The Waterfront at Tauranga, New Zealand.
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.*
“They had not skill enough your worth to sing.“—Shakespeare.
Scenes in and around Tauranga, a charming and flourishing town, North Island, New Zealand.—(1) A bush scene, Omanawa Gorge; (2) in a lemon orchard; (3) packing lemons for the market; (4) one of the many watering places in the bay; (5) the Omanawa Falls; (6) comfortable homes by the sea; (7) Mount Maunganui; (8) a swordfish breaching; (9) the Mount beaches: (10) the waterfront; (11) the world's record striped marlin (weight 820lbs.) caught by Mr. J. Mowlem on 26th January, 1932, off Mayor Islond; (12) Mayor Island, the headquarters of the Tauranga Deep Sea Fishing Club.
The New Zealand
Railways
Magazine
Railways
Magazine
Published by the
“”
For Better Service.Service copy
Vol. 9. No. 2.
Wellington,
New Zealand
May1, 1934.
Theoretically, every train should “make the grade.” The amount of load each class of engine can pull is duly scheduled for the ruling grade on every section of railway, and loads are arranged to comply with this schedule. The standard factors are taken into account, and, mathematically, every hill should be surmounted without undue difficulty, and time should be kept with unerring accuracy. But occasionally freight trains, or more rarely, passenger trains, “lie down” on the grade through some combination of factors not included in the original sum— greasy rails, heavy-pulling trucks, poor coal, sluggish engines, creeping brakes, or merely the static reluctance and perversity of inanimate things in general. And when this occurs it is sometimes very disturbing. It perhaps throws other trains out of sequence, causes loss of time, and disarranges a multitude of plans dependent upon punctual running.
To guard against such mishaps there must be close understanding between all related sections of the service—those who build the rolling-stock, buy the fuel, guard the track, prepare and drive the engines, draft the schedules, make up the trains, and inspect the appliances.
From the economic aspect the railways have been called upon to “make the grade” during the past year or two under very difficult conditions, and that they have done so with success is due to team-work, judgment, confidence, and enterprise in carrying through the major transport business of the Dominion. The unqualified Press approval which followed the announcement of the proximate financial results of the past railway year is good proof that the railways have made the grade with flying colours. Conditions show a general tendency to improve. Trade is on the mend. The thaw is on in the channels of commerce. The period of business stagnation is past. The railways, having made the grade in the hard years, are in popular favour for the good service they have performed towards the improvement of national finance, and are in good heart to make the best of the brighter prospects ahead. The year's figures are not yet finalised, but those to the 3rd March (that is, with only four weeks to go) show an increase of half a million in passengers, 131,000 tons in goods, and #245,000 in net operating revenue over the corresponding term in the previous year. These results indicate a growing confidence by the people in their railways—a confidence that whatever happens—flood, fire, earthquake, pestilence, or depression—the railways will still carry on and be the firm mainstay, the dependable service to meet the country's transport needs. And they show further that the many improvements made in facilities, equipment and personal service methods, are recognised and appreciated by those in whose interests they have been introduced.
Travelling by “Float.”
Some well-backed horses were defeated at Oamaru recently, much to the surprise of those connected with them. When pondering over the matter, and searching for a reason contributing to defeat, I came to the conclusion that travelling by float might be responsible (writes “Sentinel” in the Wellington “Evening Post”).
Under the most favourable road conditions a float cannot travel as evenly and steadily as a train running on the easiest possible grades. Travelling horses by float must create a good deal of swaying about, and consequent frequent balancing among the quadrupeds. This would naturally tend to tire a horse and make him a bit leg-weary after a long journey. Hence a horse might saddle up apparently bright and well, but have the steel taken out of his stride when he comes to the end of a race.
It must be remembered that an equine cannot sit down at ease in a more or less luxuriously cushioned seat the same as a man, and hence the human impression of travelling in a motor car may be very much different from the actual experience of a quadruped swaying about on four legs on a long and tiring journey. It is suggested that a man should stand up in a motorwagon travelling on a long journey so as to gain a comparative impression as to how it would affect a horse.
Progress
New Zealand railway history began in Canterbury in 1856, and its inception was characterised by one of the most gallant gestures ever flung in the face of Fate. At that time Canterbury was an isolated province peopled by 5,347 persons scattered along the lowlands that stretch from the Hurunui to the distant Waitaki River. This meagre population was engaged in a strenuous struggle to wrest a precarious existence from lands fertile enough, but as yet hardly brought into cultivation, and shut off almost completely from the commerce of the world.
Yet, at exactly that time, these courageous few solemnly decided to embark upon the project of constructing a railway from Lyttelton to Christchurch through a range of mountains that would be considered a formidable barrier between highly populous cities even to-day.
The first step was the appointment of a Commission to consult Robert Stephenson, son of the famous George, as to a feasible route. This problem surmounted, the necessary financial arrangements that precluded the raising of a loan of over #250,000 by such a small community consumed some time, but on December 1st, 1863, the first official train was hauled from Christchurch to Ferrymead (roughly where Heathcote station now stands). Not long after that the railway was opened to Lyttelton, and, by 1875, was extended to Amberley and Rakaia. All this was done under the auspices of the Canterbury Provincial Council.
The decision was made to build these railways to the relatively wide gauge of 5ft. 3in. This decision has been ascribed to the counsels of Robert Stephenson, but this is surely erroneous. As early as 1846 Robert Stephenson had been responsible for the construction of railways in the virgin railway countries of Belgium and Italy to the 4ft. 8 1/2 in. gauge, so that, even if the adoption of that gauge in England by the Stephensons can be attributed to the precedent laid down by the old colliery engineers (who for years had built their mine tracks to that gauge), there is evidence here that Robert Stephenson at least favoured the “narrow” gauge, as it was then called. Further, in 1846, before the Narrow Gauge Commission set up in England to consider the whole question of railway gauges, Robert Stephenson, in his evidence, was clearly in favour of the standard gauge of 4ft. 8 1/2 in., and definitely stated: “I feel that the 4ft. 8 1/2 in. gauge is fully adequate for any purpose to which railways could be applied, believing also that the narrower the gauge the less is the resistance, and conceiving that the 4ft. 8 1/2 in. gauge will prove safe and economical.” Personally, I think that Robert Stephenson was never appealed to on the question of the gauge, and that the decision to build to the 5ft. 3in. gauge in Canterbury was due to the fact that the Victorian railways were already being constructed to that gauge and that consequently a cheap and immediate supply of contractors’ equipment and other rolling stock was thus in sight.
In light of the wisdom of later days it is, of course, clear that it is virtually immaterial to what gauge the actual track of a railway is built, and that the only important proviso is that all the railways of a continent or island be built to the one gauge. (The great Brunel, who, before the Narrow Gauge Commission already referred to, claimed that it was a great advantage to have different gauges in a country, since that made for competition and emulation, proffered even further fuel for our derision by declaring that “curve friction was independent of gauge.” Truly the wisdom of yesterday is the folly of to-day.)
The reason why the actual track gauge is unimportant lies in the facts that it has virtually no bearing on the cost of construction of the railway or on the cost, safety or speed of subsequent operation. The only factors which affect these points are “the loading gauge,” the maximum axle load, and the minimum curve radius to which the line is to be surveyed. These three factors are all clearly independent of the actual distance apart at which the two rails are laid upon the sleepers.
With regard to the “loading gauge,” i.e., the limits which govern the allowable width and height of the locomotives and rolling stock, it is well known that the vehicles working in South Africa on the 3ft. 6in. gauge are much wider than those running on any wider gauge in any other country, except, perhaps, Russia and the United States. The axle load in South Africa is also higher than that allowed anywhere else or on any wider gauge save for the more heavily constructed portions of the lines in the United States and Canada. The minimum curve radius is, of course, only slightly dependent on gauge; and in this case the advantage
Diagrams drawn to same approximate scale to compare [Fig. 1] locomotive built for Canterbury railways by Slaughter Grunning & Co., 1863, cylinders 15in. × 22in., coupled wheels 5ft. 6in. diameter, with [Fig. 2] express engine built at Crewe, 1863, cylinders 16in. × 24in., and driving wheels 6ft. diameter.
It is interesting to observe that even in 1846 there were those who recognised these facts, and one must bow to Mr. Cubitt who, before the same Commission, pointed out that “as long as you have the same vehicles (and the present narrow gauge ones appear to be big enough for any gauge) there is no difference in tunnels or bridges,” and further made it clear that he realised that the actual gauge had virtually no influence on costs of construction or operation.
There is, in fact, good reason for claiming that the 3ft. 6in. gauge is probably slightly better than any other gauge for any class of railway, and New Zealand can be grateful to the Hon. J. C. Richmond, whose civil engineering experience in Algiers and elsewhere led him to advocate the advantages of the 3ft. 6in. gauge, and to the Hon. James Macandrew, who recognised these advantages, and as Superintendent of the Province of Otago was chiefly instrumental in having this gauge adopted as standard in that province and eventually, as naturally followed, throughout “New Zealand.
In the construction of the locomotives and rolling stock of the new railway there was, in the circumstances, no chance of any design involving originality or the adoption of features particularly suited to the system, being evolved. The rolling stock was imported ready-made from Victoria, and the two classes of locomotives were designed in England and built to standard English lines.
Although the rolling stock was composed of small four-wheeled vehicles unsuitable for any high speed, and certainly, from their general appearance, not safe to run at much more than thirty miles per hour, and although the conditions of the new country and railway would pre-suppose the scheduling of infrequent mixed trains and a leisurely timetable, the locomotives were simply the replica of those that had been found suitable in England for the operation of fast express trains or light congested local traffic in thickly populated suburban areas. The general dimensions of the main line engine closely conformed, as may be gathered from the comparative diagrams, to the “Ramsbottom” engines which were later rebuilt into the famous “Precedent” class of the North Western system, and whose high speed performance with the light trains on the London-Carlisle section of the through Scottish expresses made these trains famous throughout the world.
No doubt the new Canterbury locomotive, shown in the illustration as leaving Christchurch station for Ferrymead, six miles away, could have run at any equally high speed if the construction of the rolling stock and the condition, or still more the length, of the track had permitted it. Although six of these expensive high-speed engines had been provided for the operation of the trains over a short pioneer track in a sparsely populated colonial area, it was further considered necessary to furnish two engines of a special type for shunting purposes. These machines were light engines of the four-wheel coupled type (0-4-0) of no great tractive effort, but quite capable of attaining thirty-five miles per hour with a light load had such necessity ever arisen.
I think it was Sir Isaac Newton who cut two holes in his study door, a big one to let the cat through and a small one for the kitten, but certainly the shunting locomotive of the Canterbury railways could have operated the fastest train on the section, and the main line engine could also as certainly have efficiently performed any shunting required. These two engines, however, bear the historical distinction of representing the first, and therefore, perhaps, the most difficult step in locomotive development in New Zealand.
Canterbury broad gauge railway. Departure of train from Christchurch station for Ferrymead, 1863.
General Manager's Message
By the time this message appears in print I hope to have completed an inspection by rail car of the whole of the main lines and branches throughout the Dominion. In the course of this inspection I have appreciated the opportunity of getting into direct personal touch with controlling officers on every section, and particularly with those on the outposts of our many lines. It has been pleasing to find that, in the main, the many commendations coming from the public regarding the standard of service rendered by the staff have been fully justified.
It has to be remembered, though, that however good the service given may appear to be, it can always be improved; and some aspects of possible improvement which have impressed themselves on my mind in the course of the recent inspection, are here given in the hope that they may help still more to strengthen the cordial relations already existing between the public and the railways.
The term “service,” as applied to modern transport by rail, covers a multitude of courtesies and a wide range of actions and attitudes calculated to be helpful and pleasing to those who do business with the Department. Among these, it is expected that the highest degree of cleanliness and tidyness will be maintained at all points where the public come into contact with the railways, more particularly the carriages in which they travel, the offices and goods sheds at which they call, the stations at which they arrive and depart, and the vehicles in which they forward their goods and livestock—from the dog box in which the family pet is bestowed to the seat in which his master travels.
In judging how good their service should be, members of the Department would do well to think how good is the service they would themselves expect if they were the buyers rather than the sellers of transport, and then make their service so good that it would exceed even those expectations. Nothing is so useful to the seller of any kind of service as to look at it from the buyer's end. An example is the provision of fires for passengers in waiting rooms on raw days, even though the calendar reads high summer.
With cleanliness should go a smart appearance of the individual and of the station at which he works, the improvement of station environs by gardens and in other ways, and a standard of environment generally which will bring credit to the service and keep the members of the Department alert, cheerful and adequate for the due performance of the day's work.
General Manager.
Ken Alexander
The world is as full of interest as a pawn-broker's day-dream, and unless one is so mentally moribund with cash calculations and arithmeticulous tabulations that one's sense of wonder has been battered blind by the clang of the cash-register, one must find food for constant cogitation concerning the creative correlations of the Curator of the Cosmos. From the sweet perfection of the bee's knee to the towering triumph of the aged tree, from the precision of the spheres to the action of the oyster, from the salivous sagacity of the snail to the Satanic sapience of the snake, from the mechanical perfection of a tick's heart to the rhythmic beat fo a bat's wing, from the groping gravitation of the monkey towards the mental mutability of man, from the intricacies of an insect's eye to the mirificence of the moon, from the life locked in a seed to the mortality mooted by a microbe, there is more than sufficient interest in existence to fill the lives of a cartload of cats.
But life is as short as a borrower's memory and the years are as insistent as rent day or the ballyhoo of Big Ben putting the K.O. on the “heigho” in the cold grey dawn. Time tallies the ticks as they speed through the gates of experience, and there is no waiting—no delay.
Thus, there is time only to muse on the many manifestations of the wondrous work of the Cosmic Craftsman and, at most, to interpret the intricacies of one of his mechanical marvels.
So, some study the stellar stage for the secret of eternity, some search stones for sermons, some solicit the secrets of the System from creatures that crawl and creep; others tap the terrestrial tabernacle for fecund forces to harass and harness; some study the skulls of the past in an effort to explain the stupidity of the present—or, in other words, strive to solve the riddle of the Rumpus from the skulls of the “skedaddled.”
But the grated majority is so busy battling for butter to put over its bread or for bread to put under its butter, that its mental manoeuvres are dedicated to the study of wolves and how to keep them off the doorstep.
But, all stings considered, the most moving study for man is Man, his actions reactions ructions deductions, mental, moral, physical, quizzical, Quixotic and idiotic. Man may be boring, angelic, Satanic, undependable, unamendable, stupid, stupendous, vacuous, vain, vacillating and valorous. He may be Nature's biggest bluff or he may be a gift from the gods. He may be an optimistic illusion or he may be what he thinks he is; but whatever he is—and he is all things for all time—he is always interesting.
He may rank as less than the parasite on the ant's abdomen in Nature's schedule of comparative utility, but at least he is a thing of infinite variety.
Man is one man, but men are many. Man is a mammalian bipedagogue and, in this respect, all men are one man; but beneath the skin no man is any other man; for every man is the soup of his ancestors ladled out by the chef Circumstance; every man is the echo of regrets; hopes, passions, aspirations and fears, which are echoes of other earlier echoes, booming, banging, clashing and clanging in acoustic complexity among the crags and crannies
“The monkey and the mental mutability of man.”
Tame him, train him, titivate him with trimmings and palliate his primitive passions with synthetic civility— and still he remains but a palpitating poultice of passionate perplexity.
Hit him under the lee of the “lamp,” and, immediately, a bronze-age ancestor rises up and dots you for a row of raspberries; threaten his hearth and home, and his stone-age auntie gives you the gate—without opening it. Step on his corns in the car, and his sabre-toothed sires give you a look guaranteed to lift the whiskers off a barber's pole; touch him on the raw and he will roar like an ice-age bull; but, give him all he wants and he wants more than he can get, and howls like a hyena if he can't get it.
In the words of the song entitled Mr. Booze, “I hate you—no, I love you, Mister Man.”
