Chapter 17 - Holidays

At the beginning of 1921 Esther was very sick. The doctor came out but his medicine didn’t seem to be very effective. Her mother came to stay for a month or two but as the year dragged on she did not seem to be picking up. “Come to Waima, a holiday will do you good” said her mother.

Mary with her black curls and happy smile was always ready to ‘help mummy’. The second little daughter, Edith, had come from the nursing home yellow with jaundice and a running sore almost the length of her forearm. Now she was beginning to crawl and into everything. If a tin of nails was left down, Edith scattered them or tried to eat one; paint was just made for a little girl to spread around. “You are no help at all,” her father told her, lifting her down from the ladder she was attempting to climb. Esther and the two children boarded the train for ‘Waima’. She felt rather apprehensive travelling alone, but it surely would be alright. She was beginning to relax as the train clattered into Tamumarunui. Then the sky grew dark though it was just past mid-day. There was a decided smell of smoke. Had the mountains erupted? The Tarawera eruption had darkened the sky just like this. There was no way of finding out what was happening but the train kept going. Then it stopped, panting noisily. The heaters went off and it became bitterly cold in the smoke filled carriages. Slowly the train started again. A few more miles and then another long wait. At last a guard came through. “All the centre of the North Island seems to be on fire,” he said “but the lines are clear. For goodness sake stay on the train.” “There is no chance of doing anything else,” thought Esther, looking at her two girls. By now they could see the flames in the distance and sometimes above the panting of the train could be heard the roaring of the fires driven by the howling wind. The train stopped at the Makatote viaduct. The guard came in. “you must all get off and walk across,” he said. Esther looked at the long bridge in despair. Mary’s four year old legs were not long enough to step across those sleepers. “I’ll take her over,” said one of the passengers and he swung Mary up onto his shoulders and strode across. Praying that the young Edith would not struggle and upset her balance, Esther bravely stepped over, being careful not to look down. Deliberately the mother kept her fears to herself so that when at last that nightmare journey was over, Mary was able to chatter happily to her Grandmother about the pretty fires and the long, long bridge.

 A month later, when the rain had dampened the ‘Raetahi fires’ Fred took a few days off to bring his wife and daughter home. They left Edith with Esther’s sister till Mrs Priest could bring her back to Okoropong. A third daughter was born in September, a happy fair haired baby who they called Alexa after Fred’s father. 

“Take the sheep to the sale in the wagon!” exclaimed Fred. “How everyone would laugh.” But there were only twelve fat ewes to go as Denby Sainsbury had no others to go that day. The men considered Esther’s suggestion and the twelve ewes did get a ride. They realized £13/5/- but the twenty one lambs bought at 11/6d each, cost £12/1/6d. Not much profit they commented. 

Tea was finished, Esther was knitting, Fred was studying the accounts and Sam was reading the ‘Waikato Times.’ “Holidays are important,” said Fred loudly.

Sam stabbed at the paper, “Look at this report of the Auckland Wool Sale in December (1921),” he said. “There were 8743 bales offered and Romney wool sold at 8 & 1/2 to 9d with cross bred; that’s ours fetching 4 & ½ to 5d.” “Well, before the war the producer received 80% of the price our goods realized on the London market, now we only receive 46%. But I still think a holiday is important observed Fred. Esther agreed. It would be so good to get away from the stifling heat and the thick smell of the peat smoke that penetrates every nook in the Waikato, but she wasn’t going away with small children on her own again. “First I must make sure that the troughs are all filled and the Crosley at the house is pumping properly. The milking machines haven’t given trouble for weeks. Mrs Sayer said we can use her cottage in Raglan. We’ll go next Monday.

Chestnut Jock seemed as excited as the girls as the family packed into the gig very early in the morning and set off. “You never can tell whether there’ll be a slip on the hills,” he’d told them, “so make sure you put a spade handy and an axe in case you need to cut ti-tree fascines.” They had lunch on the hill, finding a grassy spot where they could take Jock out of the shafts so that he pulled eagerly the rest of the way. Already there was blue sky and air that was free from smoke. When it grew dark, Jock became restless. He wanted to go home. Perhaps he forgot how far it was. He stood in the corner of the paddock and called loudly. All the family tried to comfort him, but in a little while he trotted round the paddock and called again. Then he tried hitting the fence with his foreleg. “You should be tired,” Fred told his horse as he went to bed, hoping the fence would hold. It did and Jock settled down after that. It was a lovely holiday.

“The holiday was good for my fingers, they were getting stiff,” Fred observed as he finished the inlay work in the totara surrounds that make the sitting room so distinctive. The room was finished with totara paneling. 

Sam announced his engagement to Lizzie Riddell and the brothers began to plan for a new homestead. 

“Did you see the tornado?” Sam asked the others as they started milking on 4th Feb 1922. He had been up to ‘Woodlands’, as so many of the young people of the district did on a Sunday afternoon. “Tornado, What tornado? What had you been doing?” teased Bob. “The wind wasn’t much worse than usual.” “Well, there was a tornado at ‘Woodlands’, retorted Sam. “It came with a roar like an express train. Smashing through the pine plantation, it seemed to be coming straight for the house, but before we could move it turned slightly. It caught the corner of the wash house and went tearing across part of the orchard. The trees are completely flattened. I think it then died in the Manuka and rushes.” 

“Any stock killed?” asked Fred. “One of the gums caught ‘Waitory’, Don’s hunter. He probably didn’t know what hit him, it was so quick. We can’t be sure yet if there were any sheep under the pines.” “Any other damage?” Bob wanted to know.  “Well, the carpenter’s workshop was completely demolished. It was a two storey building. They may be able to retrieve some of the machinery. Another gum fell on the shed where the three hay rakes were. At least one is a write off.”

For a while the men worked in silence, then Sam said, “Mr Riddell says there is enough pine to build my house if anyone is willing to do the work. “Of course we can do it,” said Bob. Bob was a hunchback but such a cheerful, willing worker that the brothers were encouraged. “I wonder what the mill will charge to make it into boards?” Fred mused, and when they said 7/6d per 100 running feet, they decided to accept the challenge. Small branches and the tops were cleared away and using block & tackle, the trunks were winched over a pit to be cut the required length with the cross cut saw. 

“You’re lucky you don’t have to cut them into boards as the men who built ‘Woodlands’ did,” commented Mr Riddell, and they all whole-heartedly agreed. Using one of the trees that was still standing as an anchor, the logs were winched up a ramp they made and onto the wagon for the 3 hour trip to town. The four horses plodded along with the heavily loaded wagon; clip clop on the sandy road, pulling hard up the steep Martin’s hill. Sam braked carefully on the even steeper slope going down Thomas’ Hill. “What if it rains?” wondered Sam; but it didn’t.

By 11th March 2200 ft had been carted to the mill; another week of dry weather, cutting, hauling and carting and by the end of the month the last load of logs was at Claudelands. When the timber had been cut it was bought home to dry; later some was returned to the mill to be tongue-and-grooved and dressed. There was time to dream as the horses trotted along where the road was good, or plodded up the hills. What can compare with the joy of riding in a wagon, perched high above a willing four-horse team with the sun on your back and the birds singing? 

“You’d better get your house finished before you start Sam’s,” wrote his mother to Fred. “We are sending up the harmonium. Isa will be up for the August holidays.”  

Isa was teaching in the school where her father was headmaster. On the 31st August there was a party to open the new sitting room; the first of many parties in the lovely room. Fred was delighted with the harmonium. It has special memories as it was one of the very few things saved when the headmaster’s residence and school burned down in 1900. Neither Fred nor Esther could play it but Mary soon learned the sanky hymns they enjoyed singing. When Isa came up there were special evenings, swinging into the grand old tunes and sacred anthems the family loved. 

Near the end of the year the foundations for Sam’s house were laid and with care Fred and Sam built it, having it ready by 1923 when Sam carried his bride ‘Lizzie’ across the threshold. “The timber has been handled many times.” Esther remarked as she welcomed them, “and each time with a prayer and hope for you both. It should make a happy home.”

It was not long after Sam’s wedding that they received a worrying letter from their mother. ‘They have suggested your father give up his Sunday School class; after all he is 75 now, but he is not very well.’ So the parents came to Okoropong. The old man was restless so they built a little track with rails where he could walk without fear of falling. It was only in the last year that he became more frail and spent most of the day sitting in his chair. The homestead was a busy place. As well as Fred’s parents and the three little girls, there was the farmhand, and sometimes two, plus a girl to help in the house. In the years after the ‘Great War’ the orphanages were full of lonely children and the church people were asked to take young girls into ‘service’ At the end of Jan 1921, Phyllis Ware arrived. In a district like Gordonton where there was a shortage of girls, it was not long before a young man came a courting. Next came Winnie from the Presbyterian Orphanage in Auckland. As soon as she was about 20 she married John Attwood who was working at Woodlands. Mary made an attractive flower girl and when they moved to Huapai near Auckland, the first guests she wanted to visit her, were Mary and her mother. It was while visiting Winnie a few years later that they first tasted NZ grapefruit and found a grower prepared to rail a case or two to Hamilton.

“I’m going to grow these,” Fred declared, even though everyone said citrus wouldn’t grow in the Waikato. “The climate is getting warmer,” thought Fred as he ordered an orange, a grapefruit and a lemon tree from Auckland. He planted the little trees carefully, sheltering them in winter, and watering them in autumn. The lemon died, but the other two thrived and soon there was no need to send to Auckland; instead cases of grapefruit went on the train to the Wellington relatives.