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No. 28 (September 1959)
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TE AO HOU
The New World

the department maori affairs SEPTEMBER 1959

TE AO HOU
THE NEW WORLD

No. 28 Vol. 7 (No. 4)

MAORI WRITERS OF TODAY

A century ago the Maori version of Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna was published under the name of Sir George Grey, but this closely followed manuscripts written Maori chiefs and still preserved in the Auckland Public Library. Both Grey and later Ngata published collections of Maori songs (Nga Moteatea), the majority of which date from the nineteenth century. When the history of Maori literature comes to be written, the early years of European contact will be shown to have been very rich in fine and powerful songs.

Since then Maori literature has not died. Around 1900 especially, much excellent work was published, some in Maori and some in excellent English; it was also at this time that the action song originated, a form in which many of the Maori leaders of that time expressed themselves with great effect.

This tradition in writing songs and essays (mostly historical) endured to the present day: over the last ten years or so, we have had important work from Reweti Kohere, Pei Jones, Tuini Ngawai and a number of others. In addition to these older forms we notice, as a quite recent development, the emergence of Maori writers attempting the novel, the short story and modern verse forms. Some of these writers, but not all, have had their work published in this magazine. Altogether, there must have been some dozens of Maoris who have recently started to write short stories, some with definite success.

The best of this work portrays the relationships between Maori people and their outlook on life more accurately than most European writers would do it; such artists should be encouraged as much as possible. Accordingly we are devoting a special issue of this magazine to the work of Maori authors. We realise that the work published here only marks a beginning. Some of the authors themselves are very young indeed. We think however, that this literature has the potentiality to develop vigorously.

Maori writers have to face up to some special problems: should they use the Maori or the English language? If they use English, what public do they write for, a Maori or a general one? Will they see themselves primarily as Maori or as New Zealand authors? It is impossible to be dogmatic about such questions. Literature in the Maori language may still have an important part to play in releasing a world of feeling inexpressible in English. On the other hand, anyone using the English language has a potential public of hundreds of millions of people—and the better the work is, the more widespread is the public to which it tends to appeal. Many of the masterpieces most read today have been given to the world many centuries ago by peoples not more numerous than the Maori.

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HAERE KI O KOUTOU
TIPUNA

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HAERE KI O KOUTOU TIPUNA

Mrs KAMAU ROPIHA

Mrs Kamau Ropiha (born Whatitiri) passed away last July at a very advanced age. Born in Wellington, she lived through the Maori wars in Taranaki and was present at the fighting at Te Arai Pa in 1861. Until the last, she was an active figure, interested in tre welfare of her people.

Mr WIREMU TE TAURI

The death has occurred in Wanganui of Wiremu Te Tauri, aged 65, whose grandfather, Wiremu Te Tauri, was the first Christian mission-ary in Wanganui. A great expert in genealogy, he descended from Ara, a direct descendant of Hine-pakira, daughter of Hinemoa and Tutanekai.

Mr CHARLES LARKIN

We record with sorrow the tragic death of Mr Charles Tariuha Te Aweawe Larkin in a motor accident last May. He was a descendant of Peeti Te Aweawe, and a chief of Rangitane and Ngati Apa; his influence in his district was considerable and beneficial.

Mrs MERI BLACK

Mrs Meri Black, well-known Wellington person-ality, passed away last May. She had tribal connections with Te Atiawa, Ngaitahu and Ngati Kahungunu, and was described as ‘the mother of Ngati Poneke’.

KO NGA KAITUHI MAORI

MAI RANO i nga ra o mua atu o te hainatanga a te Tiriti o Waitangi te kaingakautanga o te Maori ki te korero pukapuka, motemea chara noa iho te haere i te roa o te whenua ki a ratou he tiki pukapuka te take. I aua wa e tukua nui—tia ana taua mea a te pukapuka. I nga ra o muri mai ka timata te puta takitahi o etahi pukapuka he Maori nga kaituhi a ko te mea tino rongonui ko Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna, i taia i raro i te ingoa o Ta Hori Kerei engari ia ko nga kaituhi ko nga kaumatua rangatira o aua wa, a kei te whare putu pukapuka kei Akarana a ratou tuhi-tuhinga i tenei ra. I muri mai i tenei ka puta te pukapuka o nga waiata Maori a Hori Kerei—Nga Moteatea a no muri noa mai nei ko a Ta Apirana Ngata—Nga Moteatea—he whakawhaiti ngatahitanga enei no nga waiata o nehera. Tena te wa ka puta nga korero mo nga pukapuka o nga korero Maori onamata, hei reira te kitea ai ko etahi o nga tino waiata a te Maori no nga ra o tona tutakitanga ki te Pakeha.

Ka tu Te ropu o te Rangatahi ka whakaputa ko nga tuhituhinga o tera wa, he tuhituhinga reo Maori a he tuhituhinga reo Pakeha, a he hanga reka te whakatakoto o te kupu Pakeha. No taua wa hoki ka whakaputa nga waiata haka rangi Pakeha, he whakatakoto korero he karere ki te iwi na nga kaihautu o era wa.

Tae noa mai ki o tatou nei ra te puta nui o te waiata Maori, me te korero Maori, inahoki nga pukapuka a Te Reweti Kohere raua ko Pei Jones, me nga waiata haka rangi Pakeha a Tuini Ngawai ma. Kei te whakaputa etahi tangata Maori tuhituhi pukapuka korero purakau Pakeha, a me etahi waiata hoki a te Pakeha. Kua taia etahi noa iho o nga korero a enei kaituhi ki Te Ao Hou. He tokomaha nga Maori kua timata ki te tuhi korero purakau potopoto, a ko etahi kua tino tohunga tonu.

Kei nga korero a nga kaituhi Maori nei te tino aronga o o te Maori whakaaro, he mea kaore e marama pai ana i roto i a te Pakeha tuhituhi a e tika ana me manaaki nga korero me nga tuhituhi a enei tu Maori. Na reira kei te wehea motuhaketia he putanga mo Te Ao Hou hei whakaari i nga tuhituhinga a taua hunga. He timatatanga mahi noa iho tenei. He tamariki rawa atu etahi o nga kaituhi nei. Otira ko te whakaaro o Te Au Hou kei te tipu nga tuhituhinga a nga kaituhi Maori hei tino taonga.

Ko etahi mea hei whakaaro nuitanga ma aua kaituhi Maori, ina na, tuatahi ko tenei na, me tuhi ranei a ratou korero ki te reo Maori ki te reo Pakeha ranei? Ki te tuhia ki te reo Pakeha, ko wai hei korero ko te Maori anake ranei, ko te Pakeha anake ranei, a ko katoa noa iho ranei? Ko te mea tuarua ka tuhia ranei a ratou korero i runga i te wairua Maori a i runga ranei i te wairua whanui tonu e raroto ki te Maori raua ko te Pakeha? He mea uaua rawa atu enei ki te whakatau. Tena pea kei te reo Maori te whakapuaki o nga mea ngaro o te ngakau o te tangata kaore e taea e te reo Pakeha. Engari ia ko te reo Pakeha, te reo horapa, a mehemea he korero totika ka kitea e te whatu o te tini o te tokomaha. He nui nga korero kei te Ao e korerotia ana inaianei na tetahi hunga tokoiti ake i te iwi Maori i tuhi i nga ra o te hia rau tau nei ka taha.

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KO TE MAHI RAKAU ME TE PEPA

He torutoru rawa atu, mehemea ra he mahi pera kei Niu Tireni nei, nga mahi penei me te mahi rakau me te mahi pepa i kaha te putanga o ona hua hei whangai i nga ahuatanga huhua noa atu o te motu i roto o te wa poto. Inahoki i te tau 1953 ko nga hua o te hoko rakau kopepe me te pepa ki era atu whenua i eke ki £176,682 tae rawa ake ki te tau 1958 e rima tau ano i muri mai kua eke rawa aua hua ki te £5,352,898. Ka kitea i konei te nui o te moni me te toe o nga moni kei tawahi e putu ana. Ko te tokomaha o nga tangata kei enei mahi i neke atu i te 2000. Kua tu tana hia taone kei te rohe o aua mahi, ina a Tokoroa, a Kawerau me Murupara, a tana hia rau hia mano tangata kua whiwhi oranga mo ratou i nga hua o te rakau. Kua oti nga rori hou, nga rerenga reiriwei hou, nga unga tima hou, me era atu taonga nunui mo te motu—ko nga hua o enei mahi nunui o Niu Tireni na te kaupapa i ata whakaaro nuitia mo te katoa o Niu Tireni mo te whakatipu rakau. Mehemea kaore i peneitia kua kore enei hua.

KO TE WHAKATIPU RAKAU MO AKE TONU ATU

Inserted in the interests of forest protection by the New Zealand Forest Service.

FS9.1

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CONTENTS

Page
Of Two Races, by Harry Dansey 6
Yielding to the New, by Arapera Blank 8
Puhiwahine—Maori Poetess by Te Hurinui Jones (First Instalment) 11
Verse by Modern Maori Poets (Rowley Habib, Hone Tuwhare) 16
Dreamer's Return, by Mason H. Durie 18
Ka Haere a Tawhaki Ki te Tangi, na Moko 22
Children Get Together, written and photographed by Peter Blanc 25
Youth Rallies for Worship and Social Activity, photographed by Brian Healy 28
Maori Artists in Building—Old and New 30
1. John Taiapa and the Carved Meeting House of Today, by E. G. Schwimmer 31
2. The work of John Scott, Hawkes Bay Architect, by Louis Johnson 36
Our Town—Letter from Sattanur, by Ka Naa Subramanyam 39
The Struggle Against Fragmentation by ‘Toitu Te Whenua’ 43
Ko te Pakanga Mo Nga Mokamoka Whenua 43
Te Hokowhituaatuumatauenga, na Arapeta A watere 52
Cropping for Supplementary Feed, by R. W. Falconer 53
Sports 54
On the Farm 55
Books 56
Records 57
Crossword Puzzle 58
Eastern Interlude, by Taka Moss 59
Those School Lunches 63

The Minister of Maori Affairs: The Rt. Hon. Walter Nash.

The Secretary for Maori Affairs: M. Sullivan.

Management Committee: Chairman: B. E. Souter, Asst. Secretary. Members: W. Herewini, M. R. Jones, W. T. Ngata, E. G. Schwimmer, G. H. Stanley, M. J. Taylor.

Editor: E. G. Schwimmer, M.A.

Associate Editor (Maori text): W. T. Ngata, Lic. Int.

Sponsored by the Maori Purposes Fund Board. Subscriptions to Te Ao Hou at 7/6 per annum (4 issues) or £1 for three years' subscriptions at all offices of the Maori Affairs Department and P.O. Box 2390, Wellington, New Zealand.

Registered at G.P.O., Wellington, for transmission through the post as a magazine.

Editorial Address: P.O. Box 2390, Wellington

PUBLISHED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF MAORI AFFAIRS SEPTEMBER 1959

PRINTED BY PEGASUS PRESS LTD.

In our next Issue:

A Maori Leaders Conference, sponsored by the Auckland Regional Council of Adult Education, took place in Auckland, in the first week of September. To Ao Hou will print a detailed record of the proceedings, with some of the papers delivered by experts at the various sessions.

Several very interesting stories and essays were scheduled for this ‘Maori Writers Issue’ but could not be printed for lack of space. These will appear next December. They are by Tuini Ngawai, Pei Jones, Rora Paki, Peter Taua, Hirone Wikiriwhi.

The following series of articles and stories will be continued: Puhiwahine, by Pei Jones; Tolaga Bay, by Dr D. Sinclair; Tu and the Taniwha, by Kate Shaw; Uenuku or Kahukura, by Tuta Nihoniho; Maori Land Titles, by Toitu Te Whenua.

It is hoped to present an article on the South African Negro by Alan Paton.

A report on the conference of the Maori Women's Welfare League in Napier will be published along with the winning entry, by Ngati Maniapoto, in the Te Puea Trophy Competition.

Back Issues: Some back issues of the magazine have become very scarce, and it has been decided to raise the prices of these issues so as to eke out the supply for the benefit of collectors. Prices per copy are as follows: Issues 8, 9, 10, 11, 14, 15, 17, 5/-; Issue 16, 3/-; Issues 18–27, 2/6.

Renewal Stickers: If your subscription is expiring, you will find an expiry sticker on the wrapper of your issue. Please examine the wrapper carefully and if the sticker appears on it send us a renewal as soon as possible on the form enclosed with the issue.

Contributions in Maori: Ko tetahi o nga whakaaro nui o Te Ao Hou he pupuri kia mau te reo Maori. Otira ko te nuinga o nga korero kei te tukua mai kei te reo Pakeha anake. Mehemea hoki ka nui mai nga korero i tuhia ki te reo Maori ka whakanuia ake te wahanga o ta tatou pukapuka mo nga korero Maori.

A Disclaimer. The Department of Maori Affairs does not hold itself responsible for the opinions expressed by contributors to Te Ao Hou. We do our best to check the facts, but the responsibility for statements in signed articles remains the author's alone.

Cover Photograph: Farm scene at Torere, Eastern Bay of Plenty (Photo: Peter Blanc)

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OF TWO RACES

The writer of this essay, who belongs to the Arawa tribe, is chief sub-editor of the Taranaki Daily News. He has written widely on Maori subjects and foreign affairs; he is also a practised artist and did the drawing on this page.

How many people in New Zealand come of a union of the country's two races—European and Maori? No one can be sure. Perhaps it is 30,000, perhaps 50,000 or 100,000. The exact numbers do not matter greatly, what does matter is that there is a section of our population by birth so constituted. They are really not Maoris in the full meaning of the word although for practical purposes many regard themselves as such; they are certainly not Europeans in the full meaning of that word either. But beyond doubt they are New Zealanders, and perhaps, without stretching the argument more than its latent logic will allow, truer New Zealanders than those of full blood of either of the other races.

To be of one and yet not of one, to be of the other and yet not of the other is a situation which on the surface would appear to offer to all caught in its grasp little but perplexity, anxiety and confusion. And yet in fact this is not so. Indeed and emphatically it is not so. It is pertinent to ask why.

Let me make it very clear that in examining this question I am not on the outside looking in. Because I am proud of the blood of both races which has been handed down to me from European and Maori ancestors, I am very much on the inside looking out. But before I can look out clearly and speak out coherently, I must look in impartially and look round carefully.

This is what I see.

I see all sorts and conditions of men and women. They vary physically, they vary culturally, they vary by virtue of their educational attainments, they vary by way of their station in life and in society, they vary in their attitudes to this life and to this society.

Physically the differences are striking. On one hand there are men and women who are practically indistinguishable from Maoris of pure blood, on the other there are those who would pass almost anywhere as Europeans. And between them there are as many shades, grades and variations of face, figure, limb and colour as there are mutations of light and shadow in a cloudy sky at sunset.

Depending on their appearance they tend to move towards one pole or the other. Thus those who most appear to be Maori are very often those who are indeed closer to the Maori side of their ancestry than to the European. The converse is equally true. If in appearance the man or woman of part blood is European, the tendency is for him or her to live the life of a European New Zealander rather than that of a Maori New Zealander. This is of course not only understandable, but is no more than would be expected. Like has ever called to like and has ever been listened to, if not always obeyed.

I have said there is a tendency one way or the other according to physical attributes. Let us now consider the position of the man of two races who, while physically closer to one people, is nearer to the other in his mode of life. The principal factors influencing this position—which is not a rare one—are temperament, environment and employment.

By some genetic arrangement quite beyond our control—even if we did wish to control it—the man of mixed blood sometimes comes among

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us who is Maori in appearance but European by nature. This inherited bias may not be so apparent if the man's environment is a Maori one and if his employment keeps him in close contact with Maoris. But if he should live his life in a city and choose to work in surroundings typical of modern city life with men and women who are normal, average European New Zealanders, then the chances are that he will be happy and contented and that his personality will develop fully. He is like a plant whose roots are set in fertile soil, whose leaves reach out gratefully for sun, rain and air. Although he may to the outward eye look as out of place as a red cabbage among a row of green ones, yet it is only the colour that makes the difference. Under it all the cabbage is still a cabbage.

If the good Lord arranged such a man's temperamental make-up in this fashion surely we cannot cavil. Let us accept him for what he is—a brown pakeha.

Many of us think that all people of Maori blood should try to weld into their lives, wherever they may be, something of the traditions of their Maori ancestors, should try to bring into this 20th century some part of the old time, the far-off days, the culture of the land before it knew green fields and award wages and Rugby matches. I personally think that this is a worthwhile aim but far be it from me to condemn—as some of my friends do tend to condemn—the man of part blood who accentuates the European side of his character. He usually has little real choice. He is happier that way. We cannot change it. He is usually well adjusted to his environment and a stable citizen. Good luck to him.

The man who really needs our consideration, however, is the man with the European bias who has not moved to the environment of which he is at heart a member. He remains in the Maori one which he dislikes, critical, perverse, even antisocial, looking to the other world for his standards and his examples and modelling his ways on its ways. And because all too often he has not the experience to discern nor the education to distinguish, he will choose standards which are false, examples which are unworthy and models which do not reflect the best aspects of the culture of which at heart he longs to be a part. Let us recognise him when we meet him and let us help him if it is in our power.

Conversely, we have the white Maori, the man who is European in appearance but who is by nature a Maori. There are many such people. Where they live in a Maori or part-Maori environment they are as well adjusted to their surroundings and as happy in them as the brown pakeha in his city. He is a happy man who lives where his heart says he ought, with people he feels are his own, where the ways of life seem fitting, proper and fully attuned to inward, unexpressed and unexpressible standards.

But not everyone is at loggerheads, as it were, with his temperament. Many would like to live in a certain way or in a certain community, find that such a course is impracticable and are able without psychological confusion to adjust themselves to things as they are. This is never better demonstrated than when part Maoris marry, set up their own homes and come to terms with life. Those who choose European wives or husbands find themselves drawn more and more towards the European side. Those whose partners are Maori will more than likely find that they live in an atmosphere far more Maori than that of their brothers or sisters who have not done so. It is right that this should be so for otherwise conflicts could arise in the home and endanger its happiness.

Between the extremes of the brown pakeha and the white Maori the people who are of two races move and vary, graduate and mutate. They do not fit easily into categories, nor, indeed, should they. They are the half-castes, the quarter-castes, the three-quarter Maoris who are an integral part of our New Zealand population and whose contribution to the New Zealand way of life is not an insignificant one.

How best can such a contribution be made? In what sphere of activity today can the talents and characteristics of the Maori race be best applied?

The answer can only be in general terms. It is the answer also to the same question if it be applied to full Maoris as well as to those of part blood. The contribution, however small, will be made best if it is whole-hearted, and it can be made in any sphere of activity.

Maoris, be they of full blood or part, are a minority people who must accept the fact that they live with the spotlight of public opinion blazing down upon them. By our very colour, our names, the shape of our noses even, we are identified as being different. It is all very well to ask for the same treatment as would be accorded an alien of some European race, but who can easily detect the Greek from the Hungarian or the Hungarian from the dark Cornishman? They all merge into the European pattern whereas we are readily identified for what we are. There is nothing wrong with this. We cannot change it. No one blames us for it. But let us clearly recognise it and the difficulties attached to it. And the greatest difficulty of belonging to a class which is, on the surface at least, different from others is that the action of one member brings praise or blame upon the others, regardless of the justice of such a judgment.

Thus when a Maori succeeds in some task or vocation, he becomes a spearhead for the advancement of others of his race. When he fails he erects a barrier against the progress of others of his race.

The task then is clearly and beyond argument to carry out everything, however humble, as well

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as it can possibly be done with the sure knowledge that not only will one be judged on the performance, but many.

When a Maori gets into trouble all too often his race is named directly and blamed indirectly for the misdemeanour. But the converse is equally true. We can make the most of our identity for the benefit of all. This is what we want to hear more of:—

“I had a Maori nurse to care for me when I was ill and she was wonderful …”

“The children love their Maori school teacher …”

“I don't know what the council would do without that splendid gang of Maoris …”

We, the heirs of both races, have a special task in this matter. The pakeha will look on us as Maoris and will judge those of full blood on our acts just as much as he will on theirs. But we, with our inherited and acquired knowledge of the European way of life—indeed for many of us it is the only way of life we know—are pro-consuls extraordinary for all the rest.

Thus by our very birth we have inherited that which is both heavy burden and inestimable privilege.

YIELDING TO THE NEW

And the restless fingers of the city beckoned and Marama went forth to learn a little more.

The parting was sad but her parents understood. “It is good that you go,” said father, “if you stay here you will end up like your cousins. All they can talk about is babies, babies—plenty of time for that. You are young. You have had a little education. Go to the city and learn a little more. Come home during the holidays to help us out. Don't you dare marry one of the village boys! Find someone who is worthy of your intelligence.”

“Find someone who'll look after you first! Brains aren't everything,” sniffed her mother.

In the New Year the service car was always crowded with exuberant youth on the way to the city: some already wearing the outward trimming of urban sophistication, apparent in the nonchalance of straight skirts, slick high heels and two-tone jackets of brilliant hue; some like

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Marama, carsick already at the thought of travelling and a little fearful of what the city might hold.

Parents were there for the parting, and as usual some of them echoed what Marama's people said.

