Varied Charm of Lake Waikaremoana, North Island, New Zealand.
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Contents
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Controller and Auditor-General.
10/11/38.
“A Snow of Blossoms.”
The Clematis—a nature study in the New Zealand bush, by Thelma R. Kent.
The New Zealand
Railways
Magazine
Railways
Magazine
“For Better Service”
Service Copy
Published by the
New Zealand Government Railways Department
Vol. XIV. No. 3.
Wellington, New Zealand
June1, 1939
Contrasts
It is a useful habit to make comparisons between times and places, if the purpose is to measure progress, study the effect of policies, and obtain guidance for right action in the future. Such comparisons are odious only to the odious.
The world in the “gay’ nineties”—a time remembered by most of those in control of world affairs today—was not the place of “alarums and excursions” that it is now. Life was more peaceful, the future was more assured, conditions were more stable.
“Britain rules the waves” was then our sure defence against the ills of war at home. To-day new measures are needed for the same purpose. The plans are made and the Prime Minister's call has gone forth.
“New Zealand will be there” is a cry from an earlier day: but it still stands for the spirit of New Zealanders, who can be counted on—practically to a man—to do their bit, in defence against the worst, for their own country that does its best for them.
A cool appraisal of what we have, contrasted with what we had forty years ago, should give inspiration not only for an assured national defence but also for progress in all the desirable arts and objects of living.
After a long period of almost stationary condition, New Zealand's population is now increasing at a reasonably satisfactory rate, both by natural increase and by immigration to meet a real need for additional workers in many trades and professions. This is a definite and very favourable contrast with anything experienced since the early days of New Zealand settlement. It is a sign of the change resulting from the new encouragement of local manufactures, a change more profound and likely—in the long run—to be more favourable to New Zealand development than the change produced by the introduction of refrigeration in the 'eighties of last century.
Contrasts will provide an arresting feature in most of the historical displays at New Zealand's Centennial Exhibition and some picturing of the future may well be attempted from graphic illustrations of the present and the past.
Railway progress provides as marked contrasts as any among the major developments in New Zealand's industrial life. So rapid, indeed, has been the advance in recent years that there is real difficulty in keeping the public abreast of the times in matters of railway progress.
There was the recent case of the countryman who was so “car-ridden” that he had not been on a train for ten years. When he boarded the Express, the comfort and cleanliness of the air-conditioned carriages and their smooth and soundless running impressed him so much that, like the Pear's soap subject of Phil May's sketch “since then he has used no other.”
This contrast provides a piquant commentary on the excellent, though possibly apocryphal story about Sir Robert Horn, President of the Canadian Pacific Railways. He sleeps, it is said, so much better in a Pullman berth “soothed by the continuous rattle of train wheels” that he has had a special bed constructed “that rattles and vibrates like a Pullman.”
We have found many reasons for preferring train travel to all others; but this is a new one which, for contrast alone, is distinctly refreshing. Among the multitude it holds out still another novel hope for the future in the railway world of wheels.
Railway Progress in New Zealand
General Manager's Message
Attention to Details
Although interest in railway affairs usually centres in the major features of railway improvements directly affecting the public, such as those that add comfort, speed and frequency to the means of transport, and for which recent years have been notable, the average railwayman is more concerned with the details of his daily work. It is, however, upon the care and attention he gives to these details that the real benefit to the public of the improved services provided depends.
I believe that even within the limits of the work allocated to individual members of the staff, each man can make his own job interesting, ordinary or distasteful according to the attention he pays to matters of detail coming within the range of his duties.
As every administrator knows, only the broad lines of any job can be laid down in black and white; but within those lines there is scope for initiative, enthusiasm, common sense, and individuality; and it is the duty and responsibility of controlling officers to note and encourage the development and exercise of those qualities.
Such qualities, however, may be discounted if accuracy and attention to detail are not observed. The latter are essential for satisfactory teamwork, and, at a time when many changes are occurring in the general transport situation, they are particularly important in keeping the reputation of the Department for dependable service in good standing with the public.
Given the advantage of the qualities mentioned, the possibility of new ideas, of a broader outlook, and of other aids towards assured service will emerge; and, by all working together, the Railways can advance with confidence to new duties and opportunities as changing circumstances permit.
With the Centennial year upon us, I think the time is appropriate for once more drawing attention to the need for close attention in all branches of the service to accuracy and courtesy in handling the Department's business.
General Manager.
ByO. N. Gillespie
(Rly. Publicity photos)
New Zealand Industries Series
No. 4.—
Tin-Printingand
Tin-Making
It is the custom of scientists who explore the misty past to divide the periods of man's development into ages—the Stone Age, the Bronze Age, the Iron Age, and so on. It might be competent for an antiquarian, a thousand years hence, to call our age the Tin Age.
If a visitor from Mars, for instance, dropped in, he would discover articles of tin everywhere from kitchens to best rooms in the houses, scattered everywhere throughout the shops, industrial edifices, and even in the halls of learning.
It is a commonplace for travellers in Australia to remark on the ubiquity of the kerosene or petrol tin. It is put to a picturesque variety of uses which range from the half tin milk bucket, with the improvised handles, to the vegetable carry-all, or for roofing material. The benzine tin was a gift from the gods for the resourceful outback pioneer who soon “made it do.”
I think readers will be as astonished as I was, to find that here in New Zealand, we make tins, containers of every kind and sort, from the exquisitely coloured face-powder box to the milk can, from the four gallon petrol tin to the gay toy watering can. The industry is of the first magnitude, employing more than a four-figure total. It is, in its present New Zealand form, a modern enterprise conducted on up-to-date lines.
A positive world revolution was brought about by the method of packing goods in tin containers. Tin is remarkable for its extraordinary power of resisting corrosion. It was known to the early Romans, and was one of the reasons for their interest in Britain. It was a constituent part of all the early bronzes, and altogether is one of the most useful metals known to mankind. Then, when it was found practicable to coat thin sheets of iron with tin, the “Age of Tin” began.
To-day, therefore, nearly every one of the myriads of things we have learned to need for our well-being, are packed in tins, or as the Americans call them, cans.
An idea is current in some quarters that articles packed in tins, especially food articles, in some way suffer a fall in use values. However, the tin-packing method is so universal that proper investigation upon this point became necessary, and all countries have participated in the movement. As the sets of conclusions evince—conclusions that were reached some years ago in England by a committee of eminent medical men, acting for the New Health Society—the results have been remarkable. They found as scientific fact that: canned apples were equal in vitamin C to the
Fixing tops and bottoms for petrol tins. Adriance machine at Gadsden's, Petone.
The present day scene of the use of this new transport medium is as fascinating as a fairy tale. Face powder from France, caviare from Russia, salmon from Alaska, tobacco from Turkey or Virginia, tamales from Mexico, toheroas from New Zealand, paint from Belgium, sardines from Norway, and mustard from England, cross the wide oceans in tins, to reach customers thousands of miles away.
I am looking forward to the day when New Zealand tinned asparagus or peaches will be a prized delicacy in Florida and will reach there in tins of our own making.
Packing has become one of the world's greatest industries, and its most used medium is the container made of tin plate.
The development of tin-making and tin-printing has been on a spectacular scale. For reasons of space, I can only deal with the two leading major units of this great industry. In them, however, is a fine panorama of New Zealand enterprise, soundly based, and as is always the case with anything rightly founded, it furnishes an example of sound, logical and steady growth.
Something over seventy years ago, in 1866 to be exact, a strolling visitor might have seen outside a shop in Durham Street, Auckland, a modest sign, reading, “Alex Harvey, Tinsmith.”
Conveyer Bench Staff at work at Gadsden's, Wellington.
Inside were four employees, who were busy making cans for farmers, for there was an idea abroad that dairying might grow into something worthwhile.
From this unpretentious beginning grew the giant organisations of Alex. Harvey & Sons Ltd., and New Zealand Canisters Ltd., employing well over 600 New Zealanders, and producing every type of tin container, as well as a wide range of other articles, including commercial refrigerating plants, strainers, and for good measure—all the varieties of porcelain enamelling.
I say at once, with a sense of responsibility and after due enquiry, that this New Zealand institution has a plant and equipment equal to anything in the world. In one respect, I have it on the word of a prominent Australian, who as usual is not deficient in patriotism, that “Harvey's tin-printing has no equal anywhere in the world.”
It is, moreover, true that the Harvey 25-gallon seamless milk can is the only one of its kind in the world.
There are four main Harvey establishments, three in Auckland, and one in Wellington.
The tin-making and tin-printing factories are apart, and they represent widely different and distinctive processes. In these modern times, the printing precedes the actual formation of the canister or container, and so I went to the printing unit first.
I should point out here that the word “tin” or “can” includes a variety of objects in to-day's commercial practice.
It may mean an oval, ornamental tin box, a plain cylinder, an elaborate edifice with as many angles as the Taj Mahal, or a plain rectangle to carry “the makings.” All of these involve intricate processes in tinging and more or less elaborate lettering or picture-making.
We started off in the designing room where artists are at work, translating business ideas into beauty of form, just as in any colour process printing establishment. This is a well-lit room and here the sketch is first of all drawn on a stone.
Each colour is drawn separately, all, however, fitting into the “Key,” so that when the printing is being carried out, all the colours will fit exactly into the finished picture. A separate printing plate is made for each colour, and the actual printing itself is done on the offset principle. The tin sheet itself never touches the plate, and the impress is taken from a rubber blanket carrying the design and colour.
Tin-printing machine in operation at Alex. Harvey's Ltd., Auckland.
I found that the most fascinating spectacle in all these great rooms were the automatic tunnel ovens. Only one colour can be printed at a time, and each sheet, carrying the one-tinted design, travels the whole length of this hooded drying journey, with graded temperatures all the way.
A most ingenious rotating conveyer bears the plates along and gathers them up. It looks rather like the spanking machine in the old Annual from Coles’ Book Arcade.
It is attended by young ladies who have leisure for a page or two of a favourite book in between their times of activity.
The glowing colours are all set now, and the next process is that of varnishing. This is again followed by pilgrimages of the plates through the long series of baking and drying ovens. I should explain that one sheet very often carries two or three dozen designs in colour. Of course the most meticulous care has to be taken over measurements. If a colour is a sixty-fourth of an inch out, the result will be deplorable.
Similarly, the outside measurements of the design must be absolutely exact or the horror will befall that the tin will not fit.
I am accustomed to colour process work, and I found it astonishing that here in New Zealand, colour printing was being done on tin, with the same precision and brilliance as on the front page of “The Railways Magazine.”
All sorts of notable illustrations figure on Harvey tins. If I were pressed for a selection, I would choose “Ajax,” which is a colour print of a horse equal to anything on any billiard room wall of a best club.
Drying ovens for tin colour-printing sheets at Alex. Harvey & Sons Ltd., Auckland.
Then there was a Marquise picture, looking as if it were a hand-painted miniature done by one of the superfine artists of the court of Louis XIV. But possibly, brightest and best was a gaily coloured sand bucket with nursery rhyme figures which would send any holiday-making youngster into ecstasy.
My next trip was the lengthy journey through the various floors of the tin-making works. Here the solid part of the task is performed. I went from stage to stage, from die-making in a department filled with precision engineers, to the last quaint die-press which stamps out or presses out the screw top and the screw cap of an oil tin.
Die-making is an art in itself. Here, precision engineering reaches its highest manifestation, and even the “stop and go” gauges are not precise enough. We stroll into a shop and purchase a tin of tobacco, or honey, or a queerly-shaped container of comfits. All these have been stamped out of tin by dies fashioned and perfected by New Zealand precision engineers.
In Harvey's great Auckland works, the presses stand in serried rows, operating dies that are almost countless in their bewildering variety of shape and purpose. A piece of flat tin turns in, guided in some mysterious mechanical fashion.
The operative pulls a lever, and a magic change has taken place. The oblong of tin has taken on features; it has rolled edges, or it has lost its corners, or it has neatly punched locking holes.
The processes become intelligible as one passes down the lines of smiling faces. I would like to say here, that never once, in the course of my casual journeys through this vast establishment, did I see a worried face nor anybody who seemed to be under pressure. Where there is equipment of this degree of modernity, the racking toil and the fatigue are transferred to the shoulders of faithful but inanimate mechanical devices.
However, I was determined, if possible, to understand how a flat piece of this tin-plate became transformed into a honey, or tobacco tin. It was as engrossing as a good picture show.
The sheets of tinplate are first dealt with by two uncanny mechanisms called the First and Second Operation Slitter. These divide the sheet into the exact sizes required, and having done their work, the notching machine nicks the four corners and the rolling machine turns it into an incomplete cylinder. Next comes the lock-seaming, a most ingenious operation which acts almost like the locknit stitch in a fabric, and seals the cylinder absolutely.
Then the top and the bottom of the tin are turned over, or to use the factory term, they are “flanged.” Then another actor enters—the “double-seamer,” which, in two operations,
Exterior view of J. Gadsden & Co. Ltd., modern factory at Petone, Wellington.
You must remember that all these processes apply with the necessary variations to tin plates which are covered with brightly coloured designs.
Harvey's show window is an exhibition of all the colours of the spectrum. Articles which come from Europe, Asia or America, are actually packed in Harvey's tins; and I am certain that most purchasers think the lovely containers are also art objects fashioned in far-off lands.
It is amazing to find exotic tale powders, a wide variety of tobaccos and all sorts of odd foreign articles, enclosed in Auckland-made canisters. The designs have been drawn, the colour printing done, and the fancy shapes of the tins themselves all made by New Zealanders in a New Zealand factory.
There are other facts in the history of Alex Harvey & Sons which are worth the telling. Here the first seamless milk-can in any British Dominion was made in 1912.
I recommend a visit to this marvellous institution for any New Zealander who still believes in the myth that “New Zealand cannot compete with the marvellous mass production plants of the older lands.”
In the handsome King's Drive factory, there is the last word in modernity of equipment, and features which are not only abreast but ahead of the rest of the world in this particular activity. Here is produced the modern New
Associated with this line of work, there developed also the making of vats, strainers, and stainless steel utensils for a wide variety of uses. Moreover, commercial refrigerating plants are being produced, and the intricate processes of porcelain enamelling are carried on. The oven is worth seeing where, at a temperature of 1,500 degrees Fahrenheit, the porcelain is fused into the metal. As I write, the Wellington factory is being enlarged. This great New Zealand firm is going to make the tubes for tooth-paste. This is a new departure altogether for New Zealand industry, and is another step taken by this typical pioneer family in New Zealand industry.
My next visit with my friend of the camera was to the factory of J. Gadsden & Co. Ltd. at Petone. This firm has also large establishments at Christchurch and Auckland.
The Petone unit is one of those modern buildings where the walls seem to be mainly made of glass. There is a general atmosphere of airiness and light. Here again was the universal smile. Here again, also, the place was in the throes of expansion and consequent reconstruction.
