TE AO HOU
The New World
the department of maori affairs SEPTEMBER 1959
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TE AO HOU
THE NEW WORLD
The Future of Maori Culture
In this issue, there appears an important article by Dr James Ritchie, Lecturer in Psychology at Victoria University of Wellington, “The Future Place of Maori Culture in New Zealand Society.” Dr Ritchie carefully distinguishes four main types of culture: first, as a way of life, totally enclosing, limiting, nourishing and sufficient, for those persons involved in it.
In this sense, he points out, Maori culture no longer exists, irreparably severed from its roots by pakeha conquest and occupation. Second, culture as a set of traditions and customs, cherished and practised by a group. In this sense, Maori culture continues, as we all can see. Third, culture as a creative process, the absorption of certain values, the expression of discontents, tensions and more rarely, fulfillments, in the various art forms available. The spirit of this country, the development of a soul as it were, particular to it, is now slowly expanding, mostly on pakeha promptings, to involve some consciousness of New Zealand as a bi-racial community. Fourth, culture as a sence of uniqueness, of personal identity, of apartness, in the strict sense of the word, of being ‘this’ and not ‘that’. From this fourth category, Dr Ritchie draws his major conclusion, that culture in the sense he defines it is “not an amalgam, but an integrated whole”; “not bits of this and bits of that, but the basis of a person's self-esteem and confidence.” One does not, in other words, acquire culture that can be nourishing and meaningful simply by performing action songs and hakas, not merely by exploring the classic repositories of Maori poetry and lore, but by acquiring something for oneself, by living these activities in a manner which sheds light on your whole life, which keeps them living for you. This proceeds, it seems to us, from a determination to recognise who one is; to ask the question: since I am a Maori, what part do I want it to play in my life? If I am involved in Maori group activities then I must ask: does this help me to proclaim, to realise, my identity, or am I just losing it in the crowd? Only from such sober but spontaneous appraisals can we be sure that our cultural activities will have meaning for us. And if this honesty of approach is sufficiently intense and sustained, it can transform and nourish the whole community, in time solve all the questions of what sort and kind of education is necessary for us, and show us the shape of our society in the years ahead.
KOTE MAORITANGA MO APOPO
Kei tenei putanga o Te Ao Hou etahi tino korero na Dr James Ritchie, he kaiwhakaako mo te Psychology kei Te Whare Wananga o Poneke. Ko ana korero i huaina “Ko Te Maoritanga Mo Apopo.” E wha nga wawahanga o Te Maoritanga ki te korero a Takatu Ritchie. Tuatahi ko te noho Maori nui tonu kaore he hao a te ngakau Maori kia pera ke atu tana noho engari me waiho ia kia noho Maori noa ana. Ko te korero a te kaituhi kua ngaro tenei tu Maoritanga kua mate i te whakaekenga o te Pakeha me ana tikanga. Ko te wahanga tuarua ko te Maoritanga e kite nei tatou e mau ana te ngakau Maori ki etahi o nga tikanga a ona tupuna. Ko te wahanga tuatoru o te Maoritanga nei ko ta te hinengaro i waihanga ai. Ka rapaina ko nga taonga Maori e tika ana, ko nga korero mo nehe ra ko nga whawhai ko nga tukinotanga hei kaupapa korero hei kaupapa mo te whakaaro hei whakaata ki te ao hou. Kei te tipu tenei ahuatanga a ko te hinengaro Pakeha kei te whakakaha kia eke ai te korero e rua iwi kotahi te whenua. Ko te wahanga tuawha o te Maoritanga nei ko te mohio iho o te Maori he Maori ia. Ko ianei te tino mea e ki ana ko Takuta Ritchie ko te mohio iho o te tangata Maori he Maori ia. Ka penei nga whakaaro ka tuturu Maori te Maori ka ora ana waiata ana haka ara te katoa o nga taonga Maori. Ko te tino taonga tenei o roto i enei ra ko te kore o te tangata e whakama ki te ki he Maori ia. Ko nga taonga o te ao hou o te ao Pakeha he taongahei wanihi i te kaupapa o te Maoritanga, engari ko te mea nui ko te u o te ngakau me te wairua ki tenei ki “He Maori au”.
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HAERE KI O KOUTOU
Mr NOHO TOKI
Mr Noho Toki, the well-known Maori singer and a Gallipoli veteran who spent more than 30 of his 64 years in Sydney, died recently. The secretary of the New Zealand sub-branch of the Australian Servicemen's League, Mr A. C. Booth, in a tribute to Mr Toki, recalled that he carried the New Zealand banner in front of the marching New Zealand banner in front of the marching New Zealanders at every Sydney Anzac march in this 30 years.
Mrs N. TE WAARI
The death occurred at Lower Hutt recently of Mrs Ngahina Te Waari, aged 61, eldest member of the family of the late Mr and Mrs Wi Hapi Love, both of whom were awarded the M.B.E. and were members of one of Wellington's most historic families. Mrs Te Warri (also known as Hannah Lily Love) was educated at the Petone West School and at Wellington Girls' College. Through her father, she was a direct descendant of Wi Tako, and through her mother of Te Puni, chiefs who made history in the early days of the settlement of Port Nicholson and with their Te Atiawa tribesfolk had conquered these shores before the arrival of the settlers.
Mrs Te Waari was prominently associated with the work of the Anglican Maori mission, both in the Hutt and Wellingto areas, the Maori Women's Welfare League and the Early Settlers' Association. During the First World War, Mrs Te Waari was a member of the organisation formed by Lady Pomare to send comforts to the Maori Battalion overseas.
Mrs Te Waari is survived by her husband, Mr George Te Waari of petone, and two adopted daughters, Myra and Ripeka.
Mrs POIHAERE GRACE
Mrs “Poihaere” Grace died recently in Gisborne. She was in her seventieth year. She was a descendant of the Whanau-a-Raikairoa sub-tribe and it is fitting that the tangi to her should have been held in the Kie Kie marae, where she was interred in the family cemetery. Her husband, Mr Jack Grace, died about 30 years ago. In her early life, she lived in Kie Kie where she had a family of fourteen children, four of whom have predeceased her. The other 10, who are all adult, attended the tangi. The funeral service was conducted by the Rev. T. Wanoa and despite the inclement weather, a large congregation attended.
TARUHE TE TAUA
Mrs Taruhe te Taua, aged 103, died recently at the home of her daughter, Mrs John Pauha Pakau, Port Waikato, after a short illness.
Mrs te Taua was born at Port Waikato and lived there most of her life. She was a member of the Ngatitipa tribe. She is survived by three of her seven sons and three daughters.
Mrs NIRA HINEPOUNAMU DINSDALE
The death recently of Mrs Nira Hinepounamu Dinsdale of Rotorua sees the passing of another link with the past. Mrs Dinsdale, on her mother's side, was a direct descendant of Winiata Pekumu Toki-te-Ururangi, who was killed at Kaokaoroa in the Hauhau rebellion in 1864. On her father's side she was a direct descendant of Hine-i-Turama, a famous chieftainess of Te Arawa, who was killed at Orakau in 1864 at the time of Rewi's famous last stand. Her father was Retreat Tapsell, eldest son of Captain Phillip Tapsell.
Mrs Dinsdale was married to John Dinsdale 62 years ago and lived most of her life in Rotorua. She is survived by her husband, one son, Michael, and two daughters, Dardanella and Ripeka. Another son, John, was killed at Cassino.
Mr RANGIHUNA PIRE
One of Taranaki's best known elders and a chief of the Nga Ruahine tribe of South Taranaki, Mr Rangihuna Pire has died in New Plymouth. He was 80. Born at Kaupokonui, he was the eldest child of Pire Robinson and Te Raiwhanake. Adopted by elder relations while an infant, he grew up in a totally Maori atmosphere and gained a knowledge of battles, of confiscated lands, of boundaries and tribal rights on which in later years, he was regarded as an authority. Mr Pire was associated with many political figures, notably Sir Maui Pomare, whom he helped to power, and when a Royal Commission was set up in 1927 to examine Maori claims and compensation for land lost in the Maori wars, Mr Pire was appointed first chairman of the Taranaki Trust Board which administered compensation. His political support, which was considerable, was lately given to the Social Credit League. He is survived by eight children and many grandchildren.
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|Haera ki o koutou tipuna||3|
|The Home Garden||57|
|Sport: Neti Davis, by Garry Foen||55|
|Te Rauparaha, part 3: Wairau, the Porirua Quarrel and imprisonment, by W. Carkeek||6|
|Puhiwahine, Maori Poetess, part 5, by Pei te Hurinui Jones||12|
|Te Rakaunui me te Hoiho, na Richard Kaiawe||15|
|The Future Place of Maori Culture in New Zealand Society: a point of view, by James Ritchie||16|
|Three poems, by Nancy Bruce||20|
|Place of Adorning, by Elsie Locke||22|
|The Maori Grave on Maria Island, by Charles S. Hawkes||24|
|The Women of India, by Naranjan Singh Uppal||25|
|Tiputoa's Taniwha, by H. D. B. Dansey||27|
|Te Ao Tawhito: ka tahuri||30|
|A glimpse of people, places and things, by Arapera Blank||31|
|Maori Land Court Judge visits Aotea, by Noel Merrick||34|
|Field Day at Panguru, by R. J. Franken||42|
|“Good Grief!” said the postmistress, by Marie Dale||43|
|Compromise, by R. B. Wallace||45|
|Karakia, by W. A. Turner||47|
|Afterthoughts on a Hui Topu, by Leo Fowler||48|
|Korari Maori Womens' Welfare League||53|
|Growing up on the Tamaki, by Alan taylor||54|
|By your backyard, by Rora||59|
|Two poems by Rowley Habib||60|
THE MINISTER OF MAORI AFFAIRS: The Rt. Hon. Walter Nash.
THE SECRETARY FOR MAORI AFFAIRS: J. K. Hunn.
Chairman: B. E. Souter, Asst. Secretary.
Members: W. Herewini, M. R. Jones, W. T. Ngata, B. E. G. Mason, G. H. Stanley, M. J. Taylor.
EDITOR: B. E. G. Mason.
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 1960
PRINTED BY PEGASUS PRESS LTD.
Cover Photo. The child study on the cover is the second of two taken by Miss A. Westra, a young Dutch photographer on a visit to relatives in New Zealand. Both were taken outside the church at Ohinemutu.
Literary Competition. Readers are reminded that entries both for the literary competition and the art competition close on September 30th. Any entry received before that date will be eligible, and the winning entries will be published in Te Ao Hou for March, 1961.
Te Ao Hou is very pleased to print the brief reminiscence entitled Te Ao Tawihto: ka tahuri, which appears on page 30, but the manuscript was not signed. Would the author please communicate with Te Ao Hou for payment. Would Mr Richard Kaiawe, author of Te Rakaunui me te hoiho, also communicate with Te Ao Hou.
Back Issues: As previously stated, the supply of some back issues has become very short. No. 16 can be purchased, but the price will now be 5/- instead of 3/-, and back issue No. 9 is now so scarce that it must be withdrawn from sale.
Renewal Stickers: If your subscription is expiring, you will find an expiry sticker on the wrapper of your issue. Please examine hte 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 pupri 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.
The magazine as a text in schools. Our subscription rate for schools is 4/- per year (min. 5 subscriptions).
Taupo Pa, Plimmerton. This pa was established by Te Rauparaha shortly after his final raid on Kaiapohia. Throughout the 1840's, he seems to have had no permanent place of residence, and although a special house had been set aside exclusively for his use at this pa, he was often to be found living at Otaki or Kahiti. (G. F. Angas, The New Zealanders, 1847.) Turnbull Library Photograph.
PART III WAIRAU, THE PORIRUA QUARREL AND IMPRISONMENT
Although the first settlers to arrive at Wellington in 1840 were favourably received by the Maoris, some of the chiefs soon realized with feelings of apprehension that these ever increasing pakehas would outnumber them. Te Wharepouri of Ngati Awa had hoped for at least one white man at every pa to barter with his people and keep them well supplied with arms and clothing. He confidently expected to keep them well supplied with arms and clothing. He confidently expected to keep these white men under his hand, and to regulate all their transactions himself. Te Rauparaha had for some years successfully traded in this way at Porirua and Kapiti, while on Mana Island his nephew Te Rangihaeta periodically received goods from a man named Bell in return for permission to depasture stock. According to Commissioner Spain, when the ownership of Mana was disputed some years later the bewildered Rangihaeta told him, “I never would have disturbed Bell in his residence on the island, as he promised to give me another white man when he left.”
By the end of 1842 new settlers continued to arrive at Wellington in great numbers, the land dispute in the Hutt Valley remained unsolved, and with many of his people coming under the influence of missionaries, Te Rauparaha felt his authority beginning to wane. Early in 1843 he was grieved to learn that a close relative of his, a woman of high rank, had been brutally murdered. Suspicion fell upon a white man who was arrested but later released through lack of evidence. According to the Rev. Samuel Ironsides the accused man was clearly guilty and shortly
after his release confessed to having committed the crime. This incident greatly incensed the Maoris and did much to aggravate the mounting tension between both races. During the same month the Protector of Aborigines, George Clarke, unhappily reported another circumstance which highly disgusted the natives. In several instances their dead had been disinterred by some of the settlers merely for the sake of obtaining the few ornaments with which they were usually buried. “I regret also to say,” said Clarke, “that these atrocities could not be brought home to the guilty parties for want of evidence.”
Te Rauparaha, hoping to see justice meted out from the European authorities, refrained from taking an indiscriminate revenge and quietly cautioned Clarke in the following manner: “A few years ago I should have taken cognisance of these cases, and would have obtained ample satisfaction for the injury I have received, but I now with confidence leave the matter with you.”
The excitement and unrest caused by these outrages had hardly subsided within the strongholds of Ngati Toa when news arrived from Nelson that the Europeans intended making a survey of the Wairau Plain. At the head of a deputation of chiefs in Nelson, Te Rauparaha told Captain Arthur Wakefield that they had not sold Wairau, and warned him against sending his surveyors there. When Wakefield, quite unperturbed, expressed his determination to proceed, the quick-tempered Rangihaeta sprang forward to deliver an angry tirade. Grimacing fiercely at the Resident Agent, he threatened to take his head if the survey commenced. He made it abundantly clear to all in Nelson that if anyone wanted to lay claim to that land they would first have to succeed in killing him, and thereby the land would remain as the lawful possession of the conqueror. Before leaving for Kapiti Te Rauparaha issued a final warning that he would put the case before the Queen's Commissioner, Mr Spain, with a demand for an immediate settlement of the claim.
Wakefield foolishly turned a deaf ear to these threats and warnings. On the 15th of April, 1843, a contract for the survey was drawn up with Messrs Barnicoat and Thompson, Cotterell and Parkinson. A few days later these surveyors with forty assistants proceeded to the Wairau where they started work without further delay. Nearly two months had gone when Wakefield received word that the Ngati Toa chiefs had crossed over to the Wairau and were obstructing the surveyors by burning their huts and compelling them to return to Nelson. The affair was becoming extremely serious, and Te Rauparaha had made it perfectly clear that neither he nor any of his people were to be trifled with. Yet Wakefield on receiving a report of the proceedings sanctionel another blunder. This was the decision to proceed at once in the Government brig “Victoria” and arrest the chiefs on a charge of arson. “We shall muster about sixty,” wrote Wakefield, “so I think we shall overcome these travelling bullies.” It is also ironical at this stage to observe the following remark in a letter to his brother before embarking: “I never felt more convinced of being about to act right for the benefit of all, and not less especially so for the native race.”
On reaching the mouth of the Wairau River it was found that the Maoris had retired to a more inaccessible position further upstream on the western side of the Tuamarina stream. Te Rauparaha was sitting in front of a fire eating a meal of potatoes when the pakeha war party approached along the opposite bank. Jumping to his feet he hailed them in the traditional manner, and enquired of the Police Magistrate leading the party if they had come to fight. Thompson
Te Rangihaeta, nephew of Te Rauparaha. He became actively hostile to the British in the Hutt Valley and established a fortified pa at Pauatahanui, from which he was finally driven in July, 1846. With a few loyal adherents he retreated to the swamps of Poroutawhao where, like Hereward the Wake, he built his last stronghold on a mound. Grey wisely left him alone; and he died at Otaki in 1855. (Turnbull Library Photograph).
replied that they had not come for that purpose, and having explained the exact nature of their visit demanded a canoe so that he and some of the other officials could cross. The forty constables who remained on the other side with the rest of the armed party under the charge of Captain England and Mr Howard had each been issued with eighteen rounds of ball cartridges. They had been told before their final instruction from Mr Thompson was to act if called upon. Most of these had never handled a firearm before. Some of their weapons were faulty and antiquated, while complete lack of discipline combined with a total ignorance of bush fighting proved to be a pitiful contrast to the more numerous trained fighters of Te auparaha and Te Rangihaeta. Even at this stage, however, Thompson and Wakefield behaved as if they were dealing with nothing more than a couple of travelling bullies who could easily be coerced into showing, as Thompson put it, “a prestige for the law”.
Te Rauparaha approached Thompson with his hand extended to exchange a friendly greeting, but the arrogant Magistrate pushed it aside and through his interpreter Brooks, told him that he was their prisoner. The chief replied that he would prefer to have the whole matter settled when Mr Spain made his judgement about the land. Whereupon Thompson explained that the charge was one of buringin down some houses, an offence which did not come under the jurisdiction of Spain's court, and one which he intended to deal with aboard the brig. “What houses have I burned down?” demanded Te Rauparaha. “Was it a tent belonging to you that you make so much ado about it? You know it was not; it was nothing but a hut of rushes. The materials were cut from my own ground.” At this point he appealed to Mr Cotterell to verify his assertion that no European property or equipment had been destroyed, and that gentlement accordingly agreed. “For this reason,” continued Te Rauparaha, “I will not go on board, neither will I be bound. If you are angry about the land let us talk it quietly over, I care not if we talk till night and all day tomorrow and when we have finished I will settle the question about the land.”
The Police Magistrate only became more impatient. Producing a pair of handcuffs, and stamping his foot with rage, he demanded that the chief accompany him aboard the brig or he would be compelled to use force. Then, turning to Brooks, he exclaimed. “tell them there are the armed party, they will fire on them all!” As he did so he waved his arm in the direction of his constables, and a native who had a slight knowledge of English interpreted this violent outburst as an order to fire. There was an instant reaction from sixteen of Te Ruaparaha's men who sprang to their feet with muskets levelled. they were subdued by Mr Patchett who nervously explained that it had only been a threat and not an order to shoot.
Thompson then called in a loud voice for Te Rangihaeta who during this time had been sitting quietly behind a nearby bush. Leaping into the midst of the group, and wielding his tomahawk menacingly above Thompson's head, he began threatening him in violent tones. “What do you want with Te Rangihaeta that you come here to bind him?” he demanded angrily. “Do I go to Port Jackson or to Europe to steal your lands? Have I burned your house? Have I destroyed tents or anything belonging to you?” His temper seemed to be getting the better of him, and Te Rauparaha thought it wise to order him to retire while he continued to seek a peaceful settlement with the stubborn Thompson. Meanwhile Mr Tuckett and Captain Wakefield decided to join the rest of their men on the other side of the stream. As they were crossing Thompson made another attempt to handcuff Te Rauparaha who indignantly withdrew his hands from the Magistrate's grasp. It was at this point that Captain Wakefield was said to have observed a threatening move by the natives towards Thompson which prompted him to shout to the constables, “men forward, Englishmen forward!” Several of the armed constables rushed toward the canoe and in doing so one of them discharged a shot which instantly provoked a volley of musket fire form the Maoris who were by this time quite convinced that the pakehas had come to fight.
During the intense firing which opened up on both sides Mr Thompson and his party safely made their crossing. Many of the Englishmen fell in the first volley, and as they retreated to the foot of a nearby ridge several were left dying in the open severely wounded; amongst these was Mr Patchett. He was quickly attended to by a man named Richardson, who enquired if he was badly hurt, to which Patchett replied, “I am mortally wounded, I am mortally wounded, you can do no good for me, make your escape.”
The main party of Europeans was finally forced to surrender, and included amongst the survivors were Captain Wakefield, the Police Magistrate Thompson, Capt. England, Messrs Richardson, Howard, Brooks, Cropper and MacGregor. For a few minutes the prisoners were kept under the guard of several young warriors until Te Rauparaha arrived upon the scene. the chief, having accepted the Europeans' explanation that the shooting was a mistake, was at first agreeable to accepting money in payment for their release, when Rangihaeta suddenly intervened. His wife Te Rongopamamao had been killed by a stray bullet early in the affray while hiding in a swamp at the rear of the Maori camp. Se was the widow of Te Whaiti, a nephew of Te Rauparaha and a first cousin of Te Rangihaeta who according to ancient custom married her because she was the widow of his near relative. Rangihaeta insisted that only the lives of the principal Europeans could compensate as sufficient utu for the loss
of his wife. “We are sure to be killed for this some day,” he told Te Rauparaha. “The white people will take utu, let us then have some better blood than that of these tutua (common people). We are chiefs; let us kill the chiefs beforehand.” While Rauparaha weighed this problem in his mind, the Police Magistrate appealed to him to save their lives, whereupon the chief contemptuously replied, “Did I not warn you how it would be? A little while ago I wished to talk to you in a friendly manner and you would not, now you say ‘save me’. I will not save you.” And with that he handed the prisoners over to Rangihaeta who marched them a little further down the hill where the merciless execution of all captives was carried out.
Having stayed a few days at Te Awiti, Te Rauparaha and his people crossed the Straits to Mana and eventually to Otaki, where they decided to await further developments and the vengeance of the white man. Te Rangihaeta tried in vain to persuade his uncle to collect a force of neighbouring tribes for the purpose of attacking Wellington and exterminating the settlers, but Te Rauparaha now professed a belief in Christianity, and refused to have anything to do with such a scheme, asserting that he was tired of warfare and henceforth would follow only peaceful pursuits. Other chiefs in the district were approached butthey too seemed to have been restrained by the resident missionary Octavius Hadfield to remain at peace. Bitterly disappointed, and with only a few loyal adherents, Te Rangihaeta set about reinforcing his defences at Porirua. The whole management of affairs there and at Kapiti had been entrusted to him by Te Rauparaha.
The settlers in Wellington were also on the alert. They had formed a kind of Home Guard or voluntary militia which daily carried out drilling exercises in case of attack. There were frequent references in the local newspapers to the “treacherous murderers of the Wairau”, and enraged correspondents severely criticised the Government for its inactivity and failure to provide sufficient protection from the Maoris. Extreme dissatisfaction was also expressed at Fitzroy's handling of the Wairau inquiry. the Governor had gone to Waikanae on February 14th, 1844, to hear Te Rauparaha's account of the affray. At the conclusion of the chief's speech Fitzroy took the only course open to him by declaring that although he could not condone the killing of the prisoners, as the white men had been in the wrong, no action would be taken.
Later in 1844 when the Hutt Valley dispute once more came into prominence by the renewed incursions of Te Rangihaeta's emissaries from Porirua, Fitzroy again received sharp criticism from the settlers. On the 8th of November he claimed to have come to an agreement with Te Rauparaha and Te Rangihaeta that the Maoris under their control should immediately leave the Hutt Valley, and in payment for their consent to this arrangement both chiefs were said to have received £200 each. Although a deed of sale is in existence which was officially recognised as containing their signatures, Te Rangihaeta emphatically denied ever having agreed to the arrangement. Concerning the signature attached to the deed, H. T. Kemp, Protector of Aborigines at the time, reported that Te Rangihaeta “positively denied it have been his or to have been affixed by his authority. On this point his evidence seems to be borne out by the testimony of several witnesses and more especially by the confession of Martin, grandson of Te Rauparaha, who signed for him in the hope that his uncle Te Rangihaeta would ultimately become reconciled and approve of the transaction.” When the intruders on the Hutt under Taringa Kuri heard of the payment they refused to move, stating that they had not benefited by any of the money.
