A PPET I SER
Nelson Provincial Museum Pupuri Taonga o Te Tai Ao Ref: c 3803 (Collection - copy).
Everyone’s Welcome Inn A hand of cards and a drink at the Welcome Inn. Located in the township of Lyell, this photograph is from a selection of West Coast regional images and stories. Turn to page 26.
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Dear Readers, Our leading article tells of a true story of survival under the most appalling conditions. Gordon Campbell’s vivid account describes the ordeal that faced the men of the Invercauld in May 1864 when their ship capsized in sub-zero temperatures. Few remained alive to tell their tale. In addition, the narrative touches on the establishment of Hardwicke, a colony dreamt up by Charles Enderby and planted in 1849 on the remote Auckland Islands, 465 kilometres south of the South Island. Over two hundred settlers arrived from Britain aboard three ships – including families with young children – to try their hand at agriculture and whaling. Imagine their disappointment! Enderby’s vision turned into a living nightmare for those brave souls and, after only three years, the colony was abandoned as a lost cause. Biddy Orr offers a glimpse of early Wellington and the colourful antics of milkman cum politician James Tarr who, amongst other less serious misdemeanors such as leaving a bull on the road, was charged with “furious driving” and “nearly driving over the Countess of Onslow with his horse and cart”. The charges did not interfere with any political aspirations; in 1901 Mayor Tarr of Karori was sworn into office. And the South Island is not exempt from amusing antics as is confirmed by Jo Keppel’s story of the Ahaura banks. A feast or famine of banks it seems for the small gold mining settlement. Enjoyable reading. Hugh Hickman writes, “Seventy- odd years ago I never missed a date with Radio Station 1ZB at 6 p.m. on a Friday night to listen to Uncle Tom and his Merrymakers choir”. This will be a nostalgic topic for those who grew up with the radio in those distant days before television and computers; I would be pleased to have feedback from readers. There’s nothing like a cold rainy day to curl up and enjoy a spot of reading. So, with winter upon us, do enjoy this 132nd issue of New Zealand Memories.
Wendy Rhodes, Editor
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CONT EN TS
Editor Wendy Rhodes Graphic Design Icon Design Administration David Rhodes Distributed by Gordon and Gotch Subscriptions & Enquiries Phone tollfree: 0800 696 366 Mail: Freepost 91641, PO Box 17288, Green Lane, Auckland 1546 email: admin@memories.co.nz www.memories.co.nz Annual Subscription $79 for six issues (Price includes postage within NZ) For overseas postage: Add $49.00 for Australia Add $69.00 for Rest of the World Contributors Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, NZ. Asher, Dave Auckland Libraries, West Auckland Research Centre Baird, Robert Baird, Robert Berry, John and Beth Boswell, Don Burgess, Vivien Campbell, Gordon Dawson, Ray Duncan, Claire Dykes, Mervyn Exisle Publishing Limited Hahn, Elaine Hickman, Hugh Hoosen, Elsie Keppel, Jo King Family, Lapish, Lorraine Mangere Historical Society Martin, Val Matthews, Ted McClintock, Brian McConnochie, Dene McMillan, Ross Museums Wellington Collection Nelson Provincial Museum, Pupiri Taonga o Te Tai Ao Orr, Biddy Payne, Val Rosanowski, John Sir George Grey Special Collections, Auckland Libraries Smith, Merv Stewart, Graham Tait, Gordon Teague, Beverley The National Museum of the Royal New Zealand Navy Walsh, Graeme Watts Family West Auckland Historical Society Whittall, Mike Wynd, Michael Young, Audrey Opinions: Expressed by contributors are not necessarily those of New Zealand Memories. Accuracy: While every effort has been made to present accurate information, the publishers take no responsibility for errors or omissions. Copyright: All material as presented in New Zealand Memories is copyright to the publishers or the individual contributors as credited.
Contents The Wreck of the Invercauld
Gordon Campbell’s account of the1864 shipwreck.
Treasure Seekers
A happy find for collector Mervyn Dykes.
