THE HON. ERNEST BOWYER CORBETT

The ancestry of the Hon. Ernest Bowyer Corbett goes back to the first European pioneers. His mother was the grand-daughter of Hansen of the brig Active, who brought Marsden to New Zealand. His great aunt, Hannah Hansen, was the first white child born in New Zealand in January 1816. Mr Corbett was born on a Taranaki bush farm at Okato in 1898 and now he is retired from politics he lives again at Okato. More than most white New Zealanders he feels intimately part of his corner of the country; he likes to be known as the man from Taranaki; Egmont is his mountain.

Okato was then a predominantly Maori community and Ernest Bowyer, one of a family of ten, went to the Puniho School which had a predominantly Maori school and later to the Okato State School. After leaving school, he joined the Post and Telegraph Department, then worked in a dairy factory. But farming was in his blood and he took on a place half in bush, half in scrub, with a mud road for access, cleared it and brought it into production. In 1922 he married Miss Doris E. Sharp; took her to the farm on a sledge.

From an early age his interests went out to public life as well as farming. The Oxford Dairy Company, the National Dairy Association, the Dairy Industry Insurance Company all owe a good deal to the activities of Mr Corbett, and so do numerous social and sporting organizations. What spare time remained Mr Corbett spent gardening and climbing Mount Egmont.

In 1943 he became Member of Parliament for Egmont and in 1949 Minister of Lands, Forests and Maori Affairs. In his Lands portfolio, Mr Corbett was responsible for important and far-sighted legislation to prevent undue land aggre-

gation. In Forests (a portfolio he abandoned in 1954 due to ill health), Mr Corbett was in charge of the arrangements with the Tasman Pulp and Paper enterprise. But in this article we shall recall only his contact with the Maori people as Minister of Maori Affairs.

The first great Maori meeting he attended as Minister was the Rangiatea Centenary celebration at Otaki. This was also the last great meeting of the late Sir Apirana Ngata. Here, Sir Apirana threw out a powerful challenge. With his usual wealth of detail and documentation and oratorical fire, the old statesman assailed various features of Maori Affairs administration. Sir Apirana knew that the new minister was not yet familiar with all this detail but nonetheless this was a way to show to the Maori people what kind of man Mr Corbett was. In his reply he was undaunted, conceded nothing but made a characteristic promise of vigorous action. “On the East Coast you have a saying ‘Taihoa’,” he said, “but in Taranaki where I come from we say ‘Kia tere’ (make speed). And I am sure, Sir, that while you are alive to spur me on I shall have no opportunity to sit down on the job.” The feeling of the meeting was one of confidence in the new Minister who had shown both strength and sincere purpose in a contest with the greatest living Maori.

Sir Apirana passed away shortly after this, but Mr Corbett's admiration remained. Right at the end, when his health was very precarious he insisted on making the long trip to Waiomatatini purely as a pilgrimage of aroha to the graveside

of Sir Apirana. He regarded the great Maori leader as his guide, counsellor and friend and did not wish to retire without saying farewell to his spirit. He then undertook the steep difficult trek up to the hillside overlooking Porourangi meeting-house where he stood for a time by the grave.

The highlight of Mr Corbett's career as Minister was probably the legislation on the succession to Maori land interests to prevent the breaking down of uneconomic interests. This was a very challenging piece of legislation because it is no small matter to be deprived by law of the right to succeed to ancestral land, even if this land measures no more than a square yard. Mr Corbett saw, however, that unless something was done it would not be long before most Maori interests would indeed not be much greater than a square yard, and therefore economically useless. In fifty years time what he has done may well be regarded as the salvation of the Maori land heritage. After long negotiations and some compromise, Maori leaders agreed to the legislation and it went through the House unopposed, as part of the Maori Affairs Act 1953. In 1955 a stop was also put to the constant breaking down of interests in Maori Reserved Land.

In Maori housing, employment, land development and welfare, constant progress was maintained and expenditure rose regularly year by year.

He spent much of his time visiting maraes in the remotest corners of New Zealand; the Minister's car was forever churning the roads of the backblocks. He liked to have solid farm earth under his feet, judge the grass, the fertility, decide for himself whether a block was worth developing.

And he liked the idea of Maoris farming their land. He lost no time in releasing as much land as possible from departmental control to Maori farmers and incorporations.

The business side of farming and transacting housing mortgages was entirely familiar to him before he became Minister; he administered it quickly and efficiently like the director of a large corporaton.

Yet he recognised that this was not the core of his task. The real problems were less tangible but concerned human behaviour and the social changes occurring in the Maori race. Here Mr Corbett had his experience in social organisations to fall back on and also his enthusiastic work as a layman for the Anglican church.

This experience gave Mr Corbett a very idealistic view of social services; he regarded them as a mission, where qualities of heart were far more important than training and where the general aim was to lift people to a higher level. It was here that the Minister met conflict and sometimes disappointment. At Meetings he used to tell the Maori people ‘I give you not what you want but what you need’.

However, there was no doubt of the vigour with which Mr Corbett provided what he thought was needed, nor of the sound and earthy judgment

nett. Pointing to it he said, with great emphasis: with which he chose those needs. In many ways he improved the lot of young Maoris going to the cities. His insistence on the control of liquor led to a continual strengthening of the army of Maori wardens whose work compensated in a far healthier way for the earlier restrictions.

Some controversies in which he took part obscured the fact that he was fundamentally a man with a deep loyalty to the past, to his own background in Taranaki, and also to the cultural heritage of the Maori people. When money was to be spent on a Maori dictionary, or the recording of ancient songs or the carving of a meeting house, Mr Corbett supported it. He had the Maori Affairs Committee room in Parliament Buildings decorated in traditional style. He often said that to develop fully a man had to love the land and his cultural heritage.

In the Maori heritage he was particularly impressed with the great leaders, such as Ngata and Buck. One day looking through copy of Te Ao Hou he singled out a photograph of Sir Apirana Ngata, Sir Peter Buck and Bishop Ben- ‘This is good material for your magazine.’

Mr Corbett derived tremendous satisfaction from the achievements of the Maori Women's Welfare League. He believed women are achieving wonderful things. ‘It is God's task they are engaged in’, he said, ‘giving the children an anchor. Maori women deserve all the more credit for they often labour under tremendous difficulties with large families, sometimes with added burdens through poor housing or isolation’.

With the foundation President of the League, Mrs Whina Cooper, M.B.E., he maintained a close friendship. Mrs Cooper was at times a ferocious critic in pressing her demands, but at the same time she was his trusted confidant. For he admired her tremendous character. On the eve of his retirement she sent him the following telegram: ‘Though far away my arohanui to you both… Through your greatness and loyal support leagues reached heights. You were my rough diamond friend. Once again I thank you. May God bless you both and enjoy the rest. Will meet again, Whina’.

