Pioneering the Pumice
The Author at Sixty-two Years of Age
Pioneering the
PumicePumice
by
E. Earle Vaile
Whitcombe & Tombs LimitedChristchurch, Auckland, Wellington,
Dunedin, Invercargill,
London, Melbourne, Sydney
Dunedin, Invercargill,
London, Melbourne, Sydney
First published 1939
by Whitcombe & Tombs Limited
Christchurch, Auckland, Wellington, Dunedin, Invercargill London, Melbourne, Sydney
Copyright, All rights reserved
Dedication
This Work is Dedicated to the Memory of all Pioneers — all those who have
Foreword
“I speak that I do know and testify that I have seen”—John iii, 2.
For many years I have been urged to place on permanent record the history of “Broadlands” and of the beginning of things in the Pumice Area; and, in the firm belief that such a record will in the time to come hold an absorbing interest, I have consented to do so. Mr. Guthrie-Smith in his book Tutira very truly points out that the pioneering phase of the colonization of New Zealand is rapidly passing away and will be forgotten. The backblocks are vanishing. Railways and motor roads pierce the country in all directions. Sheep and cattle runs, farms and planted forests have completely changed the appearance and circumstances of even the remotest interior. It may well be that future generations will desire to know by what means and by what manner of men these results had been achieved.
In contemplating the first century of its occupation by civilized man, New Zealanders may well take pride in their achievement. When one visits ancient countries such as Italy and Palestine, and sees the sunny slopes of the mountains neatly terraced and enriched with soil carried thither he is moved to exclaim:
Here in New Zealand we seize a piece of primeval country whereon no work had been done since the very dawn of time, and in two or three years have it in pasture which rivals the work of centuries in other lands. Then, after a second ploughing and treatment, a result is shown which is the pride of this and the envy of all other countries. In grass-farming New Zealand really leads the world; but will she ever attain the gracious beauty and charm of dear old England? The Homeland has been cultivated, combed and brushed, and polished up for a thousand years. What will New Zealand be like in a thousand years? Perhaps more beautiful, more luxuriant, more diversified — unless indeed civilization shall have been torn to pieces from within. The barbarian is no longer a danger.
In the fairy stories of our childhood all the dragons and the giants have dwelt in distant lands, and the men of our race have gone forth to the uttermost corners of the earth to conquer and to tame them. And at long last they have reached Ultima Thule — the very antipodes. I am proud to have been given the opportunity of joining that band of adventurers, traders, missionaries, and settlers who have sought out and slain the monsters and prepared the waste places for future prosperity.
Throughout this book of mine I have endeavoured to enliven the toilsome tedium of recounting the struggles of those battling to extend the frontiers of civilization by what I have intended to be a vein of humour, and trust that I have to some extent succeeded.
Anyhow, whatever the faults of my work may be, it will have one outstanding merit—truth. In the strictest meaning of the word it is authentic.
I want here to acknowledge my indebtedness to my fellow frontiersmen, my predecessors and my neighbours; and to that great journal in which all Aucklanders take pride—the New Zealand Herald; to the late Frederick Carr Rollet, Agricultural Editor of the Auckland Weekly News—a man of very great vision; to other journals such as the Wellington Evening Post and the Waikato Times; and to a great number of helpful friends.
E. Earle Vaile.
December1939
Contents
Pioneering the Pumice
One Year from a State of Nature
The Land
“See the Land what it is”—Numbers xiii, 18.
It was truly a vast and wide open space that I called Broadlands: it occupied almost the exact centre of the North Island. On the west it was naturally fenced for about seventeen miles by the Waikato River, on the north-east by the Torepatutahi, a wide and deep creek about fifteen miles long and fordable at only one spot. The back or eastern boundary — unfortunately against Crown Land—was twenty-two miles long and straight, except for one angle, probably constituting the longest boundary of any freehold property in New Zealand. The south-west boundary was about ten miles long, included a part of Tauhara Mountain and ended up by the warm river issuing out of Rotokawa, named Parariki. The total length was sixty-four miles, so that, should the owner attempt a stroll round his boundary before breakfast, it would be tomorrow's breakfast at the earliest that he would enjoy.
Besides these boundary rivers the estate contained within its own area the following never-failing streams, many of them large enough to be called rivers: Rautawere, Onepu, Waikora, Waiehu, Waiakerewha, Paetataramoa and Pueto. These, with small tributaries and springs, caused Broadlands to be one of the best watered areas in all this land of running water-brooks.
Of the fifty-three thousand acres, at least half was quite flat, and it would be safe to say that ninety per cent. could be ploughed with a double-furrow plough, and the remainder with
See Glossary.
I was led into the purchase of Broadlands in the following way:
The late Mr.
However, when the news reached London, a storm arose. Beneficiaries remarked in no uncertain terms that the land had been a curse to them. Taxation was heavy, and the incursion of rabbits with its consequent great cost of control, was taking place. Very damaging reports on the character of the country had been received from other sources. Captain Steele, a well-known valuer, had reported that if he wanted to do a particular enemy a desperately bad turn, he would do his utmost to induce him to buy this land. One buyer had reported: “It wouldn't feed a grasshopper to the acre!”; another: “The only sign of life that I could find was dead bones!” The Lands and Survey Department and the Department of Agriculture had published
To this I made answer that, if the London folk knew more about the land than I did, the payment to me of a considerable number of guineas for my report would appear foolish; that anyhow I would back my opinion by adding twenty per cent. to the offer and taking the land myself. This was fully explained in a letter to London and an acceptance received by cable. Thus I became the owner of one of the largest freehold estates in New Zealand.
Not long after, a dispute having arisen about the inclusion of a piece of the land in my title, I had the block re-surveyed and in the process picked up one thousand three hundred acres. So my certificate read fifty-three thousand three hundred acres — very handsome: quite a slice of the earth's surface!
This small piece of land, subject matter of the dispute, was of no essential value or importance but for the fact that it lay right in front of my homestead. We called it “The Island” though it was connected with my land. Its Maori name was
Having commenced an action in the Supreme Court for the rectification of my certificate of title, I was approached by the Maori chief, saying: “We do not want to quarrel with you †
At 6 p.m. on the Sunday the debate was still proceeding when I rose to observe that they would get no more food; nor could they sleep in my house.
The head chief who had arranged the meeting did not attend it, being “Too busy” — doing nothing.
One of the minor
However, my solicitor rejected my beautiful document, saying “It should have been written in Maori, or else witnessed by a licensed interpreter of the first grade.” Going round later with such an interpreter, endeavouring to get the signatures confirmed, increased my education in dealing with Maori land, or rather provided me with education, for I had no previous experience of such transactions. The signatories refused confirmation, having evidently been advised to that end by the wily old chief.
I then had to set about procuring proxies and calling a meeting of “assembled owners” under the auspices of the Native Land Court. All went off splendidly. My motion was carried and the old chief defeated in his own †
A Creek in the Rough Country
X marks Spot where I found Moa Bones
Notice incursion of Manuka in Tussock Land
Manuka Scrub (in heavy frost)
Tussock Land: Manuka Taking Possession
(Well named “arundo conspicua”)
Proceedings were adjourned to facilitate a settlement which was effected by an increased payment to the chief. Then was it demonstrated that solicitors sometimes have brain-waves. Said my solicitor to me: “To cover all these expenses let us put in our amended certificate the bed of the backwater as well as Tahunatara.” When the application, with this in it, came before him the Registrar summoned me asking many questions, among others: “Is there any †flumen?” Having assured this dignitary that I had every reason for saying there was no current, he consented to the issue of the certificate: a really great win which ultimately compensated me for the expense of two assemblies of owners, and the multitudinous costs of Native Land Courts, lawyers, surveyors, valuers and the like.
I have related these experiences to give some idea of the intricacies, the expenses, and the delays of dealing in Native Lands and, in the hope that readers are interested and not too greatly wearied, I will relate the basis of the title to all this country, the above dispute having necessitated the digging-up of it. Well then:
It appears from proceedings before the Native Land Court, commencing in October, 1867, and terminating in April, 1882, that the original owners and occupiers of the country were a tribe called Ngatiruakopiri. These were annihilated by a chief of the Arawa called Tahu. He in turn was attacked and defeated by a ruffian named Rahu Rahu, who drove large numbers into a cave known by the simple and charming name of Ngatoroiwhakarei. Having gathered much firewood Rahu Rahu roasted these unfortunates to death—a proceeding which might readily be supposed to have facilitated the subsequent festival in celebration of the victory. The remainder of Tahu's folk retired into the fastnesses of the Urewera, whence they were ultimately permitted to return, and Rahu Rahu's son married the granddaughter of Tahu. Thus was the title made perfect.
I may remark that all native titles originate in murder and
Malleus Scotorum,” to prove by what rights they held their lands the Earl de Warrenne threw his sword on the table! As we now understand “title” — something recognized and guaranteed by a government clothed with necessary authority — there never was any Maori title to land. The only title was the power to drive off aggressors (who might appear at any instant) or himself to seize and to hold his neighbours' lands.
My title was of the best in the world — a very old land transfer freehold. Registration originated as far back as Volume XV. Search of the Native Land Court records reveals the fact that investigation of the Maori title occupied fifteen years so that no accusation can be laid against the Court for undue haste in its deliberations and decision.
From time to time that which a purchaser from the Crown gets for his money has been whittled away: water frontage, water power, minerals (including even stone) have been reserved. Indeed the Crown assumes much the same ground as a Maori who had sold land to a neighbour of mine. Shortly afterwards discovery of gold in it was reported, and our Maori friend shrewdly claimed that what he had sold was the surface — say six inches deep. The remainder of the depth to the centre of the earth was still his!
So much for the title. Now for the land:
The soil of the vast bulk of the estate was of a very light — almost discrete — nature from three to six inches in depth, quick to absorb moisture and very retentive of it. Work could proceed in all weathers — the land never baking hard, never
Pumice is the basis of all soils in this area. Through thousands of years this pumice has been decaying and disintegrating till now it has reached a state fertile, and bordering on fertile, ready for the hand of man to bring it into productivity. This condition is shown by the constant endeavour of the land to produce native bush. If fires could be kept out, the whole of the country would soon be clothed in our beautiful native forest: but as soon as the young trees appear some infernal fool starts a blaze and they are destroyed.
Not only is pumice the substance of all soils in the vast central plateau but it is the base of nearly all the most productive soils in the North Island. The single plain formed by the Waikato, Piako and Waihou rivers with their tributaries contains a better and a greater area of productive land than exists in the whole of the South Island. Then there are the Rangitaiki Plains, not so extensive but very fertile, and other areas at the estuaries of the rivers emptying into the Journal of Agriculture for February, 1917. The evil reputation assigned to pumice soil is merely the result of ignorance and prejudice.
I may here remark that, in my own small way, being unable to obtain in my garden at the foot of Mount Eden (on the north-east side) results in the least comparable to those obtained in my garden at Broadlands, I have brought down seven tons of pumice soil for the enrichment of my Auckland garden.
It can safely be said that the old preference for bush and swamp lands has passed away: open, easily ploughable land is coming — indeed has come —into its own. The spreading of
In it are located the greatest dairying concern: The New Zealand Co-operative Dairy Company; the greatest dairy centres: Matangi, Te Awamutu, Waitoa and others; the greatest butter factory: Waharoa; and the highest yielding grass farms in the world. And so it has also come about that the trade of the single port of Auckland exceeds that of all the ports in the South Island put together by no less than forty per cent.
Of the fifty-three thousand three hundred acres with which we are particularly concerned, the lower flats comprised about thirty thousand acres. These again were composed of a small fringe of rich swamp along the river, subject to steady and prolonged flooding; then the vast bulk raised from twenty to forty feet above the river level with a dark loam topsoil constituted of decomposed pumice and decayed vegetation. Under that, say,
On one occasion I came across an area that had been swept clear of pumice by a flood in the Pueto River, which exposed the old original surface of the country showing the old treestumps which must have existed before the great eruptions. There is much argument among geologists as to whether this fifty foot coating of pumice was imposed by direct ejection, by wind action, or by water carriage. The first is favoured by the fact that in many places there are great calcined tree-trunks in the pumice beds; but in others, as well as in the place just described, the timber is not even scorched. Probably all the means suggested were employed at different times to form the extensive flats now occupying the great valley of the Waikato.
The elevation of the lower flats in Broadlands is one thousand feet above sea-level. From these flats the country rises towards the west in some places by easy slopes, usually steeply, sometimes precipitously, and attains an additional height of three or four hundred feet. The vast bulk of the upper country is quite “easy,” though there are several gorges with steep rocky sides. In a very limited area the country is broken. One peak I named the Matterhorn. On these upper levels there is almost a complete absence of surface water. The vegetation, recently nearly all tussock, is now mostly tall †manuka. The underlying formation is rhyolite rock, covered with varying depths of pumice and soil of a quality not inferior to that of the bulk of the flats.
The earliest favourable reference which I have been able to find is contained in a paper by Messrs. J. A. Pond and
“It is evident that the Taupo soils are, on the whole, in a fertile condition. In potash they are all above Dr. Dyer's limit … In phosphoric acid half the samples are two to four times the limit and are higher than the Mount Eden soils … We have shown that the soil from these plains has the needed mineral constituents to produce grass in abundance.”
Deficiency of nitrogen is reported and suggestion is made for the use of leguminous plants to remedy this defect: also, for the use of native New Zealand grasses. Comment is made on the excellent capillarity of the soil when consolidated by the tramping of cattle. No remark is made on the content of humus, but I think it must have been deficient for advice is given for the growing and ploughing-in of lupins.
It appears that at this time some small experimental plots had been established near Rangitaiki, and chewings fescue, prairie grass, and white clover approved. These experiments were not, however, continued.
This report of Messrs. Pond and Maclaurin was the only source of encouragement open to me in the early days, save only the strong support of my good friend Mr. F. Carr Rollett, agricultural editor of the Auckland Weekly News. And there was my neighbour, Mr. Butcher, who cheered me up with the remark: “Your land will prove a good sinking fund!”
Many parts of the pumice area suffer from an absence of surface water, though probably it could be obtained at very moderate depths by boring. But Broadlands Estate is very fortunate, as I have shown, in possessing not only sixteen or seventeen miles frontage on to the Waikato River, but also many large streams of purest water in all parts. These take
The creeks on Broadlands possess an immense advantage in that they never flood. The Waikato, about October when the warm rains fall and the snows melt, will rise about four feet by a very gradual process of a few inches a day; while the smaller rivers do not vary a foot in the course of the year. This is most advantageous in many ways.
And what shall I say of the air? Freshest, purest, most invigorating in the world. How super-wonderful in the mornings and the evenings! Just like champagne — and infinitely cheaper!
The clearness of the air is well illustrated by the great distance it will carry the human voice. One morning I heard my Maoris talking loudly. I went over to see what was the matter, when I found that they were conversing with Maoris in a camp about two and a-half miles away. Of course this could be done only when the air is still and free from other sounds.
The climate is a delightful one in which to live: cooler than Auckland and with nippy frosts in the winter mornings. The record frost in the district is nineteen degrees—that is the
N.Z. Herald 8/1/38) — “The temperature in Venice has been below freezing point for forty-eight hours. Canals are frozen hard. Two men were frozen to death.” To freeze salt water takes thirty-two degrees of frost at the least. Frost only two degrees above the Waiotapu record has been registered at Riverhead near Auckland and the number of frosts occurring there is about equal to those at Waiotapu. The frost is usually off the ground by eight o'clock, but sometimes it lingers longer — though not so warmly welcome as Lucy!
In January of last year heavy snow fell in Sicily; ice so choked the mouth of the Danube as to cause floods; two hundred and fifty steamers were sheltering in Vienna from drift ice; temperature twenty-two degrees below zero; many main roads in Bavaria blocked with snow; alpine torrents frozen and waterfalls solidified into stalactites up to one hundred and twenty feet in length; temperature at Bucharest fourteen degrees below zero and sixteen people frozen to death within twenty-four hours. How would Taupo enjoy cold like this?
Three or four times (in twenty-eight years) I have known frost to continue throughout the day. The worst feature is the morning fog. At daybreak all may be clear, but a mist starts to rise off the river and gradually spreads, suffusing everything. This may hang around till nine, ten or even (rarely) midday. Twice I have known it to persist all day.
These fogs do not interfere in the least with agricultural work
Neighbouring Land Taken Up 1908
The Same Spot in 1938
A Neighbour's Home, 1908
The Same Spot in 1938
A Taiapa erected: lend cleared but not yet dug
A Start Made with Planting the Avenue
A great cry is often raised about summer frosts in the pumice country and it is true that I have known frost in every month in the calendar — but not in the same year. However, I have never known a frost during the five months November to March do any harm to pasture, though tender garden plants may suffer. October and April are also usually free from frost of a greater intensity than five degrees. Other districts highly valued have harder frosts. For instance at Christchurch between 10th and 22nd January, 1939, there were six frosts varying down to six and a-half degrees. I have known frost in the Hunua Ranges, Auckland, on Christmas Day. And we must remember the convenience of having these frosts to blame for the consequences of bad farming!
Those unacquainted with the beauties of the frost do not know what enchantment they have missed. The common geometrical cobweb set out in frost is a joy to the sight; a lump raised out of half-frozen water is decorated with flowers, fern leaves and diamonds: the very window panes are transformed to things of beauty, resplendent with crystalline tracery. Snow has fallen on only three occasions during my residence — light falls of about an inch, and all away in an hour or two. For New Zealand the climate is very calm. If there were a breath of wind these fogs and frosts would be dispersed. Many a time I have had to wait a week, and sometimes a fortnight, to get a breeze sufficient to carry a fire through scrub I desired to burn. Fierce gales are very rare.
In summer temperatures in the sun will rise as high as in Auckland, but the heat is not oppressive or enervating. The air is drier, slightly rarefied and much cleaner. Folk who have been browned in Auckland will get “burned” again, the sun's rays striking harder through the clearer air.
The result of my taking the rainfall daily over a period of twenty-five years shows the annual fall to have been on an average the veriest shade under forty inches. To be exact 39.875. The rain is remarkably well distributed, the fall for each month in the year being almost constant.
Sunsets are most gloriously radiant. The western sky becomes ablaze with scarlets, golds, greens, and the like, and this is often reflected in the eastern sky, so that truly the whole “Heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament sheweth His handiwork.” Shortly before setting, the sun will on certain occasions, throw a wonderful glow over the slope of the Kaingaroa, turning the whole countryside into burnished copper. A trifle later the western and southern hills fade out of sight in a noble mantle of royal purple.
At rather wide intervals the wondrous aurora lights up the sky with its brilliant colours and flashes. How often this really occurs one cannot tell, for no arrangement has yet been made for ringing a bell or for the issuing of any kind of invitation to these unique displays. Our Government, with its all-embracing powers, should remedy this! As things are, one might be sitting snugly by his fireside, or even snoring his sweetest, the while the most soul-stirring spectacles are “wasting their sweetness on the desert air.”
On the whole the climate is the healthiest in New Zealand — which means in the world — and is destined to produce a strong and vigorous race of men. The way lads from Auckland city eat is an astonishment to the cook. An elephant and a sack of potatoes disappear in no time! And don't the boys grow!
When Mr. McLeod, then Minister of Lands, visited Broadlands, he was compelled to admit the excellence of what he saw, but kept on referring to the superiority of his blue papa country. This induced the remark from me: “You and your blue papa are far too aristocratic for this country — ours is a working man's country.” And this is abundantly true. It is a country to be worked in small areas being ideal for family farming where all contribute their labour towards a comfortable income, pleasant surroundings, and an abundance of “All things requisite and necessary as well for the body as the soul.” Country such as this (and the Waikato) will produce more wealth and support a much more numerous and more vigorous population than the boasted blue papa.
On my land we discovered a thermal area with springs of all temperatures, from cold to boiling, fumaroles, boiling mud, and such like. The extent was not great and the “sights” not comparable with Wairakei; yet it was quite interesting to own even a small section of the hereafter and I felt “'Tis a poor thing but 'tis mine own.”
The Ohaki natives possess a wonderful great boiling pool with a beautiful lacework pattern round the edges — the most handsome pool in the whole thermal area. They have led the overflow into two useful baths in which the temperature can be controlled. It is a peculiar fact that a heavy southerly wind causes the water to fall below the outlet and the overflow ceases. When first I saw this I thought something was about to happen, but the Maoris assured me that there was nothing unusual about it. They also have a “champagne” pool (that is one which will effervesce when sand is thrown into it), numerous small cooking pools, and a beautiful sulphur cave.
Broadlands has often been called the sportsman's paradise. The duck-shooting was considered the best in New Zealand and was most conveniently situated, being close to the house. No wading through interminable swamps. There was also excellent shooting at hares and rabbits. The fishing was wonderful at first, but gradually diminished, due I think, to the †raupo being eaten out by my cattle. This raupo sheltered millions of frogs. The frogs supported the trout — and also birds, cats, rats, and the like. The bathing was good; hunting wild horses and cattle was great sport; so that, to those who had time for these diversions, Broadlands was truly “A happy hunting ground.”
In almost all parts of New Zealand the only natural assets are soil and climate: we all live on grass and the prophet Isaiah doubtless had this country in mind when he exclaimed “All flesh is grass.” But in the Waiotapu area there are some other resources. About ten miles from Broadlands there is a stream called Kerosene Creek. It yields small quantities of petroleum which used to be collected in bottles for rubbing on horses' sore shoulders and bullocks' necks, but modern transport develops no sores of that kind, only incurable ones in the necks of motorists, and of those who were not quick enough and are consequently now quite dead. From time to time attempts have been
Two Years from a State of Nature
Then there is the natural heat of the earth. This is put to practical purposes in both Italy and California, and the much greater supply in the Rotorua-Taupo country ought to be put to work.
To sum up the position: there is not one solitary acre of useless land in the whole pumice area.
The approach to my land was worse than bad, and of this I shall have something more to say in a chapter on transport. There were no roads to or through it.
The isolation was truly terrible. My nearest neighbour was six miles away, another nine miles; and then the only occupied building between my house and Rotorua was the Waiotapu Hotel, fourteen miles distant. To the east and south the nearest settlers were distant twentyfive miles, and to the west the Lord only knows how far one would have had to travel to find a white resident. There was a wandering population of Maoris from fifty to one hundred all told, living sometimes in one village, sometimes in another.
The nearest post or telephone office was at Waiotapu, fourteen miles from my house; the nearest school, church, public hall, doctor, chemist, blacksmith, and railway station at Rotorua thirty-three miles away; the nearest dairy factories (or even creameries) and stock sales at Cambridge and at Matamata, each nearly a hundred miles distant, so that it will be seen that my country lay in the centre of a vast and uninhabited area.
This then, was the condition of the country when I came to occupy my huge holding in June, 1907. When I add that the land was reported to be “stock sick” you may well exclaim that
Certain it is that all parts of New Zealand — especially in the North Island — have been brought into profit by the toil, the sweat, the tears, and the blood of the pioneers, and the great majority of them have died in disappointment, defeat and poverty. Even Hawkes Bay had to be “salted” with its thousands and tens of thousands of dead sheep. There is the old stock story of the station-holder who entered his house and threw himself on a couch exclaiming: “Thank God the last of the hoggets is dead!” No need for further work or worry!
And then the Waikato — now the most productive area in the Dominion. After the confiscation from the Maoris it was discovered that a match would clear hundreds of acres and a rough scatter of suitable seed would produce a luxuriant pasture — especially clovers. Land values boomed. But experience soon proved that this grass “ran out.” This circumstance, concurrent with a disastrous fall in the price of wheat, brought the Waikato right down, and for many years land there was unsaleable. Then someone discovered how wonderfully the land would grow turnips, and another the great improvement effected by topdressing with phosphatic fertilizers. When Messrs. Reynolds started the dairying industry things forged ahead and have never since looked back. But the real pioneers! I can; certify that the Waikato is strewn with broken hearts and broken fortunes. What happened to
One of the greatest difficulties with which I have had to contend from the beginning even until this present, is the same ignorant, uninformed prejudice from which the Waikato suffered for half a century. At one time buyers would almost heave a brick at you if you dared to suggest a farm in the Waikato. I sold freehold land fenced and in grass right against the Tamahere (now Matangi) Railway Station for two pounds per acre; Maungateparu at thirty shillings for the station, and nine shillings and sixpence per acre for unimproved land alongside, and so on. And Karaka!—Lots of land has been sold there at one shilling per acre, and I could tell of many large transactions at quite nominal values. It was the same with “the roadless north.” These prejudices have now been overcome — and so will the silly prejudice against pumice land.
In this connection I may relate that a party comprising the leading farmers of the Waikato, well experienced in the handling of similar country, having made a thorough investigation of the country between Rotorua and Taupo, published the following statement:
Waiotapu,
25th June, 1930.
25th June, 1930.
“We have formed the following decided opinions:
-
That this country comprises by far the largest area of land available in New Zealand for improvement and settlement in small areas.
-
That the land can readily be brought into good pasture by modern methods and manuring at a very moderate cost and in a remarkably short time, and is eminently suitable for dairying.
-
That for successful settlement a railway is absolutely necessary.”
Joseph Barugh, Chairman of Directors of Farmers' Co-operative Auctioneering Company, fifteen years; Chairman of Directors of the Auckland Farmers' Freezing Company, eleven years; one of the oldest and best known farmers in the Waikato.
Joseph Barugh
Daniel V. Bryant, one of the most successful farmers of the Waikato; Founder and Honorary Manager of Bryant Homes, for which upwards of three hundred cows are being milked.
Daniel V. Bryant
Dynes Fulton, J.P., Chairman of Directors of the * The New Zealand Co-operative Dairy Company is the largest dairying concern in the world.
Dynes Fulton, J.P.
Robert J. Glasgow, a Director of the New Zealand Co-operative Dairy Company, a successful farmer of Onewhero, for many years.
Robert J. Glasgow
F. E. Hughes, J.P., a Director of the New Zealand Co-operative Dairy Company, a successful farmer of Waharoa. Chairman of Hunga Hunga Drainage Board.
F. E. Hughes, J.P.
J. E. Makgill, Chairman of the Auckland Farmers' Freezing Co.; farming at Waiuku since a lad, and in the Waikato for the last twenty-two years. Has milked as many as six hundred cows.
J. E. Makgill
C. J. Parlane, General Manager of the New Zealand Co-operative Dairy Company.
C. J. Parlane
Stewart Reid, late M.P. for Waikato, a Director of the Farmers' Co-operative Auctioneering Company, and a successful farmer of Ngahinepouri, Waikato.
Stewart Reid
The Man
“Man is the measure of all things”—Protagoras .
In order fully to understand the development of any area it is helpful, indeed almost necessary, to have knowledge of the antecedents, career, and qualities of the man who undertook the job. Errors, follies, want of adequate funds and general bad management are often charged against the land, which is false accounting. It is said that he who never makes a mistake never makes anything else. That may be true enough in a way, but after all is but a poor palliation. My own life has shown far too many mistakes — but the greatest of them all was the first — being born too soon.
My grandfather,
My paternal grandmother, whose maiden name was Poole, was a most pious soul though her private diary showed that she had once committed a dreadful sin, repentance for which filled several pages. A fit of drowsiness had overtaken her in the Lord's house! Her great interest in the improvement of the Native race led her to establish a school at Rangiaowhia for the religious instruction of Maori girls. My father and one of his brothers took her in a canoe down the Manukau, over the Otaua portage, and up the Waikato River. There she worked in collaboration with the Reverend Mr. Morgan and
My father was
My mother's maiden name was
“They tell me” that I was born in
I regret to say that it is credibly reported that my father's first exclamation on beholding me was “What an ugly little beggar!” This so upset my mother that she became seriously ill and insomnia supervened which proved very intractable; but where the doctors failed, good old Father solved the difficulty by producing an old volume of sermons and reading them to Mother in a sanctimonious sing-song voice. Drowsiness soon overcame her — and as it was not in the Lord's House, no sin was committed! At the early age of three months I began my travels, for my parents had decided to return to New Zealand. We took passage to The City of Somerset, an auxiliary steamer — sailed when there was a favourable wind and steamed when there was none. From
Until I was eight years of age my education was undertaken by my mother. Then I interviewed the late Mr.
My mother sent me off to school one day early in February, 1878, decked out in a velveteen suit with large mother-of-pearl buttons, my hair beautifully curled, and my hands in kid gloves. My welcome was enthusiastic. The rude boys of that day had never seen anything so pretty and they hustled me along to a pool of muddy water in which they rolled me. When school assembled the master noticed that water was still dripping from my clothes and said:
“Are you wet, boy?” Already terrified half-way to death I said:
“Oh no, sir! I'm all right, sir!”
“Come here!” Having felt my clothes he roared: “Don't tell me such lies” and hit me a clout over the side of the head that knocked me half-way across the room.
“Go home!” ordered the master.
I fear that my first day at school was not an unqualified success — damaged clothes, a sore head, and a tearful mother. And whenever it was suggested that I should again make use of the pretty velveteen suit it was discovered that it could not be put on to me. It must have shrunk after the wetting!
I was nearly eight years at the Grammar School, mostly in Mr. Bourne's time as headmaster. Form masters I remember were Robertson, Tomlinson, “Newchie” Thompson, “Mary” Heighton, Kirby, Trevithick, “Jock” Anderson, McArthur, “Timmy” Sloman, and during the last two years
Education in those days was conducted on quite different lines from those at present in use. The master knew exactly where a boy's brains were located; and, if he hit him there with a rod of wood good and hard, he put a lot of knowledge into
I do not wish it supposed that all masters were like this — for instance, use of the cane by Mr. J. F. (Timmy) Sloman was rare, while Mr. Tomlinson did his utmost to bring us up as superior young men. More than half a century before the great exemplification of his theories he would say: “My boy, if you are only a bottle-washer be the best bottle-washer in the town”; and he always exhorted us to follow the noble example of Admiral Benbow. But most of the masters made much of the cane and the strap as means of instruction.
Well, anyhow I survived, went on through the forms of the school and spent the last three years in the two top classes. My only success was just before leaving, when I sat in October, 1885, for the Senior Civil Service examination (then very important) and was placed at the head of the list for the Colony. Shortly afterwards I sat for the Matriculation examination, and my name again appeared at the head of the list. There must have been some wise and discriminating examiners on those occasions!
At this time education in the Auckland Grammar School was definitely classical. Mr. Bourne was one of the school which considers Latin inflexions and Greek particles of the first importance in human affairs. As for myself I found the classics very difficult and I cursed the beastly adjectives each with its thirty-six inflexions according to case, gender and number, and the verbs were worse with their moods, tenses, persons, numbers, and their irregularities. My other lessons gave me no trouble, and perhaps the fact that Latin came hard to me was good for my mental training — mental gymnastics as they call it. As for Greek — I did very little. It was not in the curriculum, but good Mr. Bourne, distressed at the thought of our living in a world unenlightened by knowledge of that most expressive language, held an out-of-hours class. This I joined, not I must confess, out of a thirst for knowledge, but from the policy of pleasing the headmaster. I can remember a fair number of words yet — as for instance: Aristocracy —
Pacifism in those days was not in fashion: we went on the †para bellum theory and the school possessed a very efficient senior cadet corps. We were armed with sniders (quite accurate up to a hundred yards) and had a capitation grant. When finally we were disbanded this capitation had accumulated to a
During all this time I took part in the ordinary school sports — as they then were. It took me but a short while to drop the gentle ways of my good mother and become as great a little ruffian as the rest of them. “Kinga-seeny” was the great game and a rough one. Fighting was general — single combats, faction fights among boys of the school, fights with the Wellesley Street School (a district school but known as “Worthington's”).
But it was necessary to invent some original diversions, some “self-expression” stunts, of which I can still remember some three or four. One evening when I was about twelve, my parents being out, I went to the kitchen and indulged in original research into the theory and practice of combustion, with the result that I discovered that it was possible to hold a glowing ember between the teeth — if one breathed on it, and also held the tongue well out of the way. The light glowing through the cheeks showed up the bones and cast a ghastly and ghostly glamour over one's otherwise goodly countenance. I at once decided that so brilliant a discovery must be put to practical use. We were then living at “The Avenue,” Karangahape Road. The grounds comprised about three acres, but the frontage to the street was narrow and took the form of an avenue of trees ending with heavy wooden gates. Well then, I tied a sheet over my head and a chain on each foot and proceeded up to the gate before opening which I lit up. Soon a crowd collected, but I felt the ember going cold. So I shuffled out of sight and lit up again. Re-entering the avenue I found the crowd had followed me in but, on my reappearance they fled — all but one old chap, and I thought he meant to take to me with his stick: but, when I got within about a dozen yards, he ran for dear life. Standing in the gateway for about a minute the street was
“I wouldn't go down that Avenue of yours after dark for all the tea in China!”
“Why not?”
“There's a ghost there!”
“Ghosts be damned!: there's no such thing.”
“Don't tell me! I saw it with my own eyes!”
At about the same period I was walking down Grey Street on Guy Fawke's Day with my soul full of sin and my pockets full of crackers. In front of me was a pompous little old gentleman with his chest well out and his head well back. I sneaked up behind him and placed a lighted cracker with a double fuse in the rim of his “belltopper”. Then I became interested in a shop window. When the cracker went off the good old gentleman could not have done better — even if he had been struck by “Jack Johnson.” He danced a fandango and screamed “Murder!” With one or two others round about I rushed to his assistance and soon had the dear old chap partly persuaded that he was still alive and more or less restored to health. After a while he was able to “proceed under his own power.”
Some three years or so later I was walking down Nelson Street in the evening with a cousin about four years older than myself who was in work and had money — a very scarce commodity in those days. Through a partly open door we could see a man in bed. My cousin bet me ten shillings that I hadn't enough pluck to pull the bed-clothes off the man. Ten shillings! An immense sum! Having studied the position well I took up the bet. Carefully approaching the cottage in the shadow I suddenly burst in on the astonished man and tore the clothes off him and promptly retreated “according to plan.” Before I was well outside he up and at me, but was slightly delayed by
During most of this time the Newton Brass Band practised in a shed touching our boundary. An angle stop was off and the weatherboards curled up. Through these small openings one could watch the proceedings. One could also insert the end of a peashooter and when the trombone was in full blast give its player an “Indian shot” fair in the eye, which seemed to upset and excite him vastly. This performance, not too frequently repeated, was uniformly successful, and caused my wicked young soul much satisfaction.
I confess to these exploits merely to emphasize that, even if his mother is an angel, a boy must have a good deal of the devil in him if he is to succeed in after life.
At this period the only way of getting anywhere was to keep putting one foot in front of the other alternately, and it is certain that by such means one can get a long way in a long time. Several times I have done sixty miles in a day. To the west coast at Piha or Anawhata or the Lakes and back the same day was a favourite stroll.
Well, schooldays must end, and, in view of my success in the exams, I was offered a “top hole” billet in the Civil Service, but my father strongly held the opinion that when a man enters the Civil Service he becomes merely a part of a huge machine and leaves his brains on the doorstep. Consequently he would not let me follow it up and I got a job in the South British Insurance Company at £2 1s. 8d. a month and “find yourself” — an excellent salary for those days. Most boys worked for six months or a year without wages: others got five shillings a week. My year in the South British was the only easy time I
At the end of 1886 or the beginning of 1887 my father dealt a severe blow to the South British by withdrawing my valuable services (shortly afterwards the Company wrote down its capital!). He placed me in charge of the books of his firm — then Vaile and Douglas — at a salary of twelve shillings and sixpence per week. This does not look handsome in view of present-day salaries but it was a substantial advance to me and the position gave me importance. It was not long before I discovered that my father's partner had robbed him of every penny he possessed, and had also so foolishly invested trust funds that we felt we must restore them. To meet the position we had to borrow heavily at eight per cent., and paying the interest every half-year was a dreadful burden, for business then was really bad. The recent depression was nothing to it. In Auckland
Well, my job was to get our finances put in order as my father was devoting most of his time to public affairs. My father's partner was put out of the business but not prosecuted, and he got away with some of our best clients. By working twelve hours a day six days in the week I was enabled by the time I was thirty to have reduced these old debts to about £1000 and I ventured to take a trip round the world to celebrate the event. Not long after my return everything was squared up and all debts paid in full with interest added. Then came a period of prosperity — profits shown every year and reserves built up. The receipt of interest instead of the payment of it, was alone a wonderful relief — just as when in a sailing vessel one has been
Not long after this I paid my father (by now an old man) out of the business and admitted my brother to partnership. This occurred in 1902.
Business became very good and the responsibility and work of the control of it much increased. Though I never solicited business from anyone, so much was offered me that I was unable to handle it all with the personal care and attention that I considered clients were entitled to. I became a slave — though an unwilling slave — to money.
I had not taken a great part in public life though holding several semi-public positions. For long I was a member of the well-known Athenæum Society and for a period occupied the presidential chair, my successor being
In June, 1907, I bought the fifty-three thousand acres which I afterwards named Broadlands, and immediately started in to develop it on a large scale.
At the very end of 1908 I quitted the business and disappeared on to my estate. I was then just on forty years of age, stood five feet four inches, and weighed about nine stone. I was blessed with a hardy constitution and a superabundant energy and capacity for work.
At least one good lesson I had learned which was to stand me in good stead: if anything went wrong in my affairs never to blame anyone else until I had discovered wherein I myself had been at fault. That discovery made, I could discipline myself to correct it. But, as for the other fellow, he was probably hopeless and the attempt to correct him useless.
Such then had been the preparation for the great task which lay before me and such my qualifications for success — or failure. Be it noted that I had had no previous experience of farming. It was certainly a tremendous act of either courage or folly to pit these small resources against the vast forces of an untamed and untried wilderness. All my friends predicted that within two years at the most either the Official Assignee or two doctors would get hold of me. Let us “wait and see.”
My Predecessors and My Neighbours
“They helped everyone his neighbour”—Isaiah xli. 6.
I can conscientiously say that I have always done my very best to lend truth to our leading text, and in retrospect it is a great satisfaction to have done so.
But, anyhow, a pioneer cannot help benefiting others. The fact of his presence with the added facilities thereby induced is a benefit to all; and, as he cannot take his roads and bridges, his fences, his buildings and other improvements with him, they are left behind to the great advantage of his successors.
As far as I can ascertain the first European pioneer in this area was Major St. George. When I arrived the remains of his modest dwelling could still be seen on the banks of the Waikato on my block about four miles up the river from my homestead. It seems that he had no title, simply squatting there with the consent of the Maoris. He was killed in the
Messrs. Brown, of Tauranga, then put sheep on the country, also without title, but they were not successful the country not being suitable for the support of sheep in the winter without preparatory improvement.
Then came Messrs. Ross and Rankin, who bought five hundred acres freehold, now part of Reporoa soldier settlement,
The title of this five hundred acres is quite interesting. It issued on 17th February, 1885, to a highly adventurous and speculative gentleman —
The names of Messrs. Ross and Rankin do not appear on the title, but they erected a house with timber bought from Mr. Duncan Steele and carted out by Rangi Douglas, and they effected some other improvements on the five hundred acres. It seems that Ross and Rankin came to grief and Mr. Ned Douglas occupied the place until Mr. Butcher's appearance.
The history of the eight thousand four hundred acres is also interesting and illustrates what great sums can be made by those who emulate Solomon's lilies — “They toil not; neither do they spin” — but the poor hard-working man is never arrayed like one of these. The register shows that the title issued to a native, Niheta Kaipara. After passing through the hands of several well-known men — C. H. Osmond, E. T. Dufaur and H. W. Mitchell — the land was, in January, 1891, acquired by Colin Ross, described as “of Melbourne, farmer.” However, he seems to have displayed more ability as a financier than as a
About contemporaneously with these enterprises of Messrs. Ross and Rankin “The Bungalow” was erected by Mr. Frank Boyd Scott. This pioneer habitation was first built of timber about 1884 and burned down in 1894. Friendly Maoris came to the rescue and re-erected the premises in two buildings constructed of raupo. The larger of these in 1896 followed the fate
Ramayana. These good folk provided meals and accommodation and riding horses for travellers and tourists desirous of seeing the Waiotapu sights. These had been opened up by a native named Aporo Apiata after the Tarawera eruption (1886). The Bungalow, I may add, was situated on the little flat on the right hand side round the first sharp bend of the road as one rises the hill just past the junction of the Galatea Road. This hill is still called The Bungalow Hill.
Mr. Scott took a great interest in the development of the oil resources of Kerosene Creek, but nothing came of his efforts.
To return to our muttons: Mr. H. R. Butcher — the first permanent white settler between Rotorua and Taupo — bought the five hundred acres in June, 1896, at thirty-two shillings and sixpence per acre.
Perhaps I ought to mention that at the time of his purchase there was no road to Rotorua and indeed no access except by trespassing over Maori land. These Maoris at one time became very troublesome, but finally were brought to reason. Mr. Butcher named his purchase Strathmore (though he, like my humble self, was a mere Sassenach).
I would here remark the high proportion of Scotsmen among the pioneer immigrants to New Zealand. With the natural modesty of their race these good men and true have ascribed this fact to the conspicuous courage of their nation. When I have ventured to suggest as the real reason a great keenness to get away from Scotland my humble idea has not always met with the acceptance and applause to which I considered it entitled!
