Paradise accommodation in Wewak

In Wewak, I had noticed a motel on the way into town from the airport when I was here with Ted Stuyvender. So this time I decide we might give this a go. So we take a cab from the airport and the motel looks great. It’s right on the beach and the verandah outside the dining room is joining the sandy beach. We book our rooms, pick up a hire car in town and spend the rest of the day at the beach outside the motel which is called 'Windjammer'.

I know Wewak, having been here before and after we serviced the units at the army base, we drive to the hospital where we are told we can only switch the air conditioning off on a Sunday. It’s used every other day of the week, so we have to wait a few days for Sunday. We spend most days sight seeing in Wewak and on the beach outside the motel. It’s just like being on holidays, but we're getting paid.

Windjammer Motel in Wewak - Sepik District

We meet some interesting people in the Territory. Here in Wewak we meet a Belgian chap who is here buying artefacts at the Catholic Mission. He tells me he comes to the Territory twice a year, ships the stuff to Paris and makes a great living selling the artefacts there. He always flies first class. So there is  good money in artifacts. He also buys mounted butterflies and tells us he can get up to $500 for a good species. And there are lots of rare and beautiful butterflies in Papua New Guinea.


He asks us if we're interested in supplying him with butterflies for which we will pay top dollars. He shows us on paper what we would have to do, how to kill them and mount them so they're not damaged.

My mind starts thinking. Here I am in the Territory, getting paid to travel around and have great opportunities to buy artefacts which I could easily ship to Europe, and catch butterflies for him to collect once a year. I too could make a great living. We exchange names and addresses. I'll think about it.

Ken takes us to a Sing Sing

Jap cemetery Rabaul

        Walking back to the car, we see a side track leading off to the left. I wonder where that goes, says Ken. We explore and come to what looks like a Japanese cemetery. It has three white concrete posts all marked with Japanese writing down the sides.

        The following week, Ken’s mate Emile invites us to a Sing-Sing up the mountain from his village. As we’re invited, the three of us drive back to Kurutegete  on Saturday night. The entire village is dressed for a night out and we walk on a track up the hill. First we come to an open field and there is a church. It’s made in a traditional Native style, with grass roof and walls open windows. Ken’s mate explains that’s where everyone comes tomorrow morning for the service. It’s a catholic church but we don’t see a priest.

        We continue up the hill on a track through dense jungle for some time when we get to a clearing in the jungle. There are lots of tables and benches and a lot of Natives from other villages already there. We are introduced and greeted by the other people. There is a beer tent next to the tables, with lots of bottles of beer.

          We sit down at a table and are each given a bottle of beer. More people arrive from other villages and before long singers and dancers assemble on the side and start their performances. It’s great to watch them. We are very privileged indeed to be here.

           The singers and performers wear traditional grass skirts and use original Native drums and sticks to assist their singing. The performers change frequently while others sit down for a beer themselves.

           We’re there a few hours and into our fourth or fifth bottle of beer when the rain starts. Not hard, just light drizzle, not enough to stop the performances, but we feel a strange atmosphere in the crowd. The natives look at the three of us in a strange way.

          Ken’s mate whispers to Ken, they think you white fellows brought the rain. It’s better if you disappear. Ken passes the message on. As the rain increases, we are now being openly abused by some of the other villagers. It’s time for a retreat. Ken’s mate points in the direction we came and the three of us make our way down the path we came on.

         It’s now raining quite heavily, it’s after midnight and pitch black. The path is hard to see. We hear the noise of the villagers in the background still singing and boozing.

          Even though, we almost run through the jungle, it takes over an hour for us to reach the village near the coast road where our vehicles are. We’re totally relieved when we get there, and soaking wet, but unharmed. I’ve been blamed for a lot of things in my life before, but never for making it rain. I guess there is a first for everything.

    

We climb the Matupit Volcano

Ken asks us if we would like to climb the volcano we flew over before landing in Rabaul. We agree and on Saturday, the three of us drive to the foot of the Matupit volcano. We have to drive on very narrow roads until we come to what looks like a bush track virtually overgrown. We have difficulties driving the car and have to get out of the car frequently to remove branches so we can pass.