Surveying Was His Ambition

Mr Ropiha was born at Waipawa, in 1895, a member of Ngati Kahungunu. He was educated at Waipawa district high school and Te Aute College, where he developed a strong interest in mathematics. He joined the Public Works Department in 1912 as a cadet, but it became his ambition to become a surveyor. His spare time was spent almost entirely in study. Before he could qualify, the war started and he went overseas as a bombardier with the artillery. As soon as he came back he resumed his studies and in 1920 qualified as a surveyor at Canterbury College. Shortly after, he married Rhoda Walker, from Omaio (Whanau-a-panui) who bore him a daughter Rina, and a son Peter.

As a surveyor he worked both in private practice and with the Lands and Survey Department. He enjoyed the adventure of surveying. A lot of the land he worked on was Maori land, particularly Tuwharetoa and the Urewera.

In his profession he established his first link with Maori land, its owners and its problems. He worked in places where surveyors are traditionally unpopular with the Maori people and had to set people's minds at ease and offer help in their difficulties. It made a big difference to the chiefs to discuss things in their own language with a young man they trusted. His-special mentor in those days was Hemi Pitiroi who is still living at Nukuhou. These frendships were still remembered many years later when Mr Ropiha became head of the Department of Maori Affairs.

In the nineteen thirties, he worked for a while in the Native Department. He did surveys for land development in Waikato and the far North and some of the young men he trained and influenced were Maoris who later made notable careers as teachers or public servants in other fields. In this time of unemployment, getting land development started often meant the difference between starvation and a solid livelihood. The survey team was

enthusiastically for getting work started, worked at all hours. In a series of weekends. Mr Ropiha and his associates mapped out a plan for the Turanyawawae Estate, Taruewahia in an effort to persuade the government to pay unemployment subsidy to the workers. This was not an official duty, but it led to the government paying unemployment subsidies which enabled the Estate to be established on a firmer financial basis.

His first senior appointment, to the post of Chief Surveyor, Blenheim, did not come until 1940. It came, not from ambition to climb the public service ladder, but from a certain unhappiness with the Native Department as it was then. The Permament Head tried to dissuade him from leaving, offered him prospects, and told him ‘that his real job was with his own people’. In those days very few Maoris were given responsible posts in the public service and the Native Department unfortunately was no exception. Mr Ropiha flared up and told the Permanent Head that the only job he would apply for in the Native Department would be his own. Later, among friends, he expressed great regret for this sudden and unusual burst of temper. ‘I don't know what came over me,’ he said.

Success Came Suddenly

In 1947, with the post of Under-Secretary of the Native Department about to fall vacant, the Maori people thought the time had arrived-when a Maori should get this appointment. The Minister at the time was the Rt. Hon. Peter Fraser, who was sympathetic to the request. Some Maori leaders, notably from Hawkes Bay and the Waikato, recommended Tipi Tainui Ropiha as a suitable representative of the race.

The man they chose had never been interested in politics, he was not known as an orator on the

maraes of New Zealand. His role had been that of a surveyor, a helper in land development. So they intimately knew his attitude to land, to Maori land, and this attitude was unique.

Coming from Hawkes Bay, where most Maoris lost their land heritage early through land sales, he could understand the passionate attachment of people to their land, yet stood outside it to a certain extent. He had spent most of his life as a surveyor and land development officer and had imbided a mathematical and economic attitude to land, without ever losing the sentiment about it surrounding him during his childhood. From his speaking about land the elders saw the depth of his feeling as well as a forcefulness driving to a new, more productive and more satisfying use of the land. They encouraged Mr Ropiha to apply for the job of Assistant Under-Secretary.

Mr Fraser asked for a public service report and when this was favourable called for an interview. Mr Ropiha described this crucial moment in his life during his farewell at Ngati Poneke Hall in Wellington. He arrived from Te Kuiti with lumbago. Mr Fraser peered at the public service report, holding it close to his face, and read a few odd phrases out aloud: ‘Successfully organised land development’. Then he looked hard at his prospective under-secretary and said: ‘I detest successful men. They usually succeed by walking over others. Mr Ropiha, if I ever find you riding roughshod over the Maori people, I'll send you back to Te Kuiti on your ear.’

Mr Ropiha looked very distressed. He thought of the long ten years stretching before him until his retirement, and the sort of talk he might have to listen to at the Minister's office. At once, his lumbago got ten times worse. The Prime Minister saw the mute shock on Mr Ropiha's face, changed his tone and said: ‘Young man, I think you and I will get on well together. Come and have lunch with me today.’

He Transformed the Department

His influence on the Maori situation has been considerable. He keenly felt a dual obligation: to the government as a public servant, and a special obligation to the Maori people.

At his office, there was a constant flow of Maori people wishing to pour out their hearts to one of their own race in authority and Mr Ropiha considered it his duty to listen to all of them.

The first job he did as under-secretary was to go to Taranaki to discuss the then contentious matter of the West Coast Settlement leases. On the imminent expiry of these leases, better terms had to be negotiated for the Maori owners. Mr Ropiha spent the whole day in gruelling and effective discussions with the lessees to press the Maori proposals. At the end of the session, the lessees’ solicitor took a senior official of the department aside and asked him: ‘Is this Mr Ropiha's first day in office?’ On being told it was, he exclaimed: ‘Let us hope that all his days are not like this one’.

Mr Ropiha could be a formidable negotiator. Looking quite innocent as if he emerged only yesterday from the deepest backblocks he would ask questions which seemed full of naive curiosity. One tended to answer such questions with a certain kindness and indulgence, only to find oneself enmeshed in an inextricable self-made web. And then, a straight victory against Mr Ropiha was virtually impossible. He was a master in wearing out the enemy.

While he was very quick at doing what he thought desirable, those who tried to make him do the opposite found so many difficulties in their path that they somehow never reached their ends. ‘Nobody has ever worn me out,’ was one of the few boasts he ever made.

As champion of Maori interests, the Secretary enhanced the Maori owners' rewards from the Greymouth and Taranaki leases and lands vested in the Maori Trustee.

On the marae he would always be immaculate, smooth as a diplomat, and speak in clear, modern Maori, which was correct and lively but never became ornate. It was the first time since Ngata that the elders had heard the voice of authority speak in the Maori tongue, and not only did they understand the argument better, but in Maori they were better able to assess the hidden thoughts and motives behind the speech. They could be sure of its honesty where they were suspicious in English.

Until Mr Ropiha took over, Maori owners in many cases had no part in the administration of land the department was farming on their behalf. It was lucky that after 1948, it became government policy first, to give the owners an advisory voice, and then, wherever possible, to hand over full control to Maori incorporations or individuals. It was Mr Ropiha's job to carry out this policy which he did with vigour and determination. There was a good deal of opposition from certain quarters. Mr Ropiha worked with the greatest patience and diplomacy, but when that did not avail he used his full authority. (‘I have come here to hear how it can be done, not why it cannot be done.’)

In this way, Maori leaders were clothed with a new dignity as they were entrusted with full say over their patrimony and so an atmosphere of mutual trust developed which changed Maori attitudes to officialdom over the last ten years.

