Wednesday, 15th August, 1979: Yasur Volcano

It was 3.40 a.m. when I left our room to read the time on the clock in the corridor outside of our room. I returned to sleep and when I checked for a second time, it was five minutes past five. This time we were to lay awake as Tiki informed me that she had only managed to obtain about two hours of sleep, on what she claimed was the warmest night she had ever experienced. Apparently, I hadn’t helped matters by snoring for prolonged periods, totally oblivious to the noise that emanated from the hotel’s disco.

My first New Hebridean sunrise was viewed at a quarter past six and shortly afterwards , as we sat on the comfortable lounge in the foyer, we could smell the aroma of bacon being cooked. Meanwhile, I produced one of the pink tickets from a pocket and happened to notice that our time of departure was actually half past six and not a quarter to seven as we had mistakenly believed.

At the main entrance we joined a French mother and daughter both of whom possessed a suitcase each and, in turn, by two gentlemen who were nattering away to each other in French. Six forty-five came and went and some five minutes later the plump, fair-haired man suddenly broke into perfect English and suggested that as he had heard that buses booked to transfer people to the airport, and, in this instance, the flight to the island of Tanna, occasionally fail to materialise and as time was now of the essence he recommended that we should accept his offer of a ride to Port Vila’s airport, in their rental car.

It would have been quite a squeeze, however, we were not to know just to what degree for a minibus appeared and as its native workers alighted to enter the hotel the bilingual gentleman informed its driver that our bus had not arrived on time and he agreed to convey the six of us, the seven or eight kilometres.

We handed the driver our pink tickets that had been allocated to cover our transportation and once inside the airport our yellow tickets were tended to by the representative of Air Melanesiae. Each of us was weighed to ensure that the aeroplane would not be overloaded.

Feeling peckish, Tiki bought two Mars bars at a cost that equated to approximately seventy-five cents Australian for each. This we knew was expensive, but it wasn’t until we perused their wrappers that it was found that they had been imported all of the way from England.

Once we had witnessed the departure of a Fokker Friendship, it was time for us to board our Britten Norman island trader from the tarmac. It possessed seating for nine passengers plus the pilot and after Tiki had stated that, like her mother, she suffers from claustrophobia, I was seated in the front next to the pilot. Tiki sat immediately behind me and next to the gentleman who had spoken to us in English. He had explained to us inside the airport that he is actually English and that he has been living in Paris for the past ten years although he is not enamoured of that particular city.

The French pilot, who appeared to be in his mid-thirties and wore sunglasses, or at least tinted spectacles, started the twin engines. The starboard one was located just outside the window from me and level with the seat that was occupied by Tiki.

Having appeared to have tested all of the obligatory functions of the aircraft, the pilot taxied to the far end of the runway and awaited for permission to be granted in order that we might take-off. This soon came and it didn’t take the aeroplane long to become airborne. In fact so steep was its ascent that I received quite a start when the pilot’s clipboard flew off the dashboard and into my lap!

I asked Tiki to forward to me our Kodak ‘Instamatic’ camera and I snapped a photograph of the Inter-Continental Island Inn, located on the right-hand side of the Erakor Lagoon. However, the opportunity to photograph some of the bays of Efate, with their blue waters ringed by a light green, eluded me. The sun, that had partly emerged for our departure, soon lapsed into cloud, again, as our flight headed out over the ocean in what was, in general, a southerly direction.

It hadn’t taken me long to notice that one of the two small tyres on my side of the aircraft possessed no tread whatsoever and that the altimeter on my side of the dashboard and the one before the pilot registered a discrepancy of one hundred feet. There was also a plaque on display that warned the pilot not to fly the aeroplane below one hundred and seventy-seven knots, for to do so would cause its engines to stall. Disconcertingly, try as I might, I could not locate an indication of our airspeed anywhere!

During our flight, the aircraft ascended to a height of five thousand feet — give or take a hundred — as the pilot continually consulted charts and performed calculations on sheets of paper. He also continually adjusted the wheel that was labelled ‘tail trim’ and just as continually leaned across to adjust his radio from ‘High Frequency 1’ to ‘High Frequency 2’ and vice versa. As he twiddled with the knob marked ‘Radio Frequency Gain’, I was led to wonder if he was in fact experiencing difficulties in establishing or maintaining contact with the relevant sources.

