Saturday 31 August 2013

Jean Waireti Ormsby McGruther



Jean Waireti Ormsby (McGruther) Bell

Written By David Bell



JEAN WAIRETI ORMSBY BELL was born at Gisborne, on the eastern coast of the North Island, 29 January 1920. Her father, John McGruther, was a schoolmaster at the native boarding school at Waerengahika, about eight miles northwest of Gisborne. The school was established in 1890. When she was four years old her father obtained the appointment to head the three schools on the island of Mangaia in the Cook Islands group arriving April, 1924.
                                                

Jean spent her formative years on Mangaia, becoming as one of the locals and learning to speak the language like a native. She speaks of her tropical island days with great fondness; the happiest days of her life.

She was meant to stay only three years and on the family's first tri-annual furlough back to New Zealand it was intended she remain and attend boarding school for a 'better' education as her father put it. She felt to differ; she did not relish the idea of having an ocean separating them. Luck in the form of misfortune favored her; she contracted a dose of rheumatic fever and the doctors recommended she return to the sunny climes of Mangaia to recover, which she duly did. It was another three years later before she returned to New Zealand permanently and took up school at Pamerston North.


Below: A picture of the rocky nature of Mangaia.
                                                                    
These, she claimed, were the most miserable times of her life. The family was scattered and apart, something she was always uncomfortable with. Her brothers in some ways had it even tougher because they were packed off to boarding school on the first trip home and only spent three years on Mangaia. 

After finishing school, she returned to the Puketotara family farm to help her eldest brother, Jock, who had suspended his own university studies to manage it. These were halcyon times for her. She loved the farm, finally being around family, cousins, and friends. She was seventeen.

Jean married Peter Bell from Pirongia on 1 March 1939 and they had their first child at the outbreak of World War Two. Her brothers were both called into service in the Middle East and her beloved Jock was killed 14 July, 1944, an event that devastated her and the family.

Her second son, Colin, was born just after the war stared and very soon after, her husband, Peter, was called to fight in the Pacific. Thankfully, the war was nearing its end and after seeing action briefly in the Solomon Islands he returned safely.

After some time living in Pirongia she and Peter purchased a farm under a government scheme to assist returned soldiers onto farmland. The farm was located up Parihoro Road in the Ngutunui district where they remained until retirement age. The farm sustained their growing family for nearly thirty years.

                                                                         
The farm on Parihoro Road.

                                          
Jean with the first of her children, Peter McGruther and Colin Walter.

Her years with Peter were not always harmonious, their marriage hitting more than a few rough patches, Peter's trouble with drinking being the main culprit. In their later years when they could have enjoyed their twilight time together they separated and remained that way until Peter's death in 2011.


                                                      
A family picture taken at the entrance to the Pirongia Memorial Hall about 1955.
Back row: Jean, Mac, Peter. Front: Colin, Maurice, David, Glenda.

                                       
Jean with Peter and surviving children from left to right: Colin, Glenda,
Stewart, Jan, Mac, David.


In all, she mothered nine children, two having died as infants; Paul, just twelve hours after his birth from a congenital heart defect and John who was stillborn. Both are buried in the Pirongia cemetery. Her children are: Peter McGruther (Mac), Colin Walter, Glenda Mary, David, Maurice, Stewart, and Jan Marie. Maurice died of cancer 6 October, 1985, aged 34 and is also buried in the Pirongia cemetary. 

                                                                      
Headstone for Maurice, Jean's fifth child.

She lived to see numerous grandchildren, great grandchildren, and two great-great grandchildren. In her later years she gave much of her time to her children and grandchildren. She spent many years in Perth, Australia with Jan and her family and then in Queensland with Stewart and his family.

Greatly loved by all she passed from this life at 8 September, 2012 at 4 a.m. in her bed at the Te Ata Rest Home on Teasdale Street, Te Awamutu.

Her remains were cremated on Thursday, 13 September and a memorial plaque will be placed in the Pirongia Cemetery.

Sources used:

1. Personal memories.

2. A four hour taped interview conducted July, 2003 at her home in Pirongia. 3. Family letters and documents.

4. Waireti: A biographical novel of her life by David Bell.

5. Mac Bell, Kaumatua and family historian.

6. Birth, death and marriage certificates.

7. Tertiary educational project authored by Sharon Tautari.

 

Thursday 22 August 2013

Peter McGruther Bell


                                    PETER (MAC) McGRUTHER BELL
                                                        Written by David Bell
 

MAC BELL was born 24 September, 1939, the first child of Peter and Jean (McGruther) Bell. He was born in a cottage at Puketotara, the family farm carved from the bush by his pioneering great-grandparents, Arthur and Mataire (Matilda) Ormsby. After Peter and Jean had married they moved to Puketotara and occupied the tiny two-roomed farm cottage comprising a kitchen and living area with a small space at the far end partitioned off by a curtain which served as their bedroom. Baby Mac slept in a little cot in the living area warmed by a small coal range in the kitchen.

When World War Two broke out in 1939 and his uncles Jock and Colin left Puketotara for their postings in the Middle East leaving only his grandparents, John and Daisy, in the big homestead. It was decided that Jean and Peter and the baby should move into the homestead for the duration of the war; in those trying times it was important that families stuck together. Jean and Peter gladly accepted the invitation as it would be a good situation for everyone and certainly better for the health of their baby, the cottage being damp and the coal range smoky.

Mac was delivered by Mrs Beatson, the local midwife, with the assistance of his grandmother, herself a qualified and highly experienced nurse. 

                        Vera Beatson, the district midwife and prolific deliver of babies

He was strong and healthy and as was customary back then his placenta was buried on the grounds of the homestead; in the soil of his birthplace. To commemorate his birth and always remind him and his generations to come of their ancestral land, a sycamore tree was planted over the spot which is still there to this day.
Whilst the tree remains, Puketotara has long since gone and with it the old notion of family land.


Mac and Colin with their mother during the war years.
Mac's great-grandparents, Arthur and Matilda Ormsby, had laboured with their bare hands to carve their farm from the bush, and by the end of their lives (Arthur died in 1926 and Mataire in 1935) they left behind enough (probably around eight hundred acres, if not more) for all their sons and daughters to have farms and land of their own. After a lifetime of backbreaking labour they would have felt they had the right to believe these lands (especially Puketotara) would remain with the family forever. But barely a generation passed and Puketotara and all it represented passed into the hands of others. In time all the other farms he had wrested from the bush went the same way.                


