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The New Zealand Railways Magazine is on sale through the principal booksellers, or may be obtained post-free for 6/- per annum.
Employees of the Railway Department are invited to forward news items or articles bearing on railway affairs. The aim of contributors should be to supply interesting topical material tending generally towards the betterment of the service.
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Controller and Auditor-General
10/7/39.
“An emerald lake now shimmers in the blaze.”
Beautiful Lake Waikareiti, North Island, New Zealand.
(Photo., H. Farmer McDonald).
Hope, the “prolific mother of reforms,” is one steady light that must be kept burning through the dark days upon which we have entered. From hope comes the faith that out of the new welter of conflict which has come upon us, some greater amelioration for mankind may be achieved. To that hope all our private desires, plans and ambitions must be directed.
Just how good this world really is, only those who have worked to make it better can apprehend in any true measure. The gardener who converts his small plot to a paradise of flowers and fruit and edible plants learns the goodness of soil and rain, sunshine and air. The engineer who dams lakes and rivers that electric light and power may serve man's needs in country and city alike, also learns how adaptable nature is to human desires. The engine-driver who hauls his freight of passengers safely and happily from centre to centre gets to know what ease of transport can do to extend the bounds of human intercourse. It is the hope that things of this kind can be done that inspires mankind to their doing.
It is the failure of an all-round belief that the world can provide wealth and contentment enough for all that leads to international conflicts. These show how far man is from what Hope indicates he can be, and will be, in the years to come.
How average people live, as individuals, through a long life with no thought but to live with their neighbours in a comfortable and helpful friendship, is a thought to guide the actions and reactions of nations. Why should some of these people, every few years, be withdrawn from the orderly progression of their lives, to kill or be killed by another set of people who, in their own environment, make “live and let live” their ordinary rule of life? Conditions on this planet become easier year by year as we conform with nature's way of betterment.
Is it throwing the loop of Hope too far to believe that, in the not-far-distant future, war will be outlawed by the combined reason of mankind? Or that such outlawry will be enforced by the combined power of all the States, just as individual actions adverse to the common good are outlawed by the guardians of each State? On this hope rests the future well-being of the peoples of the earth, and there is little hope for other hopes if this be frustrated by anger and ill-will between the nations.
The confidence of all thinking people is in good triumphing over bad–that is what we see of nature at work, and that is the hope upon which our people now place their faith, and to which they direct their efforts.
Since my last message was written, the impending European crisis has reached its climax in Great Britain's declaration of war with Germany. This brings our Railways once more under wartime conditions. Those of us who had the job of keeping the services going in the Great War of 1914–1918 know something of the problems which will confront us should the present conflict assume proportions at all comparable with those of the last war. I know it is the hope and prayer of all of us that there may be an early and honourable peace.
It is our business, however, to prepare against any emergency, and I feel confident of the capacity and determination of our railwaymen to meet all the demands the country may make upon them. There is good reason for that confidence. I saw something of the work of our staff in confronting difficulties of an extreme kind due to the exceptional weather conditions of the winter from which we have just emerged. I want to thank one and all for the way in which they guarded the Department's passengers against accident and protected the Department's property with forethought, skill and good judgment when harassed by the bitterest weather conditions–snow and ice, torrential rains and floods, with accompanying slips and washouts, and disorganisation of services. I am proud to know that not once was there any failure on the part of any railwayman to do his utmost to maintain services, repair damages and guard the interests of passengers and Department alike. On the contrary, members worked with energy and devotion for the common good in a manner which won the highest praise from those who had the opportunity to see what was being done.
That is the spirit which I know actuates the men of the Railways to-day; and as the British Commonwealth of Nations, of which New Zealand is a member, enters upon the present conflict, I am confident the staff of our Railways will respond at all times with unswerving loyalty to whatever demands the circumstances of the times may place upon them.
We are all at one with the stirring words and noble sentiments of New Zealand's Prime Minister who, in his recent broadcast speech, said:–
“I am satisfied that nowhere will the issue be more clearly understood than in New Zealand–where, for almost a century, behind the sure shield of Britain, we have enjoyed and cherished freedom and self-government. Both with gratitude for the past, and with confidence in the future, we range ourselves without fear beside Britain. Where she goes, we go. Where she stands, we stand. We are only a small and young nation, but we are one and all a band of brothers, and we march forward with a union of hearts and wills to a common destiny.”
General Manager.
Progressive New Zealand Industries
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
The illustrations show: (1) Bryant and May's imposing Match Factory in Wellington. (2) Clay-burning furnace at Luke Adams's Pottery Works, Christchurch. (3) A portion of the Luke Adam's Pottery Works. (4) Lunch and Assembly Hall at Bryant and May's, Wellington. (5) Brush-making at Bunting's, Christchurch. (6) Wood-turning room at Bunting's. (7) Types of brushes at Bunting's. (8) Die presses at work at Bryant and May's.
No. 8. Home Utilities.
The coming arrival of our hundredth birthday has focussed attention on the past. One aspect of our story is often overlooked, and it is perhaps the one most worth recalling. Very few of our forebears lacked the ability to write, and they filled lengthy letters with all the intimate details of the daily round. We have a clearer picture of the pioneering life of New Zealand in its first two or three decades than has endured from any colonisation in history.
The housewife of those far-off days had to be an inventor in her own way, for the make-shifts, expedients, and things to “make do,” were numbered by the hundred.
The home-made broom of manuka or rope-ends, boot-blacking of tallow and soot, candles made in moulds from farm-produced tallow, wooden bowls and containers hastily hacked out of the rough, and countless other ingenious substitutes, gave the woman of the house plenty of scope for activity from day to day. The flint and steel were still in use.
To-day, huge modern factory plants, manned by New Zealanders, are making brushes, brooms, matches, earthenware, and such articles as boot and furniture polish in vast quantities. The following article describes, briefly, four establishments of which any highly industrialised country in the Northern Hemisphere could be proud.
The high tower of Bryant and May's match factory, in Wellington, is a familiar sight from all parts of the capital city. In fine weather passers-by can see from Tory Street the gay crowds playing tennis, or sitting in the sun in the big playground. Virginia creeper, with the usual speed of New Zealand growth, has invested the office building with an air of age. The industry, in any case, has been established for many years. The British firm of R. Bell and Co., came to New Zealand in 1894, and the worldwide amalgamation with Bryant and May took place in 1910. After various changes of situation, the noble building in Tory Street was erected, to hold place for many years as the most up-to-date industrial unit of its kind in New Zealand.
It is strange to learn that the first “Lucifer,” sold about 1830 in England, had a similar composition to our present safety match, chlorate of potash mixed with a little inflammable material. The name was apt, for they were evil-smelling, wayward articles, the foundations of hundreds of platform jokes bearing a family resemblance to the ones about the patent petrol lighter in “Alf's Button.”
The “strike anywhere” match, made from phosphorus, came a little later. It lasted until early in the 20th century, and its awful reputation was well earned. The factory workers were exposed to “fossy jaw” and other forms of phosphorus poisoning, and the matches themselves ignited so easily that a busy rat could burn down a warehouse, and a careless small boy lose his life by sampling them.
The modern wax vesta is practically as safe as the wooden variety. The heads are now made of sesqui-sulphide of phosphorus, non-poisonous and just as efficient as the original element.
Match-making machinery is the most imposing that I have encountered. I understand that its intricacy, size, and huge cost account for the fact that the industry is in few hands the world over.
Wooden matches were first manufactured in New Zealand in 1933. The floor devoted to this branch is full of romantic sights after the H. G. Wells model. I first looked at the “skillets” which come from Lithuania in flat, round bundles, rather like large sponge cakes.
The tree of “the trembling leaf,” the aspen, is the only satisfactory timber for the making of matches, being light, white and easily lit. An endeavour is being made to grow the aspen in New Zealand, and Scotland is also being tried out.