Early in February 1846 a large body of troops amounting to nearly six hundred were shipped from Auckland to Wellington under the command of Lt. Colonel Hulme. These were joined by detachments of other regiments which brought the total force centred in Wellington to almost eight hundred men. With this impressive array of military strength at his disposal, the newly appointed governor Grey had little difficulty in forcing the intruders to leave the Valley. While Te Rauparaha expressed his allegiance to the Government and promised to assist in any way possible, his nephew Te Rangihaeta declared open warfare. The latter managed to enforce a very effective blockade of the Taua-tapu track from Pukerua to Taupo pa, which by a quaint analogy he stated was his backbone, and hence must not be trodden upon. On the roadside close to his pa was a large notice stating that all pigs passing that way to Wellington would be turned back, that war was at hand and it was not right to feed the pakehas, that all who went without anything would be suffered to pass but all others would be sent back and if they persisted would pay for their temerity with their bones. this was a notice to all the tribes.
In spite of much that has been written in the past to discredit Grey for his suspicious attitude toward Te Rauparaha, it is hard to deny that he did have several good reasons for doubting the sincerity of the old chief. Grey recalled that on the occasion of the road having been tapued he had gone to Porirua to investigate. Te Rauparaha and some of the Ngati Toa who still remained at Taupo faithfully promised that they would not in future be in any way concerned with such proceedings. Yet in spite of these promises a report was received on the following day from two natives who complained that they were not permitted to pass Taupo pa with their charge of four pigs as the road had been tapued and Te Rauparaha would do nothing to prevent the natives there from enforcing the blockade. Grey immediately returned to Porirua and issued
positive orders that they, together with their pigs, should be forthwith permitted along the road. He made it clear that he would not receive Te Rauparaha or any of the Taupo chiefs on board the “Driver” until these orders had been complied with. Later Mr Servantes, the interpreter, returned to say that the affair had been somewhat misrepresented and that the Governor's orders would have been complied with if the pigs had not unfortunately been sent back to the Manawatu the previous day. Te Rauparaha with a few of the other chiefs also came on board and concurred with Servantes, adding assuredly that such a circumstance should never occur again.
“I entirely believed their statements and assurances,” commented Grey, “but I regret now to state that I have positively ascertained from two important chiefs upon whom every reliance may be placed that the pigs were at the very time these statements were made detained in the pa, and they were telling a deliberate and intentional falsehood. One of the chiefs who assured me of this is one of Te Rauparaha's nearest relatives and he mentioned it with concern, adding that he felt great shame and grief when he heard Te Rauparaha making statements so opposite to the truth.”
Further evidence of Te Rauparaha's suspected treachery came in the form of a letter signed by Mamaku, a Wanganui cheif who had taken up arms with Rangihaeta. It was forwarded to Grey by one of several chiefs in Wanganui to whom it had been addressed. Dated the 25th of May 1846, the following extract is especially interesting: “Give your consent and allow Ngapera, Maketu, Amarama, and Te Kawana, those who do not profess Christianity, to come and see Te Rangihaeta and myself, and to hear the particulars of the War we are carrying on. The road or coast is open, and Te Rauparaha has given his consent.” Grey was particularly concerned that Te Rauparaha was mentioned as a person with whom they were in communication, and who was assenting to and favouring their plans. He found it difficult to believe even then that the old chief could be guilty of such treachery, so that when he came abroad the “Driver” at Porirua the letter was shown to him and Grey asked if he had in any way authorised his name being used in that manner. Te Rauparaha replied that he had never done so, and that Mamaku had told falsehoods. It seemed by his reaction that he really had no knowledge that such a letter had been written. On the 19th of July, however, Richard Deighton, a settler of Wanganui, arrived in Wellington with news that Ngapara and Maketu were already on their way down the coast with a well armed war party of about one hundred men. Deighton had travelled part of his journey in company with Maketu, who entrusted the settler to deliver a letter to Te Rauparaha. In this letter which was brought direct to Grey, Maketu appeals to the old Ngatitoa leader to let his influence be shown, “and soften the determination of the Ngati Awa at Waikanae, and the Ngati Raukawa, so as to allow us to pass through and pay a visit to your children.”
Before taking the “Driver” up the coast to intercept the hostile war party, Grey told Gladstone in a despatch on the 20th of July that if he could find fresh cause on this visit to confirm his suspicions against Te Rauparaha he would then attempt to seize him and disarm the disaffected portion of the Ngati Toa tribe at Taupo. On reaching Waikanae he heard that the rebels were still encamped about twenty miles to the north of that point. The four principal Ngati Awa chiefs were taken on board and the “Driver” then proceeded to Otaki where the six principal chiefs of Ngati Raukawa joined them. At Ohau a plan was drawn up for an attack on the following morning, but about daylight a fresh breeze set in upon the shore which is of a most exposed nature, and it was found impossible to land troops. After waiting a short while the ship turned about and headed for Otaki again.
On this excursion Grey interviewed several of the chiefs he had taken aboard. They all unhesitatingly accused Te Rauparaha and some of the other Ngati Toa chiefs at Taupo of intrigues.
The following extract from a further dispatch to Gladstone on the 23rd of July 1846 seems to have been the deciding factor against the chiefs:
“I also understand from the chiefs of Otaki, Te Rauparaha's principal place of residence, that that chief had altogether deceived them, and instead of his fulfilling his promises of joining them for the purpose of preventing parties of rebels passing down the coast to murder European settlers, he was in fact conniving at their so doing. I determined, therefore, in pursuance of my previous intention to return to Porirua and to send a party on shore at daylight this morning to seize Te Rauparaha and the principal chiefs who had been concerned in enforcing the tapu.”
Unknown to the British, Rangihaeta had visited his uncle only a week before to tell him of strange forebodings. “Last night I dreamed a dream,” he told Te Rauparaha, “a dream of evil to come. It will be well if you come away with me. Leave this place; it is full of danger.” But Te Rauparaha's wife Te Akau was too ill to move and he was therefore unable to heed this advice. Shortly after daybreak on the 23rd of July the armed party of soldiers and bluejackets arrived at the entrance to his whare where he was informed that they had come by the Governor's order to take him on board the man-of-war to be tried for supplying arms, ammunition, and provisions to Te Rangihaeta, then in open rebellion. With amazing agility the old chief, who had been sitting immediately in front of the low doorway, threw himself back, and instantly seized a taiaha with which he made a blow at his wife's head. Mr McKillop of the Calliope jumped forward to ward the blow off with his pistol. McKillop wrongly inferred at the time that Rauparaha thought his wife had betrayed him but according to Heni Te Whiwhi of Otaki (died 1921), the reason for attempting to strike his wife was that he instanty remembered that if it had not been for her he could have been in a safe retreat inland.”
Grey had been of the opinion when he captured Te Rauparaha “that a dangerous and extensive conspiracy had been formed, and that he was the directing head of it.” It seems more likely, however, that Te Rauparaha attempted to balance carefully his expressed and quite genuine opposition to Te Rangihaeta's policies with his kinship obligations which demanded that he should help his nephew in some way. There is no evidence that Te Rauparaha supplied him with either warriors or arms, but he did give him food. He probably did not explain this policy to Governor Grey but evidently hoped that sooner or later the trouble would end when Te Rangihaeta could be persauded to come to terms with the British.
For ten months he was detained aboard H.M.S. Calliope, after which he was allowed to occupy a house provided for him in the Auckland Government Domain by Te Wherowhero, a former enemy chief. In captivity he was said to have been generally contented, although occasionally overcome with grief. Many Europeans and Maoris managed to lessen his sorrowful burden with kindness. In September 1847 two hundred Hauraki chiefs attended a large gathering in his honour. After traditional greetings had been exchanged, Te Rauparaha, dressed in a dogskin mat and a forage cap with bold band, addressed the gathering. He recited with much dignity his warlike deeds, and how he was captured, after which Taraia, Te Wherowhero and others delivered long ceremonial speeches. “Food was served at two o'clock,” writes A. S. Thompson. “Te Rauparaha, who was ill at ease, ate little, and soon returned to his house; two Maori women followed him in, and sang the heroic deeds of his own princely line in a lament which brought tears to the old man's eyes.
‘And he thought the days that were long gone by
When his limbs were strong, and his courage high.’”
Te Rauparaha was never brought to trial, and when Grey finally released him at Otaki in January 1848 many irate settlers criticized the Governor for this act of clemency. It is extremely doubtful that any of the Ngati Raukawa chiefs who so readily denounced him at Otaki would have shown the courage to accuse their old leader in his presence. Until his death in November 1849 at Otaki he managed to maintain his former dominant and overbearing authority in all matters affecting the surrounding tribes. He was buried a few yards from the church he had requested Hadfield to build some years previously, and although a tombstone marks the spot, tradition has it that his remains were secretly transported to Kapiti Island.
PUHIWAHINE — MAORI POETESS
GOTTY, MAN OF MYSTERY
A somewhat sketchy account has already been given about Gotty in the preceding pages and our task now is to fill in the gaps in his life story. In doing so the writer found himself in rather a dilemma on account of the lack of personal family records from which one might have been able to confirm or reject the authenticity of certain stories which have been published from time to time. In the present account there is very little the Gotty family can add to what has already been told, and for our purpose we have had to examine material available from a number of sources and also evidence supplied by various writers in several newspaper articles and other publications.
According to the family the name Gotty was the anglicised rendering of his name, Goethe, by Gotty himself. The story is that he found Englishspeaking people had much difficulty in pronouncing his name correctly, and eventually he took the line of least resistance and from Johann Maximilian Goethe he changed his name to John Gotty. We have no information as to when the change was made.
GOTTY IN WANGANUI
Gotty arrived in New Zealand about the year 18381, and was an inn-keeper in Auckland until 1842, when he removed to Wanganui2. After settling in Wanganui he bought a section and built the Rutland Hotel, which long remained the principal, if not the only, hotel in Wanganui3. James Garland Woon in his biographical notes on Gotty4 wrote:—
“He must have been a man of means … He was … a ‘Count’ in his own right”, but “never for reasons of his own, assumed the title, or even allowed himself to be addressed as “Herr” John Gotty, preferring to be known as plain John G. It was said that he had been engaged in more than one ‘affair of honour’ in the Fatherland … I can vouch for his courage, pluck and determination. He would have proved a dangerous customer to tackle! For energy, industry and perseverance it would have been hard to beat honest John Gotty. He continued in the hotel business for several years and then sold out to Mr James Speed.”
This is recorded in a deed dated 3rd August, 1863 (Vol. 7 Deeds, Fol. 470). The purchase price was £660. By the late 1860s his name appears on the electoral roll as a land-owner in Wanganui and he is listed in the Wellington Provincial Gazette as a run-holder5.
In December, 1870, Gotty was involved in a Supreme Court case 6, and from the evidence we learn that he owned a farm of 2000 acres at Kaikokopu7. The case concerned a disputed purchase of Gotty's livestock and chattels and an alleged breach of an agreement for delivery of 2500 sheep, five horses, two ploughs, two carts, twenty pigs and 90 head of cattle, at the purchase price of £750–£350 in September and the balance later. The agreement was made in June, and provided that Gotty was to graze the livestock free of cost for the intervening three months. Before the date for delivery Gotty sold the livestock and chattels to another purchaser. The case was heard before a special jury and the hearing extended over two days. Gotty's lawyer argued that the purchaser had “contrived to lead Gotty into a most disadvantageous transaction, and that the price was utterly inadequate for the cattle, stock etc.” Among those who gave evidence was F. A. Krull, the German consul, who deposed that he had found Gotty “a pleasant man of business and would have no hesitation in doing business with him. He also said he had done a great deal of business with Gotty. Another witness said he had known Gotty for “25 or 26 years, and he always talked erratically, especially if you talked about Prussia.”
David Peat, who purchased what stock was on the farm at a later date and who was co-defendant with Gotty, gave evidence that he and his partner, Alexander, had a mortgage on Gotty's land (Gotty, in evidence, had said the mortgage was for £8000 and he had failed to raise finance to meet the mortgage on due date.) Under a power of attorney from his partner Peat had bought the property for £11,300, and the livestock, then on the land, was purchased on valuation:—90 cattle (at £4 per head), £360; 2 horses (at £10 per head), £20; 1 horse, £20; 20 pigs (at
17s 6d per head) £17 10s; 1700 sheep (at 5s 6d per head), £467 10s; a total of £885.
Peat further deposed that he had “promised Gotty, as he was an old settler of the colony, that he could have a homestead and fifty acres of land as long as he lived.”
At the end of the case the jury decided in favour of the plaintiff and awarded £174 5s damages against Gotty and Peat. Nevertheless, in answer to the question as to the adequacy of the price stated in the agreement for the converted chattels, the jury said, “Decidedly not, nor do the jury consider the purchase a creditable one on the part of the purchaser.”
The reason for raising the mortgage was not stated during the case, and the writer raises the speculation as to whether Gotty had raised the money for meeting the cost of educating his sons The reader will remember that it has been stated in newspaper articles that Gotty sent his sons abroad to complete their education. One writer wrote:—“John and George, born and bred in Rangitikei, were educated at Oxford at a cost of £7000.”8 In another newspaper article it is stated: —“One of the few papers which Gotty left was an account of his sons' education. He says it cost him £7000—at a time when money had a far greater value than it has to-day.”9
It is from statements such as those quoted in the preceding paragraph that the Gotty family have formed the opinion that the writers of some of the newspaper articles have had access to the missing papers, previously referred to in this account. Members of the family have made widespread inquiries for these papers but so far without result. Gotty's son, John, left the papers with his solicitor, the late Alfred M. Lyon of Marton; the lawyer who also drew up his last will and testament on the 26th January 1917.10
RETIREMENT AND DEATH
After the sale of his farm Gotty lived a retired life with Puhiwahine at Matahiwi, on the south side of the mouth of the Rangitikei River. Gotty's son, John, lived a few miles away at Ohinepuhiawe, and his children were often with their grandparents. Te Keehi says that they all had fond memories of their grandfather and his kindly nature. According to the family Gotty was in receipt of a regular remittance from Germany. He and Puhiwahine often attended tribal gatherings, and he was always made welcome by the tribesmen, all of whom held him in the highest regard. When he was unable to attend Gotty saw to it that Puhiwahine was well cared for on her journeys. He took a good deal of interest in tribal affairs, and his advice was often sought by the chiefs. He had by then become quite a fluent speaker of the Maori language.
In his eighty-fourth year, after being confined to his bed for three months, Gotty passed away peacefully in the arms of his son, John, on the 30th April 1893. He was buried in the Matahiwi cemetery. The name Matahina for the cemetery is a typographical error in the Death Certificate.
John registered his father's death and supplied the following particulars:
Description of Deceased: John Gotty, Farmer, Age 84
Name and surname of father: Anonia von Goethe.
Name and surname of mother: Emma von Goethe.
Profession or occupation of father: Cavalry officer in the Prussian Army.
Married at Poaru, Taupo, N.Z. at the age of 40, to Elizabeth Rangihiriawea.
Deceased was born in Germany and had been in New Zealand 55 years.
Living issue: Two sons aged 48 and 46.
The Rihi—the other name of Puhiwahine—is the maorified form of Lizzie. The writer was under the impression that Rihi was a baptismal name, but according to John Rangimatiti the name originated with Gotty who gave her the name Elizabeth when they were married. The changing of names was quite a common thing among our Maori people.
THE GOETHE STORY
Various writers of newspaper articles, since the death of Gotty, have made the claim that he was a son of the famous German poet-dramatist, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. One of these articles goes on to relate that Gotty, whilst attending “one of the Fatherland's universities” had become the “leader” in some “political strife”, and had eventually been “deported by the appropriate authorities.” He then wandered “from place to place and clime to clime” until finally his “wanderings brought him to New Zealand.”11
Another article tells a story about “a visitor to the home of the poet-philosopher” who discovered that “his wild son Johann Goethe” had killed “a fellow student in a duel”, and had “departed to an unknown foreign land.” This story continues with the statement that the date of Johann's departure “coincided with that of the sailing of Yohann Gotty for Maoriland, and the identity was subsequently confirmed.”12
The third article13 mentions that an original portrait of Goethe by Georg Melchoir, which had been painted in 1779 and had been lost for a century, was traced by Professor Wahl, director of the National Museum at Weimar, to New Zealand. The portrait was retrieved and is now in the museum at Weimar. The portrait represents the poet in one of his plays, “Iphigenia”. This account went on to say, “The presence of the picture in New Zealand may be due to the fact that a son of Johann Wolfgang Goethe came to New Zealand nearly a century ago … It is reputed he had been involved in some agitation in Germany and he became a wanderer and eventually settled in New Zealand.”
The fourth article states that “Family tradition says he wounded a nobleman in a duel at his university and was exiled. But other sources sug-
gest that his politics were too radical for his time, and he had to flee from the university to escape prison.”14 The present writer has been in touch with the family whilst engaged in writing this account, and must state that there has been no “family tradition” of the nature as stated in the above article.
The extraordinary thing about these stories is that no proof or authority for making the claim that Gotty was a son of the poet has been put forward. It is also rather remarkable that the claim has never been challenged. One would have thought that such a claim would not have escaped some questioning as to its authenticity; especially in view of the fact that the life story of Goethe has been very fully recorded and nowhere is there any mention of a son other than Julius August Walther, the poet's son by Christiane Vulpius.
The present writer has made a search through various books on the life of Goethe for some link between the poet's family and Antonia—Gotty's father—as given by his son, John, in the Death Certificate. The search so far has been without any definite result; however on present knowledge it is just as impossible to disprove the story as to prove it. For instance, the name “Antonia” and the other details in the Death Certificate could be explained as a pseudonym for the poet; another possibility is that Gotty was the poet's grandson by one of his early romantic connections.
On the assumption that F. A. Krull, the German consul in Wellington in 1870 as mentioned earlier in this account, might have left some record as to the antecedents of Gotty, an enquiry was made at the German Consulate in Wellington and Dr Noehring was good enough to reply on the 23rd of July 1959, I very much regret to advise that, unfortunately, all files of the former German Consulate in Wellington were lost through the consequences of war. Therefore, I am not in a position to give you the requested information.” We are still making inquiries in Germany; not only as to the claim that Gotty was a son of the poet, but also about Antonia von Goethe and Emma von Goethe.
At a family conference the writer was handed a genealogy stated to have been copied from the genealogical records of the Mormon Church. This family tree is obviously spurious. It shows Gotty as the son of Walther Wolfgang von Goethe, one of the grandsons of the poet, and Gotty is noted as having been “born about 1839.” The reader will remember that we already have evidence that Gotty was born in 1809, and that he arrived in New Zealand in 1838.
THE DREAM OF REWI
Last July, the Ardmore Teachers' College staged a Maori operetta, “The Dream of Rewi.” It told the story of a popular college graduate, Rewi, who believes he has a duty towards the Maori people. He dreams he is Kahukura, a warrior, who in folklore bring Te Kupenga, the fishing net, to his tribe. The net is symbolic of progress. Years after the dream, Rewi has realised his duty in helping the hand-in-hand progress of Maori and Pakeha.
MAORI YOUTH CLUB
A Maori Youth Club has been formed at Taurranga. Amoung its objectives are the fostering of Maori traditions and arts and crafts, and to raise funds for a memorial to Maharaia Winiata. Officers are: The Mayor of Tauranga, Mr D. S. Mitchell, and the Rev. F. N. Finlay; President, Mr S. Wanoa; Secretary, Miss P. Auhaka; Treasurer, Miss C. Smith.
1Death Certificate of John Gotty. Certified Copy No. 6063.
2Miss Millar's Notes on John Gotty, Alexander Turnbull Library.
3Volume 1 Grants 255 Register 5 Folio 385 Sections 171 and 172–2 roods. Town of Petrie (former name of Wanganui). Crown Grant under the hand of Sir George Grey to John Gotty, settle, registered 2.45 p.m. January 8th, 1853.
5Miss Millar's Notes.
6Wellington Independent, December 17th, 1870.
7The name Kaikokopu is derived from a stream and lagoon on the south side of the mouth of the Rangitikei river. The Maori name for the locality is Matahiwi. (Information from Te Keehi, a granddaughter of John Gotty).
8“J.H.S.” in The Advocate of Marton, “No. 25 —Passing Maori Memories”, undated, in writer's possession.
9New Zealand Herald, 28th October, 1950. (to be concluded)
TE RAKAUNUI ME TE HOIHO
Ko taku korero mo tetahi tangata ko Te Rakaunui tona ingoa. Ko tenei tangata he rangatira no tetahi pa i Pewhairangi. He horo hoki ia mo te oma (koia ahau te rapu nei pena ia he whanaunga noku).
I te ra i rua tekau ma rima ai ona tau, ka tau mai he kaipuke Pakeha ki tetahi one i Pewhairangi e kiia ana inaianei ko Oihi Bay. I runga hoki i taua kaipuke tetahi hoiho. Ko tenei te hoiho tuatahi i tau mai ki Niu Tireni nei. Na te mea kahore te pa o Te Rakaunui i tawhiti mai i taua one, ka haere atu ia kia kite i nga taonga a nga Pakeha i mau mai ai. I tona taenga atu kua tau ke mai te hoiho ki uta, a tino nui tona wehi i tona kitenga atu. Kua pohehe hoki a Te Rakaunui kua kite hatana ia.
Katahi ka tahuri ka oma atu ki tona pa. Tino tika rawa atu he tangata horo ia mo te oma. I tona taenga atu ki tona pa ka tonoa mai he karere ki te titiro he aha ke tenei mea kua tau mai. “A! e toku ariki, e he ana kia haere ko ahau. Ka riri mai taua tangata ki te haere atu ahau.”
He tangata iti noa iho ki te karanga mai i a ia. “Haere koe ko koe hoki te tangata rongonui, a na te mea he rangatira koe no te pa nei, e tika ana ko koe e haere.” Na te matatku i korero penei ai taua tangata.
Kihai a Te Rakaunui i pai kia mohio mai tona iwi e mataku ana ia. Katahi ia ka haere atu. I tona tatanga atu ka oma ia ki tua i etahi korari e tupu ana i te one, ki reira hoki titiro atu ai. Ka Kite atu ia i nga tangata e tu mai ana me te hoiho, hari ana hoki ia. Ka mea ia ki a ia ano, “Ehara tenei i te hatana, he tangata pai ke. Engari kei hea ke ona ringaringa. Te roa hoki o ona huruhuru ae tupu mai ana i tona mahunga ka ngaro i raro i tona korowai puta mai i tona tuara. Me haere ahau ki te mihi ki tenei tangata tino rangatira te hanga.”
Ka haere atu ia a katahi ka karanga atu, “Haere mai e hoa, haere mai. E hari atu ana kua tau mai koe.” Katahi ia ka haere atu ki te hariru ki taua hoiho, a tino riri ana ia i te kore o taua ‘tangata’ e hariru mai ki a ia. Ka mea ia ki a ia ano, “Te whakahihi hoki o tenei tangata” Ka titiro atu ia ka wehi ano ia, te nui o nga kanohi me nga niho o taua ‘tangata’. Ka mea puku ano ia, “Kei mea koe kua raru ahau i a koe”. Ka mea atu ia, “E hoe, e hiahia ana ahau ki te whakataetae ki a koe mo te oma”. Kihai te hoiho ra i aha. Ka riri rawa atu a Te Rakaunui na te mea kua whakama katoa ia i nga tangata.
