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If you are looking for a fun place to spend St. Patrick's Day you won't have to look too far. There are several cities that really go out all when it comes to celebrating this holiday. From parades, exhibits, food festivals and even fireworks, you can find a celebration that will be fun for all. Best of all these cities are located all the way across the United States, which means that there is a good chance that at least of one of them is located by you. So before you plan your next St. Paddy's Day, check out the best places to celebrate.
1. New York City- The Big Apple has been welcoming the holiday with an extra large parade since 1762. Parade organizers expect the number of spectators to top over 1 million people this year. Many people say that there is no better place to celebrate St. Patrick's Day then New York City. It's best to expect very large crowds, however, since there is going to be at least 155,000 marchers just in the parade. However, you will experience the ambience of St. Patty's Day with the sound of bagpipes and green beer literally everywhere. Avid celebrants will get there early to make the trip to St. Patrick's Cathedral. After the parade is over expect the crowds to gather in the many Irish pubs that are located around the city.
2. St. Louis, Missouri- This mid-west city goes all out when it comes to celebrating St. Patrick's Day. To begin the festivities, there is a five mile run on the 14th of March. This city also brings it on with an enormous parade downtown in the city. The parade features lots of decked out floats, Irish dancers and large character balloons. The night of the 17th expect to find lots of people at the many pubs around the city.
3. Savannah, Georgia- You may be surprised to learn that this traditional Southern city goes all out for St. Pat's Day too. In fact they have one of the longest traditions of celebrating this holiday with their parade that began in 1825. While the festivities started out rather small, today Savannah's green party draws over 400,000 people just to watch the parade. The city also has a rather unique tradition with dyeing the many city fountains green. Many people, both residents and non-residents of the city, enjoy seeing the green fountains, as St. Patrick's Day gets closer.
4. San Francisco, California- The "City by the Bay" hosts a St. Patrick's Day party that is both big and rich in history. San Francisco's parade is referred to as one of the most fashionable parades and it follows the iconic trolley tracks throughout the city. Since San Francisco is a town known for its restaurants, there are many places that offer food for the holiday. From upscale remixes of traditional Irish food, to authentic Irish pub food, this party makes sure that no one leaves hungry. The nightlife of San Francisco doesn't disappoint either as crowds gather at the many Irish pubs throughout the city, to keep the party going.
5. Dublin, Ohio- While this city shares it's name with nine other U.S. cities, as well as the most famous one in Ireland, it stands out for its St. Patrick's Day celebrations. The parade that runs for several miles, features lovely floats, lots of bands and of course dancing leprechauns. Along with the parade there are several parties (both public and private) that parade goers can attend. For some history on the celebration head over to the Historic District and enjoy an afternoon of sightseeing.
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Saint Joseph's Day. I can still see my father coming home, a great smile on his face and his hands laden with some white bakery boxes tied with that ever so thin string tied in a bow. He had just returned from a pilgrimage back into the city, a pilgrimage from our fourth generation suburban home to our primary 19th century nesting ground. My father had been whether to Isgro's or Termini's bakery in South Philadelphia.
We crowded around him like panting puppies anticipating their daily treat. A small black handled knife cut the strings. The boxes opened. The waxed paper covers flew aside. In each box shimmered the most beautiful display of pastry jewel work: zepolle. Zeppole, extraordinary rings of striated pastry, some stuffed with white bursting ricotta others oozing vanilla or chocolate pastry cream and all topped with snowy white sugar and a glistening candied cherry. But the zeppole were not all. For good measure, another set of boxes revealed the phalanx of cannoli, again stuffed whether with ricotta or with pudding and all sprinkled in powdered sugar.
In the middle of Lent, two days blew away the doldrums' clouds of fasting and abstinence: March 17th, and March 19th. March 17th is Saint Patrick's Day. My mum of Irish descent set out the side board with pans of Irish soda bread and dishes of Irish potatoes. We snuck the Irish potatoes into our mouths as we waited for that sent- from-heaven supper of corned beef boil. A supper of corned beef, cabbage, potatoes and carrots boiled in beer and garnished with mustard, a supper we relished only on that day. Two days later we renowned the feast of Saint Joseph. Once again, Lenten restrictions lifted and Saint Joseph's Day was a day to indulge.
