A New Place

by Andrew Wareham

  “Kerosene fridge, Mick? Can you lay your hands on rice and bully beef or mackerel?”

  “Food’s tight, George. The Yanks are giving it out to the villages and making sure it gets to the right hands. Doing a good job of it, too. Anything in the way of food for the plantations will have to come up legit, George.”

  “Good thing too, Mick. Steamships are sending up a load for me. Don’t know when it will get here.”

  “I’ll see to it across the wharf when it comes, George. You right for cash?”

  “Loaded, mate. The Old Man left me a bit and I’ve turned that into a fair whack more since I took the bullet in me back and had to be a civvy again”

  “Good on yer. I heard you’d copped a packet, George. Your shoulder’s a bit droopy and the arm don’t swing right when you walk. Wouldn’t know otherwise.”

  “It ain’t much as wounds go, Mick. Enough to be a bloody nuisance when I want to lift something down from a high shelf; don’t make much difference apart from that.”

  “Right mate. What comes next?”

  “Timber from Vunapope and rebuild the house. How you off for fibro-board and tin roofing? I reckon I’ll have to make the stilts from timber – not much in the way of iron locally, I would reckon.”

  “I’ve got a dozen men set up as a salvage crew, George. All of them worked on the building before they joined up. Be amazed what we’ve got tucked away, mate. I’ll send up anything I can find, mate.”

  A week and there was a timber deck on ten feet high steel stilts and a dozen carpenters and labourers erecting the framework of a house half as big again as the original. George was busy planning the new yard, taking advantage of the opportunity to start anew to create a more efficient layout. He had visited the second plantation, Tomorang, and had found new labourers and a bossboy to set it back into production.

  There were too few hours in the day for all he needed to do, just for the while. He suspected that within the year he would have the plantations back into working order, and then would find himself with half of every day to be filled. His father, Ned, had been a man of his hands, had enjoyed spending hours in the workshops and garage, fixing and building anew every machine and truck on the place. George lacked almost all of those skills; he would pass the word round the soldiers in the garrison and make the offer to bring a mechanic back after demob. It left him with the need to find more to do.

  He drove back to Kokopo each evening, eating in the mess – ‘dining’ might have been an overstatement for the degree of formality that held there. A couple of beers afterwards and a lot of talk with the floating population passing through.

  It seemed to George that the interesting people on the Gazelle all drifted out to Kokopo, the stuffed shirts remaining in Rabaul where the generals, Australian and American, and a single naval commodore hung out. No doubt the men in Rabaul would achieve their promotions, but the company twenty-five miles away in Kokopo was far more entertaining.

  The inspector of police, John Wilkins, was an old hand, about thirty years of age, who had marched his coppers out of Kokopo ahead of the Japanese and had spent the bulk of the previous three years as a Coast Watcher, sending his radio reports of Japanese air and sea movements into Port Moresby. He showed signs of the strain still, an eye twitching and unable to keep still for more than a minute at a time. He had not taken a leave yet, thought that he really should go back to Brisbane to see his parents soon.

  “You’ll keep an eye out for my lads, George? Took two dozen out with me and brought fifteen back, which was better than I ever hoped for. They’re in the station, back in the job. You know, George, I’ve had to argue with these bloody ANGAU people for their pay! Bastards say they weren’t in uniform at their place of duty, so they can’t have been doing their police work! They’ve agreed, more or less, to pay them now, but we ain’t seen the money yet.”

  “Bloody Administration, John! I’ll get word back to Cairns and see about getting it into the papers. Make a public fuss and they might choose to act like human beings, for a change.”

  George saw no need to mention that Mr Tse had bought into one of the Queensland newspapers and was able to ensure that items of interest could be published, or more commonly suppressed. He assured John that he could make ANGAU’s actions public without mentioning his name.