Ka mea ia ki nga tangata, e hiahia ana ia ki te whakataetae ngo te oma ki taua ‘tangata’ “Engari na te mea e wha ke ou waewae, e tika ana me haere koe ki te mutunga o te one, ko ahau he tangata e rua ano waewae me haere ki waenganui.” Ka whakaae katoa nga tangata ra, a ka haere a Te Rakaunui ki weanganui o te one ka mauria hoki te hoiho ki te pito o te one.
Katahi raua ka oma. Ko taua hoiho i kake tetahi o nga Pakeha ki runga. Kikai hoki i roa ka rongo a Te Rakaunui i te hoiho ra e oma ake ana muri i a ia. Pohehe ana ia a whatitiri ana, i te turituri hoki o nga waewae o taua hoiho. Katahi ia ka mea, “Ae, he hatana tenei, whatitiri ana hoki ki te oma ia”. Tino wehi ana ia. I tona mataku ka tino horo atu tona oma, raru mai ana taua hoiho i a ia i te nui o tona wehi. Ka hari hoki ia, ka mea ano ia me whakahihi ia ki taua hoiho. Katahi ia ka haere atu ki nga waewae o muri ki te hariru. E mea ana hoki ia, ki te kore nga waewae o mua e hariru ki a ia, tena pea kei muri ke. I a ia e tuohu atu ana, katahi ia ka whana mai, Whara tonu tona mahunga, a mate tonu atu. Na te mea kua mate a Te Rakaunui, me mutu hoki taku koreno ki konei. Kia ora mai ano koutou katoa.
SALE OF VALUABLE TIKI
The largest known greenstone Maori tiki was sold in London last July for a record price of £850. It is believed to have come to Europe early in the last century and until recently was in the possession of Baron Adolf Collot d'Escury of Kloosterzande, Zeeland. His grandfather who travelled and collected extensively in the South Pacific, apparently brought this remarkable piece of sculpture from New Zealand. It was sold at Sotheby's to Mr Ken Webster, a New Zealand collector in Britain. The tiki is 9⅜ inches long, is beautifully carved from dark greenstone with light flecks and is very well rounded and detailed. Several buyers bid for it. Three years ago, Sotheby's sold another tiki 8¾ inches long. But this price, quoted above, confirms the high value placed by museums and private collectors on really first-class examples of Maori art, being almost twice as much as has been paid previously for a tiki in the salerooms.
THE FUTURE PLACE OF MAORI CULTURE IN NEW ZEALAND SOCIETY
LECTURER IN PSYCHOLOGY, VICTORIA UNIVERSITY OF WELLINGTON
THERE ARE two good reasons why this paper is likely to promote discussion. The first is that within the title-topic there are three concepts whose meaning varies greatly according to who happens to be using them. The second talking point will no doubt arise from the fact that I am non-Maori and am being bold (or foolish) enough to step into a field where emotions and good sense do not always go hand in hand.
To deal with the latter aspect first, this paper will mainly raise questions. I would answer them one way—you might answer them another. This is a working paper, not an attempt to lay down rules, present unassailable evidence or preach conversion to some new orthodoxy. Some of the questions which occupied my mind as I prepared this paper I will list right away. You might think about them before you go on with the analytic discussion which follows.
What is Maori culture?
How would one set about describing it? Is it a unitary matter or are there several kinds or types or components? If there are several components, which are essential and which not?
How is this culture communicated?
By whom? When? Where? Why? In these communication processes, what is the role of élites? Of parents? Of schools? Of the ordinary man? Of you?
What does this culture do for those who possess it, or live by it, or have an interest in it? What might it do that it does not now do?
Is it changing?
How? Who is changing it? Why? In what ways does a comparison with the state of the culture 20 years ago suggest possible trends, processes, developments? Is change always in the directions which people consciously desire? If not, why not?
These then are some questions which must concern those who have an interest in Maori culture. I do not profess to answer them; merely to illuminate them.
It might at first seem that there are only three words in the title of this paper on which we are likely to reach general agreement concerning meaning, use, and function—‘the’, ‘of’, and ‘in’. In the discussion which follows, I will not be concerned with ultimate future (whatever that might mean), with questions of assimilation or
not, but with the real, near and meaningful future, that of your lifetime, and your children's lifetime, insofar as you are able to influence it. The mere fact that you are discussing this topic ensures that some sort of Maori culture will persist. We must ask ourselves what it comprises, how it may be fashioned, for whom it may function, what trends within it may be encouraged, and how?
Four useful ways of thinking about culture
Of all the slippery words in common use few can be as variable in meaning as this word ‘culture’. One anthropological survey lists 160 definitions and there is endless confusion in discussions, public and private, professional and lay, because people either do not define their concepts, or are inconsistent in their usage. Part of the trouble is that people say they will define culture one way, and then go on to use the term thus, and so, and variously otherwise, without signalling (or even being aware of) shifts in meaning. Their mistake is to limit the term to a greater degree than they require for their purpose. To avoid this, I suggest that we think of culture in four ways, and try to be clear when we are using any one of the four. Furthermore, in your discussions you should call sharply to question any person who does not tell you clearly which concept he is referring to in any statement he makes. These four do not exhaust the possibilities of meaning in the word culture. Nor do they refer to phenomena found independently in behaviour, that is, they overlap in theory and in practice. It is useful, however, to try to keep them separate in your thinking.
I Culture as a way of life
Culture in this sense refers to the stamp of stylistic distinctiveness on every action within the way of life of a group. Work, play, song, dance, speech, gesture, life, even death, all are patterned in a way which is uniquely the way of that group. Culture in this sense is not something optional or occasional. The person can no more divest himself of his culture than he can of his skin, not because culture is genetically determined (though the capacity for it no doubt is), but because amongst all ways of life it exclusively has authority and rightness for him. In this sense there are not only the cultures of national groups but some others as well. For example, it may be appropriate to speak of a scientific culture or an academic culture since these occupations bind people within common patterns which they possess. On the other hand, it is probably wrong to speak of the culture of the poor, urban culture or rural culture unless somehow the people involved select this pattern, prefer it, and think of it as natural and right for them and are committed by their membership in the culture.
II Culture as a set of traditions, customs, or practices, perpetuated and/or cherished by a group
This is one of the oldest definitions of culture within modern anthropology. It defines the culture of anthoropologists (many if not most), or Roman Catholics, or boy scouts, or any other group which ritualises events in a particular way, less limited than the first definition, it is still very wide. However, the focus of attention is not now any and every act, merely some. In this sense there is a Jewish culture in New Zealand, a Greek Orthodox culture, and many others.
III Culture as a creative process
Perhaps the most common definition of culture is that which stresses literary, artistic, dramatic or otherwise creative activity. You will never hear an anthropologist say of someone, “He is very cultured”, not because anthropologists don't know any poets, artists, etc., but because, under one or the other of the two definitions above, they define everyone as having a culture of one sort or another. But the popular usage does not merely represent an idle value judgement. Anthropologists have themselves stressed the importance of creativity and point to the fate of cultures that fail to change. Odd though it may seem, the Darwinian ‘adapt or perish’ focuses attention on the tremendous importance in cultural survival of playing with ideas, with words, with techniques, with imaginative models of “as if” and “as might be”. Freud considered that such cultural pursuits as art and drama expressed personal wishes which could not be acceptably expressed within the other rituals, customs and practices of a way of life. Culture in this sense is a means by which a person extends his expression beyond merely a personal discharge of tension into a pattern of shared creative expression having style and form and ritualised patterning but permitting a wide range of adaption to new circumstances and events, real or imaginary.
IV Culture as a personal sense of difference
I have occasionally met people who say, “Of course, I'm Maori you know”, but otherwise have neither Maori knowledge nor characteristics. Their Maoriness comprises nothing more than their knowledge of an incident in their greatgrandfather's sex life—their awareness of a genetic link with someone of Maori descent. Such people represent the last step in the cultural scale; but for their awareness they would cease to have any link with the cultural group with whom, they perhaps erroneously feel, their genes impel them to keep some residual association. But culture as a personal sense of difference can mean something much more than this. At the other end of the scale awareness can become a vigorous protestation of equality, or where this is frustrated, a militant nationalism. Awareness of membership in, or identification with, some group slants the person's judgement in such a way that that particular group becomes the locus of an emotional link. The person identifies with its status and membership characteristics and seeks to make its fate his fate. The group becomes his culture in terms, not of what he is, but of what he wants
to become. No person ever has more than one culture and maybe no culture ever had any reality except in one person. All the tidy monographs about the generality of patterns of life of particular people ignore, as they must, the fact of the personalness of culture; they present the theme because the variations are so many, so complex, sometimes so widely divergent that they muddy our minds and muddle our thoughts. But people are as they are—not as anthropologists would have them be; a generalisation which happily applies also to anthropologists.
Now all this might seem sophistry and harisplitting. Some might say that any Maori who really is a Maori will show behaviour within all four categories. You may if you wish to do so, group all four into some total grand super definition of culture but if you do, you must keep in mind that your action may not help in discussing the future of Maori culture. There are as many kinds of Maori culture as there are Maoris. Variations occur in kind as well as in degree and these four definitions list four out of the range of possibilities simply for our present purpose of thinking about the future.
Four kinds of future for four kinds of culture
If a Maori Culture I exists today in New Zealand, it does so only for a few. I can't be dogmatic about this because there are many places I have never visited and thousands of Maoris I've never met. But of those I have met, in areas both rural and urban, isolated and not, Culture I exists only for some of the very old—people who live in a world of different manners and meanings from the young. If you disagree with this I challenge you to state the stylistic differences, seen in every action, in every part of life, which you would consider to define Maoriness for some large number of those who call themselves Maori.
If there are such individuals or groups of such individuals it seems to me most unlikely that their distinctiveness and style can survive intact under the onslaught of pakeha schooling when young, of pakeha employment when older and the vigorous pushful assertiveness of the mass media of pakeha life which they can neither ignore or deny. To regret this is human; to ignore it is fantasy.
The second kind of culture, the occasional culture, which characterises certain optional, voluntary groups and links members of those groups in common or shared practices, rituals, and customs, will show survival, change and be affirmed for as long as people want the comfort of association such sharing brings. Such culture can be found amongst old men, and young scholars. Its future is their concern. The tangi has a future just as other culturally derived mortuary rites persist; it will change as they have changed. The hui can be integrated without strain into the social life of city Maoris; they not only attend such gatherings but also on occasions run them. The hui has grown from a small democratic forum into a demonstration of organising capacity and group solidarity of immense size. Maybe Maoris, like some pakehas, associate bigness with success. Personally the little hui holds more for me in terms of enjoyment and satisfaction than vast marathon ventures but there is no reason to believe that Maori people will continue to equate bigness with success and perhaps huis may again become occasions when every voice is heard.
Perhaps there are not enough institutions to keep all existing customs alive and changing into the future. Perhaps we need a school of arts and crafts organised so that many can participate rather than few. Perhaps schools of whakapapa, or of patere and pou, could be organised more often. But you cannot push people into these activities. So long as somewhere some is working at, on, or in these things, need the originary Maori person bother? Will he? He tailors his culture to fit his estate. Saying that he should know this, or do that, is to speak idly unless he wants to. No one ever forced a culture on to anyone; by its nature Culture II is optitive, voluntary and depends on warmth of association, on interest, and that which is seen by a group to be the pre-requisites and requisites of membership.
In the third kind of culture both Maori and pakeha have an interest. In action song and haka, carving, weaving, kowhaiwhai, in poetry, history, legends and even whai korero, anyone with interest enough can gain some expertise. But skill is not enough. For these activities to grow they must meet new needs and be adapted to new purposes and conditions. How this can be done, when and where, I leave to your discussion. But it must be done.
I remember once watching a listless, unenthusiastic group of Maori High School students mechanically perform an action song. Since I wondered at the lack of élan in their performance I asked some of the party about the song later in the day, and my suspicions were confirmed. Too much practice, too little variety in their practices, too much emphasis on drilled conformity, too little real participation in making the song, in understanding its sentiments, in suiting it to these people at this point in time. No folk art survives on classics alone. Classics teach excellence and show how to renew the art form to suit new topics, new interests, new ways of living. New creations in the tradition of action song are not uncommon; some achieve the status of modern classics; the ephemeral are not the less important in advancing the tradition. But is haka as vigorous in cultural growth? And what of patere and pou—did Puhiwahine say all that was to be said in these traditions? Some young Maori people use pakeha art forms to express Maori sentiments, sculpture, graphic art, poetry, and other literary forms. Within these traditions there is a chance to show what being a Maori in 1960 means, to help people to understand. The need is great.
Such activities express the fourth kind of culture; the least understood and most difficult to
understand, form of Maori culture. Personal culture is impossible to describe in generalisation; abstractions approach such description but do not cover it in all its detail and subtlety. Some things one can say with safety. Personal culture is not an amalgam but an integrated whole; not bits of this and bits of that; not the best of both worlds; it is my way or his way. It is the basis of a person's self-esteem and confidence. To speak of pride in one's culture does not mean pride in the culture of someone else but pride in one's own attainments within a cultural tradition, or of one's participation in some valued activity.
You are not your brother's keeper in this matter. The only experience of this kind of Maori culture that you can control is that which you possess. Whatever you decide to keep will be kept. Whatever you decide to change will change. Whatever you ignore will cease to exist within your version of Maori culture. Lamenting the sins of omission of others is a profitless occupation. Schools can't keep Maori alive as a language nor can arts be perpetuated by the immature efforts of children. What you consider should be done you must expect first of all to do yourself: or you must move others by your actions, to feel the need for action.
Your own personal culture cannot be externally evaluated—there are no known standards by which such evaluations can be carried out, except perhaps in moral matters or in other ways on which there are strong social sanctions on which people reach something like general agreement. But it can be internally evaluated by the standards you set yourselves, by the degree to which you satisfy yourself that your actions are worthwhile.
If you have found this paper a little confusing and maybe confused I am both sorry and glad; sorry because of any necessary disappointment it may have caused but glad because I suspect that anyone who is simply and straightforwardly dogmatic on a matter like this is usually wrong and probably dangerous. Think again of those 165,000 individual cultures—there's diversity, and richness, in 165,000 different lines of development for you; and in the face of all that, it would be a brave man (and not a wise one) who would speak or write of Maori Culture as if, like the horse when the motor car came, it had no future at all.
NOVEL ABOUT MAORI GIRL
The First Full-Length work of fiction to depict a Maori in present-day New Zealand society is to be published in London this month by William Heinemann Limited. Entitled “Maori Girl”, the novel is by Noel Hilliard, aged 31, a teacher at the Mangakino District High School. It is planned as the first of a series depicting Maori-pakeha relationships in New Zealand today. The Maori girl of the title is one of a large family brought up on a dairy farm in Taranaki. Economic circumstances force the children to leave home to seek work. The girl finds that her rural Maori background has ill-equipped her for life in Wellington. The book describes her difficulty in finding accommodation and employment, and her efforts to escape from her loneliness in what is for her an alien and hostile city.
Mr Hilliard attended the Gisborne High School and Victoria University. Before teaching, he was for some years employed in daily newspaper work in Wellington. He is married, with two children.
A recommendation for a full-scale research programme into all aspects of Maori education, including the pre-school child, was put to the Commission of Education by a newly formed Federation of Maori Students. The resolutions submitted were: Courses in Maori pronounciation in primary schools; encouragement of the teaching of the Maori language at elementary and advanced levels; provision of special classes in a small number of Maori schools for four-year-old children; the introduction of Maori studies as a core subject at all teachers' colleges; the teaching of Maori myths, traditions and history as an integral part of all school courses and of traditional Maori arts, crafts, games and cultural activities in all primary schools; recognition by New Zealand universities of Maori studies as an arts unit for any degree requiring arts units and the intensification of vocational guidance to Maori students at an early post-primary level.
THREE POEMS … by Nancy Bruce
Shake the wild boughs in the aisles of Puketi,
Curl the leaves in a writhing of pain,
Echo the anger of Tane-mahuta
For the son who has fallen in vain.
The kauri is fallen,
The karakia chanted,
The long haul is over,
The giant lies still.
Hollow the great log!
Ae! Hollow and shape it,
The beloved of Tane
To a mighty canoe!
Cruel lies the scar on the breast of Puketi,
Seared deep through the comforting green.
The tracks of the long haul are healed and grown over,
But the anger of Tane bites keen.
The kauri is fallen,
Alone and unfinished,
The chips whiten slowly
About the great bow.
Where are the skilled hands
To carve tall Tauihu,
To fashion Rauawa
To meet the strong tide?
Fill the marae with the sound of your grieving,
Let the earth meet the fall of your tears
For the great one who lies in his long desolation
To rot through the unheeding years.
The kauri is fallen,
The great canoe fashioned,
Fashioned and earthbound
To moulder away.
He will never set forth
As the great fleets once ventured,
He will never taste salt
On his tall eager prow.
No full-bosomed wave shall leap surging beneath him,
His sea bed the unyielding clay,
No rhythm of paddles to sweep the green river.
For the sad earth shall eat him away.
The kauri is fallen,
O weep, all my brothers!
No outrigger sloping
Against the swift tide.
O, winds of Kaikohe,
Sweep gently above him,
Beloved of Tane
Left lonely to die.
His fingers draw their power from a source
Beyond his own life span. He can but guide
The knife upon its mission while he feels
The tuning of his spirit with the past.
Chapter and verse are his, the living whole
Embodied in the knowledge of his hands,
A nation's birthright and its history,
His vision flowering upon the wood.
TE MATUA O TE MOTU SIR APIRANA NGATA
Tremble with glory, O Ra, in your dying,
Burn on the pinnacle of mighty Hikurangi,
Winds of the east, breathe on Waiomatatini
Deep in ancient Puputa's sacred shade.
Kindle the mind with the spirit who dwelt here,
Stir the heart with the echo of his voice!
Ko Hikurangi te maunga,
Ko Waiapu te wai,
Ko Apirana Ngata te tangata!
When the birds of the morning at Rakaiwharehuka
Long ago heard the voice of Hakopa the tohunga,
All was foreshadowed, to be written in history,
With the prophecy sounding in the dawn.
Bright as a jewel shone the ember in the paua shell
in its blue smoke the rainbow appeared.
And the child grew to manhood
With the mountain and the river,
With the heritage of Nagati Porou.
O, lofty taumata, O, strong Hikurangi!
Blaze forth his spirit, te matua o te motu!
The lion on the marae with oratory ringing,
Living words to strike fire to the soul,
The poet, the leader, the builder of houses,
Steeped in the rich pride of his race,
His ideal that was blessed
Once again from the shadow of noble Porourangi
Let his challenge ring out to the furthermost regions
To the ears and the hearts of the youth that he cherished.
For Maoritanga draw the sword from the sheath!
Let the challenge be held and the loyalties quickened
To keep burnished his long-tended flame.
O, loved Kaumatua,
Still your mountain stands sentinel
And steadfast the Waiapu flows on!
PLACE OF ADORNING
Mrs Locke is a well-known New Zealand writer who won first place last year in the article section of the Katherine Mansfield award.
Hurry up, Mum!”
From somewhere beyond the pines, I am being called. We are on holiday in Taupo; the sun is contending with the cloud; we are going sight-seeing. I put away my book and hurry to join Susan and the girls. The car starts up, we pass quickly through the town, and before long we are coming into Wairakei with its immense geothermal bores roaring out.
We are on our way to Orakei-Korako, a place I've always wanted to see since, years ago, we toured this scenic area in a Ford tin truck on a few pounds apiece, and stopped at the turn-off to weigh our cash—and find it wanting. On my knee is the tourist pamphlet. “See the unbelieveable Place of Adorning… THERMAL WONDERLAND… FANTASTICALLY beautiful! alive in colour; outstanding; amazing; A MUST!!” And, alas, an up-to-the-minute appendage. “See before it's too late! as Orakei-Korako will be flooded by the new Ohakuri Dam.”
We stop at the Aratiatia Rapids. The paths are beaten hard by the shoes of thousands of tourists; matchboxes and chocolate wrappers litter the broom and fern. But when we stand on a lookout rock above that magnificent weaving torrent, that great river fighting its way between and over the ancient boulders with bush and mosses tipping the foam, I am lost in the sight and sound of it all, and I was when first I saw it thirty years ago.
Susan appears at my elbow. “Take a good look,” she says. “It'll probably be your last. Unless you come at tourist-time to watch it turned on at 3.30 in the afternoon or something, like monkeys being fed at the zoo. What price electricity!”
I share her feelings as we return to the car. It's as if there were a hoarding at the parking place: “See before it's too late! as the Rapids will be drained dry with the operation of the new Aratiatia Dam.”
After the main road there is the side road through miles of low-growing, white-tipped heath, and then the charming flashing of the Whakeheke Rapids. But now our pleasure in this miniature Aratiatia is also dimmed by the thought: “See before it's too late! as Whakaheke will be smoothed out by the new Ohakuri Dam.” We hurry on, and come to the gates and the lawn and the house and the sweet-shop: Souvenirs, Cigarettes, Ice-Cream, Soft Drinks.
We pay our money to enter, Of course, explains the woman in charge cheerfully, you must buy the guide-book otherwise you won't know what you're seeing. And you must be sure to see The Cave, there's a legend about it, look, here it is, but don't read it now, sit down and read it when you are in The Cave.
Susan used to come here when old Rameka Henare, then in his nineties, would ferry sightseers across the Waikato River in his canoe. I look at its swiftly curling waters and try to imagine this. You wouldn't find, today, either the canoe or the man who could handle it in such a current. Even as it is, there is excitement to spare with the cable-ferry in which we are taken over by a pakeha.
Curious and intriguing like all Thermal Wonderlands, Orakei-Korako has its specialties. According to another visitor who has been a guide, the weather has failed us; we need bright sunshine to reveal the varied colours of the Artists' Palette.
The geysers are dozing or merely grunting and spurting in a sullen fashion. The tourist leaflet invites us, “Consider now the marvellous sculpture of the world's greatest silica terraces.” The Guide Book captions a picture, “Pudding Pool Geyser. The Maori maiden displays a natural reluctance to extract the pudding while the boil is on.”
Why do they call young Maori women “maidens” while young pakehas are “girls”, I wonder?
Little notices stuck here and there indicate “RAINBOW TeRRACe” and “LooKinG ACRoss To ColOuRFuLL STeAMING CLIFFs” and the inevitable “LoVeRS LANe”. Why do they have to be so off-hand, both in naming the attractions and in writing the notices carelessly? I am beginning to feel oppressed, but there's more in it than this feeling that, having paid our money and bought the guide-book, we don't have to be considered any further. There is a discordancy somewhere.
I look again at that carefully posed photograph with the “Maori maiden” and then what is missing dawns upon me.
It is like going into a Museum and viewing the cooking-pots of peoples far distant or long since dead. This is Maori country; and in the ancient times, before they were offered wages for such work as building dams, the Maoris found their food in this wilderness. Before puddings were heard of or pudding-pools photographed, the precious kumaras were cooked and eaten in this inexhaustible steam. The Guide Book shows the Rock of Refuge where Hatu Patu hid from the ogress Kurungaituku. Every pool bubbles with a history that we cannot catch.
With my thoughts drifting along, we cross the famous terraces and view them from the Panoramic Heights, rejoicing that this at least will be above flood level when the dam is closed. Then we climb the track through the scrub to that other major attraction, which shares the coloured cover—the Sacred Maori Cave.
It is now late afternoon, and we have already dined so well on curious sights that I am not expecting anything at all. I am tired of words. Even so, it sets me back on my heels when the next notice shouts at me, “ALAddiN'S CAVe.”
Why, in heaven's name, Aladdin's Cave?? Here, in Maori country?
I don't know whether to curse or to laugh. But I've paid my money to see; so on I go, and here is a pleasing notice asking me respectfully not to disturb anything in the cave.