“Come home with good husbands. We're tired of paying your fares.” Others said, “Get married first before you get babies.” An uncle of Marama guffawed knowingly, “I'll give you two years, Marama, to find a husband.” Her father in haste bid her farewell and the service car pulled out before her uncle could say more.

The first year in the city was not so bad after all. Marama went to the university. She took a subject called Anthropology; a study in human relations. Marama was lost in the multitudinous flow of how man was first discovered, of the inevitable descent of man from the ape, and of the different ways of life of different peoples.

Now some of the students said that the subject was easy. But Marama understood little of what was said. She remembered only isolated phrases.…. ‘the Maori with lipstick on looks like the pukeko’ …. “Goodness,” thought Marama, “why does he say that? What connection has this with human relations?”.…. and the lecturer's voice droned on.…. “half-way down the page, underline the following statement.…. ‘we have to rely on the arboreal theory.….’ “Oh dear! I cannot follow what he is saying. I'll have to read it up tonight.”

And Marama was miserable and longed to go home to the security of the village where thinking was easy. In the city the Maori was being flayed by the Pakeha pen.

Marama was soon caught up in the whirlwind of speculation on the meaning of Maoritanga. She forgot her misery for she thought she could contribute to the controversy and enlighten the Pakeha on her rich cultural heritage. But alas! They asked her point-blank, “Can you tell us what Maoritanga is?” And she could not answer what it was.

“All my life I have lived in my village; I have eaten and slept on a raupo mat; I have been rubbed in mud to cure my sores; yet I cannot tell these Pakehas what Maoritanga is.”

And her misery within her grew strong for her ignorance was greater than she had dreamed and the raupo whispered, “Come home—Come home”.

A year went by and there were more Maori students. All were restless in the deep waters of learning and all insecure in a Pakeha world. They banded together for a little laughter and then felt a little better in the cold atmosphere of European learning.

One person had high ambition of educating her people. She took her studies seriously and did not waste time. Another was a lad from the back-blocks, breathing the scent of the native fern and was as rich in his cultural heritage as he was poor in the adaptation to a pakeha tradition. All had one thing in common and that was generosity.

“I'll lend you a few bob”, says a lucky member and there was no embarrassment at all.

Marama fitted in with the pleasant flow of Maori company and the university was a good place after all. The yearning to go home grew less and less and the Maoris at the university increased in number. Some were passing their exams, with flying colours; the majority joined with the fifty per cent of failures. Each one however acquired a little learning—one by accident and another by hard toil.

They were all concerned with keeping alive their Maoritanga. It was their strength at the university. Yet, no one could really say what it was. Many of the Pakehas felt that Maoritanga symbolized a picture of Maori characteristics of a century's standing … easy going—good natured—lacking in stability. But most of the Maoris felt that true Maoritanga was reflected in their own language. “If we lose our language we lose our culture.”

Perhaps that was the closest answer. But Marama had not made a decision. She had Maori friends in the city who spoke no Maori and yet were as much Maori as she although they differed just a little in that they were far more at home with Pakeha students. And yet, their home was just like any other Maori home.

Christmas was near and Marama came home.

The service-car was packed with expectant people who were excited about the prospect of spending a holiday at home. As you drew nearer the picture you envisaged of the waiting people proved right. Ah yes! There they were to greet the bus and to do their Christmas shopping. The shop was a great meeting place for the people. They were proud of it. It was a milestone in their history. On its concrete verandah, generous in size, nearly everyone gathered to meet and greet and a few just came to lick ice-cream till they well-nigh busted.

The city slickers descended from the bus to the quibs and quirks of Maori humour. “Tena koe! Kia ora! Kei te aha!” There was handshaking, nose-rubbing, and the modern greeting with the Pakeha kiss, and all went hand-in-hand in confusion.

“Good-day Heni. What have they been doing to you in the city? You been eating raw meat?” (in allusion to her painted lips).

“You shut up!” says Heni, feeling embarrassed.

“Kia ora Mate! What's that you are wearing?” Mate teeters out on her pointed high heels, wearing a skirt with slits on either side which reveals enough of her beautiful legs. “Why don't you tear them right up so we can see much better!” suggests one of the local boys.

Marama's father was there to greet her. In his slow, ponderous way he put her bags into a waiting taxi. “The boys are all home,” he says, “it is good to have you back. Mum and I could do with a hand in the garden.”

Yes, they were all home for the holidays. Her

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nine brothers and two sisters filled the house with laughter over much exchange of news. “Your uncle's got a new contract”, says father, “he carts all the kumaras to town. We're selling them now you know. They're worth their weight in gold”.

“Old Ben's got a new house,” says her brother. “He got it under the Maori Affairs. Jim and I have just finished building it for him.”

The village was to all appearances as Marama had left it. There was the wide flowing river to the right of her home. The same green-brown-grey hill rested behind it, looking as though it were a whale resting its body in the placid flow. At night you could hear the swish swish swish of the corn outside her window. No, the place hadn't changed. Her mother was always growing corn outside her window. During the day people trekked to and from their gardens, weeding, weeding; just like the people of any of the other villages along the coast. Half asleep was her village except on Fridays. That was when her brothers dashed off to the public bar, as all the other men did, to drink away their sweat and to talk with friends. —“You hear everybody's business there,” said the local men.

Marama walked down the road to visit her numerous relations. It was the thing to do otherwise you were called a “whakahihi”. She noticed a lot of new houses along the way. Things were certainly looking up. Ah! There were a few changes. Here and there were a few neat lawns. Those of her relations who were a few of the proud owners said: “You know Marama, it was alright living in an old shack. Not so much work to do. But we're glad we've got a nice house with running water. No more going down to the river to wash clothes. It's alright when you're young. But when you start getting babies by the dozen. Not too good. Besides, our children can bring any of their friends home from the city and we're not ashamed of ourselves anymore.”

There were other new acquisitions in the village. There was electricity at the hall and a feature film every Friday. People were selling their kumaras to pay for their many commitments. And most of the young people were going to work in the freezing works because there wasn't enough land to hold them.

Marama forgot to ask her father for the meaning of Maoritanga. There was no need to ask once you got home. Besides, time was short and soon she would go back to the city. She listened to her father's tales about Maori heroes. She practised with him the tribal hakas.

“Listen to the pair of them”, her mother would say, “fancy being interested in those cannibal dances after her good education! That's all she can do when she comes out to weed kumaras with us. All I see is arms waving and little else.”

Everyone went to church on Sundays. Marama could not feel that fervent flow of faith any more. She had picked up some nonsensical ideas in the city. She had told her father in one of her preambles that part of her course in Anthropology had been the study of man's origin.

“You know dad,” she said, “man is said to be descended from the ape, but they can't find the missing link.”

“Stuff and nonsense!” replied father. “Man was made by God and that's that. Don't you come home with these Pakeha ideas. The Pakeha taught us that man was made by God and now he tells us that man descended from a monkey.”

Her father was a little afraid of what she was learning. She had some queer tales to tell. He was glad that she was still entranced by their tribal dances. ‘It will keep her sane,’ he thought.

But church was still a good place to go to. There were always babies to be christened. The mothers laughed at their numerous progeny. The singing of the hymns was always moving. The people sang lustily and the organ couldn't be heard. There was that old man. He was still part of the congregation. Marama was very fond of him. He sang heartily though out of key. Her brothers said he sang like an old tin can, and that he would never do well in a church choir because he hung on to his notes too long. Her mother excused him.

“He thinks he's still singing one of our waiatas. That's why he drags those last notes.”

Some of her relations would stand at the back to watch the congregation giving during the collection of money for the church.

“Now you watch Hori. He's sure to put only three pence in the plate.” Her father on his way round to take up the collection would glare at the miserable offering, but this would have no effect on the reluctant giver.

It was good to be home. It was easy to fit in with the flow of conversation. Besides, Marama's people had a deep respect for a little education. One didn't feel as ignorant as one did in the city. You knew tribal history. You could join in with the hakas. You could enjoy a waiata.

The other people home from the city were always restless for lots of entertainment. For Marama and a few others it wasn't as bad. They could always read books. But the trouble was you couldn't find anyone to talk to about some of your ideas, and this made Marama restless. All sorts of ideas went through her head. Some she had picked up during her studies … ‘What did it matter if girls got babies before they were married?’ ‘What did it matter if you didn't go to church on Sundays?’ ‘Why couldn't dad see that the Pakeha wasn't so bad?’ …

And the green house where Marama lived faded from sight, and she passed the red and yellow school and the red and yellow hall, and she saw the shop where the people waited. And the restless fingers of the city beckoned.

‘I am growing away from my parents. I am going back to the turbulent flow,’ thought Marama, and she grew very sad.

– 11 –

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MAORI SCHOLAR UNCOVERS FASCINATING HISTORY OF POETESS

We are pleased to be able to present in this and following issues the life history, and the songs of the poetess Puhiwahine. Mr Pei Jones, the noted Maori scholar, has made a painstaking study of her, and translated and edited all the songs of which her authoriship is certain. Until now, only one of her songs, the famous ‘Ka eke ki Wairaka’ has ever as far as we know, been published. It is expected that there will be five instalments which will not only be the first detailed study ever made of a Maori poet, but they will also add an interesting chapter to the history of the Ngati Tuwharetoa.

PUHIWAHINE — MAORI POETESS

First Instalment

Among the women of our race there is not a more captivating, romantic and talented figure in the colonial history of New Zealand than the poetess Rihi Puhiwahine Te Rangihirawea. She knew personally most of the notable chiefs and leading women among the tribes of her eventful and colourful times—when tribes still fought their wars of revenge and conquest; when whalers, adventurers, missionaries, traders and colonisers of the Pakeha race found the country to their liking and began settling in Aotearoa; ‘when the patu opposed the sword and gun’, as the poetess herself has described the wars against the Pakeha; when some of the greatest poets of the race were in their prime; and, inspired by the exciting events which followed one upon the other in rapid succession, they composed and sang their songs of love and hate, and of peace and war—and Puhiwahine was among the most colourful of them all.

Her birthplace was on the left bank of the Taringamotu stream opposite the now abandoned pa of Petania. She died at Ongarue on the 18th of February 1906, and was buried in the Ngati-Raerae cemetery at the northern end of the township. In 1944, following the construction of the main road alongside the cemetery, her remains were removed and brought to Oruaiwi in the Taringamotu valley, fifteen miles from Taumarunui by the Waituhi Road. At the junction of this road with the Pungapunga Valley Road is the little family cemetery called Te Takapu-tiraha, the last resting-place of Puhiwhine. The names, Oruaiwi (The Place of the Two Tribes) and Te Takapu-tiraha-o-Tutetawha (The Place where Tutetawha lay face upwards)—to give it its full name—commemorate an important pact between famous ancestors; Te Kanawa of the Maniapoto tribe, and Tutetawha of the Tuwharetoa. Puhiwahine was descended from both these ancestors and on this account, and because the cemetery is only three or four miles up-stream from her birthplace, no more fitting spot in the Maori mind could have been chosen for her last resting-place: ‘on the couch from which there is no rising, and on the pillow that slips not.’

PARENTAGE

Hinekiore, Puhiwahine's mother, was of the Hinemihi sub-tribe of Ngati-Tuwharetoa of the Taringamotu valley and the Tuhua district. She also had ancestral links with the Maniapoto tribe to the north, and the Toarangatira tribe of the Waikanae and Porirua districts in the south. As a member of the Hinemihi sub-tribe she was a

– 12 –

high priestess of the bird cult, and during the bird-snaring seasons of the year, on the Orangi-teihi hills above Oruaiwi, two special bird-snaring trees—named Te Ipu-whakatara (The Coveted Calabash) and Te Ara-mahoe (The Pathway to the Mahoe trees)—were reserved for her.

In her time Hinekiore was a famous song-leader, and she also composed a number of songs of the of a topical nature and were couched in deroga-tory terms concerning the unseemly behaviour of the person named in them; or were in reply to some gossip about the composer or her relatives. The early marriage of the widowed Raerae, an ancestress of the writer, was the subject of one of Hinekiore's satirical and censor-ious compositions. There is a long story with regard to this patere—too long to tell in this account—and it must suffice here to explain that in Maori society it is considered a high compli-ment to be the subject of chastisement and castiga-tion, especially in song. The poetesses of the race would not be bothered with ordinary men and women. On this account many of the old songs of this nature have been rescued from oblivion by the descendants of those people who are named in the patere.

When Hinekiore died her body was placed in a carved waka (canoe), specially made for her, and it was taken to a secret burial cave of her people. The people who knew where the cave was had died, and for many years a fruitless search was made for it. By a coincidence a leading member of Ngati-Hinemihi, Tuari Ngarama, stumbled upon the entrance to the cave at the time when Puhiwahine's remains were brought from Ongarue in 1944. Mother and daughter now share the same grave at Te Takapu-tiraha.

Very little is known of the life of Puhiwahine's father, Te Wetini Te Rangihirawea—as he was known in early life. In later years he was called Rawiri Te Rangihirawea. He was a close relative of Tahuri, the wife of Te Heuheu (Patatai) Tukino, the donor of the Tongariro National Park. He and Hinekiore had a family of three; two sons, Ketu and Te Maraku, and their daughter Puhiwahine.

EARLY LIFE AND A BROKEN ROMANCE

The parents of Puhiwahine spent most of their married life and brought up their family at Oruaiwi. Sometimes they went to live among their kinsmen of Ngati Tuwharetoa on the shores of Lake Taupo. From her mother Puhiwahine learnt the traditions of her people, and she was also taught the tribal songs and the proper technique of the poi dances and the pukana, or posture dances, of her Tuwharetoa people. Puhiwahine was a very apt pupil and at an early age she became an accomplished singer and an artistic performer in all the popular action songs of the tribe. Puhiwahine grew up into an attractive and fascinating young woman whose artistry, wit and charm captivated everybody. Her accomplishments made her a very popular member of the tribe, and she travelled extensively with her Taupo people on visits to other tribes. During these travels she captured the hearts of many notable chiefs, both married and unmarried.

Puhiwahine remained fancy free until she accompanied a party of her Taupo people into the Waipa valley in the foothills of the Rangitoto ranges. At Araikotore, Puhiwahine met Hauauru, a young chief of the Matakore sub-tribe of the Maniapoto. Puhiwahine fell violently in love with Hauauru, but because he was already married her two brothers would not agree to a marriage that would have made her a secondary wife for the Maniapoto chief. The party moved on to other villages and the affair with Hauauru was broken off. Wherever the party went Puhiwahine was admired and courted by the chiefs. They visited Kawhia, and later returned home by way of the Waitomo valley. Sometime later Puhiwahine was taken through on a visit to her Ngati Toa kinsmen in the south. During the whole time she kept thinking of her romantic affair with Hauauru.

Her trip to the south was a very interesting experience for her. She was made welcome every-where she went, and her Ngati-Toa kinsmen lavished hospitality in various ways upon her. By boat, a gig, and by ship—all novelties to her—Puhiwahine was taken to all the principal villages of the tribe. As a special treat she was taken to Wellington, and from there she crossed over to the South Island to make calls on some of the Ngati Toa who had settled there. Before returning home Taiaroa, the high chief of the southern section of the South Island, invited her to his home. She met many of the European people who had settled in those parts, and by the time she set out on her return journey home she had quite a smattering of English words. In some of the songs she subsequently composed she introduced a number of these words—in Maorified form—much to the annoyance of purists in the language of our people.

On her return from the south, Puhiwahine joined a party of her Taupo people on a journey into Maniapoto territory again. Her behaviour during the two years that had elapsed since her first trip amongst the Maniapoto had been above reproach, and it was thought nothing untoward would happen on this trip. On this occasion the first village they visited was Waimiha, and from there they went by way of Herepu and then on to Paripari, the home of Tanirau, better known later as Taonui, a Maniapoto chief of the Ngati Rora subtribe, and a first cousin of Hauauru.

It was from Tanirau that Puhiwahine learnt Hauauru had taken a second wife since they parted, and that he was about to take a third. (Hauauru later on had four wives). This news came as a severe blow to Puhiwahine and she

– 13 –

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Puhiwahine.

became ill in mind and body for many days. The people had a most anxious time with her. The womenfolk took it in turns to attend on her; they sang songs to her, and invited her to take part in the action songs. At last they were able to rouse her from her melancholy state, and when she joined them in their songs and dances her people rejoiced.

It was at this time that Puhiwahine composed two of her many songs. These songs, inspired by her love for Hauauru, are known as Puhiwahine's Songs for Hauauru:—

HE WAIATA NA PUHIWAHINE MO HAUAURU

E noho ana hoki ia nei
I roto koia o taku whare;
Moe matatu ko au anake.
Katahi nei hanga kino na te Atua!
E rua aku tau e huuna ai koe,
Naaku ano koe i whakarere.
Te mau atu ai ki te toka;
Te ueue nuku, te ueue rangi,
Whatawhata i runga, whatawhata i raro,
Hau kokouri, hau kokotea.
Nga tai o te kura e whati mai nei
Mauria atu ra ki te peka o te ariki,
I huuna ai te kai i a taua.
Kia hoko kumara
Hei kawe atu ra i ahau.
Nga whakakoronga kei Rangitoto;
Kei te tupuranga mai o Hawaiki
Mo aku mahara e takoto nei,
E, i!

 

In solitude I now abide
Within this house of mine;
Restless sleep is with me alone,
Alas, what an affliction God has dealt!
For two years you were lost to me,
And it was I, alas, who left you.
Would that I had clung to the rock;
Then nought on earth, nor in the heavens,
Would have moved above, or here below,
With the howling gales or stormy winds. 10
Now I but faintly see the waving plumes
Beckoning to me from the noble one,
He for whom I now deny all food.
‘Tis vain to proffer a kumara feast
As a lure to take me away.
This yearning is fixed on Rangitoto;
Firmly planted there as if in Hawaiki
Are my thoughts that abide with me,
Alas!

 
– 14 –
 
HE WAIATA AROHA MO HAUAURU

Muri ahiahi takoto ki te moenga,
Maringi taharua he wai kei aku kamo.
Mai ano o Tukeka kia tangihia iho,
He mea ka wehewehe o taua nei tinana.
Tera Te Tuhinga ka moiri ki runga,
Ara haerenga atu mo te kare-a-roto;
Tangi kau atu ki taau, e Pare,
Mehe he takakau koe kihai i whakaroaia iho.—
O riri, e Ketu—Ki toou pai, e Hauauru.
E kore to haate e ruihi i ahau
He maunga aroha mooku ki a koe, i, i.

 

With the fall of eventide I lay me down to rest;
Two cascading streams fall from mine eyes.
Ever since Tukeka died I am for ever weeping,
Because of this our parting.
Yonder is Te Tuhinga rising on high,
It marks the pathway for the love within.
Ah me, I am weeping for your kin, O Pare.
Tho' angry you be, O Ketu—because of your charm, O Hauauru.
And I shall not lose your haate, J
For ever with it abides my love for you, ah me.

During her stay at Paripari, Tanirau was solicitous towards Puhiwahine. A romance might have developed if her brothers had not decided it was time for the party to move on. Tanirau was a fine figure of a man, but like his cousin Hauauru he, too, was a married man. The brothers had observed that Puhiwahine, as a reaction to her recent heartache, was working herself into a defiant mood for some madcap escapade. At the leavetaking with Tanirau and his people Puhiwahine sang her latest song—composed as a relief and an antidote to the mental disruption of the time. The theme of the song was based on her recent trip to the south, and in it she made mention of many notable people; some of whom were related to her and were well-known chiefs of that time. She sang her song to a lilting refrain and to the accompaniment of the pukana, or posture dance. None excelled Puhiwahine in the pukana, and she sang her song with flashing eyes, quivering hands, the haughty stare, and the fine turn of the head to emphasise the words. A suitable title for the song might be A ‘Trip to the South’.

AN ACTION SONG BY PUHIWAHINE

1

Aue i! ko te tohe a Nepia nei,
I wawata mai ki ahau;
Ko ‘Ku, ko Pateriki
Aku akitiwha mau tonu.
Aue a rara! ko Nini, ko Te Arawai,
Aku raukura titi tonu.
Ko ‘Kiekie, a Tauteka,
Taku mahunga i runga ra.
Au e! ko Maniapoto tungaane,
Hei ariki koe ki ahau,
Mokai te ngakau nei.
Tera te hoki atu na
Ki te puke ra i Tararua;
Ko Te Whatanui koe,
Ko te ngako a Pakake nei!
Engari koe i maka tika tonu
Ki au taku mau nawa.
Whiti mai nei ki Parewanui,
Ko Kawana Te Hakeke;
Engari koe i kikini tonu,
I raraku ki a ngeau nei.
E pa, kei kore mai i a koe
Te mea pononga tonu nei.
E hori ana koia?
Tika tonu tenei!

 
1

Ah me! a persistent one is Nepia,
Who often daydreams about me;
But ‘Ku and Pateriki,
Like my kerchiefs, are always with me.
Here now are Nini and Te Arawai,
Like waving plumes, fastened on me.
There is ‘Kiekie, son of Tauteka,
My head ornament art thou.
Ah me! cousin Maniapoto,
You are my prince. 10
Who humbleths my slave heart within.
Now I am returning.
To the hills of Tararua,
Where you live Te Whatanui,
The fat portion of Pakake'.
It was you who wooed me
And sought to make me your own.
I fled across to Parewanui
Where Kawana Te Hakeke lives.
But you slyly pinched, 20
And then rudely clawed at me.
O sir, you should not belittle me so.
This person of mine is a cherished one.
This is not lying, is it?
No, it is truly spoken.

 

5. Te Tuhinga. A high hill near Hauauru's home at Araikotore.

7. Pare. In full, Paretekorae; Hauauru's aunt.

9. Ketu. Puhiwahine's brother.

10. Haate. Shirt, maorified. A present from Hauauru.

– 15 –
 
1

Aue i! reiruatia i te one
Ka moe kei Otaki,
Ko Tene, ko Tamehana nei.
Whakarongo ra, e Tireni!
No runga rawa au nei;
Na Takamai-te-rangi au,
Na Mahutu au,
Ko ‘Kiore tooku whaea.
He muringa ra a Werawera;
Naana ko Te Rauparaha;
Taana ko Tamehana nei,
Taana ko Waitohi nei;
Taana ko Wiria Matene nei.
Whakawhitiria i te pooti,
Ka u kei Porirua;
Ko Rawiri Kiingi nei,
He pine koe no taku hooro,
Titia iho maka tika tonu.
Me ui ki a Te Huka Tuungia,
“Kei whea te rori tika tonu?”
Ka eke au i e kiiki,
Ka taana kei Poneke.
Ko Wi koe, a Ngatata nei?
Awhi mai nei ki au aku papa;
Wawata mai ki au aku tungaane.
Kia riterite ki ahau
Kia tau ai tangata
Te homai mate ki ahau,
Te homai natu ki ahau.
E hori ana koia?
Tika tonu tenei!

 
 
2

Ah me! I must hurry along the strand,
And rest the night at Otaki
With Tene and Tamehana.
Now listen to this, New Zealand!
From the very highest am I; 30
I am of Takamai-te-rangi,
I am of Mãthutu,
My mother was ‘Kiore.
Werawera was of junior birth;
It was he who begat Te Rauparaha
The father of Tamehana
And of Waitohi too,
From whom Wiria Matene descended.
Now I shall cross by boat
And make a landing at Porirua; 40
To be greeted by Rawiri Kiingi,
You who are the pin of my shawl,
Nicely fixed and firmly fastened.
I must now ask Te Huka Tuungia,
“Where is the direct road?”
I will then go aboard the gig,
Which will turn towards Poneke.
Are you Wi, the son of Ngatata?
Come now all my uncles and embrace me;
And my cousins, you may daydream about me. 50
Only those of equal rank with me
May be the privileged men,
Who may dare be bold with me,
Or to come near and caress me.
This is not lying, is it?
No, it is truly spoken.

 
 
3

Aue i! ka awheawhe mai te uru;
Tino tata a Raukawa.
E pa, Taiaroa Waitere,
He tauhou tonu au ki konei,
Ki te wai ra i tere ai te pounamu;
Kia whakakaia ki oku taringa,
Kia whakamaua ki tooku kaki,
Kia puritia ki oku ringaringa,
Aue i! aku taringa tonu tenei
E mau ai Tawhirau,
E mau mai ra i a Te Taitua;
Ko taku kaki tonu tenei
E mau ai Nga-pi-rau,
E mau mai ra i a Topeora;
Ko taku ringa tonu tenei
E mau ai Patu-moana,
E takoto mai ra i Kapiti, rara.
Aue i! nga nui ra o aku mãtua,
E kore e taea te korero.

 
3

Ah me! far off are the western lands;
Close by now is the sea of Raukawa.
O Taiaroa Waitere!
I am quite a stranger here, 60
Where waters flow over the greenstone;
Which I'd love to wear on my ear,
Or to have suspended from my neck,
To hold in my hands.
Ah me! these ears of mine
Once wore Tawhirau,
Now worn by Te Taitua;
And from my neck
Once hung Nga-pi-rau,
Now worn by Topeora. 70
This hand of mine
Once held Patu-moana
Now lying at Kapiti.
Ah! the treasures of my fathers,
Whose tale will never be told.

1. Nepia. A chief of the eastern shores of Lake Taupo.

3. ‘Ku. In full, Maraku, Puhiwahine's brother Pateriki. Puhiwahine's cousin, and son of Ngamotu.

4. Kerchiefs. Maorified in Maori text as ‘akitiwha’.

5. Nini and Te Arawai. No information available.

7. ‘Kiekie. In full, Te Herekiekie, a Taupo chief.

9. Maniapoto. A chief of Taupo.

13. Tararua. The mountain range south of Manawatu River.

14. Te Whatanui. The famous leader of the Raukawa tribe of the Manawatu-Horowhenua district.

15. Pakake. In full, Pakake-taiari, a Ngati-Tuwharetoa ancestor.

18. Parewanui. The tribal meeting-place of the Ngati-Apa near Bulls.

– 16 –

(Continued in our next issue)

19. Kawana Te Hakeke. A chief of the Ngati-Apa.

27. Otaki. The principal meeting-place of the Ngati-Raukawa.

28. Tene. No information available. Tamehana. Te Rauparaha's only son by his wife, Te Akau.

29. New Zealand. Abbreviated in Maori text, in Maorified form, as “Tireni” (Zealand).

31. Takamai-te-rangi. The great-grandfather of Puhiwahine.

32. Maahutu. Grandfather of Puhiwahine.

33. ‘Kiore. In full, Hinekiore.

34. Werawera. Father of Te Rauparaha.

35. Te Rauparaha. The famous war-leader and chief of the Ngati-Toa.

36. Tamehana. See note to Line 28 ante.

37. Waitohi. Elder sister of Te Rauparaha.

38. Wiria Matene. Better known as Matene Te Whiwhi, grandson of Waitohi, by her daughter, Topeora.

39. Boat. Maorified in Maori text as “pooti”.

41. Rawiri Kiingi. Also known as Rawiri Puaha, a nephew of Te Rauparaha.

42. Pin. shawl. Maorified in original text as “pine” and “hooro”.

44. Te Huka Tuungia. No information available.

46. Gig. Maorified in original text as “kiiki”.

47. Poneke. Wellington. Maorified form of Port Nick (Nicholson).

48. Wi Ngatata. Wiremu Ngatata, a chief of the Ati-Awa.

57. Western lands. In Maori text, Uru. Geographical term used for lands from Kawhia northwards.

58. Raukawa. Maori name for Cook Strait.

59. Taiaroa Waitere. Ngai-Tahu chief of the South Island.

66. Tawhirau. A tribal greenstone ear pendant of the Ngati-Toa.

67. Te Ta tua. No information available.

69. Nga-pi-rau. A greenstone heitiki of the Ngati-Toa.

70. Topeora. Daughter of Waitohi, and a famous song composer. See note to line 38.

72. Patu-moana. A greenstone mere, war club, of the Ngati-Toa.

73. Kapiti. Kapiti Island, formerly the island fortress of the Ngati-Toa.

Verse by Modern Maori Poets

Two Poems by Rowley Habib

TO THE HAND OF WOMAN

The Plea of a young writer

Take my hand and lead me through the thicket
To the mountain's crest, where the snow
Is pure. So my thoughts be like the snow
And below let me see the ocean and the open
Land caressed with mists of haziness
Azure and wide. Like the world before me
Ready to be drunken by these eyes
And more yet. Lay me back on the snows pure
Blanket of whiteness, my being forever
Conscious of your nearness. My nostrils
Full of the scent of you.
O take my hand. I am lost without
The hand of woman soft and full
Of tenderness. Ever yielding to the passion of my call
Take my hand for should an inspiration
Come I'll be like something flat and very dead

– 17 –
TO MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS

We were not so far apart you and I
When the thunder broke from the blackened sky
We were not so far apart
And when the echo rolled away
Deep down in the slanting day
We dreamed. Or when the lightning struck
Behind the drawn blind
Not I alone rushed heaven-wards
In the wake it left behind
No, we were not so far apart, we
When the waters rushed with mad glee
Down the garden path
Mine was not the only dream
Washed beyond the pantry window
Like some desire in a far off flooded stream

Three Poems by Hone Tuwhare

TIME AND THE CHILD

Tree earth and sky
Reel to the noontide beat
Of sun and the old man
Hobbling down the road.
Cadence
Of sun-drowned cicada
In a child's voice shrilling:
…. are you going man
Where are you going man where
The old man is deaf
To the child.
His stick makes deep
Holes in the ground.
His eyes burn to a distant point
Where all roads converge ….
The child has left his toys
And hobbles after the old
Man calling: funny man funny man
Funny old man funny
Overhead the sun paces
And buds pop and flare.

NO ORDINARY SUN

Tree let your arms fall:
Raise them not starkly in supplication
To the bright enhaloed cloud.
Let your arms lack toughness and
Resilience for this is no mere axe
To blunt, nor fire to smother.
Your sap shall not rise again
To the moon's pull
No more incline a deferential head
To the wind's talk or stir to the tickle
Of coursing rain.
Your former shagginess shall not be wreathed
With the delightful flight of birds
Nor shield
Nor cool the ardour of unheeding lovers
From the monstrous sun
Tree let your naked arms fall
Nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoon's flash—
No dashing trade wind's blast ….
The fading green of your magic
Emanations shall not make pure again
These polluted skies—for this
is no ordinary sun ….
O tree in the shadowless mountains
The white plains and
The drab sea floor
Thine end at last is written.

SONG

Gay Wind
Impudent lover of trees—
Why do you sing grey lamentations
To a shallow sky?
The headlands await your coming
and the mute crags lend a pensive ear
To the listless drag of the sea's feet.
Tree
Your muscles leap and tense
But will not free the wind held captive
In your branches.
Gay wind
Why do you sing grey lamentions
To a shallow sky?

– 18 –

The author, already well-known to our readers, was born in Feilding and belongs to the Raukawa tribe. He is studying medicine at Otago University.

DREAMER'S RETURN

The matron stopped at the foot of Boy Heru's bed.

“Hello, and how are we today? Still hurt to breathe? Yes? Don't worry it won't be long now. And you won't turn the radio up too loud will you, Mr Bryan isn't very well today. You'll have another friend in the other bed soon so that'll be nice won't it.”

Boy nodded and gave a grunt. He reached over, switched off the radio and pulled up his blankets. What a place! Nothing to do here. Today was the third day too—seemed more like three weeks since that car had overturned. That fulla couldn't drive to save himself.

Wonder who's going to take the empty bed. Boy was sick of his present companions. All old chaps—didn't look as if they could talk about anything but their sicknesses. Real old squares! He was the only Maori in his ward too which made him a bit more lonely and sort of self-conscious. Those Pakehas seemed to be looking at him all the time—that's what he thought anyway and it made him shy of the nurses and doctors. First time in hospital too—everything a bit strange.

The new arrival came in later. He was old, white hair getting thin on top, Pakeha chap. Sister Andrews was with him.

“Next door to you is young Heru. Poor boy. From what we can gather he's a real bodgy. Look at his hair! Honestly, some of these Maoris today—disgusting I say. Just seem to roam around the streets in those ridiculous clothes—none of them look to have decent steady jobs. Ah well, not our fault. Now anything else? Press this if you want me, I'll let you sleep.”

“Thanks sister, I'll be just fine. You know it's good to have a bit of quiet for a while, I can sure do with it. Goodnight.”

Sister Andrews swirled out glancing importantly at the sleeping beds while her nose was held well into the air. Starched white uniforms looked very neat but cold.

Boy wasn't asleep. Disappointing to see that he was just like the rest—old and half bald.

“Hey mate what's wrong with you?”

“Oh! I thought you were asleep. Tena koe e hoa! Charlie Beeman's my name; yours is Heru eh?

“Boy Heru. You got some Maori in you?

“No, wish I did. Lived across the ranges for years and picked up a few words. Good language Maori, reminds me of another world. You from these parts?”

“Gee no; I'm from across the ranges too. Te Kohatu, near the coast, ever heard of it?”

“Too right. I was down at Mariu—working on a farm for forty years. What did you come over this side for?”

“Oh just to have a look round. You know how dry it is back home. Lot of boys came across. Most of us are working at the Freezing Works. Going down South soon.”

Charlie nodded. He knew a lot of young Maori boys who had left home because it was too dead. Now they roamed the cities—a week here and a week there then off somewhere else. Maybe it was the same adventurous spirit that set the early canoes floating in the 14th century only now it was finding no new ocean to explore. Those young people can't be tied down to humdrum routine—not yet anyway. Charlie wondered whether that spirit of life would die as time marched, whether chaps like Boy would soon become “Pakehafied” and be content to settle and work steadily at the one place with money and promotion as the ultimate goal. Perhaps that ‘Get on in the world and do well’ attitude would spoil it all even for wayback places like Te Kohatu and Mariu. A pity but maybe it would be best.

Charlie looked at Boy. About 19 or 20 he decided; good looking but due for a good hair cut long ago; bit sulky looking too—probably fed up with the place.

“Good job at the works?”

“Yeah—Good money anyway. We got £15 clear last week.”

“Wow, not bad. Save much?”

“Me? I'm always broke never get a chance to save.”

“But where does it go?”

“Gee there's always something on here—pictures, dances, parties, taxis into town, and of course a guy's got to have a few clothes. Not much left after all that.”

“I don't know! If I was still single and could clear £15 a week I'd have a few bob put away. Take a trip to Aussie or buy a car or do something. At least I'd have something to show for it.

– 19 –

Guess you fullas get too much money these days to realise its value. You'll need every penny you can get later.”

Boy laughed. He needed every penny he could get now; those 12 inch trousers he wanted, the orange draped coat, a few more new records—thousands of things he wanted now but couldn't afford. Later perhaps. Charlie Beeman's a bit of a square he decided, just how can a guy save enough for a trip overseas with all that? All the same he's not a bad old fulla, at least he can talk a bit of Maori and he comes from home.

“Do you like the city Boy? I mean as a place to live and work.”

“Yeah it's okay. Plenty fun—not like home. Only trouble is sometimes us fullas don't feel like being part of it. You know how everyone knows everyone else at home and yells out in town, well here you rub shoulders with people all day and most of them look the other way. Maybe it's my long hair and clothes or something but they're sort of snobs here—the squares anyway.”

“Give me the country any day Boy. When I was at Mariu everyone was like you said—simple perhaps—but real friendly all the same.”

Well into the night they talked—mainly about the life they had both known on the other side. Friends they had in common, places they knew, even old Maori stones and legends about Te Kohatu and Mariu. Charlie knew a lot about old Maori ways and songs and Boy listened with admiration eagerly, but felt a little jealous that a Pakeha should know a bit more than he. Often he broke in and argued about some little point that he had learnt from his grandmother back home although deep down he knew that the Pakeha was right and that he had forsaken so much of his own life when he went away. In fact Boy felt like a tramp trying to find his way around some barn he had slept in years ago. He was glad when talk got back to the freezing works and town and even outdid Charlie in a bid to show his knowledge of this new world. Charlie enjoyed it all. Sleep came much later.

For Boy the next day passed quickly. This old square was really okay—good fulla.

For Charlie, the same day was a treat. This so called bodgy wasn't a bad kid. Good natured and well meaning. At heart he was a Maori and Charlie didn't know a Maori that wasn't friendliness itself.

They had talked about all sorts of things: catching crayfish, hakas, rock and roll, the black bottom, horses, cars, kumara weeding, shearing sheep, clothes, hair-styles (Charlie reckoned they were like a couple of old women), everything. Then before sleeping late that night they had both gone over the conversation in their minds.

Memories were stirred. Boy thought of his brown and white horse and wondered where it was. He painted pictures of himself out weeding kumara with the rest of the kids and again digging in the sand for pipis with some of the old kuias. He missed them tonight and thought he'd go home and see them as soon as his chest was fixed up. First time he had really felt a bit homesick.

Charlie was trying to think of the second line to an action song he had been taught at Mariu

– 20 –

—“E putiputi koe.” He liked it but couldn't quite remember it—a long time since those days—and now he was half asleep and half awake—dreaming and thinking at the same time.

Boy was a bit tired the next morning—hadn't slept too well. When Charlie woke up he told him all about a funny dream he had.

“I was standing on a hill. Had a real flash outfit on—orange coat and black pants—looked deadly too. Some fullas were in a paddock below weeding mangols. I recognised one of the kids—a cousin of mine—and waved out. He waved back and yelled out, the others looked up and waved; one was Aunty Katie and she called out for me to go down. While I was running towards them, them all started laughing and pointing at me. I stopped but they kept laughing and moving back as if something was wrong with me. When I moved towards them again they laughed even louder and went further away. “Shut up!” I yelled—no use—they couldn't hear me. Then I got kind of panicky and ran down to the beach while they followed me like dogs after a pig. I threw sand at them but they still laughed. I took off my shoes and threw them, then my socks and coat and short till I had nothing on. They stopped laughing now and just looked.

Next minute someone threw me an old pair of trousers—no knees in them and all ripped at the cuffs but I put them on. You know, as soon as I had them on I was okay. I felt like a kid again and laughed as I ran towards them. They slapped me on the back and kissed me and made a real fuss. We all laughed now and walked down to the sea trampling my new clothes into the sand. Must have woken up then. Real queer dream but sorta' real all the same.

“Sounds like a bit of a nightmare to me. Dreams are strange. I have some silly ones some nights, especially when I'm not too well. Best to forget them.”

That morning Charlie was due for his operation—gallstones or something—he didn't seem to be too sure himself what was going to happen but he was cheerful when he had gone down the corridor to the theatre. Boy said he would have been scared stiff but maybe he just didn't have as much confidence in doctors and nurses as an old veteran like Charlie did.

Boy spent the rest of the day trying to write a letter home but was having a bit of trouble. Seemed to be no news. He told them he was going back as soon as he was out of hospital. He had almost forgotten his mates in town, the big rock n' roll jamboree he had wanted to see was in the background and he had one desire—to go home.

– 21 –

It would be good to get back to Te Kohatu for a while—blow being a “townie” all the time. Sickening!

Charlie came back later in the evening; they wheeled him in and surrounded his bed with screens. Boy tried to have a look but couldn't see him. He asked Nurse Saunders when she took his temp. that night.

“How's Mr Beeman?”

“Sound asleep but fit as a fiddle. Took it like a lion he did. Should be going out soon. You too if you'll keep these blankets around your shoulders.”

You know nurse I could have earned £15 if I hadn't been here.”

“All you people think about is money. It's not everything you know.”

“It helps a lot though.”

About midnight Charlie woke up with a start. Everything was quiet in the ward. Boy was asleep

“Boy! Wake up!”

“Huh, what's up?”

“I had a real queer dream just now; sorta frightened me. Funny that we were talking about them this morning.”

“What was it about?”

“Caterpillar was crawling out of someone's eye—lady's.”

“Her eye?”

“Yeah, and right down her face.”

“Help what a dream!”

“Queer alright. I always seem to have funny dreams when I'm a bit crook.”

Charlie lay on his back, his blue eyes staring blankly at the shadows on the ceiling. Only the snores of fellow patients broke the rare silence. Bit spooky at night in that place.

“You know Boy as soon as I'm better I'm leaving this town and heading back across the hills to Mariu. I'd like to finish off my days there.”

“I had the same idea myself.”

“Good on you. I'll make a point of going up to Te Kohatu to see you. Why are you going back, I thought it was too dead there?”

“I don't know I'm just sick of the town. I want to see all the people back there—Katie and Joe and Murray and Sam. I'm beginning to miss them a bit.”

“Yeah I suppose so. As for me I think it's the life I miss. So different—almost another world, untouched by the hardness of this side. I'm going back there for certain soon.”

Boy turned over and was soon asleep. Charlie dosed, neither awake nor asleep. Yes he was sure going back soon. Blow this place!

Mariu—the village where he had been brought up as a lone Pakeha among Maori friends. This place he loved more than any other—his skin was white—so what? He felt like a Maori, they treated him like one and he had made so many brown friends. Times there were good to look back at. They had weeded kumara together, milked cows, baled hay, shorn sheep and done a thousand things. He could see it all—there were the kids playing down at the beach—laughing with each other, no clothes on, there was the gang at the shed, guitar going, women and kids working alongside hefty husbands and fathers—all singing; a tui was singing its own song on a golden kowhai tree; a hangi was being opened while crowds stood around the treasured rocks catching that special smell. This was Mariu, this was his life.

Now he was walking over to the meeting house. Three old Kuias were sitting contentedly on the veranda smoking pipes. Sitting on a hard form they were, talking the day away. Charlie walked over to them, held out his hand and was greeted with a hongi. He stood beside them and entered in the conversation. He was back at last.

Next morning two nurses wheeled Charlie Beeman out. Boy never spoke—so quickly; one minute alive, the next dead. Just like that.

“Some old chaps are like that,” said Nurse Saunders, “just can't take the strain of an operation.”

Not many chaps like Charlie. One in a million he was, a real beaut. Boy knew he was going to miss him while he was in hospital but he would be out soon and back at Te Kohatu. A pity Charlie couldn't be there too although somehow he would be there, everyone there was like Charlie. That friendly simple type that was born on the other side of the hills would always be the same. Always? Boy hoped so.

A week later the bus stopped outside the small Te Kohatu hall. Boy stepped out onto the gravel road—no bag in his hand. He had returned.

