“Don’t! The Diggers have come back and they won’t let you kill the kiaps.”
“Maybe, boss.”
George said no more; he drove away wondering if he might not be better advised to sell up and get out - but there was still a profit to be made, and the living was easier on the Gazelle. Besides that, it was his homeland too.
The word came that all of the other villages had paid for their driving licences; they were not happy. George drove into Rabaul and looked for the Administration buildings.
The old town was flat; everything was gone. The old German buildings that had survived the eruptions of ’17 and ’37 had been destroyed by the great blow-up of ’44. Anything left untouched by nature had been destroyed by the bombers.
The harbour was full of Japanese shipping, sunk or run ashore. The bulk of the ships had disappeared into the depths of the harbour, which was hundreds of feet deep; dozens of small merchant and naval vessels were wrecked on the reefs or burned-out on the mud. The Americans had rebuilt the harbour facilities and there were merchantmen at the wharves; George watched files of soldiers marching up the gangplanks of the largest two – going home for demob, he presumed.
There were new buildings going up, most of them temporary huts, prefabricated and quick to erect. He found a noticeboard proclaiming ANGAU, parked up outside and wandered into the complex of a dozen huts, rough joined together. There was a junior clerk at a front desk, pale-pink, recently come up from Australia, a gecko, probably knowing nothing; he might be able to point George in the right direction.
“G’day mate. Looking for the Secretary’s office. If he ain’t about then anyone reasonably senior will do. Name’s Hawkins, from Kokopo.”
That was the first test – if he was worth anything, then he should have memorised the short list of important people from outside of Rabaul.
“Yes, sir. I’m afraid the Secretary is very busy just now, sir. I might be able to get you in to see one of his assistants, sir.”
“No. If he’s here, I’ll speak to him. Who is the Secretary now?”
The pink little youth could not imagine that any man might not know the name of so important a figure.
“It is General Higgins, sir.”
“Fred Higgins? First good news I’ve heard this week. Tell him that George Hawkins needs to see him, before the shit hits the fan. The Tolai ain’t happy and they’re sharpening their axes.”
“I can’t just go into the Secretary’s office with that sort of message, sir. There are channels, you know.”
“You can’t go into his office? Where is it? Show me.”
The boy could not imagine why this outsider might wish to know such information, but he was just a little afraid of the self-confident figure leaning over his desk.
“Yes, sir. Just down the hall, sir. Third on the right.”
He led George into the hall and pointed to a door with a brass plaque shining bright and new.
“Is there anybody in with him at the moment?”
“Not officially, sir. His staff might be there.”
“In that case, bugger off back to your desk. I’ll introduce meself.”
“You can’t do that, sir.”
“Bloody well watch, mister.”
George left the youth wringing his hands and strode down the twenty feet of hall way, knocked and entered.
“G’day, Fred. What are you doing here with this lot, mate? Bloody useless, the lot of them. The little prat at the front hasn’t even got a list of local people – he had no idea that I was one of the biggest plantation holders, the blokes who pay the small amount of taxes you collect here.”
“Difficult to get hold of people, George. Schoolboys is all we can recruit, coming up here instead of going to conscription. I’ll make sure there’s a list of people who can come in, George.”
“You’ll need it, Fred. The planters are going to be bending your ears on a daily basis. Same with Steamies. Your kiap in Kokopo is bloody useless, mate. Offended every bugger there, not just the dim-dims. Got the Tolais’ backs up, big time. They’re talking about chopping him; add to that, the bigger mouths reckon that the kiaps and Diggers all ran when the Japanese came and reckon they got no right to come back again. Maybe you’ve got a month to put things right, mate. If you’re lucky. If you don’t pull the bloke in Kokopo out before then, you’ll lose ‘im and have the whole Gazelle up against you.”
“Reynolds? He’s got a good name, George.”
“Milne Bay man. The islands there have had gold diggers and traders for donkey’s years. Being islands, they ain’t difficult to police, either. The Gazelle’s different. He hasn’t been out to the Bainings yet and they’re fighting there. Add to that, he’s tried to stop the Tolai from driving, thinks it’s bad for them, they should be content to be bush kanakas. His clerk is selling licences for cash, in his own pocket.”
Fred shook his head.
“He’s got to go, George, but I can’t just dump him without cause. I can’t say he ain’t good enough – he’s got too many friends. It’ll take a twelvemonth to build a case against him.”
“You haven’t got a year, Fred. You’ll have to do it the nasty way. Public morality, mate.”
Fred shrugged, resignedly – he didn’t like it, but if it was the only way available…
“Who’s he buggering, George?”
“Brought his own clerk up from Milne Bay – an old acquaintance, it would seem. Keeps a young houseboy as well. Get on the radio to the Inspector of Police in Kokopo – he hates his guts already. He’ll be happy to arrest and deport him.”
“Right, George. Not how I want to do things, but it’s better than letting the Tolai take an axe to him. I’ll send one of the boys up from here. I’ve got two ex-captains working here who can do the job. Give me ten minutes, George. Go on down to our canteen. I’ll join you there.”
