Under the Banyan Tree

I will extol thee my God, o King, and I will bless thy name for ever and ever!
Every day will I bless thee and I will praise Thy name for ever and ever.
Great is the Lord!

In the centre of Adamstown stands one big banyan tree.

Roots of that banyan tree hanging down all around, joining to the ground. The big leaves are thousandfold, sun and rain can’t reach beneath.

Every morning we unroll the mats there, and kneeling we begin.

Suffer me not O Lord to waste this day in sin and folly

But let me worship Thee with much delight

Teach me to know more of Thee and to serve Thee better than ever before

That I may be fitter to dwell in heaven

Where Thy worship and service are everlasting.

Our father who art in heaven ...

First there was Mr Adams. Our father on the fenua maitai. The only man we’d ever known, one father, liken the Bible. Obey your father, says so in the Bible.

Some obeyed, some didn’t.

Mr Adams became our father one day under this tree. You can ask Granma Susannah, she was there. You can ask Granma Christian, she was there, but she’s not talking so much now.

Granma Susannah, she’s a funny one, sometimes don’t know if she’s telling stollies. She say came one angel to father Adams.

‘An angel!’ Aleck’s a-crying that morning. ‘Wings like this!’ He’s throw up his arms to show us, see the ragged armholes of his worn-out English coat. ‘Light flaring out all around!’

His eyes as red as blood, hair sticking out in points. ‘He’s told me to cleanse your souls. Your souls, for ye’re all covered in blood and gore. Sons and daughters of drunken bastards all of ye! Afloat on the ’igh seas without a master!’

We eyeing the foam on his lips a little fearful. Could be he going to lay about himself with the nearest axe. Could be fall down and vomit. We holding our breath.

‘No more!’ He pulling himself up on his fallen bones. ‘The master ’as come. The Lord in ’is mercy has sent us the Lord Jesus Christ to instruct us in ’is ways!’

He point his stick at the nearest boy. ‘Bring me the Bible young Quintal, from out o’ Ned Young’s box.’

Quickly now, Vahineatua’s daughter Rachel running over to him. ‘Father, are you well?

‘Couldn’t be better, unless you was to sit down and listen to the word of the Lord my girl.’

We stayed fixed to the spot. What thing’s he about?

Matt’s running with the big book, carrying it like a rock on his shoulder. Aleck’s lay it out and open it and dip his crooked fingertip into that teeming nest of words. He’s give a moan like a sick man, for taking too much rum day and night, then a belch.

Then he’s begin, like the orator on the marae, ‘’Ear my cry O God! Attend to my prayer! From the end of the earth I cry unto thee, when my ’eart is overwhelmed. Lead me to the rock that is ’igher than I, for thou ’ast been a shelter for me and a strong tower from the enemy!’

We full of admiration for his speaking. The words of that book were just like insects to us, but Aleck could tell them off his tongue. He’s looking around at all us, like he want some answer.

It was Toofaiti went first to her own knees, but the little sullen were quick to the same. Soon everyone kneeling, their palms together. Some looking out the corners of their eyes.

Our father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name ...

We knew this one, but Aleck had extra relish on his tongue. We followed him curiously, like a goats on a hillside.

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven

Give us this day our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses…

After the amen we stopped and waited.

Our father, who art in heaven! He’s begin anew, louder than the first time.

Hallowed be thy name!

Sometimes we saying that prayer fifty sixty times on Sunday, even after he’s teach us some other ones. But never telling us His name. That God of Gods, I’m asking, what name shall we hello?

❖ ❖ ❖

Mr Buffet stood back and curled his left whiskers with his right hand, looked hard at every girl and boy. Especially the girls. Was as if he knew everything going on outside the classroom as well as in. Knew we’d been breaking open cocknuts on a fast day, forgotten to wash behind our ears, told lies and disobeyed our mothers.

‘Heathens!’ he suddenly announced. ‘Your mothers were all heathens and your fathers not much better. But now you know the favour of the Lord. You know what is right and what is wrong, do you not?’

He looked about again at our carefully composed faces. Nobody wants to be a heathen.

‘Do you know right from wrong?’

‘Yes Mr Buffet,’ the reply.

Nobody wants to be a heathen but Kitty Quintal can’t help it.

Mr Buffet’s opening up the book and clearing his throat. ‘Yes indeed! The Bible has in it everything a young person needs to know. Today we will read from Matthew chapter 25. Who shall begin?’