– 22 –

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Moko is the only living author, as far as we know, who writes short stories in the Maori language. This is the seventh “Tawhaki” story we have published. Because of the wide interest shown, we have pre-sented an English rendering

KA HAERE A TAWHAKI KI TE TANGI

Pai ana te moe a Tawhaki na te mauiui hoki i te hokinga mai i te kanikani. Pai ana hoki tana moemoea. Kei te Ngahere ia kei te puhipuhi tia e hia ke! Ka mau ia ki tana pu, ka whaka-keko atu ki nga tia. Ka pahu mai te pu ehara i tana. Ha, no hea hoki? Kei te mau tonu tana nei pu! Katahi ka rua, ka toru—ka taki omaoma nga tia. Ka oho ake a Tawhaki kei te paku tonu te pu—ka wha, ka rima ka ono! Katahi ia ka whaka-aro he aha hoki tenei. He “Waipu” pea, kei te kohurutia ranei tetahi tangata. Ka huri ano ia ki te moe.

He roa tonu i muru ake, ka puta mai te matua ki te whakaoho i a Tawhaki. Ka mea atu te matua, “E hoa maranga, he aitua to tatau.”

Ka ki atu te hiamoe nei, “Ei, kei te mate moe tonu ahau. Hei aha tena aitua.”

Ka mea atu ano te matua, “E, kua mate to kuia a Mereraina, maranga mai!”

Kare tonu a Tawhaki e maranga. Katahi ka kumea iho nga paraikete e te matua, katahi ano ka maranga.

Ka ki atu a Te Whetu, “Kia tere, haere mai tatau ki te kai kia wawe te tae ki te marae.”

 

Tawhaki slept soundly, so weary was he after a night out at a dance. He had a dream. He was in a bush shooting deer and he shot ever so many. He took hold of his rifle and aimed at the deer, a gun exploded—not his—whose was it? His gun had not been fired. There was another explosion and yet another—the deer scampered away. Tawhaki woke up—the gun was still exploding—four—five—six times. He wondered what it was all about—it was either just the sound of guns or somebody was being murdered—he turned over and went off to sleep.

Some time elapsed—Tawhaki's father came in to wake him. He said: “Wake up son—there has been an accident.”

The sleepyhead replied: “I am still sleepy—never mind about that accident”.

The father persisted saying: “Your grandmother Mereraina is dead—get out of bed.”

Tawhaki still refused to get out of bed—the father stripped off the blankets and then he had to get out.

Te Whetu the father said: “Let us breakfast quickly and get along to the meeting house.”

 
– 23 –
 

Ka mea ano a Tawhaki, “Ko koutou e haere. Kare ahau e pirangi ana ki te haere ki te tangi. Me noho au ki te tiaki i nga mea pakupaku kia watea ai korua ko mama.”

Ka riria a Tawhaki mo tana kore e pirangi ki te haere. Ka mea atu te matua. “E haere ana tatou katoa. Hei aha ena mahi koroiroi. Kia tere.”

Ka mutu te kai ka tonoa a Tawhaki ki te whakatikatika i to ratou motoka, i te ki te titiro i te wai, i te penehiini, i nga taea. Ka korero atu a Tawhaki ki tona matua, “He pai ke ake te kaata mo tatau i te motoka nei. Engari te kaata kare e inu wai, penehiini ranei, ana kare e pahu nga taea.”

Ka whakahoki te matua, “Mehemea e pirangi ana koe ki te haere ki te taone ma runga kaata, haere. Engari hei aha te korero, tirohia nga mea na.”

Ka roa, ka haere te hunuku o Te Whetu. Tae atu ana ki te marae, e takoto mai ana te tupapaku i te tupa i te taha o te whare nui. E tangi ana nga whanaunga o te kuia nei. Ka ki ake a Te Whetu “Ka aroha hoki to tatau kuia. Inanahi tonu nei e ora ana e korerorero ana inaianei kua mate.” Ka aroha atu hoki te whaea o Tawhaki ka timata ki te tangi. Kua titiro mataku nga tamariki kua kahu etahi ki roto i te motoka noho ai, ka mau a Tane raua ko Heke ki nga panekoti o to raua whaea. Ko Tawhaki kua ngaro, kua haere ki ona hoa ki te kauta. Huri rawa atu a Te Whetu, kare a Tawhaki.

Haere atu ana a Te Whetu ratau ko tana whanau, ka kore ko Tawhaki. Ka roa e tangi ana i te marae ka puta ake te tahae nei. He mea pana mai. Ka tu ia i te taha o tona matua ano kei te pouri ia engari kaore noa iho, kei te mataku ke. Ka hoha te matua ki a Tawhaki ka mea atu, “Kaua koe e haere noa iho inaianei. Me whai mai koe i au.”

Ka kuhu atu te whaea ki te tupa. Ka ki ake te matua, “Ka whai atu taua inaianei i to whaea.”

Ka ki mai a Tawhaki, “Engari tena, kare ahau mo te haere atu ki tona.”

Ka korero atu te matua, “Hei aha ena mahi taurekareka. Kare koe e tangatatia nou tonu te kuia nei.” Ka haere atu a Te Whetu ki te tangi ki te hongi ki nga mea kua tangata whenua. Ko Tawhaki kare ia e ringaringa e hongi ranei ki nga koroua, kei te haere ke ki nga tamariki korero ai. Ka karanga te tangata whenua kia haere atu ia engari kore rawa. Ka ki atu tetahi ano o ona hoa taitama, “Haere e tama. Haere ki te hongi ki o koroua me o kuia. Akuanei koe makutuhia ai e te kuia.” Kare a Tawhaki e whakarongo atu. Ko nga tangata o te whare mate kei te whakatakariri katoa ki a Tawhaki, he rorirori nona, he kore e mahi i nga tikanga o nga tipuna mo tenei mea mo te tangi, a, he kore hoki nona e aroha ki tona kuia kua mate nei.

Ka karanga tetahi o nga hoa, “E hoa tino he koe'. Kare ano koe kia pakeke noa. Ko te tikanga me haere koe ki te ringaranga ki o whanaunga o te whare mate, no te whare mate hoki koe.

 
 

Tawhaki said: “You go on. I have no desire to go to the tangi. I could stay and look after my younger brothers and sisters so that you and mother don't have to worry about them.

Tawhaki was rebuked for his unwillingness to go along to the tangi. The father thereupon said: “We are all going. Stop your foolish pranks—be up smartly.”

After breakfast Tawhaki was sent to check over the car, to see if there was enough water, benzine and to check the tyres. Tawhaki said to his father: “We would be better off with a cart than this car. A cart would need no water, no benzine and no bother about tyres.”

The father replied: “If you want to go to town by cart—do so by all means. However stop your gab—check that car.”

After all the preparations, Te Whetu and his family set off. They arrived at the marae and found the body lying in a tent alongside the meeting house. The relations of the dead were weeping copiously. Te Whetu spoke up: “How sorry I am for our dear old lady. Yesterday she was alive and well—today there she lies.” Tawhaki's mother was filled with sorrow and she wept. The younger brothers and sisters slunk away in fear and hid themselves in the car. Two of the family, the youngest, Tane and Heke, took hold of their mother's dress and hid. Tawhaki had disappeared; he had gone to his friends in the kitchen. Te Whetu turned round; Tawhaki had disappeared.

Some of the Tawhaki stories will be reprinted as a Primary School Bulletin, the first in the Maori language. Moko's real name is Mr S. M. Mead, now head teacher, Waimarama Maori School, Hawke's Bay. The first five stories were written at Minginui, Urewera. For the pig hunting story (issue 7) he collaborated with Dinny Huriwaka; for the eeling story (is. 10) with Mary Pinfold; for the bird-snaring story (is. 12) with Nehe Akuhata. Moko was sole author of the others. “Of my collaborators,” he says, “the most significant was Dinny who in many ways was something of a Tawhaki, being full of fun and laughter himself.”

Te Whetu and his family advanced towards the marae without Tawhaki. After the family had been on the marae for a while, Tawhaki emerged—he had been forced to put in an appearance. He stood with his head bowed seemingly in sorrow but all the time he was afraid. Tawhaki's father was annoyed and said—“Don't you go wandering away—you keep close to me.”

The mother entered the tent where the dead one lay; the father spoke to Tawhaki: “Let us now follow your mother.”

Tawhaki said: “In there? No, I am not entering that tent.”

The father said, “Cut out that nonsense—she's your relation.” Te Whetu thereupon entered the tent shaking hands and rubbing noses with those

 
– 24 –
 

Ahakoa kitekite tonu ai koe i a ratau, me haere tonu koe ki te hongi.”

Ka whakahoki atu a Tawhaki, “E hoa, he tino whakama noku, he mataku hoki!”

Ka mea atu te hoa, “A tena, haramai, maku koe e arahi atu. Ho pai noa iho.”

Ka ki atu a Tawhaki. “Engari tena kare ahau e haere atu ki te hongi i nga ihu hupe na.”

Ka mea atu te hoa, “E, kaua e whakahihi. Ka patua koe mo ena korero. Tena kare koe e haere, he pai atu me haere koe ki te ngahere ki waenga-nui i nga poaka.”

Ka mea atu ano a Tawhaki, “Koira ke te wahi pai ki au. Me noho nga koroua mau tokotoko pena i a koe na, ki konei pahupahu ai.” Haere atu ana a Tawhaki ki etahi ano o ona hoa ki reira kataina ai mo tona mataku. Kare i roa i reira ka puta mai tetahi ope no tawhiti. Ka titiro a Tawhaki. Ka karanga mai tetahi o ona kuia o te wharemate, ka aue atu tetahi no te ope. Ka haere atu te ope nei ka tu tawhiti i mua i te tupapaku ka tangi. Ko te tangi a te iwi nei aroha ana. Kua ahua hiahia hoki a Tawhaki ki te tangi. Ko ona hoa kei te titiro hoki ki te ope, a mea tetahi, “E hoa ma, he kotiro ataahua kei roto i te ope ra. E, ka pai ke.”

Ka roa e tangi ana te ope nei ka taki nohonoho ka timata nga whaikorero. Ka tu mai tena, tena, a, ka tae mai te wa mo te kai. Ka karangatia nga ope kia haere ki te wharekai ki te kai. Kei te matakitaki a Tawhaki ma i nga mahi nei, kei te tirotiro haere mo nga kotiro ataahua. Ka mene katoa nga manuhiri ki roto i te wharekai ka karangatia te tangata whenua.

Ka mea ake a Tawhaki ki ona hoa, “A koianei te wahi pai ki au, ko te kai. Haere mai ka haere tatau.”

Ka ki ake ano tetahi, “Kua reri hoki au mo te kai. Ka matekai noa iho te tangata i te whakarongo ki nga koroua ra e whaikorero ana. Kare he mutunga o nga korero.”

Ka tae ake nga tangata whenua ki te kuaha o te wharekai. Kei reira te kaiwhakahaere e tu ana, e titiro ana ki nga tangata, e aki ana kia teretere kei makariri nga kai. Ka kite mai te tangata ra i a Tawhaki ka karanga, “E hoa Tawhaki, kare he kai mau. Haere atu koe. To mataku noa iho ai ki te hongi. Kare he kai ma te tangata pena. Haere.”

Ka whakama a Tawhaki, ka huri ka haere. Ka aroha atu hoki nga hoa engari kare i hamumu nga waha no te mea na Tawhaki ano tenei raruraru. Ngaro atu ana te kaiwhakahaere ka huri mai ano a Tawhaki ka haere ki muri i te kauta, ki reira hamu kai ai mana.

 

who sat by the side of the dead. Tawhaki refused to rub noses with the old people; he went off to speak to the young people. The host folk called out to him to come forth but he stubbornly refused. One of his younger friends said, “Go on—go and shake hands and rub noses with your elders.” Tawhaki turned a deaf ear. Those who sat in the tent were really annoyed at Tawhaki—for being so stubborn and disregarding the etiquette of the tangi and being so disrespectful of his dead relation.

One of Tawhaki's friends said to him: “You are really ignorant. So far you have not shown any sense. You should really go along to that tent and pay your respects to your relations—they are your relations. Although you have recently seen them, it is the usual thing to go along and greet them—rub noses with them.”

Tawhaki replied: “I am really shy, and I am afraid.”

The friend said: “Come with me—it will be all right.”

Tawhaki said: “That I will not do—to rub noses with them will be the last straw.”

The friend persisted: “Don't be such a stuck-up. You will suffer for what you have said. If you will not go, you would be better off out in the wilderness with the pigs.”

Tawhaki again said: “I would be much happier out there. You are becoming like these old people—you stay here and take your place with them.” Tawhaki went off to some of his other friends and they laughed at him for his fear. He had not been there long when a party appeared of people who seemed strangers. Tawhaki stood there looking. The chief mourners at the tent raised their voices in lamentation, the wailing was taken up by the visitors. The visitors approached the tent wailing all the time. They wailed in great sorrow,—Tawhaki was moved to tears. Some of his friends were looking on and whispered: “Look there's a pretty girl in that party—she's lovely.”

The weeping ceased and the mourners sat around and speechifying started. They spoke severally and ended. Food time came and the visitors were called to eat. Tawhaki and his friends stood by as interested bystanders—looking chiefly at the pretty girls. All the visitors had gone to eat; then the host people were called. Tawhaki said: “This is the part I'm interested in—let's go.”

Another of his friends spoke up: “I'm ready—the speeches have made me really hungry—they talked and talked.”

The people reached the door where the doorkeeper was checking them through and when he saw Tawhaki he said: “Here Tawhaki there's no food for you. You were afraid to rub noses—people like that deserve no food. Get going.”

Tawhaki was overcome with shame—he turned and went away. His friends felt sorry but said nothing: it was Tawhaki's fault entirely. No sooner was the doorkeeper out of the way than Tawhaki made his way to the rear of the kitchen to eat the scraps.

– 25 –

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Punaruku children welcome the Matakana Island school on their arrival.

CHILDREN GET TOGETHER

It is holiday time. The school buildings look neat and prim like the drawings on an architect's plan. There is no sign of life—desks and chairs are arranged in unnatural order, the windows are closed, and even the stray cats who needle their way around the buildings on school days in search for food, can not be seen.

This is a strange contrast to the pulsating life which invaded our school some days ago, when a large red bus brought 41 children from Matakana Island District High School for a two-day visit. They arrived here on a Sunday night; very tired and very quiet after 12 hours travelling, and were immediately billeted to the many homes of the district where they were cheered up by the friendly hospitality of the hosts, a cozy room and a substantial meal.

It is perhaps in these homes that the greatest benefits of the trip were realized. The children became part of our community and the community became the school. Friendships sprang up quickly and a feeling of well-being radiated from the faces of these young people and affected everybody.

When I saw these children again on Monday morning I understood at once that the true value of such a trip does not stem from a knowledge gained about places, but rather from a knowledge gained about people; and that therefore

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A listener during a talk given during the weekend.

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Match between the A-teams of Matakana Island and Punaruku (Matakana won 5–4).

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Food was offered in baskets old-Maori fashion.

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Mr Waitai Pita, prominent elder of Punaruku, accompanied the schools on their trip to the Waitangi, and is seen guiding two senior Matakana pupils over the Treaty grounds.

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Maori dancers at the social evening.

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Rock-and-Roll was practised as well as the traditional dances.

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The sleeping quarters.

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Children of Punaruku performing a powhiri when their guests arrive.

new information in Geography or History is merely incidental when it is compared with the important realization these children had, namely, that a home can be made where people open their hearts.

Generosity and mutual respect characterized every phase of the visit. This was already evident during the initial preparations which strove to achieve an atmosphere of general well-being. Things had to be as good as they could possibly be; all the visiting pupils were fitted out with complete school uniforms, a project which would normally take a couple of years to be completed. In addition they had made a set of piupius and hand-printed tops.—Our school derived permanent material benefit from this trip too, for the householders provided a working bee to erect new goal posts on the football field and to seal the basketball court; two activities which would otherwise have been featured on the agenda for School Committee meetings for some time to come. But even the homes saw concrete changes brought about through the visit—tables and fire places were re-painted in bright colours, extra bunks installed, and many a bed has now a spread of new blankets.

The photographs tell the rest about the visit by the Matakana Island pupils to Punaruku, about the welcome, the visit to Waitangi, the sports, the hangi feast and the Social Evenings. One picture however is missing: that of a group of people chanting a farewell while the large red bus departed with the children who gave so much to us without knowing it.

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The meeting house at Waitangi was one of the highlights of the visit.

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The marae at Ranana on the Wanganui River became a mass of tents at Easter when nearly 900 Maoris from the Wellington area and Christchurch gathered there for the Catholic Hui Aranga or Festival of the Resurrection. Held at a different mission centre each year, the Hui Aranga comprises religious, cultural and sporting activities. This view shows the visitors' accommodation and the large white entertainment marquee. Competitors are lined up in their club colours for the parade of athletes.

YOUTH RALLIES FOR WORSHIP AND SOCIAL ACTIVITY

One of several religious Maori youth meetings last Easter was the Roman Catholic Hui Aranga at Ranana, Wanganui River. The weather was dreadful and the road almost inaccessible, yet there was an attendance of 900 and the programme, religious and social, was full and satisfying. Teams from Christchurch, Wellington, Otaki, Levin, Feilding, Hawera, Hastings, Kaiwhaiki and Ranana competed in action songs, Maori oratory, choir events, religious quiz, haka, poi, Rugby, tennis, table tennis and basketball. Wellington won (Ngati Riatana), with Levin a very close second.

Father P. J. Cleary, S.M., director of Maori missions in the New Zealand archdiocese, said the spiritual results of the hui were real but often intengible and unmeasurable.

Leading Maori personalities of the hui were Mr Bob Tapa and Mr Hemi Bailey as organizers, Mr G. Whakarau, as chief warden, Mr Rangi Wilson as chief caterer, Mr Tane Nikora and Mr Hori Brennan.

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The Blessed Sacrament is carried in the Monstrance during the Eucharistic procession on Easter Sunday. The priests are from left: The Rev. Fathers P. J. Cleary, S.M. (Director of Maori missions in the Wellington archdiocese), A. Venning, S.M., carrying the Monstrance, and P. Brennan, S.M.

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Mr Rangi Wilson, Director of cooking and catering, stands with some of his helpers ready to plunge wire baskets of potatoes into the boiling coppers used to cook them.

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Two members of the Ngati Riatana Club (Wellington) in the poi dance.

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An active moment in the 10-aside rugby as a player leaps for the ball in a line-out.

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A shot for goal during the basketball.

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MAORI ARTISTS IN BUILDING

OLD AND NEW

The ancient Maori was famous for his splendid carvings. In these buildings, the carving, the decorations and the proportions showed considerable artistry. What has happened to these talents since the coming of the European.

In this issue, we are presenting two articles to answer this question. First, we show that the Maori carving tradition is still alive, although the need for carved houses is not as great as it was some time ago. Considering the long life of modern buildings, and the changes in Maori life, work on traditional carved houses is likely to be in limited supply. But there is a future for Maori carvers in other fields.

The second article shows a quite different outlet for those who have inherited the sense of proportion and decoration of the ancient craftsmen. Architecture is a worthwhile profession, open to all talent. Yet only one Maori is practising as an architect today. We have described the work he is doing which is striking by any standards. Will other young Maoris seek to emulate him?

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In the opinion of many, John Taiapa's masterpiece (and also the masterpiece of modern Maori carving) is the house named Apanui at Te Kaha, completed in 1942.

1. Building Art in the Maori Tradition

John Taiapa and the Carved Meeting House of To-day

THREE major carved Maori houses have been opened over the last eighteen months, two of them on the East Coast, the third and latest on the shores of Lake Taupo. The work in these houses is competent, terse and forceful; while following ancient tradition it still has the vigour and subtlety of a living art.

There are strong sentimental reasons why this art should be kept alive. Among stone-age peoples no better woodcarving was ever done than that of the ancient Maori. It is this art more than anything else in Maori tradition that has given the Maori a claim to special genius in the judgment of the world. With such a tradition to uphold, it is natural that the Maori people would wish to keep woodcarving alive if at all possible.

Is it possible? Some people suggest that wood-carving talent has died out and that no expenditure of money could bring it back again. Those people draw the conclusion that therefore no money should be spent on Maori carving.

One wonders how this myth about the non-existent Maori carvers should ever have started. All the facts deny it, yet it is widely believed.

Mr John Taiapa, who carved the house at Waihi, told me that he and his brother, Pine, have trained literally hundreds of carvers while they were working on their many meeting houses; in fact they are considering issuing diplomas to those who have worked with them for at least four years full time and who would, in their view, be quali-

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Sitting in front of an epa of the Te Kaha meeting house are Mr Tiweka Anaru (left) and Sir Apirana Ngarka (right) who is generally regarded as the chief inspiration behind modern Maori carving.

fied to carve a meeting house on their own. Taking only the pupils with definite artistic talent and technical skill, the two brothers consider they could issue no less than 65 diplomas. In addition to these 65, there are, of course, many experts trained by others than the Taiapas. Of all this abundant store of gifted people, hardly any are making a living out of carving at present.

So, in actual fact, it is not the art of carving that is dying out but the art of paying carvers for their work. This very essential art was superbly understood by the late Sir Apirana Ngata, but since his time it has gone into a serious decline.

Many of the wealthier and larger tribes and sub-tribes are now the proud possessors of good carved houses; they do not need further ones. The smaller and less wealthy communities often have other needs more urgent than a carved house. Furthermore, the cost of carving and tukutuku is high (average—£6000) when measured against other community amenities. It might even be said that a tribe with little money to spend would be wite to do without carving; from a purely financial viewpoint that is certainly true. A carved house, with the tapu often attaching to it, has only limited uses and can only be justified, under modern conditions, when other social amenities are already available.

