by Judy Nunn
Arthur Smeed had told him, however, of the outbreak of measles on Malekula, a common ailment to Caucasians, but one that could wreak havoc amongst the islanders. God alone knew how long Martin Thackeray would be needed in Malekula, and God alone also knew where he’d be sent to from there. Godfrey had decided that the young doctor’s wife would need an ally. The least he could do was to offer his support. Perhaps even, if he liked her, his friendship.
‘All the more reason for the two of you to accept my invitation. And the baby of course,’ he added, smiling his leathery smile at Ronnie, who grinned back and rattled the bars of his playpen more vigorously than ever. ‘I would be delighted if the three of you would dine with me at my house before Dr Thackeray’s departure. I’m just up there behind you.’ He waved a hand airily above his head. ‘The bungalow on the ridge.’
Jane had admired the ‘bungalow on the ridge’. Situated in a beautifully tended tropical garden of flowering shrubs and bougainvillea, it was surrounded by wide verandahs and wooden-shuttered windows, and was a most elegant home. Several times she’d intended to ask Reverend Smeed who lived there, but the opportunity for conversation had never presented itself; the busy Reverend was not given to passing the time of day. He was well intentioned and most concerned for her welfare, certainly, but each of his visits to the house had been solely for the purpose of ensuring all practicalities were in place and ‘teaching her the ropes’, as he put it.
‘Are you happy with the maid I employed for you?’ he’d barked at her in his strange New Zealand accent upon their first meeting. And it had seemed to Jane a rhetorical question as he went straight on to explain that he’d taken great care to choose a girl who spoke passable English, unlike most of the Melanesians, he said, who communicated in Bislama, the local form of pidgin. And the girl was, furthermore, he pointed out, trustworthy and well trained with children.
Yes, Jane thanked him, she was perfectly happy with Mary.
And was she aware of the best shop for both general supplies and speedy delivery of catalogue-ordered items? It was in the centre of town and run by a New Zealander called Harry Bale. And did she know that English currency was of a higher comparative value in the islands than French? And she must be most wary of Reid’s Hotel, that curious building sitting on the promontory which, Smeed warned, was acceptable for afternoon tea but should be avoided during the evening when alcohol was heavily consumed. Ernie Reid’s establishment was quite the social centre of Vila but after dusk it catered to the habits of the island’s reprobates. And then there were the acceptable, and the not so acceptable, acquaintances. Vila society was such a potpourri there were certain elements she should avoid at all costs.
Arthur Smeed meant well, and Jane appreciated his advice, but she was determined to find her own way and her own friends in Vila. She also found him exhausting and felt guiltily thankful when his whirlwind visits were over. How she longed for simple conversation.
‘I’ve admired your garden, Mr Tomlinson,’ she said.
‘Ah yes,’ Godfrey smiled, ‘I’m very fond of gardening.’
In the pause that followed, Jane felt duty bound to make the offer. ‘Would you like tea?’
‘If you have the time, most certainly, how nice.’
Godfrey played with Ronnie whilst she made the tea. Or rather Ronnie played with Godfrey, engaging in a tug of war with the old man’s beard.
And then they sat on the verandah overlooking the tranquil waters of the harbour, and they chatted. About everything and nothing. About the uncomfortable humidity of the monsoon season, about the war and whether the Americans would ever join in, about gardening and Jane’s intention to grow her own herbs, and possibly vegetables too.
‘An excellent idea,’ Godfrey agreed. He asked no leading questions and foisted no advice upon her unless she asked for it. Jane found his company most relaxing.
An hour later, when he took his leave, they had decided upon Wednesday for the dinner party.
‘I shall look forward to it,’ Jane said as she shook his hand. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was charming, fascinating and utterly mysterious. Her first impression had obviously been quite wrong. He was neither a parody of the quintessential South Sea Island Englishman, nor was he an interfering busybody. Whoever he was, she liked him enormously. ‘I shall look forward to it, very, very much, Mr Tomlinson.’
‘Given the fact that we’re neighbours, shall we make it Godfrey?’ he suggested, blue eyes sparkling vivaciously. He was aware that she had been reading him, just as he’d been reading her. Jane Thackeray had spine, he decided. Even if she didn’t yet know it.
