Contents
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Deputy-Controller and Auditor-General.
27/9/33.
Cleaner Travelling.
For some months past the Railways have been trying out a new form of matting in several of the Main Trunk Express cars. These mats are a New Zealand product of a link design, and any dirt is caught in the interstices of the mat, making it almost impossible for it to be tramped or blown through the carriages.
The matting is soft and silent to walk upon, and in those cars where it has been tried it has been favourably commented upon by people walking through the carriages.
The Victorian Railways have used these mats for a number of years, with complete satisfaction, and it will be interesting to hear the further comments of New Zealand railwaymen and railway passengers on the greater cleanliness of travelling which it is considered this matting now makes possible.*
The Capital City Of New Zealand.
Wellington as viewed from the hills above Oriental Bay.
The New Zealand
Railways
Magazine
Railways
Magazine
Registered for transmission by Post as a Newspaper.
Published by the
New Zealand Government Railways Department
“
For Better Service.”
Service Copy.Vol. 8. No. 9.
Wellington,
New Zealand
January1, 1934
The above is among the hardest of the Kipling specifications that go to constitute a man. Still more so would it be for the making of a nation. But in every individual and nation, if they are to live and progress, there must be that will to overcome set-backs and to make new beginnings which partakes of the essence of virility.
The New Year forms a point in time when there is a natural tendency to make a fresh start. It is then that most people, looking over the hits and misses of the previous twelve months, take heart of grace to cut the losses and plan for a better and more profitable time ahead.
And that is a wise thing to do. For, looking backward, and grieving over what actually happened and comparing it with what might have been, is largely a waste of that nice new clean slice of time which the New Year brings, and which, even in the most favourable year, never divides up into more than 366 twenty-four hour days, of which a third must be slept through anyway.
The knowledge gained in the dead twelve months left its mark, in any case, in a new series of reactions to given stimuli which take the general term of “experience.” These reactions are as automatic as those shewn by the child who has once been burnt or bitten towards fires or dogs, and form part of that protective instinct which helps life to continue. They are useful only as guides, for the individual has to give himself the new deal, which makes the start of a good new year something bracing and venturesome.
The New Year in the transport world of New Zealand will see the operation of the Transport Law Amendment Act. Upon this point a comment made in “The Engineer” of March last is particularly pertinent. “Whatever legislation Parliament may consider to level up the conditions under which competitive transport systems are operating,” it stated, “it is the first duty of railwaymen to keep their service as good as it can be…”
The New Zealand Government Railways rule book states the first duty of the railwayman is the safety of the public. Upon their attention to this factor, railwaymen can aspire to nothing better than their record for the past eight years, that of no fatalities caused to any of their passengers. And to comply fully to this “first duty” they have to aspire to that other ideal “to keep their service as good as it can be.” This is a fine thought to carry into action in the new year, for it is clear that however good the past achievement in this respect, it can always be bettered; and from service which aims at excellence comes that constant improvement which is the hope and measure of future achievement, both individual and national.
In this spirit we thank our readers for their kindly and increasing interest in the Magazine, and wish them all success in the New Year.
New jokes may come and go, but the oldsters will go on for ever. They may grow new whiskers and get artificial teeth, but they will not pass away. The old-time humourists naturally picked the basic things for their jesting, and as the world cannot be always changing its basic things, the old foundations must endure for the new humour.
* * *
“I catch you there. What about golf?” somebody may exclaim. Well, the cold truth is that the quips about golf are merely variants of older things. The golf “language” stories were preceded by anecdotes of bullock-drivers' profanity which was itself a continuation of an older set of similar outbursts (connected with ships' mates, troopers, Billingsgate beldams and Cockney cabmen).
The jokes based on missing the ball have hosts of parents in other pastimes, including amateur nail-driving (the old hammer-and-thumb comicality). Anyhow, golf jokes are only a side-line–upstart ragwort on the fringe of the broad field of British humour.
* * *
When did the mother-in-law first appear in jokes? Somehow it has always seemed to me that the mother-in-law jokes have less application to New Zealand's social conditions than to those of other countries. However, this jesting is on the wane. Probably the new fashions and the new dances and other new things have helped to put the mother-in-law on a new plane, for she is at liberty to enjoy her cigarette with the juniors who are hardly distinguishable from her, and to step it, hop it, trot it, or tot it with the liveliest of them.
* * *
Has anybody ever looked through a copy of “Punch” without seeing a joke about the plumber or his mate? The plumber's leaden thumb seems to press heavily on old England. One wonders whether the plumbers and their mysterious mates in the Old Country are secretly sworn to make a maximum of mess whenever the bath-room tap has dropsy, or whether an outrageous alliance has been arranged between carpenters and plumbers so that the mending of the kitchen sink will require a reconstruction of the dining-room, a semi-demolition of the drawing-room and a new roof on the scullery. Happily, New Zealand's plumbers do not seem to have become so wicked as the practitioners in Britain.
* * *
Women's hats, her clothing and unclothing are never out of the comic papers, and never will be. However, woman is supremely indifferent to gibes about her dress or undress. It is doubtful whether any style, ordered by the fashion dictators, was ever changed by man's ridicule. The “reformed dress” (baggy knickers, etc.) of thirty years or so ago was not swished out by man's scoffing; it simply did not “take on” among the women then. Still, the knickers may yet spread from the golf-course and hunting-fields to the streets and salons. “Shorts” may be already seen on tennis-courts and on the roads and tracks where tramping girls enjoy the great out-doors.
* * *
The survival of the hen-pecked husband in British jocosity indicates that the proportion of overawed and overwhelmed husbands is much greater in Britain than in New Zealand. No doubt these sunny isles have some husbands who think more than twice before they speak once at home, and promptly hand up their pay without deductions, but the Government Statistician could probably assure us that those models of domestic training would not be more than 50 per cent. of the married men. Unfortunately the term “conjugal condition” on the census paper does not produce all the information that the curious world would like.
* * *
The flirtatious husband-to put it mildly—figures frequently in the printed jests. The merriment swings on his detected dalliance with the cook, the housemaid, the nurse-girl, the typiste—almost anything skirted, provided she is pretty. This type of man is usually presented as one who is in some awe of his wife, and has very furtive outbreaks of “sheikism.”
* * *
The handsome bashful curate (formerly bombarded with knitted slippers and stuffed with cream-puffs at innumerable tea-parties) is not nearly so much in print as he used to be. Perhaps the type has changed, but the writer cannot say, as not many curates seek his company.
So also the missionary and the cannibal are seldom served up nowadays, but they still have an occasional turn. Perhaps the best of the thousands of jokes on that subject is this little verse:—
* * *
In England and America spring poets continue to have their sad contacts with pitiless editors year after year. New Zealand does not run much to spring versing because this country has not the seasonal miracle which releases some of those northern countries from the cold deadlock of a long winter. In the greater part of New Zealand, an evergreen country, the pageant of the seasons is not so dramatic, not so spectacular, as in Great Britain, and therefore spring does not make for so much excitement.
* * *
The person who has been overserved with liquor is a perpetual “property” of the professional humourist. How oft have we all seen the pictures of the crushed hat at the back or side of the head, a collar-end flying loose, and the legs which seem to be swaying like sea-weed! Sometimes the “sozzled” one has come in late from the club, and is making queer replies from the stairs to a shouted questionnaire from his angry wife. Sometimes he is shaking hands with street fixtures, or is mistaking the full moon for the town-clock and is wondering what has happened to the hands. One way or another, the inebriate will hold his swaying place in the funny columns.
* * *
The absent-minded professor brings money to many joke-makers, but this is another of the kinds of jests that have less point in New Zealand than in older countries. The trouble in the Dominion is rather that the professors are not absent-minded enough for our peace and comfort.
Food is the basis of an unfailing supply of jokes. The bride's first pie—even in these days of ready-made fare—is still in the running. The steel-spring chicken, the tanned steak, the hair soup and other old acquaintances decline to die. Waiting for food (in restaurants) also yields its regular quota of jokes.
* * *
Other well-known and continuing figures in jokes are the engaged girl and her “catty” critic; the angler and his bag; the umbrella; the seedy actor; the office boy. Here is one of the best of the innumerable office-boy jokes:—
* * *
As with the dear old jokes in print, so with the dear old fooling on the stage. The slap-stick and big flat slippers of the hurly-burly comedian will always appeal to the public. They seem to be out of fashion at the moment, but they are not really out of favour. The people are more than ready to rejoice in them again. The kick on the coat-tails and the exclamatory “damn” will never fail to draw loud laughter.
Philosophers have written big books about the cause and effect in those matters—books that are not read, except by other philosophers.
General Manager's Message
In conveying a New Year message, I think it appropriate to draw public attention once again to the very real service which the railways of this country have rendered in the past and will continue to render in the future for the welfare of the people of New Zealand, and to ask for the fullest possible measure of public support in order that the fuller use of the facilities which the railways have available may make the service which they render of even greater national value in the coming year.
While the Department spends over £5 millions annually, almost entirely in New Zealand, it earns over £6 millions and is able by its net earnings to contribute more than four-fifths of a £ million to the consolidated revenue of the State. So the railways, besides carrying over 21 million passengers, and hauling over five million tons of goods an average distance of 66 miles, for the whole of which service it collects only £4 per head of population, spends directly or indirectly amongst the public of New Zealand over £3 per head, and hands back about 10/- per head towards the interest charges on capital invested.
The Department employs directly nearly 15,000 men. With their dependents it may be estimated that 60,000 people are dependent on the railways. If to these are added those who are supported, or partly supported, by the £6 millions of annual railway expenditure, it will be realised how great a part the railways of this country play in the life of the nation.
I ask of all railwaymen during the coming year to give of their best in carrying on the work which they perform for the community, and I ask the public to increasingly recognise the benefits which the patronage of the railway transport service brings, and to support it accordingly.
General Manager.
(Perpetrated and Illustrated by
Ken Alexander
Hey folks, step up and meet Jake O January, the catch of the calendar and the apple of Mrs. Tempus O'Fugit's optic. And note the name, pronounced Janu-airy with the emphasez on the “airy.” Jake O. is jakeoh and is versed in his vestments, for does he not take old years and, with a stitch in Time, return them as good as new years? Some know him as Joinuary because he joins yesterday to to-day and to-day to to-morrow. Others opine that he is the keeper of the door of 1934. Apparently he plays many spare parts and, now that we know where we are, let's look where we're going. In other weirds, show us the door and we'll find the house. Let's agitate the shivery grass:—
To Let—Father Time.”
as good as you make it.
But that, as the flea said when he bit the wrestler, is a big order, for years, like yearns, need kneading; otherwise they are no better bread than a little faded flour. Years are as good as you make them and the happiness in a home depends on the “heart” in hearth and the “dome” in domicile. Many a mansion is a man-shun because Dulce Domum has died on the doormat. “Dough” without Dulce is tantamount to beer without thirst. But when she brings her bag even the thumble hatch, or at least the humble thatch, with roses round the rostrum and leaks round the root-room, looks more like “home sweet home” than “home sweat home” with hot air and cold water laid on.
So shift your sticks into '34 and find things as you take them. And, if you take over instead of under, before your finger nail has finished going black, there will be silver fish floating in the soup, gold-bugs buzzing round the blanc-mange, a cricket on the hearth, a football on the roof and double-headed pennies tossing the tocsin all over the table. On the other hand, if you take possession of the premises with a face so long that you have to jack it through the front porch, you will crib the crib before the furniture snatchers have finished sawing the legs off the grand piano to push it through the portico.
“There is always to-morrow.”
Some people mistake hot air for cool thought; but we opine that a verbal icecream is better than a babble I-scream. Thus we thusticate that January is the mellowest melon in old Cal Calendar's cornucopia, because it combines the skin you live to touch with the interior interrogations of the “spot” marked X, or exhibit A in a whisky case. Another pint in January's fervour is that it is the newest end of the new year and the “to-morrow” which we yearned for yesterday. Life lived with liveliness is a tub of to-morrow's. To-morrow has always been the rock of sages, the profit of the prophet, the haven of the hoping, the luck of the nervy and a proof of youth; and when to-morrow means no more to you than a tick off the old clock you can say that you've got four “flats” and are running on the rims.
Before we grew to meanhood, and when mortgages, marriages and time payment (or time and tied) meant no more to us than the lines on father's face, the morrow was the marrow of to-day; to-day was merely the morrow in pyjamas and to-morrow was only to-day once removed by mirage. So if we can't be sensible let's be young, for,
And even if to-morrow fails to fork out the fustian there remains to-morrow's to-morrow and to-morrow's to-morrow's to-morrow. The secret of happiness is “adventure,” and “adventure” is facing to-morrow in the tin-hat of to-day with the sword of yesterday. And yet there are alleged human beings who crave to read the riddle of the “rubyat” by contemplating the “crystal,” lamping the lines of least persistence on their grist-gripper, or titillating the tannin-tips in the hope of reading the so-long from the Ceylon. They lack the spirit of the go-gadders such as Sir Walter Raleigh who sailed the seven seas for a fill of tobacco, and Columbus who founded the United Stakes by mistake. Neither knew whether the morrow would bring a pat on the back or a bat on the bean, but they got a kick out of kicks and preferred rather to borrow
“If we can't be sensible, let's be young.”
Every New Year is “to-morrow” come true, which is why we wake the welkin and put the “whoop” in whoopee. And, to add to the attraction of the occasion, the wise wangle salutary solecisms called Resolutions which, like cinema comedy crookery, are bespoken to be broken. A New Year resolution is a two-way promise which is born but not borne. But the best resolutions are so carefully composed that they can be broken with less commotion than the average commandment. For the benefit of the poor fish who can't get a bite without being hooked we offer the following examples of double-headed resolutions, guaranteed to fall right side up when put to the toss.
I promise to pay all bills without kicking up a fuss—except those necessitating an expenditure of money.
I will never play golf instead of digging the garden—unless I would rather play golf than dig the garden.
I will always go shopping with the wife—if I can't get out of it.
I will smoke no more cigarettes than I can, and will spend no more money than I have got.
I will never deceive my wife—I know I can't, anyway.
I will never kick the cat when enraged (we haven't got a cat).
I will work hard every day—except Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, etc.
“ Never Say Dry” Or “The Spirit Of '34”
I will be cheerful at breakfast—God willing.
I will never back racehorses—unless they are running in races.
I will be a good husband—within reason.
I will sew buttons on my husband's shirts—unless he sews them on first in desperation.
I will believe him when he says he was detained at the office—but I can still think what I like.
I will never say that “I haven't a stitch to wear,” unless it is true—and it's always true.
I will not cry for a new hat—unless there is no other way of getting it.
I will never play bridge and forget to get my husband's dinner—except when I play bridge and forget to get my husband's dinner.
I will be a dutiful wife—whenever it pays.
I will try to be good—but dash it, a man has got to live his life.
I will not go out more than seven nights a week.
I will help mother—whenever I want something.
I will try to be what mother says she was at my age—oh yeah!
Sez us!
And so we'll sing, “wring out the old, bring in the new,” and exchange New Year Greetings for Old Year grittings.
King
Our small boy has found a new love. By that we do not mean to infer that our small boy is a budding Lothario. Far from it. His new love is no frail, fickle thing of flesh and blood. It is indeed a thing which, to a small boy, must seem to be very much alive—a thing built of iron and steel, yet it pulsates and throbs delightfully with stored-up energy. It strikes awe into every beholder. In short, it is a railway engine.
