April 21 , 2006 - REMEMBERING TOM NEALE
THE HERMIT OF SUVAROV ATOLL
by Michel & Jane DeRidder

Tom Neale was a legendary character who lived alone on an atoll in the Cook Islands during the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. The DeRidders once paid him a visit - this week they share their memories of this real-life Robinson Crusoe.

His skin seemed too big for him. It hung on him in folds. He was lean and leathery, and wore only a pouch which went up the crack between his buttocks and tied round his waist. Tom was a hermit - but how he appeared to love company! Nevertheless he had a busy daily schedule that he did not like interrupted. Every afternoon he let the fowl out for foraging. This required surveillance - that is, he supervised the chickens' outings by throwing pebbles at them to keep them out of his garden. Another ritual not to be interrupted was his daily nap. But early each evening, Tom would be sitting under a palm tree waiting to be fetched. One of our group would go by dinghy to pick him up, extending an invitation to dinner. His reply was always the same, "I've had me tea, but I'll come anyway." We'd set a place for him at the table and he would invariably out-eat any other two people present. He had a fund of slightly off-color dinnertime stories, which he loved to tell, and which he told well in a droll New Zealand accent. He did love an audience.

Tom could not hide his pleasure in being watched pollinate the blossoms in his garden. (There are no bees on Suvarov atoll.) He talked to the flowers as he manipulated a fine paint brush covered with pollen, making rather suggestive and cajoling remarks the while, addressing each bloom as "Your Ladyship," specs on the end of his nose and one eye on the camera.

We learned a great deal from Tom. He introduced us to Heart of Palm Salad. A tall palm tree cast shade on his veggie garden. He decided to sacrifice it so as to let us sample the tender heart, a crisp, delicate food, almost velvety smooth. The old boy wielded his machete with skill and power and wouldn't let any of us help either fell the tree or hack out the heart at the tip of the palm. Tom taught us too how to catch coconut crabs - not that he would help eat them. Perhaps he just wanted to get rid of a few. He cut open a coconut with his machete, then staked the opened nut alongside a crab hole. Later, we'd return with flashlights to find the ugly blue-black monsters feasting off the coconut flesh. As they reared up, transfixed by the light, Tom administered a death blow between the eyes with the blunt side of his bush knife. He left the crabs for us to prepare and enjoy.

Tom kept a guest book for visiting yachties to sign their names in and to make comments about their stay, their vessels and crew. We each added a page or so. He enjoyed reading, so appreciated any books that could be left behind for him, and would pass along any he'd finished with by way of trade.

Tom Neale was the official postmaster of Suvarov Island, and his envelopes were much in demand by philatelists the world over. They read 'POSTED AT SUWARROW ATOLL, COOK ISLANDS, SOUTH PACIFIC. SERVING THE SMALLEST POPULATION OF ANY POST OFFICE IN THE WORLD. POPULATION: 1. POSTMASTER TOM NEALE. The envelope he gave us has two duly stamped and canceled Cook Island stamps, and bears the date, '17 MR 74.3', along with Tom's signature.

Tom's home and outbuildings were neatly kept. The paths were raked and covered with shells from the beach. Everything was simple but adequate for his needs. He appeared to be a contented man. When we asked him if there was anything we could supply him with from our ships' stores, the only thing he could think of was sweetened condensed milk to spoon into his tea. He wouldn't accept anything else.

Tom had been exposed to the sun for too many years. Besides, he had a ginger complexion, and red heads can't take the sun. So it was not surprising to see that he had skin cancers on his face and all over his back. Two of our number were doctors, owners with their mates of the Canadian/New Zealand yacht Coruba. Gail, with Terry assisting, undertook to cut out the worst of the cancers on Tom's face one morning after breakfast, after which we left to spend a few days on the far side of the lagoon, three vessels cruising in company. When we returned, Gail and Terry removed the dressings to find that the incisions had healed completely. As for the back lesions, Gail later arranged for ointments to be sent out from New Zealand to take care of these extensive but superficial skin cancers. Five months later, we talked by ham radio to a yacht anchored in Suvarov lagoon to learn that the package had still not arrived. The yacht entrusted with the bags of Tom's mail had not been given the one which contained the packages, an oversight which may have shortened his life.

We met another yacht some months later whose crew had spent some time with Tom on his island. Apparently Tom had asked them for stomach antacids, anything they had aboard. Seems he had a bit of "stomach trouble". Indigestion, he reckoned. A year or so later, we learned that Tom had been taken to Raratonga hospital by yacht. He was found to be suffering from terminal cancer. He is remembered with great affection by those of us who had the opportunity of sailing to Suvarov lagoon and sharing experiences with the author of An Island to Oneself.

For more on Suvarov Atoll, see SSCA bulletin for Dec 2005 page 32:
"one of the loveliest stops in the South Pacific"
"a truly magical place"

For more on Tom Neale, see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Neale.