Sepik Blu Longpela Muruk

About the Author David Andrew de Bérigny Wall was born in Melbourne in 1936 and educated in Sydney at Saint Ignatius’ College, Riverview. After leaving school, he worked in Papua New Guinea on plantations and for the Department of Health for eighteen years. In the 1970s he returned to Sydney and qualified as a teacher librarian, subsequently working in high schools for the New South Wales Department of Education. He resides in Newtown, Sydney with his wife, Deborah. They have two grown-up children, Andrei and David Augustus. The years he lived in Papua New Guinea have left him with an abiding interest in the country and its people.

SEPIK BLU LONGPELA MURUK

By David Wall

Published 2007 by arima publishing

www.arimapublishing.com

ISBN: 978 1 84549 168 0

© David Wall 2007

All rights reserved

This book is copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no part of this publication may be

reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

Printed and bound in the United Kingdom

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it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Sepik Blu Longpela Muruk is a work of fiction, any resemblance between characters herein and real persons living is purely coincidental. Real places,

events and persons are mentioned but this is only to put the historical, geographical, political and social context into the novel.

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Author’s Comments This is a work of fiction, but fiction created from many realities: places, people and personal experiences encountered over many years in Papua New Guinea. The cassowary or muruk and the Sepik Blue orchid are natives of the jungles of PNG. The muruk is a flightless bird with long legs, an apt analogy for a person with long legs, hence longpela muruk, a characteristic of many expatriates in PNG. If there are any exaggerations or distortions in the narration, they are all mine, but I have endeavoured to create an authentic picture. From 1949 to 1971 the country was officially known as the Territory of Papua and New Guinea. In July 1971 the name Papua New Guinea (PNG) was adopted. This name has been used throughout the novel. David Wall Acknowledgements Editor: Sarah Walls Photographs: Deborah Ruiz Wall Sketches: Rebekah Araullo Cover design: David Augustus Ruiz Wall

For Deborah, Sarah and Zainil, tripela meri helpim mi long buk. They were companions in the creative process and sustaining supporters throughout.

Of course, they are in no way responsible for any political or gender incorrectness that might exhibit itself in the text. All the indelicate language is mine alone.

7

1

Life in a Papua New Guinea patrol post

Anybody can be good in the country. Oscar Wilde Like the surrounding villages, the patrol post of Dreikikir was perched on a ridge, amidst dense tropical jungle. Human habitation in the area was marked by houses, gardens and tall coconut palms. Smoke rose from cooking fires in the settlements and the sounds of insects and birds filled the air. Communication was maintained in the time-honoured fashion by wooden drums. The sounds of the garamut drums were heard conveying messages beaten out on them. One might love or hate New Guinea but there was no denying its pulsating vitality. The jungle was a celebration of nature. The Melanesians in their exuberance and energy flamboyantly acclaimed their lives. The expatriates in the country, whether they knew it or not, were privileged to have the chance to live amongst the New Guineans.

MacGregor came bounding out of his office, rushing towards the airstrip. A

group of natives was standing in the middle of the airstrip, and he called out: Yu raus long ples balus, balus kam nau tasol. Get off the airstrip, a plane is

coming now. On receiving the command, the group dispersed, except one person who

challenged the order. Mi Weira Bilpal, yu save mi kiap. Mi profet long Holi Spirit na telimaut bilong God na

mi stap long olgeta ples. I am Weira Bilpal and you know me, captain. I am a prophet of the Holy Spirit and a revelation of God and I go everywhere.

Tru Weira mi save long yu nau tasol go long arapela ples long balus nau kam. It’s true I

know you, Weira, but right now go to another place because a plane is coming now.

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Weira then left the airstrip. MacGregor thought to himself: “Bloody Wireless, he will be the death of us all. Of course, he is longlong (crazy).” Wireless was the name the expatriates gave Weira in recognition of his pseudo-prophetic pronouncements, broadcast for all to hear. In MacGregor’s opinion, he was “harmless enough” but another mixed-up product of the distorted interpretations of Western religious and economic influences. MacGregor reasoned that it was hard enough for a sane native to interpret the white man’s ways but how much harder for a deranged one. To MacGregor some of the stuff the missionaries put over was “a lot of rot” and how, he asked, “can we expect the average bush native to understand where industrial goods come from?”

Word had got around the station that a plane was expected and a motley

collection of whites and natives assembled to await its arrival. The Dreikikir airstrip tested the skills of any pilot and the more cynical and humorous saw nothing ironic in the fact that it had a hospital at one end and a church at the other. Its spiritual rather than physical aspect was further enhanced in that the strip was only used by Catholic Mission and Mission Aviation Fellowship planes. The planes brought mail and supplies as well as visitors and returning locals. All this created a sense of curiosity among the onlookers.

Both the expatriates and locals were beneficiaries in the bounties delivered.

People from distant villages visiting the patrol post for a day or so viewed the aircraft and the outpouring of goods and people as a confirmation of cargo cult beliefs. In the jungle setting in pre-independence PNG, this was a belief not so odd or peculiar; if peculiarity and oddity is to be attributed to any group of people, the natives of Papua New Guinea would no doubt have seen the expatriates as very odd indeed, and this little tale is about them.

One of those waiting to meet the plane was Fr Michael Casey, a member of

the Society of the Divine Word or an SVD, initials that Michael described as “smoke we don’t but drink we do.” This stemmed from the Order’s ban on smoking for its members. Needless to say, Michael did a bit of both, with more than a bit of the latter. A singular character in many ways, he had arrived in the Territory shortly after World War II. A Bostonian of Irish descent whose grandfather had immigrated to the States to escape the Irish famine, Michael was proud of his “bog Irish” heritage. His grandfather laboured on the Boston wharves and gave his five sons a good education, with two becoming lawyers and the others going into business. Michael’s father ran a successful furniture business, and liked to say: “Our origins, unlike the Kennedys’, are bog Irish rather than lace curtain Irish.” Michael himself combined the charm and

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suppression of violence of the Irish with the urbanity of an educated American. As well as his priestly qualifications, Michael also had a law degree from the University of Chicago, which helped in dealing with government officials and defending his parishioners from time to time in the local courts. In theology, he was strictly pre-Vatican II and saw his sacramental duties as the raison d’être for missionary activity. Though he admired the humanity of Pope John XXIII, history, he contended, would see the Pope as a “clerical fool”. For the small expatriate group in Dreikikir, Fr Michael Casey was effectively the church, in spite of the fact that the Sub-District was overwhelmingly Protestant.

And now let us turn our gaze on the state representative who was also

waiting to meet the plane. John MacGregor was variously described as a “rough diamond”, “cultured Scot” and “gentle giant”. Jock, as he was known, was the patrol officer at Dreikikir, and to some extent fitted all these terms of description. He stood six feet three and was built in proportion. In his student days at Glasgow University, he had studied veterinary science for two years. He made his mark as a boxer, and it is said that the inter-university bout with Edinburgh University, in which Jock represented Glasgow University, was one of the finest ever. In Jock’s words, “the Fenian got under my guard in the last round and won on points.” One can only surmise that the Fenian Jock referred to was a Catholic, though whether of the Scottish or Irish variety would not have concerned Jock. A Presbyterian of the old school was the way Jock liked to see himself, with religion being more a label than a way of life and predestination taking effect in the twilight of one’s years. Then one became a pillar of society, the mark of respectability being church attendance after a life of being “one of the boys” with an appetite for good living, liquor, and the accommodating companionship of females. Ideally, the final transformation of one’s life, coupled with a good woman and perhaps one or two children, would take place back in Scotland.

One could be forgiven for imagining that Fr Casey and Mr MacGregor

would be as compatible as fire and water. However, their common interest in good booze was a wonderful equaliser, and outstation life was considerably enriched by the contribution of these two personalities.

Rushing from the hospital to meet the plane, and to see that the medical

supplies he had ordered from Wewak had arrived, was Jack Murphy, the European medical assistant. A short, rather dapper man with greying, brushed back hair, dressed in white shorts, shirt and long white socks, Jack was the area’s medical provider of first choice, being ready to dispense a range of services that

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in developed countries would only be provided by university-qualified medical practitioners. Jack’s training was mainly received as a medic in the army, with short courses in the Territory. His broad skills were substantially learned on the job, and were indeed considerable.

Jack had had a chequered career in and out of the PNG medical service.

During the war, he had served with the AIF in the Middle East and in New Guinea, joining the occupation forces in Japan after the war. After leaving the army, he was recruited by Dr John Gunther as an EMA or European Medical Assistant in PNG. John Gunther was the famous post-war Director of Public Health in the Territory. He had remarkable administrative skills and abilities to discern human qualities. No doubt, Jack’s character would have been obvious to him, in spite of Jack’s rather surly manner and independent spirit. Jack called no man master but he had a feeling and sensitivity for the underdog.

As a soldier and medical orderly, Jack’s bravery under fire was unequalled,

and had been recognised with a Military Medal and a Mention in Despatches, though one would not hear any of this from Jack. He would bow and scrape to no one. A senior medical officer in the department once told Jack that he was not to address him by his first name but as “Doctor”. The doctor in question then addressed Murphy as “Jack”, whereupon Jack in no uncertain terms told him that he was to be addressed as “Mr Murphy”, much to the injured dignity of the good doctor. Why Jack ended up in a backwater like Dreikikir concerned a little story about the said doctor’s wife. Suffice to say, in Jack’s words when talking about this affair, “any red-blooded male after a drink or two, if it is on offer would have to do the gentlemanly thing.” Jack did not spell out exactly what this was.

George Smith, the education officer, was also there to meet the plane. A red-

faced, thickset, chain-smoking and smiling individual, with something of life’s baggage about him, George, like the other expatriates, had an interesting past. After a brilliant academic and sporting career at Sydney Grammar School in the early fifties, where he distinguished himself as a cricket all-rounder, making the Great Public Schools’ team and getting honours in Classical Greek and Latin in the Leaving Certificate, George was selected for officer training at the Royal Military College Duntroon. A year later, he was expelled after an incident involving two other cadets in a drunken drive around Canberra in a purloined jeep that ended up in the front garden of the Prime Minister’s Lodge. In line with the English upper middle class tradition, George was attracted to the colonies when in personal disgrace. As good fortune had it, the Administration


11

of Papua and New Guinea was offering a six-month course to train primary school teachers for service in the Territory.

George’s application to the External Territories Department went through

without a hitch. Apparently, his “small problems” at Duntroon were as nothing when compared with his Leaving Certificate pass. Most other applicants had only the Intermediate Certificate or equivalent. So George was duly dispatched to Rabaul which suited him down to the ground. This got him out of Australia with a second chance.

George was an adequate educator. He took to the Territory like a duck to

water, especially to the local women. His first posting was to Daru in the Western District of Papua. George found the town very accommodating and to his liking. On seeing him enter the local club, an assistant district commissioner reportedly said, referring to his amours: “Ah, here comes George Smith, he’s ridden more winners than George Moore.” (Moore was a famous Australian horse racing jockey.) The chain-smoking, emotional George, for all his foibles, was essentially liked by all, natives and expatriates.

While the residents of Dreikikir were waiting for the plane to arrive, James

Ward put in an appearance returning with his team after spraying in the Salata group of villages to the east of the patrol post. James was a field officer with the malaria control programme, under the direction of the dynamic malariologist, Dr Marek Karski, who entertained grandiose ideas of eradicating malaria from Papua and New Guinea. However high-flown his aim, Karski certainly impressed on his staff the need to get to know the people and the area where they worked. For the residual spraying programme to be successful, Dr Karski insisted that detailed intelligence must be carried out by his staff.

James Ward, his staff member in Dreikikir, was in many ways an enigma. A

young man in his twenties, with a variety of experiences in the Territory and outside, he was still largely callow. Prior to joining the Malaria Service, he had worked on plantations, and spent a number of years travelling around the world, but he was not, at least in his own mind, fully coping with life. This had led him to become a teetotaller, as he was rather ashamed of some of the things that he had supposedly done while under the influence of alcohol.

He was a tall, rather handsome man, but much to his chagrin not particularly

appealing to women, or at least this was what he thought. A pre-Vatican II Catholic education had left him with all the legalism of Catholic belief but very

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little of the enhancing broadening aspects of Christianity, an attitude to life that ill-prepared him for living in the Territory. This had led to many instances of poor judgment and personal disasters in his dealings with the natives. In his plantation days, he had been beaten up by the workers. This was not surprising, given the appalling racism that he had absorbed from the plantation culture.

His denial of his own essential nature, tied up with his stern religious beliefs,

was a condition that could not last, and one could sense when talking to James that he was a character in transition. In this context, Horace’s words come to mind: “You may drive out nature with a pitchfork, yet she’ll be constantly running back.” James’s reading of the pragmatist and cynic, Somerset Maugham, along with the worldly Catholic, Graham Greene, gave him new insights. His travels in Africa, Europe and North America had broadened his outlook. The racism he had acquired on plantations in Papua had left him. However, his primitive Catholicism remained. This effectively prevented him having any meaningful relationships with members of the opposite sex.

Meanwhile the plane had landed, and passengers and cargo had been

attended to. Fr William McAuley, the pilot, who had just alighted, was in close conversation with Fr Michael Casey. Michael was making his confession. He saw this as an essential spiritual exercise that he would be deprived of if the priest pilots stopped flying into Dreikikir. His sins, one suspects, were the more robust kind, of overindulgence in alcohol and displays of temper. Once this encounter was finished, Father McAuley checked that the few passengers in the plane were secure and, with a last wave to Jock and Michael, climbed into the pilot’s seat.

Jock gave the order to his sergeant of police to get everyone to clear the

airstrip, which Sergeant Tobias Kangu, a fine upstanding man from the Middle Sepik River area, did in an orderly and efficient manner. Fr McAuley then started the engine of the single engine Dornier, and away the plane went, just clearing the church steeple, if steeple is not too fine a word to describe the rather crude tin and timber elevation on the top of Fr Casey’s church.

After the plane left, the station began to return to normal. Once the sorting

and distribution of cargo and mail was completed, it was about 5 pm. The whites were all asked for drinks to MacGregor’s house. This promised to develop into a drinking session followed by a meal, accompanied by good and lively conversation, and helped along by several cartons of beer. The beer had arrived overland by Landrover, from Maprik, a journey of several hours over a bush track that had recently been turned into a road of sorts.


13

The expatriate group assembled on the verandah of MacGregor’s house. The patrol officer’s house was the only permanent-material building on the station. All other structures were made of bush materials. The view from the verandah was extensive, incorporating the foot hills and plains almost to the Sepik River. At an elevation of about 1,600 feet above sea level, the Dreikikir area, weatherwise, had in some ways the best of both worlds, hot to warm days with cool to cold nights, and a relatively mild mosquito presence, though one did need a mosquito net to sleep at night. Compared with the lower areas, especially along the Sepik River, it was idyllic, almost annoyance free. Nevertheless, there were still sufficient numbers of the deadly anopheles to make the area malaria endemic. Our expatriates knew that failure to take chloroquine meant an attack of malaria.

After they were seated, Jock called for his house girl, Annie, to bring

everyone drinks, so that the serious business of drinking, smoking and talking could get underway. All accepted the South Pacific Lager offered, except James Ward who drank muli juice, a local lemon drink, made with Annie’s tender hands.

Annie’s presence in Jock’s house was a bone of contention between him and

Fr Casey. A young woman of obvious mixed-race antecedents and few apparent domestic skills, Annie was a quiet, obliging and easy-going person. Her father was said to be an Angau officer stationed in Dreikikir near the end of the war, and who now served as a high-ranking officer in the Administration. Whatever Annie’s domestic capabilities, Michael Casey felt that her presence in Jock’s house compromised Jock’s impartiality. Of course, Casey assumed that MacGregor’s interest in Annie went beyond the merely domestic. When the subject of Annie was brought up, MacGregor told Casey to mind his own business and let him run the station as he saw fit. This situation had on occasions led to discussions that were as lively as they were ill-informed.

James Ward said: “The Native Women’s Protection Ordinance makes it

illegal to have native women in a white man’s house after 6 o’clock in the evening.” Jock in his cups, muttered: “The White Women’s Protection Ordinance was repealed in 1958.” George Smith said: “My watch always keeps bad time.” Whatever Jack Murphy thought, he said nothing. Fortunately, on this occasion, Annie didn’t hear this talk.

The conversation quickly turned to what was happening in Maprik. At this

time, the United Nations Mission, under the leadership of Sir Hugh Foot, was

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visiting Maprik. None realised how significant this was for the Territory. Casey maintained: “This UN group don’t understand the uniqueness of Papua New Guinea.” MacGregor bellyached about “bloody socialists”. It seems that he had met Sir Hugh’s brother, Michael, at some function at Glasgow University, and was not impressed with his political views. Jack Murphy said: “The United Nations’ money could be better spent on health activities.” George Smith had heard a rumour about a supposedly glamorous-looking Brazilian, who was said to be travelling with the Mission as a secretary, and said he would like “to check her out.” Ward had spent a little time travelling in Africa, and realised that dramatic changes happened to colonies. He had just managed to get out of the former Belgian Congo before it fell apart.

The group would have had little sympathy with the Mission’s subsequent

recommendations to establish a university, and move towards self-government with an elected house of assembly, as a matter of urgency. The group’s prevailing mood was to get on with the drinking, which they all did, except Ward. After they had reached a high degree of intoxication, Annie served a meal of curry and rice, following which they returned to their respective houses.

Casey had come by motorbike, and much to his credit, he managed to leave

by the same means, though he did find cranking the motor by foot a daunting challenge. The farewells were heard in the night air. Ward said: “Good night Father, watch the downhill slope of the airstrip.” This was his track home.

After they had left, Jock decided to have a nightcap, and wondered what to

do with Annie. After some reflection, he told her to go to her own quarters. MacGregor had few illusions about himself. He hoped that his intentions were good but he was no prude. Alcohol was to be enjoyed and women were a gift of the gods. With these thoughts on his mind, he retired to his chaste couch.

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2

A job to be done

Man goeth forth to his work, and to his labour… Prayer Book Early next morning, MacGregor, after considerable effort, made it to the office, a local-materials structure about two minutes’ walk from his house. At 8 am each morning, Dreikikir was contacted by the post office at Wewak, conveying radiograms, messages and two-way conversations. On this morning, there was a radiogram from Treasury announcing that an auditor would be arriving by plane the following day. This got Jock in an unholy panic, as he had done nothing to the station’s account books for about two months. After a number of exclamations of “roger roger”, the radio was closed down, and MacGregor ordered Ellias Yumbun, the clerk or kuskus, as it was known in Pidgin, to get the account books.

Ellias’s expertise with the accounts was severely limited, as he had only completed grade 3 at a mission school near the Sepik River. Some months before, Jock had imprisoned him for getting in a fight. After Ellias had finished his sentence, he was supposed to return to Torembi, his village near the river. Instead he came to Jock with a story about how bright he was at office work, and Jock’s books were in such bad shape he decided to give him a job.

This was done quite unofficially, as Ellias worked for rations only: a liberal

issue of rice, flour, sugar, tea, tinned meat, fish and tobacco. A short time after Jock employed him, he realised that Ellias was practically useless, but he didn’t have the heart to dismiss him, as he was always so willing, and Jock felt he kept an eye on the office while he was away.

Much as Jock hated account keeping, he would have to do it, with the auditor

arriving the following day. At the back of his mind was the thought that if the worst came to the worst, and he could not get the books to balance, he could always close the airstrip for a few days. This would stop the plane with the auditor coming in. This option became increasingly appealing, as he laboured

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throughout the morning to balance the books, and this is exactly what he did on the radio the next morning.

In his Scottish brogue, Jock informed Wewak that he would have to close the

strip. Dreikikir had received a sudden downpour of rain, and the airstrip would be out for the next day or so. A metereologist would have found the occurrence of rain at Dreikikir a most interesting phenomenon, as on this day the rest of the district was dry. Fr Casey said: “Jock wants to be careful as anyone would realise what a load of bullshit his weather report was.” Jock kept the airstrip closed for two days while he frantically brought his account books up to date. What the Wewak authorities made of Jock’s unique weather reports is anyone’s guess. The auditor duly arrived, and everything apparently went off well.

While this was happening, the patrol post was visited by Geoff Gordon, the

Department of Mines officer from Maprik. There had been reports of some alluvial gold finds to the west of Dreikikir, and Gordon intended to go on patrol and investigate them. Before leaving on patrol, he stayed with James Ward. On meeting him, James let it drop that he was “on the dry”, whereupon Geoff said: “You’ll do me.”

Geoff was about sixty years old, but as he said himself, he had three ages: his

First World War age when he put his age up, his Second World War age when he put his age down, and his real age. He was with the First AIF in France, and the Second AIF in North Africa, Papua and New Guinea. He first came to New Guinea in the early 1920s, as a plantation overseer with the Expropriation Board set up to manage ex-German plantations. The Board sold a number of these to returned Australian soldiers. Geoff managed to get a plantation near Namatanai in New Ireland, which ended up a financial disaster when the bottom fell out of the price of copra. He then turned to gold mining in the Bulolo Valley, in the Morobe District. In the course of his mining career, he got to know famous miners such as Cecil John Levien, Bill Royal and many others of Edie Creek fame, where vast fortunes were made. He also met Errol Flynn, a future Hollywood celebrity.

That evening on Ward’s verandah, the conversation turned to stories about

Geoff’s past life. In the cool air with the pressure lamps hissing in the background, Geoff and James drank coffee after a meal of bully beef, local vegetables and rice, while Geoff reminisced about the beautiful young New Ireland women who had added spice to plantation life years ago. There was also the dark side of his life, concerning his drinking which had turned into alcoholic


17

addiction, as well as his gold mining days, where he had struck it rich; and his grand world tour, involving the dance halls of Manila, the charming Filipinas, the bevy of women who visited him when he was staying in Kowloon at the Peninsular Hotel; the difficulties of trying to get a drink in the dry provinces of Canada; landing back in Sydney stone broke; having to go back to New Guinea and start again, and wash for gold in Bulolo, striking it rich again; followed by the high life and volunteering for service in the Second World War. His life was full of ups and downs and had no real direction until he tackled the demon drink, something he said he did by himself without joining any group.

Some time after the Second World War, Geoff was back in New Ireland,

managing a copra plantation, and steadily drinking himself to death, in addition to swallowing numerous aspirins each day. One morning, he woke up feeling dreadful and said to himself: “If I can only go one day without a drink”. This he did, and one day became fifteen years, but he said he did not have the drink beaten, as the desire was still there. James listened intently and mentioned some incidences of despicable behaviour on his own part, which had been the cause of him going on the wagon. Both agreed that some things were best put out of mind, and seen as part of a drunken life that had passed.

While these rather deep discussions were taking place, George Smith and

Jack Murphy turned up. Both were well primed and in no mood to be talking about the dangers of drink. They asked for a beer, which James got from the kerosene refrigerator. He always kept drink on hand for visitors. George and Jack were the bearers of interesting news. Casey had been told by the bishop in Wewak to report to him. This message was contained in a letter he had received in the mail bag that had come by the Land Rover from Maprik. The other news was that MacGregor had to leave early the next morning, as a message had arrived from Bongos, a village six hours’ walk away, where there had been a major cargo cult outbreak. Fr Karl Shultz, on the nearby mission station, had sent a runner to inform Jock about his concerns.

The gathering came to an abrupt end when Geoff said he would have to go

to bed as he had to leave early the next day on patrol to investigate the supposed gold finds to the west of the station.

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3

Law and order

Let all things be done decently and in order. Corinthians 14:40 Early the next morning MacGregor, his police sergeant and two constables assembled with a number of carriers, ready to start the patrol to Bongos to investigate the reported cargo cult outbreak. Jock was in his element and at his side, ready to respond to every order, was Sergeant Tobias Kangu, dressed in the local constabulary uniform of black laplap with red edges and top, and looking resplendent with his 303 rifle and ammunition belt. Jock gave the order for the patrol to proceed. The three policemen were all armed with 303 rifles, but Jock himself did not carry a firearm. The ammunition for the rifles had not been issued to the policemen, but was in a small locked patrol box to which only Jock had the key.

Jock was unsure what to expect, as the only report of trouble had come from

Fr Shultz’s brief message. He knew of the existence of a cargo cult, but until now this had not concerned him much. If anything, he thought it encouraged development as its leader, Kitahi, had got the villagers to plant extensive gardens. Fr Shultz’s note had said only that there had been trouble with Kitahi, and Bongos village was very unsettled.

As the patrol approached Bongos, a village of about 350 people, there was an

eerie silence about the place, with not a soul to be seen. Even the dogs seemed to have deserted the place. The mission station was situated on the far side of the village. On the way, there was a makeshift airstrip that was used only in emergencies. Jock had thought it strange that Fr Shultz had not mentioned in his note the possibility of air access, but when he saw the strip it was obvious why. Logs were strewn all over it. The mission itself consisted only of five or six bush-material houses, a priest’s house, a church and one or two sheds. Jock made a beeline for the priest’s house and found Fr Shultz waiting for him outside.


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Karl Shultz was an impressive looking man. If anything, he was even taller than Jock. With his blond Teutonic looks, even in his late fifties, he exuded physical strength. His first words to Jock, spoken with a slight German accent, were: “Am I glad to see you!”.

At the beginning of the Second World War, Karl Shultz was ordained a

priest, but this did not save him from military service. He was conscripted into the German army, and served on the Western and Eastern Fronts, and it was even said that he was part of the commando unit that rescued Mussolini from the Italian partisans. Whatever his subsequent thoughts about the War, he could not disguise his pride when giving an account of the victorious German Army entering Paris after the capitulation of France: “We achieved total victory in a matter of weeks. This was something that had not been done in the years during the 1914-1918 conflict.”

Fr Schultz admitted that his experiences on the Eastern Front rather

undermined any dedication he may have had to the German cause. This was especially true of his time with the army in the Ukraine. The Catholic Ukrainians were most hospitable when they realised he was a priest, and he secretly heard confessions and said Mass for them whenever he could. Initially, the Ukrainians saw the Germans as liberators from the Russians. However, after they experienced the Gestapo’s despicable behaviour, any such illusions were quickly dispelled. With the defeat of Germany, Karl managed to reestablish himself with his religious order, and in 1948 he was sent to the Sepik District of Papua and New Guinea.

Jock saw that Karl’s right arm was bandaged and enquired about it. Fr Shultz

asked MacGregor into his house. He sat Jock on a chair and produced a bottle of altar wine and glasses, and explained:

“Mr MacGregor, for the last few months I’ve been very worried about the

general situation in the village. A number of my regular Mass-goers have not been turning up for services in the church. The practice of confession has completely fallen away, and Kitahi has been holding large village meetings where mission workers have been religiously, please excuse the pun, kept away.”

At this point, Jock was not overly concerned. The fact that the natives were

keeping away from confession he considered a good thing, a useless Popish practice in his opinion. However, the altar wine was putting him in an

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increasingly sympathetic and affable frame of mind, and the rest of Karl’s story put him right on side:

“The other evening at about 6:30 pm I was returning to my house, after

talking to a group of catechists. When I got inside the front door, there was Kitahi and he came at me with a bush knife. His first swing got me on my arm. At first I was taken completely by surprise. He gave me a substantial cut on my arm and blood was flowing. However, I quickly regained my composure and I realised that this was a life and death struggle. Kitahi was intent on killing me.”

Kitahi was a tall man for a Melanesian, standing about 5 feet 10 inches and

built like an ox. He was also a good 15 years younger than Karl, though he did not have Karl’s expertise in unarmed combat, learned in his German Army days. Kitahi’s line of attack mainly consisted of him swinging and thrusting the bush knife at Karl, and expending a lot of energy yelling. Karl demonstrated some brilliant maneuvering, and eventually closed with Kitahi, disarming him by putting him flat on his face with his arm twisted behind his back.

Karl then called for assistance from the group of catechists who were just

outside his house, having come in response to all the noise emanating from the Father’s house. Together they took Kitahi, after binding his hands, to a nearby shed, where he had been kept under guard. Since the fight, he had been remarkably docile, and had given no trouble. Karl had been able to talk to him and find out more about what had been going on.

By this time, it was late afternoon, and Jock arranged to have his police

billeted at the mission. He told the Sergeant to take the other police and see if anyone had returned to the village. If so, they should inform the luluai and tultul, the village leader and assistant, to report to him the following day. Jock himself would stay in Karl’s house.The village people had returned home by the time word got around that the kiap or the patrol officer had arrived. Kitahi’s hardened followers were scared as they had put the logs on the airstrip, and during the night they removed them.

In the morning, the village leaders came to see MacGregor. MacGregor had

already decided that his activities would be confined to an investigation, as the nature of Kitahi’s offences went beyond his jurisdiction. He intended to send him under guard to the Sub-District Office at Maprik, where the Assistant District Commissioner could decide if he had the jurisdiction to hear the case, or if he would refer it on to District level, where it could be heard by a visiting


21

judge. The following account, which Jock pieced together in investigating the witnesses, formed the basis of his report to the Assistant District Commissioner.

The Catholic Mission Station had been in Bongos for twelve years. Whatever

Fr Shultz thought, in Jock’s opinion it had had very little influence on the people. Kitahi, in the early days of the mission, had been quite enthusiastic and was baptised a Catholic. Jock thought that he had never been much more than a ‘rice Christian’. His view was confirmed when Kitahi talked about the teachings of the mission as the rot bilong kago (the way to get goods). A number of years previously, Kitahi had become increasingly disillusioned with Catholicism, as the cargo did not seem to be coming, in spite of the fact that the teachings of the church said that all men were equal.

This, he felt, was rubbish as the whites obviously had so much more than

everyone else. He did not reject the teaching as such, for he believed that Jesus wanted all men to be equal. So he could only conclude that Jesus’s intentions to distribute all goods equally were being thwarted by someone or something. With this in mind, Kitahi decided to try the Protestant Mission.

The nearest Protestant Mission was not far away. He was given an

enthusiastic welcome by Miss Helga Schwartz, a forceful German woman in charge of the South Seas Evangelical Mission. Miss Schwartz was very eager for converts, and was only too happy to save Kitahi from “Roman entrapment”. Kitahi was accommodated at the Mission Station, and Miss Schwartz gave him personal instruction in the Evangelical version of the reformed faith. Everything appeared to be going well for about six months, but Kitahi was still confronted with what he considered a fundamental problem with the Christian message: the idea of the equality of all and the blatant inequality, in terms of possessions, between the blacks and the whites. Even in Miss Schwartz’s community of believers, the whites had it all. The blacks were left with very little. Kitahi still believed that Jesus wanted a fairer society, and the ancestral spirits, he considered, supported Jesus in also wanting this.

Kitahi considered that the abundance of the natural world depended on

supernatural goodwill, and in his limited knowledge manufactured goods also depended on supernatural benevolence. After all, the goods, as far as he knew, came from nowhere in ships to Wewak and in planes to outstations. His thought processes increasingly became more and more anti-white. He had no sympathy with the concept of whites as ancestors, an idea advanced by some of the elders. In Jock’s opinion, these ideas were all very well if they stayed an inward-looking

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cult idea, but when interpreted as a philosophy of action leading to violence, they were quite unacceptable. Jock saw it as his clear duty to bring Kitahi to justice for his attempt on Karl Shultz’s life, and to do what he could to discourage the cult.

The police assembled the carriers and patrol for the return to Dreikikir, and

Kitahi was to accompany the patrol under guard. Before leaving, Jock ensured that the situation in the village was calm, and took the precaution of leaving one of the police constables behind to make sure that the calm persisted. The villagers seemed cowed by recent events, and Jock expected that seeing Kitahi led off under guard would have a most sobering effect. Jock made his farewells to Karl, and addressed the people in the village in Pidgin English, making it clear he would not tolerate any further disturbances. On leaving, he shook hands with the village leaders and gave the order for the patrol to proceed.

After an uneventful walk back to Dreikikir, Jock radioed Maprik to send a

Land Rover to collect Kitahi and himself with the police sergeant. The next morning the Land Rover arrived, and Kitahi was taken to Maprik and questioned by the Assistant District Commissioner. The ADC decided that he should be tried by a visiting circuit judge due to arrive in Wewak the following month. Due process was carried out, and Kitahi was convicted of the assault on Fr Shultz and sentenced to six months in gaol.

Some considered this a lenient sentence, but the natives did not take lightly

to being kept away from home for any length of time. Kitahi found incarceration in Wewak’s gaol most alarming, though the experience certainly did not destroy him psychologically. With Miss Schwartz’s help, a year or so later he was elected to the first House of Assembly as the member for Dreikikir. His rather illiterate outspokenness appealed to the emerging nationalism among pre-independence politicians, and he became a force to be reckoned with in future parliamentary negotiations. In future years, he would end up with a knighthood and considerable wealth said by his enemies to have come from the fast-tracking of timber leases for foreign companies. One cannot help wondering if he thought he had at last found the rot bilong kago.

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4

Movement at the station

God ordered’d motion, but ordain’d no rest. Henry Vaughan Meanwhile back at Dreikikir much was happening in the lives of our empire builders. John MacGregor had received a letter from the District Commissioner in Wewak. After the trial of Kitahi, Jock was to be transferred to Angoram on the Sepik River, something he was not pleased about.

“They think they can move the single man from pillar to post on a mere whim,”he said. “I’ve a good mind to give the whole thing away.”

He had also received a letter from an old university chum from his Glasgow

student days. This chap, another Scot, held a senior position in Kennecott, a mining company in the States and Canada. He wanted Jock to keep his ear to the ground about any reports of possible mining deposits in Papua and New Guinea. Kennecott geologists, it appeared, considered the country as very likely to be rich in minerals, and the company saw possible future prospecting there very favourably. Employment with a mining company had considerable appeal to Jock.

Jack Murphy surprised everyone with the news that he might be giving the

Territory away. The idea of working as a doctor, while not being a doctor, was increasingly jarring with his sense of his position in the scheme of things. He concluded that he would be better off working as a medical representative down south, the term used for Australia. As fate would have it, a pharmaceutical company in Melbourne was interested in interviewing him. He also revealed that he had been writing to a woman whom he had met on his last leave, and things might be getting serious. All agreed that old Jack was a bit of a dark horse.

Fr Michael Casey had been informed that the bishop in Wewak wanted to

see him. Though he treated this with bravado, he was a little worried. There was speculation as to why the mission had buried him in such a backwater as Dreikikir, given his obvious talents. Some said it was to do with a relationship he

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had had with an Australian nurse some years ago. Whatever the truth, he had been suddenly removed from an influential diocesan position and dispatched to Dreikikir. He had told James Ward celibacy was something that he had signed up to years ago, and regrettably he was committed to it, if indeed somewhat mournfully. Both men had known the dark night of the soul. The temptations of the flesh in the tropical setting of New Guinea were a potential enticement to both saint and sinner. It was a credit to Casey that he appeared to have kept his vows intact, if indeed with help from the bottle and prayer.

As it happened, the bishop wanted only to see how Casey was and to request

that he lead a retreat for the Franciscans at Aitape. This he duly did, commenting on his return to Dreikikir that the old orders of the church certainly had a lot to teach the newer ones.

George Smith had applied for a transfer to Wewak and was told that he was

to take over a primary school there at the end of the year. James Ward was to attend an in-service course at the Malaria Control Unit in

Maprik, and then take up a position at Angoram on the Sepik River.

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5

Maprik and the fight against malaria

He had a fever when he was in Spain And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake. Julius Caesar, Act I, scene II

James Ward found his time in Maprik informative, though its expatriate community was socially more staid than the small close-knit Dreikikir community. The rather staid atmosphere was contributed to by the local people. The Abelam people of Maprik were culturally rich. Their cults and practices were preserved. The structures of their spirit houses or haus tambaran demonstrated considerable architectural skill. The people themselves were a secretive and self-contained group who were of more interest to missionaries and anthropologists than to run-of-the-mill expatriates. It was not uncommon to see old village men walking around Maprik stark naked. The younger people attending school were being taught mainly by fundamentalists of the Assemblies of God variety, and it was unlikely that the ability to speak in tongues was valued by the expatriates. With few exceptions, the locals and expatriates were more or less content to be separated from each other. This changed somewhat in late 1962, with the introduction of local drinking, a development that many considered a social disaster.

