Bush piglets normally follow their mother for protection but, because Cabbage had been separated from his mother, he now had no natural mother to follow; so when we were back at Bogia he chose to follow me.  When I left my house to go to the office Cabbage would follow. He would wait outside the office and then follow me when I came out.

If I walked around the station, he followed, and if I went to the club after work or to another officer’s house for dinner or drinks Cabbage always followed.  While he was young he was so cute and adorable that he was accepted everywhere, just as people might accept a neighbour’s dog, and any thought of him ever becoming Christmas dinner, was totally abandoned.

Bogia had some good beaches nearby and at weekends we often had beach picnics.  People would bring their children, servants, and dogs, and, of course, Cabbage always came with me.  His habit of following me turned him into a surfie.  When I went into the water, he would follow me in, and he would swim along beside me, and rest his front feet on my shoulder while we waited for a wave. 

When a good wave came Cabbage would put his long snout on my shoulder between his front feet, and we would body surf in together. If a wave dumped us Cabbage would be flung head over heels through the surf on to the beach and he would rush up and down the beach squealing in indignation. 

But he always followed me back into the water again.  Little pigs grow fast and when Cabbage was too big for me to carry him in the water we reversed the process.  He would float around like a tub of lard and when a good wave came I would hold on to him and ride him in as though I was holding a surf board.

Cabbage was a constant source of entertainment at these beach parties, particularly after he learned to carry children on his back.  He learned this trick by himself as a natural progression from the affection which was bestowed upon him wherever he went.  Children always cuddled him and hugged him and crawled all over him,  and one day when Cabbage was about knee high and while a child’s mother was feeding Cabbage the child crawled onto Cabbage’s back and sat there astride him like riding a pony. 

Thereafter Cabbage associated carrying children with being fed and at beach parties, where there were always children and  plenty to eat,  Cabbage would squeal until a child crawled onto his back  and then he would continue to squeal until fed by the child’s mother.

When Cabbage was older and no longer needed to follow me he would sometimes wander around the station without me. He became, in fact, the station mascot.  The kids played with him, and their mothers fed him and he soon learned which mothers fed him the most and which child belonged to which mother. 

As he grew bigger he would carry more children, first two, then later three at the same time.  For such feats he demanded to be fed three times as much, and the more the mothers fed him, the more children he wanted to carry.  Whilst Cabbage had seen other pigs from time to time while at Bogia, he disdained their company and preferred instead the company of humans. He was a very human pig.

Cabbage liked going on road patrol. Two police would sit in the front of the Land Rover with me and Cabbage would stand in the back. By this time he was so big that he nearly filled the back of the Land Rover but, being an affectionate pig, he insisted on resting his head on my shoulder while I drove. 

The weight never bothered me but his tusks did.  His tusks were now four inches long and one rested against my cheek as I drove.  I was always terrified that at a sudden lurch, bump or accident the tusk would slit my throat.

Because of his tusks, size, bristles and his general fearsome appearance Cabbage was by now a ferocious sight to the uninitiated, and when he was on road patrol he would sometimes double as a police dog. For example, if we had to arrest someone and then go about some other duty Cabbage would guard the prisoner while we were away.

I would put the startled prisoner in the back of the Land Rover beside Cabbage, and I would tell the prisoner, “Stay here, and don’t move. If you move at all the pig will bite you.”  Of course, Cabbage was too tame to bite anyone but the prisoner was not to know that and no prisoner ever escaped when Cabbage was on guard duty.

As Cabbage grew bigger, he became a mild nuisance at Bogia. When not accompanying me he would wander around the station and sometimes blunder into somebody’s back yard where he would eat the dog’s food or finish off the cat’s milk or root around among the gerberas and so on. 

When it was time for me to go on leave I was worried what would happen to him.  One of the other kiaps suggested I leave him inside the jail compound. It was a good idea, because not even Cabbage could get through that perimeter fence.  So, when I went on leave, Cabbage went to jail.

