Chapter 23 - School Business

“Who says New Zealand education is free?” grumbled Fred. “The time I spend do at the school…..” As soon as the oldest daughter, Mary, started school, Fred had been persuaded that it was his duty to serve on the school committee. “I’ve done my share,” he said in 1930. “There is so much to do on the farm that I have not got so much time to worry about the school.” But at the Householder’s meeting only 3 men turned up, and the Education Board insisted that two more members must be on the committee, so Fred’s name was added again.

There was a little stream running through the school ground, and in the wet weather, an exciting mud slide could be made. If you kept your balance, you could swish down one slope, through the stream and part way up the other side. The teachers, the spoil sports – objected to the children coming into school covered in mud and often wet through, so the committee decided to put in field tiles.  It took two days’ work. Everyone in the area rejoiced when Mr Jenkins was appointed Headmaster, instead of the man who swished the cane at the lift of an eyebrow. Now we’ll have some culture in the district, and for the next few years they were delighted with the music and drama incorporated in the children’s work.

Then Mr Jenkin’s daughter contracted TB (consumption). Everyone was sorry, but the committee was horrified to find that he had built a tent on the schoolhouse lawn and intended to nurse her there. When the parents protested, Mr Jenkins said, “Don’t be silly, there’s so much TB among the  children that over half of them die before they are grown up. Your youngsters are more likely to catch it in the classroom than from my daughter. I guess that’s where Edith got it from,” he said bitterly. None could deny the facts, so the committee built a board fence between the schoolhouse and the playground, and the children were told not to go through.

It was in 1922 that the Education Board first mooted the idea of a dental clinic service for the primary school children. “What a marvelous idea,” said Esther. She had had so much trouble from toothache so she was able to enthuse the school committee. Gordonton was one of the first rural schools to send in their £2 to join the scheme. 

But an Education Board circular of Feb 1926 stated, “No country children will be treated at the Dental Clinic.” Gordonton parents were indignant. Letters were written, and on Feb 20th, Fred led a deputation to meet Mr Young, the Minister of Health. In April their subscription was accepted and the treatment of the children began, but in 1931, the government decided there would be a charge of 4 shillings a child. This was later reduced, but it was several years before the treatment was really free.

In 1929, the committee cut and erected the poles so the schoolhouse could be connected to the electricity, and a light in the school also. But when the people of the district were asked clear to the blackberries to put the lines in they said they were too busy, so they were asked to raise £40 to pay the Education Board to make the improvements.

However, when Mr Jenkin’s daughter died, he was transferred to another school, and a keen, athletic young man was appointed to replace him. Now there was even more working bees. Already the depression was paralyzing most enterprises throughout the country. The Education Board had no money; the farmers had no money; but Mr Hill, the new headmaster was so enthusiastic that things began to get done.

“Gordonton is just the right place for a District High School,” Mr Hill said, “but the grounds are far too small.” Mr Drummond offered a site across the creek that Fred told the Education Board, “You would be foolish to miss.” They seemed interested. 

 Mr Hill said they would teach woodwork to both boys and girls. Volunteer labour built a woodwork room and a library, not attached, so it could be transported to the new school. We’ll have a swimming pool too, the teacher said. He had represented Auckland at the inter-varsity swimming sports. Some money was needed though the district intended to build it themselves. Fred had not found it particularly difficult to build his own and was sure they could do it. Money was raised, but they would have to wait until they were sure of the site.

“You kids needn’t hurry home from school to help with the milking this year,” Mary declared to her sisters one night. “I am not going back to Tech.” “But you have only had two years,” protested her mother. “I told Miss Madley,” Mary continued without heeding her mother, “and she was mad. Anyway I’d rather work on the farm than serve in a shop or anything silly like that.” Fred was glad. There had been seven children to go to secondary school when Mary first started Tech. Mr Pihama had undertaken to transport them, but his bus was unreliable; the car he bought was no better. The children were often very late arriving home.  The parents felt they could not afford the 15 shillings demanded for transport that might be more reliable, so decided to convey the youngsters themselves, taking a week at a time. Now the financial situation was getting even more difficult. Besides, he enjoyed working with his eldest daughter. 

Mary felt vindicated when a young man came to the door selling vacuum cleaners. “If the head prefect can’t get a better job after 4 years at Tech, what’s the use of staying longer?” she said. “I like working with cows and I’m not stuck inside.”