Arthur Sydney Ormsby, also referred to as Waati.
A special event occurred shortly after Mac’s birth as related by his mother:
Not long after Mac was born we took him to Kawhia with his grandparents to visit his Ngati Hikairo whanau. Mac was dressed in beautiful clothes especially made for him by Ngaro, an old aunt. Mac was taken away for a while, somewhere near Waipapa, and was returned to me wrapped in a shawl with no clothing. I wanted to ask where his clothes were and what they had done to him but my father gave me that intense look that suggested I shouldn't. As much as I wanted I didn't."

His mother was never told what customary rites were performed over him and what happened to his clothes and we still don’t know to this day. That even his own mother had no idea is indicative of that time where the more 'progressive' Maori, believed the Pakeha way was the road to the future. Jean's parents were very much of that mind, yet the old traditions still had some pull.
Matire (Wright) Ormsby.

Mac was raised with little or no connection to his native roots, yet something must have stuck because later in life he was drawn to his Maori side which took him on a long and fascinating journey that has become his legacy to us all. More will be written on this important part of his life later in this article.

As mentioned earlier Mac was born just before World War Two and was six years old when it ended in 1945. During the war years the family resided at the Puketotara homestead where there was more room due to the absence of his  uncles, Jock and Colin. It was also a lot better than the cramped conditions in the little cottage and indicative of how families clubbed together for mutual support under such trying circumstances. This communal kind of living was a matter of necessity because all the essential commodities were subject to rationing: bread, flour, butter, sugar, tea, meat, eggs, to mention a few. It was better for families to group together and share resources.

Mac's grandparents John and Daisy McGgruther.
However, despite the shortages Puketotara was a blessing, supplying all their basic needs with the orchard and gardens providing vegetables and fruit. The chicken coop provided them with eggs and poultry and from the small dairy herd they obtained their milk and cream. Meat was never a problem. War or no war, wild rabbits, ducks, pheasant, pukeko, quail, eels and trout still roamed the land and filled the rivers and become an integral part of the menu. Additionally, dry stock such as pigs, sheep and steers were raised and killed for meat. It was only the luxuries we take for granted today that they missed; like ice cream, chocolates, bananas, oranges, new clothes, and so-on.

Cash was also in short supply, so it was necessary to live with less and look after what you owned. You couldn't toss things out and scoot down to the shop to buy new ones. The old adage; eat it up, wear it out, make do or do without, rang true during those war years.
 
 
 
Mac was five when Jock, his uncle, was killed by shellfire in Italy. His memories of Jock are dim, he being a baby when his uncles went to war. His uncle Colin thankfully survived the war and returned in 1945. His father Peter, being a family man, was not called to arms until late in the war when he went to fight the Japanese in the Solomon Islands. He also returned in 1945.

After the war, things slowly got back to normal and in time the family left Puketotara and went to live in Pirongia where his father found employment as a truck driver delivering coal and other goods. After a number of years at Pirongia they moved onto an hundred acre farm at Ngutunui - probably about 1950. It was situated at the top end of a dusty gravelled track called Parihoro Road.
The farm was purchased through the War Veterans Scheme, a government program to help returned servicemen onto land. It was situated higher up and had a compelling view over all the farmland Arthur and Mataire had cut from the bush; the Tautari farm to the north with Noel Ormsby's property to the west. Directly across the main road that ran past the Ormsby farm was Puketotara, then owned by Colin McGruther and also purchased under the scheme. Not far from the Parihoro farm was Syd Ormsby's farm. Looking today at those hundreds upon hundreds of acres of rolling green pasture, it is hard not be impressed at the strength and fortitude of our pioneering grandfolk. Yet, back then, I doubt anyone gave them the credit they deserved.

Mac attended the Pirongia Primary School and then Te Awamutu College. Despite his grandparents being well educated and always encouraging learning, he wasn't the best of students and left with nothing much to show for it at the end of 1954. In later years he confessed he was a lot brighter than his high school years suggest and regretted putting so much of his energy into mischief, sport and trying to be tough. It wasn't until a lot of life had passed he realized that he had buried talents and abilities that could have been harvested much earlier. But one must consider how different life and attitudes were back then. Country kids were expected to be tough and one had to live up to those expectations. He had lived his infancy and early childhood through the war, a time that required resilience and toughness from everyone. Toughness and resilience, more than brains, were the order of the day. It was these very two qualities of character that got him through life and made him who he is today.

One trait that stood out was his tough attitude toward work. During the school holidays he worked at a menswear shop in Te Awamutu. He hated it but nonetheless did it thoroughly and well. The pay was paltry, the hours long and he quickly realized that folding shirts all day and saying, 'May I help you sir?' was not what he wanted as a career. He preferred a more physically demanding vocation.

When he turned fifteen he left school and went to work as a farm boy on a sheep farm at Arohena. Even though the work was more to his liking than the retail business, the hours were even longer and the pay less.

He quit the Arohena job a year and a half later when some friends told him about jobs beg advertised with a contracting company that offered exceptional wages. The company, Brown and McShane, had contracted to the New Zealand Power Board to get electricity into the remote communities of Hautaru, Kinahaku, Taharoa and other places around Kawhia. This was a vast area of rugged bush and mountainous terrain. No experience was necessary. They were looking for strong young men willing to work hard and able to endure being in remote locations for long periods. Training on the job would be provided. It sounded right up Mac's alley so within a short time he found himself, along with some friends, laying power lines over some of the toughest terrain in the country. It was hard, dangerous work requiring skill and care. They were dealing with high voltage electricity in the middle of nowhere, so an injury or accident could have had serious or fatal consequences; especially when health and safety back then was more your own concern than that of the company.

Mac loved the job and quickly learned all the required skills to become an effective linesman and key member of the team. The team numbered between six and seven men led by an older foreman. Before moving to a location they would scout about in search of a place to live. Their residences were invariably old farm cottages in various states of repair. They would first clean the place up to make it habitable, allocate bedrooms, then hook up some electricity (which was no problem since they were all linesmen) and get a hot water heater operating and build a makeshift shower. Few, if any, of the cottages had hot water as there was no power as yet, so they took their water heater whenever they moved to a new location.