Our small boy is intensely interested in the engines that haul the trains up the hill in front of our home. He knows them all. He is on more than familiar terms with the staccato puff of the “Ab.” He notes with approval the big “X's” that go chugging so powerfully and determinedly up the bank, with their heavy loads; he has a deep fund of admiration for the stocky, sturdy “Wa.B's” that always seem to get away with a flying start. Nor is all this interest and liking for the “iron horse” peculiar to the younger generation. Dad and Mum, big brother and big sister, all evince a more than passing interest in the knights of the rail. Of our town, it might truly be said that the railway is the very centre of its being. Hence it is that when the “Daylight Limited,” with a “Wab” pulling resolutely in front, goes gaily up the Mataroa bank, that those in the vicinity drop their tasks for a few seconds, and gaze wistfully at the departing train. Doubtless they are like us. We often wish that we were “aboard” the “Daylight,” especially on a summer's day, when the scenery along the Main Trunk line looks so captivating. Erasmus once said: “As soon as I get any money I shall buy books, and then I shall buy some clothes.” Paraphrasing him, we have said that when we get some money we will buy us a trip on the “Daylight Limited.”
But we have forgotten our small boy and his new love. Recently, we heard a strange whistle coming from the railway yard. No piercing blast this, but a pleasing melodious whistle, that sounded almost subdued. It attracted immediate attention. Was it one of the new big engines? Rumours of these had been circulating for some time. A new long turntable had been installed in the yards. Reports were current that one or two of the new “K's” had slipped through, bound for stations further north. But at last, enquiry taught us, one of them had come to stay—it was to be our very own.
And so the small fry of our household were very excited when it was announced that we would go to the station to “have a look” at the new “K.” They had learnt that she was to take the express north that night, and “please could we go down to-night?” Yes, we could, and scarcely any tea was eaten by the excited boys. One would have thought that they had a trip in prospect.
We reached the station just in time to see a monstrous apparition of an engine surrounded by a halo of light and steam, being coupled up to the express. It was “she!” Yes, truly it was, and an imposing looking “she” at that. There was quite a crowd of interested spectators. Men, women, youths, girls, and. of course, the ubiquitous small boy, were all gazing with immense satisfaction at the latest product of our workshops. The driver, a sturdy-looking man
Our small boy, on his way home, confided to us that he had made up his mind to be an engine-driver when he was a man, and drive a “K.” And so to bed, doubtless to dream blissfully of standing on the footplate of a giant engine climbing resolutely up a “bank,” with the beat of the exhaust purring surely and steadily in his dreaming ears.
The Austrian Railways
(From Our London Correspondent.)
Remodelling of the frontiers of several Central European countries during the
A section of the W. W. Stewart Railway Museum at the residence of Mr. Stewart, Mt. Albert, Auckland.
Steam locomotives total about 2,250. For passenger working there are utilised locomotives of the 2-8-4, 2-6-4 and 4-8-0 wheel arrangements. Most powerful of these is the 2-8-4 type. This is the type of locomotive that is generally used to draw the “Orient Express” and the “Ostend-Vienna Express” across Austria. The “Orient Express” train-deluxe runs between Calais, on the French coast, and Constantinople. The famous “Ostend-Vienna Express” is routed via Brussels, Cologne, the Rhine Valley, and Frankfort.
ByK. .)
McLatchie
Seventy-Two years ago, Gabriel Read discovered the first goldfield in Otago. In the succeeding year came the great Dunstan rush, soon to be followed by rich finds, through Arrow, to the Shotover and Skippers. A year later, in the winter of 1863, there was a rush to Naseby, then known as the “Hogburn.”
The Naseby goldfield lies in the foothills of Ida Range, and has been formed—geologists tell us—by glacier action. The ground is worked to an average depth of sixteen feet, and is composed, for the most part, of a yellow clay impregnated with fine gravel. The absence of large boulders facilitates the work of sluicing.
The miners had great difficulty in bringing water to their claims, and only when the Government put in the Mt. Ida water race, was there a sufficient force to enable sluicing to be carried on extensively.
In such a treeless country, timber was of great value. Gin cases were in demand for making “cradles,” and for one case the miner would give as much as five guineas.
Naseby developed into a substantial mining town, and the business centre for Manitoto, but owing to its distance from the railway, which in later years was put through Central Otago, more conveniently situated townships sprang up on the plain, and Naseby's golden star declined, until to-day we see a quiet, old-fashioned town, steeped in the romance of past years.
Many tales are told of the early mining days. The primitive gaol consisted of a tent and a post to which the offender was chained. A man of outstanding size and strength, who was chained to the “gaol,” pulled the post out and carried it to the blacksmith's shop, where his chains were filed off; so he made his escape.
In later days a well-known “character” was sentenced to a term of imprisonment with hard labour. The “hard labour” proved to be digging the constable's garden, and while thus employed, the prisoner was accosted by a friend: “Hullo! Got a good job? You are lucky.” “You may have it if you like, and get the pay,” replied the prisoner; and, passing his spade over, strolled up the town!
Mute testimony is borne to the labours of the early gold-seekers, by the miles of yellow diggings, the rotten flumings, broken tools, and, not least, in old walls of sod, sun-dried brick, and cob. Evidence of a woman's hand is seen in the bushes of sweet brier, hawthorn, and gooseberry, and we can imagine with what joy the young wife gazed upon the blossom and fruit in that bare tussock-land.
During the past two years there has been an influx of miners from many parts of the country. Some work under the Unemployment Scheme, and all are making a living wage.
For the benefit of the uninitiated, these are a few simple details of the gold-saving process. Water is brought to the claims by means of a network of races and pipes, many of the races which were made sixty years ago being still in use. On the end of the pipe is a canvas hose, to which a nozzle is attached. Here the miner stands, clad in oilskins and thigh boots, as, by means of a “control” he directs the powerful stream of water along the foot of a bank. This strong force quickly undermines the bank and a portion falls, soon to be reduced to silt and washed over the sluice-box. This box is of wood, two to three feet in width, and varying from about fifteen to twenty-five feet in length. Coconut matting is placed in the bottom, and above that a sheet of perforated iron. All the earth that is sluiced down must pass over the box, and the gold, being heavy, falls through the perforations and is caught by the matting; soil, gravel and water flow on into the sludge channel. Once every week or so, or on the approach of a bank day, the miner has a “wash up.” The matting is dried, the gold and silt removed and washed in the dish. The final process, “blowing,” removes any remaining particles of sand.
Miners agree that there is still much gold to be taken out of Naseby although the days of spectacular finds are past. In the future, modern machinery which can work at a greater depth may operate with success.
The town of Naseby is built on unworked land; the freehold sections, in many cases, being still untouched. The gaol, a substantial old building, is said to be literally built on gold.
Naseby possesses one of the finest American redwoods in the Dominion; indeed, it is a town of beautiful trees, which in autumn glow with a deep richness of colour found only in a land of frost. Although the old town mourns its departed glory, it is coming once more into its own.
Situated at a high altitude, with pure mountain air, and brilliant sunshine, it is an excellent health resort. A popular winter sports ground, it is filled with visitors when the many dams are frozen over. The bon-spiel is held annually, to which curlers gather from all parts of Otago.
With the return of winter, Naseby awakes from her summer of drowsy content, and the shouts and laughter of the young people at play are echoed in the hearts of many who dream of days gone by.
ByArthur L. Stead
Central Passenger Station, Bergen, Norwegian State Railways.
Some Famous British Locomotives.
In recent years many noteworthy contributions to steam locomotive progress have been made by the four group railways of Britain. To name a few of the outstanding constructions, we have machines like the “King George V.” engines of the Great Western; the London, Midland and Scottish Company's “Royal Scot” locomotives; the “Lord Nelson” and “King Arthur” types of the Southern line; the Pacific type of the London and North Eastern; and high-pressure “hush-hush” locomotive No. 10,000 of the “Baltic” type.
What is claimed to be an even more powerful express passenger locomotive than any of these famous engines has just been put into traffic on the London, Midland and Scottish Railway. This is the first of a new series of superheated 4-6-2 four-cylinder “Pacific” type designed by Mr. W. A. Stanier, the Company's Chief Mechanical Engineer, and built in the Crewe works. Designed to haul 500-ton expresses between Euston Station, London, and Glasgow—a route including the stiff climbs at Shap and Beattock, which normally require a couple of engines in their negotiation—these locomotives have an especially large boiler to carry them through the long and arduous Anglo-Scottish run. They also have tenders of unusually large capacity, some 4,000 gallons of water, and nine tons of coal being accommodated.
The new L.M. and S. “Pacifics” develop, at 85 per cent. boiler pressure, a tractive effort of 40,300lb. The firegrate area is 45 sq. ft., and the total heating surface, excluding superheater, is 2,713 sq. ft. The boiler pressure is 250lb. per sq. in., and the four simple cylinders are of 16¼in. diameter by 28in. stroke. The tender is carried on three roller-bearing axles, and the total weight of the engine and tender in working order is 158 tons 12 cwt., the overall length being 74ft. 4¼in.
Locomotive efficiency may be measured in many ways. A pretty good index is afforded by the mileage accomplished between successive heavy repairs and in this respect marked improvements have been recorded in Britain during the past few years. The mileage between heavy repairs varies in England from 30,000 to 90,000 for the different railway groups and different classes of locomotives. Most heavy repairs are found to be occasioned by boiler defects, and work in making these good often occupies a great deal of valuable time. Expedition of this class of job is now secured by keeping in stock a number of repaired boilers of standard type from which replacements can promptly be met.
Great care is now taken to secure suitable supplies of water for locomotive boilers, while the setting-up of water-softening plants has also tended to secure greater mileage between repairs. Mechanical lubrication and superheating are other helpful factors. Especially useful
New Express “Pacific” Locomotive, L.M. and S. Railway.
European progress in the electric locomotive field is just as striking as in the case of the steam engine. In Germany, especially rapid progress is being made in electric locomotive development, and the latest types of electric locomotive put into service represent the very last word in power and efficiency.
For express passenger train haulage, Germany employs on her electrified lines enormous electric locomotives weighing 110 tons, and capable of attaining speeds up to 70 miles per hour. Freight locomotives, hauling 2,400 ton trains, weigh as much as 138 tons, and attain speeds with full load up to 40 miles per hour. In general, Germany employs the alternating current system of electrification, 15,000 volts, 16 2–3 cycle.
Equally efficient are the motor cars employed in connection with the electrified suburban tracks in regions like Berlin, Munich and Stuttgart. These cars seat 75 passengers, and weigh, when empty, about 61 tons. Two motor cars and two trailer cars normally form a train. In the case of the Berlin electrification, the system adopted is third rail, 800 volts D.C. About 165 route miles of track are operated electrically in this area.
Five times round the earth at the equator—or approximately 125,000 miles—is the average daily mileage covered by the dining and sleeping cars of the “Mitropa” Company, of Berlin, the efficient undertaking responsible for train catering on the German railways. In the west, the “Mitropa” cars run as far as Amsterdam, Flushing and Hook of Holland. In the south, they operate to Zurich, Interlaken, Lucerne and Lugano. “Mitropa” cars likewise go to Vienna and to the spa centres of Czecho-Slovakia,
“Mitropa” is the biggest hotel and restaurant enterprise in middle Europe, serving more than 40,000 travellers in its dining-cars every day. More than 3,000 beds are made up every night for the guests of “Mitropa's” rolling hotels. Good catering is an immense aid in the securing of railway passenger business, and the German railways are indeed fortunate to have placed their catering interests in the hands of so efficient an organisation.
Resignalling schemes, undertaken in many British passenger termini in recent times, have added vastly to efficiency while making for more economical operation. One of the most interesting re-signalling jobs just completed is the installation of power signalling on a big scale at St. Enoch Station, Glasgow, L.M. and S. Railway. At this terminal there are handled all the “Midland” Anglo-Scottish trains to and from St. Pancras Station, London, as well as a heavy coastal and suburban business. Opened to traffic in 1901, St. Enoch Station has twelve platforms, totalling in length 9,500ft. About 350 trains pass in and out daily, and the station handles more than 6,000,000 passengers annually.
Electric passenger locomotive, German State Railways.
Until recently signalling of the Sykes' electro-mechanical type was employed at this important Scottish terminal. Now, with a view to securing increased efficiency and economy, this arrangement has been replaced by a modern power installation with electrically - operated points and colour light signals, and throughout track-circuiting of running lines. A single cabin has replaced the five cabins formerly necessary for signaling supervision, this cabin having 203 levers electrically interlocked, as compared with the 660 levers and slides in the five signal boxes which have been replaced. Among the many useful features of the new installation may be noted the fitting of ground locks to the point machines, an additional precaution to the usual track locking of point levers; and the furnishing of all main-line signal levers with approach locking.
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—A.
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ByO. M. .)
Shakespeare
Hongkong by night.
The Peak of Hongkong by night is something that will never be erased from my memory. In some respects The Peak is very like Mt. Victoria, Wellington. Imagine a huge hill, green by daylight, dotted on every side by bungalows, all lighted up, looking like clusters of elfin lights twinkling and glowing in the dark; a little train blinking its way up the curving Peak railway, like a huge glowworm to the summit; at the foot of the hills, tiny bays and fishing villages, with every kind of water craft riding at anchor, and on the other side Kowloon (China proper).
The name Kowloon will be familiar to most people who have seen the play “Mr. Wu,” where the house and garden of a rich Chinese merchant are pictured. There actually is a family of the name of Wu living at Kowloon, and occupying just such a home. Possibly that is why the play was barred from production in China.
The size and importance of a residence in China is measured by the roofs, as the houses of even the richest Chinese—and great wealth is quite common in China-never have more than one story, on a raised foundation approached by a flight of steps. Although not perhaps comfortable from a European standpoint, the home of the wealthy Chinese is furnished in great taste and luxury—chairs and tables deeply incrusted with pearl inlay on ebony, or teakwood, massive screens of great beauty, walls hung with rich embroidered silks, etc. No matter how modern he may be, the rich Chinese, when at home, usually wears his native costume and dresses, as do his womenfolk, in rich gorgeous brocades.
The women of Hongkong generally wear a fairly short pleated skirt, usually of some dark coloured heavy silk; over this a short Mandarin-shaped coat, sometimes of brocade matching the skirt, sometimes in contrasting colour; more often the effect was one of complete harmony. With this were stockings, and a little black embroidered heelless slippers. The hair, anyway of the young and unmarried, was worn in a straight, heavy fringe, over the forehead, parted in the centre and hung down the back in a plait, or coiled over either ear. In these coils were worn jewelled pins and ornaments of kingfisher feathers, the intrinsic value varying according to wealth and position. The Chinese woman does not wear a heterogeneous mass of jewellery, as does the Indian or Malay woman.
The men of South China wear long trousers of dull black silk, over which is worn a short spiral puttee of white; over this soft heelless shoes. Short blue brocaded Mandarin-shaped coats complete the costume, except in the case of those wearing uniforms when the coat alone denotes the calling. In the case of servants, the coat is usually white, made somewhat like a ship's steward's jacket. The head dress of the men around Hongkong and Canton is a padded cap, the crown made in six sections of dull black satin, finished at the edge by a stiff three-inch band, going slightly higher than the crown, finished in the top centre by an indented button, the colour of which varies according to rank. The coolie class dress much the same all over China, large round pagoda-shaped hats of straw, coarse cotton coolie coats with short white cotton trousers finishing well above the knees, and feet usually bare, or incased in sandals of thickly woven straw.
Hongkong is, as is well known, a British possession, and its harbour is one of the busiest
The pagodas of Southern China are very interesting, the tall hexagonal structures, with their many roofs of blue or green tiles, sometimes rising to a considerable height, are quite unlike the pagodas of Burma, with their gilded roofs edged with tiny tinkling bells, and often jewels.
I had the thrilling experience of being in Kowloon when a typhoon was raging, and never shall I forget it—gale force 123 miles an hour—this was in August, 1929. It raged for two hours, from 1 p.m. until 3 p.m. I have always been glad that I was able to count the experience amongst my many experiences in the Far East. My last memories of China are of native sounds rising up from sampans as the good ship “Tilawa” steamed out of the harbour—diamond-like stars studding the clear blue heavens, the lights of The Peak scintillating as though to out-do the stars, one by one springing into glowing life, while over beyond Kowloon—the grim hills guarding the long lonely road winding away to the heart of China—and on the wharf the lonely weeping little figure of my amah, faithful Ah Lo.
Norway's Scenic Railways
Unique among the scenic railways of the world, the Norwegian State Railways this season report record handlings of tourist traffic. Travel over the Norwegian lines has been materially improved of late by the introduction of many new types of passenger carriage embodying numerous refinements aiming at increased passenger comfort and convenience.
(Rly. Publicity photo)
A night scene, Mt. Victoria, Wellington, New Zealand.
Day coaches in Norway are of both the saloon and compartment type. All are fitted with heavily upholstered seats and sofas. The windows are of plate glass in the latest type of coach, and under each window is an adjustable table. New dining cars are built on English lines, and half an hour before meals the steward passes through the train handing out numbered seat tickets for the first or second sitting. A small service charge added to the bill happily solves the often perplexing problem of tips. The sleeping cars employed on the Norwegian mainlines are divided into compartments, each accommodating two passengers. In addition to the lower and the upper berth, there is provided a chair, a wash-stand with hot and cold running water, drinking water, and roomy racks for hand luggage. The compartment may be locked from the inside, thus ensuring absolute privacy and safety. On the principal mainline trains, the Norwegian train-attendants usually speak excellent English, and in every direction the railway authorities go out of their way to make the lot of the tourist an exceedingly pleasant one.—(From Our London Correspondent.)
Written for the “New Zealand Railways Magazine” by)
James Cowan
Among the founders of the several British settlements in New Zealand there were many men of great intellectual gifts, culture and statesmanlike outlook, and the most brilliant of all, probably, was James Edward Fitzgerald. He arrived in the first of the “Pilgrim Ships” at Lyttelton. in 1850, helped to form the Canterbury settlement and Christchurch City, and established and edited the first newspapers in Canterbury. In politics he was an active figure for many years. He was the first Superintendent of Canterbury Province; he was Premier of the first (and short-lived) representative Ministry in the colony, and he was Native Minister in the Weld Cabinet. He was an orator of grace, force and fire, the most enthralling speaker of his day among the many eloquent men in New Zealand's early Parliaments.
James Edward Fitzgerald (1818–1896).
The Irish have played a leading part in the making of New Zealand. There were more Irishmen than English in the British regiments which did most of the fighting against the Maoris. It was the lads from Inneskillen and Cork, the Wicklow Mountains, and the glens of Antrim, who enforced with rifle and bayonet the mana of the English flag in our war days. Turning to more peaceful scenes, it is in the nature of a paradox also that three Irishmen were the foremost figures in the pioneering and shaping of that most English of settlements, the Canterbury Province and the City of Christchurch. These three were John Robert Godley, Charles C. Bowen, and James Edward Fitzgerald. They were foundation-layers and builders, carrying out the plans drawn by the Canterbury Association, with Lord Lyttelton at its head, for the establishment in the new raw land of a complete cross-section of English society. Godley was the advance agent of the Association; Bowen (who came from County Mayo), and Fitzgerald, landed from the first of the Four Ships of 1850. The three worked together in the construction of the Canterbury colony; they gave expression to the ideas of the great Englishmen who schemed out this little bit of the Homeland overseas, and they made, or helped to make, Christchurch the leading town of young New Zealand in the cultivation of the arts and the amenities of life which redeemed the primitive places from the roughness of newly broken-in wilds.
Fitzgerald came of an Irish family on both sides, and although he was born in England he was a true Irishman in temperament and sympathies. He had the impulsive heart, the ready wit, the fervid oratorical manner, and the poetic taste of his forebears. His father, Gerald Fitzgerald, was a man of Queen's County, his mother was an O'Brien, from County Clare. His education was in England, but he travelled much in Ireland, and he always remained a worshipper of the Irish traditions. He was a graduate of Cambridge; he studied at Christ's College for three years, and after taking his degree he joined the staff of the British Museum and attained the position of Under-Secretary of that institution.
While holding that post, and engaging in scientific and literary research, he became acquainted with several leading spirits in the new science of colonisation. He met Edward Gibbon Wakefield, Lord Lyttelton, John Robert Godley, and other enthusiasts in the cause of extending
He edited a shipboard journal, he wrote causerie and verse. He wrote that cheerful anthem of the pioneers which more than anything else that came from his pen keeps his name in memory, “The Night-watch Song of the ‘Charlotte Jane.’” These are two verses from the poem that voiced the sentiments of the high-spirited nation-builders:—
They were small and crowded ships, those “Mayflowers” that brought the founders of Canterbury round the curve of the world, the square-riggers with their single topsails like the Navy ships, their studding-sails like wings on each side—fine-weather dress—their high-steeved bowsprits, and other old-time detail of rig. The largest of the first four ships was only 850 tons (the “Sir George Seymour”). The “Charlotte Jane,” with the leaders of the expedition on board, was a ship of 720 tons; she had 154 passengers. The other three brought 592 immigrants between them.
The “Charlotte Jane,” the “Randolph,” and the “Sir George Seymour” anchored in Lyttelton Harbour on September 16 and 17, 1850, within a few hours of each other. Eagerly the oceanweary pilgrims set foot on solid land and gazed at the craggy heights that divided them from the land of promise. The “Charlotte Jane” had been 99 days at sea.
Lyttelton was Fitzgerald's home for the first few years of his life in the new land. Lyttelton was the official headquarters and there Fitzgerald carried out the duties of Immigration Agent, to which he soon added those of editor of Canterbury's first newspaper. The first number of the “Lyttelton Times” (now the “Christchurch Times”) came out with the New Year of 1851; the plant and staff for the paper had been brought out in the “Charlotte Jane.” For two years he conducted the “Times;” he made it from the start a fount of inspiration as well as information; he gave it the impress of leadership and its formative influence on public opinion which it has maintained ever since.
Later, after some experience of politics and a visit to England, he settled himself in Christ-church and it fell to him to establish another newspaper. So came into being Canterbury's second journal, the “Christchurch Press,” of which Mr. Sale was the first editor. Fitzgerald was manager and the principal writer from the beginning, and he gathered a brilliant little band of writers about him. It was in his day that famous Samuel Butler, the author of “Erewhon,” first entered the pages of the “Press.”
Those were spirited days in Christchurch journalism. Crosbie Ward, on the “Lyttelton Times,” was a witty and vigorous antagonist of the “Press” and its hurlers of editorial thunderbolts.
It was natural that from the very first days of the Canterbury Settlement Fitzgerald should be concerned with politics, and that he should be in the forefront of the agitation for local and Colonial self-government. When the Constitution was granted to the Colony and Provincial Councils were set up, he became the first Superintendent of Canterbury Province, and in the following year (1854) he entered the first General Parliament as member for Lyttelton. He was Premier of the first Representative Ministry, under Acting-Governor Wynyard, at Auckland, but the position was a temporary compromise; Fitzgerald and his colleagues found that their powers were extremely limited, and they resigned in a few weeks.
He went to England for the sake of his health, acted as Emigration Officer for the Province while he was there, and returned in 1860, full of his old enthusiasm for the advancement of colonisation and of the Province he had assisted to establish. He re-entered politics in 1862, and he plunged into the thick of the wordy battles over the Maori Wars problem.
The first Taranaki War had just ended, and more trouble was brewing in Taranaki and Waikato, presently to culminate in a fiercer war involving the two Provinces. Fitzgerald, being a South Island member, was able to take a more detached and impersonal view of the war and its causes than the North Island members of the Assembly who were for the most part determinedly anti-Maori. Those were the days when the more intemperate newspapers and colonists demanded a war of extermination.
Fitzgerald's chivalrous soul revolted at the crude arguments and the undisguised hate sentiments of the pro-war party, and particularly at the high-handed policy in Taranaki which had involved the country in war over a miserable little block of land, and he became a vigorous champion of peaceful methods and fair adjustment of Maori grievances.
Then it was that he delivered in Parliament an appeal to reason and justice, an oration which Sir Robert Stout once described as “perhaps the ablest and most eloquent speech that was ever delivered in the New Zealand Parliament, or in any Parliament.”
This speech I give here in full, because not only is it an example of Fitzgerald's style at its best, but it deserves to live as an exposition of the highest principles of administrative policy in the relation between two races, the fine ethics of peace in an age of war-fever.
“The present state of things cannot last,” said Fitzgerald. “The condition of the Colony is not one of peace; it is a state of armed and suspicious neutrality. If you do not quickly absorb this King movement into your own Government, you will come into collision with it, and, once light up again the torch of war in these islands, and these feeble and artificial institutions you are now building up will be swept away like houses of paper in the flames. Tribe after tribe will be drawn into the struggle, and you will make it a war of races. Of course, you will conquer, but it will be the conquest of the tomb. Two or three years of war will eradicate every particle of civilisation from the native mind, and will elicit all the fiercest instincts of his old savage nature. The tribes, broken up, without social or military organisation, will be scattered through the country in bands of merciless banditti. The conflagration of Taranaki will be lighted up again in every border of the Colony; and in self-preservation you will be compelled—as other nations have been compelled before—to hunt the miserable native from haunt to haunt till he is destroyed like the beasts of the forest.
“I am here to-night to appeal against so miserable, so inhuman a consummation. We are here this evening standing on the threshhold of the future, holding the issues of peace and war, of life and death, in our hands. I see some honourable friends around me whose counsels I must ever respect, and whose tried courage we all admire, who will tell me that you cannot govern this race until you have conquered them. I reply, in the words which the poet has placed in the mouth of the great Cardinal, ‘In the hands of men entirely great, the pen is mightier than the sword. Take away the sword! States may be saved without it.’ I know well that evil days may come when the sacred inheritance of light and truth, which God has given to a nation to hold and to transmit, may only be saved by an appeal to the last ordeal of nations—the trial by war; but I know, too, how great the crime which rests on the souls of those who, for any less vital cause or for any less dire necessity, precipitate that fatal issue.
Forty years after. James Edward Fitzgerald as he appeared in later life.
“I grudge not the glory of those who have achieved the deliverance of a people or the triumph of a cause by any sacrifice of human life or human happiness; but I claim a higher glory for those who, in reliance on a law more powerful than that of force, and wielding spells more mighty than the sword, have led the nations by paths of peaceful prosperity to the fruition of an enduring civilisation. I claim a higher glory for those who, standing on the pinnacle of human power, have striven to imitate the government of Him who ‘taketh up the simple out of the dust, and lifteth the poor out of the mire.’ And I claim the highest glory of all for that man who has most thoroughly penetrated that deepest and loftiest mystery in the art of human government, ‘the gentleness that maketh great.’
“I have stood beside a lonely mound in which lies buried the last remnant of a tribe which fell—men, women and children—before the tomahawks of their ancient foes; and I sometimes shudder to think that my son, too, may stand beside a similar monument—the work of our hands—and blush with the ignominy of feeling that, after all, the memorial of the Christian law-giver is but copied from that of the cannibal and the savage. I appeal to the
Early immigrant ships at Lyttelton.
The times have changed; the very speech of Parliament has changed; the Fitzgerald manner has vanished from our Legislative deliberations. The root of the matter may be there; but the mode of expression has deteriorated. Where or when can such a moving piece of oratory be heard to-day? Fitzgerald was far more than a speaker of polished English, of finished sentences, of lines that went like a poem. His utterances were inspired by a generous and lofty spirit, he breathed the soul of charity, he looked into the future, he saw more clearly than most men the deadly criminal folly of rushing into war. Is there not a wider application to be given to his words to-day? Our domestic strife has long been ended; we are one people now, but the scarcely imaginable horrors of strife threaten the outer world, unless the Fitzgerald spirit informs the councils of the nations.
James Edward Fitzgerald's force and ability in Parliamentary debate presently won for him Cabinet rank. There was another high-minded pioneer of colonisation with whom he became associated in Parliament, Mr. Frederick Weld (afterwards Sir Frederick), partner of the Cliffords in early sheepfarming enterprise in Marlborough. He and Weld found themselves in general agreement on questions of Maori policy, and when, at the end of 1864, Weld became Premier, Fitzgerald consented to join him as Native Minister. This association lasted for nearly a year, and it was during the Weld-Fitzgerald regime that the self-reliant policy in Colonial defence matters was established. The Colony was no longer to rely on British regiments to fight its battles; New Zealand was to train and arm its own men. It was in 1865 also that the Government, on Fitzgerald's initiative, carried the Native Rights Act, which gave the Maori his rightful status as a citizen of the Colony.
Two more years of Parliamentary life, and then Fitzgerald left the arena of political strife
When he died in 1896 he was an all but forgotten figure of pioneer Parliamentary life, but his speeches and writings remained, to be quoted now and again by those of his contemporaries such as Sir Robert Stout, who knew and appreciated the white fire of great enthusiasms which animated his utterances.
I shall quote in concluding this sketch of a truly statesmanlike moulder of New Zealand life from a noble and touching article written by Fitzgerald for the Christchurch “Press” of April 16, 1864, when the news arrived of the taking of Orakau Pa, after the Maoris' heroic defence for three days:—
“…. No human situation can be conceived more desperate or more hopeless—their lands gone, their race melting away like snow before the sun, and now their own time come at last … There will be men in after times whose pens will narrate the causes and outcomings of this contest and who will seek in the objects of the war the key to its disasters [to British arms]. They will say it was not a war for safety or for law, or for truth or liberty, but it was a war dictated by avarice and prosecuted for spoilation. It was a war to remove a neighbour's landmark, to destroy a race that we might dwell in their tents. No doubt these critics of the past will be wrong. They must be so, for is not the whole voice of the age against them? An enlightened, Christian, money-making people, we are quite satisfied with the morality of our own conduct; but still the events of the war remain unexplained. Still it will remain to be solved why more money, time and life should have been sacrificed in this war against a feeble foe, for a smaller result than in any war in which England has yet engaged. For our own parts, we have long ceased to speculate on the causes of these things; we wait and wonder. But if there be anything in the whole miserable story to excite the admiration of a generous mind, it is this sad spectacle of those grim and tawny figures, gaunt with the watching and weariness, the wounds and nakedness of a long campaign in the bush, staring over their ragged palisades on the hosts of their conquerors from whom escape was impossible, and wailing out their last chant of death and defiance, ake! ake! ake! —for ever! for ever! for ever!”
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A winter scene, Lake Wakatipu. South Island, New Zealand—a popular tourist resort reached from the rail-head at Kingston or Cromwell.
ByH. .)
Angus
General view of Wetherstones Flat, a rich gold territory, Otago, New Zealand
Once upon a time stirring event followed stirring event in New Zealand. The famous gold-rush is but history now, yet as we motored down the West Coast-famous gold-coast of over seventy years ago—we came upon scene after scene of those thrilling days. Whole villages of houses and hotels, waiting, waiting, for that wholesome full-living gay-hearted band to return; cob-webbed hotels and little houses, all tumbled-down now, waiting so pathetically for that band that can never return. We saw great heaped-up stones and enormous earth-mounds, old rusted implements, all telling a silent story of that famous past. They are all that we have left to remind us; their owners have passed on.
As we stood by this desolate scene a picture of former days flashed before our minds. The empty hotels took on life. In front of us stood no less than four hotels, and from them sounds of merry-making echoed and re-echoed along the sandy street. Snatches of song, the throaty laughter of the men and the gay laughter of the women. Cheery music set our feet tingling; we could hear the chink of glasses. Lights flickered in the hundreds of windows in this mushroomgrown town. Happiness, gaiety, hope—every-where. Yet the faces within were a contrast to the faces of the new arrivals whom we seemed to see coming towards us. These men were just up from the Otago goldfields, where they had heard of this new field. Yes, they struck gold aplenty in Otago, but the winter snows had driven them out. Big iron-constitutioned men, accustomed to the hardships of a rigorous winter, ill-fed, ill-clothed, working, working, ever-hoping; then their journey, producing even greater hardships, over snow-covered mountains to this new field. They made no complaint, for that was not the way of the miners, but their faces bore silent testimony to their grim struggle with death on those icy peaks. Well, they had arrived, and were not going to waste any time. They must stake their claims and start afresh. Gold! Gold! Gold! They passed into the hotels and as they left us a large touring car swept by, tooting loudly—and that day dream was over!
Marvellous men, marvellous women; all young and full of life and hope. Kind-hearted, faithful and true. No hardship too great to be endured in their feverish search for this hidden wealth, no dangers heeded.
The prices they paid for their equipment and provisions—the bare necessities of life at that—would stagger us to-day. Some made their fortune, others did not. Certain it is that the hotel-keepers and merchants made theirs.
But it was soon over. By 1870 the rush had ceased. The easily-won gold had been taken and hope burned low until the flame which had swept the country for a decade died completely away.
They have left us their old time-worn habitations. The heritage of courage and the will to live happily in the face of such odds, as did those courageous diggers of old, remains with our young men and women to-day.
Due to expansion, the lines of the Canadian National Railways are several miles longer in summer than they are in winter. The total trackage of the system is 23,700 miles, and it has been calculated that if there were an even summer temperature of 90 degrees throughout the territory served by the railway, the line would be fourteen miles longer than what the track would measure if there were an even temperature of zero.
Wellington's Drive for the Restoration of National Confidence
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
The Railway Department's section of the Industrial Procession held on 22nd November, 1933, in connection with Wellington's National Confidence Carnival.
ByC. A. L. , O.B.E.
Treadwell
The first news of this tragedy came before the general public when the “Lyttelton Times,” on the 10th January, 1871, announced it in the following words:—“An occurrence unequalled in our provincial annals and fitted to be classed amongst the worst deeds of personal violence, startled the city from its wonted equanimity yesterday afternoon. The details were at first received, even by the most credulous, with complete disbelief, but inquiry shewed that horrible as they were, they were but too true. The tragedy comprises the death of one female and the almost miraculous escape of another.”
The story is not a long one, but it is doubtful if the accused received a fair trial, or that he was responsible for the deed for which he stood charged. That he should not have paid the extreme penalty for the crime is, in the light of our better acquaintance with the science of mental disease than was possessed fifty years ago, I think hardly open to serious question.
The victim of the crime was a pleasant young woman employed as a kitchenmaid by Mr. William Robinson, of Canterbury. Mr. Robinson was one of the best known and successful farmers of the district, and had, on account of his well known habit of paying cash for his stock purchases, apart from his general reputation for wealth, earned the soubriquet “Ready-money-Robinson,” which still attaches to his memory.
In those days, as is the position to-day, farmers were accustomed to finance their farming needs through the stock and station agents. Attached to his retinue of servants were two other servants who were prominent in the drama. These two persons were, first, the accused, Simon Cedeno. He was brought to New Zealand, from Panama, by Mr. Robinson, about 1867. Originally. Cedeno came from Santa Fe Bogota, the capital of New Grenada, in South America. He was of negro extraction, and was about twenty-eight years of age. He is described as being of very slight build, rather good looking, and about 5ft. 8in. in height. He was in all respects a superior member of his race. He spoke English very imperfectly, Spanish being his native tongue. The other servant who played a leading part in the tragedy was Catherine Glynn who was employed as an under-housemaid. She it was who had, what the newspaper called, “the almost miraculous escape” from death.
In order to understand the quality of the crime it is as well to mention that immediately prior to the deed Cedeno lived on the best of terms with all the other members of the household staff. No complaint had ever been made with regard to his conduct, and so far as Mrs. Robinson was concerned, Cedeno was an efficient and happy servant. Indeed, the worst that could be said of him even by his fellow servants was that he sometimes became surly or annoyed if he were teased about his impending marriage. What actually happened on these occasions will be told in the account of the trial, which follows.
On the 8th March. 1871, Cedeno stood his trial at the Supreme Court, at Christchurch, for the murder of Margaret Burke. The trial was
To this charge the prisoner pleaded not guilty, and the story was then unfolded by the witnesses called by Mr. Duncan. Mr. Duncan briefly addressed the jury, and no doubt told them not to be affected by anything they had heard or read touching the case. There is no doubt, however, they were considerably affected by the great publicity given to the case. No doubt the strong feeling against Cedeno was aggravated by the fact that he was black-skinned and the tragedy occurred in the house of one of the most prominent and respected members of the community. The feeling raged so furiously that looking back on the trial after so many years one realises that the prisoner had no prospect of a fair trial in Canterbury, where the feeling against him was so high. Even in those days the influence of the newspaper as a purveyor of sensationalism was apparent. The community was comparatively a small one and the counter interests so few that the whole community concentrated its attenion and directed its influence, consciously or not, against the unfortunate prisoner at the bar.
“The witness closed with him in the dining room.”
The first witness called for the Crown was Robert M'Knight, who was a Sergeant of Police. He told the jury that he was present when two men, Campbell and Price, conducted the prisoner to the station. One of them told the witness, in the presence of the prisoner, that he had been stabbing, and that one of the women whom he had stabbed was dead. After securing Cedeno the witness went at once to Mr. Robinson's house. There he found all the indications of a most appalling tragedy. In the dining room lay Margaret Burke dead, in front of the fireplace. A blood-stained knife, which the witness produced, he took from the side-board. After a further look over the place witness returned to the police station and charged Cedeno with murder. Cedeno then asked him if Kate were dead. He was told that she was not. On returning to the house, the Sergeant removed the body of Margaret Burke to what he called the “dead house” at the hospital. Under cross-examination by Mr. Joynt, Sergeant M'Knight said that he remembered that Cedeno had told him at the station that the others at the house of “Ready-money Robinson” were going to kill him. The prisoner was very excited when he was brought to the station. He rambled away in a foreign tongue.
The second witness was Catherine Glynn. She was still feeling the effects of the ordeal she had undergone. She was very nervous when she was brought into the Court and had to be assisted into the witness box. From there, however, on account of her nervous condition she was inaudible, and she was then assisted to a chair on the Bench alongside His Honour. A nurse stood by her. This witness, pale, and still suffering, must have wrought a deadly effect upon the mind of the jury against the prisoner. Whisperingly she told the jury that she was an under-housemaid at Mr. Robinson's house. Jean McKay and Margaret Burke were fellow servants of hers. On the 9th January she was in the scullery and Margaret Burke was scrubbing in the kitchen. Simon was sitting in his pantry. The witness then went on to say: “I could see him. He was looking at Margaret Burke, and he was looking round in his pantry in the most awful way.” She then went on to say that the bell rang, and Simon went to answer it. “Some little time later he rushed at me,” said the witness. “He shook me, and said: ‘I nave caught you now.’ I put up my hands and cried
In cross-examination she said that she had been with Margaret Burke for about three months at Mrs. Robinson's. She had got on well with Simon, though sometimes he had been very surly. He used to do little things for the other maids. Margaret Burke behaved just as she ought to have with Simon, and they were on very good terms. On one occasion that the witness remembered he had had a quarrel with Margaret and had beaten his fists on the table and threatened to beat her. Generally he was a happy and contented man. Immediately before the act, the witness remembered, Simon was sitting in his pantry, looking down, and then he would look at Maggie and then at a little box on the shelf, and repeatedly he would look up at the sky. His manner appeared very strange.
Patrick Campbell then took up the account of the story. He had been in the dining room when he was startled by hearing shrieks of terror. Going to the door he saw the prisoner chasing Margaret Burke. They ran from the kitchen to the hall and from the hall to the dining room. Prisoner shouted: “You talk of my girl!” The witness closed with him in the dining room. By that time Margaret Burke had collapsed on the floor. Cedeno was trying to stab her. He succeeded in stabbing her about the breast several times. With one arm Campbell seized Cedeno round the neck, while with the other he gripped his right arm. The witness said: “You'll kill the girl, you brute.” Cedeno stopped his struggling and looked up into the face of the witness and said: “Yes, I kill.” Then he turned towards the unfortunate woman and stabbed her again. At that moment Mrs. Robinson came in, and, as I was holding him by the arm, she asked Cedeno for the knife and he opened his hand so that she could take it. Then the witness told how, on Price coming into the room, they took the prisoner to the police station, or depôt, as it was then called. On the way to the depôt the prisoner volunteered the statement that he would have also killed Mr. Robinson had he not gone off to business. He turned to Price and told him that he killed Maoris and wild cattle while he (Cedeno) for his part killed English girls. Witness then turned and said to Price: “Then he has killed two girls?” At which the prisoner interposed: “Yes, I killed two; that's nothing in my country. People call me wildman, madman, but I am not.” When Mrs. Robinson told the witness and Price to take him away, he said: “Take me to the police.” Campbell said that Cedeno was a very surly man, and that he got very bad tempered if anything put him out.
Mrs. Robinson, who was then called, said she had seen Margaret Burke stabbed three times by Cedeno. Generally she bore out the statement of the last witness. In answer to Mr. Joynt she said that Cedeno had been a good servant. After the deed the other servants complained of Cedeno's ways, but they had not apparently done so while Cedeno was working with them. Mrs. Robinson had never seen Cedeno in a bad temper.
When Mrs. Robinson left the witness box at 1 p.m. the Court adjourned for half an hour. After the luncheon adjournment Price took up the story, but added nothing to it that had not already been told by Mrs. Robinson and Campbell.
The medical proof was given by Dr. H. H. Prins, who said there were four wounds on the body of Margaret Burke. The first was on her left arm; there were three in her chest, two of which had penetrated to her heart, while the third was below the heart. That ended the case for the Crown, and as Mr. Joynt announced that he would call no evidence it was then necessary for Mr. Duncan to make his closing speech for the Crown. He did so in a very spirited address. He became much more enthusiastic in his denunciation of the prisoner than happily usually obtains when the Crown Prosecutor addresses the jury in a capital case. No doubt to some extent he was carried away by the enormous feeling that had been engendered against the prisoner. He defined murder for the benefit of the jury. He claimed their verdict on account of the clear evidence. He dwelt on the evidence of Glynn, which must have had a great effect on the minds of the jurymen. He said that Cedeno was not fit to live in society, and ought to be punished by death, as an example to others who might otherwise be tempted to commit a similar crime. When he sat down he received a round of applause from the audience. Mr. Duncan's observations which were quite uncalled for, far exceeded his duty. It was no part of his duty to call for the death penalty. His observation that the death penalty would serve as a deterrent to others was just as unfortunate as it was probably unsound.
On account of the excitement Mr. Joynt asked the Judge to adjourn for five minutes, and the Judge offered to do so for a longer period if need be. The speech that Mr. Joynt made on the resumption was a curious one. Apparently he was feeling the weight of public opinion. He implored the jury to divest themselves of the prejudice that existed. He referred to the singular round of applause that had succeeded Mr. Duncan's closing remarks. He then went on to tell the jury that he himself had found that there was a deep rooted public desire for revenge in the case of this prisoner, so much so that he had been told by people, who certainly ought to have known better, that he did wrong in taking up the defence of the poor wretch.
Mr. Joynt freely admitted the killing, and then he went on to say that he did not urge that there was anything in the way of provocation that could in law be considered sufficient to palliate the crime. He reminded the jury that Cedeno was a man of obliging and affable disposition, tractable, contented and apparently happy. He was a silent, calm, collected man. On one occasion he had been kept late and had become speechless with rage. There was something strange in the case inexplicable from the evidence. He referred to the man's previous history of friendliness, and he assumed that motive would have been shewn. At this His Honour interjected: “You admit the law presumes the malice from the homicide, and then you proceed to negative the necessary malice?” Mr. Joynt explained that in this case Cedeno, without the slightest provocation, had departed from his previous line of conduct and that brought with it the presumption that there must be something in the submission that there was no malice. Again he referred to the friendly terms that had obtained between the deceased and the prisoner. Then he reminded the jury of Cedeno's extraordinary appearance just before the act. He said: “I can only account for it that his mind was influenced by some paroxysm of rage that was uncontrollable. I ask you to account for it in some other way than that it was absolute malice. Cedeno, urged his counsel, had been under the influence of ungovernable passion. He told the jury they were bound on the evidence to find there was no malice. Then he added: “I do not for a moment attempt to raise the presumption that he was a lunatic, insane, or a monomaniac.”
The Judge then said: “You admit the law presumes malice from the homicide, and then without shewing anything to rebut the presumption, you say there is a presumption that there is no malice?”
Mr. Joynt said “I say that I am not in a position now to make out a case of insanity.”
The Judge: “Then if you do not, I cannot follow you. I thought from some expressions that fell from you that you were endeavouring to make out a case of insanity, but having withdrawn from making out that case, I cannot follow your argument.”
Mr. Joynt then proceeded with his address to the jury, and said the presumption to be drawn from their previous good relations was that there had been no malice. He said that when he committed the act the prisoner was actuated by some strange feeling, whatever it was, which amounted to almost a monomania. He admitted it was a crime, but that it was for the jury to say whether it was murder or manslaughter. He finally urged that Cedeno had been unable to control himself, and that strong overpowering sensations had taken hold of him.
In his summing up to the jury, Mr. Justice Gresson said that it was the duty of counsel to defend the prisoner. Mr. Joynt had done so with temperance, candour and ability. He told the jury not to concern themselves with the effect of their verdict, and to disregard the fact that the prisoner was a foreigner. The learned Judge then referred to the alleged provocation and the presumption of malice. The homicide was enough to raise a presumption of malice for the purpose of completing the crime. The facts were so simple that the Judge thought it hardly necessary to refer to them.
When the jury retired they were out of Court for only ten minutes, and when they returned they brought in the expected verdict of guilty. The Judge summarily sentenced Cedeno to death. After being handcuffed, Cedeno was led away. On Wednesday, the 5th April, he was executed. His was the second execution in the Province of Canterbury. Cedeno is said to have walked to the scaffold with a dogged, sombre, expression.
In the light of our present knowledge of mental disease, it is more than likely that a plea of insanity would succeed were Cedeno tried to-day.
After the trial of Ronald True, who, in May 1922, was found guilty of murder, but whose sentence was later changed to one of life imprisonment in an asylum, a Commission was set up to enquire into the state of the law touching the question of insanity. In True's case there was much more evidence of motive, but there was also a history of grave mental abnormality, and the question of insanity was directly raised as a defence. It is difficult to understand why it was not raised in the case of Cedeno. The law in relation to these cases was settled in 1843 in the case of M'Naughton, when it was held that to render a person irresponsible for crime on account of unsoundness of mind, the unsoundness should be such as to render him incapable of knowing right from wrong. The Commission, or to give it its strictly correct name, Committee, sat in July 1922. As a result of its deliberations it recommended that in the light of the better understanding of mental disease the law should be altered so that it should be recognised that a person charged criminally with an offence is irresponsible for his act when the act is committed under an impulse which the prisoner was by mental disease in substance deprived of any power to resist.
