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The World-Famed Otira Gorge, South Island, New Zealand.
The New Zealand Railways Magazine is on sale through the principal book-sellers, or may be obtained post-free for 6/- per annum.
Employees of the Railway Department are invited to forward news items or articles bearing on railway affairs. The aim of contributors should be to supply interesting topical material tending generally towards the betterment of the service.
In all cases where the Administration makes announcements through the medium of this journal the fact will be clearly indicated.
The Department does not identify itself with any opinions which may be expressed in other portions of the publication, whether appearing over the author's name or under a nom de plume.
Short stories, poetry, pen-and-ink sketches, etc., are invited from the general public upon New Zealand subjects.
Payment for short paragraphs will be made at 2d. a line. Successful contributors will be expected to send in clippings from the Magazine for assessment of the payment due to them.
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All communications should be addressed to The Editor, New Zealand Railways Magazine, Wellington.
I hereby certify that the publisher's lists and other records disclose that the circulation of the “New Zealand Railways Magazine” has not been less than 20,000 copies each issue since July, 1930.
Deputy-Controller and Auditor-General.
25/3/35
The death has occurred of Mr. A. T. Ennis, who until 1924 was Chief Clerk at the Head Office of the Railways Department. The late Mr. Ennis had a long and honourable career in the Railway Service. He joined the Department in 1883 as a cadet at Invercargill. Seven years later he became relieving officer in that district. being subsequently appointed to various positions as Stationmaster, Traffic Inspector, and Traffic Clerk in the principal South Island railway districts. In 1918 Mr. Ennis was promoted to Chief Clerk in the District Traffic Manager's Office. Wellington, and in 1920 became Chief Clerk at Head Office, Wellington, a position he held until retirement on superannuation in 1924.
The General Manager of Railways, Mr. G. H. Mackley, in a personal tribute, remarked upon the large number of railway officers who had benefited in the course of their service through training under the guidance of the late Mr. Ennis. “Speaking personally,” said Mr. Mackley, “I must acknowledge having gained much in the early days of my association with the Department through the guidance of the late Mr. Ennis in those principles of rall-reading which lie at the root of efficiency in railway matters. Mr. Ennis always brought out the best qualities of those who passed through his hands. A strict disciplinarian, he yet was very human and had a warm regard for all who came within the circle of his friendship. He won the respect of all with whom he had dealings either within the Department or amongst those of the public with whom his business activities brought him in contact. He was an assiduous worker and through critical years of railway development helped in establishing those principles and methods of promptness in the dispatch of business, care for the welfare of the Department's customers and employees, consideration of the public safety, and thoroughness in the performance of duties, which have become a valuable tradition of the service. Every railwayman who had the good fortune of association with the late Mr. Ennis in his work for the Department will, I am sure, concur with me in this tribute to the memory of one of the Dominion's great railwaymen.”
A fine tribute to the skill of the designing officers of the New Zealand Railways has been paid by the H. H. Robertson Company in connection with the platform plans of the new Wellington Railway Station recently submitted to them. Robertson's Protected Metal forms a vital portion of the platform shelters. R.P.M. has been used in overseas countries for more than thirty years and in New Zealand for the past twelve or fourteen years.
Referring to the platform plans the Robertson Company states:—
“This is a very handsome project and incidentally we might say that we like the New Zealand Government Railway Engineer's design for these shelters very much.
“We have supplied R.P.M. sheeting for dozens and dozens of platform shelters in many countries; we are currently doing some for railways in India and will shortly be executing a very large order (about twice the size of this Wellington Station) in Holland, and we have quite a collection of drawings of platform shelter designs. We have seen none that we like better than the Wellington Station.”
The H. H. Robertson Company have been supplying R.P.M. for similar projects for a great number of years and are therefore with this experience in a position to comment.
A Scene On The World-Famed Milford Track, South Island, New Zealand.
(Rly. Publicity photo)
To praise “The finest walk in the World” (from Te Anau to Milford Sound via the Clinton Valley, McKinnon Pass, and Arthur River) is to paint the lily. Mountain and forest scenery, trans and lakes, cliff's and canyons—all these and many other beauties charm the traveller. From the native bush, with its bush birds, the track ascends to 3,400 feet, and at the “drop scene “near the Pass there is a sheer fall of 1,800 feet to the Arthur Valley.
When we put the pointed question, “What do you like?”, to our readers last month—with special reference, of course, to the contents of, and possible improvements in, this Magazine—a good response was anticipated. That response has, however, far exceeded expectations, not only in the number of interested readers in all parts of the Dominion who have taken the trouble to write helpful, cheery, well-considered letters on the question, but also in the warmth of appreciation expressed towards the Magazine and the understanding revealed regarding its scope and objectives.
Even in so simple a matter as pease porridge, the bard of ancient times could find three groups of preference, as indicated in the trenchant line “Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.” So it is clear that when we get among the moderns, with their infinite variety of interests, and consider a Magazine which includes both “New Zealand” and “Railways” in its title, the possible combinations of preference for contents are liable to strain, in variety and range, the capacity of Einstein's fourth dimension. In view of this, the consensus of opinion favouring the general trend of the Magazine is remarkably unanimous.
More replies are coming in daily from the ranks of our hundred thousand readers, but a survey of the correspondence to hand, so far, indicates general support of every feature at present appearing in the Magazine, with one or two marked preferences.
Railway features, notes on books and writers, lives of famous New Zealanders, Maori references, special New Zealand articles, and the sections of New Zealand verse and New Zealand life, are all strongly supported. Other features, having naturally a more sectional appeal (such as the pages for women, sport and humour) are ardently advocated by those interested, while the miscellany of short news references meets with the approval of a large proportion of those who have categorically expressed preferences. The illustrations, too, come in for much favourable comment.
There are also some very useful ideas presented, most of which can be tried out from time to time as the publication progresses.
One of the most pleasing remarks comes from a writer who set about the job of assessing values in a workmanlike way by surrounding himself with an array of the Magazines. After a friendly, critical analysis, “What I often wonder,” he writes, “is—who conceived the brilliant idea of a New Zealand Railways Magazine? It has been the greatest factor in developing a Railway-Sense amongst us I know of. Surely this idea is advertising at its zenith.”
The Magazine is fulfilling its purpose if it stimulates greater interest in New Zealand amongst New Zealanders, as no complete appreciation of this country can exclude an acknowledgment of the part the railways have played, and will continue to play, in making the country a better place to live in.
The friendly, cheerful outlook of our correspondents, their lively desire for more information regarding every part and aspect of the country, and their prolific fund of ideas for development, are all gratefully acknowledged. With so many reader supporters, with further evidence of satisfied advertisers, and with the daily increase recorded in the number of new subscribers, the signals are favourably set for the progress of the Magazine as well as for the wonderful country it has set out to feature.
Some interesting information has come to hand recently regarding special efforts made on some of the British railways to improve service and to increase business. Amongst these, perhaps the most notable are the institution of a “punctuality week,” and the preparation of a roster design with graphic figures to indicate from time to time the relative increase or decline of business at the respective stations on the system (the idea being to cheer up the successful and to stimulate the laggards to emulation).
It may not be generally known to the public that special attention to these two features, punctuality and business progress, is a constant objective on the railways of this country. Here, every week is a punctuality week. The running of every train every day is closely analysed, delays are investigated with a view to their elimination, and when serious difficulty is experienced in running a regular scheduled train to time, an inspecting officer of the Department concerned is sent to ride the train and solve the problem of its late running.
In the matter of business development at the respective stations, the Department's statistical service places in the hands of District Managers full particulars of variations in business secured; and comparison is made weekly, four-weekly, and with the corresponding returns in previous years. Explanations are required regarding all variations, and from the details supplied by all stations on the system the general movement of traffic is gauged, weak points are detected, and measures are taken to reinforce the efforts to hold and increase business all along the line.
These and other matters relating to the safety of the service, economy in its working and efficiency in its results are, of course, all part of the day's work. There is a saying, “look after the pence and the pounds will look after themselves.” Equally truly may it be said “look after the days and the years will look after themselves.” It is the daily application to the matter in hand which makes or mars the year's returns.
For the individual the same rule applies, and I can safely say this of every member of the service, that if he does his daily job to the best of his ability, he will follow the course most likely to secure satisfaction for himself and the material appreciation of the Department.
