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Controller and Auditor-General
10/7/39.
“Where the mountains lift, through perpetual snows, Their lofty and luminous summits.”
—Longfellow.
A scene in the Eglinton Valley showing the Hollyford River, and Mt. Talbot, South Island.
(Photo. Thelma R. Kent.)
Wellington, the Capital City, provides the stage for New Zealand's Centennial Exhibition—a great setting for an epic display. The fifty-five acres of flat land—part of the isthmus dividing Evans Bay from Lyall Bay—now carries in settled array the sweep of buildings, the avenues, the lakes, roads and gardens that make up, in contour effect, a bold general impression of what the Exhibition and its approaches will look like from the adjacent hills.
But only those who have seen what has been done in the past year by promoters using modern display methods in countries other than our own- at the Empire Exhibition, Glasgow, the Golden Gate International Exposition, San Francisco, or the World's Fair, New York—can have any idea of what the final effect of New Zealand's Exhibition will be, when the bands play, the flags fly, the lights blaze, the crowds assemble, and playland and showland spring to joyous life.
In a preview arranged by the Exhibition Company directors more than two months before the opening date, some notion of the internal arrangements for displaying the country's progress was gained by visitors, who were impressed by the forward state of the various buildings and equipment.
Craftsmanship of the highest order has gone into the construction of every part of the various structures. It seems that these New Zealanders who are busy building the place are taking pride in seeing that the housing of exhibits shall be on a standard worthy of the present generation and of a quality which is in itself a tribute to their forebears. The workmanship is such as might be expected in a place intended to last till the second hundred years is ended, rather than for a mere six months of hectic life.
Over three hundred years ago Lord Bacon, writing of “Masques and Triumphs” said: “Let the scenes abound in light, specially coloured and varied….” The Exhibition authorities have followed Bacon's advice to a degree hitherto unimagined in New Zealand. Out in the open by night, glowing and brilliant globes and patterns throw a snare of colour and brightness over all the grounds and buildings, and reflect in placid or shimmering pools the interplay of richly-hued lights and designs that make for human fascination through the sense of sight.
Here, facing the midway, waterfalls of large proportions cascade in measured leaps from the ramparts, tinged all the while to rainbow radiance as they spray and foam across their chasms; and, from the centre, fountains of ever-changing loveliness play laughingly in emulation. For this is New Zealand's playland and showland in one comprehensive whole, and it is right that the setting should make for gladness and rejoicing when the country celebrates and records its century of progress.
That progress, economic, racial and cultural, is seen when the various halls are entered, and is pictured in a way to vividly impress upon visitors the rapid, sure, and widespread developments of the past century, and to foreshadow the paths of further advance.
It is a pageant all school-boys and school-girls in the Dominion should see to fire their imaginations for their country's future good. Older people should see it, too, as a reminder of the times they have survived and as a promise of good things to come.
It is well to become Exhibition-minded when it is now known that the Exhibition to open on the 8th November will be for New Zealanders, and in the words of the immortal Barnum. “The Greatest Show on Earth.”
Nineteen hundred and forty is going to be a big year for the Railways. On top of heavy ordinary business we shall be required to handle the extraordinary traffic of the national Centennial celebrations. Even so, I hope all railway employees may have an opportunity, sometime in the course of the year, of joining in those celebrations. Because when we take stock of the past, and of the stage in development to which our country has come at the end of her first hundred years, we see constantly recurring evidence of the important part played by the State railway system. It is a fine thing to have shared in building a great national undertaking that in its turn has helped build the nation. That has been the privilege of New Zealand railwaymen; so that to them the Centennial is doubly a cause for pride.
And just as the nation has been built from the character of its citizens through the century, so the Railways to-day are the product of the splendid service given them by successive generations of employees. Co-operation—pulling together—striving for a common goal-teamwork: call it what you will, that is the spirit behind our success. The Railways are not, and never can be, a one-man or a one-group show. There are twenty-five thousand of us helping to make them go; and the effort of every one of the twenty-five thousand counts. I think most people recognise that. Certainly the team spirit in railway ranks has never been more clearly apparent than now. Our relations with the public have never been better. And I sincerely believe we have entered upon a new era of goodwill between management and staff. Recent difficulties and differences—arising largely from misunderstandings—have been removed; and there is no section of New Zealand industry in finer heart for the Centennial than the Railways and the men (and women) who operate them.
Our duty to the Dominion, as she stands on the threshold of her second century, is to maintain this position, and if possible to improve it. We in the Railways each owe much to the men who were seniors when we were juniors. They taught us our jobs. They handed on to us the traditions of the Service, and set us on our feet. Now it is our turn to help. Wages and conditions of work are much more attractive than they were a generation ago. I sometimes wonder whether the zeal of our younger men has increased in proportion. In the case of many it has. We are recruiting to the Railways a fine type of young fellow, and on the whole we are being splendidly served. But now and again there come to my notice instances of slackness and carelessness that hurt. They hurt because they are a blot upon the reputation of the Service as a whole: because they bring discredit upon us all. Then I ask myself whether we older men are doing everything we can to help our juniors.
Outside interests are more numerous and more diverse to-day than they were when we joined, and it may be harder to settle down in one's job. On the other hand, the railway job is more important, more responsible, than ever before. Slackness, always a fault, is in these days a greater fault than ever. I should like to think we were free from it. I should like to know that every single one of our twenty-five thousand was pulling his full weight all the time. Could this be our co-operative contribution, as railwaymen, to the national Centennial?—a resolve not to stop with our own job well done, but to be increasingly jealous of the good name and efficiency of the Service: to help new men to a right start: to play always for the team, and to play so that the team may merit high esteem from the country.
General Manager.
Flourishing New Zealand Industries
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
Top (left to right): (1) A section of the factory of H. C. Uriwin Ltd., Christchurch. (2) Loud-speaker parts at Radio Corporation Ltd., Wellington. (3) Aluminium spinning machine, Radio Corporation Ltd., Wellington. (4) Progress testing, Radio Corporation Ltd., Wellington. (5) An air-conditioned house in Wellington (note, no chimneys). (6) How the air-conditioned plant is installed in the basement of the house. (7) A portion of the Wellington factory of Air-Conditioning Engineers Ltd. (8) Glass etching of dials at Radio Corporation Ltd., Wellington.
(Rly. Publicity photos)
The names of Faraday and Volta and the other great ones of the world of magnetism and galvanism seem to belong to the dim and misty past. However, the harnessing of the newly-discovered power to the use of mankind is only a little older than New Zealand. To-day electricity is not only a means of bringing luxury and comfort, but is a trusted companion and workmate in office and home, on city street or ocean pathway, on the farm, and in the factory.
New Zealand is “electrically minded.” Our diversity of mountain peak and rushing torrent gives us a plentiful supply of “White Coal”; our hydro-electrical supply comes from seven great stations, generating the grand total of 386,263 H.P. On our farms there are more than 40,000 electric motors; over 22,000 city establishments use electric power; and there are no less than 320,000 domestic consumers of current.
A good observation made by an engineer describes the situation: “One action a New Zealander makes is done as often as all his other motions put together—pressing a switch.”
Now, it is a fact that nearly everything that is started with a switch is made in New Zealand. If there is a distinctive attribute of New Zealand mentality, it is a pre-occupation with the science of mechanics, seen for example in our high incidence of patents. The country that gave the world Lord Rutherford and Mellor, and a score of other great figures, also claims a high general average of ingenuity and resource. This finds full express on in the electrical manufacturing industry where scientific precision counts so much.
The home which is fully equipped electrically will have the following items: radio, radiators, range, jug or kettle, iron, toaster, lights as usual necessities, and for good measure, a water heater, refrigerator, washing machine, vacuum cleaner, and an air-heating system.
It is significant that the article most in use in New Zealand is the radio. The approximate total of these is 300,000, and the annual consumption is steady at 50,000.
Obviously the favourite indoor pas-time in New Zealand is “listening-in.”
My journeys through a few of New Zealand's organisations which minister to the electrical needs of our country convince me that, in this arena, we are in the van of progress. It is a plain, inescapable fact that the New Zealand- made electrical article is at least as good and efficient as anything made anywhere in the world. I find that this opinion is accepted in the technical world of Europe and America.
No less than forty units are engaged in assembling or making radio sets in New Zealand, and some of them are on an impressive scale. I recommend all doubting Thomases to pay a visit to the Radio Corporation of New Zealand Ltd.
On the various floors of this big establishment there is well over 30,000 feet of space, filled with busy folk, and housing seventeen departments swarming with skilled crafts-
As in so many departments of engineering, New Zealand is full of special difficulties for the radio manufacturer. Our air humidity is exceptional, and there are special problems such as that raised by the sulphur in the air of Rotorua and other districts.
Then our short-wave reception has to be based on a 13,000-mile minimum, for London is our first port of call. Then on “straight” broadcast, everyone expects to have Australia, a modest leap of 1,200 miles, and, of course, there is a cool thousand-mile gap between north and south in New Zealand main stations. These conditions obtain nowhere else in the world, and we are without the big city populations whose receiving sets need only cater for a mile or two.
From the very beginning, the method of the Radio Corporation has been to bring out to New Zealand the best of specialists. Jansen himself, of loud-speaker fame, spent a long term in the Wellington establishment; the founder, Mr. William Marks, has mechanical and organising ability of a high order.
A great Swedish designing engineer found devices in this Wellington establishment that were ahead of Europe and the United States, and lost no time in saying so. Two neat little “gadgets” he commented on, were those used for stripping the insulating cover, and the enamel, from wires. I would need a half-dozen articles to do justice to the number of processes that go to the making of a Columbus radio set. The company makes its own dies and jigs, so that the precision tool-room is a small factory in itself. Experts here are drawn from so many lands that the room is familiarly known in the brotherhood of Radio Corporation as the “League of Nations.”
The chassis are cold-drawn from steel, and I reserve a special note for the uncanny “spinning” machine. This twirls a disc of aluminium at tremendous speed until it shapes out into a valve hood, under the hands of its dexterous operator—brought, by the way, from Australia.
The “bay” of big presses is impressive; they handle some three hundred dies, some of them of great complexity.
Electric spot welding is used for joining parts together. It is swift in operation and wholly effective. One of the interesting features of the work benches is that, at strategic points, as the processes proceed, there are devices for checking, matching, correcting, and so on. The most important phenomenon from a civic
Far-sighted planning is everywhere, and one soon begins to understand how organised production lessens prices. Over and over again, I was shown how, in the stamping out of one design, it was contrived that the “left-overs” would fit in somewhere else. Waste is almost eliminated.
I liked the room known as the “Housewife's Dream,” where total degreasing of every smallest piece of metal is carried on by a magician known as Tricloethylene. From the smallest screw to the chassis itself, every Columbus part is Cadmium-plated, giving complete immunity from rust and corrosion. I met hosts of astonishing and novel objects—cotton litz, a fine fibre which contains inside its gossamer filament, five separate strands of still finer wire, each silk-covered; “Spaghetti” (an insulating sleeving); Scotch Tape (so-called because of its sticking power); paper which is one ten-thousandth of an inch thick; Chatterton's Compound; and wire and more wire. Thirty thousand miles of wire are used here every year.
However, it would take a hundred pages to describe the apparently innumerable processes that go to the making of a radio set. One thing, however, stands out clearly: the Columbus set is not put together in New Zealand; it is made here.
The contrivances for testing are most ingenious. Rooms are fitted to duplicate the average sitting-room. There are five of these rooms in which men seek avidly for the slightest fault. They were described to me as “paid narks.”
By the way, I have omitted to describe the fascinating department devoted to the production of the dials. Etching on glass is a process which is novel and engrossing in its details.
Finally, we came to the laboratory. This is entirely screened in copper. Hour after hour experiment and research are carried out here, and a year is often spent before one new development is found suitable to New Zealand conditions.
It was absorbing to note the intricate planning necessary in the sets which involved the use of many speakers. Radio Corporation has specialised in work of this kind, equipping, for instance, the Otaki Sanatorium, hospitals and large hotels, many of these installations requiring the “Hushaphone” or “Pillowphone” type of receiver. It is difficult to appraise just what this invention has meant to the dragging hours of thousands of stricken folk.
Radio Corporation is also responsible for the institution of “Radio Centres” in most of the towns in New Zealand, where service is given to Columbus sets. There is an enormous variation in the conditions, not only in the various districts of New Zealand but in the different areas in any one town. To sum up, Radio Corporation is an example of perfectly co-ordinated business and scientific organisation, an all-New Zealand growth deserving the admiration as well as the support of all New Zealanders.
I also paid a call at Radio (1936) Ltd. in Auckland, another imposing establishment devoted to turning out thousands of sets every year.
Having covered the ground in detail it would be wearisome to repeat all the process details. But here again, however, I found a similar enthusiasm and scientific outlook, a devotion to the correct solution of the problem in hand, and the employment of high-grade brains. Among the employees in this establishment I was glad to notice a B.Sc., of Canterbury College, who had studied extensively in England. All the floors of this great place are interesting, one side-line being the efficient production of electric kettles. As elsewhere, this company is in close touch with all modern developments in radio technique, and the latest plant is brought in immediately its advantages are settled. There is no need for New Zealand to import a single radio set.
Now I turn to another New Zealand industry, perhaps not so well-known as those devoted to the manufacture of radio sets. The new principle of “airconditioning” is bringing a change in our working and living environment almost as revolutionary as the change from rush lamps to gas and electric lighting. It may produce even more startling changes in house and factory design than the discovery of cement.
The air-conditioning system changes, in fact, the constituents, temperature, and “make-up” of the air in any building. You can sit at your office desk or factory bench, or wake up in your bedroom in the morning, breathing the air of the seaside. “Air Conditioning Engineers Ltd.,” of Wellington, are one of a number of progressive New Zealand units proceeding with this revolution. At the time of writing they are installing a plant in the many-floored building occupied by the Income Tax Department, in Wellington. By means of a series of furnaces, blower units with air-changing devices, the new air is conducted along great ducts to every part of the building. The system has extraordinary features. I visited a floor where it was in full operation. In spite of the serried ranks of busy clerks, thousands of files, and perpetual motion everywhere, the air in the room was as fresh as spring, and just the right working temperature.
On one pillar, quite inconspicuous, was a small neat device which in actuality was a thermostat. By altering this, the warmth of the room could be decreased or increased at will.
Close inspection of the air-conditioning apparatus revealed further marvels. The very nature of the air is
Photo, courtesy Green & Hahn)
The main workroom at H. C. Urlwin Ltd., Christchurch.
In winter, for example, air which is warmed is too dry; in summer, the air contains too much moisture. In spite of the efficient screens provided by the human nostrils, these day-to-day defects in the air we breathe cause all sorts of trouble. Colds are often due to the breathing of air that is too dry, and the feeling of summer fatigue is caused by too much humidity. Airconditioning puts everything right.
