They're Called CHARTS

Bert at one of the narrow beaches

Beaches in Polynesia seldom amount to much. Waikiki is a magnificent exception. There are few others. Micronesia is no better, worse in my experience. Teachers in France take their elementary classes to Omaha Beach for some history and excursions. In New Guinea and the Philippines the children would almost have to walk in single file. Pacific battles weren’t fought on beaches. They took place in the jungles, or, rather, through them. Until you hacked them out of the way, their trees, leaves, vines, mold, cob webs, slithering things, and myriad insects counter-attacked before the enemy could.

Troop uniform of the day

We lucky ones, called “Navy men,” didn’t have to contend with anything but the heat. I remember how the crew cheered when we got north of the Equator, and the nights finally slid below one hundred. Also, we finally had U.S. marine charts to use.


In sea going parlance, a map is to inform one about the land, a chart about coastlines, sea bottoms, tides, shoals, etc. We had a real problem with charts as we worked around the New Guinea coasts. The Australians basically used the British charts, which were sloppy. In one instance the chart we had missed a light house by several miles.


None of the British charts were reliable. Far better were the Dutch, also the German. Germany had done considerable work in those waters, and their charts were right on.


That is, if we could read the languages. Names around New Guinea were in Dutch, German, some English, and many in Papuan. The Aussies and English we worked with pronounced these names in almost any way they pleased, so that a verbal identification of a place usually left one just as puzzled as before. Wakde was typically called “Wad – key.”   Moresby usually came out “Mores,” and some I just asked to be marked as “X” on the chart. I could get there. Fair enough.


Yes, names in the Philippines weren’t much better, some worse. But the U.S. had had forty years to chart that area, and the navigational words were those I’d learned since I could read. Now, when shoals turned up exactly where they were indicated, I enjoyed missing them. I also began to enjoy words like Tutuila, Tagalog, and Mindoro because I knew they wouldn’t eat me one dark night. And I felt real smug learning the correct pronunciation of Bataan, Tagalog, and Panay; but I never understood why Filipinos nearly all call their own country the “Pee - lee - feens.”