Wally's tales

Over the years smuggling has always taken place on our Wharfs and Sea Ports to a greater or lessor degree, depending on demand. Today it’s Drugs, Cigarettes, and liquor that are number one items that are smuggled as they carry the greatest duty, or availability. I’m not familiar with today’s impost on a bottle of whisky, but years ago when I lived in a Sea Port, a bottle of whisky was only 75 cents on board a ship, against One Pound seven shillings on shore, when duty was added. The 75 cents value was after all manufacturing profits and distribution costs had been met. The Duty Free shops at our Air Ports used to be an attraction, but today, now that duty and sales tax have been removed, there is very little incentive shop Duty Free, except to avoid GST. In my youth, drugs were never deemed to be much of a problem, most Drugs that are now causing our establishment so many problems, years ago were freely available from our Chemists in one form or another. Opiates were even added to cough medicines and goodness knows what else. Sure, some people not that long ago became addicted to certain remedies that contained a decent slug of the now forbidden drugs. I don’t know when laudanum was withdrawn as a cure all, but it wasn’t all that long ago. But I can remember in my time it was possible to purchase legally, Indian hemp or Marijuana cigarettes from your Chemists, as a cure all for respiratory problems. Marijuana seeds were available and possibly still are, to bird fanciers as a plumage enhancer The only drugs back a few years that I can think caused the Police and Authorities problems, was Opium and Alcohol. Opium went out of fashion when derivatives were refined from it. However, Alcohol has always been with us, when duty as a disincentive was heaped onto it, it was only natural that folk would try and distil their own. One former work mate Lew Maclean went into the distilling business in a big way, supplying several of Dunedin’s Hotels with cheap product. I was unaware of his illegal activity, but at the height of his activity was very puzzled by the fact I was under some very clumsy survalence. He was caught by the fact he was a very high user of electricity, and the problem of having to get rid of the mash after the distilling. When he was caught Mr Plod lost interest in me, and I had the answer to why I had been followed every where I went, over the past six months.

From time to time there is an article that is in short supply, possibly exacerbated by import restrictions, or perhaps something even new to our market. A case in point, was the initial introduction of small battery powered transistor radio. You couldn’t buy one in retailer’s shop for love nor money, but you could pick up half a dozen in any pub in the area. These were being sold quite openly for ten dollars each. At the heart of these radios was the new transistors which made the reduction in size possible. The transistor may have had a humble beginning, but in this form it was our first taste what the transistor was capable off, and we liked it. Further, there was an insatiable demand for this kind of product. And what an industry it has turned out to be, and look at what it’s been responsible for. In fact today, we couldn’t run our business, or even our country without computers of which the transistor, again is the main component.

Long ago I was a smoker, and I had developed a taste for American cigarettes. During the War and in the Services I was able to buy cheaply the Brands I liked, and in unlimited supply. After the War it was an entirely a different situation. The only cigarettes on sale were rationed, so I was always on the look out for a supply of American Cigarettes, especially from the ships that were calling here on a regular basis. On one visit to a Norwegian Vessel to sell them some milk, I casually inquired from the Purser while carrying out the transaction, Did he have any American Cigarettes he could sell me. The response I got was unbelievable, he immediately started screaming at me. ‘Do you want me to lose my job. Don’t you see the custom officers over there?’ pointing to three Custom men ten metres away who were leaning over the rail of the ship, who were having a good giggle over my discomfort as this ships officer verbally waded into me. The nerve of this fellow and under our noses too. The Watersiders were also having a good laugh at my inept attempt to get my hands on some cigarettes. The Officer walked me down to my truck still carrying on about how inappropriate my request was with three crew members following obediently behind carrying the milk churns. When we got to the truck he said, ‘That performance will cost you five pounds’. One of the cans was jammed packed full with cartons of American cigarettes. Sometimes what you see and hear, is exactly what you are meant to see and hear.

