Electricity by incantation

on the tiny island of Niue

By J. Edward Brown

On Niue Island electricity can be summoned by incantation, )r so it would appear. As the tropical night descends and the mem bers of the Niue Sports Club have difficulty seeing their beer glasses, me member goes outside on to the plinth on which the club-house s built and dances up and down, waves his hands and shouts and vhistles. Strangers have regarded this performance with amazement, s this a South Seas witch-doctor performing some rite at the letting sun? And a stranger could be excused if he thought it was nagic, because the performance produces artificial light.

Actually the performer is signal ing a man who operates the small liesel engine which provides lighting or the adjacent Fonuakula prison as well as the club), and pretty soon he bare bulbs hanging from the club iouse roof will glow orange and sud denly blossom into incandescent light, everybody blinks, the record player dares.

But it’s no use waving, shouting nd jumping up and down anywhere Ise on Niue, because except in Alofi here’s no electricity to be summoned, 10 matter how energetic the incanta ions.

The situation will change. There re plans to extend the main elec ricity supply to the villages.

These days life in the South Seas tas come to depend more and more n electricity. Alofi dwellers couldn’t lo without electric irons, refrig rators, washing machines and elec ric water pumps, and they would ie roughing it without electric coffee icrcolators, electric fry pans, electric [fixers, etc.

In the old days

But in the old days on Niue—that 5, about 15 years ago—there was io electricity even in Alofi, except at he radio station, where an engine ransmitted dots and dashes to con icct the island with the outside world.

That engine also charged batteries, "he homes of a few of the European Administration personnel had battery ights. Ordinary staff had six batteries, nd the Resident Commissioner 12.

At intervals in those primitive lays the batteries had to be charged, because there was no motorised ransport available, the radio staff taggered on foot down the coral road truggling with the heavy batteries.

And in those days, too, if you /anted to listen to the radio, a wet >attery was necessary for the common ibrator set, and this battery also

had to be charged.

But the transistor radio has revolutionised radio reception in isolated places like Niue, and they are everywhere now.

No radio licence is necessary on Niue either. In 1934, in what I think of as the days of solar topees and benzine lanterns, there were four radios on Niue. They were owned by the Resident Commissioner, the meteorological observer, the officer in-charge of wireless and Mr. R. D.

Head, a trader.

The question of radio licences was raised, and the Resident Commissioner wrote —I can see him in starched whites, sweating a little in the heat —“Owing to the isolation and loneli ness of this island, and the difficulties which are inseparable from the tropics, I consider it wise to offer every facility and assistance to those who desire to get in touch with other parts of the Empire, and do not re commend that any charges be made.”

How things have changed! The Empire has gone, the primitive radios are gone—but not all the old things are gone.

One day the Police Department messenger asked me if I could fix his gramophone. People often asked him if I’d fix their radio or radio gram, and by gramophone I assumed he meant the usual Japanese tran sistor record player which are now so popular on the island.

But when he said gramophone, he meant gramophone.

He brought in an old-fashioned wind-up portable gramophone. The tone arm had jammed and it was an easy matter to clean it with a piece of emery paper.

Then it was tested. On the turn table was a thick, old-fashioned 78 rpm record. The gramophone was wound up, a new needle selected.

Down went the head and the sound of a rousing old-fashioned revival style hymn filled the air.