One comforting and distinctive feature of Gadsden's factory was the preponderance of male labour. Another distinguishing feature was the mountain of petrol tins.
They were here to the roof in thousands in all their shining silver glory, and I saw them being made. Here were biscuit tins with their characteristic round openings, and I had explained to me facts about the varying sizes of the apertures in oil tins. Fastrunning liquids were accommodated with small holes and slow running with large. An interesting sight was a species of miniature forge where there was carried on a ceaseless tempering of tiny hatches, used for the outpouring of four-gallon petrol tins, and their continual soldering processes.
We took a picture of the Adriance machine which puts the tops and bottoms into petrol tins in such a fashion that leaks are impossible. This mechanical marvel is unique in New Zealand.
Amazing figures are lightly mentioned by the foreman; tins at the rate of 23,000 per day and so on. We also inspected an elongated affair of complex design which makes a tin in one series of operations, and turns out such tins, as those used for tongues, at the rate of seventy-eight per minute.
I need not repeat the general processes which I covered fully before in the works of Alex. Harvey & Sons. Gadsdens Ltd. are growing, and here again I was pleased to see that all the dies for their array of presses are made in New Zealand by a local firm of precision tool-makers.
It is to be remembered that the expansion of these factories is inevitable. Many new goods are being packed in New Zealand, and the majority of this approaching horde of food, medical, toilet and other articles will use the tried and proven medium of the tin container.
Our New Zealand manufacturing plants can match, in every particular, any container made hitherto, overseas. In many cases they can surpass the rest of the world in certain points of construction and appearance. This branch of New Zealand industry, under its present leadership, is one of the vital factors in the onward march of our country's industrial forces.
“Ungenerous Publicity”
Under the above heading “The New Zealander,” of 8th May, 1939, makes the following comment:
“When a country has a great and, admittedly, a most efficient public service, criticism ought never to be given except in kindly and helpful advice or suggestion.
The New Zealand Railways are a national service, of which every citizen may very well be proud. It is characterised in every department and in every branch of service by efficiency, carefulness and courtesy…. The General Manager, Mr. G. H. Mackley, has infused into the Railways a spirit of service and politeness which pleases New Zealand people…. Quite recently an official, whose position should be a guarantee of carefulness, especially when he takes to public utterance, was
(D. Apperley, photo.)
Mt. Mannering from the Classen Glacier, South Island.
However, the manly and clear authoritative statement referred to above made everything right, and entrenched ‘The Railways’ deeper in the confidence and affections of the New Zealand public than they were before.
New Zealand should feel both pleased and proud that there stands one as General Manager at the wheel whose knowledge, care and efficiency are such that the country is served so well, and the services rendered are on a standard which are equal to any in the British Empire.”
Lewers
The procedure of keeping the home fires burning seems simple to most people, for all they have to do is to dial the coal merchant's telephone number, or communicate with him in some other way, and within a short time the coal-shed is refilled.
Few people pause to think of the means by which their fuel has reached them, and fewer still realise that the means of getting coal to the nearest railway varies in different parts of the country.
A visit to the coal-producing areas of New Zealand soon convinces one about the important service performed by the railways, for, to transport coal, which is bulky and heavy, over any great distance by any other means than by rail makes the cost to great as to be uneconomic in almost all cases.
The writer was recently requested to get some photographs, of a West Coal coal mine situated at a place called Cascade Creek. Having used Cascade Coal for some time and having found it an excellent product, the prospect seemed quite alluring. Leaving the nearest town, Westport, in the morning, our way led along the coast for a few miles and then turned to climb the steep slope up to the township of Denniston. This little place is situated at the top of a mountain two thousand feet up and when seen from the flat for the first time presents an unforgettable picture. The morning sunlight is caught and reflected by the windows of houses which appear to be set, in a most precarious fashion, right on the top of an almost precipitous slope. One is reminded strongly of the Biblical quotation about “the city on top of a hill which cannot be hid.” The ascent is made up a road which zigzags up the steep slope and gives one a fine view of the coast southwards towards Westport, the famous Cape Foulwind—and further still on a clear day.
After Denniston is reached the way leads on to Burnett's Face, another coal-mining area with a rigorous climate. Proceeding further, the road becomes rougher, and a lower gear is engaged to traverse the bumpy surface which climbs and descends till it finally gives place to a narrow bush track. Leaving the car behind, this track is followed down a very steep gradient (difficult to negotiate in wet weather) until, at the bottom of the hill, we come upon a group of huts—the homes of the miners.
I wondered how it was possible to get the coal out of such an inaccessible and remote place, and upon enquiry, found that it was carried by water fluming for seven miles in the opposite direction through the bush. We continued the descent from the huts to the mine itself. Water was flumed from a nearby stream and under high pressure carried the coal from the mine on its downward journey through the bush
Stockton—a West Coast coalmining town 2,000 ft. above sea level.
In order to obtain photographs of the exit of the fluming from the mine mouth it was necessary to straddle the sides of this “gutter”—one foot on each side—and proceed up it for several chains. With no previous experience in tight-rope walking, this new form of frog-puddling up a fluming with a foothold of about one inch wide, on each side, and heavy camera equipment balanced on one's back was something of an experience.
After shooting a monochrome and colour photograph the return journey was accomplished without accident.
Returning to the huts of the miners one is impressed with their isolation. Being set at the bottom of a very steep gully the tiny settlement looses the sun early and the climate in winter must be quite severe. To convey supplies to the miners, an endless wire ropeway has been made from a convenient place a little way up the valley to the top where the road ends. This is so steep
Coal fluming at Cascade Creek. By this fluming process the coal is carried seven miles through the bush to the railway in the Buller Gorge.
It is possible, when the water has been turned off in the fluming, to walk down by this means through the seven miles of bush to the bins on the Buller Gorge. From here the railway, which will soon be completed to join up with the West Coast and Midland lines, carries the coal to Westport where it is shipped.
The average Westport schoolboy, as he strolls along the wharves on the waterfront, can tell where the coal trucks have come from. He can recognise the Cascade Creek coal because for the journey down the water fluming, the pieces must be small to start with, and on the way down they have all the corners chipped and worn off. The trucks that have come from Denniston have all passed down the steep incline and extra coal that was heaped up will have fallen off on that descent. If the coal is in larger lumps and is heaped higher on the trucks our schoolboy concludes that the bins were situated right by the railway siding and that the coal came from one of the mines to the north.
On the return trip from the Cascade mine we stop at Denniston to see trucks in operation on the famous incline, which is one mile in length and divided into two main sections. It is worked on the usual principal of the hill cable tram in which the full car travelling down the slope pulls the empty one up.
As we approach the top of the incline, a telephone bell tinkles and immediately
The rail terminal at the Mokihinui mines. The bins shown on the left are filled by trucks and those shown on the right, by fluming.
At the middle brake the trucks are halted on a small level and then recommence the journey down a less steep incline to meet the railway line in the Waimangaroa Valley.
The interior of the brakehouse is most interesting. The braking mechanism is operated by water piped down from a reservoir away up the hill. The huge
(Continued on page49.)
(Forestry Department photos.).
The “Cotton Plant” (Celmisia coriacea) which one time existed abundantly on the high country in Central Otago.
Problems that are causing very grave concern in New Zealand, and in other parts of the world, are those of denudation and erosion. By denudation is meant the unnecessary destruction of the earth's garment of vegetation upon which depends the conservation and regulation of the rainfall. When the vegetation goes, the process of erosion begins—and ends in slips, landslides and floods, with all their associated perils, and ultimately, in a serious loss alike in the productive area and fertility of the land.
Being one of the survivors of the pioneer days in Central Otago, my impressions of the country (or of that portion of it wherein I spent the greater portion of my early life) before overstocking, indiscriminate “burning off” and rabbits, had reduced it to its present condition of aridity, may not be without interest to the present generation.
I know from personal knowledge how enormously the stock-carrying capacity of the country has been reduced as a result of the causes already mentioned, and how the surface features of the land have been altered compared with the conditions existing in the ‘seventies.
Before entering upon my main theme, I shall quote two instances of changes from the old conditions, changes that to the present generation, would seem almost incredible. More than forty years ago I was informed by a man who had been a cadet on Galloway Station, near Alexandra, that, at one time, that station carried one sheep to the acre all the year round.
The second instance relates to the mountains rising on the northern side of the Rees Valley, Wakatipu, in the vicinity of Glenorchy. I once spent a holiday at Glenorchy with the late Mr. P. Boult, a nephew of Mr. Rees, the first settler in the Wakatipu district. Mr. Boult assisted Mr. Rees to drive his stock from Canterbury to Wakatipu, over trackless and unexplored country. Mr. Boult told me that when they first settled near Glenorchy, they wintered the sheep on the mountains, the tops of which were covered with snow grass more than ten feet high.
They drove the sheep into this country at the beginning of winter. When the snow fell, its effect was to bend the grass down in the form of a roof, under
Snow grass bent over under light snow in Central Otago.
I spent several years of my childhood on the Serpentine diggings on the slopes and higher parts of the Rough Ridge, overlooking the Serpentine Valley, and the Maniototo Plain. At an early age I learnt to ride, and was provided with a quiet old horse on which I rode all over the accessible parts of the country, and sometimes accompanied shepherds and drovers on fairly long trips, so that I became well acquainted with a
Young pines planted on the Manlototo Plain, Central Otago.
On the higher country, say from 2,000 feet up, the flora was diversified by various sub-alpine plants, among which was what the diggers called the cotton plant. This had a bunch of blade-shaped leaves, dark green above, silver white below, and threw up large white daisy-like flowers like the ox-eye daisy.
Naseby State Forest and portion of the Maniototo Plain. (Snow grass in the foreground).
Cattle and horses were very fond of it, and when the ground was under snow, they would paw the snow away in order to find the plant.
But the most important plant in Central Otago at that time was the snow grass, which grew plentifully on the higher country, especially in damp places. This was nature's shield against denudation and floods. It grew in favourable situations to a great height, and I have seen horses hidden by it. Stock, too, were very partial to its seeds. It provided excellent cover for the ground surface, prevented too rapid thawing of the snow, and checked disastrous flooding. If this country is to be brought back to its original condition, the snow grass should be the first plant to be re-established in its ancient seats.
One striking change in the appearance of the country during my life-time is the disappearance of the lagoons that formerly dotted the now arid and naked plains. I can remember, as a young boy, looking from the high country over the Maniototo Plain and seeing an expanse of silvery, flat land, dotted with areas of shining water, some of considerable extent. The lagoons were shallow, and generally dried up towards the end of summer. The presence of so much water during most of the year, however, meant that water fowl and Paradise ducks (which were seen in thousands and flew about literally in clouds) flourished in ideal conditions.
All this life has disappeared with the disappearance of the vegetation and the water.
Overstocking and the rabbit pest, together with excessive and injudicious “burning off” of the tussock grass have been the chief factors in the denudation of the country. In the latter connection I have seen the shepherds go out in the spring with a plentiful supply of matches, and start fires in the tussocks all over the place. I have seen, too, the northern sides of the Rock and Pillar Ranges blazing for miles. Of course if rain followed soon after the “burning off,” all was well, and the grass came away luxuriantly; but a long dry spell after a burn resulted in a permanent deterioration of the pasture.
These few recollections may enable the reader to construct a more or less adequate picture of Central Otago, as I knew it sixty years ago. The change in the appearance of the country has been the result largely of human agency, and it is doubtful whether human agency is capable of restoring, completely, what is has destroyed.
I do not write as an expert, but I feel that some measure of success in restoring these denuded lands could be achieved by control of vegetation on modern scientific lines aimed at reproduction of the effects, if not the actual species, of the natural primeval cover.
Interesting historical documents associated with New Zealand's National Anthem. Top (left to right): Copy of First Edition of the Anthem, published in Lawrence, and autographed by the composer. Letter from Sir George Grey, at that time Premier of New Zealand, regarding the translation of the Anthem into the Maori language. Below: Copy of Thomas Bracken's Letter of Assignment to the composer. Letter from the Rt. Hon. R. J. Seddon notifying Queen Victoria's acceptance of the Anthem.
By
Tui Kowhai
The New Zealand Centennial Council's adoption of Thomas Bracken's “New Zealand Hymn” as the Dominion's National Anthem has increased public interest in the poem, which dates back to the early ‘seventies. The musical setting was written more than seventy-four years ago.
Until comparatively recently, however, the song was rarely heard, but with the advent of radio and community singing it has gradually caught the imagination of many New Zealanders.
Thomas Bracken, who is best known for his poem, “Not Understood,” was a romantic figure in the life of the Dominion. Born in Clunes, Ireland, where at an early age he was left an orphan, he was given a home by one of his uncles, a chemist, and during his youth served in his uncle's shop.
As he was of an adventurous nature, he decided to try his luck in Australia, where the gold fever was then at its height. Little is known of his life in Australia, except that after spending some time on the goldfields he did some sheep-shearing. A natural gift for writing found expression during this period and several of his poems were printed in Australian journals. The lure of gold, however, again proved irresistible and when reports of the fortunes being made in Otago reached Australia he sailed for New Zealand. His subsequent career showed him to be a man of many parts. Miner, hotelkeeper, journalist, poet, member of Parliament—these and many other occupations gave him that broad outlook on life which is reflected in many of his poems. The late Sir Robert Stout paid this tribute to the poet:—
“This may be said: Mr. Bracken need not be ashamed of his efforts. When the history of our literature is written, his poems will not be forgotten, and in the future will not the labours of the writer be ranked as high as the work of the statesman or the warrior?”
Those whose memory of Dunedin goes back to the ‘nineties will remember the well-known figure of Thomas Bracken, and many Wellingtonians will also recall the romantic figure who lived in Tinakori Road during the Parliamentary sessions.
Bracken, for some years, edited “The Saturday Advertiser,” a Dunedin journal which ceased publication in 1893. It was this journal which was responsible for giving New Zealand its National Anthem, for although the poem had been published some years previously as “A New Zealand Hymn,” it was not until 1875 that “The Saturday Advertiser” inaugurated a competition for a musical setting of the words, and offered a substantial prize to attract the best musical talent in the colony. Three of the leading musicians in Australia were appointed adjudicators; each was required to act independently in making his award.
There was at this time teaching school in Lawrence, Otago, a young man named John Joseph Woods, who, like Bracken, had come to the young colony from Australia. Woods read in “The Advertiser” the particulars of the competition and decided to submit an entry. Although it was late at night when he learned of the competition he sat down at his piano and did not rise till the score of “God Defend New Zealand” was completed.
(Thelmo R. Kent, photo.)
View of the Hooker and Tasman Valleys, from Sealy Lake, Mt. Cook.
The three Australian musical adjudicators, acting independently, had no hesitation in selecting Mr. Woods as the winner of the competition. With their opinion Thomas Bracken expressed his full concurrence, and thus New Zealand got its National Anthem. Bracken subsequently assigned to Woods all his rights in “God Defend New Zealand” and these rights were later acquired by Messrs. Chas. Begg & Company Ltd. It is interesting to note that the original manuscript is filed in London and lies alongside that of the German National Anthem.