General Manager.
How the U.S.S. Coy. of N.Z. grew to be one of the World's Mightiest Fleets of Merchantmen.
The picture which decorates the title of the article portrays the new trans-Tasman steamer whose red funnels will be seen in our harbours late next year. This luxury liner is so far unnamed, but it represents the latest gesture of progress of the Union Steam Ship Company.
We have become accustomed in the Dominion to U.S.S. Company's service, but few New Zealanders appreciate the colossal nature of the achievement of those Dunedin pioneers who created it. Founded in the smallest of the four provincial capitals of the smallest of the Dominions of the British Empire, there has grown one of the greatest steamship lines in the world, ranking at wartime among the first half dozen of the world's mercantile fleets. It is a feat of such stupendous magnitude that it remains among the important phenomena of modern commercial history. Every New Zealander's heart should beat faster at the sight of the red funnel. It is the sign of a nobly conceived enterprise, faithfully brought to fruition, and crowned with world-wide success. Its title to world leadership in many directions is not to be lightly dismissed, and it was the work of our fellow countrymen.
The following pages tell the story, or as much of it as can be told in the time; but let it be remembered that the very glory of the annals of these adventures in steel and steam makes the task of doing them justice one of profound difficulty.
I Was talking to Jascha Heifitz, the great violinist, in a Wellington hotel bedroom when the telephone rang. His tone was most decided as he replied, and I learned that he was refusing to go to the South Island. I asked him his reason. “I will not go on a ferry crossing,” he said. “I have tried so many and have suffered so much and it is for me too unpleasant.” I found from him the name of the boat on which he had travelled here from Australia and explained that the “ferry” steamer was rather larger and just as comfortable. He looked at me as if I were trying to sell him a home-made fiddle as a “Strad,” but after searching enquiries, he made the trip. I saw him again on his return, and he said “Marvellous! the best in the world, that is all.”
The word “ferry” is the root cause of much of this misconception about our Cook Strait express steamer service, and New Zealanders who wish their country well should ban the expression.
Heifitz did not exaggerate. Nowhere in the world is there a trio of ships of the standard of the “Rangatira,” the “Wahine” and the “Tamahine” making express crossings. They leave and arrive with the regularity and punctuality of the Paris “Metro.”
The “Rangatira” is the latest of them and is a six thousand ton turbo electric liner. The cabins have their own bathrooms and luxurious beds. There is a reading lamp over every pillow in every cabin on the ship and there are splendid lounges, smoking rooms and vestibules. The consort is the aptly named “Wahine,” 4,436 tons, a triple screw turbine steamer, also beautifully equipped. These ships have a speed of twenty-two knots. They slip in and out of Wellington and Lyttelton harbours like motor launches, and any dilatory reveller who is saying “just one more word” will find that 7.45 p.m. on the departure announcement does not mean 7.46 p.m. At 7.48 p.m. at Wellington the stern of the “Big Green Beauty” is roaring past the wharf-end at railway speed, and in five more minutes the porthole lights are moving jewels flashing past Point Jerningham. Then there is the flying “Tamahine,” a well-appointed ocean greyhound of two thousand tons which has brought the wonderful Marlborough Sounds to within an hour and a half of open water from Wellington.
These boats handle the crowds that move between the two islands with ease and expedition and the connecting time-tables are a record of ingenuity and efficiency. You can leave Wellington after dinner on Monday evening and dine in Dunedin or Queenstown on Tuesday. You can leave Napier or New Plymouth on Monday morning and reach Invercargill—more than 700 miles by rail and sea—for supper on Tuesday evening.
The two big boats constitute a night bridge between the two islands on which you sleep your way over in sheer comfort.
The Company is also largely responsible for the fine service across the Bass Strait, of which the leading ship is the magnificent modern ship, “Taroona.”
However, the U.S.S. Company goes far abroad. Its ships “Sail the Seven
Our illustrations also show the “Monowai,” another 11,000 ton vessel whose luxury cruises have carried thousands to the glorious fiords and sounds of our delectable country.
To-day the U.S.S. Company's fleet, with the “Aorangi” and the “Niagara,” totals forty-two vessels with a tonnage of over 175,000. Since its start, with replacements and losses it has handled a tonnage of half a million. This is not the end of the story, however, for the Company's subsidiary interests are widespread. It owns the Grand Pacific Hotel at Suva, known to the uttermost ends of the earth; it owns its ship repair works, and runs the Wellington Patent Slip; it has coaling plant, oil tanks and laundries, and now the air service across Cook Strait is to have its assistance. The towering fourteen storey office building in Sydney, the perfection of whose design is well-known in the architectural world, is one of a chain of fine buildings in the Dominion and the Commonwealth. The Head Office building shown in our picture is in our own capital city.
The new boat for the Tasman crossing has not yet been named. She will, as has always been the case with each, successive major ship built by this Company, be the “last word.” She will be approximately 14,000 tons with an expected speed of twenty-three knots, reducing the journey to Sydney to two and a half days. No single item of luxury that can be conjured by the imagination of the most exacting globe-trotter will be missing. Inter-telephone communication, up-to-date talkie plant, cabins with private bathrooms, men's and women's clubrooms, a gymnasium and ornate lounges, verandah cafes and dance rooms will adorn her. The staterooms will be furnished exactly on the lines of a good bedroom in the best type of modern hotel.
That is a little about the present day structure of the fleet.
It is an imposing edifice, this U.S.S. Company. It is almost unbelievable that it was planned in our own small country by our own folk, that it grew to its present proportions solely through the efforts, the energy, and the brains of our own countrymen.
Always, in a large scale achievement of this kind, there has been one dominating personality. There was no
(S. P. Andrew, photo.)
Sir James Mills, Chairman of the Board of Directors of the Union Steamship Company.
No tribute in words can be made to the qualities of the man who makes great dreams become realities, and the very magnitude of this feat of truly British enterprise takes it outside the pictorial possibilities of cold print.
On Sunday, 16th April, 1848, the Revd. Thomas Burns preached his first Presbyterian sermon in Dunedin. Approximately two hundred and fifty souls had arrived in the first two ships. I have always had a respect for the Scotch preacher since I bought on one journey to Invercargill six pennyworth of peppermints. I got a small sugar bag full of large, comfortable white mints, about the size of draughts, and learned that they were for use during the preacher's remarks. This sermon must have been particularly good for it started great things. In twelve yearse' time, the University of Otago was founded, and in the next couple of decades, Dunedin citizens commenced a series of business enterprises which were destined to spread through the whole of the Dominion and many of them over the wide world. The well-known Scotch mixture, compounded of daring and caution, of liking for profit and love for culture, of foresight and swift action, has been a dominating force in the progress of New Zealand. One of these days, some historian of Gaelic ancestry will write with zest and accuracy, the extraordinary history of Dunedin leadership. No other of our cities has an answering case. I would like him not to overlook the fact that the first Dunedin Jockey Club Handicap was run there in 1863, two years before the first New Zealand Cup.
Very easily the greatest enterprise emanating from the “Edinburgh of the South” was, however, the U.S.S. Company.
Mr. John Jones had, since 1861, been interested in the “Golden Age” and other small steamers engaged in cargo and passenger traffic between Dunedin and far-away Port Chalmers. He died in 1869 and the young man, Mr. James Mills, who had been his manager, was forced to deal with the problem of disposing of his interests. Subsequently, in association with Mr. Darling, the Harbour Steamship Company was formed, and the two ambitious owners aspired to stretch out along the coast as far as Timaru and Lyttelton. They bought the “Maori.” and then Mr. Darling was sent Home on a still larger project. This was to build the “Bruce,” of no less than 335 tons. Mr. Mills in the meantime had endeavoured to float a company to undertake the long journey to Auckland, but times were bad and money scarce. However, he tried again, and armed with a few thousands and encouraged by Mr. Darling, then still in
Standing (left): J. R. Jones; (right) John Cargill. Sitting (middle row): Hugh McNeil, Sir G McLean, and A. W. Morris. Front row (left): David Mills (Act. General Manager) and Sir James Mills.
On the return of Mr. Mills to Dunedin, the various ownerships were combined, the name “Union Steam Ship Company” was born, and the certificate of incorporation was issued on 12th July, 1875.
In one of our illustrations, we show the “First Four Ships.” There they are, none of them much larger than a harbour tug. They tell their own story.