In 1958 Dr Peters, an internationally recognised malariologist, established a

pilot malaria control project in Maprik, consisting of DDT spraying and the distribution of anti-malarial drugs. Some signs of success emerged, though it was rumoured that Dr Peters had reservations about the Administration’s commitment to the programme, and he left in the early 1960s.

Dr Marek Karski took over as chief malariologist stationed in Port Moresby,

and expanded the programme into many districts in the Territory. He saw that the professional, technical and field staff, made up of both locals (or nationals as he preferred to call them even before this term was generally used) and expatriates, was maintained and even increased.

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Maprik boasted a fully equipped laboratory employing a number of microscopists from various districts in Papua and New Guinea, all under the direction of a talented Papuan, Luke Isakaya. Lance Jones was the District Supervisor in charge of the field teams and administration of the laboratory. Lance was a happily married man who was keen on his work and had a scientific bent springing from his four years of medical training at the University of Brisbane. Both Luke and Lance had published in scholarly journals with Dr Karski.

Dr Byron Douglass, a remarkable character in his mid-sixties, was also

working as a malariologist. Byron was the son of an upper class American family. His father was an international lawyer, and was prominent in the peace negotiations after the Spanish American War at the end of the 19th Century. Just before the First World War, he was the acting ambassador of the United States to the court of St James in London. Byron himself was educated in the United States, Britain and Germany. He had medical and classical degrees from Oxford, and spoke fluent German and English with an Oxford accent. Though generally in good health, Byron was partially deaf, the result of a boxing match in his undergraduate days at Oxford, when as Byron said: “The future Duke of Devonshire landed a deadly right hook on my left ear.”

When asked his nationality, Byron said “British”. He joined what he thought

was the losing side at the beginning of the Second World War. He enjoyed his booze, but was never drunk, and the only sign of overindulgence was an unfortunate facial tic that convulsed his face from time to time. Byron loved women, and became quite poetic when speaking of his friend, Julie, back in England. The sensual pleasure he felt when lying next to Julie, with her hand resting on his privates, was vividly described in a tone of past bliss and future anticipation.

Before coming to Maprik, he had worked as a medical officer in various

districts in Papua. On a visit to Port Moresby, he met Marek Karski who offered him a position with the Malaria Control Service. One suspects that Byron saw this as less demanding than general practice as a medical officer, and he readily accepted Marek’s offer. Byron had a diploma in tropical medicine, so there was no problem with his appointment as a malariologist.

Byron did not take to Marek’s rather over-enthusiastic approach to work and

a tendency to let others pay for drinks, rather than fork out himself. This stinginess Byron put down to Marek’s experiences in Eastern Europe during the


27

war. Marek was always ready to take anything in the way of food and drink that was on offer. There was a famous story about how a field officer with the Service purposely kept a carton of beer out in the sun, in the hope that Marek would not want to drink hot beer, but to no avail. He said to Marek that he would offer him a beer but it was all hot. Upon which Marek reputedly said: “Don’t worry about that”, and drank six cans of hot beer.

Little antagonism was detectable when Marek and Byron were together, as

they carried on a lively conversation in English and German. In fact, Marek always spoke very highly of Byron to others, and described him as “a cultured gentleman.” The chance to see them together again occurred sooner than our gallant malaria fighters at Maprik expected. Lance Jones frantically rushed up to Byron with a radiogram from Marek Karski, which read: “Byron, assemble all malaria staff stop important policy statement stop book accommodation Maprik Hotel stop arriving tomorrow. Marek.” Byron’s response was: “Bloody, bloody, hell!”

Marek’s expected arrival put everyone on their toes, including officers from

departments other than health. The Assistant District Commissioner arranged for a Land Rover to be at Marek’s disposal while he was in the Sub-District.

Byron said to James Ward: “The old bastard is a born actor and he loves to

create a stir. You had better get your field journals up to date and arrange with Mike Adams, the publican, to offer him food and drink as soon as he arrives tomorrow. Noli nothis permittere te terere.”

James said: “What the hell does that mean?” To which Byron replied: “Don’t

let the bastards wear you down.” Byron took refuge in his classical learning. He thought he would much rather

be home reading The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Dr Karski arrived in the morning with all the expected hype and drama, but

everyone was relieved to learn that he was only staying one day. The big policy statement consisted of the announcement that the Malaria Control Programme was now to be a Malaria Eradication Programme with a massive expansion of spraying and drug distribution. Byron said to James: “Goodness knows where the money is coming from.” Marek did not readily address little details like that.

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While he was there, Dr Karski took James Ward aside and told him that he had great plans for him: “James, I’ve glanced at your field journals and I’m impressed. Also your Pidgin English is impressive. I want you to go to Angoram as soon as possible. Recently, I met a big man from the Murik Lakes, John Kabais, and he is anxious for our activities to start in the river area. I know that you come from a professional background,” (Marek was referring to the fact that James’s father was a medical doctor) “and I have decided to make you officer in charge of the river. I want you to carry out health education patrols in all census divisions administered from Angoram. If you come across any interesting artifacts, send them to headquarters as we are forming a malaria museum. James, this is your chance to make a name for yourself and improve the health of thousands of people.”

James was quite impressed by all this, though the prospect of being delegated

as an artifact collector did not inspire him. Arrangements were made for a trip down the river to Angoram within a fortnight. James hired an outboard motor and dug-out canoe from a local entrepreneur at Pagwi, the river-port for Maprik. He left Maprik, and was driven to Pagwi, where Benny Yumbun, the Pagwi business man, had the canoe and outboard motor ready to depart for Angoram.

James greeted Benny in Pigdin: Benny, olgeta samting orait bilong moto? Is

everything alright with the motor? Benny assured James that it was: Masta, olgeta samting gutpela tru. Master,

everything is fine. James’s cargo was loaded on the canoe and the river journey to Angoram

started. The plan was to make it a two-day trip, with an overnight stay at Mindimbit village.

The mighty Sepik River was a sight to see. At the start of the trip, the river

was surrounded by pitpit or wild sugarcane, with mountain ranges in an easterly direction. As they travelled downstream, the banks became more elevated and were occupied in many places with well-built villages. The Middle Sepik was the home of magnificent carvings and a culture of fine upright people. After about five hours, they arrived at Mindimbit village, and decided to camp at the haus kiap or rest house for the night.

James was thankful that they had arrived as travelling on the river, even

doing nothing, was quite exhausting and he was looking forward to talking with


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Benny. It was fortunate that his Tok Pisin was up to scratch as Benny had very little English. Benny described himself as a maritman (a married man). It transpired that he was very much a married man, with one wife married bilong pasin bilong lotu (according to church custom) and another wife married bilong pasin bilong kanaka (native custom). He had four children by each wife. He considered both marriages equally valid, the church one and the village one.The whole family lived together in his village at Avatip, near Ambunti, on the Upper Sepik. He had a prosperous business hiring out canoes and outboard motors, or as he said: Bisnis bilong mi gutpela tru. My business is very good.

After a good night’s sleep, Benny and James set off for the last leg of their

journey to Angoram, which was four or five hours down river.

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6

Angoram … the casualness, the lack of fuss, the informality of life reaches its finest flower at Angoram.

Colin Simpson On the way down the river, passing mission stations, branch streams and villages, Benny was quiet and hardly spoke a word, just concentrating on his driving and navigating. After rounding a bend in the river, and not far from Angoram, a small stream opening appeared on the right. Benny’s face lightened up and he spoke in tones of delight and pleasure at the significance of this rather nondescript channel.

Baret belong Kambaramba, gutpela tru, planti yangpela meri stap nating, piloi tasol. Yu stap long Angoram, yu nogat misis, yu mas kisim yangpela meri, no gut yu paitim kok tasol. That’s the ditch to Kambaramba where there are plenty of young women available. You do not have a wife and it is not good if you stay alone and masturbate.

James responded: Pamuk no gut! Prostitutes are no good. Benny answered: Bisnis bilong Kambaramba, Gras Kantri no gut planti bisnis, meri

kisim mani na helpim olgeta ples. This is Kambaramba’s business. The Grass Country does not have a lot of business. The women get money and help the village.

While this lofty discussion was taking place, the township of Angoram came

into view. The sight of Angoram on the left bank as they went down the river, revealed a long row of bush-material houses, with a cluster of canoes and the occasional house boat tied to the bank, leading to more permanent constructions and a reasonably substantial jetty. Even from a distance, the town looked alive with activity. Canoes loaded with people and supplies were coming and going. Numbers of people were walking along the river-bank road and the sounds of operating saw mills were heard. The droning of light planes taking off and landing on the airstrip added to the general bustle.


31

At first sight, Angoram reminded James of towns he had seen along the Congo River and people said it had the flavour of settlements along the Amazon. Benny liked Angoram. As he steered the canoe alongside the wharf, he said to James:

Angoram gutpela ples, planti stua bilong baim samting na meri bilong Kambaramba.

Angoram is a good place with stores to buy things from and there are women from Kambaramba.

James hoped that the money he was to pay Benny would not be dissipated

on fast living, though if the truth be known, James himself would have indulged in some fast living, given half a chance. After the canoe was tied to the wharf and Benny unloaded James’s cargo, James paid Benny and thanked him.

Tenkyu tru, Benny, mi save gutpela wok bilong yu. Thank you very much, Benny, I

know how well you work. While this was going on, James was approached by a tall dark-haired man

with a protruding chin and sun glasses. He was smoking a cigarette and wearing short shorts, white shirt, long socks and dark shoes. He spoke to James in a rather abrupt manner:

“I’m Harry Payne, the officer in charge here, and I heard that you were

coming, Ward. I’ll tell you from the start, I’m not in favour of all this spraying. Surely your bosses have read Silent Spring. But that doesn’t concern me, what does is law and order. Don’t expect too much help from me if you stir up the kanakas. These boys will take your gear to the house at the end of the road.”

James told him he did not expect to start spraying for at least a year, adding:

“Our spraying is not environmental spraying, only household spraying. Rachel Carson in Silent Spring refers mainly to environmental spraying. Thanks for the carriers to move my gear, I’ll see you later.” James thought the later the better!

James settled into his house and employed a houseboy, Raymundo Kami,

from the Sepik Plains. Kami proved to be a loyal servant. He had very little formal education but he was able to read and write Pidgin. He was a Catholic but he did not take the practice of his Catholicism too seriously. In all the years he worked for James he carried out his duties loyally and honestly and completely ran James’s house.

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Haus tambaran in Angoram

The house was better than James had expected, with a wide verandah

overlooking the river. In the evening he decided to visit the club and make himself known to the local identities. The Angoram Club was the meeting place for the expatriates and the town’s few mixed-race residents. It had a shabby spaciousness about it and was situated next to the hotel facing the river. The amenities consisted of tables and chairs with a bar, record player and billiard table. There was enough space to hold dances from time to time and the bar was largely run on an honour system, with members serving.


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Angoram Club

On this evening most members were present and James was welcomed by the president, Allen Warburton, a man in his fifties with a dignified air and a clipped spoken accent, a mixture of educated Australian and colonial British.

“Well, Ward, I hear that you are going to do something about the

mosquitoes,” he said. “You’ll notice that we’ve recently put new mosquito screening around the club. I’m sure you know how bad they are in Angoram.”

Around the river area the nuisance presence of mosquitoes was legend. “Allen, I’ll do what I can,” replied James. “I hope you don’t mind me calling

you Allen?” “Not at all, old chap, I can see that you are a white man and I’m sure you

hold your liquor like a gentleman. What will it be: a whisky or a beer?” James then decided to go off the wagon and said he would love a beer. Allen

got him one then introduced him to the others in the club. Among them were John Barnes and his wife Karen. James had heard that Karen had a bit of a reputation and was said to be available if she liked you. Whatever the truth of this, she impressed him as a charming and attractive woman. John was the Assistant District Officer under Harry Payne. There were the trade store owners,

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Bill Clayton and Sam Bell. Sam was ready to turn a bob at every opportunity. John Pietro, an Australian of Italian descent and a large brute of a man, was there in all his glory. He was a crocodile shooter and trader with a reputation as a formidable womaniser. The rest of the group was made up of Fr Bert Brill, the resident Catholic priest and avant-garde theologian; Dr Jan Speer, medical officer and zealous artifact collector; and Geoff and Laura Sheppard, the husband-and-wife team managing the hotel. Geoff spent most of the day sucking on a bottle of beer and Laura, it was said, was ever ready for “a bit on the side”. In spite of or because of all this, one would be hard pressed to find a more likeable and hospitable couple.

As the evening progressed and the drink flowed, the group freely expressed

its feelings and concerns. Sam Bell, who hailed from Edinburgh, had a pronounced Scottish brogue and was going on about his pet hate: government officers using government benzene and time on the river buying artifacts: “It’s not fair on private enterprise trying to make a living on the river.”

It was a good thing that Dr Jan Speer had left sometime before, as Sam

considered him the main offender in this respect: “That German doctor is building up his own museum and selling artifacts in Europe, all at government expense. Bloody Payne should do something about it.”

John Barnes piped up with the comment: “At least everything he buys is

documented from the anthropological point of view and I’ll bet you don’t do that, Sam.”

“I’m spending good money on the river,” said Sam, “and it’s up to you

government officers to protect private enterprise and not compete unfairly with it.”

Laura Sheppard left, commenting: “The people here are giving me the shits

and I have customers at the hotel to look after.” After Laura left, Geoff Sheppard shared an interesting story with those in the

club. Apparently the famous anthropologist, Margaret Mead, had earlier flown in from Wewak and was staying at the hotel before going upriver to do fieldwork in the Timbunke area. After checking into the hotel, she asked Geoff: “Who is that character I saw at the airstrip with the sun glasses, jutting jaw and haunted look about him? If ever I’ve seen the classic facial features of a paranoid, this was it.” Geoff responded, “That sounds like our illustrious leader, Harry Payne,


35

the Assistant District Commissioner.” As Harry was not in the club, these comments were freely discussed. Bill Clayton said: “I always knew he was a nut.”

James thought that when John MacGregor arrived from Dreikikir there

would be all hell to pay between Payne and him. MacGregor was scheduled to be transferred to Angoram.

Up to this point John Pietro had been pretty quiet, but then out of the blue

he started on a diatribe against the Catholic Mission: “I can put up with Payne, but the trouble with this place is the Catholic Mission. It’s just like parts of Europe. The Popi (Catholics) are a mob of power hungry buggers, going around interfering in people’s private lives. Look at the mess Ireland and Italy are in, all because of the Church. Bloody priests, that mob down at Marienberg are buying shiploads of artifacts, that is the ones they don’t get the kanakas to destroy, and you can’t tell me they are not getting any sex.”

Fortunately, Fr Bert Brill had departed some time before this outburst.

Pietro, for some reason, seemed to view the Protestants in a much more favourable light than the Catholics: “They at least get the natives off the grog and clean them up.”

Shortly afterwards, the gathering broke up and everyone went home.

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7

The artifact bonanza

Desiring this man’s art… Shakespeare Sonnet xxix In the nineteen sixties, Angoram had a bonanza of sorts. For many years people in academic and artistic circles had been aware of the beauty of Sepik carvings. There had been a steady trade in artifacts from the area, even as far back as before the First World War, when the Germans opened up parts of the Sepik River. However, the nineteen sixties saw something of a boom in commercial trading in both curios and priceless artifacts.


37

This was engendered by vigorous collecting by local traders and overseas buyers who were both aesthetically and commercially motivated. The quality of the pieces found and their arrival in the art centres of America and Europe took primitive art fanciers by storm. Pieces acquired from the Karawari and Blackwater Rivers, tributaries of the Sepik, astounded the art world. The Awim Caves, which the outside world learned about at this time, housed carvings made by people in a forgotten era, that were said to be about six hundred years old.

Bill Clayton, Sam Bell, John Pietro and others got in on the ground floor in collecting from the Karawari River. The first collector into the Awim Caves was a mixed-race employee of Sam Bell, called Carlos Ruiz, who was in the area checking out the timber possibilities, as Sam had the idea of starting up a saw mill. When he stumbled on the caves, his local guides were reluctant to take him into them. He was told that the caves belonged to the ancestors and were hidden and forbidden to others: Ples hait bilong tumbuna, dispela ples i tambu. This is a hiding place for our ancestors and we are forbidden to enter.

Carlos managed to talk his way into the caves and was allowed to purchase

one or two carvings. Both Carlos and the locals seemed unaware that the pieces were of any great value. The whole transaction cost Carlos about fifteen dollars.

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When he got back to Angoram, he showed Sam what he had acquired. Sam had a fair idea they were on to something pretty good and told Carlos to keep quiet about it. Of course, Carlos didn’t and within a week most buyers and collectors had heard something.

Sam got off to an early start the day after Carlos’s return and headed up the

Karawari River to the Awim Caves. About a fortnight later, he arrived back in Angoram with a canoe load of Karawari carved hooks. These were figures of protruding hooks in a unique shape known as the ‘wanleg design’. Standing at about 3’ on one leg, the figures consisted of concentric hooks representing body parts. These cult hooks were either male or female. In the collection there were also other pieces of outstanding quality. Sam strolled up to the Sub-District Office and told Harry Payne that he had collected some carvings of little value, and asked if Harry would give him an export permit for them. This was a legal requirement and usually presented no problems.

Payne had no appreciation of indigenous art and always readily signed a

clearance, unless he had a particular gripe with the applicant. After a bit of humming and murmuring, he signed the appropriate papers.

“Thanks Harry, I’ll buy you a drink at the club tonight.” “I’ll take you up on that, Sam.” Payne did not realise that he had approved for sale and export a priceless art

collection. Sam arranged to have the pieces photographed and photos sent to museums in Europe and America. He sent one set of photos to an acquaintance, Bert Newman, Director of the Museum of Primitive Art in New York. Bert had a special regard for the Sepik. In his own words: “The Sepik is the only region I know of where a museum director has been literally pissed on.”

Apparently, on one of his periodic trips to the Sepik collecting for his

museum, Bert ran into Bob McDonald, labour recruiter, crocodile skin buyer and something of a dipsomaniac. He wanted to get to the Middle Sepik and the only transport available was Bob’s houseboat. The only fee for hiring was to be six cartons of beer and a drum of benzene. Bob operated his houseboat which he called “a unit” on the theory that both he and the outboard motor needed fuel.


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On the first day out from Angoram upriver, Bob moored the houseboat in a suitable estuary and prepared to stay the night there. Also on board the houseboat were Yum, Bob’s faithful flunky, and one other local who served as a general crewman. Yum prepared the evening meal, consisting of rice and bully beef. Bert ate it, while Bob confined himself to beer. Instructions were given to prepare the bunks for Bob and Bert. Bob had an elevated bunk and beside this on the floor a sleeping mat was made up for Bert. Yum and the crewman slept at the back of the houseboat. After considerable amounts of beer were consumed by Bob, both he and Bert settled down for the night. It was a beautiful tropical moonlit night and despite some initial discomfort Bert was soon asleep. Some time later he was awakened with a rather warm stinging sensation on his face. A flow silhouetted against the moonlight was distinctly liquid in nature. On coming to his senses, it did not take Bert long to realise that Bob was urinating on him from on high. Bob was just following his usual habits but in his drunken state he had forgotten that he had a guest on the floor.

Sam Bell sent Bert Newman the photographs of the cave artifacts with a

short note. Dear Bert, I know that the Sepik has showered you with good fortune in the past, but these pieces will make any discomfort suffered more than worthwhile. Regards, Sam Sam did well out of artifacts and was able to purchase property in Sydney as

well as an impressive portfolio of shares. Dr Jan Speer had connections with the Museum of Ethnography in Basel,

Switzerland, and the occasional donation to this institution established his credentials as a discerning and conscientious collector.

John Pietro, on the strength of his profits, financed ventures in tourism in

the area. The explosive interest in Sepik carvings also prompted him to take up carving himself and a growing market for his work among tourists showed the Angoram community that there was more to him than met the eye. He may have been known as “The Animal” to his friends and foes, but as Laura Sheppard said to James Ward: “The Animal certainly has an artistic side to his nature.”

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The worldwide fame of Sepik carving created a feeling among the expatriate community of Angoram that they shared in a kind of international recognition.

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8

Anzac Day in Angoram

A great day to get ‘as pissed as a parrot’ and play two-up! Bluey Jones A number of Angoram residents needed little excuse to wipe themselves out with booze but Anzac Day seemed to make this state something of a patriotic duty. There were still a fair number of returned servicemen among the expatriates, and the locals boasted a number of decorated people who had served with allies during the Second World War. This created a sense of bonhomie between the races. It did not mean that many locals were asked to the expatriates’ club for drinks, but at the newly formed Ex-Service Club all races were welcomed on Anzac Day.

The day started with a march around the town led by the local constabulary

with Harry Payne taking the salute, and the last post played by a policeman. After the ceremony the expatriate ex-diggers proceeded to the New Guineans’ Ex-Service Club to which they had donated ten cartons of beer.

Allen Warburton, wearing his campaign medals and ribbons, was seen

speaking to Pius Naiga, who was wearing his Military Medal. Pius had distinguished himself under fire by single-handedly taking out a Japanese machine-gun post during the famous battle of Shaggy Ridge. It transpired that Allen had also been at Shaggy Ridge and this probably explained why Allen always treated Pius with extreme courtesy. If Pius had dealings with the Sub-District Office, Allen in his capacity as Sub-District Clerk was always most helpful. He also employed Pius’s son and his wife as domestics.

The camaraderie of old soldiers caused Allen to forget any racial prejudice

that may have been part of his personality when dealing with other New Guineans. But to be fair to Allen, his attitude towards, in his term, “the natives” ran far deeper than mere prejudice. He was courteous towards everyone, but he considered Anglo-Saxons a superior race and the legitimate rulers of native people. For Allen, being a white man carried the obligation of noblesse oblige. He may have been a racist but he was also a gentleman.

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Pius Naiga gave a speech in Pidgin: Gutpela samting long Masta Warburton, na ol arapela man bung wantaim bilong mipela.

Taim bilong pait, Japan liak rausim ol Australia mi helpim ami bilong Australia Nogut Australia lusim Nu Gini, Australia mama papa bilong mipela. Tenkyu tru, em tasol! It is good that Master Warburton and others are here with us. During the War when the Japanese wanted to drive the Australians out, I

helped the Australian Army. It would not be good if Australia leaves New Guinea, as Australia is our mother and father. Thank you sincerely, that is all.

Allen answered: Ol Australia save wok bilong Nu Gini man long taim bilong pait. Taim soldia bagarap

Nu Gini man karim long haus sik, nau helpim planti man. Lik lik tok tasol, tenkyu tru All Australians know about how New Guineans helped wounded soldiers

and carried them to the hospitals during the War. This was truly very good service. This is only a short talk, but thank you!

Allen proposed a toast to the Queen: Salut long Kwin Salute the Queen. The whites then proceeded to the club where a two-up game was in full

swing. Jim Andrews, the primary school teacher, a Korean War Veteran, was well charged up and in exceptional form. Hundreds of dollars were changing hands. Geoff Sheppard seemed to be on a winning streak and even Fr Bert Brill was in the club looking on. Bill Clayton was in the corner drinking a beer after winning two hundred dollars and was in earnest conversation with Elizabeth Beven, a beautiful mixed-race girl on a visit from Wewak and staying with Carlos Ruiz’s family.

Sam Bell said to James Ward: “Bill wants to be careful over there, she’s gaol

bait.” The question of the age of the girls and women who formed a connection

with some of the more licentious, intemperate expatriates at Angoram was a perennial topic of discussion. There had been something of a scandal some years before when an old reprobate had been furtively flown out of the town to avoid legal charges associated with underage girls.


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James said to Sam: “Half his luck, she looks old enough to me.” Any discussion of this nature would have been considered inappropriate:

Anzac Day was for present and past diggers, to be celebrated with soldierly talk, two-up and booze. In the words of Des Murray, European Medical Assistant and returned soldier: “Mate, on this day we don’t breach the protocol.” If the protocol dictated two-up, booze and reminiscences of comradeship, the day fully lived up to it in the sanctified confines of the club.

It may have been something of a patriotic duty that caused Elizabeth Beven

and Bill Clayton to leave sometime before the festivities concluded at the club, but by the look in their eyes they had other concerns.

The following morning Des Murray showed signs of a gigantic hangover and

was full of praise for the dignified way things had gone. He concluded that any illness he might now feel was “due to the eating of green bananas.”

Bill Clayton by his look the next morning obviously had no trouble with

green bananas. In fact he had a bounce in his step and a glint in his eye and Elizabeth Beven looked as beautiful as ever, as Bill saw her off on the plane to Wewak.

Harry Payne looked none the worse for wear and he informed Allen

Warburton that he was pleased with the way things had gone: “Law and order was maintained and the flag was clearly shown to the locals.” Warburton responded with a nod and a grunt. Warburton considered Payne a pain in the neck, though he would never say it.

The big news in the office was the expected arrival of John MacGregor on

transfer from Dreikikir. He was to be second in command to Payne on special duties in the area of political education. Payne said: “I ran into MacGregor in the Gulf District and if he thinks he’s going to be running his own show, he’s got another thought coming.”

“From what I hear, Jock MacGregor is a thorough gentleman,” responded

Warburton. “When I want your opinion I’ll ask for it.” Payne snapped. Warburton

realised that the office atmosphere was charged and ready for business as usual.

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9

Tobacco Road

I ain’t tradin’ turnips with nobody. Lov Bensey, Tobacco Road

Sunset over the Sepik River

No one ever said that Angoram was all sweetness and light, but it did have a certain romantic degeneracy about it. This was captured quintessentially in its river-front road, known as Tobacco Road. It was so named by some distant past resident or visitor in a moment of insightful perception and, like the aptness of schoolboy nicknames, it stuck.

No doubt it was inspired by Erskine Caldwell’s Tobacco Road. The comic

degeneracy of Caldwell’s characters and the atmosphere of Georgia must have conjured up in the namer’s mind parallels with Angoram. Tobacco Road was eventually officially recognised as the name of the road along the river in the town map. The designation of where it started and finished was generally accepted as from the wharf to Pietro’s company, Las Kampani.


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Trade stores, the hospital, the power station, living quarters and saw mills were built along the road. The hustle and bustle of crowds walking up and down and the occasional vehicle being driven along it, together with the movement of canoes and vessels on the river, gave Tobacco Road an air of excitement and vitality. The commercial side of the town more or less ruled Tobacco Road.

“The less I see of kiaps in this part of town the better.” Sam Bell told James

Ward. He made exceptions to this in the case of some officers but as he said: “I don’t want Payne poking his nose into too much around here. As far as

I’m concerned, there are no nefarious activities going on, just a few private enterprise people trying to make an honest bob. German doctors buying artifacts should concern Payne more than the people around here, and if I need medical treatment, I won’t be going to that German doctor.”

This was uppermost in Sam’s mind, as some weeks before he had gone to

Wewak to consult a doctor about a bad dose of gonorrhea. He told James: “You pay these girls good money and what do they leave you with?”

“No need to go to Wewak, Sam. I can always give you a course of penicillin,”

said James, thinking that Sam was amazing, considering his age and still “cutting off a slice”.

Venereal disease was a perennial problem among the more sexually active

expatriates with a liking for the locals. Dr Jan Speer had done a lot to combat the spread of disease and discreetly counsel those involved on prevention. Not in a moralistic way: he even told Bill Clayton that he would be just as active himself if he were not a married man. Des Murray, the European Medical Assistant, was ever ready to offer confidential medical treatment and, for those who wanted it, a fatherly shoulder to cry on. Perhaps Sam found it hard to see Des as a father figure.

Wild parties were a feature for some living along Tobacco Road. John Pietro

was known to excel himself and he invited selected government officers and some private enterprise people to his place from time to time. He often had visitors from other towns and overseas, both men and women, and he became known for the quality of the food and drink he offered.

For those who wanted a little something extra at the end of night, this could

be discreetly arranged, as he employed as his house boy the town’s most

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effective procurer, Patoman. This was a name given to him years ago when he looked after the ducks of an old-time resident, now long since dead, Shanghai Brown. In Pidgin pato man means a drake. The name stuck and Patoman became renowned in Angoram. He came from Kambaramba village and had many connections. He also loved a drink and bottles would come and go at a rapid pace when he was serving guests at Pietro’s parties.

It took a while for Pietro to cotton on to the fact that half-full bottles of beer

were being taken away by Patoman before guests finished them, and being replaced by full bottles. The half-full bottles were consumed by Patoman in the kitchen and he became increasingly under the weather at parties until Pietro woke up to him and watched him carefully.

Many thought of John Pietro as the perfect host but there were limits on

how accommodating he was towards his guests. A couple of middle-aged American men from New York were staying with him and they indicated to John that they would be interested in same-sex partners. This did not quite fit into John’s view of things and he ordered them out of his house. They managed to get a room at the hotel and did not stay around the town for long. So you could say that John had a gender bias, nothing but females, but within this category pretty much anything seemed to go. He was not known as “The Animal” for nothing.

On a full-moon tropical night, the young at heart could walk along Tobacco

Road and enjoy the sublime quietness, in the expectation that anything could happen. The fact that on most occasions nothing did happen did not detract from romantic lustful longings. In the words of Robert Louis Stevenson: “To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the success is to labour.”

James Ward was always hopefully travelling and Tobcco Road in his

imagination increasingly became a potential path to pleasure, a path that was forbidden by his Catholic conscience but still nevertheless attractive. Kami, James’s domestic, once described what went on along the notorious road as: samting nogut i gat sem something shameful.

All the residents of Angoram laboured towards goals. Some goals were

sublime and some were ridiculous. However, the social and political realities were very often influenced by factors beyond and removed from the mere players in events.


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Perhaps there were signs heralding social and political change even in what Allen Warburton would call “a colonial outpost.”

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10 The signs of the times - Angoram in the 1960s

Forward, forward let us range, Let the great world spin for ever down the ringing grooves of change. Tennyson

Some could read the signs of the times; others could not. Old empire devotees like Warburton weren’t really interested and preferred to live in a time warp. He refused to read the Post-Courier from Port Moresby and subscribed to The Times of London.

Dr Jan Speer was politically and socially astute. This was understandable considering that he had lived through the demise of the Third Reich and was widely travelled.

Fr Bert Brill had no trouble comprehending social and political events. He

was avant-garde in his approach to most things. The Vatican II Church Council was sitting and Bert fully approved of it, but said it was sixty years too late.

John Pietro was happy staying in Papua New Guinea as long as “the kanakas

knew their place.” Harry Payne was happy to go along with anything as long as law and order

was maintained, but Harry was drinking so much at this time that he was becoming quite demented and his paranoid tendencies, so expertly noticed by Dr Margaret Mead, were frequently obvious.

MacGregor and Barnes were fully aware of imminent political change in

Papua New Guinea. In fact MacGregor’s appointment to Angoram was directly associated with impending political change. After attending Kitahi’s trial in Wewak, MacGregor was asked to see the District Commissioner, Les Hill, in his office. When MacGregor entered the the DC’s office, Hill gave him a cordial welcome:


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Law and Order kiap

“Please sit down Jock. It’s good to see you. I’ve heard that that Kitahi

business went off well. Those cargo cults can be a bit of a worry, but I’m glad the judge was not too hard on him because the likes of Kitahi are the future leaders in the country. The sentence of six months was enough. But anyhow, Jock, you did a good job there and I’ve got a rather sensitive assignment I want you to undertake for me.”

Les Hill was an experienced administrator and he instinctively knew exactly

how to handle Jock. Jock responded with all his Scottish charm: “Mr Hill, I’m always ready to help in anyway I can.”

“I’m sure you are,”responded Hill, and went on to explain: “You know with

the elections for the first House of Assembly coming up, we want to make sure we get some good candidates and I’m very worried about what I’m hearing from Angoram. What I’m saying now is confidential and I’m sure you will respect this. The talk I’m hearing is that very few locals are presenting themselves as possible candidates, but I hear that John Pietro is going to put himself up, and if we don’t get some likely locals to stand against him, he might even win. This I would consider an absolute disaster. I’ve also heard that Bill Clayton is interested. I could cope with him as he’s not a bad bloke, but what these Europeans have got to realise is that the First House should be to groom future

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native leaders. I don’t know of too many Europeans who are really here for the long haul. So I want you to go to Angoram to do what you can to stimulate interest among the village people in the coming elections and get them to propose some of their leaders as candidates. Now one thing more and this is strictly between us. You know that Harry Payne is the ADC at Angoram. Do you know Harry?”

Jock said that he had met him before in the Gulf District. “Ah, well you probably know a bit about him. He got himself into trouble

over arresting a number of village people who would not carry his cargo while he was on patrol. It appears that they were attending a funeral at the time and they asked him to wait a while and they would then carry his cargo. This was in a village not too far from Kerema, and the locals knew their rights. Harry would not accept this and he got his policemen to force them to carry his cargo at the point of their 303s.

“When the patrol got back to the station, there happened to be a visiting

judge there. Harry told him that he was going to formally charge the village people for not carrying his cargo. The judge asked him: ‘Under what law?’ He quoted a native regulation that was only applicable in New Guinea not Papua. Harry was not aware of this as Kerema was his first Papuan appointment. All his previous service had been spent in New Guinea Districts.

“Well, to make a long story short, the judge went ballistic and ordered him to

release the prisoners and compensate them with rations. This all became a bit too much for Payne and he took to the bottle, and kept on talking about law and order and a loss of face. They got him out to Moresby and after six months down south, he returned to the Territory and was transferred to my District. He’s not a bad fellow in his own way, but he is certainly unstable and a boozer. I’ve informed the Director about him but in the meantime we’re landed with him and I also want you unofficially to keep an eye on him. I know that this is a bit of a tall order, but do what you can and it will be appreciated.”

Jock assured him that he would and shook hands. After he left the DC, Jock

went to the local hotel, where he was staying. He spent the rest of the afternoon drinking and smoking while contemplating what the DC had said to him. Matt Nelson, a business man from Boram, struck up a conversation with him:


51

“Jock, I hear that you are going out to Angoram. A bit of a Peyton Place from what I hear. The locals seem fairly accommodating and one or two of the married whites. If you want to get your end in, that from all accounts seems to be the place to be.”

“I’ve heard the talk but I’ll be occupied with the coming elections without

too much of that,” said Jock. Matt wished Jock the best of luck and asked him to give his regards to Bill

Clayton and then excused himself. Jock had reservations about the task the DC had given him, but if things did

not work out, he had heard some interesting reports coming out of a recent patrol in the Star Mountains, where a patrol officer had observed indications of vast copper reserves. If he passed this on to his mate with Kennecott, he was sure that this would help his job prospects with the company. For the moment he would see how things went in Angoram.

Reading the signs of the times, perhaps the most perceptive comment came

from John Ettu, a squad leader with James Ward’s Malaria Service Team: Taim bilong bipo Nu Gini manmeri ol yangpela. Australia helpim na wasman bilong

mipela. Nau mipela lik lik orait. Wantaim long tok long ileksen na planti yangpela winim skul, beloi krai long taim yumi manmeri bilong Nu Gini mas stia kantri bilong mipela.

In the past New Guinea men and women were all young. Australia helped

and watched over us. Now we are a little all right. At this time there is talk about the election and many young people are now graduating from school and the bell now rings for the time New Guinea men and women must steer our country.

There was certainly no generally felt desire among the local people at this

time for political change. Theresia Kajir, a young high school student, said to James Ward that she doubted if her people were able to run the country yet. The signs of the times might have been there for the politically aware to see but the people of Papua New Guinea were still very conservative, as were the expatriates.