Woods outlived Bracken by thirty-six years. He died in 1934 at Lawrence, where he was for many years the Town Clerk.
“God Defend New Zealand” has also a Maori musical setting, by Mr. R. A. (“Bob”) Horne, a well-known Christchurch musician who was for many years manager of the Bristol Piano Company, and a generous benefactor of most of the Christchurch musical societies. This Maori setting was a popular feature at the Boy Scouts’ Jamboree in England in 1929.
“God Defend New Zealand” (under the title of “New Zealand Hymn”) was included in the collection of Bracken's poems in the book “Musings in Maoriland,” published in 1890. It was dedicated to Alfred Lord Tennyson “with the sincere admiration of the author.” The preface by Sir George Grey was preceded by an historical sketch, “The Rise and Progress of New Zealand,” by Sir Robert Stout.
By …Edmund L. Reed
The church and battlefield at Ohaeawal, Bay of Islands.
How many motorists who travel the road between Ohaeawai and Kaikohe, Bay of Islands, take notice of a little church standing on a slight eminence and surrounded by a stone wall; a lone building without access, save through the paddocks amongst which it stands. On 1st July every year there is surely some stirring amid the grass; bugle calls, however faint; an echo from the hills of Maori warrior cries; a smell of powder in the air. For around the spot marked by the little church many gallant men advanced to certain death in an assault on the native defenders of their land, impregnably entrenched behind three circles of stockades. As late as 1914 a number of cannon balls and a broken cannon could be seen lying there to remind one of
On the hill to the right of the church Colonel Despard assembled his forces; units of the Navy and Army, and volunteers from Auckland. On rising ground to the left camped friendly Maoris. That was in the year 1845 and our artillery was such that at two hundred yards the cannon balls were no more effective against the puriri stockade than would have been so many tennis balls. As was natural the defenders were incensed by their renegade brothers and made a sortie against them, capturing a British ensign which they hoisted above their stockade, upside down above an emblem of their own.
What can we say for the colonel who ordered the advance? With the traditions of the Peninsular and Waterloo, of Marlborough and Wellington, to be mocked by a horde of cannibals and savages in the last discovered land
Another view of the battlefield showing portion of the wall which surrounds the church.
The British advance was down, and then up, a gentle slope, as any one who cares to stop at the hamlet of Ngawha may see for himself, taking the church for the centre of the camp. He may see, too, the hollow of the trenches outside the wall. The defenders were in
(Photo., courtesy James Newson, Brakpan, Transvaal).
Anzac Station on the Main Line, Electric Railway, about 24 miles east of Johannesburg, South Africa.
Forty British dead marked that assault, brief as it was. Lieutenant Phillpotts from H.M.S. Hazard, stripped himself of his uniform before going into action, and courting death deliberately, he fell—whether as a protest or for another motive we do not know.
The descendants of the Maori braves erected the pretty church we now see. They also removed the remains of the British fallen from a nearby field and erected above them a memorial cross.
As an inexpensive contribution to our Centennial celebrations and for the purpose of cultivating our historical sense, a descriptive tablet by the roadside, stating some particulars of the action known as the Battle of Ohaeawai would draw the attention of many a chance traveller. To some, perhaps, indifference; to some it might be, in this queer age, a slight irritation of the existence, even, of the past; and to others a deep pondering on the bravery, the nobility and the ultimate significance of human life.
Where three streams join the Waikato River near Wairakel.
The Litter Nuisance.
The lead which the Railway Department has given in an endeavour to overcome the nuisance caused by the indiscriminate throwing of litter from railway carriages is one that might well be followed generally (says the “Evening Post,” Wellington). Although New Zealanders are probably no worse than the people of many other countries, the fact remains that they are far too careless in disposing of litter, and the result is that streets, parks, and other public places have an appearance of untidiness. Some local bodies may be held partly culpable in not providing sufficient rubbish receptacles and in not keeping streets and other public places clear of litter, but the real solution of the difficulty lies with the public. If people would stop to think before disposing of rubbish there would be no nuisance. It is really all a matter of education. The Railway Department has made a start and if the example is followed by local bodies and other authorities a general improvement should be the result. The average person is not naturally untidy, and if the standards that apply in the average home were applied outside the home the litter nuisance would be greatly minimised. A distinguished visitor to New Zealand once described New Zealand as “a slovenly democracy.” He was referring to political methods, but a similar allegation might lie on other grounds. The best way to avoid such charges in the future is to remove the cause.
byArthur L. Stead
New Zealand folk are following with especial interest the tour of King George and Queen Elizabeth across Canada and through the Eastern States of America. Railwaymen throughout the Dominion join those of the Homeland in their expression of loyalty to the Throne and all it stands for, while to their colleagues on the railways of that other great bulwark of individual freedom—the United States—they again extend their very warmest greetings. The trip across the Land of the Maple Leaf, and southwards to New York and the American capital of Washington, is proving a wonderful experience indeed for the royal pair. Here's sending our sincerest thanks to liberty-loving American railroadmen for their whole-hearted co-operation in this historic friendly pilgrimage.
Summer-time approaches in Britain, and the new season's passenger train time-tables show additional and accelerated services all over the country. Actually, to cater for the growing holiday business, the four group lines are running trains with seating accommodation for 2,500,000 passengers simultaneously. They are operating some 773 restaurant and buffet cars; 21,500 motive power units—steam locomotives, electric motors, and oil railcars; and 130 steamships with an aggregate of 176,145 gross registered tons. Fifty-three large railway hotels are at the disposal of tourists, and greatly reduced fares of all kinds are available to meet every need.
Let us take a peep at the new passenger time-table of one line—the London, Midland & Scottish—as typifying the general enterprise of our railways. The L.M. & S. are now speeding-up all main-line services, and there are no fewer than 66 express-trains on this system timed at start-to-stop speeds of 60 m.p.h. or over, representing a daily aggregate of nearly 7,000 miles. Altogether, 482 trains have been accelerated, representing a daily total saving of 1,276 minutes. A notable feature is the acceleration of the north-bound “Royal Scot” to cover the 299.1 miles from Euston to Carlisle non-stop in 299 minutes, the winter time of 7 hours 20 minutes from London to Glasgow being reduced to 7 hours. In the reverse direction, the Glasgow-London “Royal Scot” runs through without a passenger stop, only a brief halt being made outside Carlisle to change enginemen. In this case the overall journey time of 7 hours shows a saving of 25 minutes over the winter schedule. Sunday service improvements are a feature on all the Home lines. On the L.M. & S. a noteworthy step is the betterment of Sunday rail services north of the Border, the two Glasgow stations, Buchanan Street and St. Enoch, being specially opened for this purpose. This month, too, sees great activity among the steamship fleets of the L.M. & S. Regular sailings are being resumed on Lake Windermere, in the beautiful English Lake District; while steamship trips commence on the Clyde Coast, and on the charming Scottish Lochs—Lomond, Tay and Awe.
New passenger station at Malden Manor, Southern Railway London suburban lines.
To detail a complete list of the big improvement plans of the Home railways would occupy many pages of this magazine. Reconstruction of passenger and goods stations is proceeding all over the country; electrification progresses on the L. & N.E. Company between Manchester and Sheffield, and in the London suburban zone, on the G.W. London suburban tracks, and on various sections of the Southern system. One of the biggest works just completed is the £500,000 improvement scheme of the G.W. Company at Old Oak Common carriage depot, 3 ¼ miles from Paddington. This is now the largest passenger train marshalling yard in Britain. It covers, with its locomotive sheds, more than 100 acres, and handles daily, about 2,000 passenger coaches and 450 locomotives. The staff number approximately 1,700. The reconstruction has been proceeding for five years. Principal among the tasks performed at the depot is the handling of all empty coaches forming the incoming trains making use of Paddington, and their reforming for outward working. Actually, there are some 15 miles of sidings within the depot; 75 carriage roads, all
Brunel's flat-arch brick bridge carrying G.W.R. main line across the Thames at Maidenhead. (Each arch has a span of 128 ft.).
All the Home railways have wisely developed their “selling” side in recent years. There is now none of that short-sighed “take it or leave it” attitude in handling prospective patrons, courtesy being regarded as an essential to efficient service. On the Southern system great success has attended the running of a “Sales League,” which fosters the team spirit, and encourages one and all to secure new business for the line. Challenge shields and money awards are given annually for the best efforts of stations and individuals respectively, and a noteworthy feature of the campaign has been the interest it has aroused among the non-traffic grades. One naturally expects, say, a booking-clerk or a stationmaster, to seek additional business, but it is indeed encouraging to learn of extreme keenness to obtain traffic on the part of shop workers, signalmen, and other grades not in direct touch with the public. A passenger porter at one Southern suburban station last year succeeded in securing business to the value of over £200. A motor, driver at another station was responsible for securing pleasure party traffic to the value of £210. This is the sort of effort to be commended, and it is playing a big part in the restoration to the railways of their one-time prosperity.
The four group railways of Britain are always sympathetically interested in youthful desires for education and advancement. A feature of passenger operation nowadays (educational excursions of various kinds) are warmly supported by the youth of the country. A few typical examples along these lines may be of interest. Not long ago the L. & N.E. operated a special long-distance excursion, conveying 150 boy scouts from London on a 1,000-mile tour of England and Scotland. The train consisted of sleeping-cars, dining-cars and kitchens, and every scout was provided
Central passenger station, Pennsylvania Railway, New York City.
Ireland has again come into favour as a popular holiday haunt, and both the G.W. and L.M. & S. Railways are expecting big business this summer in connection with their Anglo-Irish services, the Holyhead-Dublin and Fishguard-Rosslare routes being chiefly concerned. The L.M. & S. steamers from Holyhead—linked up with London by the “Irish Mail”—take the traveller speedily and in comfort to Dublin, where rail connection is available with all corners of the country, the Great Southern, Ireland's largest railway, having its headquarters in the capital city.
By …Chas. E. Wheeler
(Photo., W. T. Hanna).
A frozen waterfall near Big Bluff, Lewis Pass Road.
The completion of the Lewis Pass Road over the divide into the West Coast, down to the famous Buller Gorge has opened up a new route to the tourist which the Railway Department's road services have pioneered with great success. It is possible to travel from Christchurch to Westport in a day crammed with an extraordinary variety of scenery at every altitude up to nearly three thousand feet.
The holiday traveller by road objects to duplicating his route, and this has been one of the handicaps of the South Island from the tourist aspect. But the trouble is disappearing, for the Department's road services provide two crossings of the mountain range, and thus make possible attractive and varied round trips. The second of the crossings is up into the high altitudes of Arthur Pass, among the snowfields, which are reached quite comfortably, if thrillingly by the motor, thus giving the traveller close-up views of the vivid grandeur of the Otira Gorge which can only be faintly suggested to those who take advantage of that remarkable engineering achievement, the Otira Tunnel.
How much of the scenery does the car driver see? Unless a motoring holiday can be managed with the aid of someone to give relief at the wheel, my own experience is that the driver only gets an occasional side glance at the finest views unless he pulls up and blocks the traffic. In this frame of mind a motoring holiday in the South Island was planned, and the road time-tables consulted to see if it would be possible to cover an attractive route along which one could be comfortably driven with the other fellow in the driver's seat. Fortunately, the road services have now reached such a high point of efficiency that the ideal could be achieved, and a pleasant and varied tour of North Canterbury and the West Coast made possible with full enjoyment of the remarkable variety of scenery. The
(Photo. W. T. Hanna).
Lewis Pass Road near Poplars.
The Lewis Pass service is run in conjunction with the Department's daily connection between Christchurch and Hanmer, and the first section of the east to west journeys is through the splendid agricultural country of North Canterbury as far as Culverden. Then the course turns to the west, we are soon among the foothills following up the Waiau and Hope Rivers, and surveying, from a high elevation the miles of sheep stations where size is denoted not by acres so much as by thousands of sheep. We reach the Lewis Stream, the well-graded road rises higher, and at 58 miles from Culverden
The Buller River near Hawke's Crag. The bridge gives access to the railway construction works in progress in the gorge.
There is no doubting the fact that we are on the West Coast once the car commences to descend. The vegetation is tropical in its luxuriance, and trees clothe the steep ranges right up to snow level. Cannibal Gorge—properly named if Maori legend is correct—runs off to the right, its mysterious depths half-hidden in mist. Another discovery when running along the banks of the Maruia River is that there are well-developed hot springs at a temperature of 180 degrees, possessing a curvative reputation which will doubtless make them more popular now that access is sure and comfortable. In due course the Buller Gorge is reached with over thirty miles of its finest scenery to regale the tourist before the 214-mile trip from Christchurch to Westport is completed.
Picking the right day for high country, a run over the Otira Gorge by the Department's service between Hokitika and Arthur Pass provided the most vivid of all the motoring experiences of the West Coast. The route through Kumara is historic, and the evidences of the great days of alluvial gold mining are piled up right and left, as the road for some miles goes over the tailings. Human effort has laboriously lifted these thousands of tons of stones during the search for gold, but the modern method of the Coast is to dredge far deeper than the old gold miner could venture, twenty men on a dredge, electrically-powered, doing in a week more than muscular effort could achieve in years. Gold mining by the modern process has become quite a prosaic business, with the returns fairly
Mountain and forest. A seene near Hokitika.
After the service car has passed the railway at Otira, we notice the line running up grade into the long tunnel. The road, however, winds up the left side of the gorge. Mountains seem to converge on this tiny man-made ribbon, and the newcomer only has the assurance of a through ticket that he can get much further. The road often hangs above the rushing river by a cutting taken out of the solid rock, and it is comforting to realise how solid are its foundations when its height above the gorge bottom runs into hundreds of feet. “Windy Point,” “Starvation Point” and “Cape Horn,” some prominent features, are the highly appropriate names on the map. The forest runs up to the snowfields, and in due course, the motor is also up to that elevation. Mountaineering is thus made easy, though not altogether free from thrills, because the road gaily tackles a precipice by way of the famous zig-zag, an extra low gear on the specially designed chassis making this experience quite easy, if a little slow. None of the passengers wished to hurry. We were all quite appreciative of the careful driving, and on occasion glad of the reassuring chattiness of the man at the wheel, who, like his contemporaries on other routes, had his special local jokes.
“Poison Point” explained our driver, briefly, as we rounded a real thriller of a precipice—“one drop is enough.”
