Publicly accessible
URL: http://www.nzetc.org/collections.html
copyright 2008, by Victoria University of Wellington
All unambiguous end-of-line hyphens have been removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to the preceding line.
Some keywords in the header are a local Electronic Text Centre scheme to aid in establishing analytical groupings.
The New Zealand Railways Magazine is on sale through the principal booksellers, 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.
Contributions are accepted for publication only upon the express condition that the contributor will indemnify the Publishers of the Magazine against all claims made by reason of anything in the contribution constituting an infringement of copyright or being defamatory.
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.
The Editor cannot undertake the return of MS. unless accompanied with a stamped and addressed envelope.
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 24,000 copies each issue since April, 1938.
Controller and Auditor-General
10/11/38.
“Where the waterfall gleams like a quick fall of stars.”
—Thomas Moore.
The Mokau Falls, north side of Waikare-moana, North Island.
(Photo. E. D. Burt.)
There is a touch of magic in the idea of sending a Broadcasting Studio by rail on an itinerant errand to numerous North Island stations where the people might otherwise never have the privilege of a broadcasting service in their own home town.
And what a chance for local talent! Who has not, at some time in his wanderings, been caught in the net of a country concert where one or two performers have amazed by their talent-a talent which has sometimes bordered on genius-but who remain unknown to the world at large because the opportunity to be better known has never reached them. Now they will have this rail-sent opportunity to “go on the air” and be heard by those who are just looking for the kind of talent these local lads and lasses possess.
The plan also shows just another of the ubiquitous capacities the Railways have to serve the country. Little research was needed to show that no other medium of transport could render a service comparable with that of the Railways for the purposes of this mobile radio studio.
Here is the recipe, reduced to its simplest elements. Select a suitable railway carriage; take out a few fittings; insert a few others; give the whole an ivory coat and a silver lining, with some blues and reds thrown in for good measure; and there you have a modern broadcasting studio on rails. Run it to a suitable siding; throw up an aerial; switch on the power; face the microphone; and there you have a radio station in full operation at the railway station of your choice.
It is just another of those services of New Zealanders for New Zealanders that help to develop the spirit of self-sufficiency, to bring out the latent powers of our people, and to add to the zest of life in the Dominion.
The idea does not appear to have been developed quite along these lines elsewhere, and this can be regarded as a further indication of the progressive methods adopted in New Zealand and the pioneering that can still be done, even as in the days of the earliest settlers, if we have the courage and enterprise to take the chances as they come along.
A feature of the Railway Broadcasting Studio will doubtless be the opportunities taken to discuss local problems of a technical nature and matters of district interest in which the knowledge and experience of experts in various Government Departments might be made available while the Studio is in the area most immediately concerned—a service which, for obvious reasons, could not be given so fully and effectively from a central Broadcasting Station. To the men of the Railways, as to the public in the localities where the car will run, the progress of the Railway Broadcasting Studio cannot fail to be a matter of much interest.
Physical fitness is always an interesting subject, particularly to members of the Railways Service whose duties and responsibilities demand that those engaged in train movements, track maintenance and other phases of railway operation should be able always to withstand the strain imposed on them by an occupation calling for alertness, quickness of thought and action and, on many occasions, considerable physical exertion.
The Department accordingly demands a high standard of physical fitness from those entering the Service. It also assists to maintain this standard by encouraging all movements likely to develop the physique of its junior members, and clubs for recreational purposes are given practical assistance and fostered by the Department.
I have always believed that, apart from the duty we owe to ourselves, personal fitness is a duty we owe to our employer. One need not seek far for evidence of the fact that the main source of personal happiness and satisfaction in life is found in physical fitness and good health.
It is the man who does not take precautions to keep fit who is liable to become “accident prone” and a potential danger not only to himself but also to his fellow-workers and others.
Properly understood, the art of keeping physically fit is one of the most important of all the arts—and probably one of the simplest. It is the basis of that standard of health from which a happy nature and goodwill spring. It inculcates moderation, strengthens the character, helps to produce an equable mind, and is the source of courage and enterprise in the things that are worth while.
Just as it is the aim of the administration to have every vehicle and every piece of equipment fit and capable for the work they are called on to do, so it should be the aim of each member of the service to so equip himself physically that his share in the work of the Railways and of the community generally can be carried out efficiently and with the greatest satisfaction and pleasure to himself and his fellow men.
The practice of keeping fit, like other good habits, should be cultivated in our youth, as the earlier the practice begins the more enjoyable it becomes and the more enduring will be the results. Nor it need not cost anything in establishing, by means of physical fitness, what I regard as the best asset one can possess—Good Health.
General Manager.
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
It is intended that this series of articles should give some idea of New Zealand's advance in industrial progress.
To find a starting point was difficult, for there was such an modern factory production is the machine.
I soon found that we have in New Zealand, not only huge plants turning out a wide variety of articles, but that the very tools and machines which ensure the production are themselves designed and fabricated in New Zealand.
It is impossible in the compass of this article to cover the whole field, so that I had to make a selection. I have taken as typical examples four engineering units; a great foundry and structural steel plant; a modern scientific precision engineering company; a highly specialised factory competing efficiently with overseas makers; and, lastly, a small but well-equipped workshop where the engineering art reaches its highest expression—tool-making.
I have had fascinating days and shocks of almost electric intensity to find the pitch to which our engineering industry has attained. “New Zealand is marching on.”
Engineering for the purpose of this story does not include motor works and their ramifications, nor the business of electrical supplies, or a dozen and one branches of activity which involve the use of machinery. “General Engineering,” as a term, is confined to the concerns which make the machines, or the structural steel skeletons for great buildings, and the like.
At the beginning of this century, there were thirty-seven establishments of this kind whose efforts added 176,000 to the wealth of the community. To-day there are no less than 206 separate organisations who bring over a million and a quarter into the community chest, and keep 3,727 New Zealanders in work. Some firms are nation-wide, one of them, for instance, having fourteen branches. The growth of this particular industry only goes to prove once more how essentially British we are. That delightful everyday philosopher, Wyndham Lewis, explains in his last book about John Bull, the reasons that made the British the first portion of the human race to be clean shaven.
England was the first country to be thoroughly industrialised, and he says, “Whiskers do not go with factory machinery, that is all there is to it.” Among our forebears were plenty of men of mechanical training who dreamed of planned endeavour to make for ourselves the instruments and utility mechanisms we needed, without the long haul over two oceans. It took time, however. We have always
and the goods.”
It is clear that the squadron leaders in New Zealand's march to progress are the scientific engineers. To-day the spark gap and the drill are mightier than the pen. The satisfaction of human needs, and the elimination of drudgery are the twin tasks of the machine. This is the age of the engineer. I have had a great deal to do with the technical experts of the Railways Department. However one looks at human problems, there is something refreshing about the viewpoint of the technician. Others may forecast, may keep exact records, may devise management systems … but the engineer has to make something that works. The verdict is inevitable
General Engineering in New Zealand
(1) A corner of Cable's construction steel shop. (2) Cable's steel store, served by railway siding. Overhead designed and made by Cable's. (3) Standard Engineering Company's big die-press. (4) Last-word in modern die-making plant at Pallo's. (5) Examples of dies for producing spoons made by machine at Pallo's. (6) Press at Neeco which cuts and shapes parts of electric range. (7) Moulding-shop at Cable's. (8) “In all degrees.” Petrol-pumps made at Pallo's.