Reverting to Strathmore: Mr. Butcher placed in charge of it, first Mr. Robert Turpin, and then his third son Mr. William G. Butcher. Another son, Mr. Charles E. Butcher, occupied and farmed a part of the estate. The Messrs. Butcher, besides occupying the homestead originally erected by Messrs. Ross and Rankin, had established another homestead some three or four miles to the north and connected by a rather precarious road across soft swamp country only recently unwatered. They had erected bridges, made roads, put up fences, and, mainly by cleaning out the natural creeks, had run the surface water off thousands of acres. They had also made use of fire in clearing the scrub and swamp growth. These operations produced a considerable quantity of rough feed upon which they depastured about two thousand sheep, three hundred cattle and a great number of horses. They had established a wonderful orchard producing prodigious crops of the finest flavoured fruits. When the new road from Rotorua to Taupo via Waitopu was undertaken it was a wonderful improvement for Mr. Butcher and it also induced the establishment of the Waiotapu Hotel which was built in 1896 by Messrs. Steele Bros., of Rotorua, to the order of Mr. John Falloona at a total cost of £371 4s. One got more for his money in those days! Here for many years an excellent establishment was conducted by Mr. and Mrs. Falloona. It is of interest to remember that Mr. Falloona was one of those who escaped from the Tarawera eruption by taking refuge in
Mr. Hickey also leased some land from Mr. Butcher and conducted a farm in connection with the hotel. He has now given up the hotel and devotes himself exclusively to farming, at which he has proved more than ordinarily successful. The lease of the hotel site contained an option of renewal, but unfortunately the house was destroyed by fire in the very early morning of 22nd January, 1931, and the licence removed to a new location fronting the main Rotorua-Taupo Road in the township of Waiotapu. This “township” was originally laid out by the Waiariki (Rotorua) Maori Land Board, but no building had ever been erected on it.
The only other settler prior to my coming to the district was Mr. Robert Turpin (already mentioned). He had developed a carrying business between Rotorua and Taupo and bought two hundred and fifty acres at Orangikereru about half-way between. On this he erected a house and effected some improvements for the resting of his teams and generally for the purposes of his business. “Bob” Turpin was credited with some extraordinary feats of wagoning before there was a road in the area. At the time of my arrival this holding had been abandoned.
In the year 1899 a native school had been established at a place then called Wharepapa about twenty-four miles from Rotorua on the main Taupo Road, and now re-named Wharepaina. But it also had been closed. The first teacher was Mr. Frederick R. Wykes.
By this it will be seen that at the time of my purchase in 1907 the only occupied building between my country and Rotorua were the dwellings of Messrs. W. G. and C. E. Butcher and the Waiotapu Hotel. There were also derelict buildings at Mr. Turpin's property, and the Wharepapa School. Between Broadlands and Taupo were the Forty-mile Stables and Wairakei Hotel.
On the country which I bought no kind of improvement or settlement had been attempted but the owners derived a small revenue from grazing rights and flax royalties. Messrs. Gallagher, Rickett and Crowther had the grazing and ran considerable numbers of cattle on the country.
So much for the Waiotapu district. In other parts of the pumice country some attempts had been made at farming.
The first European to reside in the pumice area was a trader named Cabbage, engaged in exchanging goods for flax. This man established himself on Mokoia Island in Lake Rotorua in 1829. He was attacked by the Maoris and murdered and his goods stolen. Then came the missionaries. The Rev. Williams and Chapman first visited Rotorua in 1831, and in September, 1835, a mission station was established at Koutu, near by, under the charge of Mr. Chapman and Mr. Morgan. Within a year this station was sacked and burned by the Ngatihaua under Waharoa: but the intrepid missionaries returned and founded a new station at the Ngae in May, 1839. The first farmer was the Hon. Wm. Kelly, M.L.C., who worked the land now known as Sherriff's farm. Then there was Mr. Henry Kirk at the Ngae who killed meat for the residents. At Ngongotaha Mr. John
The first settlers, however, who attempted systematic farming on recognized lines were Messrs. H. M. and J. E. Martin, at Ngongotaha. Their success is well known. Another very early settler was Mr. Dalbeth, who farmed “Springfield.”
The earliest post office was established at the Ngae, Mr. Dansey being in charge. Afterwards both post office and postmaster were moved into Rotorua.
At the time of my arrival Mr. Wood was successfully improving and grazing about ten thousand acres: and, around Rerewhakaitu, Captain Mair and Mr. John Falloona were making good progress in the production of wool and mutton.
At Galatea, Mr. Troutbeck had been stockfarming on a block of twenty-two thousand acres which he bought from the natives about 1869. He raised great numbers of excellent horses. On Mr. Troutbeck's death in 1892, Mr. James Grant took over the management, until in 1914 he retired on to an independent holding of three thousand five hundred acres of his own. Adjoining this was another area of the same extent worked by Mr. R. H. Abbot, and afterwards by Captain Heays. Other very early settlers were the two Messrs. Wylie and Mr. A. R. Turnbull. The brothers Thomas and Joseph Wylie were both native schoolteachers from about 1890, and they both took up land from the Government on the west side of the Rangitaiki River. In 1906 Mr. Joseph Wylie sold out to Mr. Turnbull, who had formerly farmed some six thousand acres at Matahina: and Mr. Thomas sold to Mr. Grant. The oldest resident now living at Galatea is Mr. W. Bird, who arrived in 1886. At first the wool was carted out to the rail-head at Tarukenga in bullock wagons over country where neither road nor bridge existed. The wagons simply plunged over or through whatever came in
At Wairakei,
At Taupo there were no white residents prior to the
After this a considerable force was stationed at Opepe, but the men gradually drifted away leaving MacAulay, the Crowthers, the Rickits, the Gallaghers, and the Nobles in possession of the town of Taupo. MacAulay ran the coaches; Crowther kept the stables; Rickit had a store; Gallagher and Noble kept hotels; and they did not want their reign to be disturbed by newcomers. However, the attractions of the place have been too much for them. There are now hundreds of houses and the percentage of increase in population between the last two censuses was much higher in Taupo than in any other town in New Zealand. The “New Iniquities” have completely submerged the “Old Identities.” At the time of my arrival no attempt at farming had been made in or about Taupo, but large numbers of
The first butcher at Taupo during my time was a foreigner named George Wehringo. He also made the first attempt at farming in that locality. He would drive in his †buggy down to Broadlands, buy a beast, kill it there and cart the carcase home for the delectation of his customers; but I am told that as long ago as from 1883 to 1896, Mr. Joseph Crowther conducted a butchery at Taupo. The first hotel was the Taupo Hotel, owned by Mr. T. B. Noble. This was opened in 1876, and closed when the licence was removed (by stages) to the Spa. Not long after the Taupo Hotel, the Lake Hotel was opened by Mr. Joseph Gallagher. The well-known Terraces Hotel was conducted — when I first stayed there in 1898 — by Messrs. McKinley and Ross. It was said that they, though resident partners, never spoke to one another. Then there was Joshua's Spa, for many years without a licence. Other notabilities of the olden time were
At Runanga was Mr. Crawford with sixty-six thousand acres of impossible problems on his back. He made a brave battle and died fighting — though a deeply disappointed man. He was filled with enthusiastic ideas. As soon as he heard I had bought Broadlands he rushed in to suggest that I should join him in taking up all the land between the Waikato and the Rangitaiki rivers — about five hundred thousand acres. He pointed out that
On the opposite side of the Taupo-Napier Road were the Taharua and Loch Inver stations, both first held by a Mr. Cox. At the time of my arrival the former was owned by Mr. Henry Smith with Mr. Kirk as manager. The place carried about two thousand five hundred merino sheep, and was moderately successful. Mr. Smith sold to Mr. J. D. Macfarlane, who spent big money on a new homestead, felling bush, and sowing grass. He worked the capacity up to seven thousand sheep and five hundred cattle, but it has now deteriorated very seriously. I used to engage the Maori shearers for Taharua and they were greatly attracted by the abundance of eels and brown trout there. Loch Inver was leased from the Maoris by Messrs. Lane and Carswell. It carried about twelve thousand Cheviot sheep. When the lease expired the old holding of seventy-five thousand acres was cut into three, and Mr. Carswell was badly served in that he did not secure the renewal. Since his day the country has carried nothing. The homestead on Loch Inver is claimed to be the highest inhabited house in New Zealand. It was formerly the hotel at the Mohaka River so it has had a considerable rise in the world. A little further down the road was the Te Haroto Station, another Maori leasehold held by Mr. Anderson. It comprised one hundred and twenty-five thousand acres of very rough country, and carried twenty-five thousand merino sheep. When the lease fell in the Maoris resumed possession, and there is little or no stock on the country now.
All my predecessors had taken up picked areas of land — either swamp or bush — deemed to be superior to the vast expanse of just ordinary pumice soil. I think it will not be denied that I was the first to take up and methodically develop a large holding of country, constituting a fair sample of the millions of acres
As showing the straits to which a pioneer may be reduced I may perhaps here repeat a story told of one of the earliest settlers on the pumice. This good honest Scotsman, who would sooner starve than dodge his debts, had met with a major disaster soon after his start. He was so reduced that he felt he could afford to eat only porridge: and later he developed the idea that he would save time by cooking a kerosene tin full on Sundays. This would last the week. However, one Saturday he found his reserves had grown a beautiful green beard and he felt he could not swallow the stuff. Then he produced a bottle of whisky long preserved for some special necessity. Carefully drawing the cork he poured out a tot saying: “Old man eat your porridge and you shall have this drink of the real stuff.” Thus encouraged he got through his meal. Then he poured the whisky back into the bottle, saying: “Beat you that time old man”!!!
These constituted all the settlers within thirty-five miles of me when I took up my country. Others following on — and perhaps induced by my developments — were Messrs. Wilfred Stead and Edgar Watt, who bought twenty thousand acres of “Strathmore.” They also leased considerable areas, mostly swamp from the Maoris, and named their station Reporoa, which means “the long swamp.” They spent large sums on improvements, and finally sold to the Government for soldier settlement.
Among those on not quite so large a scale were: Mr. Richard Handcock, who took up three thousand acres; Mr. James Carswell, who took up two thousand acres at Wharepaina; Mr. W. J. Parsons, who took up the country now known as Guthrie and
The advent of the Reporoa soldier settlers in 1920 may be said to have terminated the pioneering period.
Perhaps it will be interesting to make mention of one or two local celebrities not strictly settlers or farmers.
In the earliest days of development the coach drivers were very important people and most of them were very obliging and helpful to the settlers.
One of the first drivers — if not actually the first — on the Broadlands route was Dick Mays. It was said that the more he was stimulated the better he drove — but, one day he dropped a woman passenger overboard and did not notice his loss until reaching Waiotapu. He was much annoyed at having to go back to retrieve the lady.
The earliest driver in my time was good old Jim Duncan. His coach was as reliable as a town clock. Jim knew every point on the road and the time he ought to be at that point — and he was there.
He also knew the depths of the principal holes and how to get across them without capsizing. Jim was wonderful at executing commissions. One would say: “Jim, bring me a pound of ‘Neckwarmer’ tea”; another: “Jim, bring me two tins of ‘Anchor’ tobacco”; or “Jim, what about a pound of ‘Capstan’ butter,” and so on. Whatever it was it came to hand all right on the return trip. As may be guessed, Jim was Scotch and came from Southland. He was much concerned about me and used to say: “I am very sorry for you Mr. Vaile. You are wasting your time and money. Fancy trying to grow turnips — especially
“Take this box Jim?”
“Right-ho!”
I made no move and our friend found a little difficulty in putting it up.
“Can't you give me a hand?”
“Easy,” I said, “but if you can't lift five turnips grown in this country you are not fit to drive the coach.”
After we had done about half-a-mile Jim turned round and said:
“Is it true, Mr. Vaile, that there are only five turnips in that box?”
“Quite true, Jim.”
“Are they a fair sample of the crop?”
“Oh! no, Jim,” I replied, “I picked the smallest so as not to break down your crimson coach.”
Another curious circumstance about the carriage of these exhibits was that the railway folk quoted first two shillings, and then two shillings and sixpence for carriage to Auckland. Afterwards they demanded a pound. This I refused to pay, and defied them to execute their threat to put the goods off the train as I held their receipt for the two shillings and sixpence. And yet people wonder why the railways don't pay.
Jim had a ready wit. Going in one day there were two tourist ladies on the box-seat. In a valley was a series of curious little mounds. One lady asked: “Oh, driver what are those funny little mounds?” Now, if Jim had truthfully answered “I don't know,” he would have been classed as an ignorant
After Jim came a big lump of a chap curiously miscalled “Sonny.” He was ruling the road when motors came in and he seemed to experience no great difficulty in changing over from the reins to the wheel — and there were some rough, heavy and greasy roads to be tackled.
Another interesting class, now entirely disappeared, was the hawkers. Chief of these was Joe Habib — a Persian or Syrian — “or something o' the kind.” He would blow in with his pair of horses and little caravan containing a wonderful variety of goods. Somehow he knew by instinct when I had paid out on a big contract. In he came and would fascinate the Maori ladies with his colourful and glittering goods. Of course this was in direct competition with my own warehouse, but I never turned him off — that would have been very bad manners in the eyes of the Maoris. And by the time Joe had collected his book debts I doubt not that the Maori had beaten the Pakeha. But are the Syrians and the Hindus Pakehas? That is a great question with the Maoris.
When I arrived in the district flaxmilling was an important industry. There were abundant supplies on Strathmore, and
Every Saturday night was the time for dancing. Very early on Sunday mornings was the time for war. A free fight was then usually in full swing.
The more or less Civil Service troubled us not at all in the early days — neither did they facilitate our operations. But after the War we managed to capture an independent postmistress. This was effected in part by myself and others subsidizing the office. This young lady retired and was replaced by a mere male. He again put in his resignation and we decided to advertise for a returned soldier. In due course he arrived, but unfortunately an old friend looked in to see him the next day, which happened to be a Saturday. So off they went to “enjoy the good things of physical life.” This led to their misjudging the position of a corner in Taupo and effecting a capsize. Sunday was given furiously to rain and when the revellers got back to the settlement on Monday morning the river was up over the bridge. Anticipating events a party of settlers was there to guide the new postmaster in. He was assured there was no real danger, but he had better remove his boots and roll up his pants. After lengthy efforts he succeeded with one leg and was persuaded that the other didn't matter. He entered the raging waters and struggled valiantly to near the centre of the submerged bridge. There his feet must have got chilled, for he turned round to rush back to safety. However his sense of direction was not perfect and he stepped over the edge of the bridge into the surging river whence he was rescued by the settlers. Subsequently this chap became our best postmaster partly because, whenever he misjudged his capacity, his capable wife took over the business.
Now we have a well-run post office and telephone bureau
In a developing district the residents and also the class of residents are always changing, but one thing always remains — hard work. The New Zealand farmer is one of the hardest working and most intelligent of his kind in the world: and, compared with other workers in New Zealand, he toils twice as hard and that for less than half the rewards. Here follows a slightly adapted epitaph which would be very appropriate for his tomb:
The Maoris
“Say nothing but the Truth” —II Chronicles xviii, 15.
[Note — This is not intended to be a treatise on the Maori race but merely a faithful record of the local Maoris as I found them.]
The
There is not much evidence of a Maori population resident upon Broadlands, but in several places there still exist ditches and banks indicating where their cultivations had been fenced off from wild pigs. Tahunatara used to yield great crops of potatoes and the large number of potato pits in the banks surrounding “The Island” provide proof of the former fertility of this plot of land. The Maoris say that in the olden time it was dry, but the growth of weeds in the bed of the Waikato and consequent silting up with drift pumice subjected it to floods and rendered it unsafe for crops.
I am told that two †
Here I may remark that the Maori can exist in health, and a carefree enjoyment, on food and under conditions that would prove fatal to a white man. One great factor is an unbounded faith in the morrow; it is almost sure to be as good as today — probably better. Why worry? He does not exhaust his energies fretting about the future. Moreover he has the useful ability to consume at one meal enough food to last him for two or three days. His dwelling (a camp with †taro, once important foods, no longer figure on his menu, but he still consumes
He must have sugar, flour, and tobacco — especially the last. He would sooner starve than give up his †“
When one enquires why the Maori does not continue the consumption of the healthy food of his ancestors the answer is: “The Pakeha †Meeting the Coach in the Old Days
Moving a Portable House
Huts Erected for Railway Navvies 1929
Afterwards RemovedSome of the Cuttings Made for the Abandoned Railway
Maori Woman with Baby
Temporary Maori Camp, Broadlands
(Vide Page Fifty-two)Ripeka in front of “Bush Flax” (
Maori Hut (note the pumice chimney) near Broadlands
As for his clothes: the Maori has completely given up his old native garments. He, or rather his wife, may weave an occasional one for show, but his daily raiment consists of European rags and sometimes a pair of well-worn boots. If at all possible he keeps a presentable suit of clothes for state occasions.
At first, except for the overseer, I employed only the local Maoris. The Maori has many advantages. He is good-natured and a gang of them is much less likely to develop ructions either among themselves or with “the boss” than a similar number of Pakehas. He is more biddable. He regards the boss as his intellectual superior and does not argue the point with him. For short spells — such as shearing or small contracts — he works with enthusiasm. His principal defect is his inability for continuous effort. After a few weeks of regular toil he must sit on the sunny and sheltered side of his whare — and it's no use trying to stop him.
It is a remarkable fact that, though his tools were so primitive and all his processes so laborious, the Maori enjoyed far more leisure than we do. One of his earliest observations was: “The Pakeha work, work, work all the time all the same the rat.”
Here is an actual example of Maori ways:
Hori was a young Maori I employed as a teamster in the early days — a lively lad and quite good with horses. One Thursday he came to me and asked for time off till Monday, to which I replied:
“Can't be done. You are already too far behind with your work.” But he pleaded very hard and I finally gave way, extracting a very firm promise from him to be back in time to take his team on Monday morning. Monday no Hori; Tuesday
“What do you mean by this?” I cried angrily. “Didn't you promise to return on Monday?”
“Well this Monday
“You're a waster!” I roared and gave him a real good tongue-thrashing. All the time Hori stood with a pleasantly suffering smile on his face as one thinking “All this is violent and bad, but I suppose the poor old boss can't help it.” When I had blown myself out and could not think of anything more to hurl at him of the same weight and order of merit as the language already used he simply said sweetly:
“You finish the †
What could I do but tell him to get to work and sin no more!
The Maori as a neighbour is a mistake. Get away from him if possible. He will not pay his share of fencing, though by legal processes the cost may be registered against the title of his land. It is unusual for him to pay his local rates, thus leaving the upkeep of roads and other public services as the exclusive privilege of the †Pakeha. His land breeds rabbits and wild, or semiwild, dogs. His live-stock hunger for your pastures — and who shall blame them? His mares produce foals resembling your stallion. Ragwort, blackberry and other noxious weeds flourish unchecked on “His own, his native land.” He is not subject to the same laws which rule the Pakeha; and, if you reason with him about his rabbits or his ragwort he makes answer: “The Pakeha bring these things: let the Pakeha take them away.”
The Maori as a helper is splendid. If he finds you in a difficulty he willingly exerts himself to assist you; indeed he often works better without reward than when receiving wages.
The Maori as a host is perfect. He gives his guest the very best that he has and takes the second best for himself. He endures the acid test of hospitality — he will go hungry himself in order that his guest may have plenty.
The Maori as a fighter displayed true wisdom. He never derided or decried his enemy. On the contrary he extolled him. If he should overcome such a warrior what a victory! On the other hand, should he be beaten, being overcome by a hero of such prowess would not be much disgrace.
A Maori has no sur— or family name. Rameka Uenuku simply means Rameka the son of Uenuku; Piripi Rameka means Philip the son of Rameka; Kiri Piripi means Kiri the son of Philip—and so on after the Jewish model. But it must be remembered that the name of a
The Maori usually sports about three names: one grand one for legal documents: another common one for workdays: and a European name for the purpose of availing himself of “costless credit.” Though he may not be able to explain the curious “A + B theorem” any better than the gallant Major Douglas and the prayerful Mr. Aberhart, he can teach either or both of them a thing or two about the practice of costless credit.
I remember a swell named Aomarama Matene te Wheturangi, taking a contract from me to dig a drain. When he came in to the station he was “the glass of fashion and the mould of form” On his job he was known as Tommy, and sported pants reduced to “shorts” and holes, and a time-expired singlet. He also possessed a straw hat in two parts. One day he wore the crown, and the next the brim. It is obvious that by these simple means the life of a hat is doubled. Another Maori always known and addressed as “Jumbo” had the grand official name of Hemopo Reremoana Takahia. Again a Maori will often change his name. Thus a friend of mine named Rapa was formerly named Tuiri. All this is very confusing.
It may likely interest the reader to follow the daily life of the ordinary Maori:
Born without trouble to his mother—the old-time Maori woman would produce her baby, wash it and put it to sleep and be back to her work in a few hours — the infant grows up, nearly always reared “on the breast.” At a very tender age it is introduced to indigestible foods and the
Growing up, the Maori boys and girls are taken in a 'bus to school and there provided with books, paper, and all necessaries and accessories for their complete education, plus medical and dental attention — and again entirely at the expense of the Pakeha taxpayer. The teachers of the native schools are a devoted lot of workers. They cleanse their pupils, heal them of their sores, and endeavour to instil European ideas of morality into them.
Discipline is a difficult problem. The Maoris themselves are very indulgent to children and seldom punish them. Cain was raised at the native school near Broadlands when the master thrashed a boy for holding immoral relations with a girl pupil on the way home from school. The boy's father was chairman of the school committee and almost half the pupils were from his family. He kicked up a great dust. He wouldn't mind his boy being beaten if he had done anything really wrong; but for a little thing like that, never! What authority had the schoolmaster outside the school premises? Was he censor morum
Having completed his schooling the Maori youngster returns to the parental †
The girls do not like leaving home, so they stay and help Mother to sit in the sunshine. It is unusual for unmarried girls to take a job: but, after marriage, they work alongside their husbands on contracts.
The Maoris marry young. The girl of about fifteen starts to sow her wild oats — much the same as a boy — though as a rule she does not keep it up so long. What is all right in a boy cannot be all wrong in a girl — a great conception before the age of contraceptives. Indeed they think us mad to bind ourselves for life to a person of whom we have had no knowledge. The fact that a Maori girl has had numerous partners does not damage her reputation. On the contrary it is proof of her attractions: and, on the husband's side, has he not proved himself the best man among the competitors for the lady's hand and heart?
Let me give you an actual instance. One of my employees had the honour of proving himself the best man in the opinion of Hine. He applied for her “hand” and went to live in her
“How the way you so †
“
But Hine knew!
And yet, though these experimental unions are always in progress, only once during my twenty-eight years' residence among the Maoris did I know of an ante-nuptial illegitimate child.
Prostitution for a money reward was practically unknown among the Maoris.
It must not be supposed that Maori marriage is entirely devoid of formality. When the young man and the maid have decided after their preliminary canters that they are suited to one another, they apply to the elders of the village for permission to marry. It must always be remembered that the Maoris are communists; the women belong to the tribe. One thing dear to the Maori is talk — everlasting talk. These discussions are often protracted. Meanwhile the young applicants are by no means restricted or inconvenienced. Nearly always the ultimate verdict is favourable; but occasionally it is adverse. In such case the young couple separate and no harm is done; or they may defy the elders and continue to live together — but they are not married. They are living in sin.
These proceedings which I have related apply to the common or plebeian Maori. With the
Infants are often betrothed by their parents and strictly guarded until marriage is consummated. Or a highly-bred eldest daughter may be declared a
In aristocratic weddings there is also much ceremony of delivery of the bride to her husband, formal visiting, feasting, present giving, and such like.
Post-nuptial chastity is much the same among the Maoris as with other folk; indeed in ancient times any breach of it was severely punished — sometimes by death. And for women the punishment called
Divorce seems deceptively simple. The dissatisfied husband takes his spouse to the door, applies his boot in the place provided by nature — and at one hit or kick, severs the holy bonds of matrimony. But let him beware of the law of †
Failure to produce children was a good cause of divorce and a reshuffle of the matrimonial cards. A great chief in the Taupo
The Maori takes a practical view of matrimony. One of my leading men had for long been concerned as to my condition. Being a bachelor I had always maintained a married couple in my house. My Maori came to me one day and, after some embarrassment, enquired:
“
“Of course I do; they wouldn't work without.”
“
And very true of the Colonial woman! By the way, Maoris usually refer to a woman as “it” — mainly, I think, because of a difficulty in pronouncing “she.”
I am reminded of the remark that a rich man must employ a valet, a laundress, a secretary, a cook and a housekeeper, while a poor man just gets married.
Another old Maori friend [this was during the Great War] looked long and steadfastly at me and remarked:
“Whale, you the bad man.”
“What's the matter now?” I asked.
“How the way you never get the †
Quite candid! These two stories will show the great anxiety caused to my Maori friends by my wretched bachelor condition.
Having now conducted our Maori youth through the intricacies and dangers of matrimony, we find that as a husband he is anxious to provide his wife and family with sustenance. He is very fond of his children and takes more than a full share in the care of them. If he should have no children of his own he
Hereford Calves 1927
Four to Six Months Old. The top rail of the yard is six feet high.Bullocks Fattening 1928
Hereford Heifors Two and a-half Years Old Bre on Broadlands 1929
Two-Year Friesian Heifers Bred on Reporoa 1928
The Cheering Crowds are, like Good Times, “Just Around the Corner”
Well, having reared his family, he finds himself approaching old age and depreciating in value. If he lives to be really old and feeble he simply is not wanted — unless, indeed, of recent years, he has managed to secure one of the innumerable pensions granted by a soft-hearted, soft-headed Government as a reward for failure. But I presume the purchase of votes is necessary to maintain one's own position — a dreadful, indeed fatal, feature of a democracy based on the radically essential lie that all men are equal. Formerly, and now if devoid of such outside financial support, the old are regarded as useless and not worthy of either food or care.
When I came to Broadlands there lived near by an old Maori named
Then there was Ripeka, a fine old woman, whose chief pride was that, as a young girl, she had shouldered a gun in the defence of Orakau against our troops. She was the grandmother of half the local tribe. Yet she was most shamefully neglected. Her own grandchildren would say: “That old woman no good,
Whenever she came across to Broadlands I did what I could to help her. The housekeeper had standing orders to see that she always had as much as she could eat. And, until I found that they were promptly stolen from her, I supplied her with clothes. One day as I passed her having a meal in my kitchen, the poor old thing stretched forth her hand and stroked me, at the same time expressing her deep regret that she was not of an age suitable to rewarding me for my kindnesses in the manner available to all ladies. This fine old woman would have been treated the same as
And so to burial:
A
Nor do they forget to eat: bullocks, pigs and sheep disappear in quantities; the huge piles of potatoes melt away; the food is
Visitors are welcomed with a loudness of acclaim and an elaboration of ceremony appropriate to their importance. Gentlemanly visitors place something on the coffin as a contribution to the expenses of the funeral.
Talking of funerals reminds me of the death and burial of an old and wealthy Maori neighbour. He owned a lot of land and about a thousand sheep, besides cattle and horses and pigs, and was supposed to have £1,000 in the bank. A regular Crœsus! Let it be understood then, that a Maori woman has no claim on her husband's property. If he dies she just goes back to her own blood-relatives. Consequently when our old friend was evidently nearing the end of his earthly career his wife persuaded, cajoled or bullied him into making a will in her favour. When the dying man's blood-relatives heard of this they were naturally furious and did their damnedest to make him cancel it. So it came to pass that the wife desired his arrival at the pearly gates before he had time to change his mind, while the relatives desired time for his repentance and reversion to ancient Maori custom. Anyhow the wife won, and as widow rewarded him with a splendid
The Maori still retains many of his old beliefs. He still has faith in †
A woman at Ohaki was sick unto death. It was deemed certain that she would pass away in a day or two. The
“To the Father, Son and Holy Ghost and their true angels, to their and our mouthpiece also, send health to my wife. Grievous is her affliction.” And again:
“Glorify the Lord's most highest and His holy angels. Honour the †Mangai. Amen. Wife improving in most conditions cough temperature weak of heart and weakness remains.” And:
“Give praise and glory to the Gods — Father, Son and Holy Ghost and to their true angels. Glory also to their mouthpiece. Amen. My wife is improved in health.”
Perhaps I should explain that Ratana appointed himself the Mangai or mouthpiece of God. He magnified the importance of angels so as to differentiate his religion from the older-established Christian sects. Anyhow the lady kept alive for a fortnight, by which time the assembled mourners had consumed all the food. Consequently she had a very meagre
When I first went to Broadlands there still lived one of the real old
Towards his last days this old magician announced, amid concealed rejoicings, that his body and his soul would part company that day week at 5 p.m.; and he died to time like a true
Maoris who had assembled to witness his death disputed violently as to whether his soul had been seen to leave his body, and they came to me about it; so I said to the leader of those who had seen the spirit:
“In what manner did he appear?; was he clothed or naked?” After a little hesitation:
“Oh! clothed the same as always.”
“Then,” I said, “I cannot believe it. It might be possible that a man's spirit would assume the shape of his body, but it seems impossible that his pants and his coat would possess a soul to fly away to Heaven.” This conclusion then prevailed.
Parties of Maoris from all over the North Island continued to arrive to
Definite knowledge of the powers of the old time
About four miles from Rotorua on the road to Taupo, there used to stand a large dead willow tree, and the Maoris claimed that
The
We do know that their supreme deity was lo, a name so sacred that if pronounced by a common man fatal results would ensue.
Their mythology is rich in poetic sentiment and beauty of imagination. Some claim it to be equal to that of the Greeks. To this I can hardly agree, but certain it is that many of their myths have a strange resemblance to the Grecian myths — their account of the Creation out of chaos and the separation of earth and sky is not unlike the Greek; but Tane's method of separation of †
The Maoris' ideas of Christianity are really very vague, but they have definite superstitions. For instance they have distinctly stronger objections to starting work on a Friday than on other days.
The Maori still rather more than half believes in †
In like manner a Maori on my place was afflicted by a rat which flourished on his flour. Having contrived to capture the rodent he ate it, remarking that he was getting his flour back!
The other great and living
Lesser
A large fish which spent its life swimming between the Waikato River and the boiling pool at Ohaki. How it managed to avoid being cooked is a mystery. Then there was another
And, again:
My friend and neighbour Mr. Butcher was honoured with the presence of a
Out in the wilderness strange things sometimes happen. One night Mr. Butcher was riding home across the plains from Galatea. It was pitch dark, when suddenly he saw a bright light dodging about among the tussocks. He tried to capture it or get a close-up view but it always avoided him. Putting his spurs into his unwilling steed he galloped straight at it and jumped off the horse quick and lively, but the thing had disappeared. Some contended that this apparition was the result of the want of water, but Mr. Butcher was quite serious about it.
Then there were
“That all right the Pakeha, but he get us!” was all the response: and these men walked three miles on a roundabout route to avoid the death lurking among those trees. Most Maoris
To any wishing to pursue these studies I can recommend the works of
The Maoris consider the Pakeha capable of any achievement. The invention of the aeroplane left them cold. Just the sort of thing the Pakeha would do!; but sometimes simple little things will fill them with wonder. When they saw me press-copy a letter and beheld the perfect image made in a moment, they were dumbfounded. They enquired what magic I had used and refused to believe that the only medium was common water. When I erected my shearing machines — the first within about a hundred miles — there was a numerous assembly to witness the great event of the first shearing. None of them had seen an oilengine. One followed me into the engine-room. After studying the engine for a while he asked:
“What make that thing go, †
“He got the †
“
“All right,” I said and got him to put his finger on the spark-ing plug. When the innocent looking piece of metal bit him good and hard he let out one yell and I did not see him stop running.
The natives are quite good mechanics, however, and they soon got to know as much about the machines as I did — perhaps more.
The Maori is rather a fascinating person, and he is a man. He may not be treated as a slave or as a dog. You get quite fond of your native neighbours, and they get to look upon you
The Maori is a happy, care-free, humorous being, ready at a moment's notice to sit in the sunshine out of the wind, and yarn and joke with his friends. He also loves to linger awhile beside the milestones of the past. Titaka was one of these. A great fellow standing six feet two and weighing sixteen stone. I had fitted him out with a wagon and team to do my carting. In those days there was complete freedom of the King's high-way, and competition was still regarded as the soul of business. For awhile Titaka had done well; but, the ladies becoming more fascinating than horses, he had neglected his job and there was a great accumulation of goods in Rotorua. I reprimanded him in the strongest terms. Then did Titaka get his friend Big Harry to bring a load out at the same time and they arrived together. I went over to the shed to tally the goods and took off my coat.
“How the way you take your coat off, boss?” enquired Titaka.
“I'll have two or three rounds with you, Titaka, if you don't get on with your work better.”
Then the other giant, grinning all over his face, looked down at me and remarked:
“And if you no kill him you let him go.” I should think so! Maori jocularity, like the Irish, is often dependent for its
The Maoris have expressions curious to us:
Ҡ
A Maori butcher having come to me for fat sheep, I enquired why he was not buying from his usual source of supply. He replied: “
There was a tattoo artist over at the †
“You rascal, you know the man charges only fifteen shillings.”
“Oh, well
Rather a reversal of our usual ideas of credit!
Here I may remark that the Maori is a past-master at getting into debt. Many a time I have made up my mind not to allow a certain Maori to get on to my books, but he'd get there “by hook or by crook.” They are very cunning, and a great advantage they possess is having all day to think out their little schemes. I imagine the Maori has two objects. In the first place it is not respectable not to be well into debt. Such a condition
“How the way I never see you the long time before?” indicates that your friend does not understand how it comes about that he has not seen you of late.
The Maori always uses the word “never” instead of “no” to indicate the negative; and he pronounces “V” as “W.” So I was called Whale (— or was it Wail?) not because I was a remarkably big fish and certainly not because I gave cause to be regarded as a direct descendant of the late lamented and lamentable Jeremiah, but simply because of inability to pronounce a V.
And the Maori often duplicates his expressions — as: “twice times” for our simple “twice.” On one occasion after passing another car my Maori companion thrust his head out of the window and remarked: “He still follow yet.” “Can't able,” to denote inability, is another curious Maori expression. For instance an enquiry as to liquidation of a debt is answered: “I can't able,
But sometimes the Maori is more accurate than ourselves. Were I overloading a wagon, a Pakeha would say: “I don't think those horses can pull that load,” but a Maori would not plead guilty to the condition of mental vacuity indicated by “don't think.” He would express himself: “I think those horses cannot pull that load.” One time a Maori I sent with a message to Mr. Butcher returned without an answer.
“Didn't you see Mr. Butcher?” I enquired; to which the Maori answered:
“Yes.”
“Then why the blue blazes didn't you bring an answer?”
“But I never see him.”
“You said just now that you did see him.”
“You mistake,
Again the Maori (once more resembling the Irish) draws a distinction between tea and the decoction from it. In the store he will ask for a pound of “dry tea” or a pound of “tea leaves.”
Sometimes the Maori is business-like enough, as when a young Maori repeated the usual enquiry why I wasn't married, and I answered:
“Can't get it,
“You give me the full packet date, I get you the
The Maori, though a communist, is often quite capable of regarding his own individual interest. As when I met Harehare, a prominent chief of Urewera, in Wellington:
“Hullo! Harry,” I said, “what you do here?”
“I sell my land Herry.” (Mr. Herries was Native Minister at the time).
“What you get
“Juss about £400.”
“You don't mean to tell me that you have sold that beautiful land for only £400?”
“Oh, well
My Maoris had the most extravagant idea of my wealth. This arose from an innocent business arrangement. In Auckland I banked with the Bank of New South Wales; but as it then had no branch in Rotorua, I opened an account with the Bank of New Zealand there. This gave the Maoris the great idea that I was so immensely wealthy that it took two banks to hold my money!
Only once, as far as I am aware, was my cheque challenged. A strange Maori had cut out his contract, and I started to write a cheque when he objected.
“All right,” I said, “I'll send in to Rotorua and get cash.”
“I can't able wait,” he replied.
“Well then,” I remarked, “it's the cheque or nothing, I have no cash.” So he accepted the cheque remarking:
“Now I †
“No you won't,” I replied; “you'll see if the bank has any pluck.” But the joke was wasted on him.
In a general way the Maori has no idea of business, as the following will show:
Wharerangi (sky-house) was the local carpenter: the proud possessor of a saw of sorts, a chisel with an edge closely related
Unfortunately, however, he managed to dispose of the lands of his ancestors to the tune of £800. With this he started the old game of “the big
“You infernal old fool — don't waste all your money — get out of this and put what is left in the bank”; and I hurried him away to Rotorua. Arrived there he strengthened the Bank of New Zealand with his deposit and then evidently exclaimed with Marshal McMahon: “
Going thither in about a week's time I searched out my friend, and found him in an auction mart, seated in an easy chair in the front row, and exhibiting only the very slightest signs of sobriety. He was on the point of becoming the possessor of a piano, when I stopped the proceedings, dragged him out and hunted him off home. Returning a couple of days later I halted at the half-way house for lunch. Up rushed my friend Wharerangi flourishing a cheque book with a few unused forms in it:
“You the bad man
I found he had been putting in considerable overtime at the bar of the house, shouting not only beer, but cheques on the rotten
So he had to return to toil and I gave him the job of building a bridge: and against the job I supplied considerable stores in
“Wharerangi is engaged in an interesting billiard tournament, but hopes to be able to come in a day or two.”
Consequently I got to work with my own men, and by the end of ten days when Wharerangi and his men arrived, the work was nearly finished. But the stores were outstanding!
Later I offered him another job — to alter my store; and, to get ready, I shifted the stock out. Again no appearance, so I “bucked in” and did the job myself. A few days later along happens Wharerangi. Entering the store he exclaimed:
Ҡ
In my pride and neglect of grammar I exclaimed: “Me.”
And so things drifted for about eighteen months when, meeting the old chap, I said:
“Look here, Rangi, if you don't pay for those stores I'll have to take out a summons.” Then was it that he uttered the fatal words so often quoted by Douglas Credit Socialists:
“I got no money.”
Consequently it was agreed that I should give him work, and I said:
“Be sure to come on Monday morning.” He solemnly promised.
Monday, no Wharerangi — Tuesday, no Wharerangi — Wednesday, he arrived.
“Look here, Rangi, what do you mean by it? You promised faithfully to be here on Monday morning. You're a waster.”
“You mishtake,
“Quite likely,” I said; “you're champions to waste time.”
“You mishtake: we have the big bishness: we get a hundred pounds.”
“What on earth are you going to do with it?” I enquired.
“We make the bank all the same the Pakeha lend the money the Maori.”
“My oath!” I exclaimed, “and what security are you going to get?”
“Must be the good man,
“And what interest will you charge?”
“Three shillings in the pound the month.”
“You infernal usurers,” I gasped; “you'll get put in gaol.”
“We have the long talk that way,
“You are wrong by only two letters,” I replied; “the money will go quick.”
Next day the head of the tribe was over to help me with sheep work when I said:
“Rapa, old chap, is it true that you are chairman of the Ohaki Bank?”
“
“Well, look here, my men want to get that £100,” I said.
“By gorry. I bury him all the same the dead man. Your men never find him,” was his convincing but disappointing answer.
The history of the Ohaki Maori Banking Company, very Limited, was brief. Business proceeded merrily for a month, by which time £60 had been lent out to various members of the tribe. No penny of it, either principal or interest, has ever been paid back. The remaining £40 was deposited in the Post Office Savings Bank at three and three-quarter per cent, per annum and has long since been spent in enjoyable entertainments reflecting great credit on the tribe.
And so another experiment in banking for the benefit of the people failed. Doubtless those wicked “German-Jew financiers
I may here mention that the Maoris are usually too proud to accept pennies in change. They leave those large coins of small value behind — perhaps as a protest against the waste of useful copper.
It may be of interest to follow the little life stories of some of my Maori neighbours to give the reader an idea of how they live from day to day.
Let me start with my friend Rapa — as honest a man as ever lived and benevolent and kindly to all around him. He was my head-workman and with him on the job I needed not to worry. Not only would he do his work well, but he would see that the others did theirs. He had been married before, and, his wife having borne him no children, a re-shuffle of mates had been arranged; but he had no greater success. However, he and the new wife rubbed along together happily enough until she became seriously ill and Rapa sent her off to Ratana to be cured. The †
“You're surely not going to give all that money to the rascally truck owner?” I asked.
“I promise him that money.”
“You send him over to me. I'll deal with him.”
To which Rapa replied:
“I can't do that thing
An honest man! At the time of Rapa's own death he still owed me £15. Calling me to his side he expressed his regret. I assured him it did not matter at all. Summoning a young relative, Rapa described to him a certain horse and ordered him to deliver it at Broadlands in satisfaction of the debt, and so he died happy. On his grave I had erected a stone whereon is inscribed: “Here lies an honest man.”
Tuwhaia was a very blue-blooded young native, working for me off-and-on when it suited him. He had passed the age at which Maoris usually marry, and his folk began to press him to take a wife to his bosom. In response to these suggestions he displayed no enthusiasm, merely remarking: “You find it. I try it.” His relatives having found a suitable young lady, the betrothal was announced and a great wedding planned. Some members of the tribe went as far afield as Napier to procure raiment suitable for the occasion. My Maoris were all awaiting the signal to proceed to Tokaanu to participate in the festivities when a shocking damper arrived over my 'phone: “Wedding finish — can't find it — don't bother.” It seems that the bride-to-be resented neglect by her prospective husband and had cleared out.