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11 Rivercombers of Angoram

“Leisure,” he said. “If people only knew! It’s the most priceless thing a man can have and they’re such fools they don’t even know it’s something to aim at.

“Lotus Eater”, Somerset Maugham

Angoram was too far from a beach to call the resident vagrants and loafers beachcombers. The term rivercombers seems to fit them better. They were a divergent lot, as conflicting in their differences as in their similarities, and it is something of a misnomer to describe them as loafers. They put a lot of energy into drinking, philosophising and eking out a bare living.

Some had mechanical skills and could fix outboard motors and saw mill engines. There was always the odd dollar to be made buying and selling crocodile skins, but this was limited to those who had a little capital, as was the buying and selling of carvings. One or two turned their hands to taxidermy. There was a bit of a trade in stuffed baby crocodiles. The labour recruiters among them from time to time convinced village people to sign up to work on plantations, but this required organisation which was not a strong point with the rivercombers in Angoram.

One morning while Bill Clayton was visiting James Ward, there was a knock

on the door. Kami, James’s house boy answered it: Masta James, mankimasta bilong Masta Bob em hia wantaim pas. Master James, Master Bob’s boy is here with a letter. James took the letter which he read out to Bill: Jim mate, Had a hard night last night and I’m right out of grog. Can you send me down a reviver with the trusty Yum? Thanks, Bob


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James at first misread the word “reviver” thinking it was “revolver”, and thought that Bob had finally flipped. Another look at the note clarified this and three bottles of beer were sent down to Bob.

Bob McDonald was perhaps the most famous of the rivercombers at

Angoram, and his story could fill the chronicles of any post-war history of the Sepik District. His father was a distinguished South Australian barrister, a King’s Counsel prominent in Adelaide’s legal circles in the twenties and thirties. Bob attended St Peter’s College, an elite independent Church of England school, and left just before his final year. He volunteered for the army at the outbreak of the Second World War. This caused a bit of a stir at home, but his father finally gave permission. Not that he could have done much about it as Bob was eighteen years old, and anyhow he was somewhat proud that Bob had answered the call to arms.

During the war Bob served with the 6th Division AIF in Greece, Crete,

North Africa, Papua and New Guinea. In telling James Ward about his war experiences, he was proud of possessing the Africa Star, a campaign medal. But one of the highlights of his war was a romantic interlude with a Greek woman within sight of the Parthenon. He told James Ward the story:

“We had a bit of leave in Athens and I intended to make the most of it. I was

having a few drinks in a café and I saw this girl in the corner giving me the eye and I figured that this was a bit of luck and I gave her a nod and over she comes. I buy her a drink and indicate that I could be very generous. She didn’t have much English but we understood each other. While this was going on a mate of mine, Smithy, a corporal with transport came in, and said that he had the use of a truck for the next couple of hours and he would take me and the girl for a small tour.

“The girl agreed, and off we went. I said to Smithy that he could leave the

girl and me on a track that led up to the Parthenon, and we would walk from there. He did this. By this time it was getting pretty dark, and the girl and I were getting on famously. I indicated that there was a spot near a cluster of trees just down from the Parthenon that was fairly private, where we could cement Greek-Australian relations. I slipped her a pocket full of drachmais and she was happy with this.

“Well, away we went and I can tell you she was worth every penny of it. The

best of it was that just before I came to the ‘vinegar stroke’ I could just make out

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that old Greek ruin and it seemed to give meaning to all those classes at St Peter’s on Classical Greece, this was really the Alpha and when I came, I could think of no better Omega.”

When the 6th Division returned from Africa, the troops were given a short

leave prior to being sent to Papua and New Guinea. Bob took his leave in Sydney and while there got married. Before the war ended the marriage was virtually on the rocks. Bob said: “When I came back from New Guinea I found another bull in the paddock.”

With the cessation of hostilities the 6th Division returned to Australia and

Bob was demobilised. He was apparently impressed with New Guinea as he decided to return there. Early on, he got into recruiting labourers for the plantations which were crying out for workers. The big plantation companies like Burns Philip and Carpenters were frantically getting their plantations back into production after the ravages of war and needed as many workers as could be found. The Sepik District was one of the main sources of supply. Profits for recruiters were big and comparatively easy as the demand was great and the supply of eager workers fairly constant. Bob recruited in Nuku, Lumi and Maprik. He also got many recuits from the Sepik River and he established an excellent rapport with the village people.

When other recruiters entered villages they often heard the remark: Mipela wetim Masta Bob, em tasol. We are waiting for Master Bob, that’s all. In those early days Bob made a fortune and he dabbled in trade stores and

even shared the ownership of a plane with a medical officer in Wewak. These ventures were accompanied by increasing levels of high living and boozing. Unfortunately, the good times did not last for Bob. It became harder to get Sepiks to sign up for work and commercial interests started to draw labour from other districts. To add to his woes, he lost a great friend and the plane in the early fifties. In his words: “Doc Mac and the plane took a dive off the coast of Aitape.”

The only real constant throughout this period was his drinking. This made

him what he was in Angoram, a distinguished rivercomber and something of a raconteur. Bob would wax lyrically about past sexual exploits and endearingly refer to his organ as the “blue throbber”, which according to him he would exchange for no other, even if such an implant were possible. It had served him


55

well in the past even though according to Bob: “It ain’t what it used to be, I can’t even service the Black Bat these days.”

The Black Bat was an old crone who would sometimes clean up for Bob

around the house, and he didn’t mind if Yum, his domestic, fancied her from time to time. Bob figured that Yum would still be virile as he was a non-drinker and he was the first to acknowledge that grog was no good for one’s sex life.

James Ward was of the opinion that Bob McDonald’s arousing feats of a

sexual nature were certainly in the past. All he had left was talk and banter with females walking past his place. The more provocative of the women walking past would call out to Bob:

Isi isi Masta Bob, nupela rot em i orait long goapim, sapos yu ken? Take it easy Master Bob, this is a virginal passage you can sexually enter if

you can? To which Bob would reply: Mi wankain yangpela, strong. Olkain rot mi save. Sapos yu kirapim bel bilong mi, yu no

ken stapim laik bilong mi. I’m strong like a young man. I’ve had much sexual experience. If I’m sexually

aroused, you cannot stop my desires. This was a game only for Bob and the young women. Bob always maintained

that he had always been free from venereal disease and this he put down to a fool-proof method of prevention. Whether in the cultural centres of Europe, the Casbah of North Africa, the ritzy cities of anywhere and the jungles of Papua New Guinea, Bob always followed his method of prevention, and he said it had worked.

In the interests of medical science this method should now be recorded. It is

basically very simple and no one can tell it better than Bob: “After intercourse allow the pressure of urine to build up in the bladder and hold the penis and suddenly piss it all out, while washing the ‘old boy’ at the same time. It always works.”

It is not known if Bob ever contemplated working on this and submitting it

to The Lancet for publication, though if he had, he might have saved countless young gallants from trouble. Though he never became a contributor to The

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Lancet, he did feature in a melodramatic fantasy film that received some notoriety in Europe. The film was entitled Une nuit nuageuse, or in English Cloudy night, and it was directed by André de Bérigny, the famous French director. It was the subject of rave reviews in Paris and Bob’s acting as the evil artifact buyer was acclaimed as most convincing.

André described him as “a natural.” Bob told James Ward that he enjoyed his

three weeks “on location”, working in close proximity to the glamorous French actress, Sophie Dalle. According to Bob, Sophie asked him to visit her in Paris. True or false, the indisputable evidence of Bob’s acting ability can be seen in Une nuit nuageuse.

The rivercombers of Angoram mainly lived in native-material shacks in an

area known as the Ex-Service Camp, which consisted of a long row of dwellings on the river bank upstream from the wharf. Another notable character, Norm Brown, had established himself at the beginning of the Ex-Service Camp upriver. He even engaged in some strenuous activity from time to time in a small saw mill he had got together.

Norm was always careful not to overstrain himself. Bill Clayton once

described him as “bone lazy”. But all credit to Norm, he did survive, even if at times he may have appeared to be only subsisting. What with the odd order for cut wood and the occasional crocodile skin, life did have periodic periods of affluence.

He would make himself available to the odd tourist around the town, and

this brought in the odd dollar. One young American woman, whom Norm had helped with arranging transport and hiring canoes, showed her gratitude by sending him a packet of marijuana seeds from the States. This was at a time when New Guinea was blissfully ignorant about the drug. Norm planted the seeds near his setup on the river bank and they grew like wildfire. It was said that for a year or so Norm kept himself pretty well stoned.

Other rivercombers came and went. One Irishman turned up claiming to be

a plasterer by trade. Sam Bell said he didn’t see him doing much plastering, but he was certainly mostly plastered himself while he was in Angoram.

The generally tolerant atmosphere prevailing in Angoram tended to

encourage expatriate eccentrics and added to the town’s outlandish character.


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All expatriates were members of the club and payment for drinks was strictly on an honour system. It was not unknown to see the clubhouse full of rivercombers, all drinking. They were all members of the club but one or two committee members were concerned as to whether the drinks were actually paid for. By and large the general opinion was that they were. James Ward felt that it was good that the club was doing its bit for the local characters. Jim Andrews, the club treasurer, kept a careful eye on the finances, and the club remained solvent.

Norm Brown liked to play his accordion in the club. One of his favourite

tunes was Rolf Harris’s The Court of King Caractacus. His rendition and singing were off key. Listeners often hoped that Norm would be like “the ladies of the harem of the Court of King Caractacus”and just pass by.

Paul Kramer, an American of German descent from the Midwest was

perhaps the most talented of the rivercombers. He first came to New Guinea with the Lutheran Mission as a lay missionary. After a year or so with the Mission, he seemed to turn up from nowhere in Angoram. He did not have much money, only enough to set himself up in a shack in the Ex-Service Camp.

Paul was of a rather dour disposition, not given to many words. He was a

man in his late thirties, rather short in stature with short cropped hair and piercing eyes. Shortly after he arrived in Angoram, it was discovered that he was a skilled carpenter and by doing odd jobs around the town, he acquired a reasonable amount of money. This enabled him to improve his shack and join the club as a fully financial member.

After a few months, it was noticed that he appeared more cheerful and more

talkative. This was put down to his association with a young woman who was seen regularly in his company. Dorothea Batak came from a village upriver and had no reputation around the town. It was reported that she had more or less moved in with Paul and was keeping house for him. The talk among the expatriates was that Paul had done well for himself.

Every fortnight or so boats would arrive from Madang or Wewak with

supplies of goods for the traders and other residents. It was noticed that tins of artist paint were delivered to Kramer. Harry Payne commented: “What the hell does Kramer want with all this paint? I hope he isn’t sniffing it.”

Harry viewed anything he could not completely comprehend as a potential threat to law and order. One Sunday afternoon, John MacGregor and Bill

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Clayton happened to be alone in the club drinking beer and talking about the goings on around the station. Bill said to Jock:

“I’ve had this, let’s go and see that Yank, Paul Kramer, in the Ex-Service

Camp. I hear he is shacked up with a good-looking sort.” MacGregor replied: “Seems a good idea, I’ll grab a carton of beer. We’re sure

to run into old Bob down there as well, and he’ll want us armed.” They arrived at Paul’s shack and at first there did not seem anyone around.

But they noticed that there had been substantial improvements to the dwelling. Indeed the term “shack” was no longer appropriate. Timber sawn by Norm Brown was skillfully placed around the house and the habitation of three rooms now looked fairly comfortable.

Jock yelled out: “Are you there Paul?” The front door opened and there was Paul. He asked them to come in and sit

on a small verandah in front of the house. After some preliminary chit chat, beers were passed around from Jock’s carton.

There was no sign of Dorothea. Bill and Jock did not mention her. Jock did

mention that the station was a bit intrigued about all the paint that Paul had been getting and wondered what it was for. With the beer flowing freely, Paul seemed quite happy to tell Jock what he was doing with the paint.

“Come in here and I’ll show you.” Paul said. He took them to a closed room at the back of the house and opened the

door to this room. The room was somewhat dark until he opened a shutter which suddenly illuminated the whole room and the walls came alive in brilliant colour.

The effect on Jock and Bill was staggering and stunning, all the more so

because it was so unexpected. The contrast between the rather squalid and dingy atmosphere of the Ex-Service Camp and the artistic brilliance that they saw on the walls of this room was beyond any words of admiration that readily came to mind.


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Sometime later Bill Clayton told James Ward about what he had seen and he said that he was overwhelmed by it. James said: “It sounds like something that a theologian would compare to the beatific vision.”

Painted on the walls of Paul Kramer’s house was a collage of colour in vivid

greens, with crystal blue, stunning fiery red, stark black and white depicting a world of surreal images. Black and white bodies in a fantasy world of distortion and purity were painted on the walls. There were symbolic representations of European and Melanesian cultures, the church, the cross, the haus tambaran, the law court, village life and urban life all carefully executed in sensitive images. The overall impression was both optimistic and pessimistic: an attack on and endorsement of old and new icons. There was an inner and outer reality captivating the viewer in a bewitching diversity of emotions.

The whole experience took away Jock and Bill’s breath.They had to come up

for air as it were. They thanked Paul and rushed back to the club for a double whisky. While there, Jock asked Bill if he intended to nominate as a candidate in the coming election for the House of Assembly. Bill said he was thinking about it. This reminded Jock of the job the District Commissioner had given him to do in relation to the coming election.

Self determination and the coming of self-government were to affect the

lives of everyone in Papua New Guinea and an important first step in this direction was the House of Assembly election of 1964. The personalities in this tale all played a crucial part in this pivotal event to various degrees.

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12 Angoram votes

From savagery to civilization, from the Stone Age to the ballot box, is not a very big step in New Guinea.

J.K. McCarthy In any process of decolonisation, the metropolitan power usually comes in for a lot of flak and mindless criticism. Australia and the Administration of Papua and New Guinea were no exception. The process was never fast enough for the United Nations and even a number of Australian politicians increasingly became embarrassed with the idea that Australia might be one of the last of the white colonial powers.

In anyone’s book, the Administration in responding to world opinion to decolonise achieved much to its credit. To suddenly enfranchise a largely illiterate population and organise an election for a representative body was no mean feat. This accomplishment was in many ways quite amazing.

To make a success of the first House of Assembly election, the

Administration Officers at Angoram faced a gigantic task. The greatest burden fell on the Department of District Services represented by Harry Payne, John MacGregor, John Barnes and a new arrival, Ernest Spender.

Nominations from candidates had to be encouraged. Census patrols had to

be undertaken. Political education had to be carried out. Staff from other departments had to be organised as presiding officers at polling booths. The logistics involved in the whole operation were in the hands of the kiaps. To say that they came up trumps would be no exaggeration.

The election preliminaries required a lot of patrolling and the government

officers were mostly out in the field. For those left on the station, work and social life continued.


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When Ernest Spender arrived, Harry Payne was out on patrol, so John MacGregor was virtually in charge. He had heard that a Cadet Patrol Officer was arriving from Wewak on the morning plane, so he was there to meet him.

Before Ernest arrived, Jock thought he would be another eighteen-year-old

from down south, wet behind the ears and without a clue. He duly arrived and proved to be something of a surprise not only to Jock, but to the rest of the station. Ernest Spender was a man in his late twenties of middle height with a spruce military bearing and a refined English accent. On leaving the plane, he approached Jock and introduced himself:

“I’m Ernest Spender and I was told to report to Mr Payne.” Jock put his hand out and said, “I’m MacGregor, call me Jock. I can see you

are a Brit and I guess you know where I come from. Anyhow, Payne is out on patrol and I’m in charge while he’s away. I’ll have your gear sent to the house allocated to you. In the meantime, come with me to the Sub-District Office and I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

When they got to the office, Allen Warburton was there with Karen Barnes

who worked as a typist/secretary. Jock introduced Ernest to Allen and Karen. Before leaving the room, Karen said to Jock:

“You must bring Ernest to the club after work.” “Yes, I shall” said Jock. She turned to Ernest with a big smile and said, “I’ll see you there.” To this Ernest replied “I’ll look forward to that.” Jock excused himself as he had to attend to a problem Dr Jan Speer had in

the hospital. Before going, he told Allen to show Ernest the ropes around the office and introduce him to Sub-Inspector Pius Kabui. Pius was one of the first Papua New Guineans to reach commissioned rank in the Police Constabulary. He came from Bougainville and was a hardworking and painstaking officer. He was pleased to meet Ernest and said he would be interested to talk with him later, as he had to rush off just now to arrest someone on Tobacco Road.

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Warburton was relieved that Spender was not your usual callow Cadet Patrol Officer and was most impressed with what he gradually learned about him. To Allen it was clear that he had a military background and he was gratified to learn that he was a graduate of Sandhurst and had served in Northern Ireland, Germany and Malaya and to top it all off was an Old Carthusian. Allen was sufficiently in the know to realise that this did not mean that he had been a monk, but that he was an old boy of the Public School in England, Charterhouse.

Both Allen and Karen were impressed with Ernest. Allen could see that

Ernest was a man with a good pedigree and background. Karen was sexually attracted to him. She was thankful that John, her husband, was out on patrol and she pictured the possibility of a pleasant evening developing with Ernest.

Spender was oblivious to the undercurrents he was creating. This was

probably just as well. He was a committed Anglican of the old school with a devotion to the Book of Common Prayer. Karen’s desire “to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites” Ernest would have found rather daunting.

MacGregor eventually returned to the office and told Spender to go and

settle into his house, and have the rest of the day off, and he would see him later in the club.

In the club, Spender met some of the town notables. On this particular

evening the gathering at the club was more in the mode of a family function. Des Murray, his wife Claire and their two teenage children, Brian and Joan were there, along with Jim Andrews, his wife Ella and their two sons, Darren and Keith were there. Darren was twelve years old and Keith was ten.

Allen Warburton was presiding in a pontifical manner and talking to Jock

MacGregor. Karen Barnes was in determined conversation with Ernest Spender. Sam Bell and John Pietro called in briefly. Since MacGregor had arrived in Angoram, it was noticed that Pietro appeared to be far less aggressive and bellicose in his general manner. It was speculated that Pietro felt that MacGregor had got his measure and was not going to stand for too much “bullshit” and stand-over tactics. On this particular evening he was on his best behaviour.

After an hour or so the gathering broke up and Ernest kindly offered to walk

Karen home. MacGregor was heard to say: “You can never underestimate a British officer.”


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The truth of the matter as it transpired was a little less clear cut. Karen offered herself body and soul to Ernest. Well, perhaps not so much her soul but certainly her body was offered, and it is probably true that Ernest declined in a most gentlemanly manner. Karen and Ernest remained on the best of terms. Karen displayed nothing of the “woman scorned” syndrome and remained her beautiful friendly self.

It was a mystery to most of the expatriate males how anyone could resist

Karen. She was in many ways the fantasy ideal of most red-blooded males. She was a woman in the prime of life in her early thirties. Karen stood five feet six and had eyes of blue with a fair complexion and a sexy body. She was always stylishly dressed. She once revealed to Bill Clayton that she liked sex without complications. The concept of fidelity and undying love, she said, sometimes had its place but not always.

Karen was not entirely the party girl. There was also a rather sad side to her

nature. Before she married John, her present husband, she had married in her early twenties and had two children. The marriage broke up, and her former husband got custody of the children. One could detect a longing in her for her lost children. However, the affairs of state wait for no woman or man and the officials at Angoram had an election to prepare for.

Harry Payne returned from a patrol in the Grass Country and was pleased

with the way he had been received there. The people, he said, were interested in his talks about the coming election. MacGregor noticed that his general disposition seemed to have improved. The week out on patrol without booze had done him the world of good.

MacGregor was about to embark on a patrol to the Murik Lakes where he

hoped to convince John Kabais from Darapap Village to nominate for the election. He also intended to conduct political education in the area. Payne was amicable and agreeable to allowing Spender to accompany him on patrol.

MacGregor had borrowed the Malaria Control houseboat from James Ward

and had decided to travel in style. The houseboat was built on two large cedar dugout canoes and powered by two outboard motors. The living area on board was spacious with bunks, cooking facilities and a kerosene refrigerator, all screened with mosquito wire. Arrangements were made to provision for a fortnight on patrol, and patrol boxes and equipment were duly loaded on the houseboat.

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As well as MacGregor and Spender, there were two drivers for the outboard motors and two general crew hands. Jock also took one police constable. They set off down the river early in the morning and arrived at their first stop in about an hour. This was Taway, a saw mill run by the Catholic Mission. Jock thought it would be a good idea to call in as the saw mill employed a number of workers from various villages and a little bit of political education might go a long way. The mill was managed by a lay missionary, Snowy Clarke. Jock considered him to be a good bloke. He had met him in Wewak and they had shared a few drinks at the pub.

He said to Ernest: “I’m starting to change my mind about some of the Popi

(Catholics). What I like about them is they all like a drink. That priest in Dreikikir, Casey can drink any self-respecting Protestant under the table, and he was always straight with me. The trouble with most of the Protestant missions you find in the Sepik is that they are a mob of wowsers, not like our Presbyterian ministers in Scotland who are always ready to share a dram with you.”

Ernest wondered a little about Jock’s criterion in measuring who was

acceptable, but he thought it best to keep his own counsel. The houseboat was moored at Taway and Jock and Ernest made their way up to Snowy Clarke’s house. Snowy saw them coming and came out of his house and greeted them.

“Jock, it is good to see you again, hey. Come into the house. I’m just

finishing breakfast. Do you want any, hey?” Jock introduced Ernest and said he would settle for a cup of coffee and

Ernest agreed that would be fine. It was easy to see why Clarke was called Snowy. He had a large mop of blond, if now somewhat grey, hair. Clarke was a middle-aged, rather short and sinewy, fast-talking Aussie, genial and physically active with a tendency to end every sentence with the word, hey.

In the past, Snowy had owned a successful saw mill just outside Burnie in

Tasmania. After thirty years of happily married life, his wife, Mary, suddenly died. This devastated him and he had no interest in carrying on his business. Mary and Snowy had no children, so he decided to sell the saw mill and leave Tasmania. He invested the money he got for the mill and he did not need to work anymore, but after a while he felt he had to do something.

As luck would have it, a friend noticed that the Catholic Mission, through

their agency Palms, was advertising for a saw mill manager on the Sepik River. It


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was a volunteer lay missionary position, but this did not worry Snowy, as he was not looking for money, only some worthwhile assignment that would take his mind off his loss. He applied and was snapped up.

Jock asked Snowy if all the workers and their families could be assembled so

he could give them a talk about the coming election. Snowy agreed that this would be fine. He called out for his bosboi (foreman) and told him to mekim belo, kiap laik tok long olgeta manmeri long ples bung. Give the signal for all men and women to go to the assembly place as the patrol officer wants to talk to them.

Shortly after a loud bell was heard, and groups of people were seen moving

towards a clearing in front of Snowy’s house. After a while Jock, Ernest, and Snowy moved down to the clearing and Jock delivered the following speech in Pidgin:

Nem bilong mi, MacGregor. Mi kiap bilong Angoram. Nau mi got lik lik tok long yupela. Nau taim bilong bipo gavman bilong yupela bilong narapela kantri. Nau senis i kamap, taim kam Nu Gini manmeri bosim gavman bilong kantri. Eleksen long Haus bilong Asembli no Haus Bung no Palamen kam. Rot long gavman bilong yupela. Manmeri mas ting gut long wanem, manmeri yu laik long pasman long Haus Bung. Nogut yu mak pipia manmeri lukaut long yu. Poroman bilong yu em mas stap gut, mekim gutpela tok long helpim kantri. Tok save long pasman bilong ples sanap long eleksen. Yangpela em gutpela tu, sapos em man bilong save. Mi tok long bikpela samting, harim gut. Tenkya tru! My name is MacGregor. I am a kiap from Angoram. Now I want to give you a little talk. In the past you have been governed by other countries. Now change has come and you will run your own country. The House of Assembly or Parliament election is coming and this is your government’s way. You must think well about who you elect as your representative. Don’t vote for bad people. Your representative must be good and talk well to help the country. Tell your leaders to stand for election.

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Young people too would be good representatives if they are intelligent. This is important, so all listen. Thank you very much. Snowy Clarke’s bosboi (foreman) responded: Yu harim gut tok bilong kiap. Nogut yu lusim ting ting long tok. Kiap tok tru long kantri bilong mipela. Sapos eleksen long Haus bilong Asembli nogut, nau pipia man win, kantri bilong mipela laik hel em tasol. Yu ting wanem? Kiap gutpela man tok bilong em stret. Painim gutpela man na helpim win eleksen long Haus Bung no Haus Asembli Tenkyu long harim mi. Don’t forget what the kiap has said to you. What the kiap said about our country is true. If the election for the House of Assembly is won by people who are no good our country will end up like hell. What do you think? The kiap is a good man and his talk is forthright. Find good men and help them win the election for the House of Assembly. Thank you for listening to me. Jock replied: Bosboi bilong Masta Clarke mi save men bilong yu, Peter Sap. Mi ting mi laik stilim yu, na yu ken helpim mi long wok bilong mi. Master Clarke’s foreman, I know your name. It is Peter Sap. I want to take you and employ you to help me. Snowy Clarke said nogat! Noway! Every one laughed. Ernest Spender understood very little of the Pidgin but was most impressed

with MacGregor’s manner and general approach. His Pidgin was fluent and delivered in a persuasive style. This was evident by the attentive demeanor of the listeners. The sound of Pidgin spoken in a soft Scottish brogue, though not understood by Ernest, appealed to his melodious sense.


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After the gathering dispersed, Jock spoke to a number of individuals who had questions about the election. While he was doing this, a group of natives approached him. They were led by a man dressed in shorts, shirt and wearing a luluai’s cap. He saluted Jock and said he wanted to talk to him. He explained that he was the luluai from Kopar, the village at the mouth of the Sepik and he was taking a man who had attacked another man to the kiap at Angoram. He heard that a kiap was in Taway and so he decided to call in.

It appeared that the man who had been attacked was also with the group, and

he had scars on his face and a broken arm. Jock decided to convene a local court and hear the case at once. He told Ernest to tell the police constable to set up a patrol table and chair from the houseboat under a nearby banyan tree. The case was fairly straight forward as the accused pleaded guilty and there were witnesses and the victim who substantiated what had happened.

Jock was not sure that the assaulted man’s arm was actually broken but his

injuries were not minor, and he sentenced the accused to two months in the kalabus (gaol) at Angoram. He ordered the police constable to take him under guard to Angoram in the luluai’s canoe. The papers relating to the case were prepared and duly dispatched with the prisoner to Angoram. Jock also sent a note to Payne asking him to send the police constable back to him when convenient.

Justice was done and seen to be done and MacGregor, Spender and Clarke

adjourned to Clarke’s house. It was now nearly lunch time. Snowy offered them a drink and asked them to stay for lunch. A considerable quantity of beer was consumed before lunch and Ernest expressed concern to Jock that time was getting on. Jock turned to him with a gravelly look and said:

”Ernest, I’ve been in the Territory much longer than you have, and I’ve

always made it a rule of thumb to never let my job interfere with my drinking. Don’t worry, laddie, I’ll get you down the river soon enough.”

Ernest considered his most diplomatic response would be to have another

beer, which he duly did. Ernest was most impressed with Jock. In dealing with the natives, he

demonstrated confidence and poise. Even now relaxed with a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, he exuded self-assurance and Gaelic charm. Ernest thought to himself, “No wonder we had so much trouble conquering them.”

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Jock had an indefinable quality of strength. He had a sense of ease in his own skin.

The conversation flowed on touching topics local and international and at

last lunch was served. After lunch Snowy walked with Jock and Ernest to the houseboat. Thanks and farewells were exchanged with Jock telling Snowy that they would call in on their way back.

The next stop would have normally have been Marienberg, a big Catholic

Mission Station, but Jock said to Ernest that he was in no mood to be talking to a lot of “Kraut priests”. Most of the missionaries were Germans.

The patrol followed a more or less set pattern, talking and meeting with the

village leaders, solving disputes with discussions or court cases. Talks were given on the coming election and census books were checked. They then moved on to the next village.

The houseboat moved from the main Sepik River to the Murik Lakes, an

area of broad lagoons, channels and mangroves. They visited a number of villages in the Murik Lakes area, but Jock was anxious to get to Darapap to talk with John Kabais and convince him to stand for the House of Assembly election.

John Kabais was a most interesting character. He was born in Kaup, a village

on the coast just off the Lakes to the west. During the war his family moved to Karau, a village on the Murik Lakes. The whole area was occupied by the Japanese. The Japanese had established a system of coast watch posts in the Murik Lakes and surrounding areas. By and large the people in the Murik Lakes had fond memories of the Japanese. The watch posts were manned by a small number of Japanese. They largely left the people alone.

For a period the Japanese ran a small school at Karau with the officers

teaching Japanese and arithmetic. The Japanese medics also offered the people a basic medical service. The Japanese became quite proficient in Pidgin so communication with the locals presented no appreciable problem. Allied soldiers reoccupying the Sepik District at the end of the War, provided that they themselves spoke Pidgin, had no problem communicating with the Japanese captives. This came as quite a surprise to them.


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Murik Lakes Plate

John Kabais attended the Japanese school for two years and still spoke a little

Japanese. After the War he attended a mission school at Marienberg to grade 5 and then returned to the Murik Lakes and established a small fishing business. The business had limited scope as he had no refrigeration, but he sold to local people and to passing patrols, mission stations and occasionally in Angoram and Wewak. The Murik Lakes was the source of the famed King Emperior fish and a more succulent tasting meal would be hard to imagine.

Some years before Kabais had married a Darapap woman and decided to live

there. In Darapap Jock met up with John Kabais in his house and talked about the coming election and why he thought that John should be a candidate. While this discussion was going on, John arranged to have Ernest and Jock served a meal of fresh fish and kaukau or sweet potatoes cooked in coconut milk.

Their talk was in English and Ernest noticed that though John always

addressed Jock as Mr MacGregor, he spoke to him as an equal and without

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giving offence in any way to Jock. The outcome was that John agreed that he would nominate as a candidate.

Just before the patrol left Darapap the police constable who Jock had sent

back to Angoram turned up with Jock’s mankimasta (houseboy). They decided to leave the houseboat at Darapap and conduct the rest of the patrol using man-paddled small canoes and walking. With these modes of travel, access to more inland and coastal villages would be achieved.

They visited the villages of Kis, Kaup, Boig, Waskurin, Arapang and Mansep.

At Kaup they made the acquaintance of a fascinating character, Ted Palmer, a primary school teacher. Ted was a New Zealander and had come to Papua and New Guinea about five years previously. He had been stationed mainly in the West and East Sepik Districts, with the last two years at Kaup. He was in his early thirties, of middle height with an olive complexion, brown eyes and auburn hair. To most he looked totally of European descent. However, he claimed Maori antecedents and many blamed this for his emotional and sexual hot-bloodedness. Whatever the truth of the stories about Ted, he certainly was a dynamic individual.

The school was situated on a bluff outcrop on the coast about two miles

from the village of Kaup. There was a track from the village to the school but most times one just walked along the beach to get to the school. The village officials, luluai, tultul, medical tultul were all assemblied to meet the patrol when it arrived.

After the census was taken and a talk given about the election, Jock asked

that word be sent to Ted Palmer to come to the school and visit him. Gundwari, the medical tultul said: Kaip, mobeta larim em stap. Masta Ted les pinis long skulim ol pikinini, bagarap tru.

Long naut mi na Ted olgeta man bilong ples dring long haus bilong em, spak tru. Mi tingting em bagarap na nau em mas slip tasol.

Kiap, it is better to let him sleep. Ted is tired from teaching all the children and is exhausted. In the night I and all the village men and Ted were drinking at his house and got drunk. I think he has had it, and now he must only sleep.

This exchange had hardly finished when Ted was seen emerging from the

beach. He greeted Jock:


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“MacGregor, you old bastard, I heard that you were in the area. You and your mate come to my house and have a drink. I can do with the hair of the dog.”

Jock had not previously met Ted but it was obvious that Ted did not stand

on formalities. He introduced Ernest, after which Ted said: “I did hear that there was a new pommy kiap in Angoram. I’ll see you at my

place shortly.” Jock said they would be there in an hour or so. Ted’s house was fairly basic, but with all the essential requirements for a

single officer in the Territory. There was a bed, kerosene refrigerator and a kitchen of sorts with a chair and a table. Any deficiencies of the house were more than made up for by the truly magnificent view of the ocean and surrounding islands.

Drinks were served and Jock mentioned that he had convinced John Kabais

to stand for the House of Assembly election. Ted was pleased to hear this as he considered Kabais a friend. While the conversation was going on, school children were in and out of the house and village people arrived with cooking pots filled with a variety of food. It was obvious that Ted got on famously with the local people.

As the drinking progressed, Ted’s talk got bawdy especially when he asked

Ernest if he had got his end in. At first Ernest thought that Ted must be referring to some sort of engineering operation of the big-end variety. When the true meaning of the question became obvious, Ernest was embarrassed and answered, “Of course not.”

After a while the party broke up, and Jock said that they would be making

their way back to Angoram tomorrow morning. Ted said that he would see them in a few weeks in Angoram as he intended to visit.

The next day the patrol returned to Darapap to take the houseboat back to

Angoram. On the way, they visited Marienberg and made a short stop at Taway. In the coming weeks a number of candidates nominated. The front runners

were considered to be John Pietro and John Kabais. There were nominations

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from the Karawari and Yuat Rivers but they did not present too much of a threat to Kabais or Pietro. It was generally agreed that Kabais had the Lower Sepik, Marienberg Hills and the Pora-Pora tied up, with some influence in the Middle River and the Yuat River. Pietro had the Grass Country, Angoram Town and the Keram River.

Bill Clayton had decided not to put his name forward on this occasion,

reserving his political options for the future. In the club the bets on Pietro and Kabais were about evenly divided.

Sam Bell said: “Pietro’s member is well known in the Grass Country but I don’t know that

they want him as their Member.” Both Pietro and Kabais campaigned vigorously in all census divisions. Ted

Palmer was said to be financing Kabais’s campaign. Some of Pietro’s speeches created a bit of amusement among the whites, an

example being: Mi mama papa bilong bisnis long Sepik. Mi bun kwila long helpim manmeri. I am the mother and father of business in the Sepik. I am as strong as the

ironwood tree in helping men and women. Throughout the electorate, polling booths were designated and presiding

officers appointed. James Ward was appointed as presiding officer at Yip on the Keram River. All officers who could be spared from their usual duties were co-opted to assist in the election process. All residents of Angoram were encouraged to vote. The polling booths were to be open for about five days to make sure that everyone from surrounding villages had a chance to vote.

It was mostly a whispering ballot, that is the voter would tell the presiding

officer who he wanted to vote for and he would mark the ballot paper. A second officer was appointed to supervise that the ballot had actually been marked as the voter requested. Literate voters were free to mark their own ballot papers in secret.


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Looking back on the first House of Assembly election in the Angoram electorate, it was amazing that it went ahead almost without a hitch. The problems that did occur were often associated with the difficult terrain.

Establishing polling booths in remote areas and seeing that the ballot boxes

were returned safely to Angoram were problems faced by all presiding officers. John Barnes was the presiding officer at Darapap in the Murik Lakes and on completion of voting, the ballot boxes were carried to waiting canoes to be taken back to Angoram. Trouble occurred when a canoe was flooded on the way back and the ballot boxes were submerged wetting all completed ballot papers inside. Luckily, the canoe did not sink and the boxes were saved. Further problems occurred when the boxes finally got to Angoram as they could not be legally opened until the day of counting. It can be imagined what a gluey mess was revealed when the boxes were finally opened. Karen Barnes saved the day by giving John her hair drier to dry the ballot papers.