After setting up house they got to work laying lines. This included clearing bush, digging deep holes for the poles; most of it by hand because it was too rugged to get mechanical diggers in, and then the laborious tasks of laying the lines and rigging them to the tall poles.

Unlike on the farm, work hours were regular; from eight in the morning to five at night. At the end of a day he often went down to one of the many rivers or streams to catch eels or wildfowl, or the nearby ocean for flounder and other fish. Most of all he loved the bush. There was something about it that drew him into its embrace. In the weekends he would ride home on his pride and joy, a BSA motor cycle.

A hired cook took care of their meals. Mac's younger brother Colin soon after came to work with him as a linesman. At one time Colin was also the cook. The old man who was the permanent cook was known for his grumpiness and eventually had a disagreement with the foreman and informed him that he refused to be the cook any more; it's possible the boss complained about his cooking.  The boss asked Colin if he could fill in as cook, which he agreed to do. As it turned out he was a pretty good chef. He enjoyed it because he knocked off work on the lines at about three in the afternoon to go back to the house to get dinner ready.

It was exceptionally good money for young men. Mac would have been in his eighteenth year when he started and the wages came to forty pounds and fifteen shillings per week, far more than the three pounds a week his girlfriend Patricia Brown and his brother Colin were earning working in shops in Te Awamutu doing double the hours.

The contract ended after four years when the job was completed and Mac became unemployed. He was twenty-two by then.

His career as a linesman at an end, he returned to Parihoro Road to figure out his next move. A few weeks later he was about to take up an interim job at the freezing works (abattoir) when he was approached by an old family friend who had a farm on the Kawhia Road not far from Pirongia that wasn't paying its way. Bill Payne proposed that Mac work for him on the farm, and as it was covered in ragwort and gorse and in need of a lot of attention, if he could clean it up and have it paying for itself, he would gift him a small herd when he was ready to become a share-milker. Share-milking is effectively a partnership where the farmer owns the land and the share-milker owns the herd with the costs of running the farm split between the two.

It all sounded good but from the start Mac had his doubts. Having tasted a more cash-oriented occupation, he wasn't sure he wanted to be tied into a lifetime of milking cows and sinking money into the land. He sought advice from older and what he believed wiser heads - his uncles and other established farmers in the district - and they all told him it was a great opportunity and the best and surest way to get a farm of his own. It was how they all did it and a process he should accept as the right way. He somehow bought into their philosophy and took their advice, yet he still had reservations.

Then someone threw him a lifeline. Ruta, and old aunt, got wind of his pending move onto the Payne farm and quickly phoned him, "Mac, I have a farm that I want to sell. You take it for six thousand pounds!" It was an exceptionally good price. He had the cash, but he didn't yet have a herd and the farm had no cowshed. He was tempted and hesitated but made the mistake of asking others again. They all told him to take the Payne offer because it was the process he should go through to learn the ropes. In his own words: "Like a fool I once again took their advice and turned down Aunt Ruta. Even after that she phoned me two or three more times saying, 'Boy, take my farm. Don't go down that path. This is much better!' In hindsight, aunt Ruta had more brains than me and all my old uncles put together! My life after that was just one big round of hard labour. It was a mongrel of a life and I wouldn't wish it on anybody!"

If anyone thought Mac loved dairy farming they would be mistaken. He had no qualms about farm work in general; he loved being out on the land. It was the drudgery and monotony of milking cows that he quickly grew to hate. In later times of reflection he thought that if he had taken aunt Ruta's offer he could have easily built up a dry-stock farm and done just as well as dairying with time even to do some contract work. Instead, he accepted the Payne proposal and locked himself into decades of milking cows.

With his career path set, he married Patricia Thirza Brown at the Pirongia Anglican Church and before long their first child was due. These events and the need to provide for his new family further deepened his commitment to the vocation he had chosen. 
Left: The marriage of Mac Bell and Patricia Brown at St. Faiths Anglican Church, Pirongia, 21 June, 1962.


The Payne farm was a mess. The cowshed was an old walk-through and nearly derelict. The house was set in the worst location (the nearby hill blocked all the afternoon sun), had a pathetically pokey fireplace, and was uninsulated. Needless to say it was freezing cold in the winter. Looking out over the land one saw what appeared to be a giant ragwort, thistle and gorse garden with a few patches of grass struggling to catch some sunlight. He had no option but to roll up his sleeves and go to work. Day after day he sprayed or grubbed the noxious weeds until a few years later a farm finally emerged from the chaos.

Bill Payne was true to his word and gifted him a small herd and his share-milking career began in earnest. To say they were tough times is an understatement. Mac and Pat worked long tortuous hours and because the farm needed so much attention, most of their money went back into the farm as their portion of the expenses. For years they lived on the smell of an oily rag, as the saying goes.

Eventually it came time to step up a level and buy a farm of their own. He had two choices for obtaining finance - the Government lending body called State Advances or the Department of Maori Affairs. State Advances was where most people went whereas Maori Affairs was set up to help Maoris, supposedly. The unspoken rule was that Pakehas went to State Advances and Maoris went to Maori Affairs. He once again sought advice and got varying opinions both ways. He decided to try State Advances first. He duly went into the Hamilton office with all his paperwork and was met by an elderly gentleman who listened to him and then told him he ought to go to Maori affairs because their interest rates were much lower. He got the distinct impression the man was trying to fob him off.

Annoyed at his treatment (the State Advances man showed no interest in even considering his case) he went across the street to Maori Affairs where a Maori official promptly told him he should go to State Advances. He was just about to blow his stack when, as chance would have it, his uncle Dick Ormsby came hobbling down the corridor on his toko (walking stick) and recognizing his nephew greeted him with, "Hello boy, what are you doing here?"

Mac replied, "I've come to get a loan for a farm and this joker won't talk to me."

Uncle Dick glared at the official and said, "This is my nephew. You take him inside and process him!" Mac had his loan within the hour. A lot of people over the years said negative things about uncle Dick, and he was a tough, rugged, and sometimes unscrupulous old rascal, but if he had not shown up at that moment Mac would not have got the money. His problem was most likely that to the Pakeha at State Advances he looked too Maori and to the Maori at Maori Affairs he looked too Pakeha!

