A Dimdim in Paradise: Thirty Six Years in Papua New Guinea

By Andy Fletcher

I went to Papua New Guinea with Mining giant Conzinc Rio Tinto in 1970 to work for a year in their Bougainville Mine, and fell hopelessly in love with the country, and its people. This book follows my journey through the thirty six years I lived in country. Teaching in an Agricultural College, Vocational Training Centres and the Fisheries College. I attended six to six dances deep in the jungle, hid under a table in a tavern that was attacked by warring tribesmen during a tribal fight, helped remove the Apartheid system, and lived for weeks at a time in the Villages of the idyllic Tropical Duke of York Islands

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Oct 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781452525655

Andy Fletcher

Andy Fletcher was born in Adelaide South Australia on February 8th. 1947. He was not a good student and ran away from school at the tender age of ten. He was dragged back kicking and screaming and completed an apprenticeship in automotive engineering with the only Porsche agents in Adelaide. He played cricket and Australian football and got a job in the Bougainville Copper Mine Pit Workshop in 1970. He was very active in the local community in Papua New Guinea, where he resided for thirty-six years. His family still lives in PNG, but he now resides in the Cairns suburb of Manoora, where he has kidney dialysis three times a week.

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Copyright © 2014 Andy Fletcher.

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ISBN: 978-1-4525-2566-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4525-2565-5 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/02/2014

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Contents

Chapter 1: Growing up in the Adelaide Hills

Chapter 2: Bougainville 1970/71

Chapter 3: Rabaul 1972

Chapter 4: Bialla W.N.B. 1973

Chapter 5: Raval Vocational Centre 1974/75

Chapter 6: Malay-town 1976

Chapter 7: Keravat 1977/1980

Chapter 8: Vudal 1980/85

Chapter 9: Kavieng 1985/94

Chapter10: Bali, Thailand, Penang, Groote, Tiwi, 1995

Chapter 11: Kiunga & Manus 1996/98

Chapter 12: Regent Kavieng, Port Moresby1999/06

Dedicated to all the wonderful People of Papua New Guinea,

including my Family in Kopex, Kavieng, Tembin, and Lae.

A special dedication to departed friends, David Loh, Peter Wakanga,

Ted Whitaker, Brian Connelly and Ken Burridge. Good friends truly enrich our lives.

Rest in Peace

Glossary of Pidgin words to English

DISCLAIMER

The names of many living people mentioned in this book have been changed, to protect the innocent, and not so innocent, from embarrassment. Some names of Schools, Clubs and Businesses have also been changed, for the same reason. However as this is a factual Memoir, the vast majority of the book is as it happened.

Andy Fletcher, Manoora 2014

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Chapter 1:

Growing up in the Adelaide Hills

I had a wonderful childhood growing up post war at Belair in the Adelaide hills, Belair was semi rural, and more of a small town than an outer suburb. We had a Delicatessen, Butcher, Four Square Grocer, Post Office, Service Station, School, and even a barbers shop. We lived on the corner of Bowman, and Ardrossan Avenues, next door to us on Bowman Ave was our vacant lot, then the Harrolds. On the other side going down Ardrossan, which was a steep hill, lived the Hicks family, and on the other side of them, lived Welsh immigrants, the Prices. Our back yard extended down the side of a hill through a wooded block to a creek, the gully had natural bushland, and was a great place for us kids to play. I had two brothers, Mac who was five years older, and Robert, who was three years younger, Glen Harrold, and Joe Hicks, were both a year older, and Llew Price was a year younger.

In the early fifties, we had to put the Billy out for milk the iceman came once a week to deliver blocks of ice for our ice chest, and our fruit and veg was delivered every Friday. It wasn’t until the mid fifties that we bought a Kelvinator Fridge.

