Chapter 28 - Amen

Immediately after the war, Sammy Watt brought the first hay-baler to Gordonton. At first the hay had to be swept up to the hay baler, but when one was produced that chugged around the paddock picking up the dried hay and spitting out neatly tied rectangular bales, Fred decided to invest in one for his own work. Esther went down to look at it. “I always said that whenever you brought anything new home, the first thing you did was to pull it to pieces and alter it somehow.” She laughed as she said,” you had better not fiddle with that thing.” Fred grinned. The baler did not need much adjusting but he built an elevator to take the bales from the ground up onto the truck and one to take them up into the hay barn. A stack in the paddock wasn’t good enough for bales.

Building had been Fred’s first love, and now there was more time, he built a house and a cowshed on Siberia. (Siberia was the name for the land they bought across the west side of what is now called Ballard Road)

By now most of the stumps had been pulled out and burnt, and the grass was beginning to grow at last. It now became an economic unit after nearly ten years. Pulling swedes or turnips for the cows or pigs has always been an unpleasant task on cold mornings. Someone suggested that if you could put up an easy to erect fence with a shock in it, maybe the cows could come and pull their own. Copying one he had seen in a magazine, Fred made his live fence. A triangle box with a swinging pendulum that connected to a battery and sent a tingle along the wire. Unfortunately it made quite a loud ‘TICK’ and the cows heard immediately when it wasn’t going and promptly stepped over the wire. There were other difficulties to overcome too. The thin wire seemed to have a special ‘Taipo’ one moment of carelessness and it tangled into a veritable birds nest, and you could go to London and back in the time you took to untangle it.   

Building on the successes and failures of those farmers that were willing to experiment, the idea improved until in 1951, electric fences were commercially produced and accepted throughout the Waikato and Taranaki farms. Opposition from townsfolk dwindled when no one was killed, and though a pig that touched a live wire, squealed very loudly, no real harm was done. In 1952 there were 60 children attending Sunday school, and the congregation at the Presbyterian Church felt it was time to build an additional hall. Could they afford one to match the church? Although the prices paid for butterfat and wool were higher than they had ever been, there was very little cash around. There were so many new things needed, but when it came to building for the Lord’s work, the elders were determined not to go into debt. Voluntary contributions were asked for. When there was £450 in hand, the timber was ordered. With Fred Williamson as supervisor, and the men of the congregation as labourers, the hall was completed in fourteen working days. Everything was paid for. Esther and Fred found there was more time to enjoy the land they loved. Rows of magnificent pines and macrocarpas sheltered the paddocks, green with grass that “put milk in the bucket,” where troughs were kept full by an electric pump. It was only in Fred’s dreams that he worried about trying to get water for his cows. The trees around the homestead had created a warm and sheltered spot, lying to the morning sun and with some of the recently introduced fruit they planted and thrived.

The kiwifruit, feijoas and guavas did well but the tamarillos found the winters too severe. On many Saturdays during the hot autumns, picnic groups of happy children from Hamilton and Ngaruawahia enjoyed the shade of the trees and the cool water of the swimming pool. “I dreamed of this that evening in our old Park Avenue home,” Fred said to his wife one afternoon as they watched a group of I.H.C. youngsters and their parents clamber back on their bus. “Before I even had a farm. It had been a long hard struggle, discouraging at times, but God has been very good to us. Esther had begun to think about that trip to England but somehow Fred had lost his desire to go. Every farmer would know how it is. There was always something that needed to be done, some improvement that he felt was important, and the dream of singing in Westminster Cathedral was never realized. A heart attack in 1957 reminded Fred that there was a limit to the tasks a human heart can accomplish. He could not ignore the plight of families who had to sell their farms to pay death duties, and the thought of Esther being turned out from the home she had helped to create was too dreadful to contemplate. “Siberia” was sold, and the money was earmarked for “Death Duties.” The sheep went too and a cowshed and house was put on the back half of the farm. “Built with money, not my own effort” Fred explained.

At the beginning of 1959, the School Committee canvassed the district. At last the Education Board had consented to build a new Gordonton school, (there were 231 pupils now). They purchased the site they had rejected during the depression years. The committee felt that if they had the backing of the district, they would tender for preparing the grounds at £2,038/7/0d. This money would then be a start towards a swimming pool, library and other amenities. “I’ll bring my tractor and grader blade,” promised Fred, thinking of the greater physical effort needed if he had been allowed to supervise the work with shovels and spades and teams of horses more than 20 years earlier.

With greater education and a wider health program, the school sores which had sabotaged his plans for a school swimming pool so long ago had surely been overcome. Where were the children who had stood on their playground fence wondering how a new playground could be made among that tangle of blackberries? Two had their life taken during the war, two sent their children to the new school, and one sent her grand-children.

Edith Williamson, coming home when her Farther was ill, taught in it. But Fred Williamson did not help after all. They had planned to start on September 22nd 1959. On the first Sunday in September, Fred’s voice faulted in the first hymn at church. Esther glanced at him with concern. Throughout the long years, he had led the singing in the little Presbyterian Church they had helped to build. His voice rose clearly in the Amen that follows the benediction. On the Monday afternoon however, he came in from working in the orchard he loved, to lie quietly on his bed for that final sleep we call death. At 71, a dream fulfilled, the plough held straight, he would hear his Master’s voice, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant".