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Pacific Islands Monthly

Dinner Was No Success In That For-Off Christmas At Misima ALICE INNES Recalls a Festive Season

Christmas at Misima! Recent new mining developments there underline the fact that there is gold in those hills—and they remind me, too, of my first Christmas at Misima in the 1920’5.

HAT was high adventure for me, a mere housewife at a Papuan mining outpost which Bret ,rte would have found equal to ; Californian pattern for living.

Sven today, the local characters ,nd out in my memory like louettes.

Ay husband had gone forward to :e over Burns Philp’s new store Bwagoia, I had been left at marai, while a new house, sup sedly, was being built for us.

When the time came, I went off Misima in the old Tamarina, with leart full of hope and a cargo of usehold goods. We struck storms d shipped seas which ruined my >es of line n, mattresses and ;hions, smashed the crockery and tyed havoc with our foodstuffs, b did not in any way inconveni :e the merry mob of huge and ?ressive cockroaches which over i the vessel.

We came through the narrow en nce beside the Manawai Lagoon, d even the sorrowful, seas-bat ed wreck that I then was could t but be thrilled at the beauty that lagoon! renderly the liquid cargo was ided, an amazing amount of beer d whisky. And then my poor usehold goods were hurriedly mped ashore, as reunion celebra ns were awaiting the arriving jsengers and miners who greeted ;m.

Surprise! Surprise!

; had a surprise, too. I had no me! six months before, a builder had m sent out to build a “manager’s idence”. The timber still lay ‘re, all eaten by white ants, and ! roofing iron had “gone village” roof pig pens. 5o we went high up on a hill a little native house where the ;vious manager had left all janisation to his native house id. *md yet soon, with Christmas on we set to and had “House anky” built on a high hill. It was thing of beauty. I have seldom m an uglier place—but the view

was superb. And so we hailed our neighbours to come and have a Christmas “housewarming”.

The Guitana returned from her tax collecting around “The Group”, bringing Sir Hubert Murray, and official party, and Dr. Bellamy from Murua (Woodlark Island) as guests of our District Magistrate, Mr.

Symonds. There was also the Umuna mine manager and wife, the engineer and wife, the local medical officer (who was to leave so soon afterwards and be so sadly needed!).

Pyjamas and Monocle

From Tauhik, the little bay around the coast, came Bella Boyd of loved memory, who daily worked her claim . . . there was “Count” Roche fort, arriving in his washed-out pyjamas and his bootlace on his monocle (and who with courtly grace presented me with a real “southern” cabbage he had grown on his mountainside claim), There was the engineer of the little local train, “Tui Cook”, who greeted me in Fijian, to my delight!

Gladys ° fflcer 8111 Baker and There were also “Captain” Teddy Mears, who knew every reef of Papuan waterways, and Sandy Grant with his two treasures . . . . and the gun to keep would-be wooers away from those said treasures. (Sandy said “any courting of my two lassies can be done AFTER they are married”. And Sandy’s lassies danced only with their hostess on the back verandah, to the tunes from the wheezy old gramophone ... the male members

An old photograph, supplied by Mrs. Innes, of the Umuna mine workings at Misima.

of the Christmas party being wary of Sandy and his gun!) Sandy told me, I remember, that he was sluicing very successfully on his mountainside and hoped to take his family “home” to Scotland and make ladies of them. But there was the problem of his native wife—she would not “be wishful for to travel” being a locally born native, and as she had saved Sandy’s life years be fore his loyalty to her had meant that he needs must forego his re turn to his native heath.

From the Lappapai Mission came apologies from the Rev. Ron.

Andrews and his wife; they were busy with the many festivities of their school and hospital. There was the sad little story there of the long expected “Christmas Gift” cases, sent by some well meaning, but rather stupid members of a small church group—huge cases costing so much in freight and promising a wealth of good things, but found to contain hundreds of old fashioned curling pins, out of date corsets and such unusables. Thus there were long hours of frantic en deavour on the part of both of my clever and good friends of the Mission to make toys and clothes for gifts, when these

Christmas boxes proved so tragic ally useless.

Apologies also came from the opposite end of Misima, where brave Madam Bernier was nursing b er very sick husband and also c?p mg with “pig” and neighbouring villa §e garden worries at Khubhuga. ,

Unexpected Guest

And there was one unexpected gues t ... a very sick prospector; no ne other than our dear old George Arnold. He had been ill in his isolated camp in the mountains for some time, then was carried gently down the ranges along the coast and up the hill to us. Few men of Papua and, later New Guinea, were as well known and so well loved; George then so weak and ill, deserted by Lady Luck, lay for many weeks in our little spare room and his gentleness and kindness made him very dear to us.

So Christmas at Misima brought

““SSS ‘STSSf M had

fS Xg Christmas ‘ dinnerwas some- Christmas dinner was some tn ih g iD s wererare- there was no Ships were rare ’ tnere was no

(Continued on p. 99)

deration, village pigs ate any ]: that attempted to grow in my en, village dogs killed my two sys and ate the hatching eggs, rganised wild pig hunt of the before had failed to capture needful pork, and the storms mted fishing. j searched the surrounding trees shot a couple of stringy old >, so “chicken broth” was on menu. t we did have a ham. It was : ham, and although we had no cables I did brighten that ham after finding a picture of a lificently decorated Virginian in glowing colours, in the s of my treasured Ladies Home nal (what joy those journals my isolated years!). That ham crosscuts and cloves and it was >unded with brandied baked ties and candied yams.

So when my ham was most proudly borne to the table by the Rossel Island boys it had peaches and yams, too. But the peaches were right out of the tins, and the yams were not the type of yams one candied at all.

Not Quite the Same not uu Te Tne bame Said my husband, as he sharpened the carvers to attack the ham, and ? n dessert peaches: What the blazes is this! They have served the pudding with the ham!”

“Just serve it!” I hissed.

We all set to—washing the meal down with the warm ale and siporacum-gins. It was followed by real home-made Christmas pudding, and

that, at least did hold a hint of the real thing!

But it was our first Christmas at Misima—a Misima which may yet rise phoenix-like from the old show, and I fancy there will be many cheerful ghosts lingering along the ridges and down the lovely gullies, rejoicing that their old hopes blossom. There may be a new gen eration of pioneers, with refrigera tion and comforts undreamt of by my contemporaries—but there will be no more generous hospitality, more delightful gatherings and greater friendships than we knew during that first Christmas reunion, and others like them, of our Misima days.