Over the same route now runs an electric power line, taking energy from the Coleridge station to the West Coast, mainly to meet the greatly increased load demanded through the encouraging development of alluvial dredging. The erection of this line, with its steel towers of eighty feet, perched on rocky elevations, has been a magnificent job of which little has been heard by the general public, because the construction gangs have had few spectators. Often the mountaineer of the party had to put in some clever rock climbing to reach the proposed site of a tower. Then, dragging up tools by a light line, he has made a working platform to which has been secured a block and tackle. Then the rest was comparatively easy, a caterpillar tractor running on the nearest section of the road pulling the steel sections up to the sky-line, where they could be bolted together. The power line itself, eight wires separated about ten feet by steel crossarms, springs from tower to tower at delirious heights, and the traveller looking up, is impressed with the engineering courage which planned this invasion of so magnificent a gorge. But earlier planners had built a road which enabled the wondering traveller in due course to look down on these towers, so high does the route run before it tops the pass at over three thousand feet, to drop down fairly easily into the railway town of Arthur Pass.
From this point the journey into Christchurch is made by rail, through miles of impressive scenery as a reminder that one does not necessarily have to desert the rail to enjoy a good panorama. Which reminds us that in the near future the most spectacular parts of the Buller Gorge will be viewed from a railway carriage, for the new line is making good progress. Its track through the Gorge is the one bare streak in the verdant vegetation, but West Coast rains and a great “growing” climate will soon dispose of any eyesore, and the railway, like the power line over Otira Gorge, will fit comfortably into the scene, providing a contrast between the puny efforts of man and nature on the ground scale.
West Coast roads, including the hundred miles or so of the lovely fernery which stretches almost from Hokitika to the Fox Glacier, are mostly narrow, though of good surface. Crossing other traffic is an affair of patience and decent driving. Service car drivers have developed a code of their own, short toots of the horn signalling “all clear and thank you” when a passing has been safely made.
There is hardly any need to contribute another testimonial to the quality of New Zealand's service car drivers, but it ought to be mentioned that the Railway Department's staff are not only well up in the details of the local scenery, but share with passengers their excellent knowledge of West Coast botany. Each man has also developed, so it seemed, his own set of driver's jokes.
Touring with the other fellow at the steering wheel was a great success. The scenery on the Coast is not only to left and right, but thousands of feet up to the main range of the snowfields of the Southern Alps, so the Department's coaches are provided with a scenic windscreen immediately above the normal one, enabling all passengers to enjoy beauties above the forest line from all the seats in the vehicle.
(Photo., Neville R. Lewers).
The Punakaiki paneake rocks and blowholes. An interesting sight on the West Coast.
According to the road guide it is sixteen miles from the Franz Josef Glacier to Weheka, the centre for viewing the Fox Glacier, but sixteen in figures fails miserably to convey what has to be covered in that distance. There are two divides, with the inevitable hundreds of bends, all perfect fern grottoes. Even the bare cuttings have a rich red colouring which is apparently due to lichen. And the trip by service car, driven by someone knowing every inch of it, takes fifty minutes. This is the kind of thing which caused one to lean back luxuriously and reflect upon the advantages of letting the other fellow do the driving. The point was further driven home when, in a fireside chat with fellow tourists who had their own car, one of them remarked that he had once taken the tour as I had done, and was now doing the driving for his family. “And the roads,” he added, “seem three times more dangerous.”
ByC. R. Allen
When I was a boy I knew an old lady who planned, God willing, to visit the Paris Exhibition in 1900. Her temerity appalled me. As it happened the extreme sanction was withheld, and she never saw it. There is always an exhibition looming ahead of one. If it isn't Wembley it is Dunedin. If it isn't Dunedin it is Glasgow the second or Paris the second. We look before and after, and sigh for what is not. Some of us look as far back as the New Zealand and South Sea Exhibition which was held in Dunedin in the year 1889. Out of the dark backward and abyss of time certain vignettes define themselves, perhaps the very earliest since the dawning of consciousness. To turn one's back in panic on the Centennial Exhibition, and scamper like the baby in the picture by Watts called “Whence? Whither?” is a foolish procedure, but that is precisely what I propose to follow in this article. I cannot recall entering the Exhibition of 1889 nor can I recall leaving it. Never mind, Jerome K. Jerome could remember falling into an ash-pit as a child, and he could not remember getting out of it. It is more than probable that I went to the Exhibition in a cab. Out of the murk the interior of a cab defines itself. The occasion of the first cab may have been one's first circus. Be that as it may, there was a day, or an evening, when I was first aware of the cab coverings flapping about me, of the little oil lamp below the window that proffered a view of the cabby's back, of the bilious-looking painted scroll which set forth the cabby's credentials, or the name of the coach builder who had fashioned this strange vehicle with its close-smelling upholstered seats facing each other on either side of the narrow fairway. Two steps let you down into the world of dogs and men and ribaldry. The little lamp cast raffish upward lights upon the lineaments of parents and brethren. There must have been a turnstile. If I were to think very hard I might recall being pushed through it from behind, a smiling image, as Robert Louis Stevenson puts it. My eldest brother and sister were admitted by ticket. These were little tokens in light brown leather that doubled like the covers of a book. Within was a photograph of the holder. I believe that a number of such tickets are preserved at the Early Settlers’ Hall in Dunedin. Out of the shadows which by this time must have superseded those pre-natal clouds of glory which, according to Wordsworth, we trail with us, there emerges the picture or tableau vivant, of an armless siffleur. He sat, dark-clad, very close up to his accompanist at the piano, and whistled “Men of Harlech.” I have sometimes wondered if my first infantile attempts at whistling date from that encounter. When one comes to think of it, how many of us can follow the string back to the precise hour when we succeeded in producing some sort of consecutive cadence by means of pursing the lips and expelling the breath through them. We lisped in numbers and the numbers came. It is more probable that we can recall our first created verbal cadence than our first whistled air. It is a matter of interest to myself alone that the first metrical line I ever perpetrated was
I cannot remember what I first whistled, but I do remember that the siffleur at the 1889 Exhibition whistled “Men of Harlech.” Then there was the Kiosk where one was served with tea by an Indian—whether real or brummagem I cannot say. So faint are
(W. W. Stewart Collection.)
The old and the new. A study of an early “A” and a modern “K” class locomotive in the railway yard at Otahuhu, Auckland.via minima walked little figures. At least they appeared to have been walking right up to the moment when one came upon them. One little figure had a chimney sweep's bag and brush on his back. Of the others I have no recollection. They may have shared a common fate like the people who found themselves on the Bridge of San Luis Rey at the time of its collapse. I cannot say that was their end. For me they continue for ever on their way as the figures on the Grecian Urn continued in the mind of John Keats to woo and be wooed and otherwise to occupy themselves. Then there were the little girls who were learning to cook at what was probably the 1889 derniere cri, in stoves. They were segregated in some way that I cannot now define. Some barrier stood between them and me, and there was pathos and beauty in their movements as they followed the directions of their mentor. In some way they were in thrall to whatever god it is of whom Mrs. Beeton is the prophet.
I do not want to be Freudian, but something stirred in that stolid rather over-nourished four-year-old at the sight of those little girls caught up in a kind of spider's web of pots and pans and dishes. Then there was the old gentleman in the bath chair who frequented the concert room. The concerts themselves come back in essence only, strains from Tannhäser with which is
Exhibitions leave behind them, not footprints on the sands of time, but portents on the sky-line. The first sight of the Eiffel Tower or the Big Wheel at Earls Court invoke emotions not else to be evoked. There are all sorts of ways of seeing the Eiffel Tower. For my own part I saw it on a morning in spring when I had wandered away from the hotel where the power which should release me from Paris, with its morgue, its super-cemetery and its Pantheon, still lay abed. I traversed doubtful purlieus and turned a corner, and there was the Eiffel Tower looking so absurdly like itself that I was beset by an uneasy feeling that the thing had been made too easy for me.
An ink drawing by R. J. Pearce, a second-year fitter-turner at the Hutt Workshops, of two locomotives in service on the New Zealand Railways. The drawing shows (above) the 4-8-4 “K” class locomotive, and below the 4-6-2 Ab class “Pacific” type.
The Big Wheel one viewed from various points as one travelled in the Metropolitan Underground, a portent in itself, seeing that it comprised portions of what had inspired the genius of Lear and of Cruickshank. The Crystal Palace shone at Sydenham as a memorial to the soaring vision of the Prince Consort. One could write nothing of the great Exhibition in Hyde Park that has not already been written by Lytton Strachey or Hector Bolitho. At Wembley the Stadium stands as a perpetual testimony to the enterprise of a visionary called McAlpine. Strange to say I remember more of the New Zealand and South Seas in 1889 than I remember of Wembley in 1924. Despite all that has been said to the contrary the human eye is the most lovingly acquisitive of all the organs. Wembley came to me through media less direct. There was a certain frosty week-end before the great Exhibition was actually opened, which I spent at the bungalow of a gentleman who was connected with the staff. In the afternoon of the Saturday one heard the band from Nella Hall, where Sir Arthur Sullivan's father was a bandmaster, play martial music, while a detachment of Boy Scouts acted as counters for a game which the late Mr. Lascelles was playing as pageant master. On the Sunday afternoon my host entertained a number of young men—and they all seemed young—who were finishing off contracts. They spoke lightly of having pinched cranes from each other, and compared our host's rock cakes with the concrete they had been using. It gives me little joy to think that I am farther off from the capacity to apprehend an Exhibition than when I was a boy.
I am painfully aware of the commiserating smile I should provoke on the face of any small boy to whom I might communicate my intention of visiting the Centennial Exhibition in 1940. Still, one never knows.
The late Fergus Hume, whose “Mystery of a Hansom Cab” made all London talk once upon a time, was then a heavy smoker, but very fastidious in his choice of tobacco, maintaining that pure tobacco was harmless but that if it contained overmuch nicotine it might do infinite mischief. Doctors will confirm that. But really pure tobacco, that is tobacco containing a trifling percentage of nicotine, is not met with everywhere every day. Even in London it is rare. Here in Maoriland it may be obtained at the nearest tobacconist's shop! The New Zealand grown and manufactured article is probably the purest and least harmful in the world, and smokers may indulge in it to their heart's content without running the smallest risk. This famous tobacco owes its excellence to the fact that it is toasted—the only tobacco that is, by the way. This process draws the poison out of it besides accounting for its wonderful flavour and matchless bouquet. Five brands only: Cut Plug No. 10, Cavendish, Riverhead Gold, Desert Gold and Navy Cut No. 3.*
New ZealandVerse
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(Legend Tarawera, Rotorua).
Rainbow refers to Rainbow Mountain.
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By…Derric McD. Vincent
A Hundred years ago the leagues of sun-glistening sands and the pumice cliffs of the Bay of Plenty hid as savage and treacherous an enemy as the jungle banks of some New Guinea rivers do to-day. No less than peace, trade has had its martyrs, and though the whalers or flax-traders manned their tops with armed men and cast their loaded carronades loose, yet there were times when the fierce New Zealanders swept the decks of some lonely ship, sometimes to avenge brutal ill-treatment, and sometimes to take the white men's goods by the rangatira way of arms. The taking of the “Boyd” in 1809 is one of the classic stories, but the drama was enacted often enough in other havens than Whangaroa. For example, here is the story of the capture of the brig Haweis off Whakatane in the month of March, 1829 told in the somewhat stilted words of John F. Atkins, second mate of the brig, and the sole survivor of those actually on the vessel at the time of its capture. To-day you can stand on the hemlock grown summit of Puketapu pa, where the wounded mate was held captive, and look out over the clustered roofs of Whakatane to Whale Island where the tragedy was staged 110 years ago. Now, of course, the scene is one of peace, but some echo of the haka of triumph and the boom of long burned powder still mingles with the whistle of the wind and the wash of the surf below.
The Haweis was four months out of Sydney when she came to anchor off Whale Island in fine, calm weather. She had traded for flax down the Bay of Plenty coast, and had repelled several attempts by the Maoris to seize the ship. After visiting Tauranga to buy pork for ship's stores the captain, by name James, had learnt that there were plenty of pigs at Whakatane and some days earlier he had sent Atkins off to “Walkeetanna” in a small boat. Atkins tells how he found the chief “Enarraro” (Te Ngarara) living in a pa situated “on a steep, lofty and conical hill, of great natural strength, fortified by an embankment of earth, approached by a narrow and circular pathway.” Te Ngarara, a tall, wellproportioned man heavily tattooed, promised to sell hogs, and Atkins, after bad weather foiled an attempt to reach the ship by boat, with a Maori guide walked the sixty miles to Tauranga, rejoining his mates after two days’ hard travelling.
“We bore away for Whakatane where we arrived the next night to the seeming joy of the natives, who came off in large canoes with a plentiful supply of hogs, which we purchased of them without bringing the ship to an anchor,” says Atkins. “‘Enarraro’ came on board, and welcomed us with much apparent cordiality, the same feeling seeming to actuate his people.” The Haweis then returned to Tauranga where the pigs were killed, but the quantity was insufficient, and on 1st March the brig returned to Whale Island. The Maori canoes were soon alongside and more pigs were bought. Early next morning the chief officer and eight hands landed on the island and killed and dressed the pigs near a boiling spring (which still exists). At mid-day the captain took a boat to recall the shore party to dinner, leaving Atkins in charge of the brig with three men. The captain obviously had little doubt of the good intentions of the Maoris, but Atkins, who knew a little Maori, had his suspicions.
Whakatane town and river with Whale Island in the background. The “Haweis” was anchored off the point shown on the right, and the Maori canoes were concealed behind it. View taken from the slopes of the Puketapu pa.
“At the time ‘Enarraro’ was on board with about ten natives alongside,” he says. “I noticed them several times in earnest conversation about the ‘kebooke’ (or ship) and, suspecting some treachery, I desired the steward, who was an Otaheitian, to hand up the cutlasses, keeping a strict watch on the chief, who I saw cock his piece, and put it under his ‘kakahoo’ (cloak). His men at this signal sprang into the main chains, each having a musket which they had secreted in their canoes. We had no pistols on deck, and I was well aware that if but one of us went below for them they would take advantage of his absence… As our muskets were placed in the tops, not only as a security but as a precautionary measure in the event of an attack, I ordered one of the crew to go into the foretop and shoot the chief. They each positively refused, not being so convinced as I was of the designs of the savages, and seeing that not a moment was to be lost, I went up myself, giving strict orders to keep a sharp look-out, to which they paid little attention, telling me that I was meditating the life of an innocent man.”
“As I was ascending the fore rigging,” continues Atkins, “the men were joking … regardless of the motions of the natives, though I kept cautioning them; but as soon as the chief saw me unlashing the muskets he fired at the oldest man, who had his back turned to him, playing with his cutlass, at
The sacred Pohaturua Rock, with the slopes of Puketapu in the right background. The pa occupied the flattened top of the rock.
The wounded men lay down in the foretop while the Maoris danced a haka “with the most hideous howlings,” which must have rung dismally in their ears. Three large war canoes, which had been ambushed behind the rocky end of the island then swept alongside, and the looting of the brig began, and Atkins tells how several Maoris, carried away with the lust of plunder and paying little attention to the authority of their chief, were speared through the body and died on the spot rather than relinquish their booty. At sunset, the mate continues, the natives dragged the wounded men down from the top and threw them into the canoes which were paddled swiftly through a tremendous surf over the bar of the Whakatane River and up to the settlement. “Some of the canoes more heavily laden, and containing the greater part of the arms, were swamped, the natives saving their lives with much difficulty with the loss of their canoes…. I behold it with exultation,” adds Atkins with pardonable pleasure.