It was—or it wasn't—Dean Swift who said something about hating man but loving men; and indeed, History seems to say that man is less than the vilest vulpine, more sickeningly sly than a poison-lily, crueller than the crocodile, and as unctuous as a warm fungus. But History gives only half his story. For, from the co-mingling of cogent cogitation and atavistic aberration arises an intermittent internal intoxication which lifts him to the peak of Parnassus and lowers him into the limbo of the Lost.
No wonder he always looks as if he is in two minds whether to lie down and masticate mud or rear up and slap the sun.
In a mass Man is in a mess; singly he is singular, and each man alone is alone. His tragedy is that, in the midst of multitudes, he is alone. You see the symptoms of his psychological segregation in the street, in the tram, in the mart, in the palaces of pleasure, in the haunts of the great and the seats of the mighty. He may fabricate the fiction of fellowship but, nevertheless, he is a lone wolf parked in the pack. He thinks alone, he lives alone and he dies alone; for no words have been minted, sufficiently subtle to imprint his impressions on the mental matrix of his mates.
“An optimistic illusion.”
And therein lies the interest of man for man. Each lone voyager taking passage to Posterity finds in his fellow a problem in instructive analysis; each studies the outward and visible signs of inward and invisible thoughts on the faces of his fellows, in an endeavour to discover whether they think as he thinks, or whether he is as alone as he knows he is.
But it's a great game—this puzzling the problems on the “pans” of the populace. The young and gay, the old and grey, the cynical and sold, the broken and the mended—what are their attitudes and altitudes? Why worry—they don't even know themselves. But,
So here's to Man; the spheres may sneer in cold austerity, but Man is warm and passionate and free. Perhaps he's just a foolish little cuss, but we at least can say “He's one of us.”
London tobacconists say the rush and hurry of modern life are responsible for the largely increased demand for pipe-tobacco in England. Of course it is so! Don't we see the same thing happening in New Zealand? Fact is the rate at which we all live in these hectic times renders tobacco simply invaluable, especially in the case of brain-workers. To call it just a “luxury” is ridiculous. To nine men out of ten it is a prime necessity. Happily for Maorilanders the Dominion is now becoming famous for its tobacco, and the four brands: Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Riverhead Gold, Cavendish, and Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead) are not only renowned for flavour and aroma, but not even their immoderate use can affect the health of the smoker, because they are toasted in the process of manufacture and thus rendered quite harmless. It is worthy of special note, moreover, that these are the only toasted tobaccos. No others are produced. But be cautious when buying. There are imitations (as usual!) on the market!
Fin-Ish!!
The famous Forth Bridge, L. and N.E. AngloScottish Main Line.
The most extensive suburban electric railway system in the world is that of the Southern Railway of England. Following the conversion to electric traction of the majority of the suburban tracks in the neighbourhood of the metropolis, the Southern authorities some time ago set about the electrification of the throughout main-line between London and Brighton and Worthing. This enterprise has met with exceptional success, and as a consequence there have now been put in hand further main-line electrifications, which will add an additional sixty route miles to the Company's electric lines.
The main-lines now being electrified are those from Brighton and Wivelsfield to Eastbourne and Hastings. These tracks skirt the Channel Coast, and during the summer months handle an enormous holiday traffic. With the electrification of the Brighton-Eastbourne-Hastings route, the Southern will have a total electrified route mileage of 442, and a track mileage of 1,146. Train services will be immensely improved, and train mileage will be increased from the present total, with steam, of 1,688,820 miles, to 2,446,548 electric train-miles, an advance of forty-five per cent. Marked speeding-up of passenger trains will also be witnessed. The LondonHastings run will be cut by thirteen minutes, and the London-Eastbourne journey by eleven minutes. Special rolling-stock, consisting of seventeen six-car units, five four-car units, and eighteen three-car units, will be employed. These units will be run in the express services to and from London, and are additional to the stock which will be utilised for stopping services.
In speeding-up passenger movement between the metropolis and the south coast, the Southern authorities are in harmony with the general policy of railways throughout the world to give faster and more frequent service to the public. In Europe accelerations are everywhere the order of the day, and practically every European line has one trunk route at least where really high speeds are recorded daily. Among speed routes of note are the SwindonLondon tracks of the Great Western, and the York-Darlington line of the London and North Eastern. Across the Channel, the Northern Company of France operates praiseworthy passenger flights between Paris and Calais, Paris and Liege, and Paris and Brussels. Another railway speedway is the Paris Dijon track of the P.L.M. system.
The world's record for railway speed is often claimed by Germany. Prior to the Great War, an electric train was run on the military railway at Zossen, near Berlin, at over 100 m.p.h. The Great Western Railway of England, however, claims to have beaten this record by operating a steam passenger train over a short distance at 102 m.p.h. Light railcars have on occasion actually attained higher speeds than these. The “Automotrice Bugatti,” for example, built for the French State Railways, not long ago attained a speed of 107 m.p.h. during trial runs. Taken all round, however, regular daily runs like those of the “Flying Scotsman,” the “Royal Scot” and the “Cornish Riviera Limited,” provide instances of really praiseworthy fast operation that would indeed be hard to beat.
The “King's Own,” a locomotive of the “Royal Scot” Class, London, Midland and Scottish Railway.
On the route of the “Flying Scotsman” between London and Scotland, the L. and N.E. Railway has just opened an interesting new signal control tower at Thirsk. This new signalling centre is the last word in modernity. The tower controls 4 1/2 geographical miles of track, and takes the place of five signal-boxes. One man at an electrically controlled switchboard controls the whole of the working over this distance. Altogether 28 1/2 geographical miles of track have been resignalled with colour lights and the control of the signals and poweroperated points is carried out by means of small thumb switches.
The electrical signalling system introduced at Thirsk is of the colour light searchlight type, with alternating current track circuit. The signal indications given include red for “stop,” yellow “proceed with caution,” two yellows “proceed but prepare to pass the next signal-box at restricted speed,” and green “all clear.” Even in the brightest sunlight, the signals are clear for a distance of 1,000 yards, and the installation entirely eliminates detonator working during foggy weather or falling snow. An interesting feature of the double yellow signal is that it advises the driver when he is being diverted off the main track
Last year the British railways issued what were known as “summer tickets,” enabling third-class passengers to travel at a penny a mile. This move was largely made with the idea of regaining business lost to road. So successful has the venture proved, that recently it has been decided to continue the issue of these penny-a-mile tickets for another year, or until the end of 1934. Before the issue of the “penny-a-mile” ticket, third-class travel cost 1 1/2d. a mile. Now third-class fares are on a pre-war basis.
All the European railways are reducing their passenger fares as opportunity permits, while special cheap travel facilities of various types are being introduced for party travel, excursion movement, and the like. In Germany an innovation is the introduction of what are style “Netzkarte” tickets, literally “net tickets,” available for one month over the entire railway system of 33,650 miles. By expending 250 marks (say £15 12s.) on a third-class ticket, a passenger who cares to set up a new record can now travel nine miles for less than one penny. District “net tickets” also are issued, costing 120 marks secondclass, and entitling holders to unlimited travel throughout 4,000 miles of railway.
Three Bridges Control—the nerve centre of the Southern electrification.
One of the most successful publicity stunts ever achieved was the sending last year of the L.M. and S. locomotive and train “Royal Scot” to the United States and Canada. The main object of the visit was to place on show at the Chicago Century of Progress Exhibition a typical British railway train. In practice, the train was not only on show from May to October, but it also was introduced to a much wider audience in the course of its 11,000 mile tour through Canada and the States. At Chicago the “Royal Scot” had over 2,000,000 visitors, while, during the rail tour, another 1,000,000 people went over the train, and millions more turned out en route to view the “Royal Scot” as it steamed majestically past.
During its American tour, the “Royal Scot” developed no mechanical trouble whatever. Souvenir-hunters, however, left many marks on the train. Over 500 electric-light bulbs were carried away as souvenirs, and something like 1,000 autographs were scratched on the coach ceilings. It must be difficult to estimate with any accuracy the precise value of publicity propaganda such as this, but that the trip of the “Royal Scot” to America will prove well worth-while there can be no question.
The London, Midland and Scottish Railway is generally known as Britain's biggest railway. Probably few New Zealanders, however, realise that the annual revenue of the L.M. and S. line is something like four times as large as that of New Zealand. There is scarcely an important city in Britain that is not either served direct by the L.M. and S. or by L.M. and S. through coaches operated in association with one or other of the three remaining group lines. The railway is actually the largest public company in Britain, and also the country's biggest shopkeeper. Its annual revenue is approximately £80,000,000.
Something like 230,000 employees are on the L.M. and S. paybill. With their families, they would make up a city as large as, say, Manchester or Glasgow. With its thirty hotels, the L.M. and S. is the largest hotel-owner in Britain, if not in Europe; while regarding its stations in the light of branch shops, its 2,490 passenger depots, and 2,934 goods stations make it the biggest multiple shop proprietor in the country.
Progress in railway electrification continues to be made in Central Europe. At the moment, Austria is to the fore in this connection. Plans are now in course of completion for the electrification of the southern section of the Tauern Railway, Austria, and a section of the double-track main-line from Salzburg to Vienna.
New Zealand Verse
(A Waiata-tangi, song-of-lament, or ode, to my brother whom I have not seen for 43 years. The verses contain references to scenes of the year 1870. Hami is the Maorified form of Sammy. Written to the air: Londonderry: My Own Countree.)
1stirred;
2homing,
2bird:
4from the trees:
1ground-lark;
2parrot;
2swamp-hen;
4treasures.]
Tangiwai
When Mr. George Bernard Shaw, on his return voyage to England, has time to assemble and analyse his impressions of New Zealand, it may well be that he will think of this country as a land of contrasts. Even in the one region in which he spent most of his time, there are most amazing transitions from the one extreme of scenic wonder to the other. What places could be more different than, say, Tikitere and the forest road from Rotoiti to Lake Okataina? There are scores of such contrasts in Geyserland and Lakeland. Mr. Shaw found Tikitere “damnable.” I am tolerably certain that he found the lakes and the bush entrancing. The one kind of landscape is a foil to the other. Everyone, in my view, should go through the valley of sulphurous horrors at Tikitere, if for no other reason than to enjoy the better the cool and fragrant loveliness of the near-by bush.
A contrast of another kind was noted lately by two visiting Englishwomen. They had seen the fiords and glaciers of Norway, and were able to appreciate all the more the New Zealand alpine scenes, which seemed the more friendly of the two. “Friendly” is an excellent descriptive phrase in this relation. The Norwegian mountains and ice were hard, inaccessible. Here, on both sides of the Alps, the ice-scapes are more intimate; you may stroll up the glacier and lay your hand upon them playfully, so to say. Particularly so on the wonderful West Coast, where forest and ice all but brush each other. Rata flowers, and a more than tropic glory of ferns— you can't see that in Norway's iceland.
A recent cablegram from London gave the good news that the Admiralty contemplates adopting New Zealand flax as part of the supplies for cordage for the Royal Navy. The fibre is sufficiently strong, the trials showed, to give the breaking strains demanded in official specifications. This market, together with the new venture in developing the flax industry in the place of so much Indian jute importations, should go a long way towards making the native harakeke one of our staple items of cultivation.
But really it is a belated rediscovery, this Navy trial of our flax. More than a century ago, when muka—the dressed article— was New Zealand's principal export, British Navy tests revealed the unexcelled quality of the fibre for ships’ rigging and for all rope and cordage purposes. Not only that, but canvas was made from our flax. One of the Navy ships was supplied at Sydney with a large sail manufactured from flax, and it filled all the requirements of canvas, strong and weather-worthy. Indeed, there are several fabrics that can be made from flax—paper, for one thing, and imitation silk for another.
It is peculiarly interesting to hear that some of the olden importance of Okarito, that lost-and-decayed golddigging town far down the West Coast of the South Island, is about to be restored by the development of the harbour there, by private enterprise. This is under the authority given by a special Act passed by Parliament a year ago. It will be an excellent thing for all that rich South Westland region should the long silted-up bar entrance to the lagoon at Okarito be made a navigable channel again. Nearly seventy years ago, when there were ten thousand diggers working the golden sands thereabouts, Okarito was regularly visited by coasting schooners and now and again a small steamer. It had a harbourmaster; that official, indeed, was an Okarito institution even up to 1903, when first I disembarked on the moss-covered relic of the digging town—one solitary publichouse left out of thirty-five—from the box-seat of Jock Adamson's stage coach.
Okarito, in the mid-Sixties had a bank, where gold was bought in immense quantities; it even had a weekly newspaper. Now some of its ancient prosperity is likely to be revived, though not in so hectic a fashion as in the roaring days of 1865. There are vast quantities of timber down that coast, there are dairy produce and flax; and there is gold still won steadily by the sand-dredges. All that is wanted is to reopen that cut between lagoon and ocean, and keep it open.
Lord Bledisloe's addresses on public occasions invariably contain some useful thought, some advice by which New Zealanders can profit. His Excellency's talk on farm topics at a recent agricultural show near Auckland held more than one hint of value to the man and woman on the land. When he came to the question of making use of second-rate and superfluous fruit, in particular apples, he suggested feeding the pigs with the unmarketable surplus.
To this sound advice it could be added that fruit-fed pork would be about the healthiest kind of pig one could place on mankind's menu. Some of our orchardist-farmers already dispose of their unmarketable surplus in that way. One recalls here the old days in the Waikato, and elsewhere, when many a farmer fattened his porkers on peaches. There were groves of peach-trees, Maori-planted, everywhere in some of the districts where confiscated native lands were occupied by pakeha settlers, and there was, of course, no possible market for those peaches with which the trees were loaded. There was far more fruit than the farmer families could consume, and so cattle as well as pigs fed on the windfalls, and many a cartload of the big honey peaches was brought from the groves and tipped into the pigs’ dining room. The bacon made from those pigs, cured in the farm smoke-house in the old leisurely and thorough way, was delicious.
James Cowan
Alfred Domett at 25. (From a water-colour drawing by G. Lance, R.A., in 1836.)
Of the numerous gifted and cultured men who helped to pioneer New Zealand in the days of its beginning as a British colony, Alfred Domett was the greatest in a literary sense. His first home in this country, Nelson, became like Canterbury, a place where able writers such as he made their influence felt in the newspapers of the day. Domett occupied many public positions and was for a time Premier of the colony. But he was more a poet and a philosopher than a politician, and his title to fame rests on his great romantic poem of New Zealand primitive life “Ranolf and Amohia,” and on his lifelong friendship with the greatest English poet of his time, Robert Browning.
Alfred Domett was the first writer of any distinction to realise and appreciate the artistic and inspirational value of the Maori life and the religion and mythology and traditions of the race. And although his long epic poem was written more than sixty years ago no writer of poetry has equalled him in transcribing the many-coloured story of the Maori for English readers or in painting the tangled riotous glory of the New Zealand forest and the landscapes of the strange region of geyser, mountain and lake. One may speculate as to what Domett's life would have been had he not chosen to try his fortune in a new wild land, instead of remaining in the heart of the cultivated and literary world of which Browning and Tennyson were the chief figures in his day. But it is likely enough that he would have achieved less that was substantial and enduring had he continued in England than he accomplished in New Zealand, where he found so much that was new and vivid and stimulating, and entirely novel and wonderful. The Maori life and the Maori lore was an inexhaustible source of suggestions, a quarry from which he hewed and shaped powerful narrative and tender lyric verse. Much has been said and written during recent years to direct attention to the merits of Maori literature and Maori artcraft. Sir George Grey and Alfred Domett were the first to develop, after their respective methods, this rich and varied store of legend and wonder-tale and song. Grey was a recorder; Domett was an observer, a man of imagination, with a wide culture and a command of English as rich and luxuriant as the bush he loved.
Domett had already won a place, though a minor one, in literary England when he decided to abandon the familiar ties and see for himself what manner of life it was in New Zealand, then beginning to figure enticingly in the English world's news. In the year he left St. John's College, Cambridge, 1833—he did not take a degree—he published a volume of verse, and later he published a second volume. He was born in 1811, the son of an English naval officer who had fought against the Dutch in the battle of the Dogger Bank in 1781, and who later was in the merchant service. He could afford to travel; he went to Canada and the United States, and toured Europe. In 1841 he was called to the Bar, but London did not hold him long. His greatest friendship was that with Robert Browning. The two earnest and enthusiastic young poets began, in 1840, an association which endured for life, though the width of the globe separated them for thirty years.