Matupit vulcano in Rabaul

When it becomes impossible to drive any further, we abandon the hire car and walk the rest of the track until we’re at the foot of the mountain. There is no foliage on the mountain and we start to climb up. It is fairly steep and littered with brimstone from old eruptions of the volcano.

It takes at least an hour before we reach the top and are able to look down into the crater. There is smoke coming up through the far end of the crater about 30 metres away from where we are. Ken suggests we climb down into the crater but I’m not so sure. What if the volcano erupts while we’re in the crater. Ken assures us the volcano is quite save.

Ken on the rim of Mutupit vulcano

We climb down into the crater. There are lots of rocks everywhere, and as we look around the crater, a Qantas Fokker Friendship comes overhead, so low, you could almost touch it. We actually see the passengers looking at us through the windows as the plane banks overhead to get into position to land in Rabaul. I’ve never been so close to an airplane in flight without actually being in it. It’s strange. But I remember having looked into the crater a previous time when I landed at Rabaul.

What a great place to welcome people to Rabaul. So we gather enough rocks to write welcoming messages on the floor of the crater in big letters about 3 meters tall. No one will miss those messages. Afterwards we settle down for a few smokes and a break.

We settle down for a break and a few smokes.

We walk over to the smoking hole in the crater floor but the sulfur smell is overpowering and the heat coming out of the hole drives us back. We’ve seen enough and it’s getting late, we still have to descend the mountain and find the hire car. As we are near the foot of the mountain, we see native lakatoi boats being paddled on the lagoon, a very pretty sight.

Ken shows us more of Rabaul

Over the next few weeks, we continue with our job, changing motor bearings and one morning Ken comes over while are having breakfast he says his Native offsider has invited him to his village along the coast road for the weekend. He asks if we’re interested. Of course we are. I’ve never been to a genuine New Guinea Native village.

Saturday morning, we drive down the coast on the road to Kokopo.  Ken leads on his motor bike. We just follow him. A few kilometres out of Rabaul, he turns right up the hill on a dirt road, Phil and I follow in the hire car. We come to Kurutegete, a village with straw huts and lots of children and pigs. The women are dressed in colourful dresses and the men in shorts and bare tops. Ken introduces us to Emile, his work mate, Iapin his wife and Tatabu his seven year old son.

Tatabu on Ken's bike

We are made very welcome. Tatabu, the little boy is fascinated with Ken’s motorbike and when Ken puts his helmet and goggles on him and lifts him up he is very excited. Everyone is happy.

The village is amongst a lot of coconut trees and very soon some of the younger boys climb the trees to fetch some coconuts. They make it look so easy. They carry large knives and chop the coconuts from the trees and watch them fall to the ground. We too watch them but mainly to save our heads.

Back on the ground they rip the outer husk (mesocarp) from the coconuts and open the nuts by smashing them onto a metal rod sticking out from the ground.

The fresh coconut milk tastes good and refreshing. Even the flesh of the coconut tastes very good. The villagers show us around the village, explain this and that. I’m glad I came. We have a great day in this village, playing with the children, listening to the adults, observing them in their village life.


Tatabu is very interested in everything we have and do. I have my 8mm movie camera with me and the boy wants me to show him what it does and how I use it.

Tatabu is very interested in everything

I take lots of footage of the village and the people. Especially the men climbing the coconut palms, they make it look so easy. The milk from the coconuts they offer us tastes very good and refreshing in the heat of the day.


We spend a very pleasant day with Emile and his family. I am so glad Ken brought us here. These people live simple but happy lives in these villages.

Back to Rabaul

We leave Port Moresby and our first stop is Rabaul. I enjoy seeing the place again. After hiring a vehicle we checking into the Commonwealth Department of Works hostel in town.

Rabaul Harbour in 1968

The following day, we drive to the wharf and pick up our crate of motor bearings and drive to the first job. It’s not an easy task, stripping down electrical motors in hot plant rooms, the task is tedious and quite frankly should never be done on a dirty plant room floor. Motors should be serviced and bearings changed on a proper work bench with proper tools and only when required. The fellow who insisted on having this clause in the contract was obviously a theoretical fellow and totally unaware of practical situations.

The occupiers of the buildings, mostly public servants, are not too happy about the situation either. The air conditioning is off for quite long periods while we strip down every motor. It’s far too hot in the Territory to have air conditioning off for such long periods.

