A Place Called Home (Cannibal Country Trilogy, Book 2)

by Andrew Wareham

  He expressed his thanks and his sense of honour, every aitch in place and none superfluous, rather to his pride.

  The military supplied a motor vehicle and they reached Vunatobung in mid-afternoon to discover that the labourers and local villagers had been primed to cheer them in as they were officially Big Men now.

  Nearly two months away, for passage by sea was slow, had made very little difference to the plantation, except that prices for copra had dropped noticeably.

  That was inevitable and the cocoa would make up for it within a year or two, hopefully. Ned decided to push ahead with the building of the fermentery so that all would be ready when the cocoa first podded.

  He made his calls in Rabaul first, to be brought up to date with all that was happening, Administration office first of all.

  “Would you care to take a position as a District Officer, Mr Hawkins, a kiap, I believe them to be called for some strange reason?”

  “Thank you, but no, sir. I have too many other responsibilities already, some of which might conflict with a District Officer’s duty. A kiap is a busy man, sir – needing to patrol as well as run his office – no time for anything else, including a family.”

  Ned had seen the demands put upon the Resident Magistrates over on the Papuan side, knew that the District Officers were the same officials under a different name.

  The Governor’s Secretary noted Ned’s response.

  “Single men only, you would say, Mr Hawkins?”

  “Definitely, sir”

  “Young men up from Australia, I presume.”

  “There must be some thousands of officers recently demobbed, sir. Infantrymen who saw action in the trenches would be best, from all I hear. Young lieutenants and captains, promoted from the ranks if possible, sir – you know their quality for sure.”

  The Secretary was not at all certain that that was a wise measure – it would surely be better to recruit men of the proper background and education.

  “Chinless wonders with a pansy accent, sir? Staff officers, no doubt!”

  The Secretary was offended, turned the discussion to safer fields.

  “The Committee has made its report, Mr Hawkins and has awarded the confiscated plantations to veterans, as is only appropriate. The price will be two pounds per acre, to be paid at two shillings per annum, interest-free, except in certain circumstances.”

  Two pounds an acre was cheap in itself; Ned wondered what the ‘circumstances’ might be.

  “The existing land grants are of differing sizes, of course, Mr Hawkins, so it has been decided to redraw their boundaries to make them a square mile, six hundred and forty acres each. Inevitably, this means that some of the new units will have no house or yard on them. Such plantations will be awarded at no cost at all, the new owner to build necessary facilities on them; they must be fully operational within one year, twelve calendar months, of acceptance.”

  That sounded sensible enough – it would probably be better to have twenty plantations rather than the existing ten or eleven German places.

  “If you wish to accept the offer, Mr Hawkins, you have been awarded the new section at Tomorang, which has no improvements at all upon it, but whose boundaries fall just two miles from yours at Vunatobung.”

  “Yard, drier, labour line, assistant manager’s place; maybe their own stables. Yes, sir, I can do that, will be very pleased to. When can I move in?”

  “The surveyor will bring his team in next week, Mr Hawkins. As soon as the boundary posts are marked up the plantation will be yours.”

  “Freehold, sir?”

  “Of course, Mr Hawkins – the German Administration alienated the land in perpetuity. The previous owners have no claim at all.”

  The whiteskins might believe that, Ned reflected, but he was not at all certain that the Tolai would. That was a matter for the future, but it would arise, could be the cause of bloodshed, but not for a generation or two, hopefully.

  “Please convey my gratitude to the appropriate quarters, sir.”

  “A man with your record of service, Mr Hawkins, has no need to speak of gratitude!”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Ned made his way downhill from the offices to the premises of the New Guinea Club, recently set up for the benefit of the new expatriate influx. The Club had a kitchen equipped with refrigerators and a freezer, an innovation in the Islands. For a week after each boat came in it was possible to eat a steak or mutton chops there – luxury indeed.

