That Summer at Boomerang

by Phil Jarratt

  ‘Sir, we are all Hawaiians,’ snapped Francis, walking back out the door. ‘We will not be staying here, I would appreciate it if you would take us to another hotel,’ he told the men from the swimming club. Down the street they were given three rooms in a row on the first floor of the Leichhardt Hotel, sharing a balcony overlooking busy Morgan Street. ‘This will be fine, thank you,’ said Francis.

  The club man, Davis, hovered nervously. ‘Gentlemen, please accept our apologies. We did not expect …’

  Duke cut him off. ‘No apologies necessary, Mr Davis. Not the first time, won’t be the last.’

  The carnival, held on a 30-yard enclosure on a quiet reach of the Dee River in front of a capacity crowd of about 500, followed the usual handicapper’s pattern with George and Duke winning the sprints off scratch after hunting down the locals in the final yards. It was great entertainment for the spectators, but for champion swimmers, the handicap system was wearing a little thin, even if Francis felt it was good for the growth of the sport.

  Later, sitting on the hotel balcony while Francis rolled a smoke, Duke confided: ‘As wonderful as it’s been, Francis, I think I’m about ready for the next chapter of this adventure to begin.’

  The next morning they boarded yet another mail train and within 24≈hours were steaming back to Sydney on the Osterley.

  Manly was a sea of people as the Venetian Carnival brought the week-long Patriotic Fair to its climax.

  ‘Stay with me, girl,’ Claude cried to Isabel above the din. They zigzagged through the crowd on the Corso, already late to join their club mates on the Esplanade for the spectacular finale on the water. ‘Here,’ shouted Claude, pulling her onto the low, curving branch of a tree. The seat was not comfortable, but it offered a reasonable view out over the bay. Claude pulled her closer as the show began. Bands played, choirs sang, Indian squaws paddled canoes, French matelots rowed tenders. It made no sense at all, but Claude and Isabel loved every moment.

  Chapter 19

  Dee Why and Cronulla

  If Duke’s surfboard exhibitions at Freshwater and South Steyne in January had been somewhat spontaneous affairs relying on word-of-mouth to draw a crowd, the exhibition planned for the second annual Dee Why Surf Life Saving Club carnival was anything but.

  Bill Hill, on behalf of the Swimming Association, had been in negotiation with President Pritchard of the Dee Why club for more than a month, with the major stumbling block being Hill’s insistence on a 20-pound fee for Duke’s appearance, while Pritchard contended that since there had been no fee at Freshwater or South Steyne, there shouldn’t be one at Dee Why.

  ‘Good Lord, man,’ Hill had shouted at him over lunch at the Oxford. ‘Charge a shilling admission, advertise the bloody thing and you’ll make a handsome profit.’

  ‘I thought these blokes were amateurs. Why do they need to be paid?’

  ‘They won’t be paid. The Association covers all their travelling costs and we rather hope to see some of that money back. Take it or leave it, Pritchard.’

  ‘I’ll take it to my committee, Mr Hill. Good day to you, sir.’

  ‘You’ve got a week, Pritchard, or it goes to Manly or Bondi.’ Bill Hill was bluffing. He hadn’t talked to Bondi yet, and since the near debacle at South Steyne with too many board shooters trying to crowd in on Duke, and a recent nasty accident at Coogee in which a loose board had broken the leg of a 60-year-old woman, Manly Council was reluctant to play host. Besides, Dee Why was perfect, with a wide strip of sand and a grassy embankment for spectators. Their inaugural carnival in 1914 had drawn a big crowd; this one would do even better. Hill telephoned Charles Paterson, president of the Surf Bathers Association, and told him to apply some pressure on the Dee Why club.

  With the Dee Why committee deadlocked, the matter went to a general meeting on Thursday 21 January, where discussions became heated when some members contended that Tommy Walker was ready and able to demonstrate the use of the surfboard at no cost. Club members Moroney and Lock argued that while this may have been so, Kahanamoku would draw a large paying crowd that would more than cover the investment. After several hours and a lot of vitriol, Moroney and Lock won.