We arrived to visit Vanuatu shortly after they were granted their independence. Very soon some very magnificent four or five star Hotels were built. The impact of these made a real contrast in this developing Nation, you could walk only a few hundred yards from your comfortable Hotel, leaving behind all modern day aids, all of your creature comforts, then stumble over some stone age tribesmen, dressed and behaving as they had been doing for the past thousand years. Their women folk cooking over an open fire. All armed to the teeth with spears and machetes. Naturally, with their new found independence, the smarter ones quickly grabbed all the top jobs, that the new opportunities had opened up. Freedom didn’t matter much to the average guy, or even who was in charge. As far as they were concerned, they just carried on living their lives as they had done before.

Father Walter Lini, an Anglican priest, and in my opinion an avowed Communist, immediately made some sweeping changes. He nationalised all property, suddenly you were renting your own home or business. This is not as unusual as it sounds, the Indigenous Natives already had a land policy, long before the white fellow turned up. Nobody in their eyes actually owned their land, but you could sell, or rent, the use of land for up to sixty years or so. They also had a problem with language. Through out their Islands, they had some hundred distinct languages. With the arrival of the missionaries they had another two, French and English. In fact until independence they had two of every thing. Two sets of schools, English French. Two sets of police, (Gendarme and Bobby). On top of all this they had their day to day local language Bislama, this had been cobbled together by the early traders who were inventive fellows, the necessity to communicate demanded something simple. Bislama was a amalgamation of many languages, but mainly English, as well some French, German, or anything else, if they found a word that fitted. I remember reading a notice giving information of how to call up the ferry to cross a lagoon.’ Supposum u fellow wantum ferry. Takum stick and killum a gong’ The gong was an old World War 2 shell casing. Killum, was to beat it. However it worked, as a translation wasn’t necessary, we did as instructed, and we were able to call up a punt, and go out for dinner. The most used words seemed to be Long, (big) and Blong (belong), when you think about it, not much different to today’s TXT language. I have below a few of the more colourful examples.

Helicopter     Mixmaster blong Jesus Christ

Seagull            Pigeon blong sel water

Saw                  Pulem I kam, Pushem I go, Wood I fall down

The staff in the Hotel didn’t entirely trust us, or it seemed that way, they checked on the hour, and every hour our Mini Bar Fridge. The fact the several of the bottled beverages contained in it were broken by a too cold a setting, where the glass bottles had even fallen away leaving only the frozen contents standing. This didn’t seem to bother them as these frozen drinks were counted, as all present and correct.

As was to be expected, a dozen or so local tribesmen were conscripted to come into the dinning room and entertain the diners with several of their traditional dances. To me all dances seemed to be the same, much grunting and loud foot stomping. Of course this was carried out in native costume. This meant appearing completely starkers. A bunch of ‘Arse Grass’ over their rear end, their penis hidden in a bamboo tube, a few feathers, a spear and they were dressed to kill. I had heard it said that Europeans have a distinctive odour, this could be true, possibly from the amount of milk products we consume. One time on my return from New Caledonia, I still stunk of garlic after a period of three weeks or so. My daughter told me after she caught me coming out of a shower, she declared the bathroom still stunk of garlic. Well with these guys, when they worked up a sweat, they had a body odour that would have killed an ox at ten paces. They just ponged. However the most interesting part of the display was the antics of a party of American Women who pushed their way forward to the ringside to touching distance. Their eagerness to examine these warriors close up was not in the least put off by their stink which was being exuded. It was akin to something that had been dead for a long time. Come hell or high water they were going to get as close as they could to these feral warriors.

We had a delightful meal at a small restaurant a short distance from Port Vila. Baked fish or Crayfish, a home grown salad, and Manioc. When you thought about it, these folk had everything growing, or it was available from the nearby reef. So there was no need to spend any money buying supplies. I really liked the local people and their friendliness.

In an earlier posting I spoke of our early days how we managed to keep in touch by the local call box phones and telegrams. Islanders have taken communications to a further dimension. They broadcast their telegrams over the public radio stations at fixed times, it beholds anyone listening to pass their messages on.