We had moved to Belair from the esplanade at Henley Beach, to stay with my Gran when my father became ill, he had contracted TB in the navy during the war. He had joined at the outbreak of war as he was already in the R.A.N.R, he was posted to HMAS Australia, which was our oldest ship, a veteran of WW1, but also our Flagship. Dad was in the Engine room of the ship, and served in the Battle of the Coral Sea, at Dakar in Africa, and on convoy duties to Murmansk in Russia. The Australia had no heating, so it was here that he contracted TB, and was invalided out of the Navy in 1943. We visited him at the Dawes road Repatriation hospital during his regular stints there after the war. I was too young to remember my Dad much, because he died when I was five, but I do remember marching alongside him in the ANZAC day parade in the city. Then going to the footy with him, to the traditional start of the SANFL footy season between Norwood and Port Adelaide at the Adelaide oval. I was in grade one when I came home from school one day to find some strange men in our house taping up the doors to dads bedroom, I asked mum where dad was, and she told me that he had died. I think it was lucky that I didn’t really understand what that meant at that age. A few days after my dad’s death I found mum in her bedroom having a quiet weep as she made the bed, I spotted the tears, and asked her whatcha bawling for mum, can’t you make the bed that made her laugh, any wonder I was mums favourite. I was to find out later, what not having a dad meant, as I grew older. I marched every year in Dads memory with the Legacy contingent in the ANZAC Day parade wearing his medals, until I became too old.

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Legacy had a camp at Clarendon, on the Onkaparinga River in the Adelaide hills, during summer school holidays. It was run Army style, with daily tent and mess inspections, where points were awarded for everything. Having 200 odd 12-16 year old boys living in close quarters meant you learnt a lot of things, and grew up very quickly. We had to get up to the sound of the bugle at 5am and either had to have a cold shower or swim across the river, most of us boys certainly needed that. I also looked forward to the regular Army visits to Clarendon, where we would be taught how to use the military firearms of the time, Bren guns, etc. Once I was runner up in the target shoot, it was one of the older boys that beat me, so it was good for my self esteem.

Despite not having a dad, mum always seemed to manage very well, we didn’t have a car so mum used to pedal everywhere on her bike which had a wicker seat for us to sit in when we were little. My school uniforms and shoes were always hand me downs from Mac my older brother, I did curse that I was the second born, as I never seemed to have any new clothes. Rob though was worse off as he got the clothes third hand.

On the weekends, from a very young age, my friends and I would explore the hills and gullies of the National park, and venture as far as the old railway tunnel at Sleeps hill. I had my two best friends as neighbours on either side of us, Glen Harrold, and Joe Hicks. We grew up together building forts in the trees and sharing adventures after school, on the weekends and school holidays.

The Saturday arvo matinee movie at Blackwood always decided our play patterns for the weekend, we would make swords to be pirates, if it was a Pirate film. Bows and arrows for Robin Hood, Davy Crockett hat, or Indian headdress for a Western, we would dress in character for that entire weekend. The bows and arrows we made were pretty cool, the arrows especially were made from dead long stemmed flowers that grew in the mysterious grounds of the Retreat house. This was a large group of buildings on a very large wooded acreage that belonged to some religious order. They did not like us trespassing, and sometimes chased us out, though they never caught any of us. The arrows we got from the Retreat house garden were perfectly balanced with a flat head fibro nail pushed down the business end, they were plentiful, but did disintegrate after a while. The bows were made from English Ash, and lasted as long as the string we used

One Day Glen, Joe, Llew, and I, dressed as marauding Indians, came across a large group of kids at a creek near their home. We thought we might be in a spot of bother, even though we looked fearsome in our war paint and had bows and arrows, they were unarmed, but many. They were also bigger than us and quite aggressive, because we had intruded onto their patch. This didn’t look good, with only the flowing creek between us, especially when the biggest guy picked up a stick, and started crossing the creek. In a single movement I aimed and fired my bow, hitting him right in the middle of his chest, sitting him back on his bum in the water.