In Sir Frederic Kenyon's book on “Robert Browning and Alfred Domett,” published by Smith, Elder and Co. in 1906, there is a portrait (in the possession of Domett's son) which seems to reflect the romantic soul of the young poet. It is a water-colour drawing by George Lance, R.A., with the date 1836. The drawing (here reproduced, with acknowledgments to the publishers) shows Domett at the age of twenty-five, five years before he sailed for New Zealand. Kenyon's book is curiously one-sided in its material; it consists almost wholly of letters from Browning to Domett in New Zealand; there is nothing from Domett in return. The letters from Browning had been preserved carefully; the return correspondence, which must have been voluminous, has vanished. There is, therefore, as the author observes, only a reflex representation of the friend with whom Browning's poem of “Waring” is associated, seeing him in the light of letters written to him.
To give in brief compass Domett's colonial life, he emigrated to Nelson in 1842 with some of the first settlers, and became a settler there, but speedily found himself drawn into the field of local letters. He wrote descriptions of farming and bush experiences for the Nelson “Examiner,” and presently was invited to take over the editorial side, and his writings immediately began to attract attention beyond the bounds of the young town. Sir George Grey, in his first governorship, soon
William Gisborne, in “New Zealand Rulers and Statesmen,” his estimate of Domett's character and capacity, said that “what Mr. Domett failed in was as a politician, in the Parliamentary sense, namely, as a party man and as a Minister under responsible government. He was a hero-worshipper and admired splendid autocracy. The seamy side of political life, as seen in the Parliamentary system, was not congenial to his taste, and he was not fitted to work out what he regarded as a lower level of public service.” But left as it were to himself, Mr. Gisborne admitted, Domett did “great and good work.” The petition which he wrote in 1845 to Parliament for the recall of Governor Fitzroy was a most masterly document.
During his period at Napier, 1854–6, Domett acted practically on his own responsibility; next to Sir Donald Maclean he was the most prominent man in the foundation of the Napier settlement. His impress on the Hawke's Bay town is seen to-day in the names of the principal streets. Domett was the name-giver; his literary trend is witnessed by such names as Shakespeare, Milton, Tennyson, Browning, and Carlyle.
As Prime Minister of the colony in 1863 he devised and embodied a scheme for the self-reliant defence of the country and its peaceful settlement. A scheme of great merit, it was not given effect to, by reason of political disagreements, nevertheless its spirit was admittedly excellent, and Sir Donald Maclean, Native and Defence Minister from 1869 to 1876, put into operation some of the principles of military efficiency and peaceful penetration of the interior of the country which Domett had proposed.
Though not a politician in the ordinary party sense, Alfred Domett was a statesman. He had length and breadth of vision. Though no debater, he was the most fluent writer of his day; perhaps his only peer was that gifted Irish pioneer of Canterbury, James Edward Fitzgerald. His regard for literature and his cultured mind found vent in several directions, one of which was the foundation work in the organisation and classification of the General Assembly Library.
In 1856 Domett married Mrs. Mary George, of Wellington, who had a young son, Johnny George. This lad became an officer in the Colonial Forces, and in 1869 he was killed in the storming of Te Kooti's pa at Te Porere, close to the base of Tongariro mountain. In “Ranolf and Amohia” Domett has some lines to his gallant stepson, “young, kindly, chivalrous St. George.”
In 1871, at sixty years of age, Domett returned to England to spend the rest of his days, and his first task was to arrange for the publication of his long poem. It appeared in 1872, in one volume. A second edition, in two volumes, was brought out in 1883. Domett's long period of colonial service, and his great literary work, conjoined to his close friendship with the greatest poet of the day, won recognition for him in England, and he was awarded the honour of C.M.G. in 1880.
Another volume of verse, a book called “Flotsam and Jetsam,” including some of his early poems, was published in 1877. He died on November 2, 1887, two years before Browning. Kenyon wrote of him, in allusion to his hero-worship of Browning and his fervent love of the romantic and poetic: “The bright-eyed enthusiasm which seems to show itself in his portrait” [Lance's drawing of 1836] “lasted apparently to the end.”
Alfred Domett's great epic poem of New Zealand may be described as the apotheosis of primitive Maori Land and of the unspoiled native life. The lovers in the enchanted regions of the forests and the lakes and the geyserland provide a narrative of great charm and beauty, in amazingly fluent and expressive language, a poem that runs to 14,000 lines. It has been said that “Ranolf and Amohia” is not inspired by the magic of the highest poetic imagination. Nevertheless, there is a vast amount of beauty in its pages; and several of the loveliest lyrics ever written in these parts of the earth gleam out from its mass of psychological wanderings and philosophical speculations.
Domett is unknown to the multitude because, for one thing, “Ranolf and Amohia” has long been out of print, and for another because casual readers taking up the book in a reference library would find it difficult to see the grand trees for the scrub. The poem greatly needs pruning. Its bulk could be reduced by half, or even more, with benefit to the work and to the reader. Had Domett kept to his narrative and his lyrics and resisted the temptation to preach on all manner of subjects under the sun, the poem would have been the gainer in merit and in popularity. Some day a publisher may discover this and issue it in a convenient volume, sub-edited with discretion. “Ranolf and Amohia” lends itself so well to illustration that a very beautiful book could be produced with drawings by artists who really know the Maori and who can depict accurately scenes of Maori life.
One fault which some critics have professed to find in “Ranolf and Amohia” is that Domett idealised the Maori as Fenimore Cooper idealised the Red Indian. I cannot agree with this view, at any rate to any considerable extent. It is not a fault that a writer should select romantic and chivalrous episodes for his principal themes, as Scott did. Domett's Amohia is not overdrawn. There have been many such in, Maori history. Tangimoana, the grand old chief of Mokoia, is a faithful portrait of a typical ariki of the tribe; the original of this character was the great Te Heuheu, of Taupo. There, too, have been such tohungas as Kangapo. The one unconvincing figure is Ranolf, when he begins his long-drawn metaphysical disquisitions. No young pakeha could possibly have made the Maori mind comprehend such abstruse philosophising. But Ranolf was Domett himself, a lay figure on which to hang his Browning-like views on man and the infinite.
Domett knew the sea-life, too, as every colonist did in those days of sailing ships. His description of reefing topsails and of a sudden squall which wrought damage aloft, are
Alfred Domett. (From a photo about 1870).
Domett took Maori song-themes and expanded the often staccato measure into poetry of luxuriant imagery. He described the native chants as “the very pemmican of poetry,” in allusion to their concentrated form. His method was to obtain a literal translation and then to broaden and develop and embroider the lines into a version that would convey the full idea to English readers. He had learned something of the language, and he was assisted in the translation of the songs by such men as Captain Gilbert Mair.
In 1868 Mair was in Wellington for some time, and it was then, I think, that he interpreted for Domett some of the chants in Sir George Grey's collection of songs, “Nga Moteatea,” in which only the original Maori is given. Laments for the dead, warchants, love-lilts are amplified with vividness of imagery and richness of language.
Everywhere in the great poem there are lines that print themselves unforgettably on the mind. To the primitive Maori he paints:
There are pictures in a single line, as—
The forest, the unspoiled forest, with its extravagance of loveliness in tree and creeper, fern and moss, is a theme to which the poet returns again and again. He knew the bush as no other poet has known it. His descriptions of the ancient pohutukawa groves on the cliffy shores of Lake Tarawera, and of the Rotomahana Terraces, are pictures of vanished glories that have historic value in addition to their own beauty.
There is a memorable picture of a sunset on Lake Tarawera which seems to me to have been inspired by the view through the once-celebrated stained-glass window in the mission church at Te Mu, at Te Wairoa, a beautiful old place which was destroyed in the Tarawera eruption long after Domett's day:
It was a year or two after Domett had left New Zealand that Anthony Trollope, the English novelist, visited New Zealand; Captain Gilbert Mair accompanied him over those Lakeland scenes. Mair told me that he took his famous guest into that church at Te Mu to view sunset on Tarawera. Trollope gazed at it through the stained-glass window overlooking the lake, which turned everything to a wonderful crimson. After a long look he turned and said: “Mair, that must be what the Day of Judgment will be like.”
The glories of the land, of such a place as the Tongariro trinity of volcanic peaks, are reflected here:
There is Miroa's song based on a little love-chant that begins “E tangi e te ihu,” a phrase which the first verse explains:
There are little lilting songs of simple charm, as Amohia's rhythmic measure that tells about “a maid her home for love forsaking”:
How true to the New Zealand scene is the mention of the raupo, the whispering reeds by the river margin:
Amohia watches the distant sail of her lover's boat on Rotorua, and apostrophises lake and puia:
But one could quote scores of passages of beauty, fertile in imagery. In contrast to such lines, Domett often lapses into the commonplace. However, that is not uncommon with poets. Pegasus occasionally comes to earth with a bump.
It was in 1883 that the two-volume edition of “Ranolf and Amohia” was published; this is the edition most often seen to-day in libraries of New Zealand books. In this edition there is a foreword in verse (rather trite verse, to be sure), which introduces the reader to the Rotorua Geyserland region. It invites the English visitor “weary of mists” to rove in a land “where the fanciful fountains are raining swift brilliants of boiling and beautiful spray,” a land “where a people primeval is vanishing fast with its faiths and its fables and ways of the past.” Assuredly the picture drawn is an inviting one, a vast and strange and wonderful landscape, with the most romantic story ever told. “Ranolf and Amohia” should be regarded as a national treasure, the greatest gift that ever a poet made to this country. But, as I have submitted before, it would be a greater work if it were less in bulk.
Rising Popularity of the Railways.
The following extracts from the editorial columns of the “Southland Times” are typical of current press opinion throughout New Zealand regarding railway progress in this country:—
“This general recognition of increased efficiency, of better service at more reasonable rates, has by no means been due entirely to improved rolling stock. Greater courtesy and more rational business methods on the part of the staff have played a big part in restoring popularity to the railways… . .
The heavy passenger traffic recorded on the principal lines during the holidays is not merely a reflection of better times, but is a definite indication that travelling by train is coming into favour again—a revival which should gratify taxpayers no less than departmental officers… .
Better Than a Blanket.
Fred: By jove I was frozen in bed last night. I'm sure I'm getting a cold.
Mother: I'll give you an extra blanket.
Fred: Yes, but what I want now is a dose of Baxter's Lung Preserver.
Most mothers make a point of always having “Baxter's” handy, summer and winter. Mothers know how quickly “Baxter's” relieves colds.
“Baxter's” is also unique for its tonic properties. 4/6, 2/6, and 1/6 from all chemists and stores.*
In the heart of the gold country of Otago, South Island, New Zealand. A scene on the famous Skippers Road.
Skippers is the early diggers’ name for a rich alluvial goldfields area, a very wild spot in the gorge of the Shotover River, which yielded much wealth as far back as 1862. The road from Queenstown, Lake Wakatipu, crosses the Dan O'Connell Range and overlooks the turbulent Shotover for many miles. Skippers is said to have been named after a goldfields pioneer, Captain Duncan, whose party was one of the first to prospect the Shotover Gorge. The place is attracting great attention again from gold-miners. (Rly. Publicity photo.)
Described by)
Ken Alexander
“He is the rear-guard, the safeguard and the vanguard of the travelling household known as the train.”
That is he—the man who nimbly steps off the rear end of the train as it glides to a halt at the station; neat, efficient, patient, punctual to the split minute— that is the “man behind.” Such words are not mere metaphorical bouquets, but constitute a worthy description, earned in daily service and justified by the traditions of railway-running since the days of “Puffing Billy”; hence the title, “guard”—the guardian of all those who entrust themselves and their belongings to the care of the rail. Like the “man in front,” the “man behind” does his job unobtrusively but thoroughly, promptly but unhurriedly, calmly and surely. He is never bustled, but what he does is done with despatch—with surety of action and systematic exactitude. He is human, of course; no mere automaton could meet the demands hourly made upon his initiative. He is always ready with information and assistance, and the passenger has learned to regard him, not as a mere official—brass-bound by uncompromising officialdom—but as one who, man to man, will explain a point and discuss a difficulty; for this is the man behind the “man behind.”
His “home away from home” is a cubby-hole at one end of the van, combining the functions of office, lunchroom, workshop and “look-out.” A seat, which can be extended to a short settee for those rare intervals which I presume even guards find for rest, faces a desk where, between punching tickets and doing all the things guards do, he sorts up his way-bills, fills in his running schedule, and does other jobs of work which are doubleDutch to the unversed.
There is a spice of romance in every job, but it seldom is apparent to the person whom it concerns most. I put it to the guard—foolishly, no doubt, “Does it ever strike you that, while this train is running, you are the keeper of hundreds of lives and goodness knows what value in property? Don't you ever feel the weight of your responsibility?”
He smiled, a trifle pityingly I imagined, and answered: “Oh, I don't know—a fellow gets used to his job.” To him it is a “job,” and if you and I had it, it would be our “job”; but, observing him through the unblemished eye of the outsider, it looked something a little more than a “job”; I thought of slips on the line, of wild winter nights, of bridges over flooded rivers— of all the possible hazards of any track—hazards which fortunately seldom become actualities on New Zealand's railways in consequence of meticulous examination and supervision of the permanent way. But, nevertheless, in any such emergency he must be prepared to face the music. In mute testimony of the fact there are two cupboards in his cubby-hole; through the glass front of the one you see a crowbar, a shovel, and other useful tools, whilst, strapped to the outside is an axe; the other cupboard houses a first-aid outfit, and both provide an unostentatious indication of the responsibilities of the “man behind.”
In a corner lie a bunch of accessories, overhead is a fire extinguisher, nearby is an emergency hand brake; a locked mail bag is in the rack, and, through the open door, one glimpses the interior of the van with its stacks of freight neatly arranged in order of destination to facilitate speedy unloading. The “man behind” has an entry of every article on his way-bills, and the responsibility for their delivery is his; deck-chairs, bicycles, boxes, perambulators, portmanteaux, suitcases, a wheelbarrow, a crate of ducks, a bundle of shovels, a mysterious article shrouded in scrim, and a box containing a noise; the noise is a compromise between a yelp and a thin howl and is as persistent as toothache. Whenever he can find a moment to spare, the guard taps on the box and speaks soothingly to the noise, whereupon it subsides to a thin whimpering.
“It's a pup,” explains the guard; “all the way from Invercargill. I've fed him and given him a drink, but he's tired of it—poor little brute.”
So, the guard is, among many things, a protector of pups.
He tilts his hat back from his brow, produces a pencil and becomes absorbed in something which looks to me like a large-scale cross-word puzzle. He endeavours to explain it, but its columns and sub-columns, its headings and tailings, leave me dizzy.
“Must hop along again,” he says, “to tell ‘em that there's time for refreshment at the next station,” and out he goes with a knowledgeable smile on his face.
The average traveller knows little of the activities of the “man behind.” He sees him pass through the carriage with an intent expression on his face which advertises that he is going somewhere and knows where he is going—but just what he is up to at the moment is a secret; except when he divulges his intentions by inviting “all tickets, please.” But sometimes he stands inside the door dumbly examining each passenger in turn; I used to think that he was on the lookout for erring passengers who place their feet on the opposite seat, and many's the time I have removed my pedals with stealth. But now I know that he is merely taking a tally of “heads”; for periodically he must
With the end of his small green flag (furled “pro tem”) peeping out of his breast pocket, with his silverbanded hat, his whistle and his air of alertness, the “man behind” epitomises the spirit of “service”; if you take the trouble to look, you will see him here, there and back again—at the door of the van tallying out luggage and goods, on the track at a siding, writing a ticket while he balances with spread feet to the sway of the train, semaphoring the brake test signal, poking his little green flag out of the centre of the train, shrilling his whistle at a wayside station, flitting, hovering—elusive, yet omnipresent. He is the rear-guard, the safeguard and the vanguard of the travelling household known as a train. He is “maitre d'hotel,” tourist agent, family adviser, protector of the weak, director of the strong, announcer of glad tidings concerning the inner man, keeper of the baggage, and guardian, “in loco parentis,” of his temporary family. He keeps his third eye open (for he must have a third eye to see all he sees) to ensure that you don't endanger life and limb by leaning over platform gates; that you don't try to catch trains on the wing, as it were, and that you do not do any of those things which he knows you ought not to do for your own comfort and safety.