There is not space here to describe the simple, yet effective methods which the air-conditioning plant uses (with scientific precision) to wash, filter, and adjust the humidity of the air which passes through its set of devices. The temperature, however, can be raised in winter, lowered in summer, and regulated, generally, with perfect ease.
The vista opened up is illimitable. A house installation had eight rooms connected. In other words, without fires or heating mechanisms of any kind in the rooms, every spot, from bathroom to bedroom, was at the desired temperature.
In buildings not air-conditioned there is, as a rule, a cold layer of air which is heated as warm air rises from stove or heater. Under the air-conditioning system, the warm air enters at the top, is pushed by the steady pressure of the blowers until its fills the whole room. Then it flows through vents, which are placed at floor level, and returns home. In the Income Tax Building in Wellington, all the air in the largest room is completely changed every ten minutes.
I can see the day, when happy fathers will never have to chop kindling wood; they will manufacture their own inside weather with an airconditioning plant. The head of the house may even have it cooler in the study where he wants to work than in the sitting-room where the family want it cosy for listening-in.
I have given dozens of examples in this series of articles showing how New Zealand experts and technicians rise to the occasion, but in this A.C.E. Ltd. there is one achievement worth special mention. For a blower and furnace unit, 80% is considered standard efficiency in Europe and U.S.A., but the A.C.E. unit carries a certificate of 96%. The expert responsible modestly ascribed the success to a “fluke” due to the necessity of designing a smaller and more compact set for New Zealand use, than was customary elsewhere.
In manufacturing establishments, the new system is invaluable. Many folk know that various textiles need for success different degrees of humidity and temperature, as we so often hear in the story about English tweeds.
Many food commodities, notably chocolates, also require certain definite conditions.
Air-conditioning meets and solves these problems, but plays a still more important part in the maintenance of health. Factories employing processes which produce dust, grit and so on, can be transformed into ozone-filled health camps.
To my astonishment, too, I found that the cost was low. An average house can be fitted at an expense which is not more than the cost of the usual heating facilities.
An interesting sidelight appears for New Zealand, with its ample hydroelectric supply: heating necessary for the new process can be obtained from power stored during the time the peak load is not being used.
The compact plant of A.C.E. Ltd. is growing all the time, and it is fine to know that in this, the latest development of modern civic progress in comfort, New Zealand is up with the world leaders.
Earlier in this article, there is a list of electrical utilities which would be in use in a fully equipped up-to-date home. I have covered two widely differing subjects, the familiar radio,
make.”
He could have added that the things are made for the New Zealand household, as if designed by our own kitchen gnome or sitting-room fairy to be precisely suitable for our particular needs. In addition, there are the departments that make the lovely “Peter Pan” and “Perlux” ware.
The main workroom (shown in our picture) did my heart good. It was a grand view of hundreds of New Zealanders finding their right avocations; for instance, I was introduced to one tool-maker who had been a struggling farm-hand driven to the city in the depression. His natural genius, on finding expression, had placed him in a year or two in the ranks of the highly-paid precision craftsman. Another striking example was the girl who was winding coils at express speed, and when asked how long it had taken her to learn she answered cheerily, “Half an hour.”
It is comforting to think that all over New Zealand these courageous enterprises of the Urlwin type are converting young citizens into skilled artists at all manner of jobs. The uniforms here are orange and blue, and there is a sunlit air about the place. I found the household articles fascinating. The unbreakable jug; the toaster; the combination breakfast radiator-cooker; “Solray” soldering irons; foot-warmers, and a whole clan of small stoves, grillers and so on. Neat and sweet table lamps, torches, an ingenious three-way switch stand alongside silver-shining kettles and nickel-plated milk urns.
Indeed in the ordinary way, there would be difficulty in naming a household article that the electrically-minded housewife could not get in the “Speedee” list.
Here, too, is the most complete bakelite plant in New Zealand, from which emerge the rainbow-coloured things known as “Peter Pan” ware. Blues, shimmering yellows, warm reds and browns, and dainty greens are comprised in table things of every type and size, from the condiment set to the serviette ring, from pin bowl to tankard. The pastel shades of “Perlux” are another variation, seen to advantage in lamp-shades, cocktail tables and ash-bowls.
The plant at Urlwins Ltd. is as modern as anything in the world. Diecasting in brass, the Ward automatic screw machine and a capstan lathe, huge guillotine, a 200-ton hydraulic press, and a well-equipped wood-working section are among the highlights. All is well with “Professor Speedee,” for the factory is in course of being doubled in size. I was interested to hear, too, from the founder of this great enterprise, that “New Zealand-made” was tagged to all his goods, and that the name was “doing them good.”
Our New Zealand firms, in touch with every last - minute move in methods have also the added advantage of having a knowledge on the ground of local requirements. “Buying New Zealand goods,” therefore, is simply a matter of common sense.
[Since this article was written the factory of H. C. Uriwin Ltd., has been destroyed by fire. Rebuilding work will proceed at once, and it is expected that the new factory will be in production in the near future.—Ed.]
The Coromandel Peninsula and the Thames Coast offer two things to the interested visitor: superb scenic attractions and a fund of history and tradition.
The Peninsula, of course, is more than worth a visit for the sake of its magnificent scenery alone. Long after the nightmare memory of the roads has faded even from the nervous driver's mind, picture after picture of captured beauty remains. This, for instance:
A hill road with the warm sun thrown across it like a cloak. Far below, the shape of island upon island rising darkly from the blue quietude of the sea. Towards the horizon, a strip of light thrown like a bracelet of silver on the blue. Nearer at hand, the fingers of Coromandel Harbour stretching into the surrounding hills. Everywhere hills—those in the foreground lit with sun, those in the distance rising into thin blue mists from banks of milk-white fog. Over everything, silence so complete, a peace so profound, that one would think the hills had never suffered the imprint of a human foot or the sea been violated by a sail. Yet all over Thames and Coromandel the past has left its mark; the hills have been gashed for gold, and the sea known many a ship—Capt. Cook's amongst them.
He it was, indeed, who named Cape Colvill “in honour of the Right hon'ble the Lord Colvill.”
After a reference to Coromandel Harbour, his Journal says:—“The Natives residing about this River do not appear to be very numerous considering the great Extent of Country, at least not many came off to the Ship at one time. … They are a Strong, well-made active People as any we have seen yet, and all of them Paint their Bodys with Red Oker and Oil from Head to foot, a thing that we have not seen before. Their Canoes are large, well-built, and Ornamented with Carved work.”
Entries in the Journal also make clear the fact that “the Natives,” however active and well-made they might have been, did not have things all their own way, as shown by this incident:
“… While we lay under the land (four miles from Cape Colvill) 2 large Canoes came off to us; in one of them were 62 people; they staid about us some time, then began to throw stones into the Ship, upon which I fir'd a Musquet ball thro’ one of the Canoes. After this they retir'd ashore.”
Punitive measures were also applied in another instance. Capt. Cook relates the story:
“… A good many of the Natives were alongside and on board, Trafficking with our people for such Trifles as they do, and seem'd to behave as well as people could do, but one of them took the ½ hour glass out of the Bittacle, and was caught in the very fact, and for which Mr. Hicks, who was Commanding Officer, brought him to the Gangway and gave him a Dozen lashes with a Catt of nine Tails. The rest of the people seem'd not displeased at it when they came to know what it was for, and some old man beat the fellow after he had got into his Canoe.”
Evidently crime didn't pay, even in those days!
Photo. Thelma R. Kent.)
The Williams Memorial Church at Paihia, Bay of Islands.