The history of Saint Joseph's Day celebrations dates to antique times. In the Roman world, March 17th was the start of the Spring equinox, that time of the year when day and night are equal in length. The Greeks who settled southern Italy in the 8th century Bc brought with them the cult of Bacchus whose rites were renowned on March 17th. At first the rites were wee to women. Eventually, as the cult spread northward to Rome, men also participated. By the second century Bc the rituals became so excessive that they were banned by the Roman senate. The outlawing of ritual however, is rarely sufficient and the celebrations continued. By Christian times, the Bacchic rites were converted to Christianity. The excesses of the pagan gods now demonstrated itself in a new way, the Altar of Saint Joseph: a table laden with every kind of bread and pastry imaginable. While I do not recall ever looking a Saint Joseph's day altar in Philadelphia I have found that they are still found among Italian Americans in Louisiana.
How Saint Joseph became related with pastries depends on which legend you know. One version recounts that Joseph, having fled his family to Egypt to escape Herod's slaughter of the Innocents, found himself without employment. To earn his living he sold small fried pastries. In another tale, that I found recounted in verse, Mary wants to request friends to their home to eat. The question is that she cannot come up with anyone worthwhile. Then after three days of futile attempts extraordinary pieces of fried dough miraculously come from the stove. Joseph becomes somewhat upset. He says that miracles must be reserved for important things and not for simple daily comforts. Suddenly, the baby Jesus speaks up and says that these wee cakes will bring a wee bit of happiness to all habitancy in their harsh lives. In a third version, Mary finds that she has no food for her family. A voice tells her to go to Joseph's workshop and to ask him for the chips that have fallen to the floor. She is to take the chips and fry them. Lo and behold, the chips become extraordinary fried dough. Whichever story you prefer, it's the end corollary that counts: fried dough, what we call "zeppole."
The word "zeppole" itself is of antique origin. Carol Field's necessary Celebrating Italy notes, "The term zippola used in Sicily is understanding to come from the Arabic zalabiyha, which means a soft doughy made from other ingredients and fried in oil; sfinci comes from the Arabic sfang, a fried pastry. (p.399) While the definite Italian word is "zeppola" ( singular) and "zeppole" (plural), among Italian Americans the pastry is ordinarily called "zeppoli." As often happens as languages evolve the vowel sound of the Italian feminine, plural ending "e" (ay) shifted to the masculine plural "I" (ee). Any way you say it doesn't convert the satisfaction in eating.
What constitutes a zeppola is the next question. The simplest and most antique zeppola is any kind of left over dough that has been fried and sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. They are ordinarily eaten while still warm from the fryer. The simple fried dough balls happened at any time of the year as a kind of by-product when my mum was frying something else. We never called them zeppole. They had no definite name. They were just a quick snack made from some left over dough or batter. Williamsburg, Brooklyn is a great place to find this simple version where left over pizza dough becomes dessert.
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At the other end of the spectrum were the pastries that came from bakeries such as Isgro's or Termini's. These were not made at home. These pastries were the ones we called "zeppoli" (zeppole). Unlike the home kitchen fried dough ball the bakery shop zeppole was made from egg based pastry dough ready much in the same way as a cream puff or French "pâte à choux." These pastries are neatly rounded and ribbed with a hole in the center, like a cruller. The cruller institute allows the dough to cook evenly and completely. (The primary "dropped" dough of the home zeppola can often have a raw center.) It would seem that the evolution of the zeppola follows the same pattern as the evolution of the common doughnut from a ball of fried dough to the ring cake we know today.
The refined cruller version of the zeppola probably came to the Kingdom of Naples during the reign of the Bourbons. At that time the aristocracy had their French trained chef called a "monsù" or "monzurrò," a title that is a corruption of the French "monsieur." (Monzurrò happens to be the family name of my paternal great-grandmother.) There is also another tradition that says the new, more sophisticated version was created by the nuns of the convent of Saint Basil. In whether case, Emmanuele Rocco, in 1857, in his Uses and Customs of Naples and Environs proudly noted, "Naples invented zeppole and all Italians licked their fingers."
Crafting is a great way for parents and kids to spend time together while creating some fun craft projects. Just about any time of the year is perfect for making crafts, and the month of March is full of opportunities to learn new skills and have fun at the same time. St. Patrick's Day is March 17th and there are very cute and easy ideas to make at home.
Basic Household Items
Kids, especially toddlers and preschoolers love to use art supplies to whip up a new project to display. Simple craft projects need not become an extravagant and expensive event since many of the St. Patrick's Day crafts for kids can be made using materials and supplies that most parents already have on hand. Household items such as paper plates, paper bags, cardboard tubes and egg cartons are just some of the recycled items that can be used in crafts with kids.
An Abundance of Ideas for March
The month of March offers many ideas for crafts and learning activities using common favorite icons like shamrocks, rainbows, kites and of course leprechauns. Depending on the age and skill level of the kids, an abundance of projects can be made. Taking a few minutes to look online for crafting ideas associated with March may provide the inspiration needed to get crafting.