The skillets are picked up by huge endless metal blankets, pričked full of little holes in which the little white slivers fit. These blankets flow in rising and falling planned curves, sweep over the heading mixture, and thereafter leisurely proceed through drying processes. A new fact emerged when I found that each skillet was given a paraffin coating about a quarter-way down from the top, to increase the
This blanket machine stretches nearly the full width of the great building and at the “end of the road” an operative stands, watching with bright eyes, for “duds” which are deftly removed from the slow-moving blanket wall.
On the wax vesta floor, the story is rather different. Here, the whole width of the spacious floor is flanked at one end by what appear to be two stupendous cotton reels, and in between them are floating hundreds of white threads. These are immersed in the wax (which comes out as “stearine”), and thereupon the wax vesta thread, looking like snow-white string, is ready for heading.
Roller knives cut the long threads into the right lengths, and the process then becomes similar to that of the wooden safety. The steel network handles and heads the little white wax sticks in the same way as it manages the wooden skillets. However, the most interesting entertainment in this vast room is the making of “plaids.”
Long white, blue, and plaid ribbons of paper, wind in over an angle. Their surfaces are all gummed, and as they join up, the plaid cylinder emerges complete in a long never-ending tube, soon to be neatly chopped into the familiar size. The topping process is also ingenious, and the making of “slides” is a small industry by itself.
Bryant and May also make their own tins, carry their own precision toolmakers, and in fact “do the whole job.”
The factory itself is a model in every way, the interior living up in every way to the impressive exterior. One of our pictures shows the lunch-room which really is a superb hall with provision for concert and club work.
The main surprise to me was the airy and roomy nature of the departmental floors. Everything is spotless, there are no crowded work-benches, and there seem to be acres of space. To avoid monotony in the daily round, many of the girls have half-hour changes of occupation. Any preconceived ideas about “match factories” are destroyed by the first glance at this place of lofty roofs, pleasant conditions and homely atmosphere. The New Zealander is the best match consumer in the world, and the habit is a good one, amounting to striking hard for a really worth-while New Zealand industry.
Long years ago, I remember a bread crock which had been my grandmother's prize possession for many a decade. It had no duplicate for many miles round.
On the small sailing ships of those days, earthenware represented a bulky and risky article of transport. The potter's wheel is, of course, almost as old as time, and we can go behind even Omar Khayyam to find verse about this form of craftsmanship. In Colombo Street, Christchurch, the wheel has been turning for far more than half a century. It can still be found at work there, in the midst of a maze of modern machinery. New Zealand has a wide range of the best clays, and, for once, any criticism that raw materials have to be imported falls down completely. “Luke Adams, Pottery Manufacturer,” is the modest sign showing the site of an industrial unit that has been in active operation for nearly sixty years. The founder learned the art in England, and with three sons, set up in business in New Zealand in 1881. The display room is well worth a visit; every conceivable type of stone and earthen ware is here in all the colours of the rainbow; butter jars, cream crocks, fancy table vases, bird baths, fountains, garden vases, jam jars, and so on in bewildering varieties of designs that vary from the severity of modern outlines to forms of decorative complexity.
Here you can see a “Throw,” when the spinning mass of clay is moulded by the magic of the artist's fingers into lovely creations. I had no idea there were so many sorts of clay, or so many methods of treating it. There are rows and rows of plaster moulds
The modern portion of the Luke Adams establishment deals mostly with elements for electric stoves and other mechanisms. The output of these annually runs into large figures. The porcelain fire-clay of which these are made is the result of long research and experiment, and “Perfeclay” has established a splendid reputation.
Hours could be spent in this New Zealand pottery where the whole unit amounts to a pictorial history of modern industrial progress, and points the moral that, in manufacturing, many simple basic principles are still in force. In 1886, the firm of Luke Adams gained a handsome certificate of merit at the Indian and Colonial Exhibition, and also a silver medal presented by His Majesty King Edward VII.
Here everything coming from clay, from the familiar red flower-pot to the intricate electrical element, is made by New Zealand craftsmen from New Zealand ingredients. By the way, the hot-plates, coil holders, radiator cones and other electrical requisites, are stamped out by die-presses, exactly as if the material were metal instead of clay.
But one motto remains: “You Can't Hurry Clay.”
Lastly, the firm of Luke Adams is a notable instance of the second generation of skill, scientific knowledge and unswerving devotion to “making the best.”
While in the South Island, I had a half day at the “Nugget” factory. The picturesque place is a well-known landmark on the main road to Sumner, and the building has an air of its own. There are tennis courts and other recreational facilities for the employees, for the history of this company shows that it has had a tradition of social service from its very early beginnings in old England. On the walls of the Christchurch manager's office are pictures of the offices at Chiswick, looking more like a handsome Spanish dwelling, and even the tall chimneys are masked as clock towers of delightfully harmonious designs, chiming with the town and country-side architecture.
More interesting still was Boston House, an old-world mansion now used as the club house for the women workers. In addition, there are playing fields, dental rooms, gymnasiums, rest rooms, and club rooms. The house magazine is a de luxe publication of thirty-two pages covering a wide range of activities, and it reads rather like the monthly paper of a good provincial capital.
The Christchurch establishment is full of news. Who knows, for instance, that there are about twenty ingredients in shoe polish, or that wax is the foundation of “Nugget”?
Interesting little barrels called “Rumblers” revolve all night, full of the various things that need to be thoroughly mingled in order to make the polish perfect. Here also, of course, are “Silvo,” “Brasso,” and other kindred friends of the housewife. The ingredients are all tested by chemistry experts, and are worked on exact mathematical formulae. The workers are white-coated, and there is an air of cleanliness. The factory makes its own tins, maintains its own steam heat furnace and is quite self-contained. There is no question as to the civic value of this fine organisation, which not only gives work to a large body
I have left Bunting's brushware factory to the last. It is one of the most impressive modern establishments in New Zealand, and a journey through it is an exciting and heartwarming experience.
Away back in 1875, a brushmaker, Mr. James Miller, trained in Aberdeen, left his homeland to find out what New Zealand had to offer. In 1879 he was making and selling brushes, and this was the beginning of the great undertaking that now keeps more than two hundred New Zealanders in useful work, and produces goods of world parity in quality and cost. To-day there are about thirty employees who have more than twenty years’ service, and Mr. Woolf has over half a century to his credit.
It would take a week to make the full tour of this great place with its wide range of diversified operations and its fascinating batteries of machines with varying attributes and uncanny efficiency, many of them originals, planned and made by New Zealand precision engineers.
For the layman, brush-making is charged with astonishing discoveries. The bristles of which most good brushes are made come from two countries, China and Russia. When the bristles are shed, they are gathered by hand and sorted into bunches of similar lengths. The longest are, of course, the most valuable, and at Bunting's I was shown quite a small box of the best bristles worth hundreds of pounds. There is real trouble just now, owing to the introduction of European pigs into both countries for fattening strains, reducing the bristlegrowing to a side line. Pigs never suffer from anthrax, so bristles are wholly safe. Buntings use twelve tons in one year.
Another surprise was to discover that camel hair has nothing to do with the ship of the desert; it comes from one species of Russian squirrel. There are three bristle colours, white, black, and grey. Nearly every country in the world contributes its quota of other materials for brush-making at Bunting's. Fibres of various types come from India, Mexico, the South American countries, Egypt, and elsewhere. One third of the horsehair used is obtained in New Zealand.
I watched the ordinary paint brush being made. Here the bristle is doubled over, stapled with an effective device, fast into the wood, on the locknit principle, and then vulcanised in rubber, making the seating absolutely rigid and safely set. I have never realised how many different sorts of paint brushes there were, from the paperhanger's brush to the almost square stippling brush, the flat varnish brush to the short-handled tar-brush.