The day of counting took place under the supervision of ADC Payne, and

votes for the local electorate and regional electorate were to be counted. The East Sepik Regional Electorate covered the whole District. Angoram Open Electorate was the contest of more immediate concern to Angoram residents. Contestants were at liberty to appoint scrutineers and Pietro and Kabais did so. Pietro appointed Des Murray and Kabais appointed Ted Palmer.

While the election went ahead practically without a hitch, this can’t be said of

the counting. The counting of votes was carried out in the Sub-District Office under the supervision of the District Services Officers. It was done by both local and expatriate officers. Early in the count there were some preliminary uncertainties about the front runners, but after a while it became clear that it was a contest between Pietro and Kabais.

After counting of the votes, there was no clear winner, so the preferential

count had to be taken. This caused endless problems. Payne had no idea how this should be conducted and gave confused instructions to the counters. Fortunately, Ted Palmer’s arithmetic and basic knowledge of electoral procedures eventually prevailed and the count went ahead. At the end of it, Kabais was declared the winner by a margin of 320 votes.

Harry Payne was about to announce Kabais’s victory when up jumped Des

Murray and confronted Payne:

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“Mate, it’s all off. As John Pietro’s scrutineer, I want to lodge a strong objection to the count. I’ve observed irregularities all along the line.”

Payne said: “Des, what the hell are you talking about? If there was something

you objected to, why didn’t you mention it before and what do you expect me to do about your complaint?”

Des responded: “Harry, this count was too fast and votes have been wrongly

allocated especially when the preferential votes were counted. Your instructions were confused and misleading and I want everything counted again. If not, I will be advising John Pietro to communicate directly by radiogram with the Administrator.”

Everyone around suspected that Des’s complaint was a lot of hot air and a

bit of sour grapes mixed up with a degree of big noting, but to Payne the reference to his muddle over the preferential voting count left him embarrassed and anxious that it was not talked of elsewhere. Much to the chagrin and exasperation of those employed to count the votes, Payne ordered a recount and promised that they would all be paid overtime. The re-count was completed some hours later and the result was that John Kabais had won by 309 votes.

Payne muttered under his breath: “Bloody Murray should be given a good

kick up the arse.” Harry Payne duly declared John Kabais the winner, and a radiogram to this

effect was sent to the Electoral Commission in Port Moresby. Kabais’s supporters, including Ted Palmer, were beside themselves with joy and adjourned to the hotel to celebrate.

What was surprising was the composed way John Pietro accepted defeat. The

only significant disgruntled comment he made concerned the Catholic Mission: “Those bloody priests had it in for me. If we don’t watch it, this place will be

as bad as Ireland and Italy.” Pietro’s ego perhaps had been considerably boosted recently with the arrival

of a young assistant, Ray Mason. Ray was about nineteen years old and came from Queensland. He was full of praises for Pietro. He called him Jack and his conversation in the club and hotel was cluttered with references to “Jack did this” and “Jack did that”. Sam Bell said: “I think young Ray has got a dose of the jack.”


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Whatever the reason for Pietro’s comparative graciousness in defeat, his attitude came as a pleasant surprise to his acquaintances.

With the passing of the election, Harry Payne hoped the town could return

to a semblance of normality.

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13 The flavour of life

Variety’s the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavour. William Cowper

Whatever else can be said about Angoram, it did provide variety in the diversity of its inhabitants. Both New Guineans and expatriates shared differences rather than likenesses and the community was all the better for it.

People from the Murik Lakes, Pora-Pora, Grass Country, Middle Sepik, and other census divisions were all distinctly different, conspicuously so, both collectively and individually. Patoman, Pietro’s houseboy, and Tobias, a native medical orderly, were about as alike as chalk and cheese. The same could be said of Sam Bell and Fr Bert Brill.

Sam was on a jolly rollicking journey of life in the quest of a dollar. Bert, on

the other hand, was on a quest to engender a sense of renewal and social responsibility in humankind.

Fr Bert Brill was a tall angular man in his late thirties with shoulder-length

hair. He had an impervious and impenetrable look about him. He walked with an attitude of lofty exalted indifference to his surroundings. He reminded Bill Clayton of a cassowary and he sometimes referred to him as a longpela muruk.

Bert came to the Sepik in the late 1950s shortly after his ordination. He had

been in Angoram for most of the time since arriving in the country. He attended the SVD Mission Seminary at Steyl in Holland. Not a centre that would have been considered particularly radical and progressive at the time, but it must have been a seminary that opened its students to an awareness of new trends within the church.

Bert had great admiration for the Protestant Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the great

pastor and theologian killed by the Nazis during the War. He was attracted to Christian Socialism. He was in complete agreement with the Second Vatican


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Council and identified with the ideas of the theologians who wanted to bring the Church into the 20th century. This updating or aggiornamento was strongly supported by Edward Schillebeeckx and Hans Kung, two theologians who Bert thought provided the intellectual basis for a rapprochement between contemporary culture and the Church.

Renewal in Bert’s mind was tied up with a rejection of legalism and

dogmatism. He advocated the liberation of the spirit guided by a Pauline interpretation, or what Bert considered was St Paul’s interpretation. He loved to quote Colossians 2:14 where Paul says that Jesus had come to abolish the Law and Prophets.

Bert’s theological and scriptural approach had an individualist and collectivist

thrust about it and was given a practical rationale by the writings of the secular psychologist Carl Rogers. He put great store on the concept of self-worth and the practical application of encounter groups.

To facilitate the spread of his ideas, Bert built a large community centre

where educational and recreational activities were encouraged. The community centre increasingly became the place where religious services were conducted. He phased out the practice of private confession and said Mass in non-clerical dress.

James Ward, being something of a Catholic of the old school, was left in

wonderment at Bert’s brand of Catholicism and one night at his house they got into a broad-ranging discussion.

James’s house overlooked the Sepik River and was surrounded with planted

eucalyptus trees. On this particular night, there was a full moon.The only sounds heard outside were the occasional gong of a garamut or signal drum from a distant village and the hushed tone of various tropical insects.

The discussion touched on the Second Vatican Council, personal morality,

freedom and social responsibility. The attraction of native women, confession and international politics were all broached in an atmosphere of alcoholic conviviality. In a nutshell what Bert said to James went along these lines:

“You are an Irish Catholic essentially and your black and white morality and

mortal sin theology only undermines your self-worth and at best can only lead to an unimaginative dysfunctional way of living.”

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He went on to say: “I know after a few years in these outstations, there develops a sexual attraction to native women. This is only natural but what you have to ask yourself is: Is it socially responsible to be promiscuous? Of course, promiscuity is wrong, and especially so, given the ages of the girls with whom some of the whites are having sex. There’s nothing wrong with sex in itself. I remember in Amsterdam some years ago I came on a group of prostitutes. Now they were beautiful in appearance and I was tempted. But what stopped me was the commercialisation of sex and the social evil this had created.”

Bert then went on to talk about private confession, and how unnecessary this

was unless one really wanted to seek psychological advice. Bert maintained that every time you go to Mass there is a general penitential rite which is just as sacramental as a private confession.

This gave James a lot to think about and he wondered if it would be

responsible to put the hard word on Laura Sheppard. In the past they had been fairly close, but this was usually after a considerable amount of alcohol which prevented consummation.

Sometime after this discussion with Bert Brill, James Ward said to Ernest

Spender: “You know Ernest, Bert in some ways reminds me of Albert Schweitzer

searching for the historical Jesus in a primeval tropical forest. Of course, I’m not saying that he’s in the same class as Schweitzer, but there is something ironic or incongruous about two essential Europeans in the tropics engaged in a philosophical search given their respective physical location.”

Ernest said: “We seek the Lord wherever we are.” James could afford to put the affairs of Angoram at the back of his mind as

he had three months leave due and he intended to travel to Sydney and visit his parents. He stayed with them for a month. His father was quite elderly, but still practising as a medical doctor in Albury, a New South Wales town on the Murray River.

After leaving Albury, James met up with Sam Bell who had come down to

Sydney to inspect the properties he had purchased in Balmain and Cremorne. Sam was living in one of his flats. It was one of ten flats that formed the apartment complex he had purchased in Cremorne.


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They had a rollicking, hilarious night together in Sydney, meeting up first at Ushers Hotel on Castlereagh Street. This was a famous watering hole for Territorians and they passed a number of hours there, after which Sam suggested they have a meal. They ate a mixed grill at a nearby restaurant. Later in the evening they went to the Hampton Court Hotel in Kings Cross and Sam ran into another property owner, Mrs Walker. She had a block of flats next to Sam’s in Cremorne and she was overjoyed to see him.

The three acquaintances did a lot of drinking in the lounge of the Hampton

Court Hotel. Mrs Walker was calling Sam “Sammy”, and Sam mentioned to James that he might give “Elaine a tickle.” Mrs Walker’s first name was Elaine. During the course of the evening, the prospect of Elaine enjoying a tickle became most improbable as she got so drunk that Sam had to put her into a taxi and pay the fare with instructions that she be delivered home.

After Mrs Walker left, Sam and James moved on to another hotel where

James asked the barman where you could get a woman. The barman gave him a rather blank look in return and this rather amused Sam as the hotel was situated in the red light district of the city. This exchange caused Sam to say to Bill Clayton on his return to Angoram: “Jamie couldn’t even get a knock in a brothel.”

Sam now referred to James as “Jamie”. Perhaps their sojourn in Sydney had

heightened his sense of camaraderie towards James. Or then again, it may have denoted a fatherly expression of endearment. Sam had a son living in Sydney named David whom he called “Davie”.

After spending a few more weeks in Australia, James returned to PNG.While

in Port Moresby, he met a friend who told him that the Department of Lands was looking for field officers to carry out chain and compass surveys of land set aside for resettlement. James decided to apply for a position with the Lands Department. For some time he had become concerned with DDT spraying which was an integral part of the anti-malaria activities of malaria control in PNG. Increasingly, the village people were objecting to spraying and patrols were conducted in some instances as police actions. He was himself bailed up in a village in the Dreikikir area.

Before he applied to the Lands Department, he decided to discuss the matter

with Dr Marek Karski. The Malaria Service Headquarters/Laboratory was on Konedobu Road, and when James arrived, Dr Karski was in the midst of

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supervising the examination of mass blood survey slides from various parts of the country.

Karski was dressed in green surgical laboratory clothes and was going from

microscopist to microscopist checking and analysing results. While this was going on, he was responding to phone calls and from time to time dictating letters. This was activity at the highest level but when he saw James, he gave him an enthusiastic welcome.

“James, it’s good to see you, but you’re not due back from leave for a few

weeks, are you?” James said: “That’s right, Doctor, but I’ve got something I want to discuss

with you.” Marek replied: “You can see I’m fully occupied just now, but let’s meet at

five at the bottom pub in the lounge.” James agreed to this and left. The bottom pub or the Hotel Moresby was

where James was staying, and he contemplated a discussion and drinking session with Dr Karski with some trepidation. Dr Karski arrived on time and after ordering drinks, James thought that he had better broach the subject of him leaving the Malaria Service straight away.

“Doctor, I’m thinking of joining the Lands Department in the resettlement

land survey section. It’s better paid than my present position and I’m concerned about all the opposition we are getting to DDT spraying. I feel a bit bad about leaving you in the lurch, as it were, and I know how important malaria control is.”

Marek took this all in his stride and responded to James in his usual highly

motivated, gracious manner: “James, I’ve said to you before that you are one of our finest officers. This is

why I appointed you OIC River as our man on the spot implementing headquarters policies. From all reports, you have been doing an excellent job. John Kabais, the local member from Angoram, said to me recently that you are the person he wants to remain in Angoram. Your health education in the area and the meetings and discussions he has had with you have impressed him. With the development of local councils, it will increasingly become imperative that we


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have officers who understand political and social trends in the country. It is now possible for anyone to stand for election to local councils―that is, if the councils choose to become multi-racial.

“My friend, I know that you don’t underestimate the capacity of the

nationals. That’s why I’m prepared to let you go to Lands on condition that they give you the opportunity to return to Malaria after three months, if you choose to do so. I know that they’ll take you in Lands and I’ll pass my conditions for your release onto Bill Krebs who is running the resettlement programme.”

James thanked Marek most profusely, and then the conversation centred on

the progress of the anti-malaria campaign in general. While this was going on, James could not help thinking that all of old Karski’s talk about releasing him was a bit overstated, provided Public Service regulations were observed. Still, it was nice to know that he would take him back if things did not work out with Lands.

The alcohol flowed and the good doctor became quite lyrical in his

confidence about the progress of the anti-malaria campaign: “James, transmission has been stopped on Kiriwina in the Trobriand Islands

and promising results are coming from Maprik. It has been done in Ceylon and if surveillance is maintained there, it could be declared malaria free. In Papua and New Guinea with spraying and drugs, provided we get total coverage, it can also be done.”

Throughout this conversation, Marek did most of the talking and James most

of the nodding, until an old colleague and acquaintance of theirs was spotted at the bar. James went up to the bar and asked Norm Reilly to join them. He quietly said to James before accepting:

“I don’t think I could take too much of old Karski but I’ll have a drink with

you both. Is he buying?” James answered that he had been so far. Norm was in his middle thirties, a

thick set New Zealander of about middle height with red hair, Celtic white skin and a jovial disposition in normal circumstances, but a fierce fighter if aroused. He had worked for the Malaria Service for a number of years and was the Malaria Officer at Angoram just before James arrived there. Previously, he had served in the Australian Navy for a number of years. While working for the

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Malaria Service, he had honed up on his academic nautical skills and knowledge and qualified for a Ship Master’s ticket. After getting his ticket, he applied to join the Government Maritime Training Vessel as an instructor and serving officer. He was now employed in this capacity.

Norm joined them and Marek asked him: “What are you drinking?” From

then on the drinks were flowing and Marek paid for more than his share. Norm and James were all ears as Marek went through an account of

resistance fighting in Poland during the war then turned to the problems associated with studying post-graduate tropical medicine in the UK. After sometime Marek excused himself as he had to attend a dinner at the Administrator’s residence.

James said to Norm: “That Karski is amazing, he’s been drinking here for

hours and you wouldn’t know he’s had a drink. I’m half pissed and you are well on the way, Norm.”

Norm told James that if they hurried, they could get a meal on board the

Government Training Vessel that was docked nearby. They had a good meal on board and afterwards talked about Angoram.

“How is the houseboat going, James? You know I had a hell of a job getting

that built. What with the shortage of funds and one thing and another, I was lucky to get it finished, but it’s a great way to travel on the river.” James agreed that it was.

“By the way James, how is Bopa? She had the best ‘tits’ on the river. Have

you given her a length and felt those breasts?” James answered that he had not as yet, but he was certainly aware of her attractions. Norm told James that he had better hurry, as in his words, “time was of the essence as far as that part of the anatomy is concerned with the local women. After a while the susus (breasts) end up like razor strops, and apart from this, she is a friendly girl, so go for it.”

James mentioned to Norm that he was thinking of transferring to Lands and

he might give Malaria away. Norm said: “That spraying with DDT was a pain and there’s no doubt that the spray kills

the village cats. When I was in Aitape, the locals said that DDT increased the rat population, and when I reported this, everyone in Moresby said that this was a


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load of rubbish. But when you think about it, if the DDT kills cats, which I know it does, then it only stands to reason that if the rats’ only predator is killed off, their numbers must increase.

“If you get the Lands job, I guess you’ll still have to return to Angoram, so

would you give my mankimasta, Joseph, $10 from me? Here you are, I’ll give it to you now. I like the locals around Angoram and especially the Kambarambas. Joseph and Bopa both come from Kambaramba. By and large, natives always get a rough deal. Who would work for the wages we pay them? You had better give Bopa this $20 for old times’ sake. You can say what you like, but thank God I was not born black, poor buggers!

“At least we treat ours better than some. You should see the attitude of some

of the Portuguese in East Timor. I worked briefly for an oil company in Dili and it was like this, tell the natives once and if they did not do what they were told, kick them up the bum.”

James reflected that Norm might be considered something of a rough

diamond by some, but he had a great deal of generosity of spirit. By this time it was getting late and James wished Norm all the best and made his way back to the hotel.

The next morning James had an interview with Bill Krebs about the job with

Lands. Bill Krebs was a man in his fifties and a typical Aussie. He was a qualified surveyor and in charge of resettlement land surveys in the Territory. He was quite open with James and said to him:

“James, as far as I’m concerned, you have the job. I had old Karski on the

phone just before you arrived, and he was going on about releasing you for some time, and then giving you the opportunity to return to him. I explained that you were a free agent and could apply for any position at any time it became available and it’s up to the various departments to assess the suitability of whoever the applicant is. But as things stand, I think I’m in a position to keep everyone happy.”

Bill went on to explain that in about six months’ time, a land survey was

planned for an area just outside Angoram called Gavien. An experienced officer, Dunstan McMillan, was going to do the survey and James could assist him. In the meantime, James was to return to Angoram and work for Malaria Service until Dunstan arrived and then his job with Lands would start. James said to Bill

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that he was happy with this, but he was a little concerned that he would not be up to the job, as his maths knowledge was fairly basic. Bill said:

“Don’t worry about that as the survey is only done with a chain and compass

and the map of the subdivision is straight forward. Anyhow, Dunstan will show you what to do.”

James then thanked Bill and said that he was pleased that everything seemed

to be working out well. Now that these matters were settled, James was in something of a quandary

as he still had about three weeks leave and did not want to return to Angoram in a hurry. While he was contemplating this in the bar of the bottom pub, in walked a man he had worked with on a plantation years before. Noel Craig and James had been assistants on a plantation on the Papuan coast during the fifties. James greeted Noel: “It must be about eight years since we’ve seen each other. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

“Oh, I’m still with Steamships,” Noel replied. (Steamships Trading Company

was the plantation company they both worked for.) “I’m now in the Gulf District managing M&V Estates on the Vailala River. James, you look altogether different from the callow youth I remember on Mamai Plantation. What have you been doing with yourself since?”

Noel was a man in his late forties and still fairly fit in spite of a mildly

dissipated look. In his youth he had lost an eye and this made him look rather intense. He had been in the Territory for about twenty years after serving with the Australian Army and with the occupation forces in Japan. He explained to James that he had been married to an Australian woman, but she had left him some years before, taking their two children with her. He went on to talk about this:

“A man is a bloody idiot to get mixed up with a white woman. I could have

had my pick of a number of girls from Hanuabada at the time I married Margaret and I think things would have turned out better if I had. Anyhow, that’s enough of me. You no longer look like the young bloke I remember. I don’t mind telling you I didn’t think that you would have lasted in the Territory. Those Orokaivas certainly nearly did you for good and when you were carried to Baibara, I didn’t think you were going to last. It’s a good thing Ron Hastings knew what to do. He was a medic in Korea, you know.”


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Noel was referring to the incident in which James Ward had been attacked by a group of workers. James was supervising the delivery of rubber latex at the plantation factory when he approached one worker and ordered him out of the factory. His friends took umbrage at this, and got stuck into James with wooden poles. He was rendered unconscious and left with a fractured skull and broken arm. Noel arranged to have him carried to a neighbouring plantation that had an airstrip, and on the following day he was flown to Moresby where he was admitted to hospital for a month. It was very fortunate that the manager of Baibara Plantation, which was two hours walk away, was this Ron Hastings whom Noel spoke of, as he had expertly stabilised James. Some time afterwards Ron explained to James that giving morphia to people with head injuries can be dangerous, but as James was in such terrific pain, he had decided to risk it. The injection of morphia had worked wonders and James was relatively comfortable until he was flown out the next day.

Noel and James spent the next hour speaking about past events and catching

up and then Noel said: “What are your plans now?” James told him that he was at a bit of a loose end, but he still had a bit of leave left. Noel then offered James the following words of wisdom:

“Don’t hang around Moresby if you’ve got any money and a passport. The

place to go for a bit of a break is Hong Kong. I went there last year and I can tell you the women are fantastic, and for any young bloke who wants to get his leg over, I can think of no better place. Qantas flies there three times a week. Get a return ticket, and stay there for a week and I guarantee you’ll love it. The place to stay is the Shamrock Hotel in Kowloon. Room service, hot and cold running women night and day, you won’t even have to leave the hotel if you don’t want to.”

On this note, Noel excused himself saying that he had to rush off to a

meeting with the Plantation Inspector at Steamships. His last words were: “Think about my suggestion, you won’t regret it.”

Well to make a long story short, James did go to Hong Kong, stayed for a

week at the Shamrock and it could be said that he did indeed ‘get his leg over’.

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14 The jigsaw puzzle of life

Life is a jigsaw puzzle with most of the pieces missing Anonymous James Ward remembered the words of a particularly brutal plantation manager of Ceylonese Burgher descent who described himself as “a square peg in a round hole.” He was a peg that the New Guineans could have well done without. James once saw him severely beat his bosboi (foreman) with a stout cane, and the way he exercised psychological control on those under him was in any estimation quite evil, but that’s another story.

The cast of players in this narrative lived their lives in a remote corner of the globe and the puzzle of life was just that: an enigma wrapped in a mystery that was without resolution for many of them.

It may be asked what caused James Ward to spend a week of sexual

debauchery in Hong Kong. To James and to some in Angoram, the answer was quite simple: “He wanted a bit.” Others might have thought he was acting out of character. Definitive answers elude us for none of us know all the hidden alcoves in the minds of men and women.

A lot had happened in Angoram while James had been away and Bill Clayton

was anxious to fill him in. Bill’s turn of phrase was as colourful as ever: “Since you’ve been away rooting yourself to death in Hong Kong, a lot has

been happening here. Bob McDonald was rushed to Wewak Hospital with alcoholic poisoning. He has been on the metho, or the white lady as he calls it. Norm Brown has fathered a child, a little girl, of whom he seems very proud. Paul Kramer’s house in the Ex-Service Camp burnt down with all his paint work. Dorothea Batak, it appears, gave birth to a boy sometime ago in the village.

“Well, after his shack went up in smoke, Paul rushes off to Kambot,

Dorothea’s village, and gets the child and the next thing we know he’s off to


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Madang with the baby. Somehow, he gets the baby’s papers fixed up with someone acting as the American Consul, and leaves the Territory with the child for the good old USA.

“The real news is that it looks like we’ve got rid of Payne. A few weeks ago

Jock dropped him in the club. There was a terrible argument, I’m not too sure what it was about, but I guess Harry insulted him with that senior officer stuff of his. Jock asked him out on the lawn to settle. Well, before they left, Payne threw a punch and connected on Jock’s face. From what was said, Jock responded like a thrashing machine and he probably would have killed Payne, if John Barnes and Geoff Sheppard had not restrained him.

“Les Hill, the DC, came out the next morning and from what I heard, he was

not too sympathetic to Payne. The upshot of it all is that Payne has been transferred to Moresby on so called ‘special duties’ and Jock announced that he was fed up with ‘all the twits’ he had to put up with in the government and was going to work with Kennecott. He is now in the Star Mountains as a field officer with them. John Barnes is the acting ADC.”

Bill Clayton was in many ways a contradictory character. He came from a

family of Quakers, and his father worked as a social worker in Hobart, Tasmania. Bill attended the Friends’ School in Hobart, and after leaving school, of all things, he joined the army. He served for three years, with a stint of six months in Malaya during the emergency. On leaving the army, he joined Burns Philip as a shop assistant in Rabaul. After a year or so, he ended up in Angoram and started a trade store.

Bill was a fairly well proportioned man in his early thirties, and with a marked

casualness about him, both in manner and dress. His dress around Angoram was always shorts, shirt and thongs. No one could ever remember seeing him in a pair of shoes. In his commercial dealings with the locals, he was always very fair and in conducting his store, he was presented with many opportunities to meet women. He had a bit of a reputation in this respect around the town.

James Ward liked him and they would spend innumerable hours together

gossiping about the goings on around the town, while drinking countless cups of coffee and eating a dish called donkers prepared by James’s houseboy, Kami. These were fried scones served with butter and jam.

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James told Bill that he would be joining Lands in few months’ time to assist with the proposed land survey in Gavien. Bill said:

“James, I wouldn’t fancy your coordinates on the survey too much. Do you

know anything about surveying?” “Not really, Bill, but it’s only chain and compass work and a chap called

Dunstan McMillan will be in charge, and he’ll do most of the brain work.” Bill mentioned that there was talk about Laura and Geoff Sheppard leaving. “Are you going to the club tonight, James? If you are you’ll be able to catch

up with all the news then.” James told him that he would see him later in the club and they parted on

this note. Later in the club when James arrived, Laura Sheppard was there talking to John Pietro. Both wished James a welcoming “hello” and John excused himself and left to attend to in his words, “some pressing personal matter.” Laura said to James:

“Thank goodness Pietro has left, he gives me the creeps, he has that look in

his eyes that he would like to violate you.” “Does that worry you, Laura?” “Of course it does. The trouble with you blokes is you don’t know the first

thing about women. Any woman wants to be wooed, even friendly ones. Most of the men around here haven’t got a clue. Most of you are physically hopeless. It’s boom, bang or wham! And it is all over, or you’re too drunk to do anything. That’s the state you’re usually in, James. Now last week we had a Frenchman staying at the hotel. He really knew how to treat a woman. I’ll say this about Geoff. At least he allows me to live my own life.”

While this illuminating conversation was going on, Ray Mason, Pietro’s

assistant, arrived anxiously looking for him. ”He’s just left,” James said. Laura asked Ray to join them for a drink, which he did. She then asked how

he liked working for Pietro.


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“Oh, great, he’s going to buy a plane, you know, a Piper Cherokee single engine. The plane will be delivered next week with an instructor from Hawker de Havilland. Jack plans to fly into West Irian to buy artifacts, but shut up about this, he does not want anyone to know.”

They assured Ray that they would say nothing. After this, Ray left saying,”I

have to find Jack.” This little bit of information amazed Laura and James. James said: “If this is true, and Pietro knows that Ray is spreading it around, he’ll skin

him alive.” “I wouldn’t put too much faith in it,” said Laura. The question of West Irian and artifacts had been the subject of conversation

on various occasions among the expatriates in Angoram, particularly those with concerns in the artifact trade. The stories filtering into PNG about the Indonesian take over in West New Guinea seemed to indicate a steady deterioration in the general administration. Inefficiency and repression, it appeared, characterised Indonesian rule with forecasts of things getting worse.

John Pietro and his plane became of little account to Laura and James when

someone put Irving Berlin’s Cheek to Cheek on the record player. Both had drunk sufficient alcohol to be completely relaxed, allowing their sexual attraction for each other to come to the fore unimpeded. James’s Catholic conscience and Laura’s social decorum at this moment meant nothing. In an instant there developed between the two of them an accord of primeval bonding.

Laura said to James,“Let’s dance.” James moved into Laura’s arms and

danced. The words of the song ideally fitted their mood. The excitement they felt for each other was hidden in the closeness and awareness of their dancing embrace. They both became oblivious to their surroundings with the lyrics of the music in their ears.

Heaven, I’m in heaven And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak And I seem to find the happiness I seek When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek

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Laura whispered to James. “Let’s go to your house, darling.” They left together and were not seen until the next morning.

The whole town knew that something had happened between Laura and

James, though they did not talk to anyone else about it. It was true that Laura and Geoff Sheppard were thinking seriously about leaving Angoram. They were considering an offer to manage some sort of guest house in Rabaul. The owner of the Angoram Hotel, Gary Kasparov, was a Russian Armenian living in Sydney and he had been giving them trouble. Laura put this down to the fact that she had turned him down when he had put the hard word on her when they met in Madang.

Before James joined the Lands Department, he had to conduct a patrol in the

Lower Sepik and Murik Lakes area. This involved spraying all structures and distributing anti-malaria drugs. James conducted this patrol with his team and it went off very well. The route followed was practically the same as MacGregor’s political education patrol.

One of the highlights of the patrol for James was catching up with Ted

Palmer again in Kaup. When he visited Ted, another teacher named Richard Scott was staying with him from Wewak. Ted’s provisions had all been consumed and they were living on food supplied by the village. For grog they were drinking some jungle juice that Ted had brewed or distilled some months ago. Ted described it as a “deadly drop.” The story was that half the village got drunk on this brew. So Ted advised only moderate sips.

On the night of James’s arrival in Kaup, Ted, James and Richard were sitting

in Ted’s house having moderate sips of the jungle juice when there was a knock on the door. One of Ted’s friends from Kaup said to him:

Tripela meri wetim masta long nabis. Three women are waiting for the masters on

the beach. Ted told James and Richard what had been said. Ted and Richard took up

the offer but James gave it a miss. Some months later in Angoram, James ran into Ted and Ted said:

“James, you were bloody lucky that time in Kaup, the girl you were meant to

have, Richard got her, and he ended up putting her in the family way.”


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James said that he hoped he was doing something for her. Ted said: “She’s fine. She married a policeman and is now living in the Highlands.” James finalised his affairs with Malaria Service after Dunstan McMillan

arrived in Angoram, and they both prepared to camp in the jungle of Gavien.

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15 Marking the wilderness for habitation

What went ye out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken with the wind Matthew 11:7

Gavien, a lowland tropical forest, primeval and untouched, had been selected as an ideal area for a resettlement scheme to provide land and economic opportunities for river people, particularly from the Grass Country.

Whatever the charms of this area, it was not a wilderness in Omar Khayyam’s or Edward Fitzgerald’s sense. “A Jug of Wine, a loaf of Bread-and Thou Beside me in the Wilderness. Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow!” The literary reference that more readily came to James Ward’s mind when he and Dunstan McMillan set up camp in Gavien was Conrad’s Heart of Darkness.

Dunstan McMillan was a lean fit man in his middle forties and a skilled

bushman. He had come to Papua and New Guinea five years previously and had worked mostly with the Lands Department as a Field Officer on land settlement schemes.

He had an interesting background. His parents had owned a sheep station in

the Western Districts of Victoria and Dunstan had attended Melbourne Grammar. After leaving school, he started a general arts degree at Melbourne University, but two years into his course his parents were both killed in a car accident. The family property was left to Dunstan and his older sister, Joan. At the time, Joan was working as a legal secretary for a group of lawyers in Melbourne.

Dunstan and his sister got on very well and they both wanted to travel, not

only to travel, but to live in Europe. Joan had a particular interest in Italian Renaissance art and an overwhelming desire to live in Italy. She convinced Dunstan that they should sell the property and do just that.


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The sheep station was sold in the early fifties when land prices were at a peak because of the demand for wool created by the Korean War, among other things. So Joan and Dunstan would have been considered wealthy young things, able to do what they liked. This is exactly what they did.

They left for the UK on the P&O liner Strathmore and after a short stay in

England, went to Italy and purchased a villa outside Florence. For a number of years, they lived the life of wealthy expatriates and immersed themselves in Italian artistic culture. Unfortunately, neither had much business and investment shrewdness and the money soon ran out.

They eventually had to sell up in Italy and return to Australia. Dunstan, who

had never done a day’s work in his life, had to find a job. This was when he joined the Lands Department in Papua and New Guinea. He took to the bush and his work in PNG like a duck to water. He became a skilled surveyor using the chain and compass and he could virtually live off the land while in the most inhospitable jungle settings.

Dunstan set up camp about five miles from Angoram at the end of a bush

road. Tent flies were erected rather than full tents for Dunstan, James and the labourers. Full tents for the kitchen and map room were put up. Latrines were dug and a basic area set aside for washing. Water was collected from a nearby creek.

The area of jungle to be subdivided was about 2500 hectares to be divided

into blocks of about 6.5 hectares each. To James this was a daunting task, but to Dunstan it was all in a day’s work. There were twenty labourers and Dunstan and James employed their own cook boys. One team worked under James’s direction and one under Dunstan’s direction.

The map had been made and the subdivisions had to be cut following the

compass bearings on the map. Dunstan gave James an outline of what had to be done and the next morning work commenced, with each team cutting lines at the direction of compass readings taken by Dunstan and James.

Working in a dense tropical rainforest is not the most congenial experience if

you have to cut your way through vines, ferns, creepers and trees, in a climate of high humidity, frequent rain and constantly menaced by mosquitoes, ants and other insects.

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The flora of PNG certainly has beauty, but it can be better admired if one is not forced to stay amongst it in lowland areas. One does see beautiful orchids and ferns but the dank lowland forest in its primeval state is more of a home to nature than to man.

While working, James thought to himself. “This forest sees us as invaders

and nature is making us as uncomfortable as possible in the hope of keeping us out.”

The area was rich in fauna. Birds of great variety were evident. Parrots,

cockatoos, pigeons, thrushes and the occasional bird-of-paradise were seen. The area was home to numerous wallabies and bandicoots. The odd cassowary and tree kangaroo made their appearance. The intriguing cuscus was seen from time to time.

In a dense tropical forest, the great trees lord it over the lesser vegetation of

the canopy below. Nature’s shock troops are perhaps the mosquitoes and flies that make man’s invasion of the wilderness so difficult. In the future, even the mighty trees would be felled in the name of improvement and development.

Lofty environmental thoughts were largely beyond either James’s or

Dunstan’s comprehension. This project was about opening up the land to the people and development. This was the predominant thinking at the time. Dunstan’s energy and drive astonished James. He said so to Allen Warburton on a visit to the club:

“Allen, Dunstan is amazing. He works from daylight to dusk, Saturday

included, and practically lives off the land. He eats wallabies and vegetables from the nearby village with saksak (sago). The flies and mosquitoes don’t seem to worry him.”

Allen replied: “He’ll toughen you up, Ward.” “You can say that again, Allen, but I don’t think I came to the Territory to

work as hard as this.” “Have another drink before you walk back to the camp, James.” James did so, then walked the five miles back.


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Under Dunstan’s direction the surveying went ahead at an amazing pace. The camping sites were constantly changed and independent camps were established with James’s camp on one side of the land and Dunstan’s on the other.

After going for two months like a cat out of hell, James came down with a

severe allergy. He had to move to Angoram for treatment. Dr Jan Speer put him on a course of antihistamines. It took about a week for his condition to respond, which was just as well as when he first arrived in Angoram, the allergy had so disfigured him that no one recognised him. His legs, arms and face were swollen to twice their normal size. Dr Speer put his complaint down to abnormal sensitivity to some bush plant. His condition was aggravated by his general exhaustion and poor health at the time, according to the doctor, who ordered him to stay in town for the next three weeks.

This created no problem for James as the house he occupied while with

Malaria Service had not been reallocated and still had all his gear in it. At this stage, he had firmly made up his mind that he did not intend to stay with Lands, and he wrote to Dr Marek Karski, requesting a transfer back to Malaria Service when the land survey was completed in Gavien. He also sent a copy of this letter to Bill Krebs with a covering note stating that he did not think that a field officer’s job with Lands was for him, but he appreciated that Bill had given him the opportunity to try it.

When his health improved, James resumed work in Gavien. It took a few

months to complete the survey. Dunstan wrapped up all the surveying and map details just before the Christmas break, at the end of 1966. Dunstan and James moved into James’s house in Angoram. His retransfer to Malaria Service had been approved and Dr Karaski had reappointed him OIC River.

Dunstan was to be sent to West New Britain to carry out another land

settlement survey, but he did not have to leave until early in the New Year.

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16 Christmas in Angoram

The ghost of Christmas past Charles Dickens Initially, the comforts of town after living in the bush were in themselves something of Christmas for Dunstan and James. The amenities of a well constructed house, with comfortable furniture in a mosquito-free enclosure, were bliss indeed after the rigours of Gavien. The opportunity of a few days off, even before the Christmas break officially started, gave Dunstan and James a splendid time to unwind. A visit to friends to catch up on the town gossip and a few drinks at the club and perhaps a brief dalliance with the local maidens were leisure activities that the town could offer.

There were plans afoot for the Christmas Eve celebration at the club. Invitations had been sent to a number of non-members with children, still of course very selective. Allen Warburton was careful, in his words, “about the general tone of the club.” Members like Carlos Ruiz, Des Murray and Jim Andrews all had children and naturally they would be included in Christmas celebrations.