One misconception should be at once removed. Even where there is some knowledge of the wonder of the U.S.S. Company's development, it is often believed that theirs was an easily obtained leadership, achieved against little competition after a bloodless struggle. The facts are far different.
A screw steamer, the “Queen,” had steamed up to the Dunedin jetty in 1858. She was in the Wellington-Dunedin trade, and I have a record of her excursion trip to the Christchurch races in March of that year. The fare was £5 cabin, single; steerage, £3/10/-, but the return fares offered a substantial reduction to £8/8/- and £5/10- respectively. Quite palatial boats, the “Pirate” (built regardless of expense for the Liverpool-Glasgow trade and costing her Australian owners £15,000), and the “Geelong” were trading to Oamaru and other distant ports in 1859. Then there was the famous “City of Dunedin,” who mysteriously disappeared with all hands on a trip to Hokitika in 1865. In the North, both at Wellington and Auckland, companies were formed. In 1859, the Wellington “Independent” of 18th February, says: “Wellington presents a more than usual bustling, gay appearance, there being no less than four steamers, three ships, three barques, two brigs, six brigantines, and nine schooners at anchor in the harbour.”
(S. P. Andrew, photo.)
The Board of Directors of the Union Steam Ship Company, 1935.
Standing: C. W. Rattray, Esq.; C. G. White, Esq.; Sir A. F. Roberts, K.B.E.; Walter Green, Esq. Sitting: N. S. Falla, Esq., C.M.G., D.S.O. (Managing Director); Sir James Mills, K.C.M.G (Chairman); G. R. Ritchie, Esq.
Wellington was proud of having the first lighthouse in New Zealand, and it became the centre of the long, desultory warfare in shipping that struggled on for many years. The Wellington Steam Navigation Company, the New Zealand Steam Navigation Company, and many Australian Companies were not only fighting for the trade to Australia but for the coastal business as well. There were also endless hostilities arising from mail contracts and subsidies. Naturally, also, the enormous business interests of the continent of America cast eyes on the shipping trade to Australia and New Zealand, and there began, in 1870, the “Thirty-eight Years' War” with time and distance over the San Francisco mail service.
Through all this rough and tumble of ceaseless struggle, one company steadfastly held its course. The little Dunedin venture, overlooked in the early part of the combat between the Titans, kept on growing. Its movement was in an accelerating progression, each new boat a definite advance on the last, each step considered before taken, but action following swiftly upon decision.
In 1883, the U.S.S. Company had 24 ships of a total tonnage of 24,216. After a pause, the next great move was made. The San Francisco mail service was undertaken in conjunction with the American “Oceanic” Company. This was carried on with regularity and efficiency until the acquisition of Honolulu gave the U.S.A.
The next years are records of steady growth, invincibility against attack, and, above all, a genius for adopting revolutionary improvements in mechanical and shipping design. In 1913 the fleet consisted of the vast total of 75 vessels with an aggregate tonnage of 232,147.
The outbreak of the Great War, filling the world with smoke and bloodshed, brought all commercial progress to a trembling standstill. But it demonstrated the tremendous value to the Empire of our great carrying organisation and its vast fleet. Union Company boats took over 60,000 New Zealanders to the front, and 45,000 other troops. The two hospital ships, the “Marama” and the “Maheno,” carried 47,000 wounded and sick soldiers. At one time, no less than eighteen vessels aggregating one hundred thousand tons were in the service of the Empire, and U.S.S. ships steamed altogether three million miles in military duty. One great passenger steamer of fifteen thousand tons was transformed into a cruiser, the “H.M.S. Avenger,” only to fall to an enemy torpedo. During the War, the Company's losses were ten ships, eight of them due to direct enemy action.
The world over, golden opinions were expressed as to the assistance rendered by this New Zealand institution, but perhaps this note from the Defence Expenditure Commission of 1918 is the best human tribute of all; “The bargain of transport vessels is the most favourable that can be learned of anywhere.”
It is a proud record. I will say at once that I regard the marvel of its growth, the sureness of its progress, its steady and certain defeat of competitive attack, all to the fact that one great man was at the helm.
His courage may be seen from the collection of facts which, for clarity's sake I am enumerating. It is a record that will live for ever in mercantile history and is unique in the world's history of navigation.
The U.S.S. Company, among all the fleets of the world had
1. The first ocean-going merchant ship built of steel.
2. The first ship with bilge keels.
3. The first steamer lit throughout with incandescent electric light.
4. The first steamer steered by hydraulic machinery.
5. The first ocean-going turbine vessel.
6. The first passenger vessel to use oil under Board of Trade certificate.
7. The first large passenger boat driven by motor engines.
It is colossal. All these innovations, regarded as daring at the time, are to-day world-wide practice. It is a new thing in the story of commercial undertakings.
It means that not only had Sir James Mills supreme ability and initiative genius, but that he had selected and surrounded himself with a general staff of great men.
Here again the principle of continuity arrives. That great Scot, Sir George McLean, was Chairman of the Board for its first thirty years. Sir Charles Holdsworth joined the Company in 1885, and even then had much experience in shipping management.
The jubilee of the company in 1925 was a revelation as a parade of veterans. Joining the Union Company seemed to have earned a ticket to longevity. Men who had started before 1880 were there in plenty.
Let us consider what these dates mean in a new country such as this.
When the Company was formed Dunedin was approximately the size of Timaru. Sir George McLean, though he had won the Dunedin Cup in 1868, with Lady Emma, had been Chairman of the Board for ten years before Carbine was born. Dunedin, when the Company was incorporated, had been a borough (the first in New Zealand) for only ten years, but its gas lights in the streets were two years older.
(Continued on page 16.)
Tho Old And The New Ships As Of The Union Steam Ship Company.
Some well-known ships, Old and New, of the Union Steam Ship Company's Fleet. From top (left): The “Hawea,” the “Beautiful Star,” the “Maori,” and the “Taupo,” Right: The “Taroona,” the “Monowai,” the “Rangatira,” and the “Aorangi.”
(Continued from page 13.)
Facsimile of the Union Company's first advertisement, “Otago Daily Times,” 1st July, 1875. (The Company acted as agent for the “Samson.”)
The magic of the sea makes everything different that it touches, somehow, and that difference is intrinsic even in the commercial enterprises that work upon its waters.
The U.S.S. Company's history, is, after all, the history of the men who made it, men who dealt with the things of the sea. It is their qualities that defied the storms that beset them. It is their human attributes that created this world-ranking achievement.
This far-away land, as I have said so often before, is strangely like our Homeland in its constituents of soil and cloud and sky and its sea-girt contours. We should be proud that here the maritime tradition that is our rightful heritage should have had such tried and true knights-errant.
It would have been of no avail, either, if it had been merely a matter of keen brains. The U.S.S. Company present the miracle of sea and shore forces working amicably. The heads of this enterprise were good, but so were their hearts. I do not suppose, in the history of business gatherings, there has been such a spontaneous exhibition of brotherly warmth and the rich fellowship of service as was given at the Company's Jubilee in 1925.
This month is the Company's Diamond Jubilee. The good work has continued. The Union Company remains a distinctive New Zealand achievement, officered and administered by New Zealanders, and made by New Zealanders. We show the picture of the present Board. Under the wise counsel of Colonel Falla, the present Managing Director, the great tradition of this great fleet will be nobly maintained.
May I, as a concluding word, pay a tribute to the efficiency of the passenger and publicity department whose help in my search for records was given readily and, it seemed, without once being defeated in finding an answer to any question, however obscure.
The U.S.S. Company, in its essence, in the personality of its great founder and the unswerving loyalty of its people, simply remains a reminder that we, in these distant islands, can be mindful of the land from which we came.
The title of Richard John Seddon to permanent fame in New Zealand and the British Empire rests in the first place on his pioneer work in liberal and humanitarian legislation, and in the second on his vigorous development of the Imperial sentiment. More intellectual men than he occupied the position of Premier of the Colony that is now a Dominion but none so forceful and dominating in character. In his thirteen years of office as head of the Government he overshadowed all others; he was the uncrowned king of the country, the popular hero of the democracy. Like every strong man he had many enemies, but many more friends. He has been described as the most autocratic of democrats. His leadership in experimental Socialistic legislation attracted the attention of statesmen and writers in the outside world; his fervent advocacy of close relations with Britain and the despatch of New Zealand Contingents to the war in South Africa made him a most popular figure in England. In this character sketch by one who knew him well, party politics are touched upon but lightly; the writer endeavours to give a personal study of a great builder of New Zealand who is held in affectionate remembrance for his courage, his championship of the people's rights, and his devotion to the cause of a united Empire.