Fun Time Together
Craft projects with our kids has simply always been a part of our lives, and as our kids are growing up we have spent a lot of quality time teaching our kids how to use their imagination to bring out the budding artist and crafter within. Our super easy and fun to make St. Patrick's Day Mobile was great fun for the kids and took no time at all to make. Most parents already have all of the materials and supplies required.
St. Patrick's Day Rainbow and Shamrock Mobile
Craft Supplies You Will Need:
-uncoated paper plate of any size
-green construction paper
-white construction paper
-crayons or markers
-scissors
-yarn or ribbon
-glue stick
How to Assemble:
First of all, you may need some basic shamrock, rainbow and small cloud shapes, or simply draw your own and cut them out. I drew 3 shamrocks about 2 inches in size from green construction paper and 2 rainbow shapes about 2.5 inches in size from white construction paper. On the rainbow shapes I colored in rainbow colors with markers and then glued on a small white cloud shape that I drew and cut out of construction paper and then glued to the side of the rainbow.
The bottom of the paper plate will actually become the top of the mobile, so color the plate with crayons or markers, or perhaps poster paint if desired. Add any kind of decorations you may want to the plate.
Next, poke 2 holes on the top of the plate about 2 inches apart and around the rim of the plate about half an inch from the edge poke 5 holes. Pull a length of yarn or ribbon through the top holes for a hanger and tie yarn or ribbon to each of the 5 holes. Make small holes on the tops of each of your shamrocks and rainbows and tie to the 5 pieces of yarn. Hang up your mobile to display for St. Patrick's Day.
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Carma: I ran over your Working Writer's Coach Blog back in March 2007 and I kept being drawn back to it. easily I think it was when I subscribed to the Morning Nudge that kept me going everyday and still does. Tell us how The Morning Nudge came about.
Suzanne: As a writing coach, I like to encourage my clients to get a little writing done every particular day. When I first started coaching, I was sending out a weekly newsletter, but I suddenly notion how much more helpful it would be to my clients and other writers by sending them something every week day. That's how the Morning Nudge came about.
I have a friend who calls it "The Morning Shove" because some days I just want writers to stop manufacture excuses for not creating the writing life of their dreams. The only way to come to be a writer is to write! And the purpose of The Morning Nudge is to remind readers of that every day.
Carma: What are your writing habits? Do you work on an frame before beginning the actual story?
Suzanne: I write something every particular day. When I'm working on a book distance manuscript I work from an frame whether the book is nonfiction or fiction. However, even with an frame I find that many surprises pop up as I'm writing. And that's part of what makes the writing process so much fun.
Carma: Is one genre easier to write than another? Why or why not?
Suzanne: For me, fiction is more difficult to write than nonfiction because I have to really, easily focus on the world I'm creating when I'm writing fiction. I have to sort of enter this world, and it takes me a while at the keyboard before I'm able to do that fully. But once I'm there in my fictional world, I don't want to come back to the real world, so I try to write for hours at a time.
When I'm working on nonfiction, I'm able to do that in short bits of time here and there. So it's easier for me to get a lot of nonfiction writing done in a short number of time.
Carma: You all the time have a scheme or two in the works. The Locket just came out so tell us a bit about your other soon to be published stories. What was your inspiration for these stories?
Suzanne: Right now I'm working on another historical novel for Enslow. I'm also working on a nonfiction book with two other coaches, and I'm reworking several photo book manuscripts. I also write my own materials for my coaching programs, along with materials for the Working Writer's Summer Bootcamp that starts June 2.
What inspires me the most - for anything I write - is citizen who do foreseen, things. I want to write things that show everybody how we can All do foreseen, things if we follow our passions and believe in ourselves.
Carma: Which element of historical fiction writing comes more plainly for you-plot, characterization, description, dialogue? Which one gives you the hardest time?
Suzanne: Characterization comes easiest for me. I have to "feel" what the character is going straight through in order to write about this person. But I can generally do that.
Description is sometimes difficult with historical fiction because every detail about the time and place must be spoton even though the actual events are not all true.
Carma: What advice would you give to aspiring children's writers who are trying to break into the field?
Suzanne: First, take a policy or workshop to learn the basics about writing for children. Next, join or start a critique group for children's writers and be sure there are at least a few published children's authors in the group. Third, read, read, read all the children's books you can. Finally, write, write, write!
Carma: Who is Suzanne Lieurance, the lady? chronicle an ordinary day in your life.
