To the yam patches and palm-roofed villages of free New Guinea the word came: him good fella white fella man had called for a big sing-sing to celebrate the passing of him bad fella Japan man.
Along footworn trails through grassland and jungle hurried the villagers, with feathers in their fuzzy-wuzzy hair, ocher paint on their black bodies, drums and pipes slung across their shoulders. Near the white man's busy base at Finschhafen they converged.
A veteran Aussie officer, known up & down the territory, made the keynote speech: "Japan man he come...
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