IT WAS 7 October 1955 – a Friday - and once again Gena, my Kamanaku mankimasta, and I were passengers on the weekly government charter.
But this time we were on our way to Aitape from Vanimo. Sitting in the cockpit next to the pilot, I had an embracing view of Aitape as we flew past on our way to Tadji airstrip.
I could see the waves breaking on the beach fronting No 2 Passage and crashing on the rocks below a solitary house which was perched on the cliff near Rohm Point.
Just around the point, a murky stream divided the shabby red roofs of the hospital from the government station and far into the distant east extended the black sand beach. Somewhere beyond the horizon was Wewak.