The Rt. Hon R. J. Seddon, P.C.
(Born 1845; Premier of New Zealand 1893–1906; died 10th June, 1906.)
When we think of R. J. Seddon we think first of the West Coast, the Golden Coast. It was there that the twenty-one-year-old Seddon set foot on New Zealand soil in 1866. He came from Victoria, but he was not many years out from his native Lancashire; the accent of his birthland was strong on his tongue all his life. It was the rough-carved, bold, manly life of gold-digging Westland that developed his spirit of enterprise and resourcefulness, vigour and self-reliance as it developed his burly frame. The first great rush of diggers was over, but the Coast was still a scene of amazing strident treasure-hunting activity, and Mr. Seddon had a taste of almost every phase of industry there. His name is associated most of all with the gold-sluicing township of Kumara; there he went into business, made his weight felt—very literally sometimes—in local affairs; he mastered the ways and laws of the goldmining industry, and raised a young family.
The West Coast made Seddon, not as a man of wealth as it had many others, but as a bold, confident young man of affairs and presently as member of Parliament. And once he entered Parliament—he was returned as member for the district in 1879—he never looked back. The crude excitements of local politics developed into the Parliamentary fever that never left him. He was captured by the newly-born Liberal ideas and the personal enchantment of that great and enigmatic figure Sir George Grey.
He won his way in politics by force of character, the rugged power and the straight speech that close contact with the fearless men of the Golden Coast had developed in him. His opportunity came when John Ballance became Premier, on the rising tide of legislation for “the masses.” Seddon became Minister for Public Works, Mines and Defence. Thus the strong man from the half-tamed West Coast put on the yoke of office from which only death was to release him—the death that came upon him at sea in 1906 after a health tour in Australia that became a kind of triumphal march.
It was soon after John Ballance's death in 1893 that I first saw Dick Seddon. Every New Zealander from North Auckland to Stewart Island soon dropped the “Mr. Seddon.” The more his fame grew, the more affectionately familiar did the populace become, as is the way with great men. It was “Dick,” “Old Dick,” “Good old Dick,” with the crowd; there were those who used less friendly terms, but they were in the minority. In the newspaper world, we soon came to see a good deal of the new Premier, and his spirit of unaffected friendship and his vigour of speech went a long way to win our hearts. He was still a good deal of a rough diamond, but a jewel in the rough is no less a jewel. I for one developed a great admiration for the Premier's downright character. I frequently travelled with his party in the course of my always-varying duty as “Auckland Star” reporter. I think it was Seddon who set the fashion of speech-making tours throughout the land, by way of meeting the people—he soon came to call them “my people,” with a majestic wave of the hand. At any rate it was he who developed that trick of travel until those tours of his became triumphal processions. They became indeed royal tours. There were glorious days, and more glorious nights (often prolonged into the morning!) at Huntly, or Waihi, or Hawera, when the Premier's train landed him there, often with the local brass band to meet the Ministerial party at the station.
Interlude—a royal visit now and again to “my Maori people”; scene, King Mahuta's kainga at Waahi, on the Waikato, on the opposite side of the river to Huntly. Mahuta usually sent his beautiful war-canoe, the Taheretikitiki, as a royal barge, manned by a score or so of bare-backed paddlers, to ferry the “Pirimia” and his party down-stream from Huntly to the meeting-place. (One of our illustrations shows the Premier and party in the big canoe, in 1898). “Timi Kara,” otherwise James Carroll (he was not Sir James then) always accompanied his chief in his capacity of Native Minister. All the village played carnival that day; flags of Kingite designs were flying; Maori brass bands blaring away, all the aristocratic dames of Waikato beckoning us to them, undulating their pleasing forms in the ancient dance of welcome as they retired gracefully before us to the green marae. Timi Kara himself would take a stone mere or a taiaha or a paddle from the nearest Maori, and go through a stately dance of greeting in return, preceding his portly belltoppered and frockcoated Chief. Haere mai, haere mai, haere mail—and everyone delightfully noisy and merry; and then the dignified elders to greet each other, King saluting King, on the parade-ground, the speechmaking arena under the shining sun.
Those meetings with Waikato—they were invariably the same. The Maoris wished to discuss land grievances, and the Treaty of Waitangi. The Premier never wished to commit the Government to anything tangible. He was a perfect master of the art of oratorical bluff. “Now, my dear Maori people,” he would say, “all this will be looked into, and I must give you a word of advice in conclusion, because of my great love for my Maori people. Be industrious, set to work, farm your land, grow a lot of wheat as your fathers and grandfathers did before you. Keep away from the public-houses, do not gamble, do not go to the races and waste your money like the foolish pakeha. Do not forget what I say for I have great affection for my Maori people and I do not want them to become spoiled by bad pakehas. And now, I must run away, for my train is waiting for me to take me to the great city where we make all the laws for your good. Good-bye, and God bless you!”
And, so, the procession was reformed to the royal canoe; and Haere ra!
They were perfectly joyful interludes, those koreros on Waikato-side.
Mahuta and his people perfectly understood the Premier. They sat politely silent, while he dished them out grandmotherly advice and in return they dished out a bountiful feast whenever they could induce him to stay. They liked the big man; they admired his commanding form, his belltoppered leonine head; they liked his booming voice. And when he died, they composed the most eloquent and touching songs of lamentation for him. A Waikato farewell to the dead “Hetana” which I give at the end of this article is the most poetic piece of blended mourning and philosophy that I have ever read from a Maori tribe, a tribute that far transcends anything from the prosaic pakeha.
But leave the Kainga and survey the man and his methods in the Legislature, and his masterful and victorious career. Seddon was a blend of many qualities, many virtues and many faults and foibles. I think he can be described with truth, as chivalrous, generous, tyrannical, downright, diplomatic, perfectly unscrupulous, fair-dealing; he could play the bully, he was full of human sympathy and prejudices; he was capable of dissimulation for political ends, he was as straight as one of his West Coast kahikatea trees. All those contradictory qualities he displayed; he was a strange mixture of incongruities. But one thing shone out above all others, his supreme courage. He feared no man or body of men. Once he had made up his mind on a desirable course he would push on with it no matter who came in his way. He could be ruthless to his political opponents; he was often over-generous to his friends. “Spoils to the victors” was sometimes said to have been one of his working principles. But perhaps he was in that no worse than his opponents. It is not in human nature to be unmindful of those who have helped you to victory. One thing he lacked, and that was a sense of humour. He was without sense of proportion; he made a great fuss about non-essentials. We who knew and liked him often wished he would develop those saving qualities and make an end to a speech before he said something supremely ridiculous.
One of Seddon's most admirable traits of character was his unwavering loyalty to old friends. We all know how his beloved West Coast adored him. He never forgot the old-timers of Westland. A veteran friend of mine in Wellington, Jack Caldwell, a good old digger who had made money and lost it, was in his declining years manfully holding a job as messenger in a Government department. He told me that one morning he went to the Wellington Hospital to visit an old mining mate who was dying. When he went to his friend's beside Dick Seddon was sitting there. He was holding the dying man's hand, and tears were running down his checks. Jack Caldwell sat on the other side, and there the three old Coasters wept unashamed; their last meeting. They were united, Premier, messenger, and dying miner, by the spirit of pure and generous mateship, memories of other days, the comradely fidelity that is better than gold.
Seddon's popularity was at its pinnacle, perhaps, just at the beginning of the present century when the Boer War was attracting all the foot-loose young and adventurous from New Zealand, as from Australia and Canada. That period was marked by an enthusiastic wave of military life. Not even the Great War in its early stages aroused more eagerness to enlist for foreign parts than the Boer War did. A perfect war for these oversea countries; we had the kind of men that the conditions of South Africa needed most. And Mr. Seddon made the very most of it. He leathered the big drum of Imperialism for all it was worth; he was the perfect recruiting
In Dr. W. P. Morrell's new book, “New Zealand,” one of a series of world historical studies, the young New Zealand scholar—he is Reader in History in the University of London—makes shrewd comment on Seddon's complete domination of his party, “not altogether to its own good.” No democratic leader ever excelled him in making it appear to the people that he was indeed one of themselves, and thought as they did. How true this remark is, many a contemporary of Seddon can testify to-day. He is accused by Morrell of a propensity for breaking with clever young men. W. P. Reeves is evidently in mind. But Seddon did not actually break with Reeves. He simply translated him to London, which I believe was well to Reeves' taste by that time.