4
12
Karori Settler Leaves His Mark
14
The Christening Robe
18
School Letters from Iona College
20
When Jean Deans Raced the Train
24
From the Regions: West Coast
26
Centrefold: Two minutes past the hour of twelve…
36
Uncle Tom and the Friendly Road Choirs
38
Memories of Wahine Day
45
Remembering the Battle of Kolombangara
46
Our Stella Standard Ten
50
From the Regions: Auckland
52
Origins
66
Biddy Orr relates the story of James Brock Tarr the Milkman. Beverley Teague discusses an heirloom shared around the family. Contributed by Gordon Tait.
A nostalgic poem by Ross McMillan.
A busy midday scene in Dunedin’s Princes Street, 1949.
“I never missed a date with Radio 1ZB…” writes Hugh Hickman. Don Boswell responds to the article in Issue 131. From The National Museum of the Royal New Zealand Navy.
John and Beth Berry have fond memories of their motorcar.
Claire Duncan offers theories on the source of four common sayings.
Mailbox
68
Index and Genealogy List
70
Editor’s Choice: Overloaded?
72
“F. Biggs, Carrier.” Readers are asked to assist with identification.
Cover image: The Mt Albert Fire Station (built 1906), with firebell tower alongside, was situated on New North Road, Mt Albert, Auckland. Photographed in about 1910. ISSN 1173-4159 June/July 2018
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The Wreck of the Invercauld Gordon Campbell
T
he wind driven spray lashed at the miserable group of cold, wet men who huddled amongst rocks directly beneath the towering cliffs of Northwest Cape at the northern end of the main Auckland Island. It was 2 a.m. on 10 May 1864, and their ship, the Invercauld, had been driven onto a reef by the surging sea. The tops of the masts had broken off after hitting the precipitous bluffs that characterise the rugged western coastline of this isolated sub Antarctic Island. A heavy swell had lifted the vessel and dumped her on the jagged reef. Her keel was shattered and the ship was sinking fast. The lifeboats couldn’t be launched because of the rocks and it was every man for himself. Some of the crew were swept to their deaths by the surging waves, but 19 struggled up onto the rocks and found each other in the darkness. Cold, wet and wretched, they yearned for daylight as the wind increased and the sea spray continually broke over them. Only three of the 19 would survive until rescue came one year later. Short accounts of the ordeal were written by two survivors, the Captain, George Dalgarno and First
Mate, Andrew Smith. The third survivor, a young, seaman named Robert Holding, wrote the most comprehensive account in his later years. Daylight brought little solace. The iron masts of the ship had sunk to the ocean floor, taking all the sails and ropes with them. Only part of the stern, from which dangled the body of a dead crewman, was visible. The castaways were completely destitute. The only flotsam that could be retrieved were some planks, a little pork and some saturated biscuits. Some of the longer boards were used to create a small, leanto shelter which was extremely cramped and offered only minimal protection from the wind, rain and sea spray. Most of the survivors had no footwear and the rocks cut and chafed their numb feet as they foraged for the few shellfish that were exposed at low tide. Fortunately, two of the survivors had a box of matches each, and despite the wet wood, a fire was started. Unfortunately, in an effort to dry the matches, the boxes were placed too close to the fire and caught alight. One box was lost, but most of the other box was saved. These remaining matches became their most
Castaway huts built by the survivors of the Invercauld. Published in the Otago Witness on 24 May 1905. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand. Ref: records/14450093
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F EAT U R E
“They caught a seal, ate the cooked flesh, and made moccasins from the skin to provide footwear for those who had been barefoot up to that time.”
Robert Holding’s sealskin boot.