Still, it would be shocking if this lack of money should cause the disappearance of an art which has shown such lively and satisfying development over the last thirty years. With tribal resources running short, other forms of patronage may have to be found to keep carvers going. It is a question that should be considered seriously by Maori leaders.

The most prolific producers of carved houses over the last thirty years have undoubtedly been the two brothers Pine and John Taiapa. They have carved in practically all parts of New Zealand, the exceptions being the Rotorua and Bay

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A typical group of carvers working on a meeting house is this one from the Te Kaha project, left to right: Wi Paki Reweti, Henare Rukingi Haupapa, Hone Taiapa, Aiotua Tuarau, Tui Graham, Tuwhaka Kapua.

of Plenty districts where Arawa carving traditions are still very much alive.

Each of them has worked on over forty houses. About eight years ago, shortly after the death of Sir Apirana Ngata. Pine gave up carving and became a sheep-farmer. John carried on as a full time carver, but after he finished the Waihi house about a year ago, there were no further contracts offering, so for the time being he is in the building trade in Rotorua. However, he expects that by and by opportunities will open up for him to return to his true vocation.

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Detail of the head on a poupou in the Te Kaha house. (N.Z. Department of Internal Affairs Photograph)

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JOHN TAIAPA'S LIFE AS A CARVER

When I was in Rotorua recently, I talked to John Taiapa, a spare quiet man who speaks without flamboyant phrases or effects but was able to tell me in simple workmanlike words about the life and art of the modern carver. Several other talented Maori carvers could have told me similar things but I have to leave them till some other time. What he told me cannot be the real story of his art: one only finds that by looking at the hundreds of Maori figures and symbolic representations that issued from his hands. He is a man who does not express his deepest thoughts in words; he uses wood instead. And in wood he expresses himself aptly and with imagination.

Both he and Pine were born at Tikitiki on the East Coast. When Pine grew up he became a surveyor's chainman; he was in his late twenties when the School of Arts and Crafts opened in Rotorua. Pine Taiapa became one of the foundation students at the school together with two young men from Rotorua and two from Waikato. The director was Mr Harold Hamilton, son of Augustus Hamilton who was Director of the Dominion Museum and a noted authority on Maori art. The teacher was Rotohiko Haupapa, from Rotorua. As Pine Taiapa tells the story, this first Arawa teacher was very much a man of the old school and jealous of imparting his knowledge to men of other tribes—‘Why don't you go back farming?’ he asked Pine. But he and the two Waikato youths persevered; he got information from carvings of the East Coast and from photographs; he developed a technique of his own.

Beginning of a Career

It was at this period that John, the younger brother (born 1912) appeared on the scene. It was the middle of the depression; his job in the bush had just cut out, and John came to the school, not as a student, but just to help his brother. In the end they paid him five shillings a week. At the time of John's arrival the school was busy on the house ‘Te Hono ki Rarotonga’ which stands at Tokomaru Bay. This was the first house to which John Taiapa contributed as a learner. Around this time, Sir Apirana Ngata engaged a new instructor in the school to teach adze work: Eramiha Kapua from Te Teko, descendant of a famous Ngati Terawhai carving family. This teacher is remembered by both the Taiapas with much gratitude and affection. There were seven brothers in Eramiha's family who were all carvers. Between them they carved the house in the Christchurch exhibition of 1907.

Eramiha Kapua himself was a strict carver of the old school who knew all the tapu observances concerning carving. He never blew the chips away, he did not allow women near the carvings, nor any smoking on the job. However, he told his young students that they would be wiser not to bother with tapu. His reason was that, not knowing precisely what the tapu was, they might easily make a mistake and that would be worse than if they did not burden their mind with it at all. Therefore, both Pine and John abandoned all idea of tapu in their work.

Te Hono Ki Rarotonga was the work of five carvers; at the head Eramiha Kapua, and helping him: Pine and John Taiapa, and the two men from Waikato: Wiremu Poutapu and Waka Kereama. At that stage, the Rotorua instructor and the other two Arawa carvers left the School. The kowhaiwhai for the house was done by a European signwriter, Jack Wright, there being no qualified Maori available. The women of Tokomaru Bay did the tukutuku work themselves.

The opening of this house was especially dramatic because Makea. Tinirau, paramount chief of the Cook Islands, with his party, had been invited to emphasise the importance of the link between Rarotonga and the descendants of the Horouta canoe. Makea opened the house and then asked Ngata whether he could have a similar carved meeting house in Rarotonga. Ngata asked the Cook Island chief to leave two of his men behind to learn the art of carving and so it was that Aiotua Tuarau and Wili Marama stayed in New Zealand and joined the School of Maori Arts and Crafts. The Raretonga house was never built, although money was raised for it; the project ended with the death of old Makea Tinirau.

All this happened in 1934; shortly afterwards work began on the monumental Waitangi meeting house. When that was finished, in 1937, John Taiapa considered himself a fully trained carver. But not the whole of the three years after Tokomaru Bay were devoted to the Waitangi house. They were in fact exceptionally busy years for the men of the Arts and Crafts school—it was then that the house at Otaki was built, and the one at Waitara, and the Mangahanea dining hall at Ruatoria, and the Sir James Carroll Memorial Hall, and a start was also made on the carvings in the Te Aute College assembly hall.

The Travelling Circus

The bewildering variety of jobs was part of Sir Apirana's financial strategy. As soon as people produced some money for a carved house, he would send a group of carvers to make a start on the work; however, the money would never be quite enough to do the whole job, so the carvers were soon shifted to a further job. Once a start on a house had been made, efforts were redoubled to get more money; such organizations as the Maori Purposes Fund Board were also asked to contribute.

During these years two carving parties were almost constantly on one job or another. John

(Continued on page 48)

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Opening of one of the houses built by the Rotorua School of Carving, ‘Takitimu’, built as a memorial to the late Sir James Carroll and opened in 1937.

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A party of carvers working on the Takipu meeting house opened last year. Left to right: Derick Morris, Jim Ruru, John Taiapa, Wi Te Parihi, Charles Rutene. (Kandid Kamera Kraft, Gisborne)

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With something like reckless abandon the building of New Zealand homes, shops and offices have borrowed liberally from every nation, adapting and adopting a bit here and a bit there in the belief that building in this way is expressive of one of our most vaunted national characteristics—individuality. Perhaps, after all, it is—and perhaps our national style of building at one time really was a sort of architectural cross-word puzzle. That this is less likely to be so today than say 20 or 30 years ago, is due largely to there having arisen a new generation of architects who are prepared to take their interest seriously as an art. And as an art, architecture is a combination of the art of living, and the art of compromise. For when all is said and done, part of the raw materials with which an architect must work is the customer—the people whom he has to see in terms of being housed in his structure, and who, moreover, must be able to see themselves in that way, in that place.

2. The Maori in Contemporary Building Art

The Work of John Scott Hawkes Bay Architect

Among those younger-generation architects whose work is attracting considerable attention—and who should prove of special interest to readers of Te Ao Hou—is John Scott, the centre of whose activities is Hastings, though his work is moving farther afield.

John Scott, of part-Maori extraction, lives at Te Awanga near Hastings, and his work includes, besides family houses, schools, churches and plans for an ambitious Maori Community Centre for Palmerston North.

Mr Scott was educated in Hastings schools and his first job, after leaving school, was shepherding on a Hawke's Bay farm. He was for six months in the R.A.F. and after being demobilised became a student at the School of Architecture at Auckland University which he attended from 1946 to 1950.

Following this, to gain experience, he went building with a group of fellow students. They were fired with the idea that they could build factories more cheaply than anyone else. They did. And their loss was terrific. (“It's taken years to pay it back,” said Mr Scott ruefully.)

For a while he was a member of Group Architects in Auckland, and finally, some six years ago, set up in his own practice in Hawke's Bay.

“How would you describe the aim of your work?” I asked him.

Mr Scott's reply was prompt and practical: “To give the most for the money.”

Pictures are more eloquent than words in describing how much that “most of the money” means, and on these pages, are a number of examples of Mr Scott's work, most of which I have been fortunate enough to inspect.

They range from highly individualised homes put up on very low budgets, to some of the most striking and admired schools in the district.

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LOW COST HOUSING

Much of Mr Scott's work has been for people who, with limited finance, have wanted something other than the usual State house plans. Two such houses shown on these pages were built for about the same price as the usual State house, somewhere in the vicinity of £3,000.

Such work represents a challenge, says Mr Scott for the planner must make every move count in conserving the precious pennies. And there isn't, of course, much in it for the architect. A plan may take six weeks to draw up, and an architect's task is by no means finished when that is done.

He has to supervise in the purchase of materials and tries to spend as much time as he can on the site while building is in progress. Often he can see better ways of doing things while the building is going up and is often required to help solve problems as they arise.

Both of the lower cost houses shown here have been built on a solid concrete slab instead of the conventional building piles.

Mr Scott claims that building houses for people makes of one something of a psychologist.

“In the first place, one is aiming to correlate one's own beliefs and aesthetic approach to the real needs of other people. This means you've got to find out a lot about them.”

He will spend quite a lot of time in discussion and in merely getting beneath the surface of people before anything goes on the drawing board.

“The best clients are people of about fifty years of age,” he says. “Younger people are more troublesome because they take too much notice of what everybody else has got—so they want it too —regardless of whether they've got the money to pay for it.”

Older people not only listen to other opinions—they are mellower in their approach to life and

These views are of St Patrick's School for Girls, Marewa, Napier, built to accommodate 200 pupils in four large classrooms. Two of the classrooms are suspended above ground level—the space beneath being used for bicycle sheds, washrooms, and a sheltered playing area for wet weather.

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The unusual structural principle of St Patrick's school is based on the scissors truss to give lateral bracing, and alternate slopes have been roofed. The appearance of the school contrasts with the typical State developed area in which it is situated. Top: Part of the courtyard looking down into the staff entrance. As the illustrations show, the building offers interest from all angles and viewpoints—there is continual delight to be found in the experience of turning a corner. Above: Another view of the courtyard showing sheltered play area.

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House at Havelock North built for Mr and Mrs Graham; area 1,100 square feet. This house breaks away from many of the stereotypes in lower-cost housing. Both this and the house at left, built for Mr and Mrs J. Molloy, Hastings, cost no more than the average State house.

have usually accumulated enough money to be able to afford what they want.

I asked Mr Scott whether he used Maori motifs and influences in his plans.

He has not often used Maori decoration for interior panelling, but on several occasions he has found the Maori features useful and has adapted them to the European requirements. (See the centre photograph of St. Patrick's School.)

He regards the Japanese and Scandinavians as among the most consistently good house-builders.

HOUSING IN NEW ZEALAND

“There can be no doubt that the standard of housing in New Zealand is good—much better than it was thirty or forty years ago,” says Mr Scott.

“The norm in New Zealand housing is the State house, and it undoubtedly influences the rest of the building done here.”

“Fundamentally it's a well-built house, and the average person can't do better than to go to the State Advances Corporation, take one of their standard plans and go along with it.

“At the same time, while the State house has solved a housing problem, it has created another, quite different one—that of making a uniform, characteristic New Zealand house, and where there are many of them, of making entire housing areas appear monotonous and uniform.”

Mr Scott, in his many years of planning houses for other people, has only built one for a Maori.

“I'm the wrong person to ask about Maori housing,” he admits. “In fact, I don't think that there is a right person to ask such questions of. It's assuming, after all, that all people of one race want to live in the same sort of house and that just isn't true.

“If one can generalise, one could say that the Maori tends to live in one room more than the Pakeha—that a medium sized kitchen and living area with a number of little bedrooms around it doesn't always make sense to Maori living.

“In general, the Maori may be best suited by a larger centre-of-living space—but I don't want to lay down a law about it—I'll leave that to the department.”

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Model of Maori Community Centre, designed for the Raukawa Tribal Executive Committee to be built in Palmerston North. Some of the walls of the model have been left off to show the internal arrangements. The committee has been collecting funds for over three years in order to proceed with the work; and a great deal of money was raised in a spectacular Queen Carnival right through the Raukawa tribal district last year.

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OUR TOWN

LETTER FROM SATTANUR

This delightful description of village life in India comes to us from UNESCO who are publishing a series of stories “to bring readers all over the world in touch with the problems and daily life of the ordinary people of other lands, both in the East and in the West”.

The world of my village, Sattanur, is more or less timeless. When I returned there, the first thing I did, almost within eight hours of reaching home, was to remove my wrist watch and lay it aside. No one in Sattanur was interested in know-ing whether it was five or twenty-five past nine or ten or eleven.

Those who have any work in the village begin when the sun is low in the east and shadows fall thin and narrow towards the west. They knock off work in the middle of the day when their shadows cling squat and shapeless to their feet. They resume after a short while and leave off again when it is dark. Vain is the knowledge that the sun rises at a different time at different times of the year. You can tell my villager that it is not exactly midday when the shadow clings to his feet. But the man from Sattanur is not working by the clock, thank you.

Barring my watch, there are in all only three watches in the whole village and one grandfather clock, and three German alarm timepieces. The grandfather clock belongs to the mid-nineteenth century and shows the time right only twice during the day—when it is five minutes to three. The owner shows no eagerness to get it repaired. How

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Old and new at the rehabilitation colony at Nilokheri. (Government of India Photograph)

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A familiar part of the rural landscape in India are the village women going to the well with earthen pots held in the crook of the arms, to fetch drinking water. The provision of better wells nearer centres of population is one of the urgent tasks being tackled today under India's community development projects. (Government of India Photograph).

could it be more beautiful, even it it showed the right time?

But, for all that, we in Sattanur do not really live in a timeless world. It is only that we distrust watches and clocks. We like to live by the sun, the sun on high. And the temple bell gives us the time of day.

Most of our villages, and some of our older cities are built around temples. And Sattanur is no exception. From the high arched tower of our temple the heavy bronze bell booms six times in the day. The caster who made this bell was a masterworker. His bell rings and reverberates now, hundreds of years after he cast it, and no villager escapes its haunting boom. We apportion our day's work to the temple bell's ringing.

Nowadays, even in our villages, we wake up to morning coffee which the housewife is up and about preparing as the temple bell begins ringing. But the grandfather and grandmother have long been up, have had their bath, have lighted the lamp before the household shrine and have chanted their holy chants, generally wishing the world well. Such of the villagers as go to the temple early in the morning are happy, for they see the waking God and it makes the day happier for them. During some seasons, the temple provides good food in the morning, but only at certain periods of the month. The quantity is limited, and if all the village were suddenly to turn godly, there would hardly be enough prasadam to go round!

In these more or less ungodly days, as our elders tend to call them on every possible occasion, most of the men of Sattanur, and almost all the women, manage to go to the temple at least once in the day. If you have to go to the bazaar, or the south and west streets, the shortest way is through the temple. Sometimes one of the elders will come and tell you that the flower arrangement in front of the shrine is excellent. You feel like rushing to see it. But when you do go, the flowers have been removed and the black statue is smeared with sacred ashes. This ash arrangement, too, is excellent, you have to confess. How deep the eyes darkly staring out at you, all-seeing, from the general greyness. Centuries-old Tamil poems

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extol this image. Our poet-saint Manikkavachagar (8th century) sings of how he, the lowliest of the low, was raised to the right hand of God. And many like him describe the peace and bliss they found in this shrine.

Next to the temple, the river Cauveri dominates life in Sattanur. All rivers in South India are called Cauveri, as all the rivers in Bengal are called the Ganga, but my village is on the Cauveri —the true Cauveri. The Cauveri begins as a rill in Coorg, in the far mountains of the western Ghats, runs through fertile Mysore and the not so fertile Salem and Trichy districts, and when it comes to the ancient land of the Chola kings (who reigned from about the 3rd century B.C. to the 12th century A.D.)—the present district of Tanjore—it is all “delta and indecision.” The river brings fertility and riches to this land.

The first historical event associated with the Tamils has to do with the river Cauveri. Nearly two thousand three hundred years ago, the Cauveri was an erratic river flowing where it listed. The Chola king sent a punitive expedition to Lanka (Ceylon), took as many prisoners-of-war as he could, and brought them back to his land. He marked out, and allotted to every one of the prisoners three yards of the bank of the Cauveri. As soon as the prisoner had raised the bank twelve feet, he was free to go back to his land. The Cholas king provided food in plenty and comfortable ships to return home. He was a civilised king. The ten-foot-high bank of the Cauveri where you stand now is sacred ground: one man at least owes his freedom to it.

No one could imagine life in Sattanur without the river. The villagers carefully watch its moods and interpret them jealously. On the river depend their lives and happiness. Next to the temple God, they worship the river Goddess in every season. The Tamil epic Silappadhikaram (written in the early centuries of the Christian era) extols the Cauveri in memorable verse: “Sister, Goddess of our homes, flow sweet and long. We look to you for our happiness. Bring us our wealth.”

For eight months in the year the river flows; for nearly half of this period it overflows its banks. Brahmin and non-Brahmin, each have their hour and their day with the river: when the river is full, all the village, men, women and children, come for a dip. They would be considered sick both of mind and body if they did not come to the river to bathe in season. When the river runs dry, the intellectuals and the dissatisfied youth sit on the dry sands of an evening and thrash out many a problem.

The vegetable crier, the betel leaf seller, the man or woman who comes morning and evening to milk the cows, the harijan who calls from one end of the street to take your cow and calf grazing, the handsome bamboo worker who splits the strong bamboos into strips to make articles of use and beauty, the peasant who brings you a large pumpkin as a present and hopes that, out of your kindness, you will let him off his overdue rent, the village barber with his tinbox under his arm, the village vaid (doctor), cousin to the barber with a box that is a cousin to the barber's own but is of stainless steel, a stray monkey and its young piercing the blue sky from the housetops—all are part of the village scene of the day. Even the variety of beggars, singing and chanting wellworn verses, accompanied often by monkeys or snakes or a bull, seldom annoy but deepen the peacefulness of this village scene.

Now let me describe a few of the major annoyances of village life. I would like to begin with the morning newspaper. The papers of the day reach even Sattanur early in the morning, and morning to night, the discussion of current problems proceeds with endless variations. But the serious life of the village is in no way affected by any of the statements in the papers.

The greatest of our general nuisances in Sattanur is the man of affairs. No one likes him but he gets at every one. He is always happy recounting other people's misfortunes. One fellow has

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In some Indian villages the government is now introducing profound changes as for instance in this rehabilitation colony in the Punjab, Nilokheri. In the picture a head man (chowdhari) from a surrounding village has come over to give some advice on the scheme. (Government of India Photograph)

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broken a leg; another has failed in his exam; the girl in the corner house is not at all what she seems to be; she is learning songs and English in secret. The man of affairs thrives on these stories and shakes his head with dim forebodings scarcely whispered. He defrauds the Elephant God of our street of its annual dues of oil, ghee, clothes and coconuts. All of us know all about it and say that he will suffer for it one day. But for fifty years now, the fellow has been going on like that and the Elephant God does not seem to mind.

Slushy roads in winter, mosquitoes all through the year, a house that is often not the best of places to live in on suffocating or cold days, the scorpions, the snakes and the other living brood of biting and stinging animals and insects are some of the minor nuisances of life in Sattanur. There is a lack of privacy that is hard on a man from the city.

At village marriages and funerals, rubbing shoulders with many whom I have never seen before, I have come to understand how perhaps, in some not very distant future, the whole world might live as one family. My grandmother fell ill and we were sure that it was her deathbed. For ten or eleven days, a stream of visitors has been coming to our house. And not all of them are relatives. Men and women of all stations from all the neighbouring streets and villages come to ask and talk to me as if it were their grandmother instead of mine who was lying ill.

Not so long ago, there was another event in the village. Down the street came walking a naked holy man, the avadhutha. All the women and children came out of their houses and prostrated themselves at his feet in the dust of the street. The men stood with palms joined looking on. The avadhutha passed with his right arm raised in blessing. That day he walked straight on to another village. But some days, I was told, he elects to stay. The whole village considers the host of such a spiritual one blessed among mortals.

This letter has become too long, like the shadow of the evening, but I have yet one more thing to add. Our lone cow is lowing, and would you believe it, she is lowing pure poetry. It is past milking time now and perhaps the cowherd, in the general round of duties, has forgotten the cow. But no, he is coming now. In the village rounds, men get forgotten sometimes, but never the domestic animals.

Sattanur works a miracle in human hearts. To appreciate it you only have to unlearn a few of the things you have learned in the cities. You can take a railway ticket to any of the villages in South India. From Madras to Sattanur is a short two hundred miles. You pay four rupees twelve annas for a third-class ticket and you are there in ten hours. (UNESCO).

– 43 –

How many people really understand the modern approach to Maori land titles? It is a very complex subject: the Government is trying to safeguard to the Maori people all the significant holdings of Maori land, and in doing so it becomes necessary to reapportion in some way the less significant ones. As this problem concerns almost every Maori, we have obtained a series of four articles from a well-qualified expert to explain what is happening. This is the first, presented in both English and Maori.

THE STRUGGLE AGAINST FRAGMENTATION

KO TE PAKANGA MO NGA MOKAMOKA WHENUA

Ka matemate te tini o te tangata whai paanga whenua Maori ka uaua haere ka uaua haere te karawarawa i o ratou mokamoka paanga ki nga uri. Kua tae tonu ra tenei ki te wa kua pakupaku rawa atu aua mokamoka paanga, a he tino tokomaha te hunga kua kore ke e mohio he whenua ano ranei o ratou kaore ranei. He tokomaha ano te hunga i runga i te kaha paku o ratou na paanga kua kore e aro ake ki te tono ki te Kooti Whenua Maori mo te kairiiwhitanga o aua paanga, he moumou taima he moumou moni. Ko etahi ano kua noho he wahi ke kua mamoa mai i nga whenua o ratou tipuna, kua whakaaro kua kore take aua whenua me whakamoni hei kai o hei whakangata i o ratou na hiahia. Ko enei ahuatanga te putake o te awangawanga ka mau ranei i te Maori o ratou mokamoka whenua—ko te nuinga nei he whenua titohea—kaore ranei. E mau ai kei te hunga totopu o ratou na paanga te rongoa. Me whakatopu e taua hunga o ratou mokamoka paanga marara i raro i nga ture me nga awhina kua whakakaupapatia e nga Kawanatanga o roto o nga tau.

Ko ta te Maori ture o mua ka mahue te whenua ka poko nga ahi. I te wa e noho pumau ana e ka ana te ahi ka mahue ka mataotao nga kaanga ahi—ko te ahi mataotao tenei o nga korero o nga whenua o mua. Otira ko taua hunga e heke ana he wahi ke e whakakorea ana i roto o nga whenua o ratou tipuna a ka whakaurua atu ko nga iwi whakaeke. Ko ta te Maori ture tera ka whai tangata tonu mo te whenua e ngaro whakarere atu ana etahi e whakakiia ana ki nga mea whakaeke hou.

 

Fragmentation of Maori land becomes more and more serious as more owners die and interests are split up between their children. Already many land interests are so small that owners are ignorant of the location and description of their lands, and even of the fact that they have a right to succeed. Many potential owners of small shares do not think it worth their while to pay the fees and spend the time necessary to prosecute an application for succession. Others who have succeeded, especially the many younger people who have made their home in a place that is distant from the land, prefer to have its trifling value in cash rather than to retain their minute shares. All this adds up to a rapidly growing threat to the retention of the relatively small amount of Maori land now remaining—and much of it is poor land—by the Maori as a people. This threat can be reduced and gradually overcome if the larger owners will consolidate their shares by using the several processes of title improvement that have been provided for that purpose by succeeding Governments.

According to ancient Maori custom owners who did not occupy the land (or keep their fires burning on it—ahi-ka) would ultimately lose their ownership. The ahi-ka (burning fire) would become ahi-tere (unstable fire) after a while and would later become ahi-mataotao (cold fire or extinguished fire). This meant that some sort of balance was kept between new owners added to the title and others who lost their rights.

Rights of ownership in ancient times, took an absence of something like three generations to extinguish by this custom. In other words, the absent owner had, beyond all doubt, to have reached the “point of no return” before his fires were regarded as mataotao. Up till then his fires were ahi-tere and could again become ahi-ka if

 
– 44 –
– 45 –
 

Ina ra ko ta mua ture ko te ngaro whakarere o te tangata, he ngaro mo te toru whakatupuranga, ara he mate tonu atu te ritenga o tera ngaro, katahi ano pea ka kiia ko te ahi mataotao tera. Ko te wa i waenganui o te ahi ka—me te ahi mataotao ka kiia ko te ahi tere ara kei te ngaro te tangata tena ano te wa ka hoki mai ki runga i nga whenua o ona matua tipuna noho ai.

Ka whakaturia Te Kooti Whenua Maori ko te kaupapa o te ture kairiiwhi paanga whenua ko a te Maori ko ana ture. Otira kaore te tikanga o te ahi mataotao i uru ki roto i a te Pakeha i ana ture i waihanga ai. Na reira kaore he ture hei aruaru i te whakauru atu i te hunga kairiiwhi ki nga rarangi ingoa o nga poraka whenua na wai ra i tokoiti taua hunga ka tokomaha haere ke atu ka tokomaha haere ke atu. Ko te mutunga ko te mea kua whakaaritia ake nei kua tokomaha rawa nga tangata no ratou te whenua, kua mokamoka nga paanga.

Ko Ta Apirana Ngata, tera tangata rongonui whakaharahara, tera tangata whai whakaaro o Niu Tireni, te tangata tuatahi ki te mohio iho ko te noho mokamoka o nga paanga whenua tetahi mea hei patu i te tangata i roto o nga tau a ko ana mahi me nga mahi a nga Kawanatanga i whakarongo ki ana tohutohu taihoa ake nei te whakamarama ai.

KO NGA AHUATANGA I MUA ATU O 1954 TE WA I WHAKAMANA AI TE TURE MO NGA MEA MAORI 1953 ME NGA RONGOA A TAUA TURE

Ko tenei korero me nga korero a muri ake nei e pa ana ki nga mahi hei whakatikatika i nga taitara o nga whenua Maori. Me timata ake nga korero ki nga ahuatanga o nga tau i mau atu i 1954:

(i)

Ko Te Mahi Wira:

Ma te mahi wira ka whakatupato te tangata kei tuku maramara ona paanga whenua ki ona uri ara ka tuku ia i ona whenua ki te tamaiti kotahi ki nga mea tokorua anake ranei kia noho toitu tonu ai ona paanga. He tokomaha nga Maori kua kite iho ko te mahi wira te mea tika.

(ii)

Ko Te tuku ko Te Hoko:

Mehemea kei te noho wehe nga whenua o te tangata nona motuhake te taitara e rua nga huarahi e mohio iho ai ia ka heke toitu aua paanga whenua ona, tuatahi me tuku aroha e ia, tuarua me hoko. Kua ngawari noaiho enei huarahi i raro i te Ture o 1953. Kei Tekiona 213–4 o taua Ture nga whakamarama a mehemea kei raro iho i te £100 te wariu o aua paanga kaore he utu taake.

(iii)

Ko Te Whakawhitiwhiti:

E ahei ana te tangata ki te whakawhiti i ona hea motuhake i tetahi poraka mo nga

 
 

the person concerned returned to live in his tribal habitat.

When the Maori Land Courts were first established, it was intended that they should leave the principles of Maori customary succession unchanged. However, nothing in the European-made laws carried on the old principle of “ahi-mataotao”. As a result there was nothing to prevent the lists of owners of Maori blocks becoming longer and longer. Gradually, fragmentation became the major threat to Maori land.

Foremost among the Maori leaders aware of the disadvantages and the grave dangers of fragmentation was Sir Apirana Ngata, one of the greatest and most far-sighted of New Zealanders, and the outstanding contributions made either by him or by Government under his leadership towards practical solutions will be mentioned later.

By what means could this problem be combatted before 1953, in which year the Maori Affairs Act 1953 came into force, and what additional remedies did that Act introduce?

In this article, and the ones that follow, all the methods that exist to improve Maori titles will be reviewed. Let us first turn to the ones already in force before 1954.

(i)

By Will:

By making a will an owner can pass his interest on to one or some of his children instead of to all of them, or to one person instead of to all those who would normally succeed him. Maoris are showing a growing appreciation of the advantages of making wills.

(ii)

By Gift or Sale:

If an owner wishes to dispose of freehold land interests to one or more persons during his lifetime he can avoid fragmentation on succession by gift or, if he wishes to receive payment for the whole or part of its value, by sale. It is much easier and less expensive to do this since the 1953 Act came into force than it was earlier. Sections 213–4 of the Act provide a simple means for this and no stamp duty is payable if the value of the land sold is £100 or less.

(iii)

By Exchange:

The freehold interests of one person in one block can be exchanged for those of another in another block. A good and simple example of this occurred in the Court at Hawera recently where two brothers who had succeeded equally to two adjoining sections, exchanged interests and each became the sole owner of one block. Exchange can, of course, be used in much more complicated cases than that one. Any inequality in values resulting from an exchange can be compensated for by payment of money or by a charge on the interest of the person benefiting as ordered by the Court.

 
– 46 –
 

hea motuhake i tetahi tangata ke atu i tetahi atu poraka. I Hawera inatata nei i peneitia e tetahi tokorua nga whenua i mahue iho i to raua matua ki a raua. Ka whakawhitia e te taina tona hea i tetahi poraka ki te tuakana a ka peratia ano e te tuakana ona ki te taina a ka noho motuhake no te tuakana tetahi poraka no te taina tetahi poraka. He mea hanga noaiho tenei i te tokorua o Hawera nei, tera atu nga mea uaua ake a mehemea kaore e orite nga wariu ma te moni e whakakapi, ara ma Te Kooti Whenua Maori tenei e whakatau.

(iv)

Ko Te Whakatau a Whanau:

Ko tenei huarahi ma te hunga no ratou te whenua, mo ratou ranei te whenua. He penei na, ka hui taua hunga no ratou ra, mo ratou ra ranei te whenua, ka korerorero ka whakaae mo mea nga paanga o to ratou matua i mea poraka, mo mea i mea poraka, kia noho toitu tonu ai nga paanga i tena poraka i tena poraka. Ko te kaupapa tenei o nga mahi whakatopu paanga a whakawhitiwhiti paanga hoki.

(v)

Ko Te Whakatopu Paanga:

Ma te Minita Maori e whakaae enei tu mahi kia manai ma Te Kooti Whenua Maori e whakahaere. Kei te Tai Tokerau kei te Tairawhiti e mahia nuitia ana tenei mahi te whakatopu paanga. Kaore noaiho he whenua o Aotea, o Ikaroa a o Te Waiponamu i te peneitia. Na Ta Apirana Ngata tenei kaupapa kia noho whaiti ai nga paanga whenua tena o tena kia taea ai te whakamahi hei oranga. Ka whaiti nga paanga ko te painga tena, engari ia kaore e pumau tonu te pai motemea ka matemate te hunga i whakaurua ki te taitara o te whenua ka heke o ratou paanga ki nga uri a kaore e roa kua noho maramara nga hea kua marara te hunga no ratou nga paanga. E kore e whakamahia nuitia tenei kaupapa ka riro ma te ture hoko i nga paanga maramara e whakatikatika haere nga taitara o nga whenua mehemea ra ka whakamahia tera kaupapa.

(vi)

Ko Te Whakakaporeihana:

Ko tetahi ano tenei o nga kaupapa a Ta Apirana Ngata hei whakamama i nga huarahi whakamahi i nga whenua Maori. Ko te whenua ka peneitia te whakahaere i nga kamupene hokohoko taonga nei. Ko te hunga no ratou te whenua te hunga kei roto i taua kamupene a ma ratou e whakatu he komiti hei whakahaere i taua kaporeihana. Ka noho topu tonu te taitara o te whenua Maori engari i raro o tenei kaupapa ka mama te whakahaere. Kei te Tairawhiti tana 100 pea, te nuinga o nga kaporeihana he mahi paamu hipi te mahi. Kei te Rohe Potae ko nga kaporeihana kani rakau.

 
 
(iv)

By Family Arrangement:

This can be either among actual owners or among potential owners on succession. The object of most family arrangements is to reduce the number of owners in all the blocks concerned so that each one takes a reasonably large interest in one or some blocks instead of a number of small interests in several blocks. This is the essence of consolidation of titles, and exchanges are also included in the process and also, very often, gifts.

(v)

By Consolidation Schemes:

These were initiated by the Minister of Maori Affairs and prepared and carried into effect by the Maori Land Court in consultation and collaboration with the owners. Very large schemes were completed in the northern parts of the North Island, notably in North Auckland and on the East Coast. There have never been any such schemes on a large scale in the Aotea, Ikaroa or South Island districts. Consolidation of this kind was originated by Sir Apirana Ngata and its aim has been stated to be to ensure that Maori lands are held by their owners in suitable and convenient areas that may be properly used to the best advantage of the owners and in the public interest. The advantages of consolidation of this kind are very solid ones, but its weakness is that it can be reduced in effectiveness and ultimately defeated by continued fragmentation on succession, as more and more owners die. Much has been achieved by it but it seems unlikely that it will be used very extensively in future because the new process of conversion can achieve much the same ends, if fully availed of, and is simpler.

(vi)

By the Incorporation of Owners of Blocks:

This is another of Sir Apirana's innovations to overcome the difficulties of using land under multiple ownership. The block and its utilisation becomes a business project after the style of a trading company. The owners become shareholders in proportion to the size of their interests and the block is controlled by a Committee of Management. Incorporation in itself does not affect the ownership of lands but it assists very greatly towards their utilisation for the purpose for which they are suited. Most incorporations, about 100 of them, are in the Tairawhiti district and are sheep farming concerns. There are a number of timber incorporations in the King Country.

(vii)

By Land Development:

This process also owes its genesis primarily to Sir Apirana. The operation of the development legislation does not affect the

 
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(vii)

Ko Nga Mahi Ahuwhenua a Te Kawanatanga:

Na Ta Apirana Ngata ano tenei kaupapa. He kaupapa tenei kei te whakahaerea e te Kawanatanga. Kaore e whakararurarutia te taitara o te whenua engari kua hanga he ture hei huarahi atu mo nga moni a te Kawanatanga a ana oti nga whakapai ka wariutia te wahanga o enei moni hei whakahokitanga ma te whenua. I te wa kei te ringa o te Kawanatanga aua whenua kaore he mana whakahaere o te hunga no ratou nga whenua.

(viii)

Ko Te Tuku Whenua hei tunga Whare:

No 1938 ka puta tetahi ture e ahei ai te tangata Maori ki te tuku i tetahi wahanga paku o ona paanga ki tetahi atu Maori hei tunga whare mona. Kei te whakamahia nuitia tenei ture ara ia e nga matua kia whai tunga whare ai a ratou tamariki ana moemoe tane moemoe wahine.

Kei te whakamahia katoatia enei ahuatanga e nga Maori whai whenua hei pupuri i te toitutanga o te whenua.

No 1953 ka hanga e Te Paremata Te Ture Mo Nga Mea Maori a whakaae ana nga kaihautu o nga waka ki nga ahuatanga o taua ture. Tena te wa ka mohio whanuitia tona kaupapa whakatikatika i nga taitara o nga whenua Maori. Taria te roanga o enei korero.

 

legal ownership of land but it enables the Department to develop and settle lands through the expenditure of State funds which are gradually recovered to an extent based on the final value of the developed land. The State holds these lands during development and later during the supervision of the occupier as trustee for the owners, their rights of ownership and control being suspended in effect during that period.

(viii)

By the Vesting of Small Areas for House Sites:

In 1938 a simple procedure was evolved to enable small areas of land to be vested by owners in other Maoris to provide house sections. This has been used very frequently and to good effect, especially by parents who wish to provide their married children with sections for building.

All these provisions still exist and most are used quite often by Maori landowners (but still by no means often enough), to combat the growing threat of fragmentation.

In 1953 by the Maori Affairs Act of that year Parliament with the general concurrence of Maori leaders, approved several additional provisions which as they become better known and used must necessarily go a long way towards curing the title problem. A summary of these provisions will follow in our next issue.

RAPID INCREASE IN BURSARIES

The Maori Purposes Fund Board has over the years made available monies to the Education Department to be disbursed to secondary and university scholars in the furtherance of their education. Out of these monies, scholars can get grants of up to £50 in individual cases. These grants are quite apart from the Maori scholarships provided by the State. Since 1956 the amount made available each year was £3,000 but over the last 3 years the number of applications has steadily mounted as follows:
  • 1956–88

  • 1957–191

  • 1958–263

The number of applications already received in 1959 indicates that a further increase will follow this year, and it is pleasing to record that the Maori Purposes Fund Board has raised its annual allowance to £5,000. Assistance from the Maori Purposes Fund is approved in the following cases:

(a)

For pupils from areas where no secondary facilities exist locally to enable attendance at approved Post Primary Schools with boarding facilities.

(b)

To scholarship holders at approved Post Primary Schools with boarding facilities to provide extra assistance with boarding fees, etc.

(c)

To scholarship or bursary holders attending University to assist further with boarding fees, etc.

(d)

To enable pupils from poor or broken homes to attend boarding school.

N.B.—These could be classified as grants on compassionate grounds.

(e)

Renewals of assistance granted previously.

The increase in the number of applications is due to various causes, the main ones being the influence of Maori Welfare Officers in encouraging students to continue their studies, and to changing economic conditions.

All applications are carefully considered and there is no doubt that the assistance has been extremely valuable.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

A new Maori tribal executive district has been formed in Taranaki, including the Parihaka, Rahotu and Te Potaka tribal committee areas. It will be known as the Taranaki Maunga tribal executive district.

– 48 –

John Taiapa and Carving Today — continued from page 31

and his party of six carvers would be sent, say to Mangahanea Dining Hall, while Pine with another similar party was at the Rotorua school, busy on the carvings for the Wairoa hall. Pine was then shifted to Putiki, and John to Wairoa. And so the two groups travelled around from one place to another, staying on tribal maraes, fed by the local people, sleeping in meeting houses. Wives and children accompanied the carvers who constituted a sizeable busload when they moved from one marae to another. At no place was there any privacy or any respite from the traditional Maori way of living.

John built a very comfortable home for himself in Rotorua but he was rarely there; most of the time he, his wife and his children were on the road—‘a travelling circus’, as John now calls it. In this way the family were brought up, although some years ago the ‘circus’ atmosphere stopped when John refused to accept the marae type of accommodation any longer and insisted on staying in hotels or guest houses. But this was as late as the fifties.

In the thirties, the carvers' rate of pay was adapted to the times. Qualified men got two shillings an hour, Pine Taiapa only was paid 2s. 6d. Students got 25s. to 35s. per week. It was only later that the contract system was introduced whereby a carver puts his price on the whole of a job—something like £4,500 for the woodcarving on an average fully decorated meeting house. Today, some arrangements are on an hourly basis, others on contract. John Taiapa prefers contracts; he still has a scale of charges worked out by Sir Apirana Ngata shortly before his death and clings to this price list when asked for quotations.

THE ART OF MODERN MAORI CARVING

There are many books describing the elementary techniques of carving, the proper forms of the spirals and the decorative patterns and all the other conventional features of Maori art. But these conventions, added all together, would still never make a carved meeting house. The carved house is the supreme representation of the history of the tribe; in the absence of a written literature this history was set down in the form of pictures in wood, each picture being a supreme moment in the lives of the ancestors.

The modern carver, just like his forebears, aims to tell a tribal story in striking pictures. Some of these pictures are already traditional, like Tamatekapua, who is always shown on stilts. The carver who first thought of this picture wanted to show the old chief in one of his most characteristic activities: he was known as a very ingenious thief and it was said that he would never leave footprints behind; so he was represented on one of his thieving expeditions walking on stilts to avoid recognition. To-day, every carver who wishes to know Tamatekapua shows the stilts: they have become entirely traditional and in fact the stilts are the feature by which Tamatekapua may be recognised in any Arawa meeting house.

Similarly traditional is the representation of Hine Amaru, seen in the Waitangi meeting house. As John Taiapa told me, she gave birth to a child from the armpits and this miraculous event is shown in any carvings of that ancestress.

In treating such subjects, the Maori carver has much the same task as the Christian artist of the middle ages reproducing moments in the life of Christ: tradition determined precisely what should be on the picture (e.g., the three black Magi had to bear opulent gifts standing in front of a cradle and there had to be haloes round the heads of the Magi and of the Divine Child). Yet within these limits an artist can still do powerful work as he relives the old story and expresses it in his own way and with his own individual skill. At the end of the Middle Ages, European art moved in a quite different direction and one can already see

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Picture icon

Paramount Chief Hepi Te Heuheu greets the Prime Minister, the Rt Hon Walter Nash, and the Hon E. T. Tirikatene at the opening of Tapeka Meeting House, Waihi, last April. Since Tapeka was carved last year, Maori carving has been at a complete standstill. (Photo: 20th Century Photography, Taumarunui).

this change happening when the Flemish masters introduced, in one corner of a Nativity scene, a cow nonchalantly chewing hay, quite indifferent to the central event. This was the beginning of realism: the Divine Birth was placed in the setting of a barn in Flanders such as people saw every day.

However, woodcarving does not lend itself easily to such a development; it is not surprising that the carver, by and large, still works with the traditional simple picture stories which often demand very great skill. For instance, the representation of Hine Amaru giving birth to a child from the armpits would be a challenge to any sculptor, particularly in the circumscribed space, and style, demanded in a Maori meeting house.

Symbolism in the Takipu House

Many times the carver must represent an ancestor who has never before (to his knowledge) been put into a carved house. He then has to study all the stories that are still known about the ancestor and make a carving from these stories. He has to picture the man from the stories he has heard and then present in wood, not only the man, but also his most famous acts. For instance, when John Taiapa did the Takipu house which was opened last year, he had to present the ancestor Taharakau who is still famous for his proverbial sayings.

On the finished carving, Taharakau is shown wearing a rain cape; in the background there is a cabbage tree. Most people who saw the carving recognized the rain cape, for there is a famous story about Taharakau going to visit the chief Tapuwai in Wairoa. On the trip, his slave wore fine cloaks but Taharakau merely wore a rain cape. When the slave asked him why, he replied ‘E tata a runga, e roa a raro’ meaning that the journey was far but the sky right overhead. The Maori is very neatly expressed and became a well known proverb.

Although everyone understood this part of the carving, quite a few visitors to Takipu did not know the significance of the cabbage tree. John Taiapa was referring to another of Taharakau's proverbs, ‘Ahi kouka i te ata, he ai i te po’. Between the two proverbs, we get an appealing picture of old Taharakau who was careful not to be overtaken by sudden rain, and who liked lying under a cabbage tree during the day, but keeping warm with his wife at night. In this way his memory is being admirably preserved in the tribal meeting house.

Another striking picture at Takipu is Wairaka who was the only woman on board the Mataatua canoe. When the canoe landed, all the men jumped out and rushed off to claim areas of land, so the story goes. The canoe drifted back to sea, so Wairaka called out to the men to pull it ashore. However, the men took no notice. Wairaka then said “Ki a whakatane au” (I make myself a man) and got the canoe back herself. This is the supposed origin of the name of the town Whakatane.

John Taiapa presented Wairaka with a tiki and the usual formal design for female breasts, holding a midget canoe in her hand.

Finding a fitting way of picturing the stories is the main task of the Maori carver and this can be done satisfyingly only by a dedicated artist.

– 50 –

While Sir Apirana Ngata was alive, he used to help the carvers by tracing the genealogy of the tribe whose house was being decorated and discussing the tribal history; since Sir Apirana has passed to the beyond, John Taiapa took this task over himself.

TRIBALISM IN MODERN CARVING

When Pine and John started carving, tribal sentiments were very much more pronounced than they are to-day. Their earliest teacher, Rotohiko Haupapa, it seems, was not very happy about teaching men of other tribes and Pine and John used East Coast models for their earliest work, rather than trespass on what was thought of as a closed Arawa domain. So, by the time Te Hono Ki Rarotonga was finished, they knew the style of Ngati Porou. However, wider knowledge was needed for their next big job, the Waitangi house.

This house contains slabs carved in five different styles: East Coast, Gisborne, Arawa, Whanau Apanui and Ngapuhi. John recalls how the carving team managed the Ngapuhi style which at that time was entirely forgotten and had not been practised for over a century: they stayed in Auckland for a while and carved small models of Ngapuhi work they found in the Auckland Museum. This was the only time small models were made; later when they had to carve in the Taranaki style for the house in Waitara, it was easy to imitate the style just by looking at the models in the museum. By then, the principle had been accepted that a practised modern carver may have to use several tribal styles, according to the area where the house was built. However, not all tribes insist on carvers adopting the local style; for instance, the house at Waihi was carved in East Coast style, no attempt being made to revive the quite unusual features of the old Tuwharetoa carving.

This is all the more understandable as most of the carving parties were of mixed tribal origin. Among those who carved in the thirties were Arawa such as Tame Naera and Tuhaka Kapua, Northerners such as Joe Mokaraka, Wi Te Parihi and Henare Toka, while others came from Ngati Raukawa (G. Patuwaka and Kohe Webster) or Rarotonga, and all these carvers worked together on the same jobs. There was a custom of taking on learners from the tribes whose houses were being built. For instance, when the Sir James Carroll Memorial Hall was carved, three Wairoa students joined the party: Wharekauri Kaimoana, his son Hai, and Ipu Hook.

In this way, carving is gradually becoming a national rather than a tribal Maori art. Nevertheless, there are certain specific features (body shapes, types of decoration) which are felt to belong to particular tribes and used accordingly.

THE CARVER, HIS PUPILS AND THE PUBLIC

John Taiapa regards the educating of pupils as an essential part of his calling. He likes to see the art of carving flourish and is prepared to give much of his time and energy in the passing on of his knowledge. In the first stages of instruction he designs the slabs in pencil, carves one side himself, and then leaves the pupil to do the other half, imitating what has already been completed. The next stage is to leave the student also to

– 51 –

design the second half of the slab. He tries to make sure that the pupils get confidence in themselves and are not frightened to work independently as their training progresses. Unfortunately, none of these students have been able to take up carving as a full-time career once their apprenticeship was finished.

Who are the good carvers of to-day? Among his fellow-carvers and students, John Taiapa mentioned the following names as especially distinguished: Aiotua Tuarau, the Rarotongan who is still working with the Dominion Museum as a professional carver; John Metekingi, Joe Mokaraka, Jim Ruru, Derrick Morris, Tuhaka Kapua, Bill Poutapu, Waka Kereama and Dempsey Greening.

The status of carvers varies from tribe to tribe, being undoubtedly high in districts like the East Coast where leaders have continued to revere the carver as a ‘tohunga’—a learned man, whose service to the tribe is of the highest value. The fact that the carver has to be paid like anyone else in these expensive days should not lower his status in Maori eyes, because no carver is really just a paid servant: he has to give his whole personality to the great task of presenting the whole history of the host tribe in his carvings.

Yet attitudes to the carver vary from place to place; in places where his art is valued he is given a farewell party after his work is finished. He is invited to the opening and classed among prominent visitors at the opening ceremony. On the treatment meted out to carvers in some communities, John Taipa quotes the apt proverb:

Karanga riri, karanga ki a Paeko;
Karanga kai, ka hapa a Paeko.

(When there is a battle, they call Paeko, but at the feast, Paeko is forgotten.) Certainly, poor treatment of the artist is not confined to the modern Maori,—it happens in many places in the world, but in this respect the ancient Maori tradition is far superior to what may have been learnt from the less civilised category of pakehas.

IS THERE A FUTURE FOR MAORI CARVING?

To-day, the Rotorua School of Arts and Crafts is closed. Flourishing during the thirties, it was closed during the war and then reopened with John Taiapa as instructor. The last house carved at the school was Tapeka, the house recently opened at Waihi. Since then, the building has been locked. By no means all the carving work of the thirties was done at Rotorua; in fact, those who have meeting houses built like to have the carving done on their own maraes where they can watch the work in progress and this limited the usefulness of the building in Rotorua. Still, it was indispensable as a headquarters and a place for storage.

How the future of carving can be safeguarded it is hard to tell. At present, there are still plenty of experts left from the days of the Rotorua school and the problem seems to be how to find useful employment for their talents. Employment on traditional carved houses is inevitably lagging but there should be plenty of other uses for Maori woodcarvers. Could they be used to decorate public buildings? Has enough been done to market superior carvings of medium size? We do not wish to encourage present tourist jobs done in a few minutes but very good and eminently saleable small work could be carved if a week or a day or even half a day could be devoted to it. This is well worth examining: with some thought and planning there might well be a good future for carving. And the experience of the last thirty years has shown that the talent will come forward as soon as the opportunities are opened.

Mr Charles Tareha, son of Mr Tuiri Tareha, of Waiohiki, Napier, graduated recently from the Watchtower Bible School of Gilead, South Lansing, New York.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The Ahuriri tribal committee has been offered a shingle island in the Ahuriri tidal channel by the Napier City Council for the establishment of a marae and community centre.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Mrs R. T. Cairns, of Kaitemako Road, Welcome Bay, Tauranga, was recently presented with the Tauranga Co-operative Dairy Association cream-grading cup. The cup will be held for a year on behalf of the Matapihi run which has supplied the Tauranga factory with the most improved cream for the second year in succession. Mrs Cairns is the daughter of Mr John Ohia and the widow of Ahuwhenua trophy winner R. T. Cairns, who died suddenly last January.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Canon Te Hihi Kaa, of Karamu, gave a series of six lectures on ‘Maori History and Culture’ at the Hastings Public Library recently, under the auspices of the Wellington Regional Council of Adult Education.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The Russian Geographical Literature Publishing House has announced the publication of Te Rangihiroa's ‘Vikings of the Sunrise’ in Russian.

– 52 –

This poem ‘Absent Friends,’ introduced in the traditional Maori fashion, is by Col. Awatere, one-time commander of the Maori Battalion and now District Maori Welfare Officer in Auckland. This is the first Maori contribution printed, at the author's request, with the double vowel.

TE HOKOWHITUAATUU MATAUENGA

Nau mai e ngaa kupukoorero raarunga o Rotoruanuiaakahumatamomoe, whanatu ki Te Whanganuiaatara, te upoko o Te Ikaroaaamaauitikitikiaataranga. Whanatu ki Te Ao Hou ka mea atu: Ee koe e te koopara korokii o te atahaapara, karerekawekupu o te rautau hou, haria ngaa mihi ki ngaa Iwi, ki ngaa mana, ki ngaa reo, ki ngaa maatua, ki ngaa whaea, ki ngaa tamariki, ki te ariki Mokopuna hoki e noho iho raa i te ahurewa o oona tiipuna. Tangihia atu ngaa mate haere ki Te Po haere ki Te Po haere ki Te Po, mihia atu te hungaora teenaa koutou teenaa koutou teenaa koutou.

No muri o te Pakanga Tuarua, he tau e huia ana te 25 o Aperira hei raa whakamaharatanga ki te hunga kua tiiraha ki te maaraaatuumatauenga i Te Pakanga Tuatahi i Te Pakanga Tuarua. Ko taua raa raatou koopakina ai ki te kupukoorero e maumaharatia ai to raatou parekuratanga hei taongaaawairua ki ngaa whakatipuranga.

No Maehe 1943 ka kookiritia e Te Roopuu Maaori te hoariri I Tepaaka, waahi o Maareta Raaina, i Awherika. I reira ka pakangatia e Te Tairaawhiti te hoariri i te waahi e karangatia nei ko Maunga 209. I reira kaa hinga a Te Moananuiaakiwa Ngaarimu kaa riro Te Wikitooria i a ia. Ko ngaa koorero o teenaa kookiri kua papatautia kei ngaa tuhituhinga aa ngaa puukoorero. I taua kookiri he tokomaha i tae taotu ki te Hoohipera. I te Hoohipera kaa rongo maatou kua hinga a Te Moananuiaakiwa me oona hoa whanaunga. I konaa ka kuatau ake te ngaakau he aha te hua o te hinga ki a Tuumatauenga?

I Mei 1953 ka tino hinga rawa te hoariri i Tuuniihia ka tino mutu rawa te riri i Awherika. Ka hoki iho Te Roopuu Maaori ki te Puni i Maatii, waahi o Iihipa, e hia rau maaero te tawhiti. Ka hoki iho maa ngaa waahi i pakanga ai i ngaa tau o mua atu. He kitenga iho, kaa hoki ngaa mahara ki ngaa raa o te pipiritanga: i moe tahi ai, i takatuu tahi ai, i kai tahi ai, i ngahau tahi ai, i hiikoi tahi ai i te mura o te ahi, i hinga ai ngaa hoa i hinga, i honea ai te hunga kua moorehu. He riipeka te tohuwhakaatu o te waahi i nehua ai, ko te ingoa ko te raa i hinga ai e mau ana i reira: aanoo toona rite kei te Riipeka o Kawari i whakairia ai te Tama aa te tangata!

Kua tawhiti haere eeraa rangi ki muri. I eenei rangi ko taatou kei te ripatauaarai e tuu ana e whakaangaanga ana: taa te whakaheketoto ko te toataua; taa te toataua ko te rongomau; taa te rongomau ko te aha? Aanoo ko Puanga e koorekoreko mutungakore ana ki te kikorangi waihoki ko taatou kia maumahara mutungakore ki ngaa hoa kei ngaa korahatiitoohea e koomiria ana e ngaa hau o Te Uru!

NGAA HOA KEI TE NGARO

Ngaa maunga o Kirihi ngaa manga o Kiriti
I whetukituki ai ngaa puurepo e!
Ko te wero ko te patu ko te haka ko te ngeri
I haruru i wawaro i te ao i te po.
Ngaa tuuaaone kei Riipia raa
Kei Tuuniihia ngaa pakanga ki Te Uru
‘Parekura atu ai taku pookaitara;
Ko te rongo ‘hau mai ko te mana ‘tuu tonu!
Tiiraha kau atu he whenua Iwi-kee,
Aku honotaatai no tua whakarere,
Aku whakaruruhau no Te Waotuunui,
Aku Tootara hoi ka tokia e te anu!
Moe mai koutou ‘te moenga o te toa
‘Te maarawhakatara o te nguha o te riri,
I te maru o te ihi o te wehi o te mana
Kei te kapuoteringa o Tuumatauenga!
Koutou tamatoa no Aotearoa!
Ee ara whakakake ki te Toiongaarangi,
He patungatapu rawa whakarauora ake,
Kia rongo e te tini kia kite e te mano!
Ko te whakaheketoto hei tohutohu ake
He kotahitanga hou hei taki i te Ao
Kia uu ki te pai ki te rangimarie,
Kaa ea aku mate, e Te Iwi ee!

– 53 –

CROPPING FOR SUPPLEMENTARY FEED

It is considered that many Maori Farmers at present engaged in Dairy Farming could increase their butterfat production if some consideration was given to the subject of fodder crops.

The experience of two or three seasons when climatic conditions have been most favourable to the production of adequate grass, ample silage and hay, gives no insurance that future seasons will prove as beneficial to the farmer.

It is therefore suggested that where the farmer has worn or burnt out pasture, the mere fact of turning over and working up to a seed bed will in addition to providing fodder, improve the strike of new grass. Taking into consideration the sowing back into new pasture land with certified grasses which are costly, the effort pays dividends and has been proved over past seasons especially where draught conditions prevail.

Stock relish the change to root crops especially when fodder is short. At the same time the growing of carrots as winter fodder for pigs has proved very profitable to Maori Farmers who have been prepared to spend the extra time involved.

Today more than ever before Maori Farmers must produce more butterfat and more pig meat if they are going to continue to economically farm their lands.

With the above thoughts in mind it is suggested that the following field crops should prove suitable in the Bay of Plenty district giving increased returns for the labour and expenditure.

SWEDE
Variety: Superlative, Crimson King, Sensation.
Rate of Seed per Acre: 7ins. Rows 14ozs. per acre, Broadcast 16ozs. per acre.
Fertilizer: Superphosphate 3 cwt. per acre—non acid soil Lime required.
Time of Planting: December.
Cultivation: Early essential.
Yield: 50 to 60 tons per acre.
TURNIP SOFT
Variety: Purple Top, Yellow N.Z. Green Top, Yellow N.Z. Green Globe.
Rate of Seed per Acre: 7ins. Rows 12 to 14ozs. per acre. Broadcast 2lbs. per acre.
Fertilizer: Same as Swede.
Time of Planting: February, March.
CHOU MOELLIER
Rate of Seed per Acre: 1 ½ to 2lbs. per acre in drills 14 to 28ins.
Fertilizer: Gross feeder Nitrogenous and Phosphatic manure, 3 cwt. Blood and Bone; 2 cwt. Super per acre.
Time of Planting: October, November or earlier in warmer districts.
Cultivation: Early and through Mangolds.
Rate of Seed per Acre: 4 to 6 lbs. per acre.
Time of Planting: October.
Cultivation: Early in drills 20ins.
Fertilizer: 4 to 5 cwt. per acre; superphosphate, Blood and Bone required. 57 to 70 tons per acre.
KUMIKUMI
Rate of Seed per Acre: 2 to 4lbs. per acre.
Time of Planting: 3 seeds 6 feet in rows 20 feet between.
Fertilizer: Phosphate animal manure, Blood and Bone. 5 cwt. to the acre Broadcast.
CARROT
Variety: Guerand, White Belgium, Matchless White.
Rate of Seed per Acre: 2-2 ½lbs. 28in. ridges often rolled to consolidate.
Fertilizer: A good rich seed bed essential, after potatoes etc. preferred. Misshapen forked roots will result if sown with manure. Phosphate required.
Yield: 40 to 60 tons per acre.
Time of Planting: October to January.
MAIZE FOR GREENFEED
Rate of Seed per Acre: 2 Bush. per Acre.
Fertilizer: 3 to 4 cwt. per acre Super Blood and Bone, equal parts disced in before planting.
Variety: Hickory King, Marigold, Early Butter.
Time of Sowing: October, November, drilled in 7in. rows or Broadcast and disced in.

– 54 –

SPORTS

SOUTH AFRICAN TOUR

The Maori people have been strongly moved by the controversy regarding the football team about to tour South Africa. In fact, it has been the main topic of conversation. So much has been said that it is hard to think of anything new.

Perhaps the most striking lesson in the affair is that the modern world is one and indivisible and that the actions of one country tend to deeply influence what happens in another.

Nobody has asked so far what seems to us a very interesting question: just who are the South African Negroes whose problems are the cause of all the discussion? We think people should known more about them. We are therefore intending to publish a major feature to describe the life and culture of the modern South African Negro. We hope to get a world famous author to do this: Mr Alan Paton, supreme interpreter of the Negro, who wrote ‘Cry and Beloved Country’ is to prepare an article for the magazine which should be of the greatest interest to our readers.

E. S.

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K. Mildon (wrestling name: Keita Heretana) at his Hamilton match, shortly after turning professional (Crown Studios photograph)

MAORI WRESTLING CHAMPION

Keita Meretana, from Wairoa, has recently become a professional wrestler. His wrestling career started in 1952, when he was awarded the trophy for the most scientific wrestler in Gisborne. Since then he has trained for some years in Wellington. Last Queen's Birthday weekend he defeated the Australian, Ricky Wallace, in Auckland, after first wrestling a draw with him at Hawera on May 30. These two bouts were Keita's professional debut. He has joined Jack Bence, the leader of the team which visited New Zealand earlier this year. Keita is 26 years old and weighs 16 stone 6 lbs.

He is a nephew of Ike Robin, the first professional wrestling champion of New Zealand. Ike Robin, who now lives at Kohupatiki Pa, Clive, was famous as a wrestler of prodigious strength—he could outlift and out-stay any other two men. Ike Robin was well-known also in a number o fother sports—throwing the hammer, putting the shot, tossing the caber—and of course his achievements at the shearing board have also been very noted. In his later years, Ike Robin became an outstandingly successful shearing contractor.

– 55 –

ON THE FARM

GRAZING MANAGEMENT OF DAIRY PASTURES

During the season of maximum grass growth the problem on dairy farms is to control pastures at their most leafy, nutritious stage. This is best achieved, says the Department of Agriculture, by conserving all growth surplus to requirements as silage and hay.

Later in the season it is important to maintain sufficient pasture cover to ensure growth during the dry, summer period. As grass growth declines the period in which paddocks are spelled between grazings should gradually be increased and as much silage as the cows will clean up should be fed out.

COCCIDIOSIS IN CALVES

Scouring in calves under 6 months of age is seldom due to worms; it is much more likely to be due to coccidiosis, especially if blood is present in the droppings, says the Department of Agriculture. Effective drugs are available for treatment, but these can be obtained only on the prescription of a veterinary surgeon, who should be consulted.

CROPS FOR WINTER FEEDING OF PIGS

A combination of maize and fodder beet fed out in breaks with the aid of an electric fence is an ideal way of providing feed for pigs in the 3 months of winter, states “The New Zealand Journal of Agriculture.”

Farmers who have had to buy meal for feeding to their pigs during the past winter will well remember what this cost. It is much cheaper and not really very difficult to grow the necessary feed on the farm, and as a crop to reduce the meal costs maize deserves far more attention than it receives.

Maize can be grown satisfactorily as a crop for pigs over a very wide area of the North Island, and its yield per acre is such that it shows a very good return of food produced. The area to be grown need not be large, and nearly all dairy farms with pigs have paddocks that have been used for them for a considerable period and that have a high latent fertility built up by the pigs themselves. One such paddock will be entirely suitable for a maize crop and the labour of putting the crop in will not be very great.

An electric fence can be used to allow the pigs to harvest the crop themselves without waste. If a root crop such as fodder beet is grown as well alongside the maize, the electric fence can be used to give the pigs a portion of each crop simultaneously.

Pigs should not be allowed free access to the crop for 24 hours a day, but should be allowed on it for 4 to 6 hours daily. The area used in each break depends on the number of pigs to be fed and on how often the farmer moves the electric fence. The smaller the area the more efficiently the pigs will clean up the maize.

The use of double-hybrid varieties of maize has greatly increased the yield, and a crop of 80 to 100 bushels per acre can confidently be expected. The varieties Pfister 360 and Wisconsin 643 are recommended because their yield and resistance to bad weather are superior to those of all other varieties.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The Wellington Diocesan Synod of the Church of England has appointed a ‘Maori Vocational and Placement Committee’, chiefly designed to help young Maoris coming to Wellington. Among the members are the Rev. K. M. Ihaka, and Mr W. T. Ngata.

– 56 –

BOOKS

UNFLATTERING PICTURE

Early Victorian New Zealand by John Miller, Oxford University Press, 1958, 217pp. 30/-.

John Miller's much-reviewed book, Early Victorian New Zealand describes the first twelve years of New Zealand's history as a British colony as seen through the eyes of an upper-middle class, Oxford-trained, English churchman devoted to philanthropy. The description is both fascinating and elegant. A substantial portion of the book is devoted to a study of the racial tensions which arose as a result of the influx of immigrants, the response of the Maoris to the unexpected invasion and the incompetence and dishonesty of the New Zealand Company.

These early years as described by Dr Miller did not provide a promising start to the Maori-European partnership. The New Zealand Company may have originated as a vision of empire, but if soon degenerated into an unsavoury attempt by a group of speculators to make fantastic profits. The Wakefields and their cronies appear to have been staggeringly incompetent and totally devoid of personal integrity. In fact, about the only thing that can be said in their favour is that when they cheated, they cheated impartially both Maori and European without discrimination as to race or creed.