  “You know the thing, mate. ‘Loyal native police officers who risked their lives for us are now being dumped by the Administration. Many constables died fighting the Japanese to protect their Coast Watcher officers and the survivors are now being refused their wages because they did not sign the pay ledger in their stations.’”

  “That should do it, George. That’ll put a rocket up their arses.”

  “Something needs to, John. Are you back on duty now?”

  “Setting up, George. I’ve got a sergeant-major and three sergeants now and they will run the place for me while I’m away. Mick will look after them.”

  “Good man, Mick. I was his junior partner in Lae before the war. Learned a lot from him.”

  “Not too much, I hope, George.”

  “Ah, you know how it goes, John. ‘Rules are for the guidance of wise men and the obedience fools’, mate. Don’t break them without thinking first, I suppose.”

  John was a policeman, a copper. He could not publicly agree with George, or privately think him wrong. He changed the topic.

  “Have you heard when the Army is likely to pull out, George?”

  “No idea, mate. They’re only guessing for the while. Depends on demob, I reckon. If the Army stays big, they’ll have to keep a good number overseas for lack of barracks to put them in back in Australia. As soon as they’ve got them back into civvies, they’ll be able to pull out of the Territory, and save money. The pollies will work out that they’ve got to keep taxes high to pay the soldiers and so they’ll cut their numbers as quick as they can. I was told that there’s some worry that America and Russia will be going to war – so the blokes in Europe and the Middle East will be staying there the while. Don’t know the truth of it. Don’t care much. Won’t be seeing any Russians on the Gazelle, I reckon.”

  “Yeah. Likely enough, George. Got your name on the darts board, mate?”

  There was a hard-fought competition running, teams of four and individuals, the prizes to be bottles of Scotch whisky, which was in very short supply.

  “Not me, John. I’d just be a handicap to a team. Can’t throw with me right arm no more and haven’t learned with the left.”

  “Forgot that, mate. Copped a bullet on the Kokoda Track, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Got careless, John.”

  “Happens, George.”

  George drove in one evening, glanced at the board at the door, scanning the new names and seeing who had been crossed off. There was a permanent trickle of men in and out, posted or demobbed or off on leave.

  Mick came in at the same time.

  “Bloody hell! Captain Piggott and Lieutenant Killigrew. Big night at the bar, Mick.”

  “Know ‘em, do you, George?”

  “Blue Piggott was Militia with me in Lae, and then number two on the Kokoda Track.”

  “Trail now, mate. Officially.”

  “Bloody Yanks again!”

  “Killigrew was a corporal there, good bloke. Big as Blue. The pair together will take up half the bar.”

  The bar was a good fifty feet long.

  “Hoy, George! Long time, mate!”

  The evening started early.

  “What have you got in mind for after demob, Blue?”

  “Nothing yet, George. Me and Killy are both at a loose end, you might say. That’s why we worked a flight out here. We’re both posted to Moresby and been put on demob leave and got no place to go Down South, or no place we can risk going back to, you might say. Came up to see if there’s anything going on the Gazelle. Go across to Kavieng next week if there ain’t.”

  “Plantation manager at Tomorang, my second place. I’ll be getting Oil Products runnin
g again as soon as possible. I’ll pull a chemical engineer up from Brisbane for the start up and then put it in the hands of a bloke who can work in the Territory. Both jobs will pay well and have a cut of the profits. Failing that, the hotel will be rebuilt, but that will take a year or two… Either of you any good as a mechanic? On trucks, especially?”

  Killigrew said that he had worked an apprenticeship on commercial vehicles, down in Sydney.

  “I’ll need a man on the plantations and at Oil Products. Be setting up a service station as soon as things get going again. I’ll be putting on Tolai youngsters to learn. Take the job, you teach them.”

  “Do me, George.”

  “Fair enough. Normal terms – pay the same as Steamies and BPs and I supply good housing and your own vehicle and three months paid leave every three years with tickets. What about you, Blue?”