The surveys that follow show this principle at work in its highest form. I would have loved to have covered this subject by describing in detail the splendour, modernity, and comprehensive efficiency of our own Railway Workshops of which one distinguished visitor said: “There are larger plants in the world, but none better.”
However, this article will be confined to the achievement of our own pioneer citizens. Our first visit was paid to the works of William Cable and Co., Ltd., on the noble Hutt highway. There is something about “Cables” which is distinctive. This old, purely New Zealand concern was founded by E. W. Mills and the late Mr. William Cable who joined as engineering foreman, and subsequeutly became a partner. As the foundation date was 1854, its own centennial celebrations are approaching. There are many men on the staff with forty or more years of service.
A factor that applies to all engineering shops is one of outstanding community value. The great bulk of employees in this branch of industry are not only males, but are adult heads of families. At Cables, in particular, there is an atmosphere which for want of a better term I shall call “He-man.” The mighty mechanisms call for strong muscles, good nerves, and physical deftness. I looked at one enormous cutting wheel sheering through a steel ingot. There was no heat, no sparks flew, and the large steel mass was cut through in 1 3/4 minutes. The expert in charge had all the proud ways of a stud groom showing off his best horse.
The first process in steel constructional work is the preparation of the pattern or “template.” This is a wooden replica of the work to be done, not a miniature, but the exact size. At Cables, therefore, one great well-lighted upstairs, floor is used for the laying-out of templates. Our picture shows the lay-out for the new radio towers on Tinakori Hill, in 40 feet sections, and on the side were the big wooden patterns for Harbour Board trusses.
In November of last year, Cables put out 486 tons of fabricated steel. The “Shortland Street job” took 850 tons.
The templates are laid along the steel lengths and the punching, drilling, welding and shaping begin. There are 40 electric welding operators alone out of the total staff of more than 320. High up in each of these towering aisles of steel and iron are overhead cranes ranging from 5 to 15 tons, made
Steel is dealt with here as if it were soap or cheese.
One interesting place is the service store where tools are issued on a neat system. We show also the steel store, where streams of railway trucks load and unload masses of steel bars, trusses, plates of all conceivable lengths, sizes, angles, and thickness.
I was seeking in my mind for what was missing in my recollections of foundries before, and it proved to be “steam.” No smoke anywhere prompted my question and I found that the 2,000 h.p. on tap here all day, was electrically produced.
So when next you see the towering skeleton framework of steel of some great new building, please recall Cables, who probably fabricated that
By way of contrast, we spent a fascinating afternoon at the Pallo Engineering Works. This is the antithesis of the great Cable plant. Here the machines are relatively small, of incredible symmetry and speed of action, and of an intricacy and ingenuity that defy translation into words. Here, however, are the principles which also apply to the big works. The staff are all men, adults with the exception of the apprentices. Craftsmanship is a serious thing at Pallos, and here, perhaps, the lesson of this area of human activity gets deeper signficance.
Precision engineering is a business of ideals mixed with mathematics—of exact calculations, and chemical and mechanical research carried out in an atmosphere of working fellowship. The difference between the artificer, the workman, and the directing expert must be one of degree, not of kind.
Here we are close to the heart of the problem of production of the mechanical helps to our present day scheme of living. The glib solution usually quoted is “Mass Production,” a vague idea in our minds of a huge mass of machines turning out a vast number of things per hour. I have always suspected that there was something wrong with the logic that argued that mere numbers brought about efficiency and therefore cheapness. My own experience was that size in an organisation often militated against, and not for, efficiency. There is a tendency for the figures to take charge; there is growth towards impersonal control; and the most well meant humanism is hopeless where there are masses of industrial troops whose individuality is obliterated.
The new thing, really, in industrial production has a better name: “Quantitative Production,” and its basic principle is “interchangeability.” The new notion is that if twenty-five rods are made, and twenty-five bores, any
The technical magazine library was impressive and we took a picture of it. Mr. Pallo has the plain doctrine that the final objective of his organisation is simply, knowledge. The gospel text of the precision branch of engineering is the word “Tolerances.” To my surprise I found that there is no such thing as an exact fit and that there are thousands of text books, volumes of diagrams and veritable arsenals of instruments to deal with this problem of “tolerances.” The tolerance is the measure of the maximum variation that can be allowed if mechanical parts are to be interchangeable. Instruments that measure and check to the one thousandth part of an inch are necessities at Pallo's. Many great firms in the world do nothing but make these precision instruments. Micrometers, limit gauges, calliper gauges, powerful magnifying glasses are all in evidence. A neat small box will contain hundreds of pounds worth of them. Working to the limits of exactness prescribed by these metal warders is the life and death necessity of this type of work, and the “Stop and Go” gauge is the final arbiter.
The art of die-casting at Pallo's is at a standard of world parity. This after war development has worked miracles. Nowadays such wide apart articles as vacuum-cleaner chassis,
I saw here a gear hobbing machine which cuts gears from a solid wheel in an unbelievable sideways fashion.
Mr. Pallo has taken out himself no less than twenty-three different patents, and the whole place has an air of study and initiative. Noise is not very noticeable, and the whole ninety of the staff can hear the radio which runs the whole time.
Pallo's is worth a visit, as an example of a kind of competence that is usually associated with the older scientific and technological organisations of Europe. There is an air of learning and idealism, and the staff, on my visit, were concentrating hard on the entries for the sports events at the annual picnic.
Next we paid a call on the Neeco factory and received a series of shocks. This is a specialist factory making an excellent electric range, but it is an example of entire self-contained working. The sheet iron plates arrive at the door and the rest is done, inside, with New Zealand hands, brains and materials. The sheets are of standard size, and pass through a series of presses, transforming them steadily into the exact shapes, sizes, and designs that finally assemble into the square, neat, handsome Neeco electric cooking stove. Our picture shows them arranged in dozens for despatch all over New Zealand. Guillotines cut the sheets, and they are shaped by dies, which have been made in the factory. Speaking of “tolerances,” the maximum allowed at Neeco is 1/64th of an inch. The large press shown in our picture is a marvel of efficiency, handling the backs, sides, and tops, bending, cutting, punching holes and so on with almost magical precision.
Smaller presses carry on the work on the smaller parts and the oddments. Welding is the joining process here,
Iron expands when heated and the expansion ratio of the enamel content and the iron has to be matched exactly. The spray gun expert has to be an artist. There must not be the tiniest trace of a finger mark on the plate, hence the “pickling” room. A ground coat is applied first, and then the colours, fawn, blue, green, white or black are applied. A fascinating variation to watch is the mottle, or marbling.
The furnace is a spectacular unit at Neeco. Inside it is at crematorium heat. Outside the walls are just warm. Not only the firebricks inside but these effective walls are made from New Zealand clays in a New Zealand factory at Temuka. The porcelain linings
No fingers ever touch the plates; they are held by hooks and are slid into the glowing furnace on racks, to be fused in a matter of minutes.
The assembly rooms are interesting. Exactness is the watchword, and the sturdiness of the Neeco range had just come in for a surprise testimonial a day or two before my visit. A range, unboxed, had dropped on its edge by accident from the top of a well-laden lorry, and all that was done by way of damage was a trifling dent in one corner. Everyone in the place seemed as pleased as if a sweep ticket had proved a winner.
The Neeco factory is a worthwhile New Zealand possession. It is a self-contained production unit, translating precision engineering into utility practice, and once more illustrating the maxim that “engineering exists to do away with human drudgery.”
Our tour concluded with a survey of a fine example of that highest manifestation of the engineer's art, the tool-making workshop. The Standard Engineering Company has a select companionship of both craftsmen and machines. The latter have been chosen from many different countries.
Here is an eclectic plant in the real sense. For the everyday layman, the most exciting sight here is the set of working tools which make the tobacco tin. Once more we meet the problem of “tolerances”; drawing and designs have to be of infinite accuracy and gauges which check infinitesimal measurements are in constant use. But here comes in “that little bit extra” of the song.
A tool can be fashioned with every appearance of perfect precision, and responding to every test. Yet when it comes to dealing with such a problem as making “flowing” tin behave, a something more is needed, and the personal skill of the craftsman enters the picture. Test after test on the actual tin is made; changes that are almost imperceptible are wrought, and finally, and triumphantly, “it works! Eureka!”
It is amazing to see what is entailed in giving, for instance, the top of a tobacco tin a rolled edge. The flat sheet takes on first the shape of a straw hat, and finally the edge rolls up. All this is to save our finger tips
So in this compact, unpretentious, and competent establishment, we take leave of New Zealand's engineering industry.
It has been a heart warming week of experience for me, and we can safely join in the belief that in industry it is true that “New Zealand Marches On.”
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
the railcar, “tokomaru.”
When the Railway Department takes over the Napier-Wairoa section of the East Coast Railway on a working basis, stated Mr. G. H. Mackley, General Manager of Railways, after his return from a fast railcar trip to Wairoa on 4th February, it is intended to institute a twice-daily service between Napier and Wairoa to connect with the express trains to and from Wellington, and other services. This will give a through service between Wairoa and Wellington.
Mr. Mackley said that the line from Napier to Putorino was in charge of the Working Railways Department, and the line from Putorino to Raupunga, a length of approximately fourteen miles, was now ready for handing over by the Public Works Department. The Minister of Railways has signed the necessary warrant, and when that length has been taken over by the Working Railways Department, it will give a distance of forty-three miles from Napier under its control.
That leaves approximately thirty miles of line between Raupunga and Wairoa still in the hands of the Public Works Department. The work on this section of the line is very well advanced, and it is expected by the Public Works Department that this portion of the line, so far as the traffic section is concerned, will be ready for handing over to the Working Railways Department in about three months. Some cottages and other buildings, however, still remain to be completed at Wairoa before that portion of the line can be used for the full passenger and goods service. As soon as the line itself is ready to hand over, from Raupunga to Wairoa, it is the intention, as indicated by the Minister of Railways, to introduce a modified passenger service by the utilisation of the standard type of railcar, as the staff arrangements for this type of service will enable the Department to proceed with these arrangements without waiting until all the cottages have been built.
The modified passenger service from Wairoa when it is inaugurated will mean that the people of the Wairoa district will have a connection with the express from Napier to Wellington in the morning and also one with the express from Wellington arriving at Napier in the late afternoon. This railcar connects with the express from Wellington, and also provides a connection at Wairoa with the service car for Gisborne. In addition to these connections with the up and down Napier expresses, the same railcar will return to Wairoa after connecting with the morning express to Wellington, and return after lunch to Napier in time to connect with the 4.24 train to Palmerston North, which will also make connection with the “Limited” express for Auckland, in addition to
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
Mr. G. H. Mackley, C.M.G., General Manager of Railways, shaking hands with members of the Railways staff upon arrival at Wairoa.
“As the following times of different stages of the journey indicate,” said Mr. Mackley, “the railcar, ‘Tokomaru,’ again performed exceptionally well. On the up trip the actual running time from Wellington to Palmerston North was 1 hr. 46 min. for the 87 miles, and the homeward journey between these points 1 hr. 42 min. The actual running time from Wairoa to Napier was 2 hr. 5 min., and the actual running time from Napier to Wellington was 4 hr. 28 mins.”
Some residents who were taken from Wairoa to Napier commented upon the excellent riding qualities of the car. There were others who had the opportunity of testing the car at high speeds, and they also praised it. On straight portions of track where the running conditions were good the car again had no difficulty in attaining speeds of 70 miles an hour, and the riding qualities of the vehicle, even at this high speed, were the subject of most favourable comment.
A New chapter in transportation's story in the London area was begun a few weeks ago, with the opening of the electric services of the Southern Railway between the metropolis and Reading, and also via Ascot, Camberley and Aldershot to Guilford. This extension added 43 route and 88 track miles to the Southern electric system, giving a total of 622 route and 1,582 track-miles. Conditions in the territory served are peculiarly favourable to electrification, indeed, without electrification, the Southern would have been quite unable to handle the ever-growing traffic of the area, particularly during the morning and evening peak periods. Actually, on each week-day, the London terminal stations of this company receive 2,545 passenger trains, conveying over 370,000 passengers. During three rush hours—7.0 a.m. to 10.0 a.m.—540 trains arrive daily with 243,000 passengers, while the return evening traffic is similarly concentrated. Apart from the increased number of trains possible with electrification, the electric trains have remarkably quick acceleration, for within thirty seconds of starting they are moving at 30 m.p.h. This, and the benefits secured through the introduction of modern colour light signalling, has been an immense contribution to the successful handling of traffic.
In the case of the new Reading line electrification, thirty-six electric trains now take the place of the twenty steam trains formerly run each week-day between Waterloo and Reading. The average journey time, also, has been reduced by eleven minutes. The rolling-stock for the Reading electrification consists of 36 new two-coach lavatory motor-train units of a similar type to those employed in the London-Portsmouth services. Each unit consists of a motor coach and a trailer with driving compartment. At peak hours, two or more train units are coupled together to form trains of up to eight vehicles. Important station remodelling works have proceeded at the same time, notably at Egham, Virginia Water and Sunningdale. The electrification in the Ascot area will prove of especial benefit on race days, while in the Camberley and Aldershot area many important military establishments welcome the improved services.
Most famous of all Southern passenger trains is the “Golden Arrow” Continental Express, running from London to Dover, in connection with the Southern Railway Steamship Service to France, and the forward “Golden Arrow” service of the Northern Railway of France between Calais and the French capital. A complete new “Golden Arrow” train has recently been put into service by the Waterloo authorities. It consists of eight Southern carriages and four Pullman cars of the latest design. The Southern carriages are of standard pattern, but they are
Acceleration of freight trains continues on the Home railways. Most of the long-distance goods trains now run at speeds of up to 60 m.p.h., and wagon loads range from 40 to 60 per train. Runs of 100 miles or more non-stop are common. Particularly interesting is the present-day practice of the four group lines to issue goods train time-tables to the public. In days gone by there were no freight train time-tables open to public inspection, but nowadays all that has changed, and now that goods trains run almost with the punctuality of passenger services, the distribution of accurate goods train time-tables has become general. One railway—the L. & N.E.R.—has gone a step further, by issuing a special booklet of 44 pages, giving details of the principal freight trains, their running times, and the hours at which consignees of goods thus conveyed may expect delivery. All this is to be commended, for at this juncture there is every need to impress upon one and all the extreme reliability of railway service.
The campaign of the Home railways for a “square deal” continues, and there is every reason to believe their claims will be met to a considerable extent. One feature of present-day practice which will probably shortly disappear is the very strict classification of goods for charging purposes, and the simplification of that awe-inspiring volume of 400 pages, the “general railway classification.” Every conceivable article is listed in this book, the commodities being embraced in no fewer than sixty-six classes. Actually, each article appears dozens of times in different classes, according to whether it is forwarded in large or small quantities, whether it is packed or unpacked, and so on. The classification has taken about a century to compile, and the whole thing is far too cumbersome and restrictive for present-day needs. Like so many other appurtenances of modern railway operation, this bible of the rate clerk soon will be relegated to the museum.
In view of the efforts of the Home lines to throw off the shackles of antiquated legislation, it is worth noting that in the United States of America—where the railways have also been passing through an exceptionally hard time—very similar problems are at
A sure sign of the approach of spring-time in Britain is provided by the commencement of the movement by train of early narcissi and tulip blooms from the Lincolnshire and Cornish growing areas to the principal inland markets. This business now approaches its peak, and special flower trains are run daily to London to meet public demands. The L. & N.E. Railway links Lincolnshire with London, and the G.W. connects the Cornish flower-fields with the metropolis. Railway road vehicles convey the flowers from the fields to railhead, where special wagons are waiting to carry the traffic to London. Railway road vehicles again are pressed into service to form a connection between the city stations and the big markets. Close co-operation between growers and carriers has been a feature in recent years, and home-grown spring flowers, fresh and sweet, have thereby been brought within the reach of all.
The apex of the North Island of New Zealand is Mt. Ruapehu, 9,175 ft., the great massif of which rises up in magnificent splendour, above the forest and tussock plains of the Tongariro National Park.
Every year, during both summer and winter, an ever-increasing number of vigorous young men and women come from north and south, by train and car, to ski and climb on its slopes, and to breathe the clean, exhilarating air that one finds only amid the mountains.
How many of the young climbers, we wonder, having climbed up to the highest peak and looked down at the sometimes opaque, sometimes translucent waters of the crater lake, reflect on early ascents of the mountain, made under greatly different conditions from those enjoyed to-day?
Let us go back to a time when the Maoris were far from being the peaceful race that they are to-day; when they would allow no one to break a “tapu” by climbing the mountain—to a time when the only means of travel were by foot and on horseback, and when there were no comfortable huts and no Chateau Tongariro.
The first Europeans to show any great interest in the mountain, were probably Diffenbach, in 1842 and Hochstetter, in 1859. Both of them were anxious to attempt an ascent, but permission to do so was refused by the powerful chief, Te Heu Heu. In an account of his wanderings, Hochstetter wrote of Ruapehu:
“No one has ever ascended or explored it. Nevertheless, there can be no doubt as to its volcanic nature, but it seems perfectly extinct; there is no trace of solfatara to be discovered in the distance, either at its sides or at the top, and it is totally unknown whether the broad summit forms a plateau or whether it contains a crater.”
One of the earliest climbs on the mountain, of which there is any record, was the ascent of Te Heu Heu, the mountain's northern peak. On the 12th December, 1877, two brothers, J. and T. Allison, started up a northeastern spar. Nearing the summit, they were enveloped in a fog which became thicker as they climbed upward. After a seven hours' climb they reached the summit, where visibility was limited to about a hundred yards. The descent was made without mishap, in about four hours, to a camp at the bush level.
In connection with this ascent it is interesting to note that T. Allison, writing some twenty years later in the New Zealand Alpine Journal, stated that they believed at the time that they were the first to ascend Ruapehu at all. Later, however, he found a footnote in one of Hochstetter's works, which made mention of the fact that Sir George Grey had stated that he had been to the summit. He wrote to Sir George, who was then living in London, and received from him a very interesting letter, which stated in part:
“… and continued until I reached a spot where I had a view over a vast extent of country, without experiencing any great difficulties in the ascent. The natives had begged me not to ascend the mountain, and from superstitious fears were excessively urgent that I should not do so, stating that they came from Whanganui, and might possibly be killed out of revenge for breaking a tapu. I was unwilling, therefore, to show myself if I could help it, and did not attempt to walk along the summit of the mountain, and immediately descended from the point I had reached without examining any crater. I spent but a few moments on the summit, and did not discover the crater lake.”
Sir George could not recollect the date of his ascent. Allison mentioned that it would have been about 1855.
Probably the first men to see the crater lake, were Messrs. Maxwell and Beetham, who made an ascent in 1879.
Few of those who later made ascents wrote about them in as interesting a fashion as did J. H. Kerry-Nicholls, a world-traveller who made an epic 600 mile trip through the King Country in
Kerry-Nicholls has painted for us a vivid word-picture of the scene that met their gaze:—“Looking towards the south, along the summit of the mountain, which stretched away for nearly a mile in length, peak rose above peak in colossal proportions from the dazzling expanse of snow. Each grand and towering mass of rock, tinted by the extinct volcanic fires of a reddish hue, standing out clearly defined against the light-blue sky, each pointed summit shining with ice beneath the bright light with grand and almost magical effect.”
On the occasion of this ascent the crater was filled with snow, and was cut here and there by great deep chasms.
(Photo, courtesy W. P. Sommerville.
Mr. E. C. Dickie, the chef at The Chateau, Tongariro National Park, and his unique Christmas cake. The cake, including its elaborate decoration (every part edible) took three weeks to make, and follows the design of a Maori palisaded enclosure containing a whare (house) and pataka (food store).
What is the motive of men in striving to reach the summits of mountains sometimes in the face of hostile opposition, from both man and nature? To some it is the desire to add to geographic and scientific knowledge; to the vast majority, however, the dominating urge is that of adventure, and the love of nature.