With his finance secured he soon found out that getting land through Maori Affairs had two serious problems; Maori Affairs didn't have a lot of farms on their books and what they had were leasehold rather than freehold. This was probably because of the multiple ownership of Maori land. Lacking the business savvy to back out and strike a better freehold deal through State Advances, he stayed with Maori Affairs and accepted a farm at Waimiha, deep in the rugged hills of the King Country. When later asked why he continued with Maori Affairs he said he didn't fully realize the long-term implications of leasehold farming and once in the system he felt trapped. The result was that yet again he found himself on a rundown farm covered in weeds. It was back to spraying ragwort and gorse.

They were hard, arduous years at Waimiha but prosperity began to arrive in trickles. Despite the hard work, Waimiha had its rewards, one in particular; the farm backed on to a huge forest full of pigs and deer. He spent many happy days hunting with his neighbour and friend; an angular, bony, backcountry character called Clive McClean. Also, he attended some basic wood carving lessons at the local marae and began to realize he had an artistic streak he never knew existed. From then on, when he went into the bush, he would bring some wood home to practise carving. Little-by-little he got better and better; walking sticks being his stock item at the time.

With four children and some money in the purse, he and Pat eventually left Waimiha for another Maori Affairs farm at Parawera, south of Te Awamutu. Here again he landed on a place in need of work. In a single day soon after arriving, he applied eight forty-four gallon drums of weed killer on the ragwort infested pastures. Despite the ragwort it was still a much better farm than the previous two. It had a decent house, the location was good, the land was better, and while there was plenty of ragwort, eradication was not so daunting.

Being closer to Te Awamutu and Pirongia, it became the family focal point and visitors were plenteous. Many happy Christmases and school holidays were spent there. Mac became the family Kaumatua (Patriarch) and Pat became everyone's ‘Aunt Dolly’.

A tipping point (an event that collides with your current course in life and sends you off in a new direction) occurred while at Parawera; a fortuitous meeting with a master carver named Paki Harrison. Observing Mac's interest in carving and some of his works (simple walking sticks and patus), he saw potential and promptly offered him a temporary paid job as a carver; further training to be given. He explained that the Te Awamutu College was about to build a school marae and had engaged him to carve it. He was having trouble finding skilled carvers and he believed that with help Mac would be up to the job. He jumped at the opportunity.

Paki Harrison, Mac's great friend and whakairo (carving) mentor.


After much discussion between the town council, community, school, and contractors, the project got under way and when it was finally completed Mac knew that this was the career he wanted for the remainder of his life.

His new vocation was not yet established enough to completely quit dairying so he and Pat worked out a compromise; they would keep the farm operating but cut the herd in half. He would work as a full-time carver and part-time farmer and she would be in charge of milking the cows and the day-to-day running of the farm.

The plan worked well. After the outstanding success with the college marae, Paki Harrison's carving business experienced a meteoric increase in contracts. This also meant a permanent position for Mac. As the work flowed in it became necessary to expand the operation in a more professional manner. Other experienced administrators joined the team and it was determined a parent body be established under the title, Te Waipa Kokiri, with Paki Harrison, Mac, and Rongo Wetere the founders and directors. They rented a suitable premise adjacent to the big dairy factory and set up shop with Paki as the head of carving, Rongo over business operations and Mac the office manager. Besides being a carver his duties included human resources (hiring and firing), accounts, and other office administrations as needed.
 
Rongo Wetere, the other friend and fellow founder
of the Te Awamutu Kokiri Centre.
The Kokiri started off very small but within a short time grew beyond their expectations. This was because it fitted a critical niche in the job market by taking on unemployed Maori youth. When the word got out the Department of Labour were quick to seize upon the opportunity and sent them more applicants than they could handle. These youth were highly unskilled and had to be taught from scratch the physical arts of carving and weaving. Just as importantly, they had to learn and understand about the intangible elements essential to these skills; the intellectual, spiritual, historical and cultural values upon which wood carving and weaving is founded. They could easily show them how to shape wood, but to truly succeed they needed to develop a special mental and spiritual connection to their material and subject. This often proved to be the hardest part to teach and those that failed to grasp it invariably lost interest.

Nevertheless, many proved to be great carvers and Te Waipa Kokiri soon became the jewel of the community. Around the same time the dairy factory which owned the property Te Waipa Kokiri was using, gave notice that they required the space for their own expansion, but recognizing the good work the Kokiri was doing allowed them to take anything they needed from the interior to build a new place of their own. The material and equipment in the building was substantial and using the students they duly stripped it clean. Most of it was later used in the construction of a new and larger building on a site on the bottom field of Te Awamutu College which became the Apakura Campus.

While the new building on the Apakura site was being constructed, the Kokiri operated from a temporary site where the work still kept pouring in. They managed to do the carvings for fourteen meeting houses in that small facility.

When Te Waipa Kokiri moved into the new premises the business expanded exponentially and Mac became increasingly more involved in business affairs. He was spending long hours on site and days away visiting maraes with Rongo. It seemed he was becoming some sort of roaming ambassador enduring an endless round of long meetings and long speeches. All he wanted to do was carve and he was increasingly doing less of it.

The new career was also getting tough on Pat who was shouldering the burden of running the farm, so in time the decision was made to finish their days at Parawera and find a smaller property near Pirongia where Mac could pursue his career full time and Pat could run a few cattle. By now the business was thoroughly established and Mac was doing what he loved and pulling a good salary.

Under the leadership of Rongo Wetere Te Waipa Kokiri went on to become Te Wananga Aotearoa, the biggest Maori institute of learning in the country, even rivalling the established universities. It eventually fell victim to its own success - aided by management problems - and was put under government control. Today, the three founding fathers have all departed the scene and the amazing institution they established from such humble beginnings is in the hands of others. Earlier, Mac, sensing the company was getting too big for his liking, left and set up his own contract carving business with partners Tane Taylor and Keith Cairns. As for the other two, Paki Harrison later passed away and Rongo Wetere was forced to resign. They are no longer part of the Wananga but one should never forget how three ordinary men dared to follow a dream and make it into a reality that went on to become something great. Te Waipa Kokiri helped scores of youth off the streets and into meaningful work. One would hope that history will one day recognize their contribution and the legacy they gifted their fellow beings.

At this point in the story we catch one of life's ironies. The fifty acre farm Mac purchased for over three hundred thousand dollars at Pirongia turned out to be a farm that was selling at the same time as his Aunt Ruta’s property for the same price of around six thousand pounds, about ten thousand dollars in today's money. In his own words Mac exclaimed, "What a bloody fool I was. I listened to other people and went on this ridiculous hikoi (long march, trek) of hard labour I wouldn't wish on anybody! Every farm I went on I was up to my neck in ragwort and even after cleaning them up I never owned any of them! My advice to any young ones is to not ever get anything on lease. Always get freehold ownership. Leasing is nothing both trouble from start to finish! And I hated the endless drudgery of milking cows. I hated it! I should have bought Ruta's farm in the first place and done what I'm doing now. We would have been much better off! I paid three hundred thousand dollars for something I could have got for ten thousand. What a bloody fool!"

The Waiari property at Pirongia, purchased from its current owner, Twiss Knight, was a delightful little farm with clean flat pastures and the Mangapiko Stream running through it. Pat ran pedigree Charolaise cattle on it and Mac worked private carving contracts and as a carving instructor at the Waikeria Detention Centre. Being busy getting settled at Waiari he at first declined the Waikeria offer, but their persistence and the mention of thirty dollars and hour and a three day week caught his interest and he took the job. The permanent and steady income from the Waikeria job was a boon and he proved to be the perfect person to instruct the inmates, some of them hardened criminals. He became valued and respected by staff and inmate alike.

Meanwhile, his private business was booming, aided significantly by the Kokiri giving him the contract to carve the Purekireki meeting house on the Hikairo marae a couple of miles south of Pirongia. He had three carvers under his supervision and when the job was completed, he produced a marae that is now a permanent repository of the knowledge of all our Maori ancestors, carved in wood. Along with this he and his partners produced works for hundreds of corporations and private clients. One would be surprised if they knew where all his works sit today. The carvings you next glimpse in a company boardroom or foyer, above an executive desk, in a government building or in some obscure private garden, may well be one of his.

They were great days at Waiari, made even greater by its ironic but apt location; it was the place where his ancestors lived. The great Waiari pa was the home of Hikairo 2, the eponymous ancestor of our Maori tribe, Ngati Hikairo. Along with that, the farm was good, the house comfortable, and the money kept rolling in. Also, the sale of the Parawera farm proved extremely profitable which made life even better.
 
Some of his Purekireki works.
 
Then, in the year 2003 he spotted an opportunity to live closer to something that was part of his soul; the bush. A property at the foot of Pirongia Mountain came up for sale, and if they could sell the Pirongia farm they would be able to buy the mountain property. It was a hard decision; Waiari was a great spot with ancestral connections and, furthermore, they were happy there. It was a choice between being 'sensible' and 'practical' by remaining where they were, or taking the chance and follow the dream. The dream won and without too much trouble the Waiari farm sold and they purchased the sixty acre block on the mountain. After a year living in a shed while a new house was being built, the dream was completed and they moved in.
 
His home on the mountain was as near to his paradise on earth
as he could get. He loved the bush and delighted in the tuis, pigeons,
bellbirds, and other native birds that abounded there. The occasional
pig and deer also wandered by.

The view of the Waipa valley from Mac's mountain home. 

 
The house on the mountain became a gathering place for family and friends from far and wide. The location was spectacular. Tucked into the foot of the mountain it offered a sweeping frontal panorama down and across the whole Waipa valley, and out the back, only a few steps away, was the bush. It was as near to Mac's idea of paradise as one can come to in this world. The forest abounded with native bird life: wood pigeons, tuis, bellbirds, bush robins and more. Even the odd wild pig and deer occasionally appeared.

Age and illness ruined the dream. Pat's body was showing signs of wear from all the years of stress and physical toil most other women would have crumbled under, and Mac got cancer. Selling their mountain paradise and moving to the village became their only option.

In 2012 the farm left their possession and they took up residence at 553 Ross Street Pirongia. It is expected that this will be where they see out their days.     

Written by David Bell, 14 May, 2013.

Sources Used: 

1. A taped interview with Mac Bell recorded at his home on    the Waites Road farm at the foot of Pirongia Mountain.      

2. Personal memories.

3. Sharon (Tautari) Paewai. From an assignment for the Iwi and Hapu Studies entitled Te Wananga o Raukawa, "Interviews with two Kaumatua", February 2001.

  



    

A Half-day Hikoi


A Half-day Hikoi

The territories  our early New Zealand ancestors occupied was remarkably extensive, starting from around the Aotea-Kawhia area and expanding outward  to include holdings in much of the Waikato and King Country. It will be remembered that Hoturoa’s daughter, Kahukeke, and her husband, Rakataura, left Kawhia to explore the inland regions and in so doing laid claims to great swathes of territory on behalf of Tainui. By the time of Tawhao’s time as paramount chief, Tainui was an empire in its own right and around 1450 when he divided the territory between his two sons, Whatihua and Turongo, he ushered in a new era of Tainui expansion. Whatihua took control the lands northeast of Kawhia and over the Pirongia Mountain into the Waikato. Turongo reigned over the more southerly regions from the southwest of Kawhia into the King Country.
Of course in those days these regions were not called Waikato and King Country as we know them today; our early ancestors had their own names for their territories and their own ways of laying claims and protecting them against interlopers. Claim setting was done in a variety of ways such as establishing small settlements, leaving markers like carvings on tree trunks or rocks, the placement of mauri stones, and even burial sites where members of the group died; anything that could be used to argue that they were there first. These claims, if the proof was clear and the argument for them convincing enough (often backed up by warnings and threats), were by-and-large honoured in the earlier days when space was plentiful. It was in later times when competition for resources became more intense that territorial disputes became common causes of inter-tribal wars.

One of our ancient ancestresses, Mereaina, a woman of high birth, is a good example of how land was claimed; she owned huge tracts of land along the south-eastern side of Pirongia Mountain towards Kawhia. She kept her claims to this land valid by walking over it regularly and being able to state that she always camped at this or that place and point to her big cooking-fire sites as proof. These fire-sites soon became traditional evidences of her claims which stood for generations. They even held up when the British government first set about finding out who owned which territories so that they could know which land could be parcelled out to settlers. Mereaina kept all her holdings due to her campfire evidences.
It should be noted though, that the early Maoris did not view ownership in the same way as we do in our modern society. They did not own it individually. Rather, they laid claim to it as tribal land, meaning everyone in the tribe and even other relatives outside the main tribe, could have access to it where appropriate. I would be more inclined to say they ‘held’ their land rather than owned it. In other words they had land holdings, which is subtly different to land ownership. Nevertheless, they fiercely defended it against others trespassing on it or attempting to take it from them by force.