Pupuri arrived in our midst, a kindly-natured, good-looking, strong and upstanding girl; and she had land yielding her a fair rental, but she had one drawback — a half-caste child. She looked after it well and carried in about everywhere — she refrained from visiting the sins of the parents on the child. She said she did not know who the father was! — and the child,
As for poor Wahanui: the elders found him another
Hono was a young man working for me, and in the fullness of time his young wife was ready to add her mite (not a widow's mite!) to the local tribe. She had been taken to Rotorua to go through her first ordeal of motherhood. Hono became very anxious and obtained leave to go in to Rotorua to see the happy event over. However, there was unanticipated delay and he returned. The housekeeper, being well aware of the purpose of his absence, welcomed him by exclaiming:
“Oh, Hono, I'm so glad. I hear you've got a dear little baby.” Hono looked extremely sheepish and muttered:
“I get him all right, but he never come out yet!” Which simple statement seemed to knock the housekeeper right back.
I am here reminded of early experiences, when Maoris would come over the river to announce the imminent arrival of a new member of the tribe, and to impress upon me the great benefit to the expectant mother of suitable stimulant. As a result I usually gave them a stiff nip of whisky. But when I discovered that the men usually drank the whisky themselves to help their wives through their trouble, I gave up this particular form of benevolence.
Just one more character from my tribe: Kanapa was a very polite man — had been to college — wrote a beautiful hand and spoke English pleasantly and correctly. When I wanted a supply of five thousand posts he took the contract. As Maoris never have more than about a day's supply of food in hand, it is a well-established custom to advance goods to contractors so that they can keep alive until they are entitled to a draw. Kanapa impressed upon me that the distance at which his bush lay made it most inconvenient and wasteful of time for him to come to Broadlands for instalments of stores. The contract was
In some directions Maoris have courage: in others they are cowards. When winning they are full of élan, but when losing are lacking in spirit and in persistence. As the observant Mr. Pepys remarked when Prince Rupert, the most dashing cavalry leader in Europe, was frightened into fits by danger of the plague: “Courage is of different kinds.” When the great fighting Maori who downed the redoubtable Pukuriri became afflicted with a sore place in his foot, he came to the father of his tribe — the celebrated Dr. Vaile. I diagnosed the case thus:
“There's something in the flesh. Have you trodden on anything?”
“By gorry
“That's just what he hasn't done. A piece of glass is now working its way out.”
So I cut a piece out of his boot to ease the pressure and gave him a riding job. In about a week the glass had worked out far enough to enable its removal without much trouble. However, my noble wouldn't as much as let me touch it, and limped about until the thing came out of itself.
When I came up to Broadlands, and for long after, there was no such thing as registration of births, marriages and deaths among the Maoris. They just got born, married and died to please themselves. Sometimes this state of affairs saved much
The resemblance between the Maori and the Irish has often been noted — indeed I have heard the former referred to as “the smoked Irishmen.” I refer in these observations not to the Irish of the North or of the Pale, but to the “wild” or Kern Irish. The young women are very attractive, bright, and have excellent figures: but at middle age their figures begin to assume the form and comeliness of a sack of potatoes with or without a string round the middle. Both races are extremely fond of potatoes. They live in similar dwellings. Both are fond of the pig and inclined to entertain it in the front parlour. A Maori †
The Maoris were, and to a great extent still are, Communists. I have often tried to get from my Socialist friends a proper definition of the difference between a Socialist and a Communist, but without success. So I have had to think up one for myself. Both relieve you of all your possessions, but your Socialist will forgive you and shake your hand as long as you are not naughty: whereas your Communist cuts your throat
In pre-European days the Maori's private possessions were very meagre and his dwelling bare of furniture of any kind — no chairs, no tables, no beds, no crockery, “no nuthen.” Even now the idea of individual property has not made much growth among them. They eat one another's food. Should two Maoris possess motor-cars of the same breed and one of them spoil a tyre the owner of that tyre would think nothing of borrowing a wheel off his neighbour's “'bus.” If one of the tribe grows a crop, the others turn their stock on it. If one has a job he is expected to spend his wages for the benefit of the hapu. All this greatly retards progress.
The motor-car is probably the greatest cause of the poverty of the Maori. In former times they fared forth to the plains and rounded up and caught as many horses as they wanted. Each would have about half-a-dozen. One he would keep in for riding, the others were turned loose in a large “paddock,” there to enjoy the fresh air and the scenery. It is fair to say, however, that a Maori horse will — though a Pakeha horse won't — eat tussock grass and †
On this scene of economic happiness and equine suffering burst the secondhand motor-car. When friend Maori found he could actually acquire this miracle of human ingenuity for £5 down and his promise to make further payments, he quickly discarded the antiquated animals of the past in its favour — and he soon discovered that the beastly thing would not move a yard on a diet of tussock and
I have often asked the Maoris how they lived before I came along with my wages: “Oh, plenty †
And now, patient reader, if you have faithfully followed this truthful narrative and yet survived, you will have a fair idea of the Maori as he is.
To my Maori friends I must say †
Addendum to ChapterIV
I have said that this chapter is not a treatise on the Maori race; but I feel that, after all I have recounted about my tribe, I must say a few words about the Maoris in general and their recent history.
Too much adulation is bestowed on the Maori by many well-wishers and he is clothed with capacities, characteristics and virtues which in fact constitute but a minor part of his make-up. After all there is nothing greater than the truth, and there is no saying in the English language more true than: “He who flatters me is not my friend.” The Maori has serious faults: and, until he recognizes them, he cannot possibly cure them. The first prerequisite for salvation is the consciousness of sin — even as the first step on the way to knowledge is the recognition of one's ignorance. All genuine and permanent improvement to the Maori must come from within: and it is very wrong to lead him to think otherwise and that the Pakeha owes all sorts of duties to him while he owes none to the Pakeha. The idea that any good can come of putting the Maori in a feather bed and feeding him with a silver spoon is utterly false. I strongly object to my Maori friends being treated like pet dogs, or mental invalids, or mendicants, or even as museum specimens. They must be made self-supporting, self-respecting, useful citizens. If the Maori has no confidence in himself nobody else will. The granting of pensions and other forms of pauperization is absolute ruination. The salvation of the Maori lies in honest work and independence.
As with other peoples the hope of improvement lies with the young.
The education of the Maori needs amendment. When I have suggested that greater stress should be placed on the value of
N.Z. Herald of 30th January, 1937, advises the Maori people not to worry about paying their debts, what can we expect? Then I say the young Maori must be taught that the future of his race is in his own hands: the battle is his: he alone can fight it successfully. In the native schools the attention devoted to book-learning should be reduced and handicrafts, horticulture and agriculture substituted. In this, as in all other matters, the truth is the only thing worth a moment's thought. As I have said, it is no use imagining that the Maori possesses qualities in which he is deficient. The great mass of people of that race, as children, learn as quickly as ordinary Europeans, but the limit of capacity is reached at about the age of fourteen. Of course all avenues of attainment should be left open for exceptional Maoris, but actual results have not been encouraging. The above are the directions in which he needs education. He needs no instruction in the use of greater leisure. He knows more about that than any instructor — it just comes natural-like to him! All New Zealanders are acquainted with the dear old tuatara and boast of its being the oldest surviving form of life upon this planet and of its many peculiarities. I have even seen it stated that it is the only animal capable of standing on the same spot longer than a policeman. But the Maori can beat both for perseverance in sitting on the sunny and sheltered side of a †
And all this teaching of the Maori that he is a very ill-treated person and entitled to all sorts of compensations for injuries supposed to have been suffered is absolutely false, pernicious, and a slander on my fellow colonists. The fact is that above all other human races the Maori has enjoyed justice and benefits and kindness beyond comparison. My own experience has shown me that the Maori himself recognizes these facts and is grateful for the benefits he has received. How often have I heard the Maoris talking with horror of the “old cruelling days” as they express it. But he is educated by mistaken Philo-Maoris to waste all his time and energies working up grievances and creating imaginary injuries.
One would suppose from all this silly and false talk that, prior to the coming of the Pakeha, the Maoris were an angelic folk living a peaceful and benevolent life free from danger and from sin. Nothing could possibly be farther from the truth. The fact — as can easily be confirmed by reading any of the old books on New Zealand written before the incursion of the whites — is that he lived a precarious existence, never enjoying safety for a moment. A slave to the negative “Thou shalt not” of †
Now, what benefits has the Maori received at the hands of the Pakeha, and what privileges have been granted him?
1. The Christian religion. The conversion of the Maoris was one of the greatest triumphs of the Christian faith. Almost in a moment of time the fiercest and wickedest of savages were made gentle, kindly, harmless persons. And, if we ourselves had
2. The multitudinous blessings and conveniences of civilized life.
3. He was granted the wonderful privilege of retention of his lands and possessions. He could not be deprived of his land except by sale, and from very early times institutions were set up to protect him from land sharks and to see that he was paid a fair price. In this connection, too, it must be remembered that when ownership by the Maoris was recognized under the Treaty of Waitangi, land in New Zealand was worth nothing. Let me instance what this means. When I went to Broadlands a tribe of Maoris owned a block of forty-eight thousand acres adjacent to my estate. It would not have been saleable at anything more than a nominal price. My work and that of a few other settlers brought this land into repute and the Maoris sold thirty-five thousand acres of the poorest of it at twenty-five shillings per acre. Always the Pakeha has created the value and then paid the Maori for it. Look at Lake Rotorua. The Maoris receive from the suffering taxpayer £6,000 a year for ever for doing nothing. Did the Maori make the road, build the railway, erect schools, boardinghouses, churches? Did he stock the lake with trout, establish golf links, and bring the tourists in their thousands? Did he show how the land could be profitably farmed? By no means. All these improvements and facilities which give value to Rotorua have been provided exclusively by the Pakeha — and then he pays the Maori for them! Consider also Te Kuiti and other King Country towns. The Maoris not only contributed nothing to the railway but they strenuously opposed it. Yet we let them keep the title. We raised the value
from next to nothing to pounds per acre for hundreds of thousands of acres and to pounds per foot for many thousands of feet of street frontages. Both these cases and hundreds of others are purely quixotic in their generosity.
4. When we might have treated the Maori in the same way that he had treated his predecessors in possession, instead we gave him a secure title to his lands. As I have already pointed out, the Maori prior to our advent had no title — except the power of seizing lands and holding them against other marauders. There was no Government with a Land Transfer Register and power to ensure possession and peaceful enjoyment of land.
5. We extended to the Maori the extraordinary privilege of holding huge tracts of country in idleness without paying a penny in taxation. A mere white man would have been crushed by graduated land tax. Again quixotic.
6. Almost the same with rates. Tribal customary lands have never been rated, but Maori owners of individualized and occupied areas are liable for local rates. Of course payment is unusual. The practice is to wait until say £30,000 has accumulated and then the Government will pay the unfortunate County Council about £5,000 in full settlement. The struggling Pakeha †“Cocky” has to make up the loss, while the Maori enjoys all the facilities — generous I say to the point of injustice to others.
7. Another extraordinary privilege extended to the Maori is the protection of his lands and the proceeds of his lands from seizure for debt. A Maori owning thousands of acres need not pay his debts unless he likes — and he doesn't.
8. The Maori village is furnished with a qualified nurse: medical and dental service is provided — all at the expense of the Pakeha taxpayer.
9. The Maori child is motored to and from school, taught and provided with books, stationery, and the like, again exclusively at the expense of the Pakeha taxpayer.
10. Old age pensions, family allowances, and the like, are granted to the Maori equally with the European.
11. Millions of money have been spent in providing farms for Maoris.
12. In practice the Maori is allowed to neglect the suppression of weeds and rabbits in a way that would not be tolerated in a Pakeha, and he is allowed to advance claims to lands — or to compensation for them — long after title in a European would have been lost by adverse possession.
I have even heard men who ought to — and do — know better, get up at a public meeting and say that the Waikato War was forced on the Maoris for the purpose of appropriating their lands without payment. It is sufficient refutation of this wicked calumny merely to record the fact that at that time
Anyhow the origin of the war is perfectly plain. The Maori beheld the Pakeha coming in increasing swarms, acquiring more and more land, and gradually pushing the natives further and further back. Patriotic Maoris decided that this incursion must be stopped and decided upon the sacking of Auckland and the murder of all whites whether bearing arms or not. It was drastic but I must confess that, had I been a Maori, I should probably have joined the Kingite movement. That was the cause of the war. But Wiremu Tamihana, Rewi Ngatimaniapoto and the others miscalculated the strength of the Pakeha. They were driven from position after position until at Orakau the offer to accept an honourable surrender was met with the brave but useless reply: “
I recount these undoubted facts, not to decry or belittle the Maori, but to refute most wicked and false charges against my fellow colonists.
But what can be done now?
Not so long ago the Auckland branch of a great international organization undertook an examination into the Maori question, and most of the investigation was thrown upon me.
Here is the report which was drawn up. But nothing was done about it.
Let us state at the beginning that we have endeavoured to avoid all that sentimentalism and ideology which clothes the Maori with imaginary qualities that he does not really possess: and to view our Maori as he really is and not as we should like him to be. On the other hand we certainly have not made him the villain of the piece. Facts, realities and the truth only have been our objectives.
After conferring with Judges of the Native Land Court; principals of Maori Colleges; officials of the Native Department;
-
Making them realize that the future of their race is in their own hands and that they themselves must become capable of managing their own affairs, understanding the value of money, and making provision for the future. The battle is theirs and they must fight it: all the Pakeha can do is to lead them and help them. The salvation of the Maori lies in honest work, independence and self-respect. If they fail to realize this they are doomed to pauperism.
-
Impressing upon them the fundamental value of honesty and in particular the faithful discharge of their obligations. Anyone suggesting to the Maoris avoidance of their just debts and responsibilities is doing them a signal disservice.
-
Emphasizing the value of a knowledge of the principles and practice of elementary hygiene and physiology.
-
While leaving open to those capable of benefiting thereby all opportunities of higher education, reducing book learning and substituting therefor handicrafts, horticulture and agriculture. We agree with those authorities who think it well to recognize the simple fact of the case, which is that the vast bulk of Maori youths are only wasting their time endeavouring to attain a standard of education and assimilate a mass of unpractical knowledge entirely beyond their capacity. Moreover they cannot hope to obtain employment in office work or in business for they are by nature quite unsuited for such pursuits: nor do employers desire their services. Educated for manual dexterity the Maori makes a good blacksmith or mechanic, a fair carpenter, and
is good at nearly all farm jobs including shearing — quite a useful citizen.
We approve a suggestion that, complementary to the Government schemes of small farms, garden settlements should be established for those Maoris unsuited to the farms. The idea is that in good soil about two acres should be devoted to each allotment. On this land the materials for improvements should be deposited, the Maori himself to effect the improvement with his own labour subject to supervision.
The advantages claimed for this plan are:
-
That the houses being close together the natives could enjoy the community life so dear to them.
-
That a sufficiency of food could be grown on the allotment.
-
That the capital cost would be very low, necessitating only a nominal rent. The small needs of the occupant beyond what the land would yield would be supplied by a minimum of employment.
Many think that the Government farms are too big and too expensive for the Maori, and the houses necessarily too far apart, besides being too elaborate. The capital cost of each farm is considerable and the subsequent cash rent difficult for the Maori to find. Constant attendance on dairy cows the year round is also deemed to be beyond his endurance.
Certain it is that any plan to succeed must be acceptable to the Maori and be within his capacity: also within the willing ability of the taxpayer.
We strongly deprecate the tendency among some to resurrect supposed ancient grievances and to persuade the Maoris that they are a vastly injured people. This has a most unsettling and detrimental effect upon the race. We are quite satisfied that, by and large, the Maoris have been exceptionally well treated —
Any attempt to resuscitate a separate entity and a separate culture for the Maori will, in my judgment, end in failure. His future lies in the adoption of European standards and merging with the Pakeha.
I desire to make it plain that I approve the Maori being treated generously, but resent the imputation that he has not been so treated. It is a pernicious slander on the British colonists of New Zealand. The old saying that “Too much of a good thing is a bad thing” might also be borne in mind.
As I have demonstrated by the recital of indisputable facts the Maori has been treated with extraordinary generosity and, let me say, this is probably due to his own good qualities. He is a likeable, humorous, plucky chap —and he has no more sincere wellwisher than myself.
E hoa ma! Ka nui taku aroha ki a koutou.
(My friends! Great is my affection for you all.)
The Workmen
“The labourer is worthy of his hire”—Luke x, 7:I Timothy v, 18.
When a number of Labour Members of Parliament were looking over Broadlands they expressed astonishment at the amount of work which I had done. To this I made answer: “It is the work of my ‘wages slaves.’” (To quote the jargon of the rubus fruticosus) and proving that it possesses in marked degree the quality in which our butter is said to be deficient — spreadability.
Of course the quality of the assistance he can command has much to do with an owner's success or failure. Some “bosses” can get much more out of their workers than others, and I must confess that at first the want of previous personal contact with rough labour — and consequent failure to understand and appreciate the viewpoint of the labourers — was a serious drawback. In farming, as in other businesses, it is best to begin at the
Most of my early work was done with Maori labour. Throughout the North Island the natives have been most useful in the first breaking in of wild country. I found them very anxious for work — or at least for wages. They had no clocks. So as not to miss his job a man would often arrive at 7 a.m. and when 5 p.m. came, he was not particular about an extra half-hour. And if you gave him the remains of a warm coat you were the good fellow. Of course there is as much difference between individual Maoris as there is between individual Englishmen; but, as a general rule, they are better tempered and more easily controlled than Europeans. They are intelligent and work well. Of course they have defects. Continuous labour is foreign to their nature and their experience. They must, at not infrequent intervals, have time to sit in the sun on the sheltered side of their
Of course this difficulty is not confined to Maoris. It obtains with Pakehas also. Quite often the fault lies with the boss. He knows what he wants done, but fails in giving clear instructions to his men. On the other hand some men display a misunderstanding of orders which amounts almost to ingenuity. If there are half-a-dozen ways of doing a job wrongly you think of five and warn your man not to employ any of them, but he will find
Gradually I had to take the Maoris off continuous toil — such as team work — and confine them to small contracts and jobs where time was not of the essence of the contract.
For my Pakeha workers I got all sorts — some good, some bad, mostly medium. In some cases — I think I may say in many cases — I have been astonished at what men will do under adverse circumstances. I took possession in midwinter, and our first job was to erect a bridge to get on to the land.
In charge of these works was Fred Smith, one of the last of the real “Old Colonial Hands.” He would tackle anything. He built the bridge, made the road (in a way), and built the house (a shade off the square).
For my first manager I had another real old pioneer hand who could do anything and had been everything from Plymouth Brother to Publican. He had established himself as a carrier before my time but had given up the business and his home lay derelict. He came to manage Broadlands, and certainly had a difficult job. His main trouble was over-estimating the carrying capacity of the place, and the winter seasons automatically reduced the stock (at my expense) to what would live. The fact is that, without preparation, the Pumice Country will carry very little stock in the winter time. This chap had a certain vein of humour. He would say to one of the boys: “Hullo Jack! Now you've got your heart up, take a reef in your belt and keep it there.”
Our neighbour Mr. Butcher used to have the habit of altering his personal appearance by sometimes wearing a full beard, sometimes close shaving, and again: all sorts of side whiskers
Yet another of the old school was Eric Anderson. He was already in the district when I arrived. A Dane by nationality, a good and honest worker by nature, a jack-of-all-trades by upbringing — could do almost anything “well enough.” Later on he acquired a farm section and a wife to work on it.
Another I remember was Jack Hull, a Maori, but I think not full-blooded. It was a treat to see this man drive a team of bullocks, but he was very quiet so there wasn't much to hear. One day I saw him with his team of live tractors travelling through the streets of Rotorua at a full two miles per hour. Arrived at his destination he backed his great lumbering wagon through a narrow gateway into a store with nothing but the power of his bullocks.
To him I gave a contract to erect eight and a-half miles of fence on the back boundary between me and King Edward VII. The posts were to be split in my own bush Aputahou. There were some noble trees if you like: straight as an arrow: sound as a bell: five hundred posts and over from a single tree. Jack let a sub-contract for the supply of posts laid on the line at £3 10s. per hundred. What do you think of that? Of course there was no royalty to pay, but the transport was not easy. It would make your hair stand on end to see the country over which those Maoris drove the loaded wagons. Jack made a real good job of the fence. But King Edward VII, in exercise of his royal prerogative, declined to pay his half of the cost!
I have remarked before on the hardships with which the good pioneering workman will put up. Thus when I was breaking in some country about two and a-half miles from the homestead, the ploughman, in order to save travelling his horses so far
Another ploughman I had — and a good worker too — had a mania for spending his sum and substance on “art unions.” Every week twenty-five shillings went to Tatt's, and if ever he won a fiver, he was for several days as pleased as a dog with two tails. Of course his real objective was the big money. He is still after it, though now more inclined to admit the correctness of Adam Smith's maxim: “There is no proposition in mathematics more certain than that the more tickets one takes in a sweep the more certain one is to lose.”
Then there was Rory the shepherd: A good-natured, jovial Irishman, dependable, and a loyal worker and friend. He writes to me to the present day, though it must be fully twenty years since he left. He was one of those happy persons, thoroughly convinced that he could do anything as well as anybody else — and most things infinitely better. Indeed this fortunate state of affairs extended even to his possessions: and he certainly did have the cleverest and best dog that I ever came across. He rode a very good station horse — perhaps the fact that he rode it made it the best on the place. As the annual district sports approached, I noticed that feed oats were disappearing at a greater rate than usual, and “dropped to it” that my noble Rory had entered his hack for the races. So I said nothing. He also entered himself for almost every event. His hack would certainly have scooped the races had not a new neighbour introduced a racehorse with jockey and silks and all complete. Seeing that our meeting was unlicensed and only for settlers' hacks this was unusual. However, our old prad carried the oats round the course in real good style and frightened the life out of the
I may here remark that during the period in which there were only the three stations, the Annual Sports was a great and happy event. Races for horses and also for humans, jumping, wrestling, and the like, made a very full and a very jolly day.
There arrived one day Harold and Bert, two †“new chums” humping their †blueys and really looking for a job. They were from Northumbria. The first morning I was busy and could not go out, so I told Harold to take a spade and cut down the †docks in the stable yard. Presently he returned saying:
“Where is them docks? I can't see none!”
“They are all over the stable yard,” I said. “You must be blind.”
It turned out that poor Harold did not know what a dock was. Perhaps he had instituted a futile search for the sort of thing that flourishes along the waterfront of Newcastle-on-Tyne. The fact was that Harold's job all his previous life had been boring holes through metal. He knew all about that and nothing about anything else. He was a specialist. In case, dear reader, you are unaware of the difference between a specialist and a statistician I must here inform you. A specialist is one who knows a great deal about a very few things, and as he goes along he knows more and more about fewer and fewer, until in the end he knows everything about nothing. On the other hand a statistician knows a little about a great number of things, and as he goes along he knows less and less about more and more, until in the end he knows nothing about everything. So when I had a job to do on the exhaust of the engine I
This man's mate was one who had had much better educational advantages. He was quite well-read and managed to “hang on to” some good books. He was a good and honest worker. His enemy was drink. As soon as he had got a few pounds together he must have his fling. Dreadful! How men in “the trade” can reconcile their consciences with the making of money out of the degradation of the people passes my comprehension.
Sometimes one gets an old man who just wants a comfortable home. As long as he is well-fed and kindly treated he is content. One such I had towards the end, a very decent old chap who loved to work in the garden and among the trees,
One curio I had about two years after the War, came to me under peculiar circumstances. I heard that there was a white man sleeping in the scrub. Such happenings were apt to lower the Pakeha in the estimation of the Maori — so I sent a boy out to track him down. When the man arrived his appearance was not attractive: but, after his countenance had been revealed by the action of soap and water, he did not look so bad. He was glad to work and did all right. In a couple of months he came for his cheque. I enquired:
“Why do you want to go? Do you want to sleep in the scrub again?”
“Oh I've got over £10 coming to me: that will last a long time.” I went on:
“You were at the War all the time. You must have had a lot of back-pay and bonus coming to you.”
“Yes, and I had a real good time,”
“You're a waster,” I said.
“Am I? My mates rushed the Crown Lands Office and put down their money against farms. They have toiled like slaves and gone off their farms in debt. I've not toiled. I've had a good time — and I'm not in debt.” It is scandalous that the follies of governments should put decent honest men in a worse position than wasters like this.
Of course on a station there are unpleasant as well as pleasant jobs. Such a one is footrotting. The aroma is not reminiscent of Arabia Felix and the work is hard. One of the men dropped his knife and it fell through the batten floor. He swore at it but it took no notice. “Old fellow,” said I, “you'll have to go and fetch it.” Grumbling he crawled under the shed amid the more or less moist droppings. Just as he reached out for the knife a ewe seized the opportunity of relieving herself and
I “have no time” for foreigners. They have no “guts” in any emergency. A German with the appropriate name of Sauerbier was sent up by a registry office. I gave him the job of gathering big pumice, carting it to the bank of the Waikato, and tipping it into the river, so that it might float down to Cambridge and Hamilton for the benefit of the inhabitants of those villages. About three in the afternoon a boy rushed in breathless to tell me that the German had tipped the dray into the river. Grabbing a rope and seizing the boy's horse I galloped down but there was absolutely nothing to be seen. The boy followed and indicated where the accident had happened. He said the man had made no attempt to save the situation, but had simply wrung his hands and cried “Yah, yah, yah” and then bolted for his life. I got a boy to dive down and pass a rope through the spokes of one wheel and we dragged the outfit ashore. Having stripped the horse of its harness we turned him adrift for the further benefit of the villagers, by giving strength to their water supply. However I expect the degree of benefit was about equal to that conferred by a dead house-fly in a house tank and hardly worth the £30 which this good horse had cost me.
My regular staff at Broadlands consisted of two ploughmen, a shepherd, a “married man” (usually a roustabout), and two boys. At harvest, haymaking, chaffcutting, shearing, docking, dipping, and so on, extra hands were employed. Then there were scrub-getters, drainers, fencers, and the like, on contract, besides timber-getters, carriers and others partially employed by me. Also seed and manure merchants, and other traders, in part dependent on my business. So it can be seen what a considerable number of men are supported by a great undertaking such as Broadlands.
Among all these men during a period of twenty-eight years I found a great variety.
Distance and lack of a school were great drawbacks, and many could not endure the loneliness and want of neighbours.
Some men had intelligence above their station in life: others were so dull-witted as to lead one to suppose that they had since boyhood made continuous use of mental contraceptives.
Wages were formerly on a very much lower scale than at present and more and better work was done. The higher the wages the less the work, is very regrettable, but it is a fact. I fancy it is because high wages denote a scarcity of labour and men know that their leaving will be an inconvenience to the boss, whereas they can get another job without delay.
Single men received £1 per week and found; married men £2 per week and a cottage with free milk and free firewood. All hands had the privilege of keeping one hack, and the shepherd two dogs. All single men were found in food and shelter. On a big place employing a large number of hands, there would be a cookhouse with a regular cook. On Broadlands we fed the men in the kitchen, which is really much the best way for all concerned. I never rationed the hands. They had all they wanted — and the tucker bill was not light. The number sitting down to meals when haymaking and other jobs requiring extra hands were in progress gave me the impression that I was indeed the main support of New Zealand, filling the very hungry with good things, and demonstrating the economic maxim “The cost of production is consumption.”
At that time wool was about ninepence per pound for orddinary crossbred fleece; good mutton fourpence per pound; good beef about threepence (dressed weights). Butterfat we did not then produce; and I can bear witness that at those prices and the costs then ruling it was extremely difficult to keep one's head above water. But confidence and enterprise were in
When, towards the latter days, I established dairying, it became necessary to employ sharemilkers. They are sent to try one's patience and one is at their mercy.
As I have said: I have had all sorts — good, bad and indifferent. But one must allow for the labourer's viewpoint. He toils and sweats and endures hardships of isolation and heat and cold and rain — and has no permanent financial interest in the results of his toil and endurance. The boss is even as the Centurion having authority: “He sayeth to one ‘go’ and he goeth.” And that is all there is to it.
In one respect I fear that I was soft. I was very slow indeed in sacking a man. It seemed a cruel and almost wicked thing to turn a man, and worse still a boy, adrift upon the world in hard times with a bad mark against him.
The Women
“A ministering angel thou”—Scott(Marmion).
Women are not numerous in the backblocks. The rough conditions and the isolation prove unsuitable. Nearly all the shepherds and station hands are single, and it is not until the place gets improved and settled that the womenfolk appear. On many wayback places even the cook is a man — often an old sailor. But on Broadlands I always had a married couple. The woman cooked the meals and looked after the house and the poultry. Some women liked also to do a bit in the garden. One dear old thing wanted to have a separate garden all to herself. So we fenced in and dug up a piece of ground for her. I felt I could spare it out of fifty-three thousand acres! In her private domain therefore, she raised immense quantities of weeds, but also quite considerable supplies of vegetables. It was her peculiar pride and great delight to succeed in having a few peas or anything on the table in advance of the main crop in the house garden. Then there was great rejoicing in her good old simple heart. A most excellent woman: and clever too. She invented the two-storey garden. On the ground-floor were her lettuces, cabbages and such other humble “stick-in-the-mud” things. On stakes, the aspirants such as pumpkins, vegetable marrows, and the like, pursued their upward and onward course and crawled outwards along the horizontal rails. Their fruit drooping down formed a most impressive and appetizing sight.
The husband in the married couple took whatever job he was suited for — usually roustabout, sometimes shepherd, seldom teamster. Nearly always they would help their better-half in the evenings: and in the mornings they were the first up, made the fire and took her a cup of tea before she left the shelter of the sheets.
So the “married woman” toiled on from month to month without ever seeing another member of her own sex upon whom to exercise her conversational gifts. Of course Maori women were about from time to time, but did not seem to become familiar — indeed, strange as it may seem to Europeans, they are inclined to be shy with folk not of their own race and even not of their own tribe.
At times a daughter would come with her mother to bear her company: but, as a rule, our housekeeper was the only white woman within many miles.
One exception was rather outstanding. The reader will remember mention of a ploughman in the out-paddocks occupying a residence of about ten feet by six feet. When he left me to take up a farm of his own I engaged a new man in his place. This man had not been with me very long when he asked for a few days to visit his folk in Tauranga. About the fourth day he wired for funds to see him home. This is a well established custom and I remitted the money. Judge of my surprise when he arrived with a bride! The trifle he took with him, added to a contribution from the girl's father, enabled him to take on the holy bonds of matrimony. The ten by six hut proving rather inadequate for two he got a tent which formed a sort of extension; and here when her time was fully accomplished, the wife brought forth a male child. Think of that my fair sisters of the city with your downy couches, your skilled doctors, your trained nurses, your anaesthetics, and everything the wit of man can devise to ease your labours! Contrast your lot with
Other women I well remember were the wife and daughter Harold brought out from the Homeland. The daughter proved to be the sweetest, prettiest little pink and white English lassie of about eight years, all smiles and friendliness. She soon became the pet of the place — quite an asset. These good folk spoke a strange tongue. The first evening the woman put no plates on the table so I rang the bell and she came to the door.
“Will you bring some plates, please?” She stared and asked:
“Eh, whaart?”
“Will you please bring some plates?” A short pause for study then:
“Oh plaartes” and off she went for those articles which we consider so necessary. Next morning the little girl ran up to me and said:
“Oh, Mr. Veale have you seen the loovely wee grey cart that's coom?” As I had noticed a strange tabby kitten about I could understand what she said.
It is a pity that emigration authorities at Home do not teach their emigrants to speak English. When they use the dialect of Somerset, Lancashire, or Northumberland they get most unmercifully ridiculed by fellow-workers in the Dominion and generally suffer by being “not understood.”
The young girl mentioned above grew in stature and importance and one day bought some goods in the store. Asked whether she wished to pay, she made answer: “Put it down to Pa.” Subsequently these imperative words became quite a “gag” on the station. “Put it down to Pa!”
A very capable woman I remember in the earliest stages had a family of five children, a husband, and two cadet boys besides
And another prominent in my memory came towards the end of my residence, pleasant and cheerful, well-looking and hard-working, always singing about her work and honest as the day is long.
Altogether a capable bunch and indispensable if one is to enjoy any sort of comfort in the uncivilized waybacks.
Most of the women on Broadlands have been well contented. It is the men who get restless. A great evil from the employer's point of view is the accumulation of funds in the pockets of regular hands. They have no means of spending their wages. Their food is found. Their clothes consist of what they have saved up while in town. Clothes are quite
Women of the cities, with every convenience at hand, have no idea of the difficulties and inconveniences of the backblocks. Collecting wood for the fire; drying it and getting it to burn; fetching water and boiling it for the weekly wash in kerosene
Here's to the good old days! And here's to the better old women who overcame all deficiencies and difficulties!
The Boys
“Who would not be a boy?” —Byron(Childe Harold).
The young male of the natural order so modestly self-styled homo sapiens has ever been the most interesting animal in the whole of creation. The earth is his and all that therein is. He is the heir of all the ages. For him throughout the æons of the past the human race slowly elevated itself above all other animals. For him all the greatest heads and greatest hearts have thought, wrought and fought. To him belongs the future of the world, provided of course that the accursed aeroplane, instrument of envy, hate, malice and all uncharitableness does not destroy him. And so it comes about that boys are well worth study — even more so than the sole representative of the natural order of the †Rhyncocephalia. The dear old †
However, we are getting too old. Let us cease meddling in men's affairs and return to our youth — most men would like to do.
Assuredly boys are worth study. They are a marvel of divine providence. Considering the pranks the imps are always up to it is nothing short of miraculous that any lad reaches maturity “safe, whole and undefaced” as the lawyers express it. Boyhood is the time to enjoy oneself. A boy has all the joy of irresponsibility. He can play any kind of trick for he has nothing to lose.
The boys I have had on Broadlands have been a superior lot take them all round. The main exceptions have been unruly sons of friends. The father having himself failed in the endeavour to make something of his offspring palms him off on to a friend in the backblocks well out of sight. Others have imagined that I maintained a sort of health-resort for weaklings. Certain it is that the air and surroundings of Broadlands are most invigorating, but this was not my job.
Yet there is no rule without its exception, and one of the best lads I ever had was the son of a city friend. He was certainly the best brought-up boy ever on Broadlands. Absolutely honest and dependable and reasonably capable, one could always rely on his doing his very best. And the few lads who in these latter days do their best are sure to get on.
Let me introduce you to some of the other boys:
There was Long Tom, like a long thin plank with battens nailed on the corners. An excellent lad. Splendid with the cows. They just loved him. He never went down the paddock for
Then there was little Arthur. None of the boys I ever had at Broadlands, no matter what he did in other directions, failed at meal times: but usually a steadying down occurred after about six months. Not so in the case of little Arthur. He held the championship belt right through the piece. When I had loaded his plate with mutton and potatoes I would ask him to remove a spud or two from the top of the heap so that I might see him. He was quite a nice boy and a reasonably good worker, but his shingles sometimes developed a little rattle.
Mad Charlie was a great lad full of dynamic energy and mad ideas. Often I got fed-up with him and was on the point of giving him “the sack” when he would do some outstanding bit of work and I had to change my mind. Finally he left me to go to a neighbour. At this place firewood was scarce. Consequently upon the return of the boss and family one Sunday evening after absence during the day Charlie got unlimited praise for the splendid heap of firewood he had brought in. But when, in the morning, it was found that the firewood was the
This reminds me of Eric, the first boy I had when I came to live at Broadlands in December, 1908. A fine lad indeed, well mannered, a good honest worker and not complaining of hardship. He went to the War too to keep the frightful Hun from our shores, and was shot in the head. And now pacifists cry down his noble sacrifice: sell to Japan the guns captured by his blood and sweat: talk of returning to the culprits their old possessions that they may establish military bases throughout the earth.
The best tempered and most unselfish boy ever on Broadlands was red-haired Jim. He would cheerfully take the blame for anything sooner than speak a word against his mates.
My good lad Jim announced that he had a relative living on the wild west coast of the South Island who would like to get work within the confines of civilization. I gave my consent and he duly arrived. The first morning at breakfast the new boy seized his mutton chops by the ends of the bones. A good bite on one side and a little nibble on the other side put the boy well ahead of the rest of us. So he helped himself to bread and butter and jam. He carefully wiped out the jam spoon with his forefinger and then sucked his finger that nothing might be lost. After breakfast I drew him aside and pointed out that his manners, though original and doubtless distinguished, were unusual and explained to him the more ordinary rules of behaviour. He was a strange, uncouth, uncomfortable kind of lad to have about the place and I was not sorry to lose him.
I have had many “new-chum” boys at Broadlands and found them the making of good men. One must of course allow for some awkwardness and ineptitude because of the fundamental and sudden change in their circumstances. Colonial boys suddenly placed in the heart of London or Glasgow would be just as awkward.
Thus Tommy — one of an entire family of five which I took on — was sent out with the mail the day after their arrival. As I had brought them in only the previous afternoon I did not deem it necessary to describe the road. My noble, arrived at the front paddock gate, instead of turning sharp to the left kept straight on. That is the worst of having a confluence and confusion of roads resembling †L'etoile in Paris! Arrived at a paddock, where fortunately a team was at work, the ploughman said: “You crimson young fool you should have turned to your left.” Arrived back at the gate the new chum did turn to his left but failed to reflect that this time his seat of learning was pointing in the opposite direction. When he had not returned by lunch time we formed a search party and found him as completely lost and befogged as a wayback boy would be in the wilds of London. We were glad to rescue our letters.
Another Tommy arrived not long after the war. His great exploit during that critical period had been accompanying his father in a sweeper lifting mines out of the cold North Sea. Arrived at sundry desolate islands the gallant crew of this man-of-war seem to have taken pride in capturing the lone islanders' ducks. When I stressed the dreadful wickedness of robbing these poor folk, little Tommy replied:
“The birds did not cost them anything.”
“How do you make that out?” I asked.
“Why: the birds lived on snow.”
“Rubbish, my boy, nothing can live on snow.”
“But they must have lived on snow. There was nothing else there!”
Well, at the same time, I had two young Colonial ruffians on the place, and their chief delight was to “take it out” of Tommy. He certainly was fresh. One morning we were all going out in a dray when Tommy jumped off quick and busy and after a rabbit. He gave that little beast a real good run, but his astonishment when it disappeared into the bowels of the earth was unbounded. Such conduct was not fair anyway! Now it was the custom of the lads on the place to bathe in a natural hot spring across the river: but after three or four weeks I noticed that Tommy was not accompanying his persecutors. I asked him about it and suggested he should have a bath in the house. His reply was satisfying: “Ah was barth'd before ah coom oop!” Why waste more soap? One evening at the ringing of the dinner-bell, Tommy was passing through the kitchen when he hesitated and coloured up. “Hurry up Tommy! dinner's ready!” exclaimed the housekeeper. “Ma oonderparnts is slippin doon,” pleaded Tommy. Dear little Tommy! I was annoyed with the Colonial boys for frightening away such a source of innocent merriment.
Now these good lads led an easy life as follows:
Rise not later than 5.30 a.m. in the pitch dark in the wintertime and often freezing hard, with a cold fog. Seize a stable lantern and off down the paddocks to find the house cows. Hunt them up and milk them in time for breakfast at seven o'clock. While one did this the other cut the daily firewood and there was ever a healthy argument between him and the housekeeper as to the quantity requisite and necessary to keep the home fires burning. After breakfast the lads went to their work: fencing, clearing, draining, harrowing, mustering, foot-rotting, dipping, crutching, or otherwise knocking the sheep about. The mail had to be taken out three days in the week, necessitating fourteen miles riding — but that was joy. There was half-an-hour off for breakfast; an hour for lunch, and on certain
For these pleasures some lads paid a small premium. Most worked for six months: some for twelve months without cash wages. Latterly boys got ten shillings and even twenty shillings per week. Of course I “found” them in food and accommodation and this was expensive. There was no poverty in the midst of plenty. All hands had as much as they wished to eat, and the cadet boys had the inestimable privilege of having their meals in the diningroom with me — though I have at times had great suspicions that this advantage was more highly valued by the boys' parents than by the boys themselves. And it must be admitted that cleaning boots, brushing the hair, and wearing a coat are each and all natural aversions and constitute great weariness to the flesh. The lads slept in a small cottage near the station house. This cottage they themselves kept clean. You should just have seen it! If cleanliness be a component part of godliness then were these lads pure pagans. Underneath and round about their dwelling lay abundant wealth of discarded clothes, bags, tins, bottles, and so on. Inside private untidiness pervaded the premises and general disorder ruled the roost. The condition of the roof would seemingly evidence recent volcanic eruptions, but the stark fact of the case was that the boys out and about had heaved these rocks on to the roof for the purpose of defeating the soporific endeavours of the boys in bunk.
As regards book-learning and general knowledge: nearly all boys who came to me were wrapped in the profoundest ignorance. One from the Fifth Form of a celebrated South Island secondary school did not know who Horace was! Another from the Auckland Grammar was talking big about his Latin — of which language he knew practically nothing. Said I: “My boy: I'll give you five bob if you can give me the parts of fero.” To my astonishment he repeated them correctly and I paid over the five shillings. “Tell me now: how do you come to know the parts of fero?” His reply was a knock-out. “The janitor's name was Tooley!” From that extraordinary circumstance I lost my good five shillings. The ease with which money can be lost on a farm is notorious — and I had found a new method!
Let me now mention two fine little lads who were not on the “strength” but came up with their parents — one of my married couples. They were bright little chaps and I liked to take them out with me. One day I had driven out to bring in some parcels too heavy for horseback, and my little friends came with me. While one of them hopped down to open the bridge gate a friendly little fantail hovered around. I held out the whip and the pretty little creature perched on it twittering away “good-oh.” The boys were greatly intrigued and immediately became planners. They would catch a fantail and teach it to sing. Arrived home they enquired of Mother the best means for securing birds.
