Chips Mackellar

Tom Leahy was a scion of that famous pioneering dynasty of PNG. Like his equally famous family contemporaries, Mick and Danny Leahy, Tom was widely respected and much loved by expats and locals alike. He was so popular that he was elected to the pre-independence Parliament of PNG from 1968 to 1972

As the member for Markham, Tom’s constituency consisted not only of the people of the Markham Valley but also of people from the Wantoat Local Government Council area. Wantoat was then a landlocked part of Morobe District, isolated from the rest of PNG by its mountainous terrain and generally accessible only by air. There was a walking track of sorts from Wantoat to the Markham Valley, and Tom had promised the Wantoat people that he would develop this track into a motor road for them linking Wantoat to Lae via the Highlands Highway at Leron Plains.

The problem was that the proposed route of the Wantoat-Leron road passed partly through the Wantoat Council area and then partly through the Markham Council area. The kiap at Wantoat, Paul Simpson, had done good work with the Wantoat Council building the road on their side, but the Markham Council was not interested.

As a sign of goodwill though, the Markham Council agreed for the road to pass through its council area provided it did not have to pay for it. They did not want to pay because their own network of feeder roads already consumed available road-building funds. Also, the Markham Council reasoned, as Tom Leahy was a Minister in the Somare government he had reasonable access to national government funding and should use that access to pay for the road.

To solve this impasse, a conference was called in Lae, chaired by the then District Commissioner, Ron Galloway. In attendance was Deputy District Commissioner Graham Hardy, the Public Works Department (PWD) engineer, Julian Lee, the Wantoat kiap, Paul Simpson and a local planter, Bruce Spreag, who had had some connection with the proposed road. Spreag hailed from Liverpool in the UK and still possessed a Lilipudlian accent. John Biltris, the senior local government officer, also attended. John was quite a character, having spent most of his off-duty hours in the lounge of the Lae hotel, where he regaled visiting tourists with tales of derring-do and funny stories.

As adviser to the Markham Council, I was summoned to appear before the committee to give the Markham Council view, but no Markham councillors were invited. The tone of the conference turned nasty when Spreag accused us of being hopeless and lazy and proposed a construction method for the road which I considered would be totally beyond the resources of both councils. Nevertheless, regardless of my opposing view, the general feeling of the meeting was that the Markham Council should go ahead anyway with whatever resources it could muster and complete the road. 

When viewed logically and objectively, this decision was, of course, in communion with the Morobe District road development program, but I knew the Markham Council would not like it. They had conformed with this program as far as they felt they could by consenting to the road being built through their area, but had not agreed to fund it.

So, taking all this into consideration, I was told to report back to the Markham Council, specifically to provide written advice to the Council and to supply the District Commissioner with a copy of that advice.

Then the penny dropped. It was indeed a tense moment. Why had no Markham Councillor been invited to the conference? Had I been instructed to tell the Council to abandon its current works program and concentrate its efforts on building a road in which it had expressed no interest? Oh no!!! Perish the thought. It was much more subtle than that.

All I was really instructed to do was tell the District Commissioner what advice I would give the Council. But the subliminal meaning was clear.

In my 30 years of service in Papua New Guinea, this was the only moment I had ever felt the tension of power politics—local government style, and I fumed about it as I drove back to Kaiapit.

On the way, I decided that this tense moment in my career required an equally tense response. How much more tense could my advice to the Council be than if it were delivered in rhyming verse?

My written report of the conference and my advice to the Council, copied to the District Commissioner, follows. •

 

Ballad of the Wantoat-Leron Road

There was Galloway and Hardy, and Tom Leahy from the House,

And Simpson down from Wantoat, and Spreag the former Scouse.

Came Julian Lee from PWD, and Biltris from the pub,

All politicians, technocrats and kiaps from the scrub.

 

Our task was pure and simple, to decide what sort of load,

Should eventually traverse the Wantoat-Leron Road.

But Spreag confused the issue by declaring kiaps lazy,

With insults, threats and loud abuse and arguments plain crazy.

 

The issue then became confused, all logic soon was lost,

And a decision made to build the road at enormous senseless cost.

It will collapse within a year to a narrow forlorn track,

And no amount of shovel work will bring the road then back.

 

This decision does not bind you, and I suggest you do not heed it,

But build instead a walking track, and expand this when you need it.

Pay no attention to demands as to what should be the mode,

But do whatever you think best, on the Wantoat-Leron Road.

 

There was no reply.

      But the outcome was predictable.

             I was transferred to Menyamya.