Uncanny selecting mechanisms mix the hard and soft bristles, and another set with gauzy cylinders pick out the hairs, blunt end first, which have come the wrong way round. The homely scrubbing brush depends on Mexico whence the “white fibre” comes. It is the product of the “istle” palm, and is treated very like our native flax. The principle of making is the same–the fibre is looped double and securely clamped into the wooden frame. Plump cousins of the everyday “scrubber” are the “ship's clamp” and the “butcher's block.”
The coarser brooms and brushes are made from “bass” or “bassine,” which comes from the Palmyra palm leaf of Ceylon. Then there are Bahia Bass and African Bass which are of better quality. Buntings also make feather dusters, which consist of ostrich feathers, ingeniously fixed into holders. There is a fascinating room where yardbrooms are made by hand, by craftsmen of long standing. I should mention that the whole factory is clear of dust, extractors being at work everywhere.
Naturally, a large department is devoted to making the wooden parts of brushes, from the utilitarian handle of a stable broom to the satinwood polished back of a lady's hair-brush. A great area is devoted to wood-turning crammed with every species of machinery for handling and fashioning shapes from timber. The beech or
The show-room at Bunting's is a liberal education in the complex needs of modern usage. There seem to be as many brushes as there are stars in the sky, and Buntings make all of them. Here, I found, as in so many New Zealand factories, that the “heads” are continually going abroad to note the latest improvements in methods of manufacturing and the last developments in machinery designs. Numerous trips have been made by Messrs. Bunting and Woolf, West and Connall, and this Christchurch unit is abreast of the world in the modernity of its plant and production systems.
There are ample provisions for the comfort of employees, and I was once more encouraged to real warmth of admiration at the numerous instances of special New Zealand initiative and adaptability in the creation of special mechanical devices to meet special New Zealand conditions.
Throughout New Zealand manufacturing industries, there is ample evidence that the qualities developed in the difficult days of yore are still in full strength.
An imposing array of home utilities comes from these four great New Zealand institutions. They meet the distinctive requirements of New Zealand citizens with full local knowledge.
It is good to think that you can brush your New Zealand-made shoes with a New Zealand-made brush, using New Zealand-made boot-polish. You light your New Zealand-made cigarette with a Wellington-made match and put the dead match into an earthenware ash-tray, made in Christchurch.
This quartette of factories forms one more proof that New Zealand industry is on the march.
In the Exhibit Buildings of the New Zealand Centennial Exhibition the flooring covers an area of approximately 16 acres and most of this flooring has been made from New Zealand timber. Some indication of the amount of flooring used can be had from the fact that if it were made into a 12in. plank, it would reach 1,704 miles, which is nearly 500 miles farther than from Wellington to Sydney.
The largest plate-glass windows ever constructed in New Zealand are an architectural feature of the Australian Pavilion at the Exhibition. The plateglass over the main doorway has an area of 1,125 sq. ft. This is exceeded, however, in the facade of the composite window at the north end of the building. The glass in this structure totals 2,520 sq. ft.
Inside the facade a spiral staircase leading from the main floor to the Cultural Exhibit can be seen from the outside of the building.
Fifty years ago the site of the Exhibition was a desolate waste of sand dunes. On November 8, when the Exhibition opens, there will be an impressive layout of colourful gardens and abundant foliage about the buildings. This transformation is already far advanced.
Pohutukawa trees, 20 feet in height and 30 years old, will flame with blossom and will look particularly striking against the cream walls of the buildings. More than 1,000 shrubs have been planted between the trees. Annuals to deck the flower beds and borders will total 80,000, and in the vicinity of the main entrance 1,000 roses have been planted. About the Australian Court will be typical Australian trees and shrubs, and the trees of Great Britain will lend an appropriate atmosphere to the United Kingdom Pavilion.
A native garden of New Zealand plants and trees is being formed in the southern portion of the grounds, and donations from all parts of the country were received for this feature.
For the first time the main avenue of flag poles near the Kingsford-Smith Street entrance of the Exhibition were graced with colourful banners last month. Streaming in a fresh northerly breeze they stretch their varied hues across the blue of the sky in bright array. There are 32 banners in the avenue, each about 20 feet long and with tasselled ends.
Result “Puzzle Pie” No. 312.
In this contest a number of competitors submitted correct solutions and therefore share the Prize of £200 in Cash. List of names may be inspected at “Truth” office in Auckland, Wellington, Christchurch and Dunedin on and after Wednesday, 27th September, 1939.
Prize-money will be posted on Monday, October 9th.
Solution to “Puzzle Pie” No. 312.
Paragraph from the “N.Z. Radio Record,” May 20th, 1938:
“Perhaps you don't care for community singing. I know there are scores of people who don't. But that doesn't alter the fact that for every one who doesn't, there are probably a round thousand who do.”
During the recent severe snow storms in the South Island the efficiency of the Railways Department in overcoming extraordinary operating difficulties was seen at its very best.
In an interesting article in the “Otago Daily Times,” Major P. Mackenzie, of Walter Peak Station, Queenstown, states that, with his wife, he went to the Dunedin station on 25th July, to join the train for Kingston.
“On arrival at the station,” he said, “I found the station officials busy endeavouring to get our train alongside of the platform. The drifting snow and ice had blocked the points and as fast as it was being dug away, the gale was drifting it in again. After an hour's work the train finally made the platform, and commenced its journey through the snow as far as Milton.
“It was too miserable to leave the carriage even for a tempting cup of coffee. After some delay the stationmaster at Milton informed the passengers that the train would make an endeavour to reach Lumsden, but he could not guarantee this. Passengers to Queenstown were given the option of returning to Dunedin, staying at Gore, or risk getting as far as Lumsden. Knowing that the only hope of reaching Queenstown was to remain on the train, my wife and I decided to put our money on the “Iron Horse,” as the only form of transport likely to reach Kingston under such abnormal conditions.
“It was snowing heavily as we pulled out of the station, and one expanse of snow met our eyes right on to Gore, where, after a seven minutes’ wait we boarded the train for Kingston. Conditions were very cold, and the snow became deeper as we proceeded on our way.
“On reaching Lumsden (which was a mantle of white) the stationmaster announced that the train could go no farther. There was considerable snow in the streets, and it was necessary to wade through this, knee-deep, in order to reach the hotel.
“… At noon next day word was received that a train departing from Lumsden at 2.15 p.m., would endeavour to reach Kingston that night. We decided to go. Little did we know what was in store for us! The Inspector of Permanent Way (Mr. Woodcock) accompanied us and picked up five surfacemen and one volunteer at Lumsden and at Five Rivers. All went well until we passed the latter place, where the train very soon became stuck in the heavy drifts. The little gang was out like a shot and dug away the snow from the rear wheels and axle boxes of the engine and carriages. The train was then reversed and backed some 100 yards, then charged the drifts and so gained a 100 yards or so. This operation was repeated, each time making a little progress. After continuing this procedure for a couple of hours, the engine was detached and sent forward alone to break a track through. Proceeding a few miles it stuck fast in an eight foot drift near Eyre Creek, and could move neither backward nor forward. By this time it was getting dark, and the wind still howled and moaned as it swept the drifting snow on to the track which the engine had made. After clearing the snow away from the train, the little gang set off in the blizzard to dig the engine out. The guard, meanwhile, up to his waist in the snow, went to the nearest telegraph lines with his portable telephone, to advise Lumsden of our plight. He appealed for another engine to be sent, to push our train on to the rear of the engine which was stuck, and so assist in withdrawing it from the drift. No engine being available, there was nothing to do but carry on because it was impossible to back the train to Lumsden. The track was filling in fast with drifting snow behind the train, and the scene outside our carriage was a very bleak one indeed. I cannot find words to describe the wretched conditions under which the whole of the train crew was obliged to work.