Applying that view to the facts in Cedeno's case it comes within it. That Cedeno was right when he said that in his own country he was known as a madman seems likely. That he had a paroxysm of madness immediately before and during the killing of Margaret Burke seems also more than probable.
ByL. G.
.)
Kelly
(W. W. Stewart collection.)
The Auckland-Wellington Express drawn by one of the new “K” class locomotives, leaving Auckland.
It is many years since the line of rail first crossed the Puniu River and entered what is now known as the King Country, but a chance remark by one of my Maori friends brought forth a little story connected with the time when the Government was negotiating with the tribes of the Rohepotae for the purpose of building the railway through their lands. For many years after the conclusion of the Waikato War, Te Awamutu had remained a kind of border settlement, but at last, after the bitterness of the late trouble had somewhat subsided, the railway was pushed forward to halt finally after the construction gang had carried their line of steel to the banks of the Puniu River.
Just opposite, on the southern bank of the river, stood an old pa, Haere-awatea, one time stronghold of old Pehi Tukorehu, fighting chief of Ngati-Maniapoto. Here, amid the historic associations of Haere-awatea, a great meeting of King Country tribes was held to consider the advisability of throwing open the Rohepotae to the pakeha. Representatives of many tribes were present; the following men were the leaders remembered by my informant:—Manga, Wahanui, Keremeta, Tapihana and Tukorehu, son of Pehi.
Long and protracted were the discussions, for while some were in accord with the idea, others were bitterly opposed to European intrusion. Manga, or to give him his greater name, Rewi Maniapoto, was agreeable that the railway should proceed, but would not officially state his case, as he feared his mana would be lowered in the eyes of his people. Finally, after much talk, Manga walked forth, and taking up the ceremonial spade, dug the first sod, while Wahanui wheeled it away in the wheelbarrow.
Although no words were spoken, the people immediately knew the significance of such an act, and as Wahanui was wheeling away the barrow, Tapihana called out: “E Waha, he kai ma taua he waipiro?” (O Waha, a food for us shall be intoxicating liquor?”) Meaning, that as the King Country was now open to Europeans, their liquor would also be permitted.
Wahanui, however, immediately answered: “Me mutu atu te waipiro i tera taha o Puniu. He kai kino tera. He kai whakapohara tena i te tangata. Nga hua mea kino katoa e puta ana i te waipiro.” (“Let the intoxicating liquor stay on that side of Puniu,” pointing his hand towards Te Awamutu, “that is an evil food, a food that makes men poor. All things that are bad come from liquor.”)
Thus were the doors of the King Country opened to the railways, and thus were they closed, officially at least, to the liquor traffic.
As the Main Trunk line leaves the southern end of the Puniu bridge it cuts through the ancient ramparts of Haere-awatea, in these days a wilderness of blackberry and hawthorn, for with the last great gathering of Ngati-Maniapoto, the glory of this riverside stronghold passed away.
Ensuring Safety
With a whole railway carriage fitted up for the purpose, the Sight-testing Officer of the New Zealand Railways was busy “putting through” all manner of railwaymen in Wellington recently. Both ordinary sight and colour vision are quickly tested by this expert, and the results are accurately recorded and faithfully dealt with by the Department. This service is just one among the many means by which the Railways, quickly and unobtrusively, carry on their work of ensuring that their transport service shall ensure the utmost measure of safety for their customers. Every so often every man in the railways who has anything to do with the operating side has to be tried and passed for visual acuity and colour sense.
By.)
Will Lawson
Illustrations by M. Matthews.
The Loco. Heads were proud of their new engine, the ZY class, which they claimed could climb a moderate grade on half-throttle; what she could do with everything wide open, they never set any limit to; it was a sore point with them that in the steam sheds there was an attitude of conservative criticism which most old drivers adopt, until they are convinced that a new engine is worthy of her steel. Jonah, the greatest sceptic of all the drivers, found many faults with the new engine; and by an odd chance, it was he who demonstrated what capable machines they were. Tom Ellis was his fireman and Tom's girl played a part in the matter, too.
There had been trouble through bush-fires at Frog Junction, the heat had been terriffic, yet by their dogged spirit the railwaymen kept the service going.
On that hot summer day the officials at the Junction were waiting for No. 82, the “fast passenger” from the West. Every moment they expected to have word of her.
The despatcher's office was hushed as Jack Lucas, the chief despatcher bent over his key. At last the message came, flashing through the heat from Red River.
“No. 82 out on time.”
A sigh that was as loud as a cheer in the quiet office came from the lips of the four men. They knew that it would be barely possible to get the train through the fire area in the ranges ere converging fires met, but with the train on time and everything in its favour, they felt that it might be done.
Jonah had been given orders to run as fast as possible within the bounds of safety and they had confidence in Jonah. In two hours he should be at Frog Junction.
The train was next reported from Blue Gully, eight miles away, a bit ahead of time. Between that point and Frog Junction were places where the smoke was suffocating. All carriage windows would be tightly closed, but the enginemen, being regarded as a species of salamander, were expected to breathe in any heat.
Knowing all these things, the four officials—the others were: Fred Rogers (Loco. Foreman), Bill Lane (Assistant Despatcher), and Frank Lampers (the Road Boss)—gave another silent cheer when they heard the chime whistle of No. 5000 ringing up the gorges below. She came into sight on the level piece, rolling with her speed. Everything was set to let No. 82 pass straight through. Entering the station limits she set the switches and frogs squealing under the tread of her heavy wheels, ripping across the steel. The roar of her speed was a tremendous sound passing the engine-sheds which echoed it. A flash of bright metal, a looming engine and she was past, and tearing eastward at 40 miles an hour.
But the four in the office were white-faced and speechless, for they had seen there was no one at the throttle of the giant engine; she was doing the job without a driver's hand to guide her.
They called up Bells and Happy Valley. It was only three miles to Bells, there was scarcely time to stop her there, and from Bells to Happy Valley is a down grade going east, though the distance again is only three miles. They took heart at that thought. Maybe the engine would keep the rails, and she would be stopped at Happy Valley if it were humanly possible or she was not overtaken before, for Fred Rogers was away after a light engine on which to chase the runaway.
The three others waited. Though it was only ten minutes, it seemed hours ere the Morse stuttered, loud as hammer-blows:
“Bells reports No. 82 passed with a girl driving,” said Jack Lucas.
In staccato Morse they swore their disbelief. Bells repeated the news. The train had gone through at regulation speed, with a girl driving.
“Rummiest thing I ever heard of,” Lampers said. “There goes Rogers after her,” he added as a big-wheeled light engine raced through the yards and away up the line. “But he's miles behind her.”
They had told Happy Valley to let the train go through if all was right, no matter who was driving. Anything to get her out of the fire zone.
“No. 82 through, 4–24, all in order, Jonah and Ellis on engine,” Happy Valley reported.
“Well, I'll be blowed,” Bill Lane exploded. “Is the train bewitched?”
Away west of Frog Junction, before the train was heard by the four men in the despatcher's office, No. 500 was thundering along at 35 miles an hour. Though no fires were near her, the dense smoke was acrid, and Jonah had a grim look on his face as he held on. Tom Ellis, with perspiration pouring off his face and arms, was firing. He was grilled to a frazzle. They were putting up a great run, and were praying that they would soon get out of the smoke, when they roared into a cutting.
Telling the story afterwards they said that was all they remembered for some time. The smoke had gassed them, and they fell like logs to the footplate, while No. 5000, with her throttle half open, hammered away at the miles. When the train raced through Frog Junction, the enginemen were stretched on the footplate, and the train was running wild, uphill. But without a fireman's urging, the steam could not keep up. Gradually the speed fell, and when the train was approaching a cottage by the rail-side, a mile out, the engine was labouring heavily. The smoke was not so dense there, and passengers began to think they would soon be out of the fire zone.
Sally Ranson, who was Tom Ellis's girl, was a railwayman's daughter, her father being stationmaster at Blue Valley. She was staying with a married school friend in the cottage beside the tracks, and knowing that Tommy was on No. 5000 she was listening for the sound of the train, ready to wave as he passed. Presently she heard the slow approach of a train, and thought at first that a “goods” had got in ahead of the fast passenger. Something told her, however, that all was not right, and when the mighty 5000 came round the bend and Tommy did not lean out in his accustomed way to greet her, real alarm seized her. She ran to the fence and got through and, as the tall, handsome engine laboured past, every stroke of her pistons a sob, the girl realised that there was trouble somewhere. It was unnatural not to see the enginemen smiling down at her.
“She was listening for the sound of the train, ready to wave as it passed.”
Sally was practical. She ran alongside the engine, and seizing the gangway rails, swung herself up to the footplate. The sight of the prostrate men gave her a turn, but only for a moment. She assured herself that they still lived; then she turned her attention to the task of driving the train through the fires to High Summit. One glance at the threatening smoke clouds rushing overhead brought her to this decision.
Often in her younger days, she had fired on engines for fun, when her father, who was on
Taking the shovel which lay with Tom's hand still grasping the handle, she dug it into the coal which made a neat heap by the opening from the tender. She turned to open the firedoor and found that the pressure of her foot on a rocking bar in the floor had opened the door. Sally realised that this engine was different from any of those on which she had ridden; it was cleaner, simpler and more comfortable. Being a woman, this cheered her, as though the big engine was helping somehow. She turned the throttle wheel giving her more steam and thrilled to feel the response. Every ounce of coal thrown into the furnace seemed to tell. They roared through Bells at a good speed.
From there, less steam was needed on the down-grade. Sally half closed the throttle and turned her attention to the enginemen. Plenty of cold water was at hand and she was versed in first aid. After they had their lungs filled with air and received generous cold water bathings, both Jonah and Tom took their places on the engine, and they sailed through Happy Valley one minute ahead of time, this being due to high speed downhill while Sally was giving first-aid to the men.
There was a breathless dash through thick smoke ere High Summit was reached, but once there, the danger was over. A cluster of railwaymen greeted the engine crew; they had heard of the surprising trip of the engine that changed her crew at every station, and they wanted to see the girl. Sally smiled happily at them, for Tom was beside her, and she was proud to have helped him. The passengers wondered at the enthusiasm, and then Rogers came in on his light engine a bit late, as he could not get running rights from Happy Valley till the No. 5000 had reached High Summit.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A goods train at Cass Station, on the Midland Line, South Island, New Zealand.
Rogers was puzzled to think that a girl had brought the train through alone.
“I'm sure I did nothing,” Sally said in reply to the steam-shed boss. “It was the engine herself, she is the loveliest thing I have ever seen, even opened her own fire door for me and slid the coal on to the shovel. I believe a baby could drive her.”
And that set hard old Jonah chuckling.
“I've been thinking Tom,” he said to his mate, it's time you and Sally joined up as a crew.”
While sally blushed and Tom looked uncomfortable, Fred Rogers said:
“Anyway, Miss Ranson, I'm going to recommend you for an engine, first chance, and you can hand her over to Tom as soon as the clergyman gives you your running rights.”
And then Sally realised what a wonderful thing she had done for Tom and herself for they could be married on a driver's pay.
Most Serviceable Timber.
In an article on the properties and uses of Insignis Pine, Mr. C. E. Dickson, M.Sc., New Zealand State Forest Service, states: “Insignis Pine is an extremely valuable soft wood with a wide diversity of uses. It will probably find a wide use for farm purposes, mine timbers, and outdoor construction in general.
“Insignis Pine may be reduced by the Mechanical, Sulphite and Sulphate Processes to yield pulps of fairly high grade suitable for the production of newsprint, printings, wrappings and boards.”
It is for this purpose that the large tracts of forests have been established by N.Z. Perpetual Forests Ltd.*
Mr. R. A. Loughnan, the doyen of journalists as well as of Rotarians—the Wellingtonians put ninety-two candles on his birthday cake recently, is one of the very few newspaper men in the world who have had a genuine interview for authorised publication with Rudyard Kipling. It occurred during the Anglo-Indian author's brief stay in Wellington on his world tour. Mr. Loughnan was then editor of the “N.Z. Times” (he had come up from the “Lyttelton Times”). The interview took place in the Wellington Club on the Terrace. R.K., wise to newspaper ways, made it a condition that he should see a proof of the interview. He did-at 1 o'clock in the morning. He wrote a par at the opening of the interview and another at the end. I know—for I was proof-reader on the “Times” and I cut the Kipling M.S., off that revised proof the notable one sent back to the office at 2 a.m.
* * *
Black pine beer used to be the favourite drink of all bushmen and bush children. A common sight was to see the saw dropped and all mouths applied to the sawcut. Immediately the tree fell, the children licked the stump eagerly. A favourite prank on a school holiday was to borrow or steal father's auger, choose a likely looking black pine, and bore into the heart. When the beer poured out, it was turn and turn about with mouths to the hole. Another drink—but less popular—was from the “milkwood,” a tree with a diameter of about one foot; soft white wood, which on being cut, yielded a white sweet fluid. Young fern shoots, hot as cayenne pepper, were also meat to the children. Strange tastes! — T.L.M.
* * *
I read with interest an account by “
With absolutely no money in their pockets they settled upon a Government grant of land of which very little is level, most of the hillsides being very steep. There they carved out for themselves the farms that can be seen to-day. For years they lived in nikau whares, slab huts, and “wattle and daub” shanties, making tea from the seeds of the bidibidi, and eating the tender shoots of the nikau for a vegetable. They split shingles for a miserable pittance—so small because the market was already glutted. In fact some of the settlers say that if it had not been for the long credit extended to them by the Auckland firms—all of whom finally received payment in full—they would not have been able to exist at all. Clothing was at a premium, much of it being made from sacking and flour-bags. One of the greatest historical events of the district was the arrival of the first cow purchased from a farmer for 30s. in what is now Silverdale, and paid for on the instalment plan over a period of months. One young surveyor mentioned that the local road upon which the younger men worked would ease the burden of abject poverty by bringing £200 a year into the district—£200 a year among roughly 200 people! What is that in wages?
For other examples of the troubles of those early settlers, well read the book. The Rev. Father Silk can be found, I think, by inquiry at the Catholic headquarters.
“
* * *
For sheer beauty and aptness of nomenclature, I submit the name “Falling Mountain,” a peak of some 6,150 feet in the Arthur Pass National Park. Great masses of rock have been riven out of the sides of this imposing mountain, so that at one point, while looking up the sheer walls to the summit, the impression (commonly felt when gazing on high buildings) is conveyed of the whole peak careening over.
It was the beauty and originality of the name that first attracted my attention, and I then took some pains to discover the author of same, finally tracing it to a Mr. R. S. Odell, member of a Canterbury Tramping Club. The name is entirely original and superbly euphonious.—“Tanitu.”
By)
Tangiwai
The flax and the raupo swamp-reed are two of the most. characteristic and abundant wild plants of the New Zealand landscape. Flax was our earliest item of trade and export; but whatever use can be made of raupo, symbolising the waste places of land? So asks the pakeha enquirer; but the Maori can answer the question, and so, too, can the pioneer settler. Really a little book could be written around the raupo, the unconsidered plant of the marshes and the lagoons, type of the wilderness life like the bittern, the weka, and the hawk. Its associations and its stories are manifold.
To the Maori the existence of a raupo swamp within convenient distance of his home was a necessity of life, a source of food and building material. From the pools and runways among the reeds he obtained his eels, and the raupo sheltered, too, the wild duck and other waterfowl that formed part of his bill-of-fare. The long reed leaves, so light and full of small air cells, made the best of thatching for his house. Easy to cut and carry, and found nearly everywhere, it was the material for walls and roofing. Dried and tied in thick bundles and skilfully fastened on roof and sides it made the snuggest of dwellings, cool in summer and warm in winter. Our early settlers, and the long-service soldiers in New Zealand, well knew the comfort of a whare of raupo.