  Ned sat and chewed reflectively, enjoying the flavour of the meat, if not its texture.

  The Secretary could not have expected him to take a job as a kiap, must have known that he could not take on a second plantation if he did. So why?

  Long thought suggested that he wanted Ned to propose recruitment from the Australian veteran population, and that he wanted experienced infantry officers, men from the trenches. For some reason he could not put his own name to the proposition… Because he wanted hard men, not privileged boys from the proper background, perhaps?

  Ned decided he had been used, manoeuvred into saying the words the Secretary wanted to hear. In exchange, he had Tomorang, effectively for free.

  “Fair swap, mate!”

  He put his hat on and strolled the few yards down Malaguna Avenue to the bank building, almost empty of an afternoon because few people walked out in the hot sun of the Dry Season. He asked the single cashier if it would be possible to make an appointment to see the manager.

  The cashier called to a clerk from the rear, whispered to him and sent him scurrying out of sight. Two minutes later the heavy door at the side of the small bank concourse opened and Ned was invited inside.

  Mr Armitage, the manager sat Ned down, called for tea, explained that he happened to have no other client due that afternoon and so was very happy to accommodate Ned.

  “I am to take ownership of a square mile of German land at Tomorang, Mr Armitage. I need to build a yard with the facilities of a plantation. One of my people from along the coast will move in as my assistant there.”

  “Freehold, Mr Hawkins?”

  “So I am told, sir.”

  “Then a loan of three years, initially, against the land, will be very easy to arrange, Mr Hawkins. You will wish to pay for your labour for the first year, for a few buildings, some stock… I imagine that you do not have detailed proposals yet, Mr Hawkins, if you were only informed of the grant this morning. If you will bring your costed submission to me as soon as you are ready, then I will go ahead with the financing, sir.”

  Ned was a little surprised – it was all very easy, too simple perhaps.

  Armitage smiled deprecatingly, said that the Secretary had discussed the new plantations with him and had asked him to treat the young families with a degree of generosity – the Territory needed the people and the income they would produce.

  “I shall plant cocoa in the shade, Mr Armitage. I presume that Steamships and Burns Philp will both wish to act as factors, but I would rather like to put some of my business through the Chinese merchants. They have a commitment to the Territory, will still be here if times turn bad.”

  As Ned knew, none of the Chinese merchants had accounts with the Australian bank; they had not asked to use the bank’s services and no attempt had been made to attract them.

  “I suspect I would have to take advice from Australia and from the Governor’s office before I did business with the Chinese community, Mr Hawkins. Bank accounts for foreigners are a difficult area, you know, sir.”

  “Some of Mr Tse’s children were born here, I know, and other families are in the same position. I do not know what nationality they might have.”

  “The wrong one, sir, as far as many Australians are concerned!”

  “That accepted, Mr Armitage, there is a lot of money there, and it has nowhere to go. Under the Germans it was easy enough to transfer to relatives in Tsingtao, but the Japanese are there now and the Chinese will be no more than slaves, they tell me. I believe th
at some of their relatives have managed to get into Hong Kong and a few to Singapore, but most of the surviving and free family is here.”

  “They are in fact forced to stay here, Mr Hawkins – they have no other safe haven.”

  “That is how I see it, sir. Their savings must go into Australian banks, or be kept under the mattress, I think.”

  “A few thousands of pounds that could be put to work, you suggest.”

  “No, sir – several tens of thousands of pounds. There has been a trade in trepang and in pearls for centuries in these waters, and in gold dust. Much of the money went back to mainland China, but some stayed here as soon as part of the family settled and opened trade stores. Talking with Mr Tse, who has been my main contact with the community, I understand there was a rising of some sort at about the time of the Boer War – the Harmonious Fist?”

  “I suspect that was the affair known to us as the ‘Boxer Rebellion’. The date is right.”

