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we offered him money. He'd rather the honour of being a friend. Seeing that it was Sunday the two Nevs & I went for a walk to the big village. Or rather I arrived later where I saw them surrounded by hundreds of children. The moment I appeared from the mangrove track they all ran to meet me. Gosh, I was afraid to move lest I tramp on their toes. When I spoke to Nev I found he took a movie of the incident. Morea's father saw us and invited us into his house. We three, scrambled over the doubtful looking entrance
bridging the water, and squatted on a brand new mat. He then introduced us to the big chief & landowner, a rather unassuming sort, and we felt quite at home. (well, in a way) After a pow-wow we made for the mission church (my first time since the wedding). The preacher was an educated native and his sermon & prayers were spoken in native Motuau. The inside decorations were composed of countless mats beautifying in the extreme. The women squatted on one side of the floor, the men on the other. The preacher on seeing us produced three battered old chairs on which we sat, facing
the assembly. Our main reason for going to church was soley out of curiosity, and expecting to be bored generally.