Then the Maori used the leaves as sail material for canoes. It was the lightest and cheapest of substitutes for canvas, and canoes on lakes and rivers and the sea coast were often wafted along by these triangular shaped sails. There was the hunehune, the down in the red and brown seed-heads, like knobs at the end of the light stems. This was used by many a pakeha housewife in the country for stuffing pillows and mattresses when feathers were scarce. (I remember being sent, when a small boy, to the swamp to gather dry hunehune for my mother, for filling cushions.) As for the root, it was cooked and eaten by the Maori. I have never tasted it, not having been reduced to that condition of starvation, but I am pre-pared to believe the old people's statement that it was edible when there was nothing better on hand. Again, there is the useful-ness of the leaf for the making of poi
The necessity for preserving the native forest on the steep and lofty places of the land has been much discussed in many quarters of late. Writers, speakers, and societies of one kind and another have expressed concern for the future of the land if the protective bush is destroyed, and the Urewera Country in particular has been cited where the saving of the forest from axe and fire should be regarded as a State obligation and duty.
The Huiarau ranges above all should be preserved absolutely untouched. The road from the Rotorua side to Waikaremoana crosses this great broken mass of mountains, the source of many streams and the home of perhaps the loveliest wild gardens of ferns in any part of our North Island bush. But more important than beauty of woodland and fern is the value of these ranges for riverprotection purposes and the regulation of the water-flow.
On another bit of steep country in the Urewera district I particularly noted the uses of bush and undergrowth in literally holding the land together. This is the Wharau Range, over which the horse track goes from Ruatahuna to Ruatoki and the plains, following down the Whakatane Valley. It is almost precipitous for a thousand feet or so, but it is covered everywhere with dense and closely-matted bush. On the narrow summit there are huge tawa trees growing, usually an indication of good soil.
But once let this bush be stripped from the hills and what would be the result? It would follow as the night the day, the soil would be swept away by the rains, the range side would be scarred with a thousand landslips, the quick run-off, unregulated by a protecting forest, would flood and silt up the Whakatane River, and the farming plains below the ranges would suffer. The bush must remain on such places; it is the saving of the country.
A Maori war flag which has been presented to the Wanganui Museum has been described as Te Kooti's famous flag; it was captured at the fight at Te Porere, close to the Tongariro National Park in 1869. It was remarked by a newspaper that “Wanganui seems to be the accepted last resting place of all New Zealand's historic flags.” That statement did not take cognizance of the numerous flags, some of great historic value, which are preserved in the Auckland and Wellington Museums. In the Auckland War Memorial Museum is the most precious of all our storied flags, the colours of the 58th Regiment, the famous “Black Cuffs.” Auckland has many Maori war flags, including the handsomely made flag captured by the Forest Rangers in 1863 in a fight in the Wairoa Ranges. It has a history, that Kingite banner. Another in Auckland is adorned with a black warrior figure representing Tu, the god of war.
Stored away in a case in the Dominion Museum in Wellington is the principal flag carried by Te Kooti's warriors in their many fights and expeditions, victories and defeats. This is a really wonderful speciment of flag-making. It is a very long pennant, indeed nearly fifty feet in length, and four feet in the hoist, tapering away like a naval paying-off pennant. On the red ground are worked various patriotic and national devices—the crescent moon, a cone-shaped mountain representing New Zealand, a star, a heart and a cross. Several feet of the end of the flag were sheared off many years ago; it was originally fifty-two feet in length.
Its full history would make a thrilling narrative. Sufficient here to say it was made by the nuns in the Catholic Mission School at Meanee, Hawke's Bay, for the friendly Maoris who were fighting against the Hauhaus, was captured by Te Kooti in a fight at the back of Gisborne in 1868, and for two years of warfare was carried from one place to another by the rebels. It was recaptured at last in 1870 at the foot of Tumunui Mountain, in the Rotorua district, by Captain Gilbert Mair, who shot its bearer, the half-caste Eru Peka, and was given by Mair to Dr. Hector—afterwards Sir James Hector—then in charge of the Wellington Museum, and there it has been ever since, rolled up and boxed.
When our new Dominion Museum is built maybe there will be found space to exhibit these and other forgotten flags of our storyland. At present they are unseen, unknown.
The citizens of Levin town are endeavouring to popularise their pretty watersheet, Lake Horowhenua, as a pleasuring place. Certainly it is a lake worth exploring, this shallow, glimmering plate of quiet water, for its Maori life and its historic islets. It is a pleasant place for a boating cruise, especially if there should be someone with you who knows a little of Horowhenua's past. There are five artificial islands, but they are now tangles of raupo, flax and shrubs; it is not easy to detect signs of man's hands in their making. One or two are mere dots of flax clumps, with here and there an ancient palisade post. They were built in the shallow waters by the Muaupoko tribe more than a century ago, as places of refuge; but the all-conquering Rauparaha and his musketeers soon captured them all. Most of them lie near the south end of the lake, where the Hokio stream flows out to the sea. They look like little bush-parks floating on the calm water.
Karapu, the largest built-up island, is near the mainland at the northern end of the lake. There, too, is the only island that is not artificial, Namu-iti. The old settlers used to call it “Rauparaha's Stockyard.” A sinister name! Rau' kept his captives there, drawing on them for army rations as required. The pakehas, of course, did not witness that process, but they heard enough about it from the old warriors.
ByH. .)
Angus
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Some old ships in Wellington Harbour, their days of useful sea service having ended.
“The hulk ‘White Wings,’ formerly well-known as an emigrant ship, was towed out to sea to-day and scuttled.”
Just a brief notice for the passing of a once important ship. It sets our imagination afire and we think of the tales those old emigrant ships might tell. Of hope and joy, disappointment and failure, of sickness and death. How many of us would be prepared to leave our native homes for a new life in a strange land—a land occupied, to our minds, by cannibals, a few sea-rovers and a handful of missionaries? Yet from 1840 onwards ships left the docks of England and after long, tedious journeys eventually anchored between gleaming verdant hills—Wellington. Down to the shore would stream the pakeha settlers and the Maoris, the former overjoyed at the thought of the new arrivals to swell their little band. The greetings, the laughter and the tears, then the menfolk fighting their way through bush, tramping over long miles of surveyors' track, over densely wooded ranges until they arrived at their destination. More emigrants in the winter, tramping the same path, through mist and rain and cold sleet. And at the end of the journey they must set to work and build their little huts before they could send for their womenfolk. Then followed the return of the disheartened ones, and the brave resolution of those who remained and fought and won.
We have no use for the old white-winged emigrant ships now, except perhaps as coal hulks, yet to many of us it is sad to think of them as forgotten ships—old coal carriers—when once they were the pride and hope of our early colonists.
If we pause for a moment we can almost visualise the life aboard the old ships; passengers up at 6.30, scrubbing the decks and tidying the ship; breakfast and to prayers; school work; midday dinner; little entertainments, games and tea; nightfall with singing and games, and then into their berths; the rolling and pitching of the old boats and the howling of the wind. We can hear the gay laughter and the singing on some boats; on others we hear the weeping that follows sickness and death of loved ones. But above it all we can imagine the cheerful, hopeful hearts as the emigrants lift up their voices:
Most of those brave souls have passed on now, and their ships are passing too, but may we keep the memory of such courage before us in our march of progress.
An Appreciation
From the Wheat Purchase Board, Christchurch, to the General Manager of Railways, Wellington:—
Recently this Board shipped a large quantity of wheat overseas and, in order to save storage and handling charges, it was necessary to ship as much as possible direct from farmers' sidings to the ship. The position was further complicated by the fact that two ships taking complete cargoes were loading at one and the same time, one being at Lyttelton and the other at Timaru. Very careful organisation was necessary in order to carry out the undertaking, and the Board appreciates the assistance rendered by your officers in Christchurch and Timaru.
(By “
Shibli Bagarag
Freelance journalists are apt to be sorry for themselves because they find editors are so unimpressionable, lukewarm, obtuse or pachydermatous—there is a wide range of depreciatory adjectives in use—that they cannot accept or even appreciate a good literary contribution when they see it.
Long experience of freelances urges me to say a word on behalf of the maligned editor.
The freelance, when the divine afflatus hits him in the occiput, “dashes off” his matter, and sends it, post-haste, without attempting to polish it up. Half the manuscript submitted for publication bears evidence of hasty or slip-shod work. Words are mis-spelt, quotations are inaccurate, proper names are incorrectly spelt, or illegible, and the meanings of some phrases or sentences are lost in ambiguity. In the case of typewritten copy, the lines are often so closely jammed together that sub-editing—and the best of copy must be sub-edited always—is impossible without re-writing.
Many freelances complain that when they submit Mss. which already have been rejected by some other paper, their contributions are inevitably turned down again, because they bear suspicious evidence of previous failure. Sometimes this reproach may be deserved, and for that reason it is safer to send in Mss. which are free from editorial marks or the pin-holes and foldings which denote much handling.
But if the freelance contributor to the press will only write clearly and distinctly, with plenty of room between the lines; if he will leave ample room at the head of his first page, and write his name and address on his Mss. instead of on an unnecessary covering letter, his “stuff” has a better chance of being sympathetically considered than that of the slovenly writer who uses an indecipherable scrawl and submits untidy, ragged copy, on any old piece of paper he can find.
Above all, freelances should remember that all editors are looking for the kind of stuff they printed in the last issue—only a better quality.
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I had an argument the other day as to which is the longest word in the English language. Quite a number of jaw breakers were entered, but I have since happened on a word that beats them all. Here it is (take a long deep breath please):—
“Tetramethyldiamidotriphenylmethane.”
I found the little chap in a chemical list. Can any of my readers beat it?
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To mark the occasion of Wellington's big National Confidence Carnival Will Lawson produced an artistic Souvenir. The cover design by M. Matthews was a finished bit of work, full of the right carnival spirit. Will Lawson paid his tribute to Wellington in a colourful poem and in appropriate prose. Photos of Wellington, of the central executive and of the princesses were nicely balanced with the remainder of the letterpress. The Commercial Printing Co. made an excellent job of the printing.
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A young Dunedin artist, G. S. McAuslan, has produced a small eight-page magazine called “The Cartoonist.” I should say he is a line cut enthusiast. The whole effect of the miniature magazine is very interesting. I would like to see it develop. Meanwhile I consider it worthy of a place in my collection of first numbers. The production sells at 3d. a copy and the editor's address is 24 Helena Street, South Dunedin.
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Another interesting item in my collection of first numbers is the first and only issue of “The Pio Pio Post.” I doubt very much if there has been another newspaper in the history of New Zealand journalism fated to begin and end with Vol. I., No. 1. The all too brief history of “The Post” has been told me by its erstwhile proprietor, Mr. J. H. Claridge. Before Mr. Claridge's “Post” scheme reached maturity, he had instructed an Auckland agent to sell his printing plant. The selling of the plant appeared so improbable that Mr. Claridge decided to get busy and oil up his machinery for the literary enlightenment of the good folk of Pio Pio. In the rush of getting out the first issue he quite forgot to withdraw his plant from the market. The first issue of “The
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The most cherished of my literary possessions is a complete set of the old “Lone Hand.” The set I have, took four years to complete. I scoured all the second-hand bookshops in New Zealand for missing volumes and finally I wanted one volume to crown my labours. I had given up hope when business called me to Sydney, and there, on an obscure shelf, I came across the precious link. I doubt if ever again there will be collected such a wonderful array of purely Australian and New Zealand literary and black-and-white talent. The “Lone Hand” was too good to last, and although it is dead and gone it reflects one of the brightest periods of Australian art and letters.
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A most interesting booklet has been published by the New Zealand Journalists' Association, to commemorate the “coming of age” of the Association and its constituent unions. Apart from the complete record of the Association and its activities in various parts of New Zealand, the book contains photos and interesting reminiscences of personal press experiences in New Zealand. The Editorial Committee consisted of Messrs. L. Jillett, G. L. Stanbrook and R. A. Kenner, all of the parent Association in Auckland.
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Reviews.
“For Those That Love It,” by Mrs. M. R. White (Angus & Robertson, Sydney). A fine novel redolent of Australia. The author came prominently before the public recently with her “No Roads Go By,” which is already in its fourth edition. Her latest novel should eclipse even the success of the earlier one. Price 6/-.
“Pat of the Silver Bush,” by L. M. Montgomery (Angus & Robertson, Sydney). It is said of the author of this charming book that no writer seems to understand so beautifully just what is needed for developing womanhood. This is a great recommendation in itself, but when we remember that Miss Montgomery is the creator of “Anne of the Green Gables,” of which over half a million copies have been sold, her latest book is assured of a tumultuous reception. Price 6/-.
“Australian Barkers and Biters,” by Robert Kaleski (Endeavour Press, Sydney). I know little about dogs myself. I like bull-dog pups, keep a safe distance from all Alsatians, tell my children stories about the famous St. Bernard dogs and find tons of humour in the street mongrel. In view of this I sought the advice of a dog-loving friend of mine about this book. He declares that it is the most interesting and instructive dog book he has ever read in a decade. Need I say further? Price 4/6.
“The Quiet Man,” by Maurice Walsh (Angus & Robertson, Sydney). This story is a classic. About 12,000 words in all, but such bovrilised perfection. A story of an undersized Irishman who subdues a fellow countryman of grand proportions. The love romance of a man after his marriage, and—his sweetheart is his wife. Dont' miss this exquisite story. Price 2/6.
“New Zealand Best Poems of 1933” (Harry H. Tombs Ltd.). All lovers of poetry—good poetry—will welcome this the second annual anthology of New Zealand verse. The selector, both for this and last year's booklet is C. A. Marris, a poet himself, and a critic of worth. This Dominion is certainly prolific in poets and there is work in this anthology that will live, notably that of Eileen Duggan. The work of Eve Langley is interesting. Robin Hyde is powerfully bitter in “The Wayfarer.” I liked the selections from the work of Alan Mulgan, and, of course, the thoughts of that fine woman who lives in Cashmere Hills, Christchurch, Miss Jessie Mackay.
“Camel Pads,” by R. B. Plowman (Angus & Robertson, Sydney). This is another book from the author of that fascinating story “The Man from Oodnatta.” The story under review is supplementary to the earlier book, being a further tale of the Big Back Country of Australia. It is most interesting reading. The book is illustrated and sells at 6/-.
“Douglas Delusions,” by F. J. Docker (Angus and Robertson, Sydney), is a critical examination of the Douglas Credit System. The Douglas School has many adherents in New Zealand. I think this work will give them food for deep thought. Anti-Douglas-ites will of course go into raptures over Mr. Docker's most interesting reasonings. Price 4/6.
“Australian Bush Babs,” by D. H. Souter (Endeavour Press, Sydney), is a collection of appealing little jingles slung together by the famous creator of the Bulletin “Cat.” The accompanying illustrations by the author are a delight. A great Xmas two-shillingsworth.
They Came Through Smiling.
Bill: “Hello, Jim. How's the family?”
Jim: “Fine. The children have never been better.”
Bill: “I suppose they had their usual crops of colds during the winter.”
Jim: “Not this year, Bill, we made a bird of every cold that showed up with good old Baxter's Lung Preserver. You can imagine the worry and trouble it saved the wife and me.”
Families large and small have a great friend in “Baxter's,” so palatable, so effective. 1/6, 2/6, 4/6.*
(Written for the “New Zealand Railways Magazine” by
Tom L. Mills
Mr. Will Lawson.