The Seddon manifestos, which were rather numerous, trumpeted forth the cardinal aims of his Government. He proclaimed that in his view Government should provide conditions which would reduce want and permit the very largest possible number of its people to be healthy, happy human beings. “The life, the health, the intelligence and the morals of a nation,” to quote his last manifesto, “count far more than riches, and I would rather have this country free from want and squalor and unemployed than the home of multi-millionaires.” That summed up very well the excellent ideals of the man who was more truly the leadel of the people than any politician who preceded or succeeded him.
The law-making of the Seddon period was well described as adventurous legislation. One Labour law after another, one Socialistic measure after another, were passed in rapid succession. Seddon and his colleagues carried on and amplified John Ballance's programme of legislation regulating hours of labour, the conduct of factories and shops, the regulation in fact of every department of industry.
Labour was liberated and enthroned, greatly to the disgust of very many employers. Industrial Conciliation and Arbitration was provided for as a means of settling disputes. Women were enfranchised; old age pensions were established; advances to settlers were instituted (on the initiative of Sir Joseph Ward), and various other measures all making for the betterment of social conditions were placed on the Statute book. These measures attracted a great amount of attention in the outside world, and publicists from Britain, Europe and America visited the Colony to study its wonderful essays in experimental Socialism. There were naturally loud complaints from those with whose interests the new brand of legislation conflicted. But as a historian has expressed it, Seddon held New Zealand in the hollow of his hand until the last. He had for better or for worse captured the country. He was the big voice, and that voice was heard with apparently undiminished vigour until the giant frame suddenly collapsed and he died at only sixty-one.
Sir John McKenzie, his most stalwart supporter and the breaker-up of big estates in an almost ruthless manner, wore himself out like Seddon, and as Ballance had done before him. Sir Joseph Ward, his successor, similarly followed the fatal lure of militant politics until his health broke down, and still he held to office and what he considered the call of duty.
It was fortunate for Mr. Seddon and his fellow-apostles of advanced legislation that for the greater part of the Liberal regime the country was in a prosperous condition. Economic conditions had improved steadily since the freezing process for export of dairy produce and meat had been developed satisfactorily. Markets were good,
The end of the Nineties was high-water mark for the products of the land. There had been hard times, but Seddon was never faced with a period of heavy economic pressure and a huge unemployment problem. What a Seddon would do to-day if he were with us makes a tempting subject for speculation. I shall leave it to others to debate.
A New Zealand historian (Miss N. E. Coad) has summed up the great Premier's work and efforts in these words: “He was indeed the poor man's friend.” He could have no better epitaph.
Such a man could not but have a loyal and devoted family. Mrs. Seddon accompanied her husband on many of his long journeys, including two visits to England as guests of Royalty. Her serene, kindly nature was the needful foil to Seddon's often fiery character; a refuge from the continual strain and irritation of political life. Captain Richard Seddon—Dick the Second—served gallantly in two wars and fell in France. Mr. T. E. Y. Seddon followed his father as M.P. for Westland and held the seat for many years with an interlude of service as Captain in the Great War. Mary Stuart Seddon (Mrs. Hay) was her father's treasured helper for many years, and Mrs. Knox Gilmer (May Seddon), is a vigorous worker for charity and other amenities of Wellington life, and a fervent and eloquent advocate of native forest protection in the Dominion.
Never can I forget the thrilling and heart-touching Maori gathering in Parliament House on the morning of the burial in 1906. The tangi chants, the weeping for the beloved White Chief, the high wild calls of farewell, were a grief-cry from the primitive. But even more deeply poetic than those tangi voices was a written farewell from the high chiefs of Waikato, signed by the Hon. Mahuta, M.L.C., the old chief Patara te Tuhi, Henare Kaihau and others. This is a translation:
“… . We farewell him who has been taken away by the Great Creator to the pillow which will not fall, and to that bed which cannot be raised. Alas! Alas! Our grief and pain overwhelm us. Depart, oh the mooring-post of the canoes of the two races. Depart the mighty totara tree of the forest, felled by the axe of Death the irresistible; death the swallower of greenstone treasures… . Death is the great King of this earth; it comes in many forms; it has all power, and none can disregard its voice, be he ever so great or so small. We, your people, lament. The heavens, too, have cried out; the storms arose, the lightning flashed, the thunder rolled across the sky; the soft wind of the crying of the earth was heard; the great stormy wind passed through the forest. The other trees are sad, the cry, they suffer and groan with pain. Afterwards the people know of the death; and there is nothing greater than death… .
“A man imagines he will continue for ever in the world, but he dies. The world thinks it rules itself, but when an earthquake shatters it, that is its form of Death. In like manner the waters think they have dominion, but when they dry up that is their Death. Stones rejoice in their hardness, and consider they cannot be broken up, but when they are shattered their death is accomplished. Death in its various forms rules everything and cannot be averted… . But the results of our parent's work, the great treasure left by him, the result of his life's labours in this world, will not be lost and will ever be remembered by succeeding generations. Heaven and earth may pass away, but good works shall never pass away—they live for ever.”
Advertising for one of the week-end excursions from Wellington to Waitomo (313 miles)recently, had to be stopped some days earlier than usual beacuse bookings indicated that the limit of motor accommadation (300)had been reached, at the Waitomo end, between Hangatiki station and the Caves (7 miles).
A very convenient time-table which enabled the complete trip to be made without loss of business time and without accommodation costs, and the provision of first-class carriages and a low combined rail and motor fare, with effective advertising, all contributed to this happy issue. The Department was quick to announce that a further excursion would be run at an early date, thus satisfying those who did not book early enough to be included in the first excursion.
Bright and early the other morning an old Maori woman, wearing a man's battered felt hat and a brightly coloured shawl was seated on the steps of a warehouse in Customs Street, Auckland, calmly smoking a blackened clay pipe. Two smartly dressed laughing girls passed. Said one: “How happy that old thing looks!” “She's enjoying her after-breakfast pipe,” said the other. They seemed much amused. “I wonder,” said the first, “what kind of tobacco she smokes—must be something special, I should say.” “Let's go back and ask her,” said her friend, “just for fun.” So back they went and asked her. The old dame smiled, and said “Cut Plug No. 10,” adding that she always smoked it. It is one of the five famous toasted tobaccos: Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, River-head Gold and Desert Gold, and their rare flavour and delightful fragrance appeal to pakeha and Maori alike. And they have another outstanding merit—they are harmless! It's the toasting that eliminates the poisonous nicotine! But beware of worthless imitations!*
(Photo., courtesy Imperial Airways). The Imperial Airways Liner “Hengist” after leaving Corydon, with the first England-Australian Air Mall, 8th Dec., 1934.
New world's records for steam-driven trains were created recently, when a special London and North Eastern Railway express, travelling from London (King's Cross) to Newcastle-on-Tyne and back, attained a speed of 108 miles an hour at one point on the return journey, this being the highest speed ever recorded for a steam-driven train. At the same time, a second record was established when the train travelled for more than twelve miles at an average speed of over 100 miles an hour, and covered more than 240 miles at an average speed of over 80 miles an hour.
We have previously referred in these Letters to the experiments which are being conducted by the Home railways in their effort to speed up passenger movement; to the doubts now existing in many official quarters regarding the future of main-line electrification; and to the likelihood of main-line passenger services in the years that lie ahead being operated by self-propelled units, such as the steam locomotive and Diesel engine. Favourably impressed by the working of the Diesel-engined train of the German railways, between Berlin and Hamburg, the London and North Eastern authorities some time ago approached the makers of the May-bach engine used on the “Flying Hamburger,” as this train is styled, and invited them to submit schedules which trains of a similar type could be expected to achieve over the L. & N.E. main-lines. In the case of London and Leeds, the answer was that a Maybach-engined train could perform the journey in 165 minutes, at an average speed of 67.6 miles per hour. For comparative purposes, a light steam train was then tested out over the same route, and this train actually performed the journey in 151 minutes in one direction, and 157 minutes in the other. The result of the London-Leeds trial led the Company to take the view that, under British conditions, better results can at present be obtained from the use of light units drawn by steam locomotives, than by Diesel-engined trains. With the idea of submitting this theory to a further test, the run from London to Newcastle-on-Tyne and back was arranged.
