JOTTINGS FROM SUNNY SEAS

Otago Witness, Issue 3764, 4 May 1926, Page 81

JOTTINGS FROM SUNNY SEAS

By

HELEN J. STREET.

(Foa thb Witness.)

The first few weeks I did not go out a great deal. It was the “rainy season,” and very often our house was standing in a sea of water. If I did pecially want to go up to the settlement I took off my shoes and stockings, put on a pair of sandshoes, and would splash along cheerfully through the rater until I came to the good road. One i the boys would be with “me to carry my belongings, and I would then dry my feet and take out my shoos and stockings. Coming back the same performance would be gone through, Rain! It iained every day—absolute blinding sheets of rain. Then for a short time the sun would come out. and that meant clothes, mattresses, boot 9 anu shoes, and even books must be put out to air, otherwise tney wou- beco. e mildewed. Before I left Sydney a friend presented me with a cooking book, and t really think it was the most treasured book in our small library. I would take it to the house cook, and interpr the recipes into “pidgin English” for Tomi’s benefit. He was fairly quick to understand, and was always anxious to try anything new. In time he became very good at making scones and pikelets, and if he saw any visitors a* rive would j t busy and nake hot scones for &ftern<k - tea. I remember just a weea or so after my arrival Tomi announced he “savvied makem cake,” so I told him to go ahead. He took all the ingredients and the mixing basin on the floor of the house cook, then down he squatted, and started operations. I left him beating the eggs, and we t to my room to rest. After about an hour’s sleep I awoke, and could still hear the beating going on. I naturally thought he was making a good supply of cakes, and I was delighted, as I had been opening tinned cakes, and they were rather ~ i expensive item. I went out to the house cook, and there was poor Tomi beating away for dear life. No sign of any cakes, so I said: “Where cake he stop, Tomi?” “Me no catchem yet, missus,” he stops, pointing to the basin. He had been beating the eggs for over an hour. I made him mix in the other ingredients, and get it into the oven. It was a ghastly failure—just like a piece of indiarubber —and Tomi told “Me think me lose him something.” meaning he had forgotten to put some necessary ingredient in the cake. However, it wasn’t wasted, as the boys ate it to the last crumb. One day Tomi made a very good sponge cake. I was expecting visitors that afternoon, so I told him to put raspberry jam in between the sponge. When he brought it in it was saturated with honey. I was furious. I had- no tinned cake to replace it, so I gave vent to my feelings by going into the house cook and giving Tomi a good box on the ears. He took it very calmly, and said: “He all the same red fella jam. Me think he alright.” The natives love anything new, and as the honey had not been opened Tomi thought he would sample it. I had in the living room several photographs, among them being one of a girl friend, taken in fancy costume, as Mercia in “The Sign of the Cross.” Her wrists were bound, and she held a cross in her hands. Tomi was greatly interested, and aftfcr gazing at the photograph said: “She Mary all the same Jesus Christ. She Popey?” meaning w y as she a Roman Catholic sister. I had to explain that my friend was dressed for “all the same sing sing. She plenty gammon.” Tomi himself w r as a Methodist Mission boy, but he knew all about the “Popeys,” as he called the Roman Catholics. “Pidgin English” is very hard to understand at first, but one soon becomes used to it. To be asked lor “one fella glass with screw belong eye belong him” was quite beyond my comprehension, but I soon discovered it was a screw top preserving jar that was wanted. Some of the “pidgin” is more forcible than polite. I stared in horror one day at something the house boy said, but I could see that he was quite innocent about it—it was only his way of expressing himself. One evening some friends came to dinner. I had told Tomi to make boiled onions for one vegetable, but when dinner was served no onions appeared. I asked: “Where onions he stop?” “Oh, he all buggar up finish,” said Tomi. I was horrified, but my husband and our guests, who were old island people, merely laughed, and very soon I got used to hearing “a spade called a spade.” A friend of mine had an amusing experience. She expected some newcomers to tea, and told the boy to have everything very nice. Tea time came, and in came the boy with the tea tray. He was clad in a spotless white “lap lap,” but to my friend’s horror over the top of it he had on a very soiled jpair of old pink corsets, with all the

