Over)

Returning to shore with two cans of mail a photograph reproduced from Ramsay's book.

Niuafo’ou is only 19.4 square miles in area, a speck in the great Pacific ocean, with a one-time population of i 291 Niuafo’ou is the most remote island of the Tongan group, being much closer to Samoa and Fiji than to Tongatabu.

The island is almost circular and of its 19 square miles the lakes of the interior cover 6 miles. It rises to 588 feet and has a dangerous, •dormant volcano, whose rec eruptions have occurred m 1853 (when 25 people were killed) in 1867, 1912, and 1929 The village of Ahau was destroyed in 1853 and Futu in 1929.

Then, in September, 1946 the -volcano was again active and de vastated the whole island to such an extent that Queen Salote, on Clearing of the plight of her people, made arrangements for their re moval. The inhabitants were taken off their island home by the MV Matua and given sanctuary on the island of Eua and also in Nukualofa,

on Tongatabu.

Only about 20 people remained to ■keep an eye on the remaining copra •arop.

Editorial Note

THIS is a somewhat different version to that of Mr. Charles Stuart Ramsay in his colourful -book, Tin Can Island, published about Niuafo’ou, in 1939.

In that book, Ramsay mentions Quensell only incidentally as man ager of the other trading company ■on Niuafo’ou. . . “an old friend of mine, an ex-sailor, and a German.”

The impression gained from Mr.

Ramsay’s story is that prior to his arrival on Niuafo’ou (mid-1921), the mail was a one-way affair, fired-off occasionally from passing steamers by rockets. Ramsay got the idea of swimming out with mail tied in a water-proof packet when he saw Tongans take to the surging waves that roared in onto Niuafo’ou’s shore, supported by buoyant swimming -poles of fau wood. In all, Ramsay made 112 swims with the mail, tow ing the sealed tins of mail on the return trip. In 1932, Ramsay left Niuafo’ou, and the mail was then -taken out in canoes.

This is how Ramsay describes his first attempt: “The seas were running high when, on that Sunday afternoon, we first swam out with the mail. I was thankful for Masi’s reassuring presence and sound advice, “The Tofua appeared as a smudge of smoke on the horizon. Down on the rocks near the derrick, armed ivith our 8-ft swimming poles, we awaited her near-approach before taking off. Our mail was made up in two well-wrapped parcels, each -tied to the end of a light stick about a yard in length so that the packets

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aid be held clear of the water. I d the wind up, for to me the ives looked terrific, but Masi said was a good day and prepared to np.

T replied with chattering teeth d doubtfully threw my pole into ; devil’s cauldron before me, as isi hit the water. The packet of il disappeared beneath the foam ;h me. . . I found I was washed ; at the rate of knots and I aggled to the surface just in time grab my pole, throw it over the d wave and snatch a breath of before I followed Masi in )ther dive. . . We swam extended ng our poles, our weight keeping m in position against our chests 1 obviating our need to hold m. The elbow of the arm carry the packet of mail was hooked r the pole, leaving the other arm I both legs free for swimming.

Dver half a mile from shore we ist our poles down between our ;hs and rested as though sitting a rail fence, our bodies sub ged to our chests and our legs gling. rhe Captain sighted us from the ge and bore straight towards us.

. . . The 4,000 tons Tofua loomed towering and portentous as she drew near. It was pleasing to note the excitement aboard. The passengers clustered along the rail pointing to the two apparently legless trunk's protruding from the water, . . The first officer, seeing our parcels, lowered a bucket at the end of a line. We dropped into the bucket the first delivery of the ‘swimming mail.’ ”

The book contains little else about the history of the mail and we still do not know when Mr. Quensell turned it into a “commercial pro position.” In the late 20’s and 30’s a letter post-marked Tin Can Island was a philatelist’s prize—but so far as PIM is aware, it was always Ramsay who was regarded as the Tin Can Island mailman; and Quensell has been little mentioned in that capacity.