1937 Volcanic Eruption in Rabaul, New Guinea

 EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT

by JACK FAULKNER

Chapter 1

On Friday 28th May 1937, I was sitting on the bridge deck of the Durour, when at 1.15pm a wopping big earthquake occurred. I knew what it was as I’d felt them previously in New Zealand but it frightened the life out of the others.
     The Durour jumped as though an explosion went off underneath her and broke the chocks under the multi-wheeled cradle. She went up and down the rails as though on springs but she stayed on the rails, held only by the series of ropes which pulled her out of the water on to dry land.
     After a couple of minutes we had a small tidal wave that did some damage in Rabaul but as it apparently started at Karavia, no damage was sustained by us.
     Earthquakes sound like a grumbling rumble under your feet followed almost simultaneously by a quivering shake of the ground. A couple of hours later another moderate quake hit us and then they came very fast – one every couple of minutes.
     It was most peculiar up on the monkey island (above the bridge deck) watching the tops of the coconut palms when a quake came. At first the tops swayed like a wave, but later we appeared to be in the centre of it and the waves spread outward in concentric circles.
     After a bad night during which we got very little sleep, everyone aboard, i.e. The Chief Officer, the Chief and Second Engineers, Supercargo and I, were jittery and it was very hard to get any of the native boys back aboard.
     The ship was jolting every few minutes, quite a different motion to the usual smooth roll of a ship and therefore unnerving. This of course made the boys very scared and they spent the night somewhere in the surrounding coconut plantations.
     I went into Rabaul by pinnace (the ships motor boat) to get some clothes I had ordered from the Chinese tailor – 3 pairs of white shorts and shirts and 2 pairs of sandshoes as well as money from the bank.
     From 5.00am to 11.00 am there had been 120 shakes.
     I got back to the ship at 12.40pm in the pinnace and during our trip across the harbour, a quake came. It felt just like the pinnace had run onto rocks. A peculiar feeling.
     After lunch the pinnace driver said he thought the reef between us and the island was “come up lik-lik” i.e. rising a little bit.
     I had a look at the water height in the direction of the Beehives, a couple of very distinctive pinnacles of rock sticking up out of the harbour near Vulcan Island. After half an hour I could see that Vulcan Island was tilted, definitely higher out of the water on the side nearer Rabaul. I estimated about 6 feet.
     About 2.30pm, the slipway Manager (Fred Hay) said he was getting windy about damage because there was no way the ship and cradle on which she rested could be fastened securely and asked the Chief Officer to put the ship off into the water because the repairs were completed.
     The mate refused as the Captain was in Rabaul and he, the mate, wanted the weekend on the slip. Fred hopped into his car to go and get Captain Parry in Rabaul.
     I thought the ship would be unable to get off owing to the height the Island had risen as there had been only 25 feet of water in the channel on the other side of Vulcan Island when we came in to the slipway.
     The boys (boat crew) asked me if they could take the pinnace and get some fish which were bound to be trapped in small holes in the reef. I was generally in charge of the pinnace as I always went ashore and weighed the copra on the beach and sent it out to the ship where the Supercargo (Eric Arthur) received it.
     I got my camera and was just about to push off when the Supercargo came down with a man and woman who lived on the hillside above the slip and wanted to come with me. The man was the Doctor in charge of  the Quarantine Station on the Island.
     They confirmed that from their house the whole island had risen. Not just the reef and the side of the island we could see from the ship.
     We cruised around the reef toward Rabaul and found Vulcan Island had risen at least 10 feet. The lady got terribly frightened and said she was “fey” and said a lot of trouble was coming and to get back right away. I took no notice but when she got a bit hysterical and threatened to jump overboard, I gave orders to turn back to the ship.
     We were about 400 yards from the Durour and about 200 yards from the shore and had just commenced turning when the boys got a bit excited and said the boat would soon by dry.
     It was most uncanny to watch the seabed rise before our eyes and little bits of coral pop up out of the sea which moments before was quite clear and of sufficient depth to take the draft of the pinnace. They cut off our retreat to the ship.
     I took another photo and then with a loud crack and a whooshing noise, up spouted a 12 inch thick column of smoke, steam and rocks about 100 to 150 yards on our right. It came up in a series of spurts 100 ft then 200 ft then higher and higher till we couldn’t see the top.
     The boys got frantic and I grabbed the old lady who was trying to jump overboard. We turned straight for the shoreline but before we had gone 50 yards, the boat was high and dry. A few Chinese who were on the shoreline fled like mad at the first sign of the volcano.
     There was a car with some sightseers on the road near the waterline, so I yelled to the Supercargo to take the lady and Doctor and get out of the area. I ran to the Durour for my movie camera. I had to yell because by this time the roar from the volcano was deafening.
     Some years later I met an AWA technician in Sydney (I think his name was Burgess) who greeted me with amazement as he said he was on the shoreline opposite Rabaul transmitting station and thought he saw me killed when the rocks dropped between me in the boat and him on the shore. I assured him that although I had been scared, the rocks had gone over our heads and we had not been killed, in fact I was still very much alive.
     The Dockyard Manager and Captain were aboard the ship and said unless I came immediately they would not wait. The ships officers had already left. I went aboard the ship and got my camera but could not get at my clothes or spare film (I was filthy dirty and cut about from falling into holes while running across the reef).
     During painting and repairs I had locked all my spare gear in a spare cabin and the key, which was on the transom above the door had shaken down inside with the earthquakes.
     When I got back on deck, the Captain and Dock Manager had left and the central core of the volcano had enlarged to a very big diameter and tremendous height and small rocks were falling all around and on the ship, although the wind was blowing the other way towards Rabaul.
     I had 15 to 20 feet of movie film and took all the photos I could and then started jogging along the road toward Kokopo near the entrance to the Blanche Bay Harbour.
     The heat, which was terrific, seemed to be coming in waves from the direction of the volcano. I was opposite the far end of Vulcan Island and with an almighty roaring crash, up started another spout of debris near the shoreline, luckily behind me. With hindsight, I estimate the temperature was well over 100 deg F, a real scorcher, as the thermometer here now says it is 140 in the sun and it was if anything, hotter.
     I was driving a few native boys ahead of me with a tree branch as they did not seem to know what to do. Our numbers gradually swelled as more boys appeared from nowhere, all clamoring for information and shouting contradictory advice as to whether to take to the hills, continue along the road or the water.
     When the second (volcanic cone) burst broke through the water, I honestly thought we were done for; especially as bolts of lightning were flashing every few seconds and when they hit a palm tree it exploded into fragments. It was just like shell fire.
     I knew if I panicked, we would all be done for so I belted them with my stick and told them to run for their lives. They needed no urging and I couldn’t keep up with them as by this time the camera seemed to weigh a ton.
     I unloaded the film and parked the camera in its case at the foot of a distinctive tree on the side of the road, a mile or so from the Durour.
     We hadn’t gone much further when Fred Hay, who had cleared out while I was trying to get my gear, came back in his car after taking the others about 5 miles.
     As many natives as could get aboard climbed in or on the running boards, mudguards, bonnet, carrier and on top. 16 or 17 in all on a 3 seater runabout. We went about another 5 miles and picked up the rest of the officers. As we were well clear of Vulcan, we sat down on the beach to look at it going.