He goes on to say that at the pa the party was received with songs of triumph by the women who “with every demonstration of extravagant joy welcomed the return of their heroic lords … They conveyed me to a place where they had kindled large fires around which they collected, the glaring flames displaying with increased effect the horror of their distorted countenances…. I knew sufficient of their language to be fully aware that I was the subject of their deliberations.” Atkins considered his fate sealed, but help came from an unexpected quarter, for, in the best Boys’ Own Paper style, the chief who had guided him to Tauranga interceded for him, promising that if the captive was not ransomed by a certain date he would kill him, and pointing out that a musket would be of much more importance than the mate's life.
For two days and nights Atkins lay in agony in the pa. Nobody did any thing to alleviate the pain of his shattered arm, the only response to his groans coming when his preserver, unable to sleep for the noise, turned the wounded man out of his hut. At length Atkins says that he bound up the wound with a piece of leather and his stocking. On the second day he says he suffered a cruel blow when he saw a schooner approach the dismantled Haweis and tow her away, the natives refusing to allow him to go off and ransom himself.
On the third day he was given the cheering sight of the head of the native steward who had died on the morning after the capture of the brig. The head had been preserved and elaborately tattooed. Atkins, of course, shuddered at the thought that his own head might soon be treated similarly. However, his deliverance was in sight for on the fourth morning the natives told him that the people of Tauranga, attracted by the news of plunder, were coming to attack them.
“Shortly after ‘Enarraro’ made his appearance with the captain's sextant, which he gave me, desiring me to look at the sun, and inform him if the ‘Towrenga’ people would come down on them. To refuse would have been fatal, and equally so an untrue prophecy…. I obeyed his commands,
A rail and road seene near Eden Park, Auckland.
“By this time the enemy were on the opposite bank of the river and commenced a brisk fire which was well returned. A native conducted me to the back of the settlement, my preservation appearing now an object of their solicitude. Shortly after I heard the report of one of our cannons, when a song of joy was raised by the defenders, for the enemy took to their heels with great precipitation. ‘Enarraro’ accompanied by several chiefs, then came to me … saying I was an ‘attoah’ (a god).”
Atkins’ head was now firmer on his shoulders than it had been and he continues, after a digression on the manners and customs of his captors, that on 9th March he was informed that the captain of the Haweis had escaped to Tauranga, whence he had despatched two chiefs overland to Whakatane with muskets to ransom his second mate. Atkins was then allowed to leave for Tauranga “amid expressions of esteem and regret at my departure.” His painful land journey took three days. His wound was still undressed, and though on 15th March they reached the Bay of Islands the Church of England missionary there, the Rev. Henry Williams, was not a medical man and could do little for him. Thus it was not until the wounded man arrived at Sydney on 25th March that he had proper attention. Three bullets and fragments of stones were extracted from his arm, but Atkins kept the limb though the doctors advised amputation. Later he returned to England.
Towards the end of his story he gives an account of the fortunes of the men on the island when the brig was taken. When Captain James landed, says Atkins, he saw a native running away with the knives of the shore party, and then he found that the hatchets and oars had also been stolen. They chased a native and recovered the oars, though other Maoris were firing briskly at them from behind the rocks. They saw that Te Ngarara had the Haweis and since they were unarmed the captain decided it was useless to attempt her recapture and therefore rowed off in the direction of Tauranga.
Next day the schooner New Zealander was sighted, and the two captains decided
A Wellington-Auckland special near the end of its 426-mile run.
Haweis. They found her still afloat and boarded her without opposition. They were shocked to find the decks littered with gnawed human bones and the remains of a fire, from which it was concluded that Atkins and his men had all been eaten. However, after the brig had been towed to Tauranga they found that the second mate was still alive in captivity.
Te Ngarara, the villain of the piece, was the noted Ngati-awa chief of his day and is a well-remembered ancestor of the Whakatane people. From the pakeha point of view it is interesting to note that later, in 1829, while attempting to repeat his Haweis coup, he was shot dead in his canoe off Whale Island by a Ngapuhi gentleman who was evidently not so trusting as the credulous sailors of the Haweis.
Just as the Whangarei train left Auckland the other day the passenger in the corner heaved a sigh of relief, and sought pipe and pouch for a comfortable smoke. Pipe was forthcoming. Pouch had been left behind! Noting his annoyance, his neighbour politely proffered his pouch with a cheery “Have a fill of mine!” Offer gratefully accepted. Ten minutes later the owner of the missing pouch said: “Pardon me — but what tobacco is this?” “New Zealand,” was the reply. “Cut Plug No. 10. Like it?” The other man nodded. “It's fine,” he said, “don't know when I've enjoyed a smoke so much. Any other brands?” “Five altogether,” he was told. “Riverhead Gold, Desert Gold, Cavendish, Navy Cut No. 3, and Cut Plug No. 10. You can't beat them for flavour and bouquet, and as they contain next to no nicotine you can smoke them for hours on end and never tire of them Quite harmless, too.” The other made a note of the names of the brands, remarking: “They're worth remembering.” They are. *
F.R.G.S.John Pascoe ,
A Decade of exploration in Canterbury's mountain hinterland has qualified John Pascoe to write vigorously and with authority on every aspect of mountaineering in that great Alpine region. His numerous published articles, well illustrated with his own pictures, have provided captivating reading for many people—lowlanders as well as climbers and trampers—and it is safe to say that in “Unclimbed New Zealand,” in which he breaks new trail in descriptive style, he will win many additional admirers. After reading the book one appreciates the aptness of its title and all that “Unclimbed New Zealand” means in terms of rough pioneering work. Moreover, the modesty of its author cannot conceal the big part he personally has taken in routing much new country for the growing army of less-intrepid climbers.
“Unclimbed New Zealand” is a chronicle of some of its author's many eventful exploits in the mountain ranges that extend northward from Mt. Cook to the Lewis Pass. Arduous expeditions into unexplored fastness of the Southern Alps, assaults on virgin peaks, perilous crossings of flooded, glacier-fed torrents, are related in a style so grippingly clear that the reader becomes a kind of spiritual companion of Pascoe in the story he so ably recounts.
The reconnaissance and ultimate traverse of Mt. Evans, provides the author with excellent material and his graphic account of the experiences undergone by his party during their conquest of this, one of the most impregnable peaks of the range, is a record of prudence, endurance and tenacity of purpose that surely places them in the front rank of mountain explorers. One of the hazards of their siege of Evans was a night spent with neither sleeping bags nor tent on the open, frozen tops. In describing this experience, he says: “We arrived on the Red Lion Col at 8.30 p.m. Mist filled the County and Wanganui Valleys. Brilliant silver moonlight on the slopes above made crevasses and glacier shadows blend into icy caverns. Our food was limited to dates and lumps of cheese. The col was broad and flat rather like the design of a running track. We would trot around the track till our numbed feet regained feeling and then we would sleep against a rock till our feet worke us up again. The instalments of sleep averaged half an hour.”
Throughout the book, Mr. Pascoe pays tribute to the assistance received from run-holders, deer stalkers, shepherds and others whose ready help and advice, he freely acknowledges, was a material factor in the success of many of his expeditions.
Apart from its mountaineering interest, the book, because of its valuable historical references and colourful descriptions of the high country of Canterbury and Westland, is an excellent piece of publicity for both provinces. “By any of the tortuous routes that link Canterbury with Westland,” says the author, “they may encounter varied scenery and objects of interest.
(
Photo., J. D. Pascoe.)
The summit of Mt. Evans, from the Southern Cornice.
Enthusiasm for the “hills, rockribbed and ancient as the sun,” sustained alike through success and defeat, is the keynote of every chapter, but the author's love for the mountains does not find its only outlet in climbing and in the creation of vivid pen pictures; his eighty camera studies which illustrate the book are a superb collection—a gallery of photographic gems.
Sections are devoted to the practical side of mountaineering and these contain valuable advice for beginners, but everyone will find incentive and inspiration in this narrative of exploration, fortitude and achievement in New Zealand's Alps.
By …Robert J. Currie
Rehearsal in the Railway Yard.
Ganger Tobin collected Train Advice 612, signed its envelope, and used the back of the sheet and a stubby pencil to figure just how far they might ride the jigger against this fast-moving special. They needed about twenty minutes to get into the clear up at the job—milepost 70—and W-15 was due here in Masterton yard at 7.25; within fifteen minutes. How were they to ride safely and still get to work on time?
The first flat mile out of town ought to take three minutes, one and a-half minutes over the river bridge and the viaduct beyond, then a drag up the Waipoua cutting. At least seven minutes before they could get near a pull-off bay. Stay safely at Masterton and that finely adjusted track lifting (always done at the double and between trains) programme would be hopeless from the outset. Mr. Tobin felt impelled to say the very hardest things about this circus special, but too many thrilled and eager children were there.
They made it. When W-15's driver whistled the answer to the flag, displayed to confirm their safety, everyone was standing to tools ready to make the first break of the day.
If duty had allowed that engine crew an odd thought, they, too, might have contemplated the inconvenience of a southbound Woodville-Masterton express goods special so early in the morning. The advice previously referred to assigned them a pretty smart return trip northward. Several trains, too, had to be crossed. If any of them were late they just couldn't get that old A514 back home, for there was a sheep special to Palmerston that afternoon. The southern district was rushed; every able-boilered locomotive was expected to do its duty.
But the kiddies were waiting to tender the circus train a royal reception; this day of all days—Circus Day! Easily worth braving a chilly autumn dawn to welcome a train bringing elephants and clowns.
Railwaymen of every rank inconvenienced themselves far in excess of mere prescribed duty. Shunters located the long visitor on the third road, in their own way, when they could have kicked it into the back loop, just because they were keeping this portable camp handy to town.
A circus train is unique. Old Manawatu Railway Company cars serve as bunkhouses, H-wagons as the show's regular stable accommodation, and a few private “houses” linked by couplers complete the train whose occupants are united by the spirit of honest showmanship. The life of the great open road—the railroad—is one that these travelling housewives declare themselves unwilling to swop even for State houses at Miramar.
(W.W.Stewart Collection)
The Wellington-Auckland “Limited” express arriving at Auckland.
The showmen animate those old spare cars and freight wagons with new life. Rail enthusiasts rush along with their cameras. Members of the service reach a new height in cheerful co-operation. Yes, everyone is proud to greet this picturesque shipment for which no highway carrier is likely to outbid the New Zealand Railways. It is a symbol of the true old railway spirit.
An Appreciation
In the following letter to Mr. G. H. Mackley, General Manager of Railways, Mr. D. T. Moffat, Greymouth, makes appreciative comment upon the Railways’ Household Removal facilities:—
“I should like to express my appreciation of your service, House to House removals. In my recent experience of moving from Dunedin to Greymouth, my wife simply walked out at Dunedin and walked in at Greymouth, with the table cover on the table. It is a pity this service is not more widely advertised. However, I shall, in future, do my share in advertising this particular branch of New Zealand Railways.”
By “)
Shibli Bagarag
If “Robin Hyde” did not continue to write furiously I am sure she would languish and die. She was born to intense activity. Over the last two years four books have been published from her pen and a fifth is due very shortly. During much of this time she has been meeting almost incredible adventures in the Far Eastern war zone; has been seriously ill in hospital; and still she writes not only novels, but also poems and articles for the press. She is one of the most interesting writers that this country has produced and much of her work in prose and verse will live. At times she is difficult to follow because her thoughts take big leaps, leaving the reader breathless with her hurrying pace. Yet “Robin Hyde's” literary journeyings are so interesting that you simply must follow her. Her haste is sometimes disconcerting, but she is always sighting new and strange scenes, and discovers for us things we feel we should have seen for ourselves.
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I have been asked to expand on my recent brief reference to Mona Gordon's “Children of Tane.” My earlier comments were made after reading a proof copy of this bird book. Now I have seen the finished product and a beautiful book it is. Experts have already declared that the work is authoritative. The author writes with enthusiastic admiration for the wonderful birds of New Zealand in a thorough and painstaking way. Besides most useful appendices there are beautiful colour plates, photographs and diagrams; in short Mona Gordon has given us a very satisfying work on bird life in this country. A fine description of the early bird forests of Aotearoa is given in the opening chapter and then the writer vividly describes the coming of two deadly forest enemies—the axe and the flame. We learn much concerning the early days from Maori lore and legend, of the Maori love of birds and of his qualifications as a naturalist and observer. The next section of the book deals with the bird literature of New Zealand and then follows a section on our bird sanctuaries. Clearly and interestingly classified we meet and know through the pen of the writer, all the various species of birds and we see them in the perspective of history and legend. Here then is a bird book for the average reader as well as for the ornithologist. Dents have published several New Zealand books of late, but I should say none as satisfactory from all points of view, as this one.
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In the near future the reading public in New Zealand will be well catered for with local publications. This is due largely to the anticipation that the Centennial will create a big demand for books of New Zealand interest. The Government, of course, have quite a number of publications in hand, including the amibitious volumes of National Biography. The other books being published officially will deal with many historical aspects of the Dominion and in several cases each book will be published in two editions, one appealing to the student
A bookplate designed by a New Zealand schoolboy (see letterpress).
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Meanwhile the Government Tourist Department is producing some attractive booklets, the lates of which is “New Zealand Flowers and Birds.” This is one of the most artistic publications ever issued by a State Department in this country. In beautiful colour plates and letterpress the book deals with the better-known flora and fauna of New Zealand. Congratulations to Mr. L. J. Schmitt, Manager of the Department, and to Mr. Arthur Messenger, editor of the book.
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This month's bookplate was designed from “the family arms,” by Edward T. Roberts, of “Riverside,” Christchurch, while he was attending school. The owner is a genealogical enthusiast and is the only New Zealand member of the Society of Genealogists, London. His uncle is T. E. L. Roberts, who produced a volume of poems, “Rimu and Rata,” some years ago.
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“Art in New Zealand,” for March, contains the winning entry of its annual short story competition. It is from the pen of Una Craig. Stories by E. D. M. Doust and Eleanor Scott are highly commended in this competition. Other literary items in the issue include poems by Barbara Dent,
J. R. Hervey and Paula Hangar, interesting articles, reviews, art notes, etc. The pictorial section features in excellent colour and black and white reproductions—the work of John Platt.
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In the old days this country had some remarkable links with famous writers. Alfred Domett himself a writer and a friend of Robert Browning, came out here in a windjammer in the last half of the past century. He became a prominent figure in politics in the capital city. Charles Armitage Brown, a friend of Keats and with whom he wrote “Otho the Great,” lived for a few months in Taranaki. He was buried in New Plymouth, and after the Maori wars his grave was lost for some time and eventually located on Marsden Hill. Mary Taylor, a close friend of Charlotte Brontë once ran a shop in Wellington. In one letter she wrote to Charlotte Brontë she said: “I went to the top of Mount Victoria and looked for a ship to carry a letter to you. There was a little thing with one mast.” It is, of course, a well-known fact that Samuel Butler took the setting for “Erewhon” from his memories of the Canterbury Plains.
