Saturday, February 8, 2014

Waitangi - A place of tears

Waitangi – ‘water of tears’ – the place has lent its name appropriately to the day.

A month ago I was trudging an ancient Maori pathway – Te Whara track – along the ridge line at Whangarei Heads.

The following day, I sped north with family members on State Highway 1 to the Bay of Islands – visiting places of historic significance at Kerikeri and Waitangi. The phrase ‘coming to know (and be known by) one’s own land’ came to mind.

It was odd being tourists in our own land as we heard guides explain aspects of the ‘Aotearoa New Zealand’ story in terms that overseas visitors could understand. At Kemp House, a guide with a North American accent said Maori welcoming Europeans to their lands primarily wanted guns. The missionaries, in addition to bringing the Bible, wanted to showcase a typical English home and garden, with cows, ducks, and wheat to make bread.

Once again, I was struck by my ignorance of the detail of fundamental aspects of our land’s history.

At the Treaty grounds at Waitangi (which receives no government funding), my Hong Kong-born adopted sister urged us to go for the cultural experience. In a good-humoured, cheeky way – and on their own terms – the local Ngapuhi iwi (tribe), for a small fee, introduced us to key aspects of Maori protocol, song and dance, including a full-on wero (challenge) that left our stoic, co-opted English ‘rangatira’ unfazed. And the presenters stayed around for the obligatory ‘photo with the natives’ at the end.

Later, walking around the grounds and exploring the Treaty house, I learnt how – as the significance of the Treaty to the general population fell away – the grounds nearly ended up in private American hands. It was only Ngapuhi, and Lord Bledisloe's gift to the nation of the Treaty house and grounds in 1932, that saved the day and has given us the legacy of the modern Waitangi Day celebrations: an interesting and lively partnership between Maori, Pakeha and government.

Up until then, all I knew was that Lord Bledisloe was a former Governor-General, who had lent his name to my competition House at Whangarei Boys' High (a House accurately nicknamed ‘bloody slow’).

Ngapuhi built the whare runanga – the meeting house where we were welcomed and entertained on our  tourist visit – with timber from their own lands, on a foundation stone laid by Lord Bledisloe at a Great Hui of 10,000 people on 6 February 1934. The whare was intended as a place for all peoples, to stand alongside the English-built Treaty house. It would symbolise Governor Hobson’s words: ‘He iwi tahi tatou’, and was opened at the 100th anniversary of the Treaty signing in 1940.

At the 1934 dedication, Bledisloe prayed that 'the sacred compact made in these waters may be faithfully and honourably kept for all time to come'. May that time come.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Wellington – first ruled by a Committee?

The Muttonbirds’ ‘I wish I was in Wellington’ was first thing on the radio when I tuned in on Wellington Anniversary day.

BUT - 'You can't beat Wellington on a good day.'
I wish I was in Wellington, the weather's not so good.
The wind it cuts right through you ...
Yes, it does, or did that morning anyway. Fortunately, for me, I was back in Wellington. I hadn’t needed my grey fleecy jacket for the previous three weeks up north (Auckland and Northland), but I did need it back home. Though to be fair, the weather was ‘not so good’ for most of the country.

I wish I was in Wellington - the bureaucracy ...
Ummm – yes. And Aucklanders might take some delight in learning that Wellington was ruled by a Committee before the township even got started, though it hardly had time to get its boots on.

Delving into The Making of Wellington 1800-19141 for Anniversary Day, I was interested to discover that the first European institution to become established for Wellington was indeed a ‘Committee’.2 It was set-up in Britain in September 1939 by the New Zealand Company to maintain law and order among new arrivals the company was sending here. Membership was drawn from the (male) emigrants on the first three ships about to depart for New Zealand. The Committee and accompanying Constitution were according to Beaglehole ‘greeted with enthusiasm and cheers and unanimously endorsed by the men on all three vessels’.