In the end it was always on the marae that the fundamental decisions were taken. At Te Kao, a village where land development had started with wonderful enthusiasm, apathy and indifference had gradually developed through a number of unfortunate events over the years. Mr Ropiha went there to discuss the matter. He saw the problems of the community, and got their support for a plan of reform. This getting of personal support was

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In our last issue, Professor Davidson of the Australian National University explained traditional Samoan leadership and how it works. Soon these leaders will run an independent Samoa. This article, specially written for Te Ao Hou, describes the shape of this new Polynesian State.

Part II
POLITICAL ADVANCEMENT

During the past ten years the people of Western Samoa have made rapid strides towards self-government. If present plans are carried out—as they almost certainly will be—the Samoans will in 1960 obtain full control of their government, except in relation to a few matters such as external affairs which they have agreed should be left with New Zealand.

The present period of political development began in 1947, when, after discussions with Samoan leaders and with a mission from the United Nations, the New Zealand Government announced a comprehensive plan. Its basic aims were as follows: to ensure that the Samoans should feel that the new government was their government, representing their own ideas and interests; to give as much power as seemed possible at the time to Samoan representatives; and to lay the foundations for a gradual transfer of authority from New Zealand as the Samoans gained experience of the new system. A Council of State was set up consisting of a High Commissioner, as head of the Government, and two Fautua representing the Samoan people. Its members jointly represent the Samoan Government on all formal occasions; they symbolise, in other words, the dignity and the unity of Western Samoa. The Fau-

tua, the Hon. Tupua Tamasese and the Hon. Malietoa Tanumafili, are the heads of the traditional princely families of Tupa and Malietoa. A new Legislative Assembly was established, with full powers (including control of finance), in which the Samoan representatives had a majority. And a much older advisory body, the Fono of Faipule, was left in existence for the time being—both to give advice on the problems which were worrying the people of the villages and to choose the Samoan members of the Legislative Assembly. (The Faipule themselves were directly elected by the matai of the different districts.)

As soon as the new political “set-up” (as it was commonly called) was working, steps were taken to give the people's representatives a closer knowledge of the work of government. Permanent committees of the Legislative Assembly were established to assist the heads of the larger departments in the planning of policy; and special committees were formed, from time to time, to study problems of particlular importance. By 1953 it was felt that the [ unclear: ] should meet in Samoa to work out a solution to those problems. After much preliminary work had been done, this Convention, which contained representatives of all sections of the people of Samoa, met at the end of 1954. Developments since that time have been based upon its decisions. In 1956 the elected members of the legislature who were on the Executive Council took responsibility for the administration of certain departments—a half-way step towards full cabinet government. In the present year, the existing Legislative Assembly and Fono of Faipule are both being replaced by a much larger Legislative Assembly, nearly all of whose members will be directly elected. The new legislature will contain from 41 to 45 Samoan members, five European members, and “not more than three” official members. The High Commissioner and the Fautua will no longer sit in the legislature. Instead, the members will elect a Speaker to control debates, [ unclear: ] s in New Zealand.

Of course, to be successful the new self-governing Samoa must achieve much more than a satisfactory constitution. It must work out policies for economic development that will enable it to maintain a high standard of living for its people; it must have an adequate system of education; it must bring the traditional forms of village and district councils into conformity with the needs of modern life. But, at least, the co-operation of the New Zealand authorities and Samoan representatives over the past ten years had laid a firm political foundation for these developments. From now on the roads to success will be controlled by the Samoans themselves.

SAMOAN LEADERSHIP TODAY

What sort of men, among the Samoans, have been leading (their country forward during recent years?

The two Fautua, Hon. Tupua Tamasese and Hon. Malietoa Tanumafili, exemplify much that is characteristic of modern Samoan leadership. Their position is firmly based in the traditional social structure, but they have, as well, a broad knowledge of modern life. Both succeeded to their responsibilities as young men; both have travelled widely outside Samoa and kept in touch with events through reading, the radio, and their many friends in other countries. Tamasese, in particular, whose predominant interest is in public affairs, is always ready to discuss problems of local or world politics and brings to his side of the discussion a wealth of knowledge. Thus, though the position of the Fautua is primarily one of formal representation, their actual influence in practicle politics is very considerable and owes much to their experience and knowledge.

Among the members of the

Assembly and of other governmental bodies, there have also been many who bring to public affairs a similar blending of traditional and modern ways of thought. In some cases, their very presence in public life has shown the complex way in which Samoan tradition has been modified in response to present needs. This has been possible because of the lack of rigidity in Samoan custom. For example, certain villagers and the holders of certain titles have traditional rights of precedence in a district; but this can be made a largely formal matter when there is reason for placing practical responsibilities in other hands. The right to speak for the district of Aana, for example, resides with the orator group of the village of Leulumoega; but the first representative of Aana in the Legislative Assembly was the Hon. Tofa Tomasi, the holder of a relatively minor title in the less important village of Faleasi'u. Tofa's political position, which he occupied till his death with the full backing of Leulumoega, was probably as secure as that of any man in Samoa. It was based on his personal qualities and knowledge. Besides being an extremely adroit politician, Tofa was both a man of wealth (made in trading) and the Samoan authority on economics. The matai of Aana were well satisfied to be represented by such a man, who, by his talents, brought credit to the district as well as to himself.

The present Samoan members of the Executive Council—men who are carrying out something like ministerial duties—all exemplify, in their different ways, the same broad trends. The Hon. Tualaulelai Mauri has been engaged during the whole of his adult life in commercial and administrative work; he has spent long periods in both New Zealand and Fiji; he has represented Samoa at overseas conferences and in varied negotiations. The Hon. Tuatagaloa Leutele—a man of powerful influence in the traditional social system—had led his home district most effectively in the development of education, medical services, and public works before his energies became so fully engaged in national politics. The Hon. To'omata Lilo-maiva is both a man of high title in the island of Savai'i and a wealthy cocoa planter. The Hon. Fonoti has been the leading figure in more than one commercial company, as well as a planter in his home district of Lotofaga. These men do not under-rate the importance of the intricate and sophisticated forms of Samoan social life, but they are also accustomed to the atmosphere of the modern board-room. They are both Samoan chiefs and men of affairs

In the control of district and village affairs, the same type of leadership is found in many places. The formal structure of district and village fono has not been changed; but often the real work of administration has been delegated to committees which are dominated by the younger and more progressive matai. Generally, where there is a leader of outstanding qualities, he finds a full outlet for his talents. One notable example is Vaisala, in the district of Vaisigano, which for many years has had the progressive leadership of the Va'ai family. The former head of the family was a government clerk in German times; later, as a Faipule in the 1920's, he visited New Zealand and Tonga. He became imbued with the importance of education and sent his own sons and several other boys to boarding school in Apia. Now, these men are playing important roles not only in Vaisala itself but in a number of other villages in Savai'i, as planters, traders, teachers, introducing progressive methods into the administration of the places where they live. The son who has succeeded him in Vaisala, a former school-teacher, continues his work there. The village has an excellent school, which also functions as a community centre for adults. Young Planters' societies have been formed both to promote improved standards of production and to provide mutual aid for members in times of illness or other trouble. Many of the people of Vaisala make quite large incomes from the growing of cocoa.

These examples are only a few amongst many. The Samoan scene is not, of course, one of

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This is the second part of a study of the life of Te Kooti Rikirangi, written by Leo Fowler of Gisborne. Much of the information offered here has not been published previously and should help in the understanding of Te Kooti's character. Responsibility for statements made rests entirely with the author and we shall be glad to publish fresh views from correspondents. While very few would today favour Te Kooti's policies, he was a great leader whose prophesies and spiritual message have had an immense influence on the Maori people.

A NEW LOOK AT TE KOOTI

by Leo Fowler

There has been almost a chorused statement among historians of Te Kooti that, prior to his exile to the Chathams, he never exhibited any of those qualities which would have marked him out for leadership. This is a view which cannot be allowed to pass unchallenged.

BEFORE THE EXILE

I have notes of conversations held during the past thirty years with quite a number of old timers around the Poverty Bay district. Notable among them were members of the Burke and Dunlop families who occupied land on the Te Arai creek which belonged to Te Kooti or to his immediate family. These notes are supported by a manuscript, dictated in her later years, by Mrs. Captain Ross, of Opotiki.¹

Mrs Sharpe, of Gisborne, told me that her grandmother, Mrs. Thomas U'Ren, who settled on the Arai River in 1841, would never, till the day of her death hear a word against Te Kooti.² Mrs. U'Ren insisted that Te Kooti was a good worker, a fine ploughman with a good way with beasts (most unusual in a Maori at that time) and especially nice with the U'Ren children. The eldest of these children, Mrs. Sharpe's father, grew up to be one of those who took the field against Te Kooti, but his daughter says he never held any animosity against the old Maori warrior and always held that he was the victim of injustice and misrepresentation. There is reason to believe then, that Te Kooti grew up with some kind of pakeha education, and that, like most of his fellow tribesmen of Rongo Whakaata, maintained friendly relations with the pakeha settlers. Mrs. Ross, in her manuscript, says he had a good deal to say for himself, but was never cheeky, and Edward Burke, whose sister married Charles Dunlop, the eldest of Sarah's brothers, said Te Kooti was always asking questions and endeavouring to acquire pakeha skills.

James Cowan, who has a way of unearthing information overlooked by other historians, tells us

that Te Kooti had some reputation as a sailor. He says that Te Kooti acted as supercargo on a Maori trading schooner for some voyages and later commanded another. This is supported to some extent by McKay who adds a note that he could trace no shipping list showing Te Kooti as a master mariner. This is not surprising. There must have been many Maori skippers of coastal craft who never bothered with the formality of registration.

Ted Burke, whose family I have mentioned preiously maintained that Te Kooti, as a skipper, was a good business man, capable of acting in the interests of the Maori and of explaining to them the benefits they would obtain by trading directly with the Auckland merchants and not dealing with the local trader, Captain Reade.

If these things are true, and there is no reason to doubt that they are, it is easy to believe that during this period Te Kooti established himself in a relation of some leadership among his people. The Dunlops, Burkes and U'Rens all stoutly insisted that it was this very championing of his fellow Maori which led to Te Kooti's downfall.

Both Mrs. Ross and Mrs. U'Ren senior openly declared that it was Captain Reade's rum shops, “spread,” as Mrs U'Ren put it, “like spiders webs to catch flies,” which gave Te Kooti that taste for drink which was to take so strong a hold of him. Fergus Dunlop, a grandson of James, told me his grandfather always held that Reade encouraged Te Kooti to drink for the purpose of discrediting him. From what I have read and heard of the character of Captain George Edward Reade he was not a man lightly to take what he would undoubtedly regard as the officious meddling of a smart-aleck native, far too big for his boots.

Mrs Ross states in her narrative that Reade opened a chain of rum shops, managed by pakehas, and aimed especially at the Maori trade. Frederick Williams, in “Through Ninety Years” states that the effect of this on the Maoris was so frightening to the settlers that a meeting of traders was held with the object of putting a stop to the selling of liquor to Maoris. The traders who attended the meeting, under the chairmanship of Captain Harris, agreed to refrain from serving the Maoris with liquor under penalty of a payment of fifty pounds, but, as Williams remarks, “it had little effect in checking this illegal practice and did not end it.”

There is one point on which all evidence, published and unpublished, agrees. Having taken to drink, Te Kooti became a drunkard. Even Mrs Ross, one of his chief defenders, records that he

“became very troublesome and demanded rum, or the grape wine made by the settlers. When other means of obtaining it failed, he stole it.”

It is said that Te Kooti was not popular with his fellow Maoris. This appears upon investigation to be a mis-statement of the case. He appears to have been a high spirited man, and on occasion a high handed one, with a liking for other men's women and a boldness in pursuing his liking. His adoption of pakeha ways would not endear him to the conservative elders, and his claims to leadership would tend to be resented by chiefs, for Te Kooti himself, though his whakapapa shows him to be affiliated with the leading lines of descent on the coast, was not himself of rangitira rank. Consequently there are many accounts of Te Kooti's brushes with other Maoris but these were matters they settled among themselves and by their own methods, both then and thereafter.

THE CHATHAM ISLANDS

When the Hauhau troubles came to Poverty Bay and culminated in the seige of Waerenga-a-hika, Te Kooti was one of those who fought on the side of the Government forces. The Dunlops state that Te Kooti fought by the side of their brother-in-law, Lieut. Ross and was with him when he was wounded. It was here that some of Te Kooti's earlier misdeeds appear to have boomeranged, for Paora Parau, one of the friendly chiefs with whose wife Te Kooti is suspected of having dallied, accused him of trafficking with the enemy. Te Kooti was charged and brought before a court-martial held in the Bishop's house at Waerenga-a-hika, but the hearing resulted in his being cleared of the charge and dismissed with a clean character. Almost immediately afterwards he was arrested and brought before a magistrate, Major Biggs, on a civil charge, this time of stealing a horse the property of Captain Reade. Once again the charge had to be dismissed as Captain Reade did not come forward to sustain his charge.

Te Kooti had fought for the pakeha against the Hauhau Maoris. He had been cleared of all charges, civil and military, brought against him.

Yet within a week or so he was again arrested, without warrant, and exiled, without trial. He was shipped away to the Chatham Islands with the Hauhau prisoners and although he made three appeals to Donald McLean for trial, or at least an explanation, he received no answer to any of them.

Te Kooti himself always believed that his imprisonment was due to the hostility of Captain Reade and that Major Biggs was his accomplice. Biggs certainly must have authorised Te Kooti's deportation, even if he did not actually sign an order for it. In either case he acted in an arbitrary manner, and without any legal or moral authority or justification. As long after as 1887 Te Kooti told James McKay, the Government Agent in Waikato, that Reade had caused him to be sent away because Te Kooti had set the natives against trading with him. My old friend Ted Burke told me that in his youth it was commonly believed that Reade was responsible and it was held to be a smart piece of work on his part. It is as likely an explanation as any. Had Te Kooti been a chief of rank, or had he possessed friends of influence the deportation could never have taken place. As it was it cannot be denied that many people in high places at least condoned the action, and it was to smoke-screen this unjustifiable course, that so much mud has been slung at Te Kooti.

Needless to say Te Kooti reacted with bitterness and rage. Nor is it likely that his fellow captors failed to rub it in to him that he had backed the wrong horse in fighting for the pakeha against his own people, for most of the Hauhau rebels were of the Rongo Whakaata tribe.

It is said that in dismissing the horse-stealing charge against Te Kooti, Biggs had delivered himself of a little homily pointing out that pakeha justice consisted in never convicting without proof or punishing without conviction. Yet here, within a week or two Te Kooti found himself punished by banishment without even the shadow of a trial.

Captain Tuke who was one of the officers in the Chathams garrison has left an interesting account of Te Kooti's imprisonment and escape. All accounts however agree that during the first two years or more Te Kooti was a model prisoner, quiet and taciturn, giving no trouble and apparently trustworthy. In fact he was given one of the most trusted jobs available, being put in charge of the boats used for loading and unloading the various vessels which called at the prison islands.

One evening he appears to have had some sort of a seizure. His life was despaired of, and following Maori custom the other Maoris sought permission for him to be isolated in an old hut, and attended only by an old woman. This was allowed, and it was under these circumstances that Te Kooti's long convalescence took place. He managed to borrow a bible from one of the guards and he set to work to re-write some of the old testament books to his own pattern. It was during this period of convalscence that he began to assert his leadership. It would not be too much to say

that he began to re-assert it, for there must have been many among his fellow prisoners who would remember his having represented them in the days when he was trading between Tauranga and Auckland.

He began to hold morning and evening services, during which he preached his new religion of Ringatu. That he based it on those old testament books which dealt with the delivery of the children of Israel from the Egyptian bondage is not strange. The cases were apposite, and the fondness for the warlike books of the old testament among all the tribes was a source of some concern to Bishop Selwyn and the other missionaries. It was natural and understandable that the Maori nationalists, who had suffered defeat at the hands of the pakeha, and whose lands had been confiscated, should find comfort, and example in the story of Moses leading the exiled Israelites to freedom and to the promised land. It must not be forgotten that the Hauhau religion was much more than a mere religious fanaticism. It was a rallying movement for all those, of all tribes, who refused to accept as final

their defeat at the hands of the pakeha. Te Kooti was not, and had never been a Hauhau, nor was the new religion he preached a Hauhau religion. But it did receive the support of those who had formerly followed the Hauhau creed. In Taranaki the Hauhau banner attracted all those who still hoped for some success against the pakeha and all he stood for. Under Te Kooti the Ringatu flag served the same cause.

Te Kooti's hatred and distrust of the white man, his ways and his justice, was all the deeper because he had at one time served him and trusted him, but I do not think that, in its initial stages, Te Kooti's plans went further than to escape from the pakeha and his influence. This is not the place to re-capitulate the story of Te Kooti's escape from the Chathams. It is well known that he succeeded in capturing two vessels and forcing their crews to carry his fellow prisoners back to their homeland. The Government officer sent down to the Chathams to report on the escape made especial mention of the almost complete absence of violence and ill-treatment of their former captors by Te Kooti's men. The officers and crew of the “Rifleman,” though closely guarded during the voyage back to New Zealand, were not in any way molested, and they were given their ship and their freedom, as promised, when the journey was over. Yet Te Kooti and his followers must have known full well that once they returned to Wellington with the news of the rebel landing at Whareongaonga there would be an immediate hue and cry.

TE KOOTI'S WAR

Personally I can see no reason to disbelieve Te Kooti's statement to Major Biggs' emissary that he and his men wanted nothing more than to be left unmolested, to be allowed to travel through to the King Country. The Upper Waikato, Urewera, parts of Taranaki and the centre of the island were virtually closed to the white man and were the refuge of the embittered and intransigent among the defeated Maori tribes. It was to these remote hill-country fastnesses that Te Kooti eventually withdrew.

Permission for his journey was not given. Biggs hurried his men to the spot and demanded that Te Kooti should lay down his arms forthwith and trust to the white man's clemency. As an appeal, and from Biggs of all people, it was ridiculous. Te Kooti replied, and probably believed, that the arms had been put into his hands by God's will and that he would retain them. Te Kooti again stated his intention of withdrawing peacefully, but Biggs summoning reinforcements forced the issue by attempting to arrest the escapees by force. It seems clear from the debate which later took place in Parliament, that the Government would have acted with more tolerance and less haste had its hand not been forced by Biggs' impulsive action. However, once the first shots had been fired and the European forces been so soundly beaten in the inital engagements, it was useless to contemplate any peaceful solution. Neither side would have trusted the other and so the campaign, which was to stretch out for three bitter years, was on.

It is not the purpose of this article to tell the story of that campaign. It can be found in the history books. There are two aspects of Te Kooti's long defensive campaign which I would like to comment on. The first is the Matewhero massacre. It was an ugly affair, whose motive was not, however, mere wanton brutality. It was an ‘utu’ raid, a raid of revenge and punishment, in the old Maori tradition directed at Biggs, who had tried Te Kooti on the bogus horse-stealing charge and had been mainly responsible for his deportation. It must be remembered too that Matewhero was a military settlement, and that its settlers were militia. Te Kooti had retreated to the customs of his race, reinforced and aggravated by the retributive accounts to be found in almost every book of the terrible testament the pakeha missionaries had taught him. Biggs had put on Te Kooti and his followers the stigma of slavery, which is the utmost stigma in Maori eyes. It was a stigma which could be wiped out only in blood and in blood it was wiped out. Yet, even in this dark and bitter hour, Te Kooti gave orders that the houses of the Dunlops and the U'Rens, who had formerly befriended him should be spared, and spared they were.

There is in the Gisborne Museum a manuscript letter signed by Paora Matuakore, Wi Pere, Henare Ruru and Pita te Huhu which must be regarded as the expression of opinion of a large body of Maoris of the Poverty Bay district at that time, many of whom had fought on the Government side in the Hauhau wars. This letter to the Government made it clear they regarded the escaped rebels as being entirely on the defensive, and having had originally no intention other than returning to their homes.

I have been tracking down a persistent story that Te Kooti buried a revolver at the Makaraka cross roads where the north and south roads converge to lead to Turanga (or Gisborne as it now is). After a good deal of painstaking enquiry I have found that there are quite a large number of older people who remember hearing this story in their youth, which in most cases would be only a decade or so after the events. The story is that Te Kooti buried this pistol at the crossroads as an ‘aukati’ or a barrier between his followers and the infant township of Turanga. This would be quite understood by all his adherents as meaning that no further vengeance was to be taken and that Turanga was not to be attacked. One old lady, Waioeka Paroune, of Puha, actually showed me the place where the pistol is supposed to have been buried.

The other point I wished to comment on was the relation between Ropata Wahawaha and his Ngati Porou, and Te Kooti and his Rongo Whakaata. In its later stages, as indeed from the beginning

this was largely a private war. This is not to say that Ngati Porou were not loyal to the Crown—they were and have always been. Nor is it to discount the inveterate opposition to the pakeha and his ways which animated Te Kooti and his ever growing number of followers. The Ngati Porou contingent under Major Ropata carried the British flag through to the end of the campaign, and achieved more and endured more in the war against Te Kooti than any pakeha force. But it had another underlying motive, the motive of an old and bitter tribal and personal grudge. Ropata Wahawaha, in his boyhood, had been enslaved by a Rongo Whakaata chief, and as we have already said, slavery was the ultimate stigma which only blood could efface. This explains why Major Ropata was so merciless in dealing with his prisoners. A great deal has been made of Te Kooti's massacre at Matawhero, but little of Ropata's shooting of some hundred or more prisoners after the capture of Ngatapa Pa.

We must not let our interest in this side-issue blind us to the fact that in its main aspect Te Kooti's campaign, defensive though it was in the main, was the last, final defiance of the pakeha government and all it stood for. To Te Kooti's flag in the east flocked all those who repudiated the pakeha and pakeha ways and to Titokowaru in the west flocked those who refused to accept, at any price, peace and submission under pakeha law. Some, like Te Kooti, were men who had tried out the friendship of the pakeha, and would now have nothing further of him.

The first shots of the Maori wars were fired at Kororareka on March 11th 1845. The last shots were fired in a skirmish against Te Kooti at at Mangaone on February 13th 1872.

THE END OF THE CAMPAIGN

Te Kooti retired to the King Country having his headquarters at Te Kuiti where he lived for eleven years, an outlaw, with a price of £5000 on his head. During this period he held a sort of court, receiving visits from chiefs all over the country and remaining a symbol of uncompromising hostility to the pakeha.

The Government drove Te Kooti from the field but they failed to achieve their main and original purpose of capturing him and his fellow escapees. They put into the field many times the number of men Te Kooti could collect, but though they brought him to action time and again, they never succeeded in effectively defeating or capturing him. He must, therefore, be credited with the honours of war. He was to have yet another triumph. In the general amnesty which was granted in 1883 as part of the price of the opening of the King Country for the main trunk line, it was the wish of the Government, prompted by Poverty Bay opinion, to exclude Te Kooti.

On this point the Maori King, Tawhiao, was adamant. This was a matter in which the pride

THE COMING OF CHRISTIANITY TO NEW ZEALAND

Earlier this year, Rev. Norman Cameron of Waitara gave three broadcast talks on the Coming of Christianity to New Zealand. We are printing these as they were delivered at the Maori Broadcast sessions. The first of the talks is reproduced here, the other two will follow in the next issue.

and mana of the Maori were as deeply involved as were the feelings and fears of the pakeha: Te Kooti was to be pardoned, or the deal was off.

So, pardoned the old rebel was, and he died ten years later, the last leader of his race in their forlorn fight for national independance.

Te Kooti died, but his legacies live on, spreading and flourishing. The Ringatu faith which he founded has been recognised by legislative approval and its adherents number many thousands. In addition to those who, statistically, belong to the Ringatu faith there are many more who, belonging to one or other of the more orthodox sects, yet hold Te Kooti in some admiration, and even veneration, as a prophet, and as a spiritual and national leader.

I have encountered followers of Te Kooti in many tribes and in many districts. His is not a name or a fame readily on their lips, especially in front of a stranger and a pakeha, but with greater familiarity one begins to perceive the depth and breadth of the Te Kooti influence.

Even by pakehas he is beginning to appear in a new and more kindly perspective. The incidents of his tempetuous career are coming to be accepted, as incidents, and the tremendous impact of his whole emergence as a leader, a teacher and a spiritual force is beginning to stand in truer focus. It may not be too much to say that, in the final analysis of time and enduring influence, he will take his place as one of the great figures in Maori history.

Ko te mahi a ringaringa te mahi tino pai rawa ki nga ropu wahine o te motu nei. Ko nga ropu wahine Maori kahore he mahi a ringaringa tino pai rawa i tua atu i nga mahi tuturu Maori. Tera tetahi tuturu mahi a rangaringa a te Maori ko te mahi o te piupiu. Tena pea he tokomaha nga ropu wahine Maori tamariki Maori whakahaere kapa haka e kuare ki te mahi o te piupiu. No reira ko nga korero ka whai ake nei he tohutohu na tetahi wahine tohunga mo nga mahi Maori ko tona ingoa ko Rangimarie Hetet no Maniapoto kei ia a nga tohutohutanga mo te mahi o te piupiu.

Hiahia atu au ki te piupiu nei me pehea ra e oti ai he piupiu moku? Ko tetahi hoki me pehea ra te ahua o te harakeke tika e oti ai he piupiu. He aha? Nga harareke pai ko nga mea ngahoro nga whara pai nga ruku a otira tino harakeke pai he taiore mo te piupiu. Me pehea e oti ai enei

 

Mrs Rangimarie Hetet, one of the best exponents of Maori crafts, showed Te Ao Hou how a piupiu is made. We thought it would be interesting to get the whole story in the Maori language and so Miss Ina Te Uira, Maori Welfare Officer in Te Kuiti, interviewed Mrs Hetet who described how this work is done. A tape recording was made which was broadcast over the YA stations last November and is now printed here in its original form. Photographs and an English translation should help to make the story clear and enable our readers to improve, if necessary, on their own ways of making Maori kilts.

 

 

kapakapahanga e mau nei i runga i te harakeke nei? Me maaka e koe ki runga i te papa nga wahi hei whakawhiu tahanga Maori.—Ae—Ka mutu tera tu whakapae haere e koe ki nga maaka o to papa? Pehea ake ki toku raka? Ka whakapa haere atu ki runga i nga maaka o runga i taku karaka ne?—Ae—Ina ka maaka ai i nga harakeke i te ahuatanga o nga maaka e mau nei i runga i te papa.—Ae—A ka mutu tera ka pewhea? Ka haaro haere koe nga wahi e hiahia ana koe kia puta ake ko nga muka. Me pehea ra e au te haro? Me haro e koe ki te makoi. Kaore matu hutai—Ae—Ko tehea wahi o te harakeke e tapahi ai e kia whakaparangia e au? E rua nei hoki nga taha ki te harakeke. I ko roto ko te taha aoa ko waho te taha me whakapara e au?—Ko waho—Ko waho?—Ae—A ko waho. Me pehea e mohio ai au i tetahi taha i tetahi taha?—Ae—Tetahi taha

 

   