Britain of the Outer Seas has two Lawsons who are notable wanderers in the Inky Way, and they are often confused. Henry, the elder, was purely Australian, though he sojourned awhile in New Zealand. Will Lawson is New Zealand's own poet, since he wrote most of his best verse here, but as a journalist and story teller he also reflects Australia, where he spent his schooldays and afterwards lived in the intervals of his several residences in New Zealand. He was born in England, but came to New Zealand as a small boy.
My first contact with Will Lawson was when I set the type for his first efforts in verse for the Saturday supplement of the “Evening Post,” in Wellington.
As a young man, he went into the service of the A.M.P. Society in the capacity of clerk. Valuable years wasted. If only he could have been an engineer! But, unlike engineers, he has been a writer from his youth up.
His verses to the “Post” were signed “Quilp N.”
At the same time, Jack Barr, then serving his time under me as a comp., also began writing verse, and he had the rare experience of setting his own verses in brevier, and also the verses of “Quilp N.”
Both lads wrote good stuff, and it is a delight to me to remember that on the quality of their writing I induced both to walk permanently in the inky way.
Jack Barr (John of Aussie) got into the writing game as soon as he finished his time as a comp., and he climbed even into the editorial chair (of the Sydney “Bulletin”) very rapidly—six months, while the late Editor Prior was on the Western front with the Press Delegation.
Will Lawson took years longer to make up his mind. Deserting the indoor life, he prevailed upon his Society to let him go out on to the highways and byways of the North Island, taking a life here and there.
As a record of those dangerous days on the roads—for he was one of the early users of the erratic motor bicycle—he wrote a series of diverting special articles which were syndicated in the leading papers of the Dominion. (I had the type set here in the Feilding “Star” Office, and supplied Will with the proof slips for the other papers for simultaneous publication.)
When I went to Sydney, as President of the Australasian Country Press Association I gave Will Lawson a promise that I would try and find a niche for his special qualities as a writer. He on his part affirmed that he would get into the inky way if a suitable job was available.
Montague Grover was then editor of the “Sun,” what time it had a double staff waiting to invade Melbourne. I put the Lawson proposition to M.G.
He said he was familiar with and liked the young New Zealand writer's work. “But, Mills, I could put my head out of that window—(we were sitting in his den in Castlereagh Street at the time)—and could call up half a dozen Will Lawsons!”
“There aren't half a dozen Will Lawsons in the whole of Australia,” was my retort, “any more than there are two Henry Lawsons in the whole wide world.” I ventured the view that the “Sun” would yet be glad to get Will.
Monty G. then told me he was the busiest editor in Sydney, and would I close the door as I went out?
When I crossed the road, as it were, to Percy Reay, then editing the “Evening News,” and offered New Zealand's Lawson to him, he said at once, “I can do with a special writer of his calibre. Send him over as soon as you can.”
It was on the “News” that Will started his work in Australia. After he had shewn what he could do on the “News”—his articles were signed—he was offered a job on the “Sun” by Monty Grover. But Will Lawson would never
Whether he will ever catch up on himself it is hard at this time to say. He is editing a journal in Wellington to-day. But always in all his experiences somebody benefits, for whether he puts it in verse or in prose, he gathers a tale that thrills as only the emotionalist can impart impressionalism to another.
An Appreciation
At the monthly meeting of my Council, held recently, reference was made to the fine and comfortable new omnibus which the Railways Department placed on the Oamaru-Tokarahi road motor service.
My Council feels sure that the vehicle is very much appreciated by the residents of this district, and trusts the service will receive the support it deserves.—A letter received by the Stationmaster, Oamaru, from the County Clerk, Oamaru.
(From the W. W. Stewart Collection.)
Looking towards the business portion of Auckland, New Zealand, from the Railway Yards.
Pioneer Railways
The year 1846 saw the amalgamation of the London and Birmingham and the Grand Junction lines, along with the Manchester and Birmingham Railway, to form the historic London and North Western system. The L. and N.W., in its turn, was swallowed up by the London, Midland and Scottish Group, in 1923.
The London and Birmingham Railway is recognised by railwaymen all over the world as one of the pioneer systems that laid the foundation of the “Iron Way.” In this respect, it ranks alongside the Stockton and Darlington line, and the Liverpool and Manchester Railway.
Britain last year celebrated the centenary of that historic line, the London and Birmingham Railway, for the construction of which Government approval was secured in 1833. Approximately 112 miles in length, the London and Birmingham line was constructed under the direction of Robert Stephenson. Running from Euston Station, London, connection was made at Birmingham with the Grand Junction line, linking Birmingham with Crewe, Warrington, Liverpool and Manchester.—(From Our London Correspondent.)
By)
Tohunga
Maori proverbial sayings often embody references to traditional traits of persons and tribes, and memories of historical incidents, as well as philosophy and poetic thought. The following are some further examples of whakatauki.
Tohea! Ko te tohe i te kai. (Be strenuous—it is a struggle for food. A saying to encourage industry and perseverance.)
E kore te patiki e hoki ki tana puehu. (The flounder does not return to the place where it stirred up the mud when disturbed. Opportunity does not present itself twice.)
He takapau pokai, nga uri o Paheke. (The descendants of Paheke always have their sleeping-mats rolled up quickly to carry about with them. Always on the move. Swaggers of the Maori.)
Rangitihi upoko whakahirahira. Rangitihi, te upoko takaia ki te akatea. (A famous chief of the Arawa, Rangitihi of the proud and lofty brow; his descendants must be respected. A warrior of great powers of endurance; his head, gashed open in battle, was bound up with bushvines and he rushed into the fray again.)
Kai mata whiwhia, maoa riro ke. (Do not wait until the food is cooked, otherwise some one else will take it. A saying originating in a forest incident of old. Some of a party on the march ate their food hastily before it was properly cooked and went on to seek safety. Those who stayed to cook it thoroughly were overtaken by foes and killed.)
Haere, e taku hoa, ki te urunga te taka, ki te moenga te whakaarahia. (A farewell to the dead: Go, O my friend, rest on the pillow which will not fall, the sleeping place where there is no awakening.)
The Maori medicine man, the tohunga skilled in sacred rites and spells, and bush remedies and the laying-on of hands, is not by any means extinct. There is one at any rate in the Rotorua district who is an expert in the ancient lore and ceremonies, an old acquaintance and Maori-lore tutor of mine; he is over eighty now, and he is regarded in his district as the last real tohunga of the tribe. He is a wise man by heredity; his father, a high chief of Rotoiti, was a wonderful ancient, credited with magical powers. The tohunga aforetime revealed to me some curious facts about his initiation into the sacred circle of wise men. He was rendered immune against sickness and the witchcraft of rival tohungas by his elder Tuhoto Ariki, the celebrated old wizard who was buried in the Tarawera eruption in 1886, and resurrected alive after four days in a mud-buried hut.
Tuhoto, after reciting long prayers over his young kinsman (it was about seventy years ago) gave him a small black volcanic stone and bade him swallow it; it was a whakangungu, or “warding-off” symbol and talisman; it would preserve his mauri-ora, the life essence, and avert all harm from him. An ordinary stone might cause serious trouble in man's interior, my old friend admitted, but this was no ordinary stone; it was tapu'd and charmed by the great tohunga for the special purpose of preserving life.
“And so,” said he, “here I am safe and well to-day; I have never had an illness, and although I have been in battle in the Maori War days, I have never been harmed, and I intend to live to be a hundred.”
And the wise man probably will, too, for he is the stuff of which centenarians
One frequently sees the exotic title of “Princess” prefixed to the name of a Maori woman of rangatira rank. We have no princesses here, though the daughters of the successive heads of the old Maori kingdom have been styled such. That vigorous and enlightened chieftainess Te Puea Herangi is often termed princess, but those who really know the Maori people do not refer to her by this rather meretricious title.
There is a fine old Maori term applied to a chieftainess of long pedigree and semi-sacred mana, and that is “Ariki-Tapairu.” It is an ancient and venerated expression. Ariki is a high chief, the hereditary head of his tribe, and tapairu signifies the female ariki, the first-born female in a family of rank, a woman invested with sacred attributes. When a Maori address of loyalty and felicitation was sent to Queen Victoria on the occasion of her diamond jubilee, she was addressed not only as Queen but as the Ariki-Tapairu of both races.
As for Te Puea Herangi, first lady of Waikato, she needs no pakeha title. She is the real leader of Waikato to-day, the pioneer of the new order of industry and progress among her people. Her force of character, intellect and high standards of social organisation are doing much to set the Waikato tribes on the way to a settled and prosperous life on the land. By the way, Te Puea is “the daughter of a double race,” like “the island maid, the island rose,” Kaiulani, of Hawaii, to whom Robert Louis Stevenson wrote one of his poems. Her father, the late Tahuna Herangi, well beknown to the present writer in other days, was the son of a Mr. Searancke (“Herangi” is the Maori pronunciation), a magistrate who was in Waikato in the early days; and her mother was Tiahuia, daughter of King Tawhiao, who died in 1894.
Te Puea has established a model village at Ngaruawahia, and she gives her people a personal example of energy and hard work and high ideals.
A subject of some recent controversy has been the name of Lake Monowai, which has been given to one of our large liners. One newspaper correspondent after another has aired his views and exhibited his ignorance of the name's origin. Maori place-names are full of pitfalls for those who simply look up Williams' Dictionary for translations. It is unsafe to venture on translations without making enquiries from old Maoris in the district concerned. Many years ago, when in the Southern Lakes country, I looked up some of the aged members of the Ngati-Mamoe and Ngai-Tahu tribes on the Southland coast in order to elucidate the name-giving. Monowai had puzzled me; it was obviously not a genuine Maori name. Some people have imagined it might have been “Manowai.” Not so, said two old men of Oraka (Colac Bay). It was correctly Manokiwai, a personal name which had been given to the lake by its ancient discoverers. The pakehas had mangled it. But this did not explain altogether the change to Monowai. That explanation I obtained a little later on, in 1903, from Mr. James McKerrow, late Surveyor-General. He was the first surveyor to map the Waiau River, in Southland, and the lakes which it drained.
That was back in 1862. He did not know much Maori, and he imperfectly caught the name given him by the Maoris when he made enquiries. This particular lake of the woods west of the Waiau, on the border of Fiordland, he set down on his sketch-map as Monowai, the nearest he could get to it, and the first word in it he borrowed from the Greek, “monos,” meaning one. He thought this would be not inappropriate, for the lake was fed chiefly by one river. Thus we have Monowai on our maps, meaning “one water,” a half-caste Greek and Maori name, and pleasing and euphonious withal.
By
Helen
Warm Weather Wear.
Do you remember the days when one avoided sun-burn like the plague—wore wide-brimmed hats and veils, and long gloves and skirts? A picnic was a battle on behalf of the complexion. If you are a young thing, and don't remember the days “before the War,” you may not realize what a wonderful thing for humanity is the revival of “sun-worship.” In our playing-fields, and on our beaches, among our alpine sports enthusiasts and our yachtsmen, everywhere the love of the open air is being fostered. “Hiking” is a recognized pastime. The “fresh air and sunlight” cure is being applied to the civilized world with remarkable results. Even our ideal of beauty is changing. The Victorian “toast” would not queen it to-day. Her fragile beauty, her delicate complexion, her simperings and airs and graces would be out of place in modern life. To be attractive to-day, she would have to become a devotee of the open air, to expose her limbs and back as well as her “milk and roses” skin to the sunshine, to drink in health and well-being and show it in increased activity and vivacity. She would have to exercise her muscles in all manner of sports, and her intellect in contact with all manner of people. In fact, she would find that the all-round girl of to-day is a better developed specimen, physically and mentally, than she herself.
This Sun-Bathing.
We've all been warned about overdoing it often enough. If we only realized it, people in health need to tackle sun-bathing in the same way as patients in sanatoria, and children in Health Camps. On the first day, five minutes for the back and five minutes for the front is ample. Gradually extend the period by a few minutes a day to about forty-five minutes, of course taking into account the time of day and the type of weather, curtailing your “bath” on scorching days, and extending it on cool ones. Always remember, however, to keep the nape of the neck protected from the sun's rays. A gradual tanning will eliminate the need for protective oils and unguents, and will prevent the scorching of the second skin, which shows so painfully on many of our beaches.
Even if you had only a short holiday at Christmas, I hope you did not try to cram all your tanning into that period. A sheltered corner of the garden, or a sunny porch at home lends itself to sunbathing; so the acquisition of health can be carried on both before and after the Christmas break.
I expect every girl this year has her shirt and shorts. They are cheap to buy or easy to make, and quick to launder. They lend themselves to informal open-air
Our cotton or silk holiday frocks which we wore for the beach or tennis, are useful afterwards, even in the city, with the addition of a smart coat of, say, assam silk. Most coats are on tailored lines, belted or unbelted. A smart length is about ten inches from the ground.
Of mid-summer dress materials, checks, spots, stripes in any and all directions, sprigs and floral sprays, are popular. Important colours are white, black and white, blue in various shades (specially smart for suits), yellow and a soft pale pink, showing in such materials as organdie, voile, silks, crinkle crepes, satins. Two piece ensembles are very popular. The coat is usually of a plain material to tone with the ground colour in the frock. Capelets or coatees are also worn the former being specially useful with frocks which would crush under a coat. Sleeves are still featured. Organdie or muslin frocks have large puffs or frills. Prints and ginghams may have large puffs and collar and bow of organdie. Some of the new sleeves are plain and tight-fitting at the top puffed just above the elbow, and then tight-fitting to the wrist.
Frocks are cut on long slender lines. Skirts are tight-fitting to the knees, and then flared to the hem.
White outfits, so popular this year, often have touches of black, perhaps in buttons or bow, piping or belt. The accessories carry out the colour scheme—gloves, belts, scarves, shoes. White handbags have touches of colour to match the ensemble. Trim little blouses, many in white, are worn with suits. In some cases, an individual touch is lent by smocking at the neck-line. Gloves are the smartest things in mesh and lace. If you are wearing a “string” jumper, have your pochette and glove gauntlets made of the same macrame twine. Gloves are also seen made of the same material as the suit or ensemble. White and cream washing doe-skin have come to light again after several years of eclipse. They are right for any occasion.
The soft wide-brimmed felts in pastel shades, so much in vogue just now, are flattering to most faces. I have seen one or two smart beige felts worn with tweed suits.
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The Child And Summertime.
During the summer season it is important to plan a change in the children's daily diet. For the time being cut down the mushy foods such as porridge, frequent milk puddings etc., and the meat ration. For the morning meal, substitute crisp cereals, fruit such as prunes, figs or raisins, and crisp toast with honey.
The children's menu should include salads, fresh fruit (raw and cooked) fruit jelly, milk jelly, and junket, vegetables and vegetable soups, fish and eggs. Nuts are also nutritious, but must be well chewed or they may cause indigestion. Give water and fruit drinks between meals—not during a meal. Three simple and regular meals are sufficient for good health, and there should be no “pieces” in between. Sweets and cakes should be avoided as far as possible. From an early age, children should be trained to chew their food thoroughly. The most common cause of indigestion is wrong feeding and imperfectly masticated food. Have meals out of doors when possible.
During the hot weather the clothing should be very light, perhaps only a bathing or sun suit, but a cardigan or woollen pullover must always be available, as the weather is often changeable, especially at the seaside. Wide-brimmed hats must be worn to protect the eyes, and the back of the head and neck. The children's sun-bathing should be supervised. Provide them with a ground sheet to avoid chills if sun-bathing in the open. Sun baths should be taken during the morning or afternoon, avoiding the strong mid-day sun. It is a mistake to try to harden a child by over-exposure to strong sunshine. Rest during the hottest part of the day is also essential for the well-being of the child.
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First Aid For The Camper.