  “Whichever, Mr Armitage – it rang alarm bells in the Chinese trading communities and those who survived the chaos and confusion sent money out of China, and stopped returning funds to the mainland. For more than fifteen years now they have been keeping their cash here and in other locations overseas. Where they could, of course, they invested their funds. Here they have not been able to do so.”

  Armitage shook his head – he wanted to increase the deposits in his branch, to build his business so that he could be promoted to a senior position in Australia. There was a shortage of experienced but still young managers because of the massive casualties of the War and two successful years in Rabaul would make him for life. But bank accounts were the exclusive domain of the respectable business community and the white middle classes – Chinese were not expected to be more than coolies and had no right to be rich enough to use a bank.

  “I must take advice, Mr Hawkins – I would not wish to run counter to Administration or government policy.”

  Ned returned to the bank in the following week, laid out his plan for Tomorang and explained his intention to register it as a separate company in its own name, not to make it part of either Vunatobung or his Oil Products Company.

  “Wiser to keep all in different compartments, Mr Armitage, so that a failure of any one does not cripple the others.”

  Armitage could see the logic, was quite happy to advance a few thousands against the land of Tomorang.

  “I have spoken to the Secretary, Mr Hawkins, and he has made it clear that Australia is and will remain a white country. The most I can do is to provide facilities for the telegraphic transfer of funds between Rabaul and Hong Kong or Singapore. Bank accounts for non-citizens of the wrong sort are not permissible.”

  “That is a pity, I think, sir. I am much more inclined to be friendly to Chinese money.”

  “You might consider trusteeship, Mr Hawkins. Funds placed in your hands to be invested might well be set on deposit here; I could arrange for some or all of such a friendly society’s monies to be put to work in the Australian market.”

  Ned listened as Armitage detailed his proposal and explained how it might be set up. He spent the afternoon in Mr Tse’s company.

  They conferred with lawyers in Hong Kong and Brisbane, slowly by post, and after nearly six months formed an Investment Club, Mr Ned Hawkins to be Treasurer, Secretary and President, generously giving of his time. A Rabaul based accountant, a very new arrival, was appointed Auditor and Mr Armitage and the Governor’s Secretary were given Trustee status, all as nearly watertight as could be.

  A deposit of just over forty thousand pounds was made, to Armitage’s horror – it took him four days to count it and agree a total as pounds sterling made up a very small proportion of the investment. There were silver Maria Theresas and gold Marks and American Double-Eagles and a thousand of Imperial Roubles; the paper included every currency floating in the Far East; there were bags of gold dust as well, and these needed to be assayed before they could be valued. A small amount of gold surfaced in Rabaul at intervals, mostly brought ashore from small island boats with no explanation of what or where, so that there was an assay office in the town.

  The Post-War Depression was ending in Australia and prices were starting to pick up; investment opportunities were manifold and a massive deposit was very welcome to the bank and its Australian managers. A folder was opened in Brisbane and the name of Edward Hawkins was recorded as a very serious businessman indeed.

  A Place Called Home

  Chapter Two

  The price of copra continued to fall, but cocoa offered a future – people wanted their chocolate and the volcanic fertility of the Gazelle produced a good quality product.

  Ned busied himself at Tomorang, building a fermentery for both plantations and planting cocoa seedlings under the shade of the coconuts, and trying to read up on the cultivation of the new crop. Learning from books was hard, but he had no choice other than to do so – there was no authority to ask. He had enquired at the Parkinson plantations but they were slowly going downhill; the old naturalist was dead and his wife, Queen Emma’s sister Phoebe, was no expert in the trade. There were various sons and daughters occupying their own places, and all of them worried about their nationality and chance of remaining in ownership.

  Phoebe explained that she was the daughter of an American, the consul in Samoa, and might therefore have that nationality by birth; her mother was Samoan. Her husband had been a Dane in German service and was possibly a bastard of the Danish royal family it was hinted, but he had also sent collections to the British Museum and had been well-regarded in London. Their children had mostly been born on other Pacific islands, during her husband’s wanderings as an explorer and naturalist, and the exact question of their nationality was still being discussed. Ned assured her that he would make a report to the effect that she had been wholly loyal to Britain during the war, producing copra to aid the war effort.