As time goes on, it is probable that several high-speed trains, operating on schedules considerably in advance of any at present existing, will be introduced on the L. & N.E.R. main-lines. First, however, there are important factors to be considered such as coal consumption; the effect of high speeds on the permanent-way; wear and tear of the locomotive; the possibilities of streamlining; and the disturbance involved to existing time-tables by the putting into service of exceptionally fast trains. Then, too, there is the question of the commercial justification for running trains at high speed at half the normal weight and of half the passenger capacity. Supplementary fares will probably be a necessary feature, and consideration must be given to the extent to which accelerated travel will attract additional business.
On the Great Western Railway, which at present operates the world's fastest daily passenger train—the “Cheltenham Flyer”—new speed bids are shortly to be made, following the streamlining which is being put in hand of several express locomotives. An engine of the “King” class, No.6014, “King Henry VII” is the first locomotive to be streamlined, and this is being followed by experiments of a similar type with engines of the well-known “Castle” class. In the case of the L. & N.E.R. record run, previously referred to, the locomotive (Pacific “Papyrus” No. 2750) was not streamlined, so that added interest thereby is being given to the Great Western venture.
Coincident with the streamlining experiments at Home, on the German railways a new 4-6-4 three-cylinder steam engine completely streamlined, has recently been put into service. This is intended to haul a 250-ton
Still following up locomotive news, we have to record the interesting move by the Southern Railway of christening a batch of new locomotives, known as the “Remembrance” class, after names of famous locomotive engineers of the past. Seven machines constitute the first group of this class, and they have been named respectively “Remembrance,” “Trevithick,” “Hack-worth,” “Stephenson,” “Cudworth,” “Beattie” and “Stroudley.” The three latter names are those of early engine-builders on the railways now embraced in the Southern group.
The production of the “Remembrance” class of locomotives involved the transformation of the 4-6-4 “Baltic” type of fast passenger tank engine, constructed for use on the London-Brighton route, but now rendered redundant owing to electrification. The alterations include the removal of the trailing bogie, coal bunker, water tanks, etc., the provision of a 5,000 gallon tender, the raising of the boiler pressure to 180 lbs. per square inch, and other minor reconstructions which make the machines of general utility, and bring them closely into line with the existing 4-6-0 “King Arthur” class locomotives. Total weight in working order of the “Remembrance” locomotive and tender is 130 tons 13 cwts. Tractive effort is 25,600 lbs.
Air conditioning of passenger carriages is being steadily developed in Europe. On the London Underground Railways special research is now being undertaken with the object of bettering air conditioning arrangements and reducing travel noise. For the purpose of the experiment, a typical passenger carriage has been taken, and all ventilators and windows sealed up. Air conditioning apparatus by Frigidaire Ltd., has been introduced, most of the plant being bolted to the under-frame.
Air is drawn from inside the car, to pass over the cooling coils of a refrigerator system located beneath the floor. This refrigerator consists of a compressor, condenser, and air-cooling coils, the compressor being driven by belt from a 3-h.p. motor. Leaving the refrigerator, the clean air passes up into a space between the outer shell of the car roof and the ceiling, from whence it is distributed into the interior. Unlike some systems of air-conditioning, where ammonia or similar media are employed, in the new London Underground plan the refrigerating fluid favoured is known as “Freon.”
An ambitious improvement scheme to facilitate the formation of passenger trains is being carried out by the Great Western Railway at Old Oak Common, the locomotive and carriage
There will be seven reception tracks, each of twenty car capacity. Separate in and out tracks to and from Paddington at both ends of the yard are being provided, and there will be twenty 1,000 ft. long storage tracks under cover, in addition to accommodation in the open. The covered carriage depot will, in fact, be as large as Paddington Station itself. New central-heated offices and mess-rooms are being built for the staff, which numbers nearly 600. An automatic telephone exchange, with connections at more than seventy selected points throughout the depot, will be another feature. Britain possesses many commodious carriage depots, but the new establishment at Old Oak Common, London, will be the largest facility of this kind in the country, covering an area of more than 100 acres.
Reference has previously been made in these pages to the centenary which is this year being celebrated by the German Railways, and also to the fact that 1935 marks the one-hundredth anniversary of the opening of the Great Western Railway of England. In addition to these centenaries, we celebrate this year the hundredth birthday of the Belgian railways.
The first steam passenger train on the continent of Europe ran from Malines to Brussels on May 5, 1835.
Noel Devlin glanced in the bag he had packed; everything seemed to be there; it had been quick work. There was a grin on his handsome young face, and a jauntiness in his stride as he proceeded to his taxi, for by nightfall he would be far away from Dunedin, in the paradise, “thousands of feet above worry level,” the Hermitage, Mt. Cook.
The taxi stopped at his direction in front of Dr. Cain's residence; for the beautiful Donna Cain was coming too, with some of her girl friends. Strange the way Donna and Noel always happened to be at the same place— almost too often for coincidence.
As the taxi sped to the station, Noel glanced at Donna's profile while she busied herself with a puff and handbag. Aquiline nose—aristocratic. Firm delicate chin—determination. Luminous wide, blue eyes—affection. Broad forehead—intellect. Ensemble—divine. Thus Noel soliloquised. He determined it would not be long before Donna was his betrothed. He had been holding back because—well, it's rather an appalling responsibility, but, now his salary had been raised, there was no excuse. He would ask her during this week-end perhaps—in the romantic setting of the snow-clad mountains. Noel smiled with anticipation. Life was sweet.
Noel seemed bored with the rest of the party in the train. As soon as he saw Donna alone he sauntered up and murmured: “Donna, come with me.”
They were soon comfortable in a bird-cage which Noel had the foresight to reserve.
“Bright idea of yours, Noel,” she taunted.
“Yes, I like a little quietness—especially with you; we don&t see each other much in town—just we two—alone.”
She ignored his remarks. “Don&t you love this sensation of freedom—getting away from everything like a convict escaping from prison. Every puff of the engine pulls us farther and farther from home and office and ties. It's wonderful!” Her eyes sparkled as she gazed out at the sea below.
“You've said it, Donna,” he replied flippantly, “but I prefer the sensation of being alone with you.”
“Don&t be stupid,” she remonstrated. “You're spoiling my holiday.” She stamped her dainty foot.
Noel laughed outright. He loved annoying her; usually she could take his banter; but to-day she seemed aloof. It hurt him.
At Timaru, after a hearty lunch, the party was driven inland in a powerful service car. The peaks grew nearer. Donna and Noel spoke little; they were watching the changing scene; it was their first trip here. They were delighted with Lake Tekapo and Lake Pukaki. The air became rarer and colder as they wound along the gravel plains. They seemed to have entered a huge basin guarded by snow-capped mountains. In contrast to the city they had just left, this grandeur was inspiring.
They reached the Hermitage at dusk, rather weary; but a convivial dinner restored their flagging spirits. On the morrow, an early start would be made for the Ball Hut.
Next morning, Noel awoke with the sun streaming in his window. From his bed he could see Aorangi in all its majestic whiteness. He was elated—must be the air, he thought.
He breakfasted at Donna's table; he was eager to hasten her away to the equipment room.
“You'll want rucksack, boots, sunglasses, face-cream, skis, sticks,—“ he rattled off.
“One moment,” she interrupted. “Hadn&t I better write it down?”
Noel looked daggers. “Now do hurry, or we'll miss the bus.”
At length, when the skis were strapped on, and the party were seated, the bus started off down the gravel flat. They followed the narrow twisting road around the foot of a spur, coming out onto a steady grade up the Tasman morraine. There was snow on the road here. Here and there a Chamois goat was to be seen on the scree slopes. The guides pointed out the peaks and glaciers and other features of interest.
They stopped at the garage with the Ball Hut nestling in the snow, hundreds of feet above. The gear was unpacked and had to be carried up the zig-zag track. Some keas impudently came along to watch.