She recommended the old plan of salt on the tail. Next morning the boys were up betimes and over to the loft above the stable. There they contrived to capture a couple of sparrows which they brought over to the backyard and emptied a saltcellar on their tails. Off the birds flew — and Mother's name was mud!
When the War broke out the elder boy — about ten years of age — decided that he must go and do his bit. His younger brother warned him seriously as to the dreadful dangers: but our hero remarked that he would arm himself with a sword of such length and weight that no German would be able to approach him!
Quite another type was the son of a real hard-shot couple I had on the place in the early days. He was aged about four and a perfect young devil. He would bash his head on the floor real hard just to scare his mother. One day she ran up to me with the boy in her arms and screamed the information that the boy had swallowed half a bottle of whisky. What should she do?
“Make the child sick.”
“How do you do that?”
“Give him a little mustard in warm water.”
“But I haven't got any mustard.”
“Then poke a feather down his throat.”
“But I haven't got a feather.”
“Then tickle the back of his throat with your finger.”
But when the woman proceeded to put this suggestion into practice the young imp of Satan closed his teeth tight on her finger and she could not draw it back or forth. So the whisky stayed where it was and became absorbed in the infant's body without apparent damage. He must be a great man by now.
Well good-bye to the brave boys. I fear it's true that “Youth's a stuff will not endure.” We all grow old too soon.
The Visitors
“Thy visitation hath preserved my spirit”—Job x, 12.
It might be imagined that in so remote a spot one would never see a face except those of daily occurrence. But my experience was far otherwise. I nearly always had visitors.
In the earliest days came land buyers—to see what bargain might be picked up. The following are a few I can remember:
About 1909 two young gentlemen from Canterbury came looking for country to establish another “Canterbury settlement.” As they considered Broadlands rather wild at that time, I showed them Strathmore. They were well pleased and asked me to communicate with the father of one of them. The son had told me that his father owned two thousand acres which he could sell at any time at £30 per acre. Consequently in submitting the proposition I elaborated the idea that he might sell his two thousand acres and acquire fortyeight thousand acres and have money to spare for development. His reply was brief and to the point: “I would not exchange my two thousand acres in Canterbury for the whole of the North Island.” Stout old fellow! The true Canterbury spirit and boldly said! Also foolishly said as is often the case — boldness and folly often go together.
Again in April, 1911, another party of South Islanders came in merry mood testing all the streams to see which tasted best when mixed with their whisky. Later they would have bought had I consented to grease the palm of their valuer.
And in 1912 came one of the most extraordinary men I have met. He was fascinated with the place and had all sorts of large-scale plans for the development of it. He was in touch with wealthy folk in Europe. Unfortunately he was too greedy. Having obtained an option from me he added fifty per cent. to it for his profit. But his principals discovered his trick and business was off. A double pity. To me it would have meant release for other work while still full of vigour: and, as for the Continental buyers, their factories were blown to smithereens in 1914 and Broadlands would have saved them quite a tidy sum.
Later, when motors began to appear on the roads, friends doing “The Hot Lakes,” on nearing Broadlands thought (so I imagine): “There's poor old Vaile buried alive — can't have seen a human being for ages. Let's dig him up.” When this kindly thought impressed several parties at the same time it would sometimes lead to quite good business. One New Year's Day I had twenty-seven visitors in at the same time, and on another occasion I had the like number — a dead 'eat you might call it. Good enough! Let them all come. Of course when the number of one's visitors greatly exceeds the number of one's chairs the guests have to be invited to the smooth softness of benzine cases or soap-boxes; and if glasses fail, whisky has to be drunk out of cups — the thought is more ghastly than the fact! For tableware everything has to be used — plates of every size and pattern, and knives, spoons and forks of sorts. The principles of one-man-one-spoon have sometimes to be violated in favour of share and share alike — individualism crashed before the onslaughts of socialism. Food never beat us. We just stepped across the main street to the Broadlands warehouse, seized an appropriate number of tins and cut their throats.
Outstanding among my guests was our Governor-General, good Lord Bledisloe — nobleman and gentleman. Frightfully
Many other important folk from overseas, and all Prime Ministers (except only Mr. Forbes), and nearly all other Ministers have visited Broadlands. The first important company I entertained was that of Mr. Massey on 23rd January, 1913. He had just attained to the Premiership. Now at the time I left Auckland Mr. Massey was president and I was Vice-president of the Political Reform League — so I knew him very well. One of the first places he visited was Rotorua, the hot spot and source of central heating for the North Island. In I rode to congratulate and to welcome my old chief. After dinner Mr. Massey hinted that he would like to look in at luncheon the next day. So I slipped quietly away, got my faithful steed out of the R. M. stables, and made good time out to Broadlands. From kindly neighbours I mustered up gear and helpers, so when the party comprising Mr. Massey, Messrs. J. A. Young, M.P. (now Sir Alex.), John Strachan (Under-Secretary for Lands), H. M. Skeet (Commissioner of Crown Lands for Auckland),
I regret to say that this luncheon caused the greatest jealousy among many who should have known better, and I was even attacked in the local press.
By invitation I then accompanied Mr. Massey's party to Taupo and down the Company's line to Putaruru. There the inevitable public meeting was held. The chairman being prosy and lengthy in his introduction of the Prime Minister, an old Maori rose in the audience, flourished his †
When I was in the thick of my fight with my friends of the Taupo Totara Timber Company, a branch of the Farmers' Union rang up and expressed a wish to inspect the much-debated country on the morrow.
I was charmed. How many would there be?
“Fifteen” was the answer.
“That's rather a lot for such short notice,” I gasped.
“Oh, we'll bring our own tucker.”
Ҡ
In the autumn of 1917 the Directors of the Bank of New Zealand wrote asking if I could provide them with a guide as they would like to inspect the land about which there was so much talk. Of course that meant that I myself had to show them round, and I further invited them to stay at my home. Five accepted: but Mr. Kane “took ill” in Rotorua, and
“What are all these bank people doing at your place?” (Observe how circumspect one should be in the country!)
“Yes,” I said, “it's pretty hot. First the manager, then the head inspector, and finally the board of directors. And all I'm asking for is a pound an acre.”
“Fifty thousand pounds!” he exclaimed.
“That's nothing to me, Frank.”
Then there was the time when I was coming in from sowing a burn and thereby rendered blacker than my boots. Behold a party of ladies and gentlemen playing golf in the front paddock! I tried to sneak by but was not successful, being run
“Wait till after dinner,” I said.
“Is the 'phone all right?”
“Right up-to-date,” I answered, “it's wireless.” The moment dinner was over my guest sprang to attention.
“Now show me how you work this wireless.” So I grabbed the handle, gave a violent ring and yelled:
“Clara, come and clear the things away!” My message was quite successful!
And jolliest of all occasions was our annual shooting party. Arriving in the dying days of April, my guests put up their †mai mais and got ready for the murder on the glorious first of May of God's innocent creatures. Sport was always good for the shooters, but the views of the birds may have been different! Especially so, those of the sorely wounded. Then we always had a hare drive and rabbit shooting, varied with fishing, boating and riding. In the evening round the roaring logs in the big open fireplace subjects scientific, political and social were discussed at length; and, had the country adopted our ideas, what incalculable benefits would have accrued! Upon dispersal one and all declared their enjoyment and “kidded” me that it was the charm of my company that delighted them, whereas I of course knew that the real attraction was the shedding of blood.
Another big occasion was a visit by the boys of the Rotorua High School. There was a large number, but I gave up counting them. The masters I refreshed in the house. For the boys I had
This reminds me of another scholastic visit. Broadlands is the sort of placed called a station — that is, a stopping place — and in the earlier days of horse-travelling, this was abundantly true. If anyone was in that area he must make for Broadlands or sleep in the scrub. So the school inspector happened in. At dinner he began to tell my three young cadets what wasters the English really were and what wonderful folk the French. I was not going to allow my lads to be thus led astray and ventured the remark that my guest was mistaken. He glared at me and observed:
“Do you know that I took my M.A. in history?”
I replied: “I don't care if you took your Pa as well. If
“You should read foreign accounts of battles. You would learn facts very different from what you were taught at school.”
“I have here a French account of Trafalgar. According to them they were victorious and were robbed of the fruits of their triumph only by a change in the wind. But such drivel has not made the slightest difference to our command of the sea for more than a hundred years.” Still he went on. Again I interfered and said:
“You're wrong,” at the same time rising from the table and producing the book of the words to prove my contention.
“Yes,” said the inspector, “it seems that I am wrong this time: but even Cicero nods.”
“So it seems,” I remarked, “
Among all my visitors the most helpful was good Mr. Fred. Rollett, Agricultural Editor of the Auckland Weekly News — the only one among all my friends who shared my vision and encouraged my enterprise from the very start. A man of original thought, great foresight and virile imagination, in Emerson's phrase “his eye made estates” out of the wilderness. I remember a gathering of Auckland business men to greet him on his arrival from Canterbury in the early nineties when he surprised us all by remarking that he considered the land of
One of my youngest visitors made one of the shrewdest
At Broadlands there was always “open house” for all, and we flattered ourselves that in one respect at least we resembled the British Navy — we always had steam up. Moreover there is some magic about the number of people that can be crammed into a small house and given a bed — and still one more if the owner sleeps in a chair! I was always glad to welcome visitors: but the views of the women in the case may have been different. Preparations and aftermaths such as cleaning, cooking, washing-up, moving of furniture, and the like, must have been a great tax on them — and their only reward a few kind words, some excitement, the good food left over as the property of the kitchen and perchance “a few bob.”
In the history of Broadlands neither swell nor swaggie was ever turned away. To visitors I always cried Ҡ
Adventure
“Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety”—King HenryIV (Part I, Act II, Scene III).
Those who may imagine the backblocks of New Zealand to be a wild west show with guns, revolvers, knives and violence are quite mistaken. But occasions do arise when courage is most necessary. The Hindu who said to me: “Might I never come back” was quite correct. He had kept a store at Reporoa and his debtors had removed to a distant bush. He offered me an enormous commission to collect his debts. I assured him that I was not in that line of business and asked:
“Why don't you collect them yourself?”
“Might I never come back!”
An unknown, friendless person might easily meet with an accident. This black-skinned, weakling son of India had had one or two experiences already. A Maori entered his shop and, after selecting a complete outfit from head to foot regardless of expense was suddenly seized with doubts as to whether the new garments would prove a good fit. Upon persuasion the Hindu permitted his customer to enter his dwelling for the purpose of trying the clothes on. Out stalks our Maori, brushing the Hindu aside, and leaving his old rags as a fair exchange. However, I understand he did not pocket any of the Hindu's personal properties in the room. Some folk are slow to seize opportunities and things!
On another occasion I had a relative of the capturer of Winiata working for me on a small contract for £10. I gave him stores to the value of £3 15s. for a start, when up came a bill from the Hindu for over £9. I hunted up my contractor and
Notwithstanding these incidents the Maoris are, taken “by and large” a good-natured, good-tempered, peaceable folk, and naturally polite. But here is another exception — one Pukuriri. He was a medium kind of shearer and had worked for me at two or three shearings. However, on this occasion he was in a bad temper and was knocking the sheep about. I warned him, but shortly observed a weak sheep he had shorn standing in the port hesitating to go down the ramp. Pukuriri stuck his shears into its rump, when the animal leaped forward and fell down in the count-out pen.
“Riri that won't do; go down and lift that sheep up.”
“It will get up itself, †
“Never mind that; go down and lift it up.”
After some growling he crawled through the port and down the ramp, stretched forth his hand, seized the sheep by its hind legs and twisted it up. When he returned I said:
“That's enough, Riri. Put your machine down. Finish.” At that he jumped around and followed me about cursing and threatening. Not being a good Maori linguist I failed to follow his rapid stream of words; but, when he used the word pukukuhua (the Maori language is strangely deficient in swear words — a defect remedied by numerous adaptations from the Pakeha) I knew he was deeply moved. At the smoke-oh my head Maori came to me and said: “You look out that ferrow. He threaten murder you.” The next morning very early (shearing starts at 5 a.m. in sheer defiance of the forty-hour week) I went to the Maori camp. “E Riri,” I said, “is it true that you threatened to murder me.” He shuffled but I held him to it, and he finally
A fortnight having elapsed and no appearance of the defendant, we knocked off the patrol. That very night a sheep was killed. Then I found out that the chattering she-fool in the house had told a Maori woman what we were going to do! After that I would go down after dinner and walk about till midnight; or get up at two o'clock and walk about till daybreak. Mr. Riri never knew when I would be there and his attacks ceased. Some months later I found three of our friend's dogs among my sheep. Getting one of my men we took guns and crossed the river. Arriving at his whare we found that he was not there, but the dogs were, and we shot them. I then sued him for the sheep killed by the three dogs and obtained judgment which he failed to satisfy. In the end I attached his wagon and team and my damages were discharged. But I got nothing
“Riri the bad man,” he gasped.
“Tell me something I don't know,” I said, “but what's the matter now?”
“By gorry very near he kill Rangi. Yes! very near he kill Rangi and Mrs. Rangi and all the famry.”
“Good God,” I exclaimed. “I'll get a few medicines and bandages and things and come over at once.”
“Oh! they newer hurt
After considerable questioning I found that Pukuriri had taken a gun to Rangi's house and threatened to shoot father, mother and children. My informant, with others, had headed him off. Shortly after this another Maori, a much greater fighter than Riri, came to live at Ohaki and he soon put the oldtime bully in a back seat. Riri then came to me for protection.
“Riri,” I said, “aren't you the man who threatened to murder me?”
“Oh yes,
When the new bully started to knock the women about (including my old friend Ripeka) I straightened him up and gave him the option of being handed over to the police or leaving the settlement. He chose the latter. As he went away he met his young sister who unfortunately had £5 belonging to their father. When she would not give it up he took it from her and by way of reward gave her a hiding to go on with. Among themselves the Maoris are still at times rather primitive.
As for the Englishman he must never let himself down to the Maori level. He must be the
I once saw in an advertisement of an hotel for sale the main advantage plainly set out: “Nearest policeman twenty-one miles”; and I soon began to sense that Broadlands had the same attraction for the criminal and that I was getting a class of men whose chief object in life was to get away as far as possible from the police. Several gave rather serious trouble and I was glad to get them away without bloodshed. When I summoned one of these beauties to my study to “give him the sack” he suddenly rose, locked the study door, and put the key in his pocket. His manners and language were impolite. Among other things he loudly and fiercely declared his fixed purpose to be the cutting off of my head and subjecting it to a very gross indignity. I endeavoured to pretend that I was not in the least scared, but was careful not to irritate the fellow. He cooled down and went. Subsequently I prosecuted him and had him fined for making threats “Having the present means of executing the same.” Later I had another experience of the same kind.
And again, just after the departure of distinguished guests, I heard a noise in the kitchen. Upon enquiry I found the door blocked by a table and I was assured through a slight opening that the furniture was being moved. Repeated noise upon an ascending scale caused my return to the charge. This time I entered and beheld my married couple lying on the floor in pools of blood. It appeared that their great affection for one another had been demonstrated with lumps of firewood. I ordered the man to rise and, in his semi-dazed condition I contrived to push him into their bedroom and there beheld the
Not very long after my taking up my country a gang of cattle thieves acquired from the Crown a lease of fifty thousand acres adjoining me at the back. These sports did not as a rule venture
We ourselves used occasionally to ride out after wild horses and cattle. There are several ways of catching horses. The best way of all was to pay a Maori to do it for you. But if you wanted to be quite authentic and do it for yourself you firstly made a wire noose and fastened the other end to a big bundle of brush. The noose being placed across a main track you drove
One day I was out in the plains with a couple of neighbours searching for a good track into my bush. Riding down a narrow rocky gorge we passed a calf curled up and apparently asleep. Presently we came on the mother. When she rushed at us head down we were fortunate in that she stumbled over a large stone and we rushed past assuring her that we would not dream of separating her from her beloved offspring — in her eyes probably the prettiest and cleverest calf in the world.
Until recently there was a large prison camp on the plains at the back of Broadlands. One evening there was a great barking of dogs while we were at dinner. I went to the door and shouted them down. When the men returned to their quarters they came back to report the loss of our best riding horse with saddle and bridle complete and some of the men's clothes. An escaped prisoner had favoured us with a call. He got nearly as far as Opotiki before he was caught, and the unfortunate horse was never much good afterwards.
On another occasion there was a ring from the head station:
“A prisoner has escaped; warn the settlers.”
(You will observe that the Government were always quick to use my telephone though they had thrown every obstacle in the way of my getting it.)
“What sort of a man?”
“Oh! stands six feet two inches and weighs eighteen stone.”
“A pretty kind of a bird that! What was he in for?”
“Attempted murder of a policeman.”
I lost no time in spreading the glad tidings, and there was great carrying of guns by day and locking of doors by night. In a few days some Maoris rushed in exclaiming:
“
“Where?”
“Near Waimahana.”
I rang the head station whose response was to the effect that they would have men down in about half-an-hour; meanwhile would I give the Maoris a lead? A pretty job for a man my size! However I despatched my Maoris. “No guns,” I said, “just keep the man in sight. I will be along with the police quite soon.” Then I rang the neighbours and all agreed to assemble at the Waimahana Bridge right away. I despatched a boy for horses.
The lad was frightfully keen on coming. He got the horses saddled while I prepared serviceable manuka †waddies. Arrived at the bridge not a soul was there. Subsequently I listened to the old song “My Wife Won't Let Me.” Who doubts the usefulness of a spouse? After waiting a while I decided to go on and soon saw a group on the road. The Maoris had got their man; notwithstanding my orders they had taken their guns and held him up. When I came up the prisoner angrily asked:
“What's them sticks for?”
“Don't you come too close or you'll b—soon find out.”
I was riding my valiant horse Pompey and my plan was, in the event of trouble, to stick the “hooks” in and jump all over the man. However he blew off steam in a flow of lurid language constituting a record for quality, speed and volume (or, as one might say, for number of ohms as well as voltage and amperage) — the burden of it being the debased nature of a white man who
It is, perhaps, unwise to have one's life too heavily insured — to be worth more dead than alive. It must be remembered that any form of insurance inevitably increases the risk which it is supposed to cover. Be that as it may, it is unwise in remote regions to carry money about with you. Hakaraia, the man who murdered his mate for the sake of a few banknotes he had on him, was in my employ for quite a while.
Talking of being worth more dead than alive; it would be amusing if it were not so sad that a man for whom no person on earth would have paid £250 when alive and well, becomes worth £2,500 when killed under circumstances which give his dependants a legal claim against a wealthy insurance company.
Having sold a chip of thirteen thousand acres off my estate a survey became necessary, and the surveyors established a camp out in the back of the never-never. Of course I had to supply them with stores. One afternoon I decided to deliver the goods myself, but unforseen circumstances delayed my departure and, after having successfully forded the intervening river, darkness overtook me on the way out. Looking after a packhorse as well
Another time I was again late but took a careful bearing by the stars on the surveyors' dwelling place. Arrived there with remarkable exactitude I found they had moved camp! Having decided where they would most likely be I started after them, but the combined effect of darkness, heavy †
“I don't like this valley,” I said.
“What's the matter with it?” said my surveyor. “You couldn't have better walking.”
“Yes,” I replied. “But the wild cattle and horses have not walked in it. Absence of a track argues a precipice at the end.”
“There's no precipice in this country I can't get down.”
After a while we came to a small drop — just three or four feet. Drops of increasing height succeeded. After precipitating ourselves down a precipice of about twenty-five feet we struck the grand finale, a sheer drop of about two hundred and fifty feet. Neglecting my challenge to get down it the surveyor led the retreat, but we found that the ascent of the twenty-five foot precipice was totally different from the descent.
I may here remark that undoubtedly surveyors are among the first and greatest of pioneers. With unrecognized but great courage they go in advance of settlement into the roughest of country laying out roads and fixing boundaries that the ways may be made straight for those who follow.
They endure rain and cold: they ford or swim the unbridged rivers: they scale and they descend the precipices hanging on by their eyebrows and the seat of their pants. Gentlemen afraid of wetting their feet and who want their clothes aired should not adopt the surveyors' profession. The accuracy of their work considering the difficulties is astonishing.
Another adventurous trip was that taken in conducting the first motor-car through the country now named Reporoa. I did not drive but gave “Gilby” (Gilbertson) an extra £1 to attempt the passage. Leaving Strathmore homestead we took ropes and spades in the car, and our lives in our hands. The track had been used only for riding and there were no bridges. At the last creek before reaching the main road it looked as if we should have to go all the way back: but we “gave it a spin” and got through. “Fortune favours the bold” is a true saying.
Burning the scrub is often fraught with danger and many a good man has lost his life in this operation. As the fire tends to surround you the heat overcomes you and the smoke fills your eyes and ears and mouth. Many a man enveloped in the smoke has lost his bearings and run into the fire instead of away from it.
On the day of the great Raetihi fire I had gone out burning with a couple of boys, this time in the standing scrub. We took a big two-horse †buggy load of seed for sowing on the ashes. The horses were tethered and the buggy left in a comparatively bare patch to windward of our fire. Our fires were blazing merrily when the wind suddenly changed right round and blew a hurricane. I rushed to the buggy and just had time to let the
homo sapiens! We then had a perspiring time reversing the process and beating the fire out as well as we could.
In clearing an area I have always kept patches of the heaviest growth as a subsequent shelter for stock. The preservation of these is always difficult and sometimes adventurous. We found that, even after the fire had been successfully manoeuvred past, up the shelter would go in a sudden blaze. Some small spark or some creeping fire had undone all our toil and sweat and roasting. Latterly I had all such clumps ploughed round to stop the creeping fires and the fallen scrub on the windward side carried away to reduce the sparks. Then the fire was lit to leeward—if there should be a breeze; but we were usually out before daybreak to get a breathless burn around danger spots. Once fire has got into heavy standing scrub it is “goodbye.” In light scrub with sufficient men it may be curbed after great exertion. Another feature of burning off was this:
Along the rivers were fairly extensive flats lying about twenty feet below the general level of the country. On these grew especially heavy manuka. Down these precipices wild stock had engineered paths but, when the fire was raging, it was not always easy to reach them. Fire will travel over the mass of fallen scrub much faster than a man. At times I have had to jump into a creek to avoid the flames; at others I have been desperately clambering up the precipice with the flames just about tickling my tail.
Having discussed the danger of fire let us turn for a minute to
Dear reader, have you ever attempted the crossing of a stream by walking over on a strained wire? That would be rather to out-Blondin Blondin: but in the earliest days I have often done it—sometimes on two wires one above the other. The art in this case is to keep upright, for if one allows his legs to assume the horizontal one will soon crash down out of control. Three wires are comparatively luxurious: then you take one wire in each hand and walk on the third. The arms must be kept quite rigid — otherwise you will certainly get wet. Crossing a creek by the comparatively safe method of clambering along the wires of a fence — especially if they be barbed wires — is not so very easy
Once with some wire and a few planks we made a flimsy bridge over the Waiotapu to afford a short cut to a football match. This elegant structure was quite safe for one or two at a time: but, when the home-going folk after the match insisted on crowding it, down she came like the American bridge with the railway train and the cow on it at the same time. With great exertions we fished about seven people out of the stream and believed that we had a correct tally!
Earthquake was a not infrequent cause of alarm at Broadlands. The 'quakes at Rotorua and Taupo, strangely enough, did not seem to affect us much. We got our bad shakes from the east coast. The way to judge the intensity of an earthquake is to watch a swinging lamp and observe how close it will come to knocking a hole in the ceiling. Another method is to place a golf ball on the floor and watch it career around. We never experienced a 'quake violent enough to throw things off shelves: but the window sashweights banging about and the water swishing about in the tanks make a terrific noise which frightens many people. When the great Napier earthquake struck us I at once recognized that something quite out of the ordinary was happening. I was near the homestead and watching the trees dancing a grotesque tarantella when I heard piercing shrieks from the house. Running thither as well as I could over the heaving earth I found the housekeeper and her daughter in paroxysms of fear. They clung to me and pleaded “You won't leave us, Mr. Vaile.” “Of course not,” I replied. “I'll stop the 'quake at once.” And it stopped! After much persuasion the good women accompanied me into the house to display the havoc they had reported. Then the fun started afresh. Had I been able to put a stop-watch on those women I am sure fresh records for sprints would have been registered. In the end I
One's ordinary work will now and again lead one into danger. Thus when the sills of our main bridge showed decay I decided to replace them, engaging for the purpose the local bridge-builder. He professed complete confidence in his ability to do the work: but, arrived on the job, he realized that he had forgotten to bring his sky hooks. However, I invented a method and we got two of the stringers moved without much difficulty. This gave the Maoris over-confidence and they let the third one slip. It threw me across another stringer and thence into the water. Two or three strokes brought me ashore and I was giving a few orders before going to the house for a change of clothes when attention was drawn to the fact that I was bleeding freely. Arrived home I found a deep wound right in the groin — evidently caused by a nail. Having dragged out from it a quantity of cloth I was not quite happy and rang up a doctor who insisted on immediate attendance at his studio where he removed from the wound a second and final instalment of rubbish. Had I stayed home I would soon have joined the boy whose crown was won by blowing down an empty gun and the girl who lit the fire with kerosene.
But, after all, these occasional adventures of danger by fire and flood and violence and exposure are not nearly as great a test of courage as the hourly, daily, everlasting struggle against the poverty of one's bankers, the dreadful power of resistance inherent in the wilderness and the terribly active increase of one's enemies, both animal and vegetable. The frightful fertility of the unfit and the injurious is a terrible fact as well in the backblocks as in the crowded slums of the cities.
Added to all this is the constant fear that you may fail — lose your money and your repute and “go out on your head” penniless—as so many have done before you.
The great adventure was taking up the land. The courage consisted in maintaining the struggle till final perseverance brought the enterprise to a successful conclusion and I achieved a “Happy issue out of all my afflictions.”
The Animals
“A living being having voluntary motion”—The Dictionary.
Man has now overcome all rivals and enemies of the animal world except the smallest — the insects. Indeed it would appear that the smaller a creature the deadlier — until we get right down to the inframicroscopic bacteria.
So, with due respect to the enemies of my race, I will begin with insects or rather all very small creatures—not necessarily confined to those furnished with head, thorax, abdomen and six legs.
†Fleas were abundant in the soil. Whence they drew sustenance before our arrival is a mystery: but, when we appeared they did their level best to make up for lost time. Once when I had to sleep outside to make room for visitors I would catch thirty or forty in my blankets each morning and in the manure shed they simply swarmed in the blood-and-bone. If we neglected to tie strings round the bottom of our trousers when working with that manure the little wretches would rush up our legs in hundreds and gorge on our life's blood. Ultimately we reduced their numbers to a negligible minimum.
During the summer there was a great pestilence of †sandflies. However if sandfly bites are not rubbed or scratched they do no harm.
Another stinging insect was the honey bee. Ere long a hive was established in the ceiling over my study and its inhabitants occasionally paid me a visit without attacking me, but in the garden on two or three occasions a few have come at me. On all these occasions except one I was fully clothed and more or less in my right mind, but this time was without a hat. Bereft of this useful shield it was impossible to keep the brutes off and I was rather badly stung, with the result that I suffered from swelled head for several days.
What a useful thing the farmer's hat it! Besides its everyday office of keeping the wet winter rains from running down his neck, and preventing the hot summer sun from damaging the delicacy of his complexion, it may be used, as shown, as defence equipment for beating off attacks from the air or for gently urging sheep into a pen, or for kneeling on in wet ground, or for holding hot iron, or for lifting water out of a creek for drinking (the experienced drink from the brim not the crown), or it may be for carrying water to the radiator of a car, and so on. Originally of strongest felt, it has by now lost its band and gained a topmost ventilator, through which the wind may at least whistle. Yet city men would cast away this useful old friend: the protector of their heads and brains.
Besides this domesticated hive we occasionally took a swarm which had separated from it and now and again we robbed the wild bees which had their homes in holes in the cliffs at the back of the run.
The only other dangerous insect was the †mosquito — fortunately extremely rare. Seldom indeed did he —or rather she (†
There was another insect very like a mosquito but larger, harmless, and quite devoid of musical talent. It would appear suddenly in countless numbers and unless the windows were
Ewes 1912
Dry Ewes 1914
Maiden Ewes 1934
Waiting to be ShornShorn: Another Cut from Same Mob 1934
chironomus Zealandicusor
ceratopogon antipodum— you may take your choice. I think they are
chironomus.
Gnats and small flying insects known to the natives under the generic name of †sphinx convolvuli would appear, and once I captured a specimen of the beautiful †dasypodia selenophora, but the huge and handsome hepialus virescens (or †puriri moth) I never saw, though a specimen was taken in Rotorua.
The common †mason fly (really a wasp) was always present in the summer, sealing up our key-holes and spoiling any unused clothes left hanging up. Its spider victims were mostly of the prettily-coloured native varieties. These would retain their vivid colour in the cells but, once the cells were opened, they would rapidly fade.
Another wasp sirex juvencus, so greatly feared at one time as a destroyer of pine trees, seems to have faded out.
The most common flies were the “blowflies” and the “house flies.” The former mostly of the brown sort— also †bluebottles and the handsome †iridescent variety principal progenitor of the dreaded sheep maggot. The native †blowfly of fierce appearance,
In December the †house flies would begin to appear and with unbelievable rapidity increase and multiply and replenish the earth. If they would only stay outside they could be tolerated, but they have great penetration — into all kinds of food. The only advantage I see in them is that when the autumn frosts begin they get stupefied. If one rises early in the morning one may go round with a brush and a kerosene tin and brush them off the walls in masses.
The wide range of my ignorance of entomology prevents my describing the infinity of the other varieties of flies abounding in countless numbers and leading an apparently enjoyable, airy existence without any help from the Government. Their object in life is to feed superior beings such as fantails.
The greatest natural enemy of the fly— the †spider —is also present in great variety and myriad hosts. One of the most beautiful sights in nature is the multitudinous cobwebs on a frosty morning — from the humble little houses of the earthdwelling spiders to the magnificent geometric designs of the
tarantula I caught in California boasted ten legs which seems to me improper. Most of the spiders at Broadlands are native—brightly coloured, green predominating. Some have long slender bodies and others are round and fat though they usually win only one meal a week. One peculiar little black fellow lives in a large apartment house. This looks at first glance like an irregular and thick mass of web, and it is most unpleasant if one incautiously sticks his head into it, for he must then spend much time pulling the sticky web off his features, and combing the little spiders out of his hair and ears and collar. But on closer examination it is seen that each spider possesses a most beautifully spun dwelling of its own. It seals its eggs in small brown sacs and attaches them in great numbers to twigs of shrubs where they may easily be mistaken for seeds. Then there is a great fat brown spider which lives in the scrub and builds a large and astonishingly strong web between the bushes. Multitudinous spiders colonise the edges of the weatherboards, the window frames, and even the keyholes of your dwelling and other buildings. Others specialize in interiors. Though most are repulsive, all are harmless. I have never seen a †
Ants are not very numerous, but occasionally one comes across their remarkable nests in the earth. Where the flying ants come from is another of the mysteries of nature. They are the
The †red admiral is the only large †butterfly commonly seen. Smaller sorts are fairly numerous and the notorious †white butterfly is seen in millions on the swedes. In the garden the large voracious brilliantly green caterpillars polish off one's carefully reared cabbages and cauliflowers in double quick time. They seem naturally to avoid plants close to eleagnus hedges. The only control I found of any practical use was common salt and water frequently applied with a watering can.
The †diamond back moth is a worse and more uncontrollable pest but he does not appear till late in the summer.
The †humble bee is numerous and a great asset in the clover fields, but his success among one's broad beans is not so satisfactory.
Cicadas abound and their gentle crooning, ushering in the warm and langourous summer days, is most complacently cheerful. They are a great source of food for the large †swamphawk.
The true †locust is seen only on rare occasions.
†Grasshoppers are in the usual full supply.
Caterpillars have a wicked habit of suddenly appearing in innumerable mobs and attacking one's oats just as they are ripening. With incredible speed they will strip all the grain from a crop and leave nothing but bare stalks. The only salvation is to sool the starlings on to them. Unfortunately, in my day, the birds have been under no sort of control, but doubtless
petiole which connects the grain with the stalk. The grain falls on the ground and if disced in will throw a good crop.
I believe that most of our insignificant native †beetles are resident in the Pumice Country—the largest being the †
The †Maori bug (
Lice of many sorts were present. Formerly they abounded in the heads of our native brethren, but latterly I observed among them a distinct decline in the industry of delousing one another. In sheep they are not at all common and can be detected easily by the manners of the sheep. Different kinds of lice have been invented to persecute different kinds of animals. Among spruce trees a peculiar louse is very destructive.
The ked or sheep tick is not nearly so common as it used to be—indeed I have not seen one for years.
While discussing repulsive creatures I must name the common †bed bug. One of my men whom I had allowed to sleep in the house left behind him as a suitable reward a number of these
In the garden, slugs are not numerous and snails almost absent—and, as in the case of many folk, their absence is a delight. I think the thrushes absorb them and turn them into song. Frogs also devour their eggs.
Slaters are quickly increasing. Crickets are seldom seen or heard. Centipedes occur—all of the smaller sorts.
Lastly, but by no means least, let me name a remarkable native—the weta—so aptly dubbed by naturalists deinacrida—the terrible prickly insect. It is by no means common and at Broadlands I have never seen the big-headed sort megacephalus.
And now to our principal allies against the insects. As is usual in New Zealand birds abound—especially water-fowl. I will endeavour to give a plain statement and a simple description of those present on Broadlands, but must confess that I am not an ornithologist. For instance I cannot conceive why our graceful and sweet-voiced †corvidae, or why the breastbone of a bird should be called its sternum. If I had my way I would place that bone at the other end near “the pope's nose”—though, again, I cannot understand why a pope should want to place his nose in that region.
Ducks are the most numerous aquatic birds. †Grey ducks are in the vast majority but there are many teal, both †black and brown. †Spoonbills are not uncommon and the Maoris are very fond of their delicately-coloured feathers for making mats. †Paradise duck (really a goose) began to appear about twelve years ago and are now fairly plentiful.
The handsome †
†Bitterns used to be plentiful—I have put up as many as fourteen in a flight—but the Maoris are very fond of their flesh, and fishermen of their feathers, and their numbers are greatly reduced. They stand still as death with their beaks up in the air and just like a stick. On the ground their cry rather resembles that of a bull. On the wing their voice undergoes a remarkable change to a hoarse croak.
Various †shags are numerous. They breed on the place.
The †pied stilt is a tall and handsome creature not common. It flies around emitting a cry like a small dog.
The †dab-chick or grebe is an interesting little bird. After the flash of a gun it can dive before the shot has time to reach it. It carries its tiny chicks on its back.
Only once have I seen the great †crested grebe at Broadlands.
At rare intervals native †pigeons have visited us.
Once a pair of condescending †tuis honoured and entertained us by staying in the garden sucking nectar from the †flax flowers and I have heard them among the eucalypts fairly frequently.
The nearest I have been to †kakas is when I have heard and seen them high in the air flying across.
The graceful flirting †fantail is very common and very friendly and tame, always coming close to welcome and to inspect you and often enough entering your rooms to sample your flies.
The tiny †
The native †tomtit is rather rare. Once a pair built in my garden and hatched out their brood, but I fear the house cat decided that they were titbits as well as tomtits.
The gaudy †kingfisher with its flashing flight sometimes visited us, but did not seem to settle down.
The pretty and musical †shining cuckoo called in to see us only occasionally.
The raucous †long-tailed cuckoo bred in the district and the young would make the day hideous with their cries. The Maoris
Visiting M's.P. and Local Settlers in Standing Oats 1930
A Wonderfully Heavy Crop at Broadlands 1914
Opening Up the Crop 1920
Waiting for Daddy to Come Round 1923
The white-eye or †blight bird often paid us visits, always in small mobs. Clothed in their delicately tinted green robes they twittered their pleasure at resuming acquaintance with us.
Owls would stay with us some winters and wake the silence of the night with their demands for †more pork.”
The ground lark or †pipit was common enough, usually on the roads, rising on the wing for a short distance and alighting again. Motors have almost completely driven them away.
The pretty and interesting banded †dotterel is very common. It runs along the ground not far away uttering its friendly little call. It breeds on the place. Its young are quite interesting: they are all legs and hair before they can fly, and rush along at an incredible speed. Errant youngsters having left the parental home—if their rudimentary nest may be dignified by that name—are a great anxiety to their parents. Should one be captured the distress of the old birds is piteous.
We have several times been visited by the pretty little †dove gulls and sometimes by the †black-backed gull. The latter we always shot at sight as he kills lambs, ducklings and other delicacies.
The big †harrier-hawk which nests on the ground in swamps is very numerous. When Lord Bledisloe was here, standing in one spot he shot twenty-one hawks before lunch, and counted it a record. I have never seen this hawk attack a full-grown rabbit or hare, or even a duck or pukeko; but he will sit with infinite patience outside a burrow wherein resides a family of young rabbits and snap them one by one as they come out; or he will descend on young ducks if the mother be away. He is said to
The plucky little †sparrow-hawk was plentiful when I first came up; but seems to have disappeared. It nests in the cliffs. Should a person approach, these birds scream more and more furiously as he gets nearer the nest and reduce their cries as he recedes. In this way they really guide the intruder to their home. Once, riding across country to Taupo, I disturbed sparrow-hawks on a nest on a cliff. I decided to have a look. As I got close the parent birds flew straight at me and I had to keep them off with a stick as well as I could in my precarious position. In the nest were fledglings not quite ready to fly. I put one in my pocket. It squeaked and the outraged parents continued a furious attack on me. I had intended giving the chick to the Museum, but the parents made themselves such a nuisance that I gave them back their offspring. Whether they got it back home I know not.
A week after an eminent scientist had delivered a lecture on the †moa in which he stated that the bird had never existed in the central regions of the North Island, I found bones of two specimens of the squat heavy-boned variety about seven feet down in the pumice.
And now for imported birds:
†Black swans were often about and looked very graceful. They used to nest in my lagoon, but the Maoris took to hunting the cygnets just before they could fly and so chased the swans away. I understand that they are very good eating. It is interesting to remember that the black swan was the Rara in terra avis (the bird rare upon earth) as the ancients of the Northern Hemisphere believed a black swan to be an impossibility.
For years there were wild geese on my lagoon, but continuous
Of imported birds the †house-sparrow is the most numerous and one of the most destructive. Several will work on the co-operative principle to pull a straw out of the stack and share the stolen grain. In time much damage is thereby effected. Mobs of them will descend on a small isolated crop of oats and leave the stalks bare of grain.
†Sky-larks are also very numerous. Just before dawn they will rise in scores to great heights in order to greet the orb of day by pouring forth a regular torrent of melody. Though they build on the ground their nests are very hard to find. How the bird itself, descending from hundreds of feet up, contrives to discover the particular ten square inches in which his dwelling is situated is nothing short of marvellous. The paddock may contain one hundred acres, all covered with grass plants exactly alike. They work much harder and for longer hours than a well-regulated union would allow, at uprooting young oats and young rape.
†Starlings are in thousands. They work in mobs and feed on the grass grub without injuring the pasture. When caterpillars attack the nearly ripe oats it is, as I have already remarked, a great stroke of luck if the starlings find them and assemble in their hosts to do battle for you. Towards the setting of the sun many mobs make for the same roosting place—usually some tall manuka but sometimes they will get a night's lodging in the big trees near the house. They can chatter, just before retiring and just after rising, to beat the band—or even all the women in the world; but they are, take them all round, the most useful birds on the farm. They usually nest in holes in the pumice banks but, should they chance to build elsewhere, it is no use trying to chase them away. They will return to the same spot year after year with extraordinary persistence.
†Blackbirds were common when I first went up and were to be found everywhere—even in the most remote corners. They have diminished.
†Thrushes abound: The pluckiest and most cheerful of birds, their tuneful song is heard from dawn till dark right through the winter: nor does rough weather damp their ardour. We all know those common creatures—the one who can sing but will not: and the one who can't sing but will. But the thrush is that rara in terra avis which can sing and will. The blackbird is said to have a sweeter song: but that is of no use if he will not produce it but keeps it down his neck.
The cheerful chaffinch is fairly common. His chief accomplishment is stealing the seeds out of sunflowers.
Yellowhammers used to be very numerous, but have diminished.
Linnets and the gaudy goldfinch sometimes appear in flocks.
Among game birds pheasants used to be plentiful—to such an extent that a certain boarding establishment used to have “spring chicken” on the menu every day. At the time of my arrival their numbers had greatly diminished and now they are virtually extinct. The advent of the rabbit was their obituary notice. Poison laid for it was even more attractive to birds.
At one time †quail—mostly Californian but also Australian—threatened to become a real pest. However they have almost disappeared. They have a tremendous capacity for picking up grass seed. They are also very fond of blackberries and very careless of where they ultimately deposit the seeds.
Casual visitors have been two or three carrier pigeons who, as soon as they had been fed and were rested, took wing again for their destinations answering the call of duty.
A solitary †rook stayed with us for quite a while. The cattle did not like the little black stranger and used to chase it about: but I fancy the real cause of its departure was the urge of spring and the need of female society.
A large white †cockatoo also adopted Broadlands as his home for some months. He was a handsome bird with fine yellow crest and we were fond of him, but when he rewarded our hospitality by taking to the roofs of stacks and tearing them to pieces we had to get rid of him.