Leaving human nature for Mother Nature for a while, one entry in Cook's Journal in regard to his sojourn in the “Frith of Thames” is particularly interesting—and saddening—to any New Zealander who looks with seeing eye upon the denuded bush all over the Dominion.
“After landing … we had not gone a hundred yards into the woods before we found a Tree that girted 19 ft. 8 ins, 6 ft. above the ground, and having a Quadrant with me, I found its length from the root to the first branch to be 89 feet; it was as Straight as an Arrow and Taper'd but very little in proportion to its length, so that I judged that there was 356 Solid feet of timber in this Tree, clear of the branches. We saw many others of the same sort, several of which were Taller than the one we measured, and all of them very stout.”
But it was gold, and not timber which was to lift Thames into such prominence later on. Going through Pollen Street on a Sunday now it is difficult, perhaps, to imagine the sight it presented in the days when Thames, as in 1870, had an officially-computed population of 15,000. Then, as stated by Mr. Fred. W. Weston, in his book on the Thames Goldfields, the thoroughfares, “on a fine Saturday night, were paraded by thousands of people—to such an extent, indeed, that the mere footpaths could not accommodate the throngs, and there was always a large overflow on to the main roadway.”
Even walking in those days had its
Still, there were compensations, and one of them must have been the sight of the dandies whom Mr. Weston describes:—
“To see the bachelor dandies of the Thames hills in their Sunday-best, consisting of a rich-coloured check shirt, moleskin trousers, and broad and tasselled sash, the whole surmounted by the ‘full-share’ broad-brimmed hat of soft felt, was to see a sight for the gods….”
The sports attire of modern males, which 1939 masculinity thinks so dashing, pales into insignificance beside this ancient splendour, but they had imagination in those old days, as the names of the mines prove. Listen to some of them: Flying Cloud, Golden Spur, Ladybird, All Nations, Hand of Friendship, Queen of Beauty, Candle-light No. 1, Sink-to-Rise, Pride of the West, Morning Star, Bright Smile, the May Queen.
Isn't there a richness in those very names that matched the splendour of the dandies’ attire? Yet there was more than a richness of name—there was a richness of yield, too. The printed record of the “Thames Gold-fields Jubilee 1867–1917” gives details of the approximate yields of some of the leading mines. Here are two or three of the many:—Caledonian £2,000,000, Waiotahi £700,000, Kuranui £500,000, Queen of Beauty £375,000, and so on—amazing figures from amazingly prolific mines.
But let us end on another note—history not of the white man's making, but of the Maori's. This tale of the Thames Coast (given in the “Jubilee of Thames Goldfields, 1867–1917 Historical Record”) is one which would colour the pages of any country's history book. Hongi the Ubiquitous enters into it. During his famous visit to England, one of his people was killed by a member of the Ngatimaru tribe of the Thames district. The enraged Hongi, who had guns while his enemy had only stone, wood or bone weapons, warned the Ngatimaru of his intention to retaliate, and prepared to attack. Their stronghold was Totara Pa—which occupied a strategically-perfect position, for any invading fleet could be seen in the Hauraki Gulf, twenty miles away.
It was in October, 1821, on a glorious spring morning, that the attacking war canoes, each manned by 50 or 60 warriors (800 in all) came in sight.
Hongi, however, had the perspicacity to realise that his arms would be futile in view of the enemy's impregnability of position. He therefore made a so-called peace, embarked his men in their canoes, and disappeared behind Tararu Point. Once out of sight, the fleet drew the canoes up on the beach, and leaving them protected by a guard, returned on foot to Totara in the darkness. In the early morning a man of the Ngatimaru noticed them, and they shot him dead. Then followed the thunder of Hongi's guns—and here arises an incident which should surely never die.
Rly. Publicity photo.)
The Hon. D. G. Sullivan, Minister of Railways (centre), with the General Manager of Railways and members of the Parliamentary Party at the Railway Workshops at Woburn, Wellington, on 27th July, 1939.
Among the prisoners whom Hongi took were two young men of high rank, Tukehu and Wetea. They were bound, and a haangi (oven) made ready.
“While the Ngapuhi leader stood with poised spear ready to slay the bound and defenceless youths, the elder brother Wetea asked not to be killed at once, but to be permitted to utter a last farewell to his people ere he departed.”
He then composed a chant which he sang with a steady voice in the very face of death.
“Hongi, suddenly recollecting that his son-in-law, Tete, had been slain, rushed upon the defenceless Wetea, and with a sword hacked off a portion of his breast, throwing it upon the fire.
With blood streaming from his body, the noble youth, as though unconscious of his enemies, and insensitive to the pain, continued his song without a pause.
As he finished, he taunted Hongi with his treachery and was immediately slain by his outraged captor. His fellow prisoner Tukehu was also slain and their bodies consigned to the haangi.”
The sequel came when the Ngapuhi (Hongi's people) returned to their home at the Bay of Islands. Hongi's daughter, on learning of her husband's death, was so demented that she seized Hongi's sword and rushed to the water's edge where a canoe containing sixteen female prisoners lay. These she slaughtered, and “as their life-blood reddened the waters of the bay she ascended the hill, and in view of all her tribe killed herself.”
Thus ended in the Bay of Islands a drama begun on the Thames Coast.
George Robey, the famous London comedian, relates in his amusing reminiscences, that he smoked his first cigarette when he was 14 and enjoyed it so much that he annexed one of his father's pipes “and had a go at that.” He sums up that experience in two words—“Oh my!” He left tobacco severely alone after that for a long time. Then he tried again, “and ever since has preferred a pipe to any other way of smoking.” Well, there's nothing like a pipe—unless it's a cigarette, but make sure your tobacco's right. It should be pure, have flavour and aroma, and be as free as possible from nicotine. So those who smoke “toasted” can't go far wrong! For it's wonderfully pure, there's next to no nicotine in it, because it's toasted, consequently harmless. And so for flavour and bouquet where can you find its equal? Five brands only of the genuine toasted: Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold. They vary in strength, but the quality's the same—unapproachable.*
It has always been my belief that the “Man in the Street” has a story to tell … if only he is approached at the right time. But, human nature, that most perverse factor, invariably prevents us from making the best of our opportunities.
But there is one way in which this may be overcome—in the sleeping carriages of the New Zealand Railways!
My employment takes me, at intervals, to Auckland, and when I enter the “sleeper” I do so with pleasant anticipation. With whom shall I be sharing the comfortable cabin tonight?
Never have I failed to find an entertaining travelling companion. On one occasion I was fortunate to travel with Vincent Lopez, world renowned wrestler. But it was not of wrestling that we talked. Lopez has established a reputation as a big game hunter, and he entertained me for hours with descriptions of his experiences in the jungles of South America and Mexico. Particularly interesting was the description given of the deadly insect that first injects an anaesthetic into its human prey before burrowing under the skin, where a blister is formed after the insect's departure. Once that blister is broken, blood-poisoning sets in and death invariably follows.
Months later, I read a book dealing with the mystery surrounding the disappearance of a troop of Cortes's soldiers in Mexico, which mystery had been solved by the discovery in a cave literally alive with these insects, of the bleached bones of these soldiers. The men had camped for the night and had “scratched themselves to death.” Their uniforms—heavy metal affairs of the time—were scattered far from their bones. They had stripped in order to scratch and with the scratching came death.
On another occasion I travelled with a stipendiary magistrate. He was travelling from Auckland to Wellington and then on to the West Coast of the South Island. I have yet to incur the magisterial wrath in court, but should it ever be my fate to stand in the box and hear a magistrate speak harshly I would do so with the knowledge that behind the austere “front” they have to assume is a warm personality and a large understanding.