Suzanne: I think the essence of who I am involves teaching, coaching, and motivating others every particular day. This may sound strange, but I don't think I have ordinary days. To me, every particular day is special because every day I wake up and get to do what I love to do most - write, coach, and help others in some small way.
But the best part is, I get to do all this no matter where I am, so I can work from home in my pjs if I want - and I often do want to write in my pjs. I think pjs are totally underrated.
Carma: Have you ever suffered from writer's block? What seems to work for unleashing your creativity?
Suzanne: I don't have trouble being creative. What I have trouble with sometimes is staying focused on Only the scheme at hand. My mind can get to racing a mile a little if I don't operate it. So, I meditate and write in my journal every morning in order to get focused before I work on the day's writing project.
Talking with other writers and other coaches unleashes my creativity.
Carma: What type of books did you read as a child? Did you like to do book reports on them?
Suzanne: I all the time loved books about animals when I was a child. My beloved book was called The Magic Pin and it was about a little girl who found a pin that was shaped like a horseshoe. Whenever she put this pin on her shirt or dress she could talk to animals. I just notion that having a pin like that would be the coolest thing since animals were everything to me when I was a kid - dogs, especially.
Carma: How do you set about promoting your books? How many hours a week do you spend on book promotion?
Suzanne: I promote my books in a collection of ways. Mostly straight through school visits and speaking at writers' conferences and other events, plus straight through my websites and blogs. However, I probably spend more time every week promoting my coaching than I do promoting my books. Nowadays, I seem to be a coach who also writes, even though I started out as a writer who also coaches.
Carma: What type of book promotion seems to work the best for you?
Suzanne: Speaking at conferences and manufacture author visits to schools seems to work best for me as a means to promote my books. But I also like networking with other children's authors, illustrators, and editors to help get the word out about all sorts of books for children, not just mine.
Thank you Suzanne.
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We had discovered the bones after a landslide had exposed a cave, whose entrance had previously been covered by a cave-in. The Headmaster at St. Xavier's High School, Brother Patrick Howley, had immediately sent off the tags and some transcriptions of the Japanese writing we had found, but it was several months before we heard whatever back about them.
It took the form of an elucidate letter, embossed with many seals and characters, which in perfect English, firstly thanked us for our return of the artifacts, but more importantly, for our preservation of the remains of the soldiers they identified.
They went on to ask if they might send a delegation from Japan to retrieve the rest of the artifacts, and to give the bodies a proper funeral. They explained that it was of the highest point to the families of these men that they receive this final tribute of respect, and went on to ask if they might be permitted to send a Shinto clergyman to accomplish the ceremony.
That evening, we sat colse to in the brother's library, on the second floor of the monastery. Although I was not a monk, I shared the monastery with them occupying a small roof on the main floor, and had joined them for a cool drink, and some after-dinner argument about the letter we had received.
Brother William Borell, our resident scientific expert, seemed to have no doubts that we should allow them whatever accommodations we might have available, and welcome them to the Island. "It is our Christian duty to offer them our hospitality, and it is our human duty to give their families the peace they deserve after so long. You have no idea of the dishonor and humiliation that they have been subjected to, by the loss of their sons, in an unmarked grave. They would have been forced to live in shame."
The general argument seemed to agree with Br. William, but Br. Pat, who had lived on Kairiru longest, brought up something that none of the others had notion about.
"We need to ask the locals about how they would feel about it first", he said, sipping his nightly Glenfiddich. "There are still a lot of hard feelings on Kairiru, especially in Kragur, on the North side of the island. The Japanese had caught some of their habitancy and treated them very badly, and they haven't forgotten it. We need to have a Kebung (meeting) with the men on this side, and then get over to Kragur to talk to their men also. I don't need to remind you that there are no Japanese Trade-stores in Wewak yet, and Japanese tourists rarely come here."
This more or less tabled the argument for the evening, but Br. Pat went on to tell us what he knew of the occupation.
"There were over a thousand troops stationed here on Kairiru, manning the anti-aircraft guns and submarine base at the eastern tip of the island. The placement of the guns allowed them to guard the aerial entrance to Wewak, and the geography of the sea-bottom there made it potential to coming very close to the island before surfacing. A natural bay granted them a private harbor for refueling and rearming".
My own father was a veteran of the war in Europe, so by now, I was enthralled in the story, and I questioned him more about the events that went on then. He took other sip of his whiskey, and then lit a cigarette, drawing deeply and thoughtfully, while gripping it with the cigarette close to his palm, as he often did.
"Yes, mate, there was a helluva fight colse to here, and the Japanese troops in New Guinea surrendered right there at Wom peninsula, not 20 km away on the mainland. In fact, there's a Japanese Freighter sunk in the strait, right off Big Muschu, as well as lots of other remains of the war lying colse to in the bush."