  Ned had thought that Parkinson himself had been present during part of the war, but Phoebe told him he had died on his travels some years beforehand, but a man friend had taken his place for quite a little time.

  He made no further enquiry.

  The army had thinned out the garrison in Rabaul soon after the war had ended and then reduced it to the merest token two years later. Authority was placed wholly in the hands of the Constabulary and of the kiaps, very few in number and limited in experience.

  Ned was called into the Administration offices in Rabaul and was asked, begged almost, to dig out his old uniform and become a Reservist in the Police Force again. He could remain as a Chief Inspector and would be paid a retainer and the full rate for every day on duty.

  "Thing is, Mr Hawkins, that the money is just not here to pay for the police force we need. The policy is that the Territory is to be self-financing, to pay for itself from its own taxes, but there is almost nothing coming in. We can't put import duties on foodstuffs coming in - the missions would go straight to the top in Canberra if we did. We have got a tax on exports, but the price of copra is so low it produces almost nothing. If we impose a head tax on the natives then they have to have money to pay it and most of them earn nothing at all in cash, and we can't take from them in food from their gardens. We could impose an Income Tax, on every wage earner, and on profits, but we would have to have an Inland Revenue Department for that and we haven't got the money to pay them for the first year or two while they got it running."

  "So it's hand to mouth until the government changes?"

  "Nothing will change then, we think, Mr Hawkins. The Territory is seen as an expense to Canberra, they don't want it. Australia is a Dominion of the British Empire, self-governing but still a colony in some ways. How can a colony have a colony of its own? Canberra believes that the cost of the Territory should be borne by London - it's part of their bloody Empire! The Poms say they can't pay for it and it was an Australian expedition that conquered the place in 1914, so it's not their responsibility."

  "So make it an independent co
untry, ruling itself."

  "They can't do that; every other colony would want the same."

  "Tax the missionaries, a quid a head a year for each convert. They reckon they've got 'em down on their knees by the million and they screw enough out of 'em."

  "Can't tax missions, Mr Hawkins. The politicians won't allow it, and the Irish in Australia are strong in the government."

  In the end Ned agreed to put on a uniform again - if only because it gave him a degree of authority in the Kokopo area again. He was liked and respected in the local villages, but wearing blue occasionally would serve as a reminder that he was to be treated with caution.

  The Administration was rapidly coming into contempt, because it did nothing. No new roads were being built; there were no government schools; the sole hospital was at the Vunapope mission; there was no benefit to the local population in the Australian presence. The Germans had been harsh masters, but they had employed Tolais on road gangs and as askaris, armed soldiers; the Australians offered almost no wage-paying jobs at all. The labourers on the plantations were outsiders, mostly because the Tolai refused to do the work, regarding it as low in status, fit only for lesser men from the monkey clans.

  A few Tolai found paid work with the big firms, Steamships and Burns Philp, using their mission education to become shop assistants mostly, but the great majority sat in their villages, did a little fishing, cut firewood and cleared new garden land and spent a lot of leisure time complaining to each other. It was a recipe for discontent.

  Before the whiteskins had come the Tolai men had spent some part of most years in desultory warfare with the clans on their borders, pushing out into the Bainings Mountains, but that amusement was denied them now, and they had little that was useful to do. Many of them had watched the Australian soldiers during the War and had observed their ingenious attempts to brew alcohol; they copied them with a high degree of efficiency and drunkenness became a problem in the villages. The missionaries said very little about alcohol, many of them being habitual drunks themselves, and there was little other control left in the villages. In past times the elders of the clan would have taken vigorous and violent action against breakers of the peace, often eating habitual offenders, but that was discouraged nowadays and no system had taken its place.