In August 2013, Mac and I went on a hikoi (trip) across our old ancestral lands. We did it in half a day in Mac’s diesel pickup truck, unlike Mereaina who walked the whole way and took weeks or months to cover her domain. From the air-conditioned comfort of the truck we could only get the faintest glimmer of what it was like for our ancestors in those ancient times. The terrain was mountainous, rugged and obviously dangerous. One would have to be well versed in bush survival and extremely fit and strong to traverse the length and breadth of it as she did. It was no place for weaklings. It was almost unimaginable how someone like Mereaina could walk such distances over such convoluted, forest-covered countryside. But the old Maori were fantastic walkers and thought little about a long trek through the wildest of environments.
Mac and I cruised across their ancient lands along well kept roads with an unusually warm winter sun beaming down on us. We started from Pirongia and drove past the Ormsby farm at Ngutunui - Ngati Piariki territory - then turned off along the old Pirongia West Road which goes over the mountain past Hihikiwi, the highest point. I was surprised the road went up that high and from there we could see down to Kawhia and clear across to Karioi, the mountain range near Raglan, another of our ancestral landmarks where Whatihua ended his days.

Along the way we stopped atop a high point and Mac pointed out the vast acreage that was once the farmland of our own Ormsby ancestors, the sons of Robert, the first Ormsby to arrive in New Zealand from Britain, our Arthur   among them. I was amazed at how much land those doughty old pioneers had wrested from the rugged hills and thick forests with little more than horsepower, manpower, rudimentary equipment by today’s standards, and lots of slash-and-burn. But as Mac pointed out it wasn’t as tough as we might suppose as we look back on it. Cutting trees down and removing the stumps was pretty tough going but powerful draught horses helped tremendously with these tasks. Furthermore, much of the land they broke in was vast tracts of bracken fern requiring nothing more than a good burn-off. Additionally, they didn’t have the plagues of gorse, broom and ragwort, the noxious weeds that grew rampant in later times. Their farming methods were also much more simple; somewhat ‘hunter-gatherer’ in nature. Once the land was cleared and sown with grass, cattle were released and then rounded up when needed. It wasn’t the intensive business-like farming of today.
Over time the land was sold or frittered away by seceding generations until only our cousin Keith and his nephew Raymond now occupy a couple of farms at Ngutunui.  Unless they have children that will take over their farms it is likely they will be the last guardians of what was once an important part of our ancestry. 

Mac also pointed out the enormous stretch of Ngati Horotakere territory that went from Pirongia all the way along the eastern slopes of the mountain to Oparau, not too far from Kawhia itself. All this Horotakere territory was ceded to Ngati Hikairo when Tengako, Hikairo’s Horotakere mother-in-law, requested he kill her after the treacherous annihilation of her tribe by Hikairo’s own Ngati Apakura – Hikairo was away at the time. By law, the person who had the highest (noblest) whakapapa was deemed the Manawhenua, or highest claimant, and in order to obtain the land outright, the Manawhenua had to be killed.

Tengako was Ngati Horotakere’s Manawhenua and survived the attack by hiding in a tall tree. Hikairo returned in time to rescue her before her Apakura attackers found her. Knowing that her tribe was effectively wiped out by the covetous Apakura, and realising that they would stop at nothing to kill her, she determined that her lands must remain in the possession of her generations to come through her daughter Rangikopi, Hikairo’s wife. To achieve this she had only one option; her son-in-law must be the one to kill her. She pleaded with him until he acquiesced and, after a farewell tangi, he despatched her. By being the one to kill the Manawhenua, Hikairo then took full rights to all Horotakere holdings and Rangikopi became the last remaining Horotakere Manawhenua, frustrating the plans of his rebellious tribesmen.
Deeming it now unwise for him and Rangikopi to live among his Apakura people, they took their following and went to live with his cousin tribe, Ngati Puhiawe, on the banks of the Mangapiko stream at Pirongia. It is interesting to note from this incident that even a recognised chief was not immune to dissent in the ranks and challenges to his authority. In time, Hikairo and his followers gained the ascendency and Apakura diminished as the main power in the Waipa region.

At Oparau, where the old Horotakere lands terminated, was an interesting place with some significant family history for our immediate family. It was where my mother, Jean Waireti Ormsby (McGruther) Bell owned a substantial block of land passed down to her through her father, John McGruther, who inherited it from his mother, Te Anu, daughter of the Hikairo chief, Pohepohe, who was born in the early 1800’s. Pohepohe probably died around 1880 – 1890. At his death the family land went to his children, his daughter Te Anu being one of them. Her oldest son, Honi Ruki (John McGruther) inherited it from her and he in turn passed it to his daughter Jean. It would probably have gone to Jock, the eldest son, but he was killed in World War Two. The next brother, Colin, had been given the family farm at Puketotara so that’s how Jean got the Oparau plot.  

 In the early 1950’s Jean and her husband Peter took possession of a farm at Ngutunui under the War Veterans’ scheme, and while that scheme financed the purchase they still needed money for stock and equipment. Jean sold her holdings at Oparau to an uncle (Tom French) and put the proceeds into setting up at Ngutunui. When we stopped to look at the farm and the idyllic surroundings of Oparau, Mac and I wondered why our parents chose to cash this farm in for what to us was the less appealing one at Ngutunui. But we realised we ought not to judge things from our perspective in 2013. In their day Oparau was probably an isolated (albeit beautiful) backwater and too far for their liking from civilisation. They obviously judged Ngutunui as the better option.
From Oparau we cut across into Turongo’s inheritance southeast of Kawhia. Here the land took on a whole different aspect with spectacular outcroppings of limestone cliffs that soared high above the rugged, rocky terrain. It has its own unique beauty and in many ways was more interesting and varied than Whatihua’s portion to the northeast. From here our ancestors pushed inland to colonise the King Country and establish the great Ngati Maniapoto around Te Kuiti and Otorohanga alongside Ngati Hikairo in the Waikato.