We talked of the hospitality of people in isolated districts and he assured me that the people of the West Coast of the South Island, North Auckland and East Coast of the North Island took first place for hospitality, but that the coming of civilisation—in terms of transport—had done much to spoil it. “Ah, the good old days,” he declared, as he told me of the many little courtesies extended him in his travels.
And then there was the French engineer, who told me of the Eiffel Tower and its history; of the building of the Maginot Line, that defensive work between France and Germany. He told me of the bitterness that has been handed down since the days of the Franco-Prussian War and of how the general incursion of sport has done much to remove ill-feeling.
The insurance manager who thought wrestlers were a “bunch of toughies” was quickly set at ease when I went outside and returned with a wrestler who had taken his diploma in physical education. On that occasion I did not need to take any part in the discussion; I just sat back and listened to a man's opinion of wrestlers undergo a great change!
Rly. Publicity photo.)
Convenience and comfort in a New Zealand Railways sleeper.
In common with most New Zealanders—or, perhaps I should say, in common with most people—I have my ideas of what constitutes radio entertainment and what does not. So it was that I had a heaven-sent opportunity of airing my views when I was “teamed” with a station director of a New Zealand radio station. I started to tell this gentleman what I thought was wrong with the programmes—but he did not take long to convince me that I was in error. Too many of us gauge the standard of a programme on our own inclinations, and completely overlook the other man's point of view.
But the most amazing companion of them all was the one travelling to Palmerston North to attend a conference. He had arrived in Auckland after a long rail trip from North Auckland, following on tedious travel to the railhead. He was tired and asked me when I contemplated retiring. I remarked that he might have the beds made-up whenever he wished.
We left Auckland at 7.15 p.m. and the attendant made-up the beds immediately. My fellow passenger left the train at Palmerston North—and I still slept! Apart from the few words of conversation while the beds were being arranged, we had not spoken a dozen words and had travelled more than 300 miles together! We had slept, instead.
And if that is not a good advertisement for the comfort of the “sleeper,” what is?
In this era of record-breaking, we in New Zealand can make modest claim to at least one possession that is unique. At Cape Kidnappers, the southern extremity of Hawke Bay, we have the only place in the world where gannets nest on the mainland.
These large and beautiful birds are always coastal habitues. They are to be found in many parts of the world, including other places on the New Zealand and Australian coasts, but invariably, except at Cape Kidnappers, they choose islands for their nestinggrounds.
Particular interest is therefore centred on the colony at Cape Kidnappers because it is more accessible than others for observing and studying the peculiar habits of these remarkable birds.
In order to protect the gannets, Cape Kidnappers has been declared a bird sanctuary. It is reached by going first to Clifton, 15 miles around the coast from Napier. There visitors obtain permits from the ranger before proceeding to the sanctuary.
From Clifton to Cape Kidnappers is about 5 ½ miles, and the journey must be made on foot or on bicycle. The walk is not, however, unpleasant. The track follows the seashore and is usually of fine, firm sand. It is negotiable at all times except at high tide. Great white cliffs rear up perpendicularly on the right-hand side of the track, whilst on the left the blue Pacific Ocean washes gently up the shore.
After a five-mile tramp on the flat, a rest-house is reached. Here are obtainable fresh water and facilities for boiling the billy before setting off on the last steep pinch up to the gannets. A ten-minutes’ climb brings the birds in sight. From just over the brow of the hill the gannet colony appears like a great white sheet spread along the flat headland of the cape. It makes a wonderful sight.
A short flight of steep steps, hewn from the hillside, leads right down to the edge of the nesting-ground. Now-a-days, visitors are not allowed to go among the birds owing to the danger of disturbing them. They can be clearly observed, however, from many vantage points.
The gannets are very large birds, averaging about three feet in length and having an even greater wing-span. The general colour of an adult is white, but this is relieved by the golden buff of its head and neck, and by the black of its primaries, secondaries, and four central tail feathers.
The bill, which is usually about 3 ½ inches in length, is bluish in hue, with sutures of black. The bare skin of the face is black, and round each eye, the iris of which is yellow, runs a band of pale blue. The feet are brown and have a broad yellowish line running down the toes.
The gannets do not remain at Cape Kidnappers all the year round. Usually, by the full moon in May, the nesting-ground is completely deserted, and it stays so for a few weeks. Sometimes as early as the next month the birds begin to arrive back, as they had departed, in groups of a few hundred at a time.
The authorities do not agree as to where the gannets go during these winter weeks. Some claim that the birds go out to sea; others that they fly north. But in either case it seems certain that they follow the shoals of herring, garfish and young mullet, which constitute their food supply.
Nor have observers been able to discover with assurance whether the same birds return every year. Gannets have occasionally been ringed in an endeavour to settle this point, but since the colony contains in the vicinity of 10,000 birds each year it is naturally difficult to find the ringed birds among them—if they have returned.
As soon as the gannets arrive at the sanctuary they select the sites for their homes. It is difficult to imagine anything more crude than their nests. Evidently they are Spartans, for they are satisfied with a few rough bits of seaweed thrown into one of the same dirty hollows that have been used in previous years.
Towards the middle of September the females commence to lay their eggs. They lay only one, which is whitish-grey in colour, similar to a duck's egg but much larger. The eggs take approximately six weeks to hatch. Males and females appear to share duties in sitting on the nest, and about the end of October the first nestlings make their appearance. They are naked when hatched and black in colour.
Soon their bodies become covered with soft, white swan-like down, while their feet, faces and bills, remain black. With this white down of the nestling stage, the ancient Maoris used to ornament their hair and ears.
Within three to four weeks the down is replaced by speckled grey feathers. So rapidly have the birds grown, and so great is this mass of grey feathers that they now appear to be even larger than the parent birds. They are pugnacious youngsters, too, and quickly fight back if chastised by their parents.
When they are about three months old the young ones appear to be more or less deserted by their praents. Like young mutton birds, they seem to live on their own fat for nearly a month, fining down so that they will be able to fly. All through the speckled stage they have been exercising their wings, but now they clamber to the edge of the cliff and wildly flap their wings.
For some days they do this. Like a bather hesitating to plunge into cold water, they are trying to make up their minds to fly. One day they suddenly decide. They jump over the edge of the cliff, flutter their wings and are soon flying away into the distance.
Their very first flight carries them away from the sanctuary. They are never seen again—not in the speckled stage, at any rate. If they do return to Cape Kidnappers it is when they are fully grown, with adult white and black feathers which make them indistinguishable from the older birds.
A gannet always takes off, and lands, into the wind, just as an aeroplane does. Once in flight, however, a gannet is infinitely more graceful than any man-made machine could be. Its beautiful wings are practically motionless, even changes of elevation and direction being made with almost imperceptible movements.
It is fascinating to watch a gannet in quest of food. Cruising over the bay at a height of twenty or thirty feet, it waits until it catches sight of its prey in the sea. Then suddenly it dives vertically, head outstretched, wings partly folded. As it reaches the water its wings close right in to the body and the bird disappears beneath the surface. On a clear day, looking down from the top of the cliff, the gannets seem sometimes to dive very deep, almost to the bottom of the ocean. More often the prey is captured near the surface.
The gannet soon comes up again, a small fish carried in its bill. Very rarely is a dive made without result. The fish is swallowed. Then the bird seems to run a few steps on the water, takes off into the breeze and is soon aloft looking out for more prey.