Here we are inside. The cave is deep, deep, deep. The roof is high with a noble natural arch. Treeferns stand at the entrance. Far below is the clear green pool in which we are supposed to place our left hands while we make a wish, to be kept secret until it comes true. Rock, pool, ferns, air … a harmony.
Yes, there is a presence here. A feeling. A peace. Something that can't be “got at” by tourism. The subtle atmosphere of the days when this Cave was truly Orakei-Korako, the Place of Adorning, the pleasure ground of the Maori girls to which no man might come because of tapu? And perhaps something nearer and more real to our own time?
A woman passes me, coming up. “It was lovely,” she tells her companion, “when the Maori guides were here. Boy, how they could sing…”
She moves on; and I see a tablet set into a boulder. Susan and the girls are running downhill, but I am reading:
“WAIHO TE RIRI ME TE KINO I MURI LEAVE WAR AND STRIFE BEHIND YOU Erected to the Memory of ATAMA (ADAM) MIKAERE His spirit hovers in this lovely cave where as a lad he guided and delighted visitors with his manly bearing. He rests in the far Libyan Desert. Killed in action, 1941; aged 22 years. Also in memory of his brother, WITAINA MIKAERE Killed in action, 1941; aged 19 years.”
How appropriate, how dignified, how delicate! Suddenly I feel I could put out my hand and touch his, the Maori boy with the golden voice who lies—tragic symbol of man's inhumanity—in the far Libyan Desert. “Waiho te riri me te kino i muri….”
“Mum! Come down and have your wish!” my little girl is calling.
Of course I'll play the game and have a wish, though doubtless this wishing-pool idea is a pakeha invention. I'll wish for some trivial thing that I'll probably get for my birthday, so that I can tell the children that it really did come true. I run down the path and slip my hand in the water. Why does it surprise me that this blue water should be so warm to the touch, relaxing and caressing my hand?
I turn without taking it from the pool, and see the treeferns against the sky far above me. In a moment the trivial wish, the last trivial thought falls from me… and I find my heart sobbing out a desire both unexpected and overwhelming.
Do not ask me to tell you my wish. Never before would I have dared to wish it. Nowhere else would I have dared.
THE MAORI GRAVE ON MARIA ISLAND
On the 16th november 1846 five Maoris arrived on Van Dieman's Land on the ship Castor under sentence of transportation for life. They had all been tried by a Court Martial in New Zealand on a charge of rebellion. On their arrival it was decided that they should be sent to the penal settlement at Port Arthur, and this decision brought forward considerable criticism in the Press. The editorial column of the Courier, 25th November 1846, pleaded that they should not be subject to the criminal influences that would inevitably corrupt them if they were placed amongst other European convicts.
“We have visited and, with the aid of an interpreter, have conversed with the five Maoris, now in the Penitentiary, under sentence of transportation to Port Arthur. They seem to be simple minded men with apparently but an imperfect conception of their real position, and with none of the humiliating consciousness of crime. They are by no means deficient of intelligence, though unwilling to express freely any opinion on the hostilities in which they were engaged, or on the justice of their sentence; except so far as to assert that they were only ‘fighting those who came against their country’, and to disavow all participation in the murder with which they were charged. They have all been under Missionary instruction, and seemed to feel a grateful exultation in announcing that they could read the ‘Book of Books’, copies of which, in their own language they possess.”
The article also mentions the execution of a native chief after the same uprisings.
It may have been the result of this and similar comments that moved the Administrator, C. J. La Trobe to write to the Secretary of State on 30 November, 1846 indicating that he did not feel justified in placing these Maori prisoners in the same category as other colonially-convicted men (precedent would have required him to send them to Norfolk Island), that he wished to keep them separate from other convicts, and that he had directed that they be sent to Maria Island.
The Courier rejoiced to hear of this decision (28th November, 1846): according to editorial comment it was proposed to send the Maoris to Maria Island “under the separate supervision of an individual many years a resident amongst the tribe and well acquainted with their language.” It went on to say that it believed that their case was to be brought under the notice of the Home Government with a view to having their sentences altogether remitted.
The Maori on Maris Island, according to the spelling in convict records, was Mohepa Te Unmroa; he was a labourer, 6ft. lin. in height, about 25 years old, of dark brown complexion, large long head, black hair, whiskers and eyebrows, broad visage, high narrow forehead, dark hazel eyes, large nose and mouth, and a small chin. His face was tatooed on the left side. The other four men were Te Waretita, Te Kumete, Matuma, and Te Rahui. None of them had any offence recorded against him while in the Colony.
It seems to be questionable whether he was a Maori Chief as some people believe.
On the 28th December, 1847, the New Zealand Governor wote to the Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania (Van Dieman's Land) quoting from despatches from the Secretary of State and expressing his opinion that the Maoris should be repatriated. Lieutenant-Governor Denison in reply on the 21st March 1848 said:—
“I was the better pleased in being able so to do (comply with the proposal), inasmuch as one of the five had been carried off by consumption a few months since, and the others had some time past evinced symptoms of despondency which have, I feel convinced, already acted injuriously upon their health and which would before long have caused them to follow their companion.”
Mohepa had died at Darlington, Maria Island on 19th July 1847.
On 7 April 1848 the official acting for the Colonial Secretary of New Zealand wrote to the Colonial Secretary of Van Dieman's Land acknowledging the letter received from the Comptroller-General of Convicts here, indicating that a passage to Auckland had been provided for the four remaining Maoris on the Lady Denison, and stating that the natives had arrived safely.
THE WOMEN OF INDIA
(by courtesy of Unesco)
The remarkable thing about the emancipation of women in India is that it has been a smooth, gradual process, unmarked by violence and hate. But perhaps that is not so very remarkable after all, since this smooth evolution is very much in keeping with the Indian tradition.
Women have alreadys been held in high esteem in our country. During the Vedic period, about 1500 B.C., they occupied important positions in social and religious life. without women, a religious ceremony was considered invalid (and the Upanishads bear witness to the fact that this tradition was long maintained). Prayers and sacrifices were offered jointly by husband and wife, but this high privilege was allowed to the wife alone in her husband's absence; he, in her absence, could only perform a sacrifice by placing her image beside him. Women seers composed hymns in the Vedas.
Buddhism established an order of nuns—Bhikshuni-Sangha—which opened to women opportunities for learning and social service. The Buddha made special mention in his sermons of thirteen of these nuns—theris—for their spiritual attaitnments and public service.
“Where women are honoured, there the Gods are pleased. Where they are not honoured, all works are fruitless,” declared Manu about 300 B.C., though by his time the position of women had deteriorated. Already by 600 B.C. the marriageable age of girls has been lowered to fourteen and sixteen years, and they could no longer complete their Vedic studies, which lasted twelve years. They fell behind men in education and their status was impaired. By 300 B.C. the marirage age was again reduced, this time to twelve and fourteen years; marriage, moreover, became compulsory and spiritual initiation was more or less symbolic. Soon except in some leading families where girls still received a literary education, all spiritual initiation was suppressed and girls were no longer allowed to study the Vedas.
THE TIDE TURNS
The position of women continued to deteriorate steadily and their rigorous exclusion became the rule, especially in mediaeval times marked by invasions and resultant insecurity.
But though their freedom was lost and their social status lowered, women retained their influence in the home, where they were regarded with respect and veneration.
“Centuries of tradition have made the Indian women, the most unselfish, the most self-denying, the most patient in the world, whose pride is suffering”, says Sir Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan.
The tide began to turn decisively in the midnineteenth century, when such practices as polygamy, child marriage, enforced widowhood and “sati” (self-immolation on the husband's funeral pyre) were vigorously attacked by reformists. The twentieth century saw the birth of a strong women's movement which became a spearhead in the struggle against irrational orthodoxy and discrimination.
But it was the movement for freedom in India which made the Indian women really free—a movement into which they threw themselves heart and soul, leaving the shelter of their homes. Describing their role, Nehru has written: “Most of us menfolk were in prison; our women took charge of the struggle. Here were these women. women of the upper or middle classes, leading sheltered lives, peasant women, working women. rich women, poor women, pouring out in their tens of thousands in defiance of government law and police lathis. Never can I forget the thrill that came to us, the enormous pride in the women of India that filled us.”
With independence came complete equality (Indian women had already been granted limited voting rights in 1935). The Constitution guaranteed to all citizens, irrespective of sex, “equality before the law”, and “equality of opportunity in matters of public employment”.
During recent years, Parliament has adopted three major bills which mark a significant break with the past. One outlaws polygamy and grants equal rights of divorce to men and women. The second act recognises the right of daughters to inherit property from either parent on the same basis as sons; the third grants women the right, in certain circumstances, to adopt a son or a daughter. Other communities—Muslims, Christians and Parsis—are governed by their own laws.
10 MILLION WORKING WOMEN
Having secured political emancipation, social equality, economic independence and opportunities for education, Indian women are playing their part today in almost every sphere of national activity.
There are at present more than 10 million working women in India, nearly half of whom are self-supporting. About 9,000 are engaged in legal work or in business, some of them in important executive jobs: the chairman of the Scindia Steam Navigation Company, for instance, is a woman.
Social work in another field in which women are very active. The Social Welfare Board (75 per cent of whose members are women) is headed by Durgabai Deshmukh, and women run most of India's 10,000 voluntary welfare agencies. There are now 87,000 of them in the medical and health services. 21 per cent of the country's teachers are women, all primary schools are now being placed under lady teachers. Literacy among women has increased fourfold since 1951. The latest statistics available put girl students at 11 million, including 200,000 in vocational training institutions. In higher education, there are two women Vice-Chancellors—Hansa Mehta of Baroda University, and Sarda Mehta of the Indian Women's University in Poona.
Indian women have also distinguished themselves in the arts, letters and journalism. The National Academy of Music, Dancing and Theatre is headed by Nirmala Joshi, and the Theatre Centre, which is affiliated to the International Theatre Institute, by Kamladevi Chattopadhaya. The first professional theatre in India, the Hindustani Theatre, is run by Monika Misra, and every Indian language has its women poets, novelists and short story writers.
There are also women scientists, engineers, economists and research scholars, while Prema Mathur, India's first woman commercial pilot, has won many races and has received an award of an American trophy.
THEIR COUNTRY'S REPRESENTATIVES AT HOME AND ABROAD
In politics, women wield considerable influence.
The Congress Party, which controls the Central Government and 13 out of 14 State Governments, has as its President Indira Gandhi. One of its General Secretaries is Sucheta Kriplaani. The Praja Socialist Party has several women leaders: Mrs Alemeluamma is on the party's National Executive. There is no women on the Communist Party Central Executive, but there are five women in its National Council.
During the 1957 elections, 60 women were returned to Parliament and 195 to State assemblies. At present there are three women Deputy-Ministers in the Central Government, and 13 women Ministers in the States. Until 1957, Raj
kumari Amrit Kaur was a full Cabinet Minister. She is now Chairman of the Indian Red Cross Society.
There are many women in the country's administrative, armed and foreign services, dozens of them holding very senior jobs. West Bengal's Governor, for instance, is Padmaja Naidu. And women form the backbone of the community development projects which will soon cover the entire country.
Indian women have also made a mark in the international field. They have been included in delegations to various international conferences. Vijayalakshmi Pandit has been the first, and so far the only woman to preside over the United Nations General Assembly. Hansa Mehta now represents India on the Unesco Executive Board.
Thus women's horizon, onece limited exclusively to household tasks, has expanded considerably. In the villages, she is man's partner, sharing his arduous life and often working harder and longer hours. In the towns, she is generally well educated. And the progress made by women of the middle-income group toward gaining economic independence is a new and encouraging factor. But in spite of these changes, the Indian women's abiding interest is her home and family.
Where it came from no man knew. What it was only a handful of wise men had an inkling. How to use it only the possessor could tell and he chose not to.
He, the possessor, was Te Maunga-i-tawhiti, high priest of Te Kahui Maunga, mortal repository of immortal truth, latest in a line of seers, prophets and wizards stretching back in time and space through Hawaiki-nui, Hawaiki-roa and Hawaiki-pamamao even to ancient Irihia itself. That which he and no other man in Aotearoa possessed was the kura. The few wise men who had an inkling of what the kura was would have said it was knowledge, greater wisdom than the mind of man could grasp, greater power for good or evil than the mind of man could conceive. And Te Maunga-i-tawhiti had chosen not to use it because he did not know how and feared to try.
That is, until now. For Te Maunga-i-tawhiti, on this sunny summer morning of the year that white men far across the sea were calling Anno Domini 1459, had climbed alone to the altar of the gods on the summit of Karakatahi Pa and there had resolved to put the kura to the test.
He prayed. In chants old and sacred even when Kupe was a boy he prepared the way. He approached the gods of heaven and earth, paid tribute to them, passed on to the threshold of the One Whose Face Is Covered, prayed leave to enter the abode of the All Highest.
“Prepare me to use the kura, let me not be harmed by it. Show me that this which I have believed through the years is true. Reveal to me this last mystery that I may pass it on to those who come after me. Let the years swing by as a shooting star gleams and is gone. Let five times a hundred years pass as this day passes. Let what is to be pass before my eyes, Oh Lord of all the Heavens and of the Earth and of the sad souls lost in the night which ends not.”
Thus on his palisaded hill top prayed Te Maunga-i-tawhiti and as he prayed the spirit of the kura descended and stood beside him in the likeness of a little grey cloud.
The old people gave Tiputoa his name because they hoped he would grow to be brave. But Tiputoa had only grown to be fat. And, so his wife Puarata said, lazy. This she told him frequently, loudly, fiercely, publicly. Sadly enough the rest of the people of Karakatahi agreed with her although some were a little sorry for him as he was, as so many little, plump, long-suffering men are, quite a likeable fellow in his jolly, ineffectual way.
That morning Puarata had been quite explicit about her husband's shortcomings, making pointed reference to his lack of prowess as a provider. “Useless one,” she had observed, “if I had to rely on you I would starve. If the rest of the people didn't give me my share of the common catch of bush and swamp and sea shore, I would fade quite away. I have to work like a slave in the kumara field to make up for what you don't do, Fat One, Useless One, Man of Little Merit…” And so on in the manner of women kind of all ages in similar plight.
Tiputoa knew all too well the futility of replying. He picked up a spear, three-pronged, and waddled off. Moi, his little white dog, trotted silently at his heels. As he passed through the narrow gate in the palisade the sentry grinned at him. “Going far?” he asked, partly in fun, for he knew Tiputoa was in the habit of going out ostensibly to catch eels and of then dozing on an old log in a sunny hollow of the swamp, and partly because it was his duty to know where all the able-bodied men of the pa were if the alarm had to be raised.
The fat man stopped. “Today,” he said, “I am going to kill a taniwha.”
“I'll be bound that not even a little eel will fall to your spear,” checkled the sentry. “Be off with you before that woman of yours hears what you are boasting about.”
Tiputoa moved on, through the three gates, down the long slope and along the path past the kumara field.
The sentry turned away. “Taniwha indeed,” he muttered.
On the hill top Te Maunga-i-tawhiti watched the fat man pass through the gates and willed that the kura should follow him. No one but the old man saw the mist move across the pa to hover over Tipitoa, to follow him past the field and into the bush and down the valley to where the swamp lay with its pools of water, its fresh green raupo and its half buried logs.
Tiputoa entered the swamp and probed under the first log he could find, half-heartedly, knowing deep inside that no one ever caught an eel like that. He splashed through the raupo to an old log he knew and without even pretending to look under it, climbed up and sat down. Here he was in his own world, away from all he disliked and yet could not do without, locked away amid the green rushes and the grey logs where he could sun himself under the blue sky and think great and beautiful thoughts. All that reminded him of the other world was a far-off call now and again drifting from the kumara field where a woman called to a wandering child and a glimpse over the trees that bounded the swamp of the summit of Karakatahi where the sacred place lay and where no one went anyway, no one, that is, except the old tohunga or his assistants. Perhaps the old man was up there now, thought Tiputoa. Yes, something moved up there.
Moi splashed through the water and scrambled up the log. He scratched himself and curled up beside the fat man.
And then the little grey cloud came down and fell around them and they slept.
When Tiputoa woke it was nearly dark. A single star was peeping out to watch the day die and in the bush a strange bird called a shrill warning note as it hurried through the trees. It made the man feel ill at ease for he had never in his life listened to so strange a call. The dog stood up quickly and watched where the bird had disappeared into the blackness of the bush.
Tiputoa picked up his spear and slid off the log. He was cold and worried too that he had slept so long. He hurried away toward the place where he had entered the swamp. Then, suddenly, he stopped. A cold, terrible realisation came to him that things were not as they should have been. The land he was walking on was dry. The place seemed much the same, the old log was still there but the water was gone and the raupo was gone. He stood now no rough grass. Small bushes grew here and there where that morning had been shallow pools of water.
Before him was a ditch about a spear's length deep and half as wide. He could hear water running in it. He leaped the ditch and in a sudden ecstasy of fear plunged towards the bush where lay the path to the kumara field and home. He had known this path from childhood, its every twist and turn, so fled as if Te Reinga had opened and Hine-nui-te-po herself were at his heels.
Then something cruel and sharp lashed across his shoulder and chest and threw him to the ground.
He lay there, half dead with fear. Moi panted up to him and licked his face.
Slowly, out of the black dread that engulfed him rose the spirit of the man he had dreamed he was. Slowly he rose to his knees. He reached for his spear which had been hurled down with him and peered into the gathering darkness.
He saw nothing. There was no sign of man or animal or of the evil thing which had torn at him. He wondered for a moment whether he had imagined it all and felt almost happy as he became aware of the pain of the lacerations across his chest and of the blood dripping from them. He stood up and, spear held ready, inched forward.
He saw a short post, touched it. Beyond it, almost out of sight in the gloom he saw another. Between them was something that gave an errie ring as he probed at it with his spear. He walked up and reached out cautiously with his left hand. On the thing, which was like a cord but hard and cold, were sharp projections at intervals. He saw that below it was another of the same kind, barbed at intervals like some terrible bird spear. It rang softly as he drew his hand away.
Anger boiled up within Tiputoa. He flung himself at the thing, plunging his spear with all his
force into it. It rang and whimpered as if in agony and he heard its fellows take up the low chorus to right and left.
Moi jumped through it and waited. Then Tiputoa saw that the thing was a kind of palisade erected diagonally across the path. He had run against it, not quite head-on and the thing, being as resilient as a supplejack, had flung him to the ground. He found that there were eight of the hard cords strung between the posts. He went to the post he had first seen and climbed over.
Through the trees the path still ran. It was changed, being no longer the foot-smoothed earth that he had known but rather a narrow rut such as water will make on an exposed slope. With a clod resolution he had never known before Tiputoa moved along the path, spear held with both hands at the ready position diagonally across his body. He wished he had some fighting weapon rather than the eel spear but this would suffice. The thought came to him that at last he had entered the heroic world he had dreamed of. Oh, the pity of it that only a dog could see him as he faced the unknown!
Weird cries came from time to time through the trees. One, several times repeated, was low and deep, not unlike a trumpet not but with something of a living quality about it. In the distance another, sharper and thinner, appeared to answer it. Quite involuntarily he shuddered as the realisation came to him that it was probably a taniwha calling to its young.
He pressed on.
Then he heard the worst sound of all. It began in the far distance, not unlike a whirring of innumerable wings, something like the sound that a host of pigeons make as they fly from one miro tree to another in the berry season. Deep in the heart of the whirring there was a drumming sound as of pounding feet, feet stamping faster than any he had ever heard. The sound came closer and closer, moving at a fantastic speed.
Tiputoa stood stock still. Indeed, in spite of all his new-found courage he could not have moved an inch. The sound came closer and closer. With the noise of a fierce wind, not so loud as it was unearthly, with the pounding and whirring intensified beyond all imagination, the thing swept close by, apparently not far from the ground, about a spear's throw away through the trees. He saw a glow as if of a swiftly moving fire and listened as the monster hurtled away in the distance. He felt force of the wind it created with its passing and smelt the foul reek of its breath. It had a strange sickliness with something of the character of burning to it.
For a long time he did not move, Moi pressed silently against his leg, shivering.
When Tiputoa stepped out of the bush on to the edge of the kumara field his feet touched rock. There had been no rocks there that morning. This place, a flat-bottomed shallow valley above the swamp, did not contain a single stone and yet here rock. He walked across it and found it slightly warm beneath his bare feet. He discovered that it was about three spear lengths across. On the other side there were small small stones and the trees silhouetted black against the night sky looked rounded and unfamiliar.
He sat down at the end of the rock, which was level with the bare stony ground, and wondered what to do next. His wounds had stopped bleeding and did not trouble him. He felt utterly exhausted with the terror of the past few minutes and with the excitement, too.
The second monster came almost before Tiputoa had realised that the whirring and the pounding had begun again. He saw the glow of it before it came in sight and he had just leapt to his feet as it came over the brow of the rise on one side of the little valley. Its two great gleaming eyes glared at him and he could see nothing else as it rushed down straight to where he was standing.
All that was manly in Tiputoa swept from its hidden depths. His right arm swept back. “I die like a warrior,” he screamed and hurled the threepronged spear with all his might between the wicked, gleaming eyes.
The rushing wind and part of the monster's body flung him to the ground but even as he fell he knew that his spear had hit hard for as it passed him the creature seemed to wince and it had howled in agony before it crossed the field and vanished over the far slope.
The little fat man knew that this time he had been really hurt. He had a gash on the side of his head and another on his right leg. He had a feeling too that the monster had stamped on his right foot as it had passed. He crawled towards the edge of the bush and collapsed. As his senses faded he felt something hard and cold near his hand, something about the size of a patu but hollow like a container.
“I have broken off a taniwha's tooth,” he thought, holding it close to him. “I, Tiputoa, the Useless One, have fought a taniwha. I, Tiputoa ….”
And merciful unconsciousness, like a grey cloud, descended on him.
They found him in the morning in the kumara field with his dog watching by him, near dead from loss of blood, and they carried him back to Karakatahi. They also brought his spear, broken in two and with one prong missing. They did not laugh when later he told them he had fought a taniwha for had he not been wounded and did he not bring back its gleaming tooth? What probably influenced them too was the fact that fearsome old Te Maunga-i-tawhiti watched over him as a mother over an only child, sitting outside the house chanting the incantations which would ward off evil and restore health. It was the old man who questioned him first about his adventures and if he were impressed could the others doubt?
“Funniest damned thing I've ever struck,” said Bill Cummings to Katherine his wife when he got home. “I come over that rise into the dip by Jim Stace's place—you know where that swamp was that Old Man Stace drained, where Jim stuck an eight-wire barb fence in to keep old Tawhiti's pigs out of his bottom paddock—And I seen a kinda mist in the dip, not a white mist but a grey kinda mist. Well, I was doin’ about 50 more or less when I got to the bottom and just as I went into the fog I seen a Maori joker damn near stark naked with a dirty great spear thing in his hand. I seen him as clear as I see you now and I seen him heave the spear straight at the car and I'll swear that I heard him yell as I went past. Well I swung to the right and jammed on the brakes and did those tyres scream! I was over the hill before I knew where I was and then I turned round in Jim's gateway and went back. Well, I couldn't see a thing. No one was there. Even the mist was gone. I had a look in the scrub but I only woke a blackbird which gave me a hell of a fright. Anyway one of them chrome cross-pieces on the front bumper's gone And I found this stuck in the grille.”
He tossed a sharp-point, six-inch piece of wood on to the kitchen table.
TE AO TAWHITO: KA TAHURI
Tera tetahi kainga ko Mokai-te-Ure te ingoa, kei te taha hikuwai o te Moana o Taupo.
Nga hapu o tenei wahanga o Tuwharetoa ko Te Kohera Wairangi, ko Haa, ko Tarakaiahi Whaita, ko Parekawa.