  “Take on Oil Products for you, George? Plantation management leaves too much time free – be bad for me. End up on the piss and with a couple of local women and a dozen piccaninnies, mate. More to do in town. Chance of setting up me own business one day, as well.”

  “Makes sense, Blue. Pass the word round that I’m looking for a plantation manager. Seen anything of Pat Muldoon lately? He’d be a good man for that job.”

  “Snuffed it, George, couple of years back. Working with a patrol on recce and walked into a Jap bunker.”

  “Pity. Good bloke. Anyone else you know of, Blue?”

  “Percy’s still about. He’ll be looking for a job. I’ve got to report back to Moresby for demob, probably be able to see him then.”

  Killigrew thought he might be able to talk to a couple of good men from the Militia.

  “Ask about, will you, mate? Sooner we can get the men in, the better. If we can get everything up and running before ANGAU manages to poke their noses in, we’ve got a chance of doing the job right.”

  That made simple sense, Blue thought; the public servants would make a cock of anything they got their hands on.

  “Offices and paper, George, that’s all they know. They’ve never worked in their lives and don’t know how to. They want a truck repaired – easy – fill out the proper form and send it to the right office to be filed. Then a month later if the truck’s still not running, they’ll want to know why – they did everything necessary.”

  “Yeah, if it ain’t on paper, it don’t exist, mate. Ask Mick about it. He’s got a hundred bloody trucks that don’t exist because he’s never written them down.”

  They laughed and had another beer.

  Three weeks and Blue and Killigrew were officially civilian again and came back to Kokopo to start work. George handed everything over to them and put two thousand pounds in notes into their hands.

  “Needs be cash at the moment. No banking facilities yet. I’ll bring more back when I come up again. I’m going back to Cairns until the missus has had the sprog. I wasn’t there for the first but I can make it for this one. Send a list down of anything we need to come up. Talk with Mick, obviously, work it out with him. Keep an eye on the house, finish it off properly. Get the cocoa going first, copra if there’s time. If you come up with a useful idea, go for it. I’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen in Cairns. Might do some good. If Fred Higgins turns up, give him a hand – he’ll be on our side. Same with Lowry – the bloke who was a brigadier; he might be useful.”

  “Good bloke, that one, George. Made major-general and kept up at the sharp end more often than not. Knew what he was doing. Likely to stay on in the Army, if he can. Good chance of making it to the top. Of course, he’s just as likely to get thrown out for knowing what he’s doing and showing up the jolly good chaps.”

  George could accept that to be likely.

  “What happened to that lieutenant of his, Merrett, was it?”

  “Made it to major, in quick time. Died of bush typhus about six months ago. Pity. He was a good bloke.”

  “Kunai ticks got him, poor bugger. Bad luck.”

  “Yeah. He had the makings. Tough shit, mate.” Blue turned the conversation to more important things – the dead were part of the past. “What do I do about title to the land for Oil Products, George?”

  “Nothing, Blue. Go down there and start work on the site. Put up a fence and stick a signboard at the gate and have a couple of local men stand as guards. Make sure they don’t speak English. Any bugger from ANGAU tries to come in, don’t let ‘em unless they can speak to the guards. If they get in, then Oil Products is an Australian limited liability company, registered in Brisbane in 1917; all shares are held by the Hawkins family. It was all done in late ’18, early ’19, in fact, the dates made good by the Army at the time; the Old Man said it was all watertight. The landholding is in the company’s name and is separately recorded in Brisbane. The holding was alienated by the Germans and passed directly from them to Oil Products; it is not and never has been Crown Land. Any questions should be posed to the company’s lawyers in Brisbane.”

  “Do we know exactly how big the site is, George?”

  “Yeah, it takes up all the land inside the fence you’ve put up.”

  “Right, mate. What do I do if the locals say it’s their land?”

  “They won’t. There ain’t any locals – the Germans hanged the men for objecting to losing the land, back before the First War. The local village was burned and the surviving women and children were driven out. There are no landholders.”

