FOR TROOPS IN ISLANDS

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 6, Issue 68, 30 April 1943, Page 3

FOR TROOPS IN ISLANDS

REFRIGERATED FOODSTUFFS Somewhere in the Pacific. It is so cold, down there; in the floodlit ship's hold that the bushyheaded Fijian natives hop from one bare foot to another and flap their arms against, their skies as they wait for the cargo slings to >mse, back empty. Compared with the warm, muggy tropical night outside, it's so cold among the frozen crack-> ling sides of beef and mutton carcases that the- natives will have to ci'lmb out soon and be relieved by another gang. But what really matters is that the level of refrigerated cargo in the hold is falling steadily as you watch. For this is prime fresh food from New Zealand farms and slaughter houses, pouring in a satisfying stream into the giant maw of the United Nations, armed forces in the Pacific. I have witnessed this scene many a time at. big ports and little ports in many an advanced island base. It varies a little with, every base: sometimes modern wharf cranes swing the crates and carcases out of. the' holds., sometimes the ship ties up at a little Avooden jetty and uses her own derricks, and someimes there is no wharf or jetty at all, and the cargo is loaded into barges which ferry it ashore. Instead of Fijians, the gangs working in the. holds may be New Zealand or American soldiers or Kanakas. This ship in which I! am travelling used to carry West Indies fruits to the New York markets. To-day her chilly holds are regularly packed with New Zealand beef, mutton, bacon or livers, eggs, but-, ler, cheese, apples and green vegetables destined to make more attractive menus for the Allied army, navy and air force in hundreds of camps and battle stations, lhe eggs vour grocer could not let you have last week may to-day be providing a rare treat for a lighter squadron in its steaming jungle camp; the twin of the fresh cabbage, whose h'.gh price, annoyed you may be a luxury beyond all price on the rou&n wooden mess table of a lonely army outpost. Never before has so much not such a variety el.' New Zealand s farm and market garden produce flowed overseas as in this year ol' the war, and never before has the I'aeilic seen a food, problem com-, parable with that of feeding the United Nations forces which defend it. New Zealand trade names stamped on carcases, tins nnd. boxes mingle with those of American food companies. as far towards Japan as Guadalcanal*. Great storehouses are stacked to the roof in the. morning and empty in the afternoon: dieselpowered refrigerating chambers set up in places where cold was unknown before run night and day to keep the frozen foods from thawing; ships, trucks and even planes are endlessly engaged in the task of keeping lighting men from going hungry. 1 can lean on the rail of the ship for hours and. not lose interest in this merely fragmentary glimpse of food going to war. There is more than a touch of the dramatic in the rattle of the winches and the glare of the floodlights and the sense of urgency about the job. Ihere is colourful atmosphere, too, provided by these Fijian natives, who go about their work with the strength of strong men and the air of happy-* go-lucky children. One of them stamping his numbed feet and breathing clouds of steam, grins broadly up at me. The relief gangs, squatting on the deck, are singing "South of the Border"' in four parts, with the same sonorous beauty with which the missionaries taught them to sing hymns. They obviously have not. the faintest idea what the words mean, but from where I stand the music sounds line. And they probably have not much idea what their job really means, but from where I stand that looks fine, too.