Ina tona korero “Ko Tuaropaki te Maunga, ko te Kohera te hapu, ko te Paerata te tangata.” Ko nga Paerata enei o te pakanga ki Orakau a Rewi Maniapoto.
Ko te whare runanga ko Pakahe.
Ko te oranga nui o nga tangata o Mokai, na roto mai i nga mahi mira rakau a te kamupene “The Taupo Totara Timber Company”.
I te wa e nui ana nga rakau tino nui te mahi me te ora hoki o te tangata.
He tini nga iwi o te motu i whakaeke ki tenei marae, i nga hui nunui, me nga tangi mate.
Ko te Kaupapa whakahaere o enei hui, penei na:—
Whakaroputia ai nga tangata mahi, he putia etahi, he kuki etahi, he weita etahi.
He pirihimana ano to te marae, i raro i te mana kaunihera, hei whakatikatika i nga mahi o te marae.
Kaore he paamu hei whakawhirinakitanga atu mo to miiti. Haere tonu ai nga tangata ki te koraha ki te hopu poaka a ki te hopu kau puihi.
Te whakatakoto kai, kaore he rereketanga o te parakuihi, te tina, te kai o te ahiahi, me te hapa, kai hangi, me etahi atu kai runga ki nga tepu katoa.
Te powhiri i nga ope eke mai ma te Ruahina Reweti raua ko te Moana Papanui.
Ko nga kaumatua ko Paerata, ko Tuiri Takiwa, ko Hapu Te Kohika, ko Nguha Huirama, ko Pukerau te Kupu, ko Hakopa Te Hiko, ko Ha Moetu, ko Toriwai Wereta.
Haruru ana te marae, mau ana te wehi me te ihi.
I te po ko nga tangata whenua ki tetahi taha o Pakake ko te manuhiri ki tetahi.
He karakia te mea tuatahi, ko nga mihi ko nga whai korero, i muri iho ko nga mahi ngahau a te rangatahi tae atu ana ki a Koopu i te ata. Hei te hokinga o nga iwi ka whakakiia nga waka ki te kai hei oranga ki te huarahi.
Kei te mokemoke a Pakake i tenei ra. Kua kore he mira mahi rakau, kua ngaro nga kaumatua, kua korara nga uri i te whainga i nga mahi o te motu hei oranga mo nga tinana.
Tu kotahi ana te whare, te ohaki tauira, hei pupuri i nga tikanga. E koro, Pakake, tena koe. Kua tahuri te ao tawhito.
A GLIMPSE OF PEOPLE, PLACES AND THINGS
Mrs Blank, well-known to readers of Te Ao Hou, is at present visiting Europe with her Swiss-born husband.
I am always hesitant about venturing into strange places. I dislike the idea of leaving a haven of security for a place that may be insecure. But once I have been persuaded of the excitement of exotic travel it is not long before I overcome this feeling.
Travelling through strange places is perhaps a little like falling in love. One may have certain ideals about marriage and partnership in marriage, but when one does fall in love ideologies lose their significance in the ecstatic bewilderment of overwhelming feeling. The excitement, the novelty of this feeling is to me akin to that felt at the sight of new places, new faces, and the sound of exotic languages.
There is something definable about travel; it is rejuvenating. It gives us a chance to see, to hear, and to feel life in its complexity. You see places you like or dislike instantly. You hear the musical flow of a contended people, or the dull thud of another's discontent. You feel the strength, the weakness, the warmth, or the cold climate of a people's life. Yes! And you smell strange smells—bewildering, intoxicating, haunting. And out of this definable confusion comes a slow appreciation of people, places and things.
I bless civilization for one important contribution: communication. What would we do without it? We all know it has made the world grow smaller. Why? I don't have to dream of a magic carpet to carry me to strange places—I can earn enough money for a second-class passage on a comfortable boat and I know I don't just see the world through a looking glass, but face to face.
“A small world can be a dangerous place to live in”, my husband says, “for one can see the whole of it through the looking-glass of television, or of someone else's opinions, from books and magazines.”
So if you are sensitive to what my husband says, don't look through the looking glass, but use your hands, your feet, your eyes, your ears and your sense of smell; use this avenue of communication, travel on a big boat or in a fast aeroplane—feel the world at your feet.
I have only begun my travels. I have been away from New Zealand for four months. I cannot say that I am an impartial thinker, but at least I can say that I have gained in awareness of the richness and diversity of life.
Then I saw the ship on which we were going to sail—our ship, all big and white, and waiting for us to embark. I heard strange languages and I saw many people; some going up the gangway and some hurrying down. And there were crowds of people, friends bidding farewell; and amongst them were my own, all a confusion of sadness and excitement.
And suddenly I lost that frightened feeling of being landed on strange shores. I looked up at the big white ship with its crowded decks of colourful passengers and I looked at my parents with ill-concealed delight and I bubbled with thoughts.
“I am going on that boat! It's taking me to see the world! I wish I could hurry up the gangway! I wish my parents wouldn't look so sad! Anyone would think I wasn't coming back!”
Then we talked. My husband talked. I talked. My parents talked. Then a voice boomed out: “All passengers aboard!”
PHOTOGRAPHIC STUDIES FROM JERUSALEM
The photographs on this page were taken by Peter Campbell, of the Schools Publications Branch, at Jerusalem, south of Ruatoria, earlier this year, where the Education Department was making a film on traditional Maori culture. A further selection appear in the School Journal, Part iii for this quarter.
BY PETER CAMPBELL
MAORI LAND COURT JUDGE VISITS AOTEA
FOR THE FIRST TIME since 1931 a judge of the Maori Land Court visited Aotea (Great Barrier Island) on the third and fourth of December, 1959. The visiting party included: Judge Porter of the Maori Court, J. Pou, District Maori Welfare Officer, Whangarei, J. Waetford, Administration Officer, Maori Affairs Department, Whangarei, M. Te Hau, Adult Education Officer, University of Auckland, and N. Roe, Vocational Guidance Officer. Transport was by Mr Ted Guy's launch Rehutai, which proved very efficient both in transport and fishing.
Departure was from Whangarei at 4 a.m., on the third December, and landfall at Kawa Bay at midday. Lunch was provided at the homestead of local elder Mahou Davis and was typical of the lavish hospitality that was to follow. Many of the party felt like the fat pet eel, thirty years old, that lazes in a pool nearby, surrounded by egg shells.
The first meeting of the tribal committee that afternoon took full advantage of the visiting experts while the launch crew sampled the famous fishing grounds of Aotea. After a meal of crayfish the Rehutai took Judge Porter to the guest house at Fitzroy. The rest of the party slept aboard.
An overland trip in the Davis landrover on Friday morning provided an experience in the flesh of the Barrier roads, but the views of mountain, bush and sea were ample reward. A further sitting of the tribal committee on Friday afternoon completed the agenda items. Additional topics such as the use of money from sale of surplus lands were also covered.
Meetings were held in the Catherine Bay schoolroom. The Headmaster, Mr O'Brien, is also secretary of the tribal committee and an enthusiastic worker for the island. His roll is now six pupils. Mahou Davis, however, can remember when thirty-four attended the school. This decline reflects the exodus of Maori families to the mainland in recent years. Although a small mill and the whaling station now provide employment for about forty men, Aotea's employment opportunities are still limited. Many families depend on crayfishing. which provides a hazardous though sometimes profitable existence.
Wind and sea have sunk some twenty-three craft around Aotea. At Kawa Bay, in two small burial sites, lie some of the 121 victims of the Wairarapa, which struck at Mines Head in 1894. Local Maoris were the first to discover the wreck, and brought many survivors back to Kawa Bay for shelter. Aotea has a rich history, both before the arrival of the Pakeha and after. Its present economic decline from a Maori point of view presents a challenging problem for administrators.
We were on the main deck. The big white ship heaved her motionless body and edged her way into the blue Pacific.
We looked at our cabin. It was small, but what else can you expect? As a traveller you pay for limited space but you do see the unlimited.
A sea voyage is not spent in a narrow cabin. First you consign some of your more cumbersome luggage to the baggage room, then you push the rest of your possessions under the bottom bunk and these you pull out as little as possible. Next you find your way to the main deck, the sun deck, or to the bar, the pool or the sun deck lounge, and the confined limitations of a tiny cabin are forgotten in the mellowness of exotic wines and exotic company.
The first night was a pleasant confusion of a six-thirty dinner in a noisy excited dining room and a leisurely two hours of slow sipping of brandy in the sun-deck lounge. We sat at a greytopped table in this little lounge and sipped brandy till the harsh warnings of sea-sickness melted into oblivion. It was an intimate little room with a cream and brown patterned oval mosaic dance-floor. An Italian band was playing a mixture of Latin-American music, interpreted in an Italian way. Ah! Lovely intoxication! You are in love with everyone and the music plays on. A girl with blonde hair dances with … her husband? … her boyfriend?… Perhaps … soon find out … what a superb figure … like a Greek Goddess.
“That's a typical German girl out to have a good time,” says my husband.
The music softens. The room gets cosy. My clothes pinch me. No wonder! I've got my slacks on. I really ought to go and change. My eyes grow pleasantly heavy. I am in love with everyone. We go to bed.
We were both sea-sick for four days.
The weather was rough and our bunks wouldn't lie still. What a miserable feeling it is! There you lie sound in body and in mind and soon a slight dizziness overcomes you. Your legs seem to wither with every step you take. Then you smell the diesel oil of the engines. You hold on to your stomach. You rush to the nearest basin. You go backwards and forwards, up and down, and you are lucky if you reach the basin. It was the one time when I was sick and I didn't want any sympathy in my misery. I didn't want to go anywhere. I just wanted to lie down. The cabin steward visited us too frequently.
“You must get up to the main deck. You must not lie here.”
He made us furious! He made it sound as though it were a weakness to succumb to seasickness. We could not have reached the main deck if we had tried. It took much energy even to reach the basin. So we lay there. I wanted to go back to New Zealand. I thought the cabin was a dirty, stinking hole. I forgot the charm of the Italian waters. I saw only the bottom of the top bunk pressing down on me. I could smell the dirty oil. I could feel the ceaseless vibration from the unsympathetic ship's engines. And I was sick again.
On the fourth day at sea, we felt a little better. We dragged ourselves up to the main deck and we breathed very deeply. We looked at the still horizon. We looked down at the restless waves and slowly our feeling for life returned.
I remember that Saturday; everyone was talking about our first port of call—Tahiti. We were due there on the Sunday morning. The air was warm and the sun caressed our skins. And as we lay there I felt that if the same sun breathed on Tahiti, then what a wonderful island it must be. You could hear snippets of gossip from excited men:
“Boy! You just wait till you see Tahiti. You'll forget all about your wife. You just wait till you see Tahitian women. They're beautiful!”
We met a Frenchmen who had been living in Whangarei and who was returning to Tahiti with his Tahitian-Chinese wife. He said to us, “you stay in Tahiti for a year, you stay there forever.”
Such was the fever of excitement about Tahiti—its women, its climate, its love of life—that we too could not wait until the morrow dawned. Many of the men planned to go ashore by them-selves. They did not wish to be encumbered with jady friends from the boat.
We slent in! People are already astir. We must have arrived, the boat is motionless. The cabin feels too warm. We struggle into our clothes. We hurry up to the deck. We breathe very deeply.
Palm trees reached out and up from the shore in graceful welcome. Slow mists of steam wafted up lazily into the limitless blue of the Tahitian sky. And the sun was everywhere. It drenched itself into the green of the ground below and the blue of the mountains above and it sparkled in the waiting lagoons. And we saw the sun again in the glow of the Tahitian smiles on the wharf below and in the warmth of the honey-coloured skins.
No garish signs of civilization greeted us. Before us was an island of incredible beauty. A few buildings badly needing a coat of paint interspersed themselves amongst coconut palms. Till about two miles inland the land inclined gently and then it rose to mountainous ridges of bearable height where the soft mists from the sundrenched earth hovered. ethereal cool I could smell the coconut oil—so I thought—it reminded me a little of sulphurous Rotorua. Indeed, the soft mists made the resemblance even stronger.
We ate a hurried breakfast. The Italian waiter
said to my husband rather drilly, “Lock your wife up in the cabin for the day.”
There were scooters for hire on shore and we managed to hire the last one for the day. Once we were on the scooter we forgot that we were going to drive 108 kilometres in our trip round the island, is a permanent fixture. Outside the is the one which encircles it.
Even if you paint Tahiti on the finest of Japanese silks, you cannot reproduce the beauty of its unfolding scenes. You have to be there to feel that beauty come out of the earth, into the trees, and into the mountains, and down again from the sun. And the smells! If it is true to say that countries have smells peculiar to themselves, then Tahiti is filled with the sweetest. They are a mixture of coconut oil, frangipani, and other tropical scents. On either side of us as we drove down the road were rows of coconut palms and here and there thatched houses browned to a deep brown; and outside those houses brown people and brown children sat and laughed. They passed us on the road—children and people—some walking, some riding on bicycles, or squeezed into old decrepit ranch wagons that creaked and groaned with the weight of the load. There were several of these wagons crammed to capacity—Henry Ford would surely turn in his grave at the sight of such a load. The crowds sang and played guitars and the singing, the laughing, the strumming soothed away the click of the wheels of civilisation. I remembered a few lines from Yeats's “Lake Isle of Innisfree” and they needed little adjusting to fit in with the flow of this island people, who seem to know the art of gracious living and who live in the sun:
“And I shall have some peace there
For peace comes dropping slow… dropping
To where the Tahitian sings….”
We saw little boys and girls in their Sundaybest—girls in the brightest hues of nylon and cotton, with hair black and falling to the waist, boys barefooted and lithe, and we felt that it was good to be alive amongst people that sang from the soul.
The men from the ship did not exaggerate the beauty of the women. They have warm beauty, a slenderness and barefooted grace that defies the convention of their European counterpart. Every where you see these brown slender women, with flowing rich black hair that caresses a waist and with hands that speak an elegance untutored.
A few kilometres out of Papeete we stopped on a clearing overlooking the harbour and there we sat and breathed in the warmth, the stillness of the green of the trees, of the brown of the houses and of the blue of the mountains, the sky and the sea. Then along came a crowd of chattering tourists and gone was the silence. So we departed.
During the New Year festivities, drinking bars spring up along the mainland like mushrooms. The French government gives the owners licences to open for ten days. So for ten days there is continuous drinking and dancing. My husband decided that we should visit a few of these gay places where we anticipated a riotous afternoon of good drinking and colourful dancing. We visited the famous Quin's bar which is very close to the wharf and is the mecca of all adventurous tourists. This place, unlike those dotted around the island, is a permanent fixture. Outside the bar tourists sat and sipped Tahitian beer to cool themselves from the heat of the day. We walked into a very hot and stuffy room crowded with people who, streaming with perspiration, danced vigorously to the monotonous beat of a two step tune strummed by a group of carefree Tahitians. While I stood and stared, my husband hurried off excitedly to get us some drinks. Before he returned an elderly, rather dignified lady approached me with garlands of threaded flowers. She placed one of these round my head, said a few words and pointed to the flowers. I beamed at her in delight. She placed another garland around my neck and I was enchanted.
“They're just like Maoris,” I thought, “She's giving me these to make me feel welcome.”
I smiled profusely. She pointed again to the flowers and she said a few words. But I understood her not. I grabbed my husband's arm on his return and introduced him to the lady.
“Look!” I said excitedly, “She's given me these.”
And then the lady presented my husband with identical garlands and again she spoke and pointed.
“This lady says that each of these garlands costs twenty francs!” my husband informed me.
But twenty francs each! I never felt so foolish. It wasn't that I didn't want to pay…. It was just that I thought….My husband grinned most eloquently and paid the eighty francs—for my naiveté. I swore that I was never again going to be caught by wily hawkers of the tourist trade.
We saw the men from the boat dancing with the Tahitian women in complete abandon. It was good to sit and watch. The women charmed their willing partners into wriggling their hips and waving their arms and they danced such as I never saw them dance on the boat. The love-making and the caressing all seemed part of the dance.
A few of these exuberant young men and women later decided that we should really make a night of it by visiting another of these drinking bars; so we left this place close on midnight. The taxi which we hired was one of those ranchwagons we'd seen earlier during the day—open at the sides and well used. Two drivers stood and waited for us to climb in. One was huge and looked like a body guard. I remember we were quite a cosmopolitan group—Dutch, German, Australian, a Samoan girl and her English husband, my husband who is Swiss and I, a Maori; and we were all overflowing with high spirits. About half way to our destination the wagon stopped. The drivers got out. There was a great deal of talking and much waving of arms and then we understood. We
have to pay our fares here and now! Perhaps they thought we'd be too drunk by the time we'd arrive at the bar and that we wouldn't pay our fares. Anyway it was all rather bewildering. The two drivers stood, one on either side of the windowless wagon, and with great haste collected the money. The chirpy younger members of the party were so bemused with liquor that they handed out their money with reckless generosity. I was flabbergastered! I think I was a little befuddled too; for we had passed the bottle round. I got out of the wagon and I stormed up to the drivers, as though I was doing a Maori haka:
“I think this is disgusting! We haven't reached the bar yet. Why collect the money now?”
Whether they understood me or not, I don't know. I only remember that I grabbed all the money that they were holding and even succeeded in producing some they had already pocketed. My husband, a more experienced traveller than I am, came at this stage to sooth my indignant feathers.
“Now, now,” he said, “Don't be too hasty. Keep calm.”
Together we counted the dirty notes and administered justice. The balance we distributed to the passengers amidst much laughter and merriment. Once arrived at our destination, we enjoyed more dancing, beer and vigorous music, till we were a group of very tired people who wisely departed at a time when it looked as looked as though we too would get involved in a boxing match between seamen and taxi drivers. The incident over the taxi fares was never forgotten by my fellow passengers. Particularly the men came up repeatedly and complimented me:
“Remember Tahiti? Gee, you were great. You fixed those taxi drivers. We wouldn't have known what to do without you.”
There was much sighing from the men as we left Tahiti.
“No, the women on board are not as beautiful! Can't tell you why. No, they're not the same.”
My husband and I both sighed because in Tahiti we had found beauty—the sun, the women, a people with a great charm. We had no need of our faded garlands. We had a memory.
PEOPLE AND THEIR TALK
And crowds become faces and faces become individuals, with whom you meet and talk and become familiar. You begin to know how some people think and how they feel or react to certain topics of conversation. With some companions conversation is stimulating, with some it is pleasant, and with others it is limited to the weather, gossip, and grumbling. On a boat you cannot avoid meeting the latter but at least you have a choice of attaching yourself to those who most interest you. There are days when you feel like a jelly fish—no bones, no living flesh, just a mass of floating, unthinking protoplasm. On such occasions you seek the company of the controversial thinker, who soon shakes you out of this limpid state of mind.
Suddenly we discovered we had nothing to read. So far we had not missed the companionship of a book, but as we felt pleasantly relaxed we longed for the printed page. We browsed through the ship's library but found little to satisfy our curiosity. One morning I saw my husband speak to a well-built gentleman who was reading a volume of short stories by Somerset Maughan, just the kind of reading for a boat. We borrowed the book and this made a contact which led to a friendship. Our new friend is a professor of classics from a New Zealand university, on leave for a year. Beneath his rather awesome curiosity we discovered a great simplicity. He loved to dance and sing, so at least we had a common ground of conversation if intellectual topics grew rather weighty. He also loved drinking, and when he was merry, he'd sit on the deck and recite a few lines from Virgil, or tell us of the wonderful age of Greek supremacy, or he'd compose a poem and never quite succeed.
There was another face which fascinated us. He was a Dutchman, full of life and successful in business. He was always ready for an argument about religion or the colour-bar or the exploitation of the black man by the white. I remember one night; we were almost ready to go to bed when he came up to wish us goodnight. Somehow an argument developed over communism. A young New Zealand girl had expressed her admiration for communism, and an Englishman who had recently entered the Roman Catholic church was shocked. There was a man from East Germany at the table too. He supported her by commenting that as far as he was concerned beliefs did not matter very much as long as people's material wants were satisfied. Somehow the argument went astray when the East German replied to someone else:
“I like all people no matter what colour or creed.”
This comment was rapidly taken up by our Dutch friend:
“Ah! You tell me you like all people no matter what colour or creed. Now, would you agree to your son marrying a negro?”
The answer came rather haltingly.
“Well, I'd say to my son, ‘It's your life, please yourself’,”
“That's not what I meant,” said the Dutchman, “Would you welcome the idea?”
“I don't know,” was the honest reply of the German.
Sometimes I liked our Dutch friend, sometimes I didn't. He was so insistent in his own logic that your own convictions about certain things—perhaps religion or corpulency—started to lost shape. (For him corpulency was the outward sign of laziness and helplessness, of passive acceptance of what life brings.) My husband always sought his company when life was a little dull.
Our Dutch friend was an extreme egotist. I couldn't help but admire him; he knew his own mind. At the same time it irritated me that he
had an answer for everything. It may be that I am envious; though I called him a “know-all” I had a sneaky feeling that I wished to be like him in many respects. One of his most exasperating traits was the fact that by his cold unyielding logic he won every argument. There was, however, one field in which I could disagree with him with conviction—the art of dancing. For him there was only one type of dance—the sophisticated intricacy of ballroom dance steps. To me is was quite obvious that for some inexplicable reason he had not witnessed the girls in Tahiti—untutored, yet so graceful in their own interpretation of music and movement.
There are some people whom you do wish to meet and somehow you never get intimate with. Sometimes they fascinate you even from a distance. I enjoyed the company of the New Zealand girls. They were friendly. Some were attractivelooking. They were all proud of being New Zealanders. I was the only New Zealander who didn't wear a greenstone kiwi on my chest and to make matters worse I didn't have a piupiu. As I was the only Maori on board the rest of my fellow countrymen felt that I should have flaunted my native dress at one of the fancy-dress parties. The New Zealand girls carried bathing towels whenever they went sun bathing and all of these were printed with the usual New Zealand emblems of the kiwi or the native fern. Somehow I had no desire to make it known that I too was a Kiwi. I also intrigued quite a few people—even a New Zealander thought I was a Tahitian. The Italians used to ask me if I were Spanish or South American. One suggested that I was a Sicilian.
The Australian girls were amongst the most attractive on board. Most of them were tall, and very slender. They were also friendly and if you sat alone it was not long before they came to make conversation with you. I never got to know them intimately, but I admired their happy faces and their extremely elegant figures. There was one Australian woman with whom we were rather friendly. She was a beautiful blonde with a child of two years and all the men admired her. Some of the women envied her. She was so friendly that really you couldn't dislike her, even if she did have all those assets which you longed for—lovely face, pleasant speaking voice and a superb figure. She was dated by several admirers and the snippets of gossip from her fellow women were always amusing….
“That's not her husband!. I wonder if he's still in Australia….I wonder if she's divorced…She looks the type!”
Then she had a mild flirtation with a romantic Italian. He gave her Italian lessons and she assured us she was getting on rather splendidly. Soon there was more gossip….
“I don't know what she sees in Joseph. He's so morose…. And oh! So sentimental.”
Joseph was extremely generous. If ever we sat with beautiful Barbara he would buy us a glass of the most select wine. He was also very knowledgeable on ships, strange people and new countries. The beautiful blonde Barbara was a schoolteacher like ourselves. So we had something in common. And then she knew how to enjoy herself. She was never bored.
I remember how I admired too, the Italian waiters and cabin stewards. They have a charm rather like the Tahitians and they are another handsome people. Their dark swarthy beauty and their extreme politeness won them many admirers amongst the women. Their speech too is like music. A friend of ours said that to hear them speak is like listening to an Italian opera.