The Committee (soon renamed a Council) was shortlived. It was deemed illegal by the British government and superseded by the impact of the Treaty of Waitangi in February 1840. When Governor William Hobson heard of the Wellington Committee-cum-Council on 21 May, he immediately proclaimed sovereignty over all of New Zealand and dispatched his Colonial Secretary Willoughby Shortland (with soldiers) to disband the Council – which he did on 4 June. It led to lingering resentment with the northern-based administration.

The problem is the gap - between us on the map
And there's no easy way to reconcile it

It seems most of those early Councillors didn’t have the same desire for Wellington as the Muttonbirds. Of the 15 appointed, nine left Wellington within the first decade, seven ultimately left the country, and only three remained in the city until their death. But for me:

I'd be there tomorrow, if I only could.


1 David Hamer & Roberta Nicholls (eds), Victoria University Press, 1990.

2 Diana Beaglehole, ‘Political Leadership in Wellington: 1839-1853’.

Friday, January 17, 2014

I am not alone ...

It has been some time since I wrote on this blog, but a chance encounter this week with quotes about New Zealand has spurred me to continue sharing my thoughts on ‘being a New Zealander’.

Foyer wall in the Vero Centre.
The quotes were emblazoned across a huge foyer wall in the Vero Centre at 48 Shortland Street, Auckland. All reflections on living, being or deriving from New Zealand. Most came from those who were born here, a few from visitors or new arrivals (eg Governor Hobson). Though I had heard many of them in some way over the years, there were a few unfamiliar ones.

They ranged from the short and informative (‘High Winds’ – AA sign), to the humourous (‘We don’t know how lucky we are’ – John Clarke (aka Fred Dagg)), to the profound (‘Each of us has a piece of New Zealand we regard as ours’ – C K Stead).

I found it amusingly ironic that, when I tried to take photos for my own use and reference, it was the soft American accent of a black security guard that informed me – in the most polite and gentle way – that I would need to get permission from the building’s owners.

No matter. I copied down some of the quotes I identified with most strongly, and took note of the building owners to contact later for a copy of the full complement – if required.

There were two that resonated more deeply. One was from a foreigner, George Bernard Shaw: If I showed my true feelings, I would cry: it’s the best country I have been in.

The other was from a New Zealander who ironically spent her adult life – and died her tragic death – overseas. Yet, Katherine Mansfield wrote:
I thank God I was born in New Zealand
A young country is a real heritage
Though it takes one time to recognise it.
But New Zealand is in my very bones.

Each one of those lines echoed within me. I don’t know if the irony in the second line was deliberate, but even if our heritage on the land (in the Pākehā line at least) is relatively short, it is still a heritage and something to be treasured.

Just a few days earlier, I had deepened my knowledge of the Jean Batten trail in our history at the Museum of Transport and Technology (MOTAT) in Auckland. She is one of those famous names that everyone knows, but may not realise the significance of her achievements – and be in total ignorance about other aspects of her life. She too was born in New Zealand, spent most of her adult life elsewhere, and died tragically – in Majorca in 1982, alone and unrecognised by anyone around her.

No doubt it was because New Zealand was in her ‘very bones’ that drove her to go beyond simply breaking the England-Australia flying time in 1936 to become the first to fly direct England to New Zealand single-handedly. She had scant specialist equipment, but an uncanny ability to navigate – including 2000 kilometres across the Tasman Sea to within 100 metres of her target landfall destination in New Zealand.

Her worldwide fame was primarily concentrated into 1934-36, after which she largely receded from public view. Her fuller story is both sad and inspiring, a combination of brilliance and tragedy. It is perhaps appropriate then that ‘Jean Batten Place’ in Auckland is so short – perhaps a hundred metres if that. But it could do with a plaque explaining who she was, and what she achieved – or a sculpture of the little Percival Gull that brought her safely across the Tasman – and back to Britain again.

Perhaps that time will come.