suspenders dangling round. The corsets had been thrown out with other rubbish to be burned, but evidently the boy thought them a great find, and »ut them on to do honour to “missus” and her guests. Tomi’s idea of a rainbow was very quaint. One day there was a perfect one between the two small islands in front of the house. Both ends dipped in the sea, and Tomi told me in all seriousness that “Belly belong him, he plenty hungry too much along soda water (the sea). He drink belong two fella end belong him, by and by he fill up too much, then he break, and plenty rain he come.” Tomi was right, for in a short time the rainbow did “break,” and the rain came down in torrents. Washing day islands is every day. Usually there is a very good “wash bag” among tlie native servants, but if there isn’t the only thing for it i 9 to turn to and train a boy. Washing clothes in hot water is an unheard of thing. Plenty of cold water, a bar of laundry soap, a scrubbing brush (such as is used to scrub floors), and a table and, of course, a tub are made ready, and the boy starts operations. The scrubbing brush is very effective where white duck trousers are concerned, but it soon scrubs holes in fine underclothes and table linen. I bad to show my boy how to rub the clothes with his hands, and always paid a surprise visit to the scene of operations to see that he didn’t work with the scrubbing brush. The iron is usually one of those very oldfashioned ones, which have to be filled up with red hot embers, and swung to and fro till flame bursts out at both ends. The boys are certainly adepts at washing and ironing men’s white suits —they have plenty of practice, for a white suits lasts clean for only half a day. I never could make my boy fold the table cloths in tlie right way. No matter how often I told him, back they would come folded across, instead of the long way of the cloth. Probably his former “missus” or master had not bothered to correct him, and lie had the idea well fixed in his woolly head. My great delight was to wander along the beach and gather shells, of which there was a great variety. It was most amusing to see shells from quite large ones down to the tiniest pin points going along the sand at a great rate. When I drew near they stopped at once, and pretended to be dead, and when 1 moved away off they started again on business bent. Each shell had a hermit crab for occupant, and when my tin was full I would take it to the house, and get one of the boys to wJiistle the crab out. After a minute of soft whistling out would come Mr Crab to find who was disturbing his slumbers. The nimble fingers of the boy would make a grab, and in a second the crab would be scuttling off to find another home. Rather an extraordinary thing is that at the change of the seasons hundreds of starfish come ashore, being ugly things, quite large, and a dull pink in colour, with brown knobs like bullets in rows along each point of the star. They were in the water and out on the sand, and it wasn’t too pleasant later on when they were decaying. The fish in tropical waters are very beautiful, but very few are fit to eat. Usually they are caught by using dynamite, and it is quite a common thing to see a Kanaka with his hand off—he has been careless when throwing the fuse. One day I saw a Kanaka passing with a string of fish, so I called him over, and had a look at them. There were parrot fish, lovely little things with most gorgeous colouring, and one very hideous creature just like a porcupine. It had long white spikes sticking out all over it, and I should think would be an unpleasant customer to come in contact with. All the time I was in Kaewieng I saw only one snake. Somehow the thought of snakes did not trouble me, though had I known that the day before I arrived my husband had killed one eight feet long in the house, I would have been terrified and always on the lookout. I was only told of it after we came south, and I was very glad I had not known about it. I have a great dread of snakes. We had several goannas round about, and it is said that where there are goannas there are no snakes. The goannas are very fearsome-look-ing creatures, especially the large ones. I was walking along the bush track one day when suddenly I saw what to my eyes looked like some prehistoric monster appear from the hollow stump of an old tree. I stopped. I did not know whether to pass.it or turn back. However, it took no notice of me, but had a tour of investigation, and then crawled back into its home in the tree slump. It was like an enormous lizard, and the skin of the large goannas is greatly prized by the natives for their drums. One of the most beautiful insects is the “leaf insect.” One morning there was a most perfect specimen on the window curtain. It was fully five inches long, and the whole insect was the most delicate shade of green. The wings were like young tender leaves, beautifully veined, and the body like two crumpled leaves stuffed with cotton wool. It was a wonderful thing, and I would not allow the boy to kill it. One evening I had a great fright with a “rhinoceiom beetle,” husband