Eighty cigarettes a day! M. Aristide Briand, “the strong man of French Politics,” smoked 80 cigarettes a day—and lived to be old. Yet the enemies of the weed will insist that smoking, even in moderation, shortens life! But that depends on the tobacco. The famous Frenchman's favourite blend must have been of exceptional purity to admit of his indulging so freely. Because brands there are in plenty, which it would be simply suicidal to smoke to that extent owing to the quantity of nicotine they contain. Tobacco absolutely free from nicotine is unknown, but our N.Z. brands are not far off the mark. The toasting they are subjected to at the factory accounts not only for their comparative freedom from nicotine, but for their peculiarly delicious flavour and unequalled aroma. They do not, be it noted, affect the heart, and are the only toasted tobaccos. That they possess an irresistible attraction for smokers is proved by their extensive sale. There are only five toasted brands: Riverhead Gold, Desert Gold, Cut Plug No. 10, Cavendish, and Navy Cut No. 3. But ‘ware of imitations!*
* * *
* * *
* * *
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A view of New Plymouth, looking towards the port.
Of the millions of passengers safely transported in New Zealand each year by the Railways Department the majority, like myself, have little appreciation of what railway organisation means. The only time I ever felt keenly about the railways in this country was when they stopped and I did not know why. Then I felt so keenly about them that I would thrust my head through a window and snarl viciously at a wandering stationmaster with a lamp in his hand. Occasionally I wondered how all the trains managed to get to their correct destinations; but that was only a fleeting thought, generally thrust aside with a sneer about luck rather than good management.
Then I had the good fortune to be among the passengers on the new standard type rail car, “Aotea,” on her initial run to New Plymouth. That short trip, it seemed short in the speed-luxury of the “Aotea,” revealed to me as a typical layman what thought and planning lie behind the railway service in New Zealand or any other country. The sight of the General Manager, Mr. G. H. Mackley, C.M.G., crouched over a chart of bends and gradients as he stood next the driver for almost all of the journey from Wanganui to New Plymouth, brought home the realisation that from the top, downward, every member of the staff is a keen railwayman.
It was the initial run from which extensive and comprehensive data for the final schedule were collected, and for the first time I realised that “railwaymen” are truly a special type of human.
The run from Wellington to Wanganui and from there to New Plymouth is made up of track that comprises some of the stiffest gradients in the North Island as well as tight curves nearly all the way. The “Aotea” made light of the gradients and slid round the tightest curves without a trace of discomfort to her passengers. There was a complete absence of sway, scarcely any noise, and the country flashed by at a most exhilarating pace.
After leaving Wellington the route passed through the recently opened Tawa Flat tunnel and followed rather broken country to Pukerua Bay which was the highest point of the first section of the journey. The grades approaching' Pukerua Bay from the Wellington side are 1 in 57, and from the New Plymouth side 1 in 66, these being the worst grades between
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The rail car “Aotea.”
It was here that I had my first impression of travel on the footplate, but there was no glaring heat, no swaying rattle and cold rush of air. All there was to be seen was the gleam of the rails sliding beneath us and a steady purring as we swept along at 70 miles an hour. The powerful beam of the head lamps cut a large slice from the night and into this we rushed headlong, standing and sitting in the comfort of a well-lighted room as though we were at home by our firesides.
The “Aotea,” as an example of the Standard Type of rail car, is a fitting product to crown the achievement of railway design and planning in New Zealand. The sleek lines of the silver car express a greater freedom of design than any seen in other passenger
Some appreciation of the task facing the locomotive driver is gained when one sees the approaching track. The section of line between Wangaehu and Waitotara with its tortuous bends and steep gradients presented no problem to the “Aotea,” but a locomotive with ten or more carriages behind it is a much more cumbersome vehicle, and negotiating those bends and inclines must call for as great skill in handling the engine as to berth a liner. To maintain headway while dragging a heavy snake round two or more bends at the one time is no mean feat, and passengers fretting at the slackening of speed would do well to place themselves in the shoes of the driver. He is negotiating as difficult a section of track as any in the world.
A feature of the trip was the crowded stations on the route between Wanganui and New Plymouth, the area which will find greatest convenience in the new service when it commences. At several stations the car was stopped and the people thronging the platforms invited to inspect the new vehicle. The interior of the car is in green, both walls and ceiling being covered with Rexine, and the silver relief provided by the chromium plated fittings and silver paintwork on the roof makes the colour scheme particularly attractive.
Seating accommodation for fifty-two is provided with a first and second class division. The second class compartment lacks nothing in comfort though the upholstery is not quite as lavish in its conception as in the first class section. Green leather makes the seats (which are of the adjustable three-position reclining type) comfortable and keeps them in harmony with the high standard of workmanship revealed in all other parts of the car.
Thermostatically controlled heat makes travel in all weathers a pleasant experience, and the lighting and ventilation are quite adequate.
When it is remembered that all this comfort is capable of moving from place to place with a maximum speed of about seventy miles an hour, some realisation of the progress of railway travel in New Zealand is possible. It is interesting to note that rail car developments in other countries have met with success, and all progressive railway countries have evolved their types of rail car according to their needs and special conditions. New Zealand's needs include great mobility for the tortuous and steep gradients in some of her railway country.
Rail car travel is a definitely new and pleasant experience for the railway public of the Dominion. The silver lines of the “Aotea” as she travels along a stretch of straight
The country surges past in undulating sweeps of green as one sits in the control compartment at the front of the car, and it is here that the spirit of progress may be actually experienced.
In view of the fact that among the many interesting ingredients that go to make up that rich confection, the New Zealand Centennial Celebrations, are the various literary competitions open to your native writers, some particulars of, and comments upon, the series of similar competitions arranged by the Literary Committee of Australia's 150th Anniversary Celebrations Council, may be of interest. Of that committee I, as President of the Sydney branch of the P.E.N. Club, had the honour to be the Government's nominee as chairman; and, as such, was largely concerned in the establishment and conduct of the competitions, to say nothing of the other work of the committee. For we had many other activities to control in addition to the competitions — the most important being the Exhibition of Australian literature which was held in the magnificent hall of the Fisher Library, Sydney University. At this Exhibition every variety of Australian Literature was shown, arranged in accordance with date and subject, with the result that the Exhibition as a whole presented a complete review of Australian letters in every field and of every period. It proved to be an extraordinarily interesting feature of the Celebrations and, despite the distance of the Fisher Library from the centre of the city, it was visited during the fortnight of its currency, by a very large number of persons, who were by no means confined to literary experts and book-lovers. But this is by the way. My real theme is the Literary Competitions.