The Italian orchestra was extremely popular with everyone. But they had one rather annoying habit. They were never ready on time for the afternoon concerts. It was certain that the violinist was wooing a passenger round the corner; they are as romantic as you think them to be. If the five members of the band were occasionally on time they would never begin until the ladies were all seated. There would be an interminable performance of bowing and smiling and frequent kissing of hand to the ladies. Sometimes one of them would forget his music sheet in his fervid admiration of his latest love who would sit as close as possible to the front of the stage. The dining room stewards were also Italians and the younger ones annoyed some of the middle-aged ladies. They also loved feminine company and some of them would forget to bring a prim old lady's soup when they saw the glances of promising flirtations from younger women. We never got tired of the Italians, who looked so serious and were so courteous that it was difficult to imagine that their flirtations were as shortlived as the journey.
Oh, there were other people—Mac the Englishman, married to a Samoan girl and converted to her religion, that of the Roman Catholic faith. He was a curious mixture of beliefs. He loved those shady places where the women entertained men for a small fee. He had one queer idea which always started an argument—namely—that all women were meant to suffer. Then he'd argue about the beneficient power of the Roman Catholic church. Our Dutch friend would point out the number of poverty stricken countries dominated by Catholicism—Spain, Italy, Mexico and Mac would fall silent, for a moment, After the heated argument in which, as usual, nobody really won and nobody really changed his views, we would all buy one another drinks to show that we were still friends.
And time passes and friendships grow or fade.
There are more faces. We meet a lot of Germans, a few Austrians, and more Dutch people. All are returning from Australia to their home countries. Some are discontented with life in Australia, some think it is a country with opportunities. Looking back at the discontented ones, I do feel in sympathy with some of them—with strangers in a strange country.
The sun beat down on the deck. We swam to keep ourselves cool, we drank to keep ourselves cool and we talked and we argued to keep ourselves alive. Then we saw the Panama Canal.
That day I saw before me a narrow stretch of water. On either side of this stretch of water was a wall of cliff. This little opening was made by man to shorten his journey around the world. Huge gates opened slowly to let the boat pass through. And the genius of man thrust itself upon you. For centuries the Panama must have lain like a waiting woman, and man said to himself,
“I am master of all things. I will sever this woman's body, that we may pass through, that we may hold the world in our hands.”
And they severed her body in twain. Her limbs they thrust up as cliffs of protective strength. But they gave her life in the trees that grow, in the houses and people that keep the traffic moving between her divided body.
Here in the canal ten thousand people are employed to keep it in working order. Negroes drive the ‘donkeys’—engines which pull the boats through the locks. The officious American patrol officers in khaki proclaim their rank in the bulge of pistols from swaggering hip pockets, while the negroes, quiet and strong, work the machinery. You see the huge steel gates riveted to perfection, you see the little homes of these ten thousand people who help to keep the incessant flow of traffic through the Panama. Yes! It was good that man severed her body. It conquered distance. I felt I could stretch out my hand and touch the trees, the houses and the people. I could feel the pulse of human endeavour. But then my reflections were interrupted by the disembodied voice of an American announcer, who reminded you that Panama is a monument to the dollar. Never in my life did I hear so many superlatives and so many statistics! I was very pleased when the droning voice of the announcer was disconnected at the request of passengers who seemed to share my views.
Cristobal-Colon was our next port of call. We knew it was custom free port so we were determined to spend our money. What an odd place it is. It is just a stretch of wharf about half a mile wide. A railway line separates one part of the town from the other. Do not be disappointed if you don't find genuine native ware. These little ports of call after the Panama are very cosmopolitan. They are dumping grounds for the products of the Western world. Here you can buy the latest, from a Phillips electric razor to a nylon waterproof, snowproof jacket, to a Rolleiflex camera. Look for a South American handbag, or shoe, or ornament, and you are disappointed. Everything disappointed me. I didn't want a camera. I didn't need a snowproof jacket. The Chinese, the Hindu, the Jews, the negro shop owners annoyed me as they stood and waited for customers. Perhaps I saw too many transistors. It may be that I was trying to recapture the mood of Tahiti….I don't know.
Next day, we saw on the boat reminders of the latest shopping spree: transistors, transistors, transistors, nylon jackets and imitation-leather plastic handbags.
A week passed by and we saw Curacao. Once you know it is a Dutch port, you expect of it two things. Firstly that it will be neat and tidy, and secondly, that business transactions will be efficient. Both expectations proved right. Orangeroofed white-washed two-storeyed houses line the waterfront and you feel you are seeing perhaps a little bit of Europe. Curacao looks very prosperous. Huge oil tanks give the clue to this prosperity. Once you are in the heart of the town, long American limousines obliterate your view of the shops on the opposite side of the street. At none of the preceding ports did I see such an evident sign of prosperity. The town was filled with these long, sleek, fast, flash American cars. They reared their ugly tails everywhere. Sometimes they crawled up on to the pavements, where you walked, to avoid collision with their passing brothers. Half of these vehicles were driven by negroes, arrogant, nonchalant, sometimes friendly—a refreshing change from the usual stories of the servile negro.
On the same day of our visit an American luxury cruiser had berthed opposite our boat. Perhaps the Americans were spending the winter season away from home. They too toured the town. Most of the elderly American men wore Bermuda shorts, held up over their prosperous bellies with elastic braces. Their heads they kept cool with banded straw boaters. Some of them smoked the famous cigar. Their women walked beside them with bulging handbags. Whichever shop you walked into, you were obstructed by their haggling voices….
“Say, you got any of them brass candlesticks? Ooh, Edward I say. This is a honey!”
I was quite keen to buy an Indian cotton jacket but was immediately discouraged at the sight of an American lady squeezing herself into one several sizes too small—“to take home as a souvenir for Alfie,” I guess. Of course in such ports the American tourist is extremely popular; he is a generous if rather vulgar spender.
My husband and I shared a bottle of Dutch beer and returned to the boat rather tired from walking the hot, narrow pavements.
We began to grow weary of boat-travel. As the journey nears its end you soon know everyone's business and everyone knows yours. You want to avoid people with whom you have talked and laughed. Instead of it you lose yourself in a game of chess or in a hand of cards. And time passes.
Once we reached Portugal we felt the presence of Europe. We walked on cobbled pavements along the shop fronts and I knew that Queen Street with its verandahs was thousands of miles away. I was excited at the prospect of seeing Portugal as I have a strong link with these people; many of my relations have Portuguese blood flowing in their veins. It is again like magic to think that a hundred years ago some of these people landed in New Zealand as sealers, whalers and traders and that they married Maoris. From these marriages are descended some of the most handsome of the Maori people. My own little village boasts of quite a few.
We hired a taxi—destination “Chez Maxim”, the famous night-club of Lisbon. We were ushered into a room by red liveried boys of charming appearance. Nothing was too much trouble there. No wonder, for a bottle of wine wrapped in a white napkin the fee was three pounds. If you looked at the jewellery, and then retured to your table, a little red waiter appeared at your elbow:
“Madame,” he would say in in enticing whisper, “the bracelet for Madame is fifty dollars” … or …“For you, Madame, the skirt in the window is thirty dollars”.
Huge concierges stood around to keep law and order in this dimly lit, crowded night club. It was a fantastic nightmare of hot-beat music, masked women, drunk men, and the pressing attentions of these liveried waiters. It was my first glimpse of a flash night-club and it was far from what I had imagined.
There were two stages for the bands who between them kept up a non-stop dance beat—rock-and-roll and South American rhythm. The masked women were intriguing me. I thought they were there to entice the men to drink, but apparently they were celebrating fashing. Later in the night we saw a floor show. A troupe of illclad dancers appeared on to the floor, one after the other till they stood side by side in a row. By that time we'd seen how they looked from a side view, a back view and now a front view. Each dancer carried an ostrich feather which modestly covered her naked thighs. None of them could sing, none of them could dance. Their faces were like painted grinning masks. Once you'd seen the back view, the side view and the front view of each dancer's body the act was completed. I should have appreciated their modestly-clad bodies if they had been well proportioned. But the sight of those huge, naked thighs, just there for the purpose of vulgar display, made me ill. Never was I made more aware of the difference between nakedness and nudity—between vulgarity and beauty.
When drinks are thrust upon you and entertainment fails to satisfy you, where do you go? Back to the boat. I walked those cobbled streets in my silly high heels and I felt very cold.
LONDON: THE END OF THE VOYAGE
We have passed Spain and are now nearing the end of the journey in our isolated, yet intimate world of boat-life. The main topic of the day is now the English weather and people shiver at the thought of the damp, foggy London winter. There is also gossip about concluding flirtations and there are sighs and tears amidst laughter and merriment. We have arrived in the harbour of Southampton; it is midnight, the second of February.
People had waited all day for the mail to arrive. At long last it was here. There were looks of surprise, of delight, of disappointment. Yes. nothing is more heartening than to receive letters at the end of a long journey, good news from the friends and relations far, far away; letters of welcome from the friends you are going to meet.
People make a country. You feel that you will be able to put up with much hardship if you are made welcome. I well remember that Tuesday night before our arrival. From about midnight till 2 a.m. there were transport and luggage officials on board—friendly English people in cloth caps and dark overcoats, standing at tables, helping, caring for the passenger who is worried about his luggage, who wants to send a telegram, who wants to book a rail ticket. They have a confidence and assurance born of years of dutiful labour.
It was a drizzly grey morning when we stepped on land. For some reason unknown to me I was terribly excited as I set foot on English soil. It is not that Southampton is an especially attractive port. No, it is the sense of tradition you feel and see in the cloth caps and thick overcoats, the friendly faces of the porters, and the old stony houses; the trees, and the black, rich soil of the carefully tended fields which you pass on the train journey to London.
Then we reached Waterloo Station. From there we took a tube to the heart of London—Piccadilly. We walked down the streets which are worn with age and we saw people. There were women wearing the most elegant fashions and those like myself, in flat heels. Men in bowler hats swung elegant umbrellas elegantly, wore tapering trousers and knee-length coats; everyone hurried hither and thither.
The weather? Not very cold—just like a Wellington winter. London on such a day? Grey. Smoky, dirty, sprawling. Streets grow up out of the earth for little rhyme or reason. Is it a wonderful city? Yes. It is impersonal, yet friendly. You can walk down the streets and lose yourself. You can always stop someone for help if you get lost in the criss-cross of streets. I like to see the people walking, people who are walking to a place I know not, people I did not know.
And now it is Spring and the greyness is going
and the trees are green and the birds sing and everyone with a garden goes out to dig. I feel warmth and gayness. Maybe, I'm all inside out too, for I love Tahiti—a far cry from London—and I still like London too.
And I shall come back to New Zealand where the grass is greenest—where I can take off my shoes.
FIELD DAY AT PANGURU
The Broadwood Young Farmers' Club on Tuesday, 22nd June 1960, in Panguru, a Maori centre on the Hokianga harbour, with the object of forming a Young Farmers' Club there.
Education, or lack of it, is felt to be one of the causes of the recent wave of residents leaving the area and their farms to live in the cities. The main aim was to provide an insight into the animal disorders that these isolated farmers can provide to their stock without attention of a Veterinary Surgeon. The Veterinary Surgeon giving demonstrations was Mr H. Harris of the Kaitaia Co-operative Dairy Company.
The demonstrations started with footrot in cows. After the loss in production from cows suffering from footrot was explained the importance of keeping the cow's feet in good condition was realised and demonstrated on how, and how far to cut.
The discussion went to bloat and udder complaints, and it was pointed out that in cases of mastitis it was at least as important to massage the udder well and frequently with hot water and soap or salt as to use the available powerful antibiotics. After a short demonstration on T.B. and T.B. testing, the Veterinary Surgeon gave a demonstration on calving difficulties using a day old calf and the pelvis of a horse, so that everybody could see the manipulations that were carried out to rectify abnormal positions. After lunch the Veterinary Surgeon conducted a post mortem on a young sheep for worms and made those present realise the tremendous number of worms present in the various places and organs. External symptoms were discussed and the drenching of calves and yearlings demonstrated. There was a short demonstration on vaccination for various diseases, the treatment of milk fever, and the throwing of cattle for treatment concluded a very successful day where a great number of officials were also present. Apart from the local farmers, also present were Messrs T. Brassey and M. Edwards, Maori Affairs farm supervisors. Mr H. Rogers, Maori Welfare Officer, Kaikohe, Hokianga Country Councillor Mr R. Proctor and the Press from Whangarei, all of whom showed great interest, but the main achievement of the day was the practical experience gained by the local farmers on treating their own stock when a Veterinary Surgeon is over 50 miles away over roads so poor that they have to be seen to be believed. This is a handicap that the Maori farmers from Panguru are well aware of and are trying to cope with as well as local difficulties that cannot yet be solved.
SAID THE POSTMISTRESS
“GOOD GRIEF!” said the postmistress, pushing her feet back into her shoes and getting out of her chair. “Not another one!”
She came through the door into the outer office, leaving her half-eaten lunch.
“Only for one-and-six,” said the clergyman apologetically, “but I find I've come out without a penny.”
He handed the telegram across the counter.
“I thought, at a stretch,” he smiled, “you'd be able to trust me?”
“It's not that I don't trust you,” said the postmistress. “It's the principle of the thing. You all come in without any money!”
“Now you're joking!” laughed the clergyman. “And we all know your kind heart, Mrs Marshall. Thank you very much if you'll do that for me. I'll be in with the money first thing tomorrow morning.”
He went out. The postmistress looked at him, sighed, and pulled out a worn note-book.
The clergyman came in again.
“Or after lunch,” he said. “I've got to go out to Paritai first thing.”
He went out again.
“You'd never believe it,” said the postmistress, entering one-and-six in the notebook. “Excuse me a minute while I get this off—you're only waiting for the bus, aren't you.”
I relaxed in the dim coolness of the outer office while the hot and dusty midday shimmered on the roadway of Manuka Bend.
The postmistress came back.
“Now what was it? Oh yes?” She took one-and-sixpence from her handbag and put it in the till. “The trouble is, they don't seem to realise that there's no tick with the Post Office. Sometimes I think I'll get one of those printed notices and put it up: ‘Do not ask for credit—a refusal often offends.’ Not that it would do any good. Coming in without money's chronic at the Bend.”
“I suppose you feel it will send you round the bend,” I joked feebly.
“If it hasn't already!” She smiled quickly, her eyes shrewd, kind and intelligent. “I like the place and I like the work, or I wouldn't be here. It's a great place!”
I looked across the road to the petrol pumps, the garage with the usual grease-covered bits of worn-out cars beside it, to the great swathe the road improvements had cut in the hill, and at the dust.
“Not out there! We'll be getting it sealed soon, anyway. But look at the bush back on those hills! Glorious! I've a bit of it at my very back door.
“And look at the farmland around here. It's not the Waikato, I know, but it's got its own sort of beauty. I find it fascinating.”
“It is pleasant,” I said.
“Nearly all Maori farms, you know. And they're not making a bad living of them on the whole. Only the pity is, the land won't maintain more than one son with the father, and others have to go away to work. It's not Maori.
“Of course, the Maoris aren't as business-like as they might be. They're the chief offenders with this credit stunt I'm complaining about. Not that they're the only one, as you just saw. It's getting to be a full-time book-keeping job.”
“I suppose they pay in the end?”
“Oh, they pay in the end,” said the postmistress. “I nag them till they do. Usually it's only the odd shilling or two, but sometimes it's a bit over the odds.
“There's Mrs Karipata now. The other day she came in for her family benefit without her card. Left it at home, she said. She particularly wanted to buy something — could I …?”
She shrugged and held out her hands.
“Well, she was lucky. I happened to have three pounds. Usually I don't keep much in my bag at all. So I gave it to her. Now she rings up and says she's lost her card and what should she do? I said bring me in my three pounds pronto! Then she can talk about writing away for a new one.
Lost her card! Makes you wonder, doesn't it?”
I said it did, and would she like to sell me a stamp booklet for cold cash?
“Not a booklet. There's no sale for them here. A dozen threepennies if you like? Yes,” she went on, tearing out the stamps, “the family asks me why I keep the job on, but the truth is I love it, just love it. I wouldn't give it up for anything. They're a great crowd round here, Maori and Pakeha. Know what I had given me only this morning?”
She dived under the counter and brought up three immense beetroots; one was like a winecoloured squash.
“You might think they're too big to be edible, but they're not. Nearly every day I get something like this: you've no idea. Generous isn't the word. Sometimes it's tomatoes, or corn on the cob, or kumaras. The kumaras I've had! And they found I've given up fowls, just got a couple of old biddies left, and last week someone brought me a dozen eggs.
“And it's not only things, it's deeds too. We had a flood a year or two back, a real he-man of a flood. Well, our place is down the road a bit, near the river flats, and the flood left logs and what would you across the dip where our drive runs in. The house was high enough but we couldn't use the car for the logs and stuff.
“Did we have to ask for help? The nearest Maori with a tractor was there before we knew it. Amazing. Simply amazing.”
She put her notebook away under the counter.
“All that rather balances the post office ‘tick’, doesn't it?” I said.
The postmistress slowly rose to face me.
“Good grief!” she said. “So it does! so it does!”
There was a shout of “Bus coming!” from the children outside.
“And now you'd better go and finish your tea,” I said, “before it's cold.”
“Cold!” she said. “In this heat. The milk'll be curdled by now.”
As I picked up my bag a Maori came in.
“Mrs Marshall,” he said, “I want to ring through to Paritai.”
“That's toll, Matthew,” she said. “Cost you eightpence for three minutes.”
“I know, Mrs Marshall,” said the man. “I got no money with me, but I write you the cheque.”
“Good grief, Matthew Marima!” shouted the postmistress. “The post office can't accept cheques!”
I got on the bus, smiling. From my seat I saw the postmistress reach under the counter and bring up the battered notebook.
MAORI ART LOST
When a vast lake builds up behind the huge earth dam at Benmore. Otago, in a few years, a number of old faded Maori or “Moa-Hunter” drawings in cave shelters in the Waitaki Gorge will disappear beneath the water. Since 1957, the National Historic Places Trust has been concerned about the fate of the drawings. It initiated a survey of all the drawings in the area to be flooded—exploration for further sites, minute record of drawings found, and archaeological research. After three seasons of field work the task is now completed and a summary was recently given to the Royal Society Science Congress in Wellington, results pointing to widely differing, primitive artistic styles in the drawings, perhaps reflecting the different occupations of the inhabitants of the gorge. Mr John Pascoe, secretary of the Trust, has stated that an attempt will be made to remove some of the more striking drawings by cutting out sections of the rock, but the rock may crumble. If drawings are successfully obtained, they will be offered either to the Otago or Canterbury Museums, according to which side of the river they come from.
MAORI ADZES FOUND
Five Maori stone adzes were an accidental find made while prisoners were digging in the New Plymouth prison's gardens. They are to be given to the Taranaki Museum. Speculation on how the adzes came to be grouped in this one place recalls that Marsland Hill in earlier times was a noted terraced Maori pa, taken by siege and assault about 1760 and not afterwards occupied. It is therefore possible that workers from this pa, were using the adzes on the site where they have been discovered, particularly as this is fairly close to a bend in the Huatoki Stream. The site was also, however, the scene of a noted Maori ambush when a marauding party from Oakura was caught there while returning from storming the Rewarewa Pa, at the mouth of the Waiwakaiho River. This venture is estimated to have taken place between 1805 and 1810. The slaughter was very great, with the Oakura Maori routed. It is therefore also possible that the adzes were loot from Rewarewa dropped by the fleeing Maoris.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
The open fireplace, made of twelve-foot lengths of corrugated iron, took up nearly all the front of the whare. Probably more care had gone into building the fireplace than had been taken with the rest of the dwelling. A large old fashioned bed stood in the far corner of the room, alongside a kerosene box which served as a stand for the hurricane lamp. Against the other wall there was a camp-stretcher. Three chairs, a table made of rough pine board and a cupboard completed the furnishings. There was no ceiling, only axe hewn rafters, from these smoke blackened beams hung a variety of objects—some flax baskets, a coil of rope, a bucket. A rainbow coloured flax carpet brought brightness to a drab room.
Mark Taite sat on one of the chairs gazing thoughtfully into the fireplace. He seemed almost a stranger in a setting that for most years of his life had been home.
In dress and appearance he was similar to most young Maoris—the type seen in any New Zealand city, working in factories, for the council, driving taxis or buses; in their leisure hours dancing, singing, drinking. The kind you see at church, watching football, at the beach, or just strolling along the streets. Perhaps that was why he seemed out of place here—a typical city Maori in a backblocks pa.
An ember fell from the fire; he reached down and threw it back then glanced at his wrist watch. “Hell! Still half an hour to go before the truck comes. The cream truck the only transport out of here when I was a kid, and still the only way. No buses, no taxis, a man has to ride to the station in a rattletrap of a truck.” He settled back in the chair.
A fire can hold strange hypnotic powers. Under its influence, Mark's surroundings ceased to exist. He saw himself as he was three years ago—the day his greatest dream came true—the day he'd left for the city, a bright eyed youth of seventeen, one hand plucking at his unaccustomed collar and tie, the other clutching a battered suitcase. Nervous? Yes, but not in the least afraid. He was young, and the young see no dark clouds.
That was the first time he had left this isolated little valley—the valley that had echoed to the war hakas of his ancestors for centuries. The noise of the victory celebrations. The wailings as the dead were mourned. Peace sounds. Songs of love by wahines as they kept time with the pois. The shrill scream of naked, brown children at play. The babbling of streams and rivers as they hustled off to lose themselves in the mighty Pacific. That same valley had witnessed the arrival of the first Maoris; had seen them emerge victorious from many tribal wars, only to succumb, if gloriously, to the superior weapons of the Pakeha.
He thought about the elders and their belief in the Maori way of life; how they praised its traditions, cultures and philosophies, urging young men to cultivate the land, to grow kumaras, rewi, corn and food, instead of going away to work in the cities for wages.
“Money isn't everything,” they'd say. “Money becomes your God when you live the Pakeha way.”
Respect for his elders was deeply ingrained in Mark; he'd listened all right and at the right times; when they spoke, his face wore the awe, pride, rage, disgust, he thought they expected from him. But when they'd gone, he would mutter, “Silly old fools, always living in the past! When will they wake? When will they realise their way of life is finished?”
It wasn't as if he'd been unhappy. No, not by a long way; just that he saw no future, living Maori-fashion. He'd explained to Inga about the way he felt; she'd understood. She always did. He smiled, remembering how he'd been in love with her, and about the time he'd punched his cousin, George Whata.
“Why we were barely out of napkins. What was it about again? Yes, I remember, I heard him, I heard him singing, Inga loves George Whata. Strange,” he mused, “she hasn't married. I suppose if I'd stopped here I would have changed her name myself.”
And so he'd left the pa, he grinned, remembering how they had welcomed him with open arms
at the boarding house. Share room with two others … no meals… notices up all over the place … no visitors … no alcoholic liquors allowed on these premises … no bath after 9 p.m. For this he was charged three times too much, that is until he woke up.
Work in the freezing works was easy to get. The first boss he'd approached took one look at his youth, size and innocence and started him on the offal floor. Admittedly the wages were high, but the smells he endured to earn them were much higher.
Adjusting himself to this new way of life had been much harder than he had ever imagined, and there was so much that went against his nature—so much that went against the Maoris' centuries of traditions. Traditions, if ignored back home, made him an outcast. In the city the reverse happened.
If you saw a strange Maori you did not rush over and shake his hand automatically—you waited to be introduced. If you tried to rub noses with a wahine in welcome—well, if she didn't scream in fright she'd probably slap your face. Another tradition he'd dropped in a hurry still brought a flush of shame. To be called a thief for borrowing. His room-mate was out. He wasn't using the coat. The ways of the Pakeha were strange.
Sometimes he felt himself living in an alien world. How he missed the traditional cry, “Haere mai Kita Kai”, as he passed Maori homes.
