Rabaul and Me

I have never been to Rabaul. I know it's the capital of New Britain, the 38th largest island on earth, and that it's up above Papua New Guinea, but that's about it. My only connections with the place are marginal:

At boarding school in Australia, Roberta Zanda from Rabaul had the bed next to mine and, late at night, whenever she was particularly homesick, used to tell me about the beauty of the place. Words whispered into the darkness of a beautiful city built around a spectacular harbour, over-shadowed by an enormous volcano. It seemed a very special place.

However, George Telek's song "Rabaul I Panie" reminded me that I do have another Rabaul story; one that I didn't even realise was a story:

Back in 1994, when I was teaching in Townsville, in North Queensland, in one of my classes I had two major-scholarship boys from Rabaul, Suki and Pio. Exceptionally bright kids. I liked them both enormously, even if they were wound up too tight. Guess it isn't easy being PNG's equivalent of Rhodes Scholars!

But then came September 19th, a Monday, when Bob Weir, Head of Boarding, dropped by my class and asked to see both the boys. He talked to them for a while outside and they returned completely devastated. "The volcano erupted." they told me. "Mr Weir says we can't go but we have to leave right away."

I could see it in them. Already too wound-up, they were now ready to explode. They wanted to be moving. They wanted to be there. They were scared and worried and desperate for news, to help, to know. They were prepared even to swim back home if that's what it took.

"You can't leave." I said. "Your parents need to know you're safe. You need to be here when they call." but that wasn't nearly enough. They weren't prepared to come back to "ordinary", so I sent them away to phone Townsville Red Cross to find out what was happening there and what they could do to help, and they returned to say they needed the entire class to help them get tinned food and clothing, particularly bedding, so we all promised to do what we could, and then I set the boys aside to write out a game plan/strategy for getting what was needed, and getting it to Red Cross.

Pretty much useless, huh?, but I couldn't think what else I could do for them.

But then came that awful afternoon. Wednesday. Two days later. We had double-English on a beautiful afternoon, so were sitting out under the trees reading novels, when slowly an enormous black cloud floated down from the North. It covered the sky and, no, it wasn't a cloud. It was a massive plume of smoke that rained down ash on us. Suki and Pio, oh boy, the look on their faces. Horror! Sheer horror! "It's from those Australian bushfires." I lied to them but they knew I was lying.

I know I would not have liked having my homeland rain down on me. "Would you like us to go inside?" I asked them quietly.

"No." they both said simultaneously, and so, in support, the entire class remained outside, holding a spontaneous silent vigil and private prayers, as Rabaul rained down on us, and Suki and Pio both wept.


But it wasn't until I saw this footage in George Telek's "Rabaul I Panie" that I realised the extent of that devastation. Particularly from 3.00 onwards. Have a look: