Na ko Pa-maramarama te ingoa o te pa o te hoa o Te Aohuruhuru. He koroheke te tangata nei, ko tana wahine he tutua, he mea tango mai e ia i te tangata i arohatia nuitia e tenei wahine. Ko te take i tangohia ai e ia te wahine nei he pai, he ataahua, he wahine momoho ki te mahi. Ko te mahi he taka kai, he whatu weruweru mo te koroheke nei. Otira ko tona noho, e noho pononga ana ki tenei koroheke, otira ko tona aroha pea e mau tonu ana ki te tangata i arohatia nuitia e ia.

A roa rawa tona nohoanga ki tenei koroheke, a muri iho ka tahuri taua koroheke ki te hakirara i a ia.

Ko te tikanga tenei o tana hakiraratanga i a ia. No to raua moenga i te po, roa rawa raua e moe ana, ka maranga taua koroheke ki runga, ka titiro ki tana wahine tamahine, kua warea e te moe. Ko ona pakikau kua pahuhu ke ki raro i te kowhananga a nga ringaringa, a nga waewae, i te ainga a te ahuru. Katahi ka tahuna e ia te ahi, ka ka te ahi, ka tirohia e ia nga pakikau, ka takoto kau ia. Katahi ka mahara te koroheke ra ki te nuinga o tona pai. Kowatawata ana nga uru mawhatu i te hana o te ahi; ko tona tinana, ngangana ana: ko tona kiri, karengo kau ana; ko te kanohi, ano he rangi raumati paruhi kau ana; ko te uma o te kotiro e ka whakaea, ano he hone moana aio i te waru e ukura ana hoki i te toanga o te ra, ka rite ki te kiri o tuawahine.

Taro rawa te tirohanga o taua koroheke ki te pai o tana wahine tamahine, muri iho ka whakaarahia e ia ona hoa koroheke o roto i te whare ki te matakitaki ki te ataahuatanga o tana wahine. I a ratou e matakitaki ana i a ia, katahi ano ia ka oho. Oho rawa ake ia, koia e matakitakina ana e te tini koroheke o roto i te whare ra.

Heoiti ano ka maranga te wahine ki runga, ka mate i te whakama. Heoti ano ko te rangi i pai ra kua tamarutia e te pokeao; ko te uma kakapa ana, ano e ru ana te whenua. Ka tinia ia e te whakama. Katahi ka rarahu nga ringa ki nga pakikau, ki te uhi i a ia. Katahi ka rere ki te kokinga o te whare; ka tangi, tangi tonu a ao noa te ra.

Awatea kau ana, ka haere te koroheke ra ratou ko nga hoa, ka eke ki runga i te waka, ka hoe ki waho ki te moana ki te hi. A i muri o te koroheke ra ratou ko nga hoa kua riro, katahi te wahine nei ka whakaaro ki te he o tana tane ki a ia, katahi ka mahara kia

A gem of delicate ancient-style Maori story telling is the legend of Te Aohuruhuru, of which the Maori version appeared in Sir George Grey's Nga Mahi a Nga Tupuna. He never translated this story into English, and this has been very sensitively done by the late W. W. Bird, whose version we are presenting here.

Pamaramarama was the name of the pa in which lived the husband of Te Aohuruhuru. He was an old man. His wife, a girl of lowly birth, had been taken by him from one she loved dearly, because of her excellence, her beauty, and her accomplishments. She was skilled in all kinds of cooking and in weaving the finest mats for her old husband. But she lived the life of a slave with the old man, her heart still yearning for the loved one from whom she had been torn.

She had been so living with her old husband for a considerable time when he turned to annoying and insulting her, and this is how he set about it.

When they were in bed one night the old man woke and looked at his girl wife, who lay there fast asleep. Owing to the excessive heat, her garments had slipped down from the restless tossing of her arms and legs. He made a fire, and by its blaze he saw the clothes and his wife lying bare. Then he began to gloat over his good fortune. Gleaming were her curly tresses in the firelight, her body glowing, her skin smooth and pearly, her eyes fine and clear like a beautiful summer's day. Her breasts rose and fell like a peaceful sea in summer lit up by the rays of the setting sun. Such was the appearance of the girl as she lay there. After the old man had spent some time in feasting his eyes on his beautiful girl wife he awakened his old cronies in the house to share in gazing upon her lovely form. While they stood looking at her she awoke to find herself being stared upon by a crowd of old men in the house. Springing up from the bed she hung her head in shame. The beautiful summer's day had been covered by a dark cloud. Her breast quivered and throbbed as does the earth when shaken by an earthquake. She was overcome by shame and, seizing her garments to hide her body from their wicked gaze, she rushed to the furthest corner of the house and sobbed her heart out until day break. When

haere ia ki te whakamomori. Na, tera tetahi toka teitei e tu ana i te tahatika, ko te ingoa o tenei toka inaianei ko Te Rerenga o Te Aohuruhuru.

Katahi te tamahine ka tahuri ki te tatai i a ia, na ka heru i a ia, na ka rakei i a ia ki ona kaitaka, ka tia hoki i tona mahunga ki te raukura—ko nga raukura he huia, he kotuku he toroa, ka oti. Katahi ano te tamahine ka whakatika, na ka haere, ka piki, a ka eke ki runga o te toka teitei, ka noho. Katahi ano ka kohuki te whakaaro o te tamahine ki te tito waiata mana.

Ka rite nga kupu o taua waiata; ko te tane ratou ko nga hoa kei te hoe mai ana ki uta. Ka tata mai te waka o te tane ki te taketake o te toka e noho ra te tamahine i runga, ko te koroheke nei kua pawera noa ake te ngakau ki te purotutanga o tana wahine taitamariki. Katahi ratou ka whakarongo ki te wahine ra e waiata ana i tana waiata. Ka rongo ratou ki nga kupu o te waiata a te wahine ra. Ano!

morning had come, the old man and his friends had embarked on their canoe and paddled out to sea to catch fish. Thereupon the girl, brooding over the insult to which her husband had subjected her, determined to end her life. There is a lofty crag standing near the shore, which is now known as Te Rerenga o te Aohuruhuru (the leaping place of Te Aohuruhuru). Then the girl decked herself out, combed her tresses, put on her best mat and adorned her head with a plume of feathers, huia, kotuku, toroa. Then she arose, reached the base of the rock, climbed up and having reached the summit, sat down there turning her thoughts to composing her death song. By the time she had finished, her husband and his friends were paddling homewards. Their canoe approached the rock upon which the girl was sitting and the old man's heart glowed at the thought of his wife's youthful beauty. Then they heard her singing her song. They could make out the words, now wafted over the rippling waters, now echoed back from

torino kau ana mai i runga i te kare o te wai, ano te ko e pa ana ki tetahi pari, na ka whakahokia mai, ano te mamahutanga ki tona koiwi. Ana! Koia ia, ko te hou o te waiata a tuawahine, mataaho mai ana ki nga taringa. Koia tenei:

‘Naku ra i moe tuwherawhera,
Ka tahuna ki te ahi
Kia tino turama,
A ka kataina a au na.’

Na ka mutu tana waiata, katahi ia ka whakaangi i taua toka nei ki te whakamoti i a ia. Katahi ka kite mai taua koroheke ra i a ia ka rere i te pari. I kitea mai e ia ki nga kakahu ka ma i tona rerenga ai.

Katahi ka whakau mai to ratou waka ki te take o te toka i rere nei te wahine nei, ka u mai, u noa mai ka kite ratou i a ia e takoto ana, kua mongamonga noa atu. Ko te waka whakairo nei kua paea ki te akau, kua pakaru rikiriki. A kua ngahae hoki te waka whakairo a tenei koroheke, ara te pai whakarere rawa atu o te tamahine nei. A mohoa noa nei maharatia tonutia e matou te ingoa o tera toka ko Te-Rerenga-o-Te-Aohuruhuru. A maharatia tonutia hoki e matou nga kupu o tana waiata. No te taenga mai hoki o nga tauhou ki konei, ka arahina ratou e matou ki te toka nei kia kite.

some cliff and bringing joy to his spirit. Listen! these are the very words of the girl's song falling clearly on the ear:

‘As I was lying there exposed
The fire was lit
The house was ablaze with light
And I was laughed at.’

(She was dwelling on her betrayal—how when she was sunk in innocent sleep he had lit the fire and she had been humilated and shamed by her husband before the eyes of his friends.)

Having ended her song she hurled herself to destruction from the top of the rock. Her husband saw her as she hurled downwards, her white robes gleaming in her flight.

They brought the canoe to the foot of the cliff from which she had leapt and as they neared the spot they saw her lying there—her beautiful body dashed to pieces like a richly carved canoe that had been smashed into fragments on the reef.