When I returned from leave I went down to the jail to bring Cabbage home.  I discovered that Cabbage had been entered into the Prisoners’ Nominal Roll as:

“Prisoner No: 1234;  Name: Cabbage;  Offence: Unlawfully on premises;  Sentence: Three Months” (which was the time I had been away).

When I asked why Cabbage had been enrolled on the prison records, the warders told me they had to do it so they could draw his rations.

“You mean he’s been eating Government rations?” I asked.

“Why not,” the warder replied. “He is a Government pig, isn’t he?”

And he was right. Cabbage was Commonwealth Government property and it was this status which would eventually decide his fate. 

Fortunately, while in jail, Cabbage was befriended by an old prisoner who came from Manam Island.  The old prisoner had been assigned to me as a gardener because he was too old for any other duties. In fact, he spent most of his time keeping Cabbage out of trouble.  The old prisoner was alone in the world as his family had long ago grown up and gone away and he became attached to Cabbage as any lonely old person might become attached to a pet.

By now Cabbage was waist high and, although he was still a lovable pig, he was so huge and heavy that he could cause accidental damage by simply wandering around the station unattended.  So when I was not with Cabbage the old prisoner became his constant companion.

This was a good arrangement because sometimes when I was away in Madang on duty for weeks at a time I could not take Cabbage with me so the old prisoner would continue to work on my garden during the day, and he would take Cabbage back to the jail with him at night. During these absences of mine, Cabbage was entered into the Prisoners Nominal Roll as before.

One day during the Supreme Court circuit sittings at Bogia, the Chief Justice, Sir Alan Mann, decided to exercise his jurisdiction as a visiting justice to prisons and he inspected our jail records.  While examining the Prisoners Nominal Roll, the Chief Justice said, “Your rehabilitation program does not seem to be working too well, Mackellar.”

“Why do you say that, Your Honour?” I asked, surprised.

“This fellow Cabbage,” the Chief Justice said, “has been in jail three times this year and always for the same offence: unlawfully on premises.  What is he?  A peeping tom?”

The warders struggled to keep straight faces while I searched for an answer.  

“No, Your Honour,” I said.  “He is a scrounger. He goes looking for food.”

“Make sure his people look after him better,” the Chief Justice said. “I don’t want to see him back in jail again this year.”

“Yes, Your Honour,” I said, feeling stung by the rebuke but it rang a lot truer than the Judge had intended. Little pigs are cute, but a Government station was no place for a huge wandering pig. Cabbage had outgrown us and it was time for him to go.

A few weeks later his fate was decided for him at a garden party at the ADO’s residence. Cabbage came along with me as usual, and as usual, he was the life of the party.  But in the midst of all the fun, Cabbage got carried away and began to run around digging up the manicured lawns of the residency.  In pre-independent Papua New Guinea this rated as the worst kind of porcine indiscretion imaginable.

Next morning in the office the silence was deafening.  A staff conference was called to discuss the problem. It was clear from what was said at this conference  that Cabbage had outlived his welcome, but he was such a loveable old fool that no one wanted to see him end up in a cooking pot.  Then one kiap hit upon a solution.

“That old prisoner from Manam Island is due for release next week,” he said. “Why don’t we let him take Cabbage as a rehabilitation project - a pig breeding program for Manam Island?”

It was the best solution.  Cabbage’s status as a Government pig would protect him, and I knew that the old prisoner would look after him. All the good food and attention Cabbage had received at Bogia had made him the best specimen of a native pig in Papua New Guinea. He was the best example of how good animal husbandry could improve the condition of the humble village pig. Cabbage was an obvious choice for a village pig breeding project.

As I was the officer closest to Cabbage, the departure arrangements were left to me.  I said nothing until the old prisoner was released from custody one hour before the Government vessel was due to depart for Manam Island. 

Cabbage at that time was tied by a leg rope to a stump of my house, and after the old prisoner had been released and was preparing to depart for Manam Island he came to my house to say goodbye to Cabbage.   The old man hugged Cabbage as though he was saying goodbye to a grandchild for the last time.  I untied the lead end of the leg rope and passed it to the old man.