He scrambled back out of the creek crying, and they all retreated up the gully in disarray, like the 7th Cavalry in the Great Sioux War, yelling we’re going to tell on you. We took off like scalded cats, whooping with delight, Arapaho Indian style, when were far enough away, we collapsed in the grass trying to catch our breath. I still couldn’t believe my stunning shot, what a fluke, I was the hero of that moment, Like Sitting Bull after the Battle of the Little Big Horn

We lived in my Gran’s house at Belair, I don’t know when Grandpa had died, he was gone before we moved in, Gran was my mother’s mother and was a Cleland. This meant that we received a large carton of alcohol every Christmas from the Cleland’s winery and distillery. Grans mum was a Giles, so my heritage was from two of the biggest families in South Australia. Brigadier Sir Donald Cleland who was the PNG Administrator when I was growing up, was my first cousin twice removed.

I thing Gran liked us staying with her, though she didn’t like us swearing. She caught me saying shit once, and washed my mouth out with soap. When she had finished she asked me if I had learnt a lesson, and in a fit of defiance, I replied shit, shit, shit’ and tried to make a run for it. She was too quick, and grabbed me, when she had finished with me for the second time, I was foaming at the mouth, I never did swear in front of her again!

I went to Long Gully Primary School and was the youngest in the class in grade one, as even though I did not turn five until February the eight, I was allowed to enrol on February the first, when I was still four The problem was, I was the youngest, and smallest kid in school and had big ears, nah I wasn’t going to get bullied, yeh right!!

Starting in the same year as me was a white Russian boy called Victor Patrenko, who had arrived recently from Latvia with his parents. Victor was eight, and was a large rotund boy, who always had a big grin on his face, but his English wasn’t very good and he wanted to learn from me. None of the other anglo kids wanted to have anything to do with him, so I made friends, and we became great mates. The bullying problem was fixed straight away, his parents were happy he had an Aussie for a friend to teach him English, and I had my body guard.

He got in trouble one day though, after a boy called me wing nut, Victor tried to make the ears of the bully boy look the same as mine by rearranging them. like this you mean he said, as he pulled hard on the bully’s ears, until he squealed like a pig It didn’t bother him that he got detention. Unfortunately after a couple of years the Patrenko family decided to move on to Canada, I was quite upset when Victor moved away, though I did have other friends at school by then.

Long Gully Primary School was quite a small school, from the back fence you looked out over a railway station, which was on the boundary of the National Park. The school was run like a concentration camp by two of the grumpiest people on earth, Mr and Mrs Johnson. Known as Ma & Pa Johnson, between them they looked after grade five, six, and seven. My older brother Mac who was five years older than me, was in grade six when I was in grade one, and as he had a running battle with the Johnsons through his school years, I was tarred immediately with the same brush. Another Fletcher aye, we’ll soon straighten you out were the first words Ma Johnson said to me.

I, who was the fifties version of the sensitive new age guy was to be bullied incessantly by Ma Johnson, as soon as I stepped foot in her grade five class. I was physically and verbally abused on a daily basis, what seemed to infuriate her most, was I would never cry. As I was being punished for the sins of my brother, I decided that school was so miserable, that I would stop going. So one Monday morning I dressed in my uniform, took my cut lunch mum had made, and walked straight past the school and into the Park. Late in the afternoon when I saw the kids coming out from school, I would join them, and go home. This worked well for a week, until mum got a letter asking why Andrew wasn’t coming to School, she of course thought I had been. I hated doing this because it caused mum so much grief, but I refused outright to return to Long Gully, and as I was only ten, I had to attend school, by law.

So mum put me in her bike wicker pillion seat and took me the five or six miles to Blackwood Primary. The Headmaster took one look at me, fine upstanding ten year old, with big ears, and said yes, we’ll take wing……..err Andrew. After Stalag Luft Long Gully. Blackwood was fabulous, I teamed up with another white Russian, Leon Samsonenko who became a friend and protector, he even managed to protect me from bullying when I foolishly thought a crew cut would suit me. After all it was all the rage at the time.

Just around the corner from where we lived was Kalyra Sanatorium, which catered mainly for old folks, they ran a movie show for the patients every Friday. As this was pre TV time, they didn’t mind if a few of the local ruffians attended on Friday nights. After we watched horror films, Dracula, and werewolf, type movies, we had about five hundred metres of cold, windy, dark, werewolf habitat, to negotiate before we reached the safety of our houses. Our strategy was speed, our feet hardly touched the ground, as we took off ,arriving home breathless with the werewolves snapping at our heels, just a couple of minutes later!!.