Having collected a supply of food the gannet returns to its nest where perhaps its young one is waiting for its dinner. With extraordinary instinct the bird is able to sort its own nest out from among the thousands, and drops straight down on to it.
If a bird is suddenly frightened and wishes to go aloft again at once, it
Although the nests are packed so closely together the birds appear to live quite amicably at most times. Occasionally it happens, however, that in alighting, or in making its way to the edge of the cliff to take off, a gannet goes too close to another's nest. Then the intruder is subjected to fierce pecks from strong, hostile bills.
An attack from one nest may send the victim stumbling near another nesting bird, and this one in turn makes an attack. It is an amusing sight, though one cannot help but feel sorry for the unfortunate victim which, staggering like a drunken man, is attacked on all sides.
Apparently the Maoris did not consider the gannets of much use for food. They can be eaten, however, or could be if they were not protected birds. Sir Joseph Banks, of Captain Cook's company, has recorded that gannets, killed at Three Kings on Christmas Eve, 1769, took the place of goose for Christmas dinner on the Endeavour.
Captain Cook makes no mention of gannets at Cape Kidnappers. Some authorities claim that the birds must have been there then. They believe that Captain Cook must have been too concerned about the boy who was kidnapped at this point by the Maoris to trouble about noting the birds. On the other hand some old Maoris declare that in those days there was a Maori pa on the very spot where the gannets now nest.
However that may be, it is certain that the gannets have nested at Cape Kidnappers for many generations past, and will, it is hoped, continue to do so for many more to come. They must be carefully preserved; for, apart from their fascination for the average person, there is still a great deal to be learned about the habits of these remarkable birds.
And of all the places in the world such studies can best be made at Cape Kidnappers where the gannets are so easily reached both by sightseers and by scientists.
Co-Ordination of rail and road transport proceeds steadily throughout Britain, while the four group railways are also becoming increasingly interested in the movement of passengers and goods by sea and air. This month we have to record developments (of particular interest to New Zealand) associated with the opening in London, jointly by Imperial Airways and the Southern Railway, of a new railway station to house the special trains operating to and from the Empire Flying Base at Southampton. This station has every modern equipment in the way of waiting halls, refreshment facilities, luggage handling apparatus, and so on, and is situated adjacent to the Victoria terminal, world-famed for its many continental services. In addition to this new development, the Southern Railway has recently established, in cooperation with the Great Western, a new organisation, styled Great Western and Southern Air Lines, to provide air services in southern and southwestern England. The big air undertaking known as Railway Air Services Limited, in which the four group lines are largely interested, has throughout the summer been operating fast flights between London and all parts of the country. Among this year's improvements was the provision of a direct through service between London, Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow. Four air services are provided daily between Liverpool, Manchester and London, one of these being especially popular as it makes a continental connection in the metropolis, enabling travellers to be in Paris before lunch.
Fast and frequent train services, such as are now the rule on all our main-lines, demand particularly efficient signalling equipment, and recently there have been introduced several important resignalling schemes on the Home railways. On the L. & N.E., extensions have been introduced on the colour-light signalling of the mainline between York and Darlington, and shortly the whole of this busy 45-mile length of track will be so equipped. By the L. M. & S. Company there has just been undertaken extensive signalling improvements in the Rugby area. This work involved the demolition of a very well-known signal gantry at Rugby, carrying 44 signal arms on 26 posts, the highest of which was 74 feet above ground. Situated at the south end of the station, this gantry has been replaced by two much smaller structures, carrying three groups of electric colour lights, twelve signals in all. For the first time in L. M. & S. use, there have been introduced directional light indicators to warn drivers of the route set up. On about two miles of track there have been installed 33 colour-light signals, controlled from six signal-boxes, the largest cabin being Rugby No. 1, with 180 levers. Rugby station handles 240 regular passenger trains daily, and the improved facilities have made it possible to quicken the acceptance of non-stop trains, the headway between which has been reduced from 7 to 5 minutes.
Railway centenaries are keeping the historians busy these days. The present year is the one - hundredth anniversary of the opening of numerous lines that went to form England's immense railway network. First must be noted the centenary of the public opening of the first section of the Manchester & Leeds Railway, later part of the Lancashire & Yorkshire line and now part of the L. M. & S. The 14-mile section between Manchester and Littleborough was opened on 4th July, 1839, and at the opening of this pioneer link of George Stephenson's there were eight trains a day in each direction. To-day, about 150 trains pass through Littleborough every 24 hours and 200 during the summer holiday season. Another of George Stephenson's lines celebrating its centenary this year is the York & North Midland Railway (now L. & N. E. property), for just a hundred years ago there was run the first train on the northern section of this route. Further north, there was opened on 18th June, 1839, the Newcastle & North Shields Railway, the track of which consisted of flat-bottomed rails screwed
In the movement of passengers and freight between Britain and France, the Port of Calais has always been a main gateway. Readers of that masterpiece by Dumas, “The Three Musketeers,” will recall the wild dash from Paris to Calais which forms a feature of the story. Since those days, express trains and fast steamships have taken the place of the slower means of movement of D'Artigan's age, but Calais remains the principal northern entrance into France. At this busy port the French National Railways have opened this year a magnificent new Maritime Railway Station, which promises to aid enormously in the development of cross-Channel traffic. Work on the new terminus commenced in 1930, and among improvements effected are the widening and lengthening to 1,640 feet of the quay platform; the extension of the main passenger building; and the enlargement of the Customs hall. New and larger waiting rooms and offices have been installed, and passengers passing between ship and train are now completely protected from the weather. Five level crossings have also been replaced by bridges. The Port of Calais is one of the handiest of French gateways from the navigation viewpoint, and is famed for its facility for handling vessels during foggy weather. Something like 500,000 British travellers pass through Calais every year, and in co-operation with the Southern Railway of England, the French National Railways operate via Calais and Dover the shortest and quickest route between Paris and London, this being the well-known “Golden Arrow” daily daylight service.
The Home railways are among the largest steamship owners in the world, and on completion of three fine new railway vessels at present on the stocks, their combined fleet will number 130, with a gross registered tonnage of 176,145 tons, carrying crews totalling in the aggregate 2,805. The services operated form the principal links with the Continent, Ireland, the Channel Islands, the Isle of Wight, and the Scottish Western Isles. Sixteen services are actually owned and worked by the British railways to Ireland and Continental ports. The Southern Railway is responsible for services between Folkestone and Boulogne, Southampton and Havre, Southampton and St. Malo, Southampton and Jersey, and Jersey and St. Malo, in addition to the train-ferry services between Dover and Dunkirk. By the L. & N. E. Company there are worked the important mail services between Harwich and Hook of Holland, Harwich and Antwerp, and Harwich and Zeebrugge. The G. W. Railway operate services between Fishguard and Rosslare, and Fishguard and Waterford, linking Britain and Ireland, as well as to the Channel Islands via Weymouth. The L. M. & S. also operate some notable shipping services.
Quietly the purple dusk gathers Charleston into its safe keeping; gently, as the sleep of a tired child, day slips into night and undisturbed peace settles on this one-time El Dorado. Perhaps the ghosts of those early pioneers come from the past and look in vain for the business places, the hotels or the houses they knew so well. Perhaps they search again by dim candlelight for the elusive gold on those deserted beaches or hills. Perhaps ghosts of forgotten ships anchor in Constant Bay or sail up the dark waters of the Nile River to make fast at the tiny wharf. Perhaps in the starry stillness this phantom town takes shape and the romantic past becomes a reality.