I had been to the small monument commemorating the men who died on Kairiru, located on the beach near the wharf at St. Xavier's. There, mounted in concrete, and ordinarily painted grey to keep them from rusting away, were a heavy machine-gun, and a mortar launch. Straightforward lettering in the wet concrete at the base read, "To those who fell on Kairiru Island." At the time I hadn't notion much about it, but now I felt like I needed to go back and look at it again.
As the school generator puttered to silence, and Pat got up to head for his room for the night, he added, "The worry we have now is the unexploded ordinance the Americans dropped all over the island, especially in the swampy areas on this side. They sank into the mud, and haven't likely all been found yet. The villagers of Bruniak found one a few years ago, and the boys uncovered one in a new organery we were manufacture last year, both very much alive and dangerous. The army had to come out and set them off, bloody exciting!"
With that, he headed off to bed, and so did I, but I lay reasoning about what it must have been like for the poor men back then. After a year on Kairiru, I couldn't dream what it must have been like without Antibiotics. Cuts, scrapes and bites got infected approximately as a matter of course, and I had gotten a whole of them myself. It seemed that only antibiotics could stop the spread of infection, and I had unfortunately seen some rather horrific cases of ulcers that had gotten thoroughly out of hand, on both students, and villagers. I drifted off to sleep with the images of misery in my mind, and a little thankfulness that I was born in my own time.
Over the next couple of weeks, in Papua New Guinea fashion, Br. Pat organized and hosted Kebungs on both sides of the island, and sought the reaction of all the Big (important) men of Kairiru. Of course, this meant providing all the food, and as much drink as he could afford, which truly wasn't much, being a monk. Everybody at the school chipped in a bit, and somehow it was adequate so as not to embarrass anyone, and at the same time, get the job done.
Strangely, it was not the men of Kragur who objected to the Japanese delegation, so much as the men from Dagar on our side of the Island. It turned out that there had been payback made by the men of Kragur, whose relatives had been killed by the Japanese. Before the Americans were able to round up all the survivors on Kairiru, the men of Kragur had hunted them down in the bush, and killed many as they tried to evade the bombing and the Americans. They felt that their debt had been paid.
One "Big man" from Dagar, on the Southwest part of the island, got up and talked for a long time. I spoke Pidgin quite well by then, but it took me a while to understand what he was referring to.
It seemed that just before the Japanese were taken off the island by the Americans, a group of Japanese soldiers had raided the village gardens above Dagar, and while doing so, one village man had been killed, and his wife had been raped by the soldiers. This story became more relevant, when he finally closed by telling us that this woman was still alive, and that she had given birth to a boy afterward, who was definitely half Japanese. When he was pointed out to me, I recognized a man I had seen before while I treated villagers at the Aid post, but I had not spoken to him, as he had not required any healing help.
Now, the real qoute became evident. This young man claimed the right of payback for the death of his "father", the husband of his mother, but his real father was the man who had raped his mother!
After this became clear, Br. Pat stood up in the center of the circle gathered colse to the village. Assuming the Melanesian style of oration, he first repeated what had been said by all the other Big men who had spoken, and agreeably complimented them on their wisdom. Then he turned to the young man in question, and spoke to him directly, which is uncommon in a Kebung. He spoke only in Pidgin, but what he said was simply this.
"If you want, I will write the Japanese Mastas, and ask them what payback will they offer for the death of your father Uliup, and also the offense against your mother, but what will you do if they refuse? You know, if you make trouble for them, you will have to go to court." With this final pronouncement, Br. Pat returned to his seat on the ground, and unconcernedly took out his Trade-store Cambridge cigarettes, and determined passed out one to each Big Man at the circle.
While he was doing this, the young man nervously got to his feet and stood waiting for his occasion to speak. Br. Pat whispered to me that ordinarily such a young man without status in the village would not speak at a Kebung, so he was waiting for permission from the Big men.
Indeed, this was true, as after he had popped a betel nut in to his mouth, an old man near the center of the circle, wheezed out in Pidgin, "Whusat man I gat Tok?" This was basically a challenge to utter himself, what status he had, and what right he had to speak.
"Name blong mi Shaku", he began, giving his name. After that, he began in halting English to speak to the group, but in general to Brother Pat. He told how he had grown up as a half-caste in the village in his uncle's house. His life had been very hard. His mom had grieved many years for his father, as no payback had been made for him. The Japanese had gone, never to return, and after he had grown up and understood, he only wanted justice for his mom and himself. He told how the clergyman at St. John's Seminary on Kairiru had taught him to read and speak English a bit, and through him, he had learned of the Japanese occupation. Now it seemed that there was a occasion that they were arrival back, and he could ask for payback for his father. Before sitting down, he also promised that he would make no trouble for the Japanese Mastas when they came, but asked if he could meet them.