Mum would smile knowingly and say Horror film, was it oh no, just exercising If any Olympic scouts had been out and about on those cold winter nights, we may have followed a different career path, as we must have broken some world records.

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Across the road from The Sanatorium, was their farm, where they had pigs, ducks, and chooks, which supplied the hospital with fresh eggs, and fresh meat. The person who worked here was Bill Morris, who was married to Ivy, and because they had no kids, and I had lost my father, I sort of became something of a surrogate son to him. From when I was quite small, I would wander around to the farm with my big black, very docile, but ever present Labrador called Barney or as he was known on more auspicious occasions Barnacle Bill the Sailor.

I would help Bill with his chores, Mum told me later in life, that I had come home one day and told her we have a lot of fun at the farm, we get to throw wheat at the chooks!!I spent many delightful days there, slaughtering and plucking chooks, and ducks, collecting eggs, feeding the pigs, cutting and slashing the Lucerne. As well we would build forts at the back of the farm near the dump, using materials we found there, such as broken fibro asbestos. I would convert the pneumatic tyred pig food cart into an army tank to repel the Japs, or Germans. In the summer we would also swim in the dam which held the overflow from the duck pond and make a pirate ship from empty forty four gallon drums. Fantastic times, how I never contracted some exotic disease like bird flu or asbestosis, was quite amazing. Bill and Ivy also had a car, on his days off in summer we would be invited to join them on a trip to the beach, lovely people the Morris’s

In the years before Mum bought a car, we would have regular days at the beach in summer. We had to catch a train from Pinera Station, down to Edwardstown, then change trains to the beach line, and get off at South Brighton. It involved a lot of walking as well as waiting at stations, but was always something we looked forward to. Mum would mostly bring the lunch of fruit, bread and butter, hard boiled eggs, cold sliced corned beef and mustard, tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumber, washed down by homemade cordial. On very rare occasions we were allowed to walk up to Brighton to get fish and chips and a bottle of Cottee’s lime cooler. I spent all of my time in the sun in my very cool boardies, which were not common then. I never used to burn, just became as brown as a berry, at which people commented, it was considered to be healthy back then. Nowadays if you are insipidly white, it is considered healthier, we the baby boomer generation were a more outdoors generation than the kids of today. As I grew older and went to high school Joe and Leon were in the same class at Unley high, which though it was in an inner suburb of Adelaide, was still the closest high school to us, Blackwood high was under construction at the time. To get to school we were supposed to catch the train to Mitcham and the walk a couple of miles. The new Unley high school was opened when I was in second year though it was no closer to Mitcham. Because of this I preferred to hitchhike, oblivious to the fact the some people might be perverts, needless to say I encountered very friendly people, it was a more genteel time. I was not a good student, and later in life when I was a teacher for twenty three years, I always thanked my lucky stars, that I never had to teach myself.

At the new Unley high in the first year it opened in 1960, I was in 2F, and had a class teacher called Mick Gampoulos, a large man of Greek extraction, who we called Fats Domino. Fats had a large blackboard compass made out of wood with brass wing-nuts sticking out of it. With this weapon he dispatched summary justice on the class clowns, Muir, Fuller, Samsonenko, and me, six of the best on our backside.

One day Sambo was catching up on his work at Fat’s desk, because he had missed a few days with illness, Fuller was poking Sambo in the back with his ruler. Fats couldn’t fail to notice Sambo squirming, he jumped up from his seat and spotted fuller with the ruler. Fuller what have you got to say for yourself BOY he screamed, you could hear a pin drop, Well, boy what have you got to say for yourself…and after an extended pause,…Fuller farted, brrrrrrrrrrrpppzzz, and the class erupted. Quiet……Quiet….., Fuller you vile pig shrieked Fats, whose face was now crimson, his eyes almost bulging from his head. I was in one of the front desks, I had the lid up vainly making out I was looking for a book, with tears pouring