(Photo., D. Matheson).
A relief train proceeding through deep snow in Central Otago.
“After an hour's work the engine was freed and returned to the train. Off we went again and after many delays the train reached the big drift where the engine had stuck. It was now 11 p.m. The train had travelled only eleven miles and had used up a considerable quantity of the available coal. A further appeal was made to Lumsden for another engine. As this could not be granted there was nothing which could be done but spend the night in the train. There was just enough coal left to heat the carriages until mid-day next day, but insufficient water to last till daylight. Eyre Creek was 150 yards away, and the engine slowly went forward until this was reached. Then in the cold and
“The small train party comprising eleven persons performed a task that, for sheer determination against the greatest odds and under the very worst and most miserable conditions imaginable, will rank as one of the greatest achievements of the New Zealand Railways. Generous to a degree these men were more solicitous for the comfort of their two passengers than for their own discomforts. They shared with us their only light and scanty rations of cakes and black tea. I think it is only right and bare justice that the names of these men should be recorded. They are: Inspector of Permanent Way, J. Woodcock; guard, J. McArthur; engine-driver, T. Bulman; fireman, A. D. C. McMurtrie; ganger, A. G. Small; porter, R. Stuck; surfaceman, J. Stewart; surfaceman, S. Burdon; surfaceman, H. Thomas; surfaceman, G. Dorricot; surfaceman, R. Cox; volunteer, J. McKay.
“I mention these officers and men specially because owing to their small number they had to fight continuously against the most cruel odds. They came unprepared for such severe conditions and actually were willing to continue all night in order to assist the relief train when it arrived.
“The relief train with two engines and a van, with a store of provisions, arrived at 11 a.m. and immediately attached itself to our marooned train. A large gang of men from the relief train meanwhile cleared the snow from the siding, and with three engines at work our train was hauled back to the little station. Our engine with some carriages was shunted to the side and later went back to Lumsden with the crew of the night before, less the Inspector who appeared to require neither rest nor sleep.
“By noon we were away on the relief train with a powerful engine in front and another in the rear, so that it could withdraw itself from the drifts when the forward engine became stuck fast. We ploughed our way along in great style to Athol with a great wave of snow curling out from the engine on both sides. It was a sight worth going far to see. A stop was made at Athol to take aboard a dozen surfacemen. There the snow was very deep and continued in one mass up the sides of the houses and right over the tops.
“When the train moved off from the station it proceeded thirty yards or so and came to a sudden stop. The large gang of men went out with their shovels, and in half an hour another start was attempted, but all to no purpose. The snow was in hard blocks everywhere under the train, and the rails were gripped with solid ice. Out went the gang again and after chipping the ice from the rails, the train slowly moved off to come to another dead stop at Nokomai siding where the drifts were exceedingly deep. It was feared that further progress would be impossible, but after the gang had toiled and struggled with the deep frozen snow, a track was made through the deepest parts. The train then drew back and charged. She staggered and slowed down and then, when all seemed lost, she gradually gathered speed and ploughed a magnificent trench to Garston, where further trouble was expected in the deep cuttings just beyond the siding.
“The forward engine was detached and raced forward at full speed, only to go clean out of sight in a ten foot drift. The gang was sent forward again, and after an hour's work the engine was freed and withdrawn with the aid of the rear engine. It was now getting dark and a formidable task lay ahead. There was nothing for it but to return to Lumsden to give the men a hot meal and some sleep, replenish the coal supplies, and secure extra men.
(Photo., D. Matheson).
Clearing away a drift in front of the locomotive in one of the cuttings on the Central Otago line.
“Next day the train was back at Garston with sixty men, including our comrades of the marooned train. By 1 o'clock the men had cleared the line beyond Fairlight Station where the snow was ten feet deep in the cuttings. The rear engine was obliged to return to Athol, for water, and we were able to join this part of the train on its return journey and proceed to the field of operations. The large relief gang must have worked exceedingly hard to have cleared with the shovel such a huge quantity of snow. The method adopted from Fairlight onward was to dig away the deeper drifts with longhandled shovels and then for the forward engine to break through the lighter drifts, and the rear engine to bring the train along. This method of leap-frogging continued the whole of the afternoon. At 5.30 p.m. word was passed down the train that a gang had cleared the line from the Kingston end to the top of the hill overlooking the Lake. Alas, this was not so! Drift after drift was encountered and cleared away. Even half a mile from Kingston Station the engine became stuck in a drift. The gang had again to turn out in the darkness, in a cold drizzling rain, for half an hour's shovelling. Then away went the forward engine once more, and fifteen minutes later, three hearty whistles were heard at the Kingston Railway Station. These were answered by two sets of three cheers of whistles from the rear engine. The train drew into the Kingston Railway Station at 6.15 p.m., after one of the most sensational railway journeys in the history of New Zealand.”
(Rly. Publicity photos.)
The two railway carriages (6) were recently fitted out for the use of the Governor-General on the New Zealand Railways. Illustration No. 1 shows the drawing-room, (2) the bath-room, (3) the kitchen with gas stove, frigidaire and other fittings, (4) the dining-room, and (5) one of the Vice-Regal staterooms.
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One bright morning in the early summer of 1809—just 130 years ago—a ship came to anchor in the harbour of Whangaroa. The ship was the Boyd, soon to become famous in one of the most dramatic and tragic episodes in early New Zealand history. The harbours of the Far North, so supremely blessed by Nature, have dark pages of which the visitor of today knows little. A tourist will see in the Hokianga Harbour, for instance, only a magnificent waterway stretching inland for 25 miles, and he leaves its bush-denuded hillsides with a fond memory of the glittering water that gave Rawene its name.
A visitor to Mangonui to-day will note the outline of the parapets and escarpments of the big pa that crowned the high hill standing, Gibraltar-like, at the entrance to the harbour, but he will see little to suggest that at times half a hundred sailing ships would be lying in the harbour waiting for their cargoes of timber.
Russell, on the Bay of Islands, is another place that has mellowed after its riotous early years. It is redolent of history, but who that has slept in Russell will ever forget hearing on the still evening air that rhythmical swish, swish, as the waters of the famous bay lap the pebbly beach? One may grow careless in remembering much of Russell's history, but one will never forget how that sound lulled one to sleep on one's first night in Kororareka.
And Whangaroa, almost land-locked and perhaps the most beautiful of all the harbours of the Far North, must have been a gloriously lovely place a century ago when the bush grew down to the water's edge and the stately kauris towered aloft.
It was in such a setting that the tragedy of the Boyd was enacted. Surrounding that tragedy is a fog of mystery that no coroner's inquiry at this late date could ever clear away. There are numerous accounts of the affair, each with important differences. This is not surprising as rarely do two witnesses give the same account of an event that has happened before their own eyes.
Whangaroa is an ideal place for daydreaming, and if you have the right companion it is easy to call back other days. Recently, while on a tour of the North, I met an old settler of the Whangaroa district and we fell to talking about the times of long ago. Like many other pioneers, his memory was remarkably clear. He was full of reminiscences.
“Let us walk up the hill-side so that we can get a view of the harbour,” he said, “and I will tell you what I know about the Boyd. Oh, yes, I know, or it seems to me that I
Boyd under easy sail coming in–to the harbour, there”—and the old man's eyes brightened as he fixed his gaze on the narrow entrance to the harbour until it seemed that he really could see—“and I can see her anchoring abreast of Peach Island. That is Peach Island, there. Have you seen the painting of the burning of the Boyd, in the Auckland Art Gallery? Peach Island is shown in the background. I can see three boats’ crews leaving the ship to go up the stream, Kaeoway, looking for kauri spars. In the evening the boats return, but they are manned by Maoris wearing the clothes of the sailors, all of whom had been killed.