This little speech was accepted amiably by the men, and consensus was soon reached. Br. Patrick would write to the Japanese and invite them to come to Kairiru, and he would also contain a description of the claim Shaku was making, and await their response.
Walking back from Dagar village to the school, Br. Pat told me that he notion that the Japanese would definitely want to decide this issue agreeably, and since they had been so thankful for our assistance, he felt they could come to some sort of arrangement.
The letter was composed and sent off, and for a couple of months the whole discovery was forgotten in the day-to-day life of a boarding school with four hundred and fifty students.
Our first proclamation came in the form of the morning radio broadcast from Wirui Mission in Wewak. Br. Canute cheerily informed us, in his thick Australian accent, that there were, " aaff a bloody regiment of Nips sitting in the Marist Brother's Mission house in Wewak right then, waitin' for a ride out to Kairiru, at the soonest potential time. They're suckin' up all me grog, mate!"
Our boat, the Tau-K, ordinarily made at least one trip a week into Wewak for supplies, and as it was just about to leave that morning, Br. Pat and a few other monks went along to greet our guests and accompany them on the trip back out to Kairiru. It was during the ""Talley-O" season at the equator, and this brought a brisk Northwest wind and rain virtually every day for three months, so the trip out to the island can be quite rough and tiresome, as well as a bit nausea-inducing in the choppy seas. It was a 12 meter Aluminum landing-craft, powered by two Volvo-Penta 105 hp marine diesels, with a drop-front loading ramp. It could make good very good speed, but in rough water the constant spray made the trip far from pleasant.
Meanwhile, Br. Bryan Leak, who was deputy-headmaster at St. Xavier's, supervised a school-wide work day to get the whole place ready for our guests. Br. William, who had been imprisoned by the Japanese in Hong Kong during the war, knew the culture better than anyone, and gave us our best advice.
"Everything must be clean and neat", he said with authority. "Keep it simple, and don't forget to bring lots of flowers for the guest house. I remember they loved the Roses in the Monastery organery in Hong Kong, and plundered them mercilessly to give to their girl friends. We have no Roses, but there are many orchids."
Br. William was a true expert on the flora and fauna of the South Pacific and Asia. He had written a whole of scientific articles on the area colse to Singapore, which have since been published. He later earned a Masters Degree, without examination, from the University of Melbourne in Australia. We all took his guidance as usual, and set to work.
The boat didn't arrive back to the island until just before dark that night, which is always colse to seven. The travelers were cold, wet, and tired, but not very hungry, since most were a little sea-sick. The wind had been so strong, that they had been forced to take the longer route colse to the eastern side of Muschu, in order to take advantage of the calmer water on the leeward side of the island. This had turned a two hour trip into a 4 hour trip against the wind most of the way, especially arrival up the strait.
As the boat tied up to the wharf, the large group of boys from the school had gathered colse to it. They naturally struck up a loud chorus of an Island welcome song that they all knew, or had learned since arrival to St. Xavier's. This seemed to greatly please the delegation, which waited respectfully on the boat until the song was finished.
There were seven men in the group, all dressed very neatly in either short-sleeved Tropical suits, or white shirts and shorts, with socks and sandals. The one who appeared to be the youngest, stepped forward and said to the assembly, "We thank you for your welcome song, and we also would thank Br. Patrick Howley for his invitation to Kairiru." With that he bowed formally, and Everybody began to help unload the boat, and carry their luggage up the beach to the guest house.
Noticing the small monument off the path, they immediately turned toward it, and having translated the inscription, they knelt in a short prayer. This, the large group of boys that had gathered, witnessed in silence, taking their cue from the monks and others teachers present at their arrival.
Continuing on up to the house we had prepared for them, we were rewarded by much bowing and thanks for their accommodations. They seemed very satisfied that they would all have their own room, and the island-style shower we had rigged up from the tank up higher on the hill, created a bit of a joke, when they realized that it was cold water!
After leaving their luggage, they followed us over to the Brother's dining room, which was unmistakably a small separate building from the Monastery. By now, they hand got their land-legs back, and with it, regained their appetites too.