In these troubled financial times, a radical fix has been offered by the American Federal Bank as a solution, they propose to transfer and pay some Trillions of dollars over to American Trading Banks poised on the threshold of bankruptcy. I’m not sure that throwing so much money at the problem will solve anything, and in my opinion, probably make a bad situation worse in other areas. The American Motor manufacturers big three, Ford, General Motors, and Chrysler, have also lined up too, hoping against hope, that they too can get a similar handout. They are busy also using a form of ‘Black Mail’ by threatening massive job cuts. But one has to question just where do these mind boggling sums of money come from, and where exactly have they been hiding these enormous sums of ready money? Was it in the Countries secret ‘piggy bank’? Or money just waiting for a rainy day and such a National Emergency. Maybe it’s a question no one wants to ask or probe too deeply. I suspect that it’s just another crank of the money machine, instant credit. If this is true it’s a very dangerous fix, this can quickly lead to inflation. An early case of this problem was rampant in Germany before World War two, something everyone now seems to have forgotten. Then, you required a wheel barrow of currency to obtain even a loaf of bread.

If that wasn’t enough, we have today another object lesson of just how bad it can get, with the current situation in Zimbabwe. The political move to kick out Ian Smith and his regime, replace them with the black African Mugabe, set in train a political experiment that has now resulted in genocide. No one yet is prepared to make a move to correct this appalling situation, and help their starving populous. Like it or like it not inflation is always on the back burner simmering away, it’s a genie that is always pushing, and waiting to escape from the lamp. Zimbabwe’s inflation rate is now in the Millions per cent. I’m also sure, all Governments have been guilty to some degree of creating a little credit. As an aside, we met Ian Smith on one of our overseas trips, and later corresponded with his partner Maggie Lawton. Circumstances haven’t treated him kindly of late. Recently he broke a leg, then required assistance from his son to farm his property which was under threat of from the land grabbing regime in Zimbabwe. Before any of this could happen, the son died of a heart attack, and his daughter consigned Ian into a Nursing Home in South Africa. It would seem at the same time she despatched his partner. Ian died shortly after.

In a more personal note, New Zealand around the end of the World War Two. Five pounds (or ten dollars) a week was a normal wage. The simmering inflation which I said is always around, made a joke out of my initial efforts to provide for my retirement. I had taken out life policies that should have given me a debt free home in 40 years. Long before these policies matured, their combined value disappeared almost completely in a puff of smoke caused by Governments fiddling with our monetary system. I could see I was going to be lucky even to buy a small ‘Chicken House’ with what their current surrender values would realise. So clearly and quickly I had to buy into something that was inflation proofed, and do it soon. I went against all my instincts and training, grabbed the tail of inflation, all on borrowed money, and jumped into land and property. No matter what happened, I figured my personal situation couldn’t get any worse. Did I feel guilty of making a very large sum of money out of ‘Nothing’? No I don’t. Who said that life has to be fair?

I have noticed over the years that their are alway plenty of punters who are prepared to take enormous risks with your money. Many of the Housing loans in America as I saw it, were set up to fail. ‘Interest only loans’, together with no deposit, given to all and sundry, meant should the property market take a ‘dive’, and it did, you are in big trouble. It’s nonsense to claim it’s a sign of the times, it is just stupid and bad lending. I feel very sorry for all those thousands locked in to bad loans, all now in danger of loosing their homes. The perpetrators of this mess were possibly well educated and will all hold degrees in higher education and Banking. But in spite of these advantages it would seem they all lacked fundamental common sense. They never read, or took on board the basic rules of good lending that their Granny could have told them.

In dealing with Foreign people over time you come across many customs that are an important part of their culture. The French for instant, put great store on seating when dining, not only their formal dining, but day to day meals as well. You can tell immediately just where you figure in their pecking order by where you are placed at their table. There is never any time or situation when random selection is the order of the day, when it involves seating arrangements by a French Hostess. In our life I knew placement for dining was something we only did for say, special occasions such as a Wedding Breakfast, or a Birthday Celebration. But for the French Hostess, every occasion is always a matter of extreme importance.