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I spent a most interesting evening recently poring over some old files of “The Bulletin” and here is a paragraph I thought worth while reprinting, even if it is 36 years old:—
“‘The New Zealand Times,’ Wellington (M.L.) just about holds the record for changes in its literary staff—for getting hold of bright young men and losing them. Marter and Taperell both did time on that paper. Late-lamented Evison was at one time editor; J. T. M. Hornsby, Taperell again, R. A. Loughman, and J. L. Kelly have had control of things all within a few years. Latest changes are that Guy H. Scholefield, a talented youngster, who has done some good work and will do better, has been lifted from the ‘Times’ to the editorial staff of Christchurch ‘Press,’ vice J. P. Whitelaw, who goes to London under engagements to Bretts Agency. Harcus Plimmer, after about three years' theatrical and commercial life, has rejoined the staff, which has also been strengthened by the acquirement of E. Schwabe, late of ‘Hawke's Bay Herald.’ This continuous ebb and flow of par-hunters points to the ‘Times’ as the literary registry-office for the ‘Maoriland Press.’ If the proprietary could become a trifle less restless, the ‘Times’ would be a better paper.”
Out of all the well-known pressmen mentioned the only two I know of who are alive to-day are Guy H. Scholefield (“the talented youngster,” now Parliamentary Librarian and a Doctor of Literature) and Harcus Plimmer, one of the most familiar and popular pressmen in Wellington.
Reviews.
“Apron Strings,” by Mary Kelaher (New Century Press, Sydney) is an unusual drama of human passions told with a fair degree of artistry. The author is at her best when she describes in the opening chapter the last moments of David Warren, the central
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“Rewi's Last Stand,” (A. H. & A. W. Reed, Wellington and Dunedin) is an historical romance by A. W. Reed, based on the scenario of the film play by Rudall Hayward. The swiftly moving story centres round the Maori wars in the Waikato in the ‘sixties. Love and adventure, the introduction of famous figures in New Zealand history, and an account of the famous battle of Orakau, are the main ingredients in this gripping story, so well told by Mr. Reed. Nicely produced and including seven full-page photographs supplied by Frontier Films Ltd., the book is surprising value at the retail price of 2/9d.
“Shibli” Listens In.
“Wellington in Verse and Picture” is the title of a book to be published shortly. It contains some beautiful tributes in verse to the Capital City, also many fine pictures.
Nearly £40 has been collected for the Jessie Mackay Memorial Fund. Subscriptions may be forwarded to the Secretary of the P.E.N., Box 965.
ByC. Clark
The New Zealand Kakapo.
The kakapo is one of New Zealand's rare and most interesting birds. Though larger than, it is similar to, the kaka, and its name in Maori means “kaka of night.” English names for this peculiar bird are the owl parrot or night parrot.
The bird is of the parrot species and is bigger than a hawk. Its colouring is protective, being green and brown on the upper parts, and yellowish green underneath, the whole presenting a mottled appearance which makes the bird difficult to see in the bush.
Although possessing large wings, it cannot fly, and walks with a clumsy wobble. The wings are used only when running fast or when soaring from a tree top to the ground. It can climb
Like the owl, it is almost blind in the daytime, and lies under logs dozing until night comes, when the hunt for food starts. The food consists mainly of berries, seeds, honey and moss.
Possibly the most interesting thing about the kakapo is that they mate only every second year, and all mate in the same year. The mating call of the male bird is a deep bugle note similar to the boom of the bittern, and on a still night can be heard miles away. It nests in January and February in hollow logs, amongst roots, or in fissures in the rock. The eggs are large and white in colour. Many chicks die from want of food, and the female bird at this period is in very poor condition. The male bird, strange to say, has usually a well-fed appearance, and this, in addition to the fact that he is never seen near the nest, has led to the belief that he takes no responsibility for his family, leaving the entire feeding of them to their mother.
The kakapo, at one time fairly numerous about Lake Wairarapa and in the Tararua mountains, is now extinct in the North Island. They still exist in most parts of the West Coast of the South Island, but only in very small numbers.
About 1900 some were placed on Kapiti, and are reported to be holding their own. A similar attempt to establish them on Little Barrier was a failure.
The Maoris state that over a hundred years ago, kakapo were very numerous, and were frequently seen in large groups with a leader acting as sentry over them. Catch the leader before he sounded a warning, and the rest were easily captured, but let him sound a warning note and one and all wobbled rapidly to safety. Their tracks through the bush and along the ridges were as well defined as the deer tracks of today.
Wild cats, dogs, rats and man have slaughtered thousands of these innocent and guileless birds. Many of the early gold-miners ate kakapo until they tired of it.
The picture accompanying this article was taken in the Tutoko River Valley, Milford Sound, where the writer has frequently heard the deep boom of the male bird. It is interesting to note that recently two kiwis were caught in the same locality. Here also the kea, kaka and weka are fairly plentiful.
From Mine To Hearth—
(Continued from page 16).
drums round which the wire rope is coiled are connected by giant connecting rods to pistons where they have to work against water pressure.
The brakeman stands with his hands on a big operating wheel. He has a rough indicator on the wall which tells him where his trucks are, for, after the first few seconds he loses sight of the descending truck. He uses his judgment to slow this down as it passes the ascending empty, and then stops it with an allowable error of a few inches only when it reaches the bottom, half-a-mile away. His indicator is not accurate enough for this exacting job, but his judgment is equal to the task of sending a full truck down, and bringing an empty one up, in perfect safety, every two minutes.
The last truck is sent down the incline and the brakeman knocks off for the day. Now that the deafening roar of the brakes in action has stopped the exchange of conversation is possible. I am shown round the brakehouse and the operation of the machines, is explained to me. One could not but be impressed by the ingenuity and courage of the men who planned and pioneered this coal mine in the early days when transport was difficult and the place most remote. The use of water, too, as a braking system must have been the fruit of some fertile brain.
Although Denniston is on the top of a mountain a new tepid swimming bath has just been built—the warm water being supplied by the power house which is close by. New tennis courts have also been constructed and the game is most popular, despite the fact that the high altitude effects the bounce of the balls to a noticeable extent.
Another mining area of interest in this district is reached by travelling as far as Granity and then climbing the Millerton track (passing the Millerton mines by the way) and proceeding further up the hill to the left, to Stockton. Here the rakes of trucks are hauled by small electric locomotives drawing their power from overhead wires through trolley poles much the same as on a tram cat. The overhead wire is easily within reach of the raised hand but apparently no accidents occur.
A group of miners point our attention to a wisp of smoke rising from the hill above Millerton.
This mine has been on fire for some time now and has cost two of the mine managers their lives. Speculation amongst the miners reveals that in spite of attempts to restrain the fire it may take as long as forty years to burn itself out.
Still further north along the coast one comes to the Mokihinui district. In the early days this was the scene of a gold rush, there being about 2,000 of a population there in 1867. As the gold in the area was worked out interest in the coal seams became greater and with the completion of the railway from Mokihinui to Westport, in 1893, the area became of great importance.
One of the Railway Department's “Q” class wagons (8 ½ tons capacity) on the steep incline at the Denniston mine.
At present, practically all the coal mined in the Buller district is railed to Westport where it is shipped to other parts of New Zealand or used for bunkering boats which have not been converted into oil burners.
The wharves at the mouth of the Buller River almost always present a very busy secne. Many boats come to Westport to be bunkered because it is the most northern port which they can enter on the Coast, and because the place has earned a reputation for speed in the handling of coal. It is common to hear the noise of the cranes still loading boats up to the hour of midnight. Tramp steamers of all kinds call, and considerable interest has been caused lately by the visits of French steamers engaged in the Pacific trade.
(Perpetrated and Illustrated by
Ken. Alexander .)Modern methods of child-wailfare decree that it is cruel to say: “If you're not careful the bogey will get you.” To-day we have a complex complex through over-indulgence in fear-fixations and metaphysikinks in fifty-three varieties. Instead of digging up the good old bogey which every child was quite pally with we have invented another by saying, in defect: “If you're not careful the Future will get you.” We produce the Future as a kind of “terror incognito” for the exploration of which the embryo explorer must train to every hair he has got if he doesn't want to lose himself and go round and round, as lost explorers do, until he meets himself coming back and conks out from misplaced confidence and self-deception.
There is no doubt that St. George had a soft snap compared with modern youth's expedition into the Vast Unshown. George had advance information. He had the low-down on his dragon's hide-out, and the general meanness of its demeanour. He knew that it was a fire-breather and could be put out with a puff or two of the Nero Patent Fire Extinguisher, procurable at any armourer's at the ridiculously low price of two doucats and a deener. Besides he had every encouragement to sally up the dragon's alley. If you have studied the background of that famous picture entitled “Leave it to George,” you will understand. Who wouldn't take a chance on a mere dragon in the interests of such a snappy bit of beauty-in-distress? Most of us would give a bull-dozer a run for its money for less.
Anyway it was a straight-out oneway proposition in which either the dragon got it in the central-heating or St. George would be poured out of his tin-wear in more-or-less involuntary liquidation. All George had to do was to gird up his sirloins with steel girders and go on location. He had to get the decision, anyway, because the scenario said so and the advance bookings were already sold.
But the modern young St. George enjoys none of these advantages. He doesn't even know what particular make of dragon he will meet, where
“The dragon was a fire-breather who could be put out with a puff of the Nero Fire Extinguisher.”
Thus it is evident that the pursuit and capture of this gilt-edged baby with the gold-crowned smile and eyes as warm as the tops of lead-headed nails is no egg-and-spoon race.
Also, it is understandable why every baby, be it bonny or bony, is, before it has put a tooth into its first rusk, tentatively tossed to the dragon that guards the lady Sadie.
He is trained to one end—to whit, to woo. He is taught the craft of laying
This branch of wouldcraft is called Education, but why—nobody seems to know except that it sounds the kind of name for that kind of thing. Of course, Education must not be confused with Thought which is practised by poets and philosophers and suchlike people who are so unsuccessful that they have to pay cash for everything they get. So, from safety pin to safety-first, from the word “goo!”, from shorts gasps to long pants, from LL.B. to L.S.D., modern youth is educated in the art of making two and two add up to five and everything else add up, and up, and up.
The youth who hankers to sit by the wayside and dream of things beyond the reck of ready-reckoners, who fain would ponder on the mystery of the invisible and indivisible ego, who would dare to doubt the quibbulous questing of the “homo sappy-ends,” who would question the efficacy of his aims, the direction of his progress, and the state of his soul, gets it in the neck with a stay-of-proceedings or a “quid nunc” or something. For—
Scram!”
think,
Success.
“Climb out of your pram.”
move,
think?
busy
prime,
I haven't got time.
“One Man's Family”
To finish this fairy story we should paint a poignant picture of youth, grown old, sitting with Success, jaded but jewelled, gazing through mullioned casements framed in cloth-of-gold curtains, at the setting sun of lost opportunity. We should have him hearking regretfully to the evening notes of the nesting tomtit and murmuring “Ah, me—ah, me.”
We should portray him eyeing with envy the merry milkman carrying home his five rosy little butter-fat daughters in a ten-gallon can. We should—but, no; it's no use rubbing it in— and nobody would believe us, anyway.
Leading New Zealand Newspapers.
ByJoyce West
Between green graceful Pihanga and the scarred and massive buttresses of Mount Tongariro lies Roto-a-Ira, Iridescent Water, a great flat shining jewel cupped in the bowl of the broken hills.
You skirt its tranquil bays as you pass by on the main highway from Lake Taupo to the Chateau and National Park. Its shores are belted by white sand and lichened boulders, by manuka thickets and rose and crimson snowberries, by levels starred with strange alpine flowers and coloured with the golden tussock of the upland country.
Four mountains keep sentinel over Roto-a-Ira. To the south rise the three Great Ones, rugged Tongariro, and the grim scarred cone of the holy mountain Ngauruhoe; Raupehu lifting shining silver battlements nine thousand feet into the blue of the mountain skies. North of the lake shores stands proud shapely Pihanga.
Many, many years ago, long before the coming of the white man … so the Maori will tell you … there were five mountains round about Roto-a-Ira. The fifth surpassed them all in beauty; he was Taranaki, that perfect cone which we to-day call Egmont. Over the fair green lady Pihanga, Taranaki and Tongariro fought, and Taranaki was forced to flee from his ancient seat. His path drew the deep furrow where the Wanganui river now runs, and from the mouth of the Wanganui he fled up the coast, knee-deep in the Tasman, until he reached the spot where he stands to-day, lonely and beautiful in his banishment, above the rich greenlands of Taranaki.
But Pihanga, like a true woman, was pleased to accept the attentions of the victor, and Tongariro wrapped her in soft arms of cloud as the sign of his love. Even to-day, when the south wind blows the long streamers of vapour from Tongariro's warm springs down upon the lake and the green foot of Pihanga, the Maori says … “See! The Great Ones send greeting as in days of old!”
Roto-a-Ira is a strange spot, aloof, wrapped in a web of legend and mystery, a last citadel of the old, old days when the gods walked the earth as men. Its still blue reaches where the silverbellied strong-jawed mountain fish leap are not for the pakeha angler with his feathery flies, and slender cane rods, and singing reels of silk. He may covet them, but they are forbidden him. The lake, and the gem-like waters of Roto-Pounamu lying beyond, are a Maori fishing reserve.
One of the strangest creatures in the world makes its home in the waters of Roto-a-Ira. It is the koaro, or blind fish. It appears in the lake at certain seasons, blind, its eyes covered by a film which gradually disappears. The Maori believes that this curious creature travels through subterranean channels from the deep cold crater lakes of Tongariro and Ngauruhoe, where it breeds.
The villages of Otukou and Poutu, lying near the lake, are very old, they go back, almost, to the very dawn of Maori history. Under the shadow of the mountains, you may yet see that blasted region Te Rangi Po, the Place of Heaven's Curse, where the sacred fire of Ngauruhoe fell upon the old, old battlefield which the pakeha to-day calls the Gobi Desert.
Poutu was the scene of Tamatea's resting place, after his portage from the head-waters of the Wanganui River. The tale of this famous journey of Tamatea's is a great saga, fit to be sung by the camp-fires of many a generation of Maori to come.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The Chateau, Tongariro National Park, with Mt. Ngauruhoe in the background.