Rice and Kau Kau (sweet potato) had been cooked in great abundance, and the cook girls had done something I unmistakably liked with the Mung beans which we grew on Kairiru. Stir-fried with Kau Kau (sweet potato), it made a splendid side dish, and with all the many kinds of fruit for dessert, it was notably the best meal I had enjoyed since arrival to Kairiru. Br. Desmond had contributed the main dish of roast beef, which he had determined hoarded in the cooler at St. John's seminary, also on Kairiru.
With the monks prominent the prayer this time, we all sat down together, and were just about to begin dinner, when one of the men stood up, and through the interpreter, asked if he might be allowed the honor of giving a toast before we began. He appeared to be the senior member of the group, as his hair was thoroughly white, but undiminished in its fullness.
Of course, this permission was immediately given, and reaching into his pack, withdrew a large bottle of Japanese Scotch, top quality. The round of appreciation that this earned, gave him a few moments to construct his toast, while the glasses were filled. Finally, he turned stiffly and faced the east, and raised his glass.
As he spoke only Japanese, I have no idea what he said, but it was very intense and full of emotion. Finishing his toast, he snapped his glass to his lips and drank the libation in one quick gulp, which we all imitated. This formality complete, we sat down, and the supper began in earnest.
Of the seven men, only the youngest, who had spoken at the wharf, could speak English, and he was there as their interpreter. Now, he rose again to introduce the delegation to the whole group of monks, and the other staff members, like myself, that had been invited. Four of the men, were family representatives of the men whose tags we had found. One was a Shinto priest, and the other, whom we had assumed was the eldest, was a veteran, who had been a doctor on Vokeo Island, some 40 kilometers to the Northeast. He was amazingly fit and salutary looking, and I had noticed his agility when disembarking from the boat.
I had a flash of imagery what he might have looked like as a young healing officer thirty years earlier, and was somewhat lost in thought, when my turn at introduction came along.
When I stood to tell them my name, and where I was from, they made exclamations of surprise when they heard that I was from Canada. The doctor told us he had been to Canada, and travelled to Banff National Park, and also attended the Calgary Stampede a few years before. He seemed to have been much impressed with the beauty of Banff and Canada in general. He went on to tell us quite a story, via the interpreter, about how he and his family had spent three days on a ranch in Alberta. They had gone on a trail ride into the mountains, and he got quite excited in describing a Cinnamon bear they had startled in the bush.
I was most pleased however, by the way he ended the story by saying what a splendid place Canada was, and how amiable Everybody had been to them while they travelled. I somewhat shyly assured him that the habitancy of my province, Saskatchewan, would even outshine Alberta for hospitality, and that what we lacked in mountains, we made up for in breath-taking open spaces, and thousands of crystal clear lakes, teeming with fish.
The monks soon chimed in with their own recommendations for spots to visit in Australia, and the banter soon led to a keen argument about a multitude of places and topics. The poor investigator was barely able to eat dinner, he was kept so busy at his occupation!
They were all tired after a long day of voyage all the way from Japan, but more so from the trip out to the island, so they asked if they might be excused. They had informed us that they intended to begin the funeral aid at dawn the next day, and that it would take up most of the day. Br. Pat assured them they would be afforded as much privacy as potential for their ceremony, as the next day was a school day. He had requested that no one use the soccer field that lay adjacent to the small monument on the beach, where they intended to accomplish the service, and the villager's market day, ordinarily held nearby, wasn't scheduled for that day.
We all retired for the night, but I noticed that the kerosene lights in the guest house remained on till long after the generator fell silent at ten. I fell asleep to the sound of what seemed like chimes ringing down below, and it steered my dreams into some uncomfortable territory that woke me several times.
The next morning dawned unusually clear and calm for the rainy season, and the morning deluge down the slopes of Mt. Malangis had ceased early. By seven, when the school bell rang for breakfast, the steam was rising off the lawns and the sun was so keen it hurt. As I dressed for breakfast, I heard the sound of a big gong ringing down from the beach. The general roar of the waves on the beach was much subdued, and I could also hear chanting at intervals.
Walking down the path from my house on the hillside above the school, I could see that our guests had already built a large funeral pyre out of the driftwood that the boys had collected for them, as part of our preparations. As yet, it remained unlit, but I could see wisps of smoke arrival from the several braziers they had located colse to the site.
The day was a busy one for Everybody at the school as usual, and we never noticed their activities until just before school broke for lunch, when the boy's concentration was drawn to a large column of smoke rising from the beach. The flames leapt high above the pyre, and were clearly visible from the classrooms. The smoke billowed energetically upward for more than a hundred meters, and then was carried off to the east by the Tally-O wind, which had picked up over the day.