Just so had this old man's treasure, the girl wife of surpassing beauty, been destroyed.

To this day that rock is known to us as the Leaping Place of Te Aohuruhuru and her dying song is still retained in the memory of our people. And when visitors come to our district we lead them to this spot so they can see it themselves.

Steam Gave the Answer

Until September, 1952, the feeding, mustering and shearing of stock grazing about the Tarawera river was the most urgent matter in Kawerau. At that time a government geologist made the discovery that was to transform the settlement to the most up-to-date, highest-pressure industrial centre in New Zealand.

In itself there was nothing sensational about discovering geothermal steam. The Maoris had always known of it; it may well have been because of the geothermal steam that Tuwharetoa settled on that spot and it was the site of such populous pas. To people living in the stone age, an abundant supply of hot water available without effort was a priceless possession. Right through the ages, the Maoris of Kawerau have bathed in the pools which are now to supply Tasman's geothermal steam.

It was left to modern science to discover that a reservoir of steam confined under the earth can produce a long-lasting supply of electric power, drive machines and heat huge industrial boilers. In New Zealand large scale experiments are still continuing to produce such power at Wairakei; but at Lardarello, in Italy, geothermal steam has been successfully used for the last thirty years for power generation and for the extraction of chemicals.

At Lardarello, the steam was easier to harness than it will be at Wairakei or at Kawerau, but nowhere can the sensation have been greater than at Kawerau, because of the very fortunate time of the discovery. In June, 1952, the giant Tasman Pulp and Paper Company had been registered. The all-important question of the site of the mill had not yet quite been decided, although it had been studied off and on for twenty-five years. Ngaruawahia, Mount Maunganui and various other places had been rejected and Murupara, although for various reasons not quite ideal, had been tentatively chosen by the company. The discovery of steam at Kawerau, offering prospects of savings in coal of up to 50,000 tons per year, made it easy to come to a decision. Apart from its steam, Kawerau offers an abundant water-supply—life-blood of a paper-mill—and a flat plain good for industrial building.

A Desert made Fertile

Tasman's story began in 1925 on the Kaingaroa plains, a 350,000 acre pumic plateau, in 1925 still a desert sparsely covered with tussock. An English visitor, Mr William Adamson, suggested that if New Zealand only had the courage to plant the whole of these plains with pine trees, it could sustain not only sawmills but a pulp and paper industry big enough to compete in world markets.

The idea was taken up by Mr Alex Entrican, then departmental engineer in Forest Products and the then Director of Forestry, Mr L. M. Ellis. Most of the stands totalling 260,000 acres were planted between 1927 and 1931—the period of the slump. At present, the Kaingaroa plains boast a greater concentration of wood growth than there is in any other similar area in the world. There may be other forests as dense, but none so quick-growing. It can produce a constant yearly output of 23 million cubic feet.

Planting was followed by a long period of study, during which the Forestry Service found out by tests that the New Zealand pine could make pulp and newsprint as good as is made in Canada or Scandinavia—not quite as white, but making up for this in greater strength. Government experts also worked out an unsurpassed method—later adopted by Tasman—of making the very best use of the trees. In 1951, the government was ready with its plans and preparations and offered the timber output of Kaingaroa for sale to a private company by tender. The only tenderer was the Fletcher organization. In June, 1952, the Tasman Pulp and Paper Company was registered with a capital of £6 million and the right to issue debentures. At this stage, the only shareholders were the government and the Fletcher organization, although others came in later.

The Mill is Built

As a mill site, Tasman chose 483 acres of flat land next to the Tarawera river—part of the Putauaki Maori Land Development Scheme. The owners sold this land to Tasman for £50 per acre, over double the government valuation. To satisfy the people, owners were offered Crown land in exchange for what was sold, so that nobody would be left landless against his will. Only one owner actually asked for such an exchange, however.

The mill, constructed by Fletcher-Merritt-Raymond, measures 280,000 square foot floor space and has cost over £14 million. It is the fourth largest newsprint mill in the world and its paper machine delivering newsprint at the rate of 2,000 feet per minute, is the fastest in the world. Working round the clock, it will produce 75,000 tons of newsprint per year.