La Trobe Picture Collection, State University of Victoria
precious possession. The group of survivors spent five nights in their tiny, rudimentary shelter. Holding says there wasn’t even room to sit, let alone lie down so “we packed on top of the other – to the extent that we could not move for the weight on our legs and bodies” 1 Cramps increased their discomfort at night, and food was getting increasingly difficult to find during the day. A formidable cliff prevented easy access to the island’s interior, but they had to find somewhere more suitable to live if there was to be any hope of survival. Braving a steep and perilous climb, five of the men, including Holding, found there were pigs on the island. From a high point, Holding could see sheltered bays in the distance that looked promising. Returning to the wreck site, he persuaded the rest of the survivors to make the climb and head for the shelter of these bays. Getting there took almost six weeks, and required an effort that would see the deaths of half of the original 19 survivors. Although the actual distance wasn’t great, travelling across the island was extremely difficult. Much of the ground was covered with tussocks that grew as tall as a man, and had razor sharp blades. First Mate Smith later wrote that the tussocks “were so rank and high that we were hardly able to force our 1 Allen Madelene Ferguson Wake of the Invercauld Shipwrecked in the Sub-Antarctic - A Great-granddaughter’s Pilgrimage. Exisle Publishing Ltd, Auckland, 1977 page 81.
way through it in some parts.” 2 Boggy channels, made worse by pigs, criss-crossed the peaty ground amongst the tussocks. In other areas, tortuous, low growing rata forest, whose tangled roots entwined above the ground, made the hillsides almost impenetrable. It was May, and the notoriously fickle weather at these latitudes brought cold temperatures, combined with almost constant rain, as well as hail, sleet and snow. Added to this, there was no leadership to hold the men together. In normal circumstances the ship’s captain would be expected take the leadership role. But this didn’t happen. Instead, the survivors, lacking an overall plan, splintered into smaller groups, making them far more vulnerable to the stresses and dangers of their precarious situation. Their main focus was finding food. Their main food source was shellfish and the occasional seal. A root vegetable, Stilbocarpa Polaris, that Holding said was fairly tough with a knotty fibre, and tasted a little like sweet turnip, also provided sustenance. The first fatality was Tom Tait, who fell during the initial climb of the cliff behind the wreck site. He survived the fall and was left under the care of crew member, Tom Turner, who abandoned him. The cook was the next casualty. Becoming separated from the group during the first day away from the wreck site, he sat down and died of exposure. Holding failed in 2 ibid. p.241
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F E AT UR E
This map showing the “Path of the Castaways” was published on page 182 of Madelene Allen’s excellent book Wake of the Invercauld Shipwrecked in the Sub-Antarctic - A Great-granddaughter’s Pilgrimage. Details of this book are on the outside back cover. Reproduced by kind permission of publisher, Exisle Publishing Ltd, Auckland.
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F EAT U R E
his efforts to encourage the group to keep going until they reached the more sheltered bays. Not only was he one of the youngest crew members, but he had been newly hired at Melbourne, so didn’t know the others very well. In short, he had little status and his urgings were often in vain. “It was difficult to get anyone to do anything at that time.”3 he recounted later. He was disheartened at the refusal of others to help break a trail across the island. “There were only two, besides myself, who would try (to cut their way through the undergrowth) and even they too gave up after a few minutes.” 4 Only a few men helped to make a rudimentary shelter on the edge of the bush, for that first night inland, but “They that had not tried to make cover were the first to take what others had provided.” 