[Edwards, Hugh, 1983, Port of Pearls, Rigby, Adelaide, Chapter 7]
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Roaring Days
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The outbreak of war in 1914 came as a disaster for Broome. Shell was priced at a record £440 per tonne. But there was a clause in the contracts from overseas buyers rendering them null and void in the event of war involving Britain, France, or Germany. As Howe recalled:
It was customary for the 250 luggers manned by Japanese divers to put into Broome each year to celebrate Kigenetsu--the Emperor's birthday. In 1914 this fell on August 12th. The 100 luggers with Malay and Filipino divers came to port a fortnight earlier to forestall the rush on stores and business houses. The divers and crew drew their wages and money started to circulate through the town. The Japanese boats were bringing in shell and pearls worth about £250,000 all of which, it was expected, would be available for big spending by Kigensetsu.
Three days before the first Japanese lugger sailed into Roebuck Bay a telegram was pinned to the post office noticeboard stating that Great Britain had declared war on Germany. Shell became unsaleable overnight, and much of it mouldered in crates in warehouses right through the war. The owners of the 250 luggers had no money to pay their divers or crews. Stores stopped credit and the celebration of the Emperor's birthday was a bleak affair.
Many of the younger pearlers, flushed with patriotic fervour, decided to enlist and sailed south on the next steamer. Before they went they had a last farewell party with free drinks for all their friends.
In those days most regular drinkers signed chits for drinks at the pubs and settled their accounts in cash at the end of the month. Traditionally – whatever other bills a man might leave unpaid – it was a matter of honour that he should pay his grog account before leaving town. At the farewell party the publican Bill Ward, carrying a big tin box under his arm, jumped up on a table and shouted for silence. He called:
Boys, this party's on me. The town's broke and I'm broke. I'll be with you as soon as I'm through the chaffcutter [Bankruptcy Court]. I haven't lost a tenner on chits all the years I've been in the pub, but [here he held up the tin box] I've got over a thousand quid's worth here and now they're not worth the paper they're written on!
With that he emptied the chits on to a tin tray and set a match to them. 'The old Broome vanished forever in the smoke of Bill Ward's chits,' said Howe sadly.
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