When packing for a seaside or camping holiday it is well to have a few simple
A First-Aid Box should contain:—(1) Small roll cotton wool; (2) Bandages; (3) Packet of sterile gauze, or soft old linen which has been sterilized; (4) Bottle Iodine; (5) Bottle methylated spirits; (6) Pair of scissors; (7) Safety pins; (8) A small enamel basin; (9) Boracic Acid Powder; (10) Bottle Carron Oil; (11) Castor Oil; (12) Milk of Magnesia.
Here are a few first-aid hints which may be helpful if your holiday is to be a success.
Burns and Scalds: Apply oil immediately, and exclude the air. Carron oil should be used, and failing that, Olive Oil. Bi-Carbonate of Soda is also efficacious if the oil is not available.
Cuts and Abrasions: Clean the injured part thoroughly at the earliest opportunity. Use cold boiled water or a lotion made of one tea-spoonful of Boracic powder dissolved in one pint of boiling water. Wash with sterile cotton wool. A wash cloth or sponge would probably infect the wound. Common salt makes a useful antiseptic used in the proportion of one tea-spoonful of salt to one pint of boiling water.
Bleeding can generally be stopped by applying a pad of sterile gauze and cotton wool to the wound and bandaging firmly. If arterial bleeding is excessive, a tourniquet may be tied tightly above the wound. Raise the limb. A tight ligature must never be left on for long, as it may restrict the circulation below the wound, and cause trouble. Firm bandaging to well above the wound is usually effective. For venous bleeding, bandaging firmly below the wound usually suffices.
Bites and Stings: Application of Ammonia. A solution of Bi-carbonate of soda, Methylated Spirit or eau-de-Cologne usually give immediate relief.
Prickly Heat or Heat Rash: This may be caused by sudden exposure to sun or sea-air, or a change of diet. Relieve by applications of Calamine Lotion (which may be obtained from any chemist), or solution of Bi-carbonate of Soda. Small doses of Milk of Magnesia are efficacious.
Sunburn: If severe, treat the same as for burns. The irritation of a scorched skin may be relieved by applications of Olive Oil or a good Cold Cream.
Sunstroke: Quiet and a darkened room are essential. Apply cold water packs to the head. It is advisable to send for the doctor.
Sprains and Strains: A sprained ankle, knee-joint or wrist must be attended to immediately to save trouble later. Apply a cold compress and renew frequently. Alternate cold and hot compresses are also beneficial. Bandage firmly. Rest the affected limb.
Fracture: If a broken bone is suspected, a temporary splint should be applied. Great care should be taken when applying the splint and moving the patient, so as not to jar the affected part. A compound fracture and torn ligaments may result after a simple fracture by careless handling, and ignorance of those rendering first aid. The doctor should be sent for immediately.
Abdominal Pains: Often accompanied with high temperature, due to food poisoning, sudden change in diet, or maybe an attack of appendicitis. Stop all food and give only drinks of boiled water. Doses of Bi-carbonate, of soda may also be given, castor oil or other aperient may be given if it is certain that the trouble is not caused by appendicitis, in which case it is dangerous.
After the elimination of the poison or infection a milk diet should be given. If appendicitis is suspected, the doctor should be called in immediately. In any case, a doctor should be sent for if the pains and fever do not subside within a short time, as delays are often dangerous.
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Home Notes.
The Popular Salad.
Dainty salads add variety and interest to the daily menu especially during the hot weather. Salads may be composed of almost any food
Salads should be cold, crisp, tender and attractively served. Salad plants such as lettuce, young green cabbage, watercress, celery, etc., after being washed thoroughly, should be wrapped in a clean damp cloth and kept in a cool place until needed. Raw carrots, swedes, or turnips should be grated. Green salads should not be prepared until just before they are required. A good salad or mayonnaise dressing is the important finish to a successful salad.
Summer Salad: Lettuce, mustard and cress, watercress, beetroot, tomato, radishes, spring onions or chives, celery, salad dressing.
Method: All or part of the above may be used. Wash and dry the salad. Slice with a stainless knife, or tear lettuce with the fingers. Place the dressing in a salad-bowl, and toss the salad in. Arrange and garnish with sliced tomato, beetroot, egg, etc.
Delicious Salad: Inside leaves of young green cabbage, celery, bananas, apples, onion, carrot, nuts, cheese, boiled salad dressing.
Method: Shred cabbage very, very finely with a stainless knife, and toss into salad bowl. Add sliced bananas, grated onion, apple and carrot. Mix well together. Pour salad dressing over. Garnish with chopped nuts and grated cheese. Dates or raisins may be added. Serve with brown bread and butter.
Salmon and Lettuce Salad: Lettuce, cold cooked or tinned salmon, cucumber, tomato, good salad dressing.
Take some cup-shaped leaves of lettuce, and place in shallow dish. Break salmon into flakes, and place in lettuce leaves. Pour over salad dressing, and garnish with sliced tomato or cucumber.
Cold Vegetable Salad: Scald and peel tomatoes, and let get cold again. Cut in slices, add cold beans, peas, cauliflower, diced potatoes, beetroot, and finely shredded lettuce, any cold fish, or minced ham.
Take large, crisp, cup-shaped lettuce leaves, heap a little of the above in each leaf, pour over salad dressing, and serve with cold meat, chicken, ham, corned beef or hard-boiled eggs.
Boiled Dressing: Half teaspoonful salt, cayenne pepper, ¼ cup of vinegar (or lemon juice), 2 egg yolks (or one whole egg), ¾ cup of milk. 1 teaspoonful mustard, 2 teaspoonsful sugar, 1 teaspoonful flour, 1½ tablespoonsful melted butter or olive oil.
Method: Mix dry ingredients together, and add to the vinegar or lemon juice. Beat the egg slightly, and combine with the above. Place in a double boiler over hot water to cook at a low temperature, and add the milk gradually, stirring constantly until the mixture thickens. Add the butter or oil, and then stand the dressing in cold water to cool.
This is a good dressing, and will keep for a week. If thick, add a little milk before using.
Fruit Salad: Fruit Salad may be concocted with oranges, bananas, pineapple, lemon juice, with the addition of any fruit which is in season, such as strawberries, raspberries, peaches, apricots, pears, nectarines (cooked or uncooked). Pour fruit syrup over all. Garnish with dessertspoonfuls of coloured jelly. Serve with whipped cream.
Fruit such as apples and bananas may be combined with vegetables.
Skipper'S—New Zealand's Thriller.
If you want any thrills, Trainlanders, try a trip over Skippers, the once famous gold-mining district at Queenstown.
Until quite recently, coaches were used for this thrilling journey, but nowadays, you just hop into one of the Mt. Cook Motor Company's service cars and away you go. The hood of the car is down and there is a raging wind, so hold onto your hats! The sun is shining brilliantly and the twisting road behind and before you looks like a pin-scratch on the face of the cliffs. Higher, higher up the mountain-side you climb, into the sky, until you are looking over the cliffs as though from a skyscraper window. Far down below in the patchwork plains of coloured fields are people working who look no bigger than lady-birds. Up and down the rocky road, you climb, through Hell's Gates, around Fools' Bend, and past the Lighthouse Rock. While the motor stops for a few minutes to let the boiling radiator cool you will have time to see all kinds of weird and wonderful castles and faces in the rock formations. Right in the heart of the mountains you will see “chairs” suspended on cables which span the rivers.
The service car driver will show you Maori Point, and tell you how it came by that name. One afternoon in 1862 a party of Maoris were fording a dangerous river when their dog was swept away by the strong current. After struggling desperately, the dog managed to reach the other side, but he was cut off by perpendicular cliffs which made escape impossible. The dog was too terrified to enter the water again so, risking his life, one of the Maoris swam across to it. To his joy and amazement he found that where the dog had been trying in vain to climb the cliffs it had dislodged the earth in which were glittering specks of gold. Wildly excited at his discovery he signalled to his companions to ford the river. It was late afternoon, but by nightfall, they had collected 300 ozs. of gold which was worth £1,125.
Thousands of people rushed to Skippers. There was no time to stop and build roads so they lowered one another on ropes over the terrible precipices and, weighed down with their mining tools, they swam through perilous rivers; but for all their pluck and hardships they knew that there was a golden reward awaiting them.
Those were the rough and tumble days of which you have often read, when robbers were everywhere. One man had £200,000 worth of notes and gold hidden in his tent. I wonder how long he took to spend it?
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Lake Wakatipu is called “the Lake that breathes.” Every few minutes the lake rises and falls from 3 to 6 inches. The cause of this phenomenon is not known, but is believed to be due to the jerky outlet of the water at the Kawarau Dam, five miles away from Queenstown. Many little Maori children will tell you that it is the heart-beat of Giant Rakaihaitu who lies sleeping on the bed of Lake Wakatipu.
At night-time the steam ship “Earnslaw” blows its siren, turns on gay music and carries away a cargo of laughing holidaymakers across the velvety black lake to dance away the happy hours in the starlight.
In the day-time the steamer cruises up to the head of the lake, an excursion which you simply must not miss; once you have been there, you will know why. Many parts of the bush are walled in with unclimbed and un-named peaks which are an everlasting joy to visitors and a challenge to mountaineers.
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Queenstown, itself, is a white and spotlessly clean little town, buried in flowers. Weeping willows fringe the concrete and lawn promenade where the boats bob up and down in the sunshine. In the park, which is on an arm of land jutting into Lake Wakatipu, are the sports grounds, bathing pavilion and ponds with fountains playing and marigolds and waterlilies mirrored in their green depths.
Up the hill, amidst the blue-gums, ferns and wild roses there is one particular strawberry garden where you pay a shilling and then you may eat as many strawberries as you wish. Once upon a time I was told about a fairy who turned her hair curly by eating heaps of strawberries; so, if you want curly hair and you like strawberries, well …….
There are a thousand and one other things to do and see at lovely Lake Wakatipu, but it will be better fun to discover them for yourselves, won't it?
Remember that Queenstown is only 175 miles from Dunedin and the journey there by rail and steamer is in itself a delightful adventure.
When you think of holidays, think of Queenstown.
(By
Cuthbert Allison
The loop where cars cross. Looking down, across the south-east of the island.
The eyes of humanity have always been lifted unto the hills, either in reverence, in fear, or in awe. Throughout the ages the mountainous places have harboured the robber and the saint. A menace—and a guard; barriers preventing the spread of civilization—and the “land-bridges” which made it possible for Homo Sapiens to spread over the face of the earth.
To the dweller in the plains, near-by hills have formed the romping ground, and to-day multitudes of jaded city folk find their relaxation among the beauties of such mountain resorts as Tongariro and the Southern Alps, Switzerland and the Adirondacks, the Blue Mountains, or the plateau of Ooty in Southern India. The Europeans, resident in the tropics, are more in need of such playgrounds than those living in the temperate zone, and the quick translation of those suffering from malarial fevers or debility from the sweltering flat lands to cooler climates has saved hundreds of useful lives. The appreciation of hill stations like Simla is no recent idea. We read that Marco Polo, at the end of the fourteenth century, when resident in Central Asia, beyond the Hindoo Kush, travelled to a sanitorium in the mountains of Balashan, where “the air is so pure and salubrious, that, having been confined by sickness in the country for nearly a year, he was advised to change the air by ascending the hills; where he presently became convalescent.”
The Dutch colonists in Sumatra take great pride in the wonders of Brastagi; a real Rotorua in the tropics, with lakes, geysers, hotels and thermal baths, but all at an elevation of above four thousand feet. In Malaya, the English have cut roads into the mountains behind Kuala Lumpur and there laid out a garden city, nearly six thousand feet high; while in the north, the hills of Penang have been popular with convalescents and holiday-makers since the days of Wellington.
However enticing the hills may look, they have to be climbed before their pleasures can be enjoyed. Some, as the result of great engineering skill, can be approached by train, but others can only be attained by the expenditure of much energy. Until recently Penang Hill was in the latter category, everything having to be carried up the three thousand odd feet on the backs of coolies; chairs swung on long poles and borne by relays of Chinese bearers being the common form of transport for those unable to walk. Now all this is changed and one of the most wonderful railways in the world carries the visitors from the foot to the bungalows at the top, in only twenty-four minutes.
Attempts to build a cable-car system, similar to the one at Matlock, were made as far back as the “90's” but abandoned as the task proved too much for the slender means at command. The old embankments are still in existence, signs of much wasted capital. But at the beginning of the last decade the job was undertaken seriously, and after much consideration the scheme adopted was that known as the funicular plan, whereby one car is balanced against another at either end of a cable wound over a drum, one descending as the other rises. The method, on a small scale, has been in common use for many years, at numerous seaside resorts, as an easy means of getting down to the beach from a higher level; there is an example at Sospel, in the south of France, nearly 800 feet in length, and another up to the Church of Notre Dame at Marseilles.
The railway at Penang was to be a bigger thing than any so far attempted, and great care had to be taken in the planning. It was eventually decided to make the track in two sections, one a replica of the other, and both together rising to a height of 2,381 feet. To withstand the severity of the tropical rains the track was based on solid granite set in cement throughout its whole length, while the deep ravines and rocky spurs, making very irregular the chosen spot, necessitated the building of eleven viaducts, the longest with a span of 775
Looking up the track. The solid foundation, drainage gully, steel cable, and dual pulleys are clearly shown.
The track is of only one set of rails instead of the usual two, and cars pass at a loop at the centre of each section, the cable passing over pulleys inclined at an angle. Every precaution has been taken to ensure absolute safety, the breaking and signal systems being interlocked and of very efficient types, and every possible source of trouble has been anticipated and overcome. The engine houses are at the top of each section, and each contains a 75 h.p. motor, running at 300 revolutions per minute. Breaks are provided to come into automatic operation in the event of engine failure. The steel cable, 1¼in. in diameter and weighing 11 lbs. to the yard, is wound over two driving sheaves, each set weighing 17 tons and fixed on steel shafts nearly a foot in diameter. The breaking strain of the cable is 75 tons, and the car is carried upwards at a speed of 4 miles per hour.
The trip to the top, which costs the equivalent of 3/6, is one of great beauty as the panorama of land and sea opens out before one. The cars are open-ended and allow full advantage of the view to be taken. On clear days the hills behind Taiping, 60 miles away, can be seen, and the vista of forest-clad peaks forming the backbone of the peninsula is one not easily forgotten. Nearer at hand, the town of Penang lies extended like a map, embosked in bright green coconut and areca-nut plantations. Temples and bungalows dot the slope while huge liners lying in the roadstead look like toy steamers.
Huge boulders strew the sides of the track, some estimated to weigh as much as 12,000 tons. During the rains the water tumbles over these massive rocks in turgid fury, and unusual care has had to be taken to allow the flood-water free egress through the railway's foundations, otherwise severe damage would be inevitable.
As a sign of the times, it is interesting to note that the whole system is operated by natives, either Indians or Chinese; even the engine houses are in charge of Asiatic engineers. The white man has taught thoroughly, and by his teaching has signed his own discharge notice.
The Manager of the Otago Iron Rolling Mills Co. Ltd., Dunedin, writes to the General Manager of Railways, Wellington, as follows:—
We desire to express our appreciation of the services rendered by your Department in connection with the shipment of 1000 tons of scrap steel from our works to Port Chalmers by the s.s. “Ryoka Maru:” It would have been impossible for us to load this material at short notice, but the generous action of your Department in supplying us speedily with the necessary wagons enabled us to have the scrap loaded up in ample time.
We should also like to refer to the services rendered by Mr. S. Clark, Stationmaster, Green Island, the Transport Officials and the guard of the shunt, Mr. G. Lawrence, all of whom gave every possible assistance.
The Upper Station, Penang Hill Railway, 2381 ft. above sea level.