Newsprint is however only one side of the story. The Kawerau plant comprises in addition to a sawmill, a groundwood pulp mill and a chemical pulp mill. The sawmill, the biggest in New Zealand, will produce 72 million

Kaingaroa Forest today. (r.n.z.a.f. photograph)

board feet per year. The groundwood pulp mill will grind logs into pulp with huge carborundum stones driven by 1200 h.p. motors. The making of groundwood pulp, the main material of newsprint, has been described in an article in Te Ao Hou on the Whakatane Board Mill (issue 1).

You cannot, however, make newsprint out of this ‘groundwood pulp’ alone. If paper is to hang together and have strength, it needs longer fibres than you can get by grinding, and these are made chemically. To make chemical pulp, wood is chipped with knives into half inch to one inch long chips. These chips are cooked under heat and pressure with sodium sulphate. After cooking, chemical pulp consists of loose fibres, longer, stronger and more pliable than groundwood pulp. 51,000 tons per year are produced of which 16,000 tons goes into Tasman's newsprint and the rest is sold.

The interesting point about the three mills is that each specializes on a different part of the tree. The sawmill gets the valuable ‘straight butt logs’ which have the most heartwood and are easily made into timber. Oddly enough the top logs, which make inferior timber, are actually the best for the groundwood pulp; being free from heartwood, they are easily ground. The rough ‘butt logs’, the smallish logs, the slabs from the mill—in fact any pieces not particularly good for timber or groundwood pulp—are sent to the chippers, to make chemical pulp.

The bark of all the trees is sent to the boilers as fuel. From the sawmill bark-free slabbings and edgings go to the chemical pulp plant for chipping. Sawdust and other sawmill and pulpmill waste likewise are used for fuel.

Never before have trees been used in industry quite so economically. By joining the three mills together, raw material, capital and running costs are cut in a startling way. At the same time, by making so many products at once, Tasman is unusually well protected against the whims of the market.

The knowledge of experts from all over the world went into the planning of this mill. It is impressive to read the long list of consultants from England, the United States, Canada and Scandinavia who at one time or another studied the paper-making qualities of the wood or the prospective yield of the forest or the economics of the whole project. We have had specialists on plant design, plant construction and even the management of the enterprise when it starts production. Since Tasman was created, there have nowhere in New Zealand been more high-powered foreign experts to the square yard than there were at Kawerau.

Obviously, Tasman will enrich the country considerably as trainload after trainload of profitable produce rolls forth each day from a place where hardly anything was produced before. To make this possible, the government not only did most of the basic planning, but also made available to Tasman in shares and advances £11 million and invested in public works another £11.4 million. The new industry needed better roads through Kaingaroa forest, a railway from Murupara to Edgecumbe, much rolling stock, the harbour at Mount Maunganui, 50 houses at Kaingaroa, 220 at Murupara and 450 at Kawerau and numerous other works. Private capital subscribed for the Tasman venture has so far totalled £5 million.

Mrs Monica Hardman, resident of Kawerau works at the mill office. (sparrow industrial pictures ltd.)

New Life for the People

What part will the Maori people play in the future of Kawerau? Out of the 1200 to 1400 construction workers several hundred are Maoris. Some live in the camp and 200 come to Kawerau every day in buses from Te Teko, Ruatoki and other settlements. For many, the regular well-paid work in their own district is a new experience. A warden told Te Ao Hou that the people's way of life has greatly improved as a result of the new opportunities and the old social problems are now much less marked. Many of the workers are saving for motor-cars.

A Maori club, called-Kumea Te Ora, with 50 members is active in Kawerau. Half are Maoris. The club, organised by Fletcher-Merritt-Raymond's recreation officer, Mr Frank Cooke, organizes all kinds of entertainments, raises money and has the distinction of being the only club in Kawerau that can hold dances

—they have secret sources of dancing partners who are a great rarity.

The chairman is August Honata, from Opotiki, whose talents as a showman were developed as a member of the Torere Youth Club.

Will the workers stay when the mill opens and will all this community activity be kept alive? On that question, it is possible to be reasonably hopeful. Tasman's personnel officer, Mr Stoneham, has visited the Maori settlements to discuss employment at the mill for people within travelling distance.

Te Ao Hou asked the company's general manager, Mr Maurice L. Hobday, what the prospects of the Maori people will be. Mr Hobday expressed particular interest in giving the local people whose land he had bought the fullest opportunity to get permanent and well-paid employment for themselves and their children.