It takes a while before we get the task down to a fine art. Phil is helping me, but it takes two people to strip a motor down, I’m beginning to see why Dave Scott told me it would take at least three months for us to complete this trip.

Jap tunnels in Rabaul

Someone suggests we have a look at the tunnels the Japanese built during the war while they occupied New Britain. So, Sunday we drive along the road to Kokopo and find the tunnels. Some still contain various Landing craft and other vessels in them. The tunnels dug into the mountain side seem to be endless, narrow and simply carved out of the mountain. Apparently that's where the Jap soldiers lived while they were in Rabaul.

With our torches, we explore these tunnels for some time, when deep inside, we hear a spooky sound, a bit like a wounded animal. Phil and I look at each other. 'What was that'? he asks, 'I don't know, I reply, we better get out of here'.

As we make our way back to the entrance, some bloke jumps out of a side tunnel in front of us. It  is a real 'change pants situation'. He laughs at us and is thrilled he scared the pants of us. He introduces himself as Ken Lyneham, a plumber from Sydney who works in Rabaul. When our heartbeats return to normal, he shows us the rest of the tunnels.

Jap craft in tunnel

Ken explains, due to the incredible pounding given to the Japanese base at Rabaul by aircraft from the air forces of USA, Australia, and New Zealand the Japanese defenders simply "dug in"!

The pumice hills of Rabaul were honeycombed with over 500 kilometres of tunnels, including 15 hospitals (one such being 4 kilometer in length, and having capacity for

2,500 patients). Indian P.O.W's captured at Singapore, and local inhabitants were used as labour for digging the tunnels - extreme hardships and many deaths resulted.

We go deeper into the tunnels and find the 4 kilometre hospital. The tunnels are very small and Philip who is tall finds it hard to walk in them and has to bend over like an old man. Ken and I manage better. It’s moments like these I don’t mind being on the short side. We spend a couple of hours wandering through the tunnels, taking pictures and when we finally exit and look back, Philip points out a couple of snakes just above our heads. It’s time to leave.

The big Service Trip is due

The next service trip is due and this is a big one. Once a year, we are committed  to change every motor bearing in every motor on every job in the Territory whether it need to or not. This one would have to be dreamt up by some inexperienced public servant in Canberra. It meant we would be away for at least three months. Dave calls me into the office and asks me if I would stay on at least until this service trip is completed. I agree.

We have to change bearings

Ted is working with Willie in Madang, so we need another refrigeration mechanic. Brisbane is advised and they send a young South African lad, Philip Heledon, just out of his apprenticeship. He moves in with Werner and me and sleeps in the common room. He is a skinny, lanky young lad with red hair, a big red nose and a South African accent. Him and his family haven’t been in Australia long. We soon find out, Philip is extremely tight with his money, we are sure his pockets are permanently sewn together.

He is to accompany me on our big service trip to all the sites in the Territory and check the refrigeration systems as well as help me change all the bearings. Hundreds of motor bearings are ordered and shipped to all the major ports for us to collect.

Another Swiss Electrician arrives

        We finished the installation and prepare to return to Port Moresby. Pius is very sad. He is a smart kid and I feel sorry for him. He hasn’t got many prospects in Manus Island, he is a good worker and would make a great helper back in Port Moresby. I get his details and promise to try to move him to Port Moresby for maybe an apprenticeship somewhere.

        We return to Port Moresby. I wonder what’ll happen when the new materials arrives on the base long after we have left.

Some weeks later in Port Moresby, Werner Utzinger also arrives from Brisbane for a stint in the Territory. It is good to see him again. Willie had gone to Madang for a job, so Werner moves into his room at Barlows. I again have a drinking buddy, and a Swiss one at that. It’s great.


Sunday morning and we all drive to a remote beach which Willie calls 'Swiss Beach'. It's about an hour's drive from Port Moresby. It's a nice spot and we cook a bar-b-que and have a few beers. All the Carrier staff is there except Dave and his family. 


Very soon the kids from nearby villages come over to investigate us and we organise an impromptu soccer game with the kids. Someone has brought a spear gun and we all try our luck at spear fishing.

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Above (top) - we play soccer with the local kids

Above (middle) - time for a swim

Above - (bottom) - spear fishing Swiss Dude