A graduate Practitioner, Geoffrey had been away from his mother’s tribe so long that he had forgotten her inherited language. But his father, a very progressive European, wanted his son to have the best of our civilization. He was right, I think, for Geoffrey is doing fine work in the Solomons.
CHAPTER VI
IN RETROSPECT
As the Pacific’s halfway house, Suva has become more and more of a stopping-off place for the great and the near-great. Royalty, inquiring novelists and scientific bigwigs have come in the regular way, by sea. The first visitor from the sky was Kingsford-Smith, and because he must have trees cut down from the parade ground to make a safe landing, Suva was in a dither. The residents loved those trees so fondly that they didn’t start to fell them until after they learned that the aviator’s plane was well on its way from Hawaii. Then down they came, and when the giant bird roared in it was probably the high moment in Fijian history.
English princes and royal dukes weren’t exactly a commonplace. Their comings and goings threw the colony into a patriotic frenzy. Before the then Prince of Wales decided on “the woman I love” Suva all but gave him a coronation. The Duke of Gloucester’s visit in 1935 caused a social upheaval among the natives, who were preparing a colossal dance in his honor. Many of the boys, in imitation of European styles, had been cutting off their great bundles of hair. The master of ceremonies gave it out that no dancer would be eligible unless he wore the high, round hairdress of classic Fiji. One of the high chiefs of Mbau, whose hereditary privilege it was to act as cupbearer in the kava ceremony, defied the rule and came to the dance in his college cut. He was incontinently rejected. The Duke had two Scotland Yard men with him, but that didn’t interfere with his efforts to be democratic. He was especially fond of the bacon-and-egg parties common in young Suva society after the ball; these were at about dawn, when the Duke’s watch-dog equerry was sound asleep. After many stiff-collar affairs in the larger colonies Gloucester found his release, I think, in Suva’s simple, kindly hospitality.
His voyage was bothered, however, by people who were less considerate of royal democracy. As H.M.S. Australia was leaving Samoa, the little yacht Seth Parker, owned by an enterprising radio star, sent out an S O S. When the Australia came about for rescue work the yacht announced: “Open your wireless set and you can hear a broadcast all over the U. S., saying that the Duke of Gloucester has come to the rescue of the Seth Parker.” Another coy one followed: “Won’t the Duke come up on the bridge so that we can take his picture?” Gloucester’s sulphuric words must have raised a storm, for an hour or so after the royal cruiser went her way a hurricane blew up, and the battered Seth Parker sent out another S O S, a real one this time. Dutifully the Australia turned back again, and stood by for two days until a vessel from Pago Pago came and picked up the offensive little yacht.
Before the present King and Queen of England even dreamed of wearing crowns they paid us a visit as Duke and Duchess of York. We met them on two occasions, an official ball at Government House and a more informal affair in the Grand Pacific’s ballroom. The Duke of York said that his father had visited Fiji and had drunk the kava which they “spit in the bowl.” So that party with old Thakombau was family history. The Duchess was what we Americans call a “nice girl,” and her poise never seemed to get in the way of her good humor. I liked the way she handled a young cadet, whom the occasion and the champagne had somewhat exhilarated. It was contrary to custom, but he wanted to win a bet when he asked her for a dance. She said, “Sorry, my card’s full.” Well, so was the young cadet; he took another drink and asked her again. Again she was sorry. Next afternoon he woke with a headache and moaned, “Lord, what did I do?” His pals were all too ready to tell him, and with flights of imagination. He prepared himself to be cashiered, but nothing happened. It would be romantic to say that the Duchess intervened in his behalf. I doubt if she remembered his name.
When the School was well started and I could spend more of my time in Suva’s civilized environment I occupied a crossroads position where I met many, going and coming. Earl and Lady Beatty were guests at Sir Harry Luke’s dinner party, and I was much flattered when I found that the Earl knew quite a lot about the School. This contact was more impressive, perhaps, but less engaging than the one I made when the yacht Caroline came in and her owner asked me to come aboard with some medical advice. The owner was Douglas Fairbanks, and the tall, blond lady with arched eyebrows was his future wife, Lady Ashley. I remember him as a charming, unassuming host with the finest yacht I have ever visited—the Zaca not excepted. It was air-conditioned, so that the temperature in a dozen luxurious staterooms could be lowered to taste. Fairbanks said that he slept under blankets every night in the tropics. Suva, always broad-minded about the holy bond, made quite a fuss over them, and Ratu Sukuna gave them a native dance. “Doug” wanted me to go with him on a voyage to Singapore, but I had other irons in the fire.
Early in 1938 (I think it was) I was off on field work when somebody tapped on the screen porch of our house and Eloisa went out to see who it was. A beefy gentleman looked through the wire and wanted to know if Dr. Lambert was home. No, said Eloisa, but wouldn’t he come in? “My name’s Morgan,” he said, and stayed for tea. It didn’t require a signed photograph for Eloisa to recognize him as J. P. Morgan. In fact I had rather expected him one of these days, as Heiser had written me, saying that when Mr. Morgan showed up I might outline a trip for him through the islands. He stayed for a couple of hours, talking about Fiji and the School and our work in the Pacific.
Later I couldn’t resist the temptation of writing him a letter, which began something like this:—