And now here they were, seated in Godfrey’s spacious dining room with its wood-panelled walls and timber-beamed ceiling, Ronnie fast asleep in his bassinet nearby.
‘Pandemonium? It’s a good name for it,’ Martin agreed. He’d also taken an instant liking to Godfrey Tomlinson. ‘Surely the most bizarre government the world’s ever known.’
‘Oh it was even worse in the old days, I assure you. I was here when the whole thing started and it was positively ludicrous. The Spaniards were involved then too.’ He offered to refill Jane’s wine glass.
‘No thank you, Godfrey,’ she said hastily, already feeling the effects of two generous glasses.
‘It was the Spaniards who first put the New Hebrides on the map in the seventeenth century,’ he explained, ‘hence all the Spanish names about the place. Well, it was a Portugese navigator actually,’ he corrected himself, ‘but he was in the service of Spain.’
Martin put his hand in the air like an eager schoolboy. ‘Pedro Ferdinand de Quiros,’ he said, and Godfrey applauded him.
‘Excellent, Martin, you’ve done your homework.’
Jane smiled. Marty looked as if he’d just come top of his class.
‘So when they set up the first joint court in 1910, they had a French judge and a British judge, and a presiding president who’d been appointed by the King of Spain.’
Godfrey filled his own glass and gave a hoot of laughter. ‘He was a hopeless man. Utterly hopeless. Count de Buena Esperanza.’ He rolled the name impressively off his tongue. Godfrey spoke fluent Spanish, along with French, Italian, several Melanesian dialects and the local Bislama. ‘He’d plod to and from the courthouse on a wheezing old mule, and then he’d sit up on the bench in his grand judicial robes with a British and French judge on either side.’ Godfrey struck a pose and preened his beard. He was in fine form, and thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘And all the while he was in blind utter ignorance of everything going on about him, he was as deaf as a post!’
Jane and Martin burst out laughing. Godfrey’s enjoyment was very contagious.
‘And it wouldn’t have made any difference if he hadn’t been! The man couldn’t speak a word of English, barely understood French, and Melanesian and Bislama were beyond his comprehension. What on earth he was doing there is beyond me. Ah, Leila.’
Godfrey’s housemaid and cook, a rather sullen-faced woman in a bright red cotton dress with a matching headband encircling her frizzy black hair, had appeared to clear away their empty main course dishes.
‘Would you like some water?’ Godfrey asked Jane.
‘Thank you.’
‘Mi wantem sam kolwata plis, Leila,’ Godfrey said to the woman, who nodded and silently disappeared. ‘Of course the locals were totally confused by the Condominium,’ he continued, without drawing breath. ‘Everywhere there were French and British flags, and then photographs of the French President and the British King started appearing on the walls of government buildings, and the islanders didn’t know what to make of it. A lot of them thought the President and the King were brothers and lived apart because they didn’t like each other. I’m sure many of them still believe it.’
Godfrey sipped his wine, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he continued. ‘Of course there were some benefits to be had from the Condominium. For traders anyway.’
Before he could go on
, Leila arrived with a large glass of water. She stood there, for a moment uncertain.
‘Kolwater blong Missus,’ Godfrey said, and she placed the glass in front of Jane.
‘How do I say “thank you”?’ Jane asked.
‘Tangkyu tumas,’ Godfrey replied.
‘Tangkyu tumas, Leila,’ she said.
The woman smiled briefly, then ducked her head and concentrated on clearing away the plates. She wasn’t sullen at all, Jane realised, she was shy.
The local beef Godfrey had served had been magnificent, but the portions had been huge and Jane had been unable to eat half of her meat, which now sat congealing on her plate. She didn’t want the woman to think she hadn’t appreciated the meal.
‘How do I say, “I’ve enjoyed my meal”?’ she asked.
‘Mi laekem kakae ia,’ Godfrey said.
‘Mi laekem kakae ia,’ Jane said as Leila picked up her plate.