You are not alone in this place of memories; the silence does not oppress you nor the ruins sadden, for time has mellowed this desolation, and romance has cast a halo over bleaching wood and grass-grown streets. The years have taken their toll and now, at long last, the future holds no secrets and the past is a story blazoned in gold. Here it was that the colourful history of the West Coast was written, here all the stirring scenes connected with any great gold-rush were enacted, and here the foundations of a rich province were laid … and yet, to-night, the only sound breaking the stillness is the booming of the sea. It is with difficulty that we remember that Charleston was once a name to stir the imagination, and that gold in almost unlimited quantities was won from its bleak hills and beaches.
The Charleston rush was probably the greatest in the history of the Coast, thousands of diggers coming from the South and many more from the Australian gold-fields, and overnight, as it were, a city had sprung into existence. The height of prosperity was reached about the period 1866–1870, when the town had a population estimated at 14,000. Life was pulsating where formerly the only living things were the sea birds. Boats sailed into Constant Bay bringing food and commodities to the eager crowd on the beach, and it is related that at least two boats were wrecked at the treacherous entrance. So treacherous was it that rings (which may be seen to-day) were attached to the rocks at either side in order to steady the boats and so prevent their being dashed on the rocks. The last boat to attempt to enter this Bay, the Shepherdess was also wrecked. Boats, too, sailed up the Nile River to unload at the old wharf. Tradition says that this river was named after an ill-fated ship which mistook the mouth of the river for Constant Bay and as a consequence was wrecked.
The original town was built on the old Town Lead overlooking Constant Bay, but settlement soon expanded to Candlelight and the Bromilaw. It might be interesting to note in passing that the name Candlelight was derived because of the fact that the diggers worked there by the light of candles. One man, so it is said, on going to the creek one night to fill his billy with water saw to his astonishment gold lying on the bottom of the creek. The claim was pegged out by the light of a candle and hence its name. All mining was
In the days of which I write there were in Charleston seventy-two hotels, two breweries, three schools, one hospital, three banks, several churches, a courthouse, dance-halls, and the scattered homes of the diggers. There were no casinos as such after the ‘eighties, but in their day they were certainly a highlight in the business of Charleston. The takings of some were said to be one hundred pounds per week. There was considerable rivalry for the dance girls and also for the barmaids. The takings at the hotels were so great, that in some cases the tills were not sufficiently large to hold the money, and in one particular instance it is said that the notes were thrown into a small room opening into the bar. Charleston had a newspaper, too, a journal of high literary value edited at different times by the late Mr. Thomas Dwan (who was later well-known in Wellington), Mr. Thomas Dollman, and lastly by Mr. Patrick Kitson, a man of outstanding ability. After the death of Mr. Kitson the “Charleston Herald” was edited and managed by his wife and family. All the children, three daughters and two sons, died in their youth, leaving their mother alone. Even to-day old copies of this paper arouse considerable interest.
From the four corners of the earth they came, that adventurous band of diggers, many of them with their worldly goods tied in a pocket handkerchief; they forded creeks and scaled frowning rocks and overcame every obstacle that beset them. The century-old silence of the bush was broken by the ring of the bushman's axe; the solitude of the beaches was rent by the digger's pick and shovel; the wealth of ages was won and gloated over and exchanged in canvas bags over the bank counter … but the silence hangs heavy to-night.
The kindly earth offered homes and hope and high adventure to those thousands of gold-thirsty men, and unquestioningly and unstintingly, it gave up its store. They robbed it of its gold and gave nothing in return save their youth and faith and energy. These were the sacrifices laid on the altar of ambition; but the gods of earth and tree waited patiently, for these few years were little in the ageless eras of their reckoning, and they would wreak vengeance in their own time and in their own way, and meanwhile the gold-seekers toiled and planned, and lived and loved.
It is difficult, if indeed at all possible, to reconstruct the past, but in the stillness of the summer night we wonder, and we see Charleston as it might have been; busy men and women going about the business of life; shops and offices; the voices of the children at play; the casinos with their tinsel and lights and laughing girls; the banks where the men sold their gold. We recall the many interesting tales of old Charleston where practical jokers seemingly played a prominent part, and then we remember that they sleep their last long sleep, round the ruins of St. Patrick's Church, the men and women who helped build our country, with their fortunes, lost or won, forever behind them. Others have found a last resting place on the Nile Hill beyond the town. Everywhere are reminders of a community that has vanished completely and for all time. Charleston might be well substituted for the “Auburn” of Goldsmith's “Deserted Village” but for the fact that whereas the wandèrer might return to his neglected lands, the digger cannot find the gold that is gone.
Of all the hotels only one remains bearing a name that speaks of other times, “The European” —a pathetic reminder of days when money was easily and quickly earned and as easily spent. There remain, too, but one small school, a church, small post office and a few houses. The large heaps of gravel to be seen everywhere are evidence of the mining operations so extensively carried out in former years but written into the history of the Coast. As the claims were worked
You drive in the starry night past another reminder of the years long gone, the “Shamrock Hotel,” which is the last remnant of a town once rich beyond dreams, and in a little over an hour you are in Westport, where the Buller meets the sea, where the cargo boats take off with the tide for foreign ports, and where past and present are so inseparably interwoven. Gone, indeed, are the feverish years when gold was to be found but for the seeking, and gone, too, the men who sought it, but their spirit lives and the torch they lit burns brightly still. Long, sweet sleep to them all, and may time leave undisturbed the peace they have won.
Two Historic Railway Scenes
(Photo., courtesy “Picture Post,” London.)
These interesting pictures show (above) the opening, at Christchurch, of the first railway in New Zealand, on 1st December, 1863, and (below—also in 1863) Mr. W. E. Gladstone in the first Metropolitan train in London. Mr. Gladstone is seen with his arm on the rail sitting between the gentlemen wearing the white top hats in the “carriage” on the right. “In 1863, William Ewart Gladstone was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and railway development, helped by his Railway Act of 1844, was at its height. The Act provided compulsory third-class accommodation in trains. And so it was appropriate that Mr. Chancellor Gladstone, with other Cabinet Ministers, should sit in an open carriage at the opening for traffic of the first section of the Metropolitan and Metropolitan District Railway, which linked Paddington and Holborn. The railway was at once a big success, and in the first six months of 1865 it carried more than seven million passengers.”
In your very comfortable and up-todate hotel you lift your glass to the ghosts of Charleston.
In the southern lakes district, three peaks, unnamed hitherto, will in future be known as the Jean Batten Peaks, in honour of New Zealand's great aviatrix, Jean Batten. The naming is an outcome of a visit paid by Miss Batten to Walter Peak Station, Lake Wakatipu. Through the efforts of the owner of this station, Major Peter Mackenzie, the peaks were so named with the approval of the Geographic Board.
As the Government steamer sails up the lake on its way from Queenstown to Glenorchy, the traveller may catch a glimpse of the summit of the highest of these peaks. To see the peaks to the best advantage, however, it is necessary to take a long journey either on foot or on horse-back.
Near the wharf at Elfin Bay is the famous Greenstone Track. Hundreds of visitors each year traverse it on their way to see the beautiful Lake Rere which lies in the cleft of the hill a mile inland. Here placid jade waters play in a setting of tall birch trees, and grey ducks harbour in scores. But you, who would know the Jean Batten peaks, must go farther.
From the outlet to Rere, a small creek runs down to the Greenstone, and a larger one from the Tooth Peaks. The track crosses these and then descends downhill into the gorge of the Greenstone River. Across a white bridge it leads on, turning among trees, now past a tall waterfall, or now through a gushing creek.