He also hoped that Maoris from other parts of New Zealand would look to Tasman for work in its newsprint—paper, pulp and timber mills. ‘Above all I hope,’ said Mr Hobday, ‘that many young Maori men will show themselves keen to learn the highly skilled craft of paper-making.

‘For five generations my family have been paper-makers, and my son intends to become a paper-maker. I am proud that I shall be responsible for training New Zealanders in the craft and I should be happy to think that there will be Maori families in which there will be the tradition of son following father as a skilled paper-maker.’

This should give food for thought, together with the fact that about 450 State houses and 50 company houses are available for people from all over New Zealand who get jobs with Tasman and have families. These jobs and homes will be offered to tradesmen of all sorts—skilled sawmill workers will be specially sought after—as well as young men to be thoroughly trained by Canadian experts in pulp and paper making. For paper-makers educational standard is not so important; the Company wants bright workers of good physical build whose history shows that they are stable and reliable.

Payment will be fairly high, particularly because of the round-the-clock shift system which that for an average 42-hour week a worker gets an average 53 ¼ payment hours as well as shift allowances. There is also to be a pension scheme, a company doctor, an industrial nurse and an accident prevention officer. The Company is interested in helping the town in establishing a full and healthy community life and has, to this end, appointed a welfare officer.

Maori participation in life at Kawerau may, considering all this, be quite considerable and it looks as if living conditions will be most favourable. Many young people, particularly from the Bay of Plenty and East Coast districts, may decide to settle in Kawerau rather than Auckland, and this, particularly for married couples, may be the better way of life in many cases.

E. Schwimmer

PROFESSOR ALBERT MORRIS, who teaches criminology and anthropology at Boston University (U.S.A.), visited New Zealand in 1952 for a short period on his way to Melbourne. He is a world authority on crime and delinquency and we are pleased to present his views on a disturbing problem in New Zealand. After so short a stay, Professor Morris' understanding and sympathy for Maori life, culture and tribal institutions is remarkable. As the reader will see, this sympathetic understanding does not lead him to see the situation through rosy glasses.

I. Te Pairi and his Friends by Elsdon Craig

Te Pairi Tu Terangi, of Waimana, is dead. Haere ra, e koro e. Haere ki te Hono-i-wairua. The last human link between the old world and the new has been severed.

Death comes to the lovable old man in his mountain village, Tanatana, in the folds of his beloved Urewera hills under a starlit sky on the night of November 23–24. For four years he has been a cripple, confined to his house, looking out on to the misty valleys where he spent his life, waiting patiently for the end. When it came it was the signal for a great tangi for Te Pairi was united by birth and marriage with many tribes. They came from all over the North Island to farewell the last of the great kaumatua of an age gone by.

Nobody knew exactly how old Te Pairi was. Some said he was nearly 100. Others claimed he was nearer to 110. That he was a great age is certain for he not only lifted the war trail with Te Kooti but he also remembered Kereopa and the hanging of the Rev Volkner, in Opotiki, in 1865. He was an old man when Peehi (Elsdon Best) was in the Urewera Country in 1900. A photograph taken by the white man at that time shows Te Pairi with a flowing white beard, resembling the one which was so familiar to those who knew him in later years.

Te Pairi was educated in the school of ancient Maori culture. He clung affectionately to the ways of his forefathers until the end. He never learned to speak English. He was immersed in the traditions and ritual of a romantic past. One of his prized possessions were the shark tooth ear ornaments which he always wore. As a member of the Ringatu Church he was deeply religious and his spiritual life was an example to others.

Time and again he impressed on young people the value of home life set on firm spiritual foundations. “Home,” he once said, “is the most sacred possession which the Maori has.” He regarded “home” as the marae and saw Maori society undergoing a change in which the marae was no longer its centre.

His sentimental regard for his Queen was touching. Dearly though he wanted to meet

Te Pairi Tu Terangi (new zealand herald photograph)

Tuhoe was the last Maori tribe to emerge from a primitive state into the new world. They were notable fighters and a conservative people who long defied the white man's civilization. Nevertheless, they have always been a wise people. This wisdom was evident as long ago as 1843 when the Rev William Colenso visited them. He offered them trinkets and ornaments thinking they would fascinate these wild tribesmen. Instead Tuhoe asked him for books in their own language so they could learn to record their traditions.