The “man behind,” equally with the “man in front,” is the man who sees that you get to where your ticket says you are going, and that you enjoy getting there. Like many of the good things of existence, he is taken more or less for granted but, since riding with him in his cubby-hole, I have found him out. He is no hero—and doesn't pretend to be one—and is essentially human; but he is an efficient and sympathetic human.
Waitangi Celebrations.
Appreciation of the services rendered by the Railways Department in connection with the recent celebrations at Waitangi, is expressed in the following letter from the Prime Minister, the Rt. Hon. G. W. Forbes, to the Chairman of the Government Railways Board, Mr. H. H. Sterling:—
“The Government are very appreciative of the excellent arrangements made for the transport of such a large number of Maoris and of the Parliamentary Party to and from the Bay of Islands, and expresses the desire that the officers concerned be advised accordingly.”
Railway Excursions Popular.
The development of railway excursion business is indicated in the marked increase recorded everywhere in the traffic by the various seasonal excursions.
A striking instance of this is the day excursion from Dunedin to Waitaki Dam, which has been a feature in the months of February or March during the last three years. On the first occasion, 22nd February, 1931, the weather conditions were not good, but 294 passengers were booked. In the following year the weather conditions at the time of departure were not altogether favourable, but 325 passengers were booked.
In 1933 the excursion was not held, but for the 1934 excursion, run on 25th February, there were 1,020 passengers carried from Dunedin and en route to Waitaki Dam.
Woman's Action After Friend's Remarks.
Now She's 49lbs. Lighter.
If you are one who hears remarks from friends about “getting fat,” you will naturally be interested to hear this woman's story. Fortunately, it had a happy ending. Here is her letter:—
“I had put on weight gradually— not noticing it myself—until my friends kept saying to me, ‘My word, you are getting fat.’ I had myself weighed, and nearly had a fit. I was 12 stone 10lbs., and I am only 5ft. 3 1/2 inches in height. Then I saw an advertisement for Kruschen and I thought I would try it. I did so, and to-day. I weigh 9 stone 3lbs. and feel better. I continue to take Kruschen, as I as I find it is still reducing me, and I wish to lose a little more weight. I am recommending Kruschen to all my friends.“— (Mrs.) T.W.
Kruschen is an ideally balanced blend of six separate mineral salts. The formula represents the ingredient salts of the mineral waters of Carlsbad, Ems, Kissengen and other well-known European spas which have been resorted to for generations by the overstout. Only in Kruschen can you get this precise combination of salts. The exact correctness of the formula of every batch of Kruschen is checked by a staff of qualified chemists, before it is passed for bottling.
Kruschen combats the cause of fat by assisting the internal organs to perform their functions properly—to throw off each day those waste products and poisons which, if allowed to accumulate, will be converted by the body's chemistry into fatty tissue.
Kruschen Salts is obtainable at all Chemists and Stores at 2/6 per bottle.
(Rly. Publicity photo.) Arrival at Opua of the special train conveying the Parliamentary Party to the recent celebrations at Waitangi, Bay of Islands.
On Monday, 8th July, 1889, before the Chief Justice, Sir James Prendergast, Louis Chemis stood his trial for the murder of Thomas Hawkins, at Kaiwarra, near Wellington. The murder, which took place on 31st May, 1889, and the trial will be remembered by many residents of the district. The dramatic and unexpected death of leading counsel for the prisoner (Mr. C. E. Bunny), and of the prisoner himself, and the long controversy which followed the verdict constitute this one of the most sensational trials in our criminal history.
Mr. H. D. Bell and Mr. M. Richmond appeared for the Crown, the prisoner being represented by Mr. C. E. Bunny (as before mentioned) and Mr. J. J. Devine.
When Mr. Bell opened the case to the jury he told them the facts he relied on to prove that Chemis was the man who had killed Hawkins. The deceased, when he left his farm to go to town was known to have had a number of papers in his pocket. It was to the advantage of Chemis to get possession of them, and it was proved that he had ample time to do this before the actual commission of the crime. Mr. Bell said that the strongest point against Chemis was that several fragments of the Wellington “Evening Post” had been discovered in the gunshot wound in the body of the deceased. The fragments of paper bore the date, 23rd May, and a copy of the “Evening Post” of that date had been found at Chemis’ house. The jury would be told by the witnesses that the torn pieces in the wound exactly fitted the torn portion found at the accused's house. There had been no blood found on Chemis’ clothing, but a gun in his possession had been recently fired. The deceased and the prisoner were not on friendly terms, the prisoner having refused to conclude an arrangement for a lease he had agreed to take from Hawkins, saying that he would be ruined if he did so, and that Hawkins had taken legal proceedings against him.
Then Mr. Bell told the jury that, apart from the gunshot wound, Hawkins had been stabbed no less than twenty-one times! The defence would be that it was a man other than Chemis who had committed the crime, and that this man had been observed near the scene of the murder, carrying a gun.
The story was then unravelled by the witnesses. The first witness was Mr. D. G. A. Cooper, the Registrar of the Court. He produced the writ and legal proceedings against Chemis. This was to supply some evidence of motive. Formal evidence of the signing of the lease was given by a solicitor who had witnessed Chemis’ signature to the document. Then Charles Bowles, a cousin of Mrs. Hawkins, described his finding of the body of the deceased. When he found the body he took it to Mr. Dimock's. He did not go home and tell Mrs. Hawkins, but went to a man named Nicholls and stayed with him until after midnight, afterwards going to his own house. He agreed that a German carpenter, Leddin by name, had been at the home of the Hawkins’ a few weeks before when the witness had been married, and that Leddin left the place suddenly. It was also true that George Bowles, the witness's cousin, was on bad terms with Hawkins. He did not know that Hawkins had surreptitiously taken two hundred sheep from his cousin to help him conceal them from his creditors when he became bankrupt, and that when Bowles got his discharge he refused to return them all. (It is as well to mention here that this allegation was shewn subsequently to be without foundation and nothing dishonourable was proved against Mr. Hawkins. The whole incident was proved untrue.)
Then a lad named James McCallum said that Bowles had told him that Hawkins was dead. Under cross-examination he said that Bowles did not seem at all excited. He had had a row with Hawkins, who had threatened to beat him and his two brothers for impertinence.
Dr. Thos. Cahill then said that he went to the scene of the tragedy on the 31st and ordered the removal of the body to Dimock's. There were two incised wounds in the neck. On the Saturday and Sunday following the murder Dr. Cahill said he conducted a post mortem examination. There were wounds in the side, chest and neck, as well as a gunshot wound in the right shoulder. The wounds were clean cut and one of them had penetrated to the heart. He removed some flesh from the shoulder wound, and when examining this discovered many small pieces of paper. The stiletto produced fitted into the wounds
William Dimock established by his evidence that Hawkins had called on him at 5.30 p.m. on the night of the murder. The witness got on well with Hawkins, though once or twice there was a prospect of litigation on account of the road running past witness’ factory. Malcolm McCallum then said he had gone to the scene of the murder on the day following and saw on a bush there, pieces of paper and a rag. In answer to Mr. Bunny witness said that on the Saturday morning Chemis delivered the milk as usual. Chemis told him he had heard the news about Hawkins when he was in Kaiwarra. That Chemis was working at Kaiwarra on the 31st, left his work at 4.30 p.m., and walked towards Ngahauranga, was sworn to by the next witness, Michael Green. A further witness, however, said he had seen Chemis at a few minutes to five o'clock on the same day at Pipitea Point walking towards Kaiwarra.
“When the witness arrested Chemis, he burst out, ‘It is all damn lies.“'
On the third day of the trial, Mary Hawkins, the widow of the deceased, said her husband had gone into town on the Friday, as was his custom. He usually got back about 6 o'clock. Bowles went to look for him about 7.50 p.m., and in a few minutes returned in the trap. Shortly after this Dr. Cahill arrived, and then it was witness's mother, who broke the news that Mr. Hawkins was dead. There had been no quarrel between her husband and Leddin. Leddin came to her husband's funeral. She had never heard of any quarrel about sheep between Bowles and her husband. Bowles had never brought sheep to the farm. There was a little feeling between the two men on account of Bowles’ losing some land through his bankruptcy, which Hawkins might have saved. After the bankruptcy, Mrs. Hawkins told Mr. Bunny, that Bowles never came to the farm for sheep. Hawkins had bought sheep in the Wairarapa. She was quite sure that her husband had never said that he would shoot Bowles like a dog. Hawkins paid Bowles for the sheep he had bought in the Wairarapa with a cheque drawn on the Bank of New Zealand. When Leddin came down on the last occasion he did not quarrel with Hawkins. The reason she had not gone herself to look for her husband was that she had a bad knee. She said she had gone out twenty times looking for Bowles. In cross-examination, Mrs. Hawkins said that she was never on bad terms with her husband.
At this stage it will have been noticed that the defence had made little ground affirmatively. Certain questions calculated to shew up Hawkins as a quarrelsome man had been made, but they could not be said to have availed the defence much. To meet the suggestions, Frederick Leddin was next called. He said he was a Finn, a carpenter by trade, and he lived in Foxton. He had known Hawkins for six years, and had never quarrelled with him. On the day of the murder he was fourteen miles on the other side of Foxton, at Westwood's flaxmills. William Durrell, a butcher, said that he bought his milk from Chemis. He said that when Chemis told him about his case with Hawkins he said he would be ruined if he did not win it, and he was quite disheartened. Durrell said he was not aware that he acted as public informer at Kaiwarra.
The next witness, who had given some evidence before the Magistrate, was again put in the box for crossexamination. To Mr. Bunny he said that on the 31st he was taking a short cut from Ngahauranga to Kaiwarra. He noticed a man with a gun going towards the summit of the hill. This was about 5 p.m. He turned on reaching Bargber's fence towards Hawkins's farm. The prisoner, said the witness, was not that man. He added that he had told the police of this, in particular, he told Detective Benjamin. The man he saw was about 5ft. 8in. in height. He wore lightcoloured trousers. He was also wearing a dark tweed coat and a lightcoloured hat. He said that he had known Hawkins for about six years, and that he got his milk from Chemis. The Crown subjected this witness to a long cross-examination for the purpose of shaking him on the identification of the man he alleged he saw. There is nothing in the reports of the case, such as the questions and the way they were answered, to suggest that generally the witness was shaken in his original evidence.
Then came the evidence of an expert concerning the stiletto. It was proved that there was no blood on the stiletto when examined, though it could have been washed or wiped off. The witness said that there were traces on the pieces of newspapers that had been handed to him for examination. The Government armourer then said that one of the barrels of Chemis’ gun had been fired off more recently than the other. The evidence of this witness seems to have been unsatisfactory, for it appeared that he said at first that the gun had been fired on the 31st. How he could swear to this is difficult to understand.
Inspector John Bell Thomson went to the scene of the murder on the 1st June. With him were Detectives Benjamin and Campbell. There they found further pieces of paper which were later identified as corresponding to pieces found in Chemis’ house. The Inspector examined Chemis’ gun, which appeared to him to have been recently fired. He collected all the pieces of paper on the premises. Mr. Bunny, in a long but unsuccessful cross-examination, tried to extract an admission from the witness that the inquiries had been limited to examining the movements of Chemis and his brother-in-law. Detective Benjamin told the same story as the previous witness. When the witness arrested
The evidence for the Crown was rapidly coming to a close. William Burden, who said he was employed in Cook's grocery shop, Molesworth Street, Wellington, admitted that he had been on bad terms with Hawkins, but he had made it up. He always respected Chemis, who was a quiet, respectable man. John Tasker, of the Police Department, said that he had pieced together the fragments of paper found in the wound and on the ground with fragments found at Chemis', and he shewed how many of them clearly fitted.
The Crown case finished after a number of the witnesses already called had been placed in the box again to fill up small gaps in the story.
Then came the final speech for the Crown, which was made by Mr. Bell. In a powerful speech he told the jury that the case rested on circumstantial evidence in the main. The only direct evidence was that of the paper. There were three pieces in particular. Put together, they made up the wad in the gun when it fired the charge that entered Hawkins’ body. The rest of the paper, which fitted the wad precisely, was found in Chemis’ house. The deed had been committed by someone with evil feeling towards Hawkins. The nature of the injuries, the many stabs, shewed that it had been done by a foreigner. This observation brought Mr. Bunny to his feet protesting. However, Mr. Bell went on to say that the stiletto could have done the deed; it was Chemis’ stiletto. He referred to the litigation pending as supplying Chemis’ motive for the crime. So far as the absence of blood on the stiletto was concerned, there had been plenty of time for it to have been wiped off. Mr. Bell traversed the evidence in detail, and told the jury to do their duty. He finished his speech, which had taken 2 1/4 hours to deliver, by reminding the jury of the pieces of paper that went to make up the wad, and the fact that they fitted the torn pieces found at the prisoner's house.
Before Mr. Bunny addressed the jury he called two witnesses, who swore as to the prisoner's previous good character. In a long and elaborate speech, which took 2 3/4 hours to deliver, Mr. Bunny implored the jury to try and dismiss from their minds any preconceptions with regard to the matter. The onus of proving the case rested on the Crown. It was no part of the duty of the prisoner to establish his innocence. It was most important for the jury to understand that. He agreed there had been a foul murder. He supposed there had been first the shot and then the stabs. Was it safe to presume that there had been only one man involved? As to motive, so far as the litigation was concerned there was a prospect of a settlement. Chemis had not been disturbed by the law suit. Hawkins was undoubtedly a harsh landlord, he had committed harsh tricks here and there. He was surrounded by people who were at variance with him.
Far from the stiletto having blood on it, it had been shewn to have had verdigris at the hilt! What did the jury think of the strange conduct of Bowles in not going back to Mrs. Hawkins when he heard of the murder? The jury would remember, too, that Mrs. Hawkins did not aid the search for her husband. She did not bother her head! As to the condition of the gun, there were no reliable facts. The police had been slow and dilatory. Mr. Bunny denied that the police had identified the fragments of paper they had found. Some of the paper had Bowden's name on it. He was innocent. What if the name had been Chemis? Would they have said that he, too, was innocent? It was common knowledge that the locality was infested with poachers. The jury would remember, too, that Chemis was at work as usual next morning. Did that look like the action of a murderer? He warned the jury that only fifty years before an innocent man had been hanged in Adelaide. Towards the end of the trial Mr. Bunny contracted a severe chill and continued thereafter under great difficulty.
The Judge, in his summing up, issued the usual warnings against any preconceived ideas of the matter. They were to judge on the evidence alone given at the trial. He agreed that the principal evidence against the accused was the strange fact that the pieces of paper that went to make the wad fitted precisely into the torn pieces in Chemis’ possession. He told the jury that the incised wounds were committed by means of a two-edged weapon, a stiletto for example. A stiletto was a strange thing for an Englishman to have, but it was not strange to find one in the possession of an Italian. The charge of the Judge to the jury was exhaustive, and covered all the material facts without bias. It took three hours to deliver. Then, at 1 p.m., the jury retired, to bring back a unanimous verdict (over five hours later) of guilty.
When he was asked if he had anything to say why the sentence of death should not be passed upon him, Chemis said: “Yes, I reckon the detectives treated me too bad. They say they never found any powder flask in my place. It was right alongside the pouch with the shot, and with one hand they could have picked both up. They say they never saw any quail. There were three or four in a tin. Detective Benjamin was near to them himself. I can prove from the blacksmith at Kaiwarra that I got a wad punch from him. I can get the same man to prove that I brought him the wad punch since the 1st April. I never use paper at all in my gun. I hope Your Honour will see to-morrow whether I am telling you a lie or telling you the truth. About those bullets, James Gibson gave them to me last winter, when I took over this place from Hawkins. He gave me about ten of them to shoot pigs. The bullets were no good; they were too small for my gun. I hope Your Honour will prove this by calling James Gibson tomorrow morning. I am willing to die now or at any time. I will go to the scaffold to-morrow morning. I am innocent of this crime. I am sorry for my wife and little children, for myself I care nothing.”