The canteen sold bad food and good beer, which was normal enough, George thought. He sat down with a Retsch and a bully-beef sandwich and waited. Fred joined him inside his ten minutes.
“The copper in Kokopo is only too happy to bust Reynolds, George. He’ll have him on a plane this afternoon, his clerk with him. He said that the clerk won’t have the chance to pack his bags either.”
“So he’ll have to leave his hoard of shillings behind, Fred. Have it to put to good use, mate. There might be as much as a hundred quid, which could be useful for building an aid post at Raluana, say. It’s about half-way to Rabaul and could serve a load of villages around the area. Be popular. I’ll drop a couple of hundred a year for a doctor-boy from Vunapope to live there if you’ll find money for medical supplies.”
“I’ll do that, George. How bad is it? Will the Tolai accept a new kiap?”
“They’ll take a man who works his balls off, Fred. Provided he’s useful – more aid posts, some primary schools, a bridge or two built every couple of years, that sort of thing – then they’ll work with him to keep the peace. I’m going to put a bit of money into buying chicken and pigs and getting them breeding in the villages. They lost almost all their stock to the Japanese. I’ve put the word out that I’ll buy in any swords they picked up. Was I you, mate, I’d offer a quid each for Japanese guns, as a reward to the men who took them. We don’t want Japanese rifles in Tolai hands, Fred.”
Fred sat back, thinking for a few minutes.
“The kiap’s going to have to be a bright bugger, experienced in the field. Scrub the couple of young men I was thinking about. I’ll try to find a major at least, a man who can organise things. I know a couple of blokes who’ve been about the bush up here and might be useful.”
George was much in favour, provided the new man was in place quickly.
“How soon before we’ve got a bank up here, Fred? Bloody awkward doing business without one.”
“Steamships is willing to build this year. I’ll persuade them to make space for a bank branch in their headquarters. Then BPs will do the same, to keep up with Steamies.”
&
nbsp; “Makes sense, mate. My father-in-law will be coming in soon. No problems with him rebuilding on his own land near the bung, I presume?”
“Mr Tse? He will be welcome. We need the Chinese stores and want their warehousing in action as well. I’ve spoken with the people Down South and persuaded them to withdraw their offers to the big Australian firms – the buggers were going to give away everything that used to belong to the Chinese.”
“Bloody typical. What made them change their minds?”
Fred grinned and demanded secrecy.
“Not a bloody word, George! The Chinese Communists, that’s why. They look as if they will be winning their civil war within the next five years. No way of stopping them without putting in a bloody great army, and that might be matched by Stalin’s mob in Russia. The word is that the Yanks and the Russians have made an unofficial agreement to keep their armies out of China. They’ll send planes and guns but no soldiers. The Kuomintang can’t stand against the Communists, and a hell of a lot of their people know it. There’s a lot of rich Chinese getting out of the mainland. Some going to Formosa – Taiwan they’re calling it now; quite a few to Hong Kong and Macao; not a small number, and a lot of money, looking to go further afield. Singapore is a favourite. So’s San Francisco. A few are looking at Rabaul. There’s always been a Chinese presence here and they could bring a lot of cash with them. They won’t be able to invest a huge amount in the Territory – but they could put their money to work Down South. A few millions in investment in Australia would be popular, that’s for sure, George.”
“What’s the bloke’s name? Mao, is it? I bet he’d be spitting blood if he knew he was doing us a lot of good, Fred.”
“That’s why we don’t need to shout about it, George. Be a powerful country, one day, China.”
“Should be. It’s big enough. I’ll pass the word to Mr Tse that he’s welcome and as soon as possible?”
“Do that, mate. I reckon I’ll send those two young captains out as assistants to the new kiap, George. They don’t know much, might be able to learn the trade.”
“Makes sense, Fred. Send one out to a post in the Bainings – they could do with a permanent man there.”
“Probably. I’ll leave that to the new man to decide.”
George nodded, drank another beer and made his way back along the coast road. He stopped in Raluana in mid-afternoon.
“Arpinoon tru, Master Georgie.”
George returned the greeting and spoke about very little for a while as the older men and women of the village casually and accidentally came to form a group about him. They were not coming to consult with him, just happened to be where he was, he appreciated.
“Just been in Rabaul,” he said.
That was obvious. He had been seen driving past in the morning.
“Talking with the Secretary master. Good man. I met him in the war.”
That was interesting and useful information. If George vouched for him then they might find it worthwhile to try to talk to him.
“He spoke to the big policeman at Kokopo. On the radio.”
They knew of the radio, a better sort of telephone.
“The kiap, Master Reynolds, is to be put on an aeroplane, today. The clerk boy will go with him, with one small bag of clothing.”
They smiled at that.
“Master Secretary wants to know if he can use the shillings to build an aid post here, for all of the villages to use. Easier than driving to Vunapope. The Administration will supply medicines. A doctor boy from Vunapope to live here, paid a wage. Can you give the land, for a post and a house and a garden for the doctor boy?”
That would have to be thought about – giving away land was no small matter. Land was a matter for the women to determine and they would have to meet, separately, to make the necessary decisions. They would need a week, they said.
“What about a kiap, Master Georgie?”