 

kaore e tino piata—Ae—Tehea wahi—Ko te wahi kaore e piata ko tena te wahi hei whakapa mau—A katahi au ka mohio inaianei. A tena a muri atu o tera o te harotanga ka pehea? Ka huihui e koe kia rua tekau te paihere ka herea e koe nga wahi ki nga matata—Ae—Ka whakanoi e koe kia maroke. He pehea te roa e noi ana? Te ahuatanga o te maroke. Ka ruia e koe ka kite koe kua maroke—Ae—Tena, e hia te maha o nga harakopikopi kua ma nga harakeke na ka mohio koe keke ka oti he piupiu? E neke atu i te toru rau. A neke atu i te toru rau te maha o nga harakeke ne? E toru neke atu. Pehea ra te roa o tenei mea o te piupiu e mahia ana ka oti tika ai? Ki a koe ia mahinga piupiu pehea te roa ka oti i a koe? Mai o te tapahinga ra o te harakeke o te harotanga o te taitanga kei te ahua tonu o te maha o nga tapahi o runga i te piupiu—Ae—Ka maha atu nga tapahi. Na ka nui ka roa atu hoki koe e mahi ana—Ae—Na mo te taha ki nga kara nei. He aha ra nga kara tuturu a te Maori? He mangu—Ae—He kowhai—Ae—He ma—he tanekaha—Ae. Na ko te mea mangu nei ko ia tenei te mea tino nui te whakauru atu ki roto i te piupiu ne?—Ae—I whea te Maori e mahi piupiu ke rere ke atu nga wahi moka nei? Kaore e penei, o, me kowhai pea nga moka nei, me koma ranei—Kao—Me koma ranei—Kao. Heoi ano ko te manguraka ne? Ae. A. no reira pehea e oti ai te wahi mangu nei? Ka maroke o harakeke ka tikina e koe he whinau i te maunga ko nga peha e mahia mai e koe. He pehea te ahua o tera mea o te hinau? A he rakau tino rahi te hinau—Ae—Tera rakau e tauria ana e te manu—Ae—E te kereru—Ae—A peheatia na. Ka hariatia mai e koe ka kurukuru e koe nga peha kia maru ka mutu ka tahu e koe kia paera kia pau nga kaha ki roto i te wai. Na kia mea ka makana koe ki roto ki te kohua, pehea te nui o te wai? Ki raro iho o nga peha. A kia ngaro ino nga peha? Ka

 

 

then mark the intervals as shown. The marks on the board would then serve to measure off other lengths of flax.”

I: “After you have so marked off the intervals—what then?”

R: “Then you take hold of the flax that has been marked and scrape by means of a shell the marked intervals until the fibre of the flax appears.”

I: “How did you say the flax was to be scraped?”

R: “You scrape the flax with a cockle shell on the side that is not shiny.”

I: “Having done that what next?”

R: “You then bundle the prepared flax into bundles of twenty, hang then up to dry.”

I: “How long would it take to dry the flax?”

R: “When the flax is uniformly whitish in colour.”

I: “How many strands of flax would make a piupiu?”

R: “You would require three hundred or more depending upon the size.”

I: “How long would it take to make a piupiu?”

R: “It is hard to say for there is a considerable lapse of time from the time the flax is cut until the finished article is produced.”

I: “What are the true Maori colours?”

 

 

paera kia tu. Kia roa ano e paera ana kia pau nga kaha o te hinau. A me pehea e mohio ai kua pau te kaha o te hinau? Ka rite ai ki te ahua o te wai. He aha te ahua o te wai? Ahua pumangu. Ae hoa, he mea tauhou tena ki au. A ka mutu tera ka pehea ano? Ka waiho e koe kia matao—Ae—Ka poupou o piupiu ki roto ko nga harakeke ra ka karaha ne? Kaua e puru nga peha kua oti i a koe te mahi—Ae—Mau kia matao anake te wai, kaore kia pai te kohua ki roto i te wai wera?—Kao—Me wera anake te wai raka. Kia matao ke—Ae—A ka mutu to pou ki roto i taua wai pou ki roto i taua wairaka e horoi ngia ana ki te wai mahue iho. Kao—Ae—Whakameatia noatia kia kotahi te pou ki roto i te wai whinau. Aha. Ka tatia e koe ka whakanoi kia maroke rawa aua harakeke piupiu. Ka mutu katahi ka haria e koe ka poua e koe ki roto i te paru. Hei aha? He tino uaua koe ki tena mahi?—Ae—Ki aua nei ko te hinau anake kua mate. Taka haria ano ki roto [ unclear: ] te pango pehea te roa o te patu? Kotahi te po. A ka mutu tera ka pewhea? Ka tawhia e koe ka horoi e koe i roto i te wai rere kia tino ma rawa nga pahi. Tehea wahi e pai nga taru mo tenei mahi, pehea era takiwa? He ahua pakeke tera patai—A, kaore e ngaro i a koe te paru, me whawha e o ringaringa mehemea ka maenene he paruparu tera. Engari ko te ahua o taua paru, e mangu ano? Ae kaore te tino mangu rawa, he ahua puru nei etahi taema. Ae, Te kotahi te po ki reira ka mutu ka tango mai i roto i te paru ka hari ki te wairere kia ma nga paru ne?—Ae—Ka whakanoi ano kia maroke rano. Mea ake i te timatanga [ unclear: ] te mahi o te piupiu ake, me pehea ai tera wahi? Kua mutu katoa nga whakama ka whakawhatangia e koe ka whatungia e koe ko waho tuatahi. Ka whakamatangia he aha tera mea? Na ko te timata? A, pehea ai tau na mahi ka whakanui ngia e koe? E kite ana au hoki i roto i nga whakaahua nei kei tena taha. Pera tahi ano taua. Kia mutu te whakamata o te aho tuatahi ka whakamaarongia e koe whena e tau e kii mai? Whakamata he penei na? Tenei nga wahi? Ko waho e rarahi. Ka whakanui ai te kapou ra—Ae—Ka whakamaro ai e koe katahi koe ka mahi i te taniko o runga. Ehara ko te ahua piupiu ko ia tenei te tuturu piupiu? Nga mea taniko nei ano kua kitea hoki e au aua tu piupiu kaore he taniko heoi ano ko nga harakeke e tautau ana. Na ko a ia tena. Hiahia koe me whiri noa iho e koe—Ae—Hiahia me taniko. Engari ko toku whakaaro pai ke nga piupiu taniko a runga ko te take he u nga harakeke kaore e papahoro—Ae. Pehea te roa e mahi ai i tenei piupiu? E toru marama—Aue—Kati ma te tino tauira he toru marama tena, maku e toru tau pea! Ka oti ranei ka aha ranei i roto i te toru tau. Pera ka nui ra e koe ka oti! Na ko te aho tuatahi e kiia ana nga kaumatua ko te aho taniko tuatahi he aho tapu tera. Te taati koe to piupiu ka taati koe te aho tapu me noho rawa koe ki te mahi a, kia tutuki rano katahi koe ka matika. Mai o tenei pito? Tena pito—Ae—Engari ehara pea tenei na te aho tuatahi ne? Ko tera ra ke?

 

 

R: “The Maori colours are black, yellow, white and red. The predominating colour is black.”

I: “How is the black produced?”

R: “When the flax is dry you fetch some kowhai bark. You pound the bark and then put it into some container cover it with sufficient water and boil until the water becomes darkish in colour. Then leave the solution to cool.”

I: “What next?”

R: “Then you immerse the prepared flax into the kowhai solution. Then you hang the bundles of flax until they are dry. Then you dip the flax into some special mud and leave overnight. The next day—take the flax out and put into running water until thoroughly cleansed. Take great care that all the particles of mud have been removed from the flax when washed. Then you hang the flax once more to dry.”