5 The attempts by the ship officers, George Dalgarno, Andrew Smith and Second Mate James Mahoney, to maintain a shipboard hierarchy under these severe conditions placed even further stress on the survivors. Holding reported that they “never hurt themselves with work.” 6 and were even too lazy to get their own water, which he said was plentiful in the puddles amongst the tussocks a short walk uphill. Instead they ordered the two youngest boys to fetch water in boots and sou’westers for them. One of those boys, James Lansfield, didn’t return. He had lain down exhausted and slept in the snow covered tussock, barely surviving the night. On another occasion, when Holding refused Second Mate Mahoney’s order to go out and get him some roots, Mahoney, “picked up his knife and threatened to run it through me.” 7 On that occasion, not being cowered, Holding picked up a brick and threatened Mahoney back, forcing him to drop the knife. A general breakdown in discipline was an ever present threat because of poor leadership and lack of group cohesion. Small groups of survivors took off from the main group at will. On one occasion when Holding was part of a group which had returned to the wreck, he lay awake all night because he feared being killed and eaten. The next morning he left his group, none of whom were ever seen again, and fled back across the island to the camp where the main group of castaways had remained for over a week. In this high, exposed site their very basic shelter provided only minimal protection from the miserable weather. As First Mate Smith later recorded, “There was nothing but starvation and death to be expected if we remained there.” 8 It took Holding little effort to persuade five of the men to blaze a route down to the bay the next day. It was a short journey, most of which, surprisingly, was across open country. Even so, Holding recounted later, “They were now getting so weak that it was with difficulty that I could get them along.” 9 At the 3 ibid. p94, 4 p.115, 5 p.114, 6 p.170, 7 p.153, 8 p.243, 9 p.122
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Treasure Seekers Mervyn Dykes
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hen I went to the annual sale of heritage treasures, I never thought I’d find any – but I did. Treasure! Real treasure! Lying there, inside a clear plastic bag amongst all the lace and linen, was a timeworn stack of The Champion magazine. I used to drool over these as a boy and I’d speed-walk two miles to the newsagents, eager to plonk down sixpence (five cents) for my weekly copy. The home leg was always slower, because I read on the way, stumbling over potholes and bumping into unseen fellow pedestrians. Who was Rockfist Rogan fighting? Would the Rovers win the cup-tie? What dastardly crime would ace tec’ Colwyn Dane solve? And what scrapes, japes, capers and wheezes was Ginger Nutt of the Fourth up to this week? Oh it was heady stuff and it won grudging approval from adults because The Champion wasn’t a comic. Oh no. It was a well-illustrated story book for boys – 20-pages of short stories full of adventure, mystery and intrigue. Eventually a comic strip did squeeze its way into the centre spread, but it was the last thing I read. Many of these story books also published end-of-year ‘annuals’, hardcover books designed to help fill Christmas stockings. Today, some 60 years on, I didn’t drool when I saw the Champions at the sale, but my heart skipped a beat and my eyes threatened to fill with tears. Oh how I loved those things. I wasn’t alone. Story papers, as they were known, were tremendously popular in Great Britain and its colonies in the years between the two world wars. Some began publishing in the late 1800s and many more launched in the 1890s and the early 1900s. During their golden years the story papers appeared all-conquering, but they would eventually be brought down by a combination of war-time restrictions in the 1940s and the advent of television in the mid-fifties. There were hundreds of titles and the names of some of them are legendary - the Big Five being Adventure, Rover, Skipper, Hotspur, and Wizard, all of which came from the Thomson stable of publications. In the period between the wars, they and their contemporaries were known as Tuppenny Bloods (they cost two pennies each). Printed on newsprint, they usually had a coloured illustration taking up most or all of the front cover with a few teaser lines pointing to the stories inside. Those same stories would run over several pages of eye-wateringly small print (to my now ancient eyes), leavened by occasional black and white illustrations of good quality. Now and then, there would be interesting factual articles, usually a page in length. In my Champion those pages measured about 19cm across and 28cm deep and we read every line.