The inevitable and dread sentence was then pronounced, and Chemis was taken off to await the pleasure of the Governor.
By this time the indisposition of Mr. Bunny developed serious symptoms and the gallant counsel who had done such magnificent work for Chemis collapsed. Typhoid fever supervened, and two days after the verdict Mr. Bunny himself died. He never knew the Governor commuted the sentence of death to one of life imprisonment. This, however, resulted, and Chemis started to work out his long sentence in the local gaol. Petitions were prepared, and applications from all quarters were made towards, either a new trial, or Chemis’ liberation. It was felt by many that the evidence was too inconclusive. Many others might have done the deed.
In 1897, Queen Victoria celebrated the sixty years’ anniversary of her glorious reign. Amongst her many acts of clemency was one which liberated Chemis from serving any more of his sentence.
This story might have ended on this happier note, but it would have been incomplete. For a month or two Chemis tried to get work, but no one cared to have him working for them. Many believed him guilty. This depressed Chemis. Perhaps his Latin character was too unstable. Rapidly he became morose, and one day, a few months after his release from gaol, he placed a detonator between his teeth, the explosion killing him instantly.
General Manager, New Zealand Railways, Inspects the North Island Lines by Rail Car.
A series of pictures taken during the recent inspection, by rail car, of the North Island lines by the General Manager of Railways, Mr. G. H. Mackley: (1) At Te Kawa station; (2) Waipawa; (3) Opua; (4) Hamilton; (5) the sawmill track, Mamaku; (6) Rimu log (21ft. lin. in circumference), at Ellis and Burnand's Sawmill, Mangapehi (this is the largest log handled by the mill for over 20 years); (7) Thames North; (8) group at Ohakune; (9) Glen Afton; (10) Woodville; (11) Te Puke; (12) Te Kuiti; (13) Waipapa; (14) Members of the locomotive staff inspecting the rail car.
Four men were smoking and chatting together in a smoking compartment of the South-bound Limited. As the Express sped on with a rhythmic clank-clank-clank of racing wheels and a comfortable haze of tobacco smoke rose to film the steadily-gleaming lights which studded the roof of the gently swaying carriage, the talk turned on different modes of travel.
“Speed,” said one man, “that's” the world's-objective to-day-to get there with as little waste of time as possible.”
An older man shook his head deprecatingly.
“All very well,” he said, “but ‘Safety First’ is a good slogan. What good is it to arrive at your objective with a broken neck?”
“Oh, if you're a sport you'll risk the broken neck,” returned the other with a reckless laugh. “After all, the percentage of broken necks is small compared with the amount of fast travel to-day.”
“And, broke in a boyish-looking man eagerly, “look at the broken necks or their equivalents which are saved by the speedy means we have to-day of dealing with sick or injured persons-rushing patients to hospitals by fast cars or aeroplanes-or rushing doctors to back-block cases or accidents. Many a life is saved which would have been sacrificed in the old days of slow travel. Even the Limited here doing her so many miles an hour-or the Flying Scotsman or other fast trains couldn't compete in a crisis with a fast, ‘plane or a racing motor.”
“Well, gentlemen,” observed the fourth member of the party, looking up from the book he had been studying; “I've heard your case for the plane and the car, but I'd like to tell you an experience of my own which has left me in debt to the Railway Service for saving a life very dear to me, and incidentally winning me a wife. I am a doctor—”
“Ah,” interrupted the first speaker, “then you must have had rush cases where time was all important.”
The doctor nodded.
“Yes; and the most important of all my cases, from which I was separated by more than a hundred miles of flooded country at an acute crisis for the patient, was won for me by the sheer dogged determination of the New Zealand Railways to surmount all obstacles and keep faith with its patrons.” He paused to fill his pipe, and then proceeded: “It was a good many years back, long before the days of the Limited, when aeroplanes and speed-wagons of all descriptions were yet in the womb of time. I was a young doctor with my first practise in Auckland, and very keen to make good. Doing well, too, in my chosen field of surgery-for skilled operators were not as numerous then as now. In my eagerness I rather over-did things, and finding myself a bit nervy, which a man in my profession can never afford, I prescribed myself a holiday and decided to go to Rotorua for a spell Only one important case was looming, an operation on a young girl in whom,” he smiled thoughtfully, “I don't mind confessing, I was beginning to feel a more than professional interest.”
“Lucky dogs, you medicos,” laughed the boyish-looking man; and the doctor continued:
“The operation was not due for a month or so, as I had placed the girl in a nursing home for rest and attention first. It was as much for her sake as my own I had decided on the holiday, feeling that I must be absolutely fit before tackling a job which might mean the destruction of my own happiness as well as grave risk to the patient, should I bungle through weariness or overstrained nerves. I left her in good hands, and though she tried to be brave I could not forget the clinging of her hands and her earnest entreaties that I should not fail her, but be back in time to help her through her ordeal.”
“Back? Of course I shall be back,“’ I said rallyingly. “'If I'm alive, with the full use of my wits and my limbs, I'll be back long before your operation is due. Nothing less than the loss of those essentials can stop me,’ I added, with a re-assuring smile, which she bravely tried to return.”
”'Oh,” she whispered, “'I could never face it if you were not here. I rely on you-absolutely.“'
And with these words ringing in my ears I left her, little dreaming of the
“To make matters worse, all telegraphic communication was cut off for a time owing to gales which accompanied the floods, and when at last I received a delayed telegram it was an urgent request to return, the patient having developed alarming symptoms and refusing to be operated upon by any other surgeon. How I cursed my luck at being shut up in this rain-swept town, and the impulse which had sent me away from my patient when she most needed me. My thoughts were bitter as I walked moodily about the puddled roadways and watched the soaking green herbage crouch and shiver under the blustering wet wind. I haunted the railway station and sent off wires to the authorities arguing the urgency of my case and the necessity to make an attempt to get through. The crisis of my patient's illness was rapidly approaching, and though I wired urging her to submit her case to another surgeon my heart sank with foreboding. I had studied her case so closely and knew all its complications as no one else could possibly know them, and I also knew her absolute dependence on me, and every doctor knows how much the personal equation counts.
“With these words ringing in my ears I left her.”
“A thousand times I seemed to see her imploring, tear-wet eyes, and hear her say with a tremble in her tones, ‘I rely on you-absolutely.’ And like a cock-sure fool I had so jauntily promised her I should not fail her so long as I had my ‘wits and my limbs.’ Well, there was nothing wrong with either of those, I thought bitterly, and yet-she must die because I had failed her after all.
“At last it was decided to attempt to get through the flooded area with an engine and the guard's van only. I was warned it was only a forlorn hope, and a forlorn hope it proved to be, though a very gallant attempt, for the floods were so deep that apart from the dangers of wash-outs the fires might be extinguished by the rising water. So in the grey light of dawn after a dreary night of wind and rain, wet through, chilled to the bone, and filthy with rain and coal-dust, the few who had set out to make the dash returned to the rain-sodden town, to be greeted by the jeers and laughter of those who had prophesied the failure of a foolhardy attempt. I do not easily give up hope, but my spirits were at low ebb. Then a miracle happened. The low-hung curtain of ragged cloud parted, there was a watery gleam of gold along the sky-line, then a strip of pale-blue which widened and widened until the sun burst forth brilliantly. It seemed an omen, and my spirits rose with a bound. Praying that I was not too optimistic, I wired a single word, ‘Coming,’ for well I knew the value of hope in a case like hers.
“The following morning, after twenty-four hours without rain, the second attempt was made to get through, this time a few carriages being attached to the engine. It was a wonderful journey, and under less anxious circumstances I should have thoroughly enjoyed its thrills and hazards. A brilliant morning, not a cloud in the sky, the sunlight glittering on miles of flooded country which looked like a vast and peaceful lake, with the treetops barely visible on its surface.
“We crossed bridges over which water was washing wheel-high, the engine running dead slow, for who knew what snags or obstructions lurked under water or if the piers of the bridges might not have collapsed under the strain of the floods? Cautiously we mounted steep grades, and as cautiously ran down into depressions filled with water, and negotiated spots where wash-outs had been hastily repaired. And I was filled with admiration to think that man with his courage and resource and determination to carry on, could thus outwit the savage caprices of Nature and defeat her on her own ground.
“As we approached the low-lying station of Mercer heads were eagerly stuck out of windows and there were exclamations of half-comic dismay, as the train, running very slowly and sounding her whistle repeatedly, came to a stand-still in several inches of water.
”'Oh, I say,’ groaned the usual wag, ‘it's an Ark we need here, not a railway,’ and a nervous looking girl exclaimed almost tearfully: ‘Isn't it dreadful? What on earth are we all to do?'
”'Trust in God and the railways,’ replied a cheerful little ‘Commercial’ opposite. ‘I've never known ‘em fail yet, and I've travelled on this line often enough.'
”'There, the train's stopped!’ she exclaimed desperately, as with a protesting squeal of brakes the wheels ceased to revolve.
“Certainly the prospect was daunting. For miles around us stretched a shoreless sea, dead calm and glittering in the sun. The waiting-room roofs and big red railway sheds’ corrugated tops were all that could be seen above the water; the roads, the lines, the platforms, the surrounding fields had all disappeared. Just then the wag appeared again and began hauling down his luggage from the rack.
”'Abandon ship and take to the boats -Captain's orders!’ he cried.
“The Railways had found a way out of our difficulties. As it was impossible for the train to proceed, riverlaunches had been hastily requisitioned. A dingy but serviceable little fleet of them was moored at a spot which had been dry land not so many days before.
“This way to the gondolas!’ cried the irrepressible one. ‘Madam, may I assist you? I am a gondolier-,’ he trolled, shouldering the nervous girl's suitcase as well as his own.
“Our ‘gondolas,’ which we reached by traversing a narrow track along a bank, were neither more nor less than cargo and coal barges used for transport on the river; squat, bluntnosed, broad-beamed craft with coaly floors and plank seats covered with sacks. With great fussing and splashing and churning of mud, and snorting of stumpy little funnels, out of which poured a vomit of thick, black smoke and a swarm of vicious red sparks, our grotesque flotilla got under way. A channel had been marked out, each boat had to follow the immediately preceding one, and so we went on like a flock of ducks waddling in single file to the pond. The last boat in the line was loaded deep with all the heavier articles of luggage.
“Strange sights we saw that day, the roofs and chimneys of submerged houses, the feathery tops of a row of gnarled old trees, telegraph poles with wires so close above us they nearly fouled our funnels, a three-storied boarding-house where the tradesmen in boats were delivering supplies to the inhabitants at a third-floor window, all the rest being under water. For miles we were puffing and wallowing along over buried roads, paddocks and fences; once we collided with a submerged willow grove and became tangled in the branches; we passed many pathetic corpses of farm-yard animals, floating out-houses, and a stack of hay. Ours was the leading boat, and we kept up a constant shrieking of the whistle as a warning to keep to the channel and avoid a wire fence or a floating snag.
“So we snorted, puffed and rolled along in the sunshine down the bosom of the great Waikato, emitting showers of sparks and smuts and trails of sooty smoke. And at long last-incredible sight-we saw a train apparently swimming out to meet us. It whistled to us-a shriek of welcome and encouragement-and then we saw that it was on the line, standing wheeldeep in water. The strangest sight we had seen that day, and the most welcome. With more manoeuvring than an ocean liner coming to berth our quaint vessels splashed and blew and snorted and sidled into position beside the train. A plank was laid from ship to guard's van, and we literally ‘walked the plank’ to safety. The baggage, all safely conveyed, was then stowed, the barges backed away to the sound of three rousing cheers from their late passengers, and a shrill concerted blast from all the whistles. Then, slowly, the wheels of our train began to revolve, sending up a flying spray of river-water as our speed quickened, and at last, with a triumphant hoot, she shook off the clammy embraces of the Waikato and settled into her stride.
“The rest was plain sailing… We arrived in Auckland without any casualty or the loss of a single piece of luggage, and only a few hours after schedule time, a triumph of organisation and resource. So I always say, ‘Well done the Railways!'
“Oh, my patient? Yes, I was in time to perform a most successful operation, and a year later I was again en route to Rotorua-with, my bride.”
The railway bridge (in the foreground) spanning the Tangarakau River on the Stratford Main Trunk Line, North Island, New Zealand.
Bathie Stuart
Pasco De La Reforma, the finest avenue in Mexico City.
Your correspondent and “scout” has just recently returned from Mexico, where she went with wide-eyed curiosity to discover the reason for the decidedly growing travel interest in “our neighbour” south of the Rio Grande river.
Her desire to visit Mexico was stimulated by the fact that the Government of Mexico has established fine offices in Los Angeles, and on her travels across the United States her path has crossed that of the publicity agent for Mexican travel. She has observed, also, that during the past two years several of the United States lines, particularly the important Southern Pacific Railway, have been cooperating with the National Railways of Mexico, with the result that schedules and services are now modern in every sense of the word, as well as convenient and economical.
The returning tourist is now Mexico's greatest advertisement, and gone are the days when Mexico was regarded as “dangerous territory.”
Mexico City is fascinating and as “foreign” as any city in Europe, and though the present Gvernment is most progressive with “development” as its keynote, the shadow of the sixteenth century still rests upon the lovely city of Mexico.
How it must wound the pride of the hustling, bustling tourist from the north to discover how little of Yankeeland has lapped across the border, and that the historic halls of the Montezumas are only spattered with the modern ideas they exemplify.
The way to taste the true flavour of Mexico is to wander about the colourful streets and the picturesque highways and by-ways. Nowhere do ancient and modern customs come into such intimate contrast. Under the finest palaces, whose ceilings are frescoed by Italian artists, whose walls are covered with the rarest paintings, one finds a common “bodega” where Pulque (the native drink) is dealt out from goat-skin gourds, and the peon stops to eat his tortilla. In any of the plazas can be seen types of four centuries in a single group, and in the country districts the native traveller still prefers his donkey to the railroad train and carries a burden upon his back or upon his head instead of using a wagon.
Mexico has a romantic location, and lies 7,500 feet above the level of the sea in a mountain-walled valley dominated by the snow-capped volcanoes, Popocatepetyl and Ixtaccihuatl, which stand like colossal sentinels guarding an enchanted beauty. The climate is almost perfect, as the temperature is practically the same all the year round. During the winter months rain is seldom seen, while in the summer time it rains hard every afternoon with clock-like regularity.
There are a number of good hotels in the capital, including some operated by Canadians, Germans, French and other nationalities. Good restaurants are equally numerous and in equal variety; but those featuring German and Italian cooking head the list.
The Zocalo, or main square of Mexico City. In the background is the world-famous Cathedral, and to the right of the picture is the National Palace.
In the matter of entertainment there are theatres where motion pictures are shown, and if the production is an American talkie, captions will be written on the film in Spanish, and there are legitimate theatres where the dialogue is all Spanish. After the theatre there are the cabarets and night clubs, ranging from the type we are familiar with at home to the kind which provide pretty Mexican girls as dancing partners. On Sundays there are always the bull-fights, the cock-fights, and Fronton, a ball game introduced by the Spaniards, and one of the fastest games in the world. The game consists of hitting the ball against the wall, with a curved basket-like bat tied to the wrist of the player. After it hits the wall it must be caught the first time it bounds up from the floor. Two sets of players contend, distinguished by different colours, and the public may bet on them.
Perhaps the greatest charm of Mexico, and the most contrasting feature of life as it is lived in the United States, is that the people never seem to be in much of a hurry. There they say “the clock walks” instead of “the clock runs,” and for two or three hours in the middle of the day all business places are closed. In Mexico, luncheon is the important meal of the day, and the people invariably enjoy a siesta afterwards.
Politeness is the cult of all classes, from the humblest peon to the highest official, for courtesy is inborn in the Mexican. The visitor who is best liked and who has the best time is one who is considered “muy simpatico,” a term meaning a great deal more than merely sympathetic, amiable or tolerant.