‘Tangkyu, ta,’ Leila said. And this time, as her eyes met Jane’s, her smile was broad and infectious. Then she disappeared once more into the kitchen.
Jane wasn’t sure why, but the moment gave her the greatest of pleasure.
Godfrey nodded approvingly. ‘It’s an excellent idea to learn Bislama,’ he said. ‘Too many don’t. It’s a simple language, and it gives the locals face if you take the trouble to learn it.’
Martin was very much in agreement. He intended to learn everything he could to ensure easy communication with the islanders and their ways, he said, and Bislama was his first priority. But, as Martin voiced his intention, Jane remained lost in her own thoughts, still affected by the woman’s smile, and how simple it had been to make contact.
‘You were saying, Godfrey, that the Condominium served a purpose for some?’ Martin enquired, he’d found it most interesting.
‘Ah yes. Traders. The two sets of customs could work to one’s advantage if one knew how to use them. A trader’s property was checked by a pair of British policemen and then by a couple of gendarmes, and if there was anything a little …’ Godfrey made a balancing movement with his splayed fingers as he searched for the word. ‘A little dodgy, shall we say, he’d play one mob off against the other. You see a British …’ He’d been about to say ‘crook’, but decided upon an alternative. ‘Well … someone involved in a slightly roguish activity,’ he said with a smile, ‘could only be arrested by a British constable, and he could only be tried by the British court. And, as the French and the British despised each other, a trader could now and then work the system in his favour. If, of course, he had the wit to do so.’
It was such an obviously personal admission that Jane and Martin were dying to enquire further, but both were too polite to do so.
Godfrey left the moment hanging in the air, aware that he’d piqued their curiosity. Then he laughed. ‘I was a sandalwood trader in those days,’ he said, adding vaguely and with an all-encompassing wave of his hand, ‘amongst other things.’ He was about to wax on with further stories of the Condominium’s inadequacies but, noticing that Martin Thackeray was taken aback by his announcement, he realised the man was aware of the sandalwood traders’ unsavoury reputation. Which was hardly surprising, he thought, as it had been apparent throughout the evening that Thackeray had made some study of the New Hebrides. It was time to back down a little, Godfrey decided.
‘Oh not all of us were quite the demons that history has painted us, Martin,’ he said assuringly.
Jane was intrigued. ‘Demons?’ she asked innocently. ‘How do you mean, demons?’
Godfrey realised that it wasn’t going to be quite that easy to drop the subject. ‘The sandalwood trade was responsible for the slaughter of thousands of islanders over the years,’ he said, ‘simply in order to rob them of their forests. When guns didn’t have as rapid an effect as the traders wished, they introduced diseases for which the islanders had no genetic immunity. Measles, for instance.’ He cast a look at Martin, who was listening attentively. ‘Measles meant death to the locals in those days. It still holds a great danger for them,’ he said meaningfully.
‘Yes, it most certainly does,’ Martin nodded, wondering how Godfrey knew of the outbreak on Malekula, as he obviously did.
‘Then, towards the end of the century …’ Godfrey said, returning his attention to Jane, ‘that’s around my time,’ he added, his expression enigmatic ‘… when the forests were close to depletion, many a trader turned his hand to blackbirding.’
‘Blackbirding?’ Jane asked, not sure if she should, sensing an undercurrent to this conversation, but unable to resist her query.
‘The slave trade.’ Godfrey had dropped all semblance of bonhomie. His eyes, which had sparkled with humour, were now deadly serious. ‘Workers were needed, mainly for the Queensland sugar plantations, and they called it “indentured labour”, but it was virtual slavery. Fewer than twenty percent of the islanders sent to Australia, or indeed New Caledonia or Fiji, ever saw their homeland again.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘The blackbirders were a vile breed,’ he said. Then he turned once again to Martin. ‘I, needless to say, was not one of them.’
There was an uncomfortable silence. How had they come to this impasse? Martin wondered. He had made no enquiries, the man owed him no apology. Martin didn’t know what to say, he felt most awkward.
So did Godfrey. How had he allowed this to happen? he wondered. He’d been showing off, that’s how. The young couple enchanted him. He’d wanted to amuse and impress them, and he’d thrown caution to the winds. And now they were embarrassed.
He took a hefty swig of his wine. ‘Oh well,’ he said lightly, ‘they were the good old, bad old days,’ and the bonhomie was back as he raised his glass. ‘But they’re long gone now.’ They weren’t, he thought. Not really. There was much injustice perpetrated upon the innocent islanders by the so-called ‘patriarchal’ colonial society. But Martin Thackeray would find that out soon enough. ‘A toast to the future,’ he said.
The awkward moment had passed, and the rest of the evening was most enjoyable. Godfrey regaled them with stories of bygone days, colourful and outrageous, Leila served a dessert of lush tropical fruits, and Jane tried out her newfound words of Bislama with great success, Leila giggling when she got it wrong.
‘He’s been a rascal in his day, our Godfrey,’ Martin said when, two hours later, he and Jane were back home and preparing for bed. ‘He probably still is.’
Jane laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, he’s an old man who likes living in the past. A charismatic old man, I must say,’ she added. ‘I find him charming.’
‘He’s charming all right. A charming old rogue who still works the system.’
‘Oh Marty, how can you say that, he has to be well into his seventies.’
‘Age wouldn’t stop a chap like Godfrey Tomlinson, my love. You can bet your last penny he’s got a foot in both camps, just like he did in the good old days.’ He could tell that she found the notion fanciful. ‘He said he’s retired, right?’ She nodded. ‘And then he said he did a little work as an agent,’ he added with a meaningful look. ‘A bit of import, export here and there?’ He made a balancing movement with his splayed fingers, just as Godfrey had done. ‘An agent. That can mean anything. Believe me, there’s life in the old dog yet.’
‘Well, I like him. A lot.’
‘So do I,’ Martin grinned, ‘and I can think of no better person to look after you while I’m away. I’m sure that’s what he has in mind, he’s very taken with you, I can tell. He’ll be a valuable friend for you, my love.’
Martin was right. In the fortnight that followed, Godfrey Tomlinson did indeed look after her and, having apparently assigned himself as Jane’s personal guardian, he was worth his weight in gold.
It was Godfrey’s intention to introduce Jane Thackeray to the real Vila. Both the good and the bad, and the first port of call was the club room at Reid’s.
Jane had visited the hotel a number of times, taking afternoon tea sometimes with the ladies from the
church committee and sometimes with her newfound friend, Hilary Bale, the storekeeper’s wife, but heeding Reverend Smeed’s warning, she had avoided Reid’s at night.
‘Mr Smeed is perhaps a little overcautious in his advice,’ Godfrey said. ‘The earlier part of the evening will present no problem. Besides, you’ll be in my company.’ Godfrey was of the opinion that being overprotective would not serve Jane’s better interests. She needed to meet the real Vila and Reid’s was the perfect starting point.
The plan was to stay for just an hour or so, after which they would dine at the little French restaurant further along the front. Jane was now perfectly comfortable leaving Ronnie with Mary, and she blessed the Reverend Smeed for his choice. A personable girl in her twenties, Mary was missionary trained, and fitted perfectly into the household. The child adored her and so did Jane. Mary was teaching Jane Bislama, but of far greater importance, it was through Mary that Jane was learning about the Melanesian people, their culture and their way of life.
She learned that the islanders, a happy, carefree people, were deeply religious, for the most part having embraced Christianity. She learned that family was the backbone of their society, that they shared the nurturing of their children and that they revered their elders. So eager was she to discover everything she could about the islanders, that she plagued Mary with questions about tribal customs, traditional dress and ceremonial dances, to the point where Mary ran out of answers and had to check with the elders in her village. Mary was very proud to be a tutor to the Missus, and the two women had become firm friends.
It was a Friday night and Reid’s was already doing a brisk trade when they arrived at seven o’clock. Chinese waiters tended the green baize-topped tables where customers sat chatting over their Australian imported beers or their Bombay gins in long icy glasses of tonic water. There was a buzz of comradely conversation and laughter, and, despite the open verandah shutters and the warm breeze that swept in from the harbour waters, the smell of pipe tobacco and cigars hung in the air.