White Suits And Serviettes

Ocean Island of Fifty Years Ago

High Tea And Tragedy

The life of Riley was austerity itself compared to the pam pered existence of employees of a phosphate company on Ocean Island.

OR so it seemed to a young mech anic who had kicked around in some out-of-the-way places. It was a far cry from saw mill and mining camp experiences, this thing of white suits for dinner, white table cloths and serviettes, two o'clock tea served on trays taken to the job, and on Sundays loung ing in one’s own bungalow in a bath towel and safety pin.

There were no white females aiound. Of course nothing is per fect, as some members of the ‘clerical staff” found when they had occasion to complain that their white suits were not properly starched by some newly recruited native lady laundry workers.

That was soon remedied how ever, and the next week white suits, shirts, underwear, socks and handkerchiefs were received starched and ironed to the consis tency of tempered spring steel.

But that was all nearly 50 years ago, when there were no planes, no radio, and no refrigera tion on the island.

Mail and news of the outside world arrived about once in six weeks on steamers from Sydney or Melbourne.

An occasional shipment of live sheep and poultry aboard would serve to vary the monotony of fly ing fish and bulla-ma-cow on the bill of fare.

Between times the native doings would sometimes provide diversion.

Natives were recruited from various islands for two year terms, and by some stretch of imagination classed as “workers” by the company, at two quid a month and found.

Enter, The Runt

One consignment that arrived, mostly single men, happened to in clude in the assortment a boy who was rather puny by island stan dards of build, and by coincidence, also from a very small island.

On account of his small physique he was assigned to the light labor division, doing rather menial clean up work despised by the real he men islanders, He was duly routed to sleeping quarters in the single Gilbert boys’ “Long house”, one old timer in which was a Tarawa native of massive build and enormous girth, a picture of fat good nature.

This giant enjoyed a joke, best of all on some one else, and dearly loved the applause of an apprecia tive audience.

In the little fellow was an ideal victim for his wit, and he soon nick-named his stooge something like “The Runt from Runt Island”.

Of an evening, and the setting right, the Comic might begin by telling his audience that The Runt had confided how he was exhausted by picking up an unusually heavy pandanus leaf on the walk during his cleaning-up duties that day, and then go on to expatiate on his tiny victim’s life on his little home island.

He would relate that the island was so small only three coconut trees grew there. The few inhabi tants were too weak to climb the trees for nuts, and would cluster aiound waiting for a nut to fall.

If a full grown crab reached the fallen nut first he was generally the winner as no one cared to do battle with a really big hungry crab.

At first The Runt tried to laugh

with the others, but he couldn fight back—he was only the targ-; and the arrows found their mar It would express his feelings wltt lestraint, If not elegance, to ss that he had come to hate the vei guts of this big fat comedian.

The Worm Turns

One day The Runt was called o to help with the slaughtering of sheep, and the cleaning-up afte and (as subsequently guessed) h;j been able to acquire a very shai butcher knife.

After dark that night, a gai leader boy in the long house w awakened by some commotion. H had the impression of hearing cry and groan different from tl. usual snores and sleeping souno then of someone rushing past hit and outdoors in the dark.

His awakened senses told hir something unusual had happen! and he got up and lit a lante:( to illumine a startling scene. Aft) a moment’s silence he raised a yr that brought the sleepers to tl scene with sudden groggy-eyn wakefulness. The Tarawa giant hsj been thoroughly disemboweled a savage swipe with a sharp kni:i Now, the Islanders’ sense of humoc differs from the white man’s, ai, also many of these boys were n moved by only a few generatioc from the time when a feast of “lo:< pig" was an occasion for jollity.

Anyhow, after a moment’s survv of the scene the boys burst in uproarious laughter. The big con edlan this time had brought t) house down with his last big smas hit and The Runt was missing fro the audience.

Law Takes Over It was then that the forces British law and order took ovv The island chief of police was i

tough ex-army Australian sergeant, his police boys were recruited from Fiji and wore nice cloth lava-lavas with scalloped bottom hems that were the envy of less fortunate slanders.

They also sported the raised, ratted and beautiful Fijian hair io that gave all the protection from i konk on the head that an inner ipring mattress would. No fire-arms, >ut sometimes batons were issued.

A search of the island was in itituted, even to a check up on lative catamarans in case the sus pect was crazy enough to take to ea. At night the police boys went i pairs, detailed to different parts f the island, and later made their eports. These were always exciting.

Demon of Strength

The puny Runt by now had ridently been transformed into a ery demon of super-human trength and agility. The fierce ersonal encounters he was sup osed to have had with the police Dys made hair-raising reports, but Iways the fleeing devil just es iped.

The search went on for about ten ays, till one Sunday two white nployees were taking a stroll and ippened to look over the abrupt ige of a worked-out section of iarry.

Caught between two coral pin icles left after the phosphate had ;en excavated, and topped by tufts black hair was a skeleton, picked ean by land crabs and insects— -1 that was left of The Runt.

Not being familiar with the quarry arkings on the island he had obably fallen into the trap within teen minutes of his crazy rush am the long house in the dark.