The tradition had been slow, never completely satisfactory. He had tasted most of the fruits, the bitter and the sweet. Theatres, dancing, modern amenities, romance, adventure. Clean innocent fun, at least at first. For his tastes had changed lately for the worse.
“Changed so gradually, I never even noticed,” he thought. “That new crowd I've been mixing with. Why, when I think of all the stupid things we've done, where will it all end? Those all-night parties. The boss won't put up with me much longer. What with missing days, too sick to do my work. And the pubs! Before, I used to go to the beaches or the pictures, watch the sports. Now I spend all Saturdays in them, even some of the weekdays when I should be working.”
“Yes,” he mumbled, “you sure live it up in the big smoke.”
Several times in past three years he had returned to the pa. The visits had been short and boring. This trip things seemed different. Instead of missing the noise, the hustle and bustle of the city, as he usually did, he'd actually enjoyed the peace and quietness, the unhurried pace. This time the elders' words made sense. There were centuries of knowledge, he admitted, behind their words.
The change in his attitude towards the elders was not the only puzzling thing. Why had he counted the number of fences in need of repair? Why was he speculating how many cows and sheep the property would run; that is, if it was all broken in of course?
“What a mixed-up character I am,” he decided, “dissatisfied with both ways of life. That's the trouble. There's good and bad in them both.”
Mark's head lifted with a new awareness. He seemed to be looking not into the past with its unfulfilled promises, but into the virgin future. It seemed to be his for the making.
Where his family's neglected property once stood, he saw a modern house, an up-to-date farm. Cows and sheep grazing in well-fenced paddocks. At the door of the house stood Inga. She was sending two chidren, in High School clothes, to school.
Part of the scene changed. Now he was standing beside Inga. They were both beckoning to some passing strangers; “Haeremai Kita Kia”.
The answer came like a rocket take-off; a blend of the best from both ways of life.
The honking of the cream truck's horn brought Mark back to the present. He stood up, kicking over his ready packed suit-case as he made for the door. For the first time in years there was purpose in his bearing, no hesitancy in his gesture, as he waved the truck on. “I won't be coming with you Sam,” he called to driver. “Some other time, eh.” And to himself, “Never! I'll be too busy making a compromise.”
The Maori is justly proud of his talents and Maori concert parties meet with well-deserved success. His skill comes from centuries of ritual and a spoken, sung or danced lore. If the Maori had evolved a system of writing I doubt whether the tradition of song and story would have survived so well as it has. Much of the power and beauty of his haka, action songs, and singing would not be of the high standard it is today.
Unfortunately nowadays most songs are Maori words set to European music. As with the songs of the Pakeha, they range from the very beautiful, such as the hymn “Karauna”, to the absolute rot, such as a Maori version of “Rock Around the Clock”. However, if one takes the trouble it is still possible to hear the songs and karakia as they were chanted long ago.
Chants, especially some of the karakia, take some effort on the part of the auditor before full appreciation is possible. But the slight trouble involved is amply repaid. What appears at first almost a monotone with few modulations and following a scale not common in european music takes on a peculiar form of power and beauty. Gradations in tone and a moving feeling. often mystical, intrude upon the hearer, even if he has no knowledge of Maori.
Karakia were songs or chants used to obtain benefits or avert trouble. It was through them that the priests established contact with the gods and the lay asked the gods, usually rather more directly, to assist them in some way.
All karakia were chants but it is very difficult to give the word karakia a literal English meaning. Probably incantation is the nearest we can get in English. They were used to cover almost all contingencies, from the loftiest purposes of bringing health to a sick child and bravery and strength to a warrior to the more plebeian task of expelling a fish bone from the throat of a gutton.
Usually the karakia were not addressed directly to the gods, it being considered more respectful to use an indirect form of invocation. Those chanted by the priests were thought more powerful than those of the common folk; no doubt the priests had closer contact with the gods.
Children had their own karakia composed to amuse them and having no religious significance. One of the most charming of these is a chant to stop the rain:
E rere e te kotare
Ki runga i te puwharawhara,
Ruru ai i o parirau
Kei maku o kuao i te ua.
Mao, mao te ual
Fly O Kingfisher
On to the bunch of Astelia,
And there shake thy wings,
Lest thy young become wet by the rain.
Cease, cease the rain!
If you had toothache or stomach ache the requisite karakia might cure it. Next time you eat too well, try this:
He aha ra te kai
I haere ki roto, ki to puku,
Tutu ai, ngangana ai,
He puha pea?
What was the food
That entered your stomach,
Causing trouble, causing disturbance,
Perhaps it was puha?
Little patience was expended on guttons although a karakia was chanted to relieve them. This extract shows the chanter's feelings:
Kaitoa koe kia raoa,
Na to kai tu,
Na to kai rere,
No to kai tamawahine.
Tokowhia aku tama
I horomia e koe?
Serve you right for choking,
Because you ate standing,
Because you are hurriedly,
Because you ate like a girl.
How many of my sons
Were swallowed by you?
One of the most important karakia was used in the tua cermony after severing the navel cord of the child. In Maori lore this was a most important ceremony. The incantation commences with the dedication to god of war, Tu:
Tohi ki te wai no Tu!
Ki te hopu tangata—tangaengae,
Ki te piki maunga—tangaengae,
Mo te tama ne.
Sprinkle with the water of Tu!
Go thou—navel cord,
To catch men—navel cord,
To climb mountains—navel cord,
Let these be given—navel cord,
For this male child.
The chanting of the more powerful karakia is a beautiful and dignified ceremony, emotive and a privilege to take part in, even as a spectator. If the performance of Karakia was to die out a form of expression peculiar to the Maori race would be regrettably lost.
(Sources: Buck, Williams, and Best).
TO VISIT AMERICA
Mr J. F. Robertson, who has been awarded a Commonwealth Fund Scholarship, has for some time been Administration Officer in the Department of Maori Affairs, and left for America at the end of last month. Mr Robertson will spend a year in U.S.A., studying the problems of reorganisation of government agencies. He will spend seven months at the Centre for Advanced Study at the Brooklings Institute in Washington as a guest scholar, and will be given special facilities for research at the Federal Bureau of the Budget. He will also study State Government reorganisation programmes.
AFTERTHOUGHTS ON A HUI TOPU
WELL, ANOTHER HUI TOPU is over. There seems to be general agreement that the 1960 Hui at Rotorua was, in some ways, bigger brighter and better than ever. There's no doubt that these Hui Topu gatherings are growing.
Originally, I believe, the Hui Topu was purely a diocesan function, a Synod gathering of clergy, synodsmen, elders of the constituent parishes, and their families. I remember that the third Hui Topu, held at Ruatoria in 1955, was regarded as having a record attendance with something like a thousand people. Each succeeding year has seen the numbers grow. Wairoa, Ruatioki and Whangara saw more and larger visiting parties from the sister dioceses of Wellington and Waikato. At Omahu, in 1959, a small delegation from Auckland attended for what I believe was the first time. This was, as it were, an exploratory visit. It bore fruit this year in the attendance of a large party from Auckland and North Auckland.
This continued growth has given rise to two opposing schools of thought. There are those who think the Hui is becoming too big, too unwieldy, too costly and too difficult to organise and control.
On the other hand there are those who welcome this growth, year after year, as a healthy sign. These people see, as a logical development of this growth, a gathering so important and valuable to clergy and laity alike of the Maori Anglican Church that it should no longer be the affair of one diocese, under the bishop of that diocese, but should be planned on a yet larger scale to include
every. Maori parish throughout the land, under the aegis of the Bishop of Aotearoa.
I have heard sufficient hearty discussion of both views as to be convinced that sooner or later they will come into healthy conflict. The issue, I think, will become a matter of Hui Topu politics and will be discussed, not only in Synod, but in the largest arena of the Hui itself within the next year or two.
Now let me make it clear, at once, that I realise that this must be a matter for decision within the Maori church itself. I hope, however, that my Maori friends will not mind if I offer a few thoughts on the subject for I have attended these functions with great interest for several years.
I am one who has watched this annually growing attendance with some satisfaction and approval. I think it was at Whangara that I heard the first talk of the Hui “becoming too large”, and “getting out of hand”, but it was not until the following year, at Omahu, that anything concrete was done about it. During the Synod discussions at the Omahu hui a proposal was made that a special committee should be set up to plan and control the future Hui Topus. It was felt by the mover of this motion that the gathering had grown to such a size that it made it difficult for any parish, especially a small one, to undertake the financing, the organisation of food, the provision of transport and above all the finding, or the erection, of buildings large enough for the purposes of the Hui. An instance was made of the erection, at Omahu, of a special building, used both as a dining hall and a concert hall, at a cost of several thousand pounds.
This suggestion to take the control and organisation of the hui out of the hands of the host parish and put it under the control of a special committee did not meet with much favour, especially among the elders. In the end the proposal was withdrawn without even going to the vote. But though no action was taken on this occasion I have since heard many discussions which show that there are many people who would like to see the hui kept small enough to be organised within parish, or at least diocesan, limits.
The objections to the larger Hui Topu are not all on the ground of practical difficulties such as finance, accommodation or transport. I have listened to many who sincerely fear that the religious and spiritual purposes of the Hui Topu are being lost sight of or are being overshadowed by the competitions and secular activities. I myself do not think this is so. As long as the competitions are rewarded by mana only and not by material prizes I cannot see them being anything but for good. In fact the steady rise in the standard of both choral and Maori cultural items through the years has been remarkable. From this point of view the extension of the Hui Topu to an inter-diocese status would offer several advantages. One is that it would enable teams from all parishes to enter as competitors whereas now they are appearing as guest artists only.
The growth in six years from the one thousand which attended the Ruatoria Hui Topu to the over five thousand which attended the 1960 Hui at Rotorua is, I think, the answer to the question. You do not get so much growth unless there is a need for it and the reason for the need is not far to seek.
If there is one present attribute or characteristic of the Maori people which, more than any other, is a part of what is so often referred to as Maoritanga, it is their instinct to live as a community and a people and for that community and people.
It would, I think, be possible to retain a Maoritanga without arts and crafts, without a knowledge of whakapapa and tribal history, without perhaps even the language. It would be sad to think of any of these things as passing away, but it must be sadly admitted that as far as many young people are concerned they are none the less vanishing. But this instinct to gather together, to work together and to cling communally to their Maori identity seems to me to becoming stronger, and not weaker, with the passing of years.
The late Dr Maharaia Winiata once described the Maori pattern of life, as it affected his pakeha fellow citizens, as a pattern of co-mingling and withdrawal. By that he meant that the Maori of today is being forced by educational, economic and social circumstances into closer and closer association with the pakeha. Following his instinct he withdrew, every now and then, into his own Maori world to refresh, as it were, the springs of his Maoritanga.
In the past he withdrew to his marae. Today the marae is not always there to withdraw to. In country communities it is true the marae still plays an important part in community life, but for the overwhelming majority of those who are being increasingly drawn into the towns and cities there is no marae available. It has been estimated that from seventy to eighty per cent. of young Maoris who leave country schools finish up in the cities. the trend towards better housing sends them to new housing centres where they become Maori islands in surrounding pakeha neighbourhoods. At work, at home and at school they mix more and more with the pakeha. During the years I have been going to the Hui Topu I have seen many children pass into adolescence and many adolescents grow into young manhood and womanhood. Many of them, from the towns and cities, have told me that the only time they attend a hui, and certainly the only time they sleep in wharepunis, is at the Hui Topu.
The Hui Topu affords, each year, a marae gathering on the highest plane. Because its purpose is first and foremost a spiritual one it makes an appeal much wider than is possible on any other occasion. All human beings, irrespective of race, are subject to spiritual hungers. This is especially so of the Maori, and in addition he has his tribal and racial hungers all of which are
offered satisfaction at the Hui Topu.
I have noticed that not all those who attend the Hui Topu are necessarily members of the Maori Anglican Church. There have been occasions, notably at Omahu last year, when the success of the hui has been contributed to by members of another church. This is one of the strengths of the Hui Topu.
There have been increasing signs, especially during the past few years, of a common desire among most sections of the Maori people to draw themselves into closer communion as one people. Their thinking is passing from tribal thinking to national thinking. It was this feeling which first gave rise to the conception of kotahitanga nearly a hundred years ago. It is true that the word has since developed meaning, of drawing separated units into a united whole, is probably stronger today among thinking Maori than ever.
It is this impulse, I think, which is to some extent behind the growth, year after year, of attendance at the Hui Topu. This is not to overlook, in any way, the religious and spiritual aspect of those gatherings. It is because the larger the attendance, the greater is the unifying value of it, that I am one of those who would like to see this growth continue.
I do not see how the Hui Topu can be made to revert to smaller and more manageable forms without losing this great uniting character. Obviously, if the function is to be contained within one diocese, then similar functions will need to be inaugurated in the other diocese. I may be wrong, but I think that to divide one great function into four smaller ones would be a backward step.
I hope it will not be taken as a criticism of the very well organised and successful Hui at Rotorua if I mention one thing I thought lacking. That was a central and communal marae. Though the arrangements were almost perfect for all other needs it seemed to me that there was lacking that opportunity for casual meetings, for leisurely gettogethers and for intimate korero, which has been so marked a feature in the past. It would be fatal to forget that the greatest needs of all people are for the things of the soul, the spirit and the heart, and not those of the intellect and the physical.
There is one other thing I would like to mention in these after-thoughts on many hui topus. During the six years I have been attending them I have seen the great opportunity they afford for work among the young people. Many admirable attempts have been made to profit from the opportunity the occasion affords. As yet they have been experimental and, I think, only partly successful. A good deal of thinking and planning is still needed for the future. I know that many young people who attend the Hui find it their only integration with the work and practice of the Maori Anglican Church. Every elder knows the great need of young people for more and more attention and guidance in this difficult and bewildering world. The Hui Topu affords a field of work which can be approached by no other that I can think of.
I know that young people I have spoken to have enjoyed their youth contacts at Hui Topu and it could very well become a means of bringing them into closer association with the work of parishes and youth clubs.
Now, let me close by saying that I know only too well that any pakeha, however well-intentioned, can look at Maori matters only as an outsider ‘looking in’. None the less I cannot help but think that the annual Hui Topu gathering is only at the beginning of its potential importance and that much care and thought deserves to be given to its future. I trust, therefore, that these ‘after-thoughts’ will be accepted by my Maori friends as a sincere desire to be helpful to an institution which I respect and admire more with each year's experience of it.
A unique relationship exists between the people of Taranaki and their museum, according to the Curator of the Canterbury Museum, Dr Roger Duff, who spent some days at New Plymouth some weeks ago to advise on the setting out of the museum. “I don't know of any other district in which people are looking forward so much to help build up a museum collection,” he said, and he remarked on the number of people who had presented artifacts to the museum. Asked why people were so anxious to give artifacts, Dr Duff gave two reasons: first, the lack of profit motive and second, the standard of the museum. “People in some places are just interested in turning things into money,” he said, “but fortunately there is very little buying and selling of Maori relics in Taranaki. Also, people know that it is going to be shown well and adequately safeguarded,” he added.
STORIES OF OLD SAMOA, Fanaafi Ma'ia'i, Whitcombe and Tombs, 3/9.
WHY BIRDS DON'T CRY, A Legend in the Maori Manner. Colin Kane Bell. The Caxton Press.
These two slim volumes have in common their themes, their excellent printing and illustration, and will make valuable additions to the growing literature of Polynesian folk material. Miss Ma'ia'i, the author of the Samoan stories, has recently been appointed Lecturer in Education at Victoria University of Wellington, and in 1957, she was Samoa's first woman graduate. After graduating M.A. with first-class honours, Miss Ma'ia'i went to London on a James McIntosh scholarship and she is now completing a doctorate of philosophy at London University's Institute of Education. The legends she recounts in a style of charming simplicity; they are mostly evocative stores of places and things, of elements personified and how resourceful human beings can cope with and subdue them, and how some of them went too far and drew the wrath of the elements on them. The stories emphasise the basic human virtues of generosity and friendship and of living in harmony with the natural world.
Mr Bell's little book, sub-titled “A legend in the Maori manner”, has the conscious naiveté and simplicity of stories told to children at bedtime. The writing is smooth and agreeable, with no hint of patronage or “talking down”; one feels that his narrator is on good terms with a young audience, and this is as it should be. The simple story tells of the true love of Moa and Toa, thwarted by the jealousy and spite of Noa, Moa's guardian. That Toa's hair is parted in the middle is invented as an excuse by the crusty old man to prevent the lovers' marriage. Then, as in Maori legend, the natural forces intervene; a wind strikes up and blows a new and respectable parting in Toa's hair, and Noa it leaves with a centre parting so that he is a laughing-stock. All ends happily. The little book is admirably printed by the Caxton Press, with most attractive line drawings printed in red, by Robert Brett. It can be read in either Maori or English—there is an excellent translation by Arapeta Awatere—and will make a most useful school reader.
Essential Oxford Books
Concise Oxford Dictionary 22/6 N.Z.
Oxford Dictionary of Quotations 55/-N.Z.
Complete Shakespeare (Oxford Standard Authors) 18/6 N.Z.
of all booksellers
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS WELLINGTON
The Paper with a Charm DUKE SIZE
HINEMOA AND TUTANEKAI, AND OTHER SERIOUS AND NOT SO SERIOUS POEMS, by Adele Schafer. The Standard Press.
Mrs Schafer is Viennese born, a refugee from fascism, who came to this county twenty years ago. That she is now writing verse in English of considerable quality is an achievement in itself, and in the best of her work, one sees a detachment and a compassion the more compelling for being, as it were, at one remove. Her poems fall into three main groups: political verse, varying in tone from the jocular and occasional to the sarcastic and bitter; a lyrical section in which she explores with tenderness the spirit of place and the natural world. Here she allows her imagination to play over our landscape with a fresh, ironical eye: this for example, from Wellington Spring-Prelude:
Flag-like unfurls every housewife's duster
In stone-locked roads weeds force through every crack
Street corners bloom with teen-age holding muster
Shrivelled potatoes sprout through box and sack.
Lastly, the group of poems on Maori themes, which naturally will prove of most interest to the Maori reader. The longest and most ambitious of these is Hinemoa and Tutanekai, from which her book takes its title. Mrs Schafer shows here and elsewhere a considerable knowledge of Maori lore and she can use the natural Maori world to striking effect, as in this passage:
Flute music, melancholy more than words
Told of Tutanekai's hopeless desire,
That made a pumice-desert of his day.
If “hopeless desire” is not exactly English newminted, the precision of “pumice-desert” in this context compels admiration, both for the intrinsic value of the image, and for its appropriateness to the area, Rotorua, where the legend takes place. However, her quite understandable ignorance of the subtler traps of writing in a foreign language lead her sometimes into this unfortunate flatness:
With even strokes she swims. The way is long.
A sunken tree gives her a little break.
She clings to it, and rests and takes deep breaths.
The book is somewhat sparsely illustrated with wood engravings by E. Mervyn Taylor, which include on the cover, his very beautiful “Hinemoa and Tutanekai”. One wishes that Mrs Schafer had engaged a really competent proof reader to point out several minor, but irritating spelling errors. But the best of her poems are fresh and tender, and the size of her achievement, in giving something back to the country which has sheltered her, must not be underestimated.
REEDS RUGBY LIBRARY
Terry McLean on the 1960 All Blacks—BEATEN BY THE ‘BOKS. Graphic match reports and a complete summary of tactics, personalities and conflicts. Illustrated. Coming soon. 18s. 6d.
C. O. Medworth on the 1960 All Blacks — BATTLE OF THE GIANTS. The South African book on the tour—read what the Springboks thought of Don Clarke. Illustrated. Coming soon. 18s. 6d.
Reg. Sweet's SPRINGBOK AND SILVER FERN. A complete survey of all tests played between South Africa and N.Z., including the present series. Illustrated. Coming soon. 18s 6d.
Arthur Carman's RANFURLY SHIELD RUGBY. The complete book of the shield, 256 pages of text, 70 illustrations—look for Wilson Whineray on the jacket. Published. 25s.
Denis Lalanne's THE GREAT FIGHT OF THE FRENCH FIFTEEN. The magnificent French tour of South Africa in 1958—“this is the finest writing about Rugby.” Published. 16s.
Terry McLean's KINGS OF RUGBY. The big book of the 1959 Lions' Tour, available in a new edition. 18s. 6d.
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PUBLISHED BY A. H. & A. W. REED, 182 WAKEFIELD STREET, WELLINGTON
KORARI MAORI WOMEN'S WELFARE LEAGUE MASTERTON
Korari, a branch-league of the Wairarapa Maori Women's Welfare League District Council, is a very active body of women. They have held 12 monthly meetings at members' homes in Masterton. At the beginning of the year there were only 8 financial members but a drive was made to increase membership which was most successful, and now we have 16 fully paid members.
Our activities have covered a wide field of work and all members are extremely keen. Each month two ladies visit the hospital and take comforts for the patients. We concentrate on the T.B. patients. Special attention is given to Maori patients in all wards and we take books, flowers, fruit, sweets and cooking; occasionally we include special treats such as paua fritters, pork bones, and puha and sweet corn. We are always ready to help needy families with food and clothes, and members often do children's sewing for needy cases. Just recently members rallied to a call from the hospital for clothes for a two-year-old who was going to the Health Camp. The response was so good that a surplus is being held for a future case if it is needed.
Other local Clubs also help us, and at Christmas the Lions Club donated a large box of toys to be distributed among the children whose parents would be finding it hard to get toys at Christmas.
Korari League in conjunction with other Leagues, also gave assistance to the Jaycees in their Community Week held last April.
Members also helped with the Nagatanewaru Meeting House scheme by a street day appeal, a gala and sports day and other activities.
Over the 12 monthly meetings members work steadily towards entering the competitions of the Masterton A. & P. Show held in February of each year. There are five courts, one for each League and one for the District Council, and competition among each league and its members is very keen. This year for the first time Korari has won all of the trophies with a total points count of 202. It was an extremely good effort on Korari's part and it showed how the members have worked.
As our financial position was very healthy we decided to give donations to two local charities just before Christmas, one to the local branch of the Crippled Children Society and the other to the Maserton Hospital Community Chapel Appeal. Earlier in the year we had helped with a donation to the St John Ambulance Appeal.
Korari's work over the years has been varied and all members feel their efforts have been appreciated by those we have endeavoured to help.
GROWING UP ON TAMAKI
West tamaki is rapidly becoming one of the largest housing estates in the Auckland Province. And with its growth confident young Maorimen and women are establishing themselves in an area that has played an important part in the past history of the Maori people.
In fields along the Tamaki River where kumaras were once cultivated and where, perhaps, the whare-maire stood, new schools and churches have been built not far from parks and recreational ground: in a word, the old has given way to the new.
Not, of course, that the past has altogether been forgotten by these younger Maoris. It hasn't. There is still to be found, for instance, the traditional sense of responsibility toward the community and the old-time rules of hospitality are still quietly observed despite the tremendous changes in their lives.
As for the children of Tamaki: we only have to look at the expressions on the faces of the tamariki above to see that they are happy.
This is as it should be.
GOING NORTH? GOING SOUTH? GO BY
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An attractive, shy 16 year old girl from the country district of Whakapara (about 14 miles north of Whangarei) last month became the first Maori to represent New Zealand at table tennis.
She was Neti Davis, the New Zealand junior champion, who played in the test series against the touring Japanese world champions, Misses Kimiyo Matsuzaki and Kazuko Yamaizumi.
Neti, who is a prefect at the Hukerenui District High School, clinched her place in the New Zealand team with good performances in the national trials at Lower Hutt.
Although already the holder of many national titles, Neti seems destined for even greater honours.
It seems certain that she will be New Zealand champion within the next few years.