Tamatea was captain of the great Taki-timu canoe upon its journey from Hawaiki. He was a man driven by the fire of the explorer; he could never be still; he must for ever be seeking roads by which no man had travelled. From the mouth of the Wanganui he began his journey, passing up that great waterway beyond the reaches known to the canoemen of the river settlements, plunging into dark gorges and canyons, braving rocks and whirlpools, and the great taniwha which haunt the lonely river caverns. Three stretches of rapids, boiling down in snowy turmoil over a rock-hewn staircase, Tamatea and his men surmounted by a terrific overland portage. At last, upon the third level, the grand sight of the rolling mountain plains belted with golden tussock and bush gorges, sweeping up in dignity to the three purple peaks capped and crowned with sunlit snow, broke upon Tamatea's gaze.
The river was small now; its bed narrow and rocky, plunging through boulder-strewn purple defiles. The food was failing, and the little band of adventurers must press on, for they could not turn back. Overland, foot by foot, they dragged their unwiedly vessel toward the waters of Taupo that glimmered like a mirage so many miles away. On they struggled through the bleak inhospitable mountain country, weak, starving, their feet bleeding from the stones, and their shoulders from the chafing ropes. Surely it must have seemed like a miracle to that small
Here Tamatea and his men rested, and then pursued their journey by the Poutu river, which is the spillway on the eastern shore where the waters of Roto-a-Ira find outlet to the lower levels of Taupo Lake.
Only a few miles farther on, the Poutu joins the snow-fed waters of the Tongariro, flowing ice-cold from the mountains, and chants of gratitude must have arisen from Tamatea and his canoe-men as their vessel glided swiftly upon the jade-green current toward the shining sea of Taupo.
The village of Otukou is famous, in late days, as the scene of Te Kooti's last fight. Fit setting it was, under the shadow of the mountains, for farewell engagement of the grim old rebel.
There is a tale, too, and a rather dreadful one, of a band of cannibal highwaymen who were wont to lurk in a cave overlooking the foot-track from Otukou to Taupo. Their habit was to spring out upon solitary wayfarers, and club them to death, and drag the bodies into the cave to prepare for their horrid feastings.
It seems strange, passing through these old grim storied lands to come upon Chateau Tongariro, set like a white jewel against the blue shoulder of snowy-crowned Ruapehu. Here, four thousand feet above sea-level, in the barbarically-beautiful setting of this upland country of jade and silver lake waters, of snow and tussock and mighty mountains, you may enjoy all the amenities of modern civilised life. Here is central heating, electricity, telephones, hot and cold running water, facilities to enjoy every sport from golf to deerstalking. Here you may dine to the music of a Continental orchestra, and dance upon a modern ballroom floor while the mountains gleam beyond the windows in cold white splendour in the starlight.
Here, when the snow lies upon the ground, the scene takes on the fantastic beauty of a Swiss setting. The crisp blue shadows cross the white levels, the trees bear a brilliant frosting; up the blue snow tracks to the ski-ing grounds go a procession of picturesque trousered figures with pointed skis over shoulders. Here, upon the sacred slopes where the high priest Ngatoro-i-Rangi and his vassals once trod, is an alpine playground, ringing with gaiety and laughter, bright with the contrast of sunshine on dazzling snow and the deep over-arching blue of the mountain skies. It is the most exhilarating sport in the world, this, the singing whisper of the steeltipped skis upon the hard-packed snow, the wild rush of the clear cold air, the flurry of snow particles and the flicker of the white slopes leaping past. To jump is the most exciting of all … the first swift rush, and the soaring, the dropping down like a bird with folded wings to the blue-scored white field so far below is as near as a human being can come to unaided flying.
In summer you may fish in the flashing streams that leap down ice-cold from the blue glacier cap of Ruapehu; you may play tennis on English-green lawns, or tramp through the golden tussock to dark bush gorges and silver waterfalls, you may view odd medicinal springs that foam and taste like soda water; you may climb and look down
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Mt. Egmont (8,260 ft.) and the monument erected to commemorate the heroism of Arthur Hamilton Ambury following an accident on the mountain in June, 1918.
Perhaps you may hear the ghostsound of Te Kooti's bugle floating faint and far through the evening air, as that grim old rebel walks his war-trails again, and his warriors take their spears in their right hands and rise from their uneasy graves. Perhaps the highwaymen of Otukou may waylay you; perhaps you may meet the ghost of Taukai and the ghost of his little dog, who slew more than one hundred warriors by the old Poutu outlet, as vengeance for an act of treachery. Perhaps you may hear the straining breaths and the stumbling footfalls of Tamatea and his despairing men.
It is a colourful pageant of phantom figures that marches over these upland trails. Sleep on, Roto-a-Ira, in your opal-set loveliness between the mountain lovers of old. The roads may skirt your shores, and the pakeha tourist pass you by, but he will never penetrate your ageold mystery and loneliness.
ByHelen
Etceteras
For Individuality
Slimly â la mode, with her short skirt, long legs, bolero, eyebrows naturally arched, the young girl considers the excitement of winter accessories. Her tailleur, her three-piece, her swing coat, are of a line and a colour laid down by fashion. But in accessories she can indulge her love for richness and colour.
With a sports suit or skirt she will wear a Tyrolean-style pullover, embroidered with bright little flowers of beads. Black diagonals and white edgings accent the whole.
For smartest town occasions, and for cocktail time, she will wear a bird's nest on her head, a nest of mink tails on which perches a brightly coloured bird. In the same mode is her evening skull cap with its spray of osprey feathers.
Against the simplicity of high neckline in a dark hostess frock will glow a tiered string of pearls, three rows, four rows, five, or even six rows. Or she may prefer her pearls with contrasts, as in the glorious lily-of-the-valley clip with its diamond “bindings” and green-enamelled leaves.
A suede hand-bag of charm has a fluted fan-shell edge and unusual rounded handles finishing in a point deep down on the bag.
Belts are important accents. To hold the softness of chiffon pleats, what more charming than simple leaves of gold kid. For a dark frock, any woman would covet half-a-dozen coloured thongs of leather twisted into a girdle. For golf, a sports lover craves a utility belt (such as that sketched) with roomy pockets attached. A leather “brooch,” to be pinned to neckline, belt or pocket, carries tees and a golf pencil. A leather wrist-strap serves a dual purpose by having slots for tees.
What gaiety in this season of plenty! Costume jewellery is larger and brighter, concentrated in one gleam on the corsage, or scattered into smaller pieces, clips, brooches, dress-rings, bracelets. Evening jewels are no more sumptuous than those we place on the simplest day-time frocks.
Ostrich plumes wave in profusion. They may nestle against black velours for street wear, or nod entrancingly from evening coiffures. Marabout, leaving the boudoir, is fashionable for day-time wear in a tiny crown, pinned glitteringly to the coiffure.
Millinery is once more an art. The flattery of veils is exploited. Veiling may drape a crown, soften a brim or encircle, nebulously, neck and chin. The wimple may be regarded as a revival of a medieval fashion or the development of the art of the veil.
Fur, of course, denies simplicity to “town” coats. It overflows the shoulders on to sleeves and fronts. A wonderful evening cloak is fashioned, not of skins, but of narrow bands of fur worked marvellously into a full and flowing garment.
There is profusion, of course, in evening skirts, and in the fullness of very short day-time frocks, so youthful in line. The exposed length of leg should be of a “young girl” slimness, or, regretfully, the latest day-time silhouette is not for you.
Gloves are contradictory. While some sleeves have crept up, gloves are short, of wrist length only. Paris mittens, in lamé, have transparent fingers, and are fastened with narrow ribbon at the wrist.
Feet? Important, very! Use colour, carefully, in day-time shoes; but for evening be daring. A Paris house shows dainty shoes, one green, one rose, but both with heels of mauve.
Guests in the Guest Room.
The Perfect Hostess.
The guest room is prepared. You are taking a last look round. Cigarettes and matches, a carafe of water and a tumbler are in position. For a woman guest a bowl of flowers is a sweet welcome. The bedhead reading-lamp is at just the right height, with the light switch at the door working independently of it. There are magazines and a few up-to-date books on the beside table.
If your guest is arriving at night in cold weather, you will pop a hot-water bag in the bed, and have an electric radiator glowing in welcome. An extra coverlet may be thrown over the end of the bed.
If a married couple are visiting you, you probably know whether they prefer double or single beds, and have arranged accordingly, maybe by vacating
You are happy to have done everything possible, and are now ready to meet your guests, on the doorstep if they come by car, or on the station if by train. The perfect guest will, of course, have let you know, well in advance, the time of arrival.
After glad greetings, you help to convey luggage to the guest-room, where a luggage stand (just a wooden framework) will save a lot of bending. Your guest will probably coo at the flowers and the radiator, and admire your charming colour-scheme. Show her the drawer and wardrobe space, and indicate the bathroom. If your hot water supply is variable, tell her the best time of day for baths. Face and bath towels will be on a spare rail in the bathroom, or on a rail placed unobtrusively in the guest room.
At whatever time she arrives, your guest will be ready for a meal. Don't ask her whether she would like it or not, but serve it after she has had a few minutes for preliminary unpacking.
You know in advance your guest's pastimes, and have advised her as to whether to bring sports equipment. Even if you don't play games yourself, you can probably enlist a friend to introduce your guest to the local golf or tennis club. If she is really keen, leave her free to spend her days on the links or courts. If not, suggest other outings, without forcing your suggestions on her.
You will know whether she is a gregarious soul, and whether to arrange outings and parties for her. In any case, give her opportunities to meet your few intimates, of whom she has no doubt heard.
As to meals, your guest will no doubt make it her business to turn up on time. At the beginning of her visit, make arrangements about breakfast. She will probably appreciate breakfast in bed, thus leaving you free to attend to the family and to early morning tasks.
Having prepared to be the perfect hostess, you certainly deserve the perfect guest.
Health Notes.
Septic Teeth.
We have always been more or less aware that our bodies are battle-grounds for invisible foes—germs—and if these are virulent and the body defences weak, the victory is to the germs.
Sometimes the germs invade the blood stream, as may occur in the case of a septic wound, and sometimes they may settle in some tissue or organ of the body, there to multiply and gradually become a potential menace to the health of all the other organs or tissues. This infection may be the forerunner of any of the following diseases—rheumatism, neuritis, anaemia and digestive disorders of various kinds.
It is really amazing how calmly we ignore the simple precautions necessary to safeguard our most valuable asset—namely, health. Dental decay is one of the most well-known causes of infection. Germs flock to the decayed tooth, and may be instrumental in producing an abscess, which if not dealt with immediately, may become a poison factory within the body insidiously undermining the health of the individual.
Inadequate cleansing of the teeth is one of the main factors which produce the decay, as stagnation of the adherent food particles takes place, and supplies a home for the germs. This is not a pleasant thought—a mouth containing germs—and yet we nonchalantly permit the teeth and gums to be invaded by this formidable enemy. Too much soft, sugary and starch food helps in the decay of the teeth—this is the result of the dietetic habits of civilisation.
For a considerable time the victim is quite unconscious of the harmful germ activity, but the chronic poison is operating, nevertheless. The feeling of “not up to the mark” is usually the first symptom of this invasion by these “invisible foes.” A signpost is also marked “Toothache,” and this should not be disregarded. Some foe is at work and should be routed. A visit to the dentist will probably save you much future suffering and expense.
Periodical medical examination will lead to the early detection of a focal infection and its aftermath of ill-health can be prevented if medical methods of treatment are adopted at once.
Kitchen Knowledge.
Wash a pound of spinach in several changes of water, and boil for ten minutes. Drain and chop it fine. Return it to the saucepan with the liquor, add 1 ½ pints of milk, and simmer for six minutes. Stir in a little cream before serving.
The flavour of poached or hard-boiled eggs with spinach is improved by adding a pinch of grated nutmeg.
It is not necessary to add salt when cooking spinach, as this spoils the delicacy of the dish. The water adhering to the leaves after washing is sufficient for the cooking.
Stir three well-beaten eggs and a tablespoon of cream into two cups of sieved spinach. Turn the mixture into a well-buttered dish and bake in a sound oven for ten minutes. Serve immediately.
Lettuce salads are popular all the year round, but the bowl of tender, crisp green leaves is the best way to serve lettuce.
A variety of sandwiches can be improved by the addition of the leaves—ham and lettuce, egg and lettuce, cheese and lettuce, etc.
Put a leg of mutton in a saucepan of boiling water, and simmer till very tender. Let it stand in the liquid till next day. Then make a thick white sauce, and pour over the mutton. While the sauce is warm keep piling it on the leg of mutton to get a good thick coating of sauce. When quite cold lift on to a clean plate, and sprinkle parsley thickly over it. This is delicious served with salad, or lettuce leaves.
Take equal quantities of finely-chopped meat and mashed potatoes, one small onion (also chopped) and a sprinkling of parsley. Mix all well together with one well-beaten egg and a pinch of salt. Make into neat flat cakes, dip each in a basin of flour and fry in hot fat. Five minutes on each side will be enough.
Mince two sheep's kidneys, put half an oz. of butter into a saucepan, and when quite hot put in the pieces and fry for five minutes, stirring all the time. Add the beaten yolk of an egg, salt and pepper to taste. Serve on buttered toast.
Remove fat from chops, roll in flour with one teaspoonful salt and sugar mixed through the flour. Place in a casserole and pour over this mixture three tablespoons tomato sauce, two tablespoons Worcestershire saunce, one tablespoon vinegar, one large cup of water. Place in oven and cook 1 ¾ hours.
First melt an oz. of butter in a saucepan, then stir in an oz. of flour and mix until smooth. Off the fire, add 3 ozs. of finely grated chocolate, then stir in a gill of milk, and make a very smooth mixture of it. Now put the pan on the fire and boil the mixture, stirring vigorously all the time, until it thickens and begins to leave the sides of the pan. At this stage take the pan from the fire and allow the mixture to cool slightly before adding the eggs.
Beat in the yolks, separately, then incorporate a tablespoon of castor sugar and a few drops of almond or vanilla essence. Next, whip the whites of four eggs to a stiff snow and fold them carefully into the mixture. Now turn the mixture into a well-buttered dish (it should be two-thirds full to allow for rising) and bake in a moderate oven for half an hour. Serve in the dish.
When choosing pork, look for that with clear white fat and brownish lean ingrained with fat. The rind will be thin and the bone fine, but solid, in meat of good quality.
Spare Ribs.— Low in price, but much bone waste.
Hock.— Usually slightly salted and boiled.
Shoulder.— Lean like ham, but without the ham flavour and texture.
Loin.— The best roasting joint, but rather fat.
Leg.— The ham; the most economical roasting joint.
Back.— The back bacon is liked in some places, and costs a trifle more per lb. than side bacon.
Feet.—Pigs’ trotters; boiled and served hot or cold.
Tenderloin.— Best stuffed and baked.
Croutons are small sized dice of crisp toasted or fried bread. They may be cooked in deep fat or browned in the oven.
One or two apples, two or three potatoes, half teacup water, a little onion. Fill piedish with alternate layers of sliced vegetables and fruit. Season with pepper and salt. Add water. Cover with short paste. Bake half to three-quarters of an hour.