Jack Faulkner's Eyewitness Account - Chapter 2

It was a wonderful, yet terrifying, sight. Beyond words to describe with the roiling clouds of steam, varying shades of grey/black pumice and red hot rocks etc. interlaced with tremendous flashes of lightning and crashing thunder.


     The continuous noise almost numbed the senses but luckily there was no rain. That did not come till later. There was a continuous fall of pumice dust all over and around us, even though the wind was blowing away from us.

     It was only occasionally that big rocks came down but as we could not look up it was probably just as well or we may have been, if that were possible, more scared.

    As we were out of the immediate danger area we decided it was worth a chance to try and salvage our gear, especially as the wind was now clearing the dust away from us.

    We got within about one and a half miles before the car couldn’t go any further in the depth of soft pumice dust and fallen trees, so we walked about another half mile when I managed to dig up my camera. As the wind eased up, the smoke, fumes and dust rolled back on us so we turned round and struggled back to the car, coughing and spluttering, more dead than alive.

    It was getting on for dark so we went straight on to Kokopo and I managed to get a bed in the bungalow of a doctor in the native hospital on the outskirts of Kokopo. I enquired if anyone had any spare radio parts or sets.

    I was put on to a former amateur (VK9RC) who after knowing the position offered his co-operation.    We built a pretty rough sort of transmitter between us and I tried from about 9.00pm until midnight broadcasting what details I knew and asking any possible listeners to get in touch with Australian authorities.

    As far as I know, no-one heard these transmissions. I left all my films in Fred Hay’s car but someone pinched them overnight.

    Heavy quakes continued all night and the continual crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning made sleep difficult. I suppose we were all as frightened as the wife of the Doctor, in whose house I spent the night.

    I was up before dawn on the radio again. I gave up at 11.00am in disgust as the constant lightning blocked the receiver and we were running on car batteries charged from a generator driven off the back wheel of a car and petrol was getting very low.

    There were earthquakes every minute or two and this was most unsettling.