There was one exception to seating, and that was when we were flying. If there was only one pilot, I was automatically granted the co-pilots seat. This had nothing to do with being held in high regard, or any other rules of placement, but more just a basic insurance while flying in a French Aircraft. Island Flying with the French in the Islands, at times is a very marginal experience, and very close to what’s known as ‘Bush Flying’.

A few years back I became involved with the French in a timber milling operation on a small Island in the Vanuatu Group. A very undeveloped place, no roads, only tracks between settlements with wild cattle and chooks wandering everywhere. No enterprise of any kind was practiced on this Island. This Island did have virgin stands of Pacific Kauri, as well as some Mahogany, or Acajou as the French called it. The French had obtained a concession to harvest some, and to take advantage of this opportunity, we initially went around Auckland looking at various Timber Mills, and later to the Centre of the North Island of New Zealand where a lot of Mills were Located. We initially looked at a Mill in Auckland operated by Henderson and Pollard, but it was huge, it would have been capable of milling a forest in Brazil. Completely automated with a laser, and a built in computer. Not for us, where we were going we even had to generate even our own electricity. What we did buy in Auckland was several caravans and these were shipped out to make an instant camp, as there was no accommodation on the Island either. This had a sequel as later, the Post Office sent me a reminder to re-register the caravans, when I said I wasn’t going to bother, they asked me to return the Number Plates. I said, ‘Not really’, but I could tell them where they are if they wished to go and collect them. Finally we settled for a purpose built saw mill driven by a diesel engine. Next job was to make a road to the sea, this was accomplished by a large Cat Bulldozer we also took along and driven by an expert Tahitian. No one to ask, or any need for permits. No Resource Consents either. No Civil Engineers either. The Tahitian, ‘took off’, and just followed the paths cattle had made over the years on their way to the sea looking for salt. I suppose this was the way things were done here in New Zealand years ago too. No fences either, creeks formed natural boundaries. You could buy a beast on the hoof for $7, but if it wandered over a boundary before you killed it, you had to renegotiate with the new owner.

If I ever wondered about the expenditure of all the thousand of dollars the Air Force spent in training me as a Pilot, and if it was of any use. Well, it was soon all to be tested. On a return journey from Eromanga I noticed we were on and maintaining a heading of 270 degrees, after some 15 minutes, I inquired from the pilot where exactly were we headed. Perhaps, there was a beam over to the West. I remembered at one field during the War Russian Pilots were flying Bell Aerocobras to Russia. They were always drifting off their beam after a couple of hundred miles. Landing at our field and inquiring. ‘Where was their Beam?’ We would always tell them, but it made our Chief Flying Instructor furious. He would without fail, make them file a flight plan. I wondered if any of the Aircraft actually reached Russia. Anyway, I suggested to our Pilot that Port Vila was to the North, shouldn’t we be headed that way. This conversation started off normal, but quickly escalated to an out of control situation. Laura suggested that the Pilot knew best, and I replied that’s correct, if you wish to go to Brisbane. I didn’t know if the Pilot had lost all his marbles, or was taking us for a tour to prolong the Aircraft’s Charter. Anyway, finally he went completely berserk, took his hands off the controls and said, ‘Seeing you know so much’, ‘You can fly the Aircraft.’ He had no idea I had received flight training. In all my life have never been in such a situation before. I was immediately filled with self doubts, but I grabbed the controls and headed North on a course that according to my dead reckoning would take us to Vila. The ocean beneath us was empty and remained so until an hour later we flew up the harbour of Port Vila. I had seen many Islands on the trip North, but allways, they were just shadows beneath the clouds. The pilot sat in sullen silence and when we landed said I suppose you think that you have saved all our lives. I replied I don’t know what to think. You are either a thief, or just plain barmy. No good complaining to anyone on this outpost as they were just emerging into self Government and not doing very well. I had the last laugh as we were leaving, he said the next day he had to take some Coco Cola executives to Fiji. I pointed to the East and said, ‘For your information it’s over there’.

That was enough excitement for one day,