The Committee associated with me consisted of Dame Mary Gilmore, Australia's leading poetess (and I'm not sure that I could not rightly drop the feminine suffix); the Misses F'ora Eldershaw and Marjorie Barnard—the two young women writers whose skilful collaboration has produced “A House Is Built,” “Green Memories,” “The Glass House,” and other novels which have moved the critics, both of Australasia and the Homeland, to general laudation; “Harry” Green, the Librarian of the Fisher and himself a notable literary critic, and the writer of excellent verse; Frank Dalby Davison, the author of that unique study, “Man Shy,” a book which won the Gold Medal of the Australian Literary Society and has already become a classic; the Hon. T. D. Mutch, ex-Minister for Education in the first Lang Ministry and now the Government representative of Coogee in the N.S.W. Assembly; J. D. Clyne, M.L.A., the representative of the city constituency of King—a Labour stronghold—who, almost alone in this regard, insisted during the passage of the authorising Bill through the N.S.W. Parliament upon the necessity of introducing some literary activities into the Celebrations' scheme; and W. E. FitzHenry, a member of the literary staff of the Sydney Bulletin, whose long experience with the various competitions arranged by that journal, and as Hon. Secretary of the Fellowship of Australian Writers, made him the ideal man to take the Honorary Secretaryship of the Committee to which position he was accordingly appointed with enthusiasm. That he filled it with credit to himself and advantage to the Committee goes without saying, and I am glad to take this opportunity of testifying to his varied and indefatigable efforts to make the Committee's work a success.
At the very first meeting of the Committee it was decided to institute a series of literary competitions; but before we could decide upon their exact nature it was necessary to find out how much money we were to be allotted by the N.S.W. Government. It was decided, after careful consideration, that we should ask for £1,200. We received £500! But further pressure added £150 for expenses, so that the initial grant could be preserved intact for the prize money. In view of this lack of funds—and also, I may add, of time, for it was half way through 1937 before we were constituted as a committee—it was decided not to include a full length novel among the subjects for competition. The £500 was, therefore, eventually allotted as follows:—
Short Story: 1st prize, £80; 2nd, £20.
Short Poem: 1st prize, £50; 2nd, £10.
Short Essay: 1st prize, £50; 2nd, £10.
Long Essay: 1st prize, £100; 2nd, pound;30.
Full Length Play: 1st prize, pound;125; 2nd, £25.
A few days later, however, we were notified that the Commonwealth Government had decided to allot our Committee the sum of £250 to be awarded as a special Commonwealth Prize in such manner as we might think fit. Considerable discussion resulted in the decision to offer the whole amount as a prize for the best novel “published or accepted by a publisher,” during 1937. This particular limitation was decided upon firstly because it was clear that if the entries
It was also decided that the meaning and effect of the terms “Long and Short” as used in the various classifications should be left entirely to the judges to interpret. For it was felt that if any arbitrary length were prescribed an excellent entry might have to be disregarded simply because it had a few words or lines too many. Also, and in particular, it seemed to us to be too difficult to define a “short” poem with any exactitude. For instance a poem of the length of Milton's L'Allegro might well be deemed short and thus eligible for the prize if its merits otherwise were sufficient. As a matter of fact, the winning poem just filled the colmun of the Sydney Morning Herald, when published by that journal after the announcement of the prizes. So that it will be seen that the term “short” was given a very elastic interpretation by the judges. It was also decided that the “Australian” authors from whom entries were invited should, for the purposes of the competitions, mean a writer who had been born, or naturalised, in Australia, New Zealand, or the British South Pacific Islands, or had been a bona fide resident of any of those places for the three years preceding the closing date. In this respect the competitions were more liberal than those which have been arranged for the New Zealand celebrations, the latter being confined, I understand, to New Zealand writers only. This wide proviso was made the first of the conditions governing the competitions which we then issued to the public, the remainder reading as follows:—
2. All rights, including book, serial, dramatic, cinema, radio, and gramophone, are reserved to the author.
3. Works entered for the competition must not have been published in any form, in whole or in part or in abridgment (“published” for this purpose shall include stage or radio performances, lectures or public readings).
4. Works entered for the competitions must not be published in any form, in whole or in part or in abridgment, until the Judges announce their decision.
5. Every work must be submitted under a nom-de-plume, and the correct name and address of the author, with the nom-de-plume, must accompany the M.S. in a sealed envelope. The author's name must not appear on the M.S. Entries which do not comply with this rule will not be eligible. Conditions 3, 4 and 5 do not apply to the entries in the novel class.
6. Every competitor must give his consent to the publication of his real name and address in the event of him winning a prize.
7. No competitor may enter more than three works in one section, but any competitor shall be eligible to enter works in all or as many as he or she wishes.
8. Stamps for return must accompany all Mss. which should be typewritten. While every care will be taken of entries, no responsibility will be accepted for loss or damage, and competitors are advised to keep duplicate copies.
9. The decisions of the Judges shall be final and binding on all entrants, and in all other matters arising out of the competitions entrants must accept the ruling of the Literary Committee.
10. Members of the Literary Committee shall not be eligible to enter for the competitions.
11. The closing date shall be at noon on Friday, 31st December, 1937, and all entries received after that hour, whether delivered or posted, shall not be eligible but shall be returned to their authors.
12. All entries shall be addressed to Mr. S. Elliott Napier, Chairman Literary Committee, Australia's 150th Anniversary Celebrations, G.P.O. Box 3845T, Sydney, and plainly marked Literary Competitions with the title of the Sections for which entry is intended.
13. The Literary Committee reserves the right to make no award in any particular section, or to lessen the number of awards.
14. The Literary Committee reserves the right to bracket competitors.
It may be mentioned here that very “nice” and particular were some of the many points we were called upon to decide. Thus, a firm of publishers declared that they were ready to publish the winning novel whatever it might be, and then endeavoured to induce us to open the competition to all Mss. sent in, whether previously accepted (or published) or not, on the ground that as “any” Ms. might win and would thus, ipso facto, be accepted,
Mss. received could be regarded as accepted, and therefore be eligible for consideration. The Committee were somewhat taken aback by this ingenious argument; but, believing that common sense was with them, and preferring that the publishers' “readers” should tackle such a Herculean task rather than themselves, decided against it. However, it was pressed, and so the opinion of counsel learned in the law was taken (at considerable cost), and as it agreed with that already expressed by the Committee, the matter was dropped.
The competitions proved extraordinarily successful: 26 novels, mostly in published form, were received; 110 long essays; 151 full length plays; 262 short essays; 435 short stories, and 628 poems! To deal with this immense mass of material in the short space of three months (for the results in all classes except one had to be announced by the 1st of April, 1938, and in that one exception—the full length play—by the 1st of March, so that the play, if desired, could be rehearsed and staged before the termination of the Celebrations on the 30th April) meant hard work on the part of the Committee, and most of them were kept with their noses very consistently to the grindstone. It was impossible for all members of the Committee to read and judge all the different entries in all the different classes, so we divided the Committee into sub-committees of one, two or three members, and to each sub-committee was allotted one section of the competitions.
Each sub-committee was allowed to engage from three to five preliminary readers (who were paid from £5/5/-to £7/7/- for their work) to read the entries and to reduce them, by the elimination of such as were clearly “impossible,” to such numbers as could be handled by the final judge.