On Sunday, we were just sitting down to lunch when a man in a car rushed in saying to clear out as the crater on the other side of the harbour opposite the native hospital, had gone up (Matupi).

    The chap where I was staying was an assistant Doctor and his boss said to get everything we could from the native hospital back along the road a bit and move it toward the harbour entrance.  We commandeered a truck and loaded everything we could lay our hands on and drove to the Catholic Mission, where it had been decided to make Headquarters.

    Many small schooners began to arrive bringing refugees from Rabaul and I gave a hand by checking names and numbers for administration officials.
   
    The American Steamer “Golden Bear”, managed to get out of the harbour. It went around the other side of the peninsular from Rabaul and loaded up with refugees who had made their way over the hills surrounding Rabaul to the small village of Namanula.  It arrived off Kokopo about 3.00pm loaded with refugees.

    I knew there was only one operator aboard and thought he would like a hand but discovered that the regular American operator was missing. The Radio Officer (Victor Costner) was killed or disappeared abandoning the ship alongside the wharf in Rabaul when the eruption started.

    Apparently he was immediately behind the Captain at the head of the gangway when they abandoned ship by crawling down the gangway in the smoke and dust but he was never seen again. He probably became disoriented as he was feeling his way along the small rail tracks as the wharf was “U” shaped with an extra arm leading away from the shore.
   
    An AWA operator (Len Coleman) of Rabaul, who had bumped into the ship in Rabaul, was on watch. He was all in, as he had been on duty since 4.00pm the previous day.

    I relieved him and was kept very busy until 3.00am Monday with messages, as all communication had been cut with the outside world.

    The S.S. Island Trader called up (operator Ron Pike) and wanted to know what was going on as he couldn’t raise Rabaul radio and he had obtained some garbled message from the S.S. Montoro, which he couldn’t believe. I gave him brief details of what I knew and at 10.30pm he said they were coming at full speed to render what assistance they could.

    The Burns Philp passenger steamer Montoro, which had arrived off Namanula during the night on the north coast, came alongside in the morning with about 7,000 aboard. She nearly capsized when the passengers, mostly natives, rushed to one side as she turned coming to anchor. At 11.30am, Len Coleman transferred to the Montoro to relieve the operator there (both were employed by AWA).

    A strong breeze arose clearing the air considerably and we could clearly see the island formed by the first eruption. This was calculated by the Captain using his sextant to be 560 feet high in only three days.

    The Montoro, in which I had come up from Sydney as a passenger some months before, had a small shortwave transmitter (whose high tension was supplied by a Ford Spark coil) belonging to the operator aboard. She was in contact with Cooktown and Samarai on short wave while I was on 600 metres (the marine frequency) working the outstations i.e. Madang, Manus, Kavieng and Kieta as well as all shipping within range.

    I was the only means of communication between the refugees, who escaped from Rabaul and Australia from Sunday 30th May till Thursday 3rd June, when the Burns Philp passenger ship Mailata arrived from Madang.

    Captain Olson measured the volcanic cone again at 8.00am and calculated it as 670 feet high in the four days since the eruption started. It had grown over 100 feet in 24 hours.

    I averaged 20 hours 36 minutes watch keeping per day for this period. There were dozens and dozens of messages for dispatch by refugees but the constant lightning caused by the masses of hot air and pumice from two volcanoes interacting with the colder air at high altitude, made reception very difficult. We could clearly see a third eruption crater on the other side of the harbour near Matupi. This was called “The Daughter” from a previous eruption.

    The second volcano, at the end of Vulcan Island had meanwhile been smothered or incorporated in Vulcan itself.

    We learned that a man, a professional photographer in Rabaul, who had gone to photograph Matupi crater erupting, was missing, presumed killed and this was later confirmed.

    On Sunday 30th a twin engined plane from Lae arrived about 12.40pm and flew around the area. I note that the crater (Vulcan) appears more active.

     At 8.30pm I heard Rabaul on the short wave say that the Malaita passenger ship was coming as well as HMAS Moresby from the Gulf of Carpentaria.

    11.15pm what appeared to be lava was flowing in enormous sheets all round the new crater which opened on the Matupi side of the harbour. Also red hot rocks were being thrown up hundreds of feet.

    At 11.40pm a message from Rabaul says position rapidly getting worse and new crater formed in water and a thick layer of pumice all over the harbour makes movement absolutely impossible.
   
    On Monday 31st at 6.00am there is still plenty of pumice and lava with an appreciable increase in the size of the volcanic cone.

    At 9.00am the Administrator left for Rabaul and Len Coleman advises he will be going to Rabaul by the motor schooner Induna Star to help get Rabaul’s main transmitter on the air.