F EAT U R E
Some of us indulged in comics also, but somehow they seemed lightweight and the stories didn’t grip us the way those in the boys’ papers and girls’ papers did. Say what you like about them, the story papers taught us to love reading. Even though we graduated to more serious literary works later, there remained a lingering attraction sauced by memories – a bit like a first love. They taught us new words too. Colwyn Dane’s car always “slewed” around corners when he was chasing crooks, so one day I incorporated this word in a school essay and earned special praise for the strength of my vocabulary. The teacher even read my story out to the class. When you look back on the story papers with today’s eyes though, you can see the flaws that were not so apparent in the early years. Villains, for example, tended to be ‘foreigners’, Asians, Indians, or Eurasians, aided by the occasional French Canadian. I didn’t notice this at the time because I was so caught up in the action, but it would quickly be judged as racist today. In the school stories, the nasty prefects or masters usually had hyphenated or character- indicative names. For example, The Champion pits Ginger Nutt against Bagshaw-Smythe the prefect, Mr Grimm the housemaster and Mr Wiley, the sour-tempered geography teacher. Also, plot elements often turned on remarkable coincidences which you lapped up at the time, but now seem weak and unlikely. Other, less visible, influences were at work too. For example, Chums, which started in 1892 and continued until 1934, worked closely with BadenPowell and the Scouting movement. However, there was a falling out and Chums became antagonistic until 1909 when it became the official journal of The British Boy Scouts, a break-away group. Similarly, the Rev. Marcus Morris, who published comics and books for girls, also adopted a wholesome approach. Heroines tended to be ballerinas, nurses, policewomen and even journalists. The stories were interspersed with numerous self-improvement articles, or pieces dealing with crafts and hobbies. Perhaps the first story book was the monthly Young Gentleman’s Magazine which appeared in 1777, but lasted for only six issues. Then, in London in 1828 and Boston in 1829, William Clarke published The Boys’ Own Book: A Complete Encyclopedia of all the Diversions, Athletic, Scientific, and Recreative, of Boyhood
and Youth. “It was a tremendous contrast to the [pious and moralistic] juvenile books of the period… and must have been received with whoops of delight by the youngsters of both countries,” said sports historian Robert William Henderson in a Wikipedia article on boys’ magazines.1 Another strong impact was registered by The Boys’ and Girls’ Penny Magazine which was published for the first time in September 1832. However, the first truly successful story paper aimed at boys alone was Samuel Beeton’s weekly Boys’ Own Magazine which appeared from 1855 to 1890 and spawned a stream of similarly named imitators and successors. A key to their rise in popularity was the introduction of universal education in Britain in 1871, which created an increased demand for reading material in previously under-privileged sectors of society. The early books had their own nicknames – they were Penny Bloods or Blood and Thunders. My favourite, The Champion, was a relative late-comer to this scene. The paper first appeared on January 28, 1922, and ran until March 19, 1955. Between 1929 and 1940 it had a monthly, pocket-sized companion paper, The Champion Library, which included characters from The Champion and its sister publication, The Triumph, which merged into The Champion in 1942. For me though, the saddest day came in 1955 when I opened my copy of The Champion to find that there would be no more. The ground seemed to lurch beneath my feet and it didn’t help a bit that the editor suggested I should look to The Lion or The Tiger for my weekly fix. They were comic books. Loyal to the last, I gave them a try. But it wasn’t the same. I realised that a glorious part of my life was over and for a brief period I felt bereft – cast adrift on a literary sea. In time, I made landfall on other interests and other shores. As the Apostle Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13:11: “When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things”. Maybe so, but now, more than 60 years on, a lucky find at a sale has helped me step back into my childhood and –aided by subsequent discoveries of story paper sites on the Internet – experience again the warm glow of treasures and pleasures past. n 1https://books.google.co.nz
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Two minutes past the hour of twelve‌
36 Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, NZ. Ref: PAColl-8163-60. Free Lance collection.
This busy midday scene in Dunedin’s Princes Street was photographed in 1949. Tragically the days of the exquisite Exchange building, designed by William Mason as a Post Office, were numbered; it was demolished twenty years later to make way for progress. To the left of The Exchange is the Cargill monument, a tribute to William Cargill leader of the Free Church migration to Otago and first superintendent of the Province. Built between 1863 and 1864, the monument was originally sited at The Octagon.