“The ship was inadequately guarded,” he went on. “Those on watch were soon killed, and most of those below, passengers as well as crew, suffered the same fate as they appeared on deck. Four or five seamen took refuge high up in the rigging and remained there all night….
“The poor fellows up the masts must have spent an anxious night, wondering what the morrow had in store for them. They were safe in the rigging, for the Maoris were afraid to climb so high and could not shoot straight enough to hit them. Next morning, Te Pahi assured the men of his protection if they could reach his canoe. This they did, and though hotly pursued he landed them on the nearest shore. Then he was forcibly detained while the sailors were run down and killed. They were more at home climbing the rigging than running on the beach.
“Te Pahi and his hapu bore the brunt of the reprisals for the massacre. He seems to have arrived the day after the affair and he did his best to save the seamen left alive, but unfortunately for him he accepted some of the loot from the ship. When the whalers in port at the Bay of Islands discovered this they set out on a punitive expedition against his pa (in the Bay of Islands) and emulated the massacre on the Boyd, except for the cannibal feast.
“The Boyd was a fine prize for the Maoris. The sight of the axes carried by the sailors on the three boats would alone have aroused their cupidity, quite apart from the firearms. But there is little doubt that the spirit of revenge for the treatment accorded some Maori members of the crew of the Boyd was the prime reason for the attack. The captain of the ship played right into their hands, too, in dividing his forces as he did.
“I have traversed the route taken by the boats’ crews. My guide was a Maori woman and we landed on the Whangaroa side of the Kaeo township and proceeded up a small valley to the left. I know the place where the men were unexpectedly attacked before they had a chance to use their axes in self-defence.
“There were 72 people killed in the massacre. The survivors were a Mrs. Morley, her little child, an apprentice named Thomas Davis (15) and a very young child named Broughton. The boy saved himself by remaining hidden till the savages had finished their ghastly work, and I remember hearing an account of how the woman and her child were saved. It was told to me by an old Maori who was a young man at the time of the Boyd affair. His father was a chief and took an active part in the attack.
“As I was talking to the Maori he pointed to a fair-haired child, and said: ‘She reminds me of the child taken from the Boyd.’ When I questioned him about the matter he said that during the massacre on the deck of the Boyd a Maori had lifted up his mere to kill a child but the woman
mere against the woman's arm and said, ‘She's mine.’ He then took the woman and child to the bulwarks, placed his shoulder mat around the woman, and the two were safe.”
“It is said there was a lot of treasure on the Boyd,” I remarked, for I had heard it mentioned by the hotelkeeper in Kaeo, and hotelkeepers are a fund of information.
“There is a very interesting story about the chest that the Maoris took out of the Boyd,” was the reply. “It lies buried in the mangrove swamp up Pupuke way, but what treasure it contains will probably never be known. I will tell you the story. It comes within my own knowledge, as it were. At least, it is only second-hand.
“This happened a long while ago. I used frequently to pass a very old Maori at Waihapa. He was always sitting outside his old whare, hunched up and smoking a pipe. He had bloodshot eyes and was so crippled up that he could hardly walk. Alongside him on a rock were two skulls. They aroused my curiosity. I looked at them and examined them on several occasions. The larger of them had a deep mark, evidently from a mere blow, on one side of it. The other, which was of much lighter bone, and was possibly a woman's, I thought, had an injury at the back. I was very curious to find out about those skulls, and I asked the old Maori on several occasions, but all he would do was to glower at me.
“At last one day when I was passing I noticed that he was fiddling with his pipe and not smoking.
“‘No tobacco?’ I asked.
“‘No.’
“That morning I had found a sailor's pouch with some tobacco and a knife in it. I gave him the tobacco and he began to break it up with his fingers. ‘Here, use the knife,’ I said, and he grunted with satisfaction.
“‘You'd better take the lot,’ I said, handing over the pouch as well.
“‘I got no money,’ said the Maori, who thought I wanted him to pay. When I had made it clear that I was giving him the things he began to unbend. I must say the Maoris of the old school never expected anything for nothing.
“‘You have asked about those,’ he said, indicating the skulls.’ Well, I will tell you now. You have heard about the Boyd?'
“And this is the story the old Maori related about the Boyd massacre, the tribal fight that followed, and the mystery of the two skulls:
“The ship had been looted, even some of the cannons taken ashore. A number of Maoris, including John King, the treatment of whom aboard the Boyd was primarily the cause of the massacre, knew how to work ropes and tackle, and there was plenty of man-power to do all the hauling necessary. Among the things taken off was the ship's chest. The old Maori spread out his arms to indicate that it was five to six feet long, two to three feet deep, and about four feet wide. It was of black wood, had iron bands around it, iron clamped corners, and two ring bolts on either side and at each end.
“‘Was it heavy?’
“‘Yes, heavier than a cannon,’ the Maori replied:
“The chest was placed across a canoe and the Maoris set off with it for Pupuke, hauling and pushing it up the creeks and through the swamps.
“The Maoris with the canoe had reached a certain place when a runner dashed up to say that a war party from another tribe was coming, evidently attracted by the prospect of sharing in the spoils from the Boyd.
‘We beat them,’ said the old Maori, ‘and this man’—indicating the larger skull—‘was the best fighter of the lot.’ The Maori then described how the fight had taken place at Tera-tera and they had driven the enemy right back to the edge of a precipice. At last there were only two left—the big Maori and a white woman, his white wife. The man was putting up a great fight when suddenly the woman, with the intention of protecting him, threw her arms around him. Taken at a disadvantage, before he could free himself, a mere crashed on his temple and he and his white wife hurtled down the cliff. The woman was found to have been killed in the fall ‘and we left their bodies to the pigs,’ said the old man.
Thelma R. Kent, photo.).
“New Zealand's first stone house, built at Keri Keri, in 1833.
“‘What did you do about the box on the canoe?’
“The old Maori said that after the fight, which was a very severe one, they had not been able to go back to the canoe for a long time, and when they did they found the craft upset, with the chest on its side in the mud. Only part of it was to be seen.
“‘Did you try to get it out?’
“‘No,’ said the Maori.
“‘You know where it is?’
“‘Oh, yes.’
“‘Will you show it to me?’
“‘I can't walk that far,’ replied the old man, who was nearly doubled in two.
“‘I'll get you a horse.'
“‘I could not ride one. I have never ridden.’
“‘I'll give you £5 if you will show me the place.’
“‘What's the good of £5 to me?’
asked the Maori.
“So the chest, which undoubtedly contains all the valuables of the ship Boyd, lies in a swampy arm of Whangaroa Harbour on the way to Pupuke.”
For main-line, long-distance haulage the trusty “Iron Horse” continues the most favoured power unit on the majority of the world's railways. In the railway locomotive works at Home there is at present marked activity in the production of new and more efficient steam engines, and a tour of the shops of the four groups–situated at Crewe, Doncaster, Swindon and Eastleigh respectively—provides abundant proof of the belief of the administrations that better days lie ahead. Week by week, railway revenues are steadily creeping up, and this improvement in business is a most heartening feature.
At our largest locomotive shops–those of the London, Midland & Scottish Company, at Crewe—there are being constructed twenty new streamlined locomotives of the “Princess Coronation” class, all named after cities on the L.M. & S. system. These engines are 74 feet long, and their weight in working order is about 165 tons. The tenders carry 10 tons of coal and 4,000 gallons of water. Painted in standard L.M. & S. red, with horizontal gold bands, they are being introduced into express working on the Anglo-Scottish main-lines immediately after being run in. From the equally famous Doncaster works of the L. & N.E. Company, come new locomotives of the V.2, 2–6-2 “Green Arrow” type, designed for mixed traffic working. The first three of these carry the names, “King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry,” “Durham School” and “Coldstreamer.” Swindon has recently turned out six new 4–6-0 engines of the “Grange” class, for working on the G.W. main-lines; while in the Eastleigh shops the Southern has been busy adopting a number of modifications to its 4–6-0 “Lord Nelson” class locomotives, including 6 ft. 3 in. driving wheels in place of 6 ft. 7 in. wheels for No. 859, “Lord Hood”; a boiler with a lengthened barrel for No. 860, “Lord Hawke”; and a larger boiler with a combustion chamber added to the firebox for No. 857, “Lord Howe.” In order to increase the steaming capacity of these locomotives, the smokebox arrangements have also been altered by fitting multiple-jet blast pipe caps and single double-coned chimneys of large internal diameter.