There was much enthusiasm over the “Hut.” They decided to give it the dignity of its rightful name, “The Tasman Chalet,” thereafter. Donna and Noel made a tour of inspection; there was a drying room, a sun room,
(Rly, Publicity photo.)
Setting out together, clumsily lifting their feet, they reached the steep slope; they gathered speed; they lost control; with waving arms, they both fell sprawling into the soft snow. They sat up and laughed at each other. Nothing daunted, they got to their feet after an ungainly struggle, and made another attempt—and another—until they reached the gentler slopes of the valley below. Here they paused for breath, watching the others. Some of the efforts were ludicrous.
“Exhilarating—isn&t it? said Noel enthusiastically.
Donna nodded. She was watching a slim figure in a scarlet sweater, speeding down from above, turning this way, turning that way, sticks poised, with a wake of snow flying behind him.
“Oh, Noel, just look at that!” she cried.
“And he's smoking a pipe!” exclaimed Noel, dumbfounded. “We'll have to do some practice before we can do that, Donna.”
They found they could now make a straight run without a spill. However, on approaching an obstacle, the only way they could stop was to fall over.
Noel stripped off his sweaters and went away by himself, bent on mastering a turn. It was difficult. He did not seem to have any idea. One of the guides showed him how to stem first and then turn. He tried that with a little success. Perhaps he would get it in time. By jove, there was Donna with the man in the scarlet sweater; he was showing her the turns—and she was shaping well. Good for Donna. But Noel vaguely resented the attention this expert bestowed on her.
That evening they all gathered round the huge oil stove. Here it was cosy, especially when one looked out at the clear frosty night. As is usual when people are thrown together thus, tongues were loosened, and talk was turned to mountaineering. The man in the scarlet sweater was Roy Lambert, a tea-planter from Darjeeling; he was a vivacious young man, and, once he started to tell of his experiences in the Himalayas and the Italian
(Rly, Publicity photo.)
The inquisitive Kea—a source of great interest to visitors to Mt. Cook.
Next morning Donna and Noel set out early for the Ball Glacier, just over a spur. Here the slopes were gentle, and the frost had made the surface good. They took a run together. It was glorious, the crisp air, the bright sunshine.
“I'd love to be able to do all those complicated turns,” said Noel.
“Roy is coming over soon,” Donna ventured. “He can make it seem so easy.”
Must have done a lot of ski-ing,” grunted Noel.
“I'll give you an introduction if you like,” Donna offered.
“Don&t want one,” he replied savagely. “You can have your Roy Lambert —I'm through.” And he was away. He heard her mocking laughter; it went through him like a sword.
Thereafter, Noel took more than a friendly interest in Rene King, who, attractive and desirable though she was in other circumstances, was hopeless at sports. He helped her up after her falls; he disentangled her skis; he showed her how to stem and turn, but it was pathetic to watch her. Rene was delighted.
Late in the afternoon, the bus left for the Hermitage; Noel with Rene sat as far away from Roy and Donna as was possible in that small space. Rollicking choruses sung heartily by all, made the trip seem very short. Now and again a look of defiance passed between Donna and Noel.
There was a dance in the lounge that night. Donna found Roy an exquisite dancer, and she was embarrassed though pleased by his flattery. It annoyed her, however, to see Rene captivating Noel. The air was electric.
After breakfast, next morning, Noel thought everyone seemed in a hurry to get their things into the service car—there was plenty of time. He went to his room and packed leisurely. Going to his window, he gazed at the scene before him; it was beautiful—comforting–inspiring. It had been a wonderful week-end, he reflected–but for Donna. He realised now that she meant everything to him–and she was not, as he had imagined, waiting to fall into his arms; but he was not going to let her know he cared—that would be fatal.
The blare of a horn below interrupted his thoughts. They must be waiting. As he came down the stairs, he saw Donna just ahead of him in the lounge. She was late, too. He was almost beside her as she stepped into the car. She was the last person he wanted to encounter. There was only one double seat left at the back. Donna occupied the half next to the window, from which she idly viewed the landscape. Noel thought furiously; in looked as if it had been planned; or was it fate? At any rate he did not want to make a fuss. Resignedly he took the seat beside Donna, and lit a cigarette. The car moved away.
Half an hour later as the car swung round a bend, their lips met.
And we're coming back here for our honeymoon,” pleaded Noel.
“You haven&t changed a bit, Noel,” murmured Donna, as she snuggled against his shoulder. “You're still taking everything for granted.”
A halt for refreshments at Lake Takapo, on the Timaru- Mt. Cook Road, Island, New Zealand.
The annual competition for the best kept garden in the Otago railway district attracted keen competition this year and the members of the Gardening Circle of the Otago Women's Club— Mesdames H. J. Guthrie and A. Lee Smith, and Miss Martin—who acted as judges, could not separate the two leading stations, with the result that they placed Fairlie and Allanton first equal. Wingatui and Burnside were placed second equal.
Lady Ferguson, president of the Otago Women's Club, together with the judges, travelled to Fairlie for the purpose of presenting the cup for first place. Lady Ferguson handed over a miniature of the trophy to the stationmaster, at the same time congratulating him on the fine display that had been made.
Mr. H. Gibson, District Traffic Manager, thanked the members of the Women's Club for coming to make the presentation and congratulated the Gardening Circle on the interest it had shown in the competition.
Lady Ferguson and the judges went to Allanton some days later, where a function of a similar nature took place. Miss Allen was also a member of the party. Mr. Gibson and Mr. P. A. Morey (District Engineer) thanked Lady Ferguson for making the presentation and congratulated the Gardening Circle on the keen interest they were showing in this work.
Fairlie and Allanton will hold the cup for six months each, besides receiving a miniature.
At Wingatui and Burnside the second place trophies were presented to the stationmasters, Mr. Bulman (Wingatui), and Mr. J. Duncan (Burnside).
Some notable displays were also made at a number of stations in the Canterbury district this year, the annual competition in connection with these gardens being carried out under the combined auspices of the Canterbury Horticultural Society and the Railway Department. The judges were exceedingly pleased with the work accomplished during the year by the officers in charge, as the maintenance of an exposed railway station garden in a satisfactory manner during a trying season must have required a vast amount of care and attention. Still further advance next year is promised by the interest taken in the movement by the stationmasters and their willingness to take advantage of any suggestions for improvement made to them by the judges.
Every square inch that could be utilised for garden operations was brought into the plan of the winning class A garden at Rakaia, which, notwithstanding its exposed position and the difficulty of providing shelter from the prevailing winds, maintained a remarkable display throughout the year. Heathcote, second in this class, had a garden of perfect design. The station gardens at Little River, Dunsandel and Papanui also were kept up to their reputations, and each had some special merit. Much good work was done by the officer in charge at Dunsandel, where the conditions experienced made gardening anything but a sinecure.
“The gardens inspected were so well maintained that one could hardly realise that the season had been so trying from a horticultural point of view,” is a comment made on the B class gardens. The competitions were organised by the District Traffic Manager, Mr. E. S. Brittenden.
(The writer of this article was for many years Government Surveyor and Ranger for the Crown Lands Department. He was one of the survivors of the memorable early morning of June 10,1886, when the eruption of Tarawera volcano and the upheaval of Rotomahana lake overwhelmed Te Wairoa, caused widespread terror and destruction and killed more than 150 people. Mr. Lundius here describes briefly his experiences in Te Wairoa village, and some incidents of the eruption)
We had come in from the Urewera Country road survey to rest awhile at Te Wairoa in the winter of 1886. The early morning of the 10th June was beautifully clear. It was full moon. In fact, there was an occultation of Mars by the Moon at 10.30 that night. There was no wind. My first sight of the outbreak was the finest and most remarkable I have ever seen. From Tarawera Mountain, with an awful noise and earth-rending, there rose a huge column of black smoke, straight up in the air, the summit of which took a mushroom shape, round the edges of which a chain of lightning was playing. I was told by persons who were at Galatea, and to windward of the mountain, that they saw flames and smoke being emitted, but we at Te Wairoa did not see any fire. I was staying with Mr. Haszard, the school teacher. In the house also were Mr. and Mrs. Haszard, four daughters, one son, one nephew, Mr. J. C. Blythe (the surveyor), and an old Maori woman called Mary te Mu. We were all gathered in a small building close to the main residence. It contained a large sitting-room and two bedrooms.