It was Kitty started the giggling and set cousin Mary off. Their fresh memory of Matthew McCoy’s stiff ure, and the unmentionable things he had promised he could do with it was too much to bear straight face.

Mr Buffet cleared his throat again, and a secretive smile began twitching beneath his whiskers.

‘What impudent young heathens you are, come up here at once and stand before the class. What do you know that the Bible did not teach you? You first Mary Christian, speak up.’

Propelled by gales of helpless laughter, the wonderful secret was out.

‘Why ’em boys like girls Mr Buffet!’

‘And why is that young lady?’

Kitty was stifling her giggles on Mary’s shoulder

‘Come now, can’t you tell me?’

We couldn’t tell, and the harder we tried the more we laughed.

‘Recite the Lord’s Prayer three hundred times. In the corner!’ said Mr Buffet.

He crossed his arms and watched us with satisfaction, we’re looking out the corners of our eyes. Kitty’s breasts were still jiggling with laughter under her chemise.

Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil

For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory

Forever and ever

Our knees all hard as bark.

Amen

Amen

Amen

❖ ❖ ❖

Was Eti Young that taught Mr Adams to speak out of the book. Still called him Aleck in those times, before the first ship came and he changed his name to John Adams, Mister. Charles and little Matt were sitting close by that day with ears wide open. ‘We going to begin the beginning,’ say Eti. Open first page and point. ‘First word. Genesis. G E N E S I S.’ Aleck’s scratching his head like he’s got them kooties bad. ‘That’s the g, that’s the e, that’s the n,’ Eti’s pointing.

‘Repeat the sound, man.’ We waiting and watching. Bit by bit the word come out. ‘Very good. Now, in the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ Charles was creeping close up to Mr Young’s elbow, getting a good look. ‘Es a big un book. Es gwen ter take all day,’ he said. Mr Young reached out and tweaked his ear. Didn’t hurt. He stayed there all day and filled his ears. Next day and next day too. He’s repeating everything he hears. ‘You’se telling stollies!’ say the others. ‘No! Es in the book. I seen it.’

Mr Young was coughing all a while. Sick in his chest. After a while see he’s gwen fer die too, coming all blood out his mouth. Put blood spots on the book sometimes even though he’s cover up his mouth with a piece of cloth.

We only on Joshua by then.

❖ ❖ ❖

‘Matt Quintal said Mr Young killed his father. That’s what Betsy Mills telling him. Betsy Mills says she was there seen it all and they cut Mr Quintal to pieces, Mr Young and Mr Adams. She said she seen the house all dripping with blood. She showed him how with a stick, how they chopping up Mr Quintal, just like one stack o’ firewood she said.’

‘She’s telling stollies. Mr Quintal fell down the cliff too. That’s what happened Mrs Quintal too, and that’s what happened to Dan McCoy’s father.’

‘Mr Adams our only one father now.’

‘And our father who art in heaven.’

‘Hello be thy name.’

‘Stop that fool around.’

Then came Mr Buffet, and not long before Mr Adams died came Mr Nobbs. Mr Buffet came on a big ship, so many masts and sails. ‘Sail ho! Sail ho!’ That’s the cry on Pitcairn. How many times we’re rushing to the edge, counting the horizon, see that little speck of excitement far away. We’re trying to catch it like a fish on a line, bring it to Bounty Bay. See its treasures, talk to its men.

First all we say prayers under the banyan tree, got our clean cloths on and our mothers cover up their breasts and light the oven fires to feed the guests. Soon they climbing up the Hill of Difficulty, we sing hymns to them, then feed them. Big dishes of yams, cocknut pilhai cooked in banana leaves, one two pigs, roasted breadfruit, sweet cane juice. Mr Adams says, ‘Gentlemen, we take no hard spirits on this island, please be considerate of our little children and their mothers and keep the sanctity of the Lord upon us all, amen.’

He’s very strict when a ship’s visiting, better behave or else.

We kept a fast every three four days, sun’sarise to sun’saset, by Mr Adam’s instruction. ‘Then ye’ll have the Lord’s redemption for all your sins,’ he promised us.

One time a ship came on our fast day and the mothers complained for all the cooking and nothing to eat. ‘If we not getting to eat today we going to tell the captain where bout you got your rum hidden,’ they told him.

How they knew was because his married wife Teio Adams was now blind, and he’s hide it in the house thinking she can’t see. But she can see with her ears and she’s listening where he’s put it so she can have a sip sometime. So he’s agreed to let us break fast with the guests, and nobody mention the rum bottle.