I had almost forgotten the most useful of birds—the good old †barn-door fowl!
Prior to my coming the common green frog was in almost complete possession. His countless millions made such a noise that folk imagined that they were listening to the breakers on the wild sea-coast. At times his hosts would decide to travel say east: other times other directions. Usually at the brilliant green stage of their growth they would hop along in their tens of thousands. In a few days they—or their survivors—would usually return to resume their song in the principal lagoon in front of the homestead. They were most useful. Everything ate them—trout, ducks and all other aquatic birds, rats, cats, dogs, and the like. Frogs are cannibals. For long I could not make out what animal screamed at night. Then I found a big frog attacking a little one which cried aloud to its gods, but they heard it not, and soon the silence of the abdominal grave ended all. But the big fellow frog could scream much louder than its late victim when the house-cat started to stalk him. These creatures are still numerous but vastly reduced in numbers. I think the cause is the eating out by my cattle of the great areas of raupo which formerly sheltered them.
The pretty little green and yellow †lizard I have never seen at Broadlands, but the small †brown lizard that lives under stones and boards may often be found.
†Rats were quite numerous and lived mostly in riverside
mus rattus—was in possession. He had driven out the mus maorium but was eventually displaced by the conquering brown rat mus norvegicus.
These big black rats used to invade the house. One night I was aroused by a noise in the dining room. I took a stick with me and closed the door. One of the rats rushed me and ran up the inside of the leg of my pyjamas. When it had very nearly reached the crotch I grabbed it and crushed it to death. This gave me an understanding of the objection womenfolk have towards rats.
I may here relate a curious adventure at Ohinemutu. A Canadian gentleman had come up with a few friends on final leave before his honeymoon. Taking a stroll on the lake shore before breakfast to calm and strengthen his soul for the coming conflict, his attention was attracted to a woman who had collapsed on the ground. On his rushing to her help she confided to him that a rat had run up her clothes. He besought the lady to stand up and shake the creature out: but of this she was incapable, so our hero had to “do the necessary.” When he related his exploit, his friends gave him such a rattling that he left the town.
Small field-mice lived in their burrows here and there until they came into my store and dwelling to fatten up.
One of New Zealand's only native mammals (two kinds of small bats) was to be seen at rare intervals.
†Rabbits had been present for some time. A lunatic policeman had picked up some young ones in Hawkes Bay and let
At first †hares were a greater pest than rabbits, being especially damaging to turnips: also to all other crops and to young trees. They generally have only two young (called leverets) at a birth, and the young are very foolish and may be caught by the hand. In cutting oats we always had sport at the finish. As the binder went round and round the hares retired to the
†Stoats, †polecats and †weasels had been established to counter the rabbits, but their work was more apparent in the poultry-run than in the rabbit-warrens.
Wild horses were present in hundreds. The Maoris would bring in any number required at seven and sixpence a head or would catch any particular horse for £1. These animals look quite nice running about, but few are worth more than dog-tucker. Those much over two years old cannot be broken in. However, I got several useful ponies out of them—very sure-footed and cheaply fed on fresh air. At the very beginning a Maori had a contract to deliver one horse each alternate week. He used to shoot it in a particular part of the neck and drive it in to wherever we wanted the carcase. There he would pole-axe the poor brute and the dogs would pick its bones. In the very early days stale horse one week and fresh air the next formed our dog-tucker.
When first we put up fences several horses got tangled up in them. They were unacquainted with these new-fangled obstructions to the freedom of the subject.
At first I could not understand what caused the immense heaps of horse-droppings here and there. It appears that each wild stallion has his own private latrine and always returns there to dung.
To show the extent to which unprofitable animals will invade a place I may say that, when part of Strathmore was sold and a thorough clean-up effected, no fewer than one hundred and fifty Maori-owned and wild horses were turned off. These animals would consume as much feed as one thousand sheep.
Wild cattle were present in considerable numbers. We could always go out and find thirty or forty: but getting them in was
Sometimes a wild bull would come down and run with our tame cows. One such came in with a mob right to the gate of the house paddocks. I went in and got a rifle, but was afraid to fire off the ground lest I should only wound the beast. So I hopped on my horse and let the bull have it. My faithful steed raised active objections, and next instant I was on the ground anyway, and my rifle yards away. Fortunately the bull was dead. This was a real treat for the dogs—a change from horse-flesh to beef! It lasted a fortnight. Towards the end the dogs would enter at one end and emerge at the other with a terrific B.O. that even Lifebuoy soap would not remove. I have put as many as seven bullets into a wild bull before killing him. But at short range the snider is the thing. It opens a cavern that no beast can survive.
There were a few wild sheep around, carrying about three years' fleece. The getting of them in was very difficult, but at last I accomplished it—or rather my little dog did. They were great strong animals showing no sign of “bush sickness.”
Wild pigs were numerous and the Maoris very keen on hunting them. Usually we did not go after them ourselves, but told the Maoris where the
I have often asked the Maoris how they lived before Mr.
It is stated that when Messrs. Ross and Rankin took possession of the country afterwards called Strathmore they killed five hundred pigs and drove five hundred more across the Waiotapu River on to the Maori land.
Deer were all round about but only once have I known one inside my fences.
Wild dogs occasionally gave us great trouble. They are very cunning, are off at a gallop when still well out of range and will not take poisoned meat. Three methods of capture are possible: [Firstly] Poison and bury a whole sheep. They do not seem to suspect this. [Secondly] Hunt them down with tame dogs trained for the purpose. [Thirdly] Tie up a bitch on heat and conceal yourself within range with a rifle. By this means, however, one gets only the dogs, whereas the bitches are much more dangerous.
Of tame animals introduced the horse is perhaps the most interesting and the most generally useful. His labour prepares the way for other animals. Gentle, faithful, patient toiler, of all lower animals the best friend of man! It is a contemptible crime to treat him unkindly. A man, even though incapable of defending himself, can at least complain. But the poor horse cannot say: “You have carelessly left a rope under the saddle” or “A chain is chafing me.” He just has to endure the pain unless his master cares for him. Protection of our dumb fellow creatures is a plain duty and a charge upon our humanity.
The only domestic animal on the place when I took possession was a two-year-old colt branded H. K. Grass being very scarce we turned him out as soon as we had a fence up. As he continued hanging about we brought him in and broke him to saddle and to harness. Then indeed he had many claimants, but
“He got the brand H. K. That the way he my horse.”
“All right,” I replied. “Show me that that is your registered brand.” Finally he struck a dramatic attitude and declared: “I take nothing.”
“Splendid,” I said, “for that's exactly what you'll get.”
In the end I found the right owner and bought the horse. He proved a most useful beast. For one thing the foundation of his beliefs was that Broadlands was the best place on earth. No man could keep him away. He'd find his way home.
Pompey was the best horse I ever rode myself. Strong as a bullock and brave as a lion he would tackle anything you put him at. But he had his own idea of what was proper. Once for a small wager I forced him over the dried remains of a dead brother horse. Unfortunately he stepped on it and a portion of the dried skin clung round his leg. He gave a great exhibition of jumping and high kicking, but the remains of the dead horse fell off before I did, thank God. Another time I was starting for Rotorua about 4.30 a.m., having in my pocket an alarm clock for repair. Mr. Pompey did a bit of a “prop” and a “pig jump” which set the clock off, and the beastly thing wouldn't stop—neither would Pompey. It took me all my time to stop on.
Bridget was another of my hacks, a sweet gentle creature and yet full of ginger. She and I were great mates. If I left her a while she would welcome me back with cries of affection: or, if we were on a strange farm, she would follow me about whinneying.
Tahu was a thoroughbred out of a mare I owned, and was a wonderful galloper, but too fresh for station work. He objected to carrying sheep about on his back.
Many other good and useful hacks I had.
Of working horses I kept two full teams and a few spares, besides foals. They usually had swagger names given to them by the teamsters: Joe Ward, Massey, Gunson, Coates, King, Prince, Duke, Lady, and so on. It sounded quite grand to hear one's man swearing at Massey and telling him what to do! Some lovely mares we had: Roany alone bred two full teams of splendid horses. I believe she was parthenogenetic and didn't really need service by a stallion. Then Tangi, Belle, Dolly and others were stout of heart, excellent mothers, and good workers.
For a while I kept a stallion, but stallions are a pest on a farm. They always incline their hearts to practise wicked works. A stallion will fight another stallion to the death or kill a gelding without any compunction; but, should there be an absence of suitable subjects for murder he will attempt suicide quite oblivious of the fact that he has cost £60 or £70. A favourite method is to get tangled up in a wire fence about midnight. Then one has to arise from his warm and comfortable couch and sally forth in the rain or the frost to rescue the villain. Nor will he assist his owner. On the contrary, biting and kicking are methods he employs to indicate his resentment at interference in his affairs. So I sold my stallion.
Alone among the lower animals dogs are said to be possessed of a conscience—due to long association with man. This goes to prove that dog owners are usually of the better sort. It is wonderful what dogs can be taught to do. My shepherd Rory's bitch would hunt, force, head, lead or wing. A faithful creature too. Were she placed on guard of Rory's lunch I believe she would have starved to death before eating it, and woe betide anyone seeking to take it away. Once Rory had put her in charge of his coat in a wagon. One of the other men was about to jump in when Rory warned him. The man, however, relying on the dog's knowledge of him, persisted. The bitch flew at him and
My best dog was little Glen. I bought him as a pup for ten shillings. He was not purebred, having a good bit of bulldog in him. I broke him in myself — the best practice. One day I wanted to cross the Waikato River, but there was no canoe on my side and no response to my yells. I swam the little dog through the river and hunted him up to a house where I believed there was an old woman. I barked him and out rushed the old woman to chase him away. She brought me a canoe. Clever little dog! It was a treat to see him work sheep out of a bad place. His only fault was that he would not force: he was of too quiet a nature.
An exceptional dog is worth his weight in gold. When Rory left everyone wanted to buy his bitch. He refused to sell but finally put £200 on her! There was no response: but a professional shepherd had better sell his right hand than part with such a clever slave.
Dogs are faithful and hard-working — and ill-rewarded; but they know they are doing all right if they are not being cursed. At sheep trials men are not allowed to swear at their dogs: consequently some dogs fail to understand the orders given. At Broadlands the dogs had good kennels, but it was a curious fact that on frosty nights they always slept outside. Often have I gone for my dog before sunrise to find his hair white with hoarfrost.
The largest number of cattle I ever had on the place at one time was eleven hundred. I always liked Shorthorns: they are cattle and all other breeds are varieties. Herefords and Poly Angus also thrive. Shorthorns are comparatively gentle — an unsolicited testimonial being the action of buyers at the bull sales. When Shorthorns are being offered the buyers jump into the yard: when other breeds come on they mount the topmost rail. I have seen a Poly Angus jump clean out of the yards;
Herefords are wild and dangerously horned: Poly Angus are sullen and savage. Dairy bulls are treacherous and consequently very dangerous.
Cattle are “As stupid as they make them.” A beast walking into the fork of a fallen tree will often not have the intellect to get into reverse gear and back out, and so he starves to death even more surely than a late-comer in a New Zealand hotel.
Breeders rearing bulls should bring them up in the way they should go. They should never be given the chance of losing the fear of man. If a young bull shakes his head at you, or paws the ground at you, or is slow about yielding to you the right of way, don't waste time but get your best whip, hop on your best horse and chase him well round the paddock, giving him a real good hiding.
Sheep are gentle, quiet creatures, born entirely without brains, though some contend that they must have some intellect for they have invented hundreds of different ways of dying — and there is only one way of keeping them alive. Worked with gentleness they will move in the way they should go. Bullied with frantic shouting and chased with savage dogs (the descendants of their ancient enemies the wolves) they become frightened and obstinate. I have seen a mob get into such a condition that each one had to be seized and thrown into the dip.
The gentle sheep submits its throat to be cut without a struggle or a cry and leaves its body for our nourishment. Should it prove that this be infested with stomach-worms and lung-worms and brain-worms and sheep-maggots and hydatids and cists, whose fault is that?
The pig is a prolific creature. A good sow will produce twenty pretty little piglets in a season. They enjoy a wide range
And good old pussy — I have not mentioned her — the protector of the premises from the filthy and noisy rat and the mouse, and the reducer of rabbits, she holds an honoured place by the fireside. What she will suffer without protest from small girls is marvellous. Two nippers on the place seemed to fascinate even the wild cats.
One must not leave this subject without describing the fish for which the district is so celebrated. The †trout is the most important. I cannot, of course, give you the dimensions and weights of those very nearly caught. Of those actually landed at Broadlands the heaviest was eight pounds, and the great majority from two to four pounds. When I first came we could go out at any time and be sure of half-a-dozen splendid fish. For some reason nowadays you may get twenty or thirty — or you may get none; and the quality has deteriorated frightfully. I have been speaking of the Waikato and its backwaters. In the smaller streams the fish are not so large and not numerous, but are of excellent quality.
The †brown trout exists in the local waters, but is by no means common.
†Carp are very numerous and may be shovelled up just with a Maori kit. I wish I could tell you a little story about a Maori woman engaged in this sport, but proper people might think it a bit fishy. Our native friends call the carp morihana after a man named Morrison, who introduced them to the district. Golden carp are fairly numerous.
It is said that the native †
The native †
†Eels have now appeared — it is said in consequence of the construction of Arapuni electric works. They are likely to be a great nuisance — perhaps the worst enemy to young ducks.
The only shellfish of which I am aware is the native fresh-water mussel or †
The Plants
“An organized living body affixed to, and deriving sustenance from, the inorganic world”—The Dictionary.
The above definition is not all-embracing, and it is said that an entirely satisfactory definition of a plant has not yet been invented. However, it will serve.
After the great eruptions which are supposed to have occurred some seven thousand years ago (but a few thousand or even millions of years is nothing to geologists) the pumice area must have been a dreadfully desolate dead region. All life, animal and vegetable, absolutely destroyed. Doubtless the first plants to appear were lichens, mosses, fungi and dwarf raoulia. The death and decay of these would provide subsistence for a gradually ascending plant life.
At the time of my arrival it would seem that the pumice itself had arrived at the stage of disintegration, at which it was ready to decompose into soil. The land had become clothed with tussock grass, not of a very good quality, but horses would live on it and cattle eat it when hard pressed: but I think a sheep would sooner have died than taken a mouthful of it. When in seed it is really first-class feed for horses — as good as oaten-chaff.
Following the tussock in the wide valleys and low levels appeared a shrub with reddish leaves which the Maoris call †dracophyllum — a species of grass tree or spider
In the swamps †flax, †raupo, rushes and †nigger heads grew with varied degrees of luxuriance. All these plants were also readily eaten by live stock. Thus the country supported great mobs of wild horses, many cattle of good weight and substance, numerous pigs and occasional sheep besides multitudes of hares and an increasing number of rabbits.
About fifteen years before my arrival †manuka began to invade and gradually occupy the country. It grew on the dry poor-looking banks; it extended into the swamps; it hugged the hot earth. It became dominant. Its rate of growth was much greater than I have observed in any other district and the stems straighter and less branched. Manuka is of two kinds. The larger (leptospermum ericoides) grows on what appears to be the very poorest soil consisting of lumps of pure pumice from the size of one's fist to that of one's head. It reaches fifty or sixty feet in height and the trunk is usually from two to five feet in circumference. In the open it forms large branches and might be mistaken at a distance for a pine. The flowers are small and occur singly or in bunches. The smaller variety of †manuka (leptospermum scoparium) is much the more abundant. On good soil the stems are thin and close together. Sometimes the thicket is practically impenetrable. The flowers are single and are much larger than those of the ericoides. Manuka
About the same time as the manuka, †fern and †tutu — sometimes very heavy — made their appearance particularly on the upper levels. Other growth on these higher lands comprised gaultheria, coprosma (mostly robusta), several kinds of pittosporum, †five finger, †lancewood, †koromiko, native †broom, hill flax, and the like. On the river flats among the tall manuka there was a sprinkling of Olearia virgata. These trees I saved when possible and they rewarded me with a fine display of white flowers. Along the riverbanks there grew a number of yellow †kowhai which I had difficulty in preserving: the Maoris persisted in stripping the bark for making one of their native medicines.
On the Rainbow Mountain vast numbers of the †toru shrub grew in thickets. Nowhere else have I seen this shrub in anything like such masses.
The deadly native nettle was found in some parts. One hill was named from it †Maunga-ongaonga (a splendid word for the new-chum to practise on).
In this area there is a distinct tendency for the country to come into bush, and I make bold to say that the whole of the land between Broadlands and Rotorua would by now be under bush, had infatuated fools refrained from firing the fern and scrub.
The common †cabbage tree (botanically a lily) occurred not only along the creeks and in the swamps, but was also fairly common on the uplands.
Under this top growth the whole surface was covered with moss, raoulia, pimelea and insignificant native grasses, the whole forming a dense mat or “skin” as it is called in some districts. There were great quantities of the handsome †reindeer moss but
sphagnum moss. The principal native grass was a creeping, useless variety somewhat resembling Indian doob. It has been identfiied as Triodia exigua and is said not to exist in any other part of the North Island. Other insignificant native grasses occurred especially after fires. They were usually shortlived. †Microlaena grew in fair quantities under the tall manuka. The bottoms of the valleys — often quite wide — were occupied by hardy exotic grasses such as †Yorkshire fog, †poa pratensis, †suckling clover, and †white clover, with a sprinkling of others. All pasture was closely grazed by wild stock.
Of native weeds †bidy-bidy is the commonest and much the most troublesome. Prior to my arrival there was little or none, but sheep from infected areas introduced it, and it spread with great rapidity.
Exotic weeds were not numerous. Of all such plants the first to appear is dandelion, hawkweed, or †cat's-ear. It is not trouble-some and affords excellent sheep-feed in season. There were a very few plants of †blackberry. At the time of my arrival there were only two visible plants between Broadlands and Rotorua. One near the seventeen-mile peg I used myself to slash down while the good old horse-coach waited patiently for a few minutes. The other was at my neighbour's hot spring, and he refused to have it destroyed because his children liked eating the fruit. Despite my protests, he gave young plants to the Maoris, so that they also might enjoy a cheap fresh-fruit diet. In consequence the district is now past redemption. The dreaded †ragwort had not yet appeared but was not far away. †St. Johnswort flourished along the roadside near the old forty-mile stables. †Water groundsel, which many people mistake for ragwort, was abundant. It may easily be distinguished from ragwort by its smell. Its leaves when crushed emit a pleasant aromatic odour; whereas the leaves of ragwort have a sour,
†Sorrel, though not a native weed, appeared spontaneously even in the remotest spots whenever the land was cultivated or even when the scrub was cleared. A geranium would also spring up after a fire. On the good damp flats near the homestead there was a lot of sweet-briar or dog-rose. It was not difficult to destroy this.
Many weeds — †broom, †gorse, †blackberry, †ragwort, †golden rod and the like are now abundant on the road-side. I have frequently drawn the attention of the authorities to this state of affairs but nothing has been done to check the incursion.
†Tar weed was very prevalent among recently sown grass.
At the time of my arrival there was not a single grass plant on the roadside between Broadlands and Rotorua. On one occasion in the early days I was driving to Rotorua with Messrs. H. R. and W. G. Butcher when we saw a green spot. We stopped the buggy. True enough it was a small plant of white clover. We stood reverently around and worshipped it. The next plants I observed were of †red-top near the old forestry head camp at Waiotapu.
Now the whole roadside, and many extensive flats, have become quite well grassed — in parts luxuriantly — with English pasture plants and not a seed sown, and no cultivation or manure. This tendency to come into grass naturally is most valuable. The plants most noticeable are †danthonia pilosa, †poa pratensis, †brown top, †yorkshire fog, †white clover, †suckling clover, and in the last two or three years lotus major, which has become particularly abundant and looks as though it will take possession of the countryside. Not only is this a valuable fodder but its growth greatly enriches the soil. Here and there odd
There was no pasture †danthonia in the district when I arrived: but, after I had introduced the Hawkes Bay variety (pilosa), it spread of its own accord very quickly. It is a most valuable grass and extremely hardy. It is the only grass in the Pumice Country which may be held in the autumn for use in the winter. It is not affected by frost.
When land is shut up, as in the grounds around my house, the most valuable of all native grasses — an †agropyrum, but whether scabrum or multiflorum I do not know — spontaneously makes its appearance. Stock are so fond of it that it is soon eaten out of pasture to which they have access. Other noticeable features of land which is not grazed are: first, the marvellous mass of vegetation which accumulates, thus greatly improving the soil; and, secondly, the remarkable manner in which cocksfoot asserts itself. It will come up through dense masses of inferior grasses and finally suppress them.
Of flowering plants the small native †daisy was the most common, appearing mostly some considerable time after a fire. Clematis (not the conspicuous indivisa, but a smaller variety named parviflora) was fairly common, also another creeper leaving a seed resembling that of clematis: but I have never seen the flower. The Maoris use it for one of their medicinal decoctions. Another vine is the †convolvulus. The native white †violet is to be found now and again and the common ground orchid is well distributed.
The interesting Drosera or sundew is by no means rare. There are two kinds of Astelia in the district. One grows in the swamps and the other on dry land.
Once, wandering afar, I found a musk plant in an
As I have pointed out the common †bracken fern arrived about the same time as the †manuka and I have seen occasional small patches of †hard fern and †water fern. Other ferns were not very abundant. The soil is rather dry for them and shelter is wanting. In the damper locations under tall manuka the small tree fern, almost trunkless and known to science as Dicksonia lanata, was fairly common, and other tree ferns grew in potholes in the ground. But these never attained any size. The doodia family was common. The Lomaria tribe appeared in moderate quantities. Gleichenia also, and in the bush the common kinds, including the †kidney fern. I have also found todea (or leptopteris) hymenophylloides, but not the superba (Prince of Wales feathers).
Lycopodium occurred in masses visible from the Rotorua Road but I have not seen it on Broadlands.
Fungi exist in great numbers and many varieties. The ordinary edible †mushroom appears in extraordinary abundance. It favours old pasture paddocks, especially those heavily stocked with sheep. The giant variety — up to fifteen inches in diameter — appears in similar situations and I have found it at all seasons of the year. There is another edible mushroom of a brown colour which I have gathered off bare furrows, and from under the manoao scrub where no cultivation had ever taken place, and where live stock have seldom or never trod. “†Puff balls” are common. The remarkable “†shepherds' baskets” make their appearance around the garden and grounds. Besides these, fungi vary from the †filthy-looking brown masses, usually near pine trees, to the beautiful and often delicately-shaped and
There was very little bush on Broadlands, the principal area being named Aputahou. This was supposed to comprise three hundred and fifty acres, but I doubt whether it really covered as much. It was the ordinary taxad rain forest, the principal timbers being †
Among introduced plants, grasses and clovers are of course the most important, and they flourish in a remarkable manner. In two years from the native scrub I have produced paddocks equal to anything in the Province — and that is to say in the world. New Zealand does really lead the world in grass farming — and that scientifically and profitably and not disastrously as in lunatic legislation and frenzied finance. I have had the most wonderful cuts of hay — as high as the fences and very dense.
Turnips flourish remarkably and with the roughest of cultivation — ploughed straight out of the scrub, roughly worked down, sown with twelve ounces of seed and three hundred-weight of manure to the acre. I have taken scores of prizes in all the principal shows in the North Island.
Oats do well and are free from rust. I have had crops of up to three tons of chaff to the acre.
In the garden, vegetables grow luxuriantly, and flowers are abundant and brilliant. Small fruits — currants both red and black, gooseberries, strawberries — yield wonderful returns; but the strawberries I had to treat in the manner of the great President Roosevelt — dig them in. The housekeepers' youngsters would assert their rights as common inheritors of human achievements and resources: and they “beat me to it” for the berries. In the end they beat themselves also — as will soon be experienced in poor old New Zealand in other more important departments of human affairs.
In the orchard, apples, pears, cherries and most English fruits yield an abundance of exceptionally well-flavoured fruit: but early plums are likely to have the setting fruit frosted, while peaches, apricots, and the like, are rather frost-tender for the average season. Citrus fruits will not yield a crop.
Wild cherries were quite a feature of the district. When there were only a few Europeans in the neighbourhood, we used to have an annual picnic to the principal grove, where there was an extraordinary abundance of fruit. The trees were scarlet with the beautiful red cherries, and one could have loaded a wagon without making a great impression on the supply. Even the birds of the air were fairly beaten. Most lamentably, however, when greater numbers arrived the fruit was rushed before it was ripe and the trees themselves badly damaged.
Many plants, supposed by the older residents to be too tender for the climate, I have grown successfully: eleagnus, bamboo, chamaerops palms, and so on, and in the garden every year: tomatoes, sweet corn, french beans (most prolific), vegetable marrows (the larger and best I have ever seen), pumpkins, rock melons, and the like. Sometimes these tender vegetables must be covered with scrim at night to save them from Jack Frost.
The germination of seeds in pumice soil is perfect. I contrived from the first to keep exotic weeds (except sorrel) out of the garden, but pansies, calendulas, poppies, antirrhinums, and the like, sprang up in thousands and were almost as great a nuisance as thistles, chickweed, milkweed, and the like: while asters and sunflowers came up spontaneously in more than sufficient numbers to replenish the flower beds.
Mortality, again, is remarkably low. Slugs and snails are not common, and the birds avoid the house as they get plenty of food elsewhere. The only enemies are caterpillars, and among them the larvae of the white butterfly and the diamond-backed moth constitute the only real dangers.
In working the garden I used no sheep manure as that introduced white clover (very useful in the paddocks, but a perfect pest in the garden): very little stable manure (as that induced sorrel) and not much chemical manure. I relied almost entirely on the burial of vegetable refuse with the addition of some ground limestone.
An account of the millable forests of the area is contained in a special chapter.
Forestry and Afforestation
“I will make them a forest”—Hosea xi: 12.
The timber industry is of such cardinal importance in the pumice area that it is deserving of a separate chapter.
I am a great lover of trees. The beauty, the comfort, the home-making qualities of groves of trees have always commanded my admiration. A homestead without trees is a barren and comfortless proposition.
The marvel of a tiny seed almost like dust — such as that of the eucalypts — rapidly expanding into a giant of the forest, is one of the most fascinating facts in nature. In October, 1923, I planted out near my house a seedling eucalyptus macarthuri a few inches high. This had developed in less than a year from an infinitesimal seed. Now the tree is easily eighty feet high, with a great spread, and I would be afraid to guess the number of tons weight in it; indeed, I think it must be greater than the tree mentioned in Matthew XIII; 32. I have cut down pines twenty years old which were ninety-five feet high, and eucalypts of the same age which gave seventy feet length of useful log. And these trees were not the largest, but happened to be the most suited for removal. I am filled with wonder when I look at my plantations and reflect that I have carried all those
In 1924 I built a shed with eucalyptus frame and pine boards (many twelve inches by one inch) grown from seed in fifteen years. This building has been painted twice and is in quite sound condition — though the sawn timber had been lying about in the weather for over a year before being used.
Where my house was erected, there was no growth more than three feet high, and naturally I was anxious to create some shelter from the winter blasts and some shade from the summer sun. I attempted to buy from the Forestry Department's nursery at Rotorua; but, though at that time more seedlings were being raised than could be planted out, I was not permitted to purchase any.
Under the mistaken idea that trees raised in Auckland would be too tender for the climate in my district, I imported two-year-old pines from as far afield as Dunedin. However, I soon learned that transplanting from Auckland did no harm; that is to say, the trees did not die. What they suffered I cannot say!
Soon I took to raising my own trees. I gathered cones from the best pines and ripe capsules from the eucalypts and opened them in the sun or in the gentle heat above the kitchen range after bedtime. On a surface made firm and flat by placing a board on it and then walking on the board, the seed was scattered and then covered with fine sifted soil with which a very little manure had been mixed. Over this a screen of ordinary scrim was placed so as to imitate the shade of the forest. Sown in October, with little attention beyond weeding, the seedlings reached a height of about nine inches by April, when they were wrenched in wet weather. Towards the end of August they were raised, the soil shaken off, the roots trimmed and dipped in a compost of cow-dung and fine earth and water. Lining out followed, with the trees about nine inches apart and about
Many other sorts besides pines I raised — principally eucalypts of various kinds, †oregon pine, cypresses, yellow †kowhai, and other ornamental trees.
Around the house I formed an arboretum of many beautiful trees — cedars, sequoias, thujas, †beeches, †spruces, and others, and nearby a plantation of native trees gathered from odd bushes in the neighbourhood.
I found direct planting of pine seed unsuccessful, but eucalypts did well in sowings made in 1919 and 1921. The ground was worked down as for turnips. The seed was mixed with about seventy-five pounds of manure to the acre — so as to enable distribution — and sown through the two outside coulters of the drill. The roller followed. In most places I had too dense a strike, and thinning and some transplanting had to follow; but that was all.
On one occasion I cleared and burned about an acre and surface sowed eucalyptus seed in the ashes. The result was excellent.
Of the three great divisions of the eucalyptus family, I grew with success gums and some stringy barks; but the iron barks and many stringy barks proved too frost-tender. The best varieties for my soil and climate I found to be macarthuri, viminalis, amygdalina, gigantea, coriacea, ovata (acervula) and gunnii. Fastigata and muelleriana did fairly well. Among pines, insignis (now dubbed radiata) ponderosa, maritima (pinaster) and muricata. Among cypresses, macrocarpa and lawsoniana. Also, sequoia gigantea, cedars (Libanus, Atlanticus and deodarus). Oregon pine (Douglas fir) flourished wonderfully.
Like all other useful things, trees have many enemies. Rabbits eat, and also scratch up, young plants on an extensive scale; hares bite the trunks of the young trees. They will run along a row and cut off twenty or thirty trees as cleanly as if it had been done with a knife. Then the †bronze-wing beetle will eat the leaves off broad-leafed trees; lice destroy the spruce; sirex juvencus attacks pines. When in Oxford in 1928, I saw experiments being made in one of the colleges with rhyssa persuasoria and ibalea cultellator as control parasites.
The last great stands of native timber — and especially of the useful †totara — are in the country round Lake Taupo, generally in a westerly direction; but they are becoming exhausted.
When I first went to Broadlands the totara forests were vast plains, and the great towering trees, many of them up to seven feet in diameter, stood so close together that they seemed to present an impenetrable wall. Gradually, fires made most serious incursions on these wonderful resources — fires lit to turn out stray cattle, or even a wild pig; fires started by careless smokers; fires lit to clear round timber to be worked; fires started in surrounding scrub country and extending to the bush. The first fire killed the trees but did not consume the timber. A second fire reduced everything to ashes. The communal ownership of the Maoris afforded no protection. No individual owner was responsible; no individual transgressor lost any more than any other tribesman by his acts of destruction.
It is evident that the great Kaingaroa Plains must have been, in post-eruption days, clothed in totara bush, for burned fragments of totara timber are frequently encountered.
In the earliest days of the development of my country, good heart totara posts six feet by four inches and six feet six inches long were delivered on to my land at £4 per hundred, and it took thirty years for the price to rise to £7 10s. Strainer posts, eight feet long and 8 × 8 inches were four shillings each;
Now streams of heavy lorries day by day and at all hours of the day and night convey the timber to Hawkes Bay and Rotorua, the Waikato, and Auckland.
It is grievous to reflect that had these vast quantities of timber been sent by rail instead of by road, the saving in freight would have paid for the railway from Rotorua to Taupo and left a great asset entirely free from cost.
Taking the colony as a whole, the area of bush has shrunk to about one-third of its original extent, and forest experts declare that eighty per cent, of this remainder is over-mature and that there will be no increment of timber unless proper silvicultural methods are adopted.
To meet this threatened shortage of timber — which was evident not only in New Zealand but throughout the world — the Government in 1896 established a special Afforestation Branch of the Lands Department, and nurseries were established at Rotorua and also in the South Island. Planting was commenced in 1898, when a modest fifty-four acres was established at Whakarewarewa. A start was made at Waiotapu in 1901, and large-scale planting on Kaingaroa Plains in 1913. Large numbers of prisoners were employed on the plantations from 1901 to 1921, when they were withdrawn, principally on account of continuous trouble between them and the free labourers. The area planted was increased until during the year ended 31st March 1929, 60,600 acres were planted. Gradually the planting has decreased, until at present only about two thousand acres are planted annually. The State-planted exotic forests now cover the vast area of 430,000 acres, of which 300,000 acres are in the pumice country.
And at last, after a long waiting period, realization of this asset is to begin. Two State mills are being erected, one outside Whakarewarewa, and another subsidiary mill at Waiotapu. The main mill is upon the Swedish plan. The output will be used principally for power poles, fencing and box-making. There is to be a large creosoting plant.
It is devoutly to be hoped that in this case the end will justify the means, for these have cost as at 31st March, 1937, £4,283,068 as follows: Expenditure, £1,846,319; compound interest, £1,093,823; from unemployment funds, £278,589; cost of trees, £487,348; compound interest on trees, £410,793; land rental compounded, £166,195. Commenting on these figures, which are extracted from official returns, I remark that cost of trees would appear to be part of expenditure; the rate of interest is not given; the price of land seems trivial. The total area is stated at 459,688 acres, so that the value represents only seven shillings and threepence per acre, which is plainly inadequate. Of all plantations, Kaingaroa, in the heart of the Pumice Country, is much the most successful. Its area is 283,776 acres, and the cost £3 10s. 3d. per acre. The age is stated at twenty-six years, though the greater part must be much younger. The cost of the plantations varies vastly. Waiotapu, comprising 7,387 acres, is stated at £47 16s. 6d. per acre — age thirty-nine years. Conical Hills, comprising 4,355 acres, is costed at £55 17s. 6d. per acre at thirty-four years old, while Gimmerburn, of only 93 acres, stands in solitary magnificence at £197 per acre at thirty-six years of age. The total area of plantations in the North Island is 354,959 acres, and the cost £2,308,357, or an average of £6 10s. per acre, including compound interest. In the South Island the area is 99,476 acres, and the cost £1,842,876, a shade over £18 10s. per acre. Everything in the South Island seems to cost more.
Pumice land has proved supreme for production of timber. Many authorities claim that its only rival is a small area in
And the establishment of trees in pumice soil is remarkably easy and cheap. The old preparatory methods have been discarded. At first, with the guidance of a great chain with four foot links and about one hundred and fifty yards long, a good spit of earth was inverted at distances of four feet apart every way. This work was done in early winter and the soil turned over was mellowed by the frost. Planting was done in the late winter and early spring. This four foot planting used two thousand seven hundred trees to the acre. The use of the chain for lining out necessitated the clearing of the land. Now in suitable areas nearly all of this preliminary work has been abolished and the spacing enlarged to eight feet. This takes six hundred and eighty trees to the acre. Much country needs no clearing and other areas very little clearing, the low fern-gaultheria association providing perfect cover for the newly-planted trees. When the scrub is too heavy, widespread burning is practised and planting is done through the standing killed scrub. In patches where the fire has failed lines eight feet apart are cut to facilitate planting. The men proceed in gangs of between eight and twenty. For the outside men, sighting poles have been erected for the purpose of keeping the lines straight. The other planters walk eight feet apart. Every third step the planter jabs his spade into the soft soil, moves it back and forth, making an opening into which he thrusts the roots of one of the seedling trees which he carries in a canvas kit. Then he treads forcibly close to the young tree, so as to close the opening and firm the soil around the roots. Each man plants about one thousand trees in a day — or say one and a-half acres. Latterly an improved
The original planting at four feet apart has been abandoned except for a few special trees such as macrocarpa. Seedling trees and labour used to cost many times as much as they do under the new plan. At first our Department followed European practice. But the conditions were so diverse as to be quite opposite. In Europe the land was dear, the labour was cheap, the growth was slow and there was a ready market for every stick produced. In New Zealand the land was almost valueless, labour was dear, the growth was rapid, and there was no market whatever for thinnings. It was long before these facts impressed themselves on those in charge of our Forestry Department. It was not until 1912 that the spacing was extended to six feet, or 1,210 trees to the acre. In 1922 the spacing was further extended to eight feet, or six hundred and eighty trees to the acre. Seeing that the mature crop is between two hundred and fifty and three hundred trees to the acre, it is evident that even now more than half the trees will have to be thinned out or permitted to perish by suppression. Still there is a tendency in the Department to revert to the six-foot spacing.
At first the trees planted were mostly †Larch, †Austrian Pine, †Corsican Pine, †Western Yellow Pine, †Weymouth or American White Pine, and some Eucalypts. Of late, predominance has been granted to Oregon Pine, Pinus Insignis, Western Yellow Pine, Corsican Pine, and †Western Red Cedar.
In 1923, private planting came into vogue. Great numbers of bond-selling, tree-planting companies sprang up. They were of very various degrees of merit, but it can safely be said that all of them have made a better showing than the tobacco, flax and tung oil concerns. The procedure was as follows: the promoters, or shareholders, bought a large area at fifteen shillings, twenty
pinus insignis, because of its general utility, its comparative cheapness, and its certainty and speed of growth (except in very elevated or frosty localities). Representations were made that thinnings would be saleable from time to time and the remainder would be millable in twenty years and would come to be worth £500 or even more per acre.
At the commencement, the idea was to allot an individual acre to each subscriber, but it was soon discovered that provision of a dedicated road to each plot cost more than the whole outfit was worth. Then some genius invented the “bond.” Under this scheme, a number — usually one thousand — of bondholders were formed into a group and an undivided interest given to each bond binding the shareholders to do the planting and maintenance and to hand over in twenty years' time to the group of people then owning the bonds.
The idea caught on tremendously, both here and in overseas countries — Australia, India, Britain, and others. Great numbers were simply fascinated by the prospect of £500 in twenty years for the present investment of £25. These statements were supported by pronouncements, mildly described as unfortunate, apparently arising from official sources and enlarged and beautified by the vivid imaginations of glib-tongued salesmen. When saleswomen appeared, victims were hard put to it for ways of escape. One such came all the way out to Broadlands, but I developed a splendid defence technique. The lady simply gushed second-hand eloquence in the midst of which I would ask a question. After an attempt at an answer, usually unsuccessful, the fair creature had lost her way and had to begin all over again. So she became exhausted. I revived her with luncheon
I think I am safe in saying that the average cost of land, roading and planting would not exceed £5 per acre: and, even when £6 5s. commission on the sale of each bond is added, the margin of profit would seem adequate. Of course the maintenance has to be done, but interest on the price of the bond will provide for that.
Recently the New Zealand Government has taken steps to compel the shareholders in these concerns to take the bondholders into partnership — doubtless a measure of justice; but it has put an end to the planting of trees. Indeed, in all spheres of business the advantage of the prevention by legislative means of money leaving the pockets of the foolish and coming under the administration of the competent, seems doubtful. The methods of the merchant adventurer may not always be above comment, but he does promote trade. I think it will generally be admitted that the great majority of the promoting companies have made a good job of the planting: and have handed over to the new combined companies really valuable assets.
At page 462 of the Year Book for 1938, the total “commitments” for investment in private tree-planting ventures is stated at £8,200,000 as at 31st March, 1936 — of which close on £5,000,000 had been paid up, and 300,000 acres had been planted — 270,000 acres with pinus insignis; 22,500 acres with other pines; 2,800 acres with †redwood; 1,200 acres with Douglas fir (oregon pine), and others — at an apparent average cost per acre of £16 13s. 4d. per acre. The unimproved land per “book values” of the companies averaged £2 15s. 8d. per acre. The process of arriving at these “values” would be interesting. The statements of payments for year ending 31st March, 1937 (vide page 388
Eucalypts Twenty Years Old
Real values seem to take a back seat.
The great majority of private plantations have been established in the Pumice Country.
Besides these vast undertakings, quite considerable areas of plantation have been established by local bodies, the Railway Department, and private people.
The result of old-time planting of pinus insignis was, in 1936-1937, the cutting of 31,500,000 “super” feet-a figure exceeded only by †rimu and †kahikatea. State plantations and those of the bond selling companies contributed nothing to this result.
The use of pinus insignis has increased enormously as the following figures will show:
In November, 1921, Messrs. Cashmore Bros, most kindly allowed me to inspect the cutting of the pine plantations at Matamata which they had bought from the Government. I found the trees of a great height, straight and having no branches except a bunch at the top. The timber was being felled and cut into flitches for delivery in Auckland. I must say it was beautiful-looking stuff, straight-grained and quite free from knots. Some trees yielded one hundred and forty feet of milling length and cut up to four thousand super feet per tree; large numbers exceeded one hundred feet milling
Enquiry at length led to the discovery of an old resident who remembered the establishment of these plantations by the late Mr. J. C. Firth. It seems the planting was effected by ploughing a furrow in which the roots of young trees were laid. Then another furrow was turned over on them — in the manner often adopted for the planting of potatoes. But of subsequent cultural operations I could learn nothing. I would, however, suppose that thinning must have been carried out. Had the trees originally been so widely spaced, it seems certain that there would have been many knots in the timber.
The royalty paid being two shillings and sixpence per one hundred feet super, it will be seen that the yield per acre was £142.
