A Survival Story of Michael and Natlik

By Peter Comerford

Michael’s holiday on a tiny offshore island in Papua New Guinea, where his uncle owned a copra and cocoa plantation, was like an exciting dream. It was there that he became friends with Natlik, his uncle’s house servant who taught him to spear fish, recognise poisonous plants and corals and to light a fire without matches.
However, an incredible boating and fishing trip with his uncle suddenly turned into a nightmare when disaster struck. Michael was left floundering in shark-infested waters off the coast of Southern New Ireland. When Michael failed to return home from the fishing trip, Natlik, using his sharp powers of observation and tracking skills is faced with a risky and dangerous trip across sea and through jungle to try and find his young friend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398457652

Peter Comerford

Peter Comerford was born and educated in Sydney. He completed his teacher training at the Australian School of Pacific Administration (ASOPA) in 1970, specifically to teach in Papua New Guinea. He taught at Madina and Utu High Schools in New Ireland and Popondetta High School in Oro Province. Moreover, he served as Principal of Panguna International Primary School on Bougainville. Yet, due to civil unrest and the closure of the giant Panguna copper mine, Peter returned to Sydney with his family in 1990. Before his retirement Peter was Head of Primary at Redfield College in Sydney.

Book preview

About the Author

Peter Comerford was born and educated in Sydney. He completed his teacher training at the Australian School of Pacific Administration (ASOPA) in 1970, specifically to teach in Papua New Guinea. He taught at Madina and Utu High Schools in New Ireland and Popondetta High School in Oro Province. Moreover, he served as Principal of Panguna International Primary School on Bougainville. Yet, due to civil unrest and the closure of the giant Panguna copper mine, Peter returned to Sydney with his family in 1990. Before his retirement Peter was Head of Primary at Redfield College in Sydney.

Dedication

To my wonderful grandchildren Alastair, Sebastian, Liam, Lucy, Ashton, Khloe, Olivia, Eva and Matilda, also, our New Ireland friends and ex-students.

Copyright Information ©

Peter Comerford 2022

The right of Peter Comerford to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398457645 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398457652 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would particularly like to acknowledge Louise Ware for her editing help and advice in the draft stages and my old friend and lecturer the late Dr Maurice Saxby AM, the Godfather of Australian Children’s Literature, for his help and support with my writing and storytelling. And finally, my wife Marian for her patient editing skills , advice and encouragement over the years.

Part 1

Chapter 1

The holiday Michael Murray was about to have would be fantastic. What a place. What a location. It was truly a tropical paradise. His uncle ran a coconut plantation on a small tropical island north of mainland New Guinea in the New Ireland Province. When his dad had asked him if he would like to visit his Uncle Alan for a holiday, he was so excited he couldn’t sleep for nights. His imagination ran riot thinking of the fun he would have in this exotic place that he only knew through a few photographs and his uncle and father’s stories. Michael had never been in an aeroplane before and to reach his uncle’s island he would have to fly from Australia to Port Moresby and then catch another flight to Kokopo in East New Britain and then another flight on a light plane to his uncle’s island. It would, from the time he left Sydney, take all day to finally reach his destination.

When the time eventually came to leave on his holiday Michael was filled with mixed emotions. He was sad to say goodbye to his parents. He was also excited and nervous about the flight and being on his own. He hoped he could find his way once he arrived in Port Moresby and Kokopo. This was to be a holiday of a lifetime.

The hostesses on the flight were very friendly and caring and helped him to find his seat, stow his carry-on bag and buckle his seat belt. He had a window seat and he stared out watching the terminal buildings race past as the jet sped down the runway. Suddenly he was forced back into his seat as the jet lifted off the tarmac. There was a muffled clunk, which he didn’t recognise at the time, but it was the landing gear folding back into the under carriage of the aircraft.

The plane soared skyward and then banked to one side. Michael stared in amazement as the easily recognisable model like shapes of the Sydney Harbour Bridge, Opera House and the Centrepoint Tower came into view with a backdrop of terra cotta roofs, headlands and sparkling water. Eventually the jet levelled out and the pilot’s matter of fact voice crackled over the intercom, welcoming the passengers aboard. He informed them that they were now flying at 35,000 feet or 10.66 kms; the cruising speed was presently 700 kms an hour and they were expected to arrive in Port Moresby in four hours.