The Wakefields as described by Dr Miller did not view people as individuals so much as objects for exploitation. This is even more apparent than their incompetence and lack of scruple. There is a chilling story of their behaviour on the voyage out from England. Jerningham Wakefield hypnotized the eighteen year old Charles Heaphy with the most dire effects for the unfortunate youth. When Jerningham repeated the experiment three weeks later, Colonel Wakefield dismissed the incident with the casual comment, “Heaphy magnetized. Nearly same effect as before.” The failure of Heaphy's well-being to weigh with the Colonel against Jerningham's entertainment does not illustrate the eccentricities of the founders as the author assumes, it illustrates something which is significant in all their relationships. Edward Gibbon Wakefield's plans included the complete redistribution of tribal lands, including villages, gardens and burial grounds on the basis of a ballot held in London, regardless of the fundamental nature of men's attachments to their homes and land.

Dr Miller gives the Wakefields credit for little except a fighting spirit: Governors that stood in their way were maligned; the inconvenient Treaty of Waitangi was held in contempt; the Maoris who did not fit in with the plan would be “crushed like a wasp in the iron gauntlet of armed civilization”. Edward Gibbon Wakefield's devotion to theory was only equalled by his disinterest in the welfare of individuals.

It is hard not to suspect that the picture of the events described by Dr Miller is over-simple. Rarely in real life are the villains so villainous and the heroes so virtuous as he would seem to suggest. The “noble savage” role of the Maoris is also likely to cause some uneasiness in the minds of those who feel that the acknowledgement of racial equality implies that Maoris share with the Europeans a generous measure of human perversity. If the author's account of Early Victorian New Zealand seems partisan, it is, however, vivid and alive. There is never a dull moment. Dr Miller has made an important contribution to our knowledge of the early history of this country.

—RICHARD THOMPSON

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The Whangarei tribal committee has set up an educational subcommittee which will attend parent-teacher meetings and encourage other parents to do likewise, and find ways of assisting in the home the work done in schools.

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MODERN BOOKS

48a Manners Street, Wellington C.I.

– 57 –

RECORDS

KIWI RECORDS

Legends of Maoriland—3. Told by Kenneth Melvin. Published by A. H. & A. W. Reed, Wellington, 1958.

In the Great Fish of Maui, Kenneth Melvin, better known as Tusitala Teller of Tales, glides through the miraculous story of Maui's fishing expedition in his inimitable fashion, and in his recounting of it the tale loses nothing of its exciting fascination. I was glad to see an improvement in Tusitala's Maori pronunciation even though he gave an unusual, though still strictly correct, interpretation of the pronunciation of the word ‘Maui’ which he calls ‘Mow-ee’ whereas it is normally called ‘Ma-oo-ee’. As will be readily understood, the correct pronunciation of words in any language is of great importance, particularly to the young folk who would be impressed by the raconteur and suitably influenced thereby, taking his pronunciation as authoritative. Although, ostensibly a tale for children, Tusitala holds the interest so easily and pursues his way through the story so dramatically that I feel sure he will find a ready listening public among adults as well as youngsters.

On the reverse, the story of another of Maui's famous exploits is expounded, once again by Tusitala. His dramatic rendering of how Maui caught the sun makes up for the one or two ‘blues’ he makes in his pronunciation. Again, as with the miraculous fishing expedition of Maui, the tale is intended for youngsters but will have a limited appeal for older folk on account of its novelty.

The Adventures of Hutu and Kawa. Story by Avis Acres. Told by Colleen Rea. Published by A. H. & A. W. Reed, Wellington, 1958.

As with Tusitala in his Maori stories, so Colleen Rea's pronunciation leaves quite a lot to be desired. The story itself is a fascinating little tale of the trials of Hutu and Kawa, two babes, who fashion a canoe with the assistance of Kiwi and go out in search of adventure. As far as the story is concerned, it might have been an improvement, perhaps, to use the wood-working beak of Kaka rather than the worm-snaring one of Kiwi? It is to be regretted that Miss Rea takes one through the tale at such a rapid pace that it leaves the listener somewhat breathless. In spite of that it makes a welcome addition to the library of New Zealand tales Reed's are gradually building up. It might be preferable to place future stories in the hands of a capable Maori. I understand this is being considered. HEMI BENNETT

– 58 –

CROSSWORD PUZZLE NO. 27

ACROSS

1 The land from which the Maori came.
6. Fixed; permanent.
10. Drown.
11. Yes. Agree.
12. Pit.
14. I; Me.
15. Blood relatives.
16. Scratch.
21. Shake, Agitate.
22. Sweet.
23. Desire; Feel inclination for.
24. Breathe.
25. Last night.
28. Stride; Step.
29. Feast.
30. Run.
31. A game—often with sticks.
32. Small.
34. Month.
36. To plant.
37. Descend; clan.
38. Smoke.
40. Brave; Victorious.
41. Study; Office.
42. Gun.
43. To fish.
44. To dream.

DOWN

1. Resound; thud.
2. Follow.
3. World.
4. Spirit voice. Naval Station, Waiouru.
5. Split open. Gleam.
7. Rain.
8. Soon; Presently.
9. Back of neck; Backbone.
13. Enter; Join.
17. Chemist.
18. Dash.
19. Avenge.
20. A pattern in carving.
22. Chick.
23. Winter. Cold.
24. Begin.
26. Sway. Bad weather.
27. Provisions for journey.
28. Toy dart.
31. Largest lake in N.Z.
33. Lake.
35. White.
36. Drag.
39. Alas.
40. Peg. Stake.
43. Fault. Wrong.

Solution to Crossword Puzzle No. 26

WHAKATAUAKI

Kaua e patu aruhe i te po, he upoko tangata, he tohu aitua.

E ai ki nga korero o mua, he tohu kino te patu aruhe i te po, kei anga te tangata ki te patu aruhe, ka rokohanga e te taua, ka patua ke ko tona upoko.

Ka ora karikari aruhe, ka mate takiri kaka.

He whakatauki tenei mo tenei kai a te Maori mo te aruhe. I te nui o tenei kai, e kore e roa kua ki te kete. Na ka whakarite te kai nei te aruhe, ke te kai nei ki te manu kaka. E kore noa e roa, ka whiwhi aruhe te tangata, tera ia ko te tangata patu kaka, ma tona maia, ka whiwhi manu ai ia.

“E raro rawakore, e runga, tinihanga.”

Ko te ahua nei, no te Taitokerau tenei whakatauaki. Ko te “tinihanga” e whakahuatia nei, ehara i te maminga, engari he maha no te taonga, no te kai hoki. Ko nga pounamu, no te taha whaka-runga katoa. Ko nga taonga ataahua katoa a te Maori, ko te nuinga no te taha whakarunga. Ka takoto te korero nei hei kupu whakarite, ara he kupu whakaiti na te Taitokerau. He rawakore te taitokerau, he rangatira te tai whakarunga.

– 59 –

The author was sent to Japan last year by the Maori Women's Wel-fare League, as conference delegate. Hr lively report shows her experi-ences during the tour.

EASTERN INTERLUDE

August The 12th 1958, a gloriously fine day, the time 5 p.m., the place Christchurch International Airport.

I was on my way to Japan to attend the 8th International Conference of the Pan Pacific and South East Asian Women's Association, as a delegate of the Pan Pacific Association of New Zealand and as a representative of the Maori Women's Welfare League. Also on the aircraft were five other delegates, including Dr Moana Gow, the leader of the New Zealand Delegation.

After short stays in Sydney, Darwin and Man-ila, I flew by Viscount to Hong Kong, and here I felt the full impact of West meets East.

Strange to my eyes were the picturesque float-ing restaurants of “Aberdeen,” a most inappro-priate name, where diners may choose the fish they want from huge tanks, and to reach them a trip in a quaint Sampan is necessary.

Hong Kong harbour is a tremendously busy place because of its “free port” status, and large cargo ships can be seen unloading at all times.

A feature of the skyline are the thousands of bamboo poles which protrude from all the win-dows of most apartment houses, and are used as clothes-lines.

Here I had an indefinable feeling that as a Maori I was accepted without reservation by all the Chinese I came in contact with, and the strangeness of being in a country where the dark skinned race are in the majority soon wore off.

Just under two days was spent here, then on to Tokyo, where we received a marvellous welcome from our Japanese hostesses, and from students of the International Christian University where the Conference was to be held. They also held high above their heads a banner saying “Wel-come to the Delegates to the P.P.S.E.A. Con-ference.”

Tokyo is a very modern city, with wide streets and narrow streets, tall buildings and small build-ings, in fact, it is a city of nine million people, and it seems on first sight that everyone of those nine million is hurrying and scurrying through the streets on foot, on bicycles and in motor-cars, but I soon settled down to this seemingly busy existence.

Family stores stay open as long as any mem-ber of the family is awake; the larger stores, however, observe shorter hours.

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Mrs Taka Moss, with a friend, in Tokio, both looking very acclimatised.

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I must mention here the tremendous size of many of the bigger stores. They tower nine stories high and are probably more than three times as large as our largest store here in New Zealand, and they sell almost everything from safety pins to complete household furnishings.

Now the clothing worn by the Japanese for everyday wear is our western style, and my ever-lasting impression is of thousands of men, women and children, all dressed in pure white shirts and blouses with trousers and skirts in colours complimentary to the bright whiteness. The white-ness just has to be seen to be believed.

The conference was a really strenuous one. There were delegates from 22 countries of whom 11 were voting members. The subject of the con-ference was “The Role of Women in Community Development in the Pacific and South East Asian Countries.” Conference continued for ten days and discussed nutrition, health, co-operatives, population problems and education, in fact all the problems facing the women of the Far East.

The delegates were entertained by the Governor of Tokyo, and at the New Zealand Embassy, as well as by several other important Japanese dignitaries, and on these occasions we made several trips around Tokyo. Most noticeable on these trips, was how use was made of every available piece of land, for growing trees and cultivating small rockeries, but I must say here, that they do not have a riot of colour as we have in our gardens. Rather, colours are unimportant, and natural greens and browns of the many lawns and trees tend to complement each other and present a most attractive and restful picture.

I found the people of Japan really lovely, hospitable and nothing was a trouble to our hostesses. They are most polite and spotlessly clean. Their customs were strange to me, of course, and as an illustration, on my arrival at the dormitory of the University where the conference was being held, I entered and a quiet voice said, “Would you please take off your shoes.” The custom of course, is that shoes worn outside must not be worn inside, and for this purpose slippers are provided for the use of guests, but in my case they were quite inadequate, and actually I could not buy a pair of slippers in Tokyo that would fit me, the Japanese being much smaller than the average New Zealander.

From Tokyo I travelled with a group of delegates to Nikko, a National Park set in the mountains two hours from Tokyo, and an area of great natural beauty, with hot springs similar to Rotorua. I found Nikko an old city which has accepted modernisation but yet retained its ancient heritage as expressed in its magnificent architecture and its many shrines and temples.

From Nikko we moved on to Kyoto in southern Japan. This city was once the capital of Japan, and like Nikko it has a great number of shrines and temples but the architecture is vastly different and the decorations or motifs on the temples were most elaborate. I also visited one of the ancient palaces of the Royal Family, and here there was a beautiful Japanese garden that is indescribable. Paths through this garden are not as we know them, but comprise of stepping stones, and these add to the marvellous beauty that unfolds as one walks through the spacious grounds.

Nara, the cultural centre, a short distance from Kyoto, was next visited, and here I saw something I will never forget. While exploring the Kasuga Shrine which is set in spacious parkland, I saw hundreds of tame deer roaming freely and then a bugle sounded and all these deer flocked together near me, and were fed by hand. They were completely unafraid and stood content at your side.

This was truly a highlight of my Japanese visit.

Osaka, the commercial centre of Japan, was the last city I visited. It is a city of waterways, and could be referred to as the “Venice” of the East.

Royalty could not have been treated better than we were in Osaka. A special fashion display, at the Daimaru department store, of kimonos in the finest of silks, embossed with gold and in designs that were a delight to eyes unaccustomed to such splendour, and valued at more than £200 was specially arranged.

Then we attended a banquet given in our honour by the Governor and the Mayor of Osaka in conjunction with the President of the Osaka Chamber of Commerce, and this was an occasion that will be long remembered.

After visiting the Kanebo cotton fabric factory, one of the largest in Japan, we returned to Tokyo.

With a further two days stay in Tokyo, my Japanese stay came to an end, and joining an aircraft once again I flew back via Bangkok in Thailand.

Brought home forcibly to me here was the way in which the women work; not just menial labour, but work that is normally only done by men. Just near the hotel several old women, probably in their seventies, operated a ferry service across the river, poling their canoes with a vigour that belied their ages.

Once again we experienced that indefinable hospitality that permeates the East, and through friends made we were able to see places that are not usually open to tourists.

Fruit is found on every table. Thailand apparently has about 200 varieties, and without enumerating, those that I tried were delicious.

Three days in Bangkok was really not long enough, but I had to move on.

In Sydney I met my family and after a fortnight's holiday, returned to New Zealand just seven weeks to the day after seeing eight countries and travelling 17,000 miles since I left.

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NEWS IN BRIEF …

An Auckland Maori girl, Miss Anna Paul, has been engaged to do a world tour with a professional dancing troupe. Miss Paul is the daughter of the late Lt. Lou Paul, the well-known Auckland broadcasting announcer.

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An adult education course in Maori arts and crafts is being held at Oruawhara marae, near Wellsford. Convened by the local women's institute, the class is taught piupiu-making, and weaving of mats and kits, under the tutorship of Mrs H. C. Paikea.

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Maureen Erihi, a 14-year-old blind Maori girl together with a 13-year-old pakeha girl won the recent talent quest at the Auckland Maori Community Centre. Maureen (guitar) and Lynette Brown (ukelele) shared the £100 prize.

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The Maori language has been added to the Dargaville High School curriculum following discussion with the Oturei tribal committee which organizes classes in co-operation with the Auckland Regional Council of Adult Education.

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Maoris are breaking into Australian television. Iineteen-year-old Rama White, from Tokomaru Bay, has made television appearances in Sydney and then joined the Everley Brothers, a trio including Johnny Devlin. The Howard Morrison quartet (Howard and Laurie Morrison, Tai Eru and Jerry Merito) have also left for engagement in Melbourne.

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The wedding of Pari Te Ua, daughter of the chief Te Kani Te Ua, to Napi Walker, son of Mr D. Walker of Rotorua, held at Pohoorawiri marae, Gisborne, recently was attended by 900 guests.

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Miss Jon Berghan and Miss Betty Thompson have been awarded American Field Service scholarships for study in United States schools. Both are in the sixth form at Kaitaia College, and of Aupouri descent.

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THOSE SCHOOL LUNCHES

The Problem of school lunches is always with us. In the old days, child-ren often did without a midday meal. Today, particularly in schools with a mixed Maori-European roll, it is essen-tial for every child to have a school lunch, and a good one at that. What is really a good school lunch? Here is the answer, given by the Home Science Extension Branch of the University of Otago:

A packed lunch must be an adequate substitute for the meal which would have been eaten at home. Each day the lunch tin should carry one third of the day's food needs. Build the lunch round cheese, eggs, fish, meat, whole cereals, fruit, vegetables and milk.

Sandwiches are the obvious choice. Make them hearty, with plenty of filling and wholemeal bread for preference. Occasionally a cold chop or saus-age, a fish cake or hard cooked egg can make a pleasant change, and cut down the number of sandwiches that need to be made.

Some sweet food is desirable in a lunch, and this may be in the form of a sweet sandwich, or a crisp chewy biscuit or cookie. A little custard, spanish cream or fruit jelly can provide the sweet touch sometimes. Make a little extra when you prepare the evening meal. Encourage children to drink school milk, or provide a milky beverage yourself. Fresh raw fruit or vegetables are nature's toothbrush. Include them to be eaten last.

SANDWICH SUGGESTIONS

Savoury Fillings: Scrambled egg is easier to prepare than hard cooked egg and it makes a nicer filling. Vary the filling each time by adding a different seasoning: cress, chives, curry pow-der, a few green peas, crumpled bacon, grated cheese or chopped tomato.

Meat, fish, liver, poultry or rabbit is best minced or finely chopped, and moistened with gravy or sauce to give that desirable dampness. Step up the seasoning with a spoonful of herbs, relish or chutney, as the bread tones down the flavour. Sliced meat loaf, aberdeen sausage, mince or stew is excellent sandwich material.

Cheese combines admirably with almost any vegetable or fruit. Moisten with left over parsley sauce, cream soup or salad dressing. Try cheese with corn and cheese with raisins.

Never discard left over vegetables, but keep them to add to next day's sandwich fillings. Potato is particularly useful to combine with savoury fillings in hearty sandwiches for teenagers.

RECIPES FOR FILLINGS

The following fillings are useful and the quantities should last several days if kept in a refrigerator.

  • Liver Paste: Mince 1 lb. liver

  • ¼ lb. bacon

  • 1 onion; combine well with

  • 1 cup soft breadcrumbs

  • 1 teaspoon salt

  • ¼ teaspoon pepper

  • ¼ teaspoon nutmeg

  • ½ teaspoon mixed herbs

  • 1 beaten egg

Method: Place in greased basin, cover and steam 1 ½ hours, or cook 30 minutes at 10 lbs. pressure. Keep in the refrigerator.

Date Filling: Chop 1 lb. dates coarsely and heat with the grated rind of one orange or lemon and ½ cup water. Cook gently till mushy. Flavour with orange or lemon juice. If liked, cook with 1 cup mashed banana or 1 cup drained crushed pineapple.

MAKING THE LUNCHES

Plan Ahead: Have a rough idea of what you'll use for sandwich fillings during the week. It is thinking up ideas that is more tiresome than the actual making. When you plan the other meals, see if it is possible to utilise them as lunch material. For example, the breakfast mince will make an excellent sandwich filling if the excess gravy is drained from it. When you are hard-cooking eggs for a salad, do extra for next day's lunches. Make small steak and kidney pies when you make the family size one for dinner. Cook a few extra fritters; make some extra custard or pudding and put in small jars.

Streamline Your Preparation: Keep all the makings of a packet lunch—tins, paper, fillings, bread, etc., in one place, so that no time need be wasted in collecting ingredients. Spread bread out in rows and cover generously with softened butter. Have the fillings in shallow bowls rather than deep jars which are difficult to dip into. Spread alternate rows with filling (use plenty), cover with the unspread slices and cut with a sharp knife. Leave crusts on for health's sake. Lunches may be packed overnight if absolutely essential, but very careful packing will be needed if they

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are not to become dry. Freezer owners may prepare and package sandwiches for weeks ahead. They will thaw out by lunchtime.

No matter how well planned a lunch may be, if it is not well packed it will not be eaten. Wrap each kind of sandwich separately, in waxed or greaseproof paper. An outer wrapping of colourless plastic, e.g. polythene, helps keep lunches soft and moist.

Put heavy foods at the bottom of the lunch tin or box; a metal container is best as it prevents crushing and can be scalded to keep it sweet and clean. Do not include biscuits or crumbly food. Pack the separate packages in neatly so they won't bump around; a few raisins, dates, or nuts tucked in the gaps make pleasant surprises as well as preventing the lunch tossing about.

For the full benefit of the lunch you have so carefully prepared, encourage lunch-box eaters, especially school children, to take time to enjoy their meal.

A good school lunch is healthful, appetising and well packed. How do yours measure up? Lunches which end up in the school rubbish tin two minutes after they are unwrapped cannot make healthy legs sprint to the winning tape, alert hands wave the correct answer, or bright eyes shine with health and happiness and joy of living. But a good lunch will do its share. And if bound cheese, eggs, fish, meat, whole cereals, fruit you counter by saying, “I do make good lunches, but the children will trade them for syrup sandwiches,” then the only answer is make them so attractive that they are even more desirable than those of their playmates.

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The opening of the Pukekohe Maori community centre last June was attended by the Prime Minister, the Rt. Hon. Walter Nash. The hall, which was the fruit of local Maori-European co-operation, is a sign of the rapid progress in the area, where 51 houses were built the last few years by the Department of Maori Affairs.

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In order to explain the Maori Social and Economic Advancement Act, Professor J. F. Northey, Professor of Public Law at Auckland University, toured Maori communities of the Far North and gave addresses to tribal committee officials, wardens and the general public. The lecture tour was organized jointly by Mr M. Te Hau, Maori Tutor of Adult Education and Mr J. Pou, District Maori Welfare Officer.

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Trooper Steven Watene of Dargaville, received the British Empire Medal recently for outstanding ability as a tracker and level-headedness in danger in the Malaya jungle.

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Me Tohu Te Kereru

Ko te ngahere, tetahi a nga nohanga o te kereru, e tuaina ana ona rakau ia tau ia tau, otira ora tonu tenei manu notemea e ora ana i nga pua o te huhua noa iho o te rakau.

Ko te kereru tetahi o nga tino manu, a tino manu whakapaipai hoki o Niu Tireni e tika ana me tohu kei ngaro

*

He Whaina e £50

*

He Whaina ano e £2 mo ia manu e patua

*

Ka Murua te pu

Ko nga whiu enei mo nga tangata pokanoa ki te patu kereru.

  • Me Aroha Koutou Ki Enei Taonga o Te Motu.
    • Kaua e Takahia Te Ture Kia Toe Ai Te
      • Kereru Mo Ake Tonu Atu.
        • Na Te Tari Kawanatanga Kaitieki o

        • nga Manu me nga Kararehe.

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