Te Pairi shared this wisdom and foresight. So did his kinsman, Tutakangahau, of Tamakai-

moana, at Maungapohatu. When the Maori school at Te Whaiti opened in 1890 this long since departed veteran of Te Kooti's campaign, who was completely immersed in his own culture, brought his grandchildren to the school to be educated. He even braved the disapproval of his tohunga in allowing them contact with the tapuless Pakeha that they might learn about the new world. Tutakangahau specially requested that the children should be taught the ways and customs of the white man. Then he addressed to them these words which, judged by any standards, were full of wisdom and a sound lesson in behaviour.

“Should the Pakeha correct or chide you,” he said, “you must not be angry or sullen—that is a token of ignorance and low birth. It is by such correction that you shall learn to live well in this world”.

Another of these farseeing patriachs was Paitini Wi Tapeka of Ngati Maru, also a contemporary of Te Pairi. He was born in 1844, fought against the British at Orakau, marched with Te Kooti, and was steeped in the ancient culture of his people. Yet, he believed the future of his race lay in the Maori retaining the best of his own and the European way of life. Even when Tuhoe was tearing up the survey pegs on the Te Whaiti-Ruatahuna road line, Paitini was giving of his wealth of knowledge to be recorded for the inspiration of future generations.

Given the advantages of modern education, men

Elsdon Best and Paitini.

II. Pat Smyth by Melvin Taylor

Patrick Smyth's death last May marked the close of an era in the history of St. Stephen's school, Bombay. In his 44 years' association with the school he became one of its traditions. He loved St. Stephen's—the predominantly Maori school standing like a sentinel in the Bombay hills, commanding the southern approach to Auckland.

In fact, he loved the Maori people. It was not always so. Though a half-caste Maori himself, as a lad he disliked the Maoris. It was when learning the Maori language and traditions, to teach Maori boys English that he learned to love the people. He became one of the Maori champions. As a child he had tried to wash the brown off his face with soap and water. In Auckland he would cross the street to avoid the kuias sitting on the pavement.

Smyth was born in the remote, bush-bound settlement of Pungare, Keri Keri, in 1893. The settlement was made up of five scattered homes surrounded by a sea of gorse, bush, ti-tree, fern, and acres of rush-covered swamps.

His mother was a chieftainess from Waihou, Hokianga. His father was an Irishman who had come out to New Zealand in the army to fight in the Maori wars. Only English was spoken in the home so the boy had no chance to learn Maori there. He was 16 when he first went to St. Stephen's—the place he called home up to within a few months of his death 44 years later. He knew this home from all angles. From ordinary schoolboy he made his way to prefect, head boy, junior assistant, senior assistant, acting headmaster and, finally, headmaster.

Young Smyth was a real backblocker when he

first went to St. Stephen's, never having seen a ship, policeman, piano or football, and not knowing the difference between a half-crown and a two-shilling piece. He had come to town to be educated in more ways than one. He marvelled at the huge buildings and the trams. Looking out a tram window on one occasion he sprang to the other side of the car believing that a lamp post was heading straight for him. Most of his brother pupils were Maoris. That irked him, but did not stop him from working hard at his studies. In his second year he passed the Public Service examination and then went pupil teaching at Newmarket School. Leaving St. Stephen's he vowed there would be no more Maori for him. He could not have been more wrong.

The headmaster at St. Stephen's, whom he respected and loved dearly, kept bothering the young teacher to take a job at the school. He offered £80 a year and keep. It was a millionaire's offer to what he had been getting. He was soon back at St. Stephen's, his vow to “finish with the Maori” conveniently set down In his job of teaching the Maori boys English he felt he needed to know the Maori language. He took it up and mastered it. Gradually he became interested in the Maori people. Reading of their traditions and history, he was won over and devoted his life to the Maori race, especially to Maori youth. For many years he lectured on Maori education and Maori matters generally. He published Te Reo Maori and Maori Pronunciation. Through Te Reo Maori, the familiar little book with the pretty Maori cover designs, his name is now known throughout the country to those with an interest in the Maori language. While teaching at St. Stephen's Smyth decided to study for his B.A. degree on a part time basis. This was despite the fact that he had never had the time or money to attend a secondary school—St. Stephen's was a primary in his pupil days.

While studying for his degree he was bringing up a young family. Getting the degree was a stiff climb but he made it, finishing his studies in 1930 when he was 37 years old. The Greek course nearly stumped him, as he had never seen any Greek before starting university, Twice he failed the subject, but on his third shot he made it.

