PARE TE PUTU.

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 4, 5 January 1934, Page 5

PARE TE PUTU.

MAORI PIONEER.

! RANGIRIR! RECALLED.

A VIVID PERSONALITY.

j (By B.B.)

Pare Te Putu has gone. On Saturday at Tuakau, the news item tells us, the death occurred of Mrs. Pare Te Putu, daughter of Te Mata, a Waikato chieftainese of the Ngatimaru tribe. I shall miss Pare—small, keen, active as a bird—and "her occasional shopping visits to Auckland. Although well over 80 she had lost none of her vivid and lovable personality. Latterly she had lived at Tuakau, and her visits to the city were invariably spent in scouting round for dainties to take home to her | grandchildren. At intervals throughout j the day she would call to deposit her I latest find in my office. Like a weka J she came and went, carrying each time some new tit-bit —a bundle of fish heads (a special dainty at her inland home), some fruit from the mart, heterogeneous [garments from a bargain store. Like a Christmas Tree. ! "How many children have you, Pare?" I asked on one occasion. "Oh, I forget; about a hundred, per haps," was her reply. At length train time would arrive, and with it Pare, laden like a Christmas tree. "Come on," she would say. "It is time to go." The trip to the station was an event, and the stowing of this dear little old woman and her multitudinous bundles into a secondclass carriage. The last I saw of Pare was as she thus took her spectacular departure, her keen eyes peering from the window and her intelligent, brown face, wrinkled into a child-like smile of utter satisfaction. Pare Te Putu was an educated woman. A year ago she stood before a picture of her father in the Auckland Museum

and then wrote the following in the visitors' book: — Greetings to thee, oh sire! Thou art long passed hence; Here I still am, but will not longer delay. The passing of Pare Te Putu revives memories of the famous siege of Rangiriri pa at the outbreak of the Maori War in 1863, for she was possibly the last survivor of the gallant defenders. "Killed at Rangiriri." If any should doubt the grim reality of that conflict let him visit the old graveyard in Symonds Street and count the headstones bearing the inscription "Killed at Rangiriri." The number will surprise him. Fighting in those days was not the organised and mechanised slaughter of to-day. It brought out a degree of courage and chivalry which today are at a discount. Under such standards the Maori was a foe entitled to the highest respect, not only for his prowess and courage in battle, but also for his scrupulous fairness and unfailing chivalry. Pare Te Putu held vivid memories of those far-off days when the Rangiriri hills were covered with dense forest and held by a hostile tribe who withstood j a siege lor a week, surrendering finally only when the pa had been taken by a J "ruse," which, by the way, was far | from being to the credit of the pakeha. j Pare went through it all, from the heaping up of the breastworks (in which work she assisted) to making her escape, after the pa had been taken, by hiding in a swamp. Afterwards she made her way to Kawliai district, which had been abandoned by Te Rauparaha when he went south to Otaki. It has been told, in connection with the siege of Rangiriri, how the Maoris allowed the pakehas' ammunition wagon to pass unmolested right under their guns, because, they said, "How can they fight if they have no ammunition?" This, however, wa6 by no means an isolated incident—it was the rule of the Maori. On another occasion, when the British troops were besieged, word reached the besieging Maoris that the enemy had no food. At once supplies were sent — kumara, dried fish, green vegetables— part of everything they possessed these gallant warriors shared" with the enemy. Later they themselves ran out of ammunition and sent a messenger asking for supplies. They utterly failed to understand .when, instead of acceding to their request, our forces took advantage of their plight to "smack them up"—a confusion which one can fully appreciate.,

Buying a Kettle. I cherish one recent and final memory of Pare. It is a little incident in connection with one of her shopping expeditions. She had been talking over old times with a well-to-do relative of hers in my office. After he had gone she sat quite still for the better part of an hour, whereby I knew that she had something to communicate, and so preserved the seemly Maori etiquette by studiously appearing to be entirely uu conscious of the fact. Suddenly I found her at the other side of my desk, where she opened her hand and without a word disclosed a pound note. "Well, what are you going to buy with it," I asked her jokingly. "There is a kettle at that I want to get. It will make enough tea for all my grandchildren, but it costs twentyfive shillings. Come and help me to buy it." Never had I seen such a kettle. It would contain enough tea for a regiment, and for that very reason had re mained unsold. At any rate it was of the old-fashioned iron variety which 1 had not seen in years. Gradually she I beat the owner down. I am sure that he I prolonged the contest from pure enjoyj ment of the encounter. At length, however, she reached bedrock—twenty-five shillings. Not bad considering that she had started from twenty-five. But her crowning stroke of diplomacy was yet to come. Turning to me she said carelessly, "You pay." Nor was that all. It was my lot to carry the thing to the station for her. Have you ever tried to carry an outsize kettle? Well, 1 she has gone on her long, long I road to Hawaiki, from whence rises the { Aratiatia—the heavenly ladder—leading to regions where she will need to shop no more; and her going has left a very real emptiness in my life.