Take the case of the plays, for example, with which I was appointed to deal and of which therefore I am particularly competent to speak. In view of the number of entries, their individual length, and the particularly short time available for their judging, I was permitted to engage five preliminary judges; to each of whom I entrusted twenty-five plays, taking the remaining twenty-six myself. Each of these preliminary judges—and let me say, they were chosen for their particular knowledge of, and experience in, dramatic literature and production—was asked to reduce the entries to three if possible and certainly to not more than five. This procedure left me with a little over twenty plays upon which to pass final judgment. A careful re-reading reduced these to five, and on these five I again took the advice of two of the preliminary judges who were specially qualified for the job. In the final issue we were all agreed upon the first prize winner; as to the other four there was a difference of opinion; so that I had to shoulder the responsibility and award the minor place-winners myself.
Much the same procedure was, I believe, followed by the other subcommittees, and, so far as I have been able to gather, with as much general satisfaction as is possible for any such judgments to achieve. Certainly I have heard no objection—except one of a technical nature which we were easily able to answer—and I think that if there had been much dissatisfaction, the Chairman of the Committee would have heard of it.
The prize-winners were announced over the air, the Australian Broadcasting Commission very kindly allowing us a short evening session for the purpose. Mr. FitzHenry, the late Sir John Dunningham (who was the Minister in charge of the Celebrations) together with myself attended at the studio on the arranged date, and actually opened the sealed envelopes containing the rightful names of the winners before the microphone, Mr. Dunningham (as he then was) announcing the names and congratulating their owners on behalf of the Government and Council.
The competitions brought entries from every State of the Commonwealth, from New Zealand, and from New Guinea, and many islands of the Pacific. The winners, too, were finely representative of the entries in their cosmopolitanism. The prize for the full length play was won by a well-known West Australian writer; the second prize-winner came from Manly, near Sydney, the third and fourth from Tasmania. The winner of the short stories could not be definitely resolved—the judges finally divided the prizes between ten competitors, whose entries came from all the States of the Commonwealth and New Zealand.
And so with the other sections—further evidence, if such were needed, of the widespread appeal of the whole affair.
The Commonwealth Prize was dealt with by a sub-committee of three, and the final decision went in favour of a novel by Xavier Herbert, of Northern Australia, which was also the venue of the story. It was entitled “Capricornia” and, while its tense realism may be found objectionable by some readers, there can be no question of its strength, its sincerity or its value as a study of life in the somewhat primitive conditions obtaining in the locality wherein its scenes are laid.
It only remains to add that as a result of the competitions most of the prize-winners have seen their entries published and/or staged in a manner compatible with the importance of the event which called them into being.
In these days of fast travel one becomes quite used to the oft repeated question, “How long will it take me to get to …?” and it seems that Time makes most people interested in the highways and forget the happiness that comes to those who wander in the byways and flaunt a most disrespectful gesture in the face of Father Time.
The writer, having recently joined a party travelling to Cass, on the Midland line (South Island) made this interesting journey not by the usual route, but via Mid-Canterbury. Few people realise the beauties of the countryside round about Oxford—about thirty odd miles from Christchurch. This is really surprising, because, apart from the attractions of Banks Peninsular, there is no other area of hilly country closer to the City of the Plains. Less than an hour's driving brings the traveller to undulating country, and if it is spring time he passes through orchards which are a mass of blossom—ample promise of a rich harvest to come. This fruit growing district of Loburn is an important source of supply for Christchurch.
Keeping towards the west and drawing near Oxford the road winds between tall and stately poplar trees, then patches of pine, and if you have a photographer or a painter with you—well, you'll probably miss your lunch!
A few miles before reaching the much frequented Ashley Gorge, a sign directs one to the Government reserve of Mt. Richardson. A narrow road leads up the valley for a mile or so, and then comes to a full stop at the remains of a bridge. Here a well-graded track is followed, and as the traveller enters the more dense timber country he is immediately confronted with a notice, reading: “No Fires.” He soon finds that this warning is necessary, for, as the next point is rounded he sees the devastating results of a big forest fire. There seems to be something very impressive about tall forest trees, and when a bush fire ruthlessly sweeps down these giants with its destructive power we instinctively feel a pang of regret.
As the track ascends the traveller passes the fire-swept belt and the bush becomes thicker. Here and there huge dragonflies drone round and settle on a sunbathed rock. Many small streams cascade down the rocks and cross the track, but these can be easily negotiated, and all the time one is conscious of that “bushy” smell—black pine predominating—which makes city life seem very, very far away. No human sound breaks in upon the bush as one pauses, peering through the undergrowth, trying to find a bellbird whose call has rung across the valley with crystal clarity.
After walking for a time, the track ascends steeply, and suddenly one comes upon a clearing. Here at one's feet spreads the timbered valley below, and in the mid distance the Canterbury Plains stretch as far as the eye can see. It is a magnificent glimpse framed in trees.
On the way back to the road the sun climbs higher and the photographer takes the opportunity of using backlighting to show up the height of the trees.
As this is a Government reserve guns are prohibited, but outside the reserve area, towards Lees Valley, good pig and deer shooting is frequently reported, and this has made the area quite popular with many
We resumed our journey through Oxford, to Mt. Oxford, along the road that winds out through View Hill and proceed to the Waimakariri Gorge.
If a nor'-west wind is blowing, the crossing of the Gorge bridge is an exciting experience, for the formation of the country here creates very strong wind currents. In the old days when a horse and trap wished to cross in a high wind the driver usually stopped and loaded his trap with big boulders so that it would be weighted down and thus prevented from being blown off. The slopes of the hills all around the View Hill district were, at one time, heavily timbered and there were large timber mills in operation. A disastrous bush fire, however, swept the whole area, burning out the timber and the mills. Some of the small farmers about here were mill owners in those days, but this fire ruined them. Recently an old musterer, who would have been comfortably off as a mill owner but for this calamity, told how he was trapped in the fire and saved himself only by standing up to his neck in the water of a creek for five hours while the fire raged round him.
Leaving the Gorge bridge behind we travel until we join the Midland West Coast Road. As we near the end of our journey at Cass, high fleecy clouds climb the sky and, at last, the photographer insists that we stop to take another photograph.
How long does it take to smoke a ton of tobacco? It has taken an old Canterbury resident—an inveterate lover of the weed—just 73 years. He commenced to smoke when he was 13 years old, is now 86, and is still smoking! He was a cabin-boy when he learned to smoke, and for three-quarters of a century has found comfort and solace in his pipe. Anti-tobaccoites declare smoking shortens life. But there is reason to believe (as in this case) that it often prolongs it. Good and pure tobacco, containing but little nicotine undoubtedly benefits the health because it lessens nervous strain and banishes the “blues.” New Zealanders are fortunate in that respect. Our Dominion tobacco is so pure that many doctors smoke it habitually and recommend it to their patients. It is toasted and the “bite” taken clean out of it. A more delightful tobacco or a less harmful one the world does not produce. The five brands are: Riverhead Gold, Desert Gold, Navy Cut No. 3, Cavendish, and Cut Plug No. 10.*
Many, many years ago … just how long no white man can measure … a little group of Maori adventurers portaged their canoes around the great Huka Falls on the Waikato River, and saw break upon their awed vision the great glittering sweep of the tideless inland sea. Where the river breaks from the Lake they encamped, and called the spot Taupo, which means “Resting Place Upon The First Night.”