There was a lot of aerial activity around the airstrip. Apparently, John Pietro

had purchased a Piper Cherokee plane and was in the process of learning how to fly. The plane had been supplied with an instructor. This accounted for the landings, takings off and circling around the strip. Pietro and his plane were the talk of the town. Some thought that he would kill himself before he learnt to fly, others speculated on what he intended to do with the plane. Many had John flying down south to Brisbane and to places in South East Asia. One rumour was that he intended to run guns into West Irian and return with artifacts. All this talk added colour and excitement to conversations around the town. It was obvious that Pietro loved the added notoriety and he basked in his new found celebrity. His cavalier self-assurance was on display in his dealings. Sam Bell, back in town, was heard to say: “John’s up himself.”


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No one took up his offer of a joy ride, except his adoring assistant, Ray Mason who was full of praises for Pietro’s aviation skills. The Hawker de Havilland instructor, Michael Henderson, was fairly noncommittal on being asked about John’s progress: “Learning how to fly takes time but John is picking it up.”

The only ambition in relation to flying that Pietro had publicly expressed was

a desire to be a member of the mile-high club. To qualify for membership, one had to have intercourse while at an altitude of one mile and according to John, there were a number of aspiring applicants to help him achieve this.

Bill Clayton told James Ward that Pietro had offered to fly to Wewak and

pick up Elizabeth Bevan, who was coming out for Christmas. Bill said: “There’s no way I’d let Elizabeth in a plane with Pietro. Apart from the fact I wouldn’t fly with him myself, she isn’t going to help him qualify for the mile-high club.”

Apart from the excitement created by Pietro’s plane, there was expectation

among the expatriates about the Christmas Eve party in the club. Allen Warburton told James Ward that he was to be Father Christmas:

“James, you’ll arrive by tractor with a bag of presents for the younger people.

I’ll expect this to be done in a dignified way so don’t be inebriated before it starts. There might be a few guests from Wewak. Les Hill, the DC, may come. I think he is going to confirm John Barnes as our ADC.”

James assured Allen that he could be relied on. As regards Les Hill coming,

the talk around town was that Les rather fancied Karen Barnes and he was coming on this account rather than just to confirm her husband’s appointment. If Allen had heard any such talk, he would have considered it gossip and beneath contempt. He once said to Bill Clayton: “A gentleman’s sexual activity is his own business and not to be talked about by others.”

No one in town had ever heard Allen criticise anyone for consorting with the

local women. However, it was thought that he considered this behaviour rather distasteful. He was once heard to say:

“I suppose it is a legitimate perk for empire builders. However, I could never

make a practice of it. If the ‘Old Hag’ heard I was carrying on with black women, she’d have a fit.”

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‘The Old Hag’ was his unmarried sister who he stayed with in Sydney when he went on leave.

When MacGregor and Payne left town, two young patrol officers, Alan Judd

and Michael Vestey, were sent to Angoram. They had both served one term in the Territory and Angoram was their second posting. Alan had a mania for saving money and spent as little as possible. He also had an unfortunate skin disease on his legs and arms, which he was always scratching. This caused Sam Bell to call him the Cockroach Kiap. Michael, on the other hand, was obsessed with the police duties aspect of his job, and was forever in consultation with Sub-Inspector Pius Kabui. James Ward suspected that Pius was getting a bit sick of him. His other obsession quickly became Rita, Kabui’s teenage daughter who was working for the didiman, the agriculture officer, Gus Whowall.

Gus Whowall was in everyone’s estimation a gentleman. No one, be they

local or expatriate, had a bad word about him. He was a New Zealander from Christchurch with a university degree in agriculture. A man in his early thirties, of middle height with a long beard and a boundless capacity for work, Gus was an asset to any station. He could match anyone drink for drink and never be the worst for it. Ted Palmer said: “Given the amount Gus can drink, he must have hollow legs.”

Wherever he went around the station, Gus always had his two dogs with him.

Both Allen Warburton and Ernest Spender had a very high opinion of him. As it happened, Gus’s father, like Ernest, was an Old Carthusian. He was probably one of the few expatriates in town that Pius Kabui was happy to have his daughter work in proximity to. There was no sexual scandal associated with Gus’ name. Pius Kabui was quite right to be concerned about his daughter, for she was something of a beauty and with his wife, Helen, also from Bougainville, he was determined that no harm would come to her. The consensus around the town was that Michael Vestey had better be very careful.

Bob McDonald and Norm Brown were always prepared for Christmas. Bob

was off the metho and Norm, having recently become a father, presented a new found respectability to the town. It was even said that for the past month his mill had been working at full capacity.

Christmas Eve arrived and Bill Clayton was overjoyed when Elizabeth Bevan

flew in. Earlier a radiogram had been received informing John Barnes that he


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was confirmed as the ADC and the DC, Les Hill, advised that he wouldn’t be coming out.

Early in the afternoon, just before the Christmas party started, the MV St

Christopher docked at the wharf from upriver, captained by Fr Paul Kirshner, a well known Territory character. He had been in New Guinea since before the War and he originally hailed from Kansas City. During the War he was interned by the Japanese in Rabaul and after the War he returned to the Wewak Mission. The bishop assigned him to the St Christopher.

He had been on the ship ever since, supplying and visiting mission stations

along the coast and islands, and up and down the river. Paul was a highly strung man with a loud and commanding presence on the bridge of the Christopher. He was loved by his crew and by most others who came in contact with him, for he tried to be helpful to everyone.

Fr Kirshner had a deep devotion to the 16th Century mystic, St John of the

Cross. The Dark Night of the Soul and Spiritual Canticle were familiar to him. He struck one as a man overflowing with charity and kindness. This very spiritual and yet human man was given occasionally to fits of temper and overindulgence in alcohol.

When the boat docked, Allen Warburton went straight to the wharf and gave

Fr Kirshner a special invitation to attend the Christmas party. Allen insisted that he was needed and was so persuasive that Paul accepted the invitation with pleasure. Paul told his crew that they would be staying overnight in Angoram. The crew members were visibly pleased with this, as they all cheered and called out: Amamas long Krismas, Pater (Happy Christmas, Father).

There was a big roll up for the club’s Christmas Eve party. All members and

their families and a sprinkle of non-members and their families, mainly government employees such as medical orderlies and clerks, were there. It was a refreshing multiracial change from the usual white predominance and presented a rare opportunity for New Guineans and expatriates to mix socially.

James Ward arrived in a trailer pulled by a tractor, dressed as Father

Christmas and bearing a large bag of gifts for the children. As a rule of thumb, anyone under twelve years received a gift. Probably the oldest to get gifts were Des and Claire Murray’s two teenage children, Brian and Joan. Tobias Kabasse, a medical orderly, was there with his wife Annie and their four young children,

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Gabriel, Joshua, Joseph and Betty. After the presents had been given out, Father Christmas left and returned half an hour later as James Ward.

There was an ample supply of food and drink, compliments of the club.

Some days before, the hat had been passed around the better-off members and all had been very generous, so the expenses for the party were more than covered.

Bob McDonald was in conversation with Jim McLaren. It was Jim’s custom

to pop into Angoram, on and off over the year. He was a bona fide resident of Angoram, with a trade store and business interests in the town, but he also ran an alluvial gold mining venture in the hills at the back of Dagua, a village half way between Wewak and Aitape. This took up a lot of his time and his interests in Angoram were virtually run by his local staff. A bevy of attractive young women ran his trade store. Jim referred to them as his “princesses”. It was not known if he made money out of the store, but it kept on trading. The staff certainly treated Jim royally when he came to Angoram. Sam Bell referred to them as “Jim’s harem”. But if this was the case, no one ever saw any evidence of any of Jim’s progeny around the town. John Pietro reckoned that “Jim had been shooting blanks for years.”

Jim first came to New Guinea during the War with the AIF 7th Division and

had more or less stayed on ever since. During his life, he had been a fine athlete and at one time, the regiment’s champion boxer. He was now overweight but Karen Barnes said he was a “featherweight on the dance floor moving with grace and charm.” When speaking English, Jim had a pronounced stutter, but in Pidgin his speech was fluent and unhesitating. He was an extremely generous man and it was rumoured that when the hat had been passed around for the Christmas party, he had put in $200.

Dunstan McMillan, near the bar in the club, was talking to Ron Watson and a

tall young woman. Ron was a regular visitor to Angoram and was often accompanied by a woman assistant but rarely the same one. Ron came from Denver, Colorado and over the years he had done quite well shipping Sepik carvings to the States, where he had a ready market. He was a healthy man in his early forties and an inveterate patroller in pursuing rare pieces of carved art.

Ron was in many ways your typical enterprising Yank, but he was also

socially charming and on occasions the life of the party. He had some contacts with the University of Colorado at Boulder in the Department of Cultural


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Anthropology. This is where he recruited his assistants from, who were good-looking, young, educated women. The current one was Susan Flynn, a graduate student in her late twenties and at least a runner up in any beauty contest you may think of. Their duties included cataloguing, classifying and documenting the collected pieces. In the course of these duties all seemed happy enough to share Ron’s bed.

Ron had a wife in Denver but this did not seem to inhibit his trips to PNG

with his various assistants. Ron’s personal life had all the hallmarks, in Bill Clayton’s words, of “a freewheeling situation.” Bill once asked Ron how he managed to get all these good-looking women to come to PNG with him. Ron was quite ready to explain:

“Well Bill, I’ll tell you. I put a notice up in the Department of Anthropology,

Colorado University alone these lines: A collector of significant cultural and anthropological artifacts in the Sepik District of

New Guinea, an area made famous by the work of Dr Margaret Mead, seeks the assistance of a student or graduate of anthropology to classify and document acquired items. This would be for a period of two months. Interested applicants please leave your name with Dr Edward Glover. Ron Watson

“Ed is an old friend and a lecturer in anthropology. He helps with the culling

of the applicants, and you would be surprised at how many apply. First of all, the men are eliminated, then the innocent and unattractive. We end up with three or four likely ones and I take each out for a meal and if I particularly get on with one of them, she gets the job.”

Susan and Ron were staying with Bill Clayton prior to going on a collecting

trip up the Karawari River. As the party got into full swing everyone seemed happy and full of joie de vivre. Of course, Bob McDonald was pissed and Sam Bell was still talking about the bad deal private enterprise was getting from the government. Michael Vestey was in seventh heaven talking to Rita, if under the careful supervision of Sub-Inspector Pius Kabui, her father. Elizabeth Bevan was demure and beautiful by Bill Clayton’s side. Ella Andrews was talking to Karen Barnes about the Christmas dinner she planned for the following day. Alan Judd was in the corner scratching his legs, while Geoff Sheppard looked on with distaste. Laura, his wife, was discreetly holding James Ward’s hand. Fr Kirshner was talking to Dr Speer and Norm Brown started to give a rendition of The Court of King Caractacus on his accordion, until Jim McLaren told him to stop.

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By this time most of the New Guineans with their children had left and those remaining, mostly expatriates, settled down to some serious drinking. Dr Speer and Fr Brill left together talking about the European Economic Community. Just before he left, Fr Paul Kirshner started to talk to James Ward.

Paul knew that James was a Catholic and he mentioned to him that he would

be saying Mass at 10 o’clock in the morning on board the Christopher. James’s thoughts at this stage were more of a carnal than a spiritual nature. He planned to meet up with Laura later, but he said to Paul, “Father, I’ll try and make it.”

James and Laura left the club together and headed for James’s house. Once

inside, they threw themselves into each other’s arms and for the next hour or so surrendered their bodies to unbridled passion. The experience left James confused. Was it love or lust or both? On walking Laura back to the hotel, he said to her: “We’ll have to do something about this. I can’t get you out of my mind.”

“James darling, let’s just concentrate on the body. Don’t worry too much

about it. I’m here.” The next morning, Christmas day, James awoke and his first sense was a

strong awareness of Laura. He felt and smelt her presence around him. He looked at his watch, 9:15, and then he remembered Paul Kirshner telling him about Mass at 10:00. As it was Christmas, he considered that he had better go to Mass. So he got ready and made his way down to the wharf, where the Christopher was docked.

He arrived early and he noticed Paul hearing confessions on a secluded part

of the deck. Paul was wearing his cassock with a stole around his neck and seated on an upturned box. The penitent was kneeling in front of him. This scene created mixed emotions in James. His first inclination was to run away. He was in no mood for confession and in his relations with Laura he certainly had no firm purpose of amendment. He was, as he said to Laura later, “suffering with grief about past sexual sins.”

While all these thoughts were going through his mind, Paul looked up after

giving a penitent absolution, and his eyes met James’s for a brief moment. For some reason this look from Paul profoundly moved him. It seemed to be a saintly invitation that the nature of his being impelled him to accept. It was as if


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Paul was extending a life-line to him. Almost as an automaton, James joined the line of those waiting to have their confession heard.

He kneeled in front of Paul and started his confession: “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It is about two years since my last

confession and I accuse myself of the following sins: I’ve had sexual relations with a number of women and I’m now carrying on

an affair with a married woman. I’m also guilty of self-abuse once or perhaps twice.”

Paul then said to James: “Are you sorry for these sins?” James answered: “Father, that’s the trouble: I’m not sure that I am.” Paul replied: “James, the mere fact that you have come to confession shows a

desire for forgiveness and at the very least you are sorry that you are not sorry. Your sins are sins of the flesh. You have given in to desires that every man has. This is not to excuse you, but we must all put our lives into a context and perhaps where you have sinned against charity to others, greater sins have been committed and this is where sexual sins sometimes lead us. I’m sure that you are trying to do your best and I have no hesitation in giving you absolution. For your penance say the Our Father and three Hail Marys and now make an act of contrition.”

James proceeded to mumble the contrition: “O my God, I am heartily sorry

for having offended Thee. I resolve with the help of Thy grace, to amend my life. Amen.”

Paul gave him absolution: “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the

Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” James answered: “Amen.” Paul said: “Go in peace.” James answered: “Thank you, Father.” James then heard Mass and received communion on board and shortly after

the MV Christopher up anchored and went down river to Marienberg.

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Many of the expatriates, including James, enjoyed Christmas dinner at Jim and Ella Andrews’ house, after which most went home and had an early night.

Dunstan McMillan said to James, “I guess we’ll have to prepare for New

Year’s Day now.”

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17 Angoram 1967

All you need is love The Beatles Most would agree that we need love but the question is: is that all we need? In 1967 there was a lot of love around in Papua and New Guinea, including the little river town of Angoram.

James Ward thought he loved Laura Sheppard, but Laura made it clear to James that there was no way that she was going to leave Geoff.

“James, I like you but I wouldn’t leave Geoff,” she said. “We have an

understanding. I know he plays around with the house girls in the hotel and has it off with the occasional tourist, but it means nothing really. He knows what I do and we are happy enough with each other and in the future we might have children. Anyhow, James I couldn’t live with you, with that tyke conscience of yours. It doesn’t do anyone’s self-esteem any good to be viewed as an occasion of sin. I wouldn’t want you discussing our sex life with some creepy old priest.”

James butted in: “It’s not like that, Laura.” Laura replied: “I don’t care what it’s like but what we do in bed has nothing

to do with anyone else, except maybe Geoff and he’s not worried. Did you tell your priest that I’m on the pill? There’s an added sin for you. You’re lucky I didn’t get you to wear a condom after that dirty holiday of yours in Hong Kong. I bet you didn’t wear anything when you were knocking off those Chinese girls and I suppose you think that is more responsible than practising birth control. You wouldn’t know what you have left behind in Hong Kong, and apart from that, you wouldn’t know what you would’ve picked up. Did you use some sort of protection over there?”

James mumbled that he had taken reasonable precautions and Laura said: “If

you had given me anything, I’d have cut your balls off, James.”

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James replied: “I know you would, Laura, but I didn’t catch anything.” Then to put a light touch on the exchange, James said: “You know, like the

Monkees, I’m a Believer.” This was a reference to the hit tune of the period. Laura laughed and said:

“James, you’re incorrigible.” They then made up and James conveniently forgot his recent confession.

Afterwards, Laura told James that she and Geoff had decided to take the guest house job in Rabaul and they would be leaving Angoram in about three weeks.

Ernest Spender expressed his love in his dedication to The Book of Common

Prayer, the Authorised Version of the Bible and a commitment to the Anglican tradition. He had passed through “the furnace of temptation” successfully. Jim McLaren had arranged an assignation with one of the princesses for Ernest, but he declined, in the most gentlemanly manner, to oblige the young lady. The town also learnt that Ernest was to be transferred to Port Moresby to join Special Branch in government intelligence. Allen Warburton arranged a farewell for him at the club and spoke of his excellent work while in the Sub-District, saying: “He was a man who refused to be compromised.” Allen also called for three cheers for Ernest and all the members joined in.

Love was in the air for Sam Bell. He was contemplating marriage with Elaine

Walker, the woman James Ward had met with him while on leave. He said to James: “Young Davie needs a mother.” Davie was his son. James did not say it, but he was thinking: “Sam also needs Elaine’s large property next to his in Sydney.”

We could go through all the residents of Angoram and love would come into

their lives in some way. Karen Barnes loved the clothes she ordered from Madang and Sydney. Bob McDonald loved his drink. Dr Jan Speer loved practising tropical medicine and collecting artifacts. John Pietro loved his plane. He did, incidentally, get his pilot’s licence from the civil aviation authorities in Port Moresby and began formulating international trading ventures. Michael Vestey loved Rita Kabui. John Kabais found that he loved the inter-play of national politics. Norm Brown loved his young child. Ray Mason loved, perhaps admired is more accurate, John Pietro. Tobias Kabassi loved his family and work as a medical orderly at the hospital. Even Fr Bert Brill loved his theological and philosophical speculations.


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There was a lot of love in Angoram in 1967 but perhaps this does not answer the question, is love all we need?

Some considered the statement by the Minister of State for Territories, C.E.

Barnes on 5th of March 1967 as an expression of concern for the people of Papua and New Guinea, if in retrospect somewhat politically naïve. He said, “Independence for Papua New Guinea will not be achieved for many years, if at all.”

In the year under discussion, the United Christian Democrats Party wanted

statehood for PNG within the Australian Commonwealth. The word “self-determination” was bandied around but rarely “independence”. In 1967 there were no significant moves either from the locals or expatriates for independence, but of course the international geopolitical pressures were there for the politically aware to detect. The United Nations made no bones about what was wanted, but perhaps more significantly, the growing embarrassment among Australian politicians about Australia being one of the last white colonial powers was to push events in the direction of independence.

Allen Warburton waxed elegantly on this very theme one night in the club:

“Roosevelt got the British out of India. Robert Kennedy got the Dutch out of West New Guinea. Politicians like Whitlam will get us out of PNG. It’s got nothing to do with the people. It’s what some idiot who lives miles away decides.”

Gus Whowall said: “That’s a bit simplistic, Allen. Anyhow, Roosevelt was

dead by the time the British left India.” Allen responded: “Simplistic it may be but it’s true. Truman continued

Roosevelt’s anti-colonial stance and what with the socialists in power in the UK, at the time, the Raj didn’t have a chance, and what happened when the British left? The subcontinent has been plunged into misery and chaos ever since. Look at so called West Irian, another disaster. The Americans seem to think that it’s better to hand a colony over to a dysfunctional brown state rather than have it well run in the interests of the people by a white state.

“I know that if the West Papuans were ever given a say, they would much

prefer the Dutch to the Indonesians. Reports of uprisings and brutal reprisals by the Indonesian Army are just too numerous to be ignored.”

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To look at Allen, sitting relaxed in a comfortable cane chair, dressed in white shorts, shirt, long socks, highly polished shoes and discussing the benefits of empire, while chain-smoking and sipping a whisky and soda, one could imagine him as a personification of the last days of the Raj.

Outside the climate added to the colonial grandeur of the occasion, for

Angoram was in the season of the northwest monsoon and torrential rain was falling.

James Ward joined the conversation: “Allen is right. I can tell you that when

I was in the Belgian Congo just before independence, one could travel around the country in perfect safety. I moved around on trucks, cars, river vessels and even walked from Goma, around Lake Kivu to Stanleyville and travelled down the Congo to Leopoldville without any trouble. Some months after I left, the Belgians gave the place independence and it descended into anarchy.”

Gus Whowall replied: “James, from the little bit I know about the Congo,

that is not the whole picture. It is generally accepted that for years the Belgians virtually looted the Congo and when they handed it over politically, they still wanted to control the ecomomy of the place. A prime example of this is the copper belt in Katanga and there are a lot of question marks about what happened to Prime Minister Lumumba. My information comes from Time magazine, and this is certainly not pro Lumumba.The Americans wiped him, when he approached the Soviet Union for help. The fact remains that he was the elected Prime Minister and he was killed.”

James said: “Gus, I can only tell you of my personal experience in the

Congo.” At this stage, Bob McDonald made his presence felt: “Warburton, you can’t

tell me that the Pommies are all that great. I can remember their officers in the Middle East. They were a mob of dead-shits, all up themselves. The Tommies were alright, but as far as the officers were concerned, none of us liked them. They hated the Aussies.We weren’t going to be saluting and ‘sir-ing’ all the time.”

Allen said: “Authority is important, Bob.”


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The party broke up and despite the rain, all returned to their homes. No doubt, Allen Warburton’s domestic, Rastus, would have a hot meal ready for him.

An interesting postscript to the above discussion appeared in a news item in

the Post-Courier from Port Moresby. Apparently, John Kabais, the member from Angoram had asked a question in the House of Assembly about the reports of repression by the Indonesian authorities against the West Papuans and why the United Nations had not intervened. Allen Warburton did not usually read the Post-Courier, but he was most interested in this and he made a note to congratulate John the next time he saw him in Angoram.

A common gripe among expatriates in PNG at this time was that the

Australian people knew little about the Territory and, by and large, seemed uninterested. What most expatriates failed to realise was that they themselves were ill-informed about important political and social developments in Australia. The referendum to end constitutional discrimination against Aborigines in Australia came and went without comment among Angoram expatriates. Even Australia’s increasing involvement in the Vietnam War did not create much interest, apart from an occasional remark from the likes of Allen Warburton to the effect that we had to keep the Commies at bay. There was one notable exception when it was learnt that a young ex-patrol officer, who had been in Maprik and had subsequently joined the Royal Australian Navy and become a helicopter pilot, had been killed in Vietnam.

Jack Howlett was known to a few people in Angoram and James Ward said:

“Jack’s death was a bloody shame. He was a good bloke and liked by everyone in Maprik.”

Ernest Spender had once questioned the morality of Australia’s involvement

in the War and he said to Fr Bert Brill that this prevented him from applying for a commission in the Australian army.

Dr Jan Speer would have been well informed about international events, as

he subscribed to a number of intellectual and current affairs journals from Germany, but as he was socially reserved, most people on the station would have been unaware of his knowledge. During the year Dr Speer had received notice that he was to be transferred to the Trobriand Islands as Resident Medical Officer.

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When Sam Bell heard this, he hit the roof: “You can’t tell me that that German doctor isn’t pulling strings. He goes from one artifact area to another. He’s made a collection here, all at government expense, and he’ll do the same in the Trobriands. This isn’t right, how can the honest private collector compete against him?”

Of course, all the expatriates listened to the ABC news and they would have

heard reports of the Six-Day War in the Middle East and Dr Christiaan Barnard’s successful heart transplant operation. Laura Sheppard had a magazine article with pictures of Barnard and she was most impressed with his looks.

Dr Diana Stanner, a political scientist who once visited Angoram, remarked

to James Ward that the expatriates struck her as a group physically located in the area but distant from the overwhelmingly native population. According to her, the New Guineans were substantially viewed as an appendage to the expatriate way of life. James agreed that this was so for some but not for all.

“You should do a thesis on this, Diana.” James told her. One Saturday mid-morning, James Ward called out to his domestic, Kami: Mekim redi donkers,na tok long Masta Bill em kam long haus nau kaikai. Make

some fried scones and tell Masta Bill to come to the house and we’ll eat them. “Donkers” was a word James Ward had for fried scones. Bill Clayton arrived

at James’s house and Kami served coffee and donkers. Both James and Bill were sitting on comfortable cane chairs with the donkers and coffee on a small table between them.

Bill looked directly at James with an amused cynical expression and said:

“Poor James is a very sad boy. Laura is leaving.” James responded: “Ah, what do you mean?” Bill replied: “Oh, come on, everyone knows that you and Laura have been

having it off. But don’t worry, James, I’m your mate and when she goes, I’ll line you up with some really good local stuff. There are a couple of little pieces on Tobacco Road who would turn anyone’s head, not to mention other anatomical parts.”


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James said: “I thought you were faithful to Elizabeth Bevan.” “I am James, more or less, but Elizabeth is in Wewak and I’m here. If a bit

comes my way, you can’t expect me to turn it down. All I’m saying is don’t worry too much about Laura. White women are too complicated. You are better off with the black stuff.”

James thanked him for his advice and they then talked of other things.

Dunstan McMillan had sent James a postcard from West New Britain. He was working on a new resettlement project just outside Talasea and enjoying the new challenge. James said: “He can have it all to himself.”

Bill replied: “I got the feeling that land surveys were not your cup of tea,

James!” Bill told James that he had taken out a subscription to Black and White

magazine, which was taking a satirical look at the way the Territory was going. James said: “You haven’t! That’s that redneck publication that’s a put down to every new development in the country.”

“It’s got some good points.” Bill said. He then got up to leave, saying to James: “I guess you’ll be at Geoff and

Laura’s farewell next week at the club.” He then added with a decided smirk on his face: “Your farewell to Laura, James, I guess will be much more intimate.”

James retorted: “Piss off, Bill, I’ve had you. See you later.” With the departure of Dr Jan Speer, the hospital would be left with Des

Murray in charge. Many had great confidence in Des but others wondered about him, especially when he was doing his party act of pulling his false teeth out while in his cups. James Ward always spoke well of Des’s medical skills and he was impressed with the way he set the broken leg of a member of his malaria team. There was some talk about Des resigning and going south with his family. He said to Bill Clayton: “If I do mate, I’ll be OK. I’ve got my qualifications.”

Des was a State Registered Nurse and said he could get a job in any hospital

in Australia. He was a great cricket fan and was looking forward to the Australia-India test matches at the end of the year. “I’ve written to the ABC,” he told James Ward, “and the broadcast programmes should be here by early December.

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There’s one for you.” James never did get a programme, not that he was particularly interested.

An appropriate and formal farewell was arranged for Geoff and Laura

Sheppard at the club and this went off very well. Later James and Laura said goodbye in James’s bedroom. The next morning, Geoff and Laura caught the plane to Wewak, on their way to Rabaul. Prior to departure, James gave Laura a brief hug and shook Geoff’s hand. Geoff said to James: “Come and visit us in Rabaul.” James replied: “I’d love to.”

The new hotel manager was Kevin Marshall, who had arrived with his wife

and two young children a week before Geoff and Laura’s departure. After Laura left, James was in the dumps for some time and the consolations that Bill had offered to arrange for him were increasingly attractive. However, he was jolted back to reality by instructions from headquarters to take his malaria team to Manam Island to conduct a spraying patrol there. A government vessel was expected to arrive within a fortnight to take James and the team to Manam.

Before this happened, James received some distressing news. His father had

died. James made arrangements to go to Albury and attend his father’s funeral. Before he left Angoram, Temlett Conibeer, the District Malaria Supervisor, from Wewak arrived to take control of the malaria team and accompany them to Manam.

The sudden death of James’s father saddened the Albury district. He was a

widely respected medical practitioner, admired as much for his medical skills as for his gentlemanly manners. James stayed in Australia and assisted his mother’s move to Melbourne where she was to live with his sister. After a month, James returned to Angoram. His malaria team was still out on patrol on Manam Island with Temlett Conibeer.

James experienced a strong sense of returning home. On stepping off the

plane in Angoram, he felt in harmony with his surroundings. He met up with the expatriates and his New Guinea friends, Tobias, Kami, William, Ellias and many others. He was welcomed not as a stranger but as one of them. He said to Bill Clayton:

“It’s funny, you know, but I really like these Sepik people. We expatriates live

here in perfect safety. No one ever has to lock a door. The people are very tolerant of our behaviour. We play around with their women and don’t pay our


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workers much. Yet they are loyal, obliging and forgiving. The funny thing is that we are supposed to be here to teach them. I’m starting to think that they can teach us far more than we can teach them.”

Bill said: “James, you are becoming a kanaka lover.” Compatibility with place, James was to find psychologically sustaining in the

future.

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18 Angoram 1968

Annus mirabilis, Annus horribilis or a bit of both? John Pietro faced bankruptcy. He had overreached himself financially in purchasing the plane. The manager of the Bank of New South Wales in Wewak was concerned with his failure to service his loan. He had neglected his commercial interests since buying the plane and learning how to fly. The word around town was that he was trying to drum up financial backing from anyone who might be interested in becoming part-owner of the aircraft. He had approached Bill Clayton, Sam Bell, Jim McLaren and Ron Watson, with what he described to them as a “once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Bill, Sam, and Jim brought the subject of Pietro up one afternoon, when

visiting James Ward. Sam Bell said: “Pietro’s harebrained scheme to fly to the Asmat in West Irian and buy

artifacts is half-witted, in my opinion. He tells me he has a letter from some bishop, telling him that the mission would be happy to assist him in any way possible, if he was to fly in a planeload of medical supplies. The mission would arrange for him to collect the medicine in Port Moresby. Apparently, there’s a landing strip at a place called Ewer, which is about twenty minutes by outboard motor or two hours by paddle canoe from Agats, where the mission is.

“From what he has been told, the Indonesians are madly burning Asmat

festival houses and carvings. The bishop, it appears, wants to discreetly save as many Asmat cultural items as possible before the Indonesians burn them. He has arranged with the people to stockpile the artifacts in a secluded spot ready to be loaded on the plane for the return trip. All the artifacts have been paid for and Pietro will be given these in return for bringing the medical supplies. The chances of pulling this off are very good according to Pietro. It seems that the Catholic Mission authorities could be alerted in Daru and he would be able to fly to Ewer from there, keeping clear of Merauke when he crossed the border.


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Some mate of his in Moresby told him there is only minimal Indonesian surveillance in the region, so he should be OK.

“He’s broke, you know, and he’s virtually asking others to finance this

venture. You lot can do what you like, but he’s not getting any of my money. To start with, I don’t fancy his ability as a pilot. The only claim to fame he has is his membership of the mile-high club and he’ll need more than that flying around West Irian.”

They all laughed and James called out to Kami to serve beer: Bia long Masta.

Beer for the Masters. Sam went on: “I’d love to get my hands on some of those Asmat pieces.

There’s a great demand for them in America, especially since Michael Rockefeller disappeared in Asmat territory. The ancestor figures, horns, drums, sago bowls and pounders are really unique. My contacts in the States would pay a fortune for a collection from there. I don’t believe that Pietro is the man to get that collection. He’s too confident and does not plan enough. He reminds me of that song that my son, Davie, is always singing: Jumpin’ Jack Flash, by a group called, The Rolling Stones. But it’s all right, I’m Jumpin’ Jack Flash, It’s a Gas! Gas! Gas! That about sums up my opinion of Jack Pietro, but don’t let me influence you.”

“Boy, oh boy, Sam, I didn’t know you were so with it,” said Jim. “You can’t avoid it with a teenage son down south, Jim.” Sam’s spiel gave Jim and Bill a lot to think about, especially as they respected

Sam’s opinion on money matters. Sam was always canny in business and with his soft Scottish brogue, red face, Ernest Hemingway beard and impassioned manner, he was most convincing.

Bill Clayton said: “I’m still thinking about it and I know Ron Watson has

promised Pietro a fair amount of money.” “Ah, yes, Bill, but has he actually given him anything yet?” Sam asked. Jim McLaren commented: “There’s a hell of a lot of money to be made if it

comes off.”

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James Ward had his say: “You had better all be aware that Pietro won’t be able to get any insurance cover for this venture. From the point of view of international law, the whole thing would be viewed as illegal. So, if the plane goes down, you’re left with nothing and if word gets out there could be all sorts of diplomatic problems. There must be better ways of making money.”

Sam said: “Well said, Jamie.” The party then broke up. By this time they were all pretty well under the

weather. Kami had kept the beer flowing and clear thoughts on the subject under discussion were no longer possible.

In time, James learned that Bill, Jim and Ron had all come on board in

Pietro’s venture. There was no talk about it in town and this was a credit to the discretion of those involved. No doubt, John had warned his assistant, Ray Mason, to say nothing.

Early on a Saturday, John Pietro was seen carefully checking his Piper

Cherokee plane. Ray Mason and Bill Clayton were assisting him. He revved the engine several times and Ray handed him a thermos flask of coffee and a plastic container of sandwiches.

Before John left, he made radio contact with the Civil Aviation authorities in

Port Moresby, stating that he intended to fly to Moresby and pick up medical supplies and transport them onto Daru for unloading. He informed Moresby that he was going to to stay in Daru for some hours and then fly directly back to Angoram. He was given the all clear to proceed.

Just before he left, Sam Bell arrived. Ray, Bill and Sam all shook hands with

John and he got into the cockpit and taxied to the end of the strip for take off and away he went. Among the three left on the airstrip, there was a feeling of apprehensiveness and excitement. Ray said: “Jack, he’ll be OK. He knows what he’s doing.” No one said anything.

If all went well, John Pietro should be back in Angoram by late afternoon.

He said that if he was running late, he would stay the night in Daru on his return. He thought it best to maintain radio silence as much as possible. He would inform Civil Aviation in Moresby if he stayed at Daru and make some excuse about engine trouble. He was most emphatic that should he be late, he


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did not want anyone enquiring about him on air from Angoram. He said that while he was flying in West Irian air space, he would be in the lap of the gods.

The few in the know in Angoram would just have to wait it out and hope for

the best. Late afternoon and nightfall came to Angoram and there was no sign of

John. Bill Clayton, who had the Post Office agency with the radio facilities, said that they would do nothing that night, but first thing in the morning he would get in touch with Daru Post Office and make discreet enquiries.

In the morning, Bill, after a lot of trouble, because Angoram was not on

Daru’s radio sked, managed to get through. He asked to speak to someone from the Catholic Mission and eventually he was put into contact with a Brother Michael.

“Brother Michael, this is Bill Clayton from Angoram. Do you know anything

about a Piper Cherokee that arrived yesterday?” “Yes, Bill, John came in yesterday and all I can say is we haven’t seen him

since. If I hear anything, I’ll get in touch immediately.” “Thanks Brother, I’ll keep the radio on here so you can get straight through.

Over and signing off.” Brother Michael answered: “Roger.” In two hours Brother Michael got through to Bill: “Bill, the news is not good.

I can’t say much on air but the Crosiers Fathers, from you know where, have contacted our Bishop Henri Sautot on Yule Island and Bishop Alphonse van Baar of the Crosiers will contact Bishop Leo Blum in Wewak. I’m sorry, Bill, but that is about all I can say, over and out.”

Bill responded: “OK Brother, I’ll say over and out.” Those in the know about John Pietro’s venture met late on Sunday at Jim

McLaren’s place on Tobacco Road. The general consensus was that everyone should keep quiet. Bill Clayton said:

“At this stage, the kiaps know nothing about it. As far as they know, John has

flown to Moresby and will be there for a few days. We know that Bishop Blum in Wewak will be getting a full report from that bishop in West Irian. I would

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say sit tight and let Bishop Blum handle the situation. The Department of Civil Aviation in Moresby is sure to be looking into it, but if the Indonesians know nothing about it, you can be sure that the government here will want to bury the whole thing.”

Ray Mason asked: “Should I write a letter to Jack’s parents in Australia?” Bill answered: “For now do nothing because you don’t know what has

happened yet. I’ve got a lot of respect for Leo Blum and I’m sure when he gets a full account, he’ll let us know. So, mum’s the word.”