We did not know at first what was going on outside, except continuous earthshakes and a terrific noise. Then came a fall of some solid matter (scoria I afterwards found it was) on the roof. One extra large lump penetrated the iron on the roof and went through a picture hanging on the wall. It was then that Mr. Haszard thought it wisest for his wife and the young children to sit in the middle of the room right under the ridge. I was standing at the window all the time trying to see what was going on outside, but I could see nothing. The darkness was so great that one could feel it. Miss Haszard was sitting at the harmonium playing and singing hymns. I saw her get up and stoop to look at the bottom of the door, when a cracking noise was heard and I found that the roof had collapsed.
I soon discovered Miss Haszard and Mr. Blythe near me. It then occurred to me that the present situation was a good one to get out of, so I set to work to break the windows. The glass I could break with my hands (later on I found that I had cut my hand rather badly in doing this). The wooden part of the window was not so easily broken, so I set to work and completed the job with my foot, and eventually got both my companions out. We then made for the old residence close by. Mr. Blythe wanted to go inside, but one experience of a collapsed roof was enough for me. I found that the ground was covered with mud to the depth of some 4 feet. That would be a fairly good test for a roof to stand, so I insisted on our standing under the verandah, so that if the roof should collapse we had a chance to escape the consequences.
I went out in front of the building we had just left and called out, trying to ascertain if anyone else had escaped or were alive, but the noise was so terrific that I could not hear anything. After a short while (it seemed ages to me) we found that the house was on fire. What caused it I do not know. Probably it was some hot stones. Occasionally we experienced a hot suffocating wind and possibly the house was struck by lightning.
We were then obliged to leave the shelter of the verandah and go out into the paddock. By the light of the burning house I discovered the fowlhouse intact, so we took shelter there. As the mud was still falling, I took the precaution to shore up the rafters in the fowlhouse with some timber I found there. We did not know what our end would be. I was often asked, “Did you not feel frightened?” My reply was that I was beyond being frightened. All I hoped for was that the end would come quickly.
About nine o'clock in the morning the fall of mud somewhat abated, and it became lighter. The wind, fortunately for us, changed towards the south. Shortly afterwards we saw Joe McRae, the hotelkeeper, and the two Birds, his brothers-in-law, coming up to see if anyone had survived at the schoolhouse. We all went up to the ruins and found Miss Ina Haszard and old Mary sheltering under some furniture in what had been my bedroom. We soon got them out and the two sisters were once more together. We did not hear a sound or indication of anyone else being alive under the debris.
By that time everyone was leaving Wairoa, and we wanted the girls to
When we got through Tikitapu bush, we found to our delight Ted Robertson there with a buggy and pair. I do not think I was ever so glad to see anyone as I was to see Ted. He told us Rotorua was intact, but most of the people had gone towards Tauranga or Oxford (now Tirau). We got the girls into the buggy and returned to Wairoa, and began to clear away the debris of the demolished house. I soon found that the cut I had received when breaking the windows was more severe than I thought, and I could not do much digging.
After a while we saw a hand move up through an opening made by the digging, and found Mrs. Haszard alive. We soon got her out. One of her legs was badly crushed. She told us that her children were all dead. We improvised a stretcher and started to carry her out. Just as we were leaving I discovered my horse Charlie; I had left him in the paddock near the house. He had several inches of mud all over him, although he was not injured in any way. I think that for once he was glad to see me!
On our journey to Rotorua, we took it in turns to carry Mrs. Haszard. Fortunately, we were reinforced by several men from Rotorua, and at last reached that place weary and famished.
I could fill pages relating what we did for weeks afterwards. I guided several parties to the site of the upheaval, and I was one of the late Mr. S. Percy Smith's party making a survey of the crater of Tarawera, the old mountain that had done all the damage.
On the night of the eruption, a roadmaking party was camped at the east side of the Kaingaroa Plain. The late Mr. J. Morgan was in charge of the work. Only Maoris were employed. The camp was some miles up the Rangitaiki River, south of Galatea. The men had a good view of Tarawera mountain; the wind was from the east. They could see the awful spectacle of fire and cloud arising from the mountain. The Maoris were very frightened. Morgan told me that one of them came into his tent scared almost to death. He evidently thought the end of the world had come, and that it was time for him to make peace with his Maker, especially as he had rather a bad past. He prayed with fervour and ended by saying earnestly:
“Oh Lord, if you will allow me to live through this night, I will give you a pound. Morgan can stop it out of my wages.”
That Maori survived, but I do not know if he redeemed his promise.
I had been asked by the late Mr. James Stewart, C.E, to act as guide to a party intending to go as near as possible to the site of the upheaval. We started from Rotorua on the morning of Saturday, 12th June. As we entered into what had once been Te Wairoa, we heard from beneath a mound (where we concluded a whare had stood) most distressing, bloodcurdling cries.
body was taken from the place where Louper had buried it and interred in the cemetery at Grey.
This is only one story of the early struggles and defeats of the pioneers in New Zealand, but it is a typical one. But I have wandered far from Dunedin. When I was in Christchurch I asked John Schroder what was the sight that I must see in Dunedin.
“The sight,” he said, “is my dear old grandpa, Archdeacon Whitehead. Go and see him and tell him I sent you.” “I think not,” I said. “Archdeacons are hardly in my line.”
“This one is,” John assured me. “He is a revolutionary archdeacon. From that moment I was deeply interested in John's grandpa. The dear old gentleman! So brave, so persecuted ! And at such an age! Why, he must be getting on for ninety; grandson John was forty if a day, I knew. When I arrived in Dunedin I took a taxi to Selwyn College, of which he is the Principal, to meet him. The parlourmaid at the door told me that he was teaching at the moment, but would I come in and wait? I would. The Archdeacon's study was lined with books. Books were on every chair and table.
At last the Archdeacon came in. But, dear me!–whatever ….? This was no venerable old gentleman but a vigorous clean-shaven man in the prime of life. He could not be John's grandpa. But did John say “grandpa” or “godfather”? For the life of me, I could not remember. Fortunately, the Archdeacon had heard of me; he conversed on a number of subjects with considerable ease and tact. Also, better still, he rang for tea. Thoughtfully munching a chocolate biscuit I planned my explanation.
“I must tell you,” I said at last, “that John sent me to see you.”
“John?
My heart sank. Not a gleam of recognition shone in the Archdeacon's eye. He seemed never to have heard of John.
“John Schroder,” I quavered with a sinking heart. “I think you are his grand—er,–his godfather.”
“Not that I know of.”
“I don&t know if you have ever heard of a Christchurch editor named John Schroder,” I said desperately, “but he told me to come and see you. He said you were his revolutionary grandpa.”
The Archdeacon had more than a gleam in his eye now. He had a twinkle which developed into a yell of laughter.
“That scamp! He has played a trick on you. He and I were at the ‘Varsity together years ago. I was three or four years older than he, so he used to call me grandpa.”
Well, the Archdeacon was neither venerable nor revolutionary, but he was kind and interesting, and his college was beautiful.
Dunedin abounds with fine educational buildings. The Otago University, the Medical School, the Dental School and the School of Mines, are all housed in fine and dignified buildings. The place is full of students, of course. I had the honour of lecturing to their Social Discussions Group one night. Before I spoke to them one young man drew me aside.
“I want to warn you,” he said earnestly, “not to introduce anything sentimental into your speech. Most of our lads are medical students and you know what they are—hard and cynical and disillusioned. They'd simply laugh at anything sentimental.”
When I stood up to speak to them I looked round the room for hard, cynical and disillusioned faces, but they were conspicuous by their absence. Whenever I am entrusted with this sort of secret I immediately entrust it to my audience.
“I have been warned,” I commenced, “that I must avoid anything sentimental in speaking to you because many of you are medical students and you are very hard and cynical and disillusioned. Now, as a woman of the world I want to tell you that I have found that hardness and cynicism are not characteristics of men and women in the medical profession, but that they are sometimes characteristics of immaturity. The medical student is a young person who, at a most impressionable age, is confronted by sights and sounds which shock and horrify him. If he is to endure such things he finds he must put on an armour of pretence or he will break down. Because his soft heart may betray him, he pretends to be hard. It is what Freud calls ‘over-compensation of a secret doubt.’ So if any of you are very hard-boiled, please know that I understand it. It is an infantile complaint and you will get over it in time.”
Several of the students laughingly told me afterwards