If you want to recapture all the mystery and fascination of that time, you must go to Taupo in the winter, when the sightseers and the trout fishermen have gone their ways, and the little township is almost empty, clean-swept by the winds and frosts and sunshine of that upland level.
Then it is a fit setting for fairy tales, and the portal by which you enter is the Rotorua road, running smoothly mile after mile through the bare larch plantations, with the frost lying white on the ground, and the far hills fantastically blue in the sunshine. Larch gives way to pine, and you travel through Hans Andersen woods, with a thousand dark spear points against a glittering sky. Now looms up Rainbow Mountain, that blunt stark peak, slashed with rose and saffron and gold and amethyst, and all the colours of an artist's palette splashed together. Little lakes, jade and steel-coloured, lie cupped at its base in belts of tall sere raupo. The steam-jets of Waiotapu Valley plume like graceful feathers into the motionless air.
Then upon your awed sight breaks a miracle. Across the dark-blue sea of the Kaiangaroa Plains rises the Kaimanawas, a steel-blade, snow-edged, with the three great mountains, Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe, and Tongariro, snow-clad to the base, floating like some shining Celestial City between earth and sky.
At every second turn of the road, the mountains are there, dominating all that blue upland landscape, gathering all the sunshine to them in a dazzling miracle of glory. When you plunge into the dark pine-scented valley of Wairakei, you lose the vision, to find it again, floating in white-rose reflections upon the green breast of the river as you pass over the bridge to Taupo.
Sunset draws a path of golden glory over the lake waters, and dusk comes on slowly, with a lingering twilight. There is a saffron flare of frost behind Mount Tauhara, which means, in the pakeha tongue, Lonely Sentinel. The lake holds light and colour long after it has faded from the sky, but darkness comes at last. The air is too dry and too still to be cold, but the pumice roads crunch crisply underfoot. The stars are so amazingly clear and bright that they make little flames of reflection, like liquid jewels, in the calm black waters of the lake.
The magic moment of all the day is dawn. The ground is white as snow; the tips of the dark broom scrub are brushed with frost. Beyond lies the lake, in a mingling of rose and steelgrey. The sky is rose-coloured, shading upwards to blue; the mountains rise against it in pure whiteness pencilled with ice-blue shadows.
Much water has flowed out of the lake since the night when that little band of adventurers made their first camp by the shore, but one might believe the stirring days of Taupo to be only yesterday, on a morning like
Follow the path from the outlet of the Waikato, and it takes you through the old Constabulary orchard. There can be no quieter, more magical stretch of water in all the world than the jade-green sweep of the Waikato as it passes smoothly between the green banks and low white cliffs of Taupo. There are ancient cherry trees in the orchard, Murillos, descended from trees brought by the Spanish missionaries; there are apple trunks, gnarled and mossy, and hoary rose-bushes that must have supplied many a gay young trooper with blossoms for his buttonhole.
The old house with a moat on three sides that was the Constabulary headquarters still commands the bank of the river, and the crumbling remains of built-up gun positions. The moat is shallowed and overgrown now, and the
The old mess-room still stands, grey and sagging with age, its shingle roof gaping, an incredibly ancient grape vine sprawling in one window. Its walls are papered with copies of the “London Illustrated News” dating back for seventy years. It is nothing more than a crumbling shell now, but once it echoed to the martial ring of spurred heels, and the traditional toast … “Gentlemen … the Queen!” St. John dined here, and Whitmore, and Cameron, and perhaps Von Tempsky himself. Taupo … after the abandoning of Opepe … was the last frontier post of the lake country, fifty miles overland from Fort Galatea, in the Urewera.
The tale of the surprise of Opepe camp … so long wrongfully called the Opepe Massacre … is well known. It is an unhappy story. One could scarcely believe that a detachment of seasoned troops such as the Bay of Plenty Cavalry would lie down to sleep in an unguarded bush camp on the very edge of Te Kooti's own country, but that is what happened. It is believed that their Maori guide was treacherous and kept in touch with Te Kooti's men by means of smoke signals. But, at any rate, on the evening of the 7th May, 1869, a band of Hauhaus under Te Rangi-Tahu encircled the little camp on the lonely Kaiangaroa Plains. Out of fourteen troopers only five escaped, and all the horses, arms, and accoutrements fell as spoil of war to the jubilant Hauhaus.
Lake Taupo is almost two hundred and fifty square miles in extent; it lies like a tideless sea more than twelve hundred feet above sea-level, lapped around by shelving beaches and wooded points, by a rim of great towering cliffs that cast their shadow a thousand feet above the water. Clear, swift trout-streams pour into it; the famous Tongariro, foaming, snowfed, from the glacier fields of Ruapehu; that fisherman's paradise, the little Waitahanui, clear as glass, with the great Oregon Rainbows flicking their tails in the sunlit reaches; Hine-maiaia, at Hatepe, winding through the ribbed sand floor and kowhai thickets of its sheer-walled canyon; Waihaha and Waihoro, green-white and foaming, splitting the tremendous cliffs of Western Bay. The outlet of the lake waters is the majestic Waikato.
If you look at your map you will see that the Waikato, leaving Taupo, flows toward the East Coast until it reaches the Kaiangaroa Plains, where it turns sharply to the west. The Maori will tell you that long ago the Waikato and the Rangitaiki Rivers—their courses are roughly parallel at
The road around the lake from Taupo to Tokaanu follows a fascinating course. It takes you by pale placid beaches, by rose and ochre painted cliffs, and over cold tussock uplands where the white and pink and crimson snow-berries grow. From the heights of Hatepe Hill you look upon an amazing panorama of glittering water and sun-hazed distances. Soon the road runs by the lake edge again, where the incredibly transparent waters lap the beaches of the famous fishing-camps, Motutere and Jellicoe Point, and Tauranga-Taupo. It is hard to believe that there can be a lovelier spot in all the world than these pale still bays, in the springtime, when the kowhai thickets are in blossom, and the moth-golden reflection of their glory stains the silver lake water.
Standing out from the eastern shore of Lake Taupo is a small steep island known as Motutaipo, or Devil's Island. There is a local and rather weird superstition connected with this spot. The Maoris of the lake villages believe that if you look across to the island at night, and are unlucky enough to see a light, it is your own death omen.
Beyond Tauranga-Taupo you pass Echo Cliff standing white and stark above the road. It gives back your call amazingly repeated, and the hoof-beats of a single horse are multiplied into the galloping of a phantom legion whose thunder lifts the hair on your scalp. Its name was given by a party of Maoris who had an odd experience when returning from a hunting expedition. They pulled up their horses to wait
At Turanga the road branches, one fork going away toward the uplands of National Park, the other turning inwards by the green-white rushing Tongariro