Two carrots, par boiled, two onions, two parsnips, one potato, peas (cooked) one teacup, one teacup vegetable stock. Fill a greased piedish with the sliced vegetables. Have sliced potato in the middle with peas on top of dish. Season well. Add water or stock. Cover with short pastry. Bake one hour.
2 onions, 1 pint milk, 1 egg, 1 cup wholemeal, breadcrumbs, a little grated nutmeg.
Chop onions finely, cook in the smallest quantity of water, add salt, grated nutmeg and milk, simmer, remove from the fire and stir in the beaten egg. Do not allow the soup to boil after the egg has been added. Stir for a few minutes, put in the breadcrumbs, and serve immediately.
Commercial Broadcasting Visits The Listeners
The wedding of Rail and Radio in Railway Studio 5ZB is very fitting—for 5ZB typifies the whole spirit of Radio and Railway progress.
An idea passes into a possibility—the possibility is tested by critical examination and becomes a reality, to take its place in the spotlight for a short hour and having served its purpose moves on, not to be lost, but to remain as a milestone on the path of progress and an achievement to be surpassed in the future. That is the keynote of Radio and Railway policy—such a conception is 5ZB, light-hearted younger sister to the main ZB stations, who in her new party frock of ivory and scarlet moves out of the night, and after a brief stay passes on with a flirt of her skirts leaving fourteen of the major North Island towns disconsolate.
In many of its aspects 5ZB is somewhat unique in the Radio World. During the tour valuable information is being collected as to the effective coverage of the main Radio stations, the acceptability of main station programmes, and the business possibilities of the towns visited. Local talent is being fostered and interesting “discoveries” are being made. The main purpose, however, is that “ZB” may become a living reality to as many as possible of the thousands to whom the ZB stations have formerly been just a voice from the ether. During the tour, dwellers in the smaller towns have an opportunity to inspect the unit and learn something of the inner workings of commercial Radio.
The enthusiastic support accorded to this station by national and local advertisers has made the venture commercially successful.
The car itself is the coach of the General Manager of Railways, and on examination it was found to need very little alteration to adapt it into a firstclass broadcasting unit. The finished job, 5ZB, is a real broadcasting station in miniature, and has facilities for handling recorded programmes, features, “live” studio presentations, and outside relays—in a word, any of the main functions of a major broadcasting plant.
The lounge of the car is an excellent studio, the quality of vocal and band numbers broadcast from it having aroused much favourable comment.
It is rather surprising that whereas when a studio is built by “sound” engineers, with the experience of years of research at their command, its complete success can never be assured until it is finally tested, the lounge compartment of a railway carriage, without any special treatment, should prove acoustically excellent.
The car is sub-divided into a commodious studio, a control room containing the complex transmitting equipment, an office and sleeping compartment, and bathroom and kitchen accommodation for the crew of two.
5ZB in working order. While travelling, the masts (35 ft. in height), lie flat along the roof of the car.
The control room, visible from the studio through a large plate glass panel in the dividing wall, is even more “strictly business” and contains the rack carrying the transmitting equipment, technician's desk with its mounted panel of signal lights, dials and switches and inset with three turntables, three telephones (two automatic and one manual, to standardise with whatever telephone system is in use at the various towns), and tables and shelves for records and spare parts.
The office is simply furnished with desk and typewriter, and provides
The car is quite independent of the main stations and carries its own record library and feature programmes.
The transmitter masts are carried flat on the roof of the car during travel. On arrival at a broadcasting point, the masts are erected and stayed, connections made to local power and telephone lines, and after brief tests 5ZB is ready for the air.
The tour commenced at Rotorua just prior to Easter, the station being enthusiastically received by residents and visitors during its stay of a week. The longest stay of the tour was made at Hamilton, where, in all, sixteen days were spent, after which Whangarei was visited for a week. At Auckland no regular broadcasting schedule was maintained, but the car was on display and made special broadcasts in conjunction with 1ZB. From Auckland, the unit moved through the King Country—with stops at Te Kuiti and Taumarunui, and across to the West Coast, broadcasting from New Plymouth, Wanganui, Hawera and Palmerston North.
During June the car is crossing the centre of the Island, with stops at Dannevirke, Napier and Hastings, with a final stop at Masterton to conclude the tour.
The car then returns to Wellington where, shorn of her finery and decked once more in work-a-day maroon she re-enters regular railway service after a brief three months’ escape into the glamour of the “show business.”
The tour is proving a strenuous one for the staff (which consists only of two members) as the car while broadcasting, is on the air 12–2 p.m., 6–10 p.m. each day of the week, and on all days (excepting Sundays) a breakfast session from 7–9 a.m. is broadcast. In addition to these broadcasts a special dance programme is on the air until midnight on Saturday nights. However, the tour—which is made mainly in daylight—is through country of great scenic interest—and this fact combined with the warmth of their reception at the towns en route, is doing much to compensate the staff for the strenuous nature of the trip.
Members of the Australian Boys’ Band rehearsing in the studio on 5ZB.
Splendid reports of the programmes broadcast have been received from all sides, and excellent reception is widely reported. As a result of the pressure of advertising business offering, the broadcasting hours have had to be considerably extended at times.
Many congratulatory reports have been received on the conception of the scheme, and the interest which is being shown in the car and its progress must be very gratifying to the Broadcasting Service and the Railway Department alike.
Even at stations where no stay was made, enthusiastic crowds have greeted the arrival of 5ZB and taken the opportunity of the brief stop to inspect this unique broadcasting unit.
A new generation is growing up around us—a generation that is taking the marvels of this age for granted without surprise and without wonder; and to them 5ZB can only be a novel railway coach. But those of us who have watched the whole growth of Radio cannot but feel that the tide of progress is still surging strongly—when Radio goes on wheels.
So, until that smart little lady takes her final curtain call—good luck—5ZB.
“Tell me,” said the tobacco-hater, excitedly, “one single good point possessed by tobacco.” Here he glared defiantly at his fellow-passengers in the Wellington tram, and “paused for a reply.” It came. “I can tell you two or three, governor,” remarked the man smoking the big calabash. “What are they?” snapped the crank. “Firstly,” said the calabash smoker, “it wards off infection. There's no finer disinfectant than tobacco-smoke. Ask any doctor. Secondly, tobacco-smoke preserves the teeth, and preventes decay. Ask any dentist. Thirdly it bucks you up no end when you're feeling as cheap as twopence-half penny. It heightens one's joys and soothes one's sorrows.” (Hear, Hear!—from everybody, bar the crank, who scowlingly tried to speak again, and finding they wouldn't let him, dried up). Yes, the weed has many virtues but there's none like the five renowned toasted brands: Cut Plug No. 10, Riverhead Gold, Desert Gold, Cavendish, and Navy Cut No. 3. For flavour and fragance they challenge the world. Absolutely harmless, too! They are toasted—and safe to smoke even to excess.*
Wit And Humour
A policeman saw a crowd of boys playing football in the street. On chasing them, he caught one and, after a severe caution, let him go. Some time later he was moved to another beat, where he caught a boy from a crowd footballing.
“Aren't you the boy I caught some time ago?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” whimpered the boy; “but I can't help it. This is our away match.”
* * *
Aunt Agatha dropped in for a chat. “Oh, Auntie, how ugly you are!” said her little niece.
“Eva!” cried her mother, horrified. “How can you say such a thing?”
“I just said it as a joke, mother!”
“It would have been a much better joke if you had said, ‘Oh Auntie, how pretty you are,’” chided her mother.
* * *
The two small boys were home for the holidays and were becoming rather troublesome, so their father suggested that they should “pot” some geraniums for him. The suggestion was met with approval, and off the two boys went to start the job.
Later in the day the father asked what they had done with the trowel.
“Oh,” said one boy, “we didn't use the trowel, we just took turns with the airgun.”
* * *
The small, nervous husband was having an unpleasant interview with the large, muscular cook whom he was reprimanding on account of her numerous breakages.
“Look ‘ere,” said she, “you can't frighten me—I'm a ‘dreadnought,’ that's what I am!”
“Well,” replied the other, looking at the heap of broken china, “I would rather say—er—that you are a destroyer.”
The storm was raging and the ship was obviously in peril when the old lady reached the beach.
“Can't somebody do something?” she exclaimed.
“It's all right,” remarked a bystander; “they've sent ‘em a line to come ashore.”
“Gracious me!” exclaimed the lady.
“Were they waiting for a formal invitation?”
* * *
The two ex-Army men were discussing their respective occupations since their retirement from the forces.
“I've done fairly well,” said one.
“I've not long started a pig-farm.”
“Ah,” said the other, “then I can suggest a good motto for your business.”
“And what might it be?” was the query.
“Well,” went on the other, “as an ex-Army man keeping pigs, why not have ‘The pen is mightier than the sword.”
(By courtesy of London “Punch”)
“They must 'ave 'eard of that winder you broke.”
Before becoming a hotel clerk he had worked in a grocery store.
“Is Judge David Peggenburg stopping here?” asked an impressive-looking stranger, approaching the desk.
“No,” replied the clerk, with his most winning manner, “but—er—we have something else just as good.”
* * *
During a rush period at a railway buffet a customer was handed a sandwich from which the ham had slipped out.
“Hey, Miss,” he called. “Please give that pack another shuffle, will you? You've dealt me the joker.”
* * *
Mrs. Flanagan: I hear yer husband's in gaol.
Mrs. O'Reilly: Yes; an’ it's about time. Here we been pinchin’ ourselves for years to pay taxes to keep it goin', an’ this is the first chance we've ever had to use it.
byW. F.
Ingram
Will the New Zealand Rugby Football Union convince the authorities in England that a universal adoption of the 2-3-2 scrum formation will solve the great problem of illegal scrum work in the 15-a-side game? Even in New Zealand, where the traditional formation once was unanimously voted to be the only method worth using, there is divided opinion.
Much has been made of the success of the hookers in the 1905 New Zealand team in Great Britain and Ireland, but few remember that the 1905 team was the first to use men in specialised positions. Other teams packed a scrum on the basis of “first up, first down.” The first forwards reaching the spot where a scrum went down, would pack front row and the others would “attach themselves.”
So it must be admitted that the comparison of success in 1905 is not a sound one. Better is it to study what has happened since other countries adopted a set scrum formation and specialised in positions.
It is a rare occurrence when a New Zealand team wins possession from the majority of set scrums. New Zealand's international successes—and they have been relatively few since 1925—have been won by virtue of superior back divisions. Men of the calibre of
Does it not all boil down to the fact that too many alterations have been made to the rules bearing on scrum work? A test film was made in England recently and it was discovered that the rule on hooking could not be worked. The film showed that if the ball were placed in the scrum according to the rule, and the hookers hooked according to the rule, the ball would pass out the other side before the mental reaction of the hookers would permit them to hook it. In other words, a ball truly put in must go right through before the hookers could get their feet in a position to hook. The suggested remedy is that the referee should place the ball in the scrum to avoid any suggestion of unfairness.
America seems to be developing the habit of staging a “Mile of the Century” each year. The memorable meeting between Jack Lovelock, of New Zealand and Glenn Cunningham and other American milers, will be in the minds of many when Sydney Wooderson, holder of the one-mile and halfmile world records, meets Cunningham and other American milers at Princeton, New Jersey, on June 17th. Wooderson will have youth on his side and should be favoured to win, but I have never been enthusiastic about his performances—his best runs have been made in special paced efforts—and if Cunningham is in form I would prefer him to beat the Englishman.
Much has been said—and more will undoubtedly follow—about the Englishman's task of beating a team of Americans who will be working together. I think this suggestion too puerile to warrant serious notice. Lovelock found the Americans were keen to score an individual victory—in marked contrast to what happened thirty years ago—and won on his merits.
Wooderson's lack of class competition in regular competition, his “spoonfeeding” in paced races and the experience of the American milers in hard racing will all act against the bespectacled Englishman, who, lacking Lovelock's uncanny judgment of pace, will have a most difficult task to perform if he is to win the “Mile of the Century—1939 Edition.”
Next to the staff on the railways, few people in New Zealand travelled as many miles in 1938 as did Lofty Blomfield, New Zealand heavyweight wrestling champion. In the space of five months, and ignoring air travel, Blomfield covered approximately 17,000 miles by rail to honour wrestling engagements in New Zealand. The wrestlers are great users of the railways and know considerably more about New Zealand, its time-tables and geographical lay-out, than do most New Zealanders.
This season will be an exceptionally big one for the wrestlers and the arrival of Earl McCready this month will see the already keen interest further intensified. Later, Jim Londos, world champion, is expected. With his arrival New Zealand will have champions from Canada (Meehan), South Africa (Forster), Australia (Steele), New Zealand (Blomfield), the British Empire (McCready,
The road to the glaciers, South Westland.
Rollend Kirchmeyer, one of the American wrestlers at present in New Zealand, is an engineer by profession and is particularly interested in bridge construction. He has asked that arrangements be made for him to see the Mohaka Viaduct, on the Napier-Gisborne railway section. Kirchmeyer's request was a spontaneous one; he had heard of this mighty structure when in America and although the viaduct is off the beaten path—as yet—he is making arrangements to travel through from Napier on the first available opportunity.
This month will see another bout for the world's heavyweight boxing championship. Joe Louis will fight Tony Galento, who has been referred to as the “Fighting Falstaff.” Galento, who is said to resemble a beer barrel in build, has been establishing a record of knock-outs, although some of his bouts have not been treated seriously. There has been an outcry over the matching of these two men, the feeling being that such a match is making a travesty of the sport. Galento had to undergo a special medical examination a few weeks ago before a permit would be issued for this match. This is said to be the first occasion on which such an examination has been ordered. Due, no doubt, to Galento's serious illness—he contracted pneumonia a year ago when ready to meet John Henry Lewis—the commissioners were chary about permitting him to meet such a powerful puncher as Joe Louis. The bout will take place on June 28th.
Cecil Matthews, British Empire three-mile and six-mile track champion—has made a fine recovery from an operation for hernia and is looking forward to the 1939–40 track season with keen anticipation. In form he is capable of winning an Olympic title, but there are many who feel that the operation will have cost him valuable form. To this view I do not subscribe. I have in mind
(Thelma R. Kent, photo.)
Clay cliffs near Omarama, Lindis Pass. Ahuriri River in the foreground.
Indications are that New Zealand will be extremely fortunate if it secures overseas athletes for Centennial track and field meetings. The Olympic Games, to be held at Helsinki, Finland, in 1940, means that most of the world stars will be concentrating on that great international gathering and will not jeopardise their chances by travelling to New Zealand. America, although it has hundreds of athletes right up to Olympic class, is jealous of its track and field reputation and looks with disfavour on sending any but the best on tour. For that reason it seems certain that no Americans will come. An English team is out of the question, a South African team would be welcomed, but the Olympic Games will be the mission there and too much travelling time is avoided in these days. So, no matter how sympathetic the other nations may be toward our application for tours, it seems certain that we will have to resign ourselves to an atheletic feast of “bread and cheese” instead of a “champagne supper.”