The summer holiday season now draws to a close in Britain, and the group railways may well look back on the season's achievements with pride. Apart from the enormous number of excursion trains operated over all the main-lines, remarkable accelerations of ordinary passenger trains were everywhere the order of the day. In the summer time-tables of the L.M. & S. provision was made for the speedingup of no fewer than 110 trains, while among the services placed at the disposal of holiday-makers by this line were sixty-seven trains covering 6,883 miles daily at average start-tostop speeds of 60 m.p.h. or over. The additional holiday services of the L. & N.E. Railway involved the running of 1,276,120 miles weekly. On this line, trains like the “Flying Scotsman,” the “Scarborough Flyer” and the “Coronation” Express were regularly duplicated and triplicated out of King's Cross, while many branch-line servies, discontinued during winter and spring, were specially restored for the benefit of holiday-makers. Ever a popular holiday line, the Great Western summer services included the running of 800 additional express trains on week-days and 600 on Sundays. Twenty-five of these trains covered 2,075 miles daily at speeds of a mile a minute or over. More and faster main-line trains were operated to the West Country by the Southern throughout the holiday period. That most popular of all Southern holiday services—the “Atlantic Coast Express” —regularly ran in five parts every Saturday from Waterloo Station, London, to Devon and Cornwall.
Passenger coaches have been immensely improved in design in recent years, while a great deal has also been done to render vehicles more attractive externally and internally by the thoughtful employment of colour. Each Home railway group has its own standard colour scheme for carriage decoration, and on the Great Western new standard colourings for the interior decoration of passenger stock have just been adopted. In first-class
The Southern Railway has for some time operated the largest suburban electrification of any railway in the world. The latest development on this system is the conversion to electricity of the four stretches of track in Kent from Gravesend to Gillingham; Strood to Maidstone West; Swanley to Rochester; and Otford to Maidstone East. This electrification completes the ambitious scheme which comprised the Eastbourne, the Portsmouth No. 1, the Portsmouth No. 2 (Littlehampton, etc.), and the Reading extensions, and adds another 54 route miles—making a total of 702 route miles—to the Southern electrification. For the new services, some 152 coaches have been put into working, and greatly accelerated services have become possible—a most desirable thing in this busy metropolitan area. Between London and Chatham, via Strood, passenger trains have been increased from 40 to 49 daily, and the average journey time reduced from 76 to 69 minutes. Between London and Maidstone West, trains have been increased from 24 to 43 daily, and average time cut from 106 to 93 minutes. Equally striking improvements have followed electrification on the London-Chatham, via Swanley, and London-Maidstone East routes An interesting point about the coaches employed in the new electric services is the provision of duplicated periscopes, which allow of signals being observed by the guard when travelling in either direction These are called for because the width of the stock prevents the use of the usual side look-outs.
Freight traffic now commences to loom large on the Home railways. Last year the four groups conveyed some 254,496,000 tons of freight, equivalent to 52 tons per head of the population. The distance covered by goods trains in a year aggregates 133,440,000 miles, while the average length of haul equals 58 miles. Average net freight train load is between 120 and 130 tons, and the average revenue to the railways for hauling a ton of goods for a mile is approximately lid. Some 1,250,000 wagons are in service, and there are 6,908 goods stations throughout 50,555 miles of railway lines. The average wagon load of traffic at starting points is between 5 and 8 tons, but the largest railway wagon in service can carry a load of 150 tons, spread over 56 wheels; 50,000 special wagons have been built to carry particular types of traffic, and more than 45,000 railway vehicles are in use with capacities of 20 tons and over. The largest covered goods station in Britain—and incidentally in the world—is at Bristol (Temple Meads), and the biggest group of sorting sidings in the country is at Whitemoor, in Cambridgeshire, on the L. & N. E. system. Nearly 700 regular express freight trains run every 24 hours at speeds of 40 and 45 m.p.h. These, of course, are in addition to the ordinary freight trains and pickups. Railway cartage services have been extended to 10,367 parcel and goods motor vehicles, and there are also 11,163 railway horses and 24,823 railway horse-vehicles. Country lorr services connecting railway centres with outlying country districts are now operated from 2,822 stations, while there are in regular service 15,521 containers of all types. Container movement, it may be noted, has increased by no less than 41 per cent. compared with five years ago.
(Photo., courtesy French Railways).
The beautiful Are De Triomphe, Paris.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A typical Horse Parade at the Manawatu A. and P. Association's Show.
“When you stand on Mount Stewart, you are looking over the best million acres of grasslands in the world.” That remark was made to me, not by a local enthusiast, but by one of our leading agricultural and pastoral officials, who has travelled the whole world, and made the statement from his own personal observation.
I had been reading a history, an account of one of the early missionaries in the mid-Seventies, who travelled from Wanganui to Palmerston North. He stood on Mount Stewart and “viewed what he estimated to be one million acres of forest and wilderness.”
One of these days, some one will write in prose or poetry of fire and emotion, the epic of human devotion, relentless endeavour, and endless skill and scientific planning, that made possible this magical transformation.
The Manawatu Show, as the display window for this man-made paradise, has therefore grown naturally and inevitably. Its immediate hinterland contains nearly two million acres, but to-day it has taken on national importance, and amounts to a New Zealand exhibition. In fact, the great carnival of November, will be the primary industries’ complement of the vast Centennial Exhibition.
There are approximately a hundred Agricultural and Pastoral Shows in New Zealand. They fall loosely into three classes: the Spring Show, mainly devoted to pedigree stock and the general purposes of farming science; the Autumn Show, mainly dedicated to fat stock and kindred exhibits; and the Winter Show whose main objectives are displays of produce and the mechanical aids, household amenities, and the like, which provide New Zealand with the highest standard of general comfort and efficiency in all the farming communities of the world.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The departure of a special train from Palmerston North.
The Manawatu and West Coast Agricultural and Pastoral Association has forged to the front, and its dominating position will be conceded even by its nearest and greatest rivals. The 1939 Spring Show promises to be the “Greatest Yet,” in the truest possible sense of the words.
The Association was founded before 1886, so that “How are you going to the Show?” has been a saying for fiftythree years now. What an event it was!
Before the days of paved roads and motor cars, getting to the show for those off the railway lines was a matter of intensive planning.’ They made the wayside station somehow or other, for a report away back in 1900 mentions that 14,500 people patronised the special trains of that year.
All roads were crowded with gigs, traps, push bikes, and saddle horses–every conceivable form of locomotion being pressed into service.
The gayest train that ever steamed into Palmerston North was the “Show Special” that ran over the Manawatu Line when the State first took it over. That was the year when each engine bore in large lettering the name of its destination, but even then the orderly departure of the huge crowds required a triumph of organisation.
It would be interesting, if, by some miracle, some of those dusty and travel-stained holiday-makers of that time could return to see the spectacle afforded by the modern city of Palmerston North, and the spacious grounds and buildings of the Association.
I have before me the official schedule for the great Spring Show to be held on 2nd, 3rd and 4th November, 1939.
It is a fascinating document, promising an array of exhibits and attractions to satisfy everyone from the jaded city-miss to the earnest student of farming lore.