Again I ascertained from the trustees of a small plantation near Hamilton being cut out in March, 1922, that some of their trees yielded one hundred and twenty-eight feet of milling length and five thousand five hundred feet of timber. The trees had been planted about 1870, about eighteen feet apart, in rows sixteen feet apart. The wood was hard, straight in the grain and looked well when polished. The yield per acre was one hundred and fourteen thousand three hundred and eighty feet, and the royalty at two shillings and sevenpence per hundred returned £147 15s. per acre. There is great waste in cutting out a pine plantation. This is usually about forty per cent., but may
There is much spread of wild exotic trees in the pumice area — principally pines of the pinaster and insignis varieties. The former is fairly fire-resistant, which helps its survival very much. Its seeds also germinate very freely after a fire. Around Wairakei and the Spa quite extensive forests have taken possession of the lands. In some places eucalypts have established themselves. A few odd trees of other varieties are scattered about.
As to the future: The area now planted — 730,000 acres — with an average cut of one hundred thousand feet to the acre and on a forty-year rotation, will return an annual yield of 1,825,000,000 feet, or more than six times our consumptive capacity — more stupendously in excess of our own requirements than is the case with our butter, meat and wool. If Australia will accept it, we shall develop an enormous industry — and it is about time that we got something to live upon besides grass. But if other countries in the up-to-date lunatic manner, say, “We would rather pay £1 for a piece of inferior timber which we have grown ourselves, than buy better timber from you for ten shillings,” a great disaster will overtake us.
If we and consumer countries enjoy the manifold blessings of free trade in timber it may well be that eventually an acre of plantation, even though the yield per acre be not attained and the period of growth be doubled, may acquire the value of £500 in paper money. But again what will £500 in New Zealand money be worth? Our “Pound” is worth today only about one-third of what it was when I was young. What our mismanaged currency will be worth when our planted forests mature no one can tell.
I can safely advise the planting of trees as an investment, but whether it will prove profitable to pay down £25 for what has cost £5 is another matter.
Before closing this chapter I would like to relate the fact that I extracted from the river-banks twenty-five feet below the surface some ancient buried logs. These were quite sound and I sent them to Auckland to be made into furniture for my house: but the merchants lost my boards. Fragments submitted to experts produced the usual controversy, but the weight of opinion seemed to be that the timber was kauri.
The Work
“They were employed in that work night and day”—I Chronicles ix, 33.
Though i have in sundry places in previous chapters somewhat anticipated the course of events, I invite you now, dear reader, to accompany me on a few of my number-less battles and through the deadly dullness of “The daily round: the common task!.”
The vast and untamed wilderness possesses an appalling power of resistance: a frightful
My fifty-three thousand acres was vast enough to carry terror to the heart of the stoutest. Like him who first braved the waves I felt the need of oak and triple brass around my breast.
All this huge area was absolutely in its primeval rough state — just as God had left it: and the general opinion was that He had left it rather in a hurry before making a finish.
At the outset perplexing problems of all kinds beset me. How to get on to the land: where to place the homestead: on what lines to lay out the fencing: where to secure one's supplies and how to get them on to the country. Want of knowledge of the country and want of knowledge of all the thousand and one ancient arts and modern sciences necessary to success in the venture seemed to crush me down. I began to doubt whether I should break the land in, or it would break me.
Folk who have not experienced it can have no idea of the difficulties and drawbacks inherent in the desert. The loneliness is terrible. The absolute lack of human help within reach fearful. And yet the presence of it may give one a shock. One day I was riding across country solus. Imagining that I was at least twenty miles away from any other human being, I was in the midst of thinking how a man would fare if an accident should befall him in such a place, when someone close behind hailed me. I nearly jumped out of the saddle. The other wanderer was looking for a horse which he had lost.
And, yet all the time I bore in mind Franklin's retort to the Englishman's remark that the United States was “So far away”: “Far away from where?” said he. Consequently I never weakened in my contention that where I was for the time being was the centre of civilization. Other places might be distant but, as for me, I was right here on the spot. And in my constant endeavour to develop resources within myself for defeating the desolation about me I had at my command the support and comfort of the greatest minds of all the ages patiently awaiting me upon my bookshelves. Thus it came to pass that the two doctors never had their anticipated opportunity of consigning me to the mental hospital.
I found the land cut off from any road access by no less an obstacle than the Waikato River, but this difficulty was in part overcome by the purchase of a right-of-way across a corner of Mr. Butcher's land. In this a fresh difficulty was encountered. On searching the title and measuring off the correct location I found that this right-of-way did not reach the main road, but ended at a recreation reserve for the benefit of the town of Mihi which — like many another paper “township” in New Zealand — was absolutely destitute of inhabitants. However, the Commissioner of Crown Lands treated me very well and granted me right of road. This roadway is now dedicated.
Having now acquired legal access the way was open for improvements. Not a hand's turn had ever been done on the land. Heretofore cattle and wild horse hunters and flax-cutters had been the only disturbers of the deathly silence of the desert.
At once I fell to work constructing bridges, laying off roads (the traffic made many of them almost costlessly without the help of social credit), erecting buildings, setting out a plan of subdivision and putting up fences, and so on. An urgent procession of theorems and of problems pressed upon me for solution and execution — for design and finance and work. Many things had to be created out of the nothingness in a never-ending succession. It needed a stout heart and a long purse. The time of the signing of cheques was come and remained with me, culminating in one of the finest collections of butts of cheque books in New Zealand. What a blessing banks are! Just sign your name on a slip of paper and you have “manufactured” money! And you don't even need to be polite. You don't say: “Would you please pay” but simply order your humble banker: “Pay Bill Jones one thousand pounds.” How anyone can fail to love bankers — and even say nasty things about them — I cannot understand. My bankers have always been most obliging and courteous, though upon occasion their available funds have
From June 1907 to December 1908 I worked the place from Auckland with a manager on the spot and rather disastrous results. Consequently at the later date I sold out of a very profitable business to “go on the land.” I had anticipated considerable reduction in income, but was not prepared for it to disappear altogether. Henceforth I was to find that I had given up work to carry bricks — or pumice stones — and my utmost efforts were to be expended not in the making of money but in the avoidance of losses. Profit, provided my books were kept correctly, I soon realised was “beyond the dreams of avarice.”
It will be remembered that in Tutira Mr. Guthrie-Smith tells us how he made one entry in his books and then “never no more.” I was at the other extreme. Throughout I kept a set of double-entry books, and found the application of strict double-entry to farming operations both difficult and laborious — and very unsatisfactory. It shows in a lurid light the folly of farming as a business enterprise. These mere figures written in books make one continually unhappy — and yet professional men can make your balance sheet add up the same on both Dr. and Cr. sides whether you are prospering or perishing. These good gentlemen are called accountants. Most farmers keep no books and “Dunno where they are” until “The Company” stops their credit. Meanwhile they are happy in the hope that springs eternal in the human breast. Anyhow here I was and having decided to stake my money and my life on the venture, I was not going to turn back, books or no books.
And if I had lost my income, I had also greatly reduced my personal expenses. One can live on a farm — especially a remote farm — very much more cheaply than one can in town, in the matter of shelter: a very humble house will suffice at the beginning. In the matter of clothes: one need not throw them away as soon as they have become comfortable. In the matter of food: one kills his own mutton, catches his own fish, shoots his own rabbits and ducks (in season), and grows all his vegetables in his back yard. In the matter of pocket-money a perfectly beneficent miracle is experienced. In town one puts a pound in his pocket in the morning, and in the evening he fails in a search for a threepenny bit to pay his tram fare. Nor has he the remotest idea whither the good money has flown. Even if he holds a careful inquest he fails to discover the cause of the loss of the dear departed. But in a place like Broadlands the pound is still there at the end of the day, at the end of the week, at the end of the month. So it came about that I never carried money. You could hold me upside down and shake me and gain not a penny.
For nearly two years more I kept managers on the place; but, having come to realize that I had made an inadequate study of the Holy Scriptures on the subject of sheep-farming (readers will remember the fundamental distinction therein drawn between the methods of the shepherd whose own the sheep are and those of the shepherd whose own the sheep are not), I decided to take the mismanagement of the place into my own hands. Many mistakes I made, but really I am of opinion that they were no worse than those of my neighbours! Though I could not claim, in common with those seeking employment as managers, to have “Been among sheep all my life,” I contrived to clear myself and keep out of debt.
During this early period I frequently sympathized with the pioneer settler in Canterbury who reflected “If there had been
As regards knowledge: in the backblocks it is eminently true that there is no knowledge which is not useful. Everything that came my way had to be tackled and all difficulties faced and overcome without help of any kind. There were practically no neighbours and no Government ever did a hand's turn to help me. If a road had to be made; if a drain had to be levelled; if a shed had to be built; if fences had to be erected or land cleared and ploughed, I had to design and supervise the work. If a window were broken I had to glaze it; if an implement were damaged I must repair it; if a water pipe burst I must do the plumbing; if a horse got the gripes or a cow the staggers or any emergency whatever occurred, if I couldn't put matters right they had to stay wrong. Thus I acquired many trades. I performed many operations on animals, and the patient always survived! So that I felt that I ought to be awarded the degree of M.R.C.V.S. However, it may be that my friends were right in suggesting that all it amounted to was that the animals successfully resisted the treatment.
The principal case I remember was that of a valuable mare which, as a consequence of having been gored by a cow, had part of her internal organism protruding. Having led her on to clean grass I had her thrown, and then scrupulously cleansed the intestines and forced them back through the gash, taking great care not to fracture the peritoneum. Notwithstanding the creature's vigorous protests I sewed up the wound and then put a strong and tight band round her to keep everything in place. This was quite successful. And so in medical treatment I was called to a horse bleeding through the nose at a ghastly rate
But my practice as physician and surgeon was not confined to the lower animals. Ordinary ailments in humans I treated with the help of a homoeopathic treatise; and so when young Dick contracted measks I put him to bed and treated him according to the book. However, when his skin started to peel off I recognized his ailment as having been similar to that of Peter's wife's mother — he had lain sick of a fever and that no less than scarlet fever! Subsequently I allowed no one but myself to enter his room. I brought in a large bath and with a weak mixture of lysol and warm water washed him down. Then I burned everything in the room and gave him a new outfit. Dick made a good recovery and I wasn't even prosecuted by the B.M.A. On another occasion having come in earlier than usual I saw — and heard— the “married woman” attached by her hand to the washhouse door. Rushing to her assistance, I found a thin nail through her wedding ring. Some careless person had driven it into the door and the good woman flinging her hands around to rid them of soapsuds had got this nail between her ring and her finger and then slipped off the step. It took me no time to fetch a hammer and pull the nail out: but the lady would not let me take the ring off. That would be most unlucky. However, anticipated swelling supervened, and then the severance of the woman from her wedding ring became necessary and most difficult. However, it was accomplished.
Then there was the other married woman who paid for the carelessness of one of the boys in hanging his minnow in the meat-safe. For those who do not know what a minnow is I may explain that it is an imitation fish in metal furnished with several barbarous hooks wherewith to catch the toothsome trout. Putting her hand into the safe for a mutton chop she grasped the minnow and thrust a barb into her finger. So she danced
After these little preliminary excitements let us get right to work.
Having now made the essential advance of obtaining legal access by the means which I have described, there remained another important work — the making of practicable access. The right-of-way crossed two considerable rivers — the Waiotapu and the Torepatutahi. Across the first there was a flimsy structure locally called a bridge. (The sort of thing at which you asked a blessing before attempting a crossing, and after crossing returned thanks.) Across the second we had to swim on to my land. Naturally my first work was to construct a bridge across this same Torepatutahi, a river with a capacity of at least a hundred million gallons a day. To this end I procured from a bush about twerity-five miles distant four stringers each thirty-five feet long and eighteen by eight inches. Getting these great baulks out over winding tracks and no roads was a great piece of work. This was in the middle of winter. The men lived in tents. The horses were tethered in the scrub. Stores and horse-feed were covered with a few loose sheets of iron. Yet the men were “as happy as Larry” — the difference between those really wanting work for the support of themselves and their families and those who condescend to do a tap or two so as to qualify for some pension whereby they may live upon the labour of others.
The piles were driven, the sills laid and fastened, the stringers placed and bolted, the deck spiked on, the rails built, the approaches graded. Hurrah! The bridge is open. It has since carried an immense amount of traffic and that without the help of any political harangue.
The bridge being up we could now start improvements. The first thing was choosing a site for the homestead. In this a very serious error was made — though of course, at the time the reasons seemed convincing. Then came making a road from the bridge to the house site — about three and a-half miles. This cost next to nothing. Wagons and other vehicles crushed down the scrub and made a good enough road. There was only one small cutting. Subsequently some work had to be done to patch up soft spots which developed, and finally the Public Works Department made quite a good “dirt” road at the cost of a few hundred pounds. Needless to say they did not do this for me but for the settlers on the thousand acres which I gave.
Followed the general roads and bridges policy. The country had to be carefully inspected to find the best routes, to the end that the “Crooked shall be made straight and the rough places plain” thereby providing easy access to all parts. If the road were not an important one it was merely marked out and the traffic of wagons and other vehicles made a road costlessly, good enough for the purpose; indeed in this country there is some advantage in not breaking the surface where the traffic is light. If the road were important it was first cleared and then carefully lined up the centre and the heavy double-furrow plough sent along three times each way. This made a track twelve feet to fourteen feet wide with a fair crown. It was then well disced and harrowed. If further crowning were desired it could be effected with a piece of heavy timber with an arm on it sloped well backwards. Then followed the roller, and finally a mob of sheep. This made a road good for all but very heavy traffic, at a
The road in, the next job was building. I had been engineer for the roads and bridges, and must now become architect and builder.
After much delay, including the annoyance of having the weatherboards delivered before the frame timber, a plain, square (at least it was very nearly square!) four-roomed house was erected. There was no passage and no verandah and at first no porch, though we soon had to provide one to prevent our being blown out of the front door when we opened the back door. This latter looked straight into the south-west and there wasn't a tree or a shrub or a hedge to afford any shelter.
And now the best lines for fences must be located so as to enclose shapely paddocks, each with a sufficient water supply. Crossing awkward gullies, swamps and other obstacles must be avoided. The fences and gates must be designed; the materials calculated, bought and laid on the line; and a contract let to trustworthy fencers for the erection.
I surveyed all the paddocks with only a chain and a two-foot rule with a level and compass on it. When professionally surveyed later on the error disclosed averaged not as much as one per cent. A survey is most useful, enabling accuracy in ordering seeds and manures, and in timing the work. It is highly advisable to have as many right angles as possible. These I laid out with the chain and the assistance of theorem No. 47 of the
I may here remark that before my arrival fencing was erected at three shillings per chain, the owner laying the line. I raised this to three shillings and sixpence, and gradually advanced the price to six shillings and sixpence. I have, however, of late heard of cases when as much as twelve shillings has been paid. Materials also were very cheap in those days. I let a contract for cutting posts out of my own bush and laying them on the back line at £3 10s. per hundred. Seems impossible nowadays! And you should just have seen the country over which those Maoris had to drive their loaded wagons! Good heart totara posts were delivered on the place at £4 per hundred: strainers four shillings each: battens twelve shillings per hundred. Johnson's plain No. 8 galvanized wire cost £13 15s. in Auckland, and barbed No. 12½ with six-inch points £16 per ton. Freight from Auckland to the homestead cost about £4. But I bought one large lot (through friends in the trade in England) at £9 9s. for plain and £12 4s. for barbed. Buyer's commission, freight to Auckland, and landing cost £1 17s. 3d. per ton in addition—fourteen thousand miles for less than half local freight for two hundred miles! Still in considering prices it must be remembered that the paper money we now handle is itself worth only one-third of the good gold money of the good old days.
Now shelter belts must be designed throughout the estate, fenced, and planted with quick-growing, hardy and branchy trees. The sooner the trees are planted the sooner will your stock derive benefit from them.
Next come drains. Guess work will not do. The fall must be ascertained to within a quarter of an inch to the chain. The best
Now comes breaking-in the land. I do not believe in burying sticks. For immediate work the scrub must be felled and burned and the heavier stumps grubbed out. Big pumice must be dug out and carted away. Steep banks I caused to be thrown down and holes filled up. With a single-furrow plough, a scoop, a pair of steady horses, spades, shovels, and perspiration, wonders can be wrought—and that without a bulldozer. Then in comes your heavy double-furrow colonial plough.
I did not use tractors, but stuck to good old dobbin. Many friends put hundreds of pounds into tractors and then left them to rust in the paddocks. There are many advantages in the use of horses. For one thing if you get into difficulties a good roar will at least double your horse-power for five minutes to pull out. But you can say what you like to a tractor: it does not resent your language, but simply does a sit-down strike and defies you. The great disadvantage in horses is that they must be fed. In the earliest times at Broadlands before we had any engine we cut chaff for all the horses by hand. We assembled in the stable before breakfast and wooed an appetite for ourselves
The House Just Built December 1907
The House has Developed a Porch
The Garden GrowsThe House Develops a Lean-to on Eastern Side
the Pumice ChimneyThe House Develops Another Lean-to on Western Side
Note Young Trees in Front
Having harnessed to our heavy double-furrow colonial plough four smart-moving and fairly hefty horses in blocks and chains pulling from Brown springs (so as to minimize shocks), we rushed the work and turned over two and a-half to three acres a day in a first ploughing.
In ploughing swamps for the first time it was not unusual for the team to be bogged. Experienced horses just rested until pulled out: but fresh horses would sometimes struggle violently and injure themselves. I made a long rope of three No. 8 fencing wires twisted together so that the rescue horses could stand afar off on firm ground. A wool-bale was then passed round the bogged horse and the strain put on. In this process we never lost a horse.
If there be time, much money is saved by burning the scrub about three years in advance. First the heavy manuka is cut three or four feet above the ground. Tall stumps rot much more quickly than those cut close to the ground and are more easily taken out owing to the leverage available. Finally they make splendid firewood. A fire-break having been ploughed round the country to be burned and round any shelter to be saved, the fire is put in. In the majority of cases it is best to start the fire to leeward and let it burn back against the wind. This is safer, more thorough and does not create so fierce a heat. Any small patches left unburned can be attacked with a kerosene burner or a flame-thrower. Now cast a sprinkling of rough grasses, principally danthonia pilosa, lotus major, yorkshire fog and suckling clover. In about three years go over the ground with a heavy girder harrow. This will knock down the dead scrub, tear out the heavy stumps and loosen any surface pumice. Large stones and stumps must be carted off. The plough will bury the
It is highly advisable to break in pumice land with a crop of turnips—soft, yellow-fleshed or swedes according to the texture of the soil. I used twelve ounces of seed, and at first two, but latterly three, hundredweight of manure (one hundredweight blood and bone and two hundredweight superphosphate) to the acre. I always rolled again after sowing. It is usually difficult to sow turnips shallow enough, as the soft soil allows the wheels of the drill to sink in.
After the turnips had been fed off I put part of the land down to oats for my teams and laid the rest down to permanent pasture; and, with very little encouragement, much of this has stood for twenty-five years. Grasses suitable to the particular soil must be sown. For example sowing †perennial rye or †meadow foxtail in light soil will prove a failure. The grass must be of a sort to be at home in its surroundings. †Timothy and lotus major flourish remarkably even on the light dry land. Clovers do wonderfully well. †Red clover persists for surprisingly long periods, and top-dressing will revive old clover plants in a wonderful manner.
Ordinary pumice land should never be fallowed. It is already too much disintegrated; moreover the best of the topsoil seems to wash down into the loose subsoil. The thing is to get a soil covering as quickly as possible and then to tread it hard.
And now we are ready to put stock on our country and chance a profit. Provision of feed should always precede stocking.
In the waybacks hardy sheep usually are the precursors, and they yield a double return: wool and meat. Work among the sheep is very popular, especially with the boys. Working dogs, yelling at the top of their voices, riding out to muster, pushing the sheep about in shed, yards and dip—all this seems to give them great joy.
In breaking-in country it is necessary to sacrifice some animals, but good work will greatly reduce the loss. Sheep bogged in swamps and creeks may often be saved by hauling them out, squeezing the water out of their fleece, chafing their limbs and standing them up till they “find their feet.” Cast sheep must be lifted up and tended till they get on an even keel. All this is “quite all right” but plucking the wool from dead bodies is a job not much sought after. One must stand to windward and not be too particular about one's hands—or one's nose. It is well to carry a supply of lysol and water. The wool rammed into a bag and tied in front of the saddle emits an aroma not by any means of a sweet-smelling savour. “Lambing down” is a job requiring judgment and patience. A horse galloped, or a dog barked, may cause infinite injury; and interference with lambing ewes which are not really in trouble may occasion much mischief. On the other hand, if a ewe needing help is neglected, the loss of both ewe and lamb may ensue. It is wonderful what a ewe will endure in the practice of obstetrics, and the whole effect on my mind of caring for lambing ewes is approval of the Jewish ritual of the boys standing up in the house and praising God that they were not born females.
Cattle also are most useful for breaking-in country, especially in conjunction with sheep. The drawback to them is that no profit can be made out of cattle used for breaking land in. It is a common mistake to have too big a proportion of sheep for the sake of the extra profit.
Galloping after cattle, cracking whips, and roaring at dogs is another great sport for boys; but at first when they are told to jump down into the yards among the great half-wild and terror-stricken beasts surging about, they are not so eager. However, if armed with a stout manuka stick, a man takes little risk. Only once have I been seriously rushed. Docking, castrating, branding and dehorning are cruel operations—necessary, however, if
The Jews have a strict rule, claimed to be benevolent in its conception, not to eat butter with meat. I suppose this is to show the cruelty of killing the cow you have just milked—or perhaps to illustrate the difficulty of milking the cow you have just killed.
The first pigs I kept lived solitary lives in Dennis Castle, which occupied a picturesque site at the homestead. Dennis ate what the folk couldn't or wouldn't and in the end was himself eaten by the folk—a double purpose and achievement in life and death. But pig-keeping on a large scale is ancillary to dairying. The pig is a beast much given to disease. The modern “layout” instead of the closed sty is undoubtedly a great improvement, but still pigs need a great deal of care.
Horses and dogs are the friends and allies of man to the end that his food animals may be successfully reared.
But the food animals themselves do their best to beat their owners. They have invented five hundred different ways of anticipating the butcher by dying a natural death quite regardless of the fact that they have cost a lot of money. Among other means sheep and cattle keep no less than four stomachs (each) in which to harbour all kinds of worms. Of these the smallest and most pestilential are strongylus contortus and s. cerviocornis. One of the stomachs being called the bible it might be supposed that it would kill these little devils—but it doesn't. Besides stomach worms, sheep harbour lung worm, liver fluke, brain maggot, hydatids, cysts, and the like, and are also subject to being “struck” by flies which deposit maggots in the wool. Here they develop and in their thousands eat into the living flesh of the unfortunate sheep. To name the remaining diseases of sheep would be too tedious. As to cures: such often cost more than the value of the animal.
To give particulars of what disease can do and a farmer can suffer, I will here relate the greatest setback I ever suffered at Broadlands. For the first few years my lambs improved every year until I bred nine hundred and fifty-one lambs and at nine months of age had nine hundred and fifteen splendid hoggets. Meanwhile, encouraged by this success, I had put one thousand five hundred ewes to the ram. In September the hoggets seemed to lose their appetite. They got worse. They put in most of their time looking at the scenery. I moved them on to †swedes but they liked them even less than grass. They started to die and persevered in dying. Meanwhile the ewes had produced one thousand three hundred and thirty bonny lambs: but about Christmas they developed a filthy green scour and died by hundreds. Subsequently I reduced the sheep and increased the cattle. This and other changes in management greatly reduced the losses: yet there was every year a dreadful “tail” to the lambs. The top half of the mob consisted of as fine lambs as one could wish for: the remainder were from poor to bad. Eventually I developed a lick which cured the trouble: and, the year before I left the place, I bred the finest lot of lambs I have ever seen anywhere.
Early spring is the season for cattle committing suicide in the swamps. They are hungry and cannot resist the fresh green feed round the edges. Cows in calf are the greatest sufferers. To haul them out, the same process was used as already described in the case of bogged horses; but if a beast has been in the swamp overnight it may as well be left there. Its legs get numbed; it emits a low, despairing moan; it has lost heart; when pulled out it will not make the least effort to stand up. The only thing to do—if the beast is worth it—is to load it into a dray and bring it home and sling it. You may ask how the beast is elevated into the dray: but the trick is not done that way. The dray is lowered to the beast. Cuts are made in the ground and
Loading our beast into the dray reminds me of my first use of this expedient whereby I gained an undeserved reputation for great physical strength. An outsize in pumice stones had been dodged though the paddock had been ploughed twice. However one day I dug it out and left it ready for removal. Shortly after I took on a new man very boastful of his strength. After one of his recitals I said:
“Charlie you're the very man I want. Do you think you could put a big pumice stone in the dray and bring it up to the house?”
He assured me that he could handle any pumice stone that God ever made.
“Right,” I said, “go down to No. 9A and bring up a stone from about the middle of the paddock.” Two other men had tried it and they grinned.
At lunch Charlie looked crest-fallen when I enquired where he had put the stone.
“Expect a bloodstained man to lift a stone like that!”
“Oh, well: I suppose I'll have to go for it myself.” So I had them put a good horse in the dray which I drove to the paddock and there backed into the hole made by the excavation of the stone, let down the tailboard, and with the leverage afforded by the spade contrived to work the huge stone into the dray. It was easy then to pull out of the hole and cover up my wheel-tracks.
“Well, boss, where did you put the stone?” greeted me as soon as the men came in to their evening meal.
“Just behind the washhouse,” I replied; and there it was and no mistake. The general opinion was that the boss must be vastly stronger than he looked—a very useful reputation.
In the rearing of animals much cruelty seems inevitable, but it is wicked as well as foolish to treat them with avoidable harshness. Savage dogs urged on to bark and bite, whips cracking, harsh voices roaring, frighten the lower animals and cause them to become silly and obstinate. When my men have lost their tempers with the animals they were handling I have pointed out to them that if animals were not stupider than men we should not be eating them, but they would be eating us. And so in the great struggle for existence my quarrel is not with the folk who are stupider than I—I can make a living out of them—but with those who have more brains than I and so beat me in the battle of life.
In taking up new and absolutely untried land a great deal of experimental work has necessarily to be done to discover in what way the land can best be broken in; what crops will grow and produce a profit; what grasses and other pasture plants will flourish in the different classes of soil; the proper kinds and quantities of manures; what breeds of stock suit the country best; the best methods of suppressing rabbits, weeds and other pests.
I have already described my methods of clearing. Ploughing I found quite necessary to bring the land into good pasture. Surface-sowing would give a bite for run stock, but was no use for dairying. Disc ploughs I found useless—the draught is heavy and the land left very rough. I found a heavy double-furrow colonial plough the best; for sowing, a disc drill: before and after sowing a heavy roller. Manure for crops, two-thirds superphosphate, one-third blood and bone, sometimes at two hundred-weight to the acre, sometimes three hundredweight. For top-dressing, a bag of slag and a bag of superphosphate (to be
Unfortunately one's men are always opposed to any experimental work. They know everything and consequently have nothing to learn. The boss is full of fads and fancies even if, by the grace of God, he is not quite mad.
In June 1909 I added to my labours by opening a store where everything was stocked “from a needle to an anchor.” The turnover was never great, but I called the establishment a warehouse. Vulgar people called it a shop. But the difference is that a warehouse has no display of goods in windows to intrigue buyers. It relies on the excellence of its wares and the reputation of its salesmen. Never did the Broadlands warehouse descend to alluring the passing throng with lifelike images of the female form divine only slightly obscured from view by an irreducible minimum of clothes. (The resemblance of these garments to the Sibylline books is remarkable—the less you get, the more you pay.) A store provides the only certain profit on a station. A reel of cotton is bought for threepence and sold for fourpence. Charging up such things as rent or wages is unheard of: so a penny has been made—if you get paid. This I would call thirty-three and one-third per cent. profit, but a celebrated up-country storekeeper who systematically charged double the cost of his goods claimed that his profit was one per cent.
The only time I made any money worth having was during the War at the time of the sugar shortage. This essential was one of the few things strictly rationed. Quantities quite beyond the capacity of my modest business began to arrive. I asked the merchants what they meant by it. They replied: “Mum's the word.” My warehouse became the sweetest place on earth,
It was not long after my going to reside on Broadlands that I started in to startle the agricultural world by taking the leading prizes at the leading shows, with exhibits grown on the “worthless” pumice, and I can honestly say that none of these exhibits had any special treatment. All were pulled out of the ordinary crops. Most had two hundredweight of manure to the acre: some had three hundredweight. Here follows a list of my prizes.
Besides the above I have undated prize tickets: five firsts, four seconds, one third, three very highly commendeds, and from some shows I failed to rescue the prize tickets.
I may add that in the district court competitions at the Auckland Winter Shows the Rotorua Court (containing among others a great number of exhibits from Broadlands) took first prize in 1924 against Raglan, Whangarei, Onehunga, and Northern Wairoa and Kaipara. In 1923 it had taken second prize against the same competitors.
Other notable achievements have been: Broadlands wool topping the Auckland sale in March, 1915; and again very nearly reaching top price in February, 1924, with wool at twenty-three and three-quarter pence per pound. On 1st September, 1920, a fat cow from Broadlands topped the Westfield market at £17 7s. 6d., and again on 15th July, 1925, another Broadlands cow topped the market at £11 12s. 6d. out of an entry of five hundred and fifty-one head.
In giving evidence before a Parliamentary Committee the late
I think I can safely claim that enough has now been related to show that the despised pumice land can, after all, “hold its end up” against all comers. It will be observed that latterly I got rather tired of the great work, high freights, and small prize-money resulting from show exhibits.
In 1918 I had a note from my brother remarking that he had made £2,000 commission on the sale of Queen Street property that week. I replied: “I also have met with success this week. I swept the board at Palmerston North Show which is much more difficult to do than selling property on Queen Street, and I received twenty-five shillings in prize money.”
One result of taking all these prizes was that many, unaware of the essential virtue of pumice soil, thought that I had some secret process, and wrote me for information; and an old friend whenever he saw me in town greeted me as “Turnips.” One day when I was talking to the chairman of the Bank of New Zealand in Queen Street he blew up with his cheery:
“Hullo Turnips.” But I replied:
“Look here Stuart, old chap, it's far better to grow turnips in your paddocks than on your shoulders.” Shaking his fist at me in the friendliest way he exclaimed:
“I'll get even with you before long.”
Another anecdote in this connection is worth recounting. Mr. Butcher brought a Canterbury friend to Broadlands just after I had picked swedes for the Waikato Winter Show. The rejects had been dibbled into the garden for kitchen use. What wonderful swedes exclaimed the Canterbury man, and then burst out laughing:
“Of course I knew you grew your prize turnips in the garden. But how do you get them so even?”
“Quite simple,” I said, “you dig a hole, fill it with manure, put a seed and a little earth on top and away she goes.”
“But wouldn't that burn the seed?”
“Well” I answered, “if you don't believe it pull one up and have a look.” With that he gave a great heave at one of the huge roots. It was, of course, just sitting on the top of the soil and in a second our friend was just lying on top of the soil with the heavy root on his chest and the dirt from it assembled in his mouth and eyes. On rising he seemed to be possessed of a great desire to punch my head. However I did not retire, but remarked:
“Serves you—well right!”
In 1916 I built a new woolshed which I aimed at making the best in New Zealand, and I succeeded. Of course there are many larger sheds, but I have never seen another shed into which it was so easy to drive the sheep, and so well lighted, so well ventilated, and so conveniently arranged. There were five stands of machines, though we used only four, and we could put seven hundred sheep under shelter overnight. Drip from the roof was completely eliminated. On 11th August of that year the shed was opened with a dance and great éclat. After supper a †
This building almost completed the main street of Broadlands. On the left side as one entered there were chaff house, manure shed, woolshed, shearers' dining room, implement shed, stable, garage, benzine store, blacksmith's shop, carpenter's shop, general store, washhouse, and woodshed. On the right hand side were boys' quarters, timber yards, boardinghouse and fowlhouse and yard.
In prosecuting all these works I had soon realized that in my little kingdom I had to be not only my own Prime Minister but also Minister of Public Works, Chief Engineer, Contractor,
As to success of my “Continuous Ministry” let me refer you to the list of prizes taken at shows, and further quote from a report of a visit to Broadlands by my attorney in Auckland while I was in England. Under date 31st December, 1928, he writes:
“The seventy-five acres (new paddock) is waist deep in clover and so are plenty of the other paddocks. There are seven hundred cattle on the place, all in splendid condition, and there is no hope of their keeping the feed down although three hundred tons of hay is to be saved. The place will easily carry one thousand head. The neighbours are agreed you should go in for dairying.” I may here state that the cattle were gradually increased to one thousand one hundred.
In June, 1930, having sold a considerable number of my dry cattle, I decided to devote a portion of the farm to dairying, and started in to build the necessary dwelling, cowshed, pigsties, outbuildings, and the like; to plant shelter trees; to more closely subdivide the paddocks. That same year we began our supply.
At the time the price of butterfat was one shilling and four-pence per pound. It had come down from two shillings and sixpence per pound, and “couldn't possibly go lower”: but, as soon as those rascals in Tooley Street heard I was going to put butterfat on the market they cut the price back to tenpence: and the next year to eightpence. Tenpence was the highest price I ever got. At that time I estimated the cost of production at one shilling per pound. What it is now, when the fanner gets so little work done for such high wages, I cannot tell. But if “labour” be not employed the price is not bad. Again: the exports of New Zealand are produced by the unpaid labour of the farmer's wife and children.
And now let us turn to the most important and, too often the most neglected, part of the farm — the homestead — the particular spot whereon the farmer lives and moves and has his being.
At the very beginning this should be protected by carefully chosen, useful, and handsome trees. One thing that is often forgotten is that the tiny seedling which is being planted will become the mighty tree, and that allowance should be made for the shade it will cast, for the spread of its branches and of its roots, for the fall of its leaves, and for the possibility of its falling on to buildings during gales.
A shrubbery adorned with graceful, flowering bushes and a garden well-stocked with bright blossoms should follow as soon as possible, while the less conspicuous parts, may be made a source of health and profit by the abundance of the fruits of the earth.
The farmer is entitled to the best that the earth will yield in response to his toil — repose and enjoyment and healthful food. The home garden is undoubtedly the most profitable portion of the farm.
In the garden I had marvellous success. At first I had a †chamaerops excelsis. Though only a quarter of an acre was devoted to flowers and vegetables I grew enough right round the year to adorn the premises and to feed a family of never less than seven, and often ten or a dozen. The potatoes were grown outside the garden proper and some onions were bought. Carrots, parsnips, onions, beans, peas, cabbages, cauliflowers,
The Garden from Front Verandah 1932
The Kitchen Garden Cabbages
Over Two Feet SpreadVegetable Marrows
(The Support on Left is a Butter Box)Apples in Broadlands Orchard
My garden was admired by all beholders. It was indeed a delightful surprise coming out of the wild scrub country into Broadlands garden. In 1936 exhibits from Broadlands garden won the most points prize at the local show. Ail these results were achieved by patient trial and experiment — mostly successful, but some failures had, of course, to come my way.
It may perhaps be of interest to my friends to learn how I personally “put in my time.”
In the well-known Australian work We of the Never-Never the outback is repeatedly called “The land of plenty of time” but my experience was quite contrary to this theory.
Rather did it resemble:
Never did I have opportunity for contemplation during the day time or for consideration during the night time. I always had on hand at least ten jobs which ought to be done at once. The great trouble was to know which one to tackle and which nine to leave till tomorrow's more ample hours. I had fondly imagined when giving up business that I should have abundant
In reading the following it must be borne in mind that on Broadlands the clock was kept half-an-hour ahead in the winter, and a full hour in summer. Therefore if you want to observe the time by the sun you must make the necessary adjustments.
Well then, here is my daily round: Rise 5.30 a.m., see that the mail is quite ready; do little jobs about the house or perhaps work for a few minutes in the garden; breakfast at 7 o'clock; attend to all requirements in the store; set out the work and give each farmhand his orders for the day; go out to my own particular job among the stock, building, draining, haymaking, harvesting, mixing manure or grass seed, surface sowing grass, carpentering, repairing the frequent damage to implements, and the like. One of my jobs was to make all the gates. I must have built well over a hundred. Hanging gates is quite an art. If my work lay far from the homestead I took some lunch: if near at hand, in to lunch, noon to 1 p.m.; back to my job: home about 5.30 p.m., work around store or garden; dinner 6.30 p.m.; read letters on arriving by mail, and newspapers till 8 or 8.30 p.m.; retire to study, write up books and records and answer letters; and “so to bed” between 10.30 p.m. and 11 p.m. This works out, I fear, at rather more than the statutory forty hours a week and almost reminds me of a stock agent who told me that he worked twenty hours a day and during the other four he merely answered the telephone!
Attendance on visitors sometimes necessitated reduction of the hours of sleep. One visitor remarked:
“Do you ever go to bed before midnight? It seems to me that you never get to sleep till tomorrow!” To this I retorted:
“As tomorrow never comes it follows that I never go td sleep.” The longest day's work I ever did at Broadlands was: rose
Before dawn we were at the back boundary so as to be behind the sheep before they should break camp. In the early days I had merinos. They are easy to muster. Provided you have a good fence or other impassable barrier you make a noise behind them and they run for their lives until they come to the barrier. There they assemble and meet together and you pick them up and, with the invaluable assistance of your faithful hounds, you get them home. But by this time I had changed over to Romney Marsh, and these creatures towards midday and early afternoon will hide in the scrub and stand “stock” still while you pass within a few yards of them. When you are well ahead the brutes will come out and show themselves in open patches of feed. Back you go and get them. So all day we toiled and by nightfall had our mob mustered up, but absolute darkness prevented our getting them home. So we let them settle down and camp and arrived back at the station at about 8 p.m. From 2.30 a.m. to 8 p.m. I had been battling through scrub and over hills and gullies, roaring unprintable orders to dogs and had not been out of the saddle for five minutes. Next morning we had to be up again before daylight to get behind the sheep before they should move. This was the hardest frost I ever experienced at Broadlands. The ground was hard and slippery, all shallow pools frozen, and when I reached the homestead the men all roared. I looked like Peary at the Pole with icicles hanging down to where my waist ought to be — and then was.
One difficulty in mustering my country was the presence here and there of large white pumice stones. At a distance these look very much like sheep and at times you fancy that you see them move! I have known a shepherd get very angry with his dog because of its failure to shift such sheep.
Another job entailing long hours was shearing. I always dreaded it. Shearing starts at 5 a.m. and, as I was of necessity my own “expert,” I had to be in the shed between 4 and 4.30 a.m. to go through the sheep to see that none were down, attend to oiling the machines, start the engine up, sharpen combs and cutters, see that bales and bags were properly placed, and everything in order. Then, when all was running satisfactorily, to help with drafting, classing the fleeces, counting out and keeping the tallies of mobs and of shearers, times of hands, and so forth. At shearing everything is done at top speed and with a swing and a system. If any department is slack — penning, shearing, sweeping, throwing, skirting, sorting, baling, branding — it blocks everyone. Outside there is mustering, drafting, shedding, branding of shorn sheep and putting them back on their country. When shearing was at the rate of twenty shillings per hundred and shed hands got from six shillings to ten shillings a day all were merry and contented; but when wages rose to thirty-five shillings for shearers and a minimum of fourteen shillings and sixpence for shed hands any hitch meant murmurings and threats of strikes. I suppose the workers counted up their loss from any stoppage at the higher rates! Only once did I encounter an actual strike. It started with the engine stopping and spread to the men who complained of the consequent loss of time. However, I went over to the store and came back with a twelve-pound tin of lollies and distributed them among the dosen or two Maori children (who always infested the shed, distributing peanut shells, bits of string and such like benefits through the wool), spoke a few cheerful words
Eucalypts Surface Sown Twenty Years Ago
In the Arboretum. Cedar: Silver Beeches
Note the Mess of GrassInside a Eucalyptus Plantation Twenty Years Old
Eucalyptus Macarthuri Eight Years Old and Over Fifty Feet High
The Red Slave has Done His Work
I may here remark that the old idea of dividing the fleeces into numerous classes has been abandoned. Latterly I had only three classes — fine, medium and coarse. Even this simple method meant eight sorts of wool — the three classes of fleece and in addition cots, dingy, pieces, bellies and locks.
Dipping was a job I rather enjoyed — after I had built a walkin dip with fifty-five foot swim; yards to hold two thousand sheep at a time and draining pens to hold three hundred. It is true that we have risen early and put seven hundred sheep through before breakfast, but dipping must finish early — not later than 3 p.m. and the work in a dip such as mine is not hard provided the sheep are not dogged or bullied. Once sheep get frightened they become obstinate and hard to handle. Prior to the construction of this dip we used a small iron dip into which every sheep had to be lifted — great exercise, but no sport.
Two of our busiest years were:
That ending 31st March, 1910, when we broke in one hundred and twenty-seven acres of new land; laid down to permanent pasture fifty acres: sowed one hundred and eleven acres turnips and sixteen acres oats; completed outbuildings; added two lean-to rooms to house; constructed a small bridge and some culverts; erected eight miles of fence; dug fifty-two and a-quarter chains of drain; netted one and a-half miles of fence; erected shearing machines; opened a general store, and so on.
And again, that ending 31st March, 1927, when we broke up one hundred and seventeen acres new land; laid one hundred acres in permanent pasture; sowed one hundred and fifteen acres turnips; cut one hundred and fifty tons hay; planted out eight thousand five hundred and fifty trees; dug half a mile of drain; erected six and a-half miles of fences; improved surroundings of homestead, and so on.
The greatest area of new land broken up in one year was in 1930-1931 (our year ending 31st March), one hundred and forty acres; the greatest length of fencing was in 19094910, eight miles; of drains in 1915-1916, two miles six chains; the greatest amount of grass-seed sown was six tons four hundredweight; in 1914–1915 and again in 1916–1917 we sowed five tons.