“A big man, one from Lae, perhaps. A new man who understands that the Tolai are not the same as other clans. One kiap true and two young men to learn. One to live in the Bainings, one on the north coast, out Kerevat way. That way, there will be good men who will have time to talk to the village people. Master Secretary tells me he wants to build schools for all of the little children. Every piccaninny to learn to read and write in English.”
They nodded slowly – Kuanua was their own talk, and Pidgin was useful, but English was the language of the bosses and was needed for business. They could not make money for the village unless they could speak English.
“Every village to have a school, Master Georgie?”
“In time. At first, only the big villages. There is not enough money to build a school in every village all at once. Teachers must be taught first.”
That made sense.
“It will take years, Master Georgie. The young men want change tomorrow.”
“We all want a lot of things. We do not get everything we want.”
That was also true, they agreed.
“There will be better roads, and some bridges built. More aid posts as well. But it will take time. There will be jobs for the clever boys, but it will come slowly. For the while, you must help. I shall buy chickens and pigs and send them to the villages. Breed them, sell eggs and chicken at the markets. Over the years, when the time comes, you may pay me back.”
Nothing for nothing – that seemed fair to them, especially if the payment was to be made over generations.
“Will the Japanesi come back, Master Georgie?”
“Never. The Yanks have beaten them. The Yanks made a new bomb, the atom bomb. One small bomb that killed more people than live on the whole of the Gazelle. If it dropped on Rabaul, it would kill every person as far as Kokopo. If the Japanesi go to war again, then the Yanks will use the new bomb to kill every last one of them. The Yanks are very angry with the Japanesi.”
“Good. The Japanesi were bad men. They did nothing good. No bully beef; no fish; no rice – but they took the copra and cocoa and told us to get more and more. They gave us paper money, but there was no place to spend it. Worse than Master Kaiser and his people. The Yanks give chewing gum, and candy and food as well. What about the Diggers, Master Georgie?”
“The Yanks are going home. There will be trucks and jeeps left behind. No driving licences, but you must teach your young men to drive properly. You will have to buy petrol. The plantations will buy your cocoa pods and ferment them. Oil Products will buy your copra for the same price as they pay me. If you grow fruit and vegetables, I will buy for my labour line at the plantations.”
George made his farewells and drove off, knowing that he had done a little good, and aware that it was too little. The local people wanted more than he could possibly deliver; they wanted to be as rich as he was, and that was not unreasonable, but would take centuries to achieve. He could not supply even a tiny fraction of what they wanted, nor could he put them in the way of earning it for themselves.
For the first time ever, he found himself hoping that the missionaries would return. They could offer their pie in the sky, which might take the local people’s minds off the riches they wanted on Earth.
“G’day, Mick. How’s things going?”
“Not bad, George. You been in Rabaul all day, ain’t you?”
“Yeah, thought I ought to make me number there.”
“Well done, mate. They put Reynolds into bracelets a few hours back, carted him off to a plane. Him and that Milne Bay clerk of his. I’ve had their bags packed and put away safely. Better part of a hundred and fifty quid tucked away in the back of the clerk’s place. Mostly in shillings.”
“Heard a whisper there might be, Mick. Fred Higgins is intending to use it to build a big aid post down at Raluana. He’ll provide medical supplies. I’ll pay for a doctor boy.”
“Thought you knew about it. Apparently, Reynolds has been arrested for offences against public morality, George. Can’t have things like that going on, mate.”
“There won’t
be, Mick. No more arrests, guaranteed, not for that. You can tell them all to come out of hiding.”
Mick laughed, relieved despite his near-certainty that Reynolds had been the victim of convenience. There was always the chance that the military had turned moralistic.
“Thought it’d be right, George. Better to check up, but.”
“Only way to get at him quickly, Mick. He was going to be six inches shorter before too long, and that would have been messy.”
“Yeah, can be habit-forming too. Tolai chop one bugger’s head off for good reason this year, they might try to solve their problems the same way next year as well, with less excuse.”
“Better to stop it before it starts, Mick. Time for a beer?”
They leaned on the bar together, quietly chatting.
“When’s your Mary coming up, George?”
“Not till the Wet sets in, Mick. Easier weather then for the little ones.”
“Yeah, fair enough. I’ll be going back to Lae, I reckon, within a couple of months. Winding up here – been good for a while but they’ll be sending accountants up one day, and coppers soon after. I’ll set the firm up again. Reckon there’ll be money in the Highlands – they’re moving up there fast, from all I hear. Talking of making contact with all the clans they just touched before the war. Millions of people up there. Might be gold mines as well.”
“Good things to avoid, gold mines, Mick. The old man was up here for twenty-five years, pretty much, and he bought dust and placer whenever he could. I’ve got it still in my desk back in Cairns. A bag about the size of two fists, I reckon. A bit short of a bonanza.”
“Still tempting, though, George. You never know…”
“You don’t, I’ll give you that. For a bloke in his twenties with no ties, just back from the war and had a gutful of everything and everybody, prospecting might make sense. Not for me.”
“And I ain’t in me twenties, by a long way, George. Bugger it, mate – not for me either. I’ll watch others get rich quick, or get dead even faster.”
A New Place Page 23