The ring competitions are always strong classes in the Manawatu carnival, and as New Zealand is a nation of horse-lovers, the stands and the whole concourse are always well filled. The jumping course is a steeplechase track in miniature, and the names of the stars of olden days will be recalled by thousands; the perfect equine, Pickpocket; the lovely prima donna, Duchess; the neat Tom Tit; the effortless Jumper, Gay Boy, and many others.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
A View of the business area of Palmerston North.
The Grand Parade, by the way, is on Friday, the middle day, at 3 p.m., so that everyone will have a chance to see the stock. This will probably be the most impressive “March Past” of the aristocracy of the animal world ever to take place in the Dominion.
The ring events are on all three days, and include such well-known competitions as the Rocket Cup for Champion Open Hunters, the Moutoa Cup for Ladies’ Hunters, and the breathless “Leaping Competition.” In this event, run on steeplechase lines, ladies may, and usually do, ride. Saturday will be in the nature of a Carnival Day, with special “Ring” events.
I am glad to see an entirely new item in the exhibition of thoroughbreds, “Special Progeny Classes,” in which there are prizes for the sons or daughters of four well-known local sires.
The general horse classes are comprehensive and are rich in prizes, but one competition is particularly interesting. This is the “School Team,” which comprises entries of three ponies belonging to children attending school. This always attracts large entries, and is the cause of excited treble cheers when the names of the winners are announced. The horse classes are always a feature of the Manawatu Show, for the district is no richer in horses than in enthusiasts who have endowed all these competitions with handsome prizes.
It is to be expected that in such a region as the Manawatu, the cattle should be notable. In any case, the competitors come from far and near, for a Manawatu award is a prize of prizes. Palmerston North, also, is the centre of a district whose varying configuration means that its lands graze a wide variety of cattle breeds. Calfrearing clubs are numerous, and real excitement is caused by the ingeniously planned calf-rearing competitions for young folk. There are, too, valuable prizes for the chilled beef classes.
The sheep entries comprise all the better-known breeds in New Zealand, and this year a new arrival in the shape of the Dorset Horn will be listed.
It is to be remembered that in the modern A. & P. Show, all the sheep cattle and utility horse exhibits are planned to assist in arriving at practical values.
The great Manawatu institution is administered by practical men whose tradition and scientific outlook are often of the third generation. It is not overpatriotic to claim that in this development of the Show, New Zealand leads the world.
On the other hand, the governors of the Manawatu Show realise that modern conditions have changed the whole nature of the Show as a panorama or holiday carnival. Spectacle is supreme. Nowadays, fresh thrills and novelty entertainment have to be provided for a world that has the radio, the speed car, satin-smooth roads, cinema at most corners, and in other mediums, the thousand-and-one complex means of amusement for eye and ear that have become commonplaces of our everyday life.
Thus the judging competitions and shearing contests for young farmers and the host of similar events have definite educative values, but they have to be supplemented by a range of attractions with general appeal.
A quick survey promises good things for next November. There is the Cavalcade of Transportation. There is to be also a Cavalcade of Progress. This ambitious spectacle will include Agriculture, Industry and Dress, and will be a panorama of the successive changes that have taken place since this vast district was wrested from the wilderness by our doughty forebears. The dress sections will be arranged in decades, in two sections, daytime, and evening raiment.
A procession is planned for the last day, Saturday, 4th November. Everyone familiar with an old family portrait album will know what genuine shocks and amusement come from this form of entertainment.
On the Oval, besides the horse events, there will be motor cycle chariot races, a thrilling and hair-raising form of modern speedway contests. There will also be the sheep dog exhibitions which are usually as exciting as the New Zealand Cup. For good measure there will be the gigantic dog show, run by the Manawatu Kennel Club, occupying two big halls, and this year promising a record array of canine thoroughbreds from far and near.
Farming, like so many other human activities, has become largely mechanised. The machinery display at the Manawatu Show is an Exhibition by itself. It is colossal, and every year new surprises are sprung. The New Zealand farmer leads the world not only in his standard of amenities and his use of up-to-date mechanisms, but in his understanding of their working. The farm worker of to-day not only understands the moods of a cow or horse; he has an intimate knowledge of the bad habits of a refractory valve, or the location of a short circuit. I think much of this skill with machines is derived from the necessary ingenuity required of everyone in our pioneer days.
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
Liberating racing pigeons at Otaki Railway Station, North Island.
The carnival side of the Show is bewildering in its variety. There are rows and rows of booths, tents, sideshows, and novelty devices for the youngsters. All the world seems to want to sell the Show patrons something, and wares of illimitable range are enticingly displayed for actual miles.
The Government has already appealed to organisations such as A. & P. Associations to “carry on” with the good work they are doing to help stimulate the maximum production of quality and quantity in our primary industries. This appeal is being wholeheartedly responded to by the Manawatu A. & P. Association.
On Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, 2nd, 3rd and 4th November, Palmerston North will be the venue of a Show which will make history. It will rank with the Centennial Exhibition, as a living pageant of the achievement of New Zealanders in this land so rich in treasures of clime, soil, keen brains and brave hearts.
When tobacco first made its appearance in China the populace became so fond of it that the reigning Emperor sternly forbade its use under penalty of death! He was doubtless a “nevertouch-it” and didn't approve of his subjects enjoying something he couldn't relish himself. Anti-tobaccoites are like that. But smoking is now so universal that were tobacco forbidden to-day the ban would certainly be ignored. A world without tobacco in the twentieth century is unthinkable! Everywhere the consumption of the weed is advancing by leaps and bounds. Here in New Zealand the principal demand is for the genuine “toasted” which combines the most exquisite flavour with the choicest bouquet, and what is practically immunity for the smoker—indulge he ever so freely. The toasting does it! The five brands of the real thing—Navy Cut No. 3 (Bulldog), Cut Plug No. 10 (Bullshead), Cavendish, Riverhead Gold and Desert Gold are in constant request. But there are two sorts of “toasted”—the genuine and the imitation. “A word to the wise will always suffice!”*
Among the extensive gallery of gentlemen adventurers, eccentric settlers and beloved vagabonds that illuminate the story of Otago's early development, Captain William Jackson Barry, runaway, drover, dealer, soldier, butcher, fish-merchant, mariner, politician, lecturer and author, presents perhaps the most picturesque portrait of a versatile pioneer of our province.
Born in England in 1819, Barry, at the age of ten, emigrated to Australia in the service of an English gentleman from whom he absconded in Sydney, to commence thirty years of hectic adventure with whales, sails, gales and trails. During three decades—roughly 1830 to 1860—he oscillated between California and Australia, experiencing always the inconstancy of Dame Fortune; tasting from time to time the magnificence and power of quickly accumulated riches which enabled him to indulge his wildest fancy. But wealth, so readily accumulated, was quickly dissipated with a prodigality symbolic of the colonial adventurer whose optimism always anticipated a future rosy with easy opportunities of fame and opulence.
During this period Barry was twice married. In the first instance, after displacing a suitor of some years’ standing, he was successful in “being courted and asked to name the day,” by the lady of his choice. Fortune could scarcely have been kinder; a capable wife with a substantial dowry of £1,000, 20,000 sheep, and a permanent job for Barry as manager of father's station at £400 per annum. For a few short weeks Barry lived in this Avalon until father's untimely death brought in its wake a most unpopular visitor—the mortgagee, who claimed the entire property in liquidation of a debt of £12,000. The blow was sufficient to precipitate the death of Mrs. Barry, and in 1849 our friend was a widower with shrivelled means and a young family for which to make provision.
Having found a kindly nurse to adopt his infant, with characteristic fortitude Barry set his face for the Golden Gate, fully confident of his ability to recoup his losses by some means to be determined upon in San Francisco. Upon arrival there he obtained work (as a slaughterman) with some Spaniards, but on receiving a month's pay he followed with feverish footsteps in the wake of the gold-seekers of Sacramento. A few months’ work brought fabulous wealth; then, Heigh Ho! for ‘Frisco again, to build an up-to-date hotel. This done, a health trip to Australia gave him an opportunity of providing, adequately, for his child, and on his return to the roaring life of California, he felt once more the desire for home comforts and decided to marry again.
