Chapter 24 - Peat Fires Again
In 1932, the New Zealand Dairy Company paid 11/9d per pound of butterfat, in 1933 it was 9/7d and in 1934 it was still lower at 9/5d. It seemed to be in trouble and difficulty.
Rabbits were increasing. In the wooded peat country they burrows by every stump until it was not safe to canter a pony across the paddock. They dug in the banks of the drains so that chunks of the soft banks fell in, blocking the water and leaving untidy and unstable edges. Gorse, pussy willow trees, rushes especially blackberries grew unchecked on many farms; most were understocked because of the difficulty of getting rid of the water in winter and then getting enough on autumn for the cows to drink. The trees that all the early farmers had planted were now growing, so the destructive winds had been somewhat checked, but the autumns were still far too dry and made unpleasant by the acrid smell of burning peat.
In his work with the Drainage Board, Fred came in contact with many of the farm tragedies of the Depression years.
They tried to be sympathetic especially to the soldier settlers of Piako & Tenfoot Road. The land had usually been valued in 1921 when the Dairy Company had paid 33d/lb of butterfat. They had paid too high a price for the land and many were unsuited to farming and now many just walked off with nothing. Men, the German soldiers had been unable to defeat, beaten now by worry, weeds and water.
“Our work has to go on” said the Drainage Board members, and told the clerk to remind all the defaulters that Drainage rates would be higher because of those who did not pay. When one man complained of the high drainage rates, Fred exclaimed in disgust, “His gully would have bogged a swamp hen before we started work there, you’d think he would consider that!
The drought started early at the end of 1934. There was very little rain in November, and by December, extensive peat fires were burning throughout the Waikato. Near the railway line, the sparks from the engine ignited the tinder dry grass, and men were sent to patrol the line after every train. But for some farmers, fire was the only way to combat the blackberry, and fires left unattended were soon out of control.
Lake Tunawhakapekapeka was almost dry now and the raupo sedges and blackberry growing there had been burning since October. The hot gusty winds in January had made the fires flare-up, driving towards the grass paddocks of Okoropong. Before lunch on 22nd January, Fred went down to the boundary of his property. The fires were still the other side of lake drain, some 12ft wide. Would that be a sufficient barrier? During the afternoon, the wind increased, and the grey smoke hanging low over the ground increased. At 2 o’clock Fred called his daughter, “I think you had better go and check those fires again.” Catching her pony, she rode through the smoke towards the lake drain, but did not reach it. The fire was across the drain. Tongues of flame were climbing the little gum trees planted along the boundary of the farm and many of the posts and battens were blazing and worst of all, little jets of smoke were coming up from numerous points quite a long way out into the paddock. Driven by the sou’wester, the fires had run along the dry grass, burrowing at every root. She turned her pony and galloped back with her unwelcome news. Fred & Sam grabbed spades & shovel and set off towards the fires. As quickly as possible the two other girls caught their ponies and cantered down to help. Dimly, they could see the unreal form of the men rushing to and fro, beating the tongues of flames. “It’s like a gas attack during the war,” thought Sam, and the horror of that memory made the disaster seem even greater.
“Sacks! Get some sacks dipped in water,” their father called. His voice hoarse and unnatural with the smoke. Back to the cowshed went the girls. All the sacks they could find were bundled into the trough and then dripping went, were flung over their ponies shoulders. They shuddered as the water ran down their skins, but somehow seemed to sense the urgency. Perhaps they didn’t have time to object as they hurried back to the fire. Though the ponies were willing, the girls soon realized it was too far to ride nearly half a mile back to the trough, so Mary caught two of the working horses and harnessed them to the sledge while Edith & Alexa collected all the drums that could go on the sledge, then filled them with water. All the long hot afternoon, they toiled with the help of several neighbours who had come to assist. The firey heat from the blazing gorse and grass seemed to scorch their faces, while the evil smelling smoke made their eyes and noises smart and sting. It didn’t matter that they were all wet and streaked with black because they could only see each other dimly through the smoke anyway. Soon they realized that it was useless to try and put the fire out where it was already burning, but must concentrate their energy on stopping it progressing further. Sam put the horses into the swamp plough and ploughed around, enclosing the fire, (now about 8 acres) inside the trench. Such an absurdly small break it seemed. It would work if the wind dropped. If the wind got stronger? - They dared not contemplate.
There were houses and sheds and good pastures where the fires of 1914 had raged, so the flats must not be allowed to burn as they had done that year.
So neighbours came from all around the district, and contained it within the trenched area. The wind did not get up again and the fires had not spread when early in February enough rain fell to reduce the patrolling to two or three times each day until St Pat’s Day when a heavy deluge, and the danger was over, though the fires still burned nearly all winter.
At the next Drainage Board meeting Fred found out the Chairman’s farm was not so lucky as nearly half his pastures had also been burnt. Hundreds of acres of Waikato peat land pasture was destroyed that season. Perhaps it was fortunate that the Dairy price for 1935 had climbed to 10d/lb and continued to rise. A few months later Fred remarked, “It was easier to stop the fires in the clear pastures.” “What now?” thought Sam. Fred suggested that if they bought those 60 acres of gorse and blackberry (now mostly grey ashes) they could help prevent Okoropong getting burnt again. ‘Siberia’ they called it, and after a few years grass grew on the ashes. Fred then built a house and cowshed on it.