Mr Hill suggested “The children who go to secondary school can come back to Gordonton and be enrolled with the Correspondence School, but will work with the other students. When Edith passed her proficiency exam (entrance into secondary school), no other plan was even considered. “It might help persuade the Education Board that we need a District high here,” the committee thought. The Education Board delayed their decision, and Mr Hill accepted a position at Raglan District High School, a big promotion from the 71 students who attended the Gordonton School. In 1936 Esther was again taking her turn driving the Secondary pupils to Hamilton, one day a week this time. The following year Alexa took a job in town, and Edith went to Auckand Teachers Training College. TB continued to be rampant, particularly among Maori families. Working through the school committee, Farmer’s Union and Women’s Country Institute (Esther was involved in this organization) the folk of Gordonton were pleased when at last the Native Department undertook developments. A contract was let for draining, clearing, ploughing and fencing the 100 acres and building eight cottages. “The pity is that Tom Riddell did not live to see it,” Fred said. “He had worked so hard to improve conditions at the pa.” Some years later, Fred suggested that the school picnic be held at Okoropong. “But people with sores are not allowed into the swimming pool.” “Of course not” replied the headmaster.

What the Headmaster had not realized, and Fred had no way of knowing was that many of the children were not free from sores. So the picnic that was meant to be so much fun for the school, turned out to be really only fun for a few, although there were the usual races and lolly scrambles. The householder’s meeting was a fortnight later. Fred was surprised to see there was twenty two men present. Most had never been to a working bee, and two he did not even know, strange in a district where everyone knows everybody else.

As soon as he stepped into the room, he sensed that something was up.  For many years there had been complaints about the school caretaker, and he had told her that the committee was considering terminating her employment, but was completely taken back to find an entirely different line of attack was taken. 

“They reckoned that I would not let the Maori children go for a swim, just because they were Maori children,” he told his wife later. “As if I would discriminate against anyone merely for the colour of their skin.” 

“Well Gentlemen,” said Fred at last, “I seem to have lost your confidence if you think I have done has been a deliberate attempt to create disharmony between our two races.” And so he resigned. Mr Puhipuhi’s speech of appreciation for all the work he had done over the years helped, but the suggestion of racial discrimination hurt badly. The new committee settled the cleaning problem by telling the senior students to sweep the school. Fred was glad to have the extra time to spend on the farm. It left more time for his work with the Farmer’s Union, and interest in the political party he thought most likely to help the farmers, the Reform Party, and later the National Party.

It was about this time that he was asked to consider standing for Parliament. He was an interesting and forceful speaker, and usually enjoyed the cut and thrust of debate.  “There will be more money,” he told his wife, and he could not keep the exultation out of his voice. “You’ll be able to have pretty clothes, and perhaps new furniture for the house. We’ll get to plays and things and perhaps we’ll have that trip to the old country, I promised you long ago. It’s a safe seat and I’ll certainly be elected.

“Have you definitely decided then?” she asked. “No, I’ve got a month to think about it.” 

Esther thought of the changes it would bring if Fred got into Parliament. Suddenly she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. It will need more expensive clothes to make me pretty again, she thought. But Fred is still good looking. In fact he is very attractive. Why should grey hairs make a man look distinguished when they just make a woman look old? And she knew she did not want Fred to go to live in Wellington. 

As he considered the offer, Fred’s thoughts suddenly flashed back to the night when he decided to be a famer. His Father’s words came to his memory; “consider it carefully, son. Consider it prayerfully.” Well, his Father was dead now, but why had he wanted to become a farmer? “I wanted to be free, he thought. “I did not want to be told what to do. And I expected to turn some rough and useless bit of land into a prosperous farm. He thought of the farmer’s life. There are inspectors even in our life now, and I haven’t got much money to spend. His back had been giving him a lot of pain lately. Sometimes it was difficult to bend down and milk the cows. The sheer hard work of the stumping game, made the idea of political life an attractive proposition. A second forest was emerging as the peat land consolidated still further, mostly manawa and totara. Manawa trees did not grow in the district anymore; no one he knew had seen a living tree, but the yellow timber made durable posts when it was dug from the ground.

“There is still so much to be done on Okoropong” he decided at last. “I can’t really say that I have accomplished what I set out to do yet, so I will tell them NO thank you.”