During the second World War Mr Smyth was a captain in command of A (Ngapuhi) Co., 2nd Maori Battalion, stationed at Ohaeawai. He wanted to go overseas but, because of his age, was not allowed, and he was sad when, one dark dawn he stood quietly on the side of the road and watched his men marching for overseas.

At that time St. Stephen's was closed. It had been shut down in 1942 and was not re-opened till November 1946, when Mr Smyth was appointed acting headmaster. From the date of its re-opening it was exclusively a secondary school. Mr Smyth was appointed headmaster in 1947. Because of the school's shaky financial position he never pushed for the salary he could have commanded. His interest in the Maori was so great that he refused many better paying propositions. He revelled in work and in overwork. The strain took its toll on his heart, and forced him to retire early this year.

Enforced retirement bewildered him. He had counted on another ten working years and had geared his retirement plans to fit. Sudden retirement caught him without housing provision and this brought a new worry to a man for whom worry was bad. Four months after his retirement he was dead.

Quietly reminiscing at his daughter's sunny Pukekohe home one day, not long before his death, Mr Smyth said that he felt he owed everything he had enjoyed and achieved to the years when he attended St. Stephen's. St. Stephen's had baptised him, confirmed him, and given him the privilege of climbing every rung of its ladder.

THE LEGEND

by Tuiri Tareha

I te mea kua oti te ahua o te wahine nei o Pania te whaka-kohatu (bronze) e te ropu pakeha e kia nei ko te Napier Thirty Thousand Club a mea ake nei whakaturia ai ki te taha takutai o Nepia — Marine Parade — E tika ana kia korerotia nga korero o tenei wahine tipua a Pania, kia matau ai te hunga i na kite i te kohatu whakamaharatanga mona e tu ana i Nepia nei.

Na tetahi tohunga o Itari i waihanga ki te whakaahua o tetahi kotiro Maori i tukua atu i konei, a he mea whakairo he ahua o te wahine nei tona atabua, ona tukemata ano ka te whakatauki ra, ‘ko nga tukemata whanui o Kahungunu.’

Ina nga korero mo Panía

Ko Pania inaianei he papa kohatu e wha maero pea te tawhiti atu ki waho o Hukarere. Nepia — Napier Breakwater — kau mai ai te wahine nei ki uta i nga abiahi i te toonga o te ra, a hei te ata po i mua atu o te putanga mai o te ra ka hoki ano ki tana iwi i te moana. Ko te wahi nohoanga o Pania i na haerenga mai ki uta ko roto i tetahi pu harakeke, tipu ai i te taha o te puna wai maori i te putake o te kari o Hukarere tata atu ana ki te moana. I tetahi ahiahi ka hiainu wai tetahi rangatira e noho pa tata ana ki reira ka haere ki te puna nei me tana taha ki te inu wai. I a ia e inu wai mai ana i tana taha ka kite atu ia i a Pania e noho mai ana i roto i te pu harakeke. Ko tana haerenga atu ka mauria ki tana whare ka moe raua. Otira i te ata po ka hoki ano a Pania ki tana iwi i te moana, hei te ahiahi ka hoki mai ano ki uta ki tana tane. Ka taka te wa ka whanau te tamaiti a Pania he tane, maheni tonu kahore he huruhuru o te mahunga, tapaia tonutia iho ko Moremore. I tenei wa ka pa te awangawanga ki tana tane kei tiro tana tamaiti i te iwi o te moana, katahi ka haere ki te Tohunga ki te ui tikanga e mau ai tana tamaiti raua ko te whaea. Ka mea te Tohunga me tuku a Pania raua ko te tamaiti kia warea te moe ka uta ai he kai maoka ki runga i a raua, me ta maoa kai, kia kore ai e hoki ki te moana. Otira ana ano te raruraru kaore pea i pai te tamaotanga i nga hoki i hoki ano a Pania ki tana iwi i te moana oti atu. Ko te tamaiti i hurihia bei mango, Taniwha, ko ana wahi nohoanga ko Hukarere — Napier Breakwater

(Kei tua te roanga atu)

Pania today is a ledge or reef of rock, commonly known now as the Napier breakwater, lying about four miles beyond Hukarere point.

This was the home of Pania, a beautiful sea maiden who, in ancient times, daily swam shorewards at the setting of the sun and returned to her sea people before the break of day. While on shore she hid herself in a clump of flax beside a freshwater spring at the foot of Hukarere cliff, close by the sea.