I: “What's the next stage?”

R: “The next thing would be to plait the flax together and to make the taniko top. The taniko top, however, is not part of all the piupius for invariably they are made with but plain tops. The making of a piupiu as I have said entails much work and considerable time.

 

 

Ko tenei. Engari kia roa atu koe ka mahi atu koe ki konei tuatahi ka mahi ai i tera raina—Ae. A, i tena ahuatanga kia oti tenei kia oti tena. Ae, ko tena te aho papa. Ko tenei na? Timatanga o te taniko—Ae—Kua mohio haere hoki au. Engari i muri atu i tera kua pai noa iho. A no mua ra tera korero au e mohio ana i naianei pai noaiho pea mehemea e mohio au he aha he korero tika tena.—Ae—Katahi taua ka hanga ki te whaka-hinga. Na, ki te kore e oti i au ka pehea? Whakarerea! Ko taku hoki e kiia atu nei ka ngakau nui koe ka oti i a koe. Kao e mea ana au ki te aho tapu nei na. Ahua nei ka paanga au i te mate i waenganui, ka pehea? A, he raruraru nui ra hoki tena. Kore hoki e taea te pewhea me ka pangia koe e te mate. Engari ko te tikanga ia ratou i nga kaumatua me tutuki rawa te aho tapu—Ae—Ka matika ai koe i runga i o papa. Ka mau tonu ai pea i a koe tenei? Ae—Kaua ia he mahi uaua rawa atu? He tino mahi uaua te mahi nei. Engari ka pai au mehemea ko nga kau nui a koe ki te ako mai i au ka ngakau nui ano hoki ki te mau i au. Maku koe e tohutohu—Ae—Te hokihoki mai ana nga iwi. A me wareware koe mo tera korero.

 

Beth Dean who has made many Maori friends during her tours of New Zealand writes here about the contrasting dance styles of three different races: Maori, Australain Aboriginal and New Guinea.

THE CONTRASTING STYLES OF THREE DIFFERENT RACES

A comparison of the dances from three widely different racial groups could easily fill several volumes, so these few thoughts can only touch the surface of a fascinating subject.

Dance is the urge to move rhythmically that lies within all peoples. But the manner in which time and space is punctuated by movement varies greatly. The different styles of dance are as individual to each race as are finger prints to every human being—as different as are their languages.

Among the aborigines of Australia, dance is divided into two carefully preserved sections. There are sacred and non-sacred or play-time types of dance. Playtime dances are about hunting, fishing, etc., or often they are related to some amusing incident of the day.

The sacred dance is highly traditional. It is based on ceremonial which is attributed to the great culture-heroes of ancient epic stories. These heroic beings lived in the long ago dreaming times. They created man, the animals and all the natural features of the land—its rivers, mountains, trees and rocks. The long hours of chanting before the sacred rituals culminate in dance, refer to the great exploits, the difficulties overcome by these creative and magical beings who were filled with life force.

When the present day aborigine is asked why he stamps hard, digging deep into the sand of the sacred dancing grounds, his reply is “We feel joy as the dust rises around us because in dance we become one with the earth and the spirit of life flows through us.”

Both the chanting and its dance expression have a prayerful and fully conscious attitude of mind. Ritual sequence is preserved intact through many generations. Some of the sacred Kangaroo totem ceremonies that the author and her husband. Victor Carell, witnessed in Central Australia, 200 miles west of Alice Springs in 1953, were replicas of those recorded in 1898 by the famous Ethnologists, Spencer and Gillen.

There was artistry and great beauty in the ceremonies. There were highly theatrical effects created from sudden flashing firelight in the pitch black of night as the massed dancers, covered in age-old patterns of vari-coloured feather down and ochres, appeared and disappeared from the circle of light created by the flames. Sometimes the movements were hard and angular in

style with high knee action stamping of great virility. At other times there was a melting grace of cat-like softness about the dance as if it were a lament of deep-welling sorrow. In another ceremony, the men's bodies trembled in such intensity that the 12 foot leafy poles attached to their legs shivered to the very tips and swayed out over the heads of the seated crowd.

The women's dances, as they shuffled in place were softly quiet. Their eyes were shyly cast down as their heads moved poised and gracious to the right, then to the left, their arm movements were sometimes a relaxed swinging to and fro, or they could be controlled, ineffably graceful like a ballet dancer's studied movements.

In non-sacred dance, the men showed not

only the great acting ability we had seen in the sacred dramas, but also an inventiveness in free movement that was extremely difficult technically, as well as being full of artistry. In the case of Gilligan, a dancer of the Wagaitch Tribe, Northern Territory, there were vertical spins in the air landing on one knee, or again great leaps ending in a Hindu sitting posture. From this he would leap straight up in the air without help from his hands. Some of the men were truly gifted comedians. Their psychological insight into the foibles of mankind was given such apt dance expression that we laughed till the tears came to our eyes.

The women of Arnhem Land have their Djarada dancing. It is linked with melodious or plaintive songs to the accompaniment of small resonant hardwood sticks or a boomerang beaten on the earth by the leading song woman. These are not the shy maidenly dances the men see in the camp each night when everyone gathers round the fires for communal singing and dancing. The Djarada are a kind of love-potion magic. They include the fast whirling of each dancer in place like a gay planet, or a stylised imitation of crows in flight as the girls dash headlong round and round the secret Djarada grounds. No man dares to cross this dancing ground. Its magic would kill him—nor would he look at the dancing even from afar. Yet the men have their own Djarada love songs.

If one judges a people by the beauty of their artistic conceptions and expressions then the aborigines are not so primitive after all. They are a gentle contemplative people of real dignity in their traditional way of life. Self discipline was one of the chief goals of adult manhood. Strong tradition, as well as inclination has kept them living as nomadic tribes. The aboriginal point of view is diametrically opposed to that of agricultural peoples. Tillers of the soil value conservation of food which leads to the gathering of wealth and to the mode of living in fixed communities which are stabilised by buildings for homes and for storage purposes.

The gathering of wealth leads in many instances to a people's love of war games. This is not a part of aboriginal culture. To an aborigine, the land, its animals, and vegetation, is his “other self” so it is unthinkable to make war to increase land-ownership.

Being entirely human the aborigines do have arguments, usually over a woman. This can lead to small scale spear fighting but it is as foreign to these people to fight over land as to till it. Instead, they perform each sacred ceremony exactly as did the First Creative Ancestor. The last tones of the droning didjeridu fade, the chanting ceases, the dancers have exerted their energies in perfect belief that the ritual was correctly accomplished, therefore there will be food for all across the land. The Spirit of Life has once again been released to bring kangaroos, wild berries, goannas, fish, birds, honey ants, yams and all necessities upon the land in abundance.

Next Issue: New Guinea and New Zealand

Miss Bowsher, of the Christchurch Public Library addressed delegates of the Maori Women's Welfare League during their conference in Christchurch earlier this year. As many Maori groups are now thinking about starting libraries, or encouraging their children to read books, this talk is reprinted here.