She created a great impression when she appeared against the Japanese players in their opening match of the tour at Whangarei.
Her one big weakness at present is her slowness around the table. She has well nigh perfect attacking and defending strokes on both forehand and backhand wings.
She owes her successes to the keenness and ability of her grandfather-coach, Mr Lou Davis.
To date she has played in three national championships and on the last two occasions, mainly because of her successes, Northland has won the Arthur Meachen Memorial Cup for the association winning the most events.
Every time she has given the tournament officials constant headaches. By competing and winning through to the latter stages of under 16, under 18 and open events she caused many hold-ups.
At her first appearance in Lower Hutt in 1957 she won the New Zealand under 16 singles and the under 16 doubles. Although only 13, she still managed to reach the final of the open mixed doubles.
At Wellington in 1958 she took the under 18 and under 16 singles, the under 18 doubles and the open mixed doubles. Last year at Auckland she won the open mixed doubles again and retained both the junior singles titles as well as winning the under 16 girls' doubles.
Her play was of such a high standard during the season—she also won the Auckland, Waikato, North Shore and Northland open singles titles—that she was ranked No. 3 on the national ranking list at the end of the year.
No mention of Neti's successes can be made without reference to 76-year-old Lou Davis, her grandfather and mentor.
Mr Lou Davis is well known throughout the country as a champion for youth and Maoris in sport and for the well-being of the Maori race.
He still plays table tennis himself.
He is a life member of the Whangarei Table Tennis Association, the Whangarei Rugby Union and the Mid-Northern Lawn Tennis Association.
Next year he will be elected a life member of the Northland Table Tennis Association.
He has been associated with Maori football perhaps longer than anybody in New Zealand—since 1904 in fact.
That year he organised a team from St Stephens College and Three Kings to beat the Auckland B representatives.
Lou was playing for Parnell (“anywhere from five-eighths to fullback”) at the time. He had gone to Auckland to serve his apprenticeship as a car painter and to learn to play rugby.
Born at Taumarere (near Kawakawa), the son of Mr and Mrs Henare Davis (his mother was Ngarui Reweti), young Lou naturally trekked back to Northland after his sojourn in the city.
He started his real and lasting association with Northland rugby in 1912, the year he organised the first Northland Maori side.
He has been connected with the Whangarei union since those days and with the North Auckland Rugby Union since its formation more than 30 years ago.
He has been a Tai Tokerau selector since 1929. Nowadays he is as vitally interested and as active as ever in rugby matters, particularly where they pertain to Maoris.
Standing on his whakapara farm is a small galvanised iron shed which contains a table tennis outfit.
This is where he has coached his grandchildren and other Maori youngsters in the district in the delicate art of smiting the little celluloid ball.
Out of that tumbledown shed and the Lou Davis T.T. school have come the winners of countless major titles.
His son Johnny was several times Northland champion and Johnny's wife was also Northland champion a number of times. she also held the Northland tennis title.
All of their children—Neti, Mary Anne, Thelma
and Lou junior—have won table tennis championships.
When he returned to England after conducting a coaching tour in New Zealand, Ken Stanley wrote in the English Table Tennis Association magazine of “an elderly Maori who walked 24 miles on a number of occasions to watch and hear me coach.”
That was Lou Davis.
Neti is now proving just how valuable her grandfather's efforts have been.
Lou also taught his grandchildren to play tennis. He laid down a grass court and proceeded to coach. His grandchildren have won a heap of tennis titles.
He has assisted in the running of practically all of Northland's junior tennis tournaments.
Lou is vitally interested in the welfare of the Maori people (“my people”) and they put their whole trust in this quiet man.
It is most fitting that New Zealand's first Maori table tennis representative should be his granddaughter.
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SUMMER SPORTS AND CLOTHING CATALOGUE
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Makee to weka i te mahanga e hoki ano?
(Once a weka has escaped a snare, would it go back to it again?)
It's very easy to fritter your money away—you can't think where it's gone to—but like the escaped weka—you can be sure you won't see it again. It's never easy to save—but there is ONE SURE WAY. JOIN A THRIFT CLUB WHERE YOU WORK … and the saving is done for you. Any amount you decide you can afford is then painlessly subtracted from your weekly wage. It soon mounts up—and earns interest too—and you'll find that when you want money for larger expenses such as holidays, clothes, sports, etc…. the money is there when you most need it—you can withdraw it whenever you want to.
Just arrange with your employer to deduct a fixed amount from your pay each week.
Join the Post Office Thrift Club where you work
AND WATCH YOUR SAVINGS GROW!
Issued by the New Zealand Savings Committee
THE HOME GARDEN
Today it is desirable that the Maori be given every assistance to grow his own household vegetables. With that object in mind, I propose to deal with the cultivation of two or three types of vegetables that will not only give the people garden-fresh vegetables at a very low cost, but will, I hope, be of immense value as far as their diet is concerned.
Many varieties of Tomatoes are available from your local nursery, either staked or dwarf, but I favour the dwarf kind especially in the Bay of Plenty, where on the whole, soil conditions are light. Up to 15lb of fruit per plant can be obtained, if attention and care are given. The following varieties are recommended:
Australian Large Red.
The Tomato can be used raw, cooked, bottled, or for sauce. It is acceptable to both children and adults alike, being very nourishing. One thing must be remembered, the tomato is a warmth-loving plant requiring all the sunshine that is available, and on no account plant until all risk of frost has gone.
About the end of October or early November, plant out about 25 plants. This should be sufficient for the average home. Plant in rows 3 feet apart, allowing at least 4 feet between the rows. About 3oz. of bonedust to the square yard should be well worked into the soil before planting.
In a few weeks, after setting out the plants, they would have started to make rapid growth and at this time of the year diseases are likely to make their appearance, especially blight. Powdered Bordeaux should be used as a spray at a strength of 4oz. in 5 gallons of water. This should be applied every 14 days, and during December Arsenate of Lead should be added, allowing 2½oz. for 5 gallons of water, for the control of caterpillar.
On no account water tomato plants, as the application of water other than the normal rains experienced tends to create humid conditions in which blight is able to attack and ultimately destroy the plants. Good cultivation is the answer to success. Keep the hoe going all the time, eliminating weed growth, and also estabilshing what is generally called a dust mulch with the object of conserving ample moistures to supply the Tomatoes during the hot dry weather.
The best onion soil is a deep rich loam of a somewhat sandy nature in which is worked ample quantities of lime and bonedust. The onion will succeed year after year in the same piece of land, especially if the soil is well prepared at the begining. First of all, the ground must be well drained and deeply dug. It must be kept reasonably moist and the crop weeded and cultivated regularly.
At planting time, stretch a line where the rows are to be planted. These should be about fifteen inches apart. In the actual work of transplanting, care must be taken to insert only the roots in the soil. To bury any portion of the stem results in thick necks and delayed ripening. Should the plants not stand upright, this will not matter. They will do so in a few days. When onions are thoroughly ripened, pull and store in an airy shed for winter use. 1,000 plants should be ample for all needs.
During the summer peas are always welcome at the dinner table. They are easy to grow and no garden should be without a small patch of peas. First of all, dig the soil deeply, incorporating plenty of decayed vegetation or compost. Then, broadcast and rake into the surface bonedust or superphosphate at the rate of 2 ozs. to the square yard. Draw out with the hoe a trench 2 inches deep and 5 inches wide.
Scatter the seed about 1 inch apart along the trench and then cover and level the soil. Never use nitrogenous fertilisers, such as blood and bone, dried blood or nitrate of soda on land that is intended for peas as this vegetable is a legume and does not flourish in soil that has a high nitrogeneous content.
To keep up a continuous supply during the summer months, make three plantings at intervals of about 3 weeks. Good varieties for early sowings are Blue Bantam, William Massey and Early Crop.
This will suceed in any fairly good soil if deeply worked and well manured. The ground should be trenched at least to a depth of 18 inches to 2 feet and then plenty of farm yard or fowl manure incorporated. The best plan is to purchase roots, about 25 will provide sufficient for the average family.
Once planted they can stay in the same place for years. Thus, it must be understood that an ample supply of manure should be thoroughly.
applied at planting time. When establishing the root, place it in an upright position; fill in the soil, taking care to press it firmly around the root; cover the crown with about 3 inches of soil, putting each root about three feet apart in the row.
One practice that must be remembered is that the soil must be kept loose and free of weeds. Do not pull stalks the first year, but during the summer months give an occasional watering with liquid manure, either pig, sheep, cow, or fowl will do. Once a year give a good dressing of stabel manure and then fork the soil over between the plants.
Good varieties suitable for planting are Myatts Victoria for summer and Topps Winter for winter use. Planting can take place either in autumn or spring.
The dairy herd will now be in full milk and the time has come to arrange for the closing up of pastures which are to be cut for silage and hay.
When selecting a paddock for silage, care should be taken to ensure that it is one that has no bad harvesting features and is reasonably level and dry. For preference it should be a paddock on which the dairy cows have been wintered so it will be necessary to harrow the surface to spread the droppings and to scatter any waste hay that may have been left from feeding out. It is also advisable to topdress the paddock to ensure a quick growth, for to make the best silage the grass should always be cut and harvested when young and succulent.
As grass becomes more plentiful, paddocks should be selected to be closed up for hay. It is always advisable to close up different paddocks each year. These paddocks should always receive the same treatment as for silage prior to closing.
A most important job at this time of the year is the mating of the dairy cows. Before each cow is mated two heat periods or an interval of 30 days should be allowed after calving. Cows mated before this period are less likely to get in calf and chances of contaminating the bull are increased. Hand mating, i.e. by putting the cow in the bull paddock and allowing two services only, should always be practised. Accurate records should be kept, showing the date of service together with the name of the bull, for should breeding troubles occur, these records will be of considerable assistance in arriving at a correct diagnosis.
If cows are returning to service these mating records can be examined to see if any particular bull is to blame. If so, a veterinarian or Livestock Instructor could be called in to take a semen sample for examination. If a new bull is required great care should be taken in his selection and if at all possible a young bull that has had no previous service should be purchased. Always avoid buying a bull at the sale yards unless you can be absolutely certain of his past history.
Washing out cows seldom helps and may cause trouble if irritant fluids such as kerosene are used. It always pays to consult a veterinarian as soon as cows are noticed to be returning to service in unusual numbers. This should be done immediately as he will not be able to diagnose the cause of the trouble if left too long.
ON THE SHEEP FARM
By the time that this publication reaches the farmer lambing will be the main job on the sheep farm but it should still not be too late to give a few hints covering the care of lambing ewes.
About 10 per cent of all lambs are either born dead or die during the first week. These losses can be reduced by careful shepherding.
Many lambs and some ewes can be saved by skilled assistance during lambing. A reliable lubricating antiseptic should always be used on hands and wrists when attending to ewes as faulty presentation must be corrected. A lamb should never be forcibly pulled away when a leg or the head is turned back. Many lambs die from suffocation even after delivery through the cleanings remaining over the nostrils; these are easily removed if attended to soon enough.
Where necessary lambs should be assisted to get their first drink of milk. This is particularly important when the ewe has very large teats. Drawing away a few squirts of milk will reduce the size of the teat and enable the newlyborn lamb to suckle.
These ewes with very large teats and others with extra small teats, badly placed teats or defective udders, should be marked for culling. A big per-
centage of their lambs will die through not being able to get milk. Many lambs which die during the cold wet weather would survive if they got a good drink soon after birth.
Docking of the lambs is also a most important job and very often too little time is spent on the preparation for this work.
First select a level clean grassed area in the corner of a paddock and fence off with netting an area of sufficient size to hold all the ewes and lambs in that paddock. When mustered in they should be allowed sufficient time to cool off before the docking operations commence. A smaller yard should then be erected in front of the big yard to be used as the main docking pen and with a good docking board of convenient height the work is made easy. Be sure to have ample disinfectant available in which to dip the tools of trade. Docking fluid should also be used if the knife is necessary.
BY YOUR BACKYARD
THERE is a common saying that by the surroundings of a house, the occupants may be judged. This was true as far as my dear old Mother was concerned. There was no elaborate gate to our home, a humble style where one stepped up on to the huge flat stone, taken from the riverbed by my Dad, and then up on to the wooden step, and over. The path was of heavy smooth stones, also from the nearby riverbed.
Our home was only a board kaota (cookhouse) with an earth floor kitchen and huge tin chimney fireplace, with numerous camp ovens and boilers. From the door end of the kitchen, was a small dark windowless storeroom where usually, only Mother went, and where she kept all kinds of mysteries, such as jams and preserves, and cooling drinks. At the other end, you stepped up into the bedrooms which had wooden floors. Only half of the kitchen had a ceiling, and up here again, Mother had many mysteries—bundles of dried flax, in several colours, old papers and pictures and many odds and ends, that I loved to look over when Mother wasn't around.
But it was really the backyard that I wanted to describe, there was no front yard, for there was no front door and the animals fed right up to the south and west walls, where a huge walnut grew, bearing many hackings, where Mother used to take to it with the axe—but did that tree bear beautiful walnuts! The backyard was really two yards, one looking North and one looking East, with the narrow stony path from the gate in between.
Along both sides of the path grew climber roses of red and yellow, along the wall were sweet peas and hollyhocks and a thick row of pincushions right along in front. Also in several beds, that you could walk around at will, there were lovely roses of all hues, dear old Canterbury bells of dark blue and light blue, there were pink candytuft and blue cornflowers and bushy fuschia, red and pink, and how I loved to pop the buds off. There were beds of sweet verbena blue and pink, and beds of asters all shades, while at the far end there was a bed of big fat onions with all their stalks bent over.
On the eastern side of the path there was the large garden sloping off down to the little creek that trickled through the fig and willow trees. There were rows of vegetables and around the edges marked by stones, there were thick rows of marigold, while beside the little track that wound down to the creek, were little blue violets in season. Along the creek were spreading kamo-kamo and rows of tall rustling corn. In odd corners there were peony roses and hydrangeas in their seasons and dahlias galore. Nearly all the year round Mother worked in her garden and was known and loved by all who passed that way, and enjoyed her kind hospitality. Homemade leaven bread, homemade butter, kept in crocks in the little dark room and perhaps a fruit cake cooked in the camp oven, were usually on hand, and anyone was welcome, children and all.
My mother spoke very little English and could neither read nor write, but she could certainly cook and make things grow, and never a woman visitor came, who did not leave with a bunch of beautiful flowers.
I can still remember the little old home and its lovely gardens and in the hot summer weather, I used to think it was a picture of great beauty, right alongside that narrow dusty road, and if ever backyards gave an indication of the type of owner, that one did, for, as the saying goes, your character can be judged by your backyard.
Sometimes in the quiet of night
I walk again beneath the silent trees
And feel the road beneath me soft
Where the sun in all its length had never touched
Upon me; then rain all those wholesome smells,
Enwrapping my being in a scented sweetness
Till the strength of my present leaves me
And I am stilled inside. I see myself again,
A child, with lowered head
Walking quietly beneath some reaching pine-trees.
WRITTEN IN A BOARDING HOUSE
That a loneliness has driven me to the pen
I full well know. And am I aware
That this thing is in me. A thing rare
Flames about my heart as few will shape.
And am I glad for this talent to write
That comes but to a few men within a generation,
Yet while I sit behind these curtained windows
Looking out upon a narrow life
With hour upon solitary hour
Slipping by into the meadows
Of passed days, I wonder about my strife.
When I see the couples like blossoming flowers
Or the conversing friends secure
In the companionship of themselves
And think I or myself alone, like some immobility
Watching the actions of other men. The lure
In me is strong and the very cells
Yes the very cells of my body ache to be free.
CROSSWORD PUZZLE NO. 30
All answers are Maori words
|1.||Take leave of; farewell.|
|12.||Still; also; too.|
|17.||Rock oyster; piercing cold.|
|18.||Light (a fire).|
|24.||Reel, fall; weak.|
|26.||Just before daylight.|
|30.||Soon; presently; today.|
|32.||Provisions for journey.|
|35.||Unoccupied; free; open.|
|40.||Te —, this.|
|44.||Drop off; beset (as fruit).|
|1.||Untidy, mischievous child.|
|2.||A troop of people; scoop up.|
|4.||Bore, probe out; quiver.|
|5.||Cut short; butt end.|
|7.||His, hers. (pl.).|
|16.||Gently, slowly; morning.|
|17.||Spear; cook in oven.|
|23.||Pelt; throw, cast.|
|31.||Belonging to me.|
|41.||Avenged, payed for.|
|44.||Free from tapu; ordinary.|
|46.||Int. expressing surprise.|
|47.||Mud, swamp; shoe.|
PLACES AND THINGS
A Rotorua carpenter and Maori carver, Mr Hone Te Kauru Taiapa was made a member of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire in the Queen's Birthday Honours. The father of six children, the eldest two married and the youngest aged nine years, Mr Taiapa has lived in Rotorua for 19 years. While working on his many splendid meeting houses—he and his brother Pine have worked on over 40 of them—Hone Taiapa has trained hundreds of carvers. The two brothers have been most prolific producers of carvers. The two brothers have been most prolific producers of carved houses during the last 30 years. Born at Tikitiki on the East Coast in 1912, Hone Taiapa has been carving since he was a boy. One of his more recent works was the meeting-house in Waihi, and in Rotorua, he was responsible for the beautiful carving in the Rotorua Boys' High School Assembly Hall. At present, he is working on the Cathedral in Napier.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
MAORI PA TO BE RESTORED
The Papatoetoe Borough Council will try to restore to their original state Maori earthworks, believed to be more than 150 years old, at the back of Papatoetoe Cemetery. The decision was taken after considering a report from Mr A. E. Tonson, a councillor and member of the National Historic Places Trust. Mr Tonson said that the earthworks were on a peninsula at the confluence of two streams in the upper reaches of the Waokauri Creek. It had been reported that a pa was situated at this spot. The earthworks were surmounted by a palisade, and were in a well-preserved state. They were 130 feet long, six feet high from ground level and 10 feet high from the lowest point of the trench. The width of the mound would be about 18 feet and the total width of the defences about 15 feet. Mr Tonson said it was believed that the pa was abandoned about 1810 after an epidemic had wiped out many of the people. The Maoris used caves as burial places and many years ago, about 300 skeletons were found in a cave in the vicinity of Waokauri Creek. In recent years, a bulldozer had apparently been driven through the fortifications, leaving a 30-foot gap. The council instructed the borough engineer, Mr P. E. Fraser, to take steps to restore the fortifications as nearly as possible to their original state. An effort will be made to have the area fenced off and reserved.
Work Has Been in progress on the processing and classification of material found during archaeological digging on the top of Mount Wellington, reported Mr J. Golson, lecturer in history at the University of Auckland. Mr Golson directed the work, which was carried out by members of the Auckland University Archaeological Society. Only six or seven artifacts were found on the site, but it had yielded large quantities of shells and other material that would produce a great deal of information on the methods of subsistence of the early Maoris in the Auckland area, Mr Golson said. No more digging would be carried out by the society until the summer, said Mr Golson. The field work on Mount Wellington was now completed, and some samples of charcoal would be sent to the Nuclear Science Institute at Gracefield for radio-carbon dating. Mr Golson will leave New Zealand next February to take up a research position with the department of anthropology in the Australian National University at Canberra. He will be responsible for the organisation of the archaeological branch of the research school at Canberra.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
PLEA OF MAORI ELDER
In Commenting on a statement made by the Mayor of Tauranga on the Maori problems in his borough Mr P. H. Leonard, a noted elder of the Maori race, said recently: “It seems that a lot of people think we are not deeply conscious of the problems facing our people at present. We are deeply conscious of those problems. I was born in a raupo hut. Now I am 59 years of age and have the honour to be the Deputy-Mayor of Rotorua. The next ten years will see great advances in the Maori people. By then, all the grandparents and parents will have had a secondary school education. What I do not like is collective judgment. I have Maori and Pakeha blood. Many times I have been ashamed of my pakeha blod. Many times I have been ashamed of my Maori blood. The pakeha people too often practice a superiority complex to give the Maori people an inferiority complex. All I ask is your helping hand.”
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
A £150 Auckland Savings Bank scholarship for pupils of the Queen Victoria School for Maori Girls has been awarded this year to Caroline Thompson, aged 17, of Otiria, Bay of Islands. Caroline, who is a prefect in her fifth year at the school, is preparing for the university entrance examination at the end of the year. She hopes to go to Auckland Teachers' College. The scholarship, which is awarded on the recommendation of the headmistress for academic ability, has been granted each year since its institution in 1958. Caroline is the fourth girl to receive it. The £150 is shared according to the number of recipients, but it was not divided this year. A similar scholarship is granted by the bank, to St Stephens School for Boys, Bombay.
⋆ ⋆ ⋆
THE COMMISSION ON EDUCATION
In July, a Commission on Education was held in Wellington, and important submissions were made to it on Maori education. Mr K. I. Robertson, officer for Maori Education for the Education Department, said that the task of Maori education is to meet the need for cultural adjustment, over come handicaps, especially in language, and to enable the Maori to attain social, educational, economic equality with the European. The gap between the two cultures is narrowing, after a century of adaptation, Mr Robertson said, but one should not be blind to the still existing problems, to the fact that the cohesion of Maori society has been lost and that many Maoris remain culturally handicapped, in spite of all that education can do. Maori children need the backing of interested parents, more experience of books and reading and a home providing privacy for real study at secondary school level.
“In many Maori homes, these conditions exist in a reasonable degree, but in far too many, little thought is given to educational opportunity or future occupation. In these matters, the Maori welfare officer and the education service have a vital role…. The Maori however, must retain his identity—his integration depends on acceptance of him as a Maori by the European majority, who must help him to help himself towards independence, better living standards, and economic equality. This challenge has been answered in the Maori schools; it is now being heard in the public schools, high schools and colleges. If acceptance in the full sense exists anywhere, it is in the universities and the teachers' colleges. This gives cause for optimism on Maori-European relationships, for it is from the universities and the teachers' colleges that leadership comes.”
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-and higher education
Good foresters are produced only form good recruits. Under expert guidance young men develop into fine citizens with a high sense of pride in achievement.
Administration, imperative to forestry, demands an exceptionally high standard of recruit. Following practical, ‘background’ tuition boys who have University Entrance are encouraged to take degrees in either Arts or Commerce. Professional Trainees are required to complete a Science degree prior to being considered for further overseas forestry training. Science graduates have been sent mainly to the Australian School at Canberra (pictured below) and regularly to Oxford and Edinburgh. One has passed through the French School of Forestry at Nancy.
The success of forestry training has proved the soundness of its basic principles. Without it over the last twenty years there would be little of the forestry achievement we pride today, and little optimism for the future.
Forestry is forever
Issued in the interests of forest protection by The New Zealand Forest Service.
So you've got a cold!
An announcement from THE N.Z. DEPARTMENT OF HEALTH
3. DON'T BLOW YOUR NOSE LIKE A BUGLE … it forces infection into your ears and sinuses. Hold the bridge of your nose and BLOW GENTLY, keeping nostrils and mouth open.
not a bite in a billion!
get the full flavour of your tobacco — roll with
ZIG-ZAG cigarette papers
Protect Native Birds
The tui is one of our most distinctive native birds. Like most of our bush birds its numbers were serious depleted in the early days of New Zealand settlement. It suffered more than most because it was a highly prized article of food and a popular pet.
Today we can no longer afford to kill the tui if we want to maintain its numbers. We must protect it for its value in pollinating the flowers of forest plants and destroying insects, and because it is one of our most remarkable songsters.
The law protects the tui and other native birds for our common good.
A fine of £50, a further £2 for every bird killed, and the loss of a valued gun are penalties that await those who kill protected birds.
Issued By The Wildlife Branch, Department Of Internal Affairs.