  “Hard bastards, the Germans.”

  “Putting it mildly, Blue. Noose and whip for any local who looked cross-eyed at them. Me father always said that was why there was almost no trouble while he was there; he tried to treat the Tolai decently and they kept their heads down, waiting for him to turn savage and happy while he didn’t.”

  “Makes sense, in a way. What do we do now?”

  “More of the same. The Tolai are going to make trouble for the Administration, bound to. They had some idea of governing themselves before the Germans came along and they’ve never forgotten that they got along fairly well before the dim-dims came. They’ve kept the Dukduks as well, and all that goes with them; the Dukduk society is in some sort of way political, or so you could argue. All the Tolai men are made brothers by the Dukduks, more or less. You know that the Tolai count land ownership and descent in the female line? It makes the men less important in the village, somehow, but means they can get together through the Dukduks.”

  Blue did not wholly understand.

  “Neither do I, mate. But I do know that we say nothing but good of the Dukduks and Tubuans when we see ‘em, and we allow time off for the Tolai men when they need it for their ceremonies. If the Tolai men want to borrow a truck to carry the Dukduks to a village a few miles away, they get it. I don’t know for sure, but I’ve got a feeling that they’ll be talking a hell of a lot of politics over the next few years – and we don’t want to know. The Administration will be bloody stupid, and we’ll be like the three wise monkeys, mate.”

  Blue shrugged; it went without saying that the Administration wouldn’t know its arse from its elbow – that was what public servants were about.

  “So, we make sure that the Tolai don’t make trouble for us – keep ‘em on side, Blue. We hire them as clerks and as apprentices, if the Administration will let us. If they can’t be official trainees, then we still teach them all we can – we want the mechanics and drivers and skilled men in the factory all to be local blokes, and earning as much as we can get away with paying them. For starters, find out what villages your workers come from and organise chickens and pigs for them. The Japs took most of their livestock away; replace them. Get seed for their gardens – corn and beans, especially. We’ll chuck money into schools later, when we can. Can’t afford to run them ourselves, but we can pay for a classroom or two or books or whatever they need. Make sure the firm runs an aid post, for the workers and their families too.”

  “When trouble comes, try to point it some other way, right, George?”

  “Just that, mate
. We can’t avoid it, not entirely, but we can make sure that they know whose side we’re on. We won’t be popular with the Administration, and a good few of the other plantation owners won’t like us, but I reckon it’s where the future is. Fred Higgins reckons that India will be independent inside five years. India goes, the Empire’s finished. No British Empire and where does that leave the Territory?”

  “Good question, George. Have another beer?”

  “So, George, what did you find at Vunatobung?”

  “The house is gone, Ma, and the gardens. The yard is half destroyed and needing to be rebuilt. The labour line much the same. The trees are there and the fermentery was used by the Japs, so they rebuilt it as they needed to. It’s back in use now. The new house is up to deck level, was when I left, will be roofed within the week. Bigger than the old place. The plantation is working. There will be a hell of a lot left to do. We need a nursery for the cocoa and coconuts; there’ll have to be a new aid post; we’ll want to remake the warehouses and the drier; we’ll set out new gardens as well, vegetables and fruit in the back. Work for years.”

  “For Mary, perhaps, Georgie. The past is gone. Better I do not go back to it. I shall stay here and keep up a house for the family. A new life, for the old one is lost, Georgie. Take a camera with you and send me some photographs. That will be all I need.”

  George accepted his mother’s words, made no attempt to argue with her decision. He suspected she had come to the decision after much thought during the war years, and she had always had a mind of her own.

  “Makes sense, Ma. It means we can come down South more often, having the house here to move into without bothering with hotels and all their bloody fuss. Useful, in its way. You’ll be able to keep an eye on the stores for us, tell us of anything new we might find useful. Be handy to know what’s in the papers as well – you know how little we hear of what’s going on, up on the Gazelle.”