In the end I had erected fifty-five and a-half miles of fencing, mostly eight wires — none less than seven; all best English wire and all best heart totara timber; dug twelve and a-half miles of drains; formed ten and a-half miles of roads, besides odd bits of road and lengthy tracks everywhere (for mustering); erected six large and three small traffic bridges, and two foot-bridges, besides numberless culverts — many of them substantially built like small bridges; broken up two thousand acres of virgin land, ploughed at least twice and some few paddocks which were relaid as many as five times; erected substantial buildings nearly all of heart totara — house eight rooms, bathroom and porch;
It will be observed that my fences, placed end to end, if started at Auckland city would have passed on through Pukekohe and Pokeno and Mercer and on to Rangiriri to the south: or through Helensville and Kaukapakapa and on to Ahuroa in the north.
And how did these achievements compare with those in other countries? There ia very little really first-class fool-proof land in New Zealand. Our best farms are man-made. Practically every productive acre in the North Island has been covered first by an axe or a slasher and afterwards by a plough, and a manure and seed distributor. Nearly all early books on New Zealand comment on the hopelessness of the task and compare our little country with Australia to our great disadvantage, pointing out the limitless areas of level country of the richest description in Australia, much of it covered with costless pasture of native grasses, and all supplemented by the great advantage of cheap convict labour. However, the wonderful climate of New Zealand — and particularly the northern part of — it combined with the unpaid toil of the farmers' family have so far pulled us through. I have been comparatively successful and have “carried my bat out.”
Besides work on the station itself, I had to take a large part in the public affairs of the district.
First there was the formation of an Agricultural and Pastoral Association for Rotorua, and the starting of local Winter Shows. A meeting was held in Rotorua on the 14th August, 1909, at which Messrs. Martin, Raw, Sloane, Harp, Thompson, Warburton and myself were appointed a committee for finalising the business and carrying out the necessary arrangements; These shows have never looked back and have always been a credit to the district.
My next effort was to get live-stock sales established in the Rotorua district. Many unsuccessful attempts had been made; but I managed to interest the New Zealand Loan and Mercantile Agency Company in the project, with the result that Mr. Bodle from Auckland, Mr. Sare from Hamilton and Mr. Brown from Tauranga met me in Rotorua on the 9th July, 1911. They were accompanied also by Mr. Richard Reynolds, always helpful in new enterprises, and a good friend. We held meetings at various places, and the end that crowned our work was the starting of regular stock sales at Ngongotaha — a tremendous advantage to the whole district.
It was when showing the Loan and Mercantile representatives round the district that the first motor-car was taken through Strathmore (part of which is now named Reporoa).
In 1912 we contrived to get a post office established at Whare-papa some three miles nearer than Waiotapu, and on the 6th March, 1913, a telephone office and bureau was opened there. The first postmaster was Mr. J. E. Zimmerman. However, confusion with Wharepapa near Helensville constantly arose, and the name of our office was soon changed to Wharepaina — truly a painful word. The settlers provided the building. Ere long the Government line was extended to Reporoa and our layout much altered. Mr. Butcher and I — and it may be some
In 1917 a public hall was built from funds provided mainly by Mr. Stead, Mr. Butcher and myself. Subsequently we gave the building to the returned soldiers and they moved it to Reporoa.
In 1918 after several preliminary meetings, Messrs. Butcher, R. Handcock and I succeeded in arranging with the Rotorua Co-operative Dairy Company for it to buy all cream produced in the Waiotapu District and take delivery in the district. Those signing the deed were E. E. Vaile (one hundred cows); W. G. Butcher (sixty cows); Richard Handcock (thirty cows); G. A. Handcock (twenty cows); W. G. Mayes (twenty cows). This agreement was not “implemented” the business being postponed pending the settlement of Reporoa. As illustrating the great progress since made in dairyfarming I may say that, in this deed, a “cow” was defined as one hundred and thirty pounds butterfat in the season.
The advance made by farming in the Rotorua area is also strikingly shown by the output of the district butter factory. Production was started in the 1911–1912 season, when forty-five tons were manufactured. By 1915 this had rather more than doubled at ninety-three tons; the 1920 figures were one hundred and sixteen tons; 1925, three hundred and fifty-five tons; 1930, three hundred and forty-seven tons; 1935, eight hundred and forty-five tons; 1939, one thousand three hundred and fifty tons — or just thirty times the production at the time the factory was established. This is more than six times the average rate of
At first, we at Waiotapu experienced the greatest difficulty in getting our cream carted on any conditions, but now a great lorry with double deck sixteen by eight feet is loaded to capacity every day in the season.
At a meeting held in January 1919 the Waiotapu Settlers' Association was formed with twentyone members and I was elected president, a position which necessitated much travelling about. By 1921 our Association had grown to fifty-five members mainly by accession of new settlers on Reporoa.
Then after protracted negotiations, culminating on the 31st March, 1919, I negotiated the sale to the Government of the Reporoa estate for settlement of returned soldiers. I cannot say that I have been fascinated by the results, but still understand that Reporoa has been the most successful of all the soldier settlements. I had urged upon Mr. Massey the establishment on Crown Lands of a large farm where applicants for land could be trained and tried out. Only those approved by the super-intendent, and themselves wishing to continue after actual experience of the conditions then ruling, to be awarded sections.
Such a scheme would have saved this country many millions: but Mr. Massey went off to Europe and his subordinates failed to carry out the idea.
To celebrate this important event of the subdivision and settlement as dairy farms of about ten thousand acres of first-class land I gave a dinner in the Waiotapu Hotel. Several important men came up from Auckland and a car-load of invited guests from Rotorua. It went off with a swing and a presentation was made to The New Zealand Herald in acknowledgment of the encouragement it had always given to our district in face of all the discouragement poured on us from other sources.
On the 26th May, 1920, the first farm sections in Reporoa were balloted, the successful applicants being Messrs. H. C. Batcheldor, A. Cameron, Peter Carswell, H. G. Cherry, H. Coote, D. K. Dunbar, R. W. Dunbar, A. E. Flaxman, B. W. Friis, A. B. Guthrie, J. E. Hird, James Jickell, T. H. Lewis, J. McRobert, J. M. Steedman. Of these rather more than half are still on their land which is, I believe, a record superior to that of any other soldier settlement.
The farming sections having by now been mostly taken up, on the 20th July, 1921, the township sections were put up for sale by auction. There was a large attendance, amongst them some Hindus. When these chipped into the bidding I decided to run them out, and a section was knocked down to me. I then discovered that I had to make a declaration that I did not own more than five thousand acres of land. So I was out and the Hindus got in. Better an Asiatic than a waster who has brought thousands of acres of waste land into use!
Soon a district school was established, but it was many years before a schoolmaster's residence was added. This took away a portion of the school grounds. Consequently I bought and presented to the school a further area which afforded the children a better playground; provided the materials for a carpenter's
Recently I did much the same for Broadlands School.
I had published several pamphlets on pumice land development, on soldier settlement, on railway mismanagement, on extending the railway from Rotorua to Taupo, when in 1931 I committed the outstanding folly of standing for Parliament. For months I rushed round the gigantic constituency of Rotorua which was one hundred and thirty miles long and about eighty miles wide, preaching to hundreds, preaching to tens, preaching to individuals the doctrine of sound finance, saying unto them: “The basis of all sound finance is the fact that there are twenty shillings in a pound, and when you have spent them there is nothing left”; shouting my slogan: “It is more important to the individual, and vastly more important to the State, that the citizen should have regular work and be able to buy his requirements cheaply than that he should have high wages by the hour or by the day”; not flinching from my advocacy of free trade — the policy of courage, of friendliness and of plenty as opposed to protection, the policy of cowardice of enmity and of scarcity; proclaiming the virtues of hard work and of competition — the soul of sound business. All of my meetings were successful — perhaps especially that at Arapuni, the nest of socialists and communists. At question time, six or more would rise at a time. The chairman nominated the man to proceed. When he got in his question cheers were given indicating that the audience believed: “That'll fix the blighter.” But when they saw that I easily answered the questions and proved the questioners wrong the cheers began to come with the answers. I was congratulated on all sides: my friends were delighted and predicted an easy victory. But did the crowd vote for me? Not much! They reflected “That fellow has fifty thousand acres; he must be a thief; he is far too clever for us; we want one of our
Grass being Saved for Hay. To be Cut about a Month Later.
The Cutting
Note Stacks in DistanceRaking into Windrows
The Hay Cocked
Swedes from Broadlands at Auckland Winter Show 1910
A Great Crop
Looking Across the Drills
Success Every Time
So in the end I was well defeated and repeatedly had to apologize to enquiring friends for the stupidity of the electors of Rotorua! Joking apart, the causes I have stated have resulted in the dreadful fact that today there is no one in Parliament on either side of the House in whose ability to effect “A happy issue out of all our afflictions” the public has any confidence. The fault is not with the Government — they are having the time of their lives — but with the electors. It is the crash of Democracy.
In 1933 the acute depression having continued for some three years, I decided that a man having so much land should render some help, and offered to give one thousand acres for the settlement of the unemployed. This offer was accepted and nine farms have been established upon the land. The great bulk of the area was really first-class soil, level and abundantly watered: I had built a bridge and made a road into the block; dug over three miles of drains; erected about the same length of fence; cleared and surface-sown the greater part of the land. I am glad to say that the settlement has been a great success. I have heard senior officers of the Department say that these are the best small
charges a ground rent for the land which I gave. To cause the initial rent to be light and not raise a howl, my gift, worth at the lowest £3,500, was “valued” at about £900 on an unimproved basis — or say one-third of its true value. The settlers will get a rude shock when it comes to be revalued in terms of their leases.
Transport
“On the power to move life itself depends”—Samuel Vaile.
I remember many years ago listening to an argument between my father and a farmer as to the most important element in the value of land. The farmer held very strongly that richness of soil and abundance of water were the two absolute essentials; my father that access was the main thing. The knock-out blow came with the observation “There are millions of acres of the richest land in the moon: you may have them. I prefer even poor land that I can get on to.”
This, I think, vividly illustrates the fact that access — transport — is of fundamental importance, and so I give it a chapter to itself.
When I bought Broadlands there were several Maori main roads through it. These were not exactly up to our standard, but then maintenance did not cost £100 per mile per annum. Nor had construction cost anything. The Maoris were not foolish enough to cross the Waikato River twice (as the Pakeha has done), but kept on the Broadlands side. It was along this road that the dread Amio-whenua †
Another important Maori road was that from Ohaki to Murupara: and an ancient and important track led from Rangitaiki on the Napier Road to Ohaki. This effected a great
Down this track in the very early days a mob of four thousand sheep descended upon me. The drovers begged for a paddock with safe water, for they feared a break-away should the thirsty flock see the Waikato River. At that time I had only two paddocks — both new grass, of course: and I granted the use of one of them. In the morning I went to look at the sheep and my new paddock resembled the desert of Sahara. The hungry sheep had literally torn the grass out by the roots. I had to resow that paddock.
Warned by this, when other drovers appeared with five hundred horses I firmly refused grazing; but I allowed the mob to camp for the night. In the morning the horses had broken camp and the drovers took several days to gather them up, during which time they ate my country pretty bare. After these experiences I blocked the ancient track.
In course of time the Maori road engineers yielded pride of place to the wild horses. For long after their appearance the district was all open tussock country and the horses were very skilful at finding the best grades and situations for their tracks. These they maintained after the incursion of
When the horses and cattle were shot out the tracks soon became overgrown. †
In the very beginning of Pakeha times the only way of getting about was on foot through swamps and rivers and forests and over mountain ranges. Then came pack bullocks, to be followed by pack horses. As soon as roads a few feet wide were cut bullock drays followed and then bullock wagons. Rotorua traffic
Strenuous in action as well as eloquent in expletives, the “bullocky” was a wonderful aid to the civilization of the wilderness. Prior to the making of roads he was there with his great lumbering wagon harnessed to three or four pair (or “yoke”) of oxen, crashing through dense scrub, negotiating grades apparently impossible and crossing the unbridged rivers as long as the bullocks could reach the bottom with their feet. His great patient beasts were the precursors of horses. They were slower, but gave a steadier and more combined pull — “A long pull and a strong pull and a pull all together.” But their greatest advantage was cheapness. The animals cost but little — any heavy bullock not too old could be broken in to the work. A wild beast harnessed between two tame bullocks always lost the argument. After a year or two in the teams these bullocks taken out and quickly fattened made excellent beef. So nothing was lost on them. Upkeep, again, was nothing. The bullocks were turned out at night and they found their own food. In uninhabited country the carriage of hard feed for the use of horses on a long journey makes their employment impossible: moreover their greater speed necessitates better roads.
At the time of my appearance on the local horizon the railway had reached Rotorua, and a “dirt” road had been made thence to Taupo, passing near to Broadlands en route. For some reason
During my time freights on the railways have been substantially increased: on the road they have been substantially decreased — the difference between Government control and private competition and enterprise.
In passenger transport the train used to leave Auckland at 9 a.m. and arrived at Rotorua at 5 p.m. It stopped at every station past Frankton. The passenger put up for the night and at 7.25 a.m. was served with bacon and eggs and a cup of scalding tea. At 7.30 he took his seat on the Taupo coach with three horses in the lead and two in the pole. Waiotapu was reached at 11 a.m., and here a stop of about one and a-half hours was made in order that the passengers might see the sights and have lunch, and that a fresh team of horses might be put in the coach. The coach got to my turn-off about 2 p.m. At the forty-mile stables horses were changed again and Taupo finally reached about 5 p.m. On the return trip the coach passed my turn-off about 10.30 a.m. and arrived at Waiotapu about 12.30. A stop was made for sight-seeing and physical refreshment and the change of horses. Arrival at Rotorua was about 5 p.m. One put up for the night and took the “express” at 9 a.m. arriving in Auckland about 5 p.m., so that the journey each way took two days.
Latterly I could leave Broadlands at 3 p.m. and arrive in Auckland at 11 p.m. the same day. On the return journey, nowadays the express leaves Auckland at 10.10 a.m. and arrives Rotorua 4.15 p.m. There my patient old motor awaits me and gets me out to Broadlands by 5.45 p.m. in time for dinner. Or I could leave Auckland at 7.10 p.m.: sleep at Frankton: on again at 7.29 a.m., reaching Rotorua at 11.40 a.m. Or, again, if I wanted thoroughly to enjoy myself, I could leave Auckland at two minutes to 4 a.m. and arrive at Rotorua at the same time — 11.40 a.m. How the railway folk contrive to think up times like 3.58 and 7.29 for the confusion of their passengers is a marvel. Besides the trains there are now two service cars each way every day as far as Rotorua. One of them runs past Broadlands right on to Taupo.
It will be seen that an immense saving of time has been achieved: but of course the cost has not been reduced — indeed it has been considerably increased. That is the railway “policy” — the only way to make a business pay is to increase the cost to the customers! I regret to remark that, in my opinion, the New Zealand Railways are dreadfully mismanaged. Their two books of fancy freights may be bought for one shilling and sixpence — very cheap considering that they contain thousands of varieties of rates. The cheapest freights are for such essential goods as spent oxide of iron, broken glass, marram grass, tussock grass, undressed clothes props, &c. But, if the clothes props be made of dressed timber, four times the freight is charged. There are five different rates for coal. Timber travelling inland is charged much more than timber travelling towards the coast: plain fencing wire — essential, clean, handy freight and taking a minimum of rolling stock — is charged more than double the freight for coke — not essential, dirty, taking a maximum of rolling stock.
The classic instance of this kind of thing occurred when the
Gazette as a bonus. These you stick in your books according to fancy. This tariff has been in use almost since the railways started and now comprises the accumulated folly of more than fifty years. Nobody inside or outside the Department understands the incomprehensible mass. It is certain that any private carrier attempting business on these lines would become bankrupt within a year. But the mismanagement of the railways is “protected” by political processes. If you want amusement read also some of the regulations; for instance, “Special Goods” within the meaning of the Railways Act 1926 are stated as: “Bank notes: beds and bedding: bicycles: billiard tables: bills of exchange: bridge cylinders, calves, carriages, cash, &c., &c.” Would it be possible to imagine anything more heterogeneous? In passenger transport the Department seems to consider it more advantageous to have four-fifths of the first-class seats vacant at thirty shillings than occupied at twenty shillings. The advantage to the traveller of the lower fare is not given a moment's consideration. One thing the railway has never learned is that “The customer is
There is no earthly reason why railways in New Zealand, capably managed, should not successfully compete with motorlorries. The ordinary goods train carries a load of two hundred and fifty tons with a crew of three; it runs on a smooth, firm surface with a maximum grade of one in fifty and a minimum curve of five chains; it burns local fuel. Its competitor needs forty vehicles with forty men to handle the same goods; these vehicles run on a rough surface with a maximum grade of one in twelve and a curve often of one chain and even less; it burns expensive imported fuel. The factors enabling successful competition of lorries with railroads in America do not exist here. In New Zealand motor-vehicles cost twice, repairs three times, and fuel five times the American figures.
The whole policy of the present Government seems to be the obtaining of a monopoly of transport facilities to the end that more revenue may be squeezed out of the people.
So that it will be seen that, before ever he comes to the road freights, the backblocks settler has many serious hurdles to surmount.
Travel on this dirt road was terribly dusty — especially with a gently-following breeze, and when one reached Waiotapu Hotel he was confronted with the legend: “Please be very careful with the water.” Anyhow the supply was so arranged that a decent wash was an impossibility. To while away the tedium of seven miles an hour the game of “bottles” was popular. Whoever first saw a “dead marine” lying on the roadside cried “bottle” and the holder of the biggest score swept the pool and was expected to empty a few more bottles.
At the same time as the coaches came the horse wagons. In the beginning all freight is one-way into the country — implements,
In the early days the great problem was how to get goods from Rotorua to Broadlands. A wagon would not start with less than two tons, and even when you had assembled the two tons the only firm having anything like a service of wagons displayed a lordly indifference to customers' inconvenience. I would ride into Waiotapu to stir them up on the telephone. Their reply often enough was “You had a wagon a fortnight ago: you will have to wait.”
This “fed me up” and I put a wagon and team on the road for myself. Besides the convenience of prompt delivery I got the goods out at a cost of thirty-five shillings per ton as against £2 7s. charged by the carriers. The procedure in those days was: load the wagon and reach “the eight-mile”; camp there, the wagoner feeding his horses, cooking his own food, and sleeping under the wagon. Up at daybreak, groom and feed the horses, cook his own breakfast; midday feed the horses and “spell” them for an hour and a-half; have lunch; by evening reach “the twenty-eight-mile” and repeat the process; next day reach Broadlands and unload. There he always had one good meal which he did not have to cook for himself; back to the twenty-eight-mile that day; next afternoon reach Rotorua and home, sweet home.
During the War road freights gradually rose to fifty shillings per ton. Labour became scarce. Men could not be found to undertake the hardships and long hours of wagon driving. Motor lorries began to appear. They were frequently bogged on the dreadful road. Soon after the War freights rose to seventy shillings per ton. However, as the roads became improved freights
During the early years the road was frightfully rough and passenger vehicles were fitted with thoroughbraces instead of springs. In the summer the abundant fine pumice dust simply smothered the traveller: in the winter the deep mud rendered progress laborious and slow. Once when I was going into Rotorua in an overcrowded service buggy a great heave of the vehicle threw a passenger right off and into the soft mud. When he crawled out the comicality of his appearance appealed much more to the sense of humour of the other passengers than it did
When motor-vehicles began to invade the sanctity of our seclusion the road would not stand up to the work at all. Through stretches a mile or more in length the vehicle ploughed its way axle deep on low gear. A moment's hesitation: an attempt to get out of the regular rut of the traffic, resulted in getting bogged and having to wait for help — usually horses — to pull you out.
People have almost forgotten what roads used to be like. Up north they were notoriously impassable in wet weather. In the winter time vehicles — horse drawn, not automobiles — got bogged by the dozen and were jacked out and left on the roadside till next summer's dry weather should make the clay track passable again. Coming ashore at the numerous ports there was a good chance of sinking down to the girths as soon as one got off the wharf. In hilly places the roads became formed into stairways up which experienced local horses made their way laboriously: inexperienced horses came to grief. In the pumice area roads were not so bad as in the clay districts and I have never seen a horse-drawn vehicle bogged. But when motors appeared they were often quite helpless. Manuka was much used for road metal, both temporarily and permanently (even Queen Street, Auckland, is built on manuka fascines). Many a time and oft I have got my car going by collecting †
This use of
To return to our story. “The waybacks” suffer not only in the transport of passengers and goods, but also in the getting and sending of news. This is often most important — as when I was actively promoting the construction of the Taupo railway. To receive one's news three days late is a most serious drawback.
There was a mail six times a week during the summer, and three times a week in the winter, so arranged that our outgoing mail had to be sent out in the morning and our incoming mail received in the afternoon, thus seriously delaying opportunity of reply. The distance from my house to the mail box being three and a-half miles, this entailed fourteen miles riding every mail day. But the boys just loved it — even if the horses didn't. As I have pointed out our news was often three days old, and our every-other-daily bread was just as fresh.
In emergencies we had to ride fourteen miles to the nearest telephone. The instalation of a telephone was, I think, the greatest single improvement I ever effected — and it was certainly a great convenience to the whole district! To illustrate my meaning. A boy was run over by a wagon (and team). It was his own fault, but that did not help matters. One of his mates galloped to the telephone, but it was eight hours before a doctor arrived — or could arrive. All ended well. On another
Special journeys meant catching a horse and crawling along at four to five miles an hour in the winter, accelerated to seven miles when the road was in its best form. Many a time and oft I have, when the weather was fine, seized my trusty, rusty bike and propelled it into Rotorua to catch the morning train at 9 a.m. This saved catching a horse and maintaining him in Rotorua during my absence.
The dreariest journeys I ever took were rides to Rotorua during my father's last illness. I would get word “Father worse.” Then a horse was brought in for me, fed and stabled. Rising about 2 a.m. I rubbed down my steed, saddled up and was off in the deadly dark. My aim was to reach Rotorua by 8 a.m. to get a bite of breakfast before the “Express” left at 9. Often I have gone in and back and seen no sign of life on the road. If I may repeat a time-honoured joke the road to Rotorua resembled that to heaven in one respect — you didn't meet a damned soul on it. One evening I drove out with one or two of my folk to hear the Bishop preach in the schoolhouse some dozen miles distant. All the way ice crackled beneath the buggy wheels, and I fancy my fingers would have snapped off if I had forced my hands open. We were rewarded by a sermon preached at the exact centre of the ceiling and based in part on the difference in the meaning of the Latin word
Driving an open buggy is very different from driving a closed
And yet to this day I would rather drive a pair of smart intelligent horses than a brainless mechanical monster. And the advantages of horse transport to this country were many and great. Vehicles and harness made here mostly from local material: horses bred here: oats grown here. No debt incurred to foreign countries that will not buy anything from us.
The official estimate of the cost of motor traffic in New Zealand for the year 1938–1939 was £33,634,000 — a sum which may well mean all the difference between affluence and indigence.
Moving about over my own country and its surroundings was exclusively a horseback affair. In the early days I had plenty of hacks and gear and could mount half-a-dozen men at any time. Riding out over the plains after wild cattle and horses was a common recreation but yielded no profit. We thought nothing of jumping on a horse and riding across country to Taupo, fording two large rivers and other small ones. Assuredly my country lay in the centre of a vast and uninhabited area. Ofttimes when I had been out all day riding through the interminable desolation the beauty of the human voice was deeply impressed upon me as I approached the homestead. The voices of children calling out to one another possess in a special degree a rich music.
In the old days when Strathmore and Broadlands were the only inhabited houses I would often ride over to spend the evening with my good friend and next door neighbour, Mr. Butcher
The first time I “got bogged” on horseback gave me quite a shock. I was riding with Mr. Butcher on a new road made through a deep swamp. The centre was fascined but very springy. My horse got frightened and jumped off the fascines. Down he went till only his head and his rump were above ground. Mr. Butcher was rather amused and said “Let him rest awhile. Then give him a hard clout on the part whereby there hangs a tail and he'll spluther out.” Even so it was.
The greatest drawback to remote country is its remoteness. It is not only distance and consequent cost. The losses caused by delays are often greater. When a farmer has a few fat lambs, a few prime cattle, and the like, he cannot send them off, but must keep them fat until he can make up a mob. Again stock sent off the place may look perfect, but that is not how the animals will appear when they reach the saleyards and the buyers. Several days of starvation and of dust or mud, and battling with motor-cars on the road takes all the bloom off them. They look bedraggled and are greatly reduced in value.
Again, if a tradesman is required, his travelling time and expenses will probably amount to more than his work on the job. In the backblocks one's dependence on his fellow-man is borne in on the settler. For the want of a blacksmith he wastes much time on a job with results not very satisfactory: for want of a “vet” he treats an unfortunate animal injured or sick by “trial and error” — the animal enduring the trial and the settler making the error; he leaves jobs where he is really useful to undertake those for which he is not well qualified. He spends
I opened this chapter with a saying of my late father — the Railway Reformer — who devoted his life to advocating better and cheaper means of transport. On the lines of this he argued that the greater facilities for motion the more abundant the life. In some respects the modern motor does not seem to support this theory! We are going to extremes. Take the aeroplane — undoubtedly the greatest curse that has ever struck the human race. And now scientists talk of interstellar travel: but dear old Einstein with his simple little theories says that out in interstellar space we shall not know whether we are moving forwards or backwards or sideways; or rising up or falling down. There will be no North, South, East or West to guide us, and no top and no bottom. It seems we shall be travelling through the nothingness to nowhere, and if we get there and load up at the local service station for the return voyage we may not be able to find our tiny speck of Earth. We shall out-do the celebrated journey of Christopher Columbus who did not know where he was going: when he got there did not know where he was: and, when he returned home, did not know where he had been. Anyhow let us hope that neither noxious insects nor evil spirits from other spheres will be passengers on the returning 'plane!
Rotorua-Taupo Railway
At last with easy road we come to Taupo—Adapted fromHenryVIII:iv, 2.
As i have already stated one of the very first things to strike me on inspecting this country was the necessity for, and the certainty of ultimately getting, a railway. And in my recent researches I have come across two very interesting facts. Wairakei was purchased by Mr.
Then when the North Island Main Trunk was being discussed a flying survey was made up the Waikato Valley, crossing the river at Wairakei, proceeding along the southern boundary of Broadlands, and thence on to Hastings. This was depicted in a map published by the Survey Office in June 1884, so that when in 1908 I began my active campaigning I had already been anticipated in ideas by a quarter of a century. It will be of interest, I think, if I give a very brief resumé of railway history in the Pumice Country prior to my arrival.
The railway to Rotorua had been made in slow stages. Construction was commenced in 1864 by the Auckland Provincial Government. For a while the rail-head remained at the military
It is a curious fact that the great Waikite geyser stopped playing at the very time the railway was opened.
Then there was the Taupo-Totara Timber Company's bush tramway starting at Putaruru and ending at the Company's mill at Mokai. As tramways go this was a superior work, and it has often been called a railway. Unworkable features, however, were grades of one in thirty-three; curves of one and a-half chains radius; cuttings only thirteen feet wide, and a wooden bridge over the Waikato River. Government rolling stock could not run on the line. This railway was opened for traffic at a date variously stated by the Company as 1903 and 1905; and in 1908 the Company obtained an Order-in-Council enabling it to carry goods at freights varying from about sevenpence to tenpence per
Such then was the position in 1908 when I headed a deputation to the Rotorua Chamber of Commerce (at that time the only local body in the district) seeking their support for a railway to Taupo.
The matter more or less drifted until 1911 when the Chamber's support gained strength and it published a small pamphlet setting out the advantages of the proposed railway with the object of its early construction. In the same year the Taupo-Totara Timber Company got busy with a petition to Parliament setting forth that their tramway reached to within sixteen miles of Taupo and praying for the right to buy an area of Native land not exceeding two hundred thousand acres at current values and to dispose of it for the purposes of financing the railway extension. There was also a supporting petition from residents.
This petition came before a Special Committee of the House. In giving evidence Mr.
I opposed this petition only on the ground of the Company's excessive freights and lack of proper public control.
Next year (1912) the Company presented a new petition the prayer of which was that the Government would either (a) buy the completed tramway at cost subject to the right of the Government to hand it back after fifteen years and receive a refund of the purchase-money, or (b) grant the right to buy two hundred thousand acres of Native land as before set out. Further the same right to buy Crown Lands was sought.
The evidence laid before this committee was of considerable value. The agricultural evidence showed the improved opinion of high officials of the
On the 13th October 1913 the Company obtained an Order-in-Council authorizing the extension of its tramway to Taupo, work to be completed by 31st December 1917.
At the end of the session of Parliament in this year (1914) the Company succeeded in having a clause inserted in the
Be it noted the Company was given power to rate Crown Lands.
A new Company was to be formed in which the Taupo-Totara Timber Company was to receive fully paid-up shares equal to the amount invested by it in the tramway and equipment. Moneys paid under the proclamation were to entitle the landowners to shares in this new company (but on what basis was not at all clear). All shares were to rank equally in capital and dividends but “There shall be paid in respect of any moneys paid up on any of such shares … a cumulative preference dividend of six per cent.”
I want to emphasize that this outrageous measure was placed on the Statute Book in the dying hours of the session without any notice whatever and so that those interested could have no possible chance of objecting.
The Company had no difficulty in obtaining the signatures of a majority of European landowners. There were plenty whose contribution would be round about £1. So that persons like myself who would be hit up for more than £2,000 had no say.
The next proceeding was to obtain the consent of the Maoris. After considerable delay (the Act was passed 5th November 1914) during which the Company obtained from Native owners — many of them residing outside the district — all the proxies
When I returned to the township after dinner I could not see a single Native so went along to the courthouse which I found crammed and the Hon.
He then proceeded to extol the Company's railway, exclaiming:
Thereupon I raised myself on to my feet and lifted up my voice saying Ҡ
Suiting the action to the word I proceeded to leave, but Mr. Russell called me back and abused me strenuously as an opponent of the progress of the district. To this I rejoined: “I will say no more now; but, if the Judge will let me, I will say a great deal tomorrow. Mr. Russell has disgracefully abused Mr. Massey in his absence, but I will tell you that while Mr. Russell claims to be the second man in the Liberal Party, Mr. Massey is undoubtedly the first man in the whole Parliament. He is the †
The effect of this was that next morning the Maoris refused to do anything until I had addressed them. The Judge was resistant but the Maoris were insistent and finally prevailed. It did not give me much trouble to tear the Company's scheme to pieces; to show that the Company's tramway could not possibly pay a dividend; to point out that, as the Maoris had no means of paying the rate, their land would ultimately be sold in default; that my little †
When up rose the big gun, the Hon.
The Judge intervened: “Mr. Vaile is not under cross-examination.”
Mr. Russell pressed.
The Judge: “Do you object Mr. Vaile?”
“Not in the least.”
So Mr. Russell followed on to retrieve the Company's fading fortunes; but I flatter myself that my answers to his first three questions fairly knocked him flat. He proceeded to a fourth and demanded: “Answer me yes or no.”
To this I retorted: “I will answer you as I choose and not as you choose.”
“Answer me yes or no,” repeated my very cross questioner.
To this I countered: “I will answer you yes or no when you answer me ‘yes or no’ have you stopped beating your wife?”
Of course this was not absolutely original, but apparently it was new to the Maoris; and, when they saw Mr. Russell could not answer, they evidently thought that he did belabour the wife of his bosom, and loudly expressed their disapproval. In the midst of this I turned on Mr. Dalziell, fixed him with a forty horsepower glare, and hurled at him the famous Maori defiance: “
“Very well,” I replied, “but Mr. Russell should not attack me unless he wants to take what's coming to him.”
So the vote was taken and the result announced amidst the most enthusiastic acclamation. “For the Company ten, against one hundred and sixty-five.” By the use of its proxies the Company reduced this margin but were still soundly beaten. Leaving the room I saw Mr. Dalziell, Mr. Russell and Messrs. Graham in close confab. So I went up and greeted them saying: “I confess that I feel rather like the ruffian in the Scriptures who knocked the man down, stripped him of his raiment, wounded him and left him half dead. But I will also act the good Samaritan. Come across the road with me and I will pour wine into your wounds.” Messrs. Dalziell and Russell accompanied me, but the Messrs. Graham would not.
Upon my return to Broadlands I could not understand why everyone called me “King of the Maori,” but subsequently learned that the Ngatitahu delegation had despatched a courier immediately after the meeting to let the tribe know the glad tidings of the Company's defeat. It seems that this messenger had delivered himself thus (referring to my humble self): “That ferrow he beat the
Well, shortly after this signal defeat of mine enemies I conceived the very valid idea that, if it were practicable to impose a rate on land for the construction of a useless private tramway, why not for the construction of a useful Government railway? Filled with enthusiasm for what I rightly believed to be a really great principle whereby landowners would be induced voluntarily to contribute to the cost of railways so as to obtain precedence in construction, I went to Wellington to interview the powers that then were. This was war time and the “National” Government in power. Mr. Massey gave me no encouragement. Sir Joseph Ward said: “Railways are not built for the sake of
Anyhow I immediately got to work and held meetings at many places within the area during the winter of 1915. Although I was in no way attacking the T. T. T. they dogged my steps everywhere and had organized opposition at all my meetings. So I finished up by “carrying the war into Italy” and holding a meeting at Mokai, the Company's great stronghold. Of course I was not permitted to have a hall in the township, but succeeded in hiring one not far away. There was a good audience and full representation of the Company. However I contrived to inflict defeat on these gentlemen and the next morning — so as to show no animosity — I and my friend Mr. Butcher called in at the Company's office. Some of the head officials were present and we were ushered into the private office of the manager. There I perceived a snake curled up in a bottle.
“What's this thing?” I enquired.
“Oh, that's a snake a friend sent me from Tasmania.”
“You don't say so,” I rejoined. “I thought it was a plan of your railway” — which is very tortuous.
Over this joke we all had a good laugh.
Our meeting at Whakarewarewa was also very interesting. Mr. Wm. Hill, the very capable representative of the Government at Rotorua, kindly took the chair. To support our cause we brought in Henry Werahiko, the head chief of Waiotapu, and Harehare, the head chief of Te Whaiti. The meeting was held in old Meta Taupopoki's †
This petition was really a tremendous task, but by August I had secured eight hundred and fifty-seven signatures — practically all the land owners in the district — agreeing to have their lands rated to provide a sum estimated at from a fourth to a third of the cost of the railway.
A petition embodying this provision was duly presented to Parliament and a special Committee set up to hear it. To my surprise I found that Sir John Findlay, K.C.M.G., K.C., LL.D., had been feed by the Company to oppose me. Of course I felt frightfully flattered but still raised objection on the ground that the Company had no interest or standing in the matter. They were not attacked in any way. However, the Chairman overruled me and Sir John continued.
The evidence was not printed, but the following extract from the Auckland Star of the 14th October 1915 will sufficiently show the trend of business:
Proposed Government Line
A petition which contains the signatures of eight hundred and fifty-seven landowners has been promoted in favour of an extension of the Government railway system from Rotorua to Taupo
Mr. Vaile pointed out that an area of two million acres
A further argument in favour of the proposed railway was that it would enable the bringing out of the Government and native timbers. The Crown had reserved in that district forty-six thousand acres for forest plantations, of which seventeen thousand acres had already been planted, and two thousand more were being planted yearly. Again, the railway would greatly develop the tourist traffic, linking up, as it would, Rotorua, Waiotapu, Wairakei, Rotokawa, Aratiatia Rapids, Huka Falls, and Lake Taupo in one continuous run. Thence the tourist could proceed across the lake to Tokaanu, and on by the excellent motor read now being constructed to Waimarino. From there he could either see the mountains or continue his journey down the Wanganui River. Mr. Vaile confidently asserted that once cheap and easy communication was afforded, the Taupo district would become the sanatorium of the Southern Hemisphere.
The landowners interested in the scheme, said Mr. Vaile, were offering a liberal subsidy which they estimated at from a quarter to one-third of the cost of the railway. In this, he submitted a good precedent was being established. Had the principle been in vogue from the beginning of the Public Works policy, there would have been from thirty-three per cent, to fifty per cent, more railway lines constructed for the same amount of
At some length Mr. Vaile drew a comparison between the advantages of this line and those of the Putaruru-Taupo route. He quoted Mr. Holmes and other Government engineers to show that it would cost £59,000 more to bring the existing line on the latter route up to Government standard than to build an entirely new line from Rotorua: that was, if the Company gave the existing line for nothing. He claimed that the proposed Rotorua-Taupo line would earn an excellent revenue both direct and indirect.”
The official evidence was again entirely favourable.
The finding of this Committee was to refer the matter to the Government for consideration, and not one word said about the great principle of a contribution from the landowners — a truly disappointing result.
Our petition was renewed on two occasions and referred to the ordinary Parliamentary Petitions Committee. On each occasion Sir John Findlay appeared on behalf of the T. T. T. to oppose me. Little evidence was called, but I addressed the committees for the railway and Sir John Findlay, K.C.M.G., K.C., LL.D., against it. On both occasions I was completely successful, the committees by unanimous votes referring the petition to the Government for favourable consideration — which is the best a Parliamentary Committee can do.
In 1920 the Auckland Railways League, after listening to my address (in which I stressed the particular claims of the Rotorua-Taupo Railway and further showed that the North Island had only 1,278 miles of railway, against 1,715 miles in the South
The New Zealand Herald in the leading article of 29th January, 1920, said “The arguments for a railway to Taupo are unanswerable.”
All the time I was pushing the interest of the railway and on one occasion in the course of an interview with Mr. Massey at Rotorua he, in a moment of incautious candour, remarked: “What you want, Mr. Vaile, is more votes.” To which I made answer: “Too true; but how am I to get them without the railway?”
Experience had by now convinced me that “Railways are not built for subsidies” — but for the purchase of votes to obtain or retain place and power. In this same year, 1920, the T. T. T. Company again got to work in the endeavour to get rid of their tramway. The reply from the Government was that another route was proposed, and enquiry must be made into that as well. Notwithstanding this when the order of reference was published there was no mention of the Rotorua Taupo route.
A Royal Commission was appointed consisting of Messrs. H. J. H. Blow (late chief engineer of the Public Works Department) as chairman, Mr. F. M. Furkert the then chief engineer; Mr. H. Buxton of the Railway Department; and Mr. G. H. M.
Our organization decided to put up a fight. When the Commission arrived in Rotorua on the 2nd November, 1920, our honorary solicitor, Mr. M. H. Hampson, appeared and asked permission for Rotorua interests to be represented. This being granted he asked whether a person, not a solicitor, might conduct the business. This was also conceded and I was nominated for another arduous, bitter, unpaid and thankless job. I followed that Commission around to Putaruru, Mokai, Taupo, back to Rotorua, to Auckland, and finally to Wellington, fighting every inch of the way. The Company was represented by three lawyers — Sir John Findlay, Mr. Dalziell and Mr. Strang, while on my side there was only my amateur self. At Taupo the Company, which keenly resented my presence — apparently not regarding it as a courteous return of Sir John Findlay's calls on me on various occasions — threatened me with an action for libel and damages. To this I made answer that I was not throwing down the gage of battle to a concern financially much more powerful than I; but, if the Company thought they had any claim, I was quite ready and prepared with proofs of all I had said. At my invitation the Commission stepped aside to have a look at Broadlands, but the Company's representatives refused to come in. When the Commission resumed at Rotorua I at once drew its attention to the threat made and offered to produce my proofs. The Chairman, as I expected, replied that the Commission had nothing to do with quarrels between me and the Company. But I had got my shot in. At the final meeting in Wellington Sir John Findlay and I delivered our closing addresses. The Chairman formally thanked us and was kind
This Commission went very thoroughly into the whole question, and its findings are rather lengthy. However they rejected all the Company's proposals and condemned the incorporation of the Company's tramway in the railway system of New Zealand. They approved the area for development saying: “It undoubtedly constitutes the largest area of undeveloped waste land in the Dominion, and calls loudly for some special action to be taken to bring it into productivity. The experiments already made with pumice soils clearly show that, given proper tillage and with the use of appropriate manures, the land is capable of satisfactory development … We are forced to the conclusion that the suitability of these pumice lands for farming purposes is beyond question…. The land that cannot be ploughed is admirably adapted for timber tree planting.” And they go on to say: “But the needs of the district will not be fully met until the Government railway is extended to Taupo … Irrespective of what is done in the way of giving Taupo railway connection it will be absolutely necessary that a railway be constructed to deal with the output from the State forests. The State forest will … provide constant traffic for a railway … and this will continue in perpetuity … It would seem, therefore, that there is urgent necessity in order to avoid great national waste, for an extension of the Rotorua Government railway to Waiotapu with as little delay as possible; and bearing this in mind, and having in view the probability that the Government will give effect sooner or later to the strong recommendations of the late Engineer-in-Chief and the Director of Forests, your Commissioners venture to express the opinion that the line to connect Taupo with the Government railway system should be an extension of the existing Government railway to Rotorua.”
Truly another great triumph for little me. A Royal
The New Zealand Herald in the leading article of 15th March, 1921, said: “It is proof of the strength of the case for a Rotorua-Taupo railway that a Commission set up primarily to investigate a rival scheme should have ended by rejecting that scheme and recommending an extension of the Rotorua line.”