One unpleasant feature of the country is that despite the Government effort to suppress mendicancy, the whining voices of numerous beggars are heard everywhere. Travellers are cautioned not to encourage these miserable and bedraggled creatures, for there is no lack of charitable organisations in the Republic.
Improvement in the standard of living of the labouring classes is a matter to which the present Government devotes much attention, and a great deal has been done for education during recent years. It is claimed that there are now over 18,000 schools in the Republic. At the same time it is estimated that there are more than 2,000,000 children of school age for whom no accommodation exists at present. Steps are being taken to increase the schools and to make attendance compulsory.
The overwhelming majority of the population being still occupied in agricultural pursuits, unemployment is not very acute in Mexico, but the influx of about 300,000 Mexicans repatriated from the United States within the last two years owing to the depression, created a serious problem for the Government, and involved them in considerable expense. However, special agricultural communities have been established in various parts of the Republic, and this, together with acceleration of the road-making programme has helped settle this problem.
“Diversion” is what the traveller seeks when he goes a-touring, and if he has little time to spare “accessibility” is also important. Old Mexico offers both, and with the completion of the Laredo Highway a paved motor road will connect the two countries. This is expected to lead to a greatly increased tourist traffic with the United States, which is already a lucrative source of income for Mexico. It is calculated that American tourists spend annually in Mexico a sum sufficient to pay for one-third of Mexico's imports. Much of this has been, in the past, spent at the border in gambling and drinking spots like Tia Juana and Ciudad Juarez; but with the Repeal that phase has disappeared.
The Mexican Government has recently created a Department of Tours as part of the Secretaria de Economia Nacional, and vigorous efforts are being made, apparently not without success, to convince the American public that Mexico is “different,” and that the variety of its scenery the picturesqueness of its population and the antiquity of its monuments make it a country that must be seen.
Pacific Merry-go-round—From left to right, representatives of the six big tourist bureaux out in the Pacific, who met for the first time in San Francisco in a unique gathering: Miss Bathie Stuart, representative of the New Zealand Government Tourist Bureau, exhibiting as an inducement, her country's “tiki” charm; George T. Armitage, executive secretary of the Hawaii Tourist Bureau, showing his islands’ symbolical “lei” of friendship with the “kikihihi” coloured fish pendant; D. A. Vonk, representing the Java Tourist Bureau, displaying folds of colourful batik; James King Steele, executive secretary of the Philippine Tourist Association, offering miles of movies; R. Shimidzu, from the Japan Tourist Bureau in Tokyo, who holds a handful of artistic Christmas cards which he brought to friends in America; last and biggest, Arthur H. O'Connor, representative in America of the Australian National Travel Association, holding one of those tricky boomerangs, and backed up with a vivid poster of that great island continent.
Variety in Brief
A month or two ago there appeared in the “N.Z. Railways Magazine” a comment on the Maori names which some parents inflict on their unfortunate children. But in choosing the names of their houses other folk are even more careless and inconsistent. In an important southern city, for example, there is a beautiful house set back in a beautiful garden, for which the owner has had the misfortune to choose the name “Whare-kuri,” which means “dog kennel.” Probably the householder meant to use the much more suitable name “wharekura”; but an altered vowel can make all the difference to the meaning of a Maori word. Another home I know has as its name “Waiwera,” which is beautiful in sound, but hardly appropriate to a happy home, as it means “hot water.” Some years ago a young man on marrying the girl of his choice brought her to her new home on which he had the name-plate “Ohinetahi.” He may have meant it as a prayer to the gods, for it means “the place of one daughter.” The gods, however, usually send showers of blessing to the faithful petitioner, and in this case have answered the prayer abundantly by sending eight daughters and one boy. A clergyman friend of mine was called out some time ago in the darkness of night to help to settle a family squabble, in which the man and wife were having one of their many rows. Before he could pacify their anger daylight came, and on leaving the house he was amused to find on the gate the name “Rangi,” which being interpreted means “Heaven.” A rather pretentious house in another part of the city has been given for its name the high sounding word “Wirenga.” Why, it is hard to say, for it means “broth” or “gravy.” Not far away there is another house, which has been given a Maori name which is appropriate enough—“Naumai,” which is an equivalent of “haeremai” and is the word for “welcome.” But while “Welcome” is in invitation on the doorway, on the gateway is the legend in plain black letters “Beware of the dog!”—Rotia.
One of the most popular outings in Southland is the annual regatta at Bluff, the province's leading port. This is held each year on New Year's Day, and invariably attracts a big crowd. This year the regatta was a two-days’ affair, and marked the diamond jubilee of the Regatta Committee's formation. Although hundreds of privately-owned cars brought loads of spectators, special trains were necessary for wise people who preferred the security and comfort of railway travel to the dust and risk inseparable from car travel on such an occasion. It was estimated that 4,863 people visited the port by train for the regatta. A special word of praise is due to the Acting-Station-master at Bluff, Mr. J. Hickey, and his excellent staff. Arrangements were perfect. Apart from the usual cheerful bustle of the passengers themselves, there was an entire absence of flurry, the staff functioning like a well oiled machine. Trains arrived and left on time without hitch or accident, all enquiries were courteously answered, and the observer received the impression that the officials themselves enjoyed the bright scene almost as much as the holidaymakers—though in putting up such a sterling performance there must have been a lot of worry and organising work of which the ordinary layman would be blissfully unaware.
C.H.W.
New Zealand is possessed of many fine coastal and harbour headlands, capes and islands. Among the most picturesque of these numerous islands is “The Castle Rocks” or Seven Churches” as it was called by the missionaries, situated in Whangaroa Harbour. Rising sheer above the blue harbour waters, this island is composed almost entirely of huge rocks. It has seven distinct tower-like formations on it. A few stunted trees growing between the grey masses of stone give the island a grim, majestic appearance. Also in Whangaroa Harbour, are the two well-known rocks, St. Peter's and St. Paul's. These both received their names from missionaries who arrived early in the “eighteen hundreds.“—“Matai.”
An intriguing point made by General Peyton C. March in his recentlypublished book. “That Nation at War” (Doubleday, Doran and Co.), is that the lack of railways in Russia contributed the deciding factor in the revolution. “The supply of forage to a huge cavalry force,” says this writer, “reached a point where all the railways and other forms of transportation were given over to carrying supplies for the horses, to the exclusion of munitions and food for the rest of the army and the people of Russia. The first outbreaks of discontent, which finally swelled to open rebellion, were based entirely on this matter of lack of supplies.” One remembers that Russia had been equally handicapped in her war with Japan, which she lost through lack of good transport.—M.S.N.
Over ten years’ residence at Frankton Junction has given me the opportunity of studying the army of railway employees whose home town this is. A stranger in their midst—not connected with the railway—I felt rather “out of it” for a little while, but now many of these people are my dearest neighbours and friends, and surely it would be difficult to find a more intelligent, a healthier, or a more selfrespecting body of men, women and children in the Dominion. One often hears’ of the medical profession hanging together; the “legal fraternity” is proverbial; but the railway family” at Frankton would be hard to surpass in loyalty, between its members, to its calling, and to the Department. These cheerful folk get the best out of life, too! Their settlement is a centre of culture, and their jolly gatherings (whether in the railway social hall or upon the well laid-out sports ground) are the envy of the town. If this happy state of affairs exists at other railway settlements, as I have heard is the case, then it is no wonder that young and old can place themselves in the hands of such estimable people with confidence, and so make a journey by train in peace and comfort. “Pohutu.”
Shibli Bagarag
My reference in last month's issue to N.Z. book-plates has evidently aroused interest. I learn that at least two of my readers have commissioned an artist to design plates for them. Also, since I wrote the paragraph I have discovered at least four new N.Z. plates, and have received from Miss Jane Mander a copy of a beautiful wood-cut designed for her by an Auckland artist. There are very few wood-cut plates by New Zealand artists, and this one is really outstanding.
This month I am reproducing on this page a truly bookish plate designed many years ago for the late R. Coupland Harding by D. H. Souter, the famous creator of the “Bulletin” cat.
As anticipated by me some months ago a branch of the famous P.E.N. Club has been formed in New Zealand. The first meeting was held in the Turnbull Library. Miss Jane Mander, who was present, outlined the activities of the organisation in England. She pointed out that only recognised writers were eligible. The publication of one book alone would not qualify a writer for membership. The literary position must be maintained and generally recognised. As the English rules have been adopted by the New Zealand branch the membership will be a restricted one. Dr. Guy H. Scholefield, O.B.E., has been elected as the first President of the New Zealand branch. President-in Chief in England is Mr. H. G. Wells.
“K.M.” (Kaituna) writes to me as follows:—
“Glancing through January's ‘Among the Books,’ I came on your ‘longest word’ paragraph. The ‘Tetramethyl …’ example was promising, but neither ‘anticonstitutionistically’ nor ‘antidisestablishmentarianism’ are to be passed lightly by. But I like to think that ‘unhypersymmatricoantiparallel elepipedicalisationalographically’ is the great-grandsire of them all. I found him among a collection of news cuttings in an old scrap-book lately, and he seems to be quite vouched for. I understand the word comes into scientific terminology—which fact probably accounts for the general impression that Science can explain anything if given sufficient time.”
I must say that “K.M.” wins in a canter. However, with the help of my good, friend Harry Stowell (“Hare Hongi”) I nearly beat him with the following Maori place name: Tetaumataokiokingawhakatangitangihangako auauatamatea. Out of consideration for the lino, men I will declare this correspondence now closed.
There is no harm in launching another possible controversy. It concerns, not the length of words, but the difficulty in spelling them. The following short sentence, made up of English words in common use, was submitted to a London editor with an expression of doubt as to whether one in five readers would get full spelling marks in dictation: “A harassed pedlar met an embarrassed saddler near a cemetery to gauge the symmetry of a lady's ankle. This manoeuvre they performed with unparalleled ecstasy.”
Bookplate designed for the late R. Coupland Harding by D. H. Souter.
That valiant Wellington publisher, Mr. Harry H. Tombs, is proving that it is possible after all to run a magazine or two in this country. His monthly, “Music in New Zealand,” a valuable and remarkably well informed magazine, has just completed its third year of existence. Then, better still, “Art in New Zealand” continues serenely on its way after nearly six years of good work in the fields of art and literature in this country. In its latest issue the quarterly features the work of the young Wellington artist, Mr. Fred H. Coventry. His poster work is a revelation. Mr. Coventry also contributes a valuable article on poster designing. Two wonderful plates in colour illustrating the work of Maud Sherwood are included in the issue, also a monograph on her work by Mr. J. S. MacDonald. Everybody interested in the artistic development of this country should be a subscriber to this publication.
Have you ever seen an auctioneer's assistant blush? I have. It happened during a recent book-sale in Wellington. It is customary for the hired assassin of the auction room to open and display any outstanding book which is being put up for sale. It happened that a volume of famous pictures in colour was on the list. The assistant selected a likely page, and was about to raise it aloft when he looked confused, hurriedly lowered the volume and chose another picture, grew slightly red in the face, and had another try, but the nudes still pursued him. It would have been alright had not some lady bidders been seated in the front seats. By the time he had selected a suitable picture a broad grin had travelled around the room, and then the auctioneer's assistant really blushed.
Budding novelists in this country will be keenly interested in the announcement in “The Bulletin” that a prize of £100 is to be offered annually
While on the subject of novel writing and royalties. I have numerous inquiries from writers as to what profit if any, there is on a first novel. Well, here is the information, right from the horse's mouth, being a quotation from a very recent article written by Mr. ‘W. A. R. Collins, Director of William Collins, Sons and Co.:—
How much does an author get for his first novel? Probably about #40 advance on account of 10 per cent, royalty; but this, too, varies considerably among the different publishers and according to the possibilities of the book and the promise of the author. Some publishers will pay #100 advance for a very remarkable first novel; such an advance would cover the sale of about 2,500 copies, for the agreement would probably be to pay the author 10 per cent, of the 7/6 price of each copy up to 2,000, 15 per cent. from 2,000 to 5,000, and 20 per cent. from there upwards. The average first novel will sell anything from 500 to 1,500 copies, and the author is unlikely to receive more than the original advance—a poor reward for what is often a year's hard work! A very good sale for any novel, first or otherwise, is 4,000, on which the author would net just under #200. Some people, I know, think that the author has the worst of the deal and that the publisher takes the greater part of the profit; but how often is a publisher left, admittedly through his own fault, or rather sanguiness, to face the deficit? Take the case of a novel selling 800 copies, for which the publisher will receive about #200; the author will have had his advance of #40; another #40 will have to be spent in advertising; #5 will need to be spent on a design of the wrapper; the setting would cost about #30, and the manufacturing cost would absorb another #30, leaving #55 to cover all the heavy overhead charges of the editorial, publicity, and sales organisation, and allowing a net profit of perhaps #20 or #30, or less than the author himself has got out of it. If you cannot write as much as a book a year, you will have difficulty in making a success of a literary career to-day.
As announced on this page a few months ago, the second volume of “Legends of the Maori,” one of the biggest publishing efforts made in New Zealand had been decided upon. The second volume is now well under way and should be available in a few weeks time. I understand that although the work was originally mapped out to cover four vols. the second will be the final book.
“Shibli” Listens in.
Will Lawson, who recently left for Sydney, is now editing a travel magazine there.
Marcus Mark's “Memories,” published recently by Endeavour Press, Sydney, has received splendid notices from New Zealand newspaper critics. Brisk sales are reported.
Miss Jane Mander proposes to stay in New Zealand for some time yet. She is busy on another novel.
The publication of a non-religious, non-political magazine dealing with Irish affairs, is under consideration in Auckland.
Hector Bolitho's latest book, “Victoria, the Widow, and Her Son,” is due for early publication.
Miss Ivy Gibbs, a writer of slender but charming verse, is now a resident of Napier.
Several New Zealand books sold at a recent auction sale in Wellington, could have been bought at local book-sellers at a much lower (published) price.
Reviews.
“Little Women,” by Louisa M. Alcott (Angus and Robertson, Sydney). This is the authorised film edition of the talkie that has had such a favourable reception in this country. It is a charming tale of tears and laughter, and should appeal irresistibly to every little, or big woman of to-day and to-morrow. I understand that the book was all the rage in the States, where nearly twelve million copies were sold. The Australian edition, which sells at 2/9, is illustrated with pictures of the leading screen stars who appear in the talkie production.
“Buffaloes,” by Carl Warburton (Angus and Robertson, Sydney). This is a gripping story of life and adventure in Arnhem Land (Northern Australia). There's a thrill on every page. Exciting buffalo hunting, nerve shattering encounters with crocodiles and snakes, and running through it all, striking word pictures of wonderful country and quaintly humorous stories of the aboriginals. The book is just another of those engrossing stories of outdoor life published from this Sydney house. Each one is worth a half-dozen modern novels. The book is well illustrated with actual photographs, and sells at 6/-.
“Advice to a Young Farmer,” by “Aitchell” (“Hauraki Plains Gazette,” Paeroa). I am not going to suggest that the Agricultural Department should give a copy of this book to every young man proposing to go on the land, but I do suggest that it should be given to every old farmer who is going off the land. It may provide him with a smile or two in his declining years. Price 1/- from the publishers.
Mr. Percy Cogger, formerly of New Zealand, and now residing in Sydney, is receiving unique publicity for his new novel “Flyin’ Blind,” shortly to be published by Cassells (London). Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith will carry a special copy with him right throughout the Melbourne Centenary air race. “Smithy,” knowing the author's talents, and being convinced that the novel in question will do much to stimulate renewed interest in aviation, has agreed to give it exceptional prominence. Flight-Lt. Ulm's “Faith in Australia,” bearer of the first official air mails between New Zealand and Australia, is to be specially chartered to publicise Percy Cogger's work in the Sydney area.