  On their return to Sydney in the early hours of Friday 5 February, the Hawaiians had disembarked the Osterley and immediately boarded the Manly ferry. Back at Boomerang in the early afternoon, Duke had walked to Foam Street to see Isabel, but his knock on the door had been met by Willie Letham. ‘She’s not here, lad,’ he told Duke. ‘Back to school this week, but she’ll be home for the weekend this evening.’ Seeing Duke’s disappointment he added, ‘It’s a bit early, but would you like a wee dram?’

  ‘Thank you, but no, sir. Perhaps a glass of water. I’d like to talk to you for a moment, Mr Letham, if you can spare the time.’

  The two men sat in the wicker chairs on the back porch, as they had done the last time they met. Willie sipped his whisky, and Duke sipped his water. ‘I think Mr McIntyre may have mentioned to you that Isabel has ridden on the board with me, and that she’s got real talent,’ Duke began.

  ‘McIntyre has mentioned this.’

  ‘We’re very much hoping that you might allow her to accompany me and the Freshwater Club members to Dee Why tomorrow to take part in an exhibition of surf shooting.’

  ‘Aye, he mentioned this also. I’ll be square with you, sir. I regard this pastime as dangerous and unbecoming a lady. But the girl has a mind of her own and she’s of an age to use it more freely than sometimes I would like. She gets it from her mother, you see. If I’m to have peace in my own home, it seems I can’t stand in her way. But I’m telling you, young man, I’m holding you personally responsible, should she fall in harm’s way.’

  ‘She won’t, Mr Letham. You have my word on that. Thank you, sir. I won’t bother her this evening. I’m sure we’ll all benefit from an early night, but would you kindly ask Isabel to meet me at the surf club at seven in the morning for a practice shoot?’

  Willie nodded and Duke made to leave.

  ‘Oh, Mr Letham, just one more thing. The Cronulla club is hosting us on Sunday for a picnic lunch and a surf-shooting exhibition in the afternoon. I know it’s a long way …’

  ‘Stop it right there, Mr Kahana —’

  ‘Paoa, please.’

  ‘Stop it, Paoa. She’s a schoolgirl, not yet sixteen. She’s not Miss Annette Kellerman in a pair of fancy tights!’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Letham, I didn’t mean —’

  ‘Good afternoon to you, sir.’

  ‘The appearance of Kahanamoku at the carnival at Dee Why Beach should prove very interesting,’ reported the Sydney Morning Herald. ‘It will be the first public appearance of the world’s champion on the surfboard, and, as he has no equal in the control and manipulation of the implement, the display he will give should prove an eye-opener.’

  Having decided to gamble their 20 pounds, the Dee Why club had worked hard to ensure a financial return, taking an advertisement in the Manly Daily and securing several favourable previews of the event in the Sydney Morning Herald and The Sun. In expectation of a huge crowd, despite the fact that there were three water-based carnivals in Sydney that afternoon, extra trams were scheduled on the Brookvale–Dee Why line and extra police patrols were called in.

  While the weather had not played entirely into their hands, club officials were pleased to see early breaks in the thick cloud cover, and the surf at Dee Why forming cleanly, although at a rather challenging size. At Freshwater, Duke had been surprised at the power of the waves breaking end to end across the low-tide sand banks when he and Isabel had attempted some training shoots early in the morning. Not wanting to put her at risk, Duke had resorted to catching the re-formed swells closer to the beach, where he had succeeded in performing three different lifts that now shaped their repertoire.

  Donald McIntyre had organised a fleet of automobiles to transport the Hawaiian party, th
e Freshwater committee men and distinguished guests such as Isabel and her mother, Cecil Healy, Bill Corbett and a couple of other press men, while Mr Lewers’s truck was used to carry the rest of the Freshwater competitors and Duke’s surfboards—his original and one of the new ones.

  The only person missing from the convoy was George Cunha, who was to carry the Hawaiian colours at the Ladies Association Carnival at the Domain Baths, racing against Albert Barry in a demonstration 100-yards handicap. George and Barry were then to be sped across the Harbour by motor launch to Lavender Bay to swim at a district carnival. ‘That’s some day,’ Duke had told George. ‘But if you get a chance, please give my regards to Mina and tell her I’ll contact her before we go to Melbourne.’