One would imagine that after such an enthusiastic recommendation by the Royal Commission the railway would be constructed. But no: railways absolutely condemned in equally emphatic manner are now being built and this is not. “What you want, Mr. Vaile, is more votes.” “Railways are not constructed for the sake of subsidies.” True! Disgracefully true!
The New Zealand Herald afforded me space in its issues of the 8th and 9th December, 1921, for an article in support of this railway containing a series of facts and arguments truly “Unanswerable” — nor has any answer ever been attempted. Our opponents have been the negative ones of: (1) Prejudice, and (2) Want of votes. I was as the voice of one crying in the wilderness.
In this year (1921) I again promoted a petition to Parliament. To this petition I accepted all the signatures of interested parties that came forward, but did not repeat the infinite labour devoted to the petition of 1915 as our offer of a substantial subsidy had met with no recognition, and I secured also the support of several Public Bodies in a separate petition urging the acceptance of the offer of a subsidy by the landowners. In support of our efforts we published a handsome illustrated booklet setting forth the advantages of the railway. This petition was referred to another Royal Commission which sat in 1922 and took evidence at Auckland, Rotorua, Reporoa, Taupo and Wellington. The sitting at Reporoa took place on a midwinter's day when there
Their report was very lengthy and I must again severely condense what they said:
“The pumice country has been proved to be specially suited for the growth of timber trees … For the development to a state of productivity of this great area of land it is essential that artificial manures and other requisites be delivered on the farms and the produce of the farms be taken to the markets at a much more moderate cost than is possible with the present means of transit … We are satisfied that there is sufficient timber in the indigenous forests to furnish traffic for fifteen years at the rate of cutting estimated. When that timber is exhausted the output from the Government forest plantations will have largely increased … To provide for the estimated traffic it will be necessary to run each way one passenger and two mixed or goods trains daily … We are aware that in 1912 the late Engineer-in-Chief of the Public Works Department estimated the cost of a railway from Rotorua to Taupo on
The Commissioners then quote the emphatically favourable opinion of the late Engineer-in-Chief and Under-Secretary of Public Works (Mr.
Now this report met with a mixed reception. It was of course one hundred per cent, favourable for the railway to proceed to Waiotapu and eighty per cent, favourable for it to be made to Taupo subject to the reservation that it would probably not yield four per cent. Our friends described it as cautious. Our enemies tried to put us down, pretending that the report condemned our railway, but on our side there were truth, facts and sound reasons and a strong and well-grounded faith.
Again in this year (1922) our friends of the T. T. T. had recourse to the valuable “Washing Up Bill,” this time obtaining authority to rate timber lands for the benefit of their tramway, without any petition from ratepayers of the said district. I did not concern myself to treat the Company as it had treated me and did not appear to oppose it.
In 1923 we returned to the charge with a petition signed by
This petition was referred to the ordinary Public Petitions Committee of Parliament before whom I appeared, and received, as always, the capable and willing assistance of our member, Mr. Frank Hockly. I received also the customary opposition of Sir John Findlay, K.C.M.G., K.C., LL.D., notwithstanding which our petition secured the unanimous support of the Committee.
About this time there was considerable interest taken in our district through a favourable report from Professor Park on the probability of petroleum deposits existing in the district; from the suggestion of the utilization of the natural heat of the earth for industrial purposes; also the purchase by the Government of the Rotokawa sulphur deposits; but of course nothing has been done to develop these resources, the energies of Parliament being devoted to providing the numerous debtors with facilities for dodging their lawful debts and obligations to their creditors — a much smaller body of voters.
During 1924, 1925 and 1926 our project was kept before the public eye by the Waiotapu Railway League, of which I was president, and by our good friend Mr. Frank Hockly, M.P.
In 1927 we petitioned the Minister of Public Works, the Hon.
Strangely enough at this time opposition started to develop in Auckland of all places — but its inhabitants have ever been hesitant and shortsighted in their own interest — while Wellington papers, both Dominion and Post gave kindly support. It seems unbelievable, but the Auckland Chamber of Commerce conceived a Lunnatic opposition to this railway, objecting to its construction for no earthly reason but that twenty-two branch railways in the South Island were not earning sufficient to pay interest on capital. What do you think of that? Naturally I delivered a violent counterattack saying that the Auckland Chamber of Commerce had no right to seek to inflict a mortal blow on a large area of country which it ought to exert itself to develop; that it knew absolutely nothing about the subject; that the fact that certain South Island railways did not pay interest had nothing whatever to do with the Rotorua-Reporoa line; that they should be aware of the fact that the South Island was enormously over-supplied with railways while our North Island was ill-supplied; that their statement that a road would serve the district equally well and cost only two-fifths of the amount needed for a railway was ridiculously false and showed that they didn't know what they were talking about; that the Royal Commissions and Committees of enquiry with all the evidence before them knew more about the railway than did the Auckland Chamber of Commerce.
Certain newspaper correspondents also attacked me and two of the Auckland newspapers though both professing to
All this unnatural opposition I fiercely countered and beat down with the cordial support of the great newspaper The New Zealand Herald — always alive to the true interests of Auckland. And about this time I had a great stroke of luck — I sold thirty thousand acres of Broadlands. My ship having come in I decided to sail round the world, and in 1928 started on a grand tour.
When at the very heart and centre of civilization, I began to receive congratulatory cablegrams from which I learned that the railway had been started. And I went on my way rejoicing. However, I had not got very far before I had news of the change of Government, with our old friend the “Wizard of Finance,” late of the celebrated Ward Association, at the helm. As he had promised to give the people £70,000,000 without its costing them a single sixpence, I had little fear for the railway; but, by the time I had reached the holy city of Jerusalem (about Christmas 1928), I decided to get in touch with the home front and cabled to my brother and to my neighbour Mr. Butcher. The replies were most satisfactory: Ministers had visited the district and approved the railway. Further reassuring reports reached me as I proceeded right along to Melbourne. But while I was spending a few days with my old friend Naval Lieutenant James Jickell, D.S.C., near Ballarat, on opening The Argus I was stabbed straight in the eye by the news that the financial wizard had decided to stop work on the railway; to waste all the money spent on the undertaking and to proceed with the construction of the ghastly railway along the eastern seaboard of Hawkes Bay. (One viaduct on this money-sponge to cost more than the whole Taupo railway.)
So I got busy, despatched a flight of cablegrams, packed my swag and off to Sydney where I had to spend several impatient
It now being too late to do anything about all this I dashed to Wellington where I found Sir Joseh Ward supreme, suave and useless. Up in Rotorua and Waiotapu I formed an Association and raised funds to fight for the railway. We published a really fine pamphlet entitled “The Truth about the Taupo Railway: The Story of a Great Crime” and distributed it to members of Parliament, newspapers and Chambers of Commerce throughout the Dominion. Copies of this interesting and well-illustrated pamphlet may be had—price one shilling.
Early in June Sir
Here is my reply (Herald, 14th June, 1929):
“The criticism of this railway voiced by Sir Joseph Ward at Rotorua as reported in your issue of Saturday, displays economy of candour and abundance of bias. It is not such a statement as the public is entitled to expect from one occupying the responsible position of Prime Minister. In quoting from the report of the Royal Commission of 1922 he twists the findings of that body to serve his own ends; but he cannot get over the fact that that Commission did unanimously recommend the construction of the railway as far as Waiotapu (p. 7) and he cannot deny that three successive engineers-in-chief (Mr. Blow, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Furkert) and the Royal Commission of 1920–1921 as well as two Parliamentary Committees have, after full enquiry, unanimously recommended construction to Taupo. Nor can he deny that of the four Ministers to whom he professed to have referred this question, two actually recommended its construction, one had never seen the country, and the fourth took a very cursory glance at it. Sir Joseph makes much of the minority report of the 1922 Commission, but neglects to mention that the minority consisted of only one and that this very minor report applied only to the construction of the line beyond Waiotapu (p. 8). Sir Joseph said that, in his opinion, the traffic would justify only “one train a week or one train a fortnight,” but the Commission, from whose findings he professes to quote, reported (p. 5) “To provide for the estimated traffic it will be necessary to run each way one passenger and two mixed or goods trains daily.” The Commission also reported (p. 6) that this railway would serve 1,250,000 acres. This may not
Following up his attack in July, Sir Joseph Ward made a most extraordinary assault on me in Parliament and in his usual theatrical style produced a private letter I had written to Mr. Coates in 1927 upbraiding him for not having started the railway. There was nothing the matter with the letter except that for a communication from a humble backblocks “cockatoo” to
-
That the Royal Commission did not recommend the railway.
-
That it was a political railway.
-
That I had sold a large area of land in consequence of the railway being started.
-
That he did not know me!
To this I made a pretty hot reply: that the letter was in the face of it a private communication; how Sir Joseph got it I could not tell: having obtained possession of the letter it of course rested with Sir Joseph's good taste and sense of what was gentlemanly, or even decent, whether he should publish it: that it was false that the railway had been put in hand immediately I had informed Mr. Coates of what I had done for the Party; that calling this railway a political railway was the exact opposite of the truth for it commanded no votes; that Sir Joseph knew quite well that two of his own Ministers had approved the railway, also that three successive engineers-in-chief of the Public Works Department — Messrs. Blow, Holmes and Furkert — and the present General-Manager of Railways, Mr. Sterling, had all recommended the construction of this railway: that the Royal Commission of 1922 did certainly and unanimously recommend construction of the railway as far as Reporoa; that Sir Joseph Ward's statement that I had sold a large area of my land after the railway was promised displayed the same economy of truth as his other statements. I had sold all my land (except one-fifth, which I still retained) prior to May 1925”— that is over three years before the starting of work on the railway.
But I did not add that, so far from not knowing me, Sir
A great deal of interest was aroused by these circumstances and there were several skirmishes in the House.
Then we petitioned Parliament in these words:
“To the Honourable the Speaker and Members of the House of Representatives of New Zealand in Parliament assembled.
May it please your Honourable House.
Our humble petition sheweth.
-
That in 1920 and again in 1921 the Public Petitions Committee of the House of Representatives recommended the immediate construction of a railway from Rotorua to Taupo.
-
That in 1921 the Taupo Tramways and Timber Commission unanimously found that “There is urgent necessity, in order to avoid great national waste, for an extension of the Rotorua Government Railway to Waiotapu with as little delay as possible.
-
That in 1922 the Royal Commission on the Rotorua-Taupo Railway unanimously endorsed the above finding.
-
That in 1928 Parliament authorized the construction of the railway as far as Reporoa, and voted the sum of £75,000 for the building of the first section.
-
That in pursuance of this authority a very large sum of money was spent on the said railway.
-
That if the work be not resumed without delay this expenditure will be wasted; but far more serious is the fact that the development of the great Rotorua-Taupo district will be further delayed.
We therefore pray your Honourable House to order the immediate resumption of work on the said railway: And your petitioners will ever pray.”
This was signed by myself and eighty-eight others — mostly
Here I may remark that the Member for the district had, from being an enthusiastic advocate, become strangely hostile. I suppose the Wizard had bullied him into submission to the Party programme irrespective of the interests of his constituency. Anyhow I found that, if I required any help, I had to seek it from some friendly member of another Party.
The Committee consisted of Colonel McDonald (chairman), Hon. E. A. Ransom, Mr. Makitanara, Mr. Lye, Mr. Jenkins (of the United Party), Messrs. Kyle, J. N. Massey and Samuel (Reform), and Mr. Semple and Rev.
My friend Mr. Dalziell of the Taupo-Totara Timber Company was also in attendance and gave evidence, but did not directly attack our petition.
I had been warned about the Chairman, and he justified the warning by attempting to bully me at the very start, but I stood to my guns and would not be bullied. I was ordered to sit down. Up jumped Mr. Semple and dressed the Chairman down properly. “Sit down Mr. Semple!” But Mr. Semple did not sit down and continued to slate the gallant Colonel. Mr. Samuel followed in his quiet imperturbable manner. He, too, was ordered to sit down; but he did not do so and continued quietly to rub salt under the Chairman's skin until he was smarting rather badly. In the end we had him pretty well civilized.
However, I was not permitted to have a copy of the evidence
Besides these vocal witnesses I staged a fine exhibit of roots and other produce and a mass of prize tickets won by exhibits from Broadlands at all the principal shows from
Complete success was of course out of the question, but I obtained the maximum vote possible — fifty-fifty, with the casting vote of the Chairman against me. The finding of the Committee was consequently adverse — a purely political verdict.
Next year (1930) we were to the fore again with another petition, this time from non-residents.
This was signed by sixty-five well-known men, nearly all farmers, and residing as far away as Hunterville. I select a few names: Dynes Fulton (Tuakau), C. J. Parlane (Hamilton), F. E. Hughes (Waharoa), R. G. Glasgow (Onewhero), Samuel C. G. Lye (Newstead), J. E. Makgill (Auckland), F. Carr Rollett (Auckland Weekly News), Daniel Bryant (Hamilton), Joseph Baraugh (Hamilton), Sydney A. R. Mair (Hunterville), D. Stewart Reid (Ngahinepouri), H. J. Gill (Te Puke), H. Cherrington Marsh (Maungatainoka), P. Pederson (Taihape), H. M. Martin (Ngongotaha), W. J. Phillipps (Morrinsville), Frank Colbeck (Morrinsville), and many others.
This was referred to the Ordinary Petitions Committee once more, but this time to the A - L Committee, whereas the previous year we were before M - Z, so that we had a fresh body of men to familiarize with the subject. Eventually I found myself in the same position as the year before: the voting equal and the Chairman's casting vote against the railway.
About this time a deputation of Reporoa settlers arrived in Wellington to plead for a further reduction of their valuations, and gave evidence most damaging to the cause of the railway. Their endeavour, I may say, was first to score a reduction in the price of their sections, and then to get the railway; a double win of wonderful advantage to themselves — if it could be achieved. They went so far as to say that the Reporoa land was so poor that it wouldn't grow even a carrot! Naturally I was highly disgusted and indignant. Just at this juncture I was called back to Broadlands on important business and I argued “Am I to sacrifice my private interests for these stupid and ungrateful folk?” Moreover I believed that with usual governmental dilatoriness the matter would not come up for a week or two and I should have time to return.
However, a vote was taken in Parliament in a couple of days and the railway lost by one vote — the vote of Mr. C. H. Clinkard, the representative of the district. Had he voted for his constituents the railway would have been won to the great and permanent advantage of the district of Rotorua, Auckland and the Dominion generally. By such close margins was I defeated and my great efforts brought to nought.
All along the line I had won my battles against the most strenuous opposition, but my victories were Pyrric. The railway is not built though so many unanimous recommendations were made in its favour (and none against it).
Thus this vast area in the centre of our small Dominion lies idle and unproductive without any adequate means of transport
But other railways utterly condemned after careful independent enquiry are being constructed at enormous expense and wicked waste of public funds. Democracy, or rule by the ignorant and the irresponsible, is a curious institution. “Mr. Vaile; what you want is more votes.”
In closing this chapter I desire to acknowledge the active and influential help of the late M.P. for the district — Mr. F. F. Hockly; of the greatest newspaper in the Dominion, The New Zealand Herald; and in particular of its Agricultural Editor, Mr. Fred. Carr Rollett; of the Wellington Evening Post, The Dominion and Waikato Times; and of other newspapers and friends throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Government Assistance
Vowing more than the perfective of ten: and discharging less than the tenth part of one—Troilus and Cressida iii, 2.
Never since my taking up my country have I received six pennyworth of help from any government. Assistance is extended only to failures.
When an individual is engaged in a gigantic struggle whereby a vast region may be added to the productive area of this diminutive “Dominion” it might be imagined that governments would grant him every facility even if it gave him no direct financial help.
Again, when one man owns fifty-three thousand acres it might be imagined that every facility would be afforded to enable subdivision. Nothing could be further from the facts.
Listen to my actual experiences:
As already stated, my longest boundary — twenty-two miles — was most unfortunately against Crown Land. When I put live stock on Broadlands it became necessary to prevent their wandering over the rest of the North Island. I applied for a contribution towards the cost of the boundary fence. Answer: “The Crown is not liable for fencing.” Consequently I erected some eight miles at my own sole expense. Subsequently this Crown Land was reserved for tree planting and when it was actually planted I again approached the Government urging that, although there might have been some justification for its attitude when it was not occupying the land, now that the land had been planted and my fence was being used, payment of a fair half of the cost certainly ought to be made. After a lot of argument an agreement was made in writing that the half cost should be paid. Foolishly I did not rush the cheque and when I went for the money payment was refused with no better excuse than: (1) “Economic conditions at the present time are very critical.” (2) “The fence has no value to this service.” It will be clearly seen that (1) economic conditions were at least as critical for me as for the Government, and (2) the statement is on the face of it absolutely false.
Later I had a claim against the Forestry Department for loss
Of course no honest citizen pleads the Statute of Limitations, and further, it seems to me outrageous that claims against the Government should be barred after only six months while actions between citizens are not barred till after six years have elapsed.
Let me now direct attention for a while to the assistance rendered to me by the Public Works Department.
Take the matter of telephone communication. It was quickly borne in upon me when I took up residence on the estate that the farther a man is from facilities the more necessary it is for him to have a telephone. None of the neighbours being prepared to join with me I decided to take action myself. Having ascertained that, where there is no local body, the Minister of Public Works is ex officio the local authority, I applied to him for a licence to erect my line along the roadside. Though the Government of the day sought popularity by professions of its desire and readiness to help way-back settlers to get into touch with the outer world per medium of the telephone, I asked for no help, but only permission to erect the wire at my own sole expense. Some bright intellect in the Department perceived an opportunity of having some twelve miles of main trunk telegraph line erected “without it's costing the country a single sixpence.” Consequently I received some pages of conditions to that end and further providing that, after the line had been erected, the Government reserved to itself, as well as to grant
When the change of Government came I again applied, and received the same answer — doubtless from the same intellectual official. So I put on my hat and off to Wellington where I interviewed the new Minister without success. Going to my friend Mr. Massey, he was good enough to accompany me to the Minister's room and, in effect, told him he was a crimson old fool. A fresh appointment was then made for the morrow. In the meantime, however, a friend introduced me to the head of the
My next flutter was about the right of subdivision. Neither I nor my neighbour, Mr. Butcher, had any legal road access, and of course it was necessary to provide frontage to a dedicated road. The authorities consequently “Had us by the woo.” After protracted negotiations we were graciously permitted to give the land and pay for the survey. Moreover we had to give an undertaking that whatever fencing might be necessary should be done at our expense. One would suppose that Governments declaiming against large holdings of land would grant every
My next attempt at subdivision was also frustrated. Several friends — mostly fisherfolk — had expressed desire for small plots whereon to erect summer shacks and have a little private fishing of their own. With the object of meeting this demand and seeing the advantage of having such men as neighbours (even if for only part of the year) I cut a convenient paddock into acre lots extending from the road to the river. The plan was passed by the Auckland office; but when it reached Wellington, a demand was made that a strip a chain wide along the riverbank should be reserved to the Crown. Of course this river frontage was the only feature that gave value to the sections. There was no justification for the attempted plunder; but, the Minister's approval being necessary, the passage of the plan was blocked as by a highwayman. The consequence was that I withdrew the subdivision, and the development of the district was hindered instead of being helped.
A few years ago when a demand for farm lands had sprung
The winter of 1935 proved very wet. Heavy cartage was being done for the conveyance of timber, shingle and other materials to the settlement for which I had presented one thousand acres of really first-class land. The access road used in common by myself, the said settlement, and some few others cracked up under the strain. The deck of a small culvert collapsed. The road became impassable. A ring to the Public Works Department disclosed the fact that no grant was available. Still something simply had to be done. I borrowed a couple of men from the settlement and supplied a couple myself together with dray, plough, horses, &c. Also I went down personally to direct the work and hustle things along by leading the navvying with my own hands. Further, out of my stocks, I supplied nine by three heart matai decking for the culvert. I kept the road open
What do you think of that? Here is my acknowledgment of the Department's decision:
“Auckland, 2nd December, 1937. Though at the time I under-took the work in question I understood the amount would be discharged when funds became available the contents of yours of 29th ult. causes me no surprise. I have been accustomed to receive from Government Departments treatment which private people of good business standing and reputation would consider beneath them.
“However it is satisfactory to know that I maintained the road throughout the winter ‘Without it having cost the country a single sixpence.’
“I presume that I shall be at liberty to remove the timber for which you have not paid.”
Of course I did not rip the deck out of the culvert. Though such action would have been more justifiable than the attitude of the Department. I considered it beneath me.
And I must admit annoyance at having been asked £1,020 and finally compelled to pay £160 for absolutely unnecessary work on a side road very seldom used when I could not recover the paltry sum of £5 8s. 9d. for essential work done on the main entrance road to repair damage which arose out of my gift of land for the unemployed.
I understand that the Department shortly afterwards spent some hundreds of pounds on this entrance road and I verily believe that its refusal to pay my miserable £5 8s. 9d. was due to the moderation of the amount being a severe comment on the Department's own extravagant methods.
Such have been my unfortunate experiences — with others of a generally similar nature. I contend that if business were conducted as it should be the actions of Government Departments would be a model of honesty instead of a series of shuffles and avoidance of legitimate claims. It is a curious fact that officers of Government and also of many large concerns will, in their official capacity, be guilty of actions of which in their private lives they would be utterly ashamed. Probably it is because their institutions are too vast and impersonal and so have “No body to be kicked and no soul to be saved.”
It is fair for me to say that I have usually been treated in a courteous way by local officers of Government Departments and found them quite like human beings; but Departments as organizations appear to exert themselves to obstruct, and not to assist, the landowner.
Perhaps it would not be out of place here to make a few observations on the great achievements of our
What tremendous public benefit would result if our railways were run on similar lines instead of attempting to improve their own position by legislating competitors off the road. Although our railways are State owned, if His Majesty the King steps off the throne into the market place to conduct business as a common carrier, he should be bound by business principles. Now the test of the success of any business is the advantage it confers on its customers. They must come to it for their own advantage. Directly a concern says “you ought” — or, worse
Undoubtedly there are many hard-working, conscientious, able and often underpaid men in the higher ranks of the Civil Service, but in a general way there is considerable truth in the gibe “Half a loaf is not better than a Government job.” And of some Departments Mr. Punch's verse is sufficiently true to constitute it a severe satire:
To come back to my own affairs: as I have said, I have never had any help from any Government. It appears to be a dreadful fact that all help, all public reward, is reserved for the failures. It is deemed that success neither needs nor merits assistance.
A Day's Sport with the Ducks
Fifty-six Ducks for Four Guns 1/5/25
The First Shoot After Netting the Home
Paddocks Produced Forty-six Hares
Our in the Boat
Man the Toiler
The Hot Pool, Ohaki
Out on the River
Mr. Butcher's First House
(This incorporates Ross & Kankin's two rooms)
An Expedition to the Sack of the Run in the Early Days
Patient Toilers Useful Horses Bred on Broadlands
Conclusion
And now the battle is over. “The tumult and the shouting dies” I have been ordered off the estate, not by any mortgagee, but by my medical adviser. He warned me that, should I persist in hard work, the angels would soon claim the pleasure of my company: proximity to medical assistance would be preferable.
Have all my struggles and my toil and my burial in the wilderness yielded a sufficient result? Has the great endeavour been worth while?
Certainly I have made countless blades of grass grow where none grew before, and caused the wilderness to blossom as the turnip.
I must confess that many a time and oft my heart has sunk within me, but I have battled on. Probably it was obstinacy that held me to the task, but my claim is that I have added another proof to the theory that “Fortune favours the bold.”
My friends' prophecies have not been fulfilled.
The Official Assignee has never had a chance. It is my great pride and really my greatest achievement that throughout my life I have always paid twenty shillings in the pound, and that on the due date. Never have I asked for time, much less for a reduction in my obligations. I have not taken advantage of “Final adjustment” or “Rehabilitation” or in any way made a profit out of the losses of my creditors. Indeed I have discharged
Nor have the two doctors had a better chance. Never have I reached the stage of talking to my dogs, much less of talking to myself.
My salvation has depended mainly upon always having too much work on hand to allow time for grousing. Unemployment is a thing I simply cannot understand. There are such mountains of work on every hand. My difficulty has ever been to find time to carry out more than a small portion of what I would like to do.
And yet in many ways I am satisfied with what I have accomplished. Never have I inherited sixpence from anyone — indeed I was thirty-one years of age before I had finished the discharge of debts, in the incurring of which I had had no part. Still what I have earned since then has constructed roads, buildings, fences, drains, paddocks, and other assets, on a very large scale. It is true that only a small portion of all this has been done with my own two hands, but the remainder has been effected with the proceeds of my endeavours in other directions. I shall leave the earth richer than I found it.
And not only that, but I have survived being thoroughly well savaged. I am one of those poor man-hunted and god-for-saken taxpayers who have to admit a hostile government as an equal partner in all their ventures for the benefit of those who have never denied themselves anything, and, at the end of an inglorious career of dependence on the enterprise of others, are rewarded by a pension for their achievements. I rejoice that I have not trodden the safe and easy road well worn with the traffic of the many, but have chosen the steep and stony, oft-times dangerous, and always lonely road which leads to the heights.
In actual experience of life one gets accustomed to kicks and buffeting from an unappreciative world, but once in a while one receives acknowledgment and encouragement — as in an article appearing in the Waikato Times on 3rd February, 1923, shortly after a visit by a representative of the paper accompanied by a leading Waikato farmer. I quote: “To go out and single-handedly fight a barren wilderness, and to bring it to a state of prolific productivity, requires a heart and a will far stouter than that to face a foe on the field of battle. Yet such a fight has been waged for the past fourteen years away back in the pumice waste beyond Rotorua by a man who, if honours were allotted on merit of pluck, self-sacrifice and perseverance should at this moment be wearing a peer's coronet…. He had faith in this barren plain and a rare optimism that an unsympathetic government has done its best to kill. Yet despite all obstacles he has won through.”
That is a wonderful tribute. And I really think I can claim to have created a great estate out of the nothingness. When I am dead and buried Broadlands will be recognized as a great achievement and the example and model upon which the vast areas in the great central plateau of the North Island have been brought to productivity. In my case the good that I have done cannot be interred with my bones but will live long after me.
Has this result been attained on economic lines? It is true, I must confess, that I have not made working profits commensurate to the capital outlay and to the quantity and quality of the labour expended upon it. But when I have watched my teams turning over two wide furrows of good brown earth rendering fruitful land, which from the dawn of time until that day had yielded nothing for the use of man, I have felt that I have dc served well of my country. When I have ridden my boundary hills and looked down upon the green fields of Broadlands glistening like bright emeralds in the midst of the everlasting
Hot Springs on Broadlandt
Cobwebs in the Frost
Home, Sweet Home
Famous Guides
Sophia and
Our Third and Last Fall of Snow
A Splendid Crop of Rape
A Really Wonderful Cut of Hay
The Finished Article
A Perfect Pasture
Glossary
Instead of interspersing scientific names throughout the text it has been deemed best to relegate them to this glossary where only those interested need to read them.
-
Agropyron = Native blue grass : a valuable fodder.
-
Anthropophagous = Anthropos a human being, phago I eat (Greek).
-
Aue = A Maori exclamation of astonishment. -
Austrian pine = Pinus austriaca.
-
Bed bug = Cimex lectularius.
-
Beeches = Nothofagus (incorrectly called birches by some).
-
Biddy-biddy = Acœna spp.: native names hutiwai; piri piri.
-
Bittern =
Botaurus poiciloptilus : native name matuku. -
Blackberry = Rubus fruticosus.
-
Blackbird = Turdus merula.
-
Blightbird =
Zosterops lateralis : native name kanohi mowhiti. Other common names wax-eye; white-eye. -
Blowfly = Blue-bottle = Calliphora quadrimaculata.
-
Blowfly Brown = Tabanus impar.
-
Blowfly Iridescent sheep maggot = Lucilia sericata.
-
Blowfly Native = Telophilus trilineatus.
-
Bluey = Colloquial name for a pack: a swag.
-
Bracken fern =
Pteridium esculentum . -
Broom, exotic = Cytisus scoparius.
-
Broom, native =
Carmichaelia australis . -
Bronzewing beetle = Odontria zealandica.
-
Brown top = Agrostis tenuifolium.
-
Buggy = An antiquated vehicle for light transport—usually to carry four persons and drawn by two light horses.
-
Bush-lawyer =
Rubus australis .
-
Cabbage tree =
Cordyline australis : native name ti. -
Carp = Cyprinus carpio.
-
Catsear = Hypochaeris radiata.
-
Cedar, atlantic = Cedrus atlantica.
-
Cedar, of Lebanon = Cedrus libani.
-
“Cedar” western red = Thuja plicata.
-
Chaffinch = Fringilla coelebs.
-
Chicory = Cictrorium intybus.
-
Cicada = Melampsalta cingulata: M. muta.
-
Cockatoo, white = Kakatoe galerita.
-
Cocksfoot = Dactylis glomerata.
-
Cocky = Cockatoo: a derisive name for a small farmer.
-
Convolvulus =
Calystegia tuguriorum . -
Corsican pine = Pinus laricio.
-
Corvidae = Crow family.
-
Cowgrass = Trifolium pratense perenne.
-
Crested Grebe = Podiceps cristatus.
-
Cricket = Gryllus servillei.
-
Cuckoo, shining = Lamprococcyx lucidus: native name pipiwharauroa.
-
Cuckoo, long-tailed = Urodynamis taitensis: native name koekoea.
-
Dabchick =
Podiceps rufopectus : native name weweia. -
Daisy, small native =
Celmisia gracilenta . -
Dandelion (true) = Taraxacum officinale.
-
Danthonia = Twenty-one varieties pilosa the best.
-
Dasypodia selenophora = Literally “The hairy-footed moon carrier”. On the wings are beautiful crescent moons.
-
Deodar = Cedrus deodara.
-
Diamond black moth = Plutella maculipennis.
-
Dock = Rumex obtusifolius.
-
Dotterel, banded = Charadrius bicinctus: native name pohowera
-
Duck, grey = Anas superciliosa: native name parera.
-
Duck, paradise = Casarca variegata; native name putangitangi.
-
Duck, spoonbill = Spatula rhynchotis: native name tete.
-
Eel = Anguilla australis: A. aucklandi: native name tuna.
-
E hoa = Literally “O friend”: the common Maori term of address. -
E noho = Seenoho . -
Etoile = Star: radiating point.
-
Fantail = Rhipidura flatellifera: native name tiwakawaka.
-
Five finger = Nothopanax arboreum; native name whauwhaupaku.
-
Flax = swamp,
Phormium tenax , hill, P. colensoi. -
Flea = Pulex irritans.
-
Fly, house = Musca domestica.
-
Forget-me-not = Myosotis.
-
Fuchsia = Fuschia excorticata: native name of tree kotukutuku, of fruit konini.
-
Fungus (“filthy-looking brown”) = Boletus luceus—said to supply nitrogen to the trees.
-
Golden rod, velvet leaved = Verbascum thapsus.
-
Golden rod, smooth leaved = V.
-
Golden rod, blattaria.
-
Goldfinch = Carduelis carduelis.
-
Gorse =
Ulex europaeus . -
Grasshopper = Phaulacridium marginale.
-
Grebe, crested = Podiceps cristatus.
-
Grebe, small = P. rufopectus: native name weweia.
-
Grey warbler = Pseudogerygone igata: native name riroriro.
-
Gull, black-backed = Larus domini-canus: native name karoro.
-
Gull, mackerel = L. scopulinus: native name tarapunga.
-
Haere = move: go. -
Haeremai = come hither: the Maori welcome. -
Haka = a Maori dance. -
Hapu = a family group : a subtribe. -
Hare = Lepus europaeus.
-
Hawk, harrier = Circus gouldi: native name kahu.
-
Hawk, sparrow = Falco novaesee landiae.
-
Herehere = captive: prisoner. -
Hipi = sheep (adapted English). -
Hokioi = A fabulous war bird. -
House-sparrow = Passer domesticus.
-
Huhu = Prionoplus reticularis. -
Hui = A meeting to talk things over. -
Human being = Homo sapiens: anthropos (Greek): tangata (Maori).
-
Humble bee = Bombus terrestris.
-
Ika = Fish. -
Inanga = Galaxias attenuatus: whitebait. -
Iridescent sheep maggot fly = Lucilia sericata.
-
Iwi = Nation or head tribe.
-
Kai = Food: a meal. -
Kainga = An unfortified village: literally a place of eating. -
Kai paipa = Smoking: literally pipe food. -
Kai tangata = Eat the human being: cannibal feast. -
Kahikatea = Podocarpus dacrydioides. -
Kaka = Nestor meridionalis: a native parrot. -
Kakahi = Diplodon lutulentus: fresh water mussel. -
Kapai = Good. -
Karamu =Coprosma robusta . -
Katipo = Latrodectus hasseltii: New Zealand's only poisonous spider. -
Kau = A cattle beast: a bull = stallion kau: cow = mare kau: a calf = kuao kau. -
Kehua = A ghost. -
Ki = To: towards. -
Kidney fern =
Trichomanes reniforme . -
Kingfisher = Halycon vagans: Maori name kotare.
-
Kokako = North Island or blue wattled crow: Glancopis wilsoni. -
Kokopu = Galaxias fasciatus: native trout. -
Korero = Talk: language. -
Koromiko = Hebe salicifolia: (Veronica). -
Koura = Palinurus edwardsii: “Fresh water crayfish”; a little larger than a prawn. -
Kowhai , yellow =Sophora tetraptera . -
Kowhai , red =Clianthus puniceus : native name Kowhai ngutu kaka—literally parrot's bill kowhai. -
Kumara = Ipomœa batatas: an edible tuber of the convolvulus family: commonly called “the sweet potato”. -
Kumi = A fabulous reptile.
-
Lancewood = Pseudopanax crassi-folium: native name Horoeka.
-
Larch = Larix decidua.
-
Lark, ground = Anthus novae see-landiae: really a pipit: native name pihoihoi.
-
Lark, sky = Alauda arvensis.
-
Linnet = Acanthis cannabina
-
Lizard, green-yellow = Naultinus greyi.
-
Lizard, common brown = Lygosoma moco.
-
Locust = Ædipoda cinerascens.
-
Magma = Molten mass of which centre of the earth is supposed to be constituted.
-
Mai mai = A covert. -
Makutu = Bewitchment: black magic. -
Mangai = Mouthpiece: the mouth. -
Manoao = Dracophyllum subulatum: a grass tree. -
Manuka =Leptospermum scoparium and L. ericoides. Commonly called tea tree. -
Maori bug = Platyzosteria novae-seelandiae: native name kekerengu. When crushed emits a dreadful stench.
-
Mason fly = Trypoxylidae: Pison spinolae.
-
Matai = Podocarpus spicatus. -
Maunga = A mountain.
-
Meadow foxtail = Alopecurus pratensis.
-
Microlœna stipoides = N.Z. rice grass: good grazing but has a peculiarly penetrating seed-head.
-
Mistletoe (red) = Elytranthe tetra-petala.
-
Moa = Dinornis, literally “The terrible bird”: stood up to twelve feet high: flightless. -
Mosquito = Culex iracundus.
-
Morepork = Ninox novaeseelandiae; native name
ruru : its cry resembles “more pork”. -
Muru = To plunder: wipe out.
-
Naho naho = Small flying insects: midges. -
Nettle (native) =
Urtica ferox : native nameOnga onga . -
New chum = The colloquial name for a newcomer to N.Z.
-
Ngarara = A fabulous monstrous reptile: a dragon. -
Nigger head = Carex secta.
-
Noho = Sit. The Maori goodbye when the person farewelled remains, i.e.,E noho !
-
Ongaonga =Urtica ferox : the native shrub nettle. -
Oregon pine = Pseudo tsuga taxi-folia: Douglas fir.
-
Pa =Afortified village. -
Pai = Good. -
Pakeha =Astranger, particularly an Englishman. -
Papa = The earth: father (adopted). -
Para bellum = Prepare for war. -
Paradise duck = Casarca variegata: native name putangitangi.
-
Pau te hau = Literally “The breeze is done”: exhausted. -
Pheasant = Phasianus colchicus.
-
Pigeon, native = Carpophaga novaeseelandiae: native names
kereru :kuku . -
Pipit = Anthus novaeseelandiae: native name
Pihoihoi . -
Poaka = Porker: pig: hog. -
Poa pratensis = Kentucky blue grass: highly valued in United States but not in New Zealand.
-
Polecat = Putorius foetidus.
-
Porangi = Extremely foolish: demented. -
Puff balls = Lycoperdon spp.
-
Pouri = Sad. -
Pukeko = Porphyrio melanotus. -
Puriri =Vitex lucens . -
Puriri moth = Hepialus virescens.
-
Quail, Australian = Synoicus australis.
-
Quail, Californian = Callipepla californica.
-
Quail, New Zealand = Coturnix novaeseelandiae (now extinct).
-
Rabbit = Lepus cuniculus.
-
Ragwort = Senecio jacobæa.
-
Rangatira = Gentleman: aristocrat. -
Rangi = The sky. -
Rat, native = Mus maorium.
-
Rat, black = Mus rattus.
-
Rat, brown = Mus norvegicus.
-
Rata = Metrosideros robusta (North Island): M. lucida (South Island). -
Raupo = Typha angustifolia: the native bulrush. -
Red admiral butterfly = Vanessa gonerilla.
-
Red clover = Trifolium pratense.
-
Rep top = Agrostis vulgaris.
-
Redwood = Sequoia sempervirens.
-
Reindeer moss = Cladonia (really a lichen).
-
Reinga = A headland on north coast of New Zealand whence Maori spirits depart for Hawaiki. -
Rewa rewa = Knightea excelsa: N.Z. honeysuckle: a tree. -
Rhyncocephalia = Nose-headed reptiles.
-
Rimu =Dacrydium cupressinum . -
Riri = Anger. -
Riro riro = Pseudogerygone igata grey warbler. -
Riwai = Solanum tuberosum: the potato. -
Rook =
Corvus frugilegus . -
Runanga house = Tribal meeting house usually carved elaborately. -
Ryecorn = Secale cereale.
-
Rye grass, Italian = Lolium itlicum.
-
Rye grass, perennial =
Lolium perenne .
-
St. John's wort = Hypericum perforatum.
-
Sandfly = Simulia australiense.
-
Shags = Steganopodes; cormorants; native name
kawau . -
Sheeps burnet = Poterium sanguisorba.
-
Shepherd's basket = Clathrus cibarius.
-
Skylark = Alauda arvensis.
-
Sorrel = Rumex acetosella.
-
Sparrow, house = Passer domesticus.
-
Spiders = Arachnidae.
-
Spinach (N.Z.) = Tetragonia expansa.
-
Spoonbill duck = Spatula rhynchotis: native name
tete . -
Spruces = Picea excelsa; P. rubra; P. nigra.
-
Starling = Sturnus vulgaris.
-
Stilt, pied = Himantopus leucocephalus: native name
torea . -
Stoat = Mustela erminea.
-
Suckling clover =
Trifolium dubium . -
Supplejack = Rhipogonum scandens
-
Swan, black = Chenopis atrata.
-
Swede turnips = Brassica campestris.
-
Taiaha = A Maori wooden weapon: used also as an emblem of authority. -
Taiapa = A Maori fence. -
Taihoa = Wait: delay: put off. -
Taipo = Goblin: devil. -
Tane = Personification of male procreating power: a husband: god of the forests. -
Tangata = Man. -
Tangi = Weeping: funeral. -
Taniwha = A fabulous monster. -
Tapu = Prohibited: sacred. -
Tara = The female organ of generation: sometimes the top of anything. -
Tarantula = Lycosa tarantula.
-
Taro = Colocasia antiquorum: formerly a staple food.
-
Tar weed = Bartsia viscosa.
-
Taua = A war party. -
Tawa =Beilschmiedia tawa . -
Teal, black = Fuligula novaeseelandiae: native name Papango.
-
Thrush = Turdus philomelus.
-
Tika = Correct: all right. -
Tikarete = Cigarette (adapted word). -
Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes = I fear the Greeks even when bringing presents. -
Timothy = Phleum pratense.
-
Tino = Very: superlative. -
Toa = Brave: a “tall” man. -
Tohunga = Magician; priest. -
Tomtit = Petroica toitoi: native name
miromiro .
-
Toru = Persoonia toru. -
Totara = Podocarpus totara. -
Trout, brown = Salmo fario.
-
rainbow = Salmo irridens.
-
Tuatara = Sphenodon punctatus: a reptile about twenty inches long: most ancient animal: has many peculiarities. -
Tui = Prosthemadera novaesee-landiae: the parson bird. -
Tutu = Coriaria ruscifolia: often calledtupaki .
-
Utu = Payment: compensation: revenge.
-
Viper's bugloss = Echium vulgare.
-
Waddy = Short, heavy stick: a small club.
-
Wahine = Woman: wife. -
Wahi tapu = A burial ground: holy place. -
Wairua = A spirit. -
Water fern =
Histiopteris incisa . -
Water groundsel = Senecio sylvatica.
-
Weasel = Mustela vulgaris.
-
Western red cedar = Thuja plicata.
-
Western yellow pine = Pinus ponderosa.
-
Weymouth pine = Pinus strobus.
-
Whare = A Maori hut. -
Whitebait = Galaxias attenuatus: native name
inanga . -
White butterfly = Pieris brassicae.
-
White clover = Trifolium repens.
-
White-eye =
Zosterops lateralis .
-
Yellow hammer = Emberiza citrinella.
-
Yorkshire fog = Holcus lanatus.