Papua-New Guinea 1950s

I read again the frequently-appearing advert in our local newspaper:

I applied, and was interviewed by six government officials. Some questions were asked, including when could I depart.

“I must give one week’s notice,” I replied.

I was told I would need to have a medical, then was accepted the same day.

The medical was a joke. The doctor whispered in my ear and asked if I could hear him.

I said, “Yes.”

I was poked in the ribs and tapped on the chest. The doctor then said, “You’ve passed.”

It must have been a lucrative business for the doctor as he had many applicants.

In no time at all, I was on my way to a tropical paradise. The arrival in Port Moresby was thrilling. I looked out of the plane window at all the swaying palm trees. But the airport was just a tin shed.

Getting out of the plane, I was hit by a wall of heat like a furnace, added to which the humidity was breath-takingly high.

I was taken into town by a leftover wartime American Jeep. This was a journey of four miles (5.5km). This trip turned out to be a surprise because all the way in I observed the black population walking along the road. All the girls were bare-breasted and wore grass skirts and nothing more. In those days, everyone waved to us as we sped along.

Soon, I was deposited outside my waterproof-paper-walled bungalow, with lots of fly-screens for windows. The roofs were made of corrugated iron. There were two men to a bungalow. Best of all, the view was outstanding since all the bungalows were built on a very steep hill overlooking the deep blue and green sea. There was a narrow veranda, in front of which stood a slender papaya tree with real paw-paws dangling from it.

Papuan servants were employed to collect our soiled clothes and wash and iron them. Every morning before I awoke, a Papuan would collect these clothes, wash and iron them and they would be back on my chair before I was awake.

These Papuans were skilled at ironing and seemed to delight in achieving straight creases in shorts and shirts. They were very happy people and never seemed to stop laughing. By ten o’clock in the morning, their work was finished for the day. Then they simply slept.

The Papuans were recruited from faraway villages by men who travelled for many months in the jungle. They never stayed more than two years in a paid job. Their ambition was to buy a banjo and a wind-up record player with vinyl records. These records were always of cowboy songs, like Gene Autry. The other prized possession was an axe.

Once they had acquired these items, back to the village they went, perfectly content. Women seemed to carry out all the work, tilling the banana plantations and other crops, whilst the men lay on their backs and yarned and slept. When talking to them, I discovered they thought Europeans were stupid to work all the time.

Papuans were fortunate in that there were not many of them and plenty of arable land, plus abundant fishing from the sea. When they were employed, mostly on road works and bridge construction, they had a white ganger in control. Under no circumstances could they be induced to work for long hours. Every so often, they all sat down on the road and chatted and laughed for 30 minutes or more. This was accepted by the gangers and was tolerated by everyone.

My duties at work consisted of going out in a Jeep for the first two hours and counting all the Papuans in these various gangs scattered around town and sort of timekeeping their activities. Afterwards, I went back to the office and completed various paperwork, and worked on budgets.

It was a fun place to work.

Every afternoon, the receptionist announced, “The time is 4.21 p.m. and it’s time to finish work.”

So everyone rushed out and went home for a shower. There was only cold water but, as the water was warmed by the sun, it was hot anyway. Everyone then headed for a club and sat around yarning and drinking ice cold beer.

Dinner was served from 6 p.m. until 7 p.m. The rest of our time we did whatever we wanted. Many men became alcoholics during their service in New Guinea.

I saved my money for travelling later.

We had an open-air cinema which played movies three times per week. The seating was deckchairs, and this was my first experience of seeing a movie and the stars at the same time. It was very romantic really.

In Port Moresby then, there were two shops which sold everything imaginable, two hotels and one milk bar. That was it.

The few white girls had a ball, and were seen going out to parties and dances every night of the week. Every girl received dozens of invitations to go out by eager white men. All of these girls ended up getting married by the end of their first 21-month term, many marrying engineers, scientists, chemists and so forth.

On weekends, I sometimes went sailing in Papuan style catamarans that were fashioned out of burnt-out tree trunks. The Papuans knew how to handle these craft and we raced along, powered by the wind. It was jolly good enjoyment. I saw many beautiful colored tropical fish right alongside the craft - even sharks at times.

Some nights, one of the gangers who spent all his time in the club could be heard roaring out, “I am ready to go home.”

Outside the club was kept his special cane armchair. Immediately, four Papuans waited whilst he sat down in the chair and then they lifted him up in the air, one to each leg, and carried him to his bed in the bungalow. All the way down the hill he still could be heard singing.

A terrible problem existed with guys who married the local Papuans. Many white men thought it was great marrying a local chocolate-colored girl who wore only a grass skirt. But little did they suspect the consequences that applied later. No sooner had the guy married and settled in his house, when all the local relatives arrived, dozens and dozens of them. All seeking a hand-out from the white guy. “Rich white man share money!”

The Papuan culture is one of sharing everything. It works well, because nobody has anything! Except food. Papuan girls had a bride price, which was usually pigs. This is because pigs were very valuable and much sought after. Indeed, in those days, I have seen young married girls feeding baby piglets at the breast. A female’s breast milk makes for very fat pigs, and thus makes the pigs more valuable.

What a shock all this was to the white guys who married these girls. They could never prosper and accumulate any wealth, since all their money vanished into the village. The Government authorities in those days made all these white guys provide a bond of $1,000 before they could leave New Guinea and travel to Australia. The powers that be did not want these Papuan girls with half-caste children being left behind with no money. This $1,000 was a lot of money in those days. Invariably, all the white men were stuck in New Guinea forever.

Me? I reckon this was one of the best times in my entire life. There were some real crazy characters living there, and from every corner of the globe too. We were classed as living on the edge of the frontier.

During those days, far inland, there were still head-hunters living there.


- Nomad

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