  By the time the Freshwater contingent arrived at Dee Why thousands of people were lining the shore, inside and outside the designated ‘shilling a head’ spectator area. The weather had improved but the surf had deteriorated, with a fresh onshore wind whipping up whitecaps beyond the break and the large swell churning clumps of seaweed into the waves. Duke noticed that seaweed was not the only matter drifting through the break. Something that looked suspiciously like a bloated dead fowl was rolling along the shoreline, and pieces of fruit and wood could be seen all over the shallows.

  ‘It’s a bloody disgrace,’ said Cecil Healy. ‘Charlie Paterson and the Surf Bathing Association lobbied the council and the health minister before the summer and got this ridiculous punting of garbage stopped, but they’re still doing it and every time you get a sea breeze with a decent swell, in it comes.’

  ‘What do you mean, Cec? People are dumping their trash off these beaches?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean, Paoa. And it’s not just people. It’s our damned government! They load up these punts with everything from drainage waste to household rubbish and God knows what else, and dump it a couple of miles out. The contract is supposed to be suspended while there’s an enquiry, but, well, see for yourself.’

  ‘We’ve swum in some dirty water in Europe, Cec. It sure wouldn’t be good if it got like that here. Maybe we should take a stand, tell them I’m not going out there and risking more ear infection, or even worse.’

  ‘And you’d be perfectly within your rights, my friend, but it would kill the Dee Why club. They’d have to refund all the money they’ve taken if you don’t go out. It’s a young club and they need help.’ Healy slapped Duke on the shoulder. ‘That’s why you’re going to paddle out there and dodge the corpses and the fruit boxes, and I’m going to write only good things about it.’

  The carnival began with a march-past of all the competing clubs (Isabel the proud lone female in Freshie colours) to the accompaniment of a brass band. While a few of the surf events had had to be cancelled for safety reasons, there was plenty happening in the surf and on the beach to keep the huge crowd amused (the cock fight and the tug of war were particularly popular), but there was no question that the vast majority had come to see the Hawaiian marvel walk on water. When a section of the crowd spied Duke placing his surfboard on the embankment in readiness, the chant began: ‘Duke! Duke! Duke!’

  Realising this could not be put off much longer, Duke sought out Isabel for some last-minute planning. Looking concerned, Jeannie Letham spoke first: ‘Surely it’s too rough, Paoa. She mustn’t go out there.’

  ‘Mother! Please!’

  ‘Your momma is only looking out for you, Isabel,’ Duke said. ‘But Mrs Letham, it’s not so bad. See that section of green water over there? Well, there’s a big riptide running out there and that will help me get out amongst the waves without getting smashed on the head. Then I’ll just move over into the area where the waves are breaking hard and pick one that runs off into the deep water. That’s what we do at Castle Surf when it’s higher than a building, so I can handle this.’

  He turned to Isabel. ‘I’m going to paddle out and shoot a few, then come back to shore and pick you up. If I don’t come back in to get you, that’s because it’s more difficult than I think it is, and we just won’t do a double-shoot today. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  A mighty cheer went up as the big Hawaiian shouldered his heavy wooden ‘Christmas present’ board (this was not the kind of surf to be trying an unfamiliar board) and walked to the water’s edge. He waited for a minute or two until the heavy waves dumping on the shore had receded, then jumped onto his board and paddled hard up the beach towards the rip that he knew would carry him into the break. When he finally stopped paddling and sat up on the board, the crowd, the tents and towers on the beach seemed very far away. Watching from the sand, some spectators expressed real fear that he would never make it all the way back in.

