“MANY HAPPY RETURNS”

Evening Star, Issue 22954, 11 May 1938, Page 3

“MANY HAPPY RETURNS”

BIRTHDAY PARTY IN NEW GUINEA Going to a birthday party in the hack country of New Guinea is not the simple, comfortable, taxi-cab affair familiar to the city dweller; But it apparently has its alluring points, judging by an experience related in a letter to a Dunedin friend by an ex-resi-dent here who has recently gone to live and to work in what he describes as “ The Land of Mystery.” The party, it, appears, was given by Bill Chapman, the same_ Bill Chapman who is mentioned in Idriess’s ‘ Gold Dust and Ashes,’ and it was held at his sluicing claim down the valley from Bulolo. Half a dozen friends, from up at the big dredge were invited, and at 7 o’clock these friends—big Tom Pike, Jock Loble, the two O’Haras, Dill White, and Bill Stevens —set out to join in the fun. It was a case of walking, of course, with a liberal percentage of scrambling and climbing, and the first stage of the journey was across the huge aerodrome used by the aircraft which make regular journeys between Bulolo and the coast. The ’drome being negotiated without any snakes being encountered, the Bulolo River had next to be crossed, and this by means of a narrow plank bridge slung on two wire ropes. Blondin, says the writer of the letter, has nothing on the New Guinean when it comes to crossing rivers. The great thing is to see that the feet are not lifted from the wires, or the planks, more than an inch or two, so that progress is practically a shuffle. The night of the party was pitch dark except for a phosphorescent glow from the fire-flies on the flat across the river; and quiet except for the throaty croak of the bullfrogs, and when a second bridge had to oe negotiated, it was a case of “ steady on,” for this bridge was an even more crazy affair than the first—just two one-inch wire ropes slung across the river between two poles, the sagging wires holding crosspieces upon which planks were fastened, thus forming a great swing, the centre of which was within an inch or two of the water, and the entrance and exit 40ft above it, ... The second precarious crossing having been made, there was a walk of a mile and a-half over rough rocks piled up by one of the dredges. This area was slipped and scrambled over, and when something like firm ground was reached the party were met by two native boys sent bv the host, and conducted over paths through a stretch of swamp-jungle and “ cow-cow ” (native potato) patch, to the house, where the host welcomed them from the verandah. It was not long before the proceedings began in a manner which was entirely appropriate in view of the hot and thirsty journey just completed. Then came music, per medium of a gramophone, and singing. 'Not that all present had trained voices; on the contrary, most of them had restricted ideas concerning harmony. But noise, and not melody, was th.e chief qonsidera- 1

tion, and if one made a noise gladly, so to speak, it was enough, for Bill White’s piano-accordion did much to drown the discords.

And so the time passed, singing and shouting; ‘‘shouting” and singing; story-telling and laughter, until there came the sound of an opposition “ singsing ” which the 150 Seepie native boys on Bill Chapman’s claim had organised, probably in self-defence, certainly in emulation. The Chapman, party thereupon adjourned for “a breather,” walking ,over various obstacles, such as felled' trees, tangled undergrowth, and mounds of tailings, to Cooni Shanties - huts constructed from cooni palm leaves. Here a big crowd df natives, bodies painted, plumes in hair—a savage looking crowd indeed—were performing one of their ceremonial dances, to the accompaniment of drums add chanting. This weird chant of just three words ret peated monotonously, the.equally monotonous drum beat, the slow skipping, movement made in time with these sounds, each movement being marked by the striking of spears against clubs—all this was a strange sight for the newcomers to the country. Asked\by:one of the whites:,” What name this feller sing-sing belong him? ” a native replied: “ Massa, sing-sing belong cockeroo. Him plenty good feller. AI belong him.” ” Cockeroo,” it' appeared, meant the white cockatoo. This dance goes on for hours, the dancers working themselves up into a state of frenzy; but after watching the performance for an hour or so this particular party of whites returned to the host’s residence for a “ final round,” and then, at 2.30 a.m., the return to Bulolo and a little sleep. So ended an unusual birthday party; unusual, at any rate, to the newcomer from New Zealand. The New_ Guineans, he found, are not heavy drinkers; on the contrary. But just once every few months someone throws a party such as this, and those invited make the most of it.