“Take him,” I said, “Cabbage is your rehabilitation program: a pig breeding project for Manam Island.”

The old man burst into sobs of joy and clung to Cabbage as though he would never let go. “But there are conditions,” I said. “Remember that Cabbage is a Government pig.  He must never be confined in a pig pen. He must not be killed and he must not be eaten.  He must die a natural death and when he does die you must report his death to the police, here at Bogia, as you would report any other death.”

The old man nodded his agreement and, still sobbing loudly, he slowly led Cabbage to the wharf where the Government vessel was waiting.   The old man’s sobs attracted everyone’s attention and within minutes the news that Cabbage was leaving had spread through Bogia like wildfire.

Hundreds of people converged upon the wharf to say goodbye to Cabbage because everyone loved him. Some of the children were crying, especially those who had ridden him around Bogia like a pony, and everyone else was in a somber and pensive mood.  I watched from a distance as the old man and Cabbage boarded the vessel for the journey to Manam Island.  And that was the last time I saw Cabbage.

But as the years rolled by and routine transfers saw me posted to different parts of Papua New Guinea stories about Cabbage continued to reach me.  Even in Port Moresby, my final posting, people would seek me out especially to tell me that Cabbage was still alive and well, and without doubt he became the most famous pig in Papua New Guinea.

I was told that Cabbage continued to grow in size until he could carry five children on his back.  I heard that his tusks were one foot long. I was told that, even though he had become even more fierce and fearsome in appearance, he was always kind to people, as people had always been kind to him. 

I also heard that, as the scrawny village boars were no match for him, Cabbage quickly disposed of them until he became the top pig on Manam Island.  And I heard that Cabbage had fulfilled the pig breeding destiny which I had bestowed upon him by establishing on Manam Island a porcine dynasty which survives to this day.

The old prisoner was faithful to the end. He was over 80 years old when he sailed his outrigger canoe alone from Manam Island to make his report to the police at Bogia, as I had commanded him more than ten years previously.  The news reached me in Port Moresby the following day.

Work had finished at the Ela Beach Court House and I was talking with some of the police prosecutors in the car park.  A police motor-cycle dispatch rider road up to the prosecutors and, without dismounting from his machine, he handed them a message.  There was a hushed conversation between them then the senior police prosecutor approached me and said, “Sir, there is a signal for you from COMCENTRE.”  It read:

Royal Papua New Guinea Constabulary

POLICE COMMUNICATIONS CENTRE  -  KONEDOBU

From Police Commander: BOGIA

To Police Commander: BOROKO CENTRAL

                        Relay to:          PROSECUTIONS  -  ELA  BEACH 

                        Subject: CABBAGE

BEGINS  PLEASE PASS TO MACKELLAR REGRET TO ADVISE  THAT CABBAGE DIED LAST WEEK OF NATURAL CAUSES AND NOW LIES BURIED IN THE VILLAGE CEMETERY ON MANAM ISLAND CONDOLENCES AND BEST WISHES ENDS.

The police watched in silence as I read the signal, and a thousand memories came flooding back to me.  I remembered Cabbage as a piglet in the palm of my hand, a surfing pig, a police dog, a prisoner, performer and pet, but most of all, I remembered him as a friend.

I heard later that the old prisoner never made it back to Manam Island alive.  After he had reported to the police, as I had commanded him, the old man walked back to the shore where his canoe was beached. 

He sat down in the sand with his back against a palm tree and there in the fading twilight he quietly passed away.  The night patrol later found him there staring out with sightless eyes across the sea to Manam Island where Cabbage had been buried.

The police took the old man back to Manam Island next day and buried him beside Cabbage.  Those two old friends, who were together in life, are to this day still together in death.

Faithful old prisoner, rest in peace on Manam Island.  And you too, Cabbage, you silly old pig.

Chips Mackellar’s new book, ‘Sivarai’, Motu for ‘Story’, is likely to bepublished by the end of the year. ‘Cabbage’ is an abbreviated version of a story that appeared in ‘Una Voce’