One evening a chief who lived in a nearby Pa became thirsty, and went for a drink at the spring. While drinking from his calabash he spied Pania sitting in the middle of the flax bush. There and then he took her to his home, and they became man and wife. But always, every morning, Pania would return to her sea folk and every evening come back to her husband.

After awhile Pania gave birth to a son who was completely without hair and so was named Maremare, ‘the hairless one.’ With the birth of this child, Pania's husband became concerned that he might lose him to the sea people. So he consulted a tohunga, in the hope of finding how to keep his child and wife with him always. The tohunga told him to place cooked food upon the mother and child while they slept, and they would never again return to the sea. Evidently something went amiss. Perhaps the food was not properly cooked; for Pania returned to her people never to return.

The child Moremore was turned to a shark (taniwha) which lived in the waters around the reef off Hukarere, and at Rangatira, the entrance to the inner harbour at the delta of the river called Ahuriri.

When fishermen of today tell the legend of Pania, they claim that at ebb-tide she may be seen lying outstretched at the bottom of the rocky shelf, with her hair still as black as ever and her arms stretched shoreward.

According to old Maori folk, however, she was turned into a fishing rock, from which various kinds of fish might be caught. Within the hollow of her left arm-pit only rawaru may be caught, and from her right arm-pit snapper alone, while her thighs yield only the hapuka. In the days of old these fishing grounds were sacred, but today, being frequented by pakehas, the place has become common to all and fish are no longer plentiful.

THE STATUE

by V. May Cottrell

— me Rangatira kei te Ngatuawa o Ahuriri. Ko Pania inaianei e ai ki to korero a te hunga mahi ika, i na purata te moana ka kitea tonutia iho e takoto tapapa ana, pango tonu nga makawe o te mahunga, a ko nga ringaringa matoro mai ana ki uta. E ai ki nga korero a o matou pakeke he toka ika inaianei. Kei roto i te keke maui he rawaru anake nga ika o reira, kei te keke matau he tamure anake nga ika o reira, kei waenganui i nga kuha he hapuku anake nga ika o reira.

He tauranga tapu i te wa i a ratou, na te pakeha kua noa noaiho, kua kore e rite te nui o te ika ki reira me te wa ia ratou.

Over thirty years ago the late Rt. Rev. F. A. Bennett, then Bishop of Aotcaroa, accompanied members of the Thirty Thousand Club on a drive round Napier and suburbs. He pointed out many places of historical interest associated with the days when Maoris occupied Mataruahau (the Napier hills), and the Whanganuiorotu (the Aburiri Lagoon); days before the pakeha came in his sailing ships from far across the sea.

When passing the tall bluffs near the break-water, the Bishop recounted the legend of the Pania Reef. Until that time it was not generally known. The romantic story greatly appealed to several members of the Club.

The suggestion was made that a statue be erected to perpetuate the legend in bronze. There were many delays of one kind and another, but the time arrived when a Maori girl was required as a model for the statue.

The ready co-operation of Miss I. L. Hunter, Principal of the Hukarere College, proved invaluable. Several students were selected as prospective models. The girls, attired in traditional dress, posed on a pile of cardboard (to represent the rock).

Photographs were taken, and from these Mei Irihapiti Robin, of Kohupatiki, was selected. The grace of the natural, easy pose she took for the photographs has been faithfully portrayed in the finished statue.

Photographs, drawings and detailed instructions were then forward to the sculptor at Cartara, Italy. So that there would be no mistake, a piupiu was sent for the sculptor's inspection.

Pania: Bronze.

As the work on the statue progressed, photographs were taken and sent back to New Zealand, until ultimately the photograph of the finished work was received. When this was approved by the Club the clay model was recast in plaster and then in bronze.

When unveiling the statue on June 10, 1954, the Prime Minister, the Rt. Hon. S. G. Holland, said that he had heard the story of the legend and thought it a delightful tale. The Bishop of Aotearoa, the Rt. Rev. W. N. Panapa, and the Mayor of Napier, Mr E. R. Spriggs, also spoke.

A pleasing and appropriate feature of the unveiling ceremony was the singing of the students of the Hukarere Maori Girls' College. Mei Robin, who is a prefect of the college, was given an ovation when she appeared on the platform to present shoulder sprays to the wives of the official guests. At the conclusion of the ceremony she consented to be photographed with the statue of which she was the original.