    At 11.00am the temperature has risen from 88 deg F to 93 deg F and by 11.45am it was 97 Degs F. Rabaul advises there is still no sign of the Golden Bear operator and Captain asked if I would take the ship to Honolulu if he does not show up. I agreed to do so.
   
    Much talk among the officials about the Administrators trip to Rabaul without leaving anyone officially in charge when dozens of urgent matters and radio from Prime Minister etc. needed attention.

    Food is now rationed and we are short of water as the cargo of refugees the Golden Bear brought from the north side all had showers to wash the dirt off etc. when they were aboard. First water to arrive will be on the Malaita from the Solomon Islands (not Madang as previously advised) on Friday.

    I am terribly tired from lack of sleep and high temperatures as well as the constant work.

    Monday 31st at 1.30a.m. I advised all Stations within range that I was knocking off for some sleep. At 6.00am I advised them I was back on deck again for some work.

    2.00pm the Montoro had to go to Lae or Madang for water and additional supplies to feed the refugees. The short wave set was taken ashore and another AWA operator requested from Rabaul to man it.

    I had 3 receivers going, one on Rabaul which managed to get on the air with a 25 watt short wave transmitter and emergency generator, one on the short wave set ashore on Kokopo and the other on the marine frequency of 600 meters and thus could keep in touch with everything. If anyone wanted me they just called on their transmitter and as my (Golden Bear’s) transmitter was a 2 kilowatt spark and as broad as a barn door, they could hear me on their short wave sets. At one stage, I was working 2 of them at once. The shortwave set from Montoro failed. More work.

    I went ashore briefly at 3.30pm and found everything fairly organised. So many people allocated to each house and they draw their rations of food from the Government Store.

    Petrol for any use is severely rationed. Some parties are allowed a permit under strict conditions to proceed to Rabaul to obtain essential or personal goods but had to return before dark.

    This is because the water in Rabaul is polluted and all water for Police. etc. has to be taken by schooner to north coast and carried by hand over the hill. Apparently it’s pretty hard work climbing over the thick pumice.

    When I arrived back aboard about 5.00pm I was met by a crowd of people with “urgent” radios to send. They couldn’t get them to Rabaul, which in any case was only handling official stuff and Kokopo couldn’t do any good.

    One sweet young thing had a 650 word press message she impressed on me should be sent right away!!! I took it with the proviso it would be sent after all really urgent messages were cleared but she said hers was really urgent!!

    The captain insisted that he personally clear all press messages for transmission.

    Rabaul got her big short wave set going working with Sydney and this took a lot of work off my hands as all the heads of Government were in Rabaul and all the people were at Kokopo. The Golden Bear cleared all traffic from Madang, Manus, Kavieng and Kieta in the Solomon’s as well as all ship traffic in the area to Samarai.

   

Introduction to Jack Faulkner - Radio Operator of the S.S. Durour 1937

Introduction

Jack Faulkner was born in Dunedin, New Zealand in 1913. As a teenager, he learnt to use radios after joining the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve in the Wireless Branch as a wireless telegraphist. He was an active ham radio operator and won a Morse cup in the local club with 37 words per minute all in legible handwriting. While in New Zealand he enrolled in a girls commercial school for a course in touch typing as he realised this would be the way for the future after learning that all American operators used a typewriter to take down the messages sent in Morse. He was laid off work in New Zealand so emigrated to Australia at the age of 19 to try his luck.  He secured various jobs as a radio operator on fishing trawlers mostly out of Sydney.

Aged 24, Jack secured a position as a Radio Operator employed by W.R. Carpenter & Co. Ltd and was sent to New Guinea on the S.S. Montoro in January 1937. He worked on the S.S. Duranbah for four months then on the S.S. Durour. Jack Faulkner had been the Radio Operator on the ship for 10 days when told she was to go into drydock.. She was ready to be put back in the water on Friday 28th May 1937 but the Chief Officer would not order it because Captain Parry was in Rabaul. A volcano erupted out of the harbour just near the drydock on the following afternoon, Saturday 29th May 1937. The ship is still buried under the pumice to this day.
Most of the photos in his eye witness account were taken by Jack Faulkner himself and the descriptions are as he has written them. Only a few pictures were taken from magazines and newspaper articles which he kept all his life. During the eruption, Jack went back to the ship to retrieve his precious camera. This action, however, probably saved his life, as the other people who were in the launch with him ran for the beach and were never seen or heard of again and were presumed to have perished. He managed to get his camera but no film or clothes which were in another cabin, where he had locked them while the ship was under repair. He managed to purchase some film a few days later and was able to take photos just after the major eruption.

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