New Guineans do not cremate their dead, and this led to a whole of discussions with the boys that afternoon during work in the gardens, as we all did, ten hours a week. They were very keen as to why the Japanese would want to destroy the bones of their Timbunas (ancestors), when they should take them home and keep them, as they do. I tried to elucidate a bit about Shinto Buddhist ideas to them, but they were in general just glad that the bones of the soldiers were gone.
They had been determined stored in Br. William's cupboard in the Science room, and many boys had been afraid to go into that room, even while Br. William was there! Now, at least, their spirits wouldn't come colse to to bother anyone. I bowed to their convictions, and went on with my hoeing.
By the time work was over at 5:30, we saw that the ceremony at the beach was complete, as the site had been vacated. We all headed off for a much anticipated shower and a rest before supper at seven. As I passed the monastery, Br. Bryan Leak called me over to ask if I might have some nicer clothes for supper that night. It seemed that the Japanese delegation had asked if they might make a special presentation that evening, and we were to all accumulate in the library upstairs in the monastery after dinner. I decided to wear my best Canadian clothes, jeans!
We all seemed to rush through the evening meal, in expectation of what might be in store later. By the time sunset had necessitated the lights be turned on, Everybody had assembled in the main room of their library. Br. Pat was resplendent in his Pilipino shirt and colorful Lap Lap, wrapped island style colse to his waist. He had even trimmed his beard!
We all sat quietly retention our drinks, which poured condensation in the tropical humidity, while the Japanese men came in to take their places. They all bowed formally to us before sitting, while the doctor and the investigator remained standing.
He began by thanking us once more for all our hospitality, and also the respect they had been given to complete their funeral services. Then, he asked us to come together to the balcony of the monastery, where we could see large pile of the cargo they had brought with them, stacked under a blue tarp below on the lawn.
At his signal, two of the boys gathered colse to had pulled back the tarp to tell and splendid display of goods. These were gifts sent by the families of the dead soldiers, and also the Japanese government, we were told. There were cans of many strange and keen foods, and a multitude of electronic gadgets, from Tape decks to amplifiers and cameras. There were many items that were obviously for the boys, and they set up a great cheer when it was explained to them. When this was distributed with the aid of the head prefects in the school, we all returned to our seats, as the doctor seemed to have something else to say. After first refilling our drinks from his furnish of Scotch, we once again waited for him to speak.
He began very softly, facing the ocean, and told us his story. I will tell it now, as best that I can.
He had been transferred to the sea-base on Vokeo Island in June of 1944, and he had been one of the thousands of others who had been rounded up by the Allied troops after the surrender of Japan. He had been brought to Muschu Island, along with some 9 or 10 thousand other men, and left there for three months, before they were repatriated to Japan.
As we listened, it seemed to me that he must have determined himself lucky to have been spared, when more than two hundred thousand of his countrymen met their end in New Guinea. I was wrong.
Muschu is a smaller coral island, located in the middle of the mainland and Kairiru, and it has none of the simply occurring springs of Kairiru, nor does the soil support the rich vegetation found on volcanic islands.
By this time, he held his glass with a shaking hand, and his voice became emotional. The investigator sat looking down at his sandals, quietly translating each phrase as it was spoken, and we were all cast in a spell of silence, broken only by the buzzing of the night insects.
As he turned to stop his story, I could see that tears were streaming down his face, although he remained in operate of himself. He told how the Americans had left no guards on the island, only Pt-boats patrolling colse to it night and day. There was no escape, as all the tribes on the mainland were against them, and the local habitancy had been taken off the island.
The men had eaten every living thing on the island, right down to the coral, and also hunted the reefs out as far as they could, but there just wasn't adequate food and fresh water for so many men. In the end, they had turned on each other, and he was only one of 900 men who survived. At this point he was so caught up in emotion that he had to stop for a minute. I have never forgotten his last words in the many years since.
He said, "Our men did many bad things in the war, but they weren't the only ones."
After such an outpouring of openness, it seemed that there was nothing to do but sit silently and grieve a little for his poor comrades. Br. Desmond, the spiritual leader of the monastery, suggested we all say a little prayer for the men whose bones we had found, and all the men who had lost their lives in the war, both Japanese, and otherwise.
The conference politely broke up soon after that, and as I walked back up the hill with other teacher, we talked about the evening. We had both spent many happy hours snorkeling and swimming on the reefs of Muschu, which had no muddy streams to interrupt the coral. As we parted, we had to admit that it would never seem the same again.
The surprises weren't over however, as we were about to learn the next morning. We awoke to the sound of Kundu drums arrival up from the village, and soon a procession was spotted arrival down the trail. It was Shaku, arrival for his payback!