After we had, perhaps, covered three-quarters of our intended journey of some one hundred and sixty kilometres, the island of Erromango, with its coastline of approximately thirty kilometres, came into view to our left. Having left Erromango behind, it wasn’t long before the coastline of Tanna appeared especially as the sun was shining and any cloud had dissipated.

We descended to a height of about one thousand five hundred feet and passed above a small freighter that lay at anchor, relatively close to the island’s north-eastern coast. There was no sign of an airfield anywhere. That was until after several minutes of gradual descent, a grassed one came into view. Nevertheless, its length appeared to be exceedingly short and, perhaps, that was why the pilot was seemingly endeavouring to slow the aircraft to its minimum speed of approach. Whatever the reason, the aeroplane began to vibrate as it swayed quite violently from side to side as if it were the victim in a game of tug-o-war between a pair of aerial giants.

We skimmed across the tops of some relatively short trees at the end of the runway to land on what we soon realised was the airfield’s downward slope and just as I feared that there was no possibility of us coming to a halt in time, its quite pronounced upward slope saw to that. The airline’s office was little more than a shanty and it was from there that we witnessed the same plane, that had just delivered us, taxi up to the end of the airstrip prior to it quickly becoming airborne with its considerably lighter impost.

The plump Englishman who had been seated to Tiki’s immediate left and immediately behind the pilot during our flight, possessed a face that had adopted a decidedly green hue due to a combination of airsickness and that of sheer terror. I had heard of a person’s countenance turning green but, until today, had never actually encountered one! He informed me that he had actually envied me because of where I had been seated. That was until he actually laid his eyes upon the size, or rather lack thereof, of the airfield.

Apparently, today is a public holiday in Port Vila to mark Assumption Day. Whatever that is! Consequently, there was a greater number of people seizing the opportunity to scale the volcano. A whole three, in addition to ourselves.

The five of us were met by the organiser, a gentleman, perhaps in his fifties, who possessed what remained of his whitening grey hair and a moustache that matched its colour perfectly. He advised us that it had been uncertain as to whether we would be permitted to climb the volcano, as both of the tribes on the island had to be in agreement. One tribe, which represents about eighty per cent of the island’s population, consists of followers of the John Frum Cult, while the other pays homage to Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh.

The gentleman had us climb into a cream Land Rover in order to be driven along a jungle track along which the location of a ‘Stop’ sign at its intersection with another such track became a source of amusement to us all. We alighted at his shop, located in what I assumed was the main centre on what was to prove to be a far more primitive island than Efate.

Directed into a back room we were shown photographs of the volcano, Yasur, erupting beneath a night sky. The scenes depicted pieces of molten lava being spectacularly blown skywards for hundreds of feet.

Another Englishman of perhaps forty years of age, read about the John Frum Cult. Once outside, I questioned him on what he had retained and he informed me that the cult had formed during the Second World War when the influence of the American forces here was quite profound. The natives began to recognise that a wealth of goods and possessions were coming in from far beyond their own environment and continue to pay homage to the fact that most things bountiful continue to be imported from far beyond their island.

The oganiser farewelled us as we clambered back into the Land Rover. Tiki and I were in its rear section along with the plump Englishman of some twenty-five years. I couldn’t help but notice that he had chosen to wear sandals and when I questioned his selection of footwear he replied that he’d been told that the ascent of the volcano would offer little more than “a leisurely stroll”. The other older Englishman was seated in the middle at the front where our native driver had to resort to changing gears by manipulating the gearstick, which was located between his legs. A Frenchman, in his early twenties, occupied the remaining front seat.

It really was a rough trek across to the other side of Tanna, some thirty kilometres distant. During the journey, we had conversed with the pleasant Anglo-French gentleman seated opposite to us. He informed us that he is a teacher of Geography at a public high school in France and claimed that French schools instill little in the form of discipline and that it has been known for children and, even, their parents to attack teachers. He maintained that a fellow teacher had once asked him to replace him because of the injuries he had received after some of his male pupils had shut him in a cupboard, prior to it being dropped from a window on the first floor.

Strikes, he maintained, are not a major problem despite his claim that teachers there are almost on a par with the most lowly paid of any profession in the country. Sometimes, he continued, parents actually strike against the system of education, itself, by withdrawing their children from school.

It was ten years ago when he left the county of Bedfordshire and moved to Paris. He only lives there because he “has to” and it would appear that he makes his money by filming in 1600mm via the use of his expensive camera which cost him two thousand pounds to purchase. He sends the film to Kodak where it is cut and edited at the points marked by him.

He has travelled extensively throughout the world and has been to the United States several times. Once, he and his brother boarded an aeroplane which they believed was bound for Miami, only to learn that it was destined to land in San Francisco! Four years ago he spent three months in Sydney and liked it so much that he wanted to settle there, only to learn that he could not because he was employed as an actor when in possession of a French passport.

One year of his life was spent undertaking national service in the French navy, but he claimed to have spent much of it in the sick bay due to his propensity to seasickness. Although we didn’t detect it, he claimed to be “losing” his ability to speak English and that, as yet, cannot speak French fluently unless he has planned what he is going to say beforehand.

Our native driver required all of his skills, as well as local knowledge, so as to prevent the vehicle from toppling over on the narrow, rugged track. Such skills were required as it was actually stationary and had it, indeed, overturned it would have come into contact with the red vehicle of a similar appearance that was travelling in the opposite direction.

The vegetation on the island’s mountains is typical of that on Efate, except, in this instance, it is far more dense as the environment is far less developed. Twelve kilometres from our destination, the driver stopped the vehicle in order that we could alight and take distant photographs of the volcano.. It was then that we noticed that there was an even taller peak to its right. Yasur was emitting some smoke. However, this was to appear to be far more prevalent upon our arrival.

Our driver was to tell me that although he was from Tanna he was actually educated in Luganville, the New Hebrides’ second town, on the condominium’s largest island, Espiritu Santo. I estimated that he was about forty years of age and also noted that he spoke English fairly well. He informed me that Tanna receives a cyclone annually. During the wet season, which begins in November and continues until March, it rains diurnally. He also imparted to me that the volcano is not as active as it was some six to eight years ago when a young Australian woman received a broken clavicle and a pierced lung, as a result of having been struck by a sizeable piece of molten rock.

Once our vehicle had emerged from the jungle we were driven across a plain of wind-driven, grey-blackish sand that stretched for several kilometres to the volcano’s base. An outcrop of reddish-brown earth that was prone to crumble under foot, awaited us, despite the fact it wasn’t possessed of any perceivable cracks.

The driver, who had climbed the volcano “one hundred times”, departed, in order to collect two guides. Meanwhile, the wind made it decidedly unpleasant as it whipped up the ubiquitous fine sand as if to ensure that it found its way into our eyes, hair, noses, mouths and clothing. Ten minutes passed and I was prompted to joke, “Perhaps the guides are lost!”

They weren’t, of course, but what did surprise us was the fact that they were children! Both sat on the Land Rover’s bonnet as we were driven the two kilometres to the very foot of the volcano, from where we were to begin our ascent. Each of us was provided with a pole of balsa to assist us in this endeavour, as our driver opted to remain behind.

I had chosen to carry our hand luggage to the summit, as it contained our passports, camera, thongs, airline tickets, et cetera. A little French-speaking native guide of not more than ten or eleven years, led the way as he held on to Tiki’s hand. The pair were to remain in front for the entire time. Yours truly followed while the other, older native guide accompanied the others, who remained astern of me.

There was no mistaking the fact that the ascent was an arduous one, especially now that the tropical sun was really demonstrating its warmth. Conversely, it was nice to finally be out of the unremitting wind.

It really was a case of one step forward and half of one back, in the fine volcanic dust, as we worked our way towards a seemingly incongruous gathering of vegetation that consisted chiefly of ferns reminiscent of those that I had witnessed on New Zealand”s North Island, four years ago.

By this stage I estimated that our ascent was seven-eighths complete. The others had joined us from some one hundred and fifty metres distant. All were amazed by Tiki’s level of stamina and endurance. I quipped to the exhausted younger Englishman, “Is this what you English call a ‘leisurely stroll’?”

There, I chose to remain on my feet as I admired the view of the ocean, the vegetation and the plain of fine sand which encompassed a landform that reminded me of a miniature Ayers Rock. A lake, perhaps two kilometres square, lay off to the left at the foot of, and partially obscured by, the volcano.

Once the others had agreed that they had recovered sufficiently, we proceeded to climb to the rim of the volcano’s highly impressive crater. It measures some two and a half kilometres in diameter and surrounds two, juxtaposed craters. Both of which lie a considerable distance below the level of the main rim.

We didn’t have to wait for long to witness that which had been causing the sonic booms, as well as generating the heat through the earth. Both of which we had become cognisant of during the ascent. Alternately, intermittent eruptions of varying magnitudes thrust forth clouds of smoke and steam together with chunks of molten lava that would climb, perhaps as much as three hundred metres above the respective vent from whence they had come.

Some of these pieces appeared to be quite small while others were undeniably sizeable. Having reached their zenith, they would appear for an instance to be suspended prior to beginning their lengthy and eerily quiet descent to the sloping surface of the crater from which they had emanated. Such contact was clearly audible, as was the sound of those that did not become stationary immediately and, therefore, would slide further down often making contact with their own kind as they did so.

It was truly a sight to behold!

The molten lava appeared to be of a red, almost maroon, colour and the really pungent sulphurous smell relayed our minds back to that experienced in Rotorua, New Zealand. Additionally, the manner in which previous climbers had piled lava into pyramids, near to the main rim, reminded me of how stones had been displayed similarly in the Valley Of The Winds, within The Olgas, in Australia’s Northern Territory.

Comparatively, our descent, after some twenty minutes, was as much a slide as opposed to actually placing one foot before the other. This prompted me to remark to the younger Englishman, “Now I know why they weighed us at the airport. They want to determine just how much of the volcano we’ll be bringing back!”

The driver rendezvoused with us and we were conveyed across the dusty plain to a location where the large lake met with tropical vegetation. There, he said that we could use the waters of the lake to make ourselves feel less grimy. We hadn’t come dressed to immerse ourselves to any degree and thus waded about with our jeans rolled up. Tiki showed me how she’d managed to make her hands appear to be so clean and instructed me to follow her example. This involved the employment of a sludgy dust from the lake’s edge, as a substitute for soap.

Lunch was consumed as we sat nearby on an area of reasonably soft, grassed earth. Firstly were were served lemon cordial in hemispherical shells, obviously made from the shell of the coconut. Quite unexpectedly, we were then each given a plate accompanied by cutlery wrapped in a white serviette. Slices of pineapple, tomato, salami and a meat that bore a foreign, yet delicious, flavour. Lettuce was also provided and, in an effort to quell our appetites, we each consumed two buttered buns.

During our return to the airstrip, Tiki sat in the front as the native guide this time changed gears by reaching between her legs! As we had time on our side we were released at a picturesque beach, just one and a half kilometres from our destination. We waded about and I wet a leg of my jeans in the process. There was an small island that possessed four trees, located just ten metres from the shore.

Half an hour passed before we were driven to the store, which was occupied by native customers. There, a debonaire aristocratic gentleman talked to Tiki and I personally for a number of minutes. He was obviously the prominent white figure on Tanna, having migrated there thirty-three years ago from the suburb of Chatswood in Sydney. The aqua Range Rover, against which he leaned, had been personally imported from England five years ago and he proceeded to state that it must be one of the only vehicles to have been driven on both the Hebrides, off Scotland, as well as the New Hebrides. Despite the lapse in time, it still possessed its English number plates. As he returned us to the airfield, in the cream Land Rover he informed us that he and his wife were searching for land to purchase at Mount Tambourine in the hinterland of the Gold Coast, in Queensland, as they were in the process of curtailing their operations in the New Hebrides.

People began to arrive with their luggage and he had them stand on the scales, just as we had done this morning in Port Vila. Once that had been completed he spoke with us again, just as Tiki and I were in the midst of comparing today’s effort to that of climbing Ayers Rock. She had claimed that today’s effort required the greater endurance, to which I concurred especially as my level of personal fitness is greater than it was in 1972 when I scaled the monolith. Tiki had done likewise, in the year that followed. Nonetheless, we had to pause quite frequently today as the exertion of clambering about in volcanic dust proved to be a source of enervation.

The aristocratic gentleman began to peer into the distant sky as he searched for the fractionally overdue aircraft that was en route from Port Vila. He advised us that it would be an “eighteen-seater”; seventeen passengers, plus the pilot. This was ideal, he explained, for should one contain twenty seats, by law, it would have to possess a co-pilot and/or a stewardess.

It was then that he informed me of how upon our landing this morning, he had been compelled to run out and “tear” something off our aeroplane’s wing(s) because the newly employed pilot had forgotten or neglected to remove it. Nor had the controller at Port Vila’s airport alerted the pilot to this fact. This was why neither the pilot nor I, for that matter, had been privy to any indication of the aircraft’s speed.

When the larger aeroplane finally did appear it was far too high for his approval and he cursed the pilot for his wastage of fuel, prior to his acknowledgement of the fact that he, too, was new to the job and added that he was probably conducting his observation of the airfield, in particular the position of the windsock, before he was to embark upon a final approach.

While we were waiting for the aircraft to circle and eventually land, he informed us of how he was the co-founder of Air Melanesaie alongside Burton, after whom the airfield was named. This had prompted me to foolishly enquire as to the airline’s record of safety.

Burton had perished, in 1966, along with all seven of his passengers when their aircraft crashed into the taller peak that lies adjacent to Yasur. He believed that the aeroplane was probably the victim of turbulence. My level of apprehension rose further as he told of how another pilot had crashed his aircraft, with six passengers on board, while they were “chasing” wild horses in the north of the island. The tip of one wing ploughed into the ground and this caused the aeroplane to cartwheel repeatedly before it eventually came to rest, with its cabin the right way up!

That occurred in 1974. One passenger was killed, having failed to employ his seat belt. Whereas, the pilot, he added, “is just a vegetable”.

The co-founder continued by stating that he, too, had been involved in a crash when one of the company’s aeroplane’s overshot the runway on one of the islands. Although the aircraft suffered significant damage, no one was seriously injured. Apparently, there are three airstrips on the island of Aoba, to the north, near Pentecost, that are more hazardous than Burton.

Most of the pilots are young Frenchman who are on probation. Their collective aim is to progress and one day fly for U.T.A. However, the co-founder tends to prefer Australians because they are usually married and, therefore, generally remain for lengthier tenures. He has met Queen Elizabeth II, not once but thrice! One such occasion was when Her Majesty visited the island of Pentecost to observe the “land divers” who literally dive from tall bamboo or wooden towers with only a rope affixed to one leg to abruptly arrest their descent. Their aim is to get as close to the ground as possible and, at the same time, ensure their respective survival.

It was on this particular occasion that the principal diver was ill and as a consequence another, less experienced, diver was selected to replace him. He plummeted head first into the ground, immediately before Her Majesty, instantly breaking his neck. The Queen was understandably shaken by what she had witnessed, but was not informed until later that the incident had, indeed, claimed the young diver’s life. The co-founder expressed profound admiration for Her Majesty as he stated that “she is a tremendous person”.

Although our aircraft had banked and landed safely, even the co-founder had to admit that he had held the trepidation that the young pilot might not have been able to render it stationary in time. Having spoken so frankly, he wasted no time in running towards the aeroplane in order to place a “pole” under its tail. This was necessary to prevent the machine from tipping backwards once the passengers had disembarked, as a third engine was located rearward of the other two, a requirement that neutralised the aircraft’s additional weight and load.

We enplaned and sat together in a double seat that was located three rows behind that of the pilot. Our seat consisted of a thin layer of foam laid upon a base of masonite and by the time we had landed on Efate our derrieres were well and truly numb! Prior to takeoff the young French pilot had turned around and pronounced that someone’s had not been closed securely. It just so happened to be the one to my immediate left and it was the duty of the co-founder to walk around and close it satisfactorily with a thrust of his right rump.

Exhausted as I was, I couldn’t dismiss the thought that my door might not have been properly locked after all and could, therefore, fly open in mid-flight. The aeroplane climbed into the sunlight where it was to remain, just above the clouds, until we began our descent into Port Vila, at 5.15 p.m. A bus was in waiting to transport us home. Its initial port of call was that of the Hotel Rossi, located between the centre of town and the harbour, and thence the Inter-Continental.

Tiki, in spite of only having secured two hours of sleep last night and despite the rigours of today’s unforgettable adventure, was extremely keen to dine at the restaurant, Ma Barker’s, in town. Once we had showered and dressed appropriately, we travelled there via taxi. Its meter began with a flag fall of thirty francs and had reached a total of seventy when we alighted from the cab at our destination in the main street.

We ordered a carafe that bore a litre of rose. Entree consisted of a fish soup for Tiki while I opted for the South Pacific prawn cocktail. Respectively, our main course was comprised of garlic steak and pepper steak after I had followed her advice from the other day. The wine began to make us feel tipsy, as we drank it as if it were water. Dessert came in the form of ‘Ma Barker’s’ fruit salad and, my preference, the so-called ‘Coconut Special’, which arrived, appropriately, in a coconut’s shell. We had devoured two bread rolls each during the consumption of the main course and concluded our dining with after-dinner mints which arrived with the four cappuccinos we shared. The bill came to a reasonable one thousand nine hundred and twenty-five New Hebridean francs or, approximately, twenty-six dollars Australian.

Our taxi home was one of seemingly twenty which were queued across the street from the restaurant, which is owned by an Australian. The driver informed us that he originally came from the island of Pentecost. Tiki, the treasurer, gave him a tip of ten francs, and, shortly after half past eight, we retired for the night to sleep in separate double beds.

The Top 40 Fantasies: No. 11

1. The Honeydripper (1945)                                                                                                                                                                                                             Joe Liggins and his Honeydrippers

2. I Went To Your Wedding (1952)                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Patti Page

3. Born Free (1966)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Matt Monro

4. Walk On By (1964)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Dionne Warwick

5. She’s Not There (1964)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     The Zombies

6. The Summertime Blues (1958)                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Eddie Cochran

7. Drinking Wine, Spo-Dee-O-Dee, Drinking Wine (1949)                                                                                                                                                                            Stick  McGhee and his Buddies

8. Nothing From Nothing (1974)                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Billy Preston

9. Moonlight In Mexico (1941)                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Anne Shelton

10. A Trip To Heaven (1973)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Freddie Hart

11. Substitute (1966)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 The Who

12. Never On Sunday (1960)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Don Costa and his Orchestra

13. Pennies From Heaven (1936)                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Bing Crosby

14. A Riot In Cell Block #9 (1960)                                                                                                                                                                                                                          Wanda Jackson

15. Hole In My Shoe (1967)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Traffic

16. Wooly Bully (1965)                                                                                                                                                                                                        Sam The Sham and The Pharaohs

17. Lonely Women Make Good Lovers (1972)                                                                                                                                                                                                      Bob Lumen

18. Bye, Bye, Baby (Baby Goodbye) (1965)                                                                                                                                                                                                           The Four Seasons

19. One Word                                                                                                                                                                    (1991)                                                                                                                                                                                         The Baby Animals

20. Old Rivers (1962)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Walter Brennan

21. Superman (1972)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Alison McCallum

22. It’s Hard To Be Humble (1980)                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Mac Davis

23. Wand’rin’ Star                                                                                                                                                             (1970)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         Lee Marvin

24. (I Washed My Hands) In Muddy Water                                                                                                          (1966)                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Johnny Rivers

25. Fourteen Karat Gold                                                                                                                     (1957)                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Don Cherry

26. I Love The Way You Lie (2010)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Eminem featuring Rihanna

27. Allez-Vous-En (1953)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Kay Starr

28. Forever Young                                                                                                                                                (1984)                                                                                                                                                                                                    Alphaville

29. Cigareetes, Whusky, And Wild, Wild Women                                                                                            (1947)                                                                                                                                                                                                                               The Sons Of The Pioneers

30. Let It Out (Let It All Hang Out)                                                                                                                         (1967)                                                                                                                                                                                                              The Hombres

31. Dance Monkey                                                                                                                                                (2019)                                                                                                                                                                                                            Tones and I

32. Lipstick And Candy And Rubbersole Shoes                                                                                   (1956)                                                                                                                                                                                                         Julius LaRosa

33. Be My Little Baby Bumble Bee                                                                                                                          (1912)                                                                                                                                                                                                                     Ada Jones and Billy Murray                                                                                                          

34. Sweet Child O’ Mine                                                                                                                                                (1987)                                                                                                                                                                                             Guns N’ Roses

35. It’s Alright                                                                                                                                                                     (1965)                                                                                                                                                                                                                Adam Faith

36. Kay                                                                                                                                                                                     (1968)                                                                                                                                                                                       John Wesley Ryles I

37. The Lonely One                                                                                                                                              (1959)                                                                                                                                                                           Duane Eddy

38. Sweet Violets                                                                                                                                                              (1951)                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      Dinah Shore

39. The Wedding Samba                                                                                                                                           (1950)                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Edmundo Ros and his Orchestra

40. I Love Onions                                                                                                                                                              (1966)                                                                                                                                                                                                         Susan Christie