Those wild and woolly savages, the cannibals of the New Hebrides won't eat smokers! They say tobacco spoils the flavour! De la Rue, the famous explorer, who ought to know, vouches for this. If it's as true as he declares it is, the moral would appear to be: “If you're going to the New Hebrides don't forget to take your pipe along and to keep a full pouch!” In savage lands or civilized ones tobacco is a boon and a blessing—especially “toasted” which provides the best of company in lonely hours, comfort in sorrow, solace in adversity. You never tire of “toasted,” so pure, sweet and mellow, and so harmless withal! Toasting (the manufacturer's unique process), rids it of its nicotine and makes it safe for even the heavy smoker. Over and over again attempts have been made to imitate this superb tobacco. But it can't be done! The secret is the manufacturer's. Refuse all substitutes. There's no substitute for Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold.*
Then out it comes into a grassy clearing in an enchanting woodland setting. Here, if you haven't had the wind behind you, you may see a herd of deer quietly feeding. You may even be lucky enough to see one of the white stags for which the Greenstone is famed. And up through the bush the track will lead on through the gorge till at last it leads you out into the great open valley of the Greenstone. Four or five miles farther on you will find a small hut (provided with two bunks) where a night's rest may be obtained.
J. A. Speren, photo.)
The Jean Batten Peaks as seen from the Caples, South Island.
Early next morning you must hit the valley trail again, as it leads through moraine boulders. Onwards the track will lead you, as the valley narrows in, through a little gorge, and then out on to the last flat in the valley. Then you will wonder if you are dreaming! For here, where you least expected it, is quiet majesty. High above you, in cliffs and rocky faces, will rise the Jean Batten Peaks above the glory of their magnificent forest covering.
And if you are not too wearied by your journey of discovery, you will find Lake McKellar nestling its dark waters in the bush half a mile beyond. And farther again there is Lake Howden and still farther the famous Hollyford.
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Unless some other industry springs up, the glory of a mining township fades when the diggings are worked out and the miners depart. In this respect Queenstown was more fortunate than her Central Otago neighbours. Many of the villages which were thriving townships for a few years in the heyday of goldmining are deserted now. They lie dreaming in the sun, yet living in history because of the gold yielded by the hills and river-beds.
Queenstown, like these other townships, sprang up in a night. In December, 1859, Mr. W. G. Rees took up land beside Lake Wakatipu, and in the following year brought sheep to his station. The first shearing was in December, 1861. Early in August, 1862, two men called at the station saying they were making their way to the West Coast to visit Maoris who lived there. One of these men, Maori Jack, showed Mr. Rees some gold which he had found in the Arrow River. Mr. Rees had been at the New South Wales diggings ten years previously, so knew gold when he saw it. He felt certain that within a few months there would be an influx of diggers to the district.
Three months later one of Mr. Rees's shearers found gold in the Shotover River at Arthur's Point (the shearer's name being Arthur, the point was named in honour of the discoverer).
It is an old story how, when the news became known, the largest rush ever known in Otago set in to the Wakatipu district, and where once a peaceful homestead nestled by the shore of the lake, a canvastown rapidly sprang up.
Within seven months, Queenstown consisted of several streets, closely lined with stores and hotels, concert rooms and a theatre for pleasure-seekers, and several churches. It had a newspaper of its own, a public treasury and a courthouse with their attendant officials, and a hospital, five miles from the township, supported partly by voluntary subscriptions and partly by Government assistance. Jetties and wharves were built out into the lake for the safe landing of passengers and merchandise, and three steamers, a schooner and a small fleet of boats and cutters lay upon its waters.
Cobb and Co. commenced running a coach from Dunedin to Kingston, at the southern end of the lake, in April, 1863. The coach ran every Tuesday and Friday, and having once taken your passage, you were literally booked for a journey of three days—often weeks, and occasionally more—according to the state of roads and rivers. The fare was £10 each passenger, and parcels were 1/- per pound. Some time later, Cobb and Co. discontinued their service via Kingston, going by way of Cromwell, Clyde (Dunstan in those days), and Lawrence. A firm named
Messrs. Brydone and Co. began a coach service between Invercargill and Kingston. Their line of coaches ran three times a week with a well-known identity, Mitchell, as driver. The fare was £5 a head, and the time taken on the journey of less than 100 miles, was 14 hours. Good business was done by the firm.
As might be expected, food prices were high. Sugar was ½ to ¼ lb., bacon 2/6, potatoes 7d. to 9d. Brandy was 35/r and whisky 24/- per bottle. An amusing account of price-cutting was published in the “Lake Wakatip Mail,” on 10th June, 1863. It reads:—“The bakers, after supplying in the kindest manner the inhabitants of the town with bread at the modest price of 4/- per 4 lb. loaf, have at last been imbued with a noble spirit of emulation, and each is trying to discover to what impossible rate he can reduce the price of bread. A firm at the corner of Rees and Ballarat Streets astonished the weak nerves of the remaining knights of the dough by announcing that they would sell the 4 lb. loaf at 2/6. Another instantly offered the same article at 2/-, while a third benefactor, resolved not to be outdone in generosity, has declared his ability and intention of disposing of his “bread at 1/6. This absurd competition must soon arrive at vanishing point at this rate. But while the trade is thus engaged at the game of ‘Pull devil, pull baker,’—the gentleman in black being represented by the purse,—the public have a right to complain of the exorbitant rate charged before this competition took place. Flour can now be obtained at between £55 and £60 a ton, and this, at the latter price, is £6 a bag. This is capable of being made into seventy 4 lb. loaves, but as the bread of Queenstown, owing to atmospheric and other causes, is usually 3 ½ lbs. in weight, it is natural to suppose that the baker can turn out more than that number. However, taking the number we have stated—70 loaves—as the fair number, the vendor pockets at 4/- per loaf, £14, and deducting the price of the material, this leaves him £8 on every bag of flour for profit and expenses. Not a bad bargain, we should think. The firm who took the initiative in reducing their monstrous charge deserve the strongest support.”
In the same paper, which, incidentally, is still flourishing, notes from their Arrowtown correspondent were prefaced with these words: “The following letter from our Arrow correspondent should have arrived in time for our Saturday's issue, but, owing to the messenger who was sent with it getting more than a ‘wee drappie in his e'e,’ its arrival was delayed until Saturday night. Our efforts to obtain the latest intelligence from the outlying districts are often baffled by the entire absence of the necessary means of communication, and until something like an approach to a road be made our readers must not blame us.”
By this time the rivers and mountains of the district were “christened.” The “Von” River was named by Mr. Rees after his friend and fellow-explorer, Von. Tunzelman; “The Greenstone” from several Maori weapons found there; “The Shotover” after the property of Mr. Rees's partners near Oxford, England; “The Dart,” “The Rees” and “The Arrow” by two cadets who lived in the locality of the Buckleburn at the head of the lake. Of mountains, “Ben Lomond” and “Alfred” were named by young Duncan, Mr. Rees's cadet, and the Crown Range by Mr. Rees.
The peaks, “Coronet,” “Walter” and “Cecil” were named by J. McKerrow, Surveyor-General, when conducting the Reconnaissance Survey of the lakes district in 1862–63. The chain of ranges now known as the Remarkables was first called by the characteristic term of the “Cross-cuts” from their summits being so jagged-looking and saw-like. The more modern appellation was given them by Alexander Garvie.
Nowadays Queenstown is better known through its beautiful mountains, rivers and the lake, than through its gold. The tourist attractions, aide