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S TO RY
Our Stella Standard Ten John and Beth Berry
W
hen Beth and I became engaged in January 1955 one of our aims was to save for a motor car. Owing to the shortage of overseas funds, new cars were difficult to purchase. We put our name down at the Standard dealer in Tauranga for a Standard Eight, a very basic model. As the year progressed I would keep an eye on the dealer’s premises until, one week in July when I was biking past the showroom on the way to work, I noticed a Standard Ten - a better model - sitting on the showroom floor for a few days. This was most unusual. I enquired from the dealer who explained that one customer was away on holiday while another had to sell her present car. If it was still there at the end of the week, would he sell the Standard 10 to us I asked. It was and we purchased it for £699 ($1398.00); the registration number plate was 184818. The sales brochure (which we still have) reads, The Drivers Choice – The Standard Ten is a new model designed to meet the requirements of those who desire economy combined with a degree of luxury and comfort usually associated with much larger cars. Maybe this was a bit overstated but it did have wind down windows, there was a proper boot and it had a heater! It also had turn blinkers. The acquisition of our Standard Ten was the start of many adventures over the next six years as we travelled 34,560 miles (57,600 kilometres). For the first year we continued living in Tauranga. Beth was a School Dental Nurse while I had a position in a local pharmacy. We were married in Wanganui in August 1955 and honeymooned by driving to Hawke’s Bay as far north as Morere Springs between Napier and Gisborne. Upon our return, we negotiated floodwaters north of Wairoa and had one of our front headlights broken by a stone.
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S TORY
Little did we realize that within the next year we would find ourselves living in Wairoa after the purchase of our first pharmacy. With Beth’s two sisters living in Tauranga we returned frequently, usually travelling via Waikaremoana and the Urewera to Rotorua then via Te Puke to Tauranga. This was an adventurous five-hour journey each way with the first 100 miles unsealed. The makers’ claim of a dustproof car was not entirely true! One 1959 journey is particularly memorable. We started out in rain that became torrential at Lake Waikaremoana, and then at the hydro town of Tuai we had a puncture, so had to continue on without a spare. On these trips to Tauranga we carried a four-gallon kerosene tin of petrol and refuelled at the halfway point. One of the vices of the Standard Ten was its tendency to spin; on this trip we struck greasy road conditions and we did a 360-degree spin, fortunately there was no oncoming traffic. After two days in Tauranga we left for our return journey after lunch on Saturday thinking we would be home by evening. Alas, this was not to be. There had been 13 inches of rain since we went through the previous Thursday and, as we climbed up the Huiarau Range after Ruatahuna, we struck small slips until the road gradually became impassable. We turned around and went back to Ruatahuna planning a return to the Rotorua Road and over the Napier to Taupo Road. A large fallen tree now blocked the road out and the only option was a night in the car with our one-year-old son asleep on his mattress in the back seat. A banana and a few prunes was our only sustenance. On Sunday morning the tree was cleared and off we drove only to see a flooded stream washing out the bridge approaches in front of our eyes. Eventually a road crew with a grader arrived and towed us through the stream. The roadman said to Beth “you had better lift your feet off the floor lady, you might ship some water”. I think we floated across! Our arrival home to Wairoa was a relief; the usual five-hour trip had taken more than 24 hours. The Standard needed to go to the garage monthly to have its tappets adjusted while oil changes were every 1500 miles. Petrol was the equivalent of 17 cents a litre! For six years we owned our Standard Ten, christened “Stella”, and travelled a total of 57,600 kilometers. It served us very well over difficult roads – apart from its tendency to spin on slippery surfaces. The Standard had a 948cc engine developing 33bhp or 25-kilowatts. We traded it on a Vauxhall Velox PA in October 1961, a car more suitable for the type of roads in the northern Hawke’s Bay. In comparison to the Standard Ten the Velox developed 71-kilowatts from a 2.6litre six-cylinder engine. We still have fond memories of our Stella; we often wished that we had kept the Standard Ten for sentimental reasons. n 51
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CHOICE
Overloaded? Dressed in their Sunday best, the happy group is off on an outing. Sadly there are no details of the location or date and we invite readers to assist. Although the photograph is stamped “Burton photo, Wellington”, it could be anywhere in New Zealand. Contributor Brian McClintock comments “Pity they didn’t choose a better location for the photograph away from the pile of horse manure”. The writing visible on the truck “F. Biggs. Carrier. 2…” provides an obvious clue and, with the faces of the passengers clearly visible, they may be identifiable by readers. As for the date, no doubt car enthusiasts could shed light on the make and the date of the vehicle “Licensed to Carry 25 cwt” (metric conversion just under 1.3 ton) as indicated above the oval driver’s side window.
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