Michael settled back still trying to keep his emotions in check as he followed the route, they were flying on the TV screen in front of him. Four hours seemed such a long way to go but he managed to keep himself amused by either staring out the window at the coastline way below, eating his lunch or fiddling with the audio and movie channels until before he knew it was time to buckle up as the jet was about to descend into Port Moresby.

Michael wasn’t prepared for the sudden blast furnace like heat as the doors to the cabin opened and the passengers shuffled their way along the aisle to the open doors. The hostess smiled and wished him a happy holiday. As he stood at the top of the steps his nostrils were assaulted by a combination of the stifling heat, aviation gasoline fumes and the sweetish aroma of rotting vegetation.

He stood in the queue in immigration until staff ushered him to another table. Once his passport was stamped an airline official took him to the domestic terminal where, after checking in his bag and getting his boarding pass, he entered the departure lounge. There he found an empty seat and nervously sat surrounded by an incredible mixture of Papua New Guineans. He was conscious of staring, but he couldn’t help it. There were people with large afro like haircuts, others with their hair twisted into tight bunches, some with dreadlocks, others with blond hair and, some wearing small, coloured tea cosy like beanies, and there were others with tattooed patterns on their faces. Many of the women wore colourful blouses with a sarong or skirt and some men wore sarongs and others shorts or long trousers. A number wore sandals, thongs or were bare footed. He couldn’t help noticing the black and red smiles of people as they laughed or talked or spat a red blood like liquid into a tin. He didn’t yet know that their stained teeth were the result of chewing beetle nut. The combination of beetle nut, lime and saliva gave the appearance that the mouth of the person chewing was bleeding, but this was not the case at all.

The announcement that the flight to Kokopo was ready to board had people shuffling into a line near some glass doors that looked across the airstrip to where the plane stood. Once the boarding passes were checked Michael followed the queue of passengers to the metal steps leading up to the front of the aircraft. He took his seat and before he knew it, he was again airborne and on his way to Rabaul and Tokua Airport near Kokopo, a flight that would take one and a half hours.

The flight over Rabaul with the smoking volcanoes was spectacular and the aircraft seemed to be so near that he could easily look down into the craters. Then with a rattle and some heavy shaking the pilot steered the jet through strong turbulence and the wheels finally touched down on the tarmac at Tokua. As the engines roared the plane taxied to a stop outside the terminal. He made his way to the top of the stairs and gazed around him before following other passengers to the terminal. Michael waited and looked anxiously for his suitcase as bags and boxes were bundled off the jet, placed on trolleys and driven to the terminal. To his relief he could see his suitcase and recognised it by the large bright red ribbons his mum had tied to the handles. It sat on top of some other suitcases as the trolley was driven across the airport towards a small Cessna aircraft which was being fuelled.

While he sat in the terminal Michael was approached by a man dressed in tropical dress of white shorts and shirt and long white socks. He smiled at Michael and introduced himself as Jim Moriarty, an old friend of his uncle. Jim explained that Michael’s Uncle Alan had contacted him on the daily radio schedule and asked if he could meet Michael to make sure he managed to catch the flight to Napok Island. Jim also had a plantation and explained that it was about two hours’ drive south from Rabaul. Jim took Michael with him to the ticketing desk and prattled off in Pidgin, a language that was unfamiliar to Michael. Jim had evidently asked what time the flight to Napok would leave. He told Michael that there would be a few hours wait as the plane had to fly to West New Britain for a medical emergency to bring a patient back to Rabaul for treatment. How about I take you on a tour of Kokopo and Rabaul, Jim said, placing his hand reassuringly on Michael’s shoulder. Don’t worry we will be back in time for your flight.

They walked casually out to the car park and Jim opened the passenger door to his 4-wheel drive. Do you know much about Rabaul? he asked.

Not really, Michael replied.

No worries. Hang on and I will give you a personalised tour. Jim laughed, pushed the car into gear and in a spray of white gravel and dust they made their way onto the road.

Jim described the volcanic geography and history of eruptions of the Rabaul volcanoes. "Tavurvur erupted in 1937 and the last big eruptions were in 1994. That has really changed the scenery