“At this time,” says Barry, “I was courting a young woman who came from the States and was serving in the Eagle Hotel, a house I frequently visited. After a few preliminary visits I popped the question, was accepted, and we were married at once. My wife was a famous business woman and objected to any fuss; but I insisted on doing the thing in style, and invited about three hundred guests, and gave them a spread; which is doubtless remembered in Shasta to this day. It cost me about £500.”
(Rly. Publicity photo.)
The town of Cromwell, Central Otago, to which interesting reference is made in the accompanying article.
Prosperity seemed to attend the “Captain” at every new venture; initiative and pluck were receiving just reward in no mean manner. And who would grudge such a redoubtable person the appropriation of a title—he certainly was a “Captain of Industry.” For a time successful cattle-dealing was interspersed with sudden sorties on hostile Indian tribes until the startling announcement of the failure of Adams Bank brought our hero the considerable loss of some £12,500. A return to Sydney was decided upon and a realisation of assets brought in about £10,000. The duration of the voyage was a sufficient period of inactivity for the Captain, so that on reaching Australia he quickly plunged into horse-dealing and quartzmining (both at a loss) and followed on with the purchase and fitting-out of a whaling vessel to restore his financial status. The next seven years produced a series of set-backs, including the total loss of his whaling vessel and its rich cargo of oil.
So, in 1862, with the remains of his capital invested in horses, carts, harness and suitable accessories, we find the doughty warrior, accompanied by his wife and family, turning his back on Australia, where his fortunes had flutuated so wildly. After a pleasant passage of eight days the little party landed
Communities of gold-diggers are essentially nomadic in character, and regardless of immediate good fortune will surrender a bird in the hand for the thrills of anticipation that electrify every new rush. Thus Barry was soon following hundreds of miners from Waitahuna to the Dunstan. Strangely enough our versatile friend showed no enthusiasm for actual mining in this country; he depended rather on his business acumen to feather his nest, and by shrewd dealing in stock, and by butchering, he was able to maintain a comfortable income. Of course his every-day work-a-day existence was relieved not infrequently by incidents both humorous and hazardous, that could hardly have befallen anyone but the doughty “Captain.” Swimming the treacherous Clutha River with his clothes on his head, recrossing it, holding, the tail of a horse, were typical exploits which probably inspired the following lines by a contemporary author:
In 1864, William Jackson Barry, butcher, of the rapidly growing town of Cromwell, having outlived all opposition to gain a monopoly which he respected with reasonable charges, seemed at last really settled. At the end of the year the Cromwell bridge was finished and as part of the celebrations to mark the historic occasion, the local butcher roasted a bullock, whole, and dispensed it to the multitude. Champagne and other more potent liquors assisted in producing a veritable Bacchanalian uproar. “This bullock-roasting,” says Barry, “extended my connection and I found myself almost famous.”
(Thelma R. Kent, photo.).
The cairn built near the Mossburn-Kingston Road (shown on left) to commemorate the old goldminers of this Southland district.
In 1865 Cromwell's population was nearly five thousand and the want of local government became urgent. Three nominations for the office of Mayor were received, and the “Captain” was returned by an overwhelming majority. His supporters allowed their feelings to outweigh their judgment to such an extent that their victorious demonstration became an orgy of drunkenness. Cromwell's first mayor was certainly a man of adaptability to circumstances, and his term of office added quite a few highlights to his already brightly illumined career. He had occasion to visit Dunedin on private business and during his absence his council passed a vote of censure on him. Being apprised of this fact he made all haste upcountry to set his house in order. How he accomplished this is now history. Expelling any public from the council chamber he locked the door, put the key in his pocket, carried a vigorous offensive to those who failed to escape through the windows and restored a proper attitude among those who remained. The sequel to this upset was the appearance in court next day of the Mayor on a charge of assault. He was convicted and fined.
About this time Sir George Grey, who was making an inspection of the Otago goldfields, arrived at Cromwell. The “Old Colonial” rose to the occasion and made the visit of the Governor and his retinue an experience they would long remember. Indeed, as Sir George Grey himself averred, he had never been entertained by anyone as
In those spacious days of gold, with a chief magistrate of such versatility, Cromwell could not lag behind in the matter of public amenities. Hence the formation of a racing club, and in 1865 there was £800 to be run for at a meeting which lasted three days. Mayor Barry showed up in the triple capacity of owner, trainer and jockey, and managed to annex two stakes. In one race, a hurry-scurry, his tactics would hardly satisfy the stipendiary stewards of to-day. Having been thrown from one horse he leaped on another, cut out a certain amount of the course, and ran home second.
From this time onward the tide of fortune proved more often than not to be against our hero. Severe injuries to his son, followed in close succession by personal injury and the sudden death of Mrs. Barry, combined to make his life decidedly cheerless. Then information regarding a huge fortune left in his name took him to New South Wales; but proof of identity after fifty years seemed hemmed in with difficulties and the claimant returned to Otago in disgust.
With old age creeping on, the tough old colonist decided that his living must be earned in a less vigorous manner than of yore, and so, what better than to tell and sell such a romantic story! This brings us to the publication of his first book, “Up and Down, or Fifty Years’ Colonial Experience.” With the Mss. in hand the author set out for London under some sort of agreement with the Grey Government to lecture at Home with a view to encouraging immigration. Barry was always, “news.” His book was published by the help of influential people, over one hundred lectures were delivered and the lecturer was given particular prominence with regard to his visit to Portsea Prison to identify a claimant to the Tichborne estate. The London “Times,” referring to a conference to be held in Nottingham, stated, “Captain Barry, thrice Mayor of Cromwell, New Zealand … will give an outline of his interview with the Tichborne claimant in Portsea Prison.”
These lectures drained the “Captain's” resources and as the Government which had allowed his passage money had gone out of office, he would have some difficulty in securing reimbursement. Having arranged for his return, through Sir Julius Vogel, he ordered several hundred copies of his book and landed back in Otago—a bookseller. It was no trouble to market his books at 10/6 each, and he says: “I began to think writing books and selling them a good line.” He certainly did think so, for he apparently was of the opinion that miners held no monopoly over get-rich-quick schemes. Plunging into the book business he published two more volumes—three in all from his facile pen. These three books were:
“Up and Down” (1878) Sampson, Low, Marston, Searle and Rivington, London; “Past, Present, and Men of the Times” (1897), McKee and Co., Wellington, New Zealand; and “Glimpses of the Australian Colonies and New Zealand” (1903), Bretts, Auckland.
Now, if any reader cares for an evening's diversion, he might find an absorbing interest in trying to decide for the writer whether the last two publications contain ninety per cent., or just a little less, of the original Mss. The artful “Captain” must indeed have found writing a profitable enterprise if the later volumes were as well received as the first one. The first book is dedicated to Sir George Grey; the succeeding efforts to Sir Robert Stout. In all three the preface is identical, and chapter after chapter is repeated word for word with sometimes a slight alteration in the sequence of events to make some pretence at variation. In the last publication the appendix contains short biographical sketches of a few additional celebrities met in his later days. His literary ventures, therefore, viewed as a whole, savour somewhat of a new form of plagiarism.
(M. D. Mace, photo.)
An early morning scene in the beautiful Buller Gorge, South Island.
And so in his declining years this colourful colonist eked out a vagrant existence peddling his wares the length and breadth of the country or petitioning the Government for further sums of money in recognition of his services to the colony, until, in 1907, the Grim Reaper took his toll and another of those who “blazed the trail” crossed the Great Divi