was just recovering frata a very bad attack of muLtrit fever, and I was going tats the bedroom with a cool drink when I heard the most terrific noise in the living room. The only noise I could compare it to was that made by a reaper and binder. There was no light in the room, but in the reflection through the open door of tlie bedroom I could see a huge black thing buzzing down the wall. The cool drink went one way, and I made a wild leap into the bed under the mosquito net. I landed on my husband’s very painful stomach, and the heels of my shoes got entangled in the net. The language was lurid for the moment, but I didn’t care. I was safe from the horror. In it came with a rush and a buzz and rattle, and I lay and quaked with fear. I shouted to Tomi, who came in fits of laughter. “Missus, she plenty fright,” and I was “plenty fright.” After a chase round the room Tomi caught it, and soon finished it off. The rhinocerous beetles are very destructive, and a great curse in a coconut plantation. They destroy the trees by boring right into the heart, and very soon the trees die. Some of my friends in Kaewieng used to tell me about centipedes and scorpions in their houses, but fortunately we were very free from them. Only once I saw a scorpion, and that was when the leaf of a coconut tree fall across the verandah. I happened to notice a scorpion making its way into the house, so I promptly killed it. Tlie mason wasps are very interesting, and will build tlieir tiny mud nests anywhere, between the pages of a book or a writing block on the window sills or if a coat is hanging up on the verandah. It is alwaj's wise to turn the sleeves out before putting a coat on, as there may be a family of mason wasps at home. One afternoon from a safe position under the net .1 watched a mason wasp at work. With infinite patience it travelled backwards and forwards to the window sill with tiny particles of dust, which it must have moistened in some way to form a compact mass. After a time I fell asleep, and when I awoke there it was hard at work building its house. I was sorry to have to tell Tonn to scrape it off, but one could not possibly have a colony of mason wasps so near at hand. The spiders I was not keen on; also a big dark blue sort of dragon fly, really like a fly which fishermen use, with lots of spikey things sticking out from his tail. I had no compunction about tel-* ling the boy to kill these, and he thought it a huge joke. “Me think missus she plenty gammon. She no fright too much.” He would chase round the rooms and verandah until he got the fly or hornet, and would then retire to the house cook, where i could hear gurglings and giggles from him and the other boys l —very amused to think that anyone could be afraid of such harmless insects. The flowers and plants were most beautiful. Through the bush at the change of the seasons it was like being in some gorgeous perfuming actory. The exquisite odour of the star-shaped frangipanni and the thousand and one scents which were wafted along on the soft breezes made one feel it was good to he alive. There was one little plant I liked very much. It was, I was told, deadly poison, but nevertheless it was very beautiful, and made an exquisite table decoration. It had very little, if any, flower, but the leaves were its chief beauty. Fan-shaped like a miniature poinsetta, each section of the leaf was dark green, with a bright scarlet band down the centre. It grew like a •” along the bush track, and Tomi brought me large bunches of it every other day. Another lovely flower was the “bird oi Paradise,” large clusters of golden and orange flowers on the one stalk. There were many varieties of hibiscus, which are very beautiful, but droop as soon as they are picked. On the way to Kaewieng from the “bridge” to the “house police” at intervals of a few days the ground would be carpeted with a pink crocus. The walk along was very beautiful. Huge jacaranda trees met overhead, and the soft green of the trees and the bright pink of the flowers made a charming picture. Unfortunately my husband was having very frequent attacks of fever, and was in a very critical state of health. So we were not at all surprised when he received a radio recalling him to Sydney to recuperate. Poor Tomi was quite unconsolable when he heard we were leaving. For the fortnight before we left he was the picture of misery, and his burden of woe was not lightened when he saw all his beloved pots and pans going to the Kong Kongs. I am sure though that it was the thought of losing his master and missus that caused him the most sorrow. I felt very sad at leaving Kaewieng. ' I had made many friends, arid had spent a happy and interesting time there. It is, I think, a case of either loving or loathing the islands. I knew some women who hated the life, but I loved it. One must be able to adapt oneself to the conditions, and to those women who yearn for a gay life—dances, theatres, and shops—l would say “don’t go,” as they would only be discontented and unhappy. . Even to write about my life in the islands brings back pangs of home sickliest for lovely; Kaewieng. Often, at

night I lie awake, and in the silence 1 call back memories of the silver bunches, the boom of the breakers on the reef, and the soft murmur of the tiny savelets as they come creeping up or the sand, and I would ask nothing Letter than when the samls of life have run out for me to lie “under the bright and starry sky” in that tiny corner of “God’s acre” in Kaewieng.