  A huge, thick and windswept wall of water approached. Duke measured it up with his eye and paddled quickly parallel to it until he reached a position from which he thought he could shoot it to the green water. The wave was almost on top of him now, but at the last second Duke twisted his board shoreward, stroked once with his big hands and shoulders, and stood quickly as the board shot forward, cascading down the face of the breaking wave. When he reached the bottom it seemed to everyone on the shore that the heaving wave would now engulf him, but he lifted his rear foot from the deck of the board and planted it like a rudder into the face of the wave, causing the board to change direction sharply and corner across it, heading towards the green of the rip. Duke casually walked forward until the contours of the board sat flat on the water, folded his arms and arched slightly as the board increased speed and flew towards the calmer waters.

  Francis Evans and Donald McIntyre, Freshwater, 1915. Photo courtesy Warringah Library Local Studies.

  After several of these death-defying shoots, Duke changed direction on a smaller shoot and allowed the bubbling white water to push him shoreward. As the wave re-formed closer to shore he dropped to his knees and rolled into a headstand, holding it to the beach, and with the applause still ringing in his ears, ran up the sand to Isabel. ‘Are you ready, girl?’

  Years later Isabel recalled:

  It was just a watery hell … a black north-easter blowing, everything was black. And the weed was so terrible that you couldn’t see the water. There was a very dangerous channel running out and we went to the water’s edge and finally got way out away from the breakers where there were these enormous green swells. Out there the kelp had these very big stalks and every time one brushed me I thought it was a shark nudging me … we caught this enormous wave in, the biggest thing I’d ever seen in my life … You can imagine the force of it, with the channel running out so quickly and the waves pouring in. It’s a bit unusual to ride a wave right up onto the beach, but there was so much water moving around that’s what we did. I thought I’d never see terra firma again, but here we were, back on terra firma, so I thought I’d better throw a party!

  Desperately seeking superlatives to describe Duke’s performance, Cecil Healy referenced the most famous tight-rope walker of the nineteenth century, Jean François Gravelet, known as ‘Blondin’, with his Referee headline, ‘Dexterity and Skill Win the Title “Blondin of the Surf”’:

  On sighting a likely-looking wave, he commenced to paddle vigorously, still lying prone as before. After a few ineffectual attempts he succeeded in catching one properly. Instantly the board seemed to leap forward like a fiery steed when the spurs are driven into the rowels. Immediately afterward the Duke rose upright, and assumed the attitude of ancient chariot drivers. And no sooner had he done so than he appeared to exercise some subtle influence over the madly careering craft: in fact just as if he had taken reins in hand. He altered its direction so as to steer a course diagonal to the beach. Although the prow pranced and bounded over the crest of the onrushing billow, the Duke stood like an ebony statue, immovable save for the deft movements of his feet, and remained so until within a few yards of the shore, when he leisurely dropped off. It was a thrilling sight to watch, and such balancing skill an
d dexterity entitles him to the designation of a surfing Blondin.

  Strangely, considering that he knew her quite well, Healy was somewhat dismissive of Isabel’s role in the performance, choosing not to name her.

  A young lady acquaintance then emerged and accompanied the Duke seawards. It occurred to me at once if the Duke found it difficult to get going by himself with the not-by-any-means good waves at his disposal, obviously his chances of doing so would be greatly minimised when hindered by a novice. Such proved to be the case. A considerable time elapsed before he managed to get a move on with his partner. It must be admitted, however, that the dual shoot, when it did come off, was the more sensational spectacle of the two while it lasted. It served to show more conspicuously the Duke’s wonderful facility for maintaining his equilibrium under these exacting conditions, as although his passenger was toppling backwards over the latter part of their journey, the extra burden failed to dislodge him until they had negotiated about three-parts of the distance he covered when alone. But the question arises whether the onlookers, many who had come from distant suburbs, would not have been better pleased to have been treated to a greater number of performances like the first, rather than have to submit to the wearying wait that occurred before the Duke found it possible to bring off the more difficult stunt.

  Isabel’s ‘party’ seemed doomed from the start. Not only was the Freshwater team required to stay on after the carnival for a further band recital, the proposing of toasts (with tumblers of lemonade) and an ‘al fresco’ tea (sandwiches and roast spuds), but Duke, Francis Evans and Don McIntyre had to catch the late ferry into the city in order to take the early train to Sutherland in the morning.