“What a shocking waste of money!” Thus counsel (a notorious tobacco-hater) during the hearing of a case at Brisbane not long since, when he elicited from defendant that the latter consumed half-a-pound of tobacco every week. “That's a matter of opinion,” sharply replied defendant. “I reckon I get better value for my money than if, for instance, I squandered it on horse-racing or cards.” Counsel (a notorious gambler) subsided. Perhaps he was wise. Possibly he is like the man who “compounds for sins he is inclined to by damning those he has no mind to.” Money expended on good tobacco is never wasted. Especially is this the case in New Zealand, where our Dominiongrown and manufactured tobacco is in universal use. Toasted and consequently all but free from nicotine, it does not affect throat, heart, or nerves. All four brands, Riverhead Gold, Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish and Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead) are as sweet, fragrant and delightful as they are soothing and comforting. They appeal irresistibly to all smokers.*
“Childhood's lovely face … where truth, and love, and trust are all portrayed.“—Shillaber.
Our Children's Gallery. — (1) Peggy, Raymond and Betty Cliffe; (2) Joan Melrose; (3) Westle Holder, Kevin, Clarence and Humphrey Jennings: (4) Batty Ingram; (5) Tom and Ronald Cameron; (6) Eric McIntyre; (7) Joan Thessman; (8) Peter and Maurice Williams; (9) Keith and Desmond Thornton; (10) Leone, Valda and Fay Crumpton; (11) Joan and Myrtle McIntyre (all of Wanganui); (12) Keith Wood; (13) Bruce McGill; (14) Joyce and Max Higgins; (15) Beverley Bernard; (16) Joan Kneeshaw and Joyce Singleton (Taumarunui); (17) Beatrix Fisher (Mokotua).
Tohunga
The Maori is ever apt with his metaphors and aphorisms. An old chief at Makarau, Kaipara, was engaged in an argument with a Government agent, touching land-selling. The pakeha official was bent on a purchase, the conservative owner of many acres was determined to hold on to them. “Money—your money!” he said. “What is it? We sell the land, and the money vanishes like the dew on the taro leaves, licked up by the morning sun.”
From the Kaipara district, too, came this story, told by Judge F. D. Fenton, of the Native Department, in illustration of the generosity and disregard of self-interest often exhibited by the Maori chief of high rank. There was a land-sale gathering at Tokatoka, on the Northern Wairoa, many years ago; the price had been settled by the people, and the Government agent and the present business was the distribution of the money. The principal chiefs there were two grand old men, Tirarau and Parore te Awha. The Government agent, who was accompanied by Fenton, had the money, eight hundred sovereigns, in a bag. The gold was first set down on the grass in the centre of the people, squatting there in a half-circle.
For half-an-hour it remained there, and not one spoke a word. Then one of the chiefs set the heavy bag in front of Tirarau. He presently set it back in its original place. Then he rose again and placed it before Parore. That chief sat contemplating it for some minutes and then returned it to its place on the green. All this time not a word was spoken.
At last the bag was lifted and set in front of Tirarau again. There it remained for half-an-hour of dignified silence. Now, due consideration having been shown to the principal men, Tirarau rose and proceeded to distribute the money. He took out a handful of sovereigns and gave them to one of the men, and went along the silent line, giving a handful to each man. In no instance did he trouble to count the money. Then, when all the sovereigns had been distributed, Tirarau lifted up the bag with both hands and shook it, to show that nothing remained. He did not keep a single sovereign for himself.
What could better illustrate the proud generosity and the dignified self-sacrifice of some of the old-time Maori chieftains? And no doubt that money soon vanished like the dew on the taro leaves.
The Maori was quite a moneyed man in many a North Island district in the pioneer days. The gold-mining rush was responsible for some of the wealth acquired by the sons of the soil. Sixty odd years ago the Thames was at the height of its gold-getting tide, and the Ngati-Maru landowners shared in the boom. Describing the town of Shortland, as it was first called, at the mouth of the Thames or Waihou River, Governor Sir George M. Bowen wrote to the Secretary of State for the Colonies in 1868:
“There is one peculiar and very interesting and suggestive fact connected with the town of Shortland, viz., that it is arising on ground belonging to the influential Maori chief Taipari. He declines to sell his land, preferring, with a view to its rapid increase in value, to let it in lots on building leases. But he has made liberal gifts of sites for churches for the Anglicans, the Roman Catholics, the Presbyterians, and the other principal Christian communions, as also for a public hospital, a cemetery, a park, and other public purposes. He employs Europeans to survey and lay out roads and streets and to construct drains, culverts and the like.”
The shrewd and benevolent Taipari appeared to the Governor to be as capable of maintaining his just rights and as desirous of improving his property as any English landlord. The chief's income from rents and mining licenses was at the rate of nearly #4,000 yearly. “He has caused a commodious house, in the English style, to be built for himself on a slope commanding a beautiful prospect over the sea and the rising town. Taipari's example and knowledge of the wealth which he is acquiring by allowing the colonists to occupy his land on equitable terms are beginning to exercise a beneficial influence over many of his Maori countrymen who have hitherto lived in sullen and hostile isolation.” That was truly the golden age of the Europeanised Tangata Maori. The pity was it didn't last!
The Maori was an industrious grower of wheat in the days when it paid to grow breadstuffs in the North Island. Before the refrigeration process made meat-raising and dairying profitable, potato and maize and wheat were the market staples, and particularly wheat, which at one time fetched as much as ten shillings a bushel. That was in the days when vessels were loaded with produce at Auckland for the great gold-diggings in California and Victoria. Some twenty years later there was still good money in it for the Maori as well as pakeha. It is on record that at Tauranga alone the Ngai-te-rangi tribe threshed out 15,000 bushels of wheat from their crop of 1874–75. The price that season was 4/3 a bushel, a little lower than usual, but even at that the farmers of the tribe were able to take their wives and families for a few days’ vociferously enjoyable shopping in Tauranga town.
Much of that wheat was ground into flour at a water-mill on the Wairoa River, operated by a white miller who charged so much per bushel of wheat ground. There were many such mills driven by waterpower in the various Maori districts, and here and there still one may see the old mill-stones, long useless, lying in the fern or on the riverside.
But the ingenious Maori here and there applied his talents to other branches of industry besides wheatgrowing. Like the Tahitians and Rarotongans, our native sons learned the art of making cheering liquors from the products of the soil. They derived the idea from the pakeha, of course. This is an illuminating note I have turned up in a report made to Sir Donald Maclean, Native Minister, in 1875, by Mr. R. S. Bush, who was a Government native agent and interpreter, and afterwards Magistrate in Auckland:
“Ngati-Koroki and Ngati-Kahukura are tribes living near Cambridge, Waikato. One of the latter tribe, Turo, from Maungatautari, has become quite an expert at distilling a kind of intoxicating drink from maize, potatoes and pumpkins, which the natives say is much stronger than the pakeha waipiro. One glass will make a man drunk. Those who indulge too freely do not suffer any after-effects, hence its popularity. Turo sold all he could make, at three shillings per bottle.”
Helen
As a soft mist imperceptibly veils the sunset glow, and the first tang of evening is felt in the air, Miss Eighteen, swinging her bag of clubs, dashes over the threshold. She hurls her hat (flecked felt, vagabond shape) on the hall table and strides into the drawing room. Note her shoes—tan grain Derby with moulded rubber soles and heels—which have borne her comfortably, with exhilaration, up hill and down dale during the long day. No pointed shoes here, to cramp delicate bones and muscles, no high heels to thrust the foot unnaturally forward. Let us hope Miss Eighteen is as sensible in the choice of all her footgear.
While we muse on the feet, Miss Eighteen has been retailing the joys and sorrows of the day's play to her Mother, who is seated among the scattered tables, ash-trays, scorers, attesting a successful afternoon of bridge. Miss Eighteen moves towards the cheerful fire, but not for warmth—oh, no! Grasping the poker, and throwing off her green tweed jacket with the brown leather buttons, she successfully plays a screwed-up-ball of paper (used bridge scorers) over two ash-trays and between Mother's bridgebag, in illustration of her best shot of the day. As she swings, we notice the graceful line of her figure in its smart green and white pin-striped silk blouse and hip-fitted green tweed skirt with inverted pleat fullness.
“Good bridge, ducky? Won't be a minute changing. I like your frock, Mater?”
Mater leans back with a reflective smile. These young things, so sure of themselves, so occupied with a million and one things, so fit. That was it, fitness—the secret of their charm. Probably she would be feeling more energetic herself had she played a round of golf instead of entertaining the crowd to bridge.
Mater rises and moves slowly to the door, mechanically shaking a cushion as she passes. We see now whence Miss Eighteen acquired her slim grace. Mater might pose for “What the Smart Matron is Wearing this Season”—wind-swept satin in a rich Burgundy shade—satin with a cross crinkle that catches the light in such a way that it is impossible to imagine it made up other than as Mater wears it—with long, simply draped folds and smooth moulded lines.
Splashings from the bathroom, and snatches of song culled from the latest American dance programmes, show that Miss Eighteen is freshening up after her strenuous day. Presently, in a dark patterned silk bath-robe that any boy would not be ashamed to own, she dashes across to her room. Drawers slide open and slam shut, but there is no more song, merely an abstracted whistle—the business of the moment is too important.
Here she comes at last, ready for the evening (a two-seater will be calling for her after dinner). Miss Eighteen's dance frock in choral pink satin features a high neckline in front, a low back finished with a velvet bow in a deeper shade of pink at the waist-line, rows upon rows of tiny frills for sleeves, a skirt flaring from the knees in godets composed of innumerable frillings to match the sleeves. Miss Eighteen is wise in her generation, and does not ape the barbaric type—scintillating materials made up in outré styles. She has even discarded a bandeau of twisted coral velvet and silver lamé which did indeed look rather charming. However, there it lies on her dressing-table. On the bed, ready to be worn, is a charming white fur cape with coral velvet facings to the collar.
As Miss Eighteen swings down the stairs, she is sure she is going to enjoy her evening—and so are we.
Cycling.
The New Sport.
The “Land of the Almighty Dollar” is finding that the dollar is not so almighty as it once was. The young things are discovering that sports cars are not coming their way as easily as they did a year or two back. But young America is meeting the crisis. The answer to the transport problem is “Buy a bike! It's smart to cycle!” So everybody's doing it. There are even whispers of a revival of the tandem. Even famous dress-designers are deigning to show up-to-the-minute cycling outfits. Sub-debs are crazy about the new sport. Canny business men with money to invest are looking up the likeliest bicycle manufacturing businesses.
So we in New Zealand, who have been calmly riding bikes for years, regardless of fashion, have the satisfaction of knowing that we are pedalling to the fore. Others of us, who haven't yet biked, are seriously thinking of investing a few pounds and saving shoe-leather and tram and bus fares. But a word to you on “Cycling Without Tears.” Buy the best tyres and inner tubes your purse will warrant. A puncture is even more annoying than a break-down in the tram service, for in the latter case you are at least suffering in company—and you don't have to mend the business yourself!
Wool Bedding.
Wool is one of the least expensive and the easiest to manipulate of stuffings for amateurs to use for mattress or pillow-making. The raw wool only needs washing in very hot soapy water, with plenty of washing soda. Wash in several hot soapy waters, then rinse it and dry in the sun. If the wool is on the skin it may be combed before it is cut off; it is then ready for using. Otherwise it will need to be teased and separated by hand before being used.
Well stuffed mattresses and pillows are very comfortable. The advantage gained by the wool is that it may be washed and the mattress or pillows remade.
To make a quilt, place the teased wool evenly between two layers of butter-muslin. Tack in position to keep the wool from slipping and becoming bumpy. Slip this between a cover of sateen or satin, and make up like an eider-down quilt. Mark the lines for quilting with the sewing machine or by hand, after the edges have been sewn up. I saw a beautiful wool quilt with a cover of artificial washing satin. It was both effective and inexpensive.
Home Nursing.
Invalid Comfort.
There are many points that make for the comfort and well-being of the invalid. In the first place, choose the most cheerful and sunny room available, with a bright outlook. Remove any superfluous furniture, extra ornaments and hangings, taking care not to make the room more bare and comfortless than the case demands. The bed should be narrow, with a good firm mattress. It is very difficult to make a patient comfortable on a soft, sagging bed. The bed should be placed in such a position that only the head is against a wall. Due consideration must be given to the situation of the windows, and the patient, of course, should avoid facing the light.
Ventilation is one of the most important points in regard to the hygiene of a sick-room. Pure air is absolutely necessary. It is essential to keep the air fresh and pure, and at the same time to avoid draughts. The windows should always be kept open at the top. A wide-open window causes less draught than one open only a few inches. The judicious use of a screen is a great help in the case of a patient who complains of draughts.
Care must be taken when making the bed, to pull the under-blanket and sheet very tightly and smoothly, and tuck them well under the mattress. Avoid creases, as they are the cause of great discomfort, and bedsores are often traceable to poorly made beds. The lower blanket and sheet should be tucked in at the top of the mattress, and the top sheet and blankets tucked well in at the foot, so that the bedclothes do not slip. Fold the sheet back about eighteen inches over the blankets. Bed-linen should be changed frequently.
If a patient who sits up in bed during the day is inclined to slip down, a knee-pillow is a comfort. Wrap a firm pillow in a sheet, place it under the knees, and tuck the ends of the sheet well under the mattress.
In addition to the daily bathing or sponging of the patient, see that the teeth, mouth, etc, are thoroughly cleansed. Carry out any treatment that may be ordered by the doctor. Clothes should be frequently changed.
Thick undergarments are not necessary. It is better to have a light porous garment next to the skin, and wear a warm bed-jacket when necessary. It is a good idea to have separate sets of garments for day and night wear.
The room must be thoroughly swept and dusted daily. Flowers should be taken out of the room at night, and the water changed before putting them back in the morning.
Food and crockery should not be left in the sick room. Drinks that are left with the patient should be covered. Water for drinking should be renewed frequently.
Home Notes.
We are giving here a few specially selected recipes dealing with the useful tomato. It is always a pleasant
Ordinary Tomato Soup. —1 1/2lbs. tomatoes, 1 tablespoon butter, 2 pints milk, 1 small onion, 2 tablespoons flour, pinch of baking soda, pinch ground mace, pinch celery salt; salt and pepper to taste.
Method: Wash and cut up tomatoes into a saucepan with the onion, mace, pepper and salt. Cook for five minutes after coming to the boil. Melt the butter in a double boiler, add the flour and stir to a smooth oily paste. Add the milk and stir until the sauce is smooth and slightly thick. Strain tomatoes into a basin, add baking soda and stand a minute, then gradually stir in the white sauce. Reheat, but do not allow to boil. May be served with a teaspoonful of whipped cream in each bowl. The tomato puree may be made the day before, or bottled tomato soup may be used.
Tomatoes Stuffed with Eggs. —Wash as many large sized tomatoes as required. Cut off the tops, and with a spoon scoop out the centres. Put this into a small saucepan with a small piece of butter, a little pepper and salt, and cook slowly. Now break an egg into each tomato shell, sprinkle with finely shopped parsley, a little pepper and salt, cover with breadcrumbs, put in a small piece of butter on each place on a baking tin, and cook for about half an hour. Have some toast ready on which to place the tomatoes, heat up the pulp to which a little thickening may be added if necessary, and pour over the tomatoes.
Tomatoes and Sausages. —Four tomatoes, 2 sausages, salt and pepper, sprigs of parsley.
Choose tomatoes of uniform size, and cut each in half. Slit the sausages from end to end and scoop out the meat. Season with salt and pepper. Have ready a floured board and with slightly floured hands and knife form the sausage meat into four neat round
Plantation Profits.
Anyone travelling through N.Z. at present and seeing the large number of pine plantations now being milled cannot fail to appreciate the potential value of the large pine forests established by N.Z. Perpetual Forests Ltd.
Sawmillers are finding that it costs less, and is much more profitable to mill plantations instead of natural forests, which are now mostly inaccessible.
The importation of foreign boxing timber has dropped considerably and the milling of Insignis Plantations has been responsible for this.
Very satisfactory returns are being received for trees planted without any thought of profit.*
cakes. Put the halves of the tomatoes in the oven in a baking dish and fry the sausage cakes in smoking fat. When the tomatoes are just tender, lay the bottom halves on a hot dish. Put a sausage cake (which has been drained on paper) on each, then the second half of the tomato. Garnish with fried parsley and serve.
N.B. —Any cold minced meat or ham may be substituted for the sausage meat.
Tomato Savoury. —Biscuits (creamcracker or water), or puffs cut in half, hard boiled eggs, tomatoes, cheese, salt and pepper.
Cut the tomatoes in nice rings and place on biscuits. On top of the tomato put a ring of hard boiled egg, and decorate the egg with grated cheese.
The above make a tasty and colourful savoury, which one can produce “on the spur of the moment” in the tomato season.
In addition to the tomato savoury the following recipe for a sardine one comes in handy for an emergency. It is simply a sardine placed on hot buttered toast, cut to the size of the sardine.
Tomatoes Stuffed with Mushrooms.—Four tomatoes, 2ozs. butter, 4 fresh mushrooms, 2 shalots, 1/2 teaspoon chopped parsley, 2 tablespoons breadcrumbs, 2 tablespoons gravy, seasoning.
Wash the tomatoes. Take a small slice off each and carefully scoop out some of the pulp, taking care not to break the sides of the tomatoes. Wash and dry the mushrooms and chop them finely. Melt one ounce of the butter in a saucepan, add the shalots (peeled and chopped) and fry them a golden brown, then stir in the mushrooms, breadcrumbs and parsley. Mix well, and moisten with the gravy. Heat the mixture and season with salt, pepper and cayenne. Fill the tomato cases with this. Put the remaining butter here and there on the top of the tomatoes, arrange them on a buttered dish, and cook in a sharp oven for about ten minutes. Serve very hot on buttered toast.
“It makes me tired when people who ought to know better class tobacco as a mere luxury—something that can easily be done without,” remarked a Wellington tobacconist to a customer the other day. “As a member of the trade for forty years I know that the weed is almost as necessary to very many smokers as the food they eat, and that enforced abstinence from its soothing, calming influence is to them a very real hardship, especially when times are bad. Particularly is this the case in New Zealand where we are producing tobacco of the very finest quality. To what brands do I refer? Why, to all four brands so popular with smokers—Riverhead Gold, Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, and Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead). I need hardly tell you that their purity is largely owing to the fact that they are toasted and are thus rendered as harmless to smokers as they are fragrant and delicious. Such tobacco may well be considered a ‘necessary commodity.’ It is certainly something more than a luxury.”*
Choice
How difficult it sometimes seems to learn the principal varieties of fruits! In many shops, unfortunately, no appropriate labels or name tickets are exhibited on each pile of fruit, and all too often one is compelled to ask just for “apples”—perhaps for “some good eating apples”—perhaps for “some cheap cooking apples.” Then one variety finds favour on the dessert dish —but its name is unknown, and there follows more guess work when next the fruit shop is included in the shopping round.
Yes, it all sounds really tedious, but actually the identification of the principal fruits grown within our Dominion is by no means the hopeless process one usually supposes. First, let us run over the seasonal groups; in spring, the “berry” fruits—raspberries, currants, etc., are usually ready at Christmas. They have to be “topped and tailed” just after the Boxing Day picnic. At the same time there are the first of the stone fruits—cherries—to be followed by others of the same group—peaches, nectarines, plums, apricots.
About March, or early April, the stone fruit season concludes, and apples are more sought for. Actually, during the early summer, there have already been certain varieties appearing in the shops—notably Gravenstein in January and February, and Cox's Orange in February and March. These are both excellent dessert apples; the Gravenstein is a cooker also. In March, two more varieties become available for dessert purposes, Jonathan and Delicious. As a culinary apple there is the Dunn's.
Gravenstein goes off the markets in April, as it does not keep well in cool store. Thoroughly tree-ripened Cox's Orange are prominent during April, and there are still a few procurable now.
The smooth-skinned rosy red Jonathan apple is at its best in May. Stocks are coming from the orchards in beautifully ripe condition, and these will be available for some weeks.
The Delicious apple is also in full supply. It is easily recognised by the five prominent “crowns” grouped round the “eye” of the fruit, and by the red stripes suffused in the skin. Delicious is in every respect a premier dessert apple—and where supplies are procurable cheaply, it is excellent for all the usual culinary processes.
At this time of the year there are two cooking apples—Dunn's and Ballarat. Green in colour, they have a yellowish tint in the skin, and where the sunshine has been strong there is usually a patch of light sun colouring.
Very soon the Sturmer will be prominent in the shops. It is the “hardwood tree” in the apple world. It takes longest to grow, longest to mature, and is a marvellous keeper. Supposedly a green apple, it is often characterised by a patch of bronze colouring.
It is impossible to give full and adequate descriptions of all the fruits available, but these varieties mentioned —for early season, Cox's and Gravenstein; for mid-season, Jonathan, Delicious, Dunn's, and Ballarat; and for late season, Sturmer—may be accepted as the best. They are the varieties grown in large quantities in all the fruit-growing districts of our Dominion.
Quite considerable quantities, especially of Delicious and Sturmer, are placed in cool storage, and when the last of the treeripened fruit leaves the orchards, about June or July, it is from the stocks in cool storage that the shops draw their supplies. The cool store season lasts until about November, and then once more we come again to “berries.”
Here now we are entering the real apple-eating period. Ask for varieties by name, examine each, and very soon you will easily identify the principal varieties. It is well worth while, for in the apple we have a product that will supply necessary minerals, aiding in body-building and in regulating the body fluids; will provide sugar in a natural form, readily digestible and nutritious; will give bulk to the diet, stimulating the bowels gently and effectively; will purify the blood stream, helping to keep the complexion clear; and will provide the vitamins so essential to perfect health, acting as a tonic pleasing to take, inexpensive, and appropriate at any and every time of the day.
An Appreciation.
From the Hon. Secretary, Southland Rowing Association, Invercargill, to the General Manager of Railways, Wellington:-
I am instructed by my Association to express its appreciation for the willing assistance and co-operation given us by officers of your Department in Invercargill in sending the Southland eight-oared crew and boat to Wellington to compete in the Interprovincial Championships at Easter.
Despite the fact that the Booking and Inquiry Office was very busy coping with the Easter traffic, Mr. H. Curson could not do enough to assist me in assuring the comfort of the crew travelling.
Such genuine and obliging service on the part of your officers must go a long way towards firmly establishing the railways in the public favour.
Entrain for Kaikohe or for Donnelley's Crossing, and on alighting an interesting journey by service car awaits you. If you wish to make the best of your holiday, you will enter this semi-tropical wonderland by the one route and, unless you decide to stay, you will make your exit by the other. Probably the Northern Wairoa route will suit you as you will be anxious to see the world's last great kauri forest—Waipoua. Its giants belong to an older New Zealand than Maning or even Tasman knew—they were centenarians when Kupe came. Close by their great trunks and the graceful nikau palms and tree ferns you pass, en route to the land—and the inland waterway—that Maning knew and loved. Presently you are in the valley of the Waimamaku (“River of Big Ferns”), once known near and far as “The Canterbury Settlement,” which gives a clue to its origin. Waiotemarama (“Water of the Moon”) is the poetical name of a tributary river flowing through the “Auckland Settlement,” founded in times very similar, in one respect, to our own—perhaps it gave the idea which has made the Small Farms Scheme of to-day such a success in the Hokianga district. Old settlers could tell you of the days when some of the Waiote-marama people were grateful for old clothes, and you may hear of cups made from jam tins and of home-made cheese. The knitting craze was at its zenith in the early days of Waiote-marama. The uses of flour bags were numerous.
Soon you have reached the shores of the beautiful Hokianga, and along the beach under the pohutukawa trees you journey to Opononi, and the home of John Webster, which you will recognise by the tropical aspect of the old garden and the cannon which protrude at you through the sea-wall. Webster used them mainly to fire salutes to the early governors, or other celebrities who visited him. If you have not read Webster's “Reminiscences” you have a treat in store for you.
A companion volume is Judge Maning's book which, if you are a New Zealander, you must have read. The author of “Old New Zealand” and the “War in the North” lived at Onoke, between Opononi and Rawene. It was afterwards the home of Colonel Noake, a Crimean veteran—one of the many English gentlemen who resided in this land of sunshine. Another was a son of Dr. Arnold, of Rugby.
Nearby, at the foot of the bush-clad Wakateres, is Whirinaki, a model native village situated on the stream of that name. Now you must hurry on (though as you are in the land of Go-Easy, don't make yourself conspicuous by hurrying) to Rawene, the county town, in which the progressive element largely migrated from the south has installed such modern conveniences as water supply and electric light. Again—as in the case of Waiotemarama—the word Rawene has a special significance; it means “A Beautiful Sunset.” That is why the setting sun figures in the window of the County Hall. But its older name of Herds has an historical association. It was Captain Herd, of the brig “Rosanna,” who visited this spot a century ago to spy out the lay of the land and a purchase was made here on behalf of the New Zealand Association. Colonel Wakefield visited it in 1840 and inspected this and the area opposite, at Motukaraka, which was purchased from Lieutenant McDonnell, a retired naval officer who settled on the Hokianga in 1828. He was a pioneer of the shipbuilding industry in New Zealand and besides a good demand for his vessels he had ample raw material for their manufacture. McDonnell was one of the few courageous spirits who returned to Hokianga after the failure of the Earl of Durham's settlers to make a landing—two thousand Maoris on the beach, armed and performing a grotesque dance was too much for them!
The sawmilling days followed the trading days and hundreds of ships sailed to Australia with cargoes of timber. Their visits were still fairly frequent ten years ago, but now dairying has entirely taken the place of lumbering. And how easy is dairy farming in this land of sunshine. Even in winter time horse and cow covers are rarely seen, and cropping for the provision of winter fodder is neglected.
Maybe while you stand on the wharf at Rawene, admiring the famous sunset, you will notice beneath the glow of the sky a large white cross beside a bay. The house nearby is the old Roman Catholic Mission—a link with Bishop Pompallier and the days of French missionary and colonial enterprise. Pompallier established the mission in 1838, but shortly afterwards left for the Bay of Islands. At Purakau, as the old mission station is called, many experiments were made in the cultivation of Mediterranean and tropical fruits—pomegranate and coffee, for instance, being grown successfully.
De Thierry Street, Rawene, perpetuates the name of one of the most romantic figures of the early days—Baron de Thierry, the Frenchman who persuaded some of the native chiefs to proclaim him king of New Zealand, and who thus, incidentally, hastened the proclamation of British sovereignty.
It would be worth your while to approach one of the launchmen and ask him to convey you to Rawhia. He may be brown-skinned, and he may not be inclined to hurry, possibly he belongs to the old go-as-you-please days when the harbour was the only road and water taxis were the rule in the “Venice of the South.” At Rawhia you will be shown the grave of Jacky Marmon, an escapee from the convict settlement across the Tasman. It is said that this relic of the late eighteenth century so thoroughly adapted himself to his new environment that he became a cannibal!
Now, when you pass through the waving fields of paspalum, the Maori villages and their cultivations, and under the frowning mountain on your way to the station at Kaikohe, you will remember that the name Hokianga means “To come back.”
Herbert Cullen
The ‘Grafton Musgrave,’ from Sydney, was wrecked January 3, 1864, in one of the islets of the Auckland Islands; the master and two of the crew arrived at Port Adventure (Stewart Island) last month in a small boat of their own building.” —Lloyd's List, Oct. 17, 1865.
Such is the brief record behind which lies an adventure which rivals that of Alexander Selkirk, whom Daniel Defoe immortalised under the illustrious name of “Robinson Crusoe,” and to which a pair of blacksmith's bellows, a pair of boots made of tanned sealskin, and a needle made of bone from the wing of an albatross bear mute witness in the Melbourne Museum.
The “Grafton” left Sydney for the Campbell Islands on 12th Nov., 1863, with a small party intending to search there for a reported reef of argentiferous tin; and in the event of their non-success to proceed to the Auckland Islands for the purpose of studying the prospects for opening up a trade in seals.
The members of the party were five in number, and they represented five nationalities. The captain of the vessel was Thomas Musgrave, an American, and his mate, who was also in charge of the expedition, was a Frenchman named Raynal. Of the crew, one George Harris was an Englishman; the other, Alick Mclaren, a Norwegian; while the cook, Henry Folgee, was a Portuguese. Almost too strange for fiction—but this story, as the children say, is “all true.”
In the early morning of 3rd January, 1864, the vessel was wrecked in a storm off the Auckland Islands, and her crew found themselves marooned on these inhospitable shores. Thereafter, for almost twenty months they were forced to defend themselves against the rigour of the climate by building a shelter and manufacturing clothes; to protect themselves from famine, by hunting and fishing; and to maintain order amongst themselves, by establishing a little hierarchy, with a chosen leader whom they bound themselves to obey. They were, in fact, a little League of Nations of five, though they had in common the ability of speaking the same language—English. Yet each did his part so faithfully and well that they were able, by resolute will and persevering effort, to effect for themselves a happy deliverance.
Marooned as they were on such a bleak spot, their first thoughts were ones of despair. Raynal, who had been ill during the latter part of the voyage, was perhaps gloomiest of all, and then an oft used maxim came to his mind with a new, impressive, luminous meaning: “Help thyself and Heaven will help thee.” He resolved to combat and drive away despair, so that from then on he is the real Crusoe whose tinkering, tailoring and cobbling ingenuity inspired his companions in their efforts to regain civilisation.
Like Crusoe of old, they were able to save many things from the wreck; and like him, too, they moved from the preliminary cavern to a roomy cavern of their own building. Food was always a problem, and more than once they were reduced almost to starvation. Seals were their staple diet, though the taste for the rank flesh had to be acquired only through dire necessity. Primitive snares secured them an occasional bird, and fish were often, though not always, caught from the rocks.
Always they lived in hopes of a rescue party coming for them, but as the months dragged on and no help appeared, they began to realise their hopes of salvation lay with themselves, and not with their business partners in Sydney who had apparently abandoned them. They resolved on the desperate project of building a boat to make the attempt of reaching New Zealand, 400 miles to the northward. For this purpose the bellows, now in the Melbourne Museum, were manufactured by the Frenchman, Raynal, to forge the necessary tools from the metal taken from the wreck.
Their first attempt at boat building was a failure, but nothing daunted, they set to again and began to equip the small boat they had saved from the “Grafton” by raising the gunwales, adding a false keel, and decking it over. The finished article was even then only seventeen feet long, six feet wide, and three feet deep; so small that only three could venture in her while the other two were to remain behind until a boat should be sent for them if the hazardous undertaking were successful.
On the morning of 19th July, Musgrave, Raynal and Mclaren, set sail, leaving behind them the Englishman Harris and the Portuguese cook Folgee (or Forgés). Misfortune still dogged the determined adventurers, and for four days they battled against storms and heavy seas—four days of endless struggle with the elements, soaked, without sleep, and weak with exhaustion and privation. On the morning of the fifth day they sighted Stewart Island, and one day later, on the 24th July, they entered Port Adventure. Here willing hands were lent to aid the sufferers, and two days later they were brought over to Invercargill by Captain Cross, of the “Flying Scud.”
The people of Invercargill were not slow either in lending their support. Mr. Collyer, of the Princess Hotel, put them up free of charge. Dr. Innes attended them with assiduous care and refused any remuneration other than thanks, while Mr. John Macpherson was later destined to render, them greater service.
The day after their arrival, Captain Musgrave had waited upon the officials of the Province, and also of the Government, to place before them, according to maritime law, the particulars of the loss of his ship, and at the same time to ask them to despatch a vessel to the rescue of their two companions. The Government, however, could not see its way clear to despatch a vessel at that particular time. Mr. Macpherson immediately called a meeting of the residents, and a public subscription was opened. By night a sum of #40 was raised, made up of eight donations of #5 each, and by next day this was increased to #100, when the “Flying Scud,” though small, being the only vessel available, was chartered to make the voyage. Musgrave returned with her as pilot. The two remaining Crusoes were rescued in almost a starving condition, their food supply having failed for a time so that they were reduced to using mice and berries.
The men eventually returned to their homes, Musgrave visiting London, where his journal was published by Lockwood's in 1866, and Raynal to France, where he published a record of his adventures, “Les Naufrages des Auckland Iles,” from a translation of which the above narrative is reproduced.