Some far more recent family history must be added to this article before I close; some notes about the years Jean’s sons Mac and Colin spent working for a construction company (Brown and McSheaynne) bringing the modern wonders of electricity to the farms and communities throughout these ancestral lands.
In the early 1960’s Mac was dissatisfied with his current employment and when he found out there were high paying jobs on offer to lay power lines through the remote countryside around Kawhia, he jumped at the chance. At the tender age of nineteen he became a linesman and set off on what was to become four years of backbreaking but life-changing work. His younger brother Colin joined him a little while later.

The job required setting poles and stringing lines to the farms and communities who, since pioneer times, were still living without power. It was tough work and done without the labour-saving equipment of today; in other words all the dragging, digging, ramming and stringing was done by pure muscle power. As we observed the terrain from the comfort of the pickup, one could easily visualise the effort it took to get power to those communities, most of the land being covered in thick bush with hard limestone rock underfoot.

Another of life's little ironies needs to be mentioned at this point; the father of Mac and Colin (Peter Bell) worked these same hills and valleys for a few years after the war, probably around 1946, also stringing power lines. Others on that post-war crew were familiar old names like Reg Jolly, Bob Whitehead, and the foreman, Tubby Douglas who went on to become the Power Board Engineer responsible for the projects Mac and Colin worked on. The poles and lines had a life of about twenty or thirty years so some of the work Mac and Colin did was to pull down the very poles and wires their father helped set up in 1946.    
Despite the hardships, Mac and Colin loved the place and enjoyed the work. The pay was exceptional for young men their age and the hard physical work made them tough and fit. In addition, the hours were regular, giving Mac time to discover his inborn love for the bush and the land. I find it a curious coincidence that his first ‘real’ job took him on a hikoi through his own ancestral lands, the very lands our old people walked over. I believe it was this experience that awakened in him the call to seek out our ancient korero (stories and whakapapa) to become our whanau kaumatua and tohunga (family elder and historian).

He recounted some of the experiences of his time on the lines, a few of which I will relate as best I remember them. One was about how tough the work was; they had to first slash and cut miles of tracks through the thick bush where the power lines were to be set. Then they dragged the big power poles over the tacks and set them in the ground in holes dug completely by hand, often having to punch through solid limestone or other harder rock with crowbars. Next, they dragged miles of heavy power cables along the tracks and strung them to the poles. On rare occasions they used explosives when they could get their hands on some.
He told of how keen the locals were to help, always ready to offer their expertise regarding the geology of the ground and so forth. Sometimes local farmers would proudly proclaim that no-one, especially a bunch of town-bred linesmen, could dig holes like they could; after all, they had spent their lives working this land. After some good-humoured ridicule at how pathetic the linesmen were at post-hole digging, the locals were permitted to help. The linesmen quickly learned that the locals could dig holes alright but they always dug them much too wide which meant that there was twice the work to fill them in and ram the earth around the poles, this being the most critical part of the operation, the rammed earth needing to be rock hard so the pole would not tip when the lines were strung and tightened. The linesmen needed small, neat holes and it was difficult getting the locals to provide holes of the right dimensions. They turned out to be more hindrance than help but it was hard to put them off and even harder to get them to change their idea of what constituted a good post-hole.  What they did appreciate, however, was when the locals came with their tractors and bulldozers to help cut the tracks and cart in the poles and gear.

The local people were overjoyed and greatly appreciative to the crew when they finally got power to their homes.  Always, there was a big celebration complete with formal speeches expressing their thanks and gifts of appreciation, not in money but with such things as fish, meat and other edibles. The womenfolk especially benefitted from the new wonder and electric stoves, vacuum cleaners and washing machines appeared in homes all over the district like mushrooms after an autumn rain. Mac and Colin saw first-hand how the miracle of electric power changed those peoples’ lives and felt glad they were part of it.
Somewhere in the Hauturu region Mac found a splendidly preserved ancient stone adze in a riverbed. One of the senior members of the gang got hold of it and never gave it back. However, this find set him and Colin off on a hunt for more artefacts, of which there would have been plenty around if you were lucky to find them, the whole place being rich in ancient Maori settlements and history. They never found any more adzes, but Colin spotted an unusual rock among the other stones in a riverbed. It was about thirty centimetres long, oblong in shape and very definitely hand worked because both ends were tapered; one end a little more than the other. They sensed it was an important find so they took it to a local old Maori woman who got a bit nervous about it. It appears it was some sort of boundary marker or perhaps even a once sacred mauri stone. This time they were careful to keep it out of the hands of the old guy who took the adze and it remains to this day in Mac's possession. It has been with him from Hauturu to Ngutunui to Waimiha, then to Parawera on to Waiari, up to the Pirongia Mountain farm on Waites Road and finally to what will be his last home on Ross Street in Pirongia. That stone has been on a long hikoi and now deserves a symbolic place in our family history; it may even have been made and used by our very own ancestors. Someone needs to make sure we keep it.

Another time, Mac, answering the call of nature, made another special find. The spot he chose to privately relieve himself was off a bush road among a clump of ferns. Under ther ferns trickled a small brook into a shallow pool of dark, shaded water, in which a small fish swam about lazily. Mac hastened his task and easily snared the fish in his hands. He determined to capture it because as soon as he saw it he noticed how different it looked to any fish he had seen in our rivers and streams. It was about twenty centimetres long, dark in colour with a myriad of spots all over its body. He showed it to Colin and together they took mental notes of its appearance then released it. They later found out it was a kokopu, or native trout. These fish are not rare but certainly hard to find unless you know their habit. They are not open water fish like the introduced trout. Instead, these more secretive creatures prefer a swampy environment with plenty of reeds and cover. They are, in fact, one of the main producers of whitebait, of which there was once a great plenitude in the Hauturu region. 