Twenty days after their meeting, Bishop Leo Blum flew into Angoram. The

bishop was an excellent pilot and was known in the District as “the Flying Bishop”. He parked his plane just off the strip and walked over to Fr Bert Brill’s house. While there, he enquired of Bert if John Pietro’s business was being run by anyone. Bert informed the bishop that there was a young man called Ray Mason who seemed to be running things.

The bishop said: “I wonder, Father, if you would send word to him that I

would like to see him.” Bert answered: “I shall, My Lord.” After some time, young Ray duly arrived. Bert introduced him to the bishop.

Ray was a bit overawed on meeting the bishop and he vaguely knew that a bishop should be addressed as my something or other but he was not sure exactly what. So he went for broke and said: “How do you do and I’m pleased to meet you, My God.” This did not faze the bishop and he sat Ray down and said that he would like to talk to him. He first asked Fr Brill to excuse them.

The bishop was a tall, lean American from Iowa, USA, and he had been in

the Territory for about twenty-three years. He was a softly spoken man with a captivating personality and charming manners. In speaking to Ray, he treated him with the utmost respect and consideration.

“Ray, I’ve got something very important I want to talk to you about, but

before I start, I wonder if John Pietro had another close associate in town, who you would like to be present when I do this?”

Ray answered that he would like Bill Clayton to be with him. The bishop

said: “Fine Ray, I know Bill. Would you be so kind to ask Bill to come here?”


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Ray answered that he would go and get him. Shortly after, Ray arrived back with Bill. Bill greeted the bishop:

“G’day, my Lord, it’s good to see you again.” “Likewise, Bill, I’m pleased to see you.” They then all sat down and the bishop proceeded to speak: “I’ll assume that

you are both broadly speaking familiar with John Pietro’s plans to fly to West Irian and have some idea what subsequently happened.”

Bill and Ray answered: “Yes” to this and the bishop then went on: “I’m now

in a position to tell you exactly what happened. Bishop Alphonse van Baar, of the Crosiers in West Irian, has written me a full account of what occurred. His letter had to be carried by foot across the border to a mission station in PNG and from there it was flown to me in Wewak. That explains why it has taken so long for a full account to arrive.

“You no doubt know that John arrived in Moresby. There his plane was

loaded with medical supplies that the Catholic Mission had arranged. He flew onto Daru and from there to Ewer in West Irian, where the medical supplies were unloaded. He told a Brother Paul that he had no trouble on the way over. He kept well clear of Merauke. The local people than loaded his plane with artifacts from the Asmat, under the direction of Brother Paul. Brother Paul was a bit concerned that John was taking on a too heavy load, but John assured him that the plane could handle it.

“After the plane was loaded, John took off without any trouble and headed

out to sea. But while the plane was still gaining height prior to turning inland, suddenly the engine stalled and the plane plunged into the sea. There was nothing anyone could do as the plane dropped in a very deep part of the sea and submerged within minutes.”

The bishop went on to say: “The mission and the local people were all

saddened by this tragedy. They are also extremely grateful to John for bringing the medical supplies. There is an influenza and malaria epidemic in the area and many people are dying. The penicillin and chloroquine and other medicines that John brought are saving many lives. The bishop informed me that this is the first supply of medicines that they have received for a long time. It is hard to get permission and a clearance for planes to land from the Indonesian authorities.

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When there is contact with the Indonesians, it is usually with an army group, who have been sent in to subdue the village people and this often means burning their festival houses with cultural and ritual items in them. The bishop arranged a memorial service for John at the mission. He is very anxious to know John’s parents’ address in Australia so that he can write to them.”

Ray said: “I can give you that.” “Thanks,” Bishop Leo replied, “I’ll also write to them. Has anyone from

Moresby been here enquiring about John?” Bill answered: “Yes, Bishop, a couple of blokes from the Department of

Civil Aviation were here last week trying to find out what they could. None of us here told them much.”

The bishop said: “That’s fine Bill. Now, I can say that our government will

be very discreet in investigating this matter. Everything I’ve told you has been passed on to the Administrator, David Hay, and as long as the Indonesians know nothing about the incident, the matter will be largely laid to rest. Is there anything that either of you would like to ask?”

Ray and Bill didn’t think that there was and they thanked the bishop for all

he had done. Ray told the bishop that he would send John’s parents’ address up with a boy as soon as he got to his house. They said goodbye to the bishop and they went their respective ways but first Bill said to Ray: “We’re lucky we’ve got a bloke like Leo handling things.” Ray answered: “You can say that again.”

Sometime later Sam Bell remarked to Bill Clayton: “There’s a touch of irony

in the way Pietro in death has been able to get all these Catholic Mission people running after him. If there is anything up there, he must be looking down and having a great laugh. We all know what he thought of Catholicism.”

Jim McLaren, Bill Clayton and Ron Watson all lost money with the disaster

of the West Irian venture, but they all proved philosophical about it. The consensus among them was that you can’t get blood out of a dry stone and John’s estate was relatively worthless. John’s parents had written to Ray Mason to say that he was welcome to keep whatever John had left behind in Angoram and carry on with whatever business was left.


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John’s death did have an unsettling effect in the town, but life waits for no one and the business of living went on as usual.

It is perhaps a truism to say that in life there is death. However, the reality of

this came home graphically to Bill Clayton some weeks after Pietro’s death. On the morning radio sked from Wewak, he was called by Beth Parkinson, a friend of his who worked as a nurse at the Wewak hospital. She told him that Elizabeth Bevan had died early that morning from malignant malaria. The malaria had developed into blackwater fever.

Bill was quite devastated by this news and his immediate thought was that

surely people don’t get blackwater fever any longer and if they do, they don’t die of it in places where there is ready access to treatment. He associated this disease with stories of pre-war West Africa and did not realise that it still reared its ugly head in PNG from time to time.

The circumstances surrounding Elizabeth’s death were, to say the least, most

unfortunate. Her family lived in Rabaul and her only close relative in Wewak was her uncle, George, who worked as a heavy equipment operator with the Public Works Department. She lived with George, who was unmarried, in his house on Boram Road. Elizabeth had a job as an assistant clerk with the Administration in Wewak. In the week that she died, she was on leave from her job. Also, her uncle was working in the Wewak Hills on a road that was being constructed to Maprik and he camped out, coming home only at weekends.

On the Sunday night, when George left for his camp in the hills, Elizabeth

complained of a slight headache. He told her that if she did not feel better in the morning, she had better go to the hospital, which was only fifteen minutes’ walk away. She said that she would and her last words to her uncle were “See you on Friday.” No one was aware that she was sick and she must have got progressively worse and was only discovered by a friend visiting on Thursday morning. Her friend found her in a coma slumped on her bed and beside the bed was a chamber pot with black coloured urine. Ipa Somare, her friend, rushed to the hospital where Beth Parkinson happened to be on duty.

Ipa told Beth about Elizabeth. Beth immediately recognised the urgency of

the situation and arranged to have Elizabeth picked up by ambulance. When she arrived at the hospital, Dr Pat Nielsen, the medical officer on duty, saw at once the seriousness of Elizabeth’s condition. She was in a malaria-induced coma and he heard about her passing black urine. So he suspected renal failure, the classic

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symptom of blackwater fever. He immediately started intravenous antimalarial chemotherapy, with a backup intravenous saline drip. She was under intensive care and dialysis was started to try and compensate for kidney failure. Unfortunately, to no avail; she was too far gone by the time she reached the hospital and died early the next morning.

Bill Clayton went to Wewak for Elizabeth’s funeral. Bishop Leo said a

requiem Mass for her at the Catholic Cathedral. Bill did what he could to comfort her grieving parents, who had flown over from Rabaul. He told them that it had been his intention to ask Elizabeth to marry him. Bill also arranged to pay all the funeral expenses. Afterwards Elizabeth’s Uncle George said to him: “I can’t understand how she got so sick. We had plenty of quinine in the house and she knew how to take it,” Bill said he couldn’t understand it either.

Later at the hospital, Bill spoke to Dr Pat Nielsen. Dr Nielsen told Bill that

all the pathology tests had confirmed the diagnosis of malignant malaria and blackwater fever. Bill said to him: “That’s what I can’t understand. Her uncle tells me there was plenty of quinine in the house and she took this when she was unwell.”

The doctor frowned, looked at Bill reflectively and replied: “Ah, that’s what’s

been perplexing me. Blackwater fever is a comparatively rare disease these days, but when it’s seen, it’s inevitably associated with malignant malaria and inappropriate dosages of quinine. Unfortunately, this is what probably happened to Elizabeth. But even so, if we’d only seen her the day before, I’m sure we could have saved her.”

In the plane on the way back to Angoram, Bill recalled the supposed words

of Ned Kelly: “Such is life.” Elections for the 2nd House of Assembly were to be held that year and

candidates had to be nominated. The word around the town was that John Kabais did not intend to renominate for the Angoram Local Electorate as he had his eye on the East Sepik Regional Electorate. He was increasingly playing a political role at a national rather than a local level and was in the process of forming a national political party. While a local member, he had upgraded his educational standard to high school matriculation level by taking correspondence courses with the Department of Education in Queensland. This more than qualified him to nominate for a regional electorate, as candidates only needed to have high school intermediate level education.


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According to James Ward, John Kabais was not as popular as he had been. The talk around the villages was that people hardly ever saw him. In fact he spent most of his time in Moresby.

James Ward said to Bill Clayton: “Bill, I think if you put yourself forward for

election, you’ll stand a good chance. The majority of people would still rather be represented by a European and you’re generally liked around here. I know that Jim McLaren fancies his chances, but he spends too much time away on his gold mine.” Bill said he would think about it.

Bill and Jim both nominated. Several other local people put their names

forward, the most serious contender being Peter Nyaga from Kamindabit in the Middle Sepik. John Kabais was not a contender for the local electorate, as he had nominated for the East Sepik Regional Electorate.

The candidates’ campaign was, to say the least, pretty low key. There was

practically no open hostility and little political rivalry among them. Bill, Jim and Peter visited a fair sample of villages in all census divisions. The other three contenders were not seen outside their respective villages.

Bill and Jim were the only ones to print campaign posters and they went

along these lines: Vot namba wan long Jim Papa bilong olgeta wantaim! Manmeri na pikinini Jim, helpim pipel bilong wara Sepik. Jim McLaren namba wan Vote number one for Jim, father to all. Jim helps all people on the Sepik

River. Jim McLaren is the best. Vot namba wan long yang Bill, man bilong bisnis. Bill, mekim hatwok long painim wanpela samting, na salim. Mi painim cargo, ating mi bagarap Angoram lusim bisnis. Yang Bill, man bilong yu Vot Bill Clayton Vote number one for Bill, a business man, who works hard to get cargo to

sell. If I’m ruined, I think Angoram will lose a lot of business. Young Bill is your man. Vote for Bill Clayton.

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James Ward asked Bill Clayton what this “young Bill” title was all about. Bill said: “It’s what the girls around town call me and it might be a good vote catcher.”

Bill’s words proved to be prophetic, and he won the election. The vote went

to preferences with the three front runners, Bill, Jim, and Peter, left in the field. Peter was first to be eliminated, then Jim, leaving Bill as the winner. It was said that Bill had captured a significant proportion of the women’s vote. James Ward was a presiding officer at a polling booth in the Grass Country and he noticed that most of the women seemed to vote for Bill. Sam Bell said: “The women wanted a member that they could be confident of and young Bill, from what I’ve heard, is built like a horse.”

Shortly after Bill had won the election, a journalist with the Australian

Women’s Weekly visited Angoram and subsequently published an article entitled, Young Australian, the Adonis of the Sepik River is elected on the women’s vote! This was a great joke around the town and Bill was somewhat embarrassed by it. For a long time afterwards, his friends had great sport teasing him and referring to him as “Adonis”.

John Kabais won in the East Sepik Regional Electorate with a large majority. The assassinations of Martin Luther King Jr and Bobby Kennedy did not

create too much of a stir in Angoram. Sex was certainly in the air. The Maharishi and his lustful desires for Mia Farrow and John Lennon’s Sexy Sadie were both topics of conversation in the club. James Ward’s brief encounter with sexual delight in Kambaramba was a titillating bit of gossip for those in the know .

Pope Paul’s Humanae Vitae was noticed and commented on. The encyclical

perhaps did not create the crisis of faith for non-Catholics that it did for some Catholics. Fr Bert Brill found it incomprehensible and a clerical disaster. Sam Bell said: “Those priests can’t keep out of the bedroom. It’s a pity they’re not a bit more active when they get there and then they might know what it’s all about. Though if you study the Papacy, you’ll find quite a few popes who were demons in the cot, but I guess they were a mob of hypocrites too.” Sam’s discourse on moral theology, while lacking the intellectualism of some criticism of Humanae Vitae, did have a certain practicality.

James Ward’s encounter in Kambaramba is a story in itself. Dr Marek Karski

wrote to him saying he wanted a mass blood survey done in the Grass Country.


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James made preparations to carry this out. An outboard motor and canoe were made ready. Medical supplies and camping equipment were loaded on the canoe. James decided to take Peter Ettu and Peter Joma as assistants with William Batak as the driver. The two Peters and William came from Grass Country villages.

Mosquitoes are bad everywhere on the Sepik River but in the Grass Country

they have to be experienced to be believed. Animals are at their mercy night and day. Ples bilong mekim natnat kamap (The place where mosquitoes came from) was how the local people described the Grass Country.

Constant movement is the only way to keep them at bay. Some people carry

a fan of cassowary feathers to wave around to keep the mosquitoes away. Dr Marek Karski had a theory that the constant blood sucking by mosquitoes caused anemia in Grass Country people. Fifteen villages were classified as in the Grass Country and the whole area was virtually a swamp of about 250 square miles, between the Keram and Yuat Rivers. Most villages were built on slightly elevated ground but Kambaramba, the biggest, was erected on stilts over the water. The area was south of the Sepik River.

The team followed a general procedure to carry out a mass blood survey. The

patrol would arrive at a village by canoe and meet the village officials, luluais and tultuls if these officials were still active. Many had been replaced by recently appointed councillors. James would then explain what he wanted to do. A camp would be set up in the haus kiap and haus plis (guest houses for travelling Europeans and local officials or, literally, the patrol officer’s house and the house for his police.)

The next morning every man, woman and child would line up to give a blood

sample. This consisted of a finger prick and the small spot of blood being collected on a slide. James did this with the assistance of the two Peters. While doing this, James kept his eye out for any obvious sickness among the people. Such things as tropical ulcers, malaria, dysentery and influenza were treated with chloroquine, injections of procaine penicillin and sulfa drugs. General first-aid procedures were also carried out. In more serious cases arrangements were made to send people to Angoram Hospital. James also gave the assembled people a health education talk on malaria and prevention.

The patrol was out for fifteen days and the last village visited was

Kambaramba. The patrol duties were duly carried out, and because the village

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was particularly large with a population of about 1,500, completing these took up the whole day. While the mass blood survey was being conducted, there was a lot of giggling and flaunting of their charms on the part of the girls.

At the end of the day, James retired to the haus kiap exhausted, and after a

shower using water hauled up from below the house, which, like all other houses, was built over water, he had a meal of bully beef, rice and kango (water cress or Sepik spinach) prepared by Peter Ettu. After the meal, he lit his pipe and smoked a rich tobacco blend he had recently purchased. He hoped by smoking he could keep the mosquitoes away. The luluai paid him a visit and they talked and smoked together for a while, James giving him some of his tobacco which he appreciated. The luluai then left and said: gutnait (goodnight) to James. James decided there was nothing to do but get under the mosquito net erected over his bet sel (canvas stretcher bed) in an effort to get away from the mosquitoes. He turned the hurricane lamp down and soon fell asleep.

Some hours later, James felt himself gradually awaking with a sublime

sensation of delight. Prior to full consciousness, he experienced a sense of pleasurable delirium throughout his body and on awaking he became aware of a pleasant musky smell. It was then that he felt the delightful body next to him and the upsurge of carnal excitement in his own body. This mischievous imp who had appeared from nowhere had placed her hand on James’s manhood and was rhythmically stroking it, while whispering in his ear:

James, bel bilong mi kirap long yu, mi laik givim swit long yu. Yu laik goap? Nem bilong mi, Kanbi. Mi laikim yu tru. James, I’m sexually aroused by you and I would like to give you pleasure.

Would you like to enter me? My name is Kanbi and I like you very much. By this time, James was no longer a free agent and he entered Kanbi with

pleasure. What a delectable creature she was, with a young body in the prime of life. She had an exact and perfect figure with lustrous full breasts and an energetic playfulness that would stir the body of any man. It’s no exaggeration to say that James spent a night of ecstasy in Kambaramba. Kanbi left him at dawn just after he had given her a generous monetary reward for services rendered, as was the customary expectation.

In the morning James’s team greeted him with a cheery gutmoning Masta (good

morning Master) and a smile on their faces. James knew that they all knew that he had a visitor during the night.


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On the way back to Angoram, James started humming the latest hit by Jose Feliciano, Light My Fire, and he thought to himself that Kanbi had truly set the night on fire and if only for this, 1968 was a year of promise and consummation.

On arriving in Angoram, James posted the blood slides to Port Moresby.

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19 1969

Aquarius/Let the Sunshine in The Fifth Dimension

The Fifth Dimension had perhaps reached a time when peace would be guided by the planets, but a better reference for the residents of Angoram would perhaps have been the Bard: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.”

The Territory’s destiny was not only in the lap of the gods but in the social and political realities of the time. The concerns uppermost in the minds of the politicians in Canberra were the risks of fragmentation and the disintegration of the emerging nation. They saw the concept of one Administration threatened by “historical considerations and ethnic, language and geographical factors”, as stated in Cabinet Submission No. 577. The Gazelle Peninsula and Bougainville were considered areas that could potentially aspire to independence and break away. The residents of Angoram were represented by two Sepik legislators, Bill Clayton, their local member and John Kabius, their regional member. Both were committed to a National PNG State.

Bill Clayton took to politics like a duck to water, and made a rather surprising

maiden speech in the House of Assembly, on the importance of formulating and implementing a crocodile conservation policy in the Sepik. He maintained that the industry would not be sustainable if hatchling areas were not protected, and if the indiscriminate killing continued. This did not make him popular among those who had no appreciation of the need for conservation. He told a number of people that all he was advocating initially was that a scientific survey should be conducted to ascertain exactly what was actually happening. Gus Whowall was right behind him and lent Bill a lot of support, as he was most concerned with hunting practices that took no account of the crocodiles taken. Norm Brown voiced succinctly in Pidgin the prevailing redneck attitude: Wara Sepik gat planti pukpuk. The Sepik River has got plenty of crocodiles.

The town was sorry to see Gus Whowall depart. Gus had been accepted into

Christchurch University to do a PhD. His replacement in Angoram was a young


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Australian of Dutch descent, Steve Torres. Steve was to create quite a stir in town. After three months, he announced his intention to marry a local woman. She was very well known in the biblical sense to a number of whites in town. An added ingredient in the whole affair was the input of Justin Tomkins, a Cadet Patrol Officer, who reputedly said to Steve: “If you don’t marry her, I will.” Cassandra, the woman in question, was, according to a visiting classical scholar, very aptly named. In Greek, her name means ‘helper of men’ and she had helped quite a number.

Ed Carpenter, a visiting sociologist from the USA described the Angoram

expats as being “sustained by some private dream of riches without labor.” This was perhaps apposite for some, but for others even the dream had gone. Allen Warburton, Norm Brown and James Ward were stuck in a rut. This was the considered opinion of Kevin Marshall, the new hotel manager. Kevin expressed his opinion after implying that Norm was not paying for his drinks at the club. Both Allen and James went to Norm’s defense. Allen saw it as inappropriate that a new member should question the honesty of an old established member, and James backed him up.

Alan Judd, the young patrol officer whom Sam Bell called the Cockroach Kiap,

had cleaned up his skin disease, and his thoughts had turned to his girlfriend in Sydney. He was in the process of writing a letter to her. Apparently, she had written to him and asked what Angoram looked like. She wanted a full description. One morning James Ward called into Alan’s house, and Alan asked him to read the letter he had written describing Angoram. The letter went as follows:

Angoram East Sepik District Papua and New Guinea 1st July 1969

Dear Jane, You would love Angoram. It is a quaint tropical town built on the banks of the mighty

Sepik River. The natives mainly live in bush-material houses that are built off the ground, using stumps

cut from kwila trees, and material for the walls and floors comes from palm trees, nipa and sago. Sago leaves and grass are used to thatch the roof. They live mainly in one room. Some have an attached kitchen. Latrines are built over the river. The local public servants and

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Europeans live in permanent-material houses, built in a semi-Queensland style, high off the ground and screened with mosquito wire. The better ones are referred to as M-type houses. I guess this is because the design is vaguely like the shape of an M. Though in reality the design is more like a L.

The hotel and club are both long rambling places overlooking the river, at a distance away. We have all mod cons, electric lights and kerosene refrigerators. The electric power is on for 12 hours each day and houses have septic tanks.

The roads are just dirt tracks. The station has two motorbikes and a Land Rover, which we use. Not that you can drive too far.

You would love the walk from the government offices to the wharf on the river. On each side of the track, casuarinas trees shade the walkway and you pass the haus tambaran, a massive structure made from bush materials and covering an area of 40x90 feet with a high peak at the front. The entrance steps are flanked by carved posts. The haus tambaran is run by the local co-operative and sells carvings and handicraft, from most river communities. Behind the haus tambaran, there is a park area of cut grass planted with colourful shrubs. It is beautiful to see the frangipani, poinciana and the hibiscus all flowering.

For most of the year, we have rain, but the wet season is from November to April. I have to tell you that the mosquitoes are bad, but we cope with them, and if your house is mosquito proofed, they are not a great worry.

Oh, yes, you should know about the beautiful moon-lit nights which are really captivating. At full moon, the whole area is lit up and the reflection from the river has to be seen to be believed. On nights like these, I would love to have you with me. So darling, give serious thought to coming up for a visit.

Your warmhearted and loving friend, Alan P.S. We have an airstrip and get regular planes from Wewak and other Territory towns.

The station is also supplied by boats from Madang and Wewak. You can see that we are not cut off from the world.

Alan asked James what he thought of the letter. “Well Alan, you do have a nice turn of phrase there. I’m not too sure I’d say

too much about latrines over the river. What’s your relationship with the girl?” “She’s a friend, James.” “Well, I can see that, Alan, but if she comes here, I guess she’ll stay with

you.”


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“Of course”, replied Alan. After this, Alan offered James a beer and told him that he planned to invest a

lot of money in Western Mining shares. This was at the time when there was all the hype about Poseidon shares, and Alan fancied his chances of making a killing on the stock market. James told him to be very careful and talk to Sam Bell before he invested anything. Events proved that he did not take this advice.

One event that created quite a stir in the town and greatly interested James

Ward and Bill Clayton was the arrival of a group of Japanese academics from Kyoto City University. They were anthropologists and linguists interested in doing research about the river people and making a collection for their institution’s museum. They were particularly interested in collecting Sepik heads. These were skulls that had been covered with clay to reproduce a likeness of the deceased person. With shells in the eye sockets, they were a macabre representation and were of great interest to the Japanese.

Special authorisation had to be obtained to collect such items and they had

permission from the Administration to do so. As it happened, Bill Clayton had acquired six skulls and he was interested in selling them to the Japanese. At one stage in his cups, he very nearly donated them. This occurred after he and the academics had consumed a considerable quantity of Black Label Johnny Walker Scotch whisky and Bill’s eyes had lingered on the beautiful anthropologist, Dr Yuriko Kamae.

Yuriko was the only female member of the party and she exuded femininity

and oriental charm. The other members of the academic group were Professor Akira Akagi, head of the English faculty, Dr Jun Kato, lecturer in sociology, Dr Hisao Hisada, lecturer in history and Masanori Sato, postgraduate student in anthropology.

Professor Akagi was a dignified middle-aged gentleman who had served in

the Japanese army during the war. From the little bit he told James Ward, James suspected that he had been with the Japanese army in China. His language skills would have made him ideal for an intelligence unit of some kind.

Bill Clayton thought to impress Yuriko Kamae with his knowledge of Japan

and he was voicing ideas he had got from reading Ruth Benedict’s Chrysanthemum and the Sword: Patterns of Japanese Culture. Yuriko was not impressed and said to

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Bill: “Ruth Benedict does not speak Japanese and she did no field work in Japan. Her book is full of circumstantial evidence.”

Yuriko’s highly intellectual approach did not quite fit Bill’s ideas of female

oriental submissiveness and her attraction for him somewhat diminished. This gave James a chance to charm the fair Yuriko but he proved equally unable to attract her or so he thought.

John Barnes, the Assistant District Commissioner was concerned that a

Japanese group was travelling in the Middle Sepik, particularly in the Timbunki village area. During the war, the Japanese army had carried out and organised a massacre in this village as a reprisal for its cooperation with the allied forces. Barnes warned the group that they might not be too welcome in Timbunki but as events turned out, there was no trouble and they were very well received.

After a month in the bush, collecting and researching, the group returned to

Angoram. They arranged a “thank you” celebration on board the houseboat they had hired from Bill Clayton, and the drink flowed. James Ward managed to arrange a very intimate tête-à-tête with Yuriko and they were getting on famously. Unfortunately, James was too far gone, alcoholically speaking, to realise how well he was doing and when one of the local maidens arrived, he switched his attention to her, and dropped Yuriko. The next morning, Bill Clayton told James what an idiot he had been.

Before leaving, Professor Akagi extended an invitation to both Bill and James

to visit him in Japan. Bill was keen to take up the Professor’s invitation. He was quite flush with cash at this time, having done very well from the sale of the Sepik skulls.

“James, a trip to Japan sounds like a good idea,” he said. “How about

coming with me? Don’t worry about the money. If you are short, I can lend it to you. We wouldn’t spend too much time with the old Professor. But Masanori Sato intimated that there was a good time to be had in Kyoto and other places. He said he has his contacts, and you never know your luck. Yuriko might be pleased to see you again. Jun Kato told us that Kyoto would be our city if we came. Anyhow, think about it.”

James told Bill that he would give it some serious thought. To cut to the

chase, James decided to accompany Bill to Japan. He was able to do so as he had some leave due.


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The lure of the East was a compelling attraction for our two travellers. One would not go so far as to describe them as amateur anthropologists, but Dr Yuriko Kamae had certainly aroused their interest. Masanori Sato’s description of the Pontocho District in Kyoto with the cafes, pubs and love hotels was certainly of anthropological interest and a motivating factor in their decision to go to Japan.

They arrived in Tokyo in mid-morning after an uneventful flight from Port

Moresby. From Tokyo they took the fast train to Kyoto and were met at the station by Dr Jun Kato, who had booked them into a traditional inn. Professor Akagi had arranged a dinner at the university in their honour.

The dinner went off very well and all the group who had been in Angoram

was there except for Yuriko. She was feeling unwell and sent her apologies with a message that she hoped to meet up with James and Bill as soon as she was better.

After the dinner, Masanori Sato was designated to drive James and Bill back

to their inn. On the way back, he suggested that they might like to see a bit of action in Pontocho. Both James and Bill were eager to involve themselves in as much of Japanese life as possible. James and Bill ended the night in a love hotel with two delightful young Japanese women.

On comparing notes the next day, James and Bill were struck by the

gentleness and modesty of the women they had been with. Though they were both “professional”, the women had a dignity and charm about them throughout the night of lovemaking. Their naked bodies were only revealed in the bathing ritual prior to getting into bed. Kimonos of a pajama type were worn after this and intercourse took place under the sheets. Their modesty throughout added to the erotic pleasure experienced by Bill and James. Sex as an art form, they agreed, was an intoxicating adventure.

In the morning, Bill and James made their farewells to Yumiko and Sumiko,

their companions of the night. Bill had to get his act together quickly as Professor Akagi had arranged for him to meet an official of the Bank of Japan. Bill wanted to interest the bank in investing in projects in the Sepik District, as he had plans for developing fish and crocodile farms along the Sepik River and needed venture capital.

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While Bill was meeting the bank official, James called into the university in the hope of seeing Yuriko. At the university desk, he was told that Dr Yuriko Kamae was in her office and would be pleased to see him. He was directed to her office on the door of which he saw written: Dr Y. Kamae, Department of Anthropology, in English and Japanese.

James knocked on the door and Yuriko opened it. She held James’s hands

and said: “Oh, James, it’s nice to see you again.” James enquired about her health and she informed him that she was now quite well.

“Come in, James, and sit down. First I want to say how happy we are all to

see you and Bill again. Professor Akagi is most grateful for the help you gave our party in New Guinea.”

“Yuriko, it was our pleasure,” replied James. “We were only sorry you could

not stay longer.” Yuriko was dressed in western clothes. She wore a miniskirt. The miniskirt

was very popular in Japan after the model Twiggy visited Japan in 1967. James could not help thinking how self-assured and confident Yuriko looked. She went on to talk about the New Guinea trip.

“The university is most happy with the collection we made on the Sepik

River. Professor Akagi mentioned you and Bill to the Vice-Chancellor and how helpful you both were.” James said this was very kind of him.

Yuriko went on to say: “We were very fortunate to have Akira as the leader

of our group. I don’t know if you know, but as well as his Japanese qualifications, he has degrees from Oxford and Yale. At the outbreak of war, he was conscripted into the army and eventually attained the rank of colonel serving in infantry and intelligence units. He was with the Japanese army in China and the Philippines. He is one of the most liberal-minded and intelligent men I have ever met. He has told me privately that right from the start of the war, he was against it. Apart from seeing little justification for it, he realised that Japan would have no chance of winning.

“The trouble was, he said, that most Japanese leaders did not understand the

British and American people. Even at the very start, he did not believe that the Germans could defeat the British. Japanese people misjudged the British and criticised them as empire builders who were all hated by their subjugated


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peoples. They often talked of Gandhi and how he was supposed to hate the British. To Akira the survival of Gandhi said a lot for the magnanimity of British rule. He wondered how someone like Gandhi would have fared in our colony of Korea.

“There’s something else I want to tell you about Akira. He is, in many ways,

a very sad man and unlike many Japanese, he is conscience stricken by many things he was forced to do during the war. You know what happened in Timbunki during the war. Well, when we got there, he asked to see the village officials. I don’t know exactly what was said, as he had a private meeting with them, but from what I heard, he apologised for the unforgivable part the Japanese army took in the massacre. He said his apology was as a human being and he regretted that he could not make an official apology. Out of his own private funds, he arranged to purchase an outboard motor for the village.”

James said that he always knew that the Professor was a gentleman. Yuriko then said: “James, there’s something more personal I want to talk to

you about. Early in our stay in Angoram, I told Akira that I liked you. He was not worried about this but he did advise me to be cautious and discreet. He considered that we were visitors in New Guinea and we should be careful not to upset anyone, but on the other hand, he intimated that he was happy to see nature take its course. With you, James, I must say it’s very hard to read the signs of nature. Every time I sent out messages that I liked you, you seemed to step back, so I could only conclude that you did not want to develop a relationship with me.”

James was quite abashed by what Yuriko had said. He could only offer a

weak explanation. “I’m sorry Yuriko, but I’m basically shy and sometimes I fail to act when I really want to.”

“James, there is a saying in English, to strike while the iron is hot, but that’s

all in the past.” Yuriko was charming and delightful but naturally, she was still somewhat

aggrieved at what she perceived as a rejection by James. He was now to experience something of the reaction of a woman scorned.

“James, I hear that you paid a visit to the Pontocho District. I hope you

enjoyed yourself, and I’m sure you’re not always shy.”

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Yuriko achieved what she wanted as James was now totally embarrassed. But she softened the blow by pointing out to him that Japanese women knew the ways of men. James wondered how she knew about the Pontocho visit. He was thinking: “Masanori must have told her. Maybe he fancies her himself and he wants to ruin my chances.”

They parted on good terms with Yuriko promising to attend a farewell

dinner that Professor Akagi had arranged next week for Bill and James. After this, James met up with Bill who had news of great account. He told James that he thought he had found what he had been looking for.

“So you got an investment promise from the bank, Bill?” “Maybe, James, but that’s not the big news. I’ve met someone who’s keen to

come to New Guinea. Rie Iwao, the bank manager’s secretary. She’s having dinner with us tonight.”

That evening, Miss Rie Iwao met Bill and James at a restaurant. She was in

her late twenties and quite tall for a Japanese woman, standing about five feet 5 inches. She was dressed in western clothes and her features were typically Japanese, narrow eyes and a rather flat nose. In all she was very attractive, exuding sexuality. She spoke English reasonably well.

In the course of the evening, she informed Bill that she would be very

interested in visiting him in New Guinea. She went on to explain that she wanted to leave Japan. It appeared that some years before she had been expected to marry someone, but she had reneged, and as such, she had become, in Japanese society, a bit of a rebel. Her rejection of conformity gave her a notoriety that invited a put down. There is an expression in Japanese, deru kugi wa utareru (a nail that sticks out will be hammered down), and she did not like being in that position. She already had a passport and Bill was prepared to help her with the fare.

Bill and James left Japan not long after Professor Akagi’s farewell dinner for

them, with everyone swearing undying friendship for each other and promising to meet up again. Yuriko said goodbye to James with a plaintive look in her eyes. Rie Iwao was to arrive in New Guinea about a month after Bill and James left.

Both concluded that the trip had been enjoyable and worthwhile. Bill had

some assurances from potential investors but his greatest joy was the prospect


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of Rie coming to Angoram. James was sad that things had not worked out with Yuriko but he realised that she required high standards of the men in her life. He suspected that her admiration for Professor Akagi’s qualities was a measure she used in evaluating other men.

Rie arrived in Angoram dressed in a kimono and created quite an impression.

The town made her welcome. Young officers like Alan Judd and Michael Vestey were clearly envious of Bill, remarking: “How did Clayton get something like that?” This question was often asked.

On the national economic and political front, the big news was the

development of a mining operation by Conzinc Riotinto at Panguna, Bougainville, but for those who were politically aware there were signs of future trouble. The arbitrary way the Administration had acquired land for the project was condemned by F.R. McKillop, the owner of land on which the main mining town was to be built. He said: “The last people to be consulted are the landowners.”

Near the end of the year, James Ward received a letter from Sam Bell, who

had returned to Sydney:

GPO PO Box 158 Sydney NSW

20th December 1969 Dear Jamie, As you can see, I’m back in Sydney and I’m very pleased with the way the property prices

are going. You and Bill should invest in houses in Sydney. I heard that you both had a great time in Japan. I’m not too sure about Bill getting tied up with a Japanese woman.

My love life is on hold. You know I was thinking of taking the plunge with Elaine. It would have been worthwhile to combine our two investments.

But I really couldn’t come at it. We went to bed as a bit of a prenuptial experience, but I just couldn’t rise to the occasion. It was like going to bed with your grandmother. The experience has given me nightmares ever since. I know Davie needs a mother, but not at that cost.

Remember me to the girls around the town, especially Namba. Your friend, Sam

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James couldn’t help thinking that some of the girls that Sam got off with around Angoram could have almost passed as his grandchildren, and poor Elaine would find it hard to compete with the nubile maidens that Sam was used to.

Some are blessed with eternal youth and others are destined to age. James’s reflections were engaged with this philosophical and biological point.

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20 1970 - Sepik Blu Longpela Muruk

Papua New Guinea is still set apart in many ways not only from the industrialised Western

World, but from most of the Third World Christopher Ashton To a Sepik, the world of nature and the world of man are one and inseparable. Crocodiles, birds and fish are carved on the products of the forest as symbolic representations of life. The famous Sepik Blue orchid comes from the Sepik River District and can be cultivated in small well-drained pots. The cassowary or muruk is a large flightless bird from New Guinea and on occasion can be dangerous, even deadly.

Sepik Blu Orchid

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The expatriates have long been associated with material wealth in the Melanesian mind and there is a certain beauty in this for them and also a cost. The expatriate demanded quite a lot of attention in work and service from the natives to facilitate his or her survival in the tropics. But “beauty is in the eye of the beholder and familiarity breeds contempt.” If the Sepik Blue orchid and the long-legged cassowary represent the expatriates, their survival in PNG would increasingly be at the grace of Melanesians.

Such a discourse would be considered mere rhetoric and semantics by most

of the expatriate residents of Angoram. Political change was in the air. John Gorton, the Australian Prime Minister, announced on a visit to PNG enhanced powers for the Ministerial Members of the House of Assembly. John Kabais, the East Sepik Regional Member was active in the emerging Pangu Pati, a political party dedicated to the speedy acquisition of independence. During the year he made three trips abroad; to Japan, Africa and the United States.

In the meantime, Bill Clayton had the question of international relations on

his own doorstep. It appeared that not all was sweetness and light in his relationship with Rie. James Ward suspected that Rie was getting homesick and Bill found being faithful to one woman restricting. Over coffee one morning, Bill and James broached the subject of Rie:

“I don’t know but sometimes I think I love her,” Bill said, “especially when I

see her in her knickers in the bedroom. But she’s hard at times to live with. She wants to know where I’m going all the time. She likes a drink, but she says I drink too much. I thought I was getting a compliant, submissive Eastern woman.”

“After our experience with Yuriko, you should have known that not all

Japanese women are like that,” James told Bill. “A thing that gets on my nerves is having the same woman in the house all

the time,’ Bill went on. “I like a bit of variety. The other day Gowa, you know the little piece from Kambaramba, was hanging around the store giving me the eye. I gave her a dress for old times’ sake, but I would have rather given her a length. I’ve not been with anyone else since Rie has been here.”

James, with a smile on his face, said: “Very noble of you, Bill, I must say.”


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Bill did concede that Rie had done wonders for his business. His books were now in order and bills and accounts were all up to date. She had also cleaned up his house and seen that proper meals were prepared. Bill’s dress had also improved. His clothes were now always clean, and he was even seen in shoes from time to time. James told Bill that he considered that he was on a good thing and to stick to it. To which Bill said, “If she wants to go back, I don’t mind.”

In the early part of the year, the town was shocked by the sudden demise of

Bob McDonald, distinguished rivercomber, raconteur, recruiter, returned soldier and amateur sexologist. One afternoon James Ward was sitting in his house when there was a frantic knock on his door. He answered it and there was Yum, Bob’s mankimasta (servant).

Masta James, kam kwik, Masta Bob mi ting em dai pinisim. Master James, come

quickly. I think Master Bob is dead. James rushed down to Bob’s shack and there he was stretched out on a

sleeping mat as cold as ice and as naked as the day he was born. James sent up word for Des Murray to come. Des arrived and confirmed Bob’s death. Yum told Des that he just found him dead on the sleeping mat. Des concluded that he must have died in his sleep. This, Des thought, was in keeping with his known heart condition and his drinking habits. There were a number of empty beer cans around the shack.

Des made arrangements to have the body taken to a temporary morgue in

the hospital and for Norm Brown to make up a coffin. After Des left, Yum approached James and spoke to him:

Mi laikim tok save long yu, Masta. Masta Bob dringim planti bia, nau em spak liklik. Nau em singaut long Maria. Masta Bob givim nem long Maria, Blackbokis, nu em singaut, Blackbokis kam hariap mi laik goapim, bel i kirap. Maria go long Masta. bihain em tok save long mi. Masta strongpela, wokim mi gutpela tru, nau wantu em dai pinis. Meri sori long Masta Bob. Mi sem liklik na mi liak tok save long yu, Masta James, tasol. Mi no laik tok long dokta. Masta Bob gutpela man tru, mi sori long em.

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I want to talk to you about what happened. Master Bob drank a lot of beer and was a little drunk. He called out for Maria, the woman he called the Black Bat, to come quickly, as he was sexually aroused, and he wanted to enter her. Maria went to Master Bob and afterwards she told me what had happened. Master was very strong sexually, and then suddenly he died. The woman is very sorry about Master Bob. I’m a bit ashamed and I only want to talk to you, Master James. I don’t want to talk to the doctor. Master Bob was truly a good man and I’m sorry for him. James thanked Yum for telling him. He knew that Yum would be going back

to his home village after Bob’s funeral which would have to be in the next day or so. He gave Yum some money and also helped Maria financially. They had both been loyal to Bob over the years.

Whatever was said of Bob, all agreed that he had not been an overtly

religious man. He had been Presbyterian at birth and a Protestant all his life with a healthy suspicion of Catholicism. So it was considered inappropriate to ask Fr Brill to conduct the funeral service.

The Assistant District Commissioner, John Barnes, fortunately stepped into

the breach, and offered to selectively read from the order of burial in The Book of Common Prayer. Bob was to be buried at the end of the airstrip in a cemetery that held other expatriates who had ended their days in Angoram.

Most of the town people assembled for the funeral. The coffin arrived in the

Land Rover and was carried to the grave by Allen Warburton, James Ward, Bill Clayton and Norm Brown. John Barnes read the service well and the beauty of the interment words added a dignified formality to the proceedings:

“…as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto Himself

the soul of our dear brother (Bob) here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

After all had paid their final respects, club members went to the club and

fittingly toasted and drank Bob into eternity. James Ward reflected on Bob’s final passing in a theological sense. He knew that Bob’s demise had been brought on by a massive heart attack. Sex would have increased his heart rate


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and blood pressure to fatal levels, bringing on coronary thrombosis. The big question in James’s mind was: was Bob’s moment of physical bliss translated into eternal bliss? Would his physical contemplation of Maria be elevated to a supernatural contemplation of glory? Theologians tell us that the Beatific Vision renders one supremely happy. One could conclude that Bob was happy at the moment of his expiration, and James just could not believe that the Godhead would be such a spoil sport as to condemn Bob to eternal damnation in the next instant.

The state of the soul at the moment of death and contrition and forgiveness

James recognised as pertinent issues. He was quite sure that Bob would not have thought that the restoration of his sexual vigour was in anyway sinful. So the question of the penitent’s detestation of sin or if indeed any penitential rite was required in Bob’s situation was debatable. It was James’s firm belief that in that flicker of time between the natural and supernatural, there would have been ample time for Bob to make a perfect act of contrition. It would not have been such a gigantic leap from a pure love of Maria to a pure love of God. From the arms of Maria into the arms of Father Abraham, and like the saints of old, Bob would go marching home.

Some months after Bob went to his eternal reward and “in the midst of life

we (were) in death”, the quote from the Prayer Book was somewhat turned on its head, for Bill Clayton had some joyful news. Rie was pregnant. He broke this news to James Ward: “I guess, James, I’ll have to make an honest woman of her.”

“I don’t know about that, Bill, more like she’s making an honest man of

you,” said James. “John Lennon married his Japanese girlfriend last year. I believe she wore a short mini-skirt and sunglasses at their wedding. Do you plan the same attire for Rie?”

“Don’t be daft, James. Mine will be a traditional wedding, white dress for Rie

and a suit for me.” “OK, Bill, but whose tradition? Rie might like to wear a kimono.” “It’s not going to be a circus. Alec Smith, the Seventh Day Adventist pastor,

has agreed to marry us in a couple of weeks and I want you to be best man. How about having the wedding in your house, James?”

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James agreed that his house would be a good place with the large front garden and spacious verandah where guests could move around.

The wedding day came, and the guests were greeted and the feast was set.

The notables of Angoram were all there, including Ron Watson and Susan Flynn, who had just arrived from the United States. Rie arrived by Land Rover with Allen Warburton who was acting as a stand-in father, to give Rie away. Rie was dressed in a white wedding gown. Bill was well turned out in a grey suit and James Ward was in a white tropical suit in his capacity as best man.

Alec Smith did the occasion well with a dignified ceremony. Rings were

exchanged. Bill and Rie were pronounced man and wife. Allen Warburton made a good speech and James Ward was a complete flop in this regard, for when called on to say a few words, he couldn’t say anything, but otherwise the event went off very well.

All hoped that this was the start of a life of wedded bliss for the happy

couple. Bill and Rie left, appropriately sometime before the end of celebrations and were clapped and cheered on their way.

The last guests to leave James’s house were Ron Watson and Susan Flynn.

Ron fell asleep in a chair and being alone with Susan, James in his benighted alcoholic state thought all his heavens had come at once. With every additional drink he had, Susan appeared more and more gorgeous. He suggested to her that she might like to go to bed with him. She laughed and said:

“Ask me when you’re sober and you never can tell your luck. In the

meantime you had better go to bed. Ron doesn’t look as if he’ll move from that chair and I want to go to sleep. I’ll use that spare room. Goodnight, James.” Susan went to the spare room and James swayed off to his own room and fell asleep on his virtuous couch, thinking of the fair Susan. The next morning they all had a chuckle about the previous evening and Kami served them a hearty breakfast.

Nothing can stop the march of time and the year passed never to be

repeated, but going on like the flow of the Sepik River.

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21 1971-72 - Gravity in living

Life isn’t all beer and skittles Thomas Hughes James Ward would have agreed with the above quotation, and he increasingly began to realise that actions have consequences. He missed Bob McDonald and the chats he used to have with him. Bob’s stories about his past sexual exploits were always good for a laugh. But alas, it was his virility that had killed him. The resurrection of the “blue throbber” had launched Bob into eternity, and James could only wish that this creative instrument had remained dormant.

Life was full of complications, but it did have its moments, one being the sight of Susan Flynn dressed in slinky jeans, cotton blouse and coloured sandals, gliding across the airstrip, with smooth blond hair radiant in the sunlight. James wondered who the philosopher was who had said: “You can’t live with women but you can’t live without them.”

This wise saying was reinforced by the contents of a letter he received from Laura Sheppard. When he picked up his mail at the Post Office, Bill Clayton was serving behind the counter. He obviously recognised Laura’s hand writing, and told James he had an important letter for him. James glanced at the text and decided he might as well read it to Bill, who was looking at him inquisitively.

Post Office Box 80 Rabaul New Britain

PNG June 6th 1971

Dear James, I’ve had men. This does not include you. Bloody Geoff has left me. He shot through with a

young tourist and has gone south. The bastard has left me to run this stinking guest house, telling me he was leaving about an hour before the plane left. In someways good riddance, but I’ve just had all men.

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Germaine Greer is spot on. I think I’ll go south and join the sisters. Can you see me bra-burning and throwing girdles and nylons in the bin? I’m not sure that women know exactly what they are doing. I remember, James, you liked me without a bra! I sometimes think that it’s a shame I’m not attracted to women physically, life would have been easier, but my trouble has always been that I like that thing you blokes have got between the legs.

I heard about Bill getting married. Give him my best wishes. Knowing you two and how you share everything, it wouldn’t surprise me if you are reading this letter to him. For the record he had no share of me, and that was not for the want of trying on his part. You know that, I’m sure.

James, if you ever come to Rabaul, there’s a bed for you here!!! Bye sweetie, Laura “Well, there you are, Bill. I feel sorry for Laura. I’ll write her a note and tell

her I’ll visit if I get a chance.” Bill said: “Laura’s alright in her own way.” James Ward was happy to get a visit in 1971 from Jock MacGregor, who had

decided to take a few days off from his job with Kennecott Mining in the Star Mountains. Everyone, it seemed, was enthusiastic about this proposed project. The existence of vast amounts of copper, and significant amounts of gold, molybdenum, and silver were confirmed by diamond-drilling on Mount Fubilan. This was the location of the mother lode, and its very remoteness would, in the minds of some, minimise the possible negative effects of mining, as there were relatively few people living in the area. Jock had some interesting things to say about the whole project.

At the time of Jock’s visit, James Ward, Bill Clayton, Allen Warburton and

Jock were having a quiet beer in James’s house, and the subject of the Kennecott Mining project came up. After a number of beers, Jock said:

“It’s a great project that will make a few people a lot of money. The

Wopkamin and Faiwolmin people are all for it. The company is building them a school and health centre, but they don’t really know what’s going on. They only number about three hundred and fifty and the impact of a mine on them, in my opinion, will be devastating. I don’t say too much to the executives. At the


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moment I’m their golden headed boy. I was the first to alert them to Des Pfitzer’s findings years ago. Des found green coloration indicating copper on a patrol in 1963. This lead to Kennecott’s initial interest and you could say I’m mainly responsible.

“The management knows their way around politically. There’s a lot of

concern in Kennecott about their interests in Chile. You can virtually say that Allende has wiped them out and the price of copper is now falling. The agreement the company has with the present Administration in PNG, they don’t believe will stand up after independence. Our boss, Jack Weeden, believes that John Kabais will emerge as a leader He knows I know him. He wants me to further the company’s interests with him, and try to ascertain his thoughts on Kennecott’s developments so far.”

Allen Warburton said: “Jock, old chap, you could say that in the company’s

mind you are a key man.” “All this political stuff doesn’t grip me. I think I’ll ask them for more

money.” Jock said. James Ward butted in: “Ask them to give you a world tour to visit all their

mines around the world.” “Not a bad idea, James, I think I’ll do that.” Bill then came out with a surprising comment: “As far as I’m concerned, I

don’t blame people like Allende nationalising multinational companies.They’ve been ripping off countries for years.”

Allen Warburton responded: “Clayton, I didn’t know that you were a pinkie.” “Pinkie or not, Allen, I can see them doing the same thing here.” Jock said: “One thing PNG will have to face after independence is that they

will have to pay their own way. I can’t see Australia continuing to pour money in here from the goodness of their heart.”

James Ward supplied the thought that whatever money was given it would

not be from the goodness of anyone’s heart, but only from national interest:

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“Jock, Australia will have to keep propping up PNG. A failed state on Australia’s border would have dire consequences for the whole region. I know that if you are liberal-minded, you’d like to think that the future is rosy. But let’s face it, there’s hardly any professionally qualified nationals at this stage in the country. Some are coming out of the university now, but there’s nothing in depth, it takes years to produce scholarly profoundness. One minute, you are a clerk in a government department, and the next the ambassador to the United States.

“On the other hand, we have to face reality. They are going to get

independence, whether we like it or not. I’ve heard that the Department of Foreign Affairs in Canberra is starting to train young New Guinean diplomats by sending them to Australian missions overseas. I suppose something is better than nothing. This small group will hardly constitute an adequate foreign service. You can imagine what United Nations officials will do with them.”

Bill Clayton then gave the group a hot-off-the-press revelation: “There’s no

way I’ll be standing for the next House of Assembly elections. I don’t think I’d win, but apart from that, there’s no political future for whites up here now.”

The party broke up, leaving James and Jock to reflect on what had been said. Bill Clayton’s attitude to life had recently undergone some changes. The

heavily pregnant Rie had flown back to Japan and given birth to a son. Bill informed James that they had decided to call their son after him. James was quite flattered to be so well thought of. Young James, it appeared, was doing very well, and mother and child were expected back in Angoram shortly.

James had detected increasing disillusionment in Bill with the political

goings-on in Moresby. In Bill’s words: “You have to associate with some real ratbags in the House of Assembly. That Peter Kitahi from the Dreikikir area is one of them. You know of him from your Dreikikir days, James. Jock, I think it was you who put him in the kalabus (gaol) for cargo cult activities, and attacking a Catholic priest.”

This conversation took place while Bill and James were seeing Jock off on

the airstrip on his way back to the Star Mountains. Jock replied. “Yes, yes, yes, I remember Kitahi well. He didn’t use the name

Peter in those days.”


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“He told me one day in the House that he believed that the whites were still stopping the cargo coming into the villages. He’s off the planet, if you ask me. At least, John Kabais has a few brains.”

Jock said to Bill: “To paraphrase Schiller, the gods themselves battle in vain

against fools, so don’t worry too much, just carry on.” He then climbed on the plane after saying goodbye. That year James received a visit from his boss from Port Moresby, Dr Marek

Karski, accompanied by Temlett Conibeer, the District Malaria Supervisor from Wewak. Marek and Temlett arrived on an early morning plane from Wewak. Marek bounded out of the plane looking fresh and energetic and carrying a large brief case. Temlett looked somewhat the worse for wear, and despite his rather tall and large stature, he was overshadowed by Marek’s presence.

On seeing James Ward, Dr Karski rushed to him and said: “James, my friend,

it’s good to see you. We all have a lot of work to do. Arrange a meeting with the Medical Assistant, Assistant District Commissioner, and I’d also like to talk to Bill Clayton, your local member. Before doing this, have these radiograms sent as soon as possible.”

As chance would have it, Bill Clayton turned up just at this moment, and

James said: “Oh, Bill, this is Dr Karski. He is very anxious to meet you.” Marek started in at full throttle about the battle against malaria in the Sepik:

“Bill, as the local member here, I want to outline to you the initiatives we intend to take in your electorate to fight malaria. I hear that you’ve been very supportive of James, and for this you have my appreciation and thanks.”

Bill said: “Doctor, James is an excellent officer and he deserves my support.

By the way, where are you staying while you’re in Angoram?” “Well, I’m not sure, Bill.” “You would be most welcome to stay at my house.” “That is most kind. I’ll take you up on that offer.” James Ward then said:”Temlett can stay with me.”

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Temlett with a startled look said: “Thanks!” Bill then went off with Marek, and James took Temlett to his house, after

arranging the luggage. They had all arranged to meet at James’s house for a working lunch. On the way to James’s house, Temlett held forth on the strain of being with Dr Karski:

“He never stops. Last night, I was up with him until one in the morning,

drinking all the time. This morning he was sitting down to a big breakfast, as bright as a button. You wouldn’t have known he’d had a drink. I don’t know where he puts it all. I hope you have a few cartons at home. He’ll drink most of them and stay as sober as a judge, but at least if you get pissed, it’s easier to put up with him than if you stay sober. The old bastard will talk malaria solidly for hours, so you just have to make sure the booze is flowing. He eats like a horse too, and if you produce a brandy after dinner he’ll polish off the whole bottle. He wants you to start spraying in the Grass Country. So, Ward, you’ll have to pull your finger out.”

“Are there any funds for this?” James enquired. Temlett answered: “I don’t suppose so.” When James got home, he ordered Kami to make sure there was plenty of

beer in the refrigerator and to cook a large meal of curry and rice. Bill and Marek duly arrived for the working lunch. One could tell looking at

Bill that he had consumed a few beers. Presumably, Marek had also had a few drinks, but he showed no obvious signs. Kami gave everyone a can of beer and served lunch. Marek ate and drank with gusto, while talking at length of the progress of the malaria campaign. He said to the group:

“Bill has agreed to give our campaign a high political profile in the next

meeting of the House. James, I hope you have informed Des Murray and John Barnes that Temlett and I are here. Bill told me that they are the Medical Assistant and Assistant District Commissioner. I called into the hospital on the way up but Des was out. I’ve not had a chance to call into the Sub-District office yet. As I discussed with Bill already, James, I want to start operations in the Grass Country as soon as possible. That mass blood survey you conducted confirmed a very high incidence of infection there.”


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After lunch, Des Murray and John Barnes turned up and Marek put them in the picture about his malaria eradication plans. They were both impressed and told Marek that James could expect their full co-operation. While these discussions were going on, a considerable amount of alcohol was consumed. All except Marek appeared to be the worse for wear. Marek looked completely sober and animated. After some time, Des Murray and John Barnes excused themselves. Towards late afternoon the conversation turned to subjects other than malaria. Dr Karski said to Temlett Conibeer:

“Temlett, I have great admiration for your gentle race and I’ll always

remember fondly my time in England.” He then told the group about his time working for a diploma in tropical

medicine in Liverpool. Next his war experiences in Poland came up. James Ward instructed Kami to prepare an evening meal, but before they sat down to this, a note arrived from Des Murray for Dr Karski, telling him that he had a very difficult case in the hospital and he required his assistance.

Marek responded immediately, and after a period of about two hours he

went to Bill’s house, saying only that he had performed a caesarean operation and telling Bill that he would now enjoy his dinner with a glass of brandy. The next day Des Murray told James what had happened.

“James, I had this woman about to go into labour. I could see she was in a

lot of distress. She was bleeding and had high blood pressure. I also feared that the foetus was in a breech position. Normally, I’d have got her out to Wewak, but it was too late for a plane to come in. I remembered that Karski had a great reputation in Rabaul as a surgeon. I thought he’s my only chance. All I can say is that he’s really brilliant.

“As you know, our operating theatre is pretty primitive. Well, he quickly

examined the woman, and said that he would have to operate as soon as possible. He confirmed the unborn child was in a breech position. He stabilised the haemorrhaging and put her on a drip. I gave her a general anaesthetic, and he proceeded with the caesarean. Everything went well and a perfect boy was delivered. Mother and child are both doing very well. There is no need for me to send them to Wewak. If he hadn’t been here, I’m quite sure that the woman would have died.”

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Dr Karski and Temlett Conibeer left by the early plane after Karski had visited the hospital to check on his patient. Karski’s dynamism would long be remembered around Angoram.

In 1971 the expatriates were no longer officially Territorians, as the Territory

of Papua and New Guinea became Papua New Guinea with a national flag and emblem.

Allen Warburton would have liked to see the Union Jack incorporated into

the PNG flag, but he conceded that the Bird of Paradise flag had something about it. The name change did not warrant too much mention in the club.

Bill Clayton was true to his word and did not contest the House of Assembly

election in 1972. Angoram local was won by Sam Bell’s past employee, Carlos Ruiz, but the more interesting event was John Kabais’s re-election to the House and his emergence as Chief Minister.

Rie had returned to Angoram with her child, James. Bill, to all intents and

purposes had settled down to happily married life but there was an interesting undercurrent to this situation.

James Ward suspected that Bill was somewhat envious of his single state, and

was doing his best to facilitate a marriage for James. He even suggested to James that his sister in Tasmania would make him a good wife. Bill’s matchmaking on James’s behalf would have interesting outcomes.

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22 Bung wantaim –Unite

United we stand, divided we fall John Dickinson Chief Minister, John Kabias, appealed to the people of Papua New Guinea for a united country. James Ward might have liked to bung wantaim, but he could see the writing on the wall for expats like himself. Notices of termination of employment had been sent to a number of administration employees in relatively lowly positions, in pursuit of the policy of localisation of the public service.

During 1973 James expected to get a letter of termination any day. The severance pay and superannuation terms were fairly generous, but the question remained whether he wanted to leave PNG after his job had gone. He did not really like the idea of living in Australia. After all, he had now been living in PNG for the best part of eighteen years. With his severance pay, he wondered if he could set himself up in business, perhaps with a small plantation and trade store. The idea of settling down in the country with a local woman, and fathering a family of mixed-race children had a lot of appeal. This would mean that he would have to go the whole hog, and take out citizenship.

From what he had heard, it was generally a disaster to take local women to

live permanently in Australia. It was just not fair on them. What with the climate, discrimination and the way of life, they were like fish out of water. James was also realistic enough to realise that a lot of marriages between whites and PNG women were based on not much more than sex. White males inevitably fell in love with the bodies of the native women, and these bodies were absolutely gorgeous from about the age of fifteen to about twenty. From then on, they usually went into rapid decline. Childbirth and their way of life played havoc with their physical beauty. But in their prime, they reminded James of the words of the “Song of Solomon: How fair and pleasant art thou, O love. For delights! This thy stature is like to a palm tree, and thy breasts to clusters of grapes.” In practical terms, in James’s opinion, there was more chance of a local marriage being a success if one stayed in the country.

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While James’s mind was occupied with these profound thoughts, a bag of letters arrived for him from the Post Office, all bearing New Zealand stamps. He wondered what they could be about.

The letters all came from various parts of New Zealand, and were in answer

to a notice he had supposedly put in the personals column of a Christchurch daily newspaper. It appeared that someone had placed an item in the newspaper under his name, (he did not need many guesses to work out who this was), stating that he was a public servant working for the Health Department in an outpost in New Guinea and would like to correspond with a New Zealand woman in her twenties, with a view to meeting and forming a relationship.

James thought: “That bloody Clayton is behind all this”, but he anticipated a

lot of fun in sifting through the mail. Sure enough, shortly after the mail arrived, there was Bill on his doorstep.

“You bastard, Bill, what do you think you’re doing writing in my name to a

paper in New Zealand?” Bill did not even try to deny it. All he said was: “Come on, let’s open the mail.”

Most of the letters had photos enclosed with women in various stages of

dress and almost undress, from formal gowns to skimpy bikinis. The replies ranged from the over ardent and eager to the reserved and detached. Many were willing to get the next plane to PNG provided James sent the fare.

Bill and James culled the likely candidates down to about five or six

possibilities. One was from a young doctor, but she was under the impression that James was also a medical practitioner, so he did not think he would make much progress there. She did not enclose a picture, which drew a comment from Bill to the effect that she probably looked like the side of a house. Another said that she had just finished a relationship and was more than ready to start another, the sooner the better. She sent a photo of herself in a bikini and she looked like a sexed-up version of Doris Day. Bill thought she was a distinct possibility. James was not so sure. One respondent drew a parallel between the supposed shortage of eligible women in PNG and an insufficiency of tropical fruits in New Zealand at the time. She said that she was a sociologist and was very interested in human nature.

At this stage in the proceedings, James got suddenly sick of the whole thing,

and said to Bill: “You got me into this, and you can answer the letters. I don’t


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want to go any further.” Bill laughed at this and told him not to worry as he would take care of everything.

Bill was reasonably happy in his married state, and he seemed more than

anxious to get James married off. James did suspect that Bill envied his free single state, with, as it were, the world of female possibilities still open to him.

Bill wrote to the sociologist, telling her that he was writing on James’s behalf

and that James was most anxious that she come to PNG and meet him. He wrote that James had authorised him to arrange her return fare from New Zealand to Angoram. The woman turned up and stayed a fortnight in Angoram. She enjoyed her visit, but there was no chemistry between James and her, and she returned to New Zealand. Bill’s matrimonial endeavours in this intriguing episode came to nothing.

James, meanwhile, was going through a psychological crisis. All sorts of

questions confronted him. What was he to do about his future life? Should he stay in PNG after independence, and if so, what would he do? He was also suffering an inner conflict about what he really believed in. His doctrinaire Catholicism no longer seemed to satisfy him intellectually or practically. He accepted that he was sexually frustrated and unable to relate to women in any meaningful way. When it came down to it, women in his mind were mere channels that he found overwhelmingly attractive and objects of desire. The fact that they were all out there and largely unattainable also added to his frustration. He remembered Laura’s words when she said that it did not do much for her to be seen as an occasion of sin.

Of course, he no longer believed the simple catechism of his youth, or he

liked to think he didn’t. He certainly longed for love and he would have liked to surrender to a state of ecstasy, but he seemed unable to attain this. In his mind love and lust were so mixed as to be indistinguishable. If there was anything sublime in his soul searching, he managed to dull this from time to time with an over indulgence in alcohol or in a brief encounter with a Kambaramba girl.

The time for decision making was accelerated by the arrival of a letter from

the Department of the Public Service Board, Konedobu, stating that his services were to be terminated under the provisions of the Employment Security Scheme. He was given six months’ notice. Letters were also received from the Department of External Territories in Canberra and from the Minister of State

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for External Territories, Bill Morrison. These outlined the terms and entitlements of his employment termination.

The fate of nations did not depend on James’s life plans, but his own destiny

was at stake. What happened will be the subject of the next chapter.

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23 J’y suis, j’y reste. Here I am, and here I stay.

Marshal MacMahon

The locals are going to screw the place up, no question about it. Anonymous James Ward would not have necessarily agreed with the above quotation and he increasingly saw his life in terms of staying in PNG. He had a long talk with Chief Minister, John Kabias. John said that he was sick of the blatant insults from expatriates and the press about what was going to happen after self-government and independence. He considered that “impending disaster” was more like wishful thinking on the part of some expatriates than thoughtful analysis. “Things will be done our way,” he said, “but who’s to say this is wrong?” James was quite impressed with John, and he felt that the future of the country was in good hands if he stayed in a leadership position.

Around this time, James received a reply from Ernest Spender to his letter

seeking Ernest’s advice about what he should do about his future. Ernest, after a stint with Special Branch, had become a Judge’s associate. Ernest told James to be decisive in whatever he decided to do: “Don’t be like Lot’s wife and look back.”

James decided to stay in PNG, and he received his severance pay from the

Public Service Board, which amounted to about $40,000. As chance would have it, a plantation and trade store came on the market, which was well within his means to purchase, and with the added advantage of being in the district.

The property in question was known as Yip, and was situated on the Keram

River, a tributary of the Sepik, about thirty miles upstream from Angoram. It was planted with a hundred acres of coconuts, and produced a little copra, but the main business associated with the plantation was the trade store, which in Bill Clayton’s words could be made “a nice little earner.” About twenty-five head of cattle roamed around the coconut palms.

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Yip was owned by Dieter Stuttgen, a German mixed-race fellow, whose father, Gustav, had started the plantation before the war. At the beginning of the war, Gustav was murdered by native policemen who had ran amok after the Assistant District Officer in Angoram had committed suicide. Dieter only escaped by hiding in in a nearby swamp. He was then brought up by his mother, a native of a nearby village, Kambot. After the war, Dieter attended school in Rabaul, and on reaching the age of seventeen, returned to Yip and ran the plantation and store.

James agreed to Dieter’s asking price and the purchase went ahead. Bill

Clayton and James’s old staff were overjoyed that he was to stay on in the area. William Batak, his outboard motor driver, left the Health Department and James employed him at Yip. Bill Clayton went into a fifty-fifty arrangement with James in running the store. He said to James:”We can make a lot of money if that store is run properly, but James, we’ll have to keep an eye on things. Don’t just leave it to the store boy. You’ll have to keep off the grog and not too many meri (women) from Kambot.” This last bit of advice James considered rather rich coming from Bill, but in the saying of the time, if there was a bob to be made, sacrifices had to be made also, no pain no gain.

The house at Yip was a big rambling place built of permanent and bush

materials. It was fairly comfortable, with a large verandah overlooking the Keram River. There was no electric power, lighting being provided by kerosene lamps. In the kitchen there was a kerosene refrigerator. Rainwater was collected in tanks from the galvanised iron roof. Two bedrooms were screened against mosquitoes. The furniture was fairly basic, but adequate. On the verandah there were a couple of planter-style chairs that conjured up in James’s mind a picture of leisurely tropical elegance. The trade store was a little distant from the house towards the river. All in all, James concluded that he liked it, and the place had a homely accommodating atmosphere.

There were five or six families living on the plantation, and they provided the

main employees. All were employed on a casual basis. Three young women carried out most of the domestic duties at the big house. As they were all fairly attractive, James was concerned that they could be a cause of future complications, and he told them he did not have work for them just yet, as he had his own domestic help. Kami had come to Yip with James. They seemed to take this well and told James that they would be more than ready to help Masta in any way in the future. In James’s mind everything was working out very well.


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The main economic activity at Yip was the trade store. The little bit of copra produced only amounted to the odd bag or so a month and the drier only operated from time to time. The cattle were pretty well left to themselves to graze among the coconut palms. Occasionally, one was slaughtered and the meat was distributed to those on the plantation and to the nearby village people. Some were also sent to James’s friends in Angoram.

Since arriving in Yip, James was experiencing a sense of serenity. He thought

to himself the rabbit has its burrow and the fox its lair, and perhaps the feeling of harmony with his surroundings sprang from a sense of homecoming. He got on famously with the workers on the plantation, and with the village people. He kept a close eye on the trade store, which was generating a good income. Bill Clayton was surprised at how well James was running the store. It was indeed proving to be a “nice little earner”.

James’s harmonious relations with his surroundings reflected a certain

harmony within himself. He had largely given up alcohol, and sexual adventures were put on hold. He also immersed himself in a self-education programme by subscribing to a number of newspapers and journals, as well as buying a set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, and a number of books on political science, and selected works of literature. His immediate world was to all intents and purposes largely the PNG of old, but this in no way reflected the state of flux in the rest of the country.

Radio news and newspaper reports indicated the speed of change occurring

in the country at large. Self-government came in 1974 and independence the following year. The nation acquired its own airline and broadcasting authority. Most expatriates of the old administration had left, and in Port Moresby one noticed many young educated Australians who went to great lengths to befriend the new PNG elite. They served as advisers to various ministers, and became known as the white tribesmen of Waigani, Waigani being the administrative centre of government. In James’s opinion these new whites, or at least the ones he had met, were a collection of “twits” with little real knowledge of the country.

Yip provided James with the luxury of isolation, away from a changing and

turbulent political scene, the effects of which would in time filter through even to the remoteness of his happy isolation, but for now he was in his heaven, and all was right with the world. Sitting on his verandah in the late afternoon smoking his pipe fueled with a rich blend of fine tobacco, recently arrived with

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his stores from Madang, James thought life was good. He thought to himself that a celibate alcohol-free life had a lot to recommend it.

James realised that he was nothing like Dax Xenos, a fictional character in

The Adventures. In this novel by Harold Robbins, Dax, it was said, “was able to make women tremble at the power in his loins”. Dax came to a sticky end. Even a steady relationship was not all it was cracked up to be. It looked as if Rie and Bill had split. Rie had gone back to Japan with the child, and her marriage to Bill was up in the air.

Another thing that James liked about Yip was that he did not really need to

leave the place. He had numerous visitors, government officials, politicians, tourists and friends. On a battered old typewriter he had even started to write a novel of sorts about pre-war colonial living in East Africa. He had sent a few chapters to a publisher in Sydney who sent back a letter of encouragement.

The visit of one tourist was to prove consequential for James. This was

Gordon Carroll, an American from Newport, Rhode Island, a naturalist and painter, with an abiding interest in orchids. He had a friend back in the States who had been a pilot during the war, and was shot down in the vicinity of Lake Veronica, which was roughly south-south-west of Angoram, between the Yuat and Kariwari Rivers, in an almost totally uninhabited area. He managed to survive and get to a garden shelter, where, as luck would have it, a lone hunter and gatherer happened to be. He was taken down to the Sepik River, and rescued by an Allied Intelligence Unit, operating behind Japanese lines.

While out in the bush this friend, who was also an ardent orchid fancier, had

seen orchids of outstanding beauty growing near Lake Veronica. He believed that they were rare, and as yet without a botanical name. From his description, Gordon concluded they were a rare variety of the Dendrobium lasianthera or the Sepik Blue, but unlike most other orchids of this type, they appeared not to be epiphytal, that is growing on trees without deriving nourishment from them. This variety seemed to depend on the tree on which it grew for nourishment. Gordon’s friend had observed that if the flower was removed from its sustaining tree, it died, and in a short time lost all its beauty and colour. As such, this variety was almost impossible to collect.

Gordon asked James if it was possible to get into Lake Veronica. James’s

abrupt answer was: “No, unless you have a float plane, and I don’t know of any available just now.” Gordon accepted this, as he was only able to stay for a few


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days, but he said to James that if James could get into the Lake, and find these orchids, and take coloured pictures of them, he would be willing to pay as much as $5,000 for them. He went so far as to leave an expensive camera and film with James, on the off chance he could get into Lake Veronica and photograph these rare orchids. James told Gordon he would think about it.

For James at Yip, time seemed to move in a steady flow. Times were

changing but James did not notice this too much. Since independence, most of the expats had left Angoram. A few of the old stayers like Norm Brown and Jim McLaren remained. Fr Bert Brill stayed on in Gavien and, of course, Bill Clayton was still around.

After independence, the ways of administration gradually changed. The

duties of the kiaps were largely taken over by the police, magistrates, and station managers. James noticed far less patrolling on the part of government officials. Agricultural officers and health workers did not visit the villages regularly. Aid posts in the villages ceased to function. James rationalised this as in keeping with the Melanesian way, but he still considered Papua New Guinea a great country to live in. He thought that on the financial side of things the nation was going well, as the kina was worth more than the Australian dollar. His idea was just to sit tight, and all would turn out well.