After the eating, there were more hymns, then everyone saying prayers by moonrise. Our hearts all full by bedtime, of songs and stories and psalms. We feel the Lord so kind to us. The Lord protecting us. The Lord our saviour from the hell awaiting sinners. The Lord our friend and father. The Lord an ocean of mercy. We sleep with the songs in our ears.

Alone O Love ineffable
Thy saving name is given
To turn aside from Thee is hell
To walk with Thee is heaven.

Sail ho! Sail ho! The boys are out fishing, Thursday October and George Adams and Eti Quintal. From the Edge we see them paddling fast out to sea to meet the ship. It’s a fine day, the ocean is all flashing light in every direction, the little canoe goes up and over the swell, up and over. Mr Adams is beginning a prayer. Then he’s sending Hannah to meet the sailors at the top of the Hill of Difficulty, with flowers in her hair and all kind words of greeting on her lips. Sometimes weary, hungry and sick they arrive, staggering over the top, and lovely Hannah’s there smiling.

‘The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear Him, and delivereth them. O taste and see that the Lord is good, blessed is the man that trusteth in Him.’

‘What can we send for you, what are your needs?’ the captains would ask.

‘Send to us one person to teach us to read and write and do what is good towards God, because we don’t know enough,’ we replied. ‘That is our wish.’

Mr Buffet was the Lord’s first answer to our prayers. He was good for reading and writing. Soon all the little sullen could make their names with a blackend stick, or if a lucky day Mr Buffet’s sharp pen and ink.

Pen and paper was Margaret’s secret longing. Not allowed to tattoo her hands, she wanted to fill pages like the book itself, with everything she knew. Granma Christian was discouraging. ‘You just a little sullen, don’t know anything,’ she said. ‘You wait till you older, then maybe someone’s gwen fer listen you. Better you write out what’s in the Bible.’

She beat out sheets of fine white tapa cloth for Margaret to practise on and kept the completed sheets in a roll to show visitors from the ships. Sometimes she gave the sailors a sheet in return for something particular. Cloth with coloured flowers on it, a whalebone comb, or a cooking pot. Once she got another book, a small one with pictures in it of children and strange animals. ‘Mother Goose’ it was called. ‘That’s the bird Captain Cook brought to Tahiti,’ she showed Margaret. ‘You can write with one her feathers.’

‘Mrs Christian, these children need nothing but the good book,’ Mr Nobbs told her when she showed him her prize. ‘Any other writings will simply spoil their temperaments. They are true children of God.’

Mr Nobbs came on one small small ship, just Mr Nobbs and Mr Bunker, who was crazy sick, scare us all with his long beard and ghosty eyes afore he died.

Mr Nobbs got whiskers even bigger than Mr Buffet, and his voice bigger too. Mr Buffet married Dolly Young and Mr Nobbs married Sarah Christian. But when Mr Nobbs found out who’s the father of Mary Christian’s little sullen, baby Mary, he’s aroaring angry, say John Buffet’s not fit to teach us, John Buffet’s a sinner of the first order, and he won’t ever speak to Mr Buffet again. Soon we got two schools, Mr Buffet’s school and Mr Nobbs’ school.

Forgive us our trespasses, some saying. John Buffet’s one good man. No harm done, Mary’s a sweet child, a blessing.

But Mr Nobbs’ voice is very fine, Mr Nobbs can write poems and songs and he is a righteous man, hallelujah. Which school to go to?

Mr Nobbs broke his boat to planks and built a new schoolhouse by the banyan tree. All day long, hear the little sullen singing, reciting and counting, their voices lift up like kites on the whirling ocean currents overhead.

All day long the black ancestor goddess, hidden snug among the banyan’s slowly strangling roots, hears the voices of her hina tini.

‘The Lord doth build up Jerusalem, he gathereth together the outcasts of Israel. He healeth the broken in heart and bindeth up their wounds. He telleth the number of the stars, he calleth them all by their names. Great is our Lord and of great power, his understanding is infinite.’

The white fairy terns that flit and glide among the trees are the ears of spirits listening. Their bright black eyes look down upon the white-clothed girls between the leaves, generation after generation they return to their favoured branches to lay their eggs, watching the people and listening.

‘For the Lord is a great God and a great King above all other gods. In His hands are the deep places of the earth, the strength of the hills is His also. The sea is His and He made it and His hands formed the dry land. O come let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the Lord our maker.’

The black ti’i clasps her belly as the great tree engulfs her. She holds her secrets tight behind her closed lids. Long is her waiting.