Mac incredibly remembered the exact spot where he caught the kokopu. I tried to repeat the event but had no luck.
We went to Rakaunui, a place where our grandmother, Daisy, used to come for holidays when she was young. It was part of Meriana’s territory, the Manawhenua tupuna mentioned earlier in this article. Daisy said that Granny Mereaina was a much loved and highly regarded kuia and there was always much happiness whenever she appeared. But she also had a tough and determined side, especially when it came to the guardianship over her tribal land. At one time the government blatantly grabbed a block of her land for settlement. She became so infuriated she loaded her shotgun, mounted her horse and set off for Auckland to shoot the government official responsible. Everyone knew she would do just that unless restrained. Somehow they managed to get her off the horse and calmed down enough to disarm her. We don’t know what the outcome regarding the land was but it is a good insight into what went on in those days with the land-hungry settlers and government snatching land at every opportunity. It is also a nice snippet that helps us to know a little more about Granny Mereaina.

We also saw the Rakaunui Marae nestled against a backdrop of towering limestone hills. It is an important marae in the area and a major step up from the old red woolshed they used when Mac was there as a linesman. Not far from the marae was a derelict tin building that Mac said was the local shop, now just a rusting memory. It sits on the bank of the Awaroa River that runs out into the Kawhia harbour. It was along this river canoes and boats once carried goods to and from the store. Our grandmother often rode the canoes up and down that river and described it as a most delightful little journey through farmland, pristine bush and past spectacular limestone cliffs and overhangs. Mac and I didn’t have the time or means to do the trip ourselves to see if she was right…perhaps another day.

Colin contributed a few fascinating memories of this old store and his days at Hauturu. I have included them written in his own words: This is another snippet or two from our days at Hauturu. I was reminded of it when reading again about Ma (our grandmother, Kura Daisy McGruther) riding the canoes up into that area. Way back when we were little and holidaying in Kawhia, I remember seeing a long canoe coming from eastern end of Kawhia harbour. It was powered by a two-stroke outboard motor, not very big but certainly better than paddling. About half a dozen people got out and later filled it up with what I suppose were groceries, and went back the way they came. I always looked out for it during future holidays but never saw it again.   

Many years later when we got the power to Rakaunui Marae we were told to come back after work for a celebration. We got there about 3:30 p.m. and the beer came out, but we had to wait an hour or so to eat because some of the men were still out fishing. Guess what they were fishing in? You guessed it, the old log canoe! They eventually came in loaded with flounder, kahawai, snapper and mullet. Can't beat net fishing.


Two things have stuck in my mind since then; firstly, the age of the canoe. It was a forty foot long hollowed out log with deck boards for seats with an outboard motor fixed to the stern. I was told it was very old. The other thing was they unloaded the fish onto the ground and then invited us to help ourselves. I've never forgotten that the locals would not take any for themselves until it was obvious that our work gang had all they wanted. There was about ten of us and Mac and I hung back a bit as it was a bit embarrassing the way the others were grabbing their share of the fish. We were soon pushed forward and told to help ourselves. We needn't have worried as there was still plenty left for everyone. I have never forgotten the old-time hospitality and respect shown to us that evening. Mac and I had to ride our motor bikes home to the farm half-drunk before the fish went off.


Wouldn't it be funny if Ma rode that very same canoe when she was young? 

Also, while at Hauturu, Mac got himself in a bit of trouble with the locals, some of which were his relatives, after he and another worker decided to explore some caves. In that area the huge limestone cliffs are riddled with still unexplored caverns and river tunnels that worm their way underground all the way to Waitomo. In those days it was considered by the locals to be tapu territory and people were not supposed to enter the caves without proper authority and protocol as some of them contained the bones of ancient tipuna (ancestors).The two didn't particularly believe in the old notion of tapu and one day thumbed their noses and went into the caves.

They sneaked in when they thought no-one was around and were amazed at the scale of the caves. However, they didn't bring any flashlights with them and after rounding the first bend were greeted with pitch darkness ahead. They went as far as they dared and heard running water somewhere far below them. As their eyes adjusted they could make out a deep division to the side and realised there was a river flowing along the bottom. Mac took a large rock and threw it over the edge. It seemed to take an inordinately long time for the sound of the stone hitting the water to get back to them, so they decided that they had better return to the world of light before they did themselves a misfortune in the pitch blackness.

A couple of nights later when they were sharing a few bears with the locals in the Kawhia pub an older uncle, Larsen Hapera, came up to have a word with them. "You boys been fooling around in the caves eh?" He was a giant  Maori, well over six feet with arms like tree trunks. "You were seen coming out a couple of days ago. You keep out of there or you'll be in big trouble." Then, looking at Mac said, "Just lucky you're a relative!"

He didn't need to say anything more; they got the message. They had heard that bad stuff happened to people who violated tapu things. It was pretty apparent that if the dead Maoris didn't get to you the live ones probably would. 

Mac also pointed out the house and farm where our late Uncle Jack Ormsby was raised. We were unable to see the house but not far from it was a large flat area where a tidal lake once existed. It was fed by a big hole in a limestone barrier through which the sea rushed during the incoming tide bringing with it herrings, kahawai, snapper and other sundry fish. Uncle Jack said he used to catch fish for the family in this miraculous miniature inland sea. Even the local Maori, when preparing for an event, always dragged their nets through the waters of this lake before trying the harbour. It has long ceased to be, destroyed by the farmer on whose land it sat, the farmer himself a local Maori who, for his own reasons, filled the hole with rocks and poured in tons of concrete as a dam against the sea. Needless to say it infuriated Uncle Jack and all those who fished there. Uncle Jack often threatened to go back one day and see if the hole could be reopened with a few well-placed sticks of dynamite. He never got around to it so the lake remains nothing more than a dry paddock. The locals gave it the name, Lake Disappear.

Finally, the hour grew late so we headed home stopping for a snack at the Oparau store on the main road at the Oparau turnoff. While eating our snack Mac told me a story that I will relate and bring our Half-day Hikoi to a close.
Several years earlier, Mac took his brothers Colin and Stewart and several of their family members on a similar hikoi, stopping for refreshment at the same store. It was summer so the day was hot and humid. Colin, a big man, was terribly hot, thirsty, and hungry. Everyone went into the store and duly purchased their refreshments then waited for Colin to appear; he was renowned for doing everything at his own pace. When he finally came through the door into the blazing sun he was met with gales of laughter. In each hand he held a huge ice-cream cone, each already melting over the sides. He looked every bit the picture of Billy Bunter, and, like Billy, polished off both ice creams with ease.

Mac and I opted for a piece of fried chicken and a bottle of ginger beer each to fuel us on the forty-odd kilometre drive home.


Written by David Bell (11 Aug. 2013)