James’s tranquil existence at Yip was perhaps too serene for some of the

gods of fate and for his rather turbulent inner personality. A keen observer would have detected in him a suppressed hankering, a yearning for something. The more cynical would have said he needed a woman, the more penetrating, no pun intended, would have seen that he was searching for something, something that would lift him above the common crowd with an achievement to be remembered.

James knew that he needed something, a quest perhaps like the heroes of old.

Jason needed to find the Golden Fleece and James wanted to get photos of the rare Sepik Blue orchid.

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24 Fate’s inevitability

Like pilgrims to th’ appointed place we tend; The world’s an inn, death the journey’s end. John Dryden

James Ward was still young enough to see visions and he had a dream to go to Lake Veronica. This dream increasingly captured his imagination, but as yet no more than that. In the evenings by the hissing Tilley lamp, James read a biography of Colonel Percy Fawcett, the early 20th century explorer of the South American wilderness who disappeared without trace. Did this portend James’s fate? Bill Clayton on a visit thought as much and said so:

“Ward, you’re crazy to go overland to Lake Veronica. You’ll end up like that Fawcett you’re reading about. He went into the jungle to find some supposed lost city and you’re going to find some imaginary flower. If you’re that keen to go there, you may as well hire a float plane. You’ll end up a meal for the crocs, if you ask me.”

While the idea of the journey into the jungle wilderness of Lake Veronica was

germinating in James’s mind, the business of running his estate went on. There was trouble with some of the locals in Korogapa village. This village was situated about two hours walk away through the bush or along the Korogapa River that joined the Keram River at Yip. Some of James’s cattle had escaped and got into the village gardens causing havoc. A couple of cows had been speared and eaten. James did not think that this was a fair exchange for the few pumpkins that might have been eaten by the cows.

James wanted to sort this matter out, as he was reluctant to complain to the

authorities. He did not fancy the legal system since independence, and he figured that the less attention drawn to him the better.

William Batak came from Korogapa, and James told him to go and find out

what had happened. William came back with a rather confused story, but the


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person responsible for killing the cows was the resident sorcerer, Abraham Attu. He did not actually do the killing himself, but he was behind it. Everyone in the village was afraid of Abraham and William’s advice to James was to let the matter drop:

Abraham sanguma man, man nogut posin man. Abraham is a sorcerer who

practises black magic and is no good, In Father Mihalic’s dictionary “sanguma” was described thus: “… secret

murder committed by orders from sorcerers. The victim is waylaid, short poisoned thorns are inserted into the base of his tongue, causing swelling and loss of speech. Then other thorns (usually from the wild sago plant) are pushed into vital organs, where they cause infection and eventual death.”

There had been some recent mysterious deaths in a number of villages,

which the people had put down to sanguma practices. Abraham Attu, of course, denied any knowledge of sanguma, but those said to be in the know did not believe him. He practised as the local witch doctor, and, it was claimed, was responsible for a number of remarkable cures, so perhaps there was a good side to his art as well.

James did not want to stir up a hornet’s nest, and he decided to take no

further action. After all, he reasoned, the cattle should not have been in the gardens in the first place, so he let the matter drop. He did not want old Attu putting a curse on him or his staff. James did not exactly believe in Attu’s black arts, but he did not entirely disbelieve in them either.

Abraham Attu was a weathered old betel-nut chewing individual of advanced

age, who James believed was as evil as he looked. Whenever he saw James, he addressed him as waitman (white man), in an offhanded and dismissive way. James for his part did not trust him as far as he could see him.

James told William Batak to make sure the cattle did not stray again. James’s

failure, or inability, to stand up to old Attu, he put down to discretion being the better part of valour, but it did bring up a nagging question in his mind about his personal courage. He had serious doubts about his physical and moral courage. In the past he had walked away from many situations. He had convinced himself that this was the better thing to do, but he wondered deep down if he just didn’t have the ticker. James wanted to prove to himself and others with some

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dramatic action that he did have courage. No doubt, this was part of his motivation in planning to go to Lake Veronica.

James was now in his late thirties and in good health. On this score, he only

had one small worry. He had started to suffer from haemorrhoids, a rectum complaint that he realised would eventually have to be attended to. He drew comfort from the fact that his piles were at an elementary stage, and not causing him much discomfort. Also, he was aware that the great African explorer, David Livingstone was a piles sufferer. This, in some perverse way, he took as a portent auguring well for his own exploration endeavours. Indeed, if he could achieve an overland journey to Lake Veronica, this would be something of an exploration feat. Of course, it was not in the same category as the achievements of the great Livingstone but would still be an achievement to be proud of.

It might be asked what James would accomplish with his proposed trip to

Lake Veronica. It would be worthwhile if he got the photos of Gordon’s rare orchids, but in terms of exploration, the journey would add little to geographical knowledge. There were existing aerial mapping photographs, and locals had previously journeyed overland to and from the Lake. During the war, pilots had been shot down or crashed, and had walked out of the area. Float planes had landed on the Lake on a number of occasions in the fifties and sixties. But James knew of no white man who had taken the overland route from the headwaters of the Karawari River to Lake Veronica, and this in itself was a challenge.

The challenge was in the terrain. From the headwaters of the Yuat and

Karawari Rivers, human habitation virtually ceased, and the area consisted of miles of dense mosquito-infested swamps. Largely covered in a forest canopy that was dark and forbidding, it was only broken occasionally by slightly elevated patches of ground occupied by crocodiles. These patches of ground were treacherous to anyone unfamiliar with the sparse waterways passages. The area was said to be rich in bird life, parrots and red-breasted paradise-kingfisher robins and others. It was also claimed that in one extensive raised domain close to the Lake, there abounded tree kangaroos and ringtail possums. Some of the higher trees were home to numerous bats.

Another story that had filtered through to James was that in this elevated

domain close to the Lake, there lived giant cassowaries. True or not, James reasoned, who would know, as so few people had ventured into the area. All this mystery made James eager to embark on his proposed trip, and he went on


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quietly planning. What with keeping the trade store and plantation running and formulating his plans, James was fully occupied.

He did not want any complications in his life, and he was determined to

maintain the disciplined life he had been living since his arrival at Yip. From time to time this was put to the test. A young woman from Korogora named Josephine seemed always to be around and only too ready to ingratiate herself with James. The saucy looks she gave him left little to the imagination. He was rather proud of himself that he was able to resist Josephine’s enticements.

A date was set for the departure of James’s patrol to Lake Veronica, and he

started getting his canoe and outboard motor ready. He would have liked to take William Batak with him, but this proved difficult as William came down with a severe attack of malaria that left him very weak. Joseph Patua, a local from Angoram Village, offered his services and James knew him to be a good and reliable worker and outboard motor driver, so he employed him.

James planned on staying in the bush for at least a month. This meant food,

fuel, stores and camping equipment, including a medicine chest, all had to be arranged. James had what maps were available. Gordon’s camera and films had to be taken. The plan was to leave the bulky supplies at a base camp at the last stop at the headwaters of the Kariwari River before proceeding by dug-out canoe to the Lake. This last stop was a small hamlet called Muri. Muri was not mentioned on any map, but was known to exist by the locals. As far as James knew, no white man had ever been there, and the prospect of being the first rather excited him.

Word had got to Angoram that James intended to go on a trip to Lake

Veronica, and Bill Clayton arranged a sort of farewell party for him at the club. A number of locals who were now members intended to attend, as well as Norm Brown, Fr Bert Brill, and Kevin Marshall. There was to be plenty of booze available. James was not overly keen to attend, but thought he should. In his mind it was going to be nothing more than a giant piss-up. This indeed it turned out to be.

In between drinks Norm Brown offered James advice about how to tackle

the patrol. Fr Brill told him that, in his opinion, the whole venture was ill-advised. Anyhow, a good time was had by all and they wished him the best. Tobias, from the hospital, offered to go with him. James declined, but explained that he would have liked to take him, but he had to keep the patrol small.

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The next morning James returned to Yip with a terrible hangover, and reflected on the previous evening. He had caught up on news about friends. Norm Brown had heard that John MacGregor had died. It appeared that Jock had left the mining company, and married a woman who owned a hotel on Thursday Island. Poor old Jock in a pub, need we ask what it was that had killed him? Sam Bell had had a heart attack and passed away in Sydney. His property was left to his son.

During the evening, a rather strange thing happened. Bert Brill asked him if

he would like him to hear his confession. This in itself may not seem strange, but James knew that Bert did not have much faith in private confession, and he wondered if Fr Bert may have had something of a premonition of his need for sanctifying grace, when in danger of death. Thoughts of this nature James found disturbing, but he did not take Bert up on his offer. James had no plans to face the afterlife just yet. His belief in Catholic theology was not particularly strong, but given his background, it was still part of him.

On arriving back at Yip, James was pleased to see that Joseph Patua had the

canoe, fuel and outboard motor ready for their departure. This meant that they would be able to leave in the next few days.

On the morning that James and Joseph left, a big crowd came to see them

off. There was a general feeling that this was not just the departure of an ordinary patrol. In the crowd, James noticed Abraham Attu, who waved a stick and mumbled something under his breath, whether a curse or farewell was anyone’s guess. William Batak got up from his sick bed to wish James all the best. He told James that he should be going with him. William was an emotional man and when he said goodbye, James noticed tears in his eyes. James had also decided to leave Kami at Yip and he said to James gutbai tru, Masta (goodbye sincerely, Master).

The emotional farewell conjured in James’s mind classical and historical

images. Ulysses returned from his quest, but General Gordon of Khartoum did not. He wondered if Gordon was farewelled by Gladstone at Victoria Station, prior to his departure. For some reason James in his strange thought processes identified Gladstone with Abraham Attu. Gladstone gave Gordon a limited commission beyond which he was not to stray. Rescue the garrison at Khartoum, and withdraw, and Attu seemed to be saying to James, you have my permission to leave, but that is all.


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Old Abraham’s perceived negativity was more than outweighed by the goodwill James saw on the other faces. They were all conveying love and good wishes. The journey was invested, at least in James’s mind, with high drama. A quest of discovery, a spiritual cleansing, a triumph of man over nature, all these, and an exciting adventure were motivations driving the venture. James Ward was a romantic with quixotic ambitions, and for one of the few times in his life, his present circumstances seemed to offer him the possibility of realising some of his goals.

Joseph took the canoe down the Keram River to the main Sepik River. The

plan was to go upriver to Mindimbit, and stay there, before proceeding up the Karawari River. The outboard motor was a 20/HP Mercury. It worked efficiently and in no time they reached the main river after leaving the Keram River.

The mystery and overwhelming presence of the Sepik River worked its

charm on James, and he thought of the words of Frank Clune, describing the Sepik River in his book, Somewhere in New Guinea: “an enormous flow of elemental power - the coursing of great waters, the swarming of birds and insects; the lush growth of plants in fertile soil under tropic heat and humidity.”

As the canoe made its way upriver, measures had to be taken to avoid islands

of vegetation floating down. Very often these islands consisted of trees with bird life on them. The force of the river swept them along. Dense rainforest covered the mountain ranges to the north-west and south of the river, giving the impression of an impenetrable jungle, a place not unlike Conrad’s Congo. It was in a southerly direction up the Karawari River after leaving Mindimbit that James and Joseph would go. In the canoe, James had a copy of the Heart of Darkness and he read aloud to himself the following: “…beginnings of the world, when vegetation rioted on the earth and the big trees were kings.”

The German explorers, Dr Walter Behrmann and Dr Richard Thurnwald,

were the first Europeans to map the Sepik River. Their work had been done before the First World War, when New Guinea was a German colony. All these years later, James wondered if their mapping had been seen by the gods of the river as a technical invasion of nature’s primordial essence.

They were met at Mindimbit Village by the councillor. He told them that the

old haus kiap was ready for them to stay the night. When they got there, water and firewood were waiting for them in the kitchen, and mosquito nets had been

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erected in the sleeping area. The councillor told James to let him know if they needed anything.

James appreciated the welcome, but he had to admit to himself that it really

was rather strange. Mindimbit was not known as a particularly hospitable place. On the contrary, it was the usual custom to discourage visitors unless people perceived some advantage in extending hospitality. James was not offering anything to the village and here was the councillor being kind. He wondered if his journey was being guided by some providential and benign being. The patrol, for James, had assumed something of a surreal character. It was as if his subconscious mind was impelling his being. The journey had a dreamlike quality in that he felt he was being drawn to an inevitable destiny.

Joseph was proving an excellent companion. He had many stories about taim

bilong tumbuna (ancestors’ time). The respect Joseph had for the old ways amazed James. Joseph was a Catholic but ancestor worship was still a strong force within him.

From Mindimbit, they turned south into the Karawari River. The village was

near the junction of two small rivers, the Karawari and the Kosameri. The Kosameri River will take you to the Blackwater Lakes, so named because of the black peaty water that flows to them from the mountains.

James and Joseph were headed for Amboin on the Karawari River. In pre-

independence days, it was always a well-staffed little patrol post. Now the only government official there was the primary school teacher, and there was even talk of closing the school down. The main establishment near the patrol post was a tourist lodge. The lodge was set on a ridge above the river and offered an amazing view of the surrounding sago swamps and Blackwater Lakes to the north. Near the lakes, one could see Murder Mountain, so named after the war because a number of Australian soldiers were executed there by the Japanese. Some put the name down to an earlier happening. The marauding police who had murdered Gustav Stuttgen also massacred a group of miners working in the vicinity of the mountain.

The lodge was managed by a rather nondescript young New Zealander, a

relation of the owner. He was not too friendly. After looking at the view, James did not dally. He and Joseph continued their journey along the river. They eventually came to Danyik Village. The councillor was pleased to see them, and he told them that he had heard that they were coming. James explained to him


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that they wanted to visit Lake Veronica. He had no idea what lake they were talking about. The only thing he could think of was Lake Jimas, a beautiful still water fed by the Arafundi River, a tributary further back.

The Councillor’s name was Matthias. He invited James and Joseph to stay

with him, and a plan of action could be worked out during the night. After a meal of bully beef, sweet potatoes and water cress, or kango in Pidgin, they all sat around talking.

Matthias, it appeared, had met James some years before. He was visiting a

friend of his in the Pora Pora. While there, he came down with a virulent attack of malaria and banis i pen or pneumonia. He explained to James mi i dai. He was unconscious. After he said this, James remembered. At the time, James was on a malaria control patrol in the Pora Pora, and the people told him there was a man visiting from the Kariwari River, who was close to death. James took one look at him and knew he was nearly a “goner”. Fortunately, James had a supply of crystalline penicillin and injectable chloroquine, which he injected into the man. The drugs worked their usual wonder, and Matthias made a perfect recovery. James had forgotten about this, but Matthias had certainly not. He could not do enough for James. James saw this as another omen of good fortune.

It was decided that most of the supplies would be left at Danyik. Matthias

did not like the idea of going on to Muri. His advice was to go up the Arafundi River and hence to Lake Jimas. Matthias was sure that the party would be well received along the Arafundi. James was not collecting artifacts. The people were sick of artifact collectors as most of their valuable items had been taken out of the surrounding caves.

The next morning, Matthias, James and Joseph set off to go upstream, and

on to the headwaters of the Arafundi. They took with them Matthias’s small paddle canoe which would be needed to paddle along the small channels and stretches of water to Lake Jimas. They got to a place called Yimas, and left the outboard motor and large canoe and from there, they went by paddle canoe to Lake Jimas.

On getting to Lake Jimas, James discovered that strictly speaking it was not

one lake but three and was more correctly known as Jimas Lakes. The three lakes were connected by small channels. Beyond the lakes appeared the start of a dense rainforest streatching to mountains beyond.

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After this initial survey, the party decided to go back to Yimas and try to make sense of where Lake Veronica might be. James also wanted to discuss orchids with Matthias. After they arrived back at Yimas, James looked at his rough maps. As far as he could make out, Lake Veronica was south of the Jimas Lakes, in a westerly direction towards the Yuat River. The surrealism of the expedition was perhaps matched by the dreamlike qualities of James’s navigation skills.

Matthias explained to James that the New Guinea bush had many plaua or

flowers. Along the Karawari, the beautiful ‘flame of the forest’ and numerous water lilies were evident. The forests were full of orchids that were on plants, so they could be nourished by the sun and rain. James asked Matthias if he knew of any flowers that used other plants directly to feed on. Matthias did not know of any. Maybe Gordon’s orchids were all “a cock and bull story”, James thought: He was here now, and if he was in for a penny, he may as well be in for a pound.

It was decided that James and Matthias would go to the far reaches of the

Jimas Lakes by paddle canoe, and walk along the edges of the rainforest in a westerly direction to see if Lake Veronica was there. Matthias had heard stories about a great lake in that direction. They would travel light, and stay out for three days. Joseph was to wait at Yimas for them to return.

James went to bed early, so he would be fresh the next morning. During the

night, he fell into a deep sleep and had the most extraordinary dreams. It has been said that a drowning person relives his or her life mentally prior to death, and if this be so, it could be argued that dreams can on occasion portend impending tragedy.

James’s dreams were a kaleidoscope of his past life. The changes and

progressions of his former self were vividly portrayed. A happy young boy, a tortured adolescent, and an aspiring unfulfilled adult were all there. The introvert and extrovert qualities of James’s personality were symbolically represented in the sexualised pictures of his dreams. Laura Sheppard lay naked and inviting, but James hesitated and she was gone. The ecstasy and momentary satisfaction of his aspiring libido assumed a pseudo-religious capacity in the fleeting beauty of the women presented in his dreams. The lustrous full-breasted bodies of New Guinean women promised consummation. The women of the East beckoned. The visual complexities of James’s dreams included de-sexualised images of heaven and hell, judgement and reward, against a background of many-coloured orchids. A god-like figure saying, “don’t do it or you’ll go blind”, reflected


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James’s deep-seated guilt about anything sexual. Freud and Jung would have had a field day with his dreams.

Half way through the night James awoke in a lather of sweat. He got up and

had a glass of water. The silence of the forest at the dead of night was deafening in its tropical intensity. After drinking, James went back to bed, and he almost immediately started to dream again. For some reason, his unconscious mind took to dreaming about the novels of Graham Greene. An accusing figure threw, as it were, the titles of Greene’s books at James. Where is The Power and Glory in you? This is The End of the Affair and you are A Burnt-Out Case, so James, find The Heart of the Matter.

Later when he awoke, James asked himself whether as a Catholic he was

being asked to face fundamental theological and ethical questions. He was just not in the mood for all this soul searching. James turned on the small portable radio receiver that he had with him, and as chance would have it, Herb Alpert’s A Taste of Honey came on. The words and the melody put him in a more tranquil frame of mind. The song reminded him so much of Laura Sheppard:

A taste of honey, tasting much sweeter than wine I dream of your first kiss… I will return… for the honey and you The next morning, Joseph took Matthias and James as far as he could in the

outboard motor canoe up the river. Just before the lakes, they alighted with the paddle canoe and paddled into the lakes. Joseph returned to Yimas to await their return in three days.

In the Jimas Lakes, they paddled their way through the beautiful white and

yellow water lilies, and observed the antics of the lily trotters. The lily trotters are jacanas birds with long legs and large feet, enabling them to walk on the lilies and other plants on the water. The three lakes are connected by narrow channels; the last lake borders the rainforest. This was where James and Matthias got out of the canoe and started to walk in a south-westerly direction towards the Yuat River.

Back at Yimas, Joseph bided his time awaiting the return of James and

Matthias. Three days passed and there was no sign of them. By the fifth day, Joseph started to worry, and he went to look for them. At the lakes he could find no sign of anyone. He still thought they might turn up. So he went back to

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Yimas and waited for four more days. Then he realised that something must have happened to them, and decided to go to Angoram and raise the alarm.

At Angoram, Joseph first told Bill Clayton, as he knew that he and James

were friends and that Bill would immediately arrange a search party. Bill informed the Police Inspector at Angoram. He sent a search party upriver. Bill got on the radio to the Catholic Mission at Wewak and arranged the hire of a light plane to do an aerial search.

For three days, the plane flew low over the whole area where James and

Matthias might have been, even over the fabled Lake Veronica to all points of the compass. The ground party was equally unsuccessful. Bill was not satisfied and mounted another river and ground search.

At the far side of the Jimas Lakes, Bill found a vague indistinct track through

the rainforest. With a couple of offsiders he followed it for about two hours. As they went deeper into the forest, they became more and more engulfed by the dense tropical growth. Everywhere trees and climbing plants in stark colours of yellow, orange and red blocked their path. At this stage Bill started to think that the whole thing was hopeless.

Cassowary


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Then something caught his eye. Just ahead in thick bush, he had a fleeting glimpse of a giant cassowary as it ran off in disturbed haste. The bird, Bill estimated to be well over six feet tall, and massive in its black feathers. Its long neck and helmeted head in spectacular colours of bright blue and red gave it a distinctive magnificence. Bill then went to the side of the tree where the cassowary had been, and at the base of the tree, he saw a metallic object. This proved to be a Pentax camera. He knew that this was the camera that Gordon had given James. The camera was still loaded with film and did not appear damaged.

Bill arranged to have equipment moved to the forest site, where the camera

had been found, and camped there. He conducted an extensive search of the area, but found nothing of James or Matthias. After a fortnight, the search was called off, and Bill went back to Angoram. He had the camera. Perhaps if the film inside is OK, Bill thought, it might give a lead on what had happened.

Many things were going through Bill’s mind. It was hard for him to come to

terms with James’s loss. He wrote a letter of condolence to James’s mother telling her of the the community’s high regard for her son and how he would be missed.

To himself he thought: “I told him not to go, but that was James with his

pseudo-romantic ideas. He would make a Holy Grail of anything.” He consoled himself with the notion that James would have loved all the speculation that was bound to come out about his death. He had heard that word of James’s disappearance had got to The Sydney Morning Herald, and he had no doubt that in time James would become the East Sepik’s Michael Rockefeller. He could just see some journalist like Machlin, the one who wrote The search for Michael Rockefeller, writing something similar about James. Of course, James was not a Rockefeller, and any international publicity would be short lived. But at least he won’t be forgotten around here, Bill maintained.

Bill knew that James would have liked something done for Matthias’s

relations and he arranged some compensation for them. A memorial service was conducted by Fr Bert Brill at the Angoram Catholic Mission Church. Fr Bert spoke on the Bibical words: “O death, where is thy sting?”

The general consensus was that Matthias and James must have drowned or

been taken by crocodiles. Bill had seen a number of crocodiles in the area, but he wondered how that explanation would account for the camera found in the

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rainforest. The camera was without its case, indicating that it had probably been dropped. Bill had arranged for the camera to be sent to Madang where the film was carefully removed and developed. There were thirty shots including ten general patrol photos, two photos of a cassowary and others of orchids. The photographs of the orchids were beautiful, but did not reveal any particularly new varieties. The elusive non-epiphytic orchid was still just that. James had not given his life for botany.

Kami and William Batak had both come to Angoram for James’s memorial

service. Bill took them back to Yip. When they arrived, Kami told Bill that James had left a letter with instructions that it be given to Bill if anything happened to him. The letter was a will. James had left Yip to Bill, with instructions that all the staff were to be looked after, and Kami be given a small pension if he wanted to return to his home village, Torembi.

Bill intended to abide by James’s instructions, and said to himself: “You old

bastard, you knew you were going to die. What really happened to you? Did that old muruk, who you took the picture of, disembowel you with its elongated spiked toes? Did the crocs get you? Perhaps you are still alive, and you’re living in some remote village near the Ramu. Have you become a petty god, a Kurtz-like character, acting out your own Heart of Darkness?”

These thoughts went through Bill’s mind as he sat on the verandah, and he

suddenly broke down and sobbed.

Rough map found in James Ward’s house after he disappeared

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EPILOGUE The events in this narrative took place a long time ago and many of the people are no longer with us. However, a number still remain, both in independent Papua New Guinea and in other countries. Those who have gone left traces that are both good and evil, as is the way of most humans. In the words of Shakespeare’s Mark Antony: “The evil that men do lives after them, The good is oft interred with their bones.” People are left to judge the deeds of the dead for they live with the consequences.

Bill Clayton had borne well the passage of time. He was now a man in his seventies and a successful business man living in Wewak. Since James Ward’s disappearance, Bill had known other tragedies. His wife Rie died in a road accident in Japan. At the time, his son James was three years old and Bill went to Japan and brought him back to Wewak. That was many years ago and at the time of writing James Clayton had just finished his surgical fellowship, and was working as a cardiac surgeon at Guy’s Hospital in London.

About four years after James Ward disappeared, Bill was in Angoram running

his trade store and looking after Yip when the past was resurrected in a surprising way. One morning sitting on his verandah, he had a visit from Josie, a Kambaramba woman who had been well known about town. Bill had known her both socially and biblically. She was rather tall for a New Guinea woman standing about 5’5” and still, Bill was thinking, reasonably well favoured. But what caught his eye was the child she was carrying. The child was about four years old and was obviously mixed-race. There was something about the boy that Bill found familiar. His brown eyes and facial features reminded Bill of someone. It did not take him long to know of whom. Josie saw Bill looking at her child and she said: Pikinini boi bilong James Ward (James Ward’s boy child).

Looking at him, Bill believed her. Josie had named him James. She explained

to Bill that the purpose of her visit was to ask him for help. She said that she was not a married woman and she was finding it very hard to support James. Bill helped her, as requested. Unfortunately, sometime afterwards he heard that Josie had suddenly died. Bill immediately rushed to Kambaramba and made approaches to her relations to adopt James. He succeeded in doing this because Josie’s relations knew what a great friend Bill had been to young James’s father.

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So Bill ended up in a situation where he had no wife but the care of two children, his own James and James Ward’s James. He thought from time to time that his boys needed a mother but he had no plans to get married again. Returning from a holiday in Europe, he made a stopover in Manila. While making arrangements in the office of Philippine Airlines for his onward flight to PNG, he started talking to a young woman named Ligaya Ipong who worked as a stewardess with the company. To say that he was charmed and overwhelmed by her would be no exaggeration. He decided to extend his stay in Manila and left a fortnight later with an understanding with Ligaya that they would keep in touch.

At this stage nothing too intimate had happened between them. Ligaya was a

good Catholic and Bill learnt shortly after meeting her that she was not the type of woman for a casual affair. At first Ligaya was just polite and somewhat indifferent towards Bill, but in time she grew to like him. Bill was introduced to her family. He got on very well with her father and mother. When Bill returned to Wewak, he wrote and phoned Ligaya often. Six months later, he returned to Manila and proposed. To his joy she accepted and they were married in an old Spanish church in Intramuros, Manila.

For the next fifteen years, Ligaya and Bill had a happy and fruitful marriage.

Ligaya gave birth to three beautiful daughters and was a wonderful mother to the two boys named James. Then tragedy struck and Ligaya died of a cerebral haemorrhage. Bill took a long time to get over Ligaya’s death but he eventually recovered and concentrated on doing the best he could for his children. Ligaya’s daughters made a name for themselves in the fashion and modeling world. James Ward’s son, James, became an actor. Out of respect for James Ward, Bill had his son educated as a Catholic at St Ignatius’ College in Sydney. After leaving school, he attended NIDA, the acting school. Bill reflected on his children’s success and thought that maybe they all did too well to stay in PNG. He tried to interest James in practising medicine in the country but to date he had not shown much inclination to do so.

Fr Bert Brill eventually left his community in Gavien and returned to

Holland where he was given a church job working with the unemployed. The last heard of Laura Sheppard was that she was running a night club in

Toronto, Canada. After leaving PNG, Laura worked in Sydney in the hotel business and while there she met a Canadian tourist, David Jones. They married and moved to Canada. They had one daughter, Allison. From all accounts their


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marriage was a success and Laura proved to be an excellent mother. After twelve years, David suffered a fatal stroke. David had only worked intermittently as a part-time actor, so he was unable to leave Laura and Allison well provided for. Laura had to quickly find a means of livelihood for Allison and herself. It was then that she took over the running of a small night club, which went very well.

Geoff Sheppard had an interesting life after he left Laura in Rabaul in the

company of a young woman. The association with the woman did not last. Geoff went into high school teaching in New South Wales and after some years converted to Islam. It transpired that he had got into a radical Islamic group who were advocating violent Jihad. Geoff came under the notice of the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation (ASIO). He was not formally charged but was told in no uncertain terms that the authorities were keeping their eyes on him. Geoff subsequently moved to Perth and found employment in an Islamic bookshop. It was said that he was contemplating going on the Hajj – a pilgrimage to Mecca.

Dr Jan Speer became well known in Berlin as an expert on Melanesian art.

Norm Brown died in Angoram. Allen Warburton, Jim Andrews, Fr Michael Casey, Geoff Gordon and Des Murray, all died after leaving PNG. Fr William McAuley died of Alzheimer’s disease in the States. Bishop Leo Blum became an Archbishop and died in Wewak after serving 50 years in PNG. Fr Paul Kirshner retired as captain of the MV Christopher and did missionary work around Maprik. He dropped dead while saying Mass. Raymundo Kami and Tobias Kabasse both died in their villages. Fr Karl Shultz retired from active missionary life and was living in Wewak. Miss Schwartz left PNG and returned to Germany.

Dr Marek Karski went into general practice in Sydney after leaving PNG. He

maintained close associations with health providers in PNG as a consultant and was awarded an OBE for services to health and health education. Jock MacGregor, as we know, died in his wife’s pub on Thursday Island. Sam Bell and Patoman passed on to their eternal reward. One could see them in paradise chasing their earthly pursuits: Sam on the look out for valuable artifacts and Patoman arranging assignations for others with celestial maidens. Patoman might even be a go-between for John Pietro. If Bob McDonald reached eternity with the “blue throbber” intact, which seemed the case, Patoman would more than have his work cut out for him in the afterlife. Numba, Gowa, Kanbi and Bopa all married Grass Country men. They became dutiful village wives: giving birth, looking after children, cooking, fishing, gardening and wokim saksak (making sago). George Smith, the teacher encountered in Dreikikir, had a sticky

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end. While in Sydney on leave he answered an advertisement in a suburban paper that went along these lines: “Íf you would like a bit on the side, contact Anabel. I am sexy and available.” George was always ready for a bit and he did contact Anabel. The trouble was that Anabel proved to be a group of thugs who bashed and robbed him, leaving him dead. His killers were never found. Dunstan McMillan and his sister, Joan, returned to Florence to live. Jack Murphy retired after a successful career with a pharmaceutical company.

Gus Whowall had a successful career as an academic in New Zealand. Jim

McLaren stayed on in PNG and married a local ex-nun. His marriage was a success and after many years he died peacefully in his sleep. Ted Palmer went back to Australia and entered the Northern Territory’s Public Service and ended up a senior bureaucrat, in charge of Indigenous Community and Harmony Relations. He also stood unsuccessfully as a Labor candidate for a Federal seat in the Territory.

Little information came to light about Dr Byron Douglass. Apparently,

someone ran into his old girlfriend, Julie, who was working as a manageress at the Dorchester Hotel, London. It seems that Byron died shortly after leaving PNG in 1966. Julie said that they had planned to get married. Temlett Conibeer made a name for himself as a pamphleteer for the National Front in the United Kingdom. Two pamphlets that were particularly popular with the National Front were Stop them at Calais and White Race under Threat. Alan Judd, the Cockroach Kiap, became a psychologist in Sydney. Michael Vestey eventually married Rita Kabui and became a successful businessman in the Western Province of PNG. Rita’s father, Pius, became the Commissioner of Police. He was murdered by a half-crazed highlander in Moresby while trying to break up a riot. The loss of Pius Kabui was a tragedy for the country as he was an able and incorruptible man.

Peter Kitahi was knighted and was recognised as the father of the House of

Assembly because of his years of service as a member. However, he lost his seat in the early 2000s and left politics under a cloud. There was a scandal about the granting of timber leases to a Malaysian company and accusations that Kitahi had been given money to facilitate this. He was not charged but strong suspicions remained that he was guilty.

Ron Watson continued his artifact buying trips to the Sepik, though perhaps

not as regularly as in his younger years. On the trips that he did make more often than not he was accompanied by his wife, Barbara. The bevy of young


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women, who were his companions of the past, faded away. Susan Flynn became a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Primitive Art in New York.

Ernest Spender left PNG after independence and returned to the United

Kingdom with ideas of entering the church. Because of his age, and one suspects his rather independent nature, he found it difficult to find a bishop willing to sponsor him for the ministry. While his quest was going on, he met David Spangler who invited him to Findhorn in northern Scotland. At Findhorn Spangler had recently established a New Age community and there Ernest seemed to find his milieu. With Spangler, he became something of a guru. He was introduced to Alice Bailey’s earlier work on theosophical esotericism. It was said that he collaborated with David Spangler in his great work, Revelation:The Birth of a New Age. Ernest became deeply involved in incarnational spirituality. This was a belief that ordinary lives can be both spiritual and sacred. He became a New-Age channeler and was said to be clairvoyantly aware. In fact, he became quite a hit conducting seminars around the country.

At one of these seminars, he indirectly brushed up against his old life in

PNG. While explaining his concepts concerning the existence of non-physical entities to a seminar audience in London, he became over demonstrative, and had a heart attack. He was rushed to nearby Guy’s Hospital, and referred to James Clayton who performed quintuple heart bypass surgery on him. The operation was a success and while Ernest was in recovery, he and James caught up on their PNG associations. The last heard of Ernest was that he was still at Findhorn and in his search for physical well-being, he was exploring body harmony, energy medicine and meditation.

Some information came to light about the Japanese group that visited

Angoram. Professor Akira Akagi died. Doctors Jun Kato, Hisao Hisada and Masanori Sato all did well in academic circles in Japan. Dr Yuriko Kamae joined the United Nations, eventually becoming the special assistant to the Under-Secretary-General in the Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (UNOCHA). She was the author of a report presented to the General Assembly on gender-based violence in Africa. At the time of writing she was serving as the Chief Humanitarian Coordinator for Africa, stationed in Khartoum, Sudan. Yuriko dedicated her life to her work and to date had not married. Bill Clayton treasured a letter he received from Yuriko shortly after James disappeared. Yuriko wrote that she had fond memories of the time she spent in New Guinea and that she would never forget James. “Dear James’s loss has left me quite

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heartbroken.” Bill was to wonder years after if there was more than a dedication to work that had prevented Yuriko from marrying.

A sketchy report reached Bill Clayton about an artist named Paul Kramer

who exhibited paintings once or twice in Columbus, a city in the heart of the US Midwest and then was heard of no more. Bill wondered if this was the same Paul Kramer who had been in Angoram and if so, what had happened to his son.

John Kabais went on to great things in PNG’s political life. He was knighted

and became a Grand Chief. It was generally agreed that he had lost a lot of his earlier idealism. No one could say that he became corrupt but he did very well out of his political manoeuverings. One observer once innocently asked how he had lost a toe and the reply was: “He must have been caught with his toe in the till.” Whatever else was said of him, his contributions to PNG will never be forgotten.

What of the others in the book? The simple answer is that many were like

ships in the night, having passed into time and being heard of no more. Bill Clayton never forgot James Ward. His memory came up again when Bill

read that George Mallory’s body had been found on Everest but not his camera. James’s camera had been found but not his body. Would Mallory’s camera tell us if he got to the top of Everest? Would finding James’s body tell us what had happened to him? The mysteries and ironies of life will always be with us but in Churchill’s words: “This is not the end, it is not even the beginning of the end but it is perhaps the end of the beginning.”

Sepik people do not forget taim bilong bipo (olden times) so for them the past

is a living memory. The masalai (spirits of the forests) live on and it is pleasing to think of James Ward amongst them in some sort of immortal state. It is memory that raises people from the dead, or in William Batak’s words: Tingting kirapim man i dai pinis. The people in this tale might be forgotten outside the Sepik but they will live on in the Tok Pisin (Pidgin talk) of Sepiks.

Dispela planti tok long samting long lapun man bilong wara